Chapter 15: A Fancy Stick

As the sun continued to rise, and the Faithful Shoal made its steady way up the long lake, Nydra told Miro all about how the six of them had set out from the capital of Arkensk and adventured through Sirilia, liberating villages and towns from the rebels until eventually defeating the self-proclaimed “King in the North.”

“We returned to the capital as heroes. And I don’t think anyone was more dissatisfied with that than your father. You were born while he was away and I think all he wanted to do was spend time with you and your mother. We didn’t have much time for rest, though. The number of hands I shook in those weeks that never even touched a sword. Soft hands.” Nydra faked a shudder. “We all thought that maybe after the big ceremony at the palace things would settle down some. We should not have let our guard down. Although their own king had been defeated, the northern rebels had other plans. They infiltrated Arkensk and once more carried out an assassination attempt against our King Ganryh.”

Did Miro want details? More precise brush strokes that would paint the scene in brighter colours and solidify the picture in his mind? Nydra, he had felt, struggled with the same question. Her eyes were looking out towards the shore but they twitched rapidly left and right, as if she too was surveying the event as she had seen it, deciding on what and how much to say.

“There was …” Nydra paused, breathed in and out evenly, and continued, “some kind of explosive under the paving stones of the plaza in front of the palace. Maybe it had been there for months, we’re not sure how it got there.” He appreciated that Nydra also had unanswered questions about that day but he yearned for her to get to the inevitable conclusion.

“The King survived the explosion. Many others didn’t, including the Queen and your parents.”

He had known this. If anyone had ever bothered to ask him about his parents, he would have answered that they were dead. Yet it felt as though it was Nydra, right here on this fishing boat, that had finally laid them to rest.

“I’m sorry, I know this must be a lot for you to take in.”

The pain in his stomach was slowly receding, but it was being replaced by a cold emptiness, and he wasn’t sure whether this was just another side effect of the blue oxhawk lump that Hima hadn’t found important enough to mention.

“It’s fine,” Miro said, sinking further into his arms, which were crossed in front of him and leaning on top of the railing, “It’s not like I didn’t know I was an orphan. My guardians made no secret of it, they just didn’t talk about it. I guess I can now see why.”

The swordswoman shifted next to him; possibly out of discomfort. He was sure she’d seen her fair share of death, of orphans being made right before her eyes, which brought him to his next question – why had Nydra sought him out after all this time?

“So what does any of this have to do with me?” he asked.

“That’s the real question for you, isn’t it?” She sighed, reminding him too much of Bondook saying his goodbyes. “Having survived two assassination attempts, the second of which left him widowed and grievously injured, the King became more cautious. Some would claim even paranoid. He has refused to leave the palace since, appearing to his subjects only from its highest balconies. Even Prince Ganryh, his son and heir to the throne; that young man hadn’t once left the confines of the capital since that fateful morning. Which is saying nothing of the two younger daughters, since the princesses have not been seen in public at all for years, either kept locked away in the palace or some distant royal retreat. And there are those in the Kingdom who would use this to their advantage. Over the years they’ve worked tirelessly to spread lies about how His Majesty is weak, that the monarchy is no longer capable of keeping peace in the land. They say that some of the food shortages that have been experienced in the east are directly the fault of King Ganryh. It is in these increasingly dire times that the Northern Rebellion that your father helped quash has arisen once more, declaring independence of their lands and issuing a challenge to King Ganryh II. Worse yet, agents of this new usurper of the north have recently managed to gain access to the royal vault in Arkensk and to steal the royal scepter. It’s been the symbol of the royal house for a thousand years.” Nydra tapped a plate of armor over her chest, showing the tip of a green staff with a bulbous flower-like decoration at the top, rounded on the bottom, and with elegant thin petals at the top.

“So they stole a fancy stick?”

Nydra grunted good-naturedly. “It’s more than a fancy stick. Though I suppose that it is as well. It’s a symbol of power that legends say had brought the entire continent together. It reminds the people of their Kings and Queens who have for centuries ruled them justly and peacefully. It’s bad enough that the confidence in their King has been shaken by everything that’s happened so far. Faced with the reborn Northern Rebellion, if they know that the royal staff is missing, they might lose hope entirely.”

“I have to say if they lose all hope because their fancy stick is gone, I don’t think they had much hope left to begin with.”

“That’s not the point, Miro,” Nydra said without a hint of annoyance; a welcome change of pace from the last few days. “A lot of hope resides in stability. Without stability, that hope is shaken.”

“Shaken for who?” Miro asked. “I don’t think the common folk would care one whit about this scepter.”

“The common folk won’t be the ones to pose a threat to the King,” Nydra answered, her eyes darkening somewhat. “The Kingdom of Sirilia is under threat and the stolen scepter means nothing and no one is safe, not even the ones who are used to being so. King Ganryh has no interest in another all-out war, though. Now is not the time for folks to send their sons and daughters to die. So the King commanded that we do the very same thing that had worked last time to bring stability to Sirilia – send a small force to retrieve the staff to its rightful place and to unseat the usurper in the north.”

“And all His Majesty had at his disposal to do that was you, Peteri, an unhinged human icicle, and a teenage level four fire mage who spent his entire life within walking distance of his sheep farm? Might as well burn the whole Kingdom down at this point.”

“Don’t sell yourself so short Miro,” she said with a smile. “The Akademiya believes it’s quite likely that you inherited your father’s abilities.”