A Promise of Iron Brandon McCoy (howl and other poems TXT) 📖

leather fanned out from the desk in a semi-circle, all sat empty. A tall figure stood behind the desk with his back to the entrance, Lord Edwin Monroe. He did not turn as we approached, lost in the beauty of his creation. He wore a long lord’s coat several shades darker than Crylwin’s, so deep a blue; it appeared almost black.

Crylwin ushered me to a seat in front of the desk—I stood next to it patiently.

Lord Monroe turned and faced me. His eyes were bright copper; they had a focused quality to them. Many thought him severe, but I was not among them. He had a kindly nature; he was a serious man, but just as often easy with a smile. He had all the look of Crylwin, piercing gaze, thick frame, but he wore no sword at his hip; this was his kingdom—the atrium, his throne room.

“Faerin, my boy,” he said. “Please, please sit. Would you like something to drink? Crylwin, bring our guest something to drink.”

I turned to Crylwin, who was already seated several rows behind my chair. He moved to stand, but I waved him off. “I’m fine, my lords, thank you.”

I took my seat, aware that my back was to the door; I felt the unease begin to seep into my bones.

“I apologize for my delay. I was hoping to speak with you yesterday; sadly it seems we were both engaged in critical business,” Edwin said, settling into his chair.

“The hospitality of your home eased the time, my lord patron,” I said graciously.

He nodded. “My congratulations on earning your stars. Quill tells me you now hold the honor of being the most expeditious entry into the Corps by anyone of Rukish descent.” He clapped his hands softly. “Bravo, lad. Well done.”

“Thank you, my lord patron.”

“I know you to be a man of action, decisive and forthright,” he declared. “Now that the pleasantries have been properly observed, I hope you don’t mind if we get right down to business.”

“Are we conducting business then, my lord?” I asked. “I thought this to be a social call?”

The corners of his lips turned slightly. He lifted the palm of his hand. “Business is something conducted between two strangers, this is,” he cleared his throat, “more intimate.”

“Would you care for some tea?” he offered, moving to the tray at the edge of his desk.

I declined with a wave of my hand. Monroe shrugged then poured into a wide ceramic cup. He turned to Crylwin, who lifted a flat silver flask in salute. Monroe smiled again, though I could see the strain, the practice behind every muscle called to perform. He took his cup and saucer back to his chair.

My chest tightened, and my breath shallowed. The same quiet pulsing that kept me silent in the shadows all those years ago took me now. It was ironic to feel cornered in a room so open, but I felt trapped as any mouse. I took a few calming breaths. Monroe’s heavy stare was on me, probing, searching. I leaned my head in my hands and rubbed at the stubble that was growing. A wellspring of strength coursed through me, fear soaked adrenaline calling me to arms. I looked up and matched his gaze.

“Where’s my sword, my lord?” I said, half accusatory, half threatening.

Monroe looked to Crylwin and laughed. “It is quite safe, I can assure you. But I’m glad you broached the topic as that is at the heart of our discussion.”

I gripped the edge of my chair tightly as I scanned the room, searching for a way out. They were going to take it from me. On impulse, I stood and stepped closer to his desk. I heard shuffling behind, but I did not take my eyes off Monroe.

“What do you know of the histories of Rukland?” Lord Monroe said, his palm raised in a calming gesture. I sat; when the hand remained, I realized he held it for Crylwin as well.

He continued, “Did you know that Rukland was not always its own kingdom? This land has gone by many names throughout the ages. It has been a part of many kingdoms, some lesser some greater, just as it is today a part of something greater.”

I ground my teeth.

“The same could be said of Tol’Rohar or Rohar as we call it now.” The corners of his mouth turned upward again. “There is much our two lands have in common.”

Monroe swirled his cup in his hand. “There have been more kingdoms of men than there are trees in this forest, Faerin,” he said, gesturing to the trees behind him. “Emerand is gone, but once it stood bright and proud. Atol, to the north, was not always a frozen ruin; long ago, it sat as the guard of the North. Even Sevel or Sevaelis as it was called in the first days of men has felt the changing cold of the seasons. Ara has seen many names since our ancestors first crossed the wastes, back when histories were told only in song.”

He took a drink of tea, his eyes fixated on me.

“Before the Fall, the lands of men all flew the raven banner of Illyria. They were not of one people any more than we are today, yet they all stood as one, united against the Mere. Tol’Rukar, Sevaelis, Tol’Rohar, Emerand, Cyllia, and Atol in the North, the six great kingdom-cities of men, the six-pointed star, a symbol of Illyrian unity long before Cyllia ever took up that mantel.”

“I know the stories, my lord,” I said. “Your collection is…”

“Incomplete,” he continued. “Much was lost in the Fall. What survived has passed through so many hands into so many tongues; what are we to believe? Take your remarkable sword, for example.”

The door at the far end of the room opened. In walked Richard with a folio of documents in hand. He placed the folio on the desk and leaned in, whispering to Monroe.

Monroe pulled a pocket watch from his coat and frowned. “Really?”

Richard nodded.

“Thank you,