Breaking the Flame

by Christopher Patterson

  “To what end, my lord?” Terradyn asked.

  “They mean to conquer the Kingdom of Hámon,” Andragos replied.

  “How?” Raktas asked. “Patûk was an excellent tactician, and he had zealots that followed him, but now that he is dead, and Pavin Abashar is anything but a tactician, how can they conquer a kingdom?”

  “Firstly, this new man—General Bu—who leads the former Patûk’s men, he is well-trained. I can tell the late general trained him personally. Secondly, Hámon is feudal and fractionalized,” Andragos said. “Thirdly, Patûk Al’Banan’s forces and Pavin Abashar’s forces number thirty thousand. And other defectors will undoubtedly come to join them in the near future. Men like Dimrûk Lu-Fan and Captain Fluker—men on whom Lord Syzbalo has turned his back—will welcome the opportunity to serve Pavin, or this new General Bu, and openly fight against the Eastern Empire, bringing yet another three or four thousand fools under their command. What they command now is more than enough to bring the Hámonian nobles to submission and overthrow King Cedric.”

  “What should we do?” Terradyn asked.

  “What can we do?” Andragos replied. “I cannot crush a whole army, even as powerful as I am. And Syzbalo—the Lord of the East—does nothing, spending all his time with those bitches. Patûk, even in death, will eventually be much more than a thorn in our side, and when that day comes, I will bear the brunt of the Lord of the East’s condemnation.”

  “Why put up with it?” Terradyn said in a hushed tone. Even in Andragos’ personal quarters—which were protected by powerful magic—the walls of Fen-Stévock had ears, and the Lord of the East was a powerful mage in his own right.

  “A day may come soon, Terradyn, when I will not,” Andragos whispered, more to himself than to his guard.

  Chapter 41

  “General,” Captain Kan said, meeting Bu Al’Banan as he reached the lands of Hámon. Bu couldn’t help sensing a bit of apprehension in the captain’s voice. Captain Kan and Bu had always gotten along, even when Bu was a simple spy. The captain seemed to recognize his worth and treated him with at least that much respect. But Captain Kan was as loyal to Patûk as Bu was, and Bu could tell that the death of Patûk and his ascension to general and commander of thirty thousand men could possibly cause tension between the two men. Bu truly hoped Kan would accept him as his general. Kan was a good leader, a good soldier, and commanded the men’s respect.

  “Captain,” Bu said with a quick bow.

  “Lieutenant Ban Chu,” Captain Kan added. “General Abashar.”

  Both men also bowed.

  “How have you been, Captain?” Bu asked.

  “Well,” Captain Kan replied with eyes that spoke of distrust, “but not, apparently, as well as you, it seems, General Bu Al’Banan.”

  “Can I expect your loyalty, Captain Kan?” Bu asked.

  “Al’Banan?” Kan asked, ignoring Bu’s question.

  Only men that Bu trusted—Li, Ban Chu, Pavin, and Andu—stood in the tent with Kan.

  “I thought it would make the transition to general easier,” Bu explained. “If the men believed I was Patûk’s son, they would more readily accept my lead. It was Li’s idea. It has seemed to work thus far.”

  Kan looked at the disfigured and burned seneschal with the same suspicious eyes that Bu found himself looking at the man with most times.

  “And why was the title of commander not passed on to General Pavin Abashar?” Kan asked, eyeing the general. “By the god of the east, why wasn’t I considered?”

  Bu shifted, ever so slightly, nervous and a bit uncomfortable and trying not to show it. He gave Pavin a sidelong glance and the general returned the glance, fear evident in his eyes. They knew why the general relented control.

  “You would have been the first choice, Captain,” Bu replied. “But we needed someone to lead, lest we lose command of thirty thousand men, and as for Pavin …”

  “Truth be told,” Pavin said, interrupting Bu, “General Bu offered the title of commander to me, but I turned it down. He is as adept a leader as any—I have had enough time to see that much—and, even though I am still an ambitious man, I am no spring chicken anymore.”

  “Do you wish to be Commander, Kan?” Bu asked. Kan smiled, only slightly. “I will pass this title to you, right now, if you wish. You are right. It should have been rightfully yours.”

  Li looked at Bu, with his one good eye, in disbelief, as did Ban Chu. Pavin didn’t show any emotion. He knew what Bu was doing, and Andu shifted uneasily. He was always nervous, a man with a broken spirit.

  “I would be lying if I said I didn’t desire this,” Kan said, and then shook his head, “but no, you are Commander General. You have led the men this far with success, and to change leadership right now would cause turmoil. I trust I will receive due reward for my loyalty and support when we conquer Hámon?”

  “Yes, of course. You will be Duke Kan Schu,” Bu replied. “Now, what news?”

  “As we speak,” Kan explained, “a delegation from Fen-Stévock makes its way to Venton, having requested an audience with King Cedric.”

  “Have you tried to stop them?” Pavin asked.

  “I would, my lord,” Kan replied, “but my men only number a thousand, and theirs over three thousand. I believe in my men, but I am sure the vassals of Hámon would come to the Stévockian’s aide. It would be folly. I am sorry, General Al’Banan.”

  “No need for apology, Captain,” Bu said. “We will intercept this delegation.”

  “And when we do, General?” Pavin asked.

  “Offer them the opportunity to turn over all their gold and carriages and horses and then return to their home country,” Bu replied with a smile.

  “You know they won’t accept,” Pavin said. “Surely, Patûk taught you that much of Eastern officers.”

  “Of course, they won’t,” Bu replied. “And yes, Patûk taught me that much and more. So, we will make an example of them … to both the Eastern Empire and to the vassals of Hámon. This is what happens when you cross General Bu Al’Banan. Who leads this delegation, Captain Kan?”

  “Lord Barde Bik, my lord,” Kan replied.

  “Unfortunate,” Bu said with a scowl.

  “Indeed,” Kan replied. “You have heard of him?”

  “Yes,” Bu said.

  “He is actually a good man from a good family,” Kan said. “I hate it when such men must die. I hope you will make sure his death is quick and as painless as possible. A show of humility and compassion to the people of Hámon.”

  “Yes, of course,” Bu said. “Li, Ban Chu, Pavin, what do you think?”

  All three men nodded.

  *****

  Bu marched his army for another day, and when they finally neared the walls of Venton, they could see Barde Bik’s camp settled outside. Ban Chu’s spies had brought word that the Stévockian delegate had already been meeting with the king. It was no matter, just another anthill Bu would have to deal with. As the army neared the city, General Bu could hear the yelling and screaming of men and women as they ushered their families inside the city walls. With the fearful shouting, he saw a cloud of dust as a large retinue of about two hundred horsed men raced towards his column. He held up a fist.

  His army stopped and waited. It was only a moment before the entourage of horses and men reached him. He saw Barde there, a short, broad shouldered man with almost all gray hair, save for a bit of Golgolithulian black sprinkled in here and there. Many of the men with Barde were Golgolithulian soldiers, but among them was a large, blond-haired man, fat and clearly uncomfortable on his wide saddle. His beard was splotchy, and his robes spilled out over his hands and feet, and he wore a simple golden circlet about his head.

  “Lord Bik,” Bu said with a quick bow.

  “How dare you speak to a simple lord before addressing the King of Hámon,” another man, one who wore a woman’s paint on his face and clothing that billowed out at his elbows and knees, said, his face red and angry.

  “Who
are you?” Bu asked.

  “Jackson,” the man replied, “steward to King Cedric.”

  “Well you’re not the king then, so I will make sure to kill you first,” Bu said.

  “What insolence!” the steward shouted.

  “Who are you?” Barde Bik asked. “Why should I bother speaking with you?”

  “I am Bu Al’Banan, son of Patûk Al’Banan,” Bu replied, “and as to why you should treat with me, well, because I command thirty thousand easterners.”

  “Patûk had no sons,” Barde Bik said, “at least legitimate ones that he would have cared enough for to train as a replacement. Clearly, your claim is a pile of troll shit, but I care not. Call yourself whatever you want. I know Pavin Abashar, and I know Kan Schu, and you must be a worthy leader if they choose to follow you. As for easterners, despite their number, they are all defectors, traitors to the east.”

  Bu laughed. He liked this man. It was a pity he had to kill him.

  “My men hold allegiances to the true eastern rulers,” Bu replied, “and true eastern ways.”

  Now it was Barde’s turn to laugh.

  “Foolishness. Rulers rise and fall and everyone under their rule must change and adjust,” Barde said. “It is the way things are. In reality, I care not about your agendas or allegiances. What do you want here in Hámon?”

  “I mean to conquer the country of Hámon and stop eastern encroachment into the west,” Bu replied. “It was Patûk’s dying wish.”

  Barde let out another short laugh.

  “What a noble cause you have, General,” Lord Bik said.

  “Noble cause!” the king shouted. “How do you plan on conquering my kingdom?”

  “Do you not see the army behind me?” Bu asked.

  “Pittance,” the king said, his cheeks and chins jiggling as he spoke. “I command more men than you.”

  “No,” Bu replied, “you have vassals that respond to you simply because you give them lands and money. What happens when I give them more land and money? What happens when I show those without the fortune of being born noble that loyalty and fealty and hard work can earn them such a title?”

  The king laughed, but then he looked around him and the soldiers and knights that surrounded him looked at the general with wide eyes. They were considering Bu’s offer.

  “Jackson,” the king said, “take me back to the castle.”

  Jackson lifted a hand. The horsemen—all wearing mail hauberks and conical helms—snapped their long lances into their shoulders and sat up straight at attention. The king glared at Bu angrily, his cheeks puffing red, but pulled on his horse’s reins, the animal groaning under the man’s weight, and made his way back towards Venton. Jackson followed him, and as soon as they passed the last of their horsemen, the whole company turned and, in a great cloud of dust, followed the monarch back to the city and to the confines of his castle. Barde watched, over his shoulder, shaking his head.

  “This is who the Lord of the East has you treating with?” Bu asked. “This is disgraceful. You are a good man, from a good family.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Barde replied. “If Patûk Al’Banan has truly trained you, you know that. General Abashar, you understand this.”

  Both Bu and Pavin nodded.

  “Join me,” Bu said.

  Barde Bik shook his head.

  “You know I cannot,” he replied.

  “Why not?” General Pavin Abashar interjected.

  “What would you have me do?” Barde asked. “Should I join you while the Lord of the East has my sons tortured and my wife and daughters raped by the whole of his army?”

  A man facing the maw of a lion with a spear at his back. This Barde Bik had honor. He was a man who loved his family. Bu knew of men who would readily sacrifice their families for life. It was truly a pity he had to die.

  “I will honor you with a quick death,” Bu said.

  “And I will do the same for you,” Barde Bik replied.

  The battle was short; Lord Bik’s army was outnumbered ten to one. It commenced with General Bu Al’Banan jamming his blade into the back of Barde Bik’s neck. A quick death—his promise. Most of Lord Bik’s soldiers chose death over surrender, even though Bu Al’Banan offered mercy—service in his army—to any Golgolithulian men who yielded at the beginning of the battle. The general suspected that many of the soldiers had the same concern that Barde Bik had. They all had families back in Golgolithul. Capitulation meant certain torture and death for those they left behind.

  The battle had spilled into the civilian lands of Venton, even though none of the men at arms or knights that owed King Cedric bothered to leave the protection of the city walls to protect their citizens. It was collateral damage, and Bu hoped that rather than anger the people of Hámon against him, the lack of protection its king offered would spur the people towards allegiances to Bu.

  “No one leaves the city, Captain,” Bu said as he stood, surveying the battlefield, the burned homes, the dead, and the gathering crows.

  “Yes, my lord,” Kan said with a quick bow. “Are we laying siege to Venton?”

  “Not yet,” the general replied. “Send men—emissaries—to Bull’s Run and the other manors of Hámon. Tell them to let the Hámonian nobles know what has happened here … what is about to happen.”

  “My lord,” Kan said with another bow.

  ****

  “What allegiances do you hold with King Cedric?” Bu Al’Banan asked the nobleman seated on a palfrey next to the general.

  “I hold the allegiance any vassal should owe to their king,” the nobleman said. “He grants me land and title, and I return the favor with support, especially in times of war.”

  “So, should I expect you to march your army towards Venton any time soon?” Bu asked.

  The nobleman lazily picked at his lacquered fingernails, pretending to care little for his conversation with Bu Al’Banan. His attitude reminded Bu of Li, and part of it infuriated him while the other part made him smile.

  “Should I worry about you marching on my manor any time soon?” the nobleman asked.

  “Count Alger,” Bu replied, “I have no need to march on those who swear loyalty to me, and I have no desire to take any more Hámonian lives. If I am to rule this kingdom, I need both its people and its nobles to endorse me.”

  “And what do you offer Hámon’s people and nobles in response to such allegiance?” Count Alger asked.

  “More land, more title, even lands in the east,” Bu replied. He could tell that Count Alger was about to give him a rebuttal, so he held up his hand and continued, “I will also offer them the opportunity to expand beyond the dreams of any Hámonian. Look at what I have done, my lord. I am but the son of a defected eastern general. Unlike my father, I never held position in the eastern armies, and here I am, commander of thirty thousand men and soon to be newly crowned King of Hámon. Those who follow me will be a part of a thriving kingdom and no longer a simple footnote in history. We will expand and conquer and become an empire in our own right, and those who choose to follow me from the beginning will reap the greatest rewards.”

  Count Alger seemed to ponder Bu’s words for a long time. He was considering the general’s offer.

  “You know the castle will fall,” Bu said with finality.

  “And what will become of King Cedric?” Alger asked. “Will his head wind up in a basket underneath an executioner’s axe?”

  “I’m not sure … yet,” Bu replied. He didn’t really think Alger cared what happened to the king but simply asked because he was supposed to care. “Do you think the Hámonian people would look kindly on mercy?”

  “Mercy,” Alger scoffed. “Most see mercy as kindness. I see it as weakness.”

  Bu shot the count an angry look.

  “You, however, are clearly not weak,” the count quickly added. “The people and nobles of Hámon might look kindly on a merciful act. The House of Elefante has ruled Hámon for many generations. Cedric may not be the greatest
of rulers, but Hámon has prospered under his rule.”

  “Very well,” Bu said. “Assuming the siege on Venton doesn’t take his life, I will spare it. I may even give him a title of nobility in my court.”

  Count Alger nodded with a look of agreement and then looked over his shoulder.

  “Acwel,” he said.

  “Yes, my lord,” Count Alger’s seneschal said.

  “Ready our men,” the Count said. “We are going home. Tell them that we will not be sending an aide to King Cedric of House Elefante.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Acwel replied.

  Two of Bu’s horsemen led a wagon towards the general as he made small talk with the count.

  “My lord,” one of the horsed soldiers said as they neared the general.

  “Excuse me, Count Alger,” Bu said and then turned to his soldier angrily. “What is it?”

  “This farmer wishes to leave the city and return to his farmstead,” the soldier said.

  “I said no one leaves the city,” Bu replied.

  “Yes, my lord,” the soldier said, “but he was very persistent and had started causing a small uproar among some of the other farmers trapped within the city.”

  Bu nodded and rode to the man leading the wagon. He was a broad-shouldered, ruddy fellow wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with a couple holes in it. He had two girls with him, one almost upon her womanhood and the other quite a bit smaller. They both had sandy blonde hair, and the older one sat next to, whom Bu presumed to be, her father. The back of the wagon was packed with barrels and bags, and the two horses that pulled the wagon looked far more expensive than any farmer in the east would have owned. The man glared at the general with angry eyes.

  “No one leaves the city,” Bu said to the man.

  “Not good enough,” the man replied. His older daughter nestled even closer to her father while his younger daughter glared at the general with the same angry eyes that her father stared with.

  “Do you know who you are speaking …” Bu began to say, but the farmer cut him off.