B
Bishop
Chapter I: Vecernicus
Lir set down the two silver goblets in front of the nobles. They nodded and shooed him away, politely laughing at some humorless joke. He shook his head subtly; the upper class were so stupid. He adjusted his flashy red and orange jester uniform, something they had assigned to all the waiters, apparently for the aristocrats sick sense of visual entertainment. He was one of the lucky ones; he didn’t have to wear the face paint. The dining hall was full of royalty from all over Verranbane. They wore their furs and feathers, with fluffs, zig-zags and curves on one part or another. To Lir they looked more foolish than he did. The sound of sophisticated chatter faded away as he pushed the door to the kitchen open. He felt slightly more at home there. The air was thick and hot, and smelt of cooked bread and raw meat.
He dropped the tray on a counter and looked up. Benedict, he was sharpening a large knife. He gave Lir his trademark grin and pushed forward a tray of meat.
“S’your game now Lir.”
“You always get off easy Ben.” He joked and grabbed the tray, hoisting it up and supporting it along his shoulder.
Slipping into the long line of waiters, he took a deep breath. The kitchen manager was blurting orders, but Lir wasn’t paying attention. He had been doing this far too long to need to be told what to do. A fake smile spread across his face as they walked out in the line, all the nobles cheered that they didn’t have to suffer just eating appetizers. They spun and twirled, presenting roast duck for them to eat in the most ridiculous way possible.
And then he stopped, seeing her. He didn’t expect for the Leato family to come. Olivia Leato, the daughter of Tybalt Leato, the duke of Whiterick. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember what he was doing. He put a grin back on his face and turned, presenting a small roasted duck to the King.
He king leaned forward and took it, smiling subtly, “Thank you Lir.” The words escaped his withered lips quietly
Lir smiled; an empty smile that hid total surprise. Turning, he kept serving the meat quietly. The King knew his name? That was odd, even though he was the oldest waiter that has been given no promotion.
A whisper came from behind him, “Where do I go now?”
Lir’s eyes fell onto a young waiter, who looked slightly intimidated by all the nobles looking down on him. Lir leaned down slightly, “Look for the empty plates.”
He child nodded and started to walk off. Lir smiled and watched him walk away; it was so long ago when he had been like him. A slight movement caught his eye, and he was brought to look at Olivia. She was smiling at him, a stunning smile. Her hair was in French braids, and she was, as every time he saw her, stunningly beautiful.
And the funny thing was, he probably knew a few servants that wouldn’t look twice at her. There was some reason, something, that made him so attracted to her.
He felt his cheeks get warm, and automatically knew he was blushing. It happened every time he was embarrassed. The chatter in the hall grew quiet. Only slightly at first, making Lir think he had just tuned the nobles out a bit. But then it grew dead silent, and a sound came to his ears that he had heard so many times: the steel whisper of a sword being unsheathed.
His heart skipped a beat and a thousand possibilities ran through his head. Maybe one of the nobles was taking out their rapiers to humor a discussion about them, maybe someone leaned down and a sword slipped out. Maybe his head was just playing tricks on him. His head tried to rationalize them but he knew by the deep hollow feeling in his chest that none of them were true.
He spun around to see a man, standing at the end of the tables. A chill wind whirled through the hallways and picked up the man’s black cape, fluttering it lightly. He held in his hand a longsword of excellent make. Its silver blade shone in the candlelight just before he charged towards the king, yelling something in another language Lir didn’t understand.
People began screaming and the guards at the door ran to try and take the assassin down, but they wouldn’t make it in time. Lir bolted towards the man and collided with him, taking him down. With a swift and powerful kick, he sent Lir back into the air, and he miraculously landed on his feet. Lir grabbed for a knife and a cold chill ran down his spine as he turned and looked at the king. The assassin’s longsword lay in his chest, and he looked at Lir with a glint in his eye before he gave a dying breath and slumped in his throne. This was a professional assassin. A man who was able to throw a large sword towards a target accurately on a moments notice was talented, there was no doubt. Lir turned and looked toward the assassin, but all he saw was a thick black cloak fluttering right in front of his face, and he felt a foot slam into his chest.
Turning his body sideways as he stumbled back, he managed to stay up, but he was bombarded with swings from the assassin’s gauntlets, which held large blades tied in. Guards watched, their pikes ready, but they couldn’t find a way into the fight. Lir managed to take a hold of the forearm of the man and thrust the kitchen knife into his arm pit. The assassin let out a grunt and kicked Lir square in the chest. Lir fell backwards onto the table, to the screams of noble ladies as soup and food spilt on their severely overpriced clothing.
Air escaped him, and he couldn’t pull any in for a moment, before a gasping breath came and he looked to see the man in black being dragged away. He looked at Lir with utter contempt and spit at him, before being dragged out of sight.
The queen was sobbing on the shoulder of her dead husband, and everyone was ordered to follow the captain of the guards, even the nobles who were thoroughly unimpressed with the instructions.
Lir rubbed his chest and began to walk towards the large front doors but was stopped by a commanding voice.
“Stay here, Lir,” The voice came the kings advisor, Caspus, “You don’t want to go where they’re going.” He said quietly.
Why did everyone know his name? He was a waiter, a waiter.
“Where are they going?”
“No one can know about this.”
Lir’s thoughts came to Olivia, “Where are they going?”
“To the dungeons.” Caspus turned around to the king, still in his chair.
“What? Even the queen?!?” Lir took a step forward, he respected the queen, and they were just going to lock her up.
“Do not resist us, Lir, not until your get the crown.” Caspus set his withered hand on the sword in the king’s chest and started to try to pull it out, as if the king was a stump and he was trying to pull out an axe.
“The crown..?” Lir was beginning to get a headache, “What do you mean the crown?”
“You are the son of the King.” Caspus grunted between heaves of the sword.
“I’m not in the mood for your ramblings; Jude is the heir to the throne.”
“No. He is just a decoy.”
“Then why have many assassins come to kill him?”
“No one knows he is a decoy, only me and Benedict.”
Lir shook his head, laughing quietly, not finding anything funny, “No I’m not. There’s no way, stop playing with me old man.”
The sword ripped out, and Caspus began to wipe it clean with a piece of cloth, “Have you ever noticed that Jude looks nothing like the King? Did you ever notice you have the exact traits of the king? Blonde hair? A sharp nose? You even have the same birthmark on your arm.”
It was true. Many times the kings sword shaped birthmark was visible on his forearm. Lir’s birthmark was the same, and was subject of many conversations between him and Benedict.
“Okay…I’ll humor you, then why didn’t you tell me?”
Lir set down the two silver goblets in front of the nobles. They nodded and shooed him away, politely laughing at some humorless joke. He shook his head subtly; the upper class were so stupid. He adjusted his flashy red and orange jester uniform, something they had assigned to all the waiters, apparently for the aristocrats sick sense of visual entertainment. He was one of the lucky ones; he didn’t have to wear the face paint. The dining hall was full of royalty from all over Verranbane. They wore their furs and feathers, with fluffs, zig-zags and curves on one part or another. To Lir they looked more foolish than he did. The sound of sophisticated chatter faded away as he pushed the door to the kitchen open. He felt slightly more at home there. The air was thick and hot, and smelt of cooked bread and raw meat.
He dropped the tray on a counter and looked up. Benedict, he was sharpening a large knife. He gave Lir his trademark grin and pushed forward a tray of meat.
“S’your game now Lir.”
“You always get off easy Ben.” He joked and grabbed the tray, hoisting it up and supporting it along his shoulder.
Slipping into the long line of waiters, he took a deep breath. The kitchen manager was blurting orders, but Lir wasn’t paying attention. He had been doing this far too long to need to be told what to do. A fake smile spread across his face as they walked out in the line, all the nobles cheered that they didn’t have to suffer just eating appetizers. They spun and twirled, presenting roast duck for them to eat in the most ridiculous way possible.
And then he stopped, seeing her. He didn’t expect for the Leato family to come. Olivia Leato, the daughter of Tybalt Leato, the duke of Whiterick. Taking a deep breath, he tried to remember what he was doing. He put a grin back on his face and turned, presenting a small roasted duck to the King.
He king leaned forward and took it, smiling subtly, “Thank you Lir.” The words escaped his withered lips quietly
Lir smiled; an empty smile that hid total surprise. Turning, he kept serving the meat quietly. The King knew his name? That was odd, even though he was the oldest waiter that has been given no promotion.
A whisper came from behind him, “Where do I go now?”
Lir’s eyes fell onto a young waiter, who looked slightly intimidated by all the nobles looking down on him. Lir leaned down slightly, “Look for the empty plates.”
He child nodded and started to walk off. Lir smiled and watched him walk away; it was so long ago when he had been like him. A slight movement caught his eye, and he was brought to look at Olivia. She was smiling at him, a stunning smile. Her hair was in French braids, and she was, as every time he saw her, stunningly beautiful.
And the funny thing was, he probably knew a few servants that wouldn’t look twice at her. There was some reason, something, that made him so attracted to her.
He felt his cheeks get warm, and automatically knew he was blushing. It happened every time he was embarrassed. The chatter in the hall grew quiet. Only slightly at first, making Lir think he had just tuned the nobles out a bit. But then it grew dead silent, and a sound came to his ears that he had heard so many times: the steel whisper of a sword being unsheathed.
His heart skipped a beat and a thousand possibilities ran through his head. Maybe one of the nobles was taking out their rapiers to humor a discussion about them, maybe someone leaned down and a sword slipped out. Maybe his head was just playing tricks on him. His head tried to rationalize them but he knew by the deep hollow feeling in his chest that none of them were true.
He spun around to see a man, standing at the end of the tables. A chill wind whirled through the hallways and picked up the man’s black cape, fluttering it lightly. He held in his hand a longsword of excellent make. Its silver blade shone in the candlelight just before he charged towards the king, yelling something in another language Lir didn’t understand.
People began screaming and the guards at the door ran to try and take the assassin down, but they wouldn’t make it in time. Lir bolted towards the man and collided with him, taking him down. With a swift and powerful kick, he sent Lir back into the air, and he miraculously landed on his feet. Lir grabbed for a knife and a cold chill ran down his spine as he turned and looked at the king. The assassin’s longsword lay in his chest, and he looked at Lir with a glint in his eye before he gave a dying breath and slumped in his throne. This was a professional assassin. A man who was able to throw a large sword towards a target accurately on a moments notice was talented, there was no doubt. Lir turned and looked toward the assassin, but all he saw was a thick black cloak fluttering right in front of his face, and he felt a foot slam into his chest.
Turning his body sideways as he stumbled back, he managed to stay up, but he was bombarded with swings from the assassin’s gauntlets, which held large blades tied in. Guards watched, their pikes ready, but they couldn’t find a way into the fight. Lir managed to take a hold of the forearm of the man and thrust the kitchen knife into his arm pit. The assassin let out a grunt and kicked Lir square in the chest. Lir fell backwards onto the table, to the screams of noble ladies as soup and food spilt on their severely overpriced clothing.
Air escaped him, and he couldn’t pull any in for a moment, before a gasping breath came and he looked to see the man in black being dragged away. He looked at Lir with utter contempt and spit at him, before being dragged out of sight.
The queen was sobbing on the shoulder of her dead husband, and everyone was ordered to follow the captain of the guards, even the nobles who were thoroughly unimpressed with the instructions.
Lir rubbed his chest and began to walk towards the large front doors but was stopped by a commanding voice.
“Stay here, Lir,” The voice came the kings advisor, Caspus, “You don’t want to go where they’re going.” He said quietly.
Why did everyone know his name? He was a waiter, a waiter.
“Where are they going?”
“No one can know about this.”
Lir’s thoughts came to Olivia, “Where are they going?”
“To the dungeons.” Caspus turned around to the king, still in his chair.
“What? Even the queen?!?” Lir took a step forward, he respected the queen, and they were just going to lock her up.
“Do not resist us, Lir, not until your get the crown.” Caspus set his withered hand on the sword in the king’s chest and started to try to pull it out, as if the king was a stump and he was trying to pull out an axe.
“The crown..?” Lir was beginning to get a headache, “What do you mean the crown?”
“You are the son of the King.” Caspus grunted between heaves of the sword.
“I’m not in the mood for your ramblings; Jude is the heir to the throne.”
“No. He is just a decoy.”
“Then why have many assassins come to kill him?”
“No one knows he is a decoy, only me and Benedict.”
Lir shook his head, laughing quietly, not finding anything funny, “No I’m not. There’s no way, stop playing with me old man.”
The sword ripped out, and Caspus began to wipe it clean with a piece of cloth, “Have you ever noticed that Jude looks nothing like the King? Did you ever notice you have the exact traits of the king? Blonde hair? A sharp nose? You even have the same birthmark on your arm.”
It was true. Many times the kings sword shaped birthmark was visible on his forearm. Lir’s birthmark was the same, and was subject of many conversations between him and Benedict.
“Okay…I’ll humor you, then why didn’t you tell me?”