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The Fall of Patterland (Chapters 1-4)
🕑 Added 2020-11-22 22:30:21 +0000 UTCThe Fall of Patterland
By Horuvex
Chapter 1
King James the Fourth of Patterland sat on his ornately carved white marble throne as another supplicant walked up the long carpet that stretched down the centre of the hall. To his right sat two other thrones, each of equal size and height. To James’ immediate right and holding the centre of the triumvirate, sat King William the Eighth, on his blocky grey granite throne. Furthest from James sat King Timothy the Fifth on a delicately carved throne made of wood from a single black walnut tree that had been felled in the southernwoods.
Together, James and his two royal peers formed a triumvirate. So it had been for over 250 years, since the defeat of Oscar the Cruel. No one king was allowed to hold total power over Patterland. The wisdom of the ancestors had decreed that there must always be three kings to rule over the land.
James rested his chin on his hand as the supplicant stopped short of the royal dais. Standing before the kings was a slim shepherd, holding a long crook. He looked to be in his 30s, but it was hard to tell with someone who lived such a rugged existence. The shepherd took off his large straw hat, and wiped sweat from his brow. He sunk to his knees on the plush red carpet. “Your majesties, I bring disturbing news from the western foothills,” the shepherd said. His voice was shaky. He was clearly awed by the three royal figures before him.
“You are far from home sheepherder,” said King William. His thick, black beard hid most of his expression, except that of his icy blue eyes. King William leaned forward in his granite throne. His golden grown glittered in the daylight that shined through the stained glass of the hall. “Could you not have told this news to a soldier, sheriff, or royal scout?”
The shepherd’s balding head remained lowered, but he shook it side to side. “No my lord, not this. No one will listen to me.”
King Timothy yawned, smoothing back his long silver hair. “Well, get on with it,” he said. Timothy was clean-shaven, and wore no crown. Instead, a large ring made of jade and silver, with twelve perfect emeralds mounted symmetrically around the band, adorned his middle finger on his right hand. “Tell us your news.”
The shepherd looked up from his knees. Impassive guards stood behind him, gripping their pole-arms and watching him carefully. “There have been signs my lords. In the entrails, in the calls of the ravens, and in the clouds – omens,” he said, pausing. Then he blurted out, “There is a witch in Patterland, perhaps several in fact.”
King James let out an instinctive scoff. He was the youngest of the three kings, being in his early-20s, and sporting a thick head of blond hair. He had grown a close-clipped beard to offset his youthful ‘baby-face’, and this seemed to work for the most part. He sat up in his marble throne and unconsciously gripped the amulet, which rested on his chest, a symbol of his appointment. The enormous ruby set in copper metalwork glimmered through his fine fingers. “A witch? You come to us with oldwives’ tales and superstitious nonsense? You made us believe you had important news. Truly, you are mad, shepherd. Go back to your sheep and your entrails,” James said, before leaning back in his seat and shaking his head in disbelief.
The shepherd seemed to deflate, realizing his message had fallen on deaf ears. “But my lord…”
A guard came behind shepherd and lifted him with a muscular grip under his arm.
King Timothy held out a finger, pointing at the supplicant. “One moment, guard,” he said. The guard stood still, holding the shepherd.
“I am not so young as my royal peer, King James. I’ve seen things, perhaps lived a little longer,” King Timothy gave King James a subtle wink. “If what you say is true, there is perhaps some danger of unrest in the western foothills. Have you seen this woman? Is she forming a group of followers? Has she attacked any priests?”
The shepherd shook his head. “No my lord. I have only seen the signs. She, and possibly others in her coven, have great power, great potential for evil. But she is hidden from my limited skill. Perhaps one of your advisors or magi could make a closer divination,” he said, hope in his voice.
King Timothy answered. “Perhaps. I shall pass the news along. May you have a safe journey home, loyal shepherd. The attendants will see that you are given bread and cheese.” He waved his aged hand, and the guard pulled the shepherd away. The three kings could hear the man muttering under his breath as he was led away from the dais, and out of the hall.
“Who let that bumpkin into the hall for a royal audience?” King William asked. The guards continued to stand, blank faced, along the walls.
King James chuckled. “Well, it was amusing at least. He didn’t even ask for money.”
King Timothy grunted. “Indeed. I have a strange feeling about this. Call it a gut feeling.”
“You worry too much old man,” James said, smiling. “What’s for lunch?”
------
…One Year Later
“King William, which girl would you care for today?” The Madam of the opulent high-end brothel in Patterland’s capital of Paterburg stepped forward from a curtain of deep red silk, which hung from the ceiling. Madam Victoria had owned and run the Royal City House of Charms for nearly 25 years, ever since she’d climbed the ranks of prostitutes and base whores and used her savings to buy out the former madam. King William was easily their best customer, although few in the city knew of his predilections. None of the triumvirate was married. King Timothy was known to be an old widower who had since lost his interest in sex, and King James was still sowing his wild oats, as it were, among the various aristocratic ladies and pretty courtiers.
King William lowered the embroidered hood that he wore when he did not want to be recognized. He’d left his crown at the castle. He stroked his black beard as he considered. “Which girl? Hmm…well I feel you’ve only got three that truly stand out Madam Victoria,” he chuckled. “Or at least three who can satisfy a king.”
Madam Victoria stifled a sigh. King William was a bit of a nymphomaniac. He had sired numerous bastard children, and was always seeking new women to take to his bed. But he had money, and had made her a rich woman. “Your majesty might be interested in a new girl who has come into employ at the Royal City House of Charms. She is a bit feisty, but I am told you like that,” said Madam Victoria.
“Oh? Yes, bring her to my usual chamber. I wish to meet this…”
“Ursula,” Madam Victoria smiled. “I do not know her last name, if she has one.”
“It is not important. I need someone in my bed. It has been too many days since my last visit. Bring her,” said King William, as he walked out of the room.
William sat down on the edge of the opulent plush bed in the room the Madam kept just for him. It was good to be king. Several minutes later, the door opened and in stepped a pale young woman. In the dim lamplight, King William could see immediately that she was very beautiful. Her black hair was piled up on her head, exposing a slim pale neck. She was wearing a silken robe, cinched at the waist, and looked to be no more than 22 years old at most, perhaps a little more than half King William’s age. The raven-black hair was held up with a wooden comb that had some sort of small inscription on it, impossible to make out in the dim light.
“Ursula is it?” King William asked. He motioned her forward with his hand. “Let me see your face girl.”
“I’m not a girl,” Ursula said. Her voice was confident as she turned and stepped toward King William. William noted her full soft lips and bright pale blue eyes. Ursula appeared to be of average height with pleasant curves in the right places. She had dark but perfectly shaped eyebrows, and did not look away shyly like some many of the other whores in the Royal City House of Charms.
“Oh? Are you a boy then?” King William chuckled.
“I’m a woman, a lady,” Ursula replied. “I’m not like the others.”
King William smiled, nodding. “I like your spirit. But you’re still to do as I say. I’ve paid for you.”
Ursula lifted her chin defiantly. “You’ve paid to be in my presence,” she said. “I will decide if you may touch me. For that, you will have to give me much more.”
King William could feel his member stiffening at this unusual show of pride and independence from a prostitute. “Do you even know who I am…woman?”
Ursula tilted her head. “An aristocrat?”
William grinned. “Indeed, a very powerful one at that,” he said, hiding the full truth.
“Make me like you, and you will be able to touch me, be inside of me.” Ursula spoke softly, sensuously. She stepped up against the bed, and touched King William’s hair gently. He looked up from where he sat, into her pretty face. Ursula looked into his eyes, as if trying to peer into him, and she slowly smiled.
“You want to be a lady do you?” King William moaned at the pressure of her supple body against his side.
“Yes,” Ursula said, gazing in to his eyes. King William found it hard to look away. There was something almost hypnotic about this woman’s gaze. Her deep blue eyes seemed to see right into him, read him.
He kissed her, breaking the moment, but knew this was only the beginning. He would have her, no matter what she said. Ursula stroked his hair as they kissed, letting him have this taste, before she pulled back.
“Now, tell me about yourself,” she said. Her breath was sweet against his mouth. “What’s your name my lord?”
Chapter 2
Many in the court had noticed that King William had been acting different of late. He often slept in, or was alone in his chambers with a woman. Some said he had a new maidservant that he’d taken a fancy to. Others said he had a new lover. King Timothy chuckled one morning as he and King James waited in their thrones; the centre throne was empty for the third time this week. “King William seems to have taken a fancy to his new lady. It’s a good thing too; considering my wife is dead and you have yet to marry. We need more heirs to educate, more royal blood lest the weaker houses decide to try and put one of their sons on the throne. Marriage would make us stronger, and sons even more so. King William tarnished our image with his whoring,” Timothy said.
King James nodded, feeling a twinge of annoyance. “Yes, well, I’m not about to settle down,” he said, grinning. “Let William chain himself to one lady. I have many years left to sow my wild oats, and I’m having far too much fun. Did I tell you about the blonde from Eastport that wanted me to-”
“Yes, yes. Spare me James. I was young once too you know,” King Timothy interrupted.
“It’s hard to believe,” King James said, chuckling. King Timothy’s eyes narrowed.
The small intricately carved oak door behind the three thrones – a private entrance – suddenly swung open, and King William rushed out. His fine golden crown was ajar on his head, his clothes looked rumpled and messy, and his hair was uncombed. “I’m sorry. I know I’m late,” he muttered, quickly taking his seat.
“Indeed,” King Timothy intoned, arching an eyebrow across at King James, who smirked.
“Lovesick William? Why don’t you marry the woman and be done with it? Which house is she from?” James asked.
“I fear I might just do that. But she’s of no house.”
“A commoner?” King Timothy asked, lifting his eyebrows. “This is surprising for you King William. She must be quite the whore.”
“She’s not a whore!” Snapped King William. “I mean…she’s a very beautiful and intelligent woman. She might as well be royalty. Perhaps I should make her one of us.”
“That is not a decision to be taken lightly,” Timothy said. “She must rather have her hooks into you.”
“Why?” King James asked. “We can turn men into landholders overnight by simple edict, making them aristocrats. How is this different?”
“Did your tutors teach you anything boy?” Timothy asked. “Royal blood carries certain privileges in Patterland.” He touched his jade and silver ring, emeralds glittering in the morning light. “Do you understand?”
King James nodded. “I understand, but it still seems an old rule, dated.”
“Like me perhaps?” asked King Timothy.
King James laughed and shrugged. “I suppose. Let the man do what he wishes. He is a king after all. What harm could come of it? If anything, it will strengthen his appeal with the common folk.”
King William was straightening out his robes and attendants quickly moved to his side to help him. “Well said James. I am a king, and I think I would like to claim Ursula as mine, by marriage,” he said. “Not a word of this to anyone, however.” He looked to James and Timothy, then into the eyes of the silent servants.
“Oh, me my lord? No! Never!” The stocky young serving girl at his side spoke in a shaky voice, her eyes wide.
“Good, or it’ll be the dungeon for you,” William said, his eyes burning a cold blue.
“Yes my lord, not a word!” The servant on his other side nodded frantically.
“Good. Now leave us, and call in the first supplicants.”
------
Ursula reached out for King William’s hand, touching it gently as they stood before the cleric, who looked the two over with a dour expression. “Your highness, I am not aware of this lady’s house,” he said.
Ursula lifted her chin slightly, looking up at the cleric with a hostile expression. “My blood is as pure as any noble,” she said. “I come from a long line of very special women.”
“I’m sure,” the cleric said. His voice was laced with a patronizing tone. “Indeed, your lack of humility strikes me as your most noble characteristic.”
Ursula’s mouth opened in anger, but King William cut her off. “I realize this is unusual Brother Victor, but I am a king, and as such I am entitled to bend the rules or even make some of my own. Don’t you think the royal families could use a bit of fresh blood? My lady Ursula is both educated and healthy. She could bear many children for my house, for Patterland.”
The cleric’s stroked his chin as he considered King William’s words. “But she doesn’t even profess to follow the Elemental Pantheon. The vows you’ve showed me are entirely unknown, and based on some heathen ritual I’ve never heard of.”
“You will do this cleric, or I will find another more willing member to take your place at tomorrow’s ceremony. I have been without a wife for too long, and neither King James nor King Timothy is wed. This is of significance to the realm, and more so, to me. Perhaps young Brother Harvey could take your place. He seems eager to rise in the-”
“Enough. You’ve made your point. Don’t say I didn’t warn you, your majesty. Traditions exist for a reason,” Brother Victor said.
Ursula smirked, and King William nodded. “Then we’ll see you in the morning. A good evening to you brother.”
“I wish I could say the same,” said the cleric, before he left the room.
“Oh William, this will be so wonderful. To be finally wed, and able to be open about our union and passion,” Ursula said, smiling and turning to King William after the cleric had closed the door behind him.
William smiled and looked down into Ursula’s blue eyes. “You will finally be a Lady, royalty really.” He remembered how Ursula had shown such excitement to find out he was a king, not just some aristocrat. She hadn’t been scared at all, but wanted to know more about his life. That was something he loved about her – she was so willing to learn and grow.
“A queen?” Ursula looked up at him in eagerness, smiling.
“Well, you’ll always be my queen. But you cannot be a queen of Patterland unless you sit on a throne, and they are reserved for kings,” he explained.
Ursula’s brow furrowed. “But then, I’m really still to be your commoner wife, just with more recognition.”
“Hardly my dear. You will be my wife, the wife of a king. Your children will be princes and princesses. You will be as good as a royal yourself.”
Ursula sighed. “I remember. But I want to be a royal too, to be treated as an equal by your peers. I don’t like how everyone looks down on me William,” she said.
William thought about that. “Well, perhaps…perhaps we could add a clause to the vows, that if I die or abdicated, you can take my place.”
Ursula’s eyes lit up. “Oh! That’s a wonderful idea William.” Then her expression dropped in worry. “But I don’t want you to die. What about if any of the kings dies or abdicates?”
“That could take some convincing…”
“I’m sure you can do it William. Imagine, sitting on the thrones together, ruling as husband and wife,” she said. Her smile was so beautiful. Ursula seemed to almost glow at the idea of sitting at his side.
William laughed. “It would be wonderful. You are so kind. You would make a great queen. You are more intelligent than most of the people in the court anyway. Let’s see what we can do.” King William reached for the papers on which their vows had been written, pulling an inkpot toward him as Ursula watched and eagerly began to suggest amendments.
------
In the end, it was a very small ceremony and probably the least royal wedding the kingdom had seen in over a century. King William said that he didn’t want too much attention given to his commoner wife. Brother Victor had agreed. In attendance were King William, Ursula, Brother Victor, King James, King Timothy, the court magus Merlivax, and the usual assortment of servants. A pair of guards in dress uniforms stood at the door.
Ursula looked stunning, dressed in a shimmering satin gown of white, a veil drawn over half of her face. Her red lips looked soft and kissable as she stood before King William, who himself was wearing stately robes, with his golden crown glittering where it rested in his thick hair. King Timothy had offered to “give away” the bride, in lieu of Ursula’s father, whom she said was deceased. Now, as she stood before William, he couldn’t believe how lucky he was. She was achingly beautiful, with her porcelain smooth skin and thick black hair, her full lips and bright blue eyes. She looked as royal as any duchess or baroness, more so, he thought to himself.
King Timothy had come to see what he saw in her, and had signed the marriage contract, with the unique vows. “It’s high time we had a woman on the throne in Patterland again,” he had said, while winking at Ursula. She’d kissed him on the cheek after he signed. King William had been shocked at how the usually sceptical Timothy had become a soft old man in the presence of Ursula. He’d barely glanced at the long contract before pressing his royal ring into the enchanted wax. The scroll waited on a side table to be signed by the couple, the cleric, and the magus at the close of the ceremony. Merlivax had asked to see the document, but King William had assured him it had been written well. Still, the old magus stood looking somewhat sombre in his violet robes and long white beard, as King William and Ursula gazed into each other’s eyes before Brother Victor as he made his way through several passages from texts Ursula had suggested. King William hadn’t much bothered with such trivialities. At last came the real vows.
“Do you, King William, take this woman to be your wife and equal, for as long as you both shall live?” Brother Victor intoned, his face looking on impassively, almost with boredom.
“I do,” said King William.
“And do you, Ursula Venomix, take this man, to be your husband and equal, for as long as you both shall live?”
Magus Merlivax’s brow wrinkled as he heard Ursula’s last name. “Venomix?” He whispered to himself. “It must be a conincidence.”
“I do,” Ursula said. Her voice was breathy, seductive, as she gazed into King William’s eyes.
“If no one here wishes to voice an objection,” Brother Victor paused. Magus Merlivax’s looked around, a distracted expression on his face. “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
King William leaned into Ursula’s lips, kissing her deeply. King James watched from the seats and felt a twinge of jealousy. He needed to go find one of his lady lovers, perhaps Julia, he thought. William had found a beautiful bride. The new couple moved to the contract scroll and signed along with the cleric. It was done. King Timothy clapped his hands in approval, smiling wide. King James joined in, along with the servants and guards.
Ursula’s red lips turned up in a smile. “I’m a Lady now, your lady King William! We’ll be so happy together.”
He laughed and pulled his new wife to his side. “We will my love, my lady. Come, let’s go to my chambers.”
Chapter 3
The newly wed couple spent many days alone in the king’s chambers. The court buzzed with jokes and sly references to the intimacy and sex that was going on in King William’s section of the palace, high in his personal keep. Indeed some servants even claimed to have heard moans and squeals of passion through the thick oaken doors of William and Ursula’s bedchamber. After several days had passed, King William and his wife went on a tour of the realm, as a sort of honeymoon mixed with official duties. “Now that you are a part of my life, and so eager to be a Lady, you must accept that you are a public figure Ursula,” William had said.
But Ursula had not complained. Rather, she seemed to revel in the attention of the plebes and peasants, throwing them copper pennies and sweet bread as they passed from town to town. King William had spared no expense in providing his new bride with the best clothes and jewellery. He proudly displayed his beautiful dark-haired wife at each stop, and Ursula seemed to revel in the bows and curtsies she received. It only made her more confident in her behaviour. Any vestige of the young prostitute William had met at the Royal City House of Charms so many months ago seemed to have faded away. As they moved through Patterland, Ursula began to pick out young women who she felt would make suitable ladies-in-waiting, servants, and even guards.
“But Ursula, we already have many servants at the royal palace, and guards trained to serve the kings,” King William explained.
“But they’re not my choice William,” she said. “Their allegiance may be to the court, the magus, the clerics, or even other aristocrats. I need my own people, ones who are loyal only to me.”
He couldn’t quite argue with that. Political intrigue was always a part of life in the royal court, and his wife had become a quick student of the various houses and interests struggling for influence in the shadow of the Royal Triumvirate. King William let her choose whom she wished, and Ursula would hold private meetings in villages, hamlets, and towns, before picking one or two young women. As they travelled, King William noticed that Ursula was gathering a sizeable entourage of women – all extremely attractive. His own guards could often be seen staring at one of them as they passed between the royal couple’s wagon and the dozen attendant follower wagons that Ursula had purchased, with silver he had gifted her. The women varied in their looks, complexions, and athleticism. Some were blonde or brunette. Others had bright red hair. She even recruited an exotic dark-skinned woman from Indusland, across the southern sea. She had been in the company of a roving spice merchant who had been thrilled to accept Ursula’s silver for his servant.
However, all of the women shared certain personality traits: they were confident, intelligent, and arrogant – especially toward men. Many of the young male guards or servants had received brutal rejections when they had tried to woo one of the new ladies-in-waiting. One soldier had even tried to “press his interest” on a large athletic blacksmith’s daughter who Ursula had recruited into her personal guard. The girl had throttled that soldier so hard that he needed healing by one of Merlivax’s apprentices, who’d come along for the tour. The other guards had laughed and teased him.
By the time they headed back to the capital, Paterburg, Ursula had collected a group of about 120 vibrant young women, who had separated into cooks, maids, guards, and a small inner circle of ladies-in-waiting. Shortly before their arrival, she informed William that a number of the cooks were in fact priestesses or aspiring female magi of a sort. This had somewhat alarmed him. “But Patterland follows the Elemental Pantheon, and there are only male priests in our clergy. Brother Victor will accuse you of fomenting heresy,” King William said.
Ursula scoffed. “Brother Victor is a dried up old prune. Times are changing and Patterland should be welcoming to other ways of thinking. It’s not good to be so attached to such dusty philosophies as the Elemental Pantheon. Just think about how the Euborean Duchy was able to strike down so many of your soldiers in the last war,” she said.
King William shrugged. “You have a point, but I’m not the one you’ll need to convince. Bringing in a coterie of woman-priests will definitely stir up controversy in the court, not to mention any suggestion of female magi. Merlivax will imprison them, or worse. We’ve all heard the legends and old wives’ tales of witches. The odd herb enchantress is one thing, but a magus...he’ll demand a public inquiry,” William explained.
“That’s why I’ve told everyone they’re cooks my love,” Ursula smiled and kissed him on the cheek. “Only you know the truth, and I know you can keep a secret – like where we first met.”
King William made a low sound of acknowledgement. That had been a tricky secret to keep. If anyone at court were able to prove that his lady wife was in fact a whore from the royal brothel, he’d have no end of troubles – he could even be accused of behaviour unsuitable for a throne. William could think of at least three houses that would be more than happy to put him on trial for that, to force King James and King Timothy to vote against him. “We mustn’t tell a soul,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re happy with your new servants.”
“Oh I am,” Ursula said, smiling again. “My ladies-in-waiting are already of such a great help. I won’t be needing the ones the court provided after the wedding. Those simpletons were idiots or obvious spies.”
King William nodded. He’d seen the inner circle of ladies that had risen to the top of the pack in Ursula’s entourage during the last few weeks. Whenever he was away from Ursula, they joined her at her side. There were three of them, and he’d already learned their names due to their near constant presence. They’d been nothing more than peasants or merchant’s daughters, but Ursula had lifted them out of their small towns and country fields to give them new purpose.
Helga was a medium sized woman, with long fiery red hair and a dusting of freckles on each cheek. She had bright green eyes and had taken to painting her manicured nails robin’s egg blue or forest green. Helga had been a wealthy merchant’s daughter in the town of Ilyushka, before she joined Ursula. Olga was a blonde with wavy thick hair and blue eyes. She stood nearly as tall as King William himself, and was unafraid to make direct eye contact with him or any of the highborn she’d met. He found it amusing, but other highborn had taken deep offence at Olga’s lack of deference. Ursula had discovered Olga by the road one evening, cutting mushrooms off the bottom of some pine trunks. She claimed to be a goat-herder from the mountains and certainly seemed to possess the thick, yet strong physique for such a life. Ylva was a somewhat petite woman, perhaps in her early 30s, with a head of loose brown curls that tumbled over her shoulders. Her deep brown eyes were the colour of a stout cup of tea, and her skin was tanned and buttery smooth. Ylva had met Ursula while she was working at a bookshop in the village of Grenik.
William didn’t mind the eye-candy, and stole the occasional glance at his wife’s beautiful ladies-in-waiting, when she wasn’t watching. They were a major upgrade from Ursula’s ladies at the palace, she was right. Marriage had proved to be a worthy endeavour. The sex was good, incredible really, and now he was surrounded with beautiful women and given a new respect and notoriety in the land. His honeymoon tour had lifted his profile, and many in the kingdom seemed to see him as the greatest of the three kings, with the crown on his head, and potential for sons to come. Soon after their arrival, Ursula installed her new servants, “cooks”, guards, and ladies-in-waiting, into King William’s keep. She removed all of the original people, except those King William personally asked to keep in his employ – perhaps 10 or 15 men who had served him for decades. As a result, many of the courtiers began to refer to King William’s keep with special names, as his corner of the palace had become undeniably more feminine. “The beautiful keep”, “the pink hall”, “the tower of delights”, and other names could be heard, but these were the more polite names. The guards and stablemen, whispered in laughter over ales at night, and passed around far cruder names. Yet these names were spoken with a longing and jealousy for King William’s good fortune.
------
Merlivax sat in his library, surrounded by beakers full of bubbling bright coloured liquids, with jars full of powders and dried plants stacked along the base of the curving wall. He leaned over a thick tome, peering down at strange writing, his long white beard falling nearly into his lap. He was 128 years old – kept healthy by special use of tonics, potions, and careful spells. Merlivax had seen many kings come and go, but lately it was getting increasingly difficult to remember them all. His age was finally catching up with him it seemed. He was searching for a memory-enhancing spell, some way to sharpen his mind. His thoughts had grown a little cloudy of late, over the last year or two. Things he was once able to recall in a flash, now often took a great effort to remember. He ran a gnarled finger down the page, reading closely. As the hours passed, the daylight coming through the two windows on the far side of the room faded to dusk, then the cool black of night. Merlivax waved his hand, absentmindedly lighting a concentric ring of spherical lanterns, which hung from the ceiling. He continued reading.
The bronze door of his library slowly swung open, the embossed geometric designs on the door glittered in the lamplight. Merlivax glanced up under his bushy white eyebrows. “What is it?” he asked.
Ursula stepped into his library, wearing an elegant dark green nightgown. It hung on thin spaghetti straps from her shoulders, revealing deep cleavage. The lingerie clung shiny to her curves, draping down to her ankles. Her feet were covered in matching silk slippers. Merlivax sat up slightly. He had not seen a woman this young or this scantily dressed in decades, perhaps 50 years. His libido may have been gone, but his mind wasn’t, at least not yet. He suppressed his thoughts and controlled the direction of his gaze. “My lady, is there something wrong? It’s very late.”
Ursula tilted her head, looking down at Merlivax at his worktable. “It is late for you, isn’t it magus – late in your life?”
“Well, yes. But I am still quite healthy. My skills have kept me alive for a long time,” he replied. “Did you need something?”
“Indeed,” Ursula smiled. There was something unsettling about her blue eyes, they way she was staring at him. “What if I told you I was even older than you?”
Merlivax scoffed. “My child. I was well past a century in age when you were still in your mother’s womb.”
Ursula nodded. “In one sense you’re right, magus. I had to hide myself in an embryo, a chrysalis, until the time was right, until men forgot about me, until I became legend, stories.”
Merlivax scowled slowly.
Ursula continued. “I was so close to gaining a realm, real power, but those men,” she spat out the word, “those wizards. They prevented it. Well, they’re all long dead now, and I found a womb, a way back into the world.”
Ursula looked down at her own hands, at her body, and then lifted her gaze back to Merlivax, who had gone pale behind his drooping moustaches. “Impossible,” he whispered. “It’s been a thousand years. You can’t be her. There’s only a ghost-whisper of magic, of sorcery in you.”
Ursula lifted her chin. “All seeds need fertilizer, need nutrients to absorb, before they can blossom and grow.”
Merlivax narrowed his eyes. “Venomix…”
Ursula’s blue eyes turned a solid black, dark as the deepest night, blotting out even her sclera. She lifted her hand and he felt a deep tugging inside him, some ancient magic pulling at his inner core, the source of all his power. Merlivax stood up, quick for his age, and uttered several shuddering echoing words, supernatural words. He cut off the sense of loss, the draining sensation. A shimmering shield formed around his body. “You have revealed yourself too soon, witch!” he shouted.
Merlivax spoke more mysterious words, scattering a handful of glowing blue dust into the air, fire bursting forth toward Ursula. She lifted her manicured hand, blocking the flow of blue heat, barely able to stop it from washing over her shimmering spell and incinerating her to a crisp. He was considerably more powerful than her, he could see. His years of study gave him a strong advantage.
Three young women slipped into the library behind Ursula, as if on a cue: a redhead wearing a blue gown, a tall blonde wearing tight trousers and a belt with a rapier hanging from her waist, and a petite brunette in a simple grey woollen dress, cinched at the waist with an embroidered fabric band. Merlivax turned as the three women lifted their hands and began to chant. None of them seemed much of a threat, but together the three women were pressing a powerful attack against his shield. Their power combined was more than the sum of its parts. Merlivax squinted, putting more effort into his protective spell, but they were overcoming him with a flow of twisted feral untrained energy. There were too many of them. He lifted his left hand, a bright light forming on his index fingertip. He began to point it at the redhead, regretting the need to incinerate and slice-up such a beautiful woman with the Light of Valor.
But Ursula had recovered, and now she swung her fist out, reaching slowly through his weakened shield and grabbing his white beard, yanking him toward her. Merlivax stumbled, dragged partly across his solid desk, the light on his fingertip fading in his distraction. Ursula’s other hand came onto his balding scalp and he felt a ripping, yanking sensation. Merlivax screamed as she began to suck the power from him, to draw out his magic skill and talent, his inborn ability and honed power. The icy pain lanced into his aging body. His back arched as he howled. Ursula’s nails bit into his skin as she clawed at his aged head, the dark spell intensifying.
The three strange women began to chant more intensely, stepping closer as Merlivax gripped Ursula’s wrist in his gnarled hand, trying to pry her off him. “Nooo! Get away from me, witch!” He shouted. His mouth formed the beginning of an incantation, but Ursula punched him in the face roughly with her free hand, stunning his senses. She was physically strong, young.
“Yes! It’s working!” Ursula cried. A look of wild elation passed over her face as she absorbed Merlivax’s power into her. Her black eyes shimmered in the lamplight, like smooth onyx. “The POWER, I can feel it!”
Merlivax felt his age catching up with him, creeping over him, as Ursula stole his magic His life force was being pulled along with it as he tried desperately to stop her. His withering body arched and twitched as ripples of light pulsed through his veins. Ursula seemed to swell, a hungry expression in her eyes as she rose slightly taller by an inch or two, her hips widening and her breasts growing fuller. She was more now, more powerful magically and physically.
Merlivax had always been a competent magus, never inordinately talented or skilful, but loyal and disciplined. Now it was all over. The mythical Ursula Venomix was taking everything. His face broke out into deeper wrinkles and his eyes clouded with cataracts. He groaned and slumped to the table, a withered husk, as the last shreds of his life and magic passed into Ursula, like the fading tongue of a candle flame extinguished. She stood over his frail corpse, panting, her eyes slowly returning to their usual blue. Power coursed through her body and she flexed her fingers, a sinister grin spreading on her face. “The poor man. I guess he was just too old and died in the night,” she said, her voice coming out silky and sympathetic.
Helga, Olga, and Ylva laughed behind her. “How does it feel Ursula?” asked Olga, her eyes eagerly peering around at all the bubbling beakers and books.
“Incredible, like a piece of me restored. I’ve been just a spark, an ember for years. Now, now there is a fire inside, a beginning, something to build with,” Ursula said. Her slightly taller height and bigger size made her breasts strain against her tight nightgown, deep cleavage covered by stretched green fabric.
“But won’t they replace him with another magus?” Ylva asked.
Ursula shrugged. “Then he’ll feed me as well, or perhaps one of you.”
Ylva laughed. “I’d like that. I’d like to have some magic powers beyond simple cantrips and enchantments.”
“Oh you’ll have it, all of you will, if we are patient,” Ursula said. Now she was looking around at the room as well. “But first, let’s see what we can use here. It might be a while until we can put one of you into place as the new Royal Magus.”
The women began to walk around the room, perusing books and peering at bubbling liquids and labels, while Ursula’s face passed through various staged emotions: shock, sorrow, horror, resigned acceptance. She practiced these expressions as she flipped through the pages of a large gilded book. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 4
Months passed and winter came to Patterland on the heels of a wet and gloomy fall. Much of the autumn harvest had moulded or decayed in the nearly unbroken rain and mist, such that farmers expressed worry they would not be able to take care of their own needs after paying their taxes. Petitioners came to court seeking reprieve from their usual tax burdens, and the aristocrats began to argue over whether their pleas held merit. To make matters worse, King Timothy had grown ill. He had developed a cough during the long wet autumn, and was looking increasingly pale and weak in his elaborately carved walnut-wood throne. Highborn families began to jockey for position, as his weakness grew more obvious. The Lady Ursula had shown great compassion as the first snows arrived. She visited the oldest of the three kings with special broths and herbal ointments, in an attempt to comfort him.
King William was proud of his kindly wife. The old man had taken a shine to her, and she had reciprocated. He did not understand the jealous rumours that frequently circulated in the court, those who accused his wife of being opportunistic. Her beauty continued to entrance him, and her presence made his life so much easier. She was an excellent advisor, and he often invited her to stand close to his throne during the day, so that he could consult with her or seek her opinion. King James often glanced over at Ursula, and King William was certain the young king was envious of his bride. This pleased him. He wore the crown for a reason, he told himself.
But things were changing in the court. The redheaded Helga, one of Ursula’s ladies-in-waiting had grown close to the new royal magus, a 30-year-old man with a slight build and a head of black hair. She had fawned over Zeridda’s skill and intelligence. The two were rarely seen apart, and Zeridda had begun to teach her little spells, in secret, especially once he realized how she could use them to enhance their passionate love-making. The tall blonde, Olga, had similarly begun to see the captain of the royal guard. She had impressed him with her strength and athletic ability, initially asking for martial training. Sweaty swordplay and wrestling soon led another sort of wrestling, in bed. The petite yet soft and curvy Ylva had brought her brown curls into the royal library and had begun to spend much time discussing ideas and philosophy with the younger courtiers and aristocrats. Her experience working in a bookstore translated to a great deal of reading. She began to question many of the long held traditions of the court, by subtly suggesting new paths and books. She even bought new books for the library using money Ursula had given her from King William’s estate. Ylva began to teach a number of more eager women about the ancient pagan Goddess-worship faith of Vulvism. This she did in secret, for it was known that if the priests of the Elemental Pantheon were to learn of heresy in the royal court, there would be a horrible punishment.
But Vulvism appealed to the women, who learned from dusty ancient books that it was an older faith by far than the Elemental Pantheon. They learned that given enough time and training, great power could be sought in the practice of Vulvic rituals and spell-craft. Ylva encouraged them to study these texts, and slowly their circle began to grow. As Ursula’s influence in the royal court spread and deepened, she began to make a greater effort to push King William for more formal titles. One evening, after making love, she sat in bed with William. A fire roared in the hearth while snow fell in gusts outside the leaded glass windows of his chambers, high in his personal keep. Ursula held a purple silk sheet over her perky breasts. King William had barely noticed that she’d grown slightly taller several months ago. His wife had merely seemed more curvy than he thought, more vigorous. Royal life was treating her well, he’d assumed.
Ursula was panting slightly. The sex had been intense. “William, King Timothy is not getting better. I fear he may have consumption,” she said, staring at the fire.
“My sweet, do we need to talk of this now?” King William sighed, laying back in the plush sheets and blankets of their bed. “Don’t spoil such a wonderful moment.”
Ursula smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m just worried about him, and what might happen if he dies.”
William lifted his eyebrows. “Do you really think he might die? He’s never been a weak man. The healers say that he should do better once spring comes.”
Ursula shook her head slowly, her thick black tresses brushing her pale shoulders. “But not if he has consumption. His cough is getting worse, despite all they’ve done, and all I’ve tried to do for him, the poor thing.” She stared at the fire, the flames reflecting in her light blue eyes.
King William thought about this. King Timothy had been on the throne since he was a boy. It was hard to imagine him being absent. Timothy had been the best source of counsel before his marriage to Ursula. “Well, I suppose then we’d have to elect a new king.”
Ursula turned to look at her husband. “But remember the vows you signed, our marriage vows. William, I want to take his place if he dies, to sit at your side.”
William’s eyes widened. He’d never thought this could actually happen, let alone so soon. “But Ursula, Patterland hasn’t had a reigning queen in…”
“Centuries, I know,” she said. “Don’t you think that’s a bad thing? Don’t you think it’s time Patterland have a proper royal family again?”
“But we have a triumvirate. Besides, King James will still be on a throne. It wouldn’t just be us,” King William explained.
Ursula shrugged. “I don’t mind. I’d still be sitting at your side, as your queen.”
King William smiled. The idea did appeal to him. “Yes, that would be magnificent,” he said. “But I don’t see how it could be done without a great deal of controversy.”
“Leave it to me, love,” Ursula said, leaning down to kiss King William’s exposed chest. “I’ll take care of the court. It will be for the best, you’ll see.”
King William moaned at the kisses from her soft lips, touching her hair with his hand. “Yes, and pray for King Timothy to survive.”
“Of course, of course I will,” Ursula whispered, kissing lower and lower, toward King William’s swelling royal member. He closed his eyes as pleasure began to spread through his body, the fire casting its warm light over the room.
------
King Timothy coughed, hacking with spittle and phlegm, as he made his way to an opulent chair in the corner of his chambers. A cold light fell across the room from the pale snowy landscape outside. A single candle burned on a round oak table, providing some extra light for the series of papers and letters that lay spread across the surface. This sickness had refused to leave. He’d never been this sick before, and despite all his best efforts and those of the healers, nothing seemed to make a difference. His one respite had been the attentions and care of King William’s beautiful bride. King Timothy looked forward to the woman’s visits each day, even if he knew he dared not touch her. William would have his head if he even tried.
He coughed again, bending over in the chair and holding an embroidered cloth to his mouth. After the coughing finally stopped, he drew a slow rattling breath and took a sip of tea. He looked down at a paper covered in writing concerning his assets.
A soft knock came on the door. “King Timothy?” It was Ursula’s voice.
“Come in!” Timothy said. He’d sent all his servants away for the morning, preferring to be alone with his thoughts, and if he admitted it to himself, partly to have some time alone with the young lady. He didn’t like the way Lewis stared at her. The young man seemed to think no one would notice. No, Timothy preferred solitude in his sickness, except with company such as Ursula.
Ursula opened the door and entered the room. She was wearing a deep red gown, lightly embroidered around the bust line with silver thread. King Timothy nearly coughed again at the sight of her. She was carrying a bowl of broth, which she set down on the table before looking at him with concern. “You look especially pale this morning King Timothy,” she said.
“Yes my dear. I fear I may be dying,” he admitted. “It seemed strange to say it aloud.”
Ursula bit her lower lip. “I did not want to say such a thing your majesty,” she said.
Timothy waved his hand dismissively. “I’m sick but not a fool. I know the signs of consumption my dear.”
He looked down at his hand for a moment, gazing at the jade and silver ring on his finger, the symbol of his royal office. Emeralds glittered in the cold winter light from the window. “When I die, I want my throne to go to you. I meant what I said at the wedding ceremony. You are the only one who has shown me such concern,” King Timothy said. “The rest of the courtly families merely circle, like vultures, waiting for me to pass so that they can put one of their own on the throne.”
Ursula’s face showed pity and worry. “That’s terrible. You have sat on the throne for so many years. You’ve been a part of the long peace Patterland has had with its neighbours,” she said.
King Timothy coughed again and she waited as his face turned red from the effort. Blood stained the elegant cloth he held to his mouth. “It doesn’t matter to them,” he finally said, panting. “They only want my keep, my throne, my ring, and the power and wealth that go with it all.”
He continued, “This ring is more than just a symbol of office; it is an enchanted talisman. It shapes itself, just as our thrones do, to fit the owner. It give me a special power over the law and letter of the realm, just as King William’s crown gives him powers over the physical realm itself, as well as the military and leadership. King James’ amulet gives him prerogatives over matters of magic, faith, and heart. You see, once you take my place, you will be a queen, but you will also play a role in shaping Patterland. I know tradition is not especially important to you my dear, but you must learn to recognize it has value. I have faith you, after seeing how you advise King William.” He broke out into coughs again.
Ursula stood over him, listening closely, staring at his ringed finger. She waited as he coughed and coughed. As he finished, she finally said quietly, “Thank you for explaining these things, and for your faith in me. Drink your broth King Timothy. You need your strength.”
He nodded and took hold of the large spoon in the ceramic bowl of beef broth she’d brought him. Ursula watched as he ate, noting that he kept glancing at her curves. Even in deep sickness, he was drawn to her, attracted. Men were so predictable. He was nearly finished the bowl and was leaning back in his chair. The spoon suddenly slipped from King Timothy’s fingers, clattering on the floor, as a confused expression came upon his face.
“You see,” she said after a little while. “I agree with you. And I’ve decided no more time can be wasted. Too many of the families are putting schemes into play and I need to act before they complicate things further with their petty games. I’m afraid Helga has laced the soup with a special combination of herbs to render you quite paralyzed for the next few hours, Timothy.”
King Timothy noticed she had addressed him by his given name, with no honorifics. He turned his eyes up to her, finding himself unable to move. He was barely able to talk; his voice coming out has a whisper. “Ursula?” he whispered.
“I think you mean, Queen Ursula,” she said, smiling down at him. Ursula took hold of his wrist and began to pull his royal ring off. King Timothy’s eyes widened. He tried to move, but nothing happened. He was trapped in his own body as Ursula stole his royal ring. He’d freely given her this title, but she couldn’t even wait for his death.
“Stop. They’ll never believe it. I haven’t ceded power,” he said. “I’m still alive.”
Ursula ignored him and slipped the ring from his hand, holding it in her palm. “Yes, you are for the moment. But I am afraid you signed the contract at my wedding. My ascension to your throne will be perfectly legal. And as you’ve said, once I am on the throne with this ring, I will be able to shape the very laws of Patterland, to undo so many centuries of misrule by idiotic men.”
King Timothy gave a whispered cry, the memory of one day over a year ago at court coming back to him, realizing his mistake, his blindness. “You’re the witch!” he whispered.
Ursula smirked, ignoring him as she pushed the ring onto her hand. King Timothy watched as the jade turned to onyx, the emeralds to sapphires. The ring grew slimmer, feminine, elegant, as it rested on her pretty hand as if it had always been there. He felt something leave him, a power he’d known for decades. Ursula’s eyes widened as she felt the transfer of royal authority. “Oh yes, I can actually feel the authority transferring to me!” She said.
King Timothy began to shrivel in his chair. He’d never known what would happen if the ring were on a woman’s hand, let alone a witch. He realized the strength of the ring had been sustaining him, giving him extra fortitude in his sickness, a sickness brought by magic and not environment. His physical frame wilted and he grew smaller and weaker as Ursula seemed to grow stronger, fitter, and taller. She began to loom taller in the room, rising as her red gown stretched at the hips and bust. Power flowed through her. How long she had waited for this moment.
“I am Queen Ursula,” she proclaimed in his chamber, her voice filling it with sensual force. “As my first act, I’m afraid I have to remove you as a threat Timmy.” She waved her hand and he began to cough again. The former king coughed and coughed, trying to move as phlegm and blood filled his throat and his vision became black around the edges. He looked up at the beautiful Queen Ursula as she watched him impassively. He had been fooled so completely. He blinked and coughed, and his body twitched and convulsed with involuntary spasms. Eventually he slumped over, lifeless in his chair.
Ursula looked down at the small drained husk of the former king. She pushed his shoulder lightly until his body fell out of the chair onto the floor. Then she sat down in the chair carefully and pulled several documents toward her. She picked up the pen, imitating Timothy’s grip. She’d seen him do this a dozen or more times. Slowly, she began to write in Timothy’s handwriting, amending his wills, letters, testaments, and more. Nothing would stand in the way to her coronation. His throne would be hers.
