Prologue | An Intimate History of the Greater Kingdom

Prologue: Potential

It was the night of his coronation as King of Tremont, Emperor of the Southern Territories of Inchar and Defender of the Gods. Temmin's chamber windows looked out onto the lawns of Tremont Keep and on into the King's Woods, but he saw himself reflected in the pane of glass as the day's light faded. He was no longer the shaggy blond youth he had been when he'd first come to the Keep. His hair was a darker color, approaching bronze, and a fine set of whiskers framed his face. His shoulders were broad, and so was his chest. His legs were long, thighs hardened from campaigning on horseback, and his blue eyes were calm and discerning.

At the sound of a familiar step, Temmin turned. "You asked for me, your majesty?" said a figure dressed severely in black and white.

"Ten years I've been your student, and you still look the same, Teacher."

"That would be because I am still the same, your majesty," replied Teacher, making a long, graceful bow.

"No, you never change." He walked back into the room from the bay of windows. "Please," he said, gesturing to a seat and settling into a great tufted leather chair himself. "You know why I've asked you to see me tonight."

"Yes," said Teacher softly. "This is the night my heart breaks again."

Long before Temmin's coronation, just after men began reckoning years from the day the first Temmin, called the Great, died, Tremont Keep was still just a small stone fortress built high into the living rock of Chief’s Mountain, the largest of the three that gave the Three Mountains Clan its name. The forest around it had just been named the King's Woods, for kings were new in Three Mountains.

In these woods was a little sapling, and to this sapling one day came a figure in long black robes. On this little sapling was a spot where a knot would one day form, and to this spot the black-robed one affixed a little silver mirror. Long, pale fingers sketched a glowing gold sign over it, and then the figure disappeared in a swirl through the mirror itself.

Spokes passed, then decades, and then centuries--almost ten of them. The clan of Three Mountains grew, and became Tremont, named for the family that still ruled it. The sapling grew as well into a mighty tree, and the knothole grew around the mirror until it was hidden inside. Still, if you knew to look for it, you could see yourself inside the knothole--but only if you knew to look for it, and few did. The mirror never faded, nor did it crack; it remained as shiny as the day it was made. The tree never caught fire, nor did it rot from the inside, and no axe ever touched it. The eyes of woodsmen would slide over it, as if it weren’t there at all.

It was at this mirror inside the knothole that a gray eye peered in increasing irritation this evening of the 12th of Spring’s Beginning in the Year of Our Kings 990. The mirror misted over; the owner of the eye stepped back. A swirling mass passed through the mirror, out the knothole, and coalesced into a handsome young man with rusty hair and pale blue eyes.

“You do take your time, don’t you?” said the figure in black.

“When you have all the time there is, why not use it, Teacher?” replied the young man, grinning lazily. He walked up to where Teacher had built a fire. “It’s his birthday tomorrow, isn’t it?” he said idly, kicking the end of a log in the fire.

“Whose birthday?” said Teacher.

“Prince Temmin, the Heir, of course. Who did you think I meant?”

Teacher stepped closer to the fire to warm hands chillier than usual. “Yes. Sixteen. He comes of age tomorrow, and then we’ll see what we’ll see.”

“Do you really think he’s the one?” said the young man.

“I don’t know yet, Connin,” Teacher sighed. “I won’t until he’s here, and he won’t be here for three days. All this work, all these years. He could be the one--or not. He could be just like the rest of them, or he could be the one we’ve been waiting for.”

“You’ve been waiting for,” snorted Connin. “Me, I’m not so sure.”

“You’re not tired?” said Teacher.

“Not in the least,” grinned Connin. “I like being immortal. Then again, I have a few advantages you do not.”
Teacher glowered into the fire. “You would sacrifice your mother, then, because you still love whoring and drinking?”

Connin pressed his lips together and looked over Teacher’s shoulder, as if mastering his temper. “Listen,” he finally said, switching tacks. “What are these Tremonts like? Really like?”

“You know very well. Selfish,” answered Teacher. “Callous. Greedy. Power-hungry. Not all of them, to be sure, but even the best of them put himself first and almost everyone else second. The best of them thought of it as being for the good of the kingdom, not themselves, but in the end, it all came down to their own glory, their own possessions.”

“And yet you’ve told me more than once that you’ve loved all of your students.”

“I love you, miserable boy,” said Teacher ruefully, “even though you’ve given me cause to feel otherwise.”

“Of course you love me,” said Connin, waving one hand. “But why do you love them?”

Teacher poked at the fire with a stick for a long time. “Potential. They have so much potential, the Tremont men. Ambitious, driven, energetic, intelligent--few of them were lazy, and fewer still were stupid. I keep thinking, maybe this one, maybe this time, even though the Gods said we’d have to wait a thousand years. All of them, even the worst of them, had it in him to be great, and in fact at times they were great. The prophecy told us to wait for ‘the golden sun of Whithorse, lover and beloved of the land,’ but really, that could mean so many things...” Teacher trailed off.

“What makes you think they deserve to have the magic back, that they’ll do better with it now, that this Temmin is any better than the first one?” said Connin quietly.

“I don’t think that, necessarily,” Teacher muttered. “I honestly don’t know yet. But he fits the prophecies. He seems to have a conscience, from what I’m told and what I’ve been able to observe. I made sure he stayed at Whithorse with his mother, far from the influence of the capital. He is more his mother’s son than his father’s, even though his bloodline is so much closer to the first Temmin than any of his predecessors.”

“Good breeding,” smirked Connin, “rather like me.”

“And look what use you’ve put it to,” said Teacher, reaching over and gently cuffing Connin on the ear. “Go on, then. Take the message to your mother. When will she be here?”

“A few days at most--probably around the same time as the prince.”

“Tell her--well, she knows,” said Teacher sadly. “Once she arrives, I’ll pass messages to you by way of Sedra, then,” said Teacher, walking to the tree with the mirror in the knothole.

Connin watched Teacher swirl into the mirror and disappear. “Oh, I look foward to it,” he smiled.

Many miles away, at an estate called Whithorse in the duchy of the same name, the young prince himself was sitting comfortably on a straw bale against the brick wall of the stables with his best friend, Alvo. “Say, d’you plan on drinking that whole thing yourself?” said Temmin irritably.

Alvo passed the flask of wuisc over. “Be careful, Tem, you’re not used to drinking this stuff.”

Temmin pushed his golden hair off his forehead and snorted. “If I’m going to the Keep, I need to learn how to drink it, don’t I?”

“I don’t know about that,” said Alvo uncomfortably.

Temmin took a choking swallow and grimaced. “Besides, it’s my last night at home. I don’t want to go to the Keep. I really don’t want to go. Why do I have to go? Why can’t I stay here in Whithorse and just--I don’t know, breed horses for the family?”

“Don’t gulp it, sip it,” said Alvo. “You have to go because you’re the Heir, the only boy.”

“And don’t I wish it were Sedra, not me. She’s the oldest, and the smartest. She should be the Heir. But she can’t because she’s just a girl,” said Temmin. “Here’s a thought--you go to the Keep and deal with my father, and I’ll stay here and take your job.” He passed the flask back.

Alvo took a sip. “You’re in the stables enough to be mistaken for a groom, but somehow I don’t think His Majesty would mistake us one for the other.”

In truth, if you saw them sitting there, you’d be hard pressed at first sight to know which was the prince and which the groom. Both wore the same tweed jackets with the elbows nearly out, the same fawn-colored breeches, the same scuffed-up work boots. But if size implied nobility, then the golden-haired one was definitely the prince. Temmin was tall for his age, and looked older than 16. Though he was still gangly, his body held the promise of great strength and power. Alvo was shorter though already stocky, with unruly brown hair sticking out from a disreputable tweed cap.

Temmin gestured for the flask again, and Alvo reluctantly gave it to him. “I wish you could stay,” Alvo said wistfully. “You promised me once you’d never leave Whithorse.”

“I did?” said Temmin, scratching his luxurious sideburns.

“Mm,” said Alvo, taking back the flask. “You were almost asleep and it was a long time ago. But you did.”

“You knew I’d have to go when I turned 16, why’d you make me promise such a thing?” said Temmin in tipsy annoyance. “I hate breaking promises.”

“It’s all right,” said Alvo, taking his friend’s hand. “I knew you’d have to go when you came of age.” Alvo looked down at their joined hands, both tan from the sun, rough and short-nailed; Temmin looked off blankly toward the hedge alley that led to the main courtyard, his head slightly wobbling. “But I still don’t want you to go. I love you, Tem,” whispered Alvo.

“I love you, too, Alvy,” answered Temmin, looking over at his best friend with a lopsided grin, then back out into the night.

“No, not like that,” said Alvo more urgently, “I mean--”

“Ssh!” whispered Temmin loudly. “I hear something.” He struggled to his feet, wavering, and listened again. “Someone’s in the alley!” A sound came clearly to them, then--the light laughter of a young woman, cut off by a breathy groan. Temmin wavered to his feet. “I’m going to see what’s going on.”

“Tem!” whispered Alvo, getting to his feet as well and taking up the lantern by the straw bale. “You don’t know who’s there!”

“That’s what I want to find out!” said Temmin. He lurchingly tiptoed to the hedges, then gave up subtlety altogether and barged into the alley, an exasperated Alvo on his heels. Before them in the alley were two servants, a junior footman and a maid. His trousers were open, and her bodice was undone; his hands cupped her breasts, white and rose against the dark green of her livery. “Who would you two be?” said Temmin, drawing himself up as steadily as he could, and staring at the girl’s bosom.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, I’m sorry!” said the footman. His girl tried to hide her face in his chest, but he pushed her away.

“I don’t recognize either of you,” said Temmin.

“I do,” said Alvo. “They serve Her Grace, your great-grandmother, at Meadow House.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” said the footman, voice shaking. “I’m Dormus.”

“And you?” said Temmin.

“Mattisanis, sir, but everyone calls me Mattie,” said the miserable girl, covering herself as best she could.

“Arms to the side, both of you, and stand up straight!” said Temmin harshly.

“Temmin!” hissed Alvo, but the prince ignored him.

The girl dropped her arms, baring her breasts again; tears slid down her face, and Temmin watched, fascinated, as one trailed down her neck to her collarbone. “You, Dormus,” said Temmin, swaying on his feet. “D’you like your job?”

“Yes, sir!” said Dormus, almost in tears himself.

“Then fuck off!” said Temmin. Dormus immediately ran back through the hedge alley toward Meadow House, fastening himself up as he fled. Mattie turned to follow, but Temmin slurred, “Where d’you think you’re going!” She pulled up, and her tears turned to sobs.

“Temmin, what are you doing!” cried Alvo, nearly dropping the lantern in dismay.

“Alvo, I--am--a prince,” said Temmin, over-pronouncing every word. “And yet. I have never seen a pretty, naked girl, not even a little naked! Not even an ugly, naked girl--or a pretty girl who--who isn’t naked! Pagg’s Balls, Alvy!” he yelled. “You know what Mama’s like, only spinsters and widows in the house--no ‘sluts and hussies,’ and she thinks any good-looking woman under the age of 80 is a slut! This is the prettiest girl who’s ever been near the estate, and she’s obviously all right with men touching her! She lets junior footmen touch her, and I’m a--a--and how often do I pull rank anyway? Gods, I’m allowed once in a while! Listen--Mattie, is it?” he said, stumbling back to the terrified girl, who nodded. “Right. Are you scared, Mattie? Don’t be scared of us, we aren’t going to hurt you,” said Temmin. “What are you scared of?”

“That--that I’ll be sacked, sir!” sobbed Mattie. “That you’ll tell Mr Crokker, and he’ll fire me!”

“‘S a’right, Mattie,” he soothed. “You like your job?”

“I need my job, sir!” she managed to get out.

“You like your young man, what he does to you?” She didn’t answer. “You’re very pretty, Mattie, I’d say even beautiful,” said Temmin, running a wobbly finger under her chin. And she was. The unsteady light from the lantern revealed almond-shaped hazel eyes fringed with long, black lashes, and luxurious dark brown hair in a very disarrayed bun; her mouth was a tempting pink, and her flushed cheeks felt like a soft peach under his fingers. “You want to keep your job. A’right, then. If you kiss us, I won’t tell Crokker we found you with your dress undone and a footman’s hands all over you. A’right? Your choice. Give us a kiss each, and we won’t tell.”

“I don’t want to kiss her!” exclaimed Alvo. “Temmin, leave her alone! When you sober up--”

“So don’t kiss her,” growled Temmin. “A’right, Mattie?” The girl shut her eyes tight and nodded, and Temmin kissed her. It was a sort of a kiss, at any rate; it was slobbery and not so much on the mouth as somewhere in the general vicinity of the mouth. He slipped his hands into her bodice and fumbled at her breasts, squeezing and pinching--and then pulled away, choking. He managed to say “Alvy?” just before he dropped to his knees and threw up on the fine gravel of the alley.

Alvo put the lantern down and put his arm around the sick prince. He turned back to Mattie, who stood wide-eyed with one hand wiping her mouth, the other holding her bodice closed. “This isn’t him. I’m sorry about this, nothing will happen to you, I swear it. Just go!” he said urgently. Mattie nodded and ran toward Meadow House as fast as she could, her dark green skirt and white petticoats fanning out behind her. Temmin heaved a few times more, then sat back, gasping. “Are you done?” said Alvo.

Temmin nodded. “I think so. Oh, gods.” Alvo moved to help him up, but Temmin held up one hand and stood on his own. He looked around blearily. “Where’s the girl?”

“She’s gone, Tem,” said Alvo harshly. “I sent her home.”

“What did you do that for!” yelled Temmin. “She was going to let me kiss her some more!”

“No, she wasn’t.” Alvo reached up and grabbed Temmin by the ear; the prince let out an outraged squawk, but followed. Alvo dragged him to the horse trough, abruptly stuck Temmin’s head in the water, and swished him back and forth.

“What did you do that for?!” sputtered Temmin when Alvo released him.

“To sober you up, stupidhead! You stink of vomit and wuisc!”

“I’ve told you and told you it’s dangerous to call a prince ‘stupidhead!’” yelled Temmin.

“I don’t care! When you act like a stupidhead, I’m going to call you a stupidhead--stupidhead!” Alvo yelled back. “What are you going to do, execute me or something?”

Temmin stared him down, water dripping from his forelock into the trough. He drew himself up as tall as he could. “Maybe I will!”

Alvo set his feet and puffed himself up. “You and what army!”

Temmin dropped his martial stance and put his hands on his hips. “Alvy, you know very well I actually have an army!”

Alvo grimaced, trying to hold onto his anger, but it wasn’t any use.

Eventually, they picked themselves up off the ground, exhausted from laughing too hard and drinking too much, and made their way back to the straw bale. “I forgot the lantern in the alley,” sighed Alvo, bumping his head against the bricks of the stable.

“‘S a’right. Nothing to see now, anyway, since you sent the half-naked girl away,” grumbled Temmin.

“Temmin, that was a really bad thing you tried to do back there.”

“What was so bad about it? She said yes, and she’d let that footman do a lot more to her than what I did, I’d bet.” Alvo opened his mouth, but Temmin held up a finger. “You’re just not going to win this one, Alvy, so drop it. Where’s the flask gotten to?”

“No,” said Alvo firmly. “No, no and no.”