A Kingdom Of Crowns

Wet. Damp and grim . The winds howled like wolves calling their pack. The ground trembled as if an avalanche was taking place somewhere off in the distance.As they marched a squelching noise rose from the ground, along with the vapour from the dewy grass that remained upon the muddy fields of the hills they marched upon.

Their boots whilst struggling to gain grip, sunk every time they connected  with the ground. The men stood two by two in a line that continued over the horizon. As strong as the wind was it barely bothered the men. Although it had a cold bite when passing through the crannies in their armour. However, none of the winds were strong enough to blow them down or off their lines.

Within these legions a selection of horses trudged along. Upon these horses rode men in finely polished armour. One man wore a long-furred cape, like a wolfs pelt. The cape was impractical for combat, but it confined pockets of warmth between itself and the armour he wore. This man’s horse wore a longer saddle to the others that rode alongside it. This was due to the man’s stature. He wasn’t short for his age, but he was the shortest of the riders.

Hours past and the men were still marching. The horses were still trudging. Then there was a loud noise. A huge rumbling noise echoed from the sky. “What was that?” one of the men asked looking up at the clouds with concern and a slight bit of dread. “Dragons?” the soldier next to him replied as the concerned man’s eyes widened. “Perhaps it was one of the gods?” the soldier behind the concerned one chuckled. Then the one next to him commented “or maybe it was a giant. Some say they burst out the ground you walk on. Then they roar whilst picking you up, eating you”.

The man in his fur cape overheard this conversation. Himself and the others who rode upon horses were only one row behind the chatter which was taking place. He then spoke.

“Behave would yous, it’s just thunder”. The men respected this command. “Apologies my lord, we were only messing with the lad”. At that point the man in the cape nodded, he then began conversations with the other riders around him.

“Sir Malcom”. The sir immediately replied. “Yes, lord Baylon?” The lord wearing his furred cape and sat upon his horse then said “tell the men to stop. We’ll make camp here before the rain comes in.” They were still on the hills. But the night was closing again, and the rain had begun to fall.

Time had passed. Malcolm walked through the camp it was made-up of countless fabric tents surrounded by a large circular dug trench that was just being complete by men with shovels. They left a couple of bits undug. Them bits were the exits.

“Dickon. Is he in there?” Malcom asked as he got to Baylons tent, which was visibly larger than the others. “He is. He’s stressed.” Dickon replied He was another of the men who rode in fine armour. “Well, that’s no surprise”. Malcom remarked. “He’s not had a father in his life since his father, our late lord passed almost sixteen years before now. Also more importantly, this is the boy’s first potential battle. After all we are going to visit another potential heir to the realm.” Malcom’s points were so valid, the other sir had no reply. He just simply and slowly nodded his head. Although Baylon was twenty years of age the sirs of his personal guard still thought of him as a boy. Remembering him having a life confined to their house’s fortress walls. The great stone keep that scaled at least five floors high! With a large wooden hip roof to cap it off. Not to mention the large courtyard. Where Baylon would hide in the stables to avoid etiquette lessons with the sisters, who were the head maids of the house. The now lord would also hide from his father who’d educate him for hours in their dining hall about the politics and histories of the realm. For all these lessons, he’d have to be escorted by Sir Dickon, Malcom and the other three personal guard who served his father at the time.

“My lord” Sir Dickon called in an acceptable volume. “Yes, what is it? What do you want?” the youthful Lord replied through the fabrics of the tent, which had many patterns sewed into it, making it look very similar to a tapestry. “Nothing my Lord” Dickon said, calmly continuing. “Although Sir Malcolm wishes to speak with you.” A sigh could be heard from the tent then a reply from the Lord. “He may enter.” Dickon then pulled one of the tent curtains to the side, as if he was politely holding a door open for Malcolm. Sir Malcolm then entered and greeted Baylon. Who sat in a wide wooden chair, which his Cape engulfed and hung from the back of. “Good evening my lord.” Baylon looked up his eyes fixed on the stool stood the opposite side of the table. “Take a seat” he said. Malcom walked towards the stool, grabbing some chopped up ash tree from a pile of it, before sitting down. The pieces were cut from some of the dead ash trees that stood in the circular camp. They weren’t heavy, in fact they were particularly hollow, this was due to the trees being diseased in the surrounding area. He tossed the pieces of wood onto the small fire pit in the centre of the tent. The smoke rose, exiting through a hole at the top of the tent. Malcom took his seat. “Have a drink” Lord Baylon requested, whilst having a drink out of his own silver cup, which had a long and thin neck.

After some sips of wine, Baylon asked Malcom a question. “Tell me, do you think I’m a fool?” Malcom had a look of confusion spring to his face. “No, my lord.” he was quick with his reply, but curious if his Lord was having self-doubt. “Then what the fuck are we doing here?” the Lord bluntly asked, carrying a stern look on his face. Malcom was bewildered, wondering if he’d been asked a rhetorical question, however he answered his Lord. “We’re travelling South my Lord, to the sun towers, to visit your cousins. Lady Alice. she's invited you and your men to the jousting tourney for the Walter cup. in memory of your late uncle.” Lord Baylon shook his head. “I know that you fool.” The lord stated. For what Malcom said was already well known. “But what am I doing here when I’m leaving my duties up north. Where these storms are ten times bigger, laying waste to a large chunk of my lands and the lands of the barons whom serve me and our realm?” Lord Baylon spoke rhetorically now and sternly. He then sighed, shaking his head again at the same time. “Oh, forget it, you’re not my advisor, you’re my guard. I suppose these are the babbles of a tired lord.” Baylon spoke, then sighed again and proceeded to take a final sip of his wine. He religiously drank wine on an evening when travelling. “What was it you wished to speak about anyways?” The lord asked Malcom. Who then handed the lord an envelope, sealed with a brown waxed emblem. “A letter arrived not too long ago via carrier my Lord. Baring the royal seal.” Carrier meant by messenger bird. The king would use Hawks, one of the most cunning breeds of bird, to hunt down the recipients of his letters, so they could be delivered wherever they may be.

Baylons eyes widened, the widest they’d been the entire interaction. He held the letter firmly, slowly removing it from the now unsealed envelope with both of his hands. “Thank you, Sir Malcom, you may leave.” The lord politely said. As soon as he was spoken to Malcom stood, gave a small bow, then spoke. “My lord” ending the conversation. He then left Baylons tent, leaving him with privacy to read the kings penmanship. A letter from the crown was not to be taken lightly.

The letter read.

“To the lord or lady who finds themselves reading this informative text. It’s my duty, nay my privilege. To announce the death of the king, Hector. First of his name, third of his family’s rule, Master of lords and ladies, ruler of barons and King of the realm. All lords and ladies of bloodline relation and any baron who wishes to share their view on the realms next steps, must attend a royal court, at which the new heir will be crowned. On what would have been Hectors Wakening day which the gods would call the thirtieth day of the eighth month of the thirteen-month year. Until that day in just under three months’ time. The crown will be looked over by a member of the king’s council voted for by its members. Looking over the realm until the crown finds a new home. Long live the king, in the next life may he reign.”

Baylon placed his hands on his face. His heart and thoughts sank slowly, like a large ship departing to the depths of the ocean. He never liked how news of someone’s passing would be closed. In the next life. Baylon never really agreed with the gods being something of reality, or anything similar for that matter.

He placed the letter back into the now creased envelope from where it came. “Sir Dickon!” He shouted, echoing around the tents nearby. Dickon heard the summonses, so he paced into the tent. “You called my lord?” Baylon moved his hand in silence, requesting Dickon to approach the table. “Collect the bell from the friar’s tent, make your way to the centre of the camp. Stop and speak to no one. Then call all the men to the centre of the camp and inform them of the news upon this letter I am giving you now.” Sir Dickon’s eyes quickly wandered over the writing on the letter. Then shock began to be painted on the man’s face. “This is from the crown my lord” Dickon exclaimed. Baylon then looked up his face was straight, and his eyes had a sharpness to them. “I am aware, now go for fill my commands as your lord.” He could hear the impatience on Baylons voice, so he quickly replied. “Yes, my lord.” As Dickon left Baylon sat for a moment in silence. He then rose, picked up some wood from the pile and placed them on the flames in the pit, it had been an hour since Malcom had done the same. The flames were dwindling.

Two days had passed since the news of the kings passing. It had spread all over the realm now like a wildfire on a hot, droit filled summers day. Baylons camp had a new personality to it now. The camp looked as though it had been ransacked but that wasn’t the case. The men were simply leaving. The order had made its way throughout the camp. They were to continue with their journey south to the boarders ruled over by Lady Alice, niece to the now late king. Her brother Robert was only four years older than Baylon. He to resided at the same keep as his sister, the sun towers. However, Robert held no lands, or titles. This was due to the oath he had took as a personal guard for his house. This was the same oath that Malcom, Dickon and the rest of Baylons Personal Guard will have had to take long ago.

The sun towers were not officially called the sun towers, in fact the official name for the fortress was simply the Southern Keep. Travellers would call the keep towers, due to the fact it was made up of two gigantic towers. When looking from the ground they reached so tall that they grabbed the clouds, it was also said the sun shone brighter in the south. These were joined together by a large keep, consisting of a stunning hall, for guests to feast in. Servant living quarters, stables for all sorts of animals and more necessary requirements for a fortress of man. Baylon and his men were now less than a day’s ride from it.

The day seemed to drag like a piece of rope you must pull out of a great dark hole. It seemed to be never ending. Especially for those who weren’t in the Personal Guard of House Halfhen. The House Baylons mother, the king’s sister-in-law, originated from. The soldiers, personal guard and Baylon himself all wore that houses crest, to show independence from the crown, and his uncle’s house. Although the house name was Halfhen, the house emblem was that of a white bird. Frequently seen on the northern coast, near the Seafort. This was the home of the house and where Baylon ruled over the north and the barons within it. He had departed from there a few weeks ago now.

The weather creeped back in. Thankfully for all the men travelling, they were down from the long hills now. The men had made it down from the hilly terrain and were in a large collection of woodland. This sheltered them from the rain that fell.

“Halt!” shouted a soldier from the front of the queue of the vast number of men who travelled with Baylon. “We must halt!” they continued. Baylons head peaked over the rows. He looked on with curiosity. “My lord. You and Sir Malcom are required at the front.” The soldier asked the two who rode side by side. Lord Baylon was still wearing his large, furred cloak. Sir Malcom was layered in polished silver armour and a navy-blue cape that strapped to it. The cape had golden trim all the way round the outside, as gold as the sovereign’s coins. The rows parted as the two rode on to the front, their horses left hoof marks as they plodded through the muddy path. When they made it to the front, shock shone upon them.

Bodies. Bodies lay scattered all over the path they were trying to march on. All wearing armour, some of different houses, so at least it wasn’t an in-house conflict. The puddles from the rain that snuck through the tree canopies, were contaminated by the blood seeping from the bodies. There was at least thirty and that was just the ones visible.

Malcom whispered under his breath. “Fucking hell.” His eyes wandered, absorbing the sight into his lenses. “Ambush?” Baylon asked almost as if he was investigating the situation. Malcom sighed. “Doesn’t matter, whoever won this skirmish has thrived… we must tread lightly my lord. For all we know the victors of this may still be near.” Malcom suggested. Baylon listened, sat upon his horse quietly as Malcom spoke. Taking his advice into account. “This may be. So lets continue with caution.” Baylon spoke as he began to plod again upon his horse. The rows of soldiers remained parted, whilst the four other sirs of the personal guard rode to the front to ride closer to their lord. It wouldn’t be long now until they’d reach their destination. An hour or so if that.

The hour was passing slowly. But it was passing, no matter how slow it felt. The men could see the end of the forest. Light manoeuvred round the trees, the branches and the leaves. The sun shone so bright, the end of the forest looked like a doorway of light to another dimension, or another life. Soon enough the hour passed.

“What’s that?” Dickon asked in a concerned manor, he still rode with the lord, as he was one of the personal guards of Baylon. “What’s what?” Sir Drake said in response to Dickon. “I hear it too” Malcom said whilst turning his horse. “Will someone explain.” Lord Baylon said with worry. “Guard him lads!” Malcom shouted his order. All the personal guard surrounded Baylon to ensure his safety. “Dickon prep the men!” Malcom shouted his second order, whilst Baylon looked around the hilly fields. He could feel the tremors rising from the ground. However, he could not see anything advancing towards them, due to the hills. He was blind. The ground was shaking like an earthquake. “At arms! To the front! Lines!” Dickon’s voice bellowed to the soldiers. Suddenly at great speed they had formed three circles facing the opposite way to the personal guard and surrounding them along with their lord. The tremors grew closer. So, close they could hear the neigh of horses over the grass filled verges. A great circle of spears, then one of swords and then one of archers, surrounded Baylon and his personal guards. Protecting them from the unknown advancers.

The soldiers firmly grasped their spears. The archers had knocked and drawn their bows and arrows, the others had drawn their swords and held their circular wooden shields. Their swords were polished and sharpened, ready for combat, against any approaching enemy. The horses of the unknown people approaching, began to become visible. A vast amount of them came galloping over the hilly mounds, with bulky armoured men riding them. Their weapons were also drawn. “Hold! Hold!” Dickon shouted the order to the men surrounding himself and the other personal guard of Baylon. The oncoming riders were not enemies. They were men of the Sun Towers, the Southern Keep. They were accompanied by Ladie Alice; she wore armour just like her soldiers. A silver shining breast plate, along with a leather skirt, thick fabric pants and tall boots. Her blonde fair hair fell upon her torso as her and the southern soldiers rode towards Baylons company. Sir Robert joined his sister, riding alongside her. He wore a long-pointed helmet, shielding his cheek bones.

The men of the south all rode on well groomed, looked after horses. There was plenty of them. Enough to surround Baylon and his men. Once they had reached Baylon the circled the northerners. “Weapons down!” Malcom shouted all of a sudden. The men did as they were commanded. Sheafing their swords, lowering their bows and dropping their spears. “Halt!” Sir Robert shouted, causing the riders to stand still.

“We were expecting you two days before now.” Lady Alice spoke, catching her breath. The soldiers of the southern keep, Robert and herself had been riding at a fast pace. “Well, I hope everything we could see in the woods was not the remains of a warm welcome.” Baylon spoke sarcastically as he responded to his cousin. Sir Robert who was sat on the horse next to his sister spoke. “A dispute between to barons. That’s all that was. It’s being dealt with, I can assure you of that.” Baylon smiled. “It’s good to see you again cousin.” He spoke to Robert. “We can continue these conversations of merriment at our keep. It’s not to far away, just along these paths and up the hill. We will escort you.” Alice spoke politely. “Ah you were always the more official my lady. It’s no shock the Sun Towers are yours to watch over.” Baylon exclaimed. “After you lady Cavendish, our men shall march behind you, our hosts.” Sir Malcom spoke, acknowledging Alice by her last name, Cavendish. This was her brothers last name also. It was common for those who weren’t of common heritage to bare last names. This was the last name of her late father as well. Walter Cavendish. Whom fathered Robert also.

The Tourney which Lady Alice was going to be hosting in just one day, was a jousting tournament for the Walter Cup. This was to remember her late father, an avid watcher and competitor in jousting. However, he never knew it would be the cause of his untimely death. This was multiple years ago now. Lady Alice was just fifteen years of age at the time, making Sir Robert eighteen, he was yet to take the oath of a personal guard at this point also. Walter had taken part in an annual joust, which took place every fifth month of the year, up until his death. He rode against an old southern baron’s champion. As they made contact a few of the wood splinters shattered off of the point of the champion’s lance. The splinters found their way through the gaps between Sir Walters visor and the top of his chest plate. The splinters that passed through the visor blinded him, getting caught in his left eye’s lens. The ones that travelled just above his chest plate, manged to impale into his neck. Walter fell from his horse, regurgitating blood from his mouth, dying at the scene before his private physician could tend to his wounds.

Sir Malcom, Sir Drake and Sir Dickon along with the other personal guard and the rest of Baylons men, followed behind the men of the south, upon their route to the Southern Keep. This was as tradition demanded. For it’s said the host should lead scenarios and activities out of good manners from all parties involved.