Two Kingdoms 43: Visitors

[DoctorM]

TWO KINGDOMS 43: VISITORS

This is the forty-first part of an AU construction about a Gwynedd where the duel at Kelson Haldane's coronation went very differently indeed. We are now almost three years into the Gwynedd Wars-- Charissa's new kingdom at Valoret against the Haldanes in the south and the kingdom of Torenth in the east. This episode takes place some weeks after "Padishah", "Ghosts", and "Thieves". As always, comments and suggestions are very much appreciated.

***

Wencit is moving counters across the map, from Torenth up into the mountain country along the Belnorth. This is going to be simple enough, and there's a point to be made. There in a long narrow set of valleys is the little county of Gwernach, and he'll be going up there himself to make his point. Gwernach belonged to the old duke of Marluk, and it was currently the Tolan girl's. Gwernach isn't much, but it's going to be his soon enough, and he wants to show the Marluk's daughter what's going to happen to all her lands, one after another. Not enough land for a grave, he's promised, and he means that.

He slides two small counters off to the west. That's Makrory country, the county of Kulnán. They've been sending horsemen to the Tolan girl since ever she had her coup at Rhemuth, and it's time to start showing Count Rory what a mistake he's made.

There's a scratching at his private door and Wencit looks up from the map table. He knows who that has to be, and his face sets into a scowl. He's planning a real war, and he's not in the mood for Rhydon and backstairs maneuvering.

Rhydon in the doorway is all in dark green tonight, and he's doing his well-practiced role as sinister and full of secrets. Wencit grits his teeth. Rhydon is useful enough, but he spends his time playing at being disreputable and darkly knowing. Vain as a girl, Wencit thinks, and louche isn't a pose Wencit has time for these days.

"I'm busy," Wencit says. "I'm going up to Gwernach soon enough. Then to Kulnán. You know, an actual war."

Rhydon shrugs. "It's your war, it's your kingdom. But you might not want to go just yet." He paces around the table and looks at the blue-inked line of the Belnorth. "There's news in Beldour city. Seems you've lost something."

The king looks over and glares. "Lost what? If you're here to tell me another set of lords has gone over to my traitor brother-in-law, you can wipe that smirk off your face."

Rhydon grins. "Oh, it's closer to home. Seems you've lost a vizier. It seems Count Berrhones has gone to his eternal reward."

Wencit frowns. "Old Berrhones? Well, no surprise at his age. What finally got him— passing years or passing the wine bottle?"

Rhydon is fingering one of the map counters at the Gwernach border. His smile grows. "Well, you know, he had help."

Wencit straightens up and his mouth tightens. "What's happened?"

"He was at Castlerodh House in the city. His servants couldn't find him and they went looking.  They thought he might be drunk somewhere.  He was a walking drunk, our old count was. Used to wander the house giving speeches to imaginary audiences until he fell asleep somewhere. When they finally went down in the wine cellars, there was a big vat of wine pulled out of the racks and turned up— with two legs sticking out of it. And there he was. Drowned."

Wencit is gripping the edge of the table. "That's my effing brother-in-law. That's effing Lionel. Some kind of goddamned joke. That effing traitor killed my vizier."

The map counter is shaped like a chess knight. Rhydon is turning it in his fingers. Each counter like that is for ten score men-at-arms. "Oh, I like it as a joke— two scrawny legs kicking in the air and mediocre red wine going everywhere. I like it as a joke, but that's not Duke Lionel."

"He's not a duke any more. He's a traitor and an outlaw."

"Oh, no doubt. But it's still not Lionel. Not his style, not his sort of joke. Lionel likes things very old-school and formal. He'd have used a garrote. Silk bowstring for a vizier, that's the way these things are done, aren't they?"

Wencit smiles a grim smile. "When I think about it, it's more your kind of joke, isn't it?"

Rhydon slides a chair away from the table and drops into it. "There's more to it. Old Berrhones was only about halfway down in the vat. The rest of it was stuffed with papers and folders. Someone went through his workroom  and took all his notes and manuscripts of things he was writing and shoved them down in the wine. His secretaries tell me he was doing more histories and character pieces— who's who and what's what and all the gossip and dirty laundry in the Eleven Kingdoms. This was someone who didn't like what he had to say about people at court." He puts the counter back on the map table. "Which narrows it down to a couple of hundred people, wouldn't you say?"

"I wonder what he said about you."

"Nothing good, and good riddance to the old drunk."

Wencit looks hard at Rhydon. "Somebody drowned my effing vizier and nobody saw anything— is that what you're telling me? No servants, no secretaries, no guards? Nobody saw who did it? Somebody laid out bribes for this. Or somebody was very good at being in the shadows. Somebody Deryni, I'm thinking. I just wonder how close that someone might be."

Rhydon shrugs again. "Me, I'm looking west on this."

"West? The effing scarface Tolan girl?"

"Why not? Berrhones was writing about Charissa, and you were sending copies to half the lords in Torenth. The Treasury was paying out of the special funds for copying. And she'd have known about what he was writing. Her intelligencers are good. They're very good. And Berrhones was telling people she poisoned King Károly...when I'm pretty sure he knew who was really behind that." Rhydon's smile is all teeth. "I mean... if anybody poisoned him—you know, quite the mystery, that death..."

The king stares down at the map table. "She has to know I'm coming for her. She has Moors around her. They'd be good at this. And drowning my old drunk of a vizier in a wine barrel...that's something her fancy-man would think of. He's some light-horse sell-sword; this is a light-horse kind of joke. She and her kept pretty boy, they know I'm coming to Valoret."

Wencit lets out a long breath. "She's got her Moors, and she's supposed to have some clever nancy-boy from out in the far foreign as her chief inquisitor. She'd do it. Her people could do it. You're right— Lionel would've sent bravos with a silk bowstring. It's the Tolan girl. She's sending me a message. Just like I'm going to send her in Gwernach and Kulnán."

Rhydon looks around the map table. "You know," he says, "after coming back from Castlerodh House, I'm not in the mood for red wine tonight, but you must have aquavit. Nobody plots out wars on maps without something halfway decent to drink." He stretches out in the chair and looks back at the king. "By the way...Berrhones wasn't the only one. Message by carrier bird this afternoon. Ever hear of a lord called Callan?"

"Who's Lord Callan when he's at home, and why the eff should I care?"

"Oh, he's another literary type. He's the Tolan girl's other biographer. And he wasn't even on our payroll. I'm wondering who was paying him... Maybe Stefan Coram. Maybe. But he wrote about young Charissa, too. Quite the portrait, it seems. You'd think that if you were going to write about the personal life of someone who's sitting a throne, you'd have enough sense to leave town for a long while. Go on an extended pilgrimage, go see the sights in Byzantyun. Seems he didn't. And it seems that someone was quite the literary critic. I'll tell you just how critical once I get a drink."

Wencit almost laughs. "If that scarface bitch kills everyone in these kingdoms who says she's an evil whore, she'll be busy for the next ten years. And I'll be in Valoret."

Rhydon pushes himself up and crosses to a cabinet on the wall. "There really has to be aquavit here. Look— I told you. She wants to be taken seriously. And she is making a point. You want a war out in the open. You want to be riding to war with a battle-axe in your hand. But what's going to happen is backstage. She's showing people that she can find and kill people who mock her, wherever they are— she's a serious player. Count Berrhones and this other scribbler, this Lord Callan— she did this for her reputation. She doesn't care if people think she's a tyrant. What she cares about is that she's taken seriously. So before you go off to Gwernach, just think about what she's capable of."

****

The Shadow Queen and the Grey Death are in the upper rooms of the old ducal palace at Tolan-by-Sea. It's a cool afternoon at the start of summer and if you look north you can see ships tacking their way into the harbor. There's white Fianna wine in a beaker, and the queen's little glove beagles are there under the table.

Charissa looks over at her Inquisitor. "You're happy with young Ratcliffe, then?"

Aurelian nods. "Very much so. He's good. He has a talent for intelligencer's work. I sent him to Beldour with Richter and Rizak and four of his own people. Deft touch." He smiles. "I don't know if the wine was any good, but it got the job done, Richter tells me that he shoved all the vizier's notes  down into the wine. So there's no last set of memoirs. No literary legacy."

Charissa grins at that. "Good. I've known Christian long enough to know what historians think about their legacies. Losing that must've been worse than drowning."

Aurelian nods. "I'm from a maritime city. Drowning's not an easy death, whatever people like to say. But you're right about scholars. Get rid of what they write, and it's like never having existed at all."

"That's what I want. Like they never existed. I want that for Stefan Coram, too. And these hand-and-eye people, the Hand of Camber people. Christian tells me that what matters in the end is who gets to tell the story. If you write the history, you shape the world." She holds Aurelian's gaze. "And you went to see Callan yourself."

"I did. Darcek came with me, and al-Fayturi, plus a few of your Moors. I thought about what this Lord Callan wrote and then thought I should convey your regards in person."

Charissa looks into her wine cup. "I have to ask. Was he surprised?"

"He was." Aurelian's voice is very quiet, very precise. "That part was very quick. I stepped out in front of him, and I told him that the Shadow Queen sent her regards."

"Stiletto?"

"Stiletto, one thrust."

She draws in a breath. "And then the other part? The other thing to do to him. Was that you?"

He nods. "It was my project, so it was my place to finish it."

"Not a stiletto."

"No. A knife with an edge."

"Was he dead when you did it?"

Aurelian shakes his head. "If he was alive, he was only barely breathing. I can't tell you if he knew."

The Shadow Queen pours more wine into Aurelian's cup. "What did al-Fayturi say?"

"He's your pledged man. He was there to defend your honour. He wanted to see that done. He spat on Callan's body."

Charissa draws a breath. "I've had intelligencers since I was very young. People bringing me whispers, people bringing me information. It's still new, having a master of assassins. I made lists for the purges after the coup; I sent you to take care of that. Which was political...or most of it was. But this is very personal, and that's new. I'm not sure how to feel."

"Is it personal? What they wrote, Berrhones and Callan, that was about undermining you as a queen. That's politics. Doing this— it's not so different from killing someone who's at war with you."

She sips at her wine. "You don't enjoy doing this."

He's scratching one of the little beagles behind its ears. "I don't feel anything much. Not in a clash of arms, not in something like this. It's  just a thing that has to be done, that's all."

"Is that just you having been a sell-sword?"

"It's just me. I don't feel a lot of things very much. I'm an officer of state for you. This is part of what I do. Not feeling much...makes me better at my role. Same for Ratcliffe and Rizak. Doing this doesn't appall them, and it doesn't excite them, either. That helps make them good at what they do. If being an inquisitor excites you, you'll never do it well."

She thinks for a moment. "When you were finished with Callan, you'd done the second part."

"Stuffed it down his throat, yes. Al-Fayturi and I burned his notes, too. Whatever he wanted to write next, it's gone."

Charissa is looking out at the harbor. "I asked Christian, so I might as well ask you.  You read what Callan and Berrhones wrote. Do you think they were right about me?"

Aurelian shakes his head. "I don't. I've known you a dozen years now. I've always been there with Christian, and I've seen you be his leman and his wife, and I've seen you be a duchess and a queen. I've liked being one of your people. If you're Charissa the Cruel to some people, you're still good at ruling and you're good at being a wartime queen." He smiles. "People like al-Fayturi and Brechlin think you're worth their loyalty. Duke Lionel admires you. I'm happy to follow you. I'm your Inquisitor of State. I know how the government works at Valoret. I grew up hearing my family talk all about making governments work. So there's that. I do admire you— learning how to run a kingdom, knowing how to do all the day to day of it."

She laughs. "You mean I know about the wool trade and the wine trade and about keeping Valoret fed in the winter."

"All those things."

"Asking you to do what you just did is part of that, then."

He shrugs. "You're the queen. They were your enemies. We're at war with the Haldane boy and with Wencit and Coram and the Hand of Camber people. Things need to be dealt with. Messages need to be sent. Callan ended up with his mouth stuffed full of his private parts and all his papers burnt. Berrhones died a fool's death and his tales died with him. Maybe Wencit or Coram won't find it so easy to have people write up their version of you next time. Battlefields or back alleyways, everything we do is about keeping you on the throne."

She turns her wine cup in her hand and drains it off. "Be my Inquisitor for a minute. What do we do next?"

Aurelian is looking up at the sky above the port. There's a sea breeze in from the north. "They're coming for you. All your enemies. Maybe not all at once, but it'll be close. Christian has taken to practicing with an actual longsword instead of a bow, and I've never seen him do that before. We have to be ready. It'll be Wencit first, I think. Then Coram. Wencit will move in the open, Coram will be coming by the back stairs. We shut down two campaigns to undermine you, but we have to be ready for storms all summer. We have to move first against at least one of your enemies.  But they're all coming. We need to be waiting."

*****
ADDENDUM

I've had a couple of people ask me how I imagine my Two Kingdoms characters  and how I'd cast them in an imaginary film. That's harder to do than I imagined. But if you're reading this, these are a few of my ideas— or at least how I imagine my characters in my mind's eye. If you have any thoughts, please do let me know.

Charissa — the French model/actress Aymeline Valade, especially in her role in the 2014 film "St.-Laurent". I'd probably imagine the younger, teenaged Charissa as Milly Alcock from "House of the Dragon".

Christian — something of a younger, darker-haired Jeremy Renner, with a bit of the young actor Aneurin Barnard, who played Richard III in "The White Queen".

Aurelian — a rather younger Christoph Waltz. Remember that Christian, Charissa, and Aurelian would all be just about 30 in the current "Two Kingdoms" episodes.

Lionel of Arjenol - A mid-1980s Jeremy Irons. Obviously.

Bishop Brechlin - Charles Dance. Again, obviously. Whoever else?

Duke Nigel Haldane - a younger Lloyd Owen, Elendil in "The Rings of Power".

Yusuf al-Fayturi - Josh Brolin, from "Dune".

Richenda, Wencit, Rhydon, and Bran Coris have eluded me so far. So has Kyri de Roiste, I'm hoping someone out there over the aether has seen those characters in their mind's eye. Any comments and suggestions are welcome.

[Jerusha]

Oh well done!  I agree with your portrayal of Aurelian; a person who enjoys being the inquisitor and assassin will soon start to make mistakes out of pride.

[DoctorM]

Oh well done!  I agree with your portrayal of Aurelian; a person who enjoys being the inquisitor and assassin will soon start to make mistakes out of pride.

Very true. And not just pride. Interrogators who are too squeamish may not get at informations, but interrogators who like what they do too much will miss things, too, because they're enjoying the (ahem) process rather than seeing it as a tool.

[tmcd]

I see that, with "effing", you've considered some previous criticism.

My apologies for previous statements; I find that it's not to my taste either.

Looking briefly back at High Deryni, I see Wencit described as "smooth, cultured, his manner supremely confident". He wears sumptuous clothing and jewelry in a way that for anyone else "might have been ludicrous", but for him it's "overwhelming" -- Kelson has what's almost an "oh no he's hot" reaction.

I see Wencit as more the, well, can't improve on "smooth and cultured" villain, more likely to be coldly calculating how to inflict pain on and destroy Charissa and the Haldanes. If he has been frustrated for years by them and Lionel and others, that would just feed into his implacable desire to crush them elegantly. Not Richard Nixon.

This may sound like a "From Elfland to Poughkeepsie" type of critique, and maybe so, but I think of the Baddies (tm) here as belonging more in Elfland.

[DoctorM]

I see that, with "effing", you've considered some previous criticism.

My apologies for previous statements; I find that it's not to my taste either.

Looking briefly back at High Deryni, I see Wencit described as "smooth, cultured, his manner supremely confident". He wears sumptuous clothing and jewelry in a way that for anyone else "might have been ludicrous", but for him it's "overwhelming" -- Kelson has what's almost an "oh no he's hot" reaction.

I see Wencit as more the, well, can't improve on "smooth and cultured" villain, more likely to be coldly calculating how to inflict pain on and destroy Charissa and the Haldanes. If he has been frustrated for years by them and Lionel and others, that would just feed into his implacable desire to crush them elegantly. Not Richard Nixon.

This may sound like a "From Elfland to Poughkeepsie" type of critique, and maybe so, but I think of the Baddies (tm) here as belonging more in Elfland.

I can see Wencit as sumptuously dressed and capable of elegance, but I think I see him as very much a warlord in an Eastern European style, with the mailed fist always there under the silk glove, and with a serious temper. And I think there's a difference between Wencit in public or with his magnates and Wencit with Rhydon in private.

He'd been readying a war with Brion Haldane, and what should've been a straightforward effort to seize northeast Gwynedd now involves not just Charissa but his brother-in-law Lionel leading a civil war against him. There in his private cabinet with Rhydon, he can afford to let his inner warlord show.

[Salic]

. . .

I can see Wencit as sumptuously dressed and capable of elegance, but I think I see him as very much a warlord in an Eastern European style, with the mailed fist always there under the silk glove, and with a serious temper. And I think there's a difference between Wencit in public or with his magnates and Wencit with Rhydon in private.

He'd been readying a war with Brion Haldane, and what should've been a straightforward effort to seize northeast Gwynedd now involves not just Charissa but his brother-in-law Lionel leading a civil war against him. There in his private cabinet with Rhydon, he can afford to let his inner warlord show.

That is my appraisal of Wencit as well, Doctor M.  I tend to think that KK's early novels was a place where Katherine Kurtz could have went the way of GRR Martin and his Game of Throne series. I'm glad she decided differently in the dynastic struggles within her novels.  Not all human struggle is for war and power.  It can also involve struggles for liberty and human dignity.  In KK's series, the Deryni, in many geographic locations, have a precarious existence, as normal humans do in other areas.  That makes a difference in the story plotting.  I find GRRM's novels that common people and their multiple cultures seem to fade into the background, replaced by the soldiers and the apex mages of his fictional world.  Liberty is too much of foreign concept in his writing, which is a pity.

[DoctorM]

. . .

I can see Wencit as sumptuously dressed and capable of elegance, but I think I see him as very much a warlord in an Eastern European style, with the mailed fist always there under the silk glove, and with a serious temper. And I think there's a difference between Wencit in public or with his magnates and Wencit with Rhydon in private.

He'd been readying a war with Brion Haldane, and what should've been a straightforward effort to seize northeast Gwynedd now involves not just Charissa but his brother-in-law Lionel leading a civil war against him. There in his private cabinet with Rhydon, he can afford to let his inner warlord show.

That is my appraisal of Wencit as well, Doctor M.  I tend to think that KK's early novels was a place where Katherine Kurtz could have went the way of GRR Martin and his Game of Throne series. I'm glad she decided differently in the dynastic struggles within her novels.  Not all human struggle is for war and power.  It can also involve struggles for liberty and human dignity.  In KK's series, the Deryni, in many geographic locations, have a precarious existence, as normal humans do in other areas.  That makes a difference in the story plotting.  I find GRRM's novels that common people and their multiple cultures seem to fade into the background, replaced by the soldiers and the apex mages of his fictional world.  Liberty is too much of foreign concept in his writing, which is a pity.

I do agree with you.