November 3

Word Count: 3635

As the first rays of light lit the early morning sky, Saratin stood in the courtyard with all his belongings. Brother Chauw oversaw the final goods being loaded into the cart. Saratin was to take the cart as far as the monastery at Gooled, and then walk the rest of the way. The journey would probably take him two weeks on foot, but Brother Chauw assured him that other travelers usually gave lifts to brothers in need.

"Now, you need only use caution and common sense, and you’ll do just fine," Brother Chauw said as he gave Saratin a hand up onto the wagon. Brother Ilden approached from behind. "Wait here for a moment." The two oldest brothers of the Ladona Monastery walked away from the cart, speaking in hushed tones. Saratin could still hear most of the conversation.

"Chauw, I still don’t think this is a wise move. The boy is too valuable, and he’s not taken his orders yet. Once we have no control over him, who knows where he’ll end up."

"Ilden, the boy is sensible… and he’s no longer a boy. If we keep him here any longer, we will lose him regardless. The only way for him to truly choose The Order is for his doubts about the outside world to be removed. He must make the choice of his own volition. You must follow your own advice and trust in providence. Saratin will make the right choice." Brother Chauw put a reassuring hand on Brother Ilden’s shoulder. He had the final decision in the matter and he’d made up his mind.

"I fear you will regret this some day." Ilden bowed slightly and went back to his workshop. Brother Chauw returned his attention to Saratin who eyed him with curiosity.

"I think you place too much importance on me," Saratin said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I’m only a librarian."

"I have a feeling you don’t place enough importance on yourself. Even librarians can change the world." And with that cryptic remark, Brother Chauw ordered the monastery gates to open, and slapped the horse into motion. Saratin waved goodbye. Brother Chauw did not wave back.

Everything on Iber's father's estate was designed to impress. The lawns were wide and sweeping, as green as they could be without the aide of old magic. The house was grand white marble and slightly over the top. Statues and busts of Menymus family members littered the grounds. The house had four wings and was gilded from ceiling to floor. Only the best artisans were brought in to carve the ceilings and sculpt the fireplaces. As many The Brothers of the Order of the Tamathan that would come were asked to apply their skills of carpentry and sculpture to the intricate wall panels and trims.

The library was stocked with mostly Ladona books, since Menymus had been told they were the best bookmakers. His prize was an old magic spellbook which he'd placed in a glass case. Every once in a while, Menymus would unlock the case, and pour over the incomprehensible script, hoping to find the secret of the flowery nonsense.

The house was built to entertain. The ballroom itself could hold almost a thousand guests at once, which was rather ridiculous, because there was no room for that many people to stay. Iber recalled a fairly large gathering where the nobles from the surrounding lands had traveled in their carriages all day before arriving for the grand banquet. They'd celebrated for three days straight without sleeping before bundling back into their carriages for the ride home. The lucky ones were offered accommodations in one of the 25 guest bedrooms, or the four inns in the surrounding areas. Others brought complete tent sets of their own, packing their crystal and throw pillows and setting up their own boudoirs out on the lawn.

The stables were his father's pride and joy. To be a groomsmen for Iber Menymus III was to be at the top of the list. They were paid better than any other servants in the household. Even the smallest stable boy made more money than the most senior maid.

It really didn't impress Iber all the much to remember that this estate would be his one day. It was not exactly to his taste. It was a showpiece. It lacked the beauty of the old magic estates and the chivalry of the castles that had been built in that period of war and uncertainty when the magic had fallen away. Iber wasn't thrilled to sit inside with this father, drinking tea and pretending that the estates didn't practically run themselves. There were many smart men in charge of making Menymus money… and they were very good at it. Menymus III was quite content sitting in his study, reading books and plotting his next garden blueprints. He did, however, take great offense when someone managed to get between him and his money. Spending tons of money to tear out the little trickling fountains in the garden to make huge pools with ornate sculptures was perfectly acceptable. Giving it away to the servants was not.

"What in the world were you thinking? You simply cannot, without any reason at all, give the entire household staff a raise in wages!" His father had screamed. Iber watched the pulse on his father’s forehead bulge and throb. There were little patchy blotches popping out all over his face.

"But father, Poilhip did have a point. The house servants do get paid much less than the stablemen. I checked the accounts. The financial effect will be minimal. We can afford to pay them better."

"We? We? I’m not dead yet. And until then, there is only I. And I know that if you give them a little raise… if you show them one bit of weakness, they will take over. Soon they’ll be wanting another raise. And then more privileges. It never stops!"

"Then tell them I was wrong. Tell them they can’t have a raise." Iber knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He knew that reminding his father that the raise must be upheld was going to result in some serious consequences. It would be impossible for his father to go back on his son’s word without undermining his son’s future authority. It would also make him into a mean miserable monster. Iber thought his father’s veins would burst and he’d be blasted back into oblivion. Instead his father had whispered quietly for him to get out, and two short hours later, he found himself on his horse, headed for Three Willows, the smallest property his father owned. It was also the furthest away.

Exile was exile, but Iber wasn’t too terribly surprised. He wasn’t too terribly disappointed either. Perhaps now he could show his father that he too could manage an estate. Iber was already mulling the details of his plans for Three Willows in his head. Unlike his father, he wasn’t going to rely on others to make the daily decisions. He was going to make the estate into a prosperous, thriving enterprise, so when he went to court to pick out a bride, he wouldn’t just be another useless nobleman.

Iber had been trained in the swordplay, archery, military history, poetics, and anything else his stodgy old tutor thought he would need to be a proper young gentleman, due to inherit his father's title and estates. What more could a man wish for? A bit of company, Iber decided after the first three hours on his horse. The scenery was growing old. There was only so much one could find interesting about fields and bushes. In another few miles, Iber thought, he just might have to start talking to his horse.

Just as he was about to ask his horse about the weather, a cart appeared ahead of him on the road. It was traveling quite a lot slower than he was, but it couldn’t hurt to slow down for a few miles exchange some news with the driver. He picked up the pace until he drew alongside of the cart. It had seen better days, and the nag pulling it was sturdy, but slightly dragging. The driver wore the unmistakable brown robes of the Orders of the Tamarin. Most of the brothers had a reputation of being somewhat aloof and standoffish, but Iber preferred anyone to his horse.

"Hello there," he called out. The brother turned and smiled brightly at him.

"Hello!" The brother waved.

"Nice weather we’re having," Iber commented.

"It’s most beautiful day I’ve ever seen. Look at that sky. It’s so blue it hurts almost to look at it. And the slight nip in the air? It refreshes me with every breath. You know, you’re the first person to stop and talk to me. Does everyone just ride on by, or have I had the misfortune of meeting the few that want to keep to themselves?"

Iber laughed. "You don’t get out much, do you?"

"This is my first time."

"Oh really? Where have they been hiding you?"

"Not hiding… just studying. At the monastery, but I’m going to be an assistant librarian. My name’s Saratin."

"My name is Iber Menymus. My father is Lord Menymus."

"I don’t remember my father. He died when I was young. He was a soldier. My mother sold me to The Order and I’ve been there ever since. Probably read every book they have there… so now I’m off on my first adventure!" Saratin flung his hand up in emphasis and slightly startled the horse. He struggled to get control back. Iber’s horse danced along side the wagon. "It’s my first time driving a horse too." Saratin grinned.

"Right. Perhaps it would help if you didn’t spook your horse. Though I doubt he’s got the energy to run away with you." Saratin laughed.

At least this brother had a sense of humor. He was quite amusing as well. Iber tried to imagine what life would be like living within the confines of a monastery… only living on the basics of life. Iber was too fond of his bad habits for that. The brother seemed to take no stock in his social status either. He talked to Iber as if they were complete equals.

"Would you like a lift?" It took Iber a moment to realize that Saratin was not speaking to him. His attention was turned towards a shrunken field worker with a large brimmed hat. The man tilted his head up to look at Saratin in the wagon. The years were weather beaten into his face and the honest dirt lay thick on his skin. Iber hadn’t even noticed him walking along the roadside. Saratin held out his hand and the man lifted himself up into the wagon.

"Thank you kindly. My feet were starting to drag."

"No trouble at all. The more the merrier… although you’ll probably have to listen to me talk. My name’s Saratin. I’m going to be a librarian. This is Iber Menymus. He and I were just talking about how I can’t drive a wagon. It’s my first time and all, but I think I’m getting the hang of it." The farmworker looked over at Iber on his fine horse and quickly bowed. He buried his face under his hat and stared at the floor. Iber confirmed his opinion. Saratin did indeed talk to everyone in the same manner.

"Anybody hungry? I’ve got some apples." Saratin dug into a sack at his feet, and produced three shiny red apples. He tossed one to Iber who caught it expertly in his hand.

"Great catch, Iber!" He handed the other to the farmer who hesitated before accepting it. Saratin took a loud juicy bite. "I think I could live off these things." Another bite. "So what should we talk about?"

Iber laughed. It was hard not to be reeled in by Saratin’s enthusiasm. "Well, we’ve already covered the weather. What do you carry in your wagon?"

"To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. Brother Chauw had it packed before I got here. I’m just driving it to Gooled."

"You should reach Gooled tomorrow afternoon at this pace. There’s an inn I know that will be a perfect stopping point for tonight. Would you like to share an evening meal with me there? It’s quite a pleasant place with some talented musicians and pretty barmaids."

Saratin’s eyes lit up. "I’ve never been to an inn before. I should be truly pleased to join you."

"This here’s my road, kind brother," the old man said. Saratin brought the horse to stop, and the man climbed down. "Thank you. I appreciate the ride." The man bowed to Saratin. He nodded to Iber, and continued down the crossroad.

"He was a pleasant man." Saratin said as he clicked the horse into movement. The pair continued down the road trading conversation, and keeping each other company.

Princess Lynah of Galadin was beginning to panic. Her father's hints were getting more and more obvious. The men were getting thicker around her. She could hardly breath without an arrogant knight or nobleman handing her a rose, or playing a disjointed melody beneath her window. She'd actually titled a scrapbook, "Bad Love Poetry from Assorted Suitors." Lynah knew she couldn't refuse to grow up for very much longer. She was going to have to pick one of the peacocks, and marry him. But not without one last adventure. And she'd found the perfect one. Who could pass up dragon hunting?

Even if no one in Galadin had seen a dragon for a hundred years or so, Toomas’s tale had been to good to pass up.

She’d passed him on her horse that very morning. Lynah had felt a sudden urge to go riding, and Trevelyn, the bedbug, was still asleep, so Lynah had ordered her horse saddled. She’d taken off by herself, staying within the careful sight range of the castle. The forest park where she rode was well maintained and kept fully stocked with game if the nobles take their chance at hunting. Lynah preferred to just ride, darting around the trees like a rabbit. She’d spotted Toomas, a groundskeeper raking leaves.

"Hello Toomas." He had bowed deeply before continuing his raking. She paused for a moment to watch him. He was a slightly weather beaten man who appeared well fed. He had a full head of white hair that threatened to spill out of his hat.

"Anything new?" She asked. He paused again and leaned on his rake.

"Indeed there is. Indeed there is. Everyone is talking about it… that feeling in the air. Something is coming. Something’s waking up."

"What something?" She stilled her impatient horse.

"My son Sameet came for a visit yesterday. He says there’s talk in the Forest of Alaman. It’s waking."

"The forest is waking?"

"Yes, and with it older things. Much older than any of us. Older than me. The great creatures which have been sleeping."

"Dragons? You think there are dragons in the forest? Surely you can’t believe that."

"Oh yes. I’m from Alaman. The village on the edge of the forest. When I was a boy, we used to trek deep into the forest, and past the Ring of Ancients. At the end of the stream was a waterfall, and a pond. There’s a cave there, hidden by the waterfall. It’s a dragon’s lair."

"That’s a very cute story, Toomas."

"’Tisn’t a story. ‘Tis true. I saw the dragon sleeping there with my own eyes. He was sleeping so deeply he was almost stone. Dark, cold stone. But they’re waking now. I’d stake my life on it."

Toomas calmly turned, and began raking in the other direction. Lynah continued her ride, but the seed of the idea had been planted in her head. Lynah turned her horse towards the castle and began her journey home.

The castle was built for defense, even though Galadin's enemies were now few and far between. It had been built when the magic had begun to fade. When humankind could no longer depend on the Great Mages to defend them against attacks. The walls were high stone. The windows were no more than arrow slats, and the stairs were irregular and circular. Lynah's great grandfather had truly been the last king to wage a war to secure and defend Galadin. Dormas the Second had defeated all his enemies so completely that none had ever tried to invade Galadin again. Sometimes Lynah hated him for it. Not only was she forced to study his great exploits in the history books, and listen to long lectures from her over exuberant tutor, but Dormas the Second had made it possible for the multitude of princes, dukes, and other assorted titled men from other countries come peaceably to Galadin for the honor of asking for her hand in marriage.

Over the years, the queens had come to the conclusion that even a castle built for defense could be beautiful. They'd ordered the best of furniture, china, flowers, fabrics, paintings and tapestries to recreate the palaces of old built of open spaces and gardens. Lynah's own mother had increased the number of servants in the palace by 20, added two fountains in the gardens and was currently working on a new extravagant tapestry for the dining hall. The tapestry was yet another pictorial history of the grand achievements of Dormas the Second. Lynah always disappeared the moment her mother got that look in her eye which meant she was going to enslave her daughter for the creation of the monstrosity.

Lynah dropped her horse off in the courtyard and headed up the stairs. Before she could duck into another passage, a nobleman ambushed her. She couldn’t even remember his name. She pressed herself against the wall and he invaded her space.

"Princess Lynah, you are, as always, a vision of perfect loveliness. Your cheeks are beautifully windswept, and your eyes are bright. Your lips are more perfect than this humble rose." He held up the rose. It was so close to her nose, she went cross eyed trying to look at it. Lynah pulled his arm down.

"You are too kind sir. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to freshen up after my ride."

"You are fresher than the freshest flower. You are sweeter than the sweetest honey. You are…"

"Going to be late for your meal, if you don’t hurry." Trevelyn interrupted from higher on the staircase. She planted one hand firmly on the noble’s chest, and grabbed Lynah’s hand with the other. Pushing and pulling, she separated the two, leaving a startled noble, and relieved princess in her wake. Lynah and Trevelyn scrambled up the stairs and reached the princess’s rooms without further interference.

"You saved my life again," Lynah breathed as she pulled off her riding boots. "I think he was just about to propose."

"All in a morning’s work." Lynah sat down and Trevelyn pulled off her other stubborn boot. Lynah unbuttoned her riding habit while Trevelyn held out her day dress.

"You took your time this morning."

"I ran into Toomas. He gave me an idea." Trevelyn froze when the dress was halfway over Lynah’s head. Lynah struggled with it for a moment before tugging it down and buttoning herself up.

"What kind of idea?" Trev was always suspicious of her ideas. "I still haven’t gotten over the shame of your last idea." Lynah did have to admit that throwing water off the tower had not been such a good plan.

"This is different… completely different. Truly." Trev handed her the matching slippers to her dress. Silence was Trev’s way of marking her disapproval. Trev knew her too well. They’d been friends since they were born two minutes apart from each other. Lynah’s mother had been so proud that her dutiful servant had even followed her into labor.

Trev just snatched the hat off her head and replaced it with a lace cap. Lynah tied the ribbons and chased after her out into the hallway.

"Do we have to hurry so?" Lynah asked. "I’ve yet to even catch my breath."

"If we hurry, you might actually make it on time. You can make a good impression on your father for once."

"Good point." Lynah picked up the pace. Her father had been getting rather testy of late. Perhaps he was also beginning to wear down from all of her suitors. They were as thick as rats, and waited around every corner.

She entered the Great Hall, just as her father invited her mother up onto the dais. Lynah straightened her shoulders, raised her chin took small gliding steps up the carpet. In one short moment, she had gone from running hoyden to an elegant princess. When she reached the dais, she curtsied low to her father, and with a nod, he allowed her to take a seat beside her mother. She sat straight, hands in her lap, both feet touching the floor, and with an expression of joy and delight on her face. She hated every minute of it.

Trev stood against the wall, watching her, with her own expression of sweetness plastered on her face. The two were silent partners in their dislike of the proceedings. Each noble came forward, bowed to the king, presented his son if he had one of the appropriate age and was given permission to sit at one of the tables in the Great Hall according to his station. The whole process took an hour and a half.

Lynah, who’d missed breakfast, was starving before the last noble and his zit-laden son took their seats. Her cheeks were aching from the plastered smile she’d kept up the while time.