[b]Celund, Kingdom of the Cels[/b] Wine and an egg yolk, when mixed with pigment, creates a brittle paint that must be applied quickly before it dries, and in thin layers so it doesn't crack. Boiling the bones and skin of fish creates a glue that must be reheated before application. Moss, plucked fresh, dipped in green paint, and glued to a thin board, creates the illusion of grass in miniature. Buildings can be formed with clay, then decorated with wood shavings and plaster before the clay dries, creating towns and fortresses. The application of moss to twigs allows for trees. The use of glue alone with blue pigment creates the vague effect of water. With all of this combined, a landscape is created. When hundreds of small, hand-painted tin soldiers are arranged on the board, great battles are formed. This was the hobby that consumed King Woracs IV's spare time. For his nephew, the Karl Serdic of Estbyrn, watching the old man delicately paint tiny tin soldiers was like seeing madness incarnate presented on the illuminated pages of a morality tome. The cellar room smelled of rotten eggs and human farts. It was the sort of smell that starts plagues. Vile, unhealthy. Serdic inhaled through his mouth to avoid overexposure. He stood on the stairs, wearing a red linen shirt and matching pantaloons, a red velvet vest with silver buttons, and a red velvet hat that flopped like a pillow emptied of its down. He stared down at the old man, his white hair frazzled, his faced sporting new growth, and wearing thick woolen underclothes. Paint stuck to the King's thick fingers like mucus. "Bulfirth drove a party of Ice-men into the sea." Serdic said. "Some of them fell into his hands, alive if you can believe it." "We all owe Bulfirth our dear respect." the King muttered. He did not look up from his work. "I have it in mind to visit the site, uncle." He would have said more, but the smell choked back his words and he paused to hold his breath. "Your right." Serdic coughed. "I also have it in mind to take Sibetta. Would that meet with your approval." "She is your betrothed. Do as you will." the King finished painting a soldier and put it on the table to join a shield-wall approaching the earthworks of his clay-brick fortress. "[i]In glory came the Cels, shield by shield, to thrust the Glins from their parapet.[/i]" "You should dress yourself uncle. It is morning again. The people will expect you to hold court." The King frowned. "You don't appreciate our history." he said, and in his voice he sounded older than ever. "Glinbadl fell. There are academics who argue that the War of Glinbadl never happened, so perhaps it never fell. Either way, uncle, I have other things to worry about." "An academic would argue his wife's lover doesn't exist if he ever heard of the affair. You can't argue with something just because you don't like it. They need proof that the war never happened." "No matter." The King looked up at the thin beam of light entering from the brick-sized window a the top of the cellar. "Go, do what you want to do. Take Sibetta." "Gladly." Serdic said, and he retreated into the relatively fresh air of the castle's ground level. Celund Castle, the home of the royal family, was an old fortification. The thick grey stone that formed it had been weathered and rounded with time. Stucco plugged the gaps, and then aged over the centuries itself, cracking, and requiring new stucco to plug it all over again. The effect indoors was a mottled pattern of egg-browns, creams, and near-whites, where spurs of stone occasionally stuck out. The further he got from the cellar, the better the work got, until the stucco walls were uniform and smooth. Tapestries appeared, presenting ancient myth in woven color. Whale-oil lanterns replaced the pitch-fueled torches. In the civilized parts of the castle, cinnamon and clove purchased from southern traders was burned along with the oil, making the air pleasant and Serdic happy to breath correctly again. "Good morn', your excellency." The Ex-Chequer bowed, dressed in linen finery and draped in jewels, and with a black velvet hat much like Serdic's own. He was a short man with very few real duties since the Prince had taken to caring for the books. A minor noble with a title of honor and an apartment in the castle, that was all he was. Serdic politely nodded as he passed the man. Decics of Horelund, that was his name and breed. The Horii were an old family with a character present on the King's recreated battle. Still minor though. Ancientness did not necessarily denote real importance. The exchange was recreated several times with different officials as Serdic ascended into the royal quarters. He strutted through the hall and knocked at the door to Sibetta's room. "Dear Sibetta." he warbled. "It is myself, your betrothed." The door opened. He was greeted by the pink-eyed albino handmaiden, Pari. The way her mouth and nose came close together reminded him of a small dog. "Mistress is away." she said. "Away? Where would she go at this time?" "To visit." the ugly handmaiden said. "Well, if she returns spare no time to inform me. I will go look for her in the mean time." The first place he looked was her brother's room. He didn't expect a visit to Prince Hecte "The Lingerer" to achieve anything more than it usually did. He didn't bother to knock at the man's door - nobody did, because he would never answer if you knocked, and he never cared when you barged in on him. The room smelled almost worse than the King's hobby cellar, but for another reason. Hecte sat unbathed, unshaven, in a sweat-stained woolen robe. His servants did their best to keep the room clean, but they could never keep the Prince clean. If they asked he would sometimes get to it, but not always. The Lingerer sat at his desk, bent over the accounting of the kingdom, working on it as passionlessly as he did everything else. "Hecte, have you see Sibetta? Her girl says she is out." "Yes." Hecte muttered. The way he looked at the books, a man unaccustomed to the Prince's way might think him enthralled, but Serdic had seen him just as focused on staring at the ceiling for hours when he was a child. "Where did she go?" Serdic asked. "To meet the porters." Hecte said. Serdic retreated from his room as eagerly as he had his father's. He found her in the kitchen where men were prying open shipping crates. Inside, packed among the straw, were a number of goods purchased from far away, wrapped in burlap covered in pitch. Sibetta stood nearby like a child receiving a gift. She wore a thick woolen dress, baby blue, covered in linen and silk finery. Sibetta was fifteen - ten years younger than Serdic - and still young enough to look boyish. Her mousy brown hair was done up in a bun and covered with a jeweled netting. He placed his hands on her shoulders suddenly, and felt her should muscles twitch as she spun around. "Serdic, you are a bully!" she smiled. "I should have been a spy rather than a bully." he replied. "To sneak up on a gazelle as quick as you? There are hunters in Hemet that couldn't do that." "Some of this is from Hemet!" her eyes lit up and she turned to grab a small ebonywood box, handling it carefully to avoid touching the splotches of stubborn pitch still sticking to the surface. Inside were a number of something stacked side by side like cookies. To him, it looked like mummified scrotums. When she picked one and ate it, he didn't know what to say. "Try one." she said. "It's dried fruit." He did so, slowly. A nibble, and then the entire thing. It tasted like honey with a fruity tang. "This is interesting. How did you come about it?" "Our agent in Hemet of course. I forget his name. He finds these things for us all the time." she put the box away and perused through the others. "Bulfirth has won a great victory in Celsmuth. It is a short ride from here, so I am going to ride out and tour the battlefield. Your father says you can join me if you wish." "Tour a battlefield?" she looked at him, startled. "Is that a safe place to be?" "The battle is over. And I will ride armed, I promise that. If you wish, Bulfirth left some Good Men in the capitol. We could ride under escort." "I would prefer it." she said, looking down, biting her lip, thinking. "It is good then. We will see this battlefield. I have always been curious about what an Ice-man looks like."