The Chronicles Of The Council #1: The Sun's Tears

Chapter 40: Caith - Ransom

"Love me, and I will laugh for you, and if you can make me laugh, my laughter will, quite simply, ransom the whole of the world from death." - Catherynne M. Valente

Raven's Peak, Ardam 40

Caith was seated in Raven's Peak's hall, with the heads of the orders, and the king and his brother. He studied the stone architecture, marvelling how this city managed to stand through ages.

Perhaps it was time to move on. There haven't been any attacks in a month. Still the enemy did not retreat. To bide the time, those in Raven's Peak held a council and gave judgement on small matters concerning farmers, traders and neighbours. It bored Caith senselessly.

He couldn't fathom why he was still clinging to this pathetic rouse. Perhaps they needed him more than they'd ever admit. Even though Caith marvelled at the fact that everyone could go on pretending all was normal, the war was still not won. Pherenike had been and gone two times, but even after that, they still believed they only fought against the Darkelanders who wanted to invade Ardamland.

Ardamland! What a horrible name! 

Caith did not pay any attention at all to the trifle matters of the peasants. He would rather be outside, swinging a sword, or swimming in a refreshing pool, or even the ocean. Immediately Caith felt the call of the ocean; the ocean, with its magnificent waves and great blue depths.

Stop! He chided himself. It would not help at all if he thought about water. That is the surest way to cause him to stand up and walk out - offending the fickle Vaubadons wouldn't be good at all.

"The court is closed," Ferdaid announced sternly - tugging Caith out of his boredom. Something very interesting must have happened if the court is closing before sundown. It is unheard of.

"Clear the hall immediately! Everyone out except my brother's royal councillors, the heads of Orders and their trusted councillors. Out! Now!"

I must learn to focus on the mundane, Caith noted to himself.

Friduric looked alarmed. Ferdaid looked worried, but not as much as his brother. "Speak," the latter ordered with a growl.

Caith noticed the man at the other end of the hall for the first time. He was old but wore the clothes of the Ardam guard - whose sole task it was to protect the king.

"Your Highness and lords, I fear that I am a bringer of ill news."

"Skip the formality, Teren. Just tell us," Friduric interrupted impatiently.

"Princess Aebbé's horse arrived with her maid at the city gates some ten minutes ago. They carried a letter addressed to the king. I have not read it."

"Give it to me."

The guard produced a piece of rectangular parchment and gave it to the king.

Friduric took the piece of parchment, opened it and read it silently. His face paled instantly.

"Blood of Vaubadon, that wasn't the only message they carried."

"Yes?" The king's eyebrows lifted.

The man, Teren, shifted uncomfortably. Caith noticed the bloodied bag on his shoulder for the first time.

Caith's heart lurched. On all he has ever held dear, please let that not be a head with flaxen curls.

Teren approached the king, sweat beading at his temples. He handed the saddle bag to the king who froze and dropped the bag to the ground. Caith sighed in relief as the head of a young man with carrot curls tumbled down the steps.