A Midsummer's Saga Pt. 01

"I think they think so."

"By Harmen?"

"No genius, by the Assfaced People of Buttland. Of course by Harmen."

Leapfrog had to concede that this wasn't a very good question. The Kingdom of Harmen was the only neighbour of Kontaria which possessed enough military might to mount an offensive against anyone.

"Whadda they want from us? We're only a buncha lakes and forests neways!"

"I don't know, tribute or horses or they want to take away all our men for their armies. We used to fight about stuff like that all the time."

"Well then, they'll come an' get los' in the fores' an' go home as usual."

Modi looked at him. "I heard it's Titulus that's coming."

Leapfrog immediately felt more sober.

Kontaria lay far off from where General Titulus had waged his campaigns over the past two decades, but his reputation spread far and wide. A whole catalogue of overheard stories flashed through the murk of Leapfrog's mind; reports of famous victories and the man's skill and bravery, but also of dread, of villages, towns, whole provinces, burned and put to sword, of neat rows of people hanging along miles of road.

The last notes of the song echoed through the night and died away. Some people clapped. Modi got up.

"The elders aren't talking, they're just sitting and staring. No use wasting a festival like this. Come on Leapfrog, lead me to beer."

Leapfrog snapped out of his thoughts upon hearing such an excellent idea. He fulfilled the request with exemplary efficiency and then they found pipers and singers specializing in a bawdier kind of poetry and when Leapfrog woke up the next day under a bush he wasn't exactly sure how had the night concluded.

*

The Capital. City lights twinkling all throughout the night, torches ever burning. Two hundred thousand people huddled together round the bend of a mighty river.

People packed dense in their half-timbered houses, labourers and merchants and craftsmen stacked from cellars to rafters, swarming during daytime in the narrow streets which with spring rain turn to mud. Passing carts splatter it all over the bleak houses, over their half-timbered walls, their windows and their dwellers, the latter in exchange yelling obscenities at the drivers and their soil-encrusted horses.

Across the river the gentle hill rises and there the roads are paved among the stone houses and the elder bushes, and as you go higher the air grows breezier and the residences grander and life lighter. On top of the hill is the Royal Castle, and in this castle there is a resplendent hall, and in this hall there is a throne, and from this throne, the King of Harmen is watching over you.

Harmen is a respectable kingdom. Harmen is an honourable kingdom. The might of Harmen is founded on a strict moral code, informed by the religion and the love for the country, which all the King's good subjects follow. Transgression will not be tolerated. Everybody abides by the rules, and the rules are good for everybody. The King is watching. Should anyone decide to behave improperly, the King shall act swiftly to correct them, before they can corrupt the innocent. This is the King's holy duty, which he exercises through his obedient servants. The correction may sometimes be painful, but that's just a sign of an effective treatment. So it is. So it should be.

And yet, strangely, this capital city, this heart of the sullen inland kingdom, is a place where you can live. Right under the King's watchful eye, it's easy to get lost in the crowd. By day, you respect the grave values of your ancestors, the values of civilization, the ones that set you apart from those dirty lax foreigners. But by night you breathe, unseen in dim candlelight, you dance and drink and are stupid, and follow the other code.

The secret of every respectable country: there are two codes. One official, written and talked about, to abide by. Another, never mentioned and never learned, but felt, perceived subconsciously, a gentler code, a livable code: a code which tells you which rules can be ignored and when. Everyone, on some level, has the two coexist in their heart. Everyone, on some level, accepts this. Of course that doesn't mean that there isn't a danger to ignoring the official rules. Perhaps it's more prudent to just always follow the righteous path. But then again, aren't cliffside paths always more panoramic?

Don't get too close to the edge though. You might fall an awful long way down.

There was a long, open corridor in the Royal Castle, basking in torchlight, with colonnades on both sides: one opening to a view over the city and the bright river below, the opposite to a garden in an inner courtyard, dark and quiet in the mild spring night. Over the hallway's yellowish tiles a man was strutting confidently, his bright blue cape fluttering behind him, a smile amid his slightly greying beard, his mind relieved and unburdened.

"Lord Cyril!"

Startled momentarily, the man stopped and pivoted on one heel to see who called to him; he smiled even wider when he recognized the woman, in a simple taupe courtly dress, standing at the end of the corridor.

"Lady Tessa! What a surprise!"

She returned his smile, in her calm, reserved way, and let him trot back to her. She was some fifteen years older than he was, over sixty by now, and yet her former great beauty has not quite completely abandoned her. It's her eyes, Cyril thought, as he reached out to kiss her silver rings in greeting. Even in her aged face, under the sagging eyelids, the pale green irises were hypnotic.

"So you finally honour the capital with your presence! I was beginning to worry you grew completely wild, hunting all year on your estate." Her voice was even, low, measured.

"I'm human yet! I think. But not much of a city dweller."

The lady nodded, and they started strolling down the corridor. He was a lot taller than she was, and he had to make small slow steps, heel-first, hands folded over his belt buckle, to match her pace.

"You've come here to see the Prince, I reckon?" she asked.

Cyril cringed, and tugged at the three heraldic crows emblazoned on his coat. "Everyone knows, do they?"

There was a faint and quizzical smile on Tessa's face. "Quite everyone. Your son has caused some spectacle."

"Oh dear. Well, what can I say. Alex is not a very smart boy."

"I wonder who did he take after."

"Ha, haa. Anyway, it's over now."

"You've talked with the Prince?"

"I have. Even the King weighed in, though of course officially he knows nothing of this whole business."

"My."

"Yes. Well, I've smoothed things over, no feuds will arise from this."

"And Alex?"

"Oh, he got a stern reprimand. He'll conduct himself better in the future."

"And the girl?"

There was a small pause.

"Well, it's been decided she needs better role models, and perhaps a quieter environment. She'll be sent to live in Behem, with Lady Paula, at least for the time being."

Lady Tessa stopped abruptly. "Oof!" She raised her eyebrows and chuckled. "That poor girl! Have mercy on her and just throw her into a dungeon instead!"

Cyril twirled his beard and looked around. The only other person in sight was a guard at the other end of the hallway, halberd twinkling in torchlight, a bit too far to overhear them perhaps.

"I won't be heard speaking ill of Lady Paula. Not in this castle," he said.

"No need." Tessa's green eyes met his, a searching and curious look now. "Whatever our opinion on her ladyship, though, you must admit that Alex got off a lot lighter. Why did the Prince's daughter take the fall? What did the Prince say to that?"

"Oh, the Prince seems very glad to be rid of her. He's got spares, anyway." Cyril tugged at his crows again. "And, well, that's the thing. She's a princess. She's got royal blood. If she dishonours herself, she dishonours the entire royal family."

"Diluted royal blood, and very extended family. The Prince and the King are, what, fifth cousins?" Tessa looked up and started counting on her fingers, but gave up and waved her hand. "Please, Cyril. The Prince is not more important than you or me."

"Blood's blood. Appearances have to be kept, especially now, when trying times are ahead."

Tessa gave him that look again. Light twinkled in her eyes and though her face was set, some deeper shadows in her wrinkles seemed to suggest that she was very amused. "It's strange though, isn't it, how girls usually end up the worse in these situations."

Cyril smiled a lopsided smile and looked to the ceiling. "Well, you've got a point. Being born a girl was the first of the many bad decisions she's made."

Tessa's gaze was unwavering. "Yes. What was she thinking. Some people have no sense at all."

"None."

They stood there for a moment still; then Tessa resumed the walk.

"But it is too bad. I've met the girl many times. I like her a lot. A very bright young lady."

"If you like her that much, you can appeal for her sake before the Prince. Or the King."

She looked straight ahead, and for a shortest moment her body slackened and her expression hardened. "No. Not that much."

"Frankly, everyone else seems to think that she's a spoiled brat."

Now the lady smiled. "As are all our children, and as were we, and as were our parents before us. Nobility obligates, Lord Cyril!"

"You keep saying dangerous things tonight, Lady Tessa! But!" he abruptly stopped and held her by the elbow, "speaking of dangerous, I'm taking leave of the King earlier today and who do I see walking into the throne room after me? General Titulus and that old..." he stopped himself, looked around thoroughly, leaned in closer to Tessa and continued at a whisper, "...that old bastard, Oren!"

Tessa smiled. "That doesn't surprise me. The King wants them to co-operate on a project together."

"Titulus and Oren? Together?"

"Why not?" If she'd been amused before, she was downright fighting back laughter now. "They are both devoted subjects of the King, and can rise over their personal grudges. Especially Oren. You know him, he's very nice. Positively cuddly nowadays, I'd say."

Cyril snorted. His list of things he'd cuddle with sooner than with His Serene Highness Duke Oren of Haratraz was vast and included items such as wasp nests, thorn bushes on fire, and particularly irritable bears. "So what's this common project?"

"You know Kontaria?"

"Kontaria?" Cyril browsed his memory on Harmen's small neighbour. "Excellent horses. Excellent horsemen. Everyone knows that. Besides that, not much. It's just a lot of forests and lakes by the north-eastern sea, isn't it? Oh, and I've heard they know how to party."

That's funny. Tessa'd heard that somewhere, too.