A Rough Week
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RuneswardChapter 66: Ir’ikki’tova’runeswardenen free porn video
Teran was twisting backward and forward, pulling on parts of her dress annoyedly, as she stood in front of the throne room doors. The two doors were a deep, satisfying black and were held together by three thick, metal straps buffed to a mirror-like shine. They met at a peak instead of a square and surrounding them were white, decorative blocks rising up into an arch. Two knights in full battlegear stood on either side of the doorway, hands at their sides. Over their armor, the knights wore a maroon tabard, cinched at their waists. An intricate design of a rising sun over mountain peaks centering a knight’s triangular shield was sewn into the tabard, signifying the knights were members of the First Platoon.
Teran was dressed in a dark blue, cotton dress which reached down to her knees and her wheat-colored hair was bound in its traditional braid down her back. The dress had buttons near the neck but, thanks to the summer heat, Teran had opted to leave them undone. With the buttons unsecured, the neckline plunged deeply to show off her modest cleavage. At her waist, a black sash was tied off on her left side.
“Teran, stop fussing,” Elva remonstrated to her daughter, tucking some stray hair behind her ear. She was dressed in a white, ankle-length cotton dress, with matching yet gleaming white, flat shoes. Her dress was cut low, showing off her ample cleavage, and had a matching white belt tied at her waist. Her dirty blonde hair, normally set up in a bun, was unusually loose, hanging down around her face, and was brushed to a fine sheen.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Teran grumbled. “The shoulders are too tight, and the waist is too loose. The sash looks ridiculous bunching all that cloth. Plus, the length of it annoys me at the knees. It’s just above the knee and the constant brush of it against my legs makes me itch.”
“I think you look beautiful,” Bena gushed. The younger girl was dressed in a deep burgundy, sleeveless dress which hung to the tops of the flat, black shoes on her feet. She had a shiny, dark red belt at her waist whose ends hung slightly to the left. She had her thick, white-blonde hair swept up and piled on top of her head in a fashion which looked haphazard but was delicate and beautiful.
“Have you colored your eyelids?” Teran asked in surprise as she continued to tug at her dress. “And your cheeks?”
“The maid said it would make me look older and elegant,” Bena replied with a fierce blush.
“It makes you look ridiculous,” Teran retorted, still fighting with her dress.
“Stop fighting with your sister,” Elva said immediately. She turned to Bena. “You look fine, dear. Very mature.”
Turning to Teran, she reached out and grabbed the young woman’s hands. “Quit your wiggling.”
“Fine,” Teran growled, forcing her hands to her sides. “I can’t stand all this finery. What was wrong with my leathers?”
“Nothing,” the three heard behind them. “If you want to look like an unrefined, uneducated peasant.”
Teran turned, her lips thinning and her deep blue eyes glittering like hardened agates. “Issa,” she said shortly to her younger sister.
“Teran, the queen needs to see us at our best,” Issa replied conversationally, with a wide, genuine smile. She was wearing a light green cotton dress which fell to mid-calf. It was belted at the waist with a shiny golden belt, two thin strands hanging at either side of her center. Her long, blonde hair hung around her face down to her shoulders in gentle curves. A long, green and gold sash wrapped around her left shoulder, hung down across the cleavage evident from the low neckline of her dress, and then was tied at her right waist.
Bena’s face turned dour as she recognized her older sister’s sash as the official raiment of an acolyte of Tyln. She’d worn one herself not all that long ago, though it hadn’t exactly been by choice.
Next to her, hand in hand, was Chugad Lewen dressed in black trousers and white shirt, ruffles at the neck, and a black vest which hung loose on his thin frame. The young man’s hair gleamed and his mustache and beard had been trimmed to look like nothing so much as left-over stubble. With his brilliant, white smile Bena had to admit that it made him look roguishly handsome.
“Elva,” Chugad said, stepping forward and reaching for the woman’s hand. He took it and bent, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “It is good to see you again. I must thank you for sitting and taking care of me on our long journey here. I know I could not have been pleasant company.”
He rose up, letting Elva’s hand go and smiled at Teran and Bena. “It’s nice to see you two again, as well. I look forward to spending some time getting to know the both of you better. If Issa and I are to marry, I want you to know that you can think of me as the brother you’ve never had.”
“We have a brother, thank you,” Teran said with a winsome smile. She was about to go on, but her mother surreptitiously kicked her calf.
“Thank you, Chugad,” Bena replied with a smile, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “I’m sure all of us look forward to getting to know you better, too.”
Chugad’s smile faltered slightly as he stepped back to Issa’s side. For her part, Issa just looked slightly upset. Before she could make a remark, however, the throne room door opened.
Elva pulled the three cards from her belt and, as she had been instructed, passed them to the royal herald who had appeared in the open doorway. She’d read through the cards, so she knew they had titles and a brief description of the three of them. She didn’t agree with how they were to be announced, but the cards were accurate.
The herald glanced at the cards and smiled at Elva. It was not difficult. The woman, while safely a decade or two younger than the herald, was exquisitely beautiful.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, bowing slightly to the matriarch of the Tulat clan. He looked her over again before turning back through the door.
“Your majesties, please allow me to introduce Goodwoman Elva Tulat, wife of late blacksmith Ardt Tulat, and her daughters, Kin Teran Tulat, Ranger of the Southern Reach, and her excellency, Bena Tulat, High Priestess of the goddess Deia,” the herald intoned. He said it slowly and in a loud voice yet never seemed to take a breath throughout.
As Ataya had instructed them, they entered with their heads bowed, Elva leading the way with Teran on her left and a half-step back. Bena on her right, the same distance behind her as Teran. They walked at a slow, steady pace, not rushing but not keeping the queen and king waiting, either. Ataya had been quite clear that they should take their time but not dawdle.
Teran saw her mother trembling just a bit as they made their way down the red carpet leading to the twin thrones. “Fortitude, mom,” she whispered quietly. “Just breathe in and out. You’ll be okay.”
They kept their heads down as they walked, so they were surprised to reach the small, white balustrade separating the thrones from the rest of the room and see two sets of legs and feet at the rail. Elva looked up and swallowed, her eyes going wide with fear as she looked up at the Queen and King. Ataya had said she wouldn’t actually meet them. She’d indicated they would remain on their throne and call to them from the slight distance between the thrones and the separating fence.
The queen saw the startled looks on the faces of the three women and smiled. “Peace,” she said simply, reaching for Elva’s hand. Elva’s eyes grew even wider as she clasped hands with the sovereign. “I hear that you lost your husband,” she glanced at Bena and Teran, “and father in defense of my daughter. The reports I’ve received from Gillen Hawksley, Syl Troel and Uud Beffing tell me Ardt Tulat was a brave, heroic man who willingly gave his life that my daughter might be saved. I cannot make up for his sacrifice in any way, but I want you to know that I consider you friends and as such please feel free to call on me at any time and for any reason. Further, if you have a need – any need at all – please but ask it of me and, if I can possibly give it to you, I will.”
“Know also that the name of Ardt Tulat will posthumously be added to the rolls of knights of the realm,” the king spoke up. “He will be listed as fallen in battle and be memorialized forever in the halls of heroes. I can think of nothing more fitting for the man it is our sad misfortune to have never met but who gave everything for us and his kingdom.”
“I ... I am overwhelmed,” Elva admitted, tears now streaming down her face. “I know my Ardt was a humble man and would rail against being recognized in this way. I, however, can only thank you for ensuring he will never be forgotten.”
“It is we who should thank you,” the queen said with a soft smile. “I hear you accompanied Ataya here and kept her company. For that alone, even without Ardt’s sacrifice, we would owe you our thanks.”
“Please, Goodwoman Tulat, Ranger Teran – or do you prefer Kin Teran?” the king asked.
“Y-y-your highness,” Teran stuttered. “Kin is ... an older title, seldom used within the Southern Rangers. We have no real need of rank – we all simply do what must be done regardless of status.”
“I understand,” the king replied. “Would that we all could use such a workable system. Please then, Goodwoman Tulat, Ranger Teran and Excellency Bena, have a seat in the gallery and, after we have greeted all of our guests, you are welcome to a late supper with us.”
As the king spoke, Bena happened to glance at their thrones. The twin thrones dominated the pedestal upon which they sat, and each throne had a single knight standing behind and just to the side. Off to the far right there was a smaller, seemingly temporary chair where a large figure dressed in black trousers and a light green shirt with an open collar was sitting. Over the shirt was a darker green tabard with golden trim.
His face was dour and his angry, beady little eyes seemed to glower at them from over ten feet away. He had gentle, wavy black hair, parted in the middle, that reached down and brushed his shoulders. He was clean shaven, which only served to highlight the heavy frown he wore, thin lips set above a rather prominent jaw.
Bena knew if looks could kill, she wouldn’t be long for this world. The man seemed to take her very existence as an affront.
For his part, the bishop had been warned not to interfere by both the king and queen. It wouldn’t have stopped him from voicing his displeasure at a self-appointed high priestess for a false goddess, but he was reminded how close he’d come earlier to allowing his impatience to set back his goals. There would be plenty of time later to take care of the false priestess. She was, after all, just a little girl.
The three women curtsied, Teran and Bena awkwardly, but Elva did so as gracefully as if it were an everyday occurrence. With a smile at the monarchs, Elva grabbed the hands of Bena and Teran and walked with them to one of the benches in the middle of the gallery.
As she walked, she noted the evenly spaced knights standing stiffly against each of the walls. They were in full armor, sheathed swords hanging at their sides. Their visors were down and, though she watched curiously, she couldn’t see them so much as move.
The knights against the walls peaked her curiosity, so Elva looked around even as she sat. The benches were made of iron pine, somehow colored and glossed to a rich, almost black sheen. The throne room itself was at least forty to fifty feet long, and maybe half that again wide. Colorful tapestries decorated the walls behind the knights, with intricate stained-glass windows spread evenly throughout. The roof was high and majestic above them, its upper reaches cloaked in shadow.
Elvan glanced over the thrones on their pedestal but the pure animosity on the face of the man seated on the far right startled her. Bena saw where her mother was looking and leaned over, putting her lips to her mother’s ear. “A priest of Tyln,” she murmured. “Probably the Bishop we’ve heard about.”
The Bishop was a common topic of quiet conversation around the palace. He was spoken of in whispers and low tones. Many of the rumors had him as a puppet master, leading the queen and king around by their noses. Others had him a tragic, benevolent hero, sacrificing his time to provide wisdom and guidance to a shaky, overwhelmed monarchy. In either case, he was certainly a polarizing figure.
“Your majesties, please welcome Goodwoman Issa Tulat and Entertainer...” the royal herald broke off and the three turned. Issa appeared to be having a pointed discussion with the older man. After a few minutes of arguing, the man shook his head and turned back to the throne.
“Your majesties,” the herald started again. “Please welcome Goodwoman Issa Tulat and her betrothed, Entertainer and Hero, Chugad Lewen.”
“Chaos,” Elva swore under her breath.
“She is certainly stubborn,” Teran remarked quietly, shaking her head.
“She gets it from her father,” Elva remarked darkly. “I love the man beyond measure, but his stubbornness sometimes made me want to throttle him.”
“Mother!” Bena said indignantly. Then broke down into giggles. “Where do you think Yren gets it, then?”
“Dad may have rubbed off on him,” Teran chuckled.
“Who do you suppose those folk are,” Elva asked, changing the subject. The thought of Ardt still brought a sharp pain to her heart and tears to her eyes. She doubted she’d ever get over him.
She made a discreet gesture towards a group of six people sitting in the very front of the gallery. Like her, they were dressed in white, but where she wore a dress, they were wearing pale, white robes with hoods pulled up over their heads. They seemed almost preternaturally still, no sign of movement even though she and her daughters watched them closely for a short time.
“I have no idea,” Teran said curiously. Her head tilted as she stared at the cloaked figures, as if she might somehow learn their identity simply by staring at them.
Bena paused, her eyes losing focus and then frowned. “Deia knows but she won’t tell me.”
Her frown deepened. “Sometimes I think she enjoys surprising me.”
---- ∞ ----
Tryl asked her granddaughter.
Alia responded. The young woman was impatient. She wanted whatever the anomaly was to finally show itself. She had high hopes if they found the thing and dealt with it, she could finally return home.
Alia went on.
Tryl reprimanded the younger woman. She almost smiled. She had been her granddaughter’s age once. She remembered having the impatience of youth. She knew the impatience would recede as the centuries passed. When you had eternity, there didn’t seem to be a need to rush things.
Alia replied formally, duly chastened. Her hood hid her face in darkness, so she closed her eyes and felt for the anomaly. She could sense it near – or at least not far. She couldn’t be sure, but it seemed to be within the palace walls. Since it arrived at the same time as the princess, it seemed logical it would be within her party.
Debor observed. Tryl and Alia sat, left and right respectively, in the center of the group. Byr and Voryn sat to the left of Tryl while Debor and Kiva sat to the right of Alia.
Tryl suggested, her voice intrigued.
Tryl said in their minds, her words becoming concise and business-like.
One by one they confirmed they’d brought the thin metal rods hidden under their clothing.
Tryl continued.
---- ∞ ----
Elva, Teran and Bena watched as Issa and Chugad made it to the balustrade. The queen and king had returned to sitting on their throne after greeting the three earlier and made no move to leave their seats. Arguably, Issa should be greeted with the same warmth as the rest of Ardt’s family but, while Elva and her youngest and oldest daughter couldn’t hear the conversation, the monarchs seemed to greet Issa and Chugad from their thrones. It seemed to be a warm greeting, if distant.
“Somebody probably warned the queen and king,” Bena remarked darkly.
“Be nice, Bena,” Elva said, then thought better of it. Her lips curled downward as she watched Issa and Chugad sit in the front, across the aisle from the six figures in white. “You’re probably right, though.”
“Your majesties, please allow me to introduce Hal Ledic Scollaw Ellsworth, Arch-Ranger of the Southern Reach, and Goodman Dakin Oovert,” the herald intoned loudly.
Although not used much in the Rangers of the Southern Reach, rangers had ranks just like any other quasi-military organization. To begin with, there were three levels to the Rangers apprenticeship. Someone learning to be a Ranger started as a Kit, advanced up to Fawn and then to Cub. Once graduated from cubs, a Ranger became a Kin, which was Teran’s official rank and was the lowest rank for a full Ranger. Eventually, Teran would likely rise to become a Tor and finally a Dao. If she was very lucky, she could become a Hal, but very few rangers became what was, essentially, an Arch-Ranger. Typically, there was no need. Regardless of rank, a Ranger did what was needed and necessary. They were responsible for policing and maintaining the forests, culling the herds of animals when necessary, which provided meat and pelts to sell, cutting overgrown trees as necessary to maintain a forest’s rich diversity of life, which provided wood to sell, and even capturing poachers and other criminals, which brought in a bit of coin as bounty. The Rangers were recognized by the crown as a law enforcement group but, unlike the military, they received no actual payment from the crown. Some cities did provide payments but that was the exception instead of the rule.
Scollaw and Dakin were greeted by the queen and king as Issa and Chugad had been, warmly but distantly. The two bowed deeply to the royalty and then made their way to sit just in front of Elva, Teran and Bena. Scollaw smiled at his former apprentice as he sat but remained silent.
“Your majesties, please allow me to introduce Sir Tergin Givens, Retired Knight of the Realm and his daughters, Goodwoman Bremer Givens and young Andwynn Givens,” the herald intoned.
The monarchs rose and walked to the balustrade to greet the three members of the Givens family. Even from this distance, Teran could see Bremer blush as the queen, with a wide, warm smile, clasped Bremer’s hand in both of her own. The king was laughing as he knelt to speak with Andwynn, glancing up every now and then to talk with Sir Givens. It looked like nothing so much as a reunion of old friends.
From the side, the priest of Tyln looked on with barely concealed contempt. It was obvious he was angry but just as obvious he didn’t care for those the queen and king were greeting. Nor the queen and king, for that matter.
Eventually, the king stood and escorted the queen back to the thrones, with Sir Givens bowing and Bremer and Andwynn curtsying with astonishing grace. The three in the Givens family walked back and took the benches just behind Elva, Teran and Bena.
“The king said he would give me a tour of the castle,” Andwynn babbled excitedly. “He even called me a princess!”
Elva, Teran and Bena chuckled at the little girl’s enthusiasm and shared a friendly smile with Sir Givens and Bremer.
“The queen said she’d restart my apprenticeship in the Rangers, if I wanted,” Bremer told Teran enthusiastically. She glanced surreptitiously at Ranger Ellsworth and her voice dropped to a quiet whisper. “Do you think Ranger Ellsworth would take me as an apprentice?”
“With the queen’s endorsement?” Teran whispered back. “I’m not sure how he could turn you down.”
Bremer smiled winsomely as the Givens family sat down on the bench behind the Tulats.
“Your majesties, please allow me to introduce the First Unit of the Knottline Guard,” the herald called. “The First Unit is lead by Lieutenant Kevold Winnaker. The first sub-unit is led by Leading Field Usher Bromer Hedding and is comprised of Subofficer Ferise Chevaul, Exempted Doro Klenfel,...”
The herald droned on, providing names as the people walked in. The Knottline Guard was organized into three separate units led by a single leader in charge of twenty guards. The units themselves were further broken down into four sub-units, each with a leader leading four guards. The aisle leading to the thrones was too narrow for four people in a single line, so the sub-units lined up three abreast. The first sub-unit had lost a guard, so they only needed three abreast but the second sub-unit was even worse off as they’d lost their leader and one of their guards. One of the sub-unit had been promoted in the interim and so lead a sub-unit of only two guards.
The queen and king greeted the guard from their thrones, their voices echoing in the chamber. Their greetings were warm and cordial and the monarchs were effusive in their praise. They promised the guard a ceremony the following day where they’d be awarded medals for their bravery. The guard bowed as one and then, as a unit, turned around and made their way to the benches in the very back of the room.
The herald looked a bit startled as he began his next address. “Your majesties, it is my honor to introduce the Third Platoon, accompanying your daughter, Crown Princess Ataya Wehran, her maids, Goodwoman Caprice Worthton and Goodwoman Mulet Gyrin, as well as her ... her ... her guardian and champion, Yren ... Dray-Tulat. She is further accompanied by her guests, Empress-an Audette Illa Invar, Red Guard Legate of the Fifth Company and future Empress of the Empire of Kortho and Red Guardian Ilzu Fareen.”
---- ∞ ----
Alia said, the sound of her mind almost a whisper.
Tryl looked around carefully, peering closely at the princess’ company. She gathered, from the startled expression on the faces of the queen and king and the wide, disgruntled eyes of the Bishop Renud, that something about the Princess’ party was a bit of a surprise.
She could feel ... something. Something ... large. Something ... powerful. She could not place it, however. Her granddaughter was much more attuned to the anomaly than she was.
she asked her granddaughter. The rest of her words got stuck before she could think them.
Three knights led the princess’ party. They looked formidable in their gleaming silver armor, their heads uncovered, a brunette woman in the lead flanked by a blonde woman and a brown-haired man. Yet, her eyes barely rested on them.
The princess stood behind them, half hidden due to her diminutive size. She seemed to be nothing as much as a tiny, dainty rose so valuable as to be guarded by women and men in deadly steel. A delicate golden crown was seated carefully among curly, near untamed red hair that seemed to be haphazardly brushed but came together in total to appear as carefully coifed as either of her maids. That red hair hung around an oval, thin face, centered by a thin, majestic nose. Above her nose, her eyes were wide and inviting, green gems amid a smattering of the red stars of her freckles. Her lips were full and red, above a rounded chin.
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