The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) by Igor Ljubuncic

Author:Igor Ljubuncic [Ljubuncic, Igor]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781630010959
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2013-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 30

The throne hall was a majestic piece of architecture. Built three centuries earlier by Monarch Vergil the Brave, when the Eracian borders had stretched another hundred leagues to the west and her massive armies threatened the whole of the realms, it was a statement of power and grandeur: long and narrow, paved with white marble veined in red, with slender columns to both sides of a carpeted walkway. Basking in blinding daylight striking through glazed panes on both sides of the vaulted chamber, any petitioner would have a lot of time to contemplate his fate before approaching the monarch.

Behind the dais, a black granite statue of Vergil rose, grim, majestic, imposing, seventeen feet tall, with the nation’s legendary ruler calmly clasping the cross guard of his large stone sword. In his day, Vergil had been the scourge of the land. And since his death, Eracia had only gotten smaller and feebler, Margrave Philip thought.

Today, the hall stood empty, quiet and cold.

Philip headed behind the dais, behind the statues. Hidden by a wall of drapes and ornamental armor suits, there was another door carved in the back wall. Later monarchs had fashioned the secret exit as an escape route. It also allowed help and scribes to come and go unseen, adding tactical advantage when Leopold held court.

Muted sounds of random, erratic glee echoed through the padded leather of the side door discreetly tucked into the lavish masonry. Margrave Philip patiently waited for the cue to enter. At his side, a big, burly royal guard stood quietly, breathing heavily through his nose.

The monarch was entertaining his daily mandatory one hour with his retarded son.

The Council Chamber, also known as the Chamber of Negotiations, had served as the unofficial seat of governance in Somar for decades. Leopold rarely presided in the big throne chair, leaving it to the memories of his grandfathers, who had seen much happier days for their realm. Only when the dire necessity of protocol dictated, the monarch would be there, but then he would be in a foul mood, sulking, impatient, more than his usual quota.

The noises subsided. Margrave Philip tapped on the door and waited. A latch opened. He entered.

Prince Ludwig was sitting in the big sandbox set in the center of the room, showering dirt around him with a small wooden spade. He was making thin purring noises and would occasionally cluck like a pigeon. That sand belonged outside, Philip thought, but the monarch would not allow his son to play in the gardens. He drew too much attention, even though everyone was fully aware of the boy’s affliction. Leopold preferred to have servants move the furniture away and lug the sandbox in and out and fill it with buckets of sand, then sweep the floors clean for the meetings. Every day.

The Council Chamber was the only place Leopold could really let his son be. Private rooms always had snoopy, chatty help lurking about. This place was strictly off-limits without the ruler’s explicit approval.

It wasn’t the cretin’s fault, but the boy would put anything in his mouth, be it leaves or cat’s feces.

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