***
King Jairon sat at the head of the oaken table, picking quietly at the plate in front of him. The plate was full, laden with a strange, beef-like meat that the Cook had said the King would like. He didn’t. It gave off a putrid odor and looked to have been attacked by rats before reaching his plate. He pushed it away quickly, letting the servant lift it from the table. The servants kept coming back with new dishes, setting them in front of him for his inspection. He sent the plates back every time. He didn’t know what was running through the Cook’s mind. Finally, Jairon ordered that they bring him some venison, and they scurried off to do so.
He didn’t like change. He hadn’t changed anything in his life for the past twenty years. But his mother, the dear, dying soul that she was, had insisted that the cook have him try something other than his usual meals. She wanted him to be a bit more experimental.
“You’ll thank me for it one day. Having a taste for exotic foods will make you a fine King, give you a understanding of other cultures. Now, off to bed with you. It’s late, and no child of mine is going to be staying up till the late hours of the night. Off to bed,” she had said. Just the thought of that conversation made him grimace. Of course, she was demented, but that hadn’t shaken her stubbornness. So, finally, he’d given in to her pleas. She was his mother, after all.. He had tried to give the new food a try, for her sake, but now he tired of it. He simply wanted to eat what he wanted. He was King after all. Was that too much to ask?
He quickly stabbed into the venison when the servant set it before him. He grinned for the first time that day.. He loved venison, especially the way the Cook prepared it. It crisscrossed across his taste buds as he stuffed it into his mouth, the smell of the spices filling his nose. Heavenly. Not only was the taste good, but the very sight of it brought back memories of old, from his childhood, when he was a lad. And that, for an old man like him, was worth more than gold.
The giant wooden door to the Hall of Kings swung open as he cut himself another piece. Ramar entered, his limping foot – caused old battle injury – leading the way. The man, ten or so years older than him, stopped before the table, bowing low.
“What is it you want, Ramar? I’m trying to enjoy a meal,” the King said, scorn penetrating his tone.
“I apologize my Lord. I… I have something to report,” the man gasped through shallow breaths. It was obvious the trip up to the Hall – over seven flights of stairs – had taken its toll on him. His face blotted with red spots, and a drop of sweat beaded on his brow. Jairon knew it was only a matter of time before he retired. Or, if need be, was forced to.
“Very well. Go ahead.”
Ramar paused briefly, filling his lungs with a deep breath. When he exhaled, his muscles seeming to loosen a bit.
“Master Dracon has returned. He reports that everything went smoothly. Patinore is dead, my lord.”
“Well, good. That bastard has received what he deserved. Thank you for the report. You’re dismissed,” the King said.
Ramar turned, as if to leave, before hesitating and moving back. “My lord, that is not all of the news. The Fort of Takala has been seized by the rebels.”
The King stopped his attack on the venison, setting his fork and knife down on the table. He turned his head to look at the High Assassin, his expression a cross between coolness and blankness. Ramar had seen that look many times before, when the King was angered. He wasn’t always calm, but when he was, it was about the worst things.
“I sincerely hope you are jesting”
“No, my lord.”
The King’s expression grew even colder.
“How, may I ask?” he spoke, his teeth seeming to clench together.
“Master Maroc states that they were outnumbered three to one. He attempted to hold it as long as he could, but there was no stopping that force... I can assure you, it will be retaken.”Ramar added, his expression saying that he wished the man would calm down.
“I certainly hope so. I won’t have rebels overrunning this land and all that I have built. Make sure you get the Fort back. Now, leave me. I wish to finish my dinning.”
Ramar bowed once more and limped out of the Hall.
Jairon plucked one more slice of meat into his mouth, chewing it slowly as he thought. He would not stand for a rebellion. Ramar had better see to it that the Fort, and all of the others, was retaken, else it would not only be his job on the line.
