War Against the Realm

by Sherri Beth Mitchell

  “Silvia…Keelan…I am back.”

  Chapter Ten: The Brewing Storms

  He surveyed his kingdom with a gaze of consternation. Pulling on his gray-and-black streaked goatee, he frowned at the horizon.

  “Something vexes you, my love?” his wife asked.

  King Rordar grunted in response and did not turn from the window.

  “Have the scouts returned yet?”

  He shook his head slightly. “Not as of yet. I do not hold much hope on them doing so.”

  “Another party lost,” Larette murmured.

  “I did not say they were lost…just that I do not hold on to the hope of them coming back while still breathing.”

  Larette lifted an eyebrow as if to say that meant the same thing in her eyes.

  He sighed. “It’s been too quiet these last few weeks, besides the scouting parties going missing. It worries me. The witches have not made any attacks and no one has heard from Tyrol or seen his face. It makes me wonder what our enemies are doing.”

  “You are watchful, my King,” his wife said. “Nothing will get by you…we remain safe under your protection.”

  He turned and looked at her with a sad smile. “But for how long, Larette? I can only do this for so long before one side or the other wins. If it is not us, I have damned us to Eerich’s hells.”

  “You are too hard on yourself, Rordar. We must retain faith that we will conquer the Realm of Rohedon. Those witches and their abominable husband are the bane of this land. There is no way that the Parent Gods or their children will let this continue much longer.”

  “The Parent Gods are lost to us poor mortals, and the other gods and goddesses have not made themselves known in a long time. We must learn to depend solely upon ourselves. It is up to us to defeat the heathens.”

  Her face became an image of desolation, and he felt bad for being so blunt with her. But he had never strayed from the truth with his wife; he was always straightforward with her.

  “My dear Larette…always so patient with your husband and his rantings.”

  “As you are ever patient with your wife,” she said. “I must go to the washroom now, my Lord. Do you wish for me to ring for a servant?”

  “No, no, no,” he told her, walking over to where she sat. “I will gladly take you—it would be my honor.”

  Truth be told, he always accompanied her to the washroom if he was within the castle walls. He made it a priority so that the Lordalens could see that even though their queen had an ailment which deterred her from a normal person’s physical condition, their bond was as robust as it ever was. He was well known for being a fiercely compassionate king.

  The King of the Lordalens grasped the handles of her chair; he put his foot on the thick back rung and helped get the chair into motion. The wooden wheels on the side creaked as they began to turn.

  He noticed one wheel was beginning to wobble a bit. “It’s time for another wheel to be made,” he commented.

  “I think there may be an extra one around here somewhere,” she said.

  “Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to have the carpenter drum up a few more for you.”

  “The carpenter is quite busy at the moment,” she replied, thinking of the war machine that was in the makings. “I do not wish for his plate to overflow.”

  “Let me worry about that, Larette. We’ll get this chair fixed up in no time so that we can race up and down the halls.”

  She smiled. “I miss running to meet you whenever you’d return from hunting trips.”

  He chuckled. “And the way you chased after the cook for burning a visiting dignitary’s favorite dish. You had that kitchen in a terrible turmoil.”

  Queen Larette laughed at the memory. “I felt bad afterwards, Rordar. I didn’t know the girl had only been cooking a week!”

  They traded stories of their yester-years and continued on down the hall as the echoes of their laughter rang through the palace.

  Not so far away, another set of eyes were turned up to the sky.

  “While it looks as though it will rain, my lands remain racked with droughts,” he said with a deep-set scowl.

  “You mean our lands,” said the man next to him irritably.

  Tyrol glared at the man. “Must you always correct me?”

  Sout shrugged and looked back up at the sky. “I’ll do as I see fit when it comes to you. We wouldn’t be in such a predicament if it weren’t for your poor choices, after all.”

  “I didn’t see you saying ‘no’ to having your way with several of those Lordalen women a while back.”

  Again, Sout lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t turn down such opportunities. Besides, one man declining to participate wouldn’t have changed a thing. Rordar would still have waged war upon us for the wrongs which you initially instigated; that’s how we got to where we are. Surely you have realized this by now? And what have you lost in this war, may I ask? You haven’t lost a son in these gods-forsaken battles yet—I have.”

  “Do not blame your woes on me, Sout.”

  “But the blame is on you still, whether you wish it to be or not,” Sout stated blandly. “Look at your village and what your decisions have led it to. Look.”

  Tyrol harkened to his word and turned his eyes back towards their village. Rordar could have stamped them out of existence in an hour, if he so chose…were it not for their visitors.

  All throughout the village he witnessed Rohedon’s men scurrying about like rats. They had taken over much of the village, though Tyrol had still been left in command, along with one of Rohedon’s leading female warriors, Arobis. His men had not much skill in combat, but they were learning much from Rohedon’s people.

  Cruelty was one of the things they had been educated on.

  Oh sure, they had known how to be unpleasant and heartless before. The visiting army from the Realm of Rohedon, however, took it to a whole other level that very nearly frightened him. The heathens were ruthless in their savagery.

  “There is much on your mind, Tyrol,” came a female’s voice. “I can tell by your face.”

  He spun about and bowed before the woman before him. “Natosha…to what do we owe the honor?”

  “I’m just checking on the progress here,” she replied. “I see the wall has at last been finished, no doubt because of the men I’ve had helping you.”

  Tyrol did not look at the wall of which she spoke that drove a line between his small land and the start of the King’s. The mangled bodies of men and women stuck out grotesquely all over the wall and the sight of it unnerved him. “Yes, it was completed last week, milady. We worked day and night on it, just as you requested.”

  “You still took longer than planned.”

  Tyrol squared his jaw and gritted his teeth. “We did the best we could. Some of our people could not work with yours and it took longer.”

  She lifted one corner of her mouth. “And those are the people whose body parts are jutting out of the wall, aren’t they?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I get tired of the silence, Tyrol, and your leadership bores me.”

  “Forgive me, milady, but I am used to talking to Lord Rohedon and not his wives. We have only met once before, you and I. How fairs your husband? Will he visit soon to plan our next step?”

  “Our husband fairs worse than you, for he is dead many weeks now.” She watched shock roll over Tyrol’s face. No doubt the man was thinking of what this meant for him and his village, and whether or not they’d still be protected. “Our men and women are still here, so wipe that look off of your face. The deal you held with Rohedon still stand, but you will be dealing with me and my sister-wives from this point forth.”

  “I see,” Tyrol said gruffly. “My…my condolences on your loss.”

  “Don’t give me those. I have no need for sympathy or anything related to it.” Natosha scowled and looked around her, mumbling to herself about lower-class fools. When she looked at him again, there was something about her f
ace that made him take a step back. “As for the next step, it’s on its way here.”

  A strong gust of wind carried her hair, thrusting it about her face in a swirl of mahogany. She was fierce and beautiful, but strangely terrifying at the same time.

  The wind continued to pick up, blowing over baskets and banging loose shutters on many homes. People were scrambling to secure belongings and animals, and watching the skies above.

  Tyrol’s eyes were drawn towards Rohedon’s Realm, where he’d been gazing before. The dark clouds he’d spotted in that direction were moving towards them unnaturally fast and darkening with every minute that passed.

  “I would suggest you take shelter!” the witch yelled, laughing.

  He blinked, and she was gone. A large splat of water hit the tip of his nose, and a deep rumble filled the air around him.

  “Take shelter indeed,” he mumbled.

  Hemet worked the iron hammer with vigor, his muscles bunching up under his shirt and belly jiggling with each blow he rung. The iron piece he was driving in was a long shaft connecting the two front wheels of the war machine. A few more powerful hits later, and the pin holding the shaft in place was right where it should be.

  Wiping an arm across his brow, he set the big hammer on his work table and surveyed his progress: the catapult was now complete, save for the firing arm, which had a bucket on one end to hold projectiles and a large iron box on the opposite end which would hold the counterweight. The rest of the giant machine could be assembled within hours.

  “How goes it with your work, Hemet?” said King Rordar, approaching the castle’s carpenter.

  “Very well, my Lord,” replied Hemet as he bowed. “The Stone Thruster will be ready by tomorrow for sure.”

  The King smiled. “Nicknamed it already, I see? Have you taken the other one out to test its accuracy yet?”

  The carpenter nodded. “Aye, that I did.”

  “And how did it go?”

  The man shrugged his massive shoulders. “As well as can be expected. The projectiles fell short a little bit, but I believe this to be a simple calculation of the weight and size of them. We were saving the bigger ones for whatever you have in mind instead of wasting them in tests.”

  His superior nodded his approval. “Sounds like you’re right on schedule with your work. I must, however, ask something else of you.”

  Hemet was quick to respond. “Anything you wish of me, I shall do, Your Highness.”

  “My Queen is in dire need of a new wheel for her chair. Can you make some so that we have several extras when she needs them?”

  The carpenter smiled, showing a missing canine in his grin, knocked out years before by a misguided hammer blow. “Is that all?” he chuckled. “Wait here, my Liege.”

  He hurried off into a side room of the large stable that had been converted to his work station for the giant machine, and came back moments later with four wheels in his arms.

  “I made these a few weeks ago. I had meant to give them to you or Queen Larette, but I was completely besotted with the catapult project.”

  “You are a good man, Hemet, and your thoughts and actions are always noticed by your queen and I. When this war is over, I will build you a grand house for you and your family and compensate you well for your efforts.”

  Hemet took a knee before his ruler. “Your blessings are many, King Rordar. But please know that I will do whatever is needed of me without expectations of a recompense—it is my duty as your carpenter to do these things, and I am merely carrying out your orders. You needn’t build me a home, my Lord.”

  “Nonsense,” said the king, waving a hand through the air. “Hard work is rewarded when it is warranted. Know that you will always have a place in my halls…for as long as they may stand.”

  A distant rumbling drew their attention, and they both turned towards the stable doors. The clouds Rordar had been staring at earlier were fast approaching, and the temperature had dropped. A wind was whipping the trees in the pasture back and forth as though a sea storm were about to roll through the countryside.

  “Looks like we’ll finally get that rain we’ve been asking for,” Rordar said. “May the Parent Gods be thanked!”

  Hemet frowned. “Rain is a good thing my Lord, but let us hope it doesn’t rain too much.” He glanced back at the war machine with a worried expression.

  “We will deal with whatever we are given, no matter how much it is,” said Rordar. “Perhaps the gods have yet to smile down upon our wretched city.”

  Saris awaited Natosha as she reappeared in her bedchambers, startling the brunette.

  “Where did you go, sister?”

  “To check on the wall in the village of our ally,” her twin replied tartly. “In case you’ve forgotten, we’re supposed to be manning that outpost and making sure that wall gets built. You haven’t been there in ages to check on the progress being made.”

  “And how far along is the wall?” Saris asked.

  “What we told them to build has been done, but more of our men and women need to be stationed there. If and when Rordar chooses to attack, that will be the first place he’ll lay siege to. We mustn’t let it fall, as decrepit and pitiful a place as it is. The bickering is getting worse amongst the villagers there. If there is too much strife on our side of the wall, the enemy can take over easily.”

  Saris nodded, and raised her eyes to the ceiling when a large crack of thunder split the silence. “And you have decided to bless our enemy with rain?”

  Natosha shook her head. “Sister, sister…you only read the cover of my plan. You must open the book to see what’s inside. Wait, and you shall see the plan I have devised.”

  “If this plan is anything like the one in which you lost our prisoner and let an intruder escape I will have your head on a post in my room.”

  A splash of anger and a chill of something else crept up Natosha’s spine. Her sister had never threatened her before. She briefly wondered if it was because she had accused Saris of plotting the disappearance of Emaree and the fake Mirelda in order to obtain the sapphire stones to spy on the enemy. Of course, after a little bit of thought she realized that she’d overreacted, and that her sister would never have let Emaree escape for such a trivial thing. But now this mention of bodily harm…it was as if her sister had changed recently, and had turned herself entirely against Natosha. “What are you implying?”

  “Oh, I think it’s rather obvious, don’t you think? The King’s brother was sent here for some unknown reason to rescue that excuse of a human we had as a sister-wife, and when we get them both within our grasp they vanish…under your watch. It seems a little odd, until one considers your situation with the Lystian king. When that is taken into account, my perception of the events that passed last night become much clearer.”

  “You think I let those scoundrels escape on purpose?” She let out a bark of laughter at the thought. “As much as I have done for Rohedon’s Realm, and for you I might add, I would think that accusation is more than a little stretched. And to threaten me on top of such accusations is quite dangerous, my dearest sister.” Her voice took on a tone that warned Saris of what was to come. “Perhaps I should remind you which of us is the more powerful, Saris. You seem to have forgotten who was the first wife of Rohedon, and to whom Eerich gave the brunt of the magic to. You would be wise to rethink the words coming out of your mouth whilst you still have a tongue to speak them with. Now, leave this room sister. Return when your temperament has much improved.”

  Saris stalked towards the door, but stopped as she was going through the arched frame. “Know that your every action is being watched now, Natosha. Our realm is in danger and you keep going off, gallivanting around the countryside and mingling where you should not. As for the poison which drips from your tongue…take care to whom you speak in that manner, for even the lowly must eventually rise.”

  She rushed off in a swirl of cloth, leaving a deadly silence in her wake. Natosha swallowed hard, wondering what i
n the name of all the gods had just happened. By the Dark Moon, her sister had never stepped this far out of line.

  A frown creased her features as she determined how she was going to regain control of her household…which she would do by any means necessary.

  Silvia raised an eyebrow at Maura as the servant woman hugged her fiercely after running inside the tent.

  “I just heard, milady!” she said. “Hans and I are so grateful Quentin is alive!”

  The Lystian Queen smiled and laughed. “As are we, Maura. He needs a day or two to rest and then he’ll catch up with us.” Her smile faltered. “The King was so worried that something would happen to Quentin…it almost seems to have changed him. He’s been so angry as of late.”