The Timeline of Tauber - Truce of Moonreach - 683

Torchlight flickered fitfully in the wall sconce, casting its treacherous light over the small band of humans occupying the antechamber it strove to illuminate. Its orange glow caressed the ornately carved chairs, the intricately woven tapestries, and the heavy, full-length mirror that dominated one wall.

Into this latter creation, the most regal of the party stared, tilting his head this way and that as he critically examined his reflection. His tall and slender form was clad in the fineries of the height of fashion. A ruffled shirt was held in place by a fitted jacket with puffed shoulders. Bejewelled rings adorned his fingers. An embossed ruff graced his long neck. And yet, for all the richness that adorned his frame, it was the head that held an observer’s attention.

A pointed chin, made all the more so by a finely crafted beard, sat beneath a wide, thin-lipped mouth. An equally pointed nose curved up towards perfectly shaped, arched eyebrows, all of which was framed by long, dark, flowing locks. In the midst of all this preened perfection, intelligent eyes gazed out; piercing blue pupils in a sea of white.

“How do I look, Igor?” the man enquired, flicking his reflected gaze to the gaunt manservant who hovered eternally over his shoulder.

The man’s tight lips twitched. It was the closest he ever got to a smile. “Impeccable as always, sire,” he purred sycophantically.

Prince Chernitt returned his attention to his reflection. Impeccable. Yes, he rather thought he was. And he needed to be, if all was to go as planned. First impressions were everything and appearance was a big part of that, here more so than anywhere else in Tauber.

“They’re ready for you.”

Chernitt glanced towards the door, where a slight faerie regarded him. No “sire”, he noted. No deference, either. He could only make out defiance in the creature’s angular features. Still, it wouldn’t do to rise to the slight, intended or otherwise. Too much rested on this.

He drew himself up to his fullest height. “Lead the way.”

The corridors of the palace of Moonreach, through which Chernitt was guided, were both familiar and alien to him. He had been brought up in the castle at Stormguard, where the seat of his father’s power lay, and he recognised the imposing nature of the passageways, the displays of power and authority. But the faerie version of this was outlandish and tribal. Garish colours and rough edges were everywhere, not so much unfinished as intentional; nature imprisoned in art.

Before he knew it, he was stepping into the court. No-one announced his presence into the room, as they would have done at Stormguard. Indeed, no-one paid him much heed at all. And why would they? The scene that greeted him was one of chaos, though he felt as if he could sense some sort of order beneath it, much like when nature reveals her patterns amongst the apparent anarchy of her creation.

Galleries rose in tiers away from the central aisle. Multicoloured banners hung from them and flowers and vines grew across and around them in a riotous rainbow. And amongst all of this the faeries flew, the combined sound of their wings a background to the hubbub of their voices. No two were alike, as if individuality and self-expression were as prized here as conformity was in the Stormguard court. Indeed, Chernitt’s uniformed retinue contrasted sharply as they proceeded down the aisle to the dais at the far end.

The retinue halted some distance from the dais and knelt. Chernitt continued several paces, stopping before he antagonised the faerie guards who flanked the bottom of the flight of steps that climbed towards the throne. He bowed respectfully, not taking his eyes from his host.

Diana, Queen of the Faeries, sat imposingly on her throne of bone intertwined with colourful flowers; a telling juxtaposition between life and death. The dark skin of her toned body appeared to only be partially covered for reasons of modesty by strips of purple cloth. Piercing eyes stared out from the sockets of a half skull mask, about which the braids of her wild hair flowed. Huge, patterned wings flexed at her back and she twirled her skull-topped sceptre in one hand, betraying the impatience coursing through her.

“Queen Diana,” Chernitt purred, raising his voice to be heard above the background din. It was clear that human decorum did not apply in the court of the faerie queen. “It is an honour to be before you.”

Diana said nothing for several moments, simply regarding him with those sharp eyes. Chernitt’s smile did not so much as flicker. It was key to only show the emotions you wished to, after all.

“Why?”

Diana’s sharp question came out of nowhere and was gone just as fast.

Chernitt frowned. “Why?”

“Yes, why?” Diana repeated. “Why is it an honour?”

Chernitt found himself off balance. He had expected a frosty reception but hadn’t anticipated to have to justify every word he uttered, particularly those that would generally be considered complimentary. But he was nothing if not a statesman and rallied swiftly.

“Tales of your power are legendary, oh queen,” he tried. “Why would it not be an honour to be in the presence of one such as you?”

“Legends live in the past,” Diana opined, cocking her head in challenge.

“Indeed they do,” Chernitt agreed.

“So that is where you see me?”

Chernitt smiled. He knew this game well. “Not at all,” he assured her. “The tales are in the past but that does not mean that you are not writing tales in the present also.”

Diana returned his smile, temporarily mollified. “So it is my power you have come for? What would you do with it, I wonder? And what would you offer me in return?”

“I believe I can suggest a mutually beneficial proposition.”

Diana sneered. “I know of your father’s plans for expansion. He has one son warring with the giants. Another is busy tricking the gnomes. You have an army camped outside my gates and you stand before me with charm radiating off you. If you fail to emulate the second brother, will you go the way of the first?”

For the first time, Chernitt felt his composure slip beyond his control and his face contorted into an ugly sneer before he quickly exerted his will once more.

“I seek to be neither of my brothers,” he promised, and there was venom in his voice at mention of his siblings. “I see a third way. A way to benefit us both. If I could have a private audience where I could air such things?”

Diana regarded him for a long moment, resting her chin on a hand that itself was propped casually on the arm of the throne. Never had a relaxed posture held such menace and Chernitt was perplexed as to which way his request would go, though he made sure to conceal his uncertainty.

A sudden pressure built in Chernitt’s head. It began behind his eyes, pushing through his brain and out of the back of his skull. It had come from Diana’s direction, though the queen had given no indication that she had done anything to cause it. Shouts from about the room, starting close and gradually moving out through the chamber, indicated that the faeries present had likewise experienced the sensation and behind the wave of the pulse was only silence as each and every creature responded to their monarch’s unspoken command.

Diana seemed to savour their attention, the control she had over her subjects, then uttered two words.

“Leave us.”

The effect was immediate. Perhaps motivated by the reminder of the threat their queen posed in the wake of the pulse, the faeries scattered. A cacophony of fluttering wings susurrated about the chamber as faeries took flight, hasty in their bid to enact their queen’s will, flying from the chamber via the great doors or else through the open windows that lined the perimeter walls close to the roof.

In a few short minutes, only Chernitt’s party, Diana and the queen’s scowling guards remained. The silence was strangely disconcerting after the constant noise that had preceded it.

Chernitt had eyes only for the queen, who herself stared back with head to one side, regarding him thoughtfully.

“You are not like other humans,” she concluded eventually. “Most come here believing that their race alone grants them some sort of authority over us.”

Chernitt shrugged easily. “I recognise power no matter the race.”

“And I recognise ambition,” Diana retorted, “and you have plenty of that.”

“I want what is best for Tauber.”

“Your father, King Vartec, claims likewise,” Diana pointed out, “and yet he confuses what is best for Tauber with what is best for himself. What is best for humans.”

“I know,” said Chernitt. “I do not come on his behalf.”

“Despite the fact that he sent you?”

“I arranged it so it would be I who would come to you,” Chernitt claimed. “As I said, I do not come on behalf of my father. I come on behalf of Tauber.”

“A bold claim.”

“Grand ambitions are nothing if not accompanied by boldness.”

Diana narrowed her eyes behind her half-skull mask. “And is there any detail behind this “best for Tauber” ambition?”

Chernitt smiled. “A union. Firstly between you and I, between faeries and humans, but later expanding to include the other races.”

“What makes you think that we need such a union?” Diana enquired, and there was a proud and challenging note in her voice.

“When my brothers have concluded their business with the giants and the gnomes, they will join forces and march on Moonreach.”

Chernitt disclosed the prediction with a calmness that was entirely juxtaposed with its content.

Diana’s eyes narrowed further. “You’re certain of this?”

“I am.”

“How?”

“I have my sources.”

Diana’s fingers drummed irritably on the arm of her throne. “And your proposed solution is?”

“An alliance.”

Diana’s eyes widened. “You propose to stand with the faeries against your brothers? Against your father?”

“I will stand beside you,” Chernitt confirmed, “but it will take more than just the two of us to guarantee victory.”

Diana cocked her head. “The giants are engaged, as previously discussed. Assuming I was to agree to this proposal, to whom would we turn?”

Chernitt paused, bracing himself for what needed to be said and the predictable reaction.

“There is a natural ally close at hand,” he began, “one whose sovereignty is likewise threatened by my father’s plans for unity.”

There was a long pause as Diana considered his words and their implications, then her eyes widened as realisation struck.

“You can’t mean the goblins!”

Chernitt winced as Diana’s surge of rage washed over him but otherwise remained unmoved. This had to be done.

“They’re feral!” Diana continued. “No better than animals!”

“You think my father sees faeries and other races as any better?”

Diana was on her feet in an instant, gesturing menacingly with her sceptre. Chernitt raised both hands to stay her judgement.

“I do not agree with his viewpoint,” the prince clarified, “but, just as he sees you and your kind as less, incorrectly so, do you think that maybe you are doing likewise with the goblins?”

There was another pause. He had her. He knew it.

“Have you seen these goblins?” Diana asked eventually.

“I have not,” Chernitt admitted, “but just say they are, as you say, feral, doesn’t that just mean they would be more open to bolstering our ranks? We need all of the help we can get and swelling our numbers is necessary, even if our allies are not contributing towards the planning and strategy side of things.”

Diana continued to regard Chernitt, seemingly engaged in some inner struggle.

A shouting from the corridor beyond the throne room broke the tension and then one of the doors was heaved open and a man in the livery of Chernitt’s retinue staggered through. He got three paces before he was borne to the ground by a pair of faerie guards. A brief struggle ensued, which culminated in weapons being raised, ready to bring the man’s resistance to a fatal end.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Diana’s bark of rage gave pause to their actions.

“He is an intruder, oh queen,” one offered.

“I can see that,” Diana snapped.

“Er, if I may?” said the prone man, managing to raise a hand as if seeking permission to speak.

“What is it?” asked Chernitt, when Diana failed to grant it.

“Urgent message for you, sire,” the man gasped. “Couldn’t wait.”

Chernitt turned his gaze to Diana, whose own eyes shifted between the prince and his downed man, suspicion writ large across her features.

“Bring him,” she said, “and we shall see just how urgent this message is. If I deem it not to be so, he will not be the only one suffering the repercussions.”

Chernitt did not rise to the threat. An angry opponent was one liable to make a mistake. Instead he maintained eye contact with the simmering monarch as his man was hauled to his feet and escorted to the foot of the throne.

“Sire,” said the man, his voice low.

“For all of us to hear,” Diana commanded.

The man looked to Diana, eyes wide in terror, and back to Chernitt. The prince nodded his assent.

“The giants have been defeated,” he announced. “The army convened at Brawdol, where your brothers feasted together, but there was a betrayal. Only one now lives.”

Chernitt felt a smile twitch his lips at the news but managed to limit his outward reaction to only that. Everything was going to plan.

“He marches for Moonreach as we speak,” the man concluded.

Chernitt turned his gaze back to Diana. “Urgent enough for you?”

Diana conceded his point with a curt nod.

“Make your alliance,” Chernitt urged. “Fortify your city. Muster your defences. We will need every able body, no matter the race, if we are to emerge victorious from the war to come.”

Diana glanced from Chernitt to the messenger and back again. Chernitt could sense the conflict raging within her. Pride fought with prudence as she sought to resolve the compromise of unsavoury allies to prevent the potential demise of her people.

In the end, there could only be one result and Chernitt believed he could pinpoint the exact moment when that realisation finally solidified in the queen’s mind. Her posture lost some of its edge. Her eyes unfocussed. Her pride had been defeated and humble compromise lay before her.

When next she spoke, her voice was quiet, devoid of the anger that had previously driven every syllable.

“I will.”