Raegar Vorhalian’s face bore a look of disgust and disbelief as he scanned the most recent augery from the Priests of Celestrius. He wondered, with dismay, how the people of his beloved city could be so easily duped. The rank and file of the Priesthood were truly singular dilettantes and charlatans no more likely to be able to discern a portent from a portcullis.
Not weeks past, they’d shut down the Royal Mining Consortium with naught but a fist-sized chunk of spall they swore reeked of demonic influence. While the leaders of the Consortium sought to controvert these claims with the fact the stone in question was of a type not even found within their mines, the Priesthood had prevailed. Only when the managers had agreed to treble their “donations” to the Temple had the clerics found the wherewithal to palliate the menace.
Worst of all, he could not gainsay those who usurped his power. As stolid and earthy as his populace were, they nevertheless placed great faith in the dominion of Celestrius and His clergymen. As well, it was unfitting for a monarch to scrabble about like some disgruntled fishwife shrieking of her husband’s perfidy. He could not afford to appear weak or powerless.
Unable to think of any solution, Raegar massaged his aching head and wondered, not for the first time, if it wasn’t a fine time for him to retire to his highland estates and allow his eldest son the opportunity to succeed where he had not.
This story was written for the weekly Monday Mixer flash fiction writing challenge. Although the choice of prompt words was mine, even I didn't manage to fit all nine into my story.