The Crown Unconquered

By Tristan Gregory

"We'll breath life into this corpse of a kingdom yet."

Since its destruction, the survivors of the Kingdom of Valec have labored to restore their homeland. As the last member of the royal bloodline, Count Daven has been their leader. He has kept them safe and secret from the many enemies of the fallen kingdom, even as he seeks to pass the burden of rule on to other men.

Now the time for secrecy has passed. Trouble between their old foes calls Daven to a foreign court, where he must convince the King of Normarch – who played a prominent part in Valec's downfall – to recognize the rights of his people. If Daven can make new friends of old enemies, his people will have a future.

If not, then the fast-approaching war will reduce his people – and their fledgling kingdom – to ash.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tristan Gregory
• Release date: Mar 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301601820

Tristan Gregory

Tristan is a writer, computer programmer, and martial arts instructor living in Ann Arbor, Michigan.

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The Crown Unconquered

A Story of the Wandering Tale

by Tristan Gregory

© 2013 by Tristan Gregory

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Cover art by Graham Hanks

Table of Contents

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About the Author

A Message From the Author

The Crown Unconquered

He is well?

Lady Briya looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. It was the same smile she gave me whenever we encountered each other. In the corridors, in her sitting rooms... in bed. It was perfectly sincere, I knew – but always the same. Simple. Bland.

He is, milord, she said. She turned back to our child, asleep in the bed before us. The coughing fit was a passing thing, thank the gods. He is strong as ever.

And Melissa?

Our infant daughter had not been ill, but I saw her seldom of late.

Also well.

My lady wife cast her eyes down and laid a hand upon her belly.

I am pregnant again, milord.

Her smile did not change, but my own grew.

That is wonderful, I said.

I pray to the gods each night to grant us another son.

I leaned down to kiss her upon the forehead. Son or daughter, we are blessed. Gods be good, the child will be healthy and happy.

"A wise King prays for healthy sons, for they will carry the line forward. Marrying off your daughters will tie other houses to you, but only a son can follow you to the throne."

But it would be so nice to have another little prince.

She paused for a moment, reaching for my hand.

Milord, let me call you King. Let us all call you King.

I shook my head. It is not yet time for that.

The people wish it, she pleaded. Still, the smile did not change.

The people wish for a plentiful harvest, I said. The people wish for an easy winter, and healthy children. They care not what they call me.

Lady Briya did not argue with me. She rarely did. She turned back to our son and smoothed the covers. At his mother's touch, the child of six winters stirred, and a smile of his own grew on his handsome little face.

He is beautiful, I said.

Before I could say any more, I heard the door open behind me. I turned to see a young man, one of the pages we were training to serve the court. Apparently they had not yet gone over the impropriety of opening a door before knocking.

Milord, his grace the Duke of Vilshire has arrived. He awaits you in the Great Hall.

I was surprised, but the fact never showed upon my face.

A leader is never surprised. All is expected, all is planned, all is accounted for; no matter the event. So it must seem to those who follow.

Inform him that I will be with him presently, I said.

The page nodded and departed, and I looked back and met my wife's gaze. She knew as well as I that only important matters could pull the Duke away from his lands, but she said nothing.

She only smiled.

I kissed her upon the forehead again and bade her and my son farewell.

The path from my home to the so-called Great Hall had not been cobbled yet. My boots quickly gathered a layer of mud from the constantly dew-damp ground. As I walked, I could see the masons and their workers laboring over the latest priority: a barracks and training fields for the soldiers. I could not help a scowl from growing on my face. We needed more land tilled and planted. We needed storehouses for the food and goods the people produced. We needed a thousand and one things – but we first had to provide for our fighting men.

In a hostile world, protection is paramount. What good are fruitful fields if your harvest is taken from you before you can eat it?

I sighed. Ever my conscience will speak with your voice, old man, I muttered.

Daven!

I looked to see Young Ari coming to join me en route to the hall. He was dressed more somberly than usual, with only a pair of entwined silver necklaces draped about his neck and an overtunic of deep purple velvet to combat the morning chill.

Vilshire? I asked.

He nodded. He sent for me as well. What do you suppose the trouble is?

I shrugged. Whatever it is, it's urgent. The Duke seeks neither council nor aid for anything less.

The Great Hall was one of the oldest buildings in the vale, built by the first refugees fleeing the destruction of Valec's heartlands. Over the years it had served as shelter, storehouse, and meeting place. The name fit its history, but was too lofty for the size. It was only as big as a large barn, though rather more sturdily built of stone and huge timbers.

The Duke was waiting outside the hall itself, at the top of the few stone steps that led up the foundation. At four and forty winters, he was one of the eldest of Valec's leaders, and its only surviving Duke.

Your Grace! I exclaimed. We embraced when I reached him, but he would not hold my eye for more than a moment.

Milord, he said. Then he pulled Ari into an embrace as well. Ari, gods give you peace and happiness. I was sorry to hear of your father's death.

A shadow of pain passed across Ari's face – and my own – but he merely bowed his thanks. He lived a long life. Not altogether happy, perhaps – but he lived long enough to see the seeds of Valec's return planted.

He planted them himself, the Duke replied, still clasping one of Ari's hands tightly. No man has ever served Valec half so well.

Ari nodded proudly. Thank you, your Grace. But what pulls you from your lands? We've only just resettled them, after all.

The Duke nodded. News of the utmost import, he said. News that requires our immediate action.

I will send for the council, I said.

The Duke gripped my arm before I could turn to fetch a page.

I have already taken the liberty. We await your pleasure within.

The Great Hall was dim. We had not enough candles to light such a space, and the fuel for oil lamps was yet too precious to us. Four men were seated at the nearest end of the long, heavy wooden table: the leaders of Valec Reborn. Dormen, who stood second-in-command of our armies – such as they were – below me. Mazar, Count of Enthi, who was my chief steward, and Lareau, his most capable assistant. Then of course, there was Ari, my friend and adviser; and the Duke of Vilshire, one of the only men among us who was old enough to remember the kingdom as it had been.

Lastly, myself: Daven, bastard son of the eighteenth Count of Namora.

All stood when I entered, but I waved them back down. I had no patience for proper manners, not now.