In the seventh year of the rule of our Lord, King Hortrobe the Eighteenth, the fifty ninth king of the Halanta Dynasty, long may he rein, a shadow fell across the land, the likes of which, as a people, we were ill prepared. As the chief historian of the land of Hlant, which extends from the Great Sea to the far edge of the Granite Mountains, I have been given the task or recording this new danger which has befallen us, so that someday, when we have triumphed over this menace, we may look back and see the dangers that we braved in the name of our freedom from almost certain slavery.
With the mightiest army in all of the world stationed here, within our fortress made of granite, which has been formed by the earth itself and at a depth that was impenetrable by dragon fire from even the greatest of the Ancients, we felt entirely certain that our empire would stretch on and on. As long as the Great and Noble Queen of each generation was able to produce an heir worthy of the throne upon which our Great King now sits, which most certainly any heir of his noble and pure blood would undoubtedly be able to do, peace would be the rule of the day and our enemies would always run from the swords of our armies, in terror.
Because of the greatness of our kingdom, emissaries came from all across the world to pay tribute to our Wise and Kind Leader. Even from those lands that had not yet come under the shelter of our empire's protective hand came gifts to demonstrate the friendship between our countries, gems and statues and crowns that might bedeck our Great King's handsome head.
It was from one of these poor and inconsequential lands, of whose name I may not even waste the ink to write here, except to say that it is a land that lies between our empire and the borders of the barbarian lands to the north, that the traitor who was to dedicate his life to the destruction of our kingdom, sprang forth.
He came to our land as a very small child, although it is not clear whether or not he was a spy in those days, or if the evil that was surely planted in his heart when he was spawned in those forsaken lands bloomed later, while he was growing up inside of the palace.
It is with a heavy heart that I write that he grew up here, among our walls, that he played with our children and was much beloved by all. We knew not that we had a viperous snake in our midst and that when we welcomed him into our friendship we pressed his venomous fangs to our breast.
It cannot be denied that this viper rose from his lowly stature, the child of a serving girl and some vagabond, to become the cup bearer of the king. It is here that I must pause and address the rumors that have flourished in our time. It is not often that I would stoop to such common gossip, but these rumors have been written of elsewhere and so it is with my hand, as Royal Keeper of the Histories, that I must blot them out.
The Traitor Hobnar is not the half-brother of our Great and Honorable King, whatever the rumors that have been spread by that very same liar say. The Traitor has shown that he is not above using untruths to forward his cause in his quest for the throne. No one with even a drop of true royal blood could commit the atrocities which he has already inflicted upon our beloved kingdom. By his own actions he has exposed his own lies. I will now detail the history of this Traitor who, although elevated to a high and trusted position, used that position to betray the trust of our Sovereign Lord in the most despicable way.
This is the history of the Traitor Hobnar, which I have collected through much research and through investigations and interviews with people who have known him all of his days, along with accounts written in his own hand that have been collected by the King's information gatherers. I have verified the timeline contained within and am confident that it describes the exact timeline of events as they unfolded over the course of the despicable Hobnar's life.
The Traitor Hobnar was born in the first year of the reign of the Great and Mighty King Hortrobe the Seventeenth, the Fifty Eighth King of the Halanta Dynasty, long may they rule. He was born one year before the arrival of the Crown Prince Hortrobe, that is to say, the child who grew into the man who is now King Hortrobe the Eighteenth, the Wisdom and Light of our current age. His mother was a kitchen maid, who was said to have a fair face and was sometimes elevated to serving at the royal table when members of the King's Table Staff were ill, although she never rose to call this position her own during her time at the palace.
It is said that changes to her figure were noticed in the long winter of the first year of the Great King's reign and that the girl was sent away to a farm in the far North, on the Za'Reekan border, where two years later she married a local Lord in a small and quiet ceremony. Three years later, the boy, who was clever and a hard worker for one so small, was sent back for an apprenticeship in the royal kitchen, after his mother gave birth to the child who would be the legal heir to her husband's estate.
The King, it is said, took pity on the boy, a fact which is unfortunate, both because of his future choices and because I am certain that it spawned the rumors that the child was actually our wise ruler's own son. There are those who refuse to understand how the King could take an interest in the well-being of a child who was not his own, although those who knew our kind and compassionate King well have never questioned his motivation, for those who knew him understood that he had spent his life as our leader trying to help his people strive for better lives.
The boy, Hobnar, grew into a strong young man. It is said that he was handsome, with fair golden hair and bright blue eyes. It is hard for this historian, however, to judge the truth of those words, for having only known the man as a traitor it is nearly impossible to see any good in him, even if it be in superficial beauty that does not extend beneath the surface.
Hobnar was tutored alongside the young prince and was considered an appropriate enough playmate for him, it seems. He was often in the royal nursery from a young age and was among a band of boys who went round with the young prince, running about the royal grounds and as they grew older even riding out together, above ground, and across the kingdom. In those days, the great draw bridge was rarely drawn up, closing off the side of the mountain and concealing the city from the world above.
The Crown Prince grew in strength and honor. It is said that he was the most handsome boy in the Kingdom and it is an uncontested fact that he grew into the most handsome man in our city and likely in all the world. He was just and kind, a defender of those weaker than him, and when his father fell ill and he came to the throne suddenly he remembered his childhood playmates who had grown alongside of him and who had become his closest companions.
The King gave high military positions to many of his close friends, perhaps remembering the many adventures that he had undertaken with them. Some dared question the wisdom of this decision, not fully understanding that the decision of the King would always be in the best interest of the State. He also made them members of his counsel, sending other grey haired members from his father's counsel into retirement. And after the time of mourning had passed he called for a great celebration, as was the tradition, to celebrate his ascension to the throne.
At the celebration he bestowed a great many honors and titles upon the people who he was close to. Up until that moment he had not given Hobnar a position, perhaps because the other young men in their group were Lords and Dukes and Barons and Hobnar, while a playmate, was still in reality little more than a boy from the kitchen. But at the greatest feast, wine flowed freely and the palace grounds brimmed with all the good people of rank, including Hobnar's own mother and stepfather and half siblings, who he had not seen since his childhood. They came, gathered from the furthest edges of the kingdom, to share in the new king's generosity and swear fealty to him.
It was at this celebration that he announced, before all the watching world, that Hobnar Delon was to be his cup bearer. A cheer went up from his siblings, though he had only just met many of them that very day, for this was a great honor for the entire family.
Then the King announced that he had sought the hand of the Princess Zanara, from the far Northern land of Za'Reek and that her father had sent an envoy, consenting to the match. The Princess was well known to all the Kingdom, for she had been fostered at the palace in hopes of such a match. As one of the youngest daughters of a large family, overflowing with girls, she had done well to be betrothed to a king rather than a prince or even a nobleman.
So it was that the new King ended the great celebration on that high point, not knowing that treachery sat at his right hand and that envy had made his friend, if it can be said that Hobnar was truly ever a friend to anyone, into an enemy.
From the research that I have done into the matter, the plot to kill our Great and Wise King Hortrobe was hatched before a fortnight had passed. The Traitor Hobnar convinced many of the young men in their little group of friends to come over to his side, although there were three young men who were solidly loyal to His Royal Highness, who the Traitor did not approach, knowing that they would immediately sound the alarm and alert the King to his nefarious intentions if they caught word of his plot.
In the weeks that followed they planted the seed of that blasphemous lie that circulated through the Kingdom, convincing many that the old King had loved Hobnar and raised him up next to his son because he was truly his first born, and that as such Hobnar was the rightful King of the realm and that his half-brother Hortrobe was only a pretender to the throne, who had insulted the true King by giving him the position of cup bearer as one might toss a bone to a favorite dog.
Many heard the rumors and rejected them outright, refusing to speak of them again. But there were a large number who allowed themselves to be swayed by the lies and the offer of a higher position in the new order that would exist when the traitor-king sat on his new throne.
It was at the engagement feast, which took place three short months after King Hortrobe the Eighteenth's coronation that the plan was to be unfurled. The would be Traitor-King seemed to believe that through the death of the True King he could simply pick up his crown, place it on his own head and assume his power.
That night the King was to sit at the head of the table on one of the greatest of the palace's many thrones. The enormous seat was made of solid gold, with thick red velvet cushions, and the throne of the future Queen sat beside it, empty at the moment, although after a dance and a toast they would sit side by side and sign the engagement contract. They would vow that a wedding would take place at the end of a ninety day period, as is the tradition of all the royal families in the civilized world at this time.
The nobility and delegation from Za'Reek, along with the royal guards from both countries, were already present, with the guards lining the walls when the King arrived and walked solemnly to his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked every bit as dashing as the Princess could have hoped her future husband would be. He was not as richly dressed as he had been at his coronation, but he cut a fine figure in a dark blue velvet doublet, with a dark brown slashed leather jerkin, breaches and a simple golden circlet upon a head of thick blonde curls that were shorn short, while still managing to curl nicely. His striking emerald eyes filled with light when the Princess walked into the room and he beamed at her from where he stood beside his throne.
Between them, sitting at the tables to their left and right, were the most prominent members of the two royal families. On the King's left hand side sat the Za'Reekean royal court. The King and Queen and four of Zanara's older sisters had made the journey with a large retinue, including twenty members of the aristocracy who had traveled south to witness the royal event and bring news of it back to their people. Before him, to his right, sat his own family as it remained: his mother, dressed in a pale yellow dress, and his three sisters, all looking lovely with their soft golden curls, dressed in the dark blue of the royal house of their dynasty.
The Princess Zanara entered the room with a half dozen attendants, and yet all eyes were on her from the moment she stepped through the entryway. Her delicate white hands lifted the hem of her skirt ever so slightly so she wouldn't trip over the voluminous swirl of heavily embroidered green fabric. It seemed to nearly every person there that they were truly seeing the princess, who as the youngest and quietest of the eight children of the royal Za'Reekan family often found herself overlooked, for the first time.
Her long rich mahogany tresses, which usually fell in long curls nearly to her waist, were swept up off of her neck and carefully pinned, so that only a few artful curls escaped, brushing lightly against her porcelain cheek. Her full lips had been rouged a rich, deep crimson, but the blush on her cheeks was the natural result of having so many eyes on her, and her lovely hazel eyes were down cast beneath thick lashes, although she raised them now and then and smiled at our handsome king, as she made her way slowly towards her future husband.
The dress, which had been made by dozens of seamstresses in her home country, gave us all a taste of the land that she had spent so little time in during the preceding decade since she had been sent south. It was the color of the forest in mid-summer. The skirt was layer upon layer of vibrant green silk. As she moved it seemed as if a thousand different shades of the thick Za'Reekan forest were reflected in the fabric, and those who were the closest to her could see the faint gold outlines of many different shaped leaves, embroidered with a fine, steady stitch that was almost invisible to those standing more than a few feet away. The bottom edge of the dress looked as though it had been dipped in gold dust, and those standing further back realized that the bottom of the dress was slightly lighter than the top of the dress, as if the color faded as it reached the bottom edges of the giant skirt.
The bodice, which was laced tight up the back with flaxen ribbon, showed the Princess's small, perfect waist, and was a deep forest green. The neckline climbed up high, just skimming her collar bone, and then the line of the dress flowed out to her shoulders and extended down her arms with tightly fitted sleeves. Delicate dark green lace, with a faint metallic sheen, covered the bodice and sleeves, but the skirt itself was made of many, many layers of a lightweight fabric that seemed to float with every movement that the Princess made.
She wore a tiara of emeralds, set among diamonds, which had been carefully woven into her hair, and a short emerald necklace that her mother had given her when her family had first arrived in the city.
With lively steps she walked forward to join hands with this new King, a man who she had known for most of her life. He took her hand and led her to stand before the two thrones. Standing beside him, she glanced up and smiled widely, and most in the crowd who didn't already know it, realized that this truly was a love match and more than just the strengthening of an alliance between the two greatest kingdoms in the world.
Hobnar, the Traitor, stood just behind the King on his right hand side. He held a great golden chalice on a silver plate, filled with a rich red wine from the King of Za'Reek's own vineyard. Four hundred bottles had been transported south as a gift for the wedding celebration to come, with this special bottle brought forth from King Zanar's personal cellar.
Turning to his right, the King lifted his hand and Hobnar placed the glass in it, wincing as he released the goblet. One great lady who was present said that she thought that he did so because the ceremonial cup used for these occasions, was so large and heavy and the young man seemed to strain to hold it upright as he stood. The King lifted it easily and was about to put it to his lips to drink a toast to his beloved when she touched his arm and whispered something in his ear.
The Traitor Hobnar did not know very much about Za'Reekan customs. He did not know that it was the custom in that country for the lady to drink first of the engagement chalice, before her future husband.
I have since learned that this comes down from the days of old when one particularly protective queen, in a turbulent time, had insisted that she be her husband's wine taster, for she trusted no one else in protecting his life from the dangers that loomed around them. She was a beloved lady, who lived to a venerable age, for all in the kingdom who might have sought to betray the king knew that the queen stood in their path and that poison was not a route that would succeed, unless it fell the lady before the lord, and so he lived to a ripe old age.
The Princess Zanara never looked as lovely as she did in that moment, when the King handed her his chalice and she took a long drink of the fragrant wine. She drank deeply and smiled as she lowered the chalice, but the smile faded quickly as she clutched the King's arm, knocking the chalice from his hand, so that its contents exploded across the floor as it hit the ground. She turned her eyes quickly to Hobnar, her plump red lips suddenly turned downward in a frown, her eyes pleading as she stared at him, this young man who she'd known for so many years. By her expression in the moment that followed I believe that she must have seen the truth reflected there.
"Almonds." She barely whispered the word. "The scent..." but the word was lost as she struggled for her next breath, dropping, in nearly the same moment, to the ground.
The words were written in a smooth, looping hand, with flourishes on certain letters that she had never seen before. Upon finishing the last sentence she turned the page and then another and another, before stopping and picking up the book and rapidly flipping through from cover to cover.
"This is almost entirely blank." She said the words flatly, as if she could bottle both her annoyance and her curiosity and push them down somewhere deep within her heart, where they wouldn't get the better of her.
"Yes." Lina walked across the room and sat beside her, pushing a tea cup into Quara's hand and then leaning back against one of the pillows so that she could see her sister's face in the flickering fire light.
"You gave me a book with a few pages of a story that may end with the princess dying and outright civil war? A book that isn't finished yet? How does it end?"
"I don't know." Lina shrugged her shoulders than leaned forward and pulled the book from her sister's hands and held it up so that Quara could see it clearly in the light. She put the book back down and rose to her feet, pacing so that her shadow was cast long beside her in the orange light of the lantern. "But I'd like to know. I'd like to know the entire story. And more than anything I'd like to know how the story ends because I believe that that story has something to do with our story. And that we're all bound up in this together somehow."
Quara narrowed her eyes and glanced back down at the book that was now sitting beside her. Taking a deep breath she took a slow drink of the weak tea that Lina had brewed while she read. Her sister's words didn't make sense. She'd read the histories in the library. Two thousand years had been accounted for there and there wasn't a single mention of a Kingdom hidden in the mountain, other than the Walemont Dome.
How long did it take for something like that to be forgotten entirely, even from the oldest history books in the land? And how would this book even survive that long? She'd seen books that had been kept under what she imagined must be very similar circumstances, in a library deep underground and the pages curled and crackled after a few hundred years. There were several men and women in the Caverns who devoted themselves to recopying those books that were crumbling, before the words held within them were lost forever.
"Did you write this yourself?" Quara knew the answer to the question before she asked it. She had seen her sister's handwriting on the desk beside her that very day. She'd seen it a thousand times before. It had never been anything other than childish and sloppy. Lina was not a girl who added flourishes to her letters to make them appear more comely to the eye, much less did she manage to print in a straight and even hand.
"You know that I didn't."
"And you don't know how it ends? You haven't read anywhere what happened to the Princess?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. But I do know that there is a library down there, under our feet at this very moment, with thousands... no... with millions of books in it. There are miles and miles of books. And while I haven't found the book that tells the rest of the story I'm pretty sure that it's down there. I think a lot of answers are probably down there." She took a deep breath and glanced at Quara as if weighing her next words before speaking them.
"Will you come with me?"