the haunted kingdom, Charles E.J. Moulton [chrome ebook reader TXT] 📗

a world without Lucinda Winsletenna.
It seemed he had known her forever.


CHAPTER TWO
HOME IN 1422

Eleven years later, Late Saturday morning, April 11th, 1422 A.D.,
Near the Capital of Clurafar, Prosperania

Alexander Winsletenna found himself traveling home yet again. The king dreamt a daydream of peace, finding himself by the campfire of his mind enjoying the fruits of success. After being away for so many months it was a relief not to have to sleep in a foreign dignitary’s bed or smile at people he disliked who tried to figure out what soup to serve him or what colour the carpet was under his left toe. Happy, content, but worries in his heart like a secret code only with great labour something to be decrypted. Wasn’t it time to leave all bureaucratical battles behind? This was an old Wandiffian empire. They had stabilized that civilization by being democratic and benevolent rulers.
The click clacking of the horse’s hooves against the dust and stones seemed a perpetual mobile of never-ending natural machinery to him. He'd heard the noise of their rush for such a long time now, since leaving that country and yet, although present, the noise seemed to come from another dimension. All he could think of was King Mustafus of Alliland laughing himself silly at Alexander's stories an evening some time ago, only to take him to the royal guest suite, offer him female courtesans and elicit patronizing comments. His unorthodox way of treating guests was infamous and if he hadn't been one of Alexander's oldest friends he would have been insulted.
As Alexander traveled the last few miles back toward Iuventus Sacrum that day, he thought of King Mustafus and his piece of advice as a fellow royal and friend, which brought him to wonder if it was a difficulty for his piece of mind that he could care at all. Maybe thinking of the recent mood swings of his adult children and the temper tantrums that seemed to distinguish at least one special one from the others had made him seem distant at the party, in spite of his cover-up of royal glee. Mustafus made it clear that his advice had nothing to do with the evening reception. Alex had been "funnier than a fiddler's fart" that evening. No, he had noticed it for years. His disrespect was not royal.
"It takes pain to realize that you can't live your life through other people. Live your life for yourself, Alexander. Put yourself in your own main room of your own spiritual castle." Mustafus told him. Was that true? He knew that he lived his life trying to help Belinda. Was that right?
Alexander worked all the time. His knee hurt. The wound reminded him of Lucinda. The hurting knee reminded him of how she had thrown him down the staircase. He was worried. Put yourself first, he thought, hmmm, maybe Mustafus was right. Alex looked out the window at the countryside flashing by him like stars in the night. He shifted in his seat, stretched a bit and took out his flask of wine and drank. There was a basket of bread next to it and he took a piece and ate. As he munched away, he looked at the Shushienae Valley, surrounded by its four hills, in the middle its glorious waterfall that led to Clurafar River and its attractions and harbour and bustling life. He had spent most of his youth here at his grandmother's palace of Transcendia Lucis. Clickety-clack.
It had been thirty years ago this very year. He could not let it go. Neither could Belinda. They had a spiritual bond. Not just a bond between father and daughter, but a mutual trust of faith and fear. Two people who knew each other’s pain. He took another sip of red wine and belched, watching the glorious nature of his land. Alexander dried off his lips and smiled.
As the Shushienae Valley disappeared out of sight with his third cup of Theo's ration of red wine the same man rode up on his horse, his long blond wavy hair decorated with bits of afternoon sunlight through an avenue of oak greenery.
There was a horse galloping in the direction of the royal carriage. It was his royal messenger Theo.
Theo rode up to the wagon and displayed his magic quality of being able to ride, bend over and still hold a conversation with the king at the same time, even accepting an offer of having a sip of wine. He turned the horse around and rode alongside the wagon, making dust wave up behind him. He drank out of the king’s cup, dried off his hand and gave the cup back.
“Thanks, your majesty!”
The king nodded. "What's your errand?"
"There has been an accident a few miles away. What met my eye is a very serious matter.”
“What’s the matter?”
“The man in question claims he saw an attacker” the messenger said. Theo continued. “One of the ones in black capes injured his horse. A wagonload of mead with seven barrels has been spilled.”
The king was still quiet. “Seven” he sighed. “Innocent victims are being terrorized.”
Theo nodded. “Mead, beer, wine … it is all over the ditches.”
Alexander looked up at Theo. “Victims, Theo?”
"An older man, his dying horse." Theo shook his head. "Terrible mess."
"Will the creature survive?”
Theo shook his head. “It broke its leg and ribcage and is probably dying."
"Attacks" Alex said softly, just to himself, looking into the darkness of his coach.
“What does the old man say?” Alexander said as if in a dream.
”He says it was a black hooded rider with a Prosperanian Insignia on the back.”
Theo said nothing for a while, for he knew his majesty was listening to his intuition.
Theo knew that he could continue for the king nodded.
"The coachman described a person that apparently spooked the horse and vanished right before the crash. I tried to inquire about the attacker, but all he could say was that the dark blue cape and hood bore the Royal Prosperanian Eagle and he was constantly crisscrossing in front of the wagon until the horse was in the ditch with the wagon over it."
The king raised his left hand. Alex's eyes widened.
Theo continued, "He is killing under our name now. He’s never before worn our eagle.” Somehow this was Lucinda’s work. Alexander knew it. “Damn.”
“What is on your mind, Sire?” Theo asked, quietly. “Compensation for damages?”
"Yes. Offer it to the old man." Alex said, worried. "It would be bad if we didn't offer it."
"Your daughter Morgana has her precarious, uh, situation with your other daughter Belinda at home. We need to make sure that they actually speak together tomorrow at the meeting.”
“Situation?” Alex mumbled looking up, now a bit scared of what was coming.
“Morgana made a sexual innuendo at Steven. Belinda hates her for it. She refuses to have anything to do with her. They haven’t spoken for a week. Official man-trouble, they tell me.”
“Men, again?” Alex asked. Theo nodded. Alexander shook his head and rubbed his face.
Alex looked up. “Jealous women,” he said.
Theo cocked his head, shrugged his shoulders. He did not have time for this.
The rattling of the carriage was too loud, the horses were too fast and Theo was not keeping up with the king. But the king did not wish to delay the train of coaches, even in urgent delivery of a message. So this kind of conversation was an art in performance.
"What say ye, Sire?"
The road ahead was obviously blocked.
City halls, inns, barnyards and outhouses had suffered attacks, now under a new flag.
Alex looked out the right window. There was a long pause before he looked up at Theo.
"Give me an estimate how long it would take to clean the mess up over there.”
"Dusk at the earliest” Theo assumed. “There is a road ahead that will take the royal coaches home. We pass it soon. It will hold you up to go see the wreckage, Sire.”
“I need to speak with my girls about tomorrow. We do not want to upset the old man either. He might spread the word about the attacker and make people believe it was us."
Theo looked forward nodding to himself as the horse he was on snorted with irritation.
”The rider was wearing the royal eagle, Theo,” Alexander said. Theo nodded, "But guests are expecting the girls to hold a speech. We need our peer’s votes for the acceptance of the new alliance with Alliland and my wife’s home country."
Alexander shook his head. “Give my male heart sanity!” he looked up at Theo and laughed a laugh between men that told Theo: "These damn complicated women!" "We might be delayed if we stop. We need to compensate the man as well as we can."
Theo did not make a move, but the respectful look on his face spoke volumes.
"Send two of the six front guards off to the old man down the road. Ask them to tell him he’ll receive royal sponsoring for the damages. Ride, then report, arrange a time for the old man to come to me later. Make sure the old man visits me in the palace, won’t you? I want to give him a new carriage. And tell the front to take the left road to Paqutshur home instead of the one leading to the wreckage."
Theo still didn't leave, fixing his eyes on the road, then he nodded, saying, "It takes an hour more than the one ahead, but we will still be home before sundown. At least without any delay." He gestured to the trail of wagons in the front and back of the royal coach. They were just coming out of the avenue of trees.
Theo gave his Majesty a friendly, respectful look.
"Ask my housekeeper to cook you a large and delicious dinner with three bottles of sparkling beverage and an appetizing plum pudding as an encore.”
"Thank you, Sire."
Theo saluted quickly.
"Tk-Tk. Move, boy," he commanded and road off.
Alex sat back in the coach and thought to himself of the two arising problems that had just occured. Of course, they'd have to help the old man. Who was this intruder that was attacking so many targets? The targets were now not only houses, but civilians. He'd have to call Belinda to a meeting. Belinda surprised him. Morgana? Well, that was to be expected.
The royal couple, Sieglinde's own brother and his wife, would come this autumn to visit and the two girls had agreed to be the royal sponsors. He took another bite of bread. He looked out, his mouth full, and saw the two front guards gallop off with Theo.
The coach rocked back and forth with the motion of the horses. He wanted to think of other things, but the only thing he could think of was the broken carriage, a wagonload of beer over a dying horse. Ten minutes must have passed before he could forget the coachman and his anonymous attacker. And just as they had the downhill behind them and ridden a ways on the path they took the road toward Paqutshur to home past a pasture of lilies. Alexander fell asleep again and dreamt of home. This time, Lucinda herself was not in the picture. But the dying horse was. Alexander thought of his greatest adversary, King Adnicul, who made himself scarce and kept attacking the north harbours under false flag. Somehow, Alexander had a feeling not going to see the old man might be a mistake. The girls needed his