A War of Queens

Epilogue

The rain came from nowhere as he rode on his chestnut horse from the stinking stables. It had not been a day's past when he had the letter read to him about the war's beginning; about the southern queen's intent on bringing a woman's scornful rage down upon the northern pretenders. He could not read a single word on the parchment, so he had his literate, fool of a son read it to him instead. That annoyed him greatly, and so did the stables that had heaps of steaming manure lying in every corner. He had slapped his son on the back of the head for every pile he saw before he made his leave from the cottage.

Beside him rode his brilliant son himself, the very sight of him infuriating him even more. That twat of a son I have, he thought, looking at his stupid mud-coloured hair and stumpy face with that ludicrous of an aquiline nose. Why had the Goddess and Father given me a senseless twat for a son such as Oonie. The thought of his invalid son made his stomach churn, and he pulled the reins of the horse too hard for its comfort. The horse fought for a while, but a gentle hand calmed the mount after much effort and patience.

"Where d' ye think we ought to join up, papa?" asked Oonie, with saliva dripping from the side of his drooping mouth.

"Don't speak, boy," barked Bog, tightening his lips afterward. Do as the priest commanded. 'Love your son just as you ought to love your gods.' He couldn't deal with another visit of that hypocritical and self-righteous priest, with his strong perfumed clothes and his fine jewels. At one stage of his visit, after the priest reprimanded him with his goldenrod after discovering that Bog beat Oonie with his fist, Bog was like to break the priest's face and feed him to the swines. A fate good enough for a filthy man such as that vituperative fat man. His wife might love him more after a gift of rubies and sapphires on her fingers.

Sharrol, here, these are for you, my love, he would tell her once the bloody deed was done. A sinful deed it may have been, yes, but would it not be forgiven if not for love of a man's dear wife? That was a question Bog never had the privilege of finding an answer to, for once the priest had finished his righteous statement and beat him senseless with that erect golden stick, he was compelled to let the priest live.

Hopefully, with the grace of the gods, I might get Sharrol them sapphires with the coin we get from selling poor Oonie. It hadn't been an easy decision, for Sharrol that is, but the crops had begun to wither and the soil had grown hard and black, and neither rain nor fertile sand could save it. A little fire to make it black, and a little bit of sleeping widow to poison the soil, heh. A simple illusion, but one that'll get that rat-faced Oonie out the house.

"We need the coin, woman," Bog argued with his wife one afternoon when they examined the spoiled crops of wheat. "We got nothing left to earn the coin to get us through the next month, and taxes won't be getting cheaper these days with what word is saying of late."

"What say you, Bog? D' you wish to sell the horses? The pigs and cows until we run out dry? We needs them animals to pay the knights and His Holiness their due."

"No, no, not that, dear wife," he said, stroking the scabs under his chin. "We do have one thing we can sell. Oonie is no more useful to us than a stinking pile of horse shit, Sharrol. The men is marching down to Lakestown to get ready for the war. I say we sell Oonie there or sell him to the queen. I hear the princess's fool died a sad death. Had the sniffles I hear, poor lad."

That had only cost him a slap across the face from a furious mother, however. "You is his father, Bog. How can you tell me this? I want to hear none of this rubbish."

"Either we sell that good for nothing Oonie, or we sell you to the pillow houses. That lord they call Dazzaron is paying good coin for ladies with thick thighs as you. A man gets his way in these parts, woman, and don't you forget that." That had been the end of that discussion, but even though Bog had his way of it, he hadn't had the heart and spirit to tell Oonie of his plans.