Chapter 3

Kilthane Rychart, Emperor, sat at a large round table. He looked out over the crowded dining hall as the various lords and ladies of the Empire crowded in. This was just the first of many celebrations of the Empire’s millennial birthday. A variety of high officials and their emissaries were in attendance.

While the rulers of the farther flung kingdoms could not, or chose not to attend, those closer to the Imperial capital of Dhekar had turned out to pay their respects. Seated at his right was Allyson D’Inday, Chancellor of Reth’methil, the island kingdom to the south, and the place from which the Empire sprung. She had to have a place of honor at this banquet.

Kilthane turned his head to his left, to smile at his young bride, Elizabeth. She was a beautiful woman, and the apple of his eye. And she adored him almost as much as he cared for her.

Kilthane was a fairly young man, only in his early thirties. He had thick black hair and a matching beard, kept trimmed short. But the most striking thing about him were his piercing blue eyes. They lit up whenever he smiled, which was often, when Elizabeth was near. He was dressed impeccably in Imperial blue, a griffin rampant stitched in silver across his breast.

The walls were lined with various members of the Imperial Army, and standing near to Kilthane was Liam Donal, head of the Imperial Griffin Cavalry, the major source of the Empire’s power. With this flying armada at its command, the Empire had expanded to encompass eleven kingdoms, spanning the known world, from the polar ices in the far south to the jungle lands of the north.

Directly across from Kilthane at the large round table sat Nicodemus Darkwater, the High Priest of Borean, the Griffin God. He had made the trip from the eastern mountains to celebrate the birth of an Empire his church was largely responsible for forming. It was the 14^th year of the Empire when a delegation from Desanth, the City of the Church, first arrived in Dhekar with a message from the Griffin God. It was Nicodemus’s long ago predecessor who had pledged the first griffins to the Empire and thus started its spread.

He was an old man, with long white hair and a beard to match. It looked as if the snow from the mountains had permanently settled upon him and took root. His skin, when he had shaken hands with Kilthane, felt like old paper. You’d have never known that both Kilthane and his father had chaffed at having to defer to this man and his church.

Tradition held that the Emperor was the voice of Borean, for he was Emperor by the Grace of the Griffin God. But the High Priest carried considerable sway, especially since the Church still maintained a monopoly on the breeding and training of griffins. And Kilthane well knew that the existence of the Griffin Cavalry was viewed by the populace as a sign of the God’s continuing favor. So despite misgivings, generations of Rycharts had paid homage to nearly seventy High Priests throughout the last millennium.

Kilthane made small talk with various ambassadors who dropped by to pay the respects of their various leaders. At a signal from the Head Steward, he raised his glass and his voice.

“Friends, Lords and Ladies, Heads of State and citizens of the Empire! I welcome you to this, the celebration of the birth of our glorious Empire. A millennium ago, my ancestors, as well as many of yours, first crossed the Bay of Storms from Reth’methil to Maruth, founding the first Imperial capital at Dekiyem, the ancient City of Law, where Bokiyem, the God of Law first handed down the rules that govern our lives. Over the last thousand years, we have spread and prospered, while living under these same laws, as well as using the gift Bokiyem gave man – the power to govern ourselves.

“Therefore, I ask you to join me in a toast. The ancient words, that have guided us to our current pinnacle, and have served as the Imperial Motto! In the words of our ancestors ‘Alu Utos-Merethil tur alu Kiyem-Tethos’! The Will of the People is the Law of the Empire!”

“Alu Utos-Merethil tur alu Kiyem-Tethos” rang from the rafters of the great hall as the gathered assemblage thundered back the toast.

As the echoes died down, the Head Steward signaled to the servants and they swept into the hall, carrying trays and plates heaped high with lamb, the traditional spring meal. They served the guests quickly and efficiently, the Head Steward serving the Chancellor, the Emperor and his bride personally.

“And now my friends, please, enjoy the feast. And here’s to another thousand years!” As Kilthane spoke, Elizabeth darted her fork onto his plate and stabbed a small piece of lamb, quickly eating it with a glint in her eye. This was a game they played often. Despite having her own well-stocked plate, Elizabeth always insisted that food tasted better when she took it from his plate. He knew it was silly, as did she, but he couldn’t resist smiling each time she did it anyway.

This time, however, his smile turned to horror as she suddenly started choking. He cried out in alarm as she coughed and sputtered, her lips turning blue and her eyes bulging. Servants scurried as Chancellor D’Inday called for a doctor. The Imperial Physician hurried over from his position around the table.

He quickly slapped her on the back several times and then opened her mouth to try and see what was obstructing her throat.

By this point, her tongue was swollen and starting to turn black and she doubled over in pain, tears flowing from her eyes. These tears were matched in the eyes of the Emperor as he watched the life slipping away from his wife.

She fell out of her chair and landed heavily on the floor. She turned pleading eyes towards her husband, looking terrified as darkness closed in. Her body convulsed and shook on the floor of the Great Dining Hall as the doctor tried to hold her still. Kilthane dropped to his knees and cradled her head in his lap as the physician called for his bag of healing draughts. But he knew it was too late.

Slowly, her shudders subsided and her body went limp with a final soft rattle of breath in her throat. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead and her eyes were staring vacantly upward at the ceiling. Her tongue, now completely black, protruded grossly from between blue lips.

Sobs racked Kilthane as he rocked back and forth, holding her body to his, willing her to come back to life.

The doctor placed a soft hand on the Emperor’s shoulder. “I’m sorry Your Majesty. There was nothing I could do. She’s been poisoned.”

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