Pomp and Circumstance

It was early in the morning; the birds had just begun to sing their songs. Renard walked to the King’s Head Tavern a few blocks east away from the grand bazaar. He entered through the back door, as he was instructed, and entered a dimly lit room with many cloaked figures mingling amongst each other. Sitting at a large oak desk; Ridley Oordeel was spinning a dagger on its tip.

“I’m glad to see that you’ve arrived punctually.” Ridley said.

Ridley stood up and the room fell silent.

“I have a very special contract today, and when you accept it my dear friend, you’ll finally be free to leave.” Ridley said, turning his head towards one of the cloaked figures in the room. “You’ll be a part of this as well Mordecai.”

“What’s the contract?” Renard asked with a reluctant tongue.

“I want you to kill the prince.”

Renard stood still, the room froze around him, no one dared take a breath. After a few moments, the air seemed to return to the room.

“It’s a tall order, I know, but I have faith in your abilities. You’ll be long-range, Mordecai will be short, we have a friend of The Mist in the palace who can get you inside and close to the prince. The royal family will be at the opening ceremonies of the Summer Festival tomorrow, and Prince Latimer is giving the speech.”

“And I will be free to leave after this is done?” Renard asked.

“Yes, you’ll be able to leave, if you want, but you’ll always be family to The Mist.”

“Alright, I’m in, just tell me where to be and I’ll be there.” Renard said confidently. This was his chance to start his life over. Renard had saved up a comfortable amount of money to be able to build his new life.

“We’ll be in touch; I’ll send a message tonight.” Ridley said with a smile, sitting behind his desk once more.

Renard left the company of the cloaked criminals and found himself outside again. The sun was a sitting a little higher than it was earlier and the sounds of the city were beginning to permeate the streets. He felt a rock sink into his stomach as the realization of what he had just accepted became clearer. Regicide. Renard had never bothered to know who the royal family was, he was never interested in politics, why should he care? He was never going to meet them or know what they are like, he was just street scum.

Renard began to walk through the grand bazaar, letting his eyes wander over all the preparations being made for the Summer Festival. A large wooden stage was being put together in the center of the square with flowers, statues, and other decorations from the craftsmen in Kingsbury. He wandered home, lost in thought.

A messenger was waiting for Renard near his home. He handed him a letter.

Ridley.

The messenger darted off into the side-streets, nothing unusual for Ridley’s minions.

The letter laid out the details for the assassination. The time, the safe house, Mordecai’s successful intrusion into the court and where he would be during the ceremony. All the pieces were set, even Renard.

Renard ate his dinner: stale bread and leftover slices of ham. He looked into his shoddy wardrobe and picked through his array of costumes he’s acquired over the last few years working for Ridley. He got into the makeshift bed he built some years prior and stared at the stones above him. It felt as though he couldn’t sleep. Dread paralyzed his mind. Pangs of guilt were already beginning to form in his mind. However, after recalling his day and running through the plans for the next day, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

The morning came too quickly. The bustle of the town was much earlier than it was yesterday. Renard prepared his bow and quiver, he put on a hunter’s cap. Hunters carry their weapons everywhere.

He made his way towards the grand bazaar. The opening ceremonies were about to begin. He took his place among the crowd and waited. He felt his eyes dart back and forth, scanning for any sign of danger to the mission. His hands were shaking with dreaded anticipation.

The prince took the stage with his advisors. Mordecai was among them; Renard recognized his murderous strut.

He waited for the speech to begin. Time seemed to stop and start again at random intervals.

A single arrow whistled above the heads of a large crowd in town square. Everything happened so quickly. The arrow drifted slightly to the right of the prince’s head, piercing a man behind him. Shock and fear spread rapidly through crowd. A dagger was dropped by the man whom the arrow had struck: Mordecai.

Everything happened so quickly.

The prince’s guards almost immediately surrounded him. Scanning for danger. After the discovery of the dagger, the prince seemed to come to a slight ease, but fear still dominated his appearance.

“Who shot the assassin?” A voice boomed from the stage.

Silence fell over the crowd; Renard was still in shock. He hadn’t fully realized all that had just occurred. He felt his hand thrust into the sky as the crowd surrounded him and forced his arm into the air. Guards rushed to his position and dragged him behind the stage where the prince had been escorted moments before.

Everything happened so quickly.

He was thrown into one of the royal carriages and they began to pull away from the stage. Renard heard a voice echo from the square once more, “Our Prince has been saved!”

***

Renard ran away from his home when he was twelve years old. He left his brother, sister, and parents behind in the middle of the night. At the time he felt dissatisfied with his life, he didn’t enjoy school, his parents couldn’t afford to buy him the things he thought he wanted. And he was the eldest of 3, he felt forgotten about. He ran from his home in the countryside to Kingsbury, he quickly found that he was lost, scared, and directionless. He found an unlocked cellar underneath a tavern and made it his home. It was unused, he felt somewhat safe from what may have been lurking in the streets.

Renard employed himself with odd jobs to feed himself, he tried his hand at shining shoes and trying to sell different things his found dumped in alleyways. Neither was a very fruitful endeavor. There was one day, however, that changed his life forever, the day he met Ridley.

Ridley, a cunning man, saw the potential in Renard, his slender figure would make it easy for him to slip in and out of tight spaces. Ridley hired Renard to steal a pair of gloves from the tailor’s store, as a test. Renard was reluctant to steal, but at that point in his life money was money, and Ridley had a lot of money. Theft quickly turned into more dangerous crimes. Renard had become one of Ridley’s most trusted killers, a member of The Mist.

Renard never like any of it. But he felt indebted to Ridley for so long that he grew accustomed to the criminal way of life. His stomach would churn before each kill and his thoughts would be plagued for weeks with images of the victims faces. He tried to forget them, but they haunt him still.

***

The fanfare was deafening. Limbs flailed in every direction surrounding the pocket in the middle of the crowd. Hurrahs and hoorays were being thrown into the air as the train of royal carriages trotted through the streets of Kingsbury. Renard has just become the savior of the royal family.

He was finding it near impossible to look at Prince Latimer in the eyes: the very eyes that should have fixated upon the sky and gone dull only some hours ago. The prince had a toothy grin stretching from one cheekbone to the next, why wouldn’t he? Afterall, he had just been spared a meeting with a terrible fate. The carriage was making its way to the Obsidian Palace. As they passed the main gate, the dark glassy statues seemed to gaze back upon the thunderous city. The heavy metal gate crashed behind the parade, leaving Renard and Latimer finally able to relax.

Shortly after the sounds of the crowd had evaporated into the distance, Latimer turned to Renard and said, “I know this certainly seems like a lot, but you must know that my father is absolutely ecstatic over your heroic effort this morning.”

Renard met this remark with a quick glance away from his feet and a nod of his head.

“He may even knight you, you know,” the prince continued, he seemed to be trying to spark any kind of verbal response from his savior.

In an attempt to shroud his awkward and troublesome disposition, Renard looked towards the prince and made eye contact with him for the first time during the entire carriage ride. Latimer’s eyes glistened with an indebted sheen.

I can’t believe he’s alive, let alone the fact that it’s because of me, Renard thought. Ridley was a difficult man to avoid, especially when a job wasn’t done properly. He had eyes and ears all over Kingsbury. He would sooner start tracking down Renard than trying to finish the assassination of the Prince. Renard looked out the window again to see the beautiful cityscape. Colorful roofs freckled with chimneys gently lifted smoke into the air. Renard decided to play along with the Prince’s wishes.

Renard was so lost gazing out onto the city that he hadn’t realized that the carriage had come to a stop, parking itself in front of a stalwart portcullis, barring the keep from the rest of the palace grounds. Through the wrought iron barricade stood enormous and beautifully carved mahogany doors stood with royal guards flanking either side. Their green and gold mail reflected a lattice-like pattern on the cobblestones. The sun’s light shimmered on the guards’ weapons, dancing among the emerald and gold rings.

A servant opened the door to the carriage and beckoned Renard towards the now rising portcullis. Latimer was a few paces ahead, leading his guest of honor towards the large doors to which Renard could only assume was the great hall. The doors began to open with an incredible mechanical rhythm. The turning of chains over cogs rattled and gave way to a cavernous room filled with the warm and colorful glow of stained sunlight and hundreds of candles, suspended in their crystal chandeliers. As Renard was taking in the grandeur of the great hall, a herald called out to the room, “Prince Latimer Ransford, and the heroic savior of the royal family!”

Hardly my intention, Renard mused with himself.

“Thank you, officer,” Latimer said, waving the herald away. “Welcome to the Obsidian Palace, Renard, I hope that it isn’t too much too quickly.”

“I will do my best, your Highness,” Renard acknowledged.

The unlikely duo made their way through the great hall and on towards another large set of doors standing opposite the pair they entered. During their tour of the hall, various servants, knights, and noblemen bowed their heads muttering thank you’s and bless your soul’s.

“There’s going to be a dinner tonight,” Latimer remarked. “My father is going to formally invite you, but I wanted to tell you now in case you wanted some time to think it over. He doesn’t like taking no for an answer.” Latimer looked back at Renard, searching for a change in expression. No luck. “Of course, if you would like to refuse, I can make the arrangements; however, I personally would like to have you dine with us,” he continued. “It’s not every day that your life is saved.”

“I would love to, your Highness.” Renard replied. “However, I do seem to be somewhat underdressed for the occasion.”

“Nonsense!” Latimer proclaimed, “Alcott. Brinley. Take this fine gentleman to the guest house, find him our finest silks, smoothest leathers, and most lustrous jewels!” The prince seemed more excited than ever when he was speaking about fashion. “And of course, you may keep it all my good friend. We shall reconvene in two hours’ time so that we may join the ranks of our royal knights, and feast with us ‘til the night grows old and the morning comes young!” Prince Latimer trotted off towards the large doors.

Two servants approached Renard with the eagerness of starved animals. Looking on to his drab attire, they seemed to scoff as they turned and led him off towards a passage leading west of the great hall. Ivory sconces jutted out on either of the large stone walls, lighting the corridor with a warm gentle glow. The windows brought in some light, but were high above: some twenty feet above any ordinary reach, casting the sunlight upon the cobwebbed stones. They reached an intersection, one passage turning to the right leading deeper into the palace, one continuing forward towards a small wooden door, and the third being an exit.

Now leaving the keep, Renard and the two servants, whose names he had already forgotten, strolled towards the guest house. He felt as though he should remember their names. They were hard working people just like himself, the atmosphere seemed to completely take over his mind. The gardens were well maintained: round flagstones composed a walkway among fragrant flowers, leafy bushes, and sturdy elm trees. At the end of the path stood what most would consider a small mansion. The guest house seemed younger than the palace itself, made from a different type of stone, and topped with a newer style of iron-studded wooden roof. The servants opened the doors for Renard, how kind, he thought.

Renard was then left alone as the doors shut behind him. Solitude was with him once again, no matter how unfamiliar the setting. He had a chance to clear his mind and think. He sat down for a moment just to set himself in his thoughts. Thoughts raced through Renard’s head, he explored the guest house, taking in the luxurious atmosphere. He walked up to a large window overlooking Kingsbury. It seemed so much larger than what he had known. Seeing familiar rooftops in the distance, Renard realized what a small portion of the city he had actually inhabited. He could barely make out the hustle and bustle of the grand bazaar where he had first learned how to pick the pockets of the blissfully unaware. A familiar landmark that always stuck out in the skyline: the trio of church steeples. Renard had spent a lot of time near the church, there was a small tavern across the street whose cellar he made his home. He woke up to the sound of the church bells every morning. He was pretty sure that the owners of the tavern had taken notice, especially by now, but they seemed to have afforded him that simple pleasure.

Renard ambled about the house, exploring what life was like as an aristocrat. There was a kitchen. There was a small room connected to the kitchen containing a desk and many shelves. Unsure of what the room’s purpose was, he moved into the parlour. Then he explored upstairs and found three bedrooms, a bathroom, and a library with some glossy leather reading chairs. It was comfortable. “Peaceful,” he whispered to himself as he sat down in one of the chairs. His eyes wandered around the room, examining the titles of all the books resting upon their shelves. There was another window in this room, this one was round and slightly smaller. It cast its gaze towards the northern river, carving its way through the countryside. There were a few farmhouses that peeked out behind the green bluffs, herds of sheep and cattle speckled the hills. The words painting, beautiful, and calm circulated in Renard’s thoughts.

There was a knock at the door.

“Hello? Oh yes, sorry—I was lost in my own head,” Renard called down the stairs as he got up to answer the door. A very strange feeling for him. Renard never had guests to his house before. He barely even knew how to react. As he arrived in the entryway, he heard two voices alternating their speech.

“Master Renard, we are here with your attire for this evening.”

“They look wonderful, we hope you find them to be as lovely as we do.”

It was the two servants from before. An hour and a half passed from when they had left Renard alone. He opened the door for them. Each carried boxes of varying sizes and colors, the two stumbled into the house haphazardly, the tower of colorful cubes barely brushing past the frame of the door. After unloading in the parlour, the two servants stood patiently waiting for Renard to open the gifts.

He lifted the polished wooden lid effortlessly and saw the most extravagantly white shirt paired with a royal blue doublet. In the next box lay a black silk cape adorned with gold embroidery. Followed by wool trousers, blue stockings, and the smoothest leather boots he had ever laid his hands on. Renard stood in the middle of the now opened boxes, stunned by opulence. One of the servants motioned towards one more box that had yet to be opened. It was much smaller than the others, but was engraved with the letters L.R.. The box opened on a hinge, and revealed a platinum ring clutching a grand emerald surrounded by a halo of small round yellow sapphires.

Guilt washed over him, turning his gut from butterflies to scorpions. Receiving gifts was something he hadn’t been able to be a part of since his childhood. After running away from home, he no longer celebrated his birthday or even considered the notion of gift giving. Renard was a criminal by profession. Criminal don’t receive gifts.

A tear began to form in his eyes as the gravity of the situation weighed on his all-but-hollow mind. Thoughts and feelings storming his entire being.

“Master Renard, are you okay?” asked one of the servants.

No. “Yes, I’m just in a little bit of shock, I’ve never seen clothes so nice or jewelry so magnificent.”

“The Ransford family has always been one of luxury. However, they do share their wealth with their people,” the other servant said.

Renard noticed the gaudy rings wrapped around the fingers of both the servants. It seemed as though he was not the only victim of the Ransford generosity. The pangs of fear and guilt were still hammering away at his soul.

“Master Renard, the King wishes to formally invite you to the feast to celebrate your heroic deeds. The ceremony will be beginning soon, would you like our assistance in getting ready?”

“No, I can manage by myself, thank you,” Renard replied, still unsure of everything that had been placed before him.

“Very well sir, we will be outside waiting to escort you to the grand hall then.”

The two servants marched through the still open door. Following its closure, Renard was alone in the parlour once again. He had never imagined himself to be in a place such as this. Happiness, sadness, excitement, terror, and guilt were all fighting for dominance over him.

He began to put the outfit on. He pushed his arms through the sleeves of the shirt and buttoning the doublet over the top. He pulled the stockings over his legs and then the trousers over the top of those and the shirt to make an even tuck. He drew the cape over his shoulders and buttoned the clasps to his epaulettes. Finally fitting the leather boots to his feet, he found they were a little too large. He had transformed from his cotton tunic, cotton pants, cotton vest appearance, to that of an aristocrat. He walked over to the standing mirror to see his metamorphosis. Seeing his reflection in the mirror had instilled a little bit of confidence in himself. He never particularly liked the way he looked, but this was a nice change, at least for the time being.

Renard wandered around the house once more, making sure he hadn’t misplaced anything or disturbed the order of things. He approached the front door, took a deep breath, and opened it to find his two faithful servants awaiting his entrance.

“Spectacular!” one said.

“Marvelous!” the other added.

Renard was flattered; he wasn’t quite sure if they were being serious. “Thank you,” he answered with a slight grin.

“Master Renard, you were meant for this kind of attire, it suits you nicely.”

“Come now, we must be going, the ceremony should be starting soon.”

The two servants turned and lead the way down the flagstone path once more. The sun was starting to fall on the land as the red and orange colors began to take over the city. It was warm. They reached the side entrance to the keep and continued to usher Renard down the hallway. It seemed more inviting this time around. The familiar doorway to the grand hall looked as if it were radiating pure rays of gold. A smiling herald was standing at the entrance.

He turned into the hall hearing the herald behind him call out, “Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present the hero of Kingsbury, the truest archer in all the kingdom, savior of the royal family, Master Renard!”

An explosion of music and cheering saturated the great hall. The room was filled with 10 large oak tables, each seating fifty or so people, all well-dressed and joyful. A mixture of guilt, shock, and anxiety was brewing inside Renard. “There are so many people,” he whispered to himself.

“Yes indeed, sir.” replied one of his servants, who apparently hadn’t been quite outside of earshot.

Prince Latimer stood with his parents, King Ogden and Queen Isabella, at the head table inviting Renard to stand before them on the royal crest that sat in the center of the room. Two guards waited for Renard to approach the crest. His servants had disappeared in the crowd on his way towards the middle of the room. He was walking alone now. He took his place between the guards on the crest, standing before the royal family. The room grew silent.

“Master Renard.” the king’s voice boomed across the hall. “For your heroic deeds, incredible reflexes, and concern for your kingdom, I wish to thank you. You have saved my son, the heir to my throne, and saved the queen and myself much grief. As a token of our appreciation, I wish to extend to you a knighthood in the kingdom and the title: Hero-Knight of Kingsbury.”

Renard froze. The turmoil of his conscience had subsided only for a moment and now returned twice as strong. Every eye in the room was locked on him. Sweat began to form on his head. He met with Latimer’s gaze for a what seemed like an eternity. He turned to the king.

“I tried to kill your son, your majesty, I’m sorry.”

Renard’s body fell to the floor, and blood began to pool on the royal crest. Latimer was frozen, and the king had the smallest grin imaginable. The two guards that were flanking Renard ushered his body out of the room.

A cloaked advisor turned towards the king, “It seems as though he felt guilty, your majesty” he said “but as I told you, I saw him aim for the prince.”

“Indeed” the king replied, “His honesty is appreciated but his acts were unforgiveable.”

“I couldn’t agree more, your majesty.”

The cloaked figure retired from his position by the king and began to exit the grand hall. Latimer still looked on to the lifeless corpse being hauled away with a horrible mixture of fear, shock, and sadness. Trying to calm himself down, he drank the wine set before him.

As he exited the grand hall and walked into the courtyard the unknown advisor removed his hood and peered out into the night sky playing with a small vial in his hands. The last 48 hours had been driving him to utter exhaustion. However, his careful planning worked perfectly. Ridley began to chuckle to himself as he reflected on the sacrifice Mordecai had to make in order to execute the master plan.

He whispered to himself, “Unfortunately it is too easy to kill two birds with one stone.”

The recently emptied flask of poison rolled between his fingers.

Prince Latimer was dead.