Free The Vlakan King (Book 3) by Jim Greenfield

branches of art to its culture despite its distant location on Amloth.
    From Gerrand's Histories of Landermass.
     
     
    King Kalen Omer of Masina kept up the traditions of his late father and each year was filled with festivals and workshops for all to learn the crafts. The principal cities of Dael and Danole displayed buildings of the latest styles, ornate and labored over by the teams of artisans that seemed to be everywhere. On the mornings leading up to the Festival of Verra, King Kal sat on an outside throne watching a metal Wight coaxing his strips of metal into an elaborate gate for the King's garden. Often he dozed in his chair and his subjects indulged their king. He fast approached his seventieth year and his mind resisted the dulling of time. His interest in all things of his kingdom, down to the dirt drawings of the smallest child kept him keen and youthful. Still, naps were a king's prerogative, especially one as beloved as King Kal.
    For the next fortnight the Festival of Verra would occupy the minds of the Masinans. Artists and musicians from all Masina and the nearby kingdoms of Eslenda, Cresida and some from Nuneland and even Liannest, the Daerlan home journeyed to the city of Dael for the festival. King Kalen had long since ceded the organization of the festival to one of his ministers but he loved to partake in the judging of the various contests.
    When the weather was mild the king would walk the boulevard with guards in tow, stopping and examining items at every booth. He wore brown trousers, black boots and a bright blue tunic. He always wore the same colors and on his head was a silver circ holding back his grey hair. His beard and moustache were closely trimmed and King Kalen was fit for a man of his age, but he was less steady in his gait than only a few years ago. If it rained he was carried in a litter and stopped at the displays that caught his eye. And oh did his eyes twinkle during the festival. Other than his granddaughter only the festival could infuse him with energy and drive to be doing things. With his granddaughter he walked around the town, worked in his garden and regaled her with stories of the horrible Turuck war. His wife forbade him from telling those tales to his children and grandchildren but she had passed on, rest her soul, and his granddaughter heard every story in great detail.
    The king provided many awards and none was coveted more than his patronage for the coming year that he would provide for the top ten award winners. Few things delighted the king more than the delight of the recipients of his largesse.
    Of course there were winners who were rude and ungrateful. King Kalen did not make an issue of it publicly but after the time of patronage ended he would have no more to do with them. The best stalls for the next festival would be denied them and they lost any future chance at the King's patronage.
    A great cheer rose from the northern part of the city. King Kalen knew it was the arrival of King Henry Islen of Eslenda, his old friend. They had first met during the Turuck invasion of Amloth forty years earlier and became close allies afterward. Both had lost their fathers during that time and Kalen looked up to the older man. Henry also lost his wife and grown son in the battles and dedicated the remainder of his life to being a fair and just ruler to bring Eslenda to its potential. Henry never took another wife and lately named his sister's grandson as his heir. Kalen found himself a bit jealous of Hal at times because Hal didn't show the same infirmities of age despite being nearly two decades older. Hal walked straight and steady plus he could hold out a sword and his hands wouldn't shake. No, Hal was a different creature.
    King Kalen stood on the lower steps of the keep when the company from Eslenda reached their destination. King Henry extracted himself from the wagon and strode forward to greet Kalen. The Eslendian king stood well over six feet tall and his shoulders