The City Of Kings(continued)

Chapter Three (continued):

The City of Kings

The City of Kings was built around the Palace of the First Kings, which was, itself, constructed over the tomb of Crom the Elder. The city was nestled in a mountain range known as King’s Mountains. The ancients wrote stories of how the first king, Crom, had led his clan into the mountains in search of God when the people came to realize how they missed the presence of their God. Prophets in the land had declared that God had left mankind because humans had abandoned the Way of God. Crom, called the “Elder” because legend said a younger king would come from his seed and unite the people under one king and one God, went into the mountains to find a peak where he might be closer to heaven. Crom the Elder hoped to attract the attention of God so that the Supreme One would return to the land of men and walk among them again.

The first king of King’s Mountains died in defeat having never found that which he had sought. His people built him a tomb on one of the highest mountain tops, crowned his son, Jared, their king and vowed to wait on the mountain top for the day when God would open the gates of heaven and descend upon them.

Jared had four sons and three daughters. He gave mates to each of his four sons and they gave the sons of Jared sons and daughters. Then Jared brought sons from the people of the forest, the plain and the ocean side and gave them to his daughters, who gave their mates sons and daughters. This is how the Seven Clans of King’s Mountains came to be.

The kings of the Seven Clans built a city of polished stone carved from the sides of King’s Mountains around the tomb of Crom the Elder. They were the first men to put walls around their cities. As The City of Kings grew outward, they built more walls around it until the city had walls within walls. The people of the Seven Clans took much pride in their city. Their confidence was enhanced by their ability to erect the shiny walls so strong no enemy would think to attack them. In their city walls they found their security and their security replaced the need of the people for the presence of their God.

The banquet in honor of Christophe, son of Crom, was to begin at last light. Simon waited to leave the Hall until the darkness had settled in upon the city. He donned the red cloak of Master Keron pulling the hood over his head, hiding his features. He set out walking toward the palace with his head bowed, hands clasped in front. Every effort of his body was focused on emulating as best he could the walk and manner of a Gifted. Crowded streets packed with those still seeking trades parted before him in silence. The sound of his boots in dirty snow, frozen with the sun’s descent, seemed to echo in the void created by the unnatural quiet. Word that a Gifted walked the streets raced ahead of Simon as the way to the palace gates cleared. The usually noisy markets lapsed into an uneasy calm as thousands of guilty eyes watched the perceived Gifted’s progress.

From the shelter of the hood of Keron’s cloak, Simon scanned those lining the streets. Everywhere in the retreating crowds Simon could see soldiers wearing the seven different plaid patterns of the Seven Clans.

Crom the Younger was the tenth king of the mountain clans to bear the name of the first king. He was the seventh king from the clan of Torr to carry the name. He was more the warrior than any who had come before him. Iron of will and single-minded in his determination to unite all the people of the Land of Nod, he was convinced that the destiny was his to become the one king, the King of Kings. So much so that he was raising a mighty army in King’s Mountains.

Torches lit the streets from the gates of the inner wall surrounding the palace to the entrance. The torchlight obscured the stars. Guards lined the final approach up the stone stairway, past the huge statue of Crom the Younger riding a horse, his sword pointing the way forward, and into the palace.

As he passed through the gates of the palace walls, Simon slowed his pace making each step more deliberate. He could feel eyes following him, the stares of the soldiers of the palace guard and the servants rushing back and forth with their duties. Ascending the stairs, he saw two huge closed doors at the top of the landing he assumed led into the banquet hall. The doors were guarded on each side by giant statues of Crom the Elder and his son, Jared. They were made of hardwood and would require two hands and considerable effort if he were to try to open one. Slowly he continued climbing the stairs, head down and hands clasped in front at his waist, tucked in his sleeves. Three steps from the doors they opened before him as if by magic. On the inside the palace doors he saw to either side two servants smartly dressed holding the large handles of the doors with one hand and, while bowing, motioning him with the other hand down a long corridor.

The hallway walls were constructed of heavy hardwood beams arching overhead and wood paneling from the floors to the peak of the ceilings. Sculptures of the ancient royalty that once ruled the Seven Clans depicted in noble posses stood on pedestals every few steps elevating them above. Oil lamps on the walls cast Simon’s shadows in every direction. His sheepskin mountain boots made little noise on the stone floor.

The clamor of the banquet, already in progress, flowed up the passageway to meet him. The smell of food and warmth trailed after the noise tickling the youth’s senses.

The door at the end of the corridor was also opened just as Simon reached it. The entrance emptied into a large room lined with four rows of tables filled with happy revelers laughing, eating and drinking their fill. And why not? The king was in a mood to celebrate his new son and disposed to providing generous quantities of food and drink to any and all of his clansmen wise enough to accept the gift. Stands holding the lit oil lamps dotted the floor. Columns of twenty lengths supported the ceiling of polished wood reflecting the light. A raised area that was as wide as four lengths and surrounding the main floor on all four sides supported the columns. Five steps led down to the sunken main floor.

Standing in silence in the entrance to the hall Simon took in the sights and sounds of the festivities while waiting for someone to acknowledge his presence. He had expected a herald to announce him but that did not happen. With his face still concealed under the hood he allowed his eyes to scan back and forth across the room. He recognized each of the plaid patterns of the Seven Clans again represented in the dress of the attendees enjoying the king’s hospitality. All the celebrants were so caught up with their feasting that no one paid him heed. One servant attending to the door leaned forward from behind it asking if he could move forward so the door could be closed. When Simon did not budge the servant backed off to his station and waited.

Well, he thought to himself, he was a Gifted, or almost one, and patience was one of the strengths of the Gifted. Wait for the moment, he reminded himself. Wait for your destiny. He stood in silence and gave his full concentration to staying as motionless as possible. Master Keron was fond of quoting Medgag, “The Master is the creator of all that is good and to wait on him is the greatest good.”

His body surged with confidence at the thought of his mentor. He allowed himself a smile concealed under his cloak.

The suddenness of total quiet jolted Simon from his daydreams. He forced himself to remain still.

Someone must have noticed the red-cloaked figure standing in the entryway. First one table, then another stopped whatever they were doing and turned around to see what their tablemates were looking at. The silence washed over the banquet hall like a wave rushing onto a beach. Everyone’s attention was on Simon now including the servants, frozen in place with their platters still in hand.

Simon lifted just his eyes to the king’s table under the protection of his hood. The king attired in a white wool shirt with a sash of the black and gold plaid of the clan of Torr and matching plaid pants, sat with a mug of drink in his hand held just at the lips as if posing for a statue. Beside Crom was the queen, Sari, in a similar white blouse draped by the sash that was three quarters black and gold plaid and one quarter purple and white of the clan of Akan. She wore a floor-length skirt of black and gold plaid and was caught in mid-bite with a morsel of meat half in her mouth.

“What is this,” King Crom roared across the room slamming his mug down on the top of the table?

Behind the anonymity of his red cloak, Simon held his place. Patience, he told himself. Rule the moment, to take command of the situation.

Recognition of the red cloak became evident in the king’s face. There was an immediate hesitation. Unable to see the person behind the hood, he could not determine who was standing before him. He turned to Merran, his aid, positioned behind his seat and spoke a brief word into his ear.

The aide walked around the table and approached Simon. His footsteps echoed in the stillness of the hall as if he was the only one in the room.

Bowing to Simon he addressed him, “The Noble King requests the name of the Gifted who stands before him.”

Simon considered the request. “Say to the king of King’s Mountains that the voice is that of Master Keron, Head Master of the Council of the Order of Medgag.” He still had not moved or lifted his head. He kept his words soft to disguise his youthful voice, yet they still filled the room.

The aide walked back to the king and repeated the words even though all had heard what had been said.

“Bid Master Keron to come forward and join us in our celebration.” the king instructed his warrior trying to appear more relaxed. Though Crom was clearly shaken by the appearance of the Head Master. He was obviously not expecting Gifted Keron.

Once again the aid walked back to the red-cloaked figure standing above the banquet on the raised floor. The Noble Merran tried to act official and dignified but he was obviously quite uncomfortable in his role. He tried to speak but the words seemed to catch in his mouth forcing him to clear his throat. “The king requests that Noble Master Keron join him at the royal table to feast the birth of Christophe, son of Crom the Younger.”

“Does the king think that the Order of Medgag has naught to do but eat and drink? Is there no limit to the insults this king will heap on those who serve The Most High God?” The scribe felt sorry for the aide as he turned around to take his words to the king. His attention had been on the king as he had spoken and he saw the furry in the king’s eyes.

Even before Merran could get back to the king, Crom exploded in anger. “How dare you come into my house and insult me.” He smashed his hand on the table. “I am…”

“You are what?” demanded Simon lifting his head slightly but still not enough for his face to be seen. “You are but a man. No more and no less. But what do I find here? A celebration of a man when the God who made this man goes unacknowledged and unworshipped.”

The words caught the king by surprise, unaccustomed as he was to being interrupted. He stood with his mouth open in mid-sentence and thought. The king sat down in stunned silence.

Simon used the pause to move forward down the steps and across the center aisle toward the king. He could feel the celebrants on the ends of the tables moving back from him. He stopped four steps from the king’s table. In this position only the king, the queen and whoever was sitting on the sword arm of the king could see his face. He steeled himself for the king’s reaction as he lifted his head slightly to reveal his face.

Not surprisingly, the king was speechless looking under the hood. The scribe could imagine the difficulty for the king’s in deciding how to respond to the beardless face of a youth he saw under the hood. The queen sat dumbfounded, unable to react.

Simon did not wait for the king to decide what to do next. “I have come for an audience with the king. It is my purpose and I will accept nothing less. The voice of Master Keron demands to be heard by the king alone.”

Crom realized the youth under the hood had provided him with a means of saving face in front of his guests. If the Gifted impersonator dropped his hood, the king would loose respect for cowering in his presence. But should Crom defy the request for an audience, he would risk angering the brotherhood. Relief flooded over him. “Noble Merran, take this honored guest to my private chambers.”

The aide/warrior motioned Simon to follow him from the hall. Behind him he heard the king call for the resumption of the festivities.

The private chamber of the king contained one chair against a sidewall. Windows lined the outside wall from floor to ceiling and lighted the room during the day were black from the darkness of the night. The floor was of polished stone and glistened with the light of the oil lamps mounted on the walls. Simon moved into the center of the room and waited for the king.

Noble Merran closed the door and stood to the side of it. It was not long before the deliberate footfalls of the king and others could be heard. The door burst open. Simon was sure that the king was trying to make a statement with his entrance. But he was determined as well to fulfill his mission. Crom walked directly to his chair without acknowledging the scribe and sat in it as casually and kingly as he could.

“Merran,” he called to the noble warrior, “ask this person who he is and to explain why I should not have him executed for impersonating a Gifted.”

The aide approached Simon but just as he opened his mouth to speak, Simon cut him off.

“I am no more impersonating a Gifted than the man Crom is impersonating a follower of The Most High God.”

“You come into my kingdom to insult me?” screamed Crom. “I will have your head removed from your body and we will see how insolent you will be then, eh?”

“It is not I who has caused the insult here. I came to you with the voice of Master Keron of the Council of Gifted of the Order of Medgag, whose cloak I wear as a sign of his authority. This messenger would speak with his master’s voice on things of great importance. You ignore his messenger for the sake of a feast to your own glory. Do you think yourself so lifted up that you deserve to be celebrated? When was the last occasion you feted the Most High of the Heavens or called for the Festival of Creation? When did you last visit the Mount of Adoration and offered a gift of your wealth to your God? Do you not still collect the tithe of the people of King’s Mountains? Yet how much of that which is collected truly finds its way to God?”

Simon allowed the king the chance to reflect on what he had said. He kept the hood over his head but look directly into the eyes of the king. Crom, for his part, had his elbow resting on the arm of the chair with his chin against his closed fist. His mood changed from anger to brooding, his eyes fell. It was not a well-known fact that much of what the people of the Seven Clans presented as their seasonal tithe never actually reached the Mount. Traditionally, the king would gather the tithe offerings from the clans and journey to the Mount of Adoration where he would formally offer it to God through the Order. The brotherhood distributed the tithe to those in need throughout the nations of men. In reality, Crom kept most of the offerings to finance the building of his city and maintain a strong standing army. The Order received a token for the poor usually delivered by the king’s messenger.

“For far too long the Seven Clans have not called upon the name of the God of Creation. Instead they struggle with the other nations of men for control of the resources of the land without any thought of the One who has made all things. And now it has come to the ears of Master Keron that the one who sits on the throne of the First King has raised an army to bring together the nations of men for war. It is to that king that I bring a message from the lips of Master Keron, himself. Where is that king and is he prepared to hear the message of the servant of God?”

Again, there was silence as the scribe waited on the older man to absorb his words.

Eventually the king murmured, “Is your message verbal or written?”

“My master commanded me to speak the letter to you before I give you the words he committed to parchment.”

“Then speak your words… How should I call you?”

Simon sensed that the opportunity had come and it was now right for personal contact with the king. Using both hands he flicked the hood to the back of his head. “I am called Simon, son of Dan.”

“Well, Simon, son of Dan, let us hear this message from your master.”

Clearing his throat and with his most practiced voice repeated the message Keron had Simon memorize what seemed a life of seasons ago.

“To Crom, king of the Seven Clans of The City of Kings in King’s Mountains, I, Master Keron of the Order of Medgag, greet you on behalf of the Council of the Order of Medgag.”

“In the ancient of days the sons of God were pleased to walk in the company of their Creator and know him. When they called on his name, he was quick to speak to them. Long ago were those days and the memory of men has drifted. Less do they seek fellowship with their God and more do they desire their own ways. So it was that Medgag son of Heron, First of the Gifted took to writing down an account of the way of The Most High that man would remember from whence he has come that he would not stray far from God’s perfect path.”

“But what have the nations of men done with the words of Master Medgag? They have used the efforts of his mind to justify their own footsteps. His thoughts have become the servants of their plans and schemes.”

“And such is the case with the king who rules King’s Mountains. You have used the writings of Medgag to raise yourself above all other men. You seek to make yourself the king of the nations of men. Who has given you that right? Who has blessed your actions with righteousness?”

“Hear now the words of the Council of the Order of Medgag and know what you have done. Your pride has set into motion events that will consume you and your household. Sons shall fall to the sword and trials will flow through your seed. You cannot stop what will come to pass even if your mind was so desirous. Through your actions will come your destruction. You have used the powers of the Dark Ones in an unholy alliance to promote your claim. If only you had come to the Mount of Adoration and paid homage to your true King. Oh that you would have sought his face before you presumed to know his way.”

“Your only hope now is to salvage that which you profess to love above yourself. The child, Christophe, is to be given to the servant of God you see before you. He will deliver the boy into the hands of those that will care for him until he is of the age to make his own destiny. Then will he seek his path among men.”

“Know this, King Crom of the Seven Clans; your road is set in eternity. Your debt must be collected so that men will know the folly of your ways. You may try to bring to a halt what you have started but we of the Order do not see success in those efforts.”

“You sought to be made the King of Kings. In the end he will keep his own destiny.”

“I am your friend and my prayers are for your soul.”

With each word, Simon saw the king slide further and further down in his chair. His head slumped onto his chest. He is a defeated man, thought the scribe.

When he finished speaking there was absolute stillness in the room. Stunned by the king’s reaction to the verbal letter, the men who had accompanied Crom into the room tried to melt back into the walls.

Simon pulled the parchment letter from under his cloak and held it out in front of him with both hands presenting it to the regent. While Simon stood without speaking, Crom sat motionless staring at the letter in the scribe’s hands but making no effort to take it. The scribe was unprepared for the lack of reaction on the king’s part. In a moment of decision, the scribe slid his hands beyond the ends of the parchment allowing the letter to fall on the stone floor.

The parchment smacked as it hit the floor.

Simon brought his hands back together showing his readiness and resolve to take the child.

Finally the king broke the silence in a horse voice, “When do you want the child?”

Remembering the council of Master Keron, Simon said, “I will take him with me now. We will leave tomorrow at first light.”

“Tonight! Now?” The king was shocked. “What of his mother? What shall I tell her?”

“It would be best for all if you told no one until I have departed on the morrow. Please bring me the boy now and I will take my leave.”

Still the king hesitated.

“There are dark forces on the move as we speak seeking to take control of the child,” prompted Simon. “He is not safe even in the palace of King’s Mountains. Agents of the Dark Ones lurk everywhere, especially here. Your son will not live to see the passing of the moon should he remain in The City of Kings.”

Crom’s head shot up. He regarded momentarily the young scribe, measuring carefully the threat, before motioning Merran to his side. After whispering instructions to the aid Merran left the room with two of the guards. The king did not speak. Simon pulled the hood back over his head, wanting to be sure that none but the king would get a good look at his features.

It did not take Merran long to return. With him were the two guards and a young maiden carrying a small bundle wrapped in a blanket of black and gold plaid and a large bag. She had the appearance of confusion about her. She looked with fear at the red-cloaked Simon and then quickly to Crom.

“Give me the child,” commanded the king.

She hesitated for just a moment then, with her head bowed and eyes down, she lifted up the infant to Crom.

Seeing the bag, Crom demanded, “What is in the bag?”

“It is all that is needed to change and feed the prince for a day. Noble Merran insisted that I bring it with me.”

“You may leave, girl, and give the bag to Noble Merran.”

Crom sat in the chair looking down at the child in his arms. Battle hardened, accustomed to the rigors of campaigning in the field, his heart melted at the sight of his son. His eyes watered for a moment but he blinked back the tears. Without another word he stood and walked the baby over to Simon. Slowly Crom laid the child into the scribe’s arms.

He turned his back to the scribe folding his arms and bowing his head.

Simon did not hesitate, he did pause long enough to collect the bag from Merran left by the maiden and then he was out of the door. Skirting the banquet hall by using the servant’s corridors to the kitchens, he managed to exit the palace without meeting anyone who might challenge his presence. It took a while to find the street leading back to the Hall of Light since the kitchen doors emptied into a side street. He was relieved when he recognized the main thoroughfare running through the major marketplace.

When he arrived at the Hall, he found, as expected, his brother scribes were waiting at the door to admit him. There was much to do and the night was short.

One of Simon’s fellow scribes took the young Christophe and looked after feeding and changing his clothe. Searching the bag Simon had brought from the palace the scribe selected some of the items from the bag and stored them away in a satchel Simon would carry on his back. They would burn the bag and its remaining contents Simon had brought from the palace later.

Simon removed the red cloak and reversed it exposing the brown interior lining again. He hastily ate the small meal set out for him. That done he went to the room of where the young prince was being cared for.

The two took the luggage and the child into a concealed cellar beneath the Hall living quarters. It was a well-kept secret that all of the Order’s facilities had hidden passages to permit members to leave in emergencies. Few other than the Gifted or those scribes who tended the buildings knew of the secret escapes.

The third member of the team was responsible for opening the passage at both ends. The tunnel ran under the walls exiting into stables outside of the outer most walls, which was also owned by the Order. They leased the property to a family for a small fee with the understanding that nothing would be done to alter the stables without the Order’s permission. This was to guarantee the exit remained concealed.

It took the three scribes a while to navigate the passage. At the stables end of the tunnel the three embraced. The two scribes returned to the Hall of Light through the tunnel where they sealed and hid the entrance. Simon closed up the opening to the stables and carefully hid it as he had been instructed.

He put on the cloak with the lining out, the satchel and the shoulder bag. Wrapping up the now sleeping child in a blanket, he left the stables. With his hood covering his head he slipped down the empty streets of the city dwellings outside of the walls, the snow crunching under his boots. O little one, he thought, just stay asleep for a watch or so and we will be safely away.

The king and his men would expect him to return by way of the Great Highway in the direction of the Mount of Adoration. Instead he would take the northeast route of the Great Highway into the Land of Asshur. He was confident that it would be safe to travel the Highway for a couple of watches, barely long enough to get out of the mountains. After that, he would be into the open country of the plains of Asshur.

Three watches into his new journey he was indeed out of the mountains and had the flat open country spread out before him in the darkness just beyond the foothills. It was prudent now to move off of the Great Highway. Christophe was still sleeping so he decided he could afford to continue until either he tired or the child awoke. He wanted to let his mind wander on the writing of Medgag but he reminded himself of the need to keep his senses alert to his surroundings. The night beyond King’s Mountains did not belong to the king’s soldiers.

It was about the seventh watch of the night when he stopped for a rest. Baby Christophe began to stir so it was a good opportunity. He fed and changed the infant and wrapped him back up in his blanket. Dry and content, Christophe fell back to sleep. Simon curled up around his charge wrapping them both in his cloak and drifted off into a light sleep.

The scribe slept so lightly that he awoke after only a watch to give a listen to his surroundings. This happened on two more occasions when he determined that it was best to move on. Christophe began to make small noises. He figured it was the last watch of the night and first light was coming. He fed and changed Christophe and ate a cake from his provisions. With the baby asleep again, he moved off a little ways and made water.

He positioned the satchel and the shoulder bag, and cradled Christophe in his arms. He was ready for the most dangerous part of his return to the Order. Simon’s goal was Hammer’s Bridge. It was the only way to cross the Euphrates River in the northern part of the Land of Asshur. That would put him in the eastern part of the Asshur Mountains, home to his family. He would cross the mountains using the trails he had traveled as a boy. However, to get there from his little camp he would have to walk the farmland of the plains of Asshur, which eased into the foothills of the mountains. He had two concerns, the bandits who occasionally raided the farms and the farmers of the low country who could be bigger thieves than the bandits. The fierceness of the farm people made attacking them a hazardous business for bandits. He could not afford to hide out in the foothills of King’s Mountains and wait on another night’s darkness.

Simon knew he could not risk travel over the Great Highway. A squad of the king’s horsemen could easily catch up to him and he expected that the king would surely rethink his decision to give up the child and send his warriors to find him. Staying away from the Great Highway and using trails and secondary roads would make it more difficult, if not impossible for the king’s men to find them. The trick would be avoiding anyone who might see him as an easy target to rob.

Well, he thought, the beginning of any journey must start with one step. With a big sigh he picked up Christophe and took the first step.

**

The man in the red cloak leaving the Hall of Light just after first dark took Karr by surprise. He had not heard of a Gifted visiting the city nor had any messages from the king gone out to the Mount of Adoration since the birth of the prince. It seemed to him the current relationship between the king and the Order was not a particularly close one. While dwelling on the significance of the assumed Gifted he trailed the cloaked figure through the city streets. As expected the cloaked one went directly to the palace. Karr knew that there was a banquet tonight in honor of the new prince but the Gifted was more than fashionably late, he was on the border of being rude by mountain customs.

It took the Stoner a while to make his way into the palace using his contacts. Once inside he learned of the confrontation between the king and the unknown Gifted. Even though the rumors claimed Head Master Keron as the identity of the visitor, Karr did not believe the elderly Gifted could slip out of the Mount of Adoration, let alone find his way to The City of Kings, without the Stoner spy hearing whispers about it. Both the king and the queen were absent from the festivities, which set the banquet hall a buzz with rumors and gossip. As soon he discovered that the Gifted had left the palace he hurriedly retraced his steps to the Hall of Light. He did not see the Gifted return and did even know if he had. But he settled down to watch the Hall. He was a patient man and did not have any other pressing business tonight.