gideonpepys
Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
Session 225, Part Two - First Stop, Shale
For any number of reasons, Shale was chosen as King Baldrey’s first port of call. It was the epicentre of naval activity, home to Duchess Ethelyn (whom Harkover still mistrusted), and often the focal point of dissent and rebellion.
The night before he went there, Korrigan experienced doubts. The rest of the unit had reported their success in retrieving the Biography of Triegenes (and the alarming/intriguing news of Ashima-Shimtu’s release) and had now begun to prepare for the trial. Korrigan wished he could have been there. The philosophical debate would have addressed several important points for him. But he put these doubts aside, reasoning that his own position on religious matters might have been too controversial. He didn’t care about the gods; his only concern was that people were dying as a consequence. He decided to leave the matter to Leon and the others.
In Shale, he met with Ethelyn at her glum seaside ‘palace’ and listened to her report on the navy. Now that she benefited from the Rites of Rulership once again, she was more hale and had dispensed with her walking stick. Kai was very glad to see her and she did a lot of talking through him. (“Tell your father… Perhaps your dad would know if…”) All the while, Korrigan studied her, gauging her level of commitment. She sensed his scrutiny and addressed the elephant in the room. “I’ve already read your treatise, your majesty,” she said. “I make no attempt to exonerate myself when I say you are the change we were looking for all along.”
That morning there was a naval regatta, with fireworks, torches, and ships lit up by druidic faerie fire. (The absence of the sun was never more glaring than during moments such as these, when darkness was the least appropriate.) Korrigan gave a rousing speech to naval personnel, then went on a walkabout to meet and greet the common folk.
She was a few feet away when he spotted her: a young woman whose face was angry and dark, at odds with the celebratory mood. While continuing to shake hands and make small talk, he assessed her threat level and determined it was low. Should he avoid her? He chose not to and when he drew adjacent, she said something too low to be audible above the general hubbub of cheering and singing. Then she spat at him. At once, she was manhandled roughly and cries of derision rose up from the crowd. Korrigan ordered her release, and drew her aside, dishevelled and quivering. He asked her to repeat what she had said.
“My son, has been deathly sick for weeks. Many of us with children such as your own. Yet the crown does nothing. You do not care about the common folk.”
Korrigan used her name, though she never gave it. “Cosandria, I promise I will look into the matter as soon as I am able.”
“You have the power of healing. Everyone knows,” she said.
But the king could not go round healing every sick child in Risur, he thought. It would not do to open the floodgates in such a fashion. So Korrigan repeated his promise and moved on.
The matter weighed heavily on him throughout the rest of the day. He determined that he would look into it personally, and in doing so he might as well begin with Cosandria’s son. At which point he realised it might have been better to agree to do so publically, perhaps even drop everything and go straight there. That would have made a more positive impression. (What later generations might refer to as 'optics'.) His instinct was to be honest and practical, but how much goodwill would that foster?
With no small inconvenience, he disentangled himself from later engagements and went to visit the sick boy. Cosandria was overwhelmed and apologetic. While Ayesha calmed her and sat her down, Korrigan knelt down beside the boy. Next to the bed, an old nursemaid or midwife sat knitting. The boy was indeed deathly pale, unconscious and breathing raggedly. While he examined him, the old woman leaned closer and out flicked a forked white tongue.
“So, the king of Risur shows his face,” she said, now she had his attention. “We have tried to send you a message, but you would not hear us. These little ones have suffered longer than they might have. Dozens and dozens of them, same age as your boy. Speaking of which, the master wants him. You have two hours to deliver him to Cauldron Hill, or the afflicted firstborn will die.”
Korrigan resisted the temptation to strike the old woman, but stood to loom over her. She laughed at him. “You may have barred old Greenteeth from Risur with your kingly powers, but she has not set foot upon your soil. Still, she awaits you on the hill.”
The old woman had spoken loudly enough for all to hear. Ayesha took hold of Cosandria’s wrist for fear she would attack the crone herself. “Begone, false healer,” she said. “Your fate will find you elsewhere.”
The old woman departed, cackling. “Oh, and don’t go calling in your fearsome friends. All it takes is a word, remember…”
Cosandria began to sob. “My poor boy. All the same age, all firstborn.” She looked at Kai, who took his father’s hand. “What will you do?”
Korrigan cast his mind about for who to call for help, then realised he needed to handle this matter alone. Ayesha was here, though, and together they studied the sick child for any clue as to the nature of this malaise.
“A curse, laid by the master of the White Tongue,” said Ayesha. “It must be powerful indeed to affect so many.”
When they were done, Korrigan turned to Cosandria and said, “We cannot help him here and now. But I will do all in my power to end this mystical disease. You have my word.” Then he left, heading back to the Duchess’ palace.
For any number of reasons, Shale was chosen as King Baldrey’s first port of call. It was the epicentre of naval activity, home to Duchess Ethelyn (whom Harkover still mistrusted), and often the focal point of dissent and rebellion.
The night before he went there, Korrigan experienced doubts. The rest of the unit had reported their success in retrieving the Biography of Triegenes (and the alarming/intriguing news of Ashima-Shimtu’s release) and had now begun to prepare for the trial. Korrigan wished he could have been there. The philosophical debate would have addressed several important points for him. But he put these doubts aside, reasoning that his own position on religious matters might have been too controversial. He didn’t care about the gods; his only concern was that people were dying as a consequence. He decided to leave the matter to Leon and the others.
In Shale, he met with Ethelyn at her glum seaside ‘palace’ and listened to her report on the navy. Now that she benefited from the Rites of Rulership once again, she was more hale and had dispensed with her walking stick. Kai was very glad to see her and she did a lot of talking through him. (“Tell your father… Perhaps your dad would know if…”) All the while, Korrigan studied her, gauging her level of commitment. She sensed his scrutiny and addressed the elephant in the room. “I’ve already read your treatise, your majesty,” she said. “I make no attempt to exonerate myself when I say you are the change we were looking for all along.”
That morning there was a naval regatta, with fireworks, torches, and ships lit up by druidic faerie fire. (The absence of the sun was never more glaring than during moments such as these, when darkness was the least appropriate.) Korrigan gave a rousing speech to naval personnel, then went on a walkabout to meet and greet the common folk.
She was a few feet away when he spotted her: a young woman whose face was angry and dark, at odds with the celebratory mood. While continuing to shake hands and make small talk, he assessed her threat level and determined it was low. Should he avoid her? He chose not to and when he drew adjacent, she said something too low to be audible above the general hubbub of cheering and singing. Then she spat at him. At once, she was manhandled roughly and cries of derision rose up from the crowd. Korrigan ordered her release, and drew her aside, dishevelled and quivering. He asked her to repeat what she had said.
“My son, has been deathly sick for weeks. Many of us with children such as your own. Yet the crown does nothing. You do not care about the common folk.”
Korrigan used her name, though she never gave it. “Cosandria, I promise I will look into the matter as soon as I am able.”
“You have the power of healing. Everyone knows,” she said.
But the king could not go round healing every sick child in Risur, he thought. It would not do to open the floodgates in such a fashion. So Korrigan repeated his promise and moved on.
The matter weighed heavily on him throughout the rest of the day. He determined that he would look into it personally, and in doing so he might as well begin with Cosandria’s son. At which point he realised it might have been better to agree to do so publically, perhaps even drop everything and go straight there. That would have made a more positive impression. (What later generations might refer to as 'optics'.) His instinct was to be honest and practical, but how much goodwill would that foster?
With no small inconvenience, he disentangled himself from later engagements and went to visit the sick boy. Cosandria was overwhelmed and apologetic. While Ayesha calmed her and sat her down, Korrigan knelt down beside the boy. Next to the bed, an old nursemaid or midwife sat knitting. The boy was indeed deathly pale, unconscious and breathing raggedly. While he examined him, the old woman leaned closer and out flicked a forked white tongue.
“So, the king of Risur shows his face,” she said, now she had his attention. “We have tried to send you a message, but you would not hear us. These little ones have suffered longer than they might have. Dozens and dozens of them, same age as your boy. Speaking of which, the master wants him. You have two hours to deliver him to Cauldron Hill, or the afflicted firstborn will die.”
Korrigan resisted the temptation to strike the old woman, but stood to loom over her. She laughed at him. “You may have barred old Greenteeth from Risur with your kingly powers, but she has not set foot upon your soil. Still, she awaits you on the hill.”
The old woman had spoken loudly enough for all to hear. Ayesha took hold of Cosandria’s wrist for fear she would attack the crone herself. “Begone, false healer,” she said. “Your fate will find you elsewhere.”
The old woman departed, cackling. “Oh, and don’t go calling in your fearsome friends. All it takes is a word, remember…”
Cosandria began to sob. “My poor boy. All the same age, all firstborn.” She looked at Kai, who took his father’s hand. “What will you do?”
Korrigan cast his mind about for who to call for help, then realised he needed to handle this matter alone. Ayesha was here, though, and together they studied the sick child for any clue as to the nature of this malaise.
“A curse, laid by the master of the White Tongue,” said Ayesha. “It must be powerful indeed to affect so many.”
When they were done, Korrigan turned to Cosandria and said, “We cannot help him here and now. But I will do all in my power to end this mystical disease. You have my word.” Then he left, heading back to the Duchess’ palace.
