by Jon Bender
Celia smoothed her features to a neutral expression. “She intends to fight,” she said.
“It appears so, but we will have to see how far she is willing to go. For now, we have to deal with what is in front of us. How is the Dradon general receiving news about Azuria?”
Celia’s brow furrowed in irritation. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the reins. “General Travon is a pompous fool and only marginally decent at leading soldiers. He had the audacity to proposition me to visit his tent. As if I would ever go near such a disgusting pig. I was ready to run my sword through that greasy smile of his,” she said.
Corin laughed and thought Shana was doing her best to suppress a smile. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No,” she said with a harrumph. “As much as he deserved it, I only punched him in his bulbous nose and left him bleeding on the ground. If I had stabbed him, I don’t think his men would have been too upset. Many cheered when they saw him swearing and holding his face.”
Corin could barely catch his breath imagining Celia standing over the man and shouting at him. “Did you get a chance to gage his reaction to King Rupert’s message before you punched him?” he asked, steadying his voice.
Celia made a growling sound. “He didn’t seem to care. His queen commanded him to obey you. Thinking beyond that would likely cook what little brain he has.”
“I am glad to hear it. The last thing we need is an enemy within our own ranks,” Corin said, the laughter subsiding.
“Was there anything else you wanted to know, Your Majesty?” she asked. Apparently, she did not appreciate the humor of the situation.
Corin smiled innocently. “Do make sure that General Travon and his men are comfortable tonight. I want to keep relations amicable, and you are clearly the best person for the job.”
Celia narrowed her eyes, and Corin was ready to jerk his horse to the side should she decide that punching a king was not altogether inappropriate. “Let me know if you get any other messages from Nelix,” she said flatly, turning her horse around.
When she was out of earshot, Corin heard Shana chuckle softly. “Do you think it wise to taunt such a volatile woman?” she asked.
“Celia and Jaxom are the closest family I have. They both have come to… appreciate my humor,” Corin said smiling.
“I hope so. They seem like very capable people. I would not want to be on their bad side.”
“I have been on that side a time or two. The only thing that has saved me is my ability to charm them out of anger and into loving annoyance,” he said, laughing. Shana joined him, and for the first time since that night in the stable yard, he felt comfortable around her, even happy. But in thinking about that moment, all the feelings of hurt came rushing back, and his laughter died off. She noticed the change, going quiet as well. They rode the rest of the way in silence as he tried to work through his confusing emotions.
His large tent was the first to be set up when they stopped a couple of miles down the road, even as the rest of the army was still marching in. It would be another two hours at least before all them were settled for the night. Once it was up, he had Celia inform the leaders that a war council would be held before the evening meal. Shana was near the corner of the tent, carefully avoiding eye contact with Corin, when two members of the Ale’adarian Mages’ Council arrived. Tamrick and Danika strolled through the flap, followed by Alimar. From what Celia had told him, the brother and sister were not as accepting of Alimar as the leader of Terika and its forces as they had been of Jaxom. The siblings found the death mage's superior attitude grating. Corin found the conflict amusing since most mages he had known throughout his life felt superior in one form or another.
The next to enter were Enrick the Bandit Lord and the warlord Darat. The two were exact opposites of each other. Where the Bandit Lord was tall and lean, Darat was shorter and thick with muscle. The first had light blond hair with smooth skin and hazel eyes, while the other’s face was weathered and marred by many small scars. His closely shaved black hair matched his dark eyes. The only similarity between the two was the way they carried themselves, with strong purpose and straight backs, swords swinging comfortably at their hips.
At first, Corin had questioned whether having such a man as Darat amongst them was a good idea. A letter from King Dillion, delivered by Enrick, had convinced Corin to let the man stay. Darat, though coming to power through force of arms, had settled the northern part of Denra in a time of confusion. He had only used force when it was necessary to bring an area under control and had never maliciously harmed any people in the land he annexed. The king of Kelran explained that without any surviving nobles to lay claim to the crown of Denra, he was supporting Darat as the new monarch of the kingdom. Dillion had suggested that the warlord join Corin’s campaign to show the other kingdoms that he was a legitimate ruler and not just another madman with a sword.
When Commander Cribble entered with Da’san at his side, the surly Guardsman instantly caught sight of Darat. Corin saw his jaw clench and release several times as he stared at the former warlord. Both he and Da’san moved to the map table where Cribble crossed his arms and locked his eyes on the map, refusing to acknowledge the other man further. Corin knew that the Commander would not let his feelings interfere with duty, but he still made a mental note to deal with the issue in private after the council. He could not have the two men at odds when they needed to work together. Da’san, on the other hand, was calm and seemed as he always did, if a bit older. New worry lines were etched on the corners of his eyes. He and the other priests would be of great help. Even the fanatical worshipers of Trell from the Dradon temples would be a great boon to the campaign. From the encounters with Or’Keer, Corin knew the dark god’s priests had severely outnumbered the mages in every battle. Thanks to the old gods allowing their priests to join, it would now be an even fight.
Celia walked under the tent flap wearing a smug look. Corin soon discovered the reason. General Travon was the last to enter, following Celia with his chin held high, perhaps, Corin thought, to compensate for his short, round stature. His swollen nose was now accompanied by a bruise on his cheek. Corin looked to Celia who gave him an innocent smile and took her place at the table.
Corin shook his head before addressing those gathered. “I want to first thank you all for being here. We are beginning the first part of a campaign that will take us straight into Or’Keer’s teeth. Everyone here has in some way been affected by the dark god’s manipulations, but we will soon strike back at his heart.”
There was a round of clapping and fists pounding on the table from all except Travon, who looked bored. “Speeches are fine, Your Majesty, but what do you intend to do about King Rupert? Azuria and Dradon have been allies for as long as anyone can remember. I could not in good conscience take part in attacking them,” Travon said, smiling at Celia.
His cousin had been right about the man. Greasy was the only word that fit the unsavory general. “Then it is fortunate that there will be no attack on Rupert. I have sent a message to King Rupert that I will meet him in parlay tomorrow at noon. We are allies, General Travon, and I would never intentionally disregard your conscience,” Corin said, his words dripping with sarcasm. The General blushed, making the dark color of the bruise stand out even more. Many around the table smiled at the general’s discomfort, and Celia went so far as to bark a laugh. “In any case, King Rupert is not why I called you here. Once we enter Bruxa, we will place Shana on the throne. After which, she has agreed to support us in our campaign against the dark god,” he said, gesturing for the princess to join him at the table.
Shana looked about at the faces staring at her expectantly. “My sister has always desired our father’s throne. She will not yield it easily. You can expect her to sacrifice every man she has to keep it. But I promise, if you help me to remove her, your aid will never be forgotten.”
“Shana will be at the front of every battle,” Corin interrupted. Shana looked shocked at firs
t, but eventually nodded in acceptance. “We will send smaller units throughout Bruxa to gather support from her people. All here will pursue peaceful resolution every time we confront them. You are never to go into battle with the sole intent of destroying the enemy. We will offer compassionate terms at the outset of every fight, and we will accept surrender at the end. The people of Bruxa are to be treated with dignity at all times, whether commoner, soldier, or noble. Keep in mind that our ultimate goal is to reach Or’Keer, and any man we lose to meaningless battle is one fewer we have to meet the dark god’s forces,” Corin said.
Corin’s people stood in thoughtful silence while Alimar did not even seem to be listening. Only Travon, Enrick, and Darat appeared to take issue. “Fighting with only half a heart will weaken us,” Darat said in his deep, gravelly voice.
“I’m not telling you to hold back when confronted, but reign yourself and your men in when you can. I want to cut the legs out from under Deena, so that we can take Bruxa and move on.” This seemed to sooth both Enrick and Darat. Travon still sneered in disapproval. As the general looked about to speak, Celia locked a fierce glare on Travon. Her gaze had an almost physical affect as Travon took an involuntary half-step back and remained quiet.
Da’san cleared his throat. Corin waved his hand, inviting the man to speak. “I must tell you, Your Majesty, the priests are here only to confront Or’Keer’s worshipers. We have been strictly forbidden from interfering with concerns of the kingdoms.”
Corin sighed quietly. He had suspected that there would be limits to the priests’ help. In the meantime, the five hundred or so of them would drain supplies, which would eventually have to be gathered from surrounding lands. The army would pay what they could, but a farmer did not care whose side you were on when you took an entire crop at half its worth.
“Very well,” he said, doing his best not to show annoyance. Da’san had helped both him and Jaxom from the beginning, and he was only relaying the commands of his goddess. “Now, I want to know the disposition of all forces under my banner.”
Celia was first to offer her report, listing off the number of battle-ready troops and the condition of equipment. Thanks to Da’san directing the priests to tend the sick and injured, Corin did not have to worry about losing men to attrition. An untreated illness could spread quickly through an army, doing as much damage as any enemy. In that way, the priests’ drain on supplies did not seem as costly. The others quickly followed suit with their reports. Alimar proudly stated that twelve-hundred risen soldiers accompanied the living troops who had been trained by Lord Wilbrin in Terika. Corin nodded. Many leaders would use the undead troops for the front line as fodder, and Travon had suggested as much when he had learned of them, but Corin knew the risen were far too valuable to throw away. With Alimar, they only had six death mages to replace the risen soldiers that were destroyed, and two of those were barely trained apprentices. He would use the formidable troops only when it was it was to his advantage, but he knew that would not be a popular decision when the living began suffering casualties.
Enrick was the last to speak giving an account of his own men before Corin thanked and dismissed them. As the group started moving, he asked Cribble and Darat to stay behind. Shana also lingered, but he could not simply dismiss the woman he intended to make queen in front of others. Cribble and Darat stood on opposite sides of the table, never looking at each other. Corin waited for the rest to disappear behind the flap before speaking. He looked from one man to the other. Both pretended indifference, but Corin could see the truth of the matter in the tensed shoulders and thin lines of their lips.
“I want your differences settled before we enter Bruxa. You two will have to rely on each other, and I will not risk the lives of men because you can’t work together.”
“I hold no grudge, Your Majesty,” Darat spoke first, “though I can’t say that Commander Cribble feels the same.”
Cribble pursed his lips as if to spit before remembering where he was. “Do you know how many men I lost in Denra?”
“Less than I did. You cost me thousands and supplies I could not afford to lose. Do you know how many went hungry because I was forced to feed an army on a winter march?” Darat accused, taking a step forward.
“You call that rabble an army?” Cribble shot back. “I wouldn’t use them to guard a privy.”
The two went back and forth for several minutes, their voices steadily increasing in volume. Corin let them continue as Shana’s expression grew increasingly confused as he refrained from intervening.
When he thought them near drawing swords, he slammed his fist on the table, startling them into silence. He looked at Cribble first. “You will work with him in good faith because your king commands it. The defeat in Denra was not yours. It was mine. I underestimated what you would be up against.” Corin pronounced each word carefully, his voice calm but stern. He knew Cribble was not truly angry at Darat but blamed himself for the losses.
Cribble stared at Darat for many seconds. The Guard Commander’s hands balled into meaty fists at his sides. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he grumbled. The words seeming to be dragged from his throat.
Corrin nodded and looked to Darat. “You are here because King Dillion believes you the best option to ascend Denra’s throne. At the moment, I am willing to trust his judgment.” Darat’s chest puffed up slightly, an impressive feat for such a heavily muscled man. “But Dillion is in no position to oppose me if I decide otherwise. How you conduct yourself in the months to come will determine that.”
Darat’s eye’s narrowed in anger. He knew what Corin said was true. If the king of Ale’adaria wanted him gone, he would not last a season. Eventually, his features smoothed, and he bowed low at the waist.
Corin smiled though he felt no real joy at his victory. He doubted their quarrel was truly over, but it was a start. “Good!” he said, “I’m glad we could put that all behind us. I’m sure you both have duties,” he said, nodding towards the tent entrance. The men looked at each other one more time before leaving.
“You handled that well,” Shana said. “My father would have just killed them.”
“Your tent should be ready,” Corin said.
Shana sighed, staring at her feet for a moment before meeting his eyes with a small smile. “I will see you in the morning.”
After she had gone, Corin took a wine-skin into the partitioned section of the tent that served as his room. He was going to need a little help to stop thinking about her.
The next morning, he donned his chainmail armor with the steel breast plate proudly displaying a silver falcon. At his hip, he wore a plain soldier’s sword with a leather grip wrapped in cord. His own sword had been pilfered during his capture, but this one would serve his purpose. Exiting his tent, he found Celia waiting for him outside. She became angry when he refused the five-thousand-man escort that was to take him to the bridge, then berated him with threats to leave him behind if he got himself captured again. Smiling at her as she stormed off, he turned toward the death mages’ tents. Soon, he was once again seated behind Warin on the dragon. He admired the man’s magically constructed arm from his seat behind the mage. It looked different today with jagged bones protruding from the shoulder and elbow to form spikes. Corin thought the intimidating appearance was exactly what the situation called for. He sucked in his breath as the dragon took flight. He had never flown before the escape and still found the experience exhilarating.
“I am still not sure this is wise, Your Majesty,” Warin shouted over his shoulder.
Corin looked about at the escort of durgen riders and mages. “Trust me.”
Warin gave him a doubtful look and began descending as the massive grey, stone bridge came into view. The durgen riders angled to match their path. Corin could not help but admire the structure. Even with this part of the river narrowing to less than a mile across, the bridge was an amazing feat of engineering, built on pillars high enough and wide enough to allow a ship to pass beneath. As the
y neared the other bank, he watched as soldiers scrambled about below. Bow shots from the ground fell far short, many of the arrows landing in the swift moving water below. He felt more concern when a few of the Azurian mages began casting magic into the air, but the moment passed as his own mages countered the attacks easily. He felt a deep rumbling underneath him as the dragon tilted its head down and let loose a powerful jet of flame. Warin was careful not to scorch any of those below, but his aim was close enough to cow them. His escort continued on towards the largest tent at the center of the sizable force. Its size was easily three times that of his own. No other tents were nearby, giving them ample room to land. The men responsible for defending the king fled as the dragon let go another burst of flame scorching the ground. With the area clear, the dragon flapped its large wings lazily to settle them gently on the ground. Ten riders and mages joined Corin while the rest circled above.
The dragon kneeled to let Corin and Warin slide down. Once on the ground, Corin smirked at the disbelieving faces of the soldiers. The risen kept its massive wings partly extended, visually increasing its already incredible size. The horned head swung back and forth slowly as the glowing white eyes stared at the soldiers. Corin silently applauded Warin’s theatrical display. The riders and mages who landed with him stayed mounted, their durgen forming a half circle around him as he moved toward the tent’s entrance. The flap was pulled back, and Rupert came out, shouting angrily. His words trailed off when he saw Corin standing next to Warin with his gruesome arm and a creature that did not exist at their back. Even in the field, Rupert dressed like he was in his palace. He wore a fine silk shirt of dark turquoise with intricate gold and silver thread running down the sleeves, and each of his hands bore a large, gem-set ring. On his dark, perfectly groomed hair sat a gold grown inlaid with gems.
Corin waited a moment before speaking, then took care to keep his voice light. “Rupert, my friend. I heard you wanted to speak with me, so I took the liberty of coming directly to you.”
