Excerpt: The Dark Lord Simon

His hair had always been white. And he had always been very proud of that, because it was immaculate, and it being immaculate impressed people. And he was aiming to impress today, oh yes.

He stood by the roadside, and watched as the scant few carts went past. He had found himself in amongst a mass of people to who today was a very special occasion. It was difficult to be the one asking what was going on, because the city’s buildings were adorned with hanging banners that you just could not miss. “Bucketshire welcomes the King of Idlewind!” they said, and the man smiled slyly at all of them he saw.

He was young, and his face was smooth and clean. He was a handsome man, and his face spoke of confidence, success, and future prospects that involved money, influence, and notoriety. These attributes were in his clothes as well. The tight red robe he wore was absent of any markings – sigil or otherwise. Its material was probably the finest silk, and even in a town like this, a town that prospered in the glorious age of war, it was a sight to see. Its hood lay strewn on his back. He wanted people to see the hair. It was short and vibrant. One noticed the hair.

The roads were scarce of traffic today. It was a stupid gesture to try and force people off the roads of a huge industrial port town, even if it was the King of your richest and most powerful ally you were catering for. But tolls had been placed upon the roads this week, and only the richest could afford to pay the price. And this was good for two reasons. It meant that the roads were clear for the extravagant and exuberant monarch’s carriage to navigate without much trouble, and even if they were held up by the public, it wasn’t the riff-raff in their smelly wooden carts being pulled by their malnourished oxen. No. It was the cream of the crop. A man in a waistcoat on a four-seated carriage all to himself, pulled by great brown steeds that never once caved in for rest. And this man would be selling only the most expensive ores of which to make weapons with – weapons that Idlewind itself could use in wars against the forces that sought to destroy it. That was what it was desired for Idlewind to see.

The town of Bucketshire was a town that liked to adapt. It liked to make friends, and be part of major diplomatic treaties that would see genuine Bucketshire swords and shields and hammers and axe and armour and, especially, ships, in the service of other nations. Bucketshire built things that other nations were going to use, and more often than not these were things that would be used to kill people. Its buildings were practical and ugly, and they were meant to be so. The town wasn’t interested in tourism or beauty. It was just interested in what other countries could offer it. Very few of the structures that made up Bucketshire were wooden. Most were made out of stone that had been taken from the cliffs and hills that made up the coastal region. The many blacksmith’s workshops that inhabited the city were made of solid blocks of steel, and were extremely unsubtle to look at. They were just chunks of industry that people inside worked hard in. And Bucketshire was a town of hard-workers, and these hard-workers liked to be able to celebrate their wares…

The white-haired man with the red robe was irritated somewhat to not be at the front of the crowd of people gathered by the route the neighboring King was taking through town. These were people excited to see someone else’s leader, and their enthusiasm for this was matched only by the measure of which they should have been pitied. Some held flags in their hands. Flags of a nation that they didn’t belong to. It was sickening. A small child asking their mother if they would be able to talk to the King when he came past, so he could tell him how much he liked him. The hustle and bustle and smiling faces because of another person’s King. Would they do the same if it was for their own King, or was he too unpopular, with his taxes, his laws, and his race?

He felt a harsh breathing into his ear, and tilted his eyes left. A big bald man, probably a blacksmith who spent too much of his time in the vicinity of hot embers, had been awaiting some recognition.

‘You look like a wizard,’ he said.

The immaculate man smiled his most civil smile he could when under the influence of irritation. He looked the comparatively scruffy man up and down, and said, ‘Yes. I am a brilliant wizard.’

The blacksmith nodded. The “wizard” turned away, and started to peer down the road to see if there was any sight of this oh so lovely carriage that was scheduled to come down. He couldn’t wait to see the K- the breathing in the ear had not stopped. This was starting to get annoying. He turned his gaze to the bald man once again, and bowed his head.

‘Where’s your hat?’ the blacksmith persisted.

The wizard turned away again, to stare at all the other people. He stared across the roadside where a similar mass of citizens were gathered. Everywhere the royalty would look they would see adoring fans, coming to the big event. And he looked upon each, and surmised that yes, they would be asking similar questions.

‘I don’t need one,’ the immaculate man replied. He did it through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. ‘Some wizards prefer to do things a different way.’

‘Ev─’

But thankfully, the bald man was interrupted. A high cheering came from down the street, and the distant razzmatazz of the Idlewind National Anthem could be heard.