XI – A Kingdom Called Lepontia

They knew they had crossed the border separating Moldivar from Lepontia the moment the distinctive olive hue of the southern meadows gave way, all at once, to an unfathomable chlorophyll green.

The plain branched off into steep paths and, upon reaching the summit of a hill, the two mountain ranges—Kerkion to the left and Lepontia facing them—came into view.

An invisible fissure seemed to divide the south from the north of Móntria, as if they had belonged to different parts of Ymer’s body, which Odín had used on a whim when creating Midgard.

Narg revelled in the final few kilometres of the journey, even though the path was winding at times.

The kingdom was built in a valley between mountains, and the air one breathed there, along with its landscapes, was enough to steal one’s breath.

He even contemplated the possibility of ruling from there for a few months after putting the empire’s affairs in order.

A long, high wall built of sturdy silver rocks, stretching from the eastern slope of Mount Kasda to the western face of Pudaus, marked the entrance to the kingdom. On the battlements, the Raven’s Standard fluttered, filling Narg with pride.

Kuopio stepped forward to announce his arrival, but it was not necessary. From the watchtower atop Mount Pudaus, a trumpet sounded, and no matter how hard he strained, he could barely make out the dome.

'We could build one of those at home,' remarked Kuopio.

'An invention of Arwel and Maltón,' confessed the king, his mouth agape.

That wall and the tower were the kingdom’s first line of defence.

Upon the slopes, secured by a complex system of ropes linking them to the tower, a hundred thick logs were held fast in a net.

Maed drew a deep breath and could smell the resin coating them.

Should any foe dare assail them, the logs would roll down the slope; loosed with flaming arrows, the avalanche of fire would prevent the enemy from scaling the wall.

The wall began to move; the rocks that had seemed sealed thundered until two rectangular panels rose, and before the Ministerians’ eyes, the reception courtyard was revealed.

As soon as the steeds’ front hooves crossed the gate, the beauty of Lepontia struck them to the core. The courtyard stood high above the citadel and, from there, like a viewing platform, they could take in the entire kingdom.

Like a grandstand, the huts built on the slopes descended to the foothills and spread across the valley around the castle at its centre.

Behind the castle, embedded in the mountain, lay the library from which two paths branched out.

One led west, skirting the massif and climbing up to the Ilmanur Bridge, which linked Móntria with Tloston across the Heraldo Sea.

To the east, the shorter path descended to the banks of the river flowing at the foot of the mountain and ended at the mouth of a cave through which one entered the Frey Temple.

'Can you smell it?' quoth Maed, drawing a deep breath. 'Jasmine,' he added, his eyes sparkling green in the dawn’s light. 'It is as if Cheas were with us.'

'Lack of sleep is taking its toll on you,' replied Narg as he adjusted Tower’s reins to continue on their way.

Joyful, celebratory trumpeting began to ring out from every watchpost in the kingdom to announce the arrival of the king of the empire.

Kuopio sighed in surprise at how much had changed since he last visited the kingdom.

With his head held high, he noted how the walls of the buildings changed from a leaden grey to a pearly yellow as they rose higher.

'They rebuilt the walls with the rubble,' he told Maed, who, impressed, was turning his head from side to side. 'You were still in training, but this was one of the greatest challenges Narg had to face. I would go so far as to say on a par with Ubberia.'

Kuopio told him that, before Narg formed the council—even as that event drew near—the lords of Kerkion, Lepontia’s western neighbour, had rebelled and assailed it, coming near to utterly destroying it.

Disagreeing with Narg’s inheritance of the kingdom, they feared the raven would conquer them and strip them of their privileges, which is what came to pass a year later.

'Kerkion was ruled by the wealthiest lords in the kingdom,' he recounted. 'It is said they seized the throne following a curse that slew King Rolen and unleashed a plague that claimed Prince Retter and all the firstborn sons of the region.'

After that, they built the tower to defend themselves and prepared the realm to endure any assault. It was by far the most fortified realm in Móntria. They had a plan in case they were attacked: the entire folk should enter through the temple to seek refuge within the heart of Mount Hasahor.

A contingent of the royal army of Lepontia, in their gleaming silver and gold armour, bearing the emblem of the yellow sun between two silver mountains emblazoned upon their breastplates and banner, drew near to welcome them and guide them along the winding network of narrow streets unto the castle.

Standing before Narg, the troop commander, mounted upon a chestnut steed, bowed in greeting.

'My lord, I should have sent word of thy arrival. We were not expecting thee.'

Bringing her horse alongside, she removed her helmet, adorned with thin gilded plates that, on either side, took the shape of an elm and an ash, entwined behind by mistletoe leaves.

A thick mane of bronze hair fell over her shoulders and she extended her hand to shake Narg’s, whereupon Maed, with the characteristic sparkle in his eyes, stepped forward to introduce himself.

'It is an unofficial visit. I would have liked to avoid the commotion,' said Narg, shaking his head at the incorrigible seducer who served as his warrior.

'Then, if thou wilt allow me, I would have concealed thy emblem and crown,' said the commander.

Maed could not contain the laughter that bent him forward.

The guffaw was so infectious that Kuopio had to cough to hide his own.

Narg merely deigned to cast them the king’s gaze—the one that made all his subjects pray for their lives—with fire in his eyes.

But on Maed it had no effect; he knew that, if his king wished to kill him, he would not be reprimanding him with a mother’s irritated glare.

Besides, he was sensible and would not risk his reputation as Lord Justice over a jest. So, instead of bowing his head like any lackey, he winked at him.

When they had finished descending the ramp towards the valley where the stone streets would lead them to the castle, a crowd cheering the king’s name came to greet them. People from the shops, stables, taverns and huts welcomed the king of the empire.

Narg, busy greeting the faithful from a distance with a feigned smile and his arm raised, did not notice, but Maed did. From the far end of the village, from among the crevices of Mount Hasahor, a raven had taken flight.

Without losing sight of it, he discreetly clicked his tongue to catch Narg’s attention. Amidst the clouds drifting freely across the morning sky, they watched it approach until, as it flew overhead, it let out a caw—whether a greeting or a warning.

Narg shook his head; something was amiss.

A solitary raven could only herald two things: either it had withdrawn to die, which boded ill, or it was a messenger, and that meant someone was tipping off the enemy of his whereabouts.

To learn more, he closed his eyes, prepared to command it to alight, yet the hubbub of the multitude blocked their path and compelled the troopers to form a barrier about them.

In the commotion, the solitary raven pursued its course.

Upon reaching the great bronze gate of the modest castle where Curktron once reigned, they dismounted.

Narg raised his head and the majestic massifs rising behind them, their peaks still snow-capped in memory of winter, were illuminated by the sun peeking through them, and made the invincible king feel tiny.

A stable lad standing before him waited until he emerged from his daze, but Narg, with a sudden movement, refused to hand over Tower’s reins and turned back to Maed.

'I chose the wrong Gerinson,' he said, frowning.

'Perhaps my innate charm made you choose me,' he retorted, but, though suspicious, to hide his disappointment that he could never match his brother’s greatness, he averted his gaze from his king, and, facing him, the castle’s grandeur shook his soul.

It was not for its immensity but for its hue.

Unlike the bluish fortress of Old Minister, the castle of Lepontia—named Lepois as it was the furthest from the centre of Móntria—had its first two storeys, which had survived Kerkion’s attack, painted ivory, whilst the central tower, the castle’s only one, was square and a gleaming amber colour.

The young Gerinson felt as though the sun itself were rising above them, and even more so as he gazed upon the long, trident-shaped metal structure rising from the very top.

'Make certain the storms do not set the citadel alight,' Kuopio said, pushing his jaw to shut his mouth.

Narg commanded the ten ministerial soldiers to take respite ere the return journey, whilst he and his two escorts would conduct the visit.

The castle boasted two gates at either end: the rear one conducting straight to the temple and library, and the chief one, through which they had entered.

The ground floor lay clear of impediments, with naught but wooden columns stretching to either side—a space well suited to dance celebrations which, as far as Maed could discern, were frequent.

'I ought to take up residence here,' he thought as he cast a glance at two maids who smiled upon him as he passed.

But no sooner had he entered than Narg gave him a nudge in the ribs, urging him to comport himself in front of the throng of servants who, standing in a circle with expectant smiles, were receiving them.