The scene is the Hill of the
Dead, some way (at least a mile) out from Morg City. It is a burial mound
surrounded by a walled cemetery. The funeral procession of King Taryn has
walked all the way from the palace through the city to here, all on foot, except
for the catafalque of the King, which bears a stone sarcophagus and is drawn by
four oxen. If Thrand had not started his health regimen a week ago and been
supported by Kettel he might not have made the journey. The vast majority of
the mourners stop outside in the cemetery. The mound is opened, and a select
number of prominent people, both Morg and human, follow Taryn’s coffin (now
carried by eight burly pall bearers) into the three-tiered mound.
The first level is dedicated
to merchants and famous scholars; a certain selection of the mourners stops
here and cannot proceed, though heads of great noble trading houses and the
Masters of the Great Schools go on. The second level is dedicated to the tombs
of great warriors and soldiers; colonels and highly decorated heroes stop here,
although generals proceed to the third tier, the highest level. These are the Tombs of the Kings.
The Generals, the Masters, the
chief Witness, and the Heads of Noble Houses are the only ones who enter here,
as well as Taryn’s family and a few, like Kettel, who attend the elderly. The
gloomy stone boxes stretch back through the black-pillared hall; the only light
is from a high louvered window that casts a beam down upon a stone bier. The
pall bearers set down the coffin and pick up the old one that lays on the bier,
that of Thron, the King before Taryn. It is particularly light, because there
was not much of him identifiable left over from his last battle. They carry it
off into the shadows, then return and heft Taryn up into the spot. The sunlight
gleams on the fresh-cut white marble. He is the first human to lie on this
level. The pall bearers leave.
The remaining mourners,
about thirty in all, sit down on long stone benches facing the dais, the Queen
and her sons on the front right row. The Chief Witness, a truly ancient Morg,
stands in front of the coffin facing them. He declaims a few ceremonial
phrases, tells the story of Taryn’s life and accomplishments, then calls a very
young Morgish Witness up to him. He stares deeply into his eyes, then slaps him
a good hard one across the muzzle. “Remember,” he says calmly. And then the
funeral is essentially over, although there will be more feasts and rites in
the City come evening.
The chief mourners begin to
trickle out of the chamber. The family of course lingers, and the Witnesses
will be the last to leave. Morgs, of course, are of a more businesslike and
less sentimental nature, and more of them are leaving quicker than the humans
are. Thrand, however, remains seated on the bench, Kettel at his side,
gathering his energies for the trudge back to the City. The others are
studiously avoiding him, so as not to seem too greedy or ambitious for his
favor, although the next King of Morg City is most likely to be in this room.
But suddenly a stout figure comes clanking over and approaches him. It is
General Roth, a Morg dressed in ancient armor and with a plain red soldier’s
cloak. He has an eyepatch and an iron-grey beard, streaked with white.
Roth: Chief Justice, I’d
like a word with ye.
Thrand: (taken aback;
quietly) Really, General, I hardly think this is the time or the place …
Roth: (raising his voice) On
the contrary, I think this is exactly the time and the place, before these
witnesses living and dead, and especially before my old friend Taryn. I want to
lay it out before you.
Thrand: (looking around.
Everyone is staring at the two) (guardedly) I’m listening.
Roth: (fiercely, loudly) And
listen good. I do not want to be the next King of Morg City.
Thrand: (taken aback. This
is not where he imagined this conversation was going) I beg your pardon?
Roth: You heard me. I do not
want to be the next King! If chosen, I will not serve.
Thrand: (mildly intrigued)
But you seem eminently suitable. One of the Goldfire Questers. Slayer of Drang
Worthinsbane. High General and close friend of the Last King. And there are
many who would welcome a Morg back onto the Throne.
Roth: Don’t I know it! I’ve
already got a bunch of lickspittles shadowing my steps, making suggestions,
angling for a job under me. Even my own family are starting to give me
expectant looks. But I’m telling you now to save time later, I want none of it!
Kettel: (piping up) I can’t
imagine anybody not wanting to be King. Why not? (Roth glares at the young
Morg’s interruption)
Thrand: My apologies. New
apprentice.
Roth: Look, child, you’re so
young I don’t expect you’ll understand this, but I’m tired. I’m getting
old, and I’ve finally got a son, and I want to spend my last days with him.
If there’s one thing Taryn taught me is that the life of a King ain’t nothing
but trouble. (He looks over at the Queen and the Princes, who are staring at
the Morgs, although they can’t quite make out what he’s saying beyond he
doesn’t want to be King) He was always moaning about how he had no time for his
family, how his boys were growing up while he was in meetings about taxes and
border disputes. Well, I don’t have the time nor patience for that sort of
thing. Kinging it is a young feller’s game. You got to start early and grow into it, and I'm just too old. (draws himself up formally) Well,
I’ve said my say, Chief Justice. And I’m not saying anything else. (He turns,
salutes his old King and friend, and marches out of the chamber.)
The Queen and the Princes
huddle together, whispering, and turn to watch Roth leave. It seems obvious to
Thrand that the Queen, at least, is glad that a big hurdle to her son ascending
the throne has removed itself. The Chief Justice sits pondering a moment, then
shakes himself and rises. He and Kettel head out for the long trudge home, the
taps of Thrand’s cane echoing through the black pillars. The light shines down
on Taryn’s tomb.
Notes
Well, as you can tell, this
is more of an outline rather than actual writing. I’ll do this sometimes,
putting down what has to happen and making little notes about things that may
or may not happen when I actually expand it and write it out.
As you might be able to
tell, I’ve had the Morg City Hill of the Dead in the back of things for years,
since high school, in fact. It kind of appears in King Korm. The concept
has changed, of course; the common burial ground is now above ground around the
hill; somewhere along the line I just plain forgot about senators; and the
closest things Morgs have to priests are Life Witnesses.
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