Responsibility Ch. 01

Author's Note: Apologies if this chapter is too long. This story requires a lot of setup. This story takes place in a separate fantasy world. Many elements were taken from real life cultures and time periods, but this story isn't meant to represent our reality. Also, if you haven't read any of my stories before, I'll warn you. I love describing certain things, like clothing and jewelry, with more detail than necessary. Plus, there will be some scenes involving corporal punishment on children. Nothing gory, of course. That's not my style. I just wanted to warn the reader in case one's sensitive to that. And just a reminder, as if it wasn't obvious, all scenes with graphic sexual content will involve characters that are at least eighteen years old.

***

The bar was in a typical shape, but no dyes had been used in its creation. It was a plain, vaguely pale yellow creation. Beforehand, the bar had been softened over coals. Then, someone had used a thin blade to carve out many rows of lines, fairly deep too. The rows crossed to form a diapered, diamond pattern. When that was done, the bar was allowed to harden again.

Accordingly, when the small knife's blade was forced across the now hardened bar, as if one wanted to create a thin slice from a loaf of bread or a large root vegetable, the thin slice did not come. The previously made diapering, giving way to the small knife, slowly burst into a flowing amount of small cubes, many of which fell down with a crunchy, crinkly noise. The rest of the little parts were swept away with a flick of a few long, dense fingers.

Most of the cubes landed in a wooden bucket. The excess, which fell onto a straw mat, was swept up by a boy, a page. The boy hadn't reached the beginning of manhood, but he certainly wasn't a soft, tiny child.

He was wearing a more militaristic version of his typical clothing. He wasn't wearing any golden braiding, no pieces of jewelry, no brocades, nor any metal shot silk. His sleeves weren't baggy nor open. They were fitted for convenience. However, on the back of the cloak around his shoulders, there was silver embroidery in the shape of the Imperial Family's family crest, or insignia, emblem. Essentially, a really fancy symbol that represents a group.

Within a shield shape, closer to the left there was a wolf on its hind legs, wearing a crown, facing the right. On the right, there was the outline of a tree with apple flowers. The official version of this crest was more colorful, but there wasn't any room for such things here.

They were in what was technically a tent, but it was the biggest tent in the area.

Another boy, only a year or so older and dressed in a similar way to the first, he was standing at a table and whetting a dagger. Beforehand, he'd accidentally spilled a little of the honing oil, but otherwise he was working perfectly adequately. He flipped the blade over the whetstone and without turning his head he asked the younger boy, "How many bars of soap has His Highness carved today?" He was a page too.

"Eleven," the younger boy said as another cascade of cubes fell down. "The twelfth is in his hand."

"How many bars are left?" the boy with the dagger asked.

The younger one stood up and looked at a small, wooden box that was on a small table. That table was very close to the carver's seated form. "One bar's left," the younger one said. He looked up to the carver's stern profile. "Your Highness, we don't have any more play bars for you. We'll have to melt the pieces down and reform them. Then you'll have your play bars again."

His Imperial Highness, Irakly Arkadi Hermol. That was a shorter version of his full name.

His black hair was kept in a loose braid that rested down his nape. That braid hardly moved as his head turned and his dark eyes pointed down. There were quite a few people that would've called the prince "mostly handsome." The structure was there. Square jaw, high cheekbones, firm mouth with a fuller lower lip.

The problems, if they could be called such, were the scars and crooked nose. The man once had a smooth, straight nose. Now it was off the mark, tilted towards his right cheek. On that right side of the face, there was a long, thin scar from perhaps the same level of his thick eyebrow down to his jaw. A much more uneven scar was on the other side, from the corner of the lips and down a bit on his throat. The boys knew there were more on several parts of the prince's body. How he wasn't dead was anyone's guess, but many claimed the gods had smiled down at him.

He spoke to the younger boy.

Rough yet calm with only enough authority to remind one who was speaking. He often sounded like his voice was made of thorns and wool.

"Have someone go into Kaizul to buy more."

That would take some time, but not as much time as was required to make a few good, hard bars. Pretty much every person in this campsite knew how to make soap. Whenever they weren't able to buy any, and they knew they'd be stuck in place for a long time, they'd make their own. The curing process could take anywhere from four to six weeks.

Nodding, the younger page said, "I'll send the message right away." He left the prince. On the way to the main exit, which was a set of curtain-like flaps that would be tied shut during the night, he paused at a snoozing dog. The dog was a large male, a short black coat, pointed and erect ears, and a very wrinkled face. The boy petted the top of his head. The dog lazily yawned, but otherwise didn't give much of a response.

Before the tent's flaps could be fully opened, someone else burst into the area. He was a taller, older boy, close to manhood. The younger boy knew who he was. He had a cape similar to the other boys, only the crown and apple flowers in the emblem were gold. All the other stitches were still silver. He was a squire.

Frowning, wiping his face with a rag, the squire hurried over to the seated prince and gave a bow. "Your Highness," he said, "Distressing news from the Imperial Castle."

The prince dropped his knife and the remainder of his play soap in the bucket.

Making his chair creak, Prince Irakly rose. His neck made a popping noise as he tilted his head to one side, then straightened it back. "I'll hear the news," he said.

Cringing, the teenage boy said, "His Imperial Majesty has struggled far too long with the returning tumors. Unfortunately, he was taken from this world, and funeral arrangements are being planned as we speak. Her Imperial Majesty has requested that you return to her immediately."

Aside from a little twitch in a lower eyelid, Prince Irakly was stone for a moment. Then his lips parted, and he said to the teenager, "I might have to stay home for more than a week."

"Your Highness," the squire before the prince said, "there's more."

"Oh?" Prince Irakly didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Then speak."

After a rather painful looking gulp of saliva, the squire said, "Her Imperial Highness, she's given birth to a son, but," here, the teenager made a hissing sort of inhale, then an exhale, "the childbirth was too dangerous. Both mother and son were taken, and as it is for His Imperial Majesty, there will be funeral arrangements. Her Imperial Majesty has stated this as another reason to request your return."

It was that moment when the prince sat back down. He bent over and gripped the edges of the bucket of little soap pieces. His face seemed to be frozen in place, eternally stern but calm.

The veins in his hands stretched and bulged.

Creak. Whine. Snap! Pop!

A burst of soap confetti.

The bucket was now in fairly even pieces, as if all the dried adhesive and the thin metallic rings were made useless. The bucket's staves could no longer stay together. It was almost as if someone gathered the pieces needed for a bucket but never put them in place.

The great dog got up from his spot and quickly ran over to the scene. He halted right at the prince's feet and started up at him, whimpering a little. Prince Irakly didn't turn to look at the dog, but he did silently reach over to pat his big head. That seemed to calm the dog, and he settled down near the prince.

The younger page went off to get a longer broom and a new bucket.

An hour or more later, Prince Irakly was outside, near a wagon loaded with supplies and building materials. It wasn't the only one at all. Tents, horses, men, campfires, all sorts of things one would expect in a military camp. There were even groups of live cattle, pigs, and chickens, kept alive to be slaughtered for food whenever needed.

The only thing that was odd was the amount of bird's nests that were often tucked into loose spots in the tents. Whenever soldiers were released to go home, to be replaced by other soldiers, nobody bothered packing the tents up.

That wasn't normal.

The prince was in light, leather armor, just in case. The cloak on his shoulders had his family's crest in all golden embroidery. A big, heavily guarded carriage was set up for him. Before the prince entered, he stood in place for a moment.

Then turned around.

He looked at a far off wall that seemed to divide the world itself. It was tall, made of the strongest stone, and the prince knew that it bordered most of the country of Testoa. The whole damn country was considered to be technically part of the monarch's castle there, because it was inside the walls that the royal family had put in place long ago. That was how people viewed it. Therefore, there were castles within the castle, with cities, towns, and farming villages all kept inside.

There were even walls protecting the fucking Vaina River! If they could've put a wall in the seas the river came from, they would've done so. Their navy would have to suffice there, and it did a very nice job. Their location helped too. In order for Yahsin to send some of their own ships to that coast for some good old fashioned naval warfare, those ships would need to travel an unreasonably long distance with only a fixed amount of food and water, and there was always the risk that the ships wouldn't hold up in the absolute danger that is the ocean.

Traveling on land and stopping to rest in various friendly nations was the safest method.

But now, Prince Irakly had to leave the camp under the full control of General Anisim.

One of the prince's shoulders jerked up. Rather pompously, his bent nose rose and took a great sniff.

And that was when he climbed into the carriage.

***

The weather at the campsite was unbearably hot. Nobody wanted to attack Testoa right then. There was a great risk of heatstroke. According to what Irakly had been told, quite a few men had already died from just that. It was embarrassing and miserable.

But the prince was here again.

No.

No!

That wasn't right.

His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Irakly Arkadi Hermol. Or, if one wanted to use his full name, His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Irakly Arkadi Borya Altansarnai Gerelo Temur Yakohvul Marino Ohnyan Hermol of Yahsin. No, the poor man wasn't typically able to recite his full name on a whim. He couldn't remember most of it.

He was the new Emperor, but he wasn't enjoying life at the Imperial Court. He was back at the camp near Testoa. The day before, they'd tried getting up in armor and shooting at the walls with trebuchets. It didn't quite work. In fact, various archers had successfully brought one of the trebuchets down with fiery arrows, setting the great, wooden thing ablaze. Some men had been caught on fire too. A simple arrow wound was deadly enough. The fire didn't make it any less so.

In his large tent, the Emperor carved through a play bar, not paying attention to the young pages' chatter. Those two page boys, the ones that had been with him when he first learned of his family's tragedies, they were stitching in repairs to some of his clothing. A new page was inside too.

Like most boys that had served men in the Imperial Family, they came from high ranking parents. Some were next in line to inherit their fathers' aristocratic titles, castles, and land. Some would become knights. Some would take positions in certain military troops, or even become admirals.

But none of that mattered as long as they were in training.

Right now, all the Emperor had were these three pages and the squire. The squire would soon leave to live as a man.

While training under a master, a page or squire would be in a serving position. A squire would require more physical training and less chores, but he served too. Care for the master's clothing. Help him get dressed. When he put on armor, assist him in the same way. Send messages. Sometimes serve beverages and food. And overall, while in training a boy must be humble. The last thing one wanted was a person of power to have been raised without having lived in humility.

Obviously, most children didn't go through this process. Most either were sent off to be apprentices for a specific trade or stayed close to their families.

The brand new page, a little one, he was there to help clean up stray bits of soap.

This little one had the most adorable face ... reminding the Emperor of ...

His nostrils flared as he quietly urged the thought away.

The squire, he came into the tent. He was a good boy. The strained look on his face reminded Prince Irakly of the time he'd given him the terrible news about the Imperial Family.

This time, when the squire bowed to the prince, he didn't give any particularly horrifying news, or it didn't seem that way to the Emperor. It turned out that Testoa's king had died and the only prince went soon after. Now, there was a queen.

As the little pieces of soap fell down, the Emperor almost smirked. "New leadership, that means there might be new tactics."

It sounded like fun.

***

Their newest trebuchet had just been built on site. Taller than most buildings. Ready to wreck any wall. The soldiers wheeled it to a proper spot, while the Emperor stayed just far enough away to watch it, comfortable in his horse's saddle. He was curious to see if anything could be done against such a grand beast of a catapult. His oldest pages stayed next to him, also mounted on horses. They'd expressed skepticism beforehand. Oh no! Testoa will go down soon! Nobody could do anything against the Empire's might! Not for long, at least.

As if there weren't fucking bird's nests in the tents ...

As the soldiers made tiny adjustments to the great trebuchet, in the distance, there seemed to be Testoan men on top of the wall, making gestures with their arms. Figure eights? And some round motions too?

The Emperor's dark eyes narrowed.

Were they using little slings? Were they about to throw rocks or pellets?! Why?!

And ... release! The Testoans released their projectiles!

Right on the huge trebuchet that hadn't even been loaded yet.

Crashing noises, not unlike hundreds upon hundred of clay pots being shattered.

Fire?!

The Emperor's lips parted, and he made the most subtle of gasps, as he watched the soldiers panic. Apparently, the pellets were actually hollow, probably made of clay, and when the clay burst some oily, fiery material expanded from within.

The fire spread like it was alive and hungry. Some of the soldiers were caught too! The Emperor put one of his gloved hands on his mouth and listened to his older pages whine about how ridiculous they thought this all was. Why don't they just quit fighting, they asked. Why are they fighting the inevitable, they also asked.

Well, the Emperor thought about it as he watched the General yell at everyone to retreat.

Of course Testoa would fight. Most of the conquered territories put up a fight before they were eventually overtaken. That's how people are sometimes. The Emperor wasn't angry about it.

In fact ...

Other than a heavy sigh, his breath was calm and relaxed.

His hand lowered.

And his teeth peeked out from a subtle, leering expression made by his lips.

"Very well, Queen," the Emperor quietly said aloud, tightening the grip on his horse's reins and proudly pushing his shoulders back. "Fight with all your strength."

***

It was closer to the end of summer when the Emperor decided to go into Kaizul for a break, taking the troop with him. During the day, birds in cages would sing often. Pet birds were popular in Kaizul.

The troops weren't offended by it, and the villages and cities they went to generally received them well. Kaizul was part of the Empire now. So, no looting allowed. The soldiers would be tourists. They'd buy food and other supplies, rest in bathhouses, sleep in taverns and inns, and generally have a good time. They'd even participate in local festivals and religious ceremonies if the timing was right.

The Emperor stayed at a very nice inn that was owned by a temple for a storm based god, located in what was basically the heart of a big city. Gods were very, very localized, and not just in Kaizul. It was very much the same throughout most of the Yahsin Empire and even in many other places.

A little village near a lake might have a special lake god, and a visitor from a larger city might think, "Oh, I've never heard of that lake god, which makes sense since I don't live here. I might pay my respects to that god while I'm here." However, there were still a few different religions with different "main" or "major" gods that most people in each religion generally agreed on.

To show his appreciation for the Kaizul people's general acceptance of his troops, the Emperor often gave an extra donation of goods or money to whatever temple was close by when he rested. On this occasion, he ordered a small box of copper ingots, a few bolts of wool and linen, a package of ginger, a similar package of turmeric, and a large sack of salt.

The Emperor's room was the biggest one the inn had, and he kept his squire and pages there too. There were two beds of different sizes. The squire got the smaller one while the Emperor got the biggest one. As basic as inn rooms could be, it was comparably spacious. There was even a currently empty but happy looking fireplace, a table, and a few extra chairs.

But the Emperor didn't stay for long.

When a particularly breezy night came, the scents of bacon and bread wafting from several windows in the city, one of the Emperor's older pages and a handful of soldiers escorted him off to what had to be the nicest brothel around. Beforehand, he'd asked if there were any women with particularly interesting eyes. That was one of his favorite qualities in women.

In the biggest, prettiest room in the brothel, there was a small party waiting on him. A male magician was ready to perform tricks. Two male musicians were protectively cradling their instruments. A serving girl stood neat a table of food and drinks, and she was waiting to pour a cup.

Near a window covered by thick curtains, there was an elegant woman in a gown of dark blue. Her hair and throat were hidden under a sort of headdress of veil. This was nearly mandatory for married women and prostitutes in Kaizul. A woman's hair was considered to be terribly beautiful, and once you were married, or an established whore, it wasn't considered proper to show it off.

This woman's face was exposed, which wasn't strange. Hiding the face itself would've aroused suspicion no matter one's status. What caught the Emperor's attention was her lovely eyes. One was a glittery gold and the other was a bright gray. Very different. Very pretty.

They ate food together and danced to music. They laughed with and applauded the magician. It was all comforting. Then, the beautiful woman with the startling eyes led him off to a connected room with a large bed, where the veil would be removed and the Emperor could see the hair in the firelight.