Chapter One

 

It is strange to think, dear unknown reader, that having discovered this manuscript, you will be seeing words written by someone who, like you, was once alive but now is quite dead; and most likely has been dead for quite a while. For if the gods are kind, I trust I will indeed be long gone by the time these pages are opened. For it is always dangerous to know too many secrets -- especially if they are royal secrets. It is even more foolhardy to allow oneself to bear witness to the folly of kings; sheer madness to record those follies for posterity.

So I have taken the manuscript with me to the grave, and only when this tomb is opened, if ever it shall be, will these words once more see the light of day. These precautions are necessary, as you will soon discover, for it was my fate to be in attendance at one of the most depraved and decadent courts known to man. And it was there that I was witness to, and recorded, these remarkable happenings -- the events that led to the undoing and ultimate downfall of one of the most beautiful and wicked women to have ever worn a crown.

History has a way of losing things, and I don't know if the fame of King Rahn will survive the ages, so perhaps it is best if I were to tell you the story of his most glorious, and most infamous reign, from the very beginning.

The people of the two lands, who stand in awe of him, sing the praises of Rahn as the greatest of the warrior kings. But the great Rahn was not born to the royal purple. No, he had to fight his way to the top, ruthlessly hacking away at enemies, and even, in the end, his own brother, till he stood alone at the top of the pinnacle--crowning himself King of the Two Lands.

A tall, powerfully-built man of iron will, cruelly handsome with a hawk nose, angry eyes, and a stern, commanding visage. He was a man of fiery temper. A man born to lead, even though he was not of royal blood. At one time some of the bolder members of the old aristocracy whispered that the upstart king was no more than a brigand, the bastard son of a family of thieves, but such words were seldom uttered nowadays.

I had known of Rahn before he took the crown. For he was a warrior of great renown, a chieftain who led his clan into battle with ferocious effect, cutting through enemies whom he utterly destroyed without the slightest drop of mercy. He was a big, rapacious man who roared through life, demanding food and wine, women and wealth, with an appetite that was insatiable!

And King Rahn's sexual appetite was equally of legendary proportions. No one was safe: man or woman; boy or girl, it made no difference to Rahn if his blood was up; in the heat of lusty passion he was not very discriminating. It was rumored that his close companion, and favored general, Gan, had yielded to him when both were young men in the army.

But though Rahn might dally with a soldier who caught his eye, or perhaps the occasional male slave when on some rugged campaign trail, his preferences were clearly for the feminine side. Here too, he wasn't very discriminating, for he would take whomever caught his fancy, and if she belonged to another man, well, that was of no matter to the King. Lovers and husbands were expected to freely offer their women, and they all did -- to a man, for no one defied the royal will...and lived.

It wasn't always so, but I remember when the King's profligate ways first started. In some ways, I suppose, I was responsible. Rahn was loud and crude, and totally without imagination. But he was clever, and quick to learn about this business of being a King. I had once mentioned to him the custom at some of the remote courts I had visited of having young boys and girls serve at court as "Pages." He was surprised to learn that it was the custom to invite the children of aristocratic houses to serve their liege Lord in this capacity.

He was astonished to hear that the hostages might be used to force concessions from the fathers since he himself would, without hesitation, sacrifice a child or two, his consort, or even his mother, if he thought he could better gain his own nefarious ends. Still, I assured him that the mere presence at the court of sons and daughters was enough to assure the loyalty of their fathers, and the clans that fell under their sway.

For some reason the King took a fancy to the idea, and word was sent to his Barons that they must give up two children, placing them at service in the court of Thralkild. As it happened, by that time Rahn's court had already acquired a rather unsavory reputation, and so there was some understandable reluctance on the part of father and mothers to yield their offspring to the King. When Rahn heard of this foot-dragging he was, predictably, furious; he swore to make an example of any Baron who defied the royal will.

Now these Barons were at best an unruly lot, who would have been restless under the hand of any man. In that manner, they were no different than their liege lord. Proud, arrogant, ruthless and greedy, they would cede no possession without a fight. One of the most rebellious was a certain Baron Andur who had become a thorn in the King's side. Andur was always an untrustworthy ally in war, treacherous and of questionable loyalty in peace. It was widely rumored that he had his own eye set on the crown of the two lands.

He was a brute of a man, thick set with a chest like a barrel, coarse in manners and appearance. His consort was so unlike him that the contrast was quite remarkable! She was Alea, a tall well-endowed blond woman, a woman of the hills, born of the proud northern people. As the gods would have it her offspring (mercifully) resembled their mother in all of the most important aspects. She was the apple of her father's eye -- a fetching girl verging on the edge of womanhood, a young maiden by the name of Gwin.

Andur jealously guarded his women, and seldom let them out of his sight. But Rahn had caught a glimpse of them once, at a country fair. His roving eye passed quickly over the solid, ugly form of the Baron, before going on to linger with considerable interest on the tall, long-legged blonde: her full figure tightly corseted, regal lines cinched to a narrowly constricted waist. He admired the thick golden hair, the pleasing curve of the woman's shapely bosom, the top curves of those rich, fulsome breasts, left so casually undraped by the fashionable gown that cupped and lifted the breasts up, thus holding them in obvious display. And in her wake, like the filly trailing the mare, came the daughter, her slight, nubile figure laced up in a shortened version of the long gown her mother wore, nascent breasts peeking saucily out at the top, small and tentative, and infinitely appealing; her pale yellow hair was braided and worn up, pulled back from the innocence of her neat youthful face. Andur's women had pleased the eye of the rapacious King, and this was a King who never forgot a pretty face.

It came as no surprise that the stiff-necked Andur happened to be the first to throw the gauntlet at the feet of his sovereign. Rahn took up the challenge with relish, an evil gleam in his eye. It all began when the King's messengers, sent to deliver the proclamation, had been rudely received at the Baron's grim hilltop castle. After being unceremoniously shown the road, they rode off, empty-handed of course, only to be set upon by a band of well-armed "highwaymen." The messengers and their escort managed to fight their way out, but it was close and they barely escaped with their lives. The line had been drawn.

Rahn let it be known that Andur was to be destroyed, his women taken, his lands confiscated by the crown. The house of Andur would cease to exist! But he took no action. Not at first. He plotted, and waited and watched, but he made no move. Months passed and some began to question his courage, even his manhood, as the rude challenge went unanswered, for it was well-known that Andur was a formidable foe. But I knew better. One should never underestimate a King.

 

***

 

Now it was well known that Andur was a deeply superstitious man. The mighty Baron feared no man, yet lived in constant terror at the thought that he might, in some way, offend some supercilious god. This religious streak could be traced back to the time when as a young man, he had been on the battlefield, fighting at his father side when the old Baron, an impious old sot, was struck down by a bolt of lightning just as he raised his sword in the very moment of triumph. That act of divine retribution had made a deep, and lasting, impression on the young warrior. Of course Rahn knew of this weakness, and plotted to use it in laying his scheme for revenge.

The chief priest at that time was a man named Druz, a fawning sycophant, corrupt, even by the standards of that most degenerate of all courts. He was summoned to appear before the King, who informed his chief priest that he had some concerns about the upcoming feast of the Crimson Moon. This was the rite of propitiation, a time of atonement, when tribute was paid to appease the gods.

Womenfolk were not allowed to participate in this all-male ceremony, except of course for the female slaves. But all able-bodied men were called upon to attend, and so these religious occasions regularly brought together the squabbling Barons. Fights frequently broke out. And since the wine flowed freely at these gatherings, more often than not they degenerated into drunken brawls. Skulls had been broken; blood spilt. This was an ancient and honored practice.

And so it was with utter astonishment, that the chief priest heard his Monarch now express dismay that such a thing should be allowed to happen! Before the dumfounded priest could reply, the king graciously suggested a remedy. Why not a "peace of the gods"? -- a brief truce in which old quarrels were set aside, along with all weapons, to be left at the gates of the city. The chief priest would personally proclaim that all worshippers would be accorded the protection of the church. Moreover, his holiness was instructed to see to it that all the priests throughout the lands would inform the faithful of this novel idea. The noose around Andur's neck had tightened just a bit.

One can only guess at the thoughts that went through the helmeted head of the obstreperous Baron as he rode to the city, confident, yet perhaps uneasy, even in the company of a strong guard of his most trusted warriors. He must have been deeply suspicious, yet driven by his religious obsession, he was unable to stay away from the call to offer sacrifice. Rahn, watching down from a secret chamber in one of the guard towers, must have smiled to himself to see his enemy, and his escort, dutifully hand over their weapons. Andur's face was set, his lips, down-turned in a stoic, glum expression. He must have felt quite naked without his sword, as his horse carried him through the massive wooden gates and under the dread battlements of Thralkild.

The Baron and his men were graciously invited by the smiling, bowing priests into the holy sanctum, and there they were surprised to find they were the only worshippers to be admitted. The doors were swiftly barred; a group of the King's guards slipped into the room by a hidden side entrance, their swords drawn and ready. It was, of course, a merciless slaughter. The unarmed men were quickly and ruthlessly hacked down, before the eyes of their devout but very foolish master.

Andur was held prisoner. His life was to be spared, for he was to await the King's pleasure. But when, after a few minutes, Rahn entered the room with sword in hand, the smell of fresh blood was still fresh in the air. And when the struggling, outraged Baron screamed his insults, and spat into Rahn's face, he so provoked our sovereign that the impetuous King struck at once, thus depriving himself of the pleasures of seeing his enemy die a slow, lingering death.

Even as he was dispatching his enemy with one hand, the King reached out with the other for his prize. Under the ruse of having a message from the Lord of the Manor, a delegation of the King's men had gained entrance into the largely unguarded castle. After a brief but furious skirmish with the few remaining guards, they captured the Lady Alea, her daughter, and their servants, bound them, and roughly hauled the lot of them off to Thralkild.

Now the captives were brought before the King, frightened, disheveled, barefoot in their night shifts, for they had been roused from their beds by the untimely arrival of the horde of armed men. Rahn still wore the short warrior's kilt, although he had changed into a fresh tunic, and washed his hands of the blood of he who had dared to challenge the King. He sat enthroned, his powerful thighs half-exposed, knees well spread, sandaled feet flat on the floor, hands resting comfortably, lightly gripping the arms of the massive throne.

We of the court had been ordered to turn out, for Rahn so loved spectacle that he was especially pleased when he could have his triumphs witnessed by his admiring subjects; we courtiers certainly qualified. He would have a most appreciative audience when he humbled the memory of his vanquished foe...by taking his women before our very eyes.