LEORIC HOTHERUS

A flabby tortoiseshell cat perched on the windowsill. The tom purred as he absorbed the morning light. His loose belly hung over the edge like a waterfall of fat. He held a dead rodent in his paw. The cat did not touch the mouse. He did not need to eat it, for the servants filled his bowl each morning. He found no need to fiddle with the corpse, for he had many balls of string. The tomcat held the mouse, regardless.

“Out with you! Out with you, Gilbert!” Leoric waved his hands. The plumb tomcat hissed. He hopped from his perch and scampered down the hall.

Leoric watched attendants hang banners on the walls, helper boys aided the kitchen with the feast, and men who carried stout kegs of honeyed wine into the feasting hall. He marched down the corridor. Servants sneered at him.

The lowborn wore a brocade waistcoat fastened with golden buttons, close fitting breeches and a cloak trimmed with fox-fur. His swank attire stood out amongst the other servants who wore rugged rags.

Leoric overlooked the inner garden at the heart of the castle’s keep. Women watered the red and white roses while servant gardeners pruned their thorns. He chuckled. Leoric found the terrace ironic, for the king had fought hard to slaughter the roses, yet here the flowers grew unattested. He brushed back his bronze hair, shifting his dark eyes to young maids strolling down the hall with bowls of fruit.

“Good morning,” he called.

The maids scoffed, turning in another direction. Leoric marched outside the keep. He strolled through the inner ward and departed from the castle.

Leoric walked the streets of Caerleon, bustling with celebrating highborn men and women. He passed by the guild roads where merchants and craftsmen worked well into the dawn. Banners hung on each street corner bearing the image of a saint. Leoric noticed Saint Clement the patron of the blacksmith streets, Saint Homobonus the patron of the clothworkers, and Saint Bibiana holding a chalice of wine. The flags guided him to the centre of the city. An iron chimera was perched atop a white steeple.

“Lions wear elegant chains. Dance for Fortuna! Dance for the death hounds! The sun rises and falls regardless. I stand here regardless. The prime movers yearn for the forbidden, to gain will, to be human.” Leoric scowled as he observed the bearded fool standing in the street, hoping from one foot to another.

Feste the Clown was surrounded the discarded the trinkets he collected. Tattered clothing, rusted jewellery and weathered books littered the ground around him. A crowd gathered, pointing and giggling. Feste fixated his wide-eyed stare upon Leoric.

“Angel of stagnation, you bind progress, fetter his feet in iron, pluck out his eyes, and mutilate his dreams. But through your mere existence, you keep him human,” the fool cried. Leoric scowled and continued down the road towards the church.

He found the Gardien de Cloche, where the highborn and lowborn prayed and sang psalms together. The green and orange banners of the chimera hung on the walls, welcoming the hopeless inside the abbey of the Ordo Chimaera. Beggars wallowed near the stairs in rags, awaiting the coin of the priests and the protection of the church. The exterior was painted in a humble white. Hidden within its solid masonry exoskeleton, the church was adorned with golden idols and rich gothic paintings on a sexpartite vaulted ceiling.

The flanking walls bore glazed triforium and pedestals with the stone statues of each saint, bare-footed and modest, with feathered wings at their backs. Above the altar was a rose-shaped stained glass window. Hanging candelabras lit the dim abbey. Leoric passed rows of peasants from the outskirts of the capital, on their knees, in prayer.

He walked towards the statue of the three-headed goddess. The Morrigan stood above the saints, carved from gold. The idol had three shaven heads and a nude body covered with a long veil. In her right hand, she held a sword of fire with the blade pointed to the ground, while her left was extended to the people, calling the acceptance of grace. A serpent hung around her neck like a fine piece of jewellery. Patrons placed white roses at the base of her statue.

He knelt before the idol. He kissed the pendant of the chimera worn around his neck. He folded his hands. Leoric did not pray for the goddess to bless the king, or to ask for the fulfilment of his worldly desires. He prayed for the goddess to protect his friend.  

“Morrigan, mother of kings, here my prayers, hail queen, maiden of the key to the heavenly kingdom, our faith is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst mothers, and anointed is the fruit of your womb. Holy Morrigan, crone of the new kingdom, grant me wisdom, now, and forever, till our sins have been judged to the chorus of the anointed.” Leoric spoke aloud. He played with the beads of his wooden necklace in his hand.

 “Blessings to you, Hotherus, on this faintly morbid celebration.” An old man shuffled towards Leoric. The thin priest dressed in a white alb with a green cope overtop, and a mitre topping his bald head. Upon his face he wore a wooden goat mask.

 “Blessings, Archidiakre Chlothar.” Leoric bowed.

“It has been nearly twenty years since the fall of the rose and nothing has changed. Men still find reason to celebrate death and destruction, just as pagans worship blood and sacrifice.” Chlothar shook his head. “We should not be glorifying the past, but looking to the future.”

“The future is dark and uncertain, with each year that passes, I become more fearful,” Leoric confessed.

“The future is fortune’s gift. All of fortune’s gifts are good for the goddess divinely inspires them. You are a loyal man. The Morrigan has blessed you with your task of preserving the prince, as Saint Ramiel once protected Saint Azrael.” The archdeacon sighed. “You did not come for prayer, Hotherus.”

“I want you to send a letter to Ser Argo in Mariesmuet. I cannot send it myself in fear that someone dangerous may read it.” Leoric took a sealed unmarked letter from his pocket. He handed it to the priest.  

“With gladness, your letter will be delivered, my son.” He nodded. “Do not forget, the roses will come again.”

“Thank you, and farewell.” Leoric bowed again.

He left the archdeacon in the abbey. The lowborn marched back to the castle of Cair Bastion. Leoric noticed soldiers and lesser lords loyal to House Ancaster, Norling, Gorewynn, Montfort and Teilmann. Vassels from Rollowulf to Toulouse paraded the streets with their mugs of ale. Leoric gave no mind to the wealthy townsfolk and returned to the keep. He walked through the servant gate.

“You’re up later than usual.” A handmaid met him in the courtyard. She carried a basket of clean sheets. Leoric stopped.

 “I went to the abbey this morning to pray. That is why you mustn’t have seen me,” Hotherus explained. “Has Lady Maerwynn Coart arrived from the north?”

The handmaid shook her head. “She caught the flu and will not be able to attend the banquet. Have you seen the prince at all? His father wants to have a word with him before the festival.”

“I haven’t seen him all morning, Vivian. But I have a feeling I know where he is now.”

“Then you better go look for him. We wouldn’t want his mother to worry.” She departed from the lowborn with her laundry.

“What trouble are you getting yourself into this time, Rheon?” Leoric thought aloud. He marched down the hall, towards the rear gate of the castle.

Leoric went to the stables. He tacked a royal black stallion with feathered legs and mounted the large creature. He trotted into the streets, ignoring the drunken celebration of nobles. The lowborn rode to the western edge of Caerleon, following the Reine Soeur Road into the hunting wood, not far from the eastern sea. 

He slowed his horse to a walk and dismounted near a brook. He found a dead rabbit with a black-feathered arrow through its neck. Leoric picked the hunted animal from the ground. He led his stallion across the shallow river and found the prince aiming his bow at a white deer. Leoric’s horse snorted. The doe pranced into the bramble. The prince turned around and scowled. His frown melted as he noticed Leoric.

“You always have to ruin the fun, don’t you, brother?” Rheon smiled. Leoric shook his head and went to his friend’s side.

 “I knew I’d find you in the Kingswood. You forgot something.” Leoric tossed the prince the forgotten rabbit. “I’ve come to retrieve you from your mindless hunting.”

 “Who was it this time?” The prince grumbled.

“Your father wants to speak with you.”

Rheon rolled his eyes. “Of course. I take one damned step out of the castle and it’s as if the whole world has gone sodding mad.”

“I think it’s best if you return with me.”

“All right. All right.” Rheon turned to his stallion tied to a tree. The horse raised its head. Its mouth foamed green from grazing. The prince and his keeper mounted their horses. The two walked from the woodlands.

“Your coming of age celebration is this week. Feeling excited, brother?”

“It has nothing to do with me. The kingdom knows it as the day the old king was cut in two, symbolically and ironically, joining the eleven kingdoms under the rule of the Great Lord of the Wildlands. I’ve heard the story enough as a child. It bores me. What we should be concerned about is the Archard Rebellion.”

“Since when did you become political?” Leoric laughed.

“Well, I am the prince after all, it is my duty.”

“I thought your duty as a prince was wooing damsels, drinking fine wines and praying to Saint Bibiana they are not poisoned, whilst sitting on piles upon piles of gold.”

“I’m not going to be like that. I’m going to be different.”

“I bet that’s what all aspiring kings say before they take the throne,” Leoric added.

“Honestly, brother. I’m going to be different.”

Leoric chuckled.

“You think I’m jesting?” Rheon cut in front of his friend. He gathered his horse’s reins. “Let’s settle this then, the old way.”

“You’re foolish. We are no longer boys, brother.”

“Oh, well, maybe it’s time you released your inner child.” Rheon kicked his horse into a gallop. He barrelled over the ridge towards the city. Leoric shook his head. He kicked the flanks of his horse into a run.

Leoric’s stallion dashed in long-legged strides, as the world became a distorted blur. He caught up to his friend, riding flank-to-flank with Rheon.

 “You may be a prince, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you win.” Leoric laughed. They galloped into the streets of the capital. Their horses bumped sides, with ears pinned back and nostrils flaring.

“So your old horse does have good legs? Looks like I’m going to have to stop going soft on you.”  The prince turned down a narrow dirt path. Leoric’s mare skidded on the dried earth, almost missing the turn. Rheon dashed ahead, keeping a distance from his brother.

He could hear the prince mocking him with laughter. Their horses dashed into a bustling marketplace. Merchants dove from the path and lowborn scattered, screaming, as the two galloped past. Rheon’s horse knocked over a stand of peaches. The fruits rolled on the ground, tripping people as merchants scrambled to pick them up.

The prince’s horse stumbled. Leoric grinned. He passed his brother. The wind blew through his ashen hair. He galloped through a large flock of highborn men. Rheon rode at his heels, kicking the steed with his spurs. The prince bashed into the rear of his brother’s steed. The mare bucked, kicking his legs at the prince. Rheon swerved out of the path of the horse’s hooves.

 “Watch out! You could get us killed!” Leoric shouted.

“C’mon, where’s your sense of fun?” Rheon laughed.

“If this is anything like how you are going to run the kingdoms, then I fear for all of us!” The two reached the edge of the district, gaining speed. Leoric and Rheon came to the centre of the capital. They rode through the highborn districts, slowing their pace into a trot. Barons parted, allowing the brothers to pass, with their heads bowed and hands folded.

“I guess that means I win,” Rheon boasted. He held his head high. Leoric chuckled. He breathed heavy. The lowborn patted the neck of his horse.

“I think your horse was the winner. He clearly did all the work.”

“I sense a hint of jealousy in your voice,” the prince said.

“Yes, brother, I am completely jealous of a horse.” Leoric rolled his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you! I am your friend! I am Feste! I am a friend to all men!” The town fool was shouting at a gaggle of young men, destroying his trinkets. A highborn tore the legs off a ratty stuffed horse while another kicked his broken cart. Rheon dismounted from his horse. He pushed through the crowd to reach the fool and his tormenters. Leoric followed his brother.

“Stop. Leave that poor man alone!” Rheon yelled. The young nobles halted at the sound of the prince’s voice. The mob scattered, no longer jeering or laughing at the fool. Rheon turned to Feste. “I pray these men didn’t hurt you. Are you all right?”

“You are a good friend to Feste. You and I have met many times, a great while ago, when the realm began. Time and time again, we met when you shed blood. When world’s winter ends and spring comes again, we will meet, my king.” Feste muttered nonsense.

 “I guess you’re all right, maybe not in the head. Farewell, god of death.” The prince joked.

“Adieu, adieu, frost rose,” Feste waved his hands in the air.

“I wish you didn’t intervene. That blasphemous man is nothing but trouble, proclaiming he is the god of death, spreading sooth and lies. I’m surprised the crown or the church hasn’t done anything to rid the city of his filth.” Leoric sneered.

“He is simply a fool doing no harm,” Rheon said.

“Apart from being an scourge to the ears. His words cut like knives.”

“I suppose he is playing his part correctly then.”

The two friends returned to the castle, through the gates, and trotted to the stable to tie up their steeds. They dismounted, leaving their horses for the stable hands. Leoric led the prince to the throne room.

“Good morning, my prince.” A servant tipped his hat to the prince.

“Blessings to you, my lord.” Another lowborn bowed.

Leoric shadowed his brother. He examined each lowborn in the hall. He watched their hands, seeking anything that could be used to harm his brother. Rheon returned their welcoming gestures with a bowed head, hung in humility. They reached the doors of the throne room. A bloodcloak stopped the two.

“His majesty wishes to speak with his servant first, your grace,” the guard grunted.

“Me?” Leoric frowned.

“Did you not hear me, servant? The king wishes to speak with you. Get in there and address your king with proper respect. He should have nev-”

“Speak another ill-word about my brother, snake-tongue, and I will have you hung, then drawn and quartered, and fed to the pigs.” Rheon stepped between his friend and the knight. The bloodcloak’s face reddened. His gaze lowered to the ground.

“Forgive me, my prince.” The bloodcloak bowed. “Please, enter, keeper of the prince.” Leoric and Rheon exchanged glances. The lowborn stepped forward. He entered the throne room.

A narrow crimson carpet cascaded from the top of the stairwell leading to the grand oaken doors. The chamber dressed in porcelain white pillars adorned with golden draconic paintings. The three thrones were carved from slabs of petrified wood into sedan chairs. The fossils of ancient wyverns were embedded upon the backrest as if frozen within the old wood. The bones of the wings poked out from each side of the chairs. They hung over the thrones like a canopy.

The king sat on the centre throne. He was a withered man, who exchanged his muscles for wrinkles, his spear for a kingdom. The king dressed in black armour with a cape of raven feathers on top. He wore an undecorated crown of dark iron. The crests appeared sharp as dragon teeth, carved from the horns of wyverns. Covering his face, Draspian donned a steel mask, formed into the image of a fire dragon. A hawk perched on the monarch’s shoulder, feeding on intestines from Draspian’s hand.

Leoric gulped.

The wild dame of the southern kingdom sat beside her husband. Lilura planted on a smaller throne. Seven spiralled horns crowned her brow. Her body towered like a valued rose, long-stemmed as the flute of a chalice. Her cheeks stained in crimson streams of blood. The liquid spilt from her eyes hidden behind a blindfold. The lowborn knelt at the bottom of the stairs and cursed the monarch under his breath.

“You may rise.” Lilura bore an orotund voice, ringing over the hall. Leoric obeyed her command.

 “What honour has been bestowed on me that I stand in the presence of his royal highness and his queen?” He asked. Leoric watched the bird. The hawk tore at the entrails and blood dripped on the floor.

“Have I taught you nothing?” The king began.

“What is-”

“Be still as I speak.” King Osbryth stood to his feet. The bird squawked and flew to its perch. “Was it I who taught you to be reckless? Was it I who taught you to disturb the peace? Was it I who taught you to endanger the life of the prince with petty horse-play?”

 “Your majesty, if I may-”

“You have no voice here, slave. Your only purpose is to serve. I expect more wisdom out of you. After all I have given you in this household, after I treated you like a son, you spit in my face,” the king shouted. Leoric glanced at Lilura for command. She did not look at her servant.

 “I ask for your mercy, it was foolish-”

“I do not give mercy,” he said, “those that cross my reign, challenge my authority, and threaten our name, deserve no leniency. I sentence you to be hanged.”

“My just king, do not put this boy to death,” Lilura spoke. “He has protected our son since his birth. There is none that can match his friendship. To the prince, he is his brother. We cannot take that away from him. If Rheon hears of his brother’s death, he will drown in sorrow at the loss.”

“If one of my hounds becomes ravenous do I not kill it for the good of the pack? I will not let him go unpunished.” Osbryth groaned. Lilura’s eyes stared at the lowborn. Compassion dwelt in her softened gaze. 

“Have your guards flog him.”

“Fine. Teach this dog his place.” The king returned to his seat. His shoulders relaxed. Two bloodcloaks marched to the lowborn. Leoric stood still. The men forced him to his knees. The lowborn did not struggle. He crumbled, as a lamb to the carnage.

The air cracked. Leoric bit his cheek. The whiptails dragged across his back. The claws tore through the fabric of his satin tunic. He tasted iron in his mouth. The whip snapped again. The lowborn flinched. Blood trickled down his back, dripping on the marble steps.

Six. Seven. Eight. He counted the lashes as his back numbed to the pain. The nine-tail used his skin as a scratching post to sharpen its talons. The shrieking of the hawk rang in his ears. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

 “That is enough,” Lilura ordered. “Return him to his chamber. Bring him through the servant gate. I do not want my son to see what has become of his friend.”

Bloodcloaks picked him from the ground. Leoric wobbled on unsteady legs. The guardsmen pulled him from the throne room.

The knights tossed him into a servant bedchamber. Leoric grunted as he hit the cold stone ground. He rested on the floor. With curled fingers, he pulled his body on the straw mattress. His back ached and pulsated as a beating heart.

Recollections of twilights passed emerged from his mind. He remembered the night the Nameless King perished clearer than any memory. He recalled wandering the woods, unaware of the wars to come. A sea of clouds blanketed the stars. Horses ate each other in the pastures, and crows gathered in massive murders. He remembered seeing the charge of the black dragon upon the kite shields of the knights. Leoric ran through the discord and calamity of a raid to the monastery.

He found the other orphans, the monks and priests. Their heads were impaled on stakes. His legs carried him back into the forest. A labyrinth of fear for a child became a sanctuary. The enigma of House Draspian saved his life.

 “Are you all right?” The queen stood in the doorframe. Lilura locked the door behind her. She knelt next to his bed, holding a jar of herbs. “You are lucky the king did not have your head this time.” She spread the elixir over his wounds.

“It was nothing I could not bear,” he replied. Skin reformed over the bleeding stripes as his back absorbed the healing liquids.

“You must be careful. I cannot control him. Draspian is a man unhinged. I do not want you to get yourself killed. Too many have died already for our cause.”

“You are generous, my queen.”

“Protect the prince above all else. I want him safe. I want the heads of any that seek to destroy our plans.”

“I vow that I will protect Prince Rheon with my life. My oath shall never change. I will protect him like my own family, as I have since I came into your service,” he spoke, sullen and stern. “I will die to see him on the throne.”

“So will I.” She nodded. The queen left the bedchamber. Leoric balled his fists. The secret of the Draspian name burned as a brand on his heart. He vowed to guard the virgin ears of those who sought to destroy his brother, within the walls of the castle, and within the inner circle of the royal family.