The Art Of Queens

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Forty years ago somewhere in a slave city sat an eight-year-old boy. Samwell was his only name, as sons of whores never knew their fathers. Filthy he was as he sat in the dirt waiting for his mother to return, hoping she would bear something to eat.
His straight black hair hung over his boney face as he stared at the dirt unbothered by the fly trying to kiss his cracking white lips. His stomach growled for the thousandth time before he thought about finding food again.

Weak and nauseous he stood and slowly began walking through the clusters of rooms with his eyes glancing at everything that resembled food.
This place was where the slave masters kept small children until they were old enough to fight or pleasure men and the air stunk of rotting flesh.

It was as a maze with black stained stonewalls guarded by a hundred-foot giant called Mouse. At the entrance to the slave masters’ paradise, he stood tall dressed in animal skin armed with a rounded shield and a tall spear that men trembled to behold. His hair was like white wool and his eyes burned a deep river green glowing through his bushy eyebrows. You could never tell if he had a mouth just by looking at him, his beard seemed to start under his nose and ended down his chest.

With a man like that at the gates, no one dared to enter, until today. Little Samwell stumbled towards the gate determined to ask Mouse for food once more, in his mind he thought; if he feeds me this time, I will be grateful but if he steps on me then the gods shall feed me.

The wind blew the odor from his ragged clothes up his own nostrils as he raised his head to open his mouth, but before his eyes could see past Mouse’s shadow he saw a black rat nibbling on a piece of bread next to an elderly man lying on a board. He had no hair on his sore infested head or his scrawny rotting face, it was obvious that this man was suffering from leprosy and as Samwell got closer to him, the stench of rotting flesh grew. He suddenly forgot about his hunger, the man’s condition soaked up his attention like a dry cloth.

Is this man dead? He wondered staring at the face of the spoilt meat, then suddenly it opened its eyes frightening Samwell for a second, but they were coated white as if he was blind.

“Is that you?” The man whispered.

Samwell was speechless, he wondered if he was breathing too loud or if the man was bluffing. He looked over his shoulder and turned to see if there was anyone behind him but his only companion was the black rat still nibbling on the bread. He stared at the man then answered.

“Samwell…My name is Samwell.” He muttered peeking through his eyelashes while covering his nose.

Surprisingly the man stretched a hand to greet him. Samwell was not sure if he should take his hand or turn away, he did not want to contract the man’s sickness but it was bad manners to not, so he did. As their palms met, the man made a toothless smile.

“Pleasure... I’ve been waiting for you.” A strange old man he is; Samwell thought, and then the man’s smile quailed.

“I am sorry about your mother.”

“Do you know her?” Samwell asked.

“I know everyone everywhere, especially you.” The man replied almost proud.

“Do you know anyone who can help you?” Samwell asked. The man chuckled and answered.

“No one can help me child.” Then he choked and coughed.

“Maybe I can help you.” Samwell added as he fixed the man’s rotting head back on the board.

“You have a good heart Samwell, but I am afraid I am not the one you were born to help.”