Corvalen 1 ~ 01 - House of Corvalen

Corvalen 1  ~  01 -  House of Corvalen

 The moons of Abbalar rule the night, Vexen is red and Veinen blue.  Astrologers warn it's an ill omen.  Evil will befall he who travels abroad when neither moon is dominant.   It’s a desperate soul who ventures forth neath pale violet light.

.-...-. 

Prince  Ahlendore of Corvalen, Thirteenth in line of succession, glanced briefly at the lavender sky.   Both moons, red and blue, Vexen and Veinen, high in the sky, he was not concerned.   He planed to visit Eldoriel this evening.  She was a young woman an adherent to the customs of her Northern homeland, Bellorne.   He smiled fondly at the memory of their last meeting.   She was the wife of Grym-Baal a Huren merchant, who had wide reaching financial interests.   His influence in the state of Corvalen was growing, thanks to the patronage of Prince Fazeil; Ahlendore’s eldest brother.   But, Ahlendore would not allow anything to detract from his plans for the evening.

.-…-.

“Well met, little rich boy,” came a voice from the shadows.  

His hackles rose.  For some time, he’d had the feeling he was not alone.

“Lay down your purse and leave the way you came, like a good little gentleman, and you will live to greet the dawn,” the voice promised.

Without moving he cast his senses wide to detect the presence of others.   It could be an opportunist, he thought as he drew his blade.

“I didn’t think you would make this easy.   Now we will have to kill you.”

Pressing his back to the wall he waited.   Mayhap it was a bluff, but the voice was pretty confident.   He could handle two, maybe three, if they were not adept with a blade.   Corvalen streets were narrow, and unevenly cobbled, if he stood his ground they would get in each others way, but were they ahead of him behind him or both?   His breathing became deeper, and slowed, calming his fears.

“Help, footpads call the Watch!”   He yelled.    Hoping to sew the seeds of doubt in the minds of his attackers.   His heart beat faster despite his calming mantra; 'Do not fear, that way lies death, I will conquer, I will survive, take the warriors breath' . He took a slow deep breath held it, then slowly exhaled, and paused a while before taking a second deep cleansing breath.   His heartbeat slowed.

“Ha ha haaaa!”   The voice echoed from a nearby alley, hidden in shadow.   They did not reveal themselves but neither did they attack!  They were toying with him, they were hardened assassins, waiting for him to break and run so they could cut him down with minimal effort, he did not respond.

“Come on boy, don’t waste our time, we have other business to attend to.”

He remained silent, resisting the urge to reveal himself; time passed.   The quality of light changed subtly, his eyes became accustomed to it.  He fancied he saw men, crouching in the shadows, opposite and on either hand.   Could they see him?   He glanced slowly to left and right confirming their number.   He eased out his dagger and his confidence grew, as nobody moved.   He continued to wait, time was his friend.   Then he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and his heart leaped again.   More than one person, he decided, even steps, it could be the Watch?   At last, a little luck, he thought, something to force their hand.

“Help, Footpads, call the Watch!” he yelled again.

His flankers moved in swiftly to silence him but, he was no longer there.   He was in the alley where their leader, the fifth man, waited in comparative safety.   He heard curses behind him, and a cry of pain, his flankers had attacked each other.   Before him a shadow separated from the darkness.

“Ahlendore,” said a familiar voice.   He racked his brain to place it, dropping to one knee, hugging the shadows so not to present a regular shape.   He would have only seconds, before the others entered the alley, then he would be trapped.   He heard running feet behind him a fleeting glance back revealed two figures momentarily silhouetted against the approaching lantern light.   He stabbed out at the first, who stumbled and fell heavily, the second fell over the body and Ahlendore hit him with the pommel of his sword; the figure lay still slumped over his comrade.   He heard fleeing footsteps, their leader hightailing it down the alley, away from the conflict.   He wiped his blade on the unconscious man’s shirt, a groan came from the man he’d skewered.

“These two are Faziel’s men, has ‘the Kull’ started already?” A member of the Watch called from the lane.

He realised this had been no chance meeting.   He was a creature of habit; he’d been predictable, an elementary mistake born of overconfidence.   He cursed under his breath and turned to follow his erstwhile assailant.   The evening had been promised to a young woman, and he did not intend to disappoint her, or give his elder brother the satisfaction of spoiling his plans.  

“A moment if you please young man, you look to be in a hurry.   But, might I have the satisfaction of words, for fetching the Watch and rescuing you from your predicament?”   The man’s voice had a Northern lilt and quaint phrasing.   In silhouette he was tall and slim; he carried a stave and Ahlendore felt an aura of calmness emanating from him.

“Pardon my manners,” he said offering his outstretched hand.

“You will pardon my surprise?    I had intended to request a formal meet with you on the morrow.   You are, I believe, Prince Ahlendore?”

“You have the advantage of me.”

“I am Wizomi, the story teller.   I hope that we might speak on matters that will ultimately transpire to our mutual advantage.   May I call upon you?”

“Of course, but I am late for an assignation, I must run,” they shook hands in haste.

“Just tell me one thing,” Wizomi asked “were you aware I was following you?”

 “Ah, so it was you.   I knew somebody was there.”

“At no time was I visible to you” said Wizomi, “does that tell you anything?”

“I should give more credence to that sixth sense,” he smiled.

“Quite so,” Wizomi replied.   He smiled fixedly following Ahlendore’s retreating figure. with childlike blue eyes.

“Young men, always in a hurry,” Wizomi said shaking his head and smiling wistfully as if recalling something from the past.

.-…-.

   Eldoriel, was a rare bloom; young, beautiful, and uninhibited.  She lived all her formative years in the Northern Reaches of Bellorne: where closeness is allied to warmth and generosity; the kind that could simply be a means of conserving heat, or mayhap something more.   If, as a consequence of closeness, two people should find mutual attraction in each others company none could object; for to do so would be to go against the established Bellornian rules of etiquette.

   Her fair waist length hair was always meticulously groomed; she lavished countless hours on it.   Her slender dexterous fingers plaiting, in practised patterns, so fast they became a blur and on occasion seemed to disappear altogether.   She smiled as she gazed, into the mirror, at her naked form.   The face unashamedly returning her gaze was delicate, but somewhat broader that those she saw from day to day.   A sharp contrast to the slim almond shaped faces of the local Kurdik women, universally svelte, dark skinned, with long aquiline noses, and petite breasts.   They are shy, almost without exception, and sport lustrous strait black, shoulder length, hair styled to frame their wide intelligent, jewel bright, umber eyes.

Hers were, in stark contrast, a piercing ice blue, staring back at her, unblinking, critical and appraising.   However her mind was not on the image before her.  Although, she did wish she had their smooth honey complexion instead of her own pale colouring.   She also admired the way they painted their nails, fingers and toes; she had started to emulate them, soon after arriving in Corvalen six months earlier, in the company of her new husband.   The smile died on her lips as she thought of him.   She became sad and melancholy, as her thoughts returned inevitably to home.

.-…-.

   He had been so charming, so attentive and considerate, when first they met.   He was instantly captivated by her, and wooed her persistently, refusing to take "No" for an answer.   For months she resisted his advances, struggling to keep their relationship at a basic level, but he was so determined and single minded.   At the time, she believed, she did feel genuine affection for him, finding his persistence flattering, amusing even, but she was little more than a child and easily impressed.

"Dear Grym, why so persistent," she’d asked "why can we not simply enjoy the bounty the gods have provided for us?   Just accept and be grateful for their generosity.   Whilst we are young and beautiful we are desired by all.   We should celebrate our good fortune by dispensing joy; it is the way of my people," she explained.

"But, I love you without limits, I can think of nothing else, awake or sleeping, you are the centre of my world.   I don't want__, cannot bear to think of you with another man, nor will I share!  You will be mine alone.   When I see you with other men I become enraged, I fear what I might do to them, I could so easily injure or kill because of my love for you!"   He spoke with such earnest intensity, it frightened her so, she responed with a nervous laugh.

His face coloured up, ‘with embarrassment’ she thought, but it was something else.

She attempted to reason with him, genuine concern in her voice, “My love I do not understand your attitude, it makes no sense, why plant a rose garden when all you crave is a single bloom?"

But, he continued his relentless pursuit until finally she said "yes" simply to gain respite.   She thought his constant pressure would ease, but if anything, it increased.   He wanted to be with her all the time; he wanted to control who she saw and what she did.   He lavished expensive gifts on her, and her family, until she could not break off the relationship without alienating those closest to her.   Thus she was pressured to become more amenable and finally acceded to his persistent advances.  The commitment bands were publicly declared and their betrothal became official.

   Almost overnight, from the moment they took their joining vows, he changed.   Within weeks he had decided they would be moving south.   At first she declined demurely but her parents remonstrated with her, pointing out that it was her duty, to accompany her husband wherever he went.   Finally, she acceded to their combined pressure, becoming resigned to her fate.   Initially she rode a'horse beside him but, as they travelled south, the weather warmed and she shed her furs.  The troop of men accompanying them began to notice her womanly attributes and she encouraged them by flirting outrageously, just ribald banter, to pass the time.   Grym smouldered with anger and resentment.   At the next town they visited he purchased a closed carriage and insisted she remain inside away from their prying, lascivious minds, he rolled his eyes with distaste at the thought.   He became obsessive treating her as a possession.   He insisted she remain in their rooms each night at the Inns where they stayed.   She was also obliged to eat alone, in their rooms, whilst he remained below drinking and gambling into the small hours.   When finally he returned he was, like as not, drunk and unable to exercise his joining rites.   Becoming angry he blamed her for his own shortcomings.  

    She had reached her lowest ebb when a young man delivering her evening meal, favoured her with a smile and spoke kindly to her.   She returned his smiled, being lonely and starved of discourse.   He tarried, just for the company, talking of his friends and family, his hopes and dreams for the future.   Then suddenly she found herself feeling alive once more.   Whilst Grym-Baal remained below, engaged in his own pursuits, she talked eagerly with the young man, finding endless excuses for him to stay.   His prolonged absence, from the eating house, brought angry curses from the Inn-keep.    This did not go unnoticed by Skaa-Bae, captain of Grym's personal guard, he questioned the Inn-keep; he was very persuasive.  

   He entered their rooms without knocking; they hadn’t even locked the door, one look and a triumphant grin distorted his features.   He read the situation at a glance and made his own assumptions; a young man and woman alone in a bedchamber?   

"Well my little northern kitten, you have finally reverted to type," he bellowed triumphantly, glaring angrily at them both.  The young man jumped to his feet guiltily.

“Nothing happened,” he protested.

 She, in contrast, reclined defiantly on the bed hiding nothing.

"My duty should be to inform the master of this lapse," he announced, gazing at her with his intense unblinking reptilian eyes.   "Get out!" he yelled at her companion, whilst his eyes never strayed from her.   "Breath a word of this and you're dead," he whispered sibilantly, in the boy’s ear, knowing the threat would be taken literally.

The young man scurried from the room casting a furtive glance over his shoulder at the sinister bear like Skaa, averting his gaze guiltily, as his eyes made fleeting contact with hers.   They filled with tears, he knew he was deserting her, but his awe of Skaa so completely overwhelmed him that he felt impotent to act.   She would, however unwittingly, exact a telling retribution, for after knowing Eldoriel, he would inevitably compare all others, with her, and find them wanting.

  Skaa licked his lips slowly, as his robes tumbled to the floor.   His eyes did not leave her as he carefully locked the door behind him, shutting out the world.  

“Is it a Bellorne custom to ask a boy to do a man’s job?” he said with a childish grin.

.-…-.

   As her mirror came back into focus, she brushed a tear from her cheek, and her thoughts returned to the present.   She cupped her firm full breasts critically, ‘they had grown in the time she had been in Corvalen.’    Since her arrival she had experienced ought of the city but the view from her carriage, on arrival, and the panorama viewed from her window.   Grym had kept her locked in these rooms, a virtual prisoner, with just a maid for company.   Tonight was the maid’s night off.   Her heart warmed at the thought of her clandestine lover whose imminent arrival she anticipated, with repressed excitement.   Her mood lightened appreciably.   She recalled their first meeting, on the day of her arrival; he came to speak with Grym, about irregularities in the paperwork for a cargo from Bellorne.   As he entered the room she was smitten, with desire, having eyes for him alone.   She knew, from experience, the attraction was mutual.   She smiled pulling a wrap around her shoulders, moving silently to the window to keep vigil.   He had visited her three times a week since their first meet.   There would be no small talk, they would scarce speak at all, they shared an intense all consuming hunger.   She didn't know or care who he was; a minor official she’d supposed, it mattered naught, so long as they were able to quench the twin fires raging within them.

   At first she had been angry with Grym-Baal, disappearing for days, on business trips, leaving her locked within the walls of the rooms she regarded as her prison.   Now she looked upon his frequent absences as a blessing.   She knew he did not love her and regarded her as nothing more than a possession, like his many works of art.   She caught her breath, her face flushed with excitement and trepidation.  Not long now, she thought.   Her eyes turned to the variegated violet canopy of the sky, fearful, ‘mayhap he wouldn’t come?’  she thought.

Keys rattled at the door to her chamber, the lock mechanism turned, and the door creaked open…

To Be Continued/...