timelord4
The never on time lord
I don't usually like to post excerpts so quickly after each other, but given the amount of critiques I've done, I better give you all a chance to whip me back 
Dark Son Trllogy ~ Dark Disciple Chapt 1
Approx 3500 words
Dust from a long hot summer whipped the waiting throng before skirling down the road pushing curses in its path. The black man smiled. Autumn’s early, he thought, watching the sudden gust now racing towards the farmlands south. Exerting a trickle of energy, his sha, he felt the grit fall away from his dark robe.
Remus Florin, youngest son of Queen Liss was returned. However, Remus knew with great certainty and more than a little trepidation, he most certainly was not home.
He turned dark eyes towards the city gates as they groaned open allowing those inside access to the countryside. Fourteen years ago it had been him coming out of that archway. And it had been a similar wind that had greeted him then. Nothing much had changed...everything had changed.
Hugging the city walls a canvas city had grown larger, more boisterous and colourful, claiming the city, as would a dog marking a tree. His smooth dusky features broadened in a smile as he listened to the merchants vend their wares, cajoling the people outside the gate. Clever banter wringing as much coin from the prospective buyers as morality would permit.
A head taller than most in the crowd, he watched with interest as the masses surged forward; the gate guard dividing them into merchants and farmers to the left, travellers and sundries right. Five sou in tolls to those on the left, a soucant for the rest – the price of entry to Rojah, crown city of Rahdya.
Remus frowned. While the prospect of returning daunted him, it also held traces of excitement. For a moment, his resolve weakened and he stifled the feeling, settling his thoughts and grounding his sha. There was little to worry about regarding anybody recognising him; the coffee-coloured cherub that departed when he was ten years old was nothing like the man here, now. Filled out and muscular, he had darkened to a burnished black. His hair had become wavy instead of the tight curls of his youth and a quick smile had replaced the surliness of an unwanted child. Remus had matured handsomely and commanded more than the usual side glances from maids and wives alike.
Passing beneath the stone archway he fell in line with the travellers, his soucant palmed in his left hand, a long ebony staff rested lightly in his right.
‘Next.’ The guard hunched over a sheet of paper in front of him. ‘State your business.’
Remus stepped forward. ‘New tutor to Princess Sharin.’ My half sister.
Surprised, the guard straightened up to look Remus in the face. ‘Yeah? They said you were dark, never mentioned you being black.’ The brusque guard flushed under Remus’ intent stare. Taking in the cut of the black robe and staff he quickly added, ‘Never mentioned you were a Black Robe that is.’ He turned his reddened face away and mumbled something about court members not having to pay.
‘Follow the road, leads straight to the palace.’ The guard shouted behind him, unease fading now that the big black man had passed.
I know where the palace is, Remus thought with a trace of acerbity. Black man, Black Robe. Either name inspired fear at times, but only one had encouraged a welcome. Depended upon what the people wanted. The people always wanted something.
The Order of Black Robes was a secretive organisation. Secluded in the mist shrouded hill country of Srindar, the Academy practiced both physical and intrinsic martial arts. It was only recently that the Order had become popular. What began as a novelty quickly became an essential as kings and queens scrambled to secure Disciples in providing instruction - but more often protection - for members of their royal families.
Fate had definitely dealt a devious hand when Remus was assigned to Rojah. No-one knew of his association with the Rojah ruling family, not even the Order’s Grand Master. He had come to the Academy an orphan; which in a way, he was.
This city held nothing for him when he had fled it. Brothers who despised him, a king who would have drowned him if not for his mother, the queen. And the queen...whose only fault was to love someone who had returned her love. Driven into the arms of a lover by the multitude of women dragged to their marriage bed by the king, the queen had found her solace. Tired of feigning sleep, while the king made love to endless women, their motion causing tears from her eyes to pool on her pillow, desperately trying between sobs to shut out the moans and gasps. She had removed herself. Went out and found a lover. And then Remus. The last born son. The black born son. The carp in a basket full of trout.
That was when the king had stopped.
They had two daughters after that, but nothing was the same. The queen tolerated her king’s advances but her mind always seemed distant. Love had become indifferent as far as she was concerned. And the cause of that indifference had a name though it was never disclosed, never to the king, never to anybody. And the times when that indifference passed like a shadow across the eyes of the king, were always when Remus happened by.
Happiness followed Remus down the brick pathed boulevard. The trees down the centre strip shouted welcome and nacre-coloured buildings to either side drew him close in embrace. Behind him, the noisy city markets fell away, replaced by respectable citizens’ houses, brassy and glittering like a crow’s spoils.
At the end of the boulevard, just in front of the palace gate, stood a granite statue of his stepfather, the king. Good likeness, he thought, looking up at the excrement covered head. At least the birds had the know of it. He couldn’t help but grin as he passed it by.
After entry into the palace, Remus was escorted to a waiting area just inside the Chamber of Scarves. He sat on a hard granite bench gazing off into the distant hall. Unbidden, memories tumbled out of the past. Like stones strewn about a ruin, they bore witness to events long since forgotten.
The hollow sounds of children laughing echoed out of stone niches. Uncontrolled glee rolled across the polished wooden floor followed by the solid patter of feet. Cackling hysterically, the old imam joined in their game of tag, encouraging the leader with a long bony finger.
And underlying it all, the muffled sound of sobs. The lone boy watching, unable to hold his tears, desperately trying to belong. Shifting further back into the shadows when the crone cast her cutting glass scowl in his direction.
Image after painful image was peeled back as a knife would slice flesh. Opened up and exposed as raw as an open wound. He never stood a chance. The nettle in the flower bed. A hand reaching in to weed it out. Stretching with long bony fingers, grasping and....
A hand clamped him on his shoulder making him jerk forward, blinking the memories back into the past.
‘Ah, Disciple. I’m Chamberlain Harld.’
Remus looked up at the fancifully dressed official. The man’s face was red and bearded, like the flower of the fire wort that grew in the hills around the Academy.
‘If you would follow me, the Vizier would have an audience with you concerning your duties.’ Without looking back, the Chamberlain marched noisily across a marble tiled floor towards a brass door.
Shrugging himself back to the present, Remus sighed. He stared at the marble floor. Another change; he would miss that expansive wooden floor that gleamed like the upturned face of his mother – smooth and polished, and carrying the smell of freshly picked lemons.
Remus stood. A Chamberlain and a Vizier. Rojah could ill afford such luxuries in his time. The witch hag imam and her family used to have the run of the palace. Shaking the feeling of nostalgia from his bones, he followed the Chamberlain, not even bothering to raise his sha to awareness.
Inside the vast chamber, sunlight shone through stained glass windows and dappled the room a hazy jumble of colours. Reds, blues, orange and greens stroked pennants and banners from sworn lieges. A perfect setting to allay visiting dignitaries, a singular display of power.
He turned and faced the Vizier and instantly manifested his sha. Power exuded from him and his eyes faintly glowed as the intrinsic energy enveloped his body. He let it sink while holding it to the extremities of his skin. It would be difficult to penetrate his personality now. To see Remus.
The imam looked up from her desk, eyes widening in surprise. So, just as surprised to see a black man, as he is to see you old woman, Remus thought. Not a sweeping out of the old after all - merely a stirring of the existing dusts - certainly not a brushing into a forgotten corner.
The Vizier pondered him a moment before speaking. ‘Seems this palace draws a darkness to it no matter how much brine and sulphur are used to scrub it clean.’ Her flinty eyes gauged him carefully and her mouth pulled up in a sneer.
‘One should watch the use of brine and sulphur, mistress. It does have a tendency to return over time in any manner of unwanted allergies.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed. Careful, Remus reminded himself. This one has the strike of a cobra and many times more venomous.
‘Let me enlighten you, Disciple. Against my advice, it is their Majesties wishes that one of your brood takes it to instruct the elder princess in the art of defence. To me, it is a passing curiosity. The quicker it passes the better. Then you can pack up your black robe and staff and march right back to where you came from.
‘I know your type. Feeding off royal courts like skeets over a carcass.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You’ll work for your keep and keep your grubby hands off the princess.’ She grimaced as though the flavour of rotten meat had just filled her mouth.
Standing suddenly, she walked around the desk to confront him. ‘Another thing. I am Vizier Esmerald. You answer only to me or those of the royal family, is that understood?’
Remus smothered a retort. If anyone fed off the royal court, it was the purse standing in front of him. ‘The Disciples answer to no-one mistress, not the king...or queen. And we attend courts because we are requested to do so.’
The answer was not what she wanted to hear. Yet she knew the terms of agreement. Each Disciple was answerable only to the head of the Order. That was one of the pre-requisitions when securing a Disciple to court. Others of the Order worked out the financial agreement between each party but it was believed only a very large sum of money could secure the services of one of the Order.
‘Even if your head was threatened by it, Disciple?’ She fairly spat the words.
‘Even if your head was threatened by it, mistress.’
She smirked, shaking her grey tresses and waving a crooked finger towards him as she resumed her seat. ‘Careful how you fence with your words, Disciple. Lest some day someone should carve that slippery tongue out of that black head of yours.’
Now she smiled. Like wind swept clouds on a miserable day, it dampened the spirit and offered no trace of warmth.
‘You are expected to instruct and protect the royal princess while you are here. Ensure you are adequately competent in both.’ The smile contorted, as if twisting a worn and ragged slipper.
Remus nodded, once. He never stood a chance.
‘Good,’ she said dismissing him with a wave of a knobbly hand. ‘Someone will show you to your quarters and explain the running of the palace. Tomorrow morning you will take up your duties. Until then, you have your own time and if I were you, I would familiarise myself with the palace as quickly as possible. Sometime in the near future the king and queen will see you. Any questions?’
This time Remus shook his head. Smiling he turned on his heels and made for the door. Behind him the imam’s words ushered him out. ‘I’ll be watching you Disciple. You won’t be able to sh*t without me breathing down your neck.’
Remus tossed the imam’s remark from his head with a trickle of energy and sent it back to its owner with the sudden feeling that the old woman badly needed to use the toilet. He heard with satisfaction, the scrape of chair legs and a hurried scuffling sound as he closed the door behind him. He always stood a chance. It was just that before, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, he was at the right place at the right time.
The Chamberlain was waiting outside with a servant. ‘Pashar will take you to your quarters. If you have any questions, just ask her.’ Remus inclined his head and watched the Chamberlain walk away. Turning, he regarded the servant.
‘Are they all as dreary as those two?’ His eyes looked at the departing back of the Chamberlain and drifted to the brass door beside him.
Pashar slapped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from giggling. She bowed to the Disciple and composed herself before answering. ‘The Chamberlain and Vizier are esteemed before the eyes of the king, my lord. He would not be so pleased by your summary of them.’
Remus raised his brow in amusement. ‘Are all servants as cultured as you?’ The girl was pleasing to the eye and carried herself well. Being educated as she was, she could easily be more than a servant in the palace, or was being a palace servant a much sought after job?
Her laughter surprised him. ‘I’m not so much a servant as I am a princess. I’m indentured to the palace for a year as most princesses from the provinces are. It is fortunate that I was chosen for the Royal palace my lord.’
Remus smiled at his own misunderstanding. Of course, he should have known. But most nobles’ children, especially those of a Duke and Duchess, were either squires or ladies-in-waiting, not servants.
The princess added, ‘I’m new here and new girls always start as servants until those finishing their indenture are released. Then we hop up the ladder.’ She had a lovely smile and after talking with the imam it was as welcome as an ocean breeze to a dried up parcel of arid land.
Remus returned the smile and bowed in politeness. ‘Well, princess. Shall we go and see how much esteem they have allotted a mere Disciple?’ After discovering princesses were used as servants he could well imagine how far down the ranks a Disciple must fit. He didn’t look forward to climbing endless steps nor tramping immeasurable corridors each day just to instruct his student. He knew how large the palace was; the four turrets commanding each corner of the palace walls and the huge centre dome at its core. All of the nobles’ houses put together could fit into the palace grounds, he felt sure.
So it was of some surprise that he found himself inside the royal gardens headed towards the royal suites.
‘I’m not quartered there, am I?’ He nodded towards the suites in the distance.
‘My lord!’ Pashar stopped and frowned at him, chastising his lack of appreciation to be so privileged. ‘These are the apartments of the royal princes and princesses. You are most fortunate to be quartered here.’
Shrugging away her castigation, he nodded for her to continue and fell in step once more. Not so fortunate if you knew my half brothers and sisters, he mused.
The gardens were as beautiful as he remembered them.
A stream meandered through the tiered terrain, dividing patches of bush and lawn seemingly at random. An assorted number of boulders sat dispersed at various points and a careful selection of flowers peeped shyly from shadowed crevices. Depending upon the season, the blooming flowers always fitted exquisitely to their surroundings. During the still of the evening, fading sunlight fired the petals ablaze so it seemed as though the garden was encrusted with flaring gems: ruby, emerald, amethyst and sapphire. Afterwards, when the moon had risen, the leaves sparkled gold and silver like a smooth cut diamond.
They stepped onto a tiny wooden bridge with a pagoda at its crest. His mother loved this place. She would often bring him here when he was small and they would sit in the pagoda while the water gurgled over stones beneath them. He recalled her telling him of his father. Cuddling him up to her she would speak and he would peer into the garden watching as the gold and silver became eyes of strange animals come close to listen. Her soothing voice would lull him to sleep as she poured her heart into a love that was born from need and ended in an embarrassment of a child.
He realised he had stopped.
Pashar frowned in puzzlement at him. ‘The garden’s lovely isn’t it, my lord?’ she asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
‘Yes...yes it is Pashar. I was quite taken by it for a moment.’
The princess smiled in relief. ‘I know how you feel. I felt the same way, the first time I saw it.’
Remus crinkled his face in a smile and pinched the bridge of his nose to clear the memories.
‘Best we should go now.’
Pashar laughed and took his hand leading him off the bridge. ‘At least you don’t have any luggage to unpack. Unless you wish to call your staff a piece of luggage.’
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘One of the bonuses about the energy training. We can keep our clothes like new.’ The memories were all but gone by now.
‘Wish I could do that, my lord. Having to haul all my stuff around can be a nuisance.’
Remus nodded and fell silent as they approached the ornately carved doors of the Royal apartments.
As spectacular as he knew it was, Remus was still astonished at the sumptuous beauty of the apartments. His had a huge sitting room, large bedroom and ensuite with mirror, hot running water and enormous bath. A balcony opened up to the garden on one side and towards the dome on the other. In the distance, to one side of the dome, a quaint chapel sat bathed in sunlight. Stained glass windows depicting saints looked down on immaculately tended lawns.
Having dismissed Pashar and promising that she could return before the evening meal, Remus placed his staff in a corner, removed his shoes and lay on the bed. He reminded himself that a trip to the markets for more shoes and clothing would be necessary. No good to look like a crow even though people might have such thoughts. He would get an assortment of colours, something that complimented a dark shade.
With too much rolling around in his head, he gave up trying to sleep. Instead, he poured himself a bath and soaked the day’s events from his body. A long time afterwards he dressed and returned to the garden. Seeking an inconspicuous area; a small cove hidden by small trees and shrubs presented itself and he sat cross-legged on the ground and began to meditate.
He began his Putra. Quieten the mind and open the senses. Let the wind carry all the senses. Feel it, taste it, hear it, smell it and open your eyes to it.
He stood, feet slightly apart and his whole body relaxed.
Inhaling lightly through the nose he led the breath down, past the diaphragm and into the tan, the ‘well of heaven’. Opening his mouth slightly he let the breath expel, feeling it rise up his spine over and past the sha, ‘temple of heaven’, and out of his mouth. Feeling the sha mix with the shi, ‘heaven and earth’, he moved into his set.
Moving slowly and effortlessly through the movements he allowed the sha and shi to balance each other. Each move complimented the next. Spin, push, yield and thrust. On and on until it was complete.
Closing his set, he fixed on an image. Brighter and brighter until the picture coalesced. His breathing settling to normalcy. It was the same figure he fixed on every time he completed his sets. He always stood a chance. Just before he released the image he lingered one more time and watched himself as a young boy, his mother holding her hand out towards him.
A movement from the bushes brought him alert and he turned in time to see a slash of green silk and yellow ribbon pass by a bush to his left. The figure stepped into the clearing and stopped abruptly before him. He looked down into a pair of vivid green eyes.
Queen Liss startled to a halt staring up at the man before her. Her porcelain complexion lightened in pallor, a hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening in surprise and pain. She opened her mouth and whispered a single word.
‘Remus...’
Dark Son Trllogy ~ Dark Disciple Chapt 1
Approx 3500 words
Dust from a long hot summer whipped the waiting throng before skirling down the road pushing curses in its path. The black man smiled. Autumn’s early, he thought, watching the sudden gust now racing towards the farmlands south. Exerting a trickle of energy, his sha, he felt the grit fall away from his dark robe.
Remus Florin, youngest son of Queen Liss was returned. However, Remus knew with great certainty and more than a little trepidation, he most certainly was not home.
He turned dark eyes towards the city gates as they groaned open allowing those inside access to the countryside. Fourteen years ago it had been him coming out of that archway. And it had been a similar wind that had greeted him then. Nothing much had changed...everything had changed.
Hugging the city walls a canvas city had grown larger, more boisterous and colourful, claiming the city, as would a dog marking a tree. His smooth dusky features broadened in a smile as he listened to the merchants vend their wares, cajoling the people outside the gate. Clever banter wringing as much coin from the prospective buyers as morality would permit.
A head taller than most in the crowd, he watched with interest as the masses surged forward; the gate guard dividing them into merchants and farmers to the left, travellers and sundries right. Five sou in tolls to those on the left, a soucant for the rest – the price of entry to Rojah, crown city of Rahdya.
Remus frowned. While the prospect of returning daunted him, it also held traces of excitement. For a moment, his resolve weakened and he stifled the feeling, settling his thoughts and grounding his sha. There was little to worry about regarding anybody recognising him; the coffee-coloured cherub that departed when he was ten years old was nothing like the man here, now. Filled out and muscular, he had darkened to a burnished black. His hair had become wavy instead of the tight curls of his youth and a quick smile had replaced the surliness of an unwanted child. Remus had matured handsomely and commanded more than the usual side glances from maids and wives alike.
Passing beneath the stone archway he fell in line with the travellers, his soucant palmed in his left hand, a long ebony staff rested lightly in his right.
‘Next.’ The guard hunched over a sheet of paper in front of him. ‘State your business.’
Remus stepped forward. ‘New tutor to Princess Sharin.’ My half sister.
Surprised, the guard straightened up to look Remus in the face. ‘Yeah? They said you were dark, never mentioned you being black.’ The brusque guard flushed under Remus’ intent stare. Taking in the cut of the black robe and staff he quickly added, ‘Never mentioned you were a Black Robe that is.’ He turned his reddened face away and mumbled something about court members not having to pay.
‘Follow the road, leads straight to the palace.’ The guard shouted behind him, unease fading now that the big black man had passed.
I know where the palace is, Remus thought with a trace of acerbity. Black man, Black Robe. Either name inspired fear at times, but only one had encouraged a welcome. Depended upon what the people wanted. The people always wanted something.
The Order of Black Robes was a secretive organisation. Secluded in the mist shrouded hill country of Srindar, the Academy practiced both physical and intrinsic martial arts. It was only recently that the Order had become popular. What began as a novelty quickly became an essential as kings and queens scrambled to secure Disciples in providing instruction - but more often protection - for members of their royal families.
Fate had definitely dealt a devious hand when Remus was assigned to Rojah. No-one knew of his association with the Rojah ruling family, not even the Order’s Grand Master. He had come to the Academy an orphan; which in a way, he was.
This city held nothing for him when he had fled it. Brothers who despised him, a king who would have drowned him if not for his mother, the queen. And the queen...whose only fault was to love someone who had returned her love. Driven into the arms of a lover by the multitude of women dragged to their marriage bed by the king, the queen had found her solace. Tired of feigning sleep, while the king made love to endless women, their motion causing tears from her eyes to pool on her pillow, desperately trying between sobs to shut out the moans and gasps. She had removed herself. Went out and found a lover. And then Remus. The last born son. The black born son. The carp in a basket full of trout.
That was when the king had stopped.
They had two daughters after that, but nothing was the same. The queen tolerated her king’s advances but her mind always seemed distant. Love had become indifferent as far as she was concerned. And the cause of that indifference had a name though it was never disclosed, never to the king, never to anybody. And the times when that indifference passed like a shadow across the eyes of the king, were always when Remus happened by.
Happiness followed Remus down the brick pathed boulevard. The trees down the centre strip shouted welcome and nacre-coloured buildings to either side drew him close in embrace. Behind him, the noisy city markets fell away, replaced by respectable citizens’ houses, brassy and glittering like a crow’s spoils.
At the end of the boulevard, just in front of the palace gate, stood a granite statue of his stepfather, the king. Good likeness, he thought, looking up at the excrement covered head. At least the birds had the know of it. He couldn’t help but grin as he passed it by.
After entry into the palace, Remus was escorted to a waiting area just inside the Chamber of Scarves. He sat on a hard granite bench gazing off into the distant hall. Unbidden, memories tumbled out of the past. Like stones strewn about a ruin, they bore witness to events long since forgotten.
The hollow sounds of children laughing echoed out of stone niches. Uncontrolled glee rolled across the polished wooden floor followed by the solid patter of feet. Cackling hysterically, the old imam joined in their game of tag, encouraging the leader with a long bony finger.
And underlying it all, the muffled sound of sobs. The lone boy watching, unable to hold his tears, desperately trying to belong. Shifting further back into the shadows when the crone cast her cutting glass scowl in his direction.
Image after painful image was peeled back as a knife would slice flesh. Opened up and exposed as raw as an open wound. He never stood a chance. The nettle in the flower bed. A hand reaching in to weed it out. Stretching with long bony fingers, grasping and....
A hand clamped him on his shoulder making him jerk forward, blinking the memories back into the past.
‘Ah, Disciple. I’m Chamberlain Harld.’
Remus looked up at the fancifully dressed official. The man’s face was red and bearded, like the flower of the fire wort that grew in the hills around the Academy.
‘If you would follow me, the Vizier would have an audience with you concerning your duties.’ Without looking back, the Chamberlain marched noisily across a marble tiled floor towards a brass door.
Shrugging himself back to the present, Remus sighed. He stared at the marble floor. Another change; he would miss that expansive wooden floor that gleamed like the upturned face of his mother – smooth and polished, and carrying the smell of freshly picked lemons.
Remus stood. A Chamberlain and a Vizier. Rojah could ill afford such luxuries in his time. The witch hag imam and her family used to have the run of the palace. Shaking the feeling of nostalgia from his bones, he followed the Chamberlain, not even bothering to raise his sha to awareness.
Inside the vast chamber, sunlight shone through stained glass windows and dappled the room a hazy jumble of colours. Reds, blues, orange and greens stroked pennants and banners from sworn lieges. A perfect setting to allay visiting dignitaries, a singular display of power.
He turned and faced the Vizier and instantly manifested his sha. Power exuded from him and his eyes faintly glowed as the intrinsic energy enveloped his body. He let it sink while holding it to the extremities of his skin. It would be difficult to penetrate his personality now. To see Remus.
The imam looked up from her desk, eyes widening in surprise. So, just as surprised to see a black man, as he is to see you old woman, Remus thought. Not a sweeping out of the old after all - merely a stirring of the existing dusts - certainly not a brushing into a forgotten corner.
The Vizier pondered him a moment before speaking. ‘Seems this palace draws a darkness to it no matter how much brine and sulphur are used to scrub it clean.’ Her flinty eyes gauged him carefully and her mouth pulled up in a sneer.
‘One should watch the use of brine and sulphur, mistress. It does have a tendency to return over time in any manner of unwanted allergies.’
The woman’s eyes narrowed. Careful, Remus reminded himself. This one has the strike of a cobra and many times more venomous.
‘Let me enlighten you, Disciple. Against my advice, it is their Majesties wishes that one of your brood takes it to instruct the elder princess in the art of defence. To me, it is a passing curiosity. The quicker it passes the better. Then you can pack up your black robe and staff and march right back to where you came from.
‘I know your type. Feeding off royal courts like skeets over a carcass.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You’ll work for your keep and keep your grubby hands off the princess.’ She grimaced as though the flavour of rotten meat had just filled her mouth.
Standing suddenly, she walked around the desk to confront him. ‘Another thing. I am Vizier Esmerald. You answer only to me or those of the royal family, is that understood?’
Remus smothered a retort. If anyone fed off the royal court, it was the purse standing in front of him. ‘The Disciples answer to no-one mistress, not the king...or queen. And we attend courts because we are requested to do so.’
The answer was not what she wanted to hear. Yet she knew the terms of agreement. Each Disciple was answerable only to the head of the Order. That was one of the pre-requisitions when securing a Disciple to court. Others of the Order worked out the financial agreement between each party but it was believed only a very large sum of money could secure the services of one of the Order.
‘Even if your head was threatened by it, Disciple?’ She fairly spat the words.
‘Even if your head was threatened by it, mistress.’
She smirked, shaking her grey tresses and waving a crooked finger towards him as she resumed her seat. ‘Careful how you fence with your words, Disciple. Lest some day someone should carve that slippery tongue out of that black head of yours.’
Now she smiled. Like wind swept clouds on a miserable day, it dampened the spirit and offered no trace of warmth.
‘You are expected to instruct and protect the royal princess while you are here. Ensure you are adequately competent in both.’ The smile contorted, as if twisting a worn and ragged slipper.
Remus nodded, once. He never stood a chance.
‘Good,’ she said dismissing him with a wave of a knobbly hand. ‘Someone will show you to your quarters and explain the running of the palace. Tomorrow morning you will take up your duties. Until then, you have your own time and if I were you, I would familiarise myself with the palace as quickly as possible. Sometime in the near future the king and queen will see you. Any questions?’
This time Remus shook his head. Smiling he turned on his heels and made for the door. Behind him the imam’s words ushered him out. ‘I’ll be watching you Disciple. You won’t be able to sh*t without me breathing down your neck.’
Remus tossed the imam’s remark from his head with a trickle of energy and sent it back to its owner with the sudden feeling that the old woman badly needed to use the toilet. He heard with satisfaction, the scrape of chair legs and a hurried scuffling sound as he closed the door behind him. He always stood a chance. It was just that before, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, he was at the right place at the right time.
The Chamberlain was waiting outside with a servant. ‘Pashar will take you to your quarters. If you have any questions, just ask her.’ Remus inclined his head and watched the Chamberlain walk away. Turning, he regarded the servant.
‘Are they all as dreary as those two?’ His eyes looked at the departing back of the Chamberlain and drifted to the brass door beside him.
Pashar slapped a hand to her mouth to stop herself from giggling. She bowed to the Disciple and composed herself before answering. ‘The Chamberlain and Vizier are esteemed before the eyes of the king, my lord. He would not be so pleased by your summary of them.’
Remus raised his brow in amusement. ‘Are all servants as cultured as you?’ The girl was pleasing to the eye and carried herself well. Being educated as she was, she could easily be more than a servant in the palace, or was being a palace servant a much sought after job?
Her laughter surprised him. ‘I’m not so much a servant as I am a princess. I’m indentured to the palace for a year as most princesses from the provinces are. It is fortunate that I was chosen for the Royal palace my lord.’
Remus smiled at his own misunderstanding. Of course, he should have known. But most nobles’ children, especially those of a Duke and Duchess, were either squires or ladies-in-waiting, not servants.
The princess added, ‘I’m new here and new girls always start as servants until those finishing their indenture are released. Then we hop up the ladder.’ She had a lovely smile and after talking with the imam it was as welcome as an ocean breeze to a dried up parcel of arid land.
Remus returned the smile and bowed in politeness. ‘Well, princess. Shall we go and see how much esteem they have allotted a mere Disciple?’ After discovering princesses were used as servants he could well imagine how far down the ranks a Disciple must fit. He didn’t look forward to climbing endless steps nor tramping immeasurable corridors each day just to instruct his student. He knew how large the palace was; the four turrets commanding each corner of the palace walls and the huge centre dome at its core. All of the nobles’ houses put together could fit into the palace grounds, he felt sure.
So it was of some surprise that he found himself inside the royal gardens headed towards the royal suites.
‘I’m not quartered there, am I?’ He nodded towards the suites in the distance.
‘My lord!’ Pashar stopped and frowned at him, chastising his lack of appreciation to be so privileged. ‘These are the apartments of the royal princes and princesses. You are most fortunate to be quartered here.’
Shrugging away her castigation, he nodded for her to continue and fell in step once more. Not so fortunate if you knew my half brothers and sisters, he mused.
The gardens were as beautiful as he remembered them.
A stream meandered through the tiered terrain, dividing patches of bush and lawn seemingly at random. An assorted number of boulders sat dispersed at various points and a careful selection of flowers peeped shyly from shadowed crevices. Depending upon the season, the blooming flowers always fitted exquisitely to their surroundings. During the still of the evening, fading sunlight fired the petals ablaze so it seemed as though the garden was encrusted with flaring gems: ruby, emerald, amethyst and sapphire. Afterwards, when the moon had risen, the leaves sparkled gold and silver like a smooth cut diamond.
They stepped onto a tiny wooden bridge with a pagoda at its crest. His mother loved this place. She would often bring him here when he was small and they would sit in the pagoda while the water gurgled over stones beneath them. He recalled her telling him of his father. Cuddling him up to her she would speak and he would peer into the garden watching as the gold and silver became eyes of strange animals come close to listen. Her soothing voice would lull him to sleep as she poured her heart into a love that was born from need and ended in an embarrassment of a child.
He realised he had stopped.
Pashar frowned in puzzlement at him. ‘The garden’s lovely isn’t it, my lord?’ she asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
‘Yes...yes it is Pashar. I was quite taken by it for a moment.’
The princess smiled in relief. ‘I know how you feel. I felt the same way, the first time I saw it.’
Remus crinkled his face in a smile and pinched the bridge of his nose to clear the memories.
‘Best we should go now.’
Pashar laughed and took his hand leading him off the bridge. ‘At least you don’t have any luggage to unpack. Unless you wish to call your staff a piece of luggage.’
‘No,’ he laughed. ‘One of the bonuses about the energy training. We can keep our clothes like new.’ The memories were all but gone by now.
‘Wish I could do that, my lord. Having to haul all my stuff around can be a nuisance.’
Remus nodded and fell silent as they approached the ornately carved doors of the Royal apartments.
As spectacular as he knew it was, Remus was still astonished at the sumptuous beauty of the apartments. His had a huge sitting room, large bedroom and ensuite with mirror, hot running water and enormous bath. A balcony opened up to the garden on one side and towards the dome on the other. In the distance, to one side of the dome, a quaint chapel sat bathed in sunlight. Stained glass windows depicting saints looked down on immaculately tended lawns.
Having dismissed Pashar and promising that she could return before the evening meal, Remus placed his staff in a corner, removed his shoes and lay on the bed. He reminded himself that a trip to the markets for more shoes and clothing would be necessary. No good to look like a crow even though people might have such thoughts. He would get an assortment of colours, something that complimented a dark shade.
With too much rolling around in his head, he gave up trying to sleep. Instead, he poured himself a bath and soaked the day’s events from his body. A long time afterwards he dressed and returned to the garden. Seeking an inconspicuous area; a small cove hidden by small trees and shrubs presented itself and he sat cross-legged on the ground and began to meditate.
He began his Putra. Quieten the mind and open the senses. Let the wind carry all the senses. Feel it, taste it, hear it, smell it and open your eyes to it.
He stood, feet slightly apart and his whole body relaxed.
Inhaling lightly through the nose he led the breath down, past the diaphragm and into the tan, the ‘well of heaven’. Opening his mouth slightly he let the breath expel, feeling it rise up his spine over and past the sha, ‘temple of heaven’, and out of his mouth. Feeling the sha mix with the shi, ‘heaven and earth’, he moved into his set.
Moving slowly and effortlessly through the movements he allowed the sha and shi to balance each other. Each move complimented the next. Spin, push, yield and thrust. On and on until it was complete.
Closing his set, he fixed on an image. Brighter and brighter until the picture coalesced. His breathing settling to normalcy. It was the same figure he fixed on every time he completed his sets. He always stood a chance. Just before he released the image he lingered one more time and watched himself as a young boy, his mother holding her hand out towards him.
A movement from the bushes brought him alert and he turned in time to see a slash of green silk and yellow ribbon pass by a bush to his left. The figure stepped into the clearing and stopped abruptly before him. He looked down into a pair of vivid green eyes.
Queen Liss startled to a halt staring up at the man before her. Her porcelain complexion lightened in pallor, a hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening in surprise and pain. She opened her mouth and whispered a single word.
‘Remus...’
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