Chapter 34 – What He Bears

By now, they were accompanied by a suspicious escort of five knights. They had sent one ahead to announce the banner’s arrival. Since their group was traveling on foot and the Tulvians therefore had to lead their horses at a walk pace, their entire procession had a somewhat peculiar solemnity and at the same time they probably looked a bit ridiculous.

Whenever one of the knights cast a glance at their motley crew, suspicion returned to his face. But as soon as his gaze wandered further, to the banner on Benderast’s pole, reverence returned and his shoulders straightened again.

They look at us as if we’d kidnapped their grandmother. And Honor is the grandmother.

They had been on the road for perhaps an hour when a lone, unarmored horseman came toward them from the road.

His doublet was well-tailored, in the blue and red of Tulvia, and a heavy chain of office hung across his chest with a leather folder clutched under his arm. He dismounted even before his horse had come to a complete stop and bowed with perfect grace.

“Your Highness, the Envoy of House Vyrnara. Noble Hero Benderast. Esteemed companions.” He cleared his throat. “I am Tancred Hautebec, Herald to His Majesty King Gelsevier and member of the College of Heralds. I have been entrusted with the honor of welcoming you to Tulvia and guiding you through all matters of the court and its ceremonies, so that your stay may be as pleasant as possible.”

So he’s our chaperone. The poor fellow probably has no idea what’s in store for him.

Honor immediately straightened up and turned on the banner pole so that he could face both the group and Tancred. “TANCRED HAUTEBEC! His family has long been in the service of the kingdom. I recall a Hautebec who kept the books as steward under Theinard II! A scrawny little man with the charm of a filing cabinet, but a dutiful and good fellow.”

Tancred closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. “My great-grandfather, exalted banner.”

“THE RESEMBLANCE IS STRIKING!”

A muscle in Tancred’s cheek twitched. Nevertheless, he bowed before the banner a second time, even deeper.

“Cool,” said Benderast amiably. “I see you’re some kind of quest-giver?”

A brief pause. “I am a herald, noble hero.”

“Oh, sorry, I mean-“

Meanwhile, Mirrsoss had floated over and was examining Tancred up close with her large, faceted eyes, her antennae quivering as they pointed toward Tancred. “You smell like ink,” she announced cheerfully.

Tancred took half a step back. “Thank you, honored… Lady Moth.”

“We’re going on foot,” Grimbart interjected, as if that were a greeting. “Just so that’s clear right away.”

Tancred opened his mouth, closed it again, and presumably decided to postpone everything else until a more suitable time. Whenever that might be.

“Well, I’d be happy to stretch my legs with you for a bit.” He handed his horse to one of the knights and set off walking alongside them.

Then he turned to Shaelith once more, and she watched with a not entirely unfriendly amusement as he struggled to keep his gaze at eye level.

Shaeravyn court attire was, by Tulvian standards, well… she had known from the start that a little exposed violet skin would likely unsettle these people a bit, and she had chosen it quite deliberately. She had brought along some less revealing clothing as well, but in negotiations, it didn’t hurt to push the other party a little out of their comfort zone, she found.

Tancred fought a valiant, visibly exhausting battle, and then, for a split second, his gaze did drop down to her cleavage.

He’s only a man, after all. Besides, you can’t blame him. They really are fantastic.

“Perhaps you can help me, Herald,” she said, ignoring his furtive glance. “House Vyrnara has a keen interest in maintaining good relations with Tulvia, but I must admit, I may not yet fully grasp the full implications of Honor’s, um… decision. What significance does the banner hold for you?”

Tancred visibly relaxed. Here, he was on solid ground. “That, Your Highness, is a question I am happy to answer.” He straightened up. “Your noble hero bears one of the three founding banners, who known simply as Honor, Mercy, and Fervor. Three hundred years ago, our three realms were mired in a long war that had raged for generations, that had long since lost all its luster and under which the common people suffered greatly. It was ultimately the banners that ended it. They-“

“WE’D HAD ENOUGH,” Honor boomed. “War is noble when waged by noble men in a noble manner and for noble purposes. There was nothing noble left about this war. In the end, the warriors riding into battle no longer even knew why their great-great-grandfathers had started the war in the first place, so-” 

“The rulers’ banners forced their bearers to make peace,” Tancred continued, without acknowledging the interruption. “And the price they demanded for this was the Great Symbiarchic Charter, which not only enshrined peace and the unification of the realms into the Triarchy, but also granted rights to all banners throughout the realm.”

So these talking banners forced half a continent into peace and, in a sense, gave the people a constitution. Not bad. I’m impressed. Honor didn’t strike me as a diplomat.

“Wait a minute,” Benderast interjected, surprised. “Are you saying that Honor is some kind of founding father of yours?”

Tancred hesitated. “Honor has been an heirloom of the Grevue dynasty since time immemorial… or rather, well, the exalted banner remembers it, of course… what I mean is that one of the founding banners is now turning away from King Gelsevier’s heir…” He was clearly searching for words that wouldn’t get a herald into hot water. “The legitimacy of our realm is connected to these banners, and the stability of the realm should not suffer because-“

“BECAUSE PRINCE GWILET IS A COWARD AND A SCOUNDREL,” Honor blurted out helpfully. “I have sought out a more worthy bearer, as is my right!”

“It is, of course, your right as enshrined in the Charter,” said Tancred, pulling a face as if he were having a tooth pulled. “However, in three hundred years, no founding banner has ever exercised this right. All three parts of the realm are in turmoil.”

“Three of them?” Mirrsoss asked curiously. “And that works?”

“Three equal crowns under one treaty,” Tancred confirmed. “The Kingdom of Tulvia, the Kingdom of Nalvine, and the State of the Order of the New Forge.”

Grimbart let out a deafening snort. “I know them all too well, those Order of the New Forge guys. They’re a bunch of nutcases.”

“The Order is, of course, a consecrated order and not a kingdom in the strict sense,” Tancred explained diplomatically, without responding to Grimbart’s interjection, “But under the Charter, it stands equal to the two crowns. And since the Charter binds all three, Prince Gwilet’s Trial of Reclamation is incorporated into the Concord Tourney. Our annual tournament celebrating the peace, which is taking place right now. All three crowns will be present.”

Benderast had been listening the whole time, and now a grin slowly spread across his face. “So you’re saying Honor chose me out of a thousand possible nobles? Because I’m the worthiest?”

“Some might say so,” Tancred deflected with some reluctance.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Shaelith teased him. “Honor probably just saw you best because you’re so tall. Like a bolt of lightning striking at the highest point.”

Benderast looked at her uncertainly for a moment but then seemed to decide she was just joking and smiled cautiously at her.

It’s about time you relaxed a little.

~

In the afternoon, a hunting party crossed their path.

A magnificently dressed nobleman was on his way home with his entourage, and clearly in high spirits. Tancred gave a brief bow and the nobleman nodded respectfully in return, but merely looked down condescendingly at their colorful group as the two parties passed each other on the narrow path.

At least a dozen foxes, perhaps even more, hung from the horse of a squire at the rear of the procession. The red bodies were piled on top of one another, their heads dangling limply, tongues hanging out.

Mirrsoss’s antennae twitched back and forth. “That’s a lot of them, isn’t it,” she said, sounding much less cheerful than usual. “What are they going to do with so many foxes? Do they eat them?”

“You can’t eat fox,” said Grimbart, who was trudging ahead, with a shrug. “Foxes are very tough. They taste a bit like dog.”

“I wonder how much XP a fox gives?” Benderast, of course.

Thaelon, however, just shook his head. “That again. I just don’t understand these people.”

Shaelith immediately understood what he was getting at. “The foxes keep the mice in check,” she said. “And the mice eat the grain.”

“And in ten years, they’ll wonder why the harvest is dwindling,” said Thaelon. “And no one will remember that there used to be lots of foxes here.”

“Short-sighted,” she said.

Thaelon nodded. “Short-sighted.”

Benderast looked from one to the other. “You two are quite a cheerful bunch, you know that?”

~

A little while later, Tancred fell back a bit until he was level with Shaelith. He glanced ahead, where the five knights were riding ahead at a loose distance, and lowered his voice.

“Your Highness, there is a delicate matter I must bring to your attention and that of your companions on behalf of the king before we reach Bomfrey. A request, to be precise, that requires a certain… discretion.”

Shaelith motioned to the others with a small nod to come closer. “Speak.”

“You rescued Princess Obelaine from the goblins’ captivity.” Tancred spoke very softly now. “The kingdom is deeply indebted to you, and the king will thank you personally for this. But he implores you to maintain complete silence regarding her abduction and what befell her while in captivity. Regarding the… the kennels.” The last word clearly came with difficulty. “For the sake of her dignity, so that her shame may not be made known.”

Benderast frowned. “Wait, what? Shame? But that wasn’t her fault.”

Color me impressed, Benderast.

Tancred fiddled uneasily with his doublet. “Of course it’s not Her Royal Highness’s fault, but the prospects of a defiled woman finding a husband… I mean…” He cleared his throat and glanced around cautiously once more to make sure no one else in was within earshot. “The princess is betrothed to Prince Frambert of Nalvine. If it were to become known that Her Royal Highness is no longer untouched, King Gerarde might possibly call off the betrothal.”

Mirrsoss’s antennae twitched in confusion. “I don’t understand,” she whispered into Shaelith’s ear. “What does ‘untouched’ mean? Is a princess not allowed to touch people?”

“Humans,” Grimbart said with a shrug, as if that explained everything, and Thaelon grumbled his agreement.

“We will, of course, keep quiet, Herald,” Shaelith finally said politely, maintaining a perfect poker face. “Your king has my word and that of my companions.”

Benderast opened his mouth, presumably to press the matter further, but Shaelith looked at him and shook her head wordlessly, and for once he kept his mouth shut. “You’ve got some wild customs here,” he merely muttered in Tancred’s direction, seeming more puzzled than outraged.

Tancred thanked them with relief and walked a little faster to catch up with the knights.

Shaelith simply kept walking, keeping her eyes straight ahead and her face in the polite, expressionless mask she had perfected during her time as a diplomat. But underneath, she was seething.

Defiled. Not longer untouched.

The words sounded repulsive.

We pulled her out of a goblin kennel, half-starved and broken, and for her people, the biggest problem is that she’s no longer a good match. Assholes.

Among the Shaeravyn, what had happened to Obelaine would not have changed her worth in the slightest. Certainly, they would have felt pity for her, but in the same way one would feel pity for someone who had been in a serious accident and needed time to recover. They would not have considered her damaged goods. Fortunately, the Shaeravyn were a bit more relaxed when it came to matters of sexuality.

Although, the uncomfortable thought struck her, that’s not entirely true, is it?

She remembered the Shaeravyn who had mocked her for being “human-hearted” because she had remained a virgin for too long. Her own mother, for whom her chastity had been an embarrassment, a disgrace to the house. Among the Shaeravyn, it was the absence of a sexual history that could make a woman a laughingstock, which, when you really thought about it, was just as twisted in its own way.

Ultimately, both are cultures that define a woman by what happens between her legs.

Never mind. In any case, they weren’t here to argue about gender politics, but to settle the matter of the banner and preserve relations. What she thought of Tulvia’s customs was of no concern to anyone here.

So she’d keep her mouth shut about it.

~

Tancred had called Bomfrey a “city,” but what now spread out below them as they came over the last hilltop was really little more than a town with modest houses and crooked alleys. For someone like her, who came from a metropolis like Myzelemaerlazin, it was hardly a settlement worth taking seriously.

Above it, however, perched on a thoroughly imposing motte, stood a massive castle.

Bomfrey Castle was built of light limestone ranging from a warm white to a pale yellow, that glowed in the afternoon sun, so that the entire fortress, with its towers and battlements, seemed to almost radiate against the rich green of the surrounding hills.

The meadows all around were dotted with tents. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of all sizes and colors, with pennants and banners, cooking fires, and horse pens. A veritable city of canvas.

“Many visitors from all three realms have come for the Concord Tourney,” said Tancred with unmistakable pride.

“OH, WHAT A SIGHT!” gushed Honor. “The shining castle upon a hill! My heart still swells every time I see the good Bomfrey again.”

“Wherever a bedsheet has a heart…” mumbled Grimbart into his beard.

As they approached the castle, Shaelith noticed a figure on the high outer wall. It was a woman in a beautiful dress, wearing a high conical hennin on her head. She had her hands resting on the parapet and was looking down at them.

It took a moment for Shaelith to recognize her, for the last time she had seen her, she had been in a much worse condition.

That must be Princess Obelaine.

The princess hesitantly raised a hand and waved, shyly, almost sheepishly, as if she weren’t quite sure if she was supposed or allowed to.

“Princess Obelaine,” confirmed Tancred, who had followed her gaze. “Oh, and the man next to her is her betrothed, Prince Frambert of Nalvine.”

A young, serious man in a dark blue costume with an upright posture had stepped up from behind to stand next to the princess.

Shaelith raised her hand and waved back politely, as was proper, when something suddenly caught her eye. She couldn’t help it, it was the kind of situational awareness she’d already had back on Earth and that had saved her life on several occasions during assassination attempts in her life as daughter of a Shaeravyn matriarch. She paid attention to where people were looking.

And Obelaine’s gaze wasn’t really directed at her group, no.

It was Benderast and his broad shoulders and his flowing blond hair that Obelaines was looking at. She had eyes only for the radiant hero who had freed her from the clutches of evil.

Shaelith suppressed a sigh.

She has a crush on him.