A man suddenly rose to his feet. “King, Advisor. Has there been any additional intelligence regarding this Warlord Damian?”
Kelm nodded. “Yes, Councilman Sheld. From information we’ve obtained through the efforts of Commander Khroy, we’ve learned that Damian is the son of a defeated conqueror, Ramsus Bane. Many of you are unfamiliar with this name, as so few remain from the time he challenged our Kingdom. Although he perished during his coup d’etat, Ramsus Bane came closest to conquering the Realm than anyone ever has. The remnants of his message have seeded teams of new supporters in the generation that followed his demise.”
“So the Warlord is simply looking to avenge his father?” asked Councilman Sheld.
“Or perhaps looking to finish the job his father started,” laughed a voice from the far end of the table.
“Do not speak lightly, Councilman Jawn!” Kelm snapped.
Maebus raised his hands to reclaim order. “Men such as Damian are not usually motivated by vengeance alone,” he explained. “He possesses an obsessive and charismatic mind. By first uniting with those sympathetic to his father’s cause, he inspired a following. Then, using the wealth obtained from his father’s conquests, he visited the most ravaged lands of the region and provided support to those battered by constant war. In return for their continued support, he promised them riches beyond imagination.”
“Those who despise the Realm are immersed in longstanding, deep-seated hatred,” Kelm interjected. “Who among them would turn down such an offer from the son of Ramsus Bane?”
A torrent of murmurings surged through the Great Hall. Maebus sighed, wishing Kelm hadn’t said that.
Another council member stood from his seat to be recognized. “Advisor, what do we know of the Warlord’s military campaign?”
Commander Khroy rose to his feet. “Councilman Ferst, I can answer that. Damian began his military conquest by attacking the nation of Feesa, located on our northwestern border. Prior to his attack, he studied their history. He knew their tactics as if they were his own. At each moment of the battle, the Warlord remained two steps ahead of their military. With his Legion, he outflanked the nation’s army. With his magic, he crushed them. After his dominating victory, Damian then attacked the nation’s civilians.”
An older woman stood from her seat. “He is ruthless and merciless!” Councilwoman Elva proclaimed. Maebus could hear the pain in her voice. “I’ve traveled to what remains of Feesa. Once a neutral safe haven from the wars, it now lies in ruin by the hands of that monster! Not one soul was spared!”
“This is true.” Khroy continued. “Damian is a master of both military and magic. He has learned from the mistakes of his father, and even of those who challenged the kingdom before Ramsus Bane. Using history as a weapon, he has defeated many of the mighty cities in the eastern, southern, and western lands, proving to his followers that he can do what so many others have not. He can win.”
As Commander Khroy took his seat, Councilman Greeve, an administrator of military, stood to address the Hall. “King, Council. I’ve fought many battles, and can attest that these conquerors are all the same. They simply want our crystal. So I say fine! If they want it, then let them have it, and get blasted by it!”
Several people applauded and cheered. Maebus, however, shook his head, resisting the urge to sigh. Greeve, being a former infantry soldier, had climbed the ranks to council. Thin, gray, and somewhat elderly, he still possessed a fire within his belly, which oftentimes made him gregarious and rather reckless.
“No, no, no. I’ve told you all before. The Warlord is different!” Maebus exclaimed.
“Also, what you suggest is not advisable,” Kelm added. “Throughout Realmsic history, weaponizing the crystal has repeatedly proven to be unstable. It’s over two thousand years old, and we know nothing of its full power. So let us not be ignorant! Utilizing the crystal as a weapon to destroy our enemies may ultimately destroy us.”
Maebus watched as Councilwoman Landi rose to her feet. He tried to suppress his smile. Landi was the youngest female on the council but had already excelled as an administrator of magic. He lost himself in her dark, curly, shoulder-length hair and soft facial features. Her slender frame was as strong as her mind, which rarely conformed to the formalities of the council. Her outfit was a long, lavender sundress instead of the standard olive-green uniforms and burgundy capes the other council members wore. Maebus had always admired her ambition and beauty. She too seemed receptive to his subtle advances. But now being King eliminated any chance of a romance they could have had. Often, he thought about their dynamic. She was a Magical, and he was a Layman. If the emotions they felt for one another were real, could not the two Realmsic cultures one day learn to love each other also?
Focus Maebus! He mentally scolded himself for drifting again.
“King, Advisor,” Landi began, “What are we to do? What can we do to protect ourselves from the Warlord and his Legion of Warriors?”
Maebus understood her concern, though he could only imagine the feeling he, too, would have sitting as a council member, listening to what appeared to be certain death. Therefore, he carefully chose his words before speaking.
“Even as we are gathered here, word from the Western Nations has confirmed that the Legion marches towards us, destroying everything in their path. They are coming here to destroy us. To me, the answer to your question is simple. We must fight!”
“But this is a battle we will not win!” Councilman Jawn interrupted. “Why do we fight? Why do you commit us to suicide?”
Maebus resisted the urge to yell, resisted the urge to grab Jawn by his scrawny neck until his weasel face turned blue. Nor would he then snap Jawn’s thin frame into two. No, Maebus would deny himself such satisfaction. Instead, he abruptly rose to his feet.
“Are we to run like King Theodo? Are we to abandon our kingdom during its greatest conflict to date? Look!” Maebus commanded, pointing to a massive map that draped the wall of the Great Hall.
“This is our home. We are all that stands between it, the Warlord, and absolute domination. So why do we fight? Because we don’t have the luxury of a choice!”
Maebus heard his last word reverberate through the chamber. Councilman Jawn sat heavily, obviously deflated.
“Now,” Maebus continued, retaking his seat. “What I’m about to disclose to you may seem extremely unorthodox. But time is against us. Therefore, this new strategy Kelm and I are proposing may provide our best chance for surviving what is to come.
“The words spoken in this room today have set in motion a series of events from which there is no turning back. Upon retiring to your personal chambers, each of you will find a sealed message addressed only to you. This message will contain written instructions. You are to follow these instructions to the letter. Under no circumstances are you to share the contents of your personal message with others.”
Maebus fell silent while assessing the reaction of each council member. After a split second of stunned silence, the chamber erupted into a tumult of raised voices. Maebus and Kelm exchanged frustrated glances, which conveyed comprehension that they must not back down.
For the next hour, Maebus fielded the council’s barrage of questions, addressing their concerns. Without compromising his agenda, he answered as thoroughly as he could until the room had settled into some semblance of order.
“This is a most troublesome time,” Maebus stated. “Maybe the most dangerous time in all of our history. I know what I’m asking of you is unusual. But I sincerely thank you for your understanding and your trust. Know that what I will share with each of you individually is all that I can share with you. The rest will eventually come. We each have a role in an unfortunate play, and now we must perform. May we trust in each other for guidance, and may the First Wizards bless our souls.”
As Maebus stood from his throne seat, the Realmsic Council rose as one. With a wave of his hands, Kelm unsealed the double doors of the Great Hall, which swung open wit
h a low grinding moan. The council formed two rows and filed out of the chamber. Maebus stole one last glance at Landi, who conveyed her affection with a subtle smile. Behind her trudged Commander Khroy.
“Commander,” Maebus said. “A word with you.”
The officer immediately pulled himself from the precession and stood off to the side. After the last council members exited the chamber, Maebus signaled for Kelm to reseal the doors, and the three took their seats once again.
Chapter Four
“So many believe in the lie, instead of believing in the light,” Warlord Damian said while trying to suppress his anger. He stared at the half-naked man bound before him. The unfortunate wretch had been beaten by his officers only moments earlier. He now sat bleeding and tied to a chair.
Damian felt no pity towards the man, observing his bruises. “I’ve always believed in the power of words,” Damian continued. “Words can be the difference between life and death. Therefore, I’ve always chosen my words carefully. For years, I have crafted my message to our people. But with one missing or misplaced word, the meaning of my message can be skewed. With one word out of agreement with the others—with one soldier not in agreement with the others—my message can be lost! And at this critical point in my campaign for conquest, any form of dissention from my message must be rectified.”
Sweat streamed from his prisoner’s spiked hair, running in liquid lines from his temples, along his long chiseled jaw. He blinked against the sweat intermingling with the blood beneath his cut lids.
Damian caressed the Legionarie’s face with the slightest touch of his hand, gently wiping the perspiration. The man trembled beneath Damian’s hand, yet the Warlord could not determine if he shivered out of fear, or from the coldness of the field tent. The Warlord’s tent had become a portable home away from home. Many times larger than the standard field tent issued to his infantry, it was devoid of any luxuries. There were none of the creature comforts that normally might remind soldiers of their lives beyond battle. Damian didn’t need such things.
“You would tell me if you were chilly, wouldn’t you?” Damian asked. Despite his obvious brutality, Damian liked to convey cordiality to his prisoners. It played with their minds, giving them hope where none existed.
The man’s fear was apparent by his silence.
“Did you not hear the Warlord?” an officer asked as he raised an open hand to strike the bound man.
Damian stepped forward to block the blow before it could land upon the Legionarie’s face.
“No, no, General Thane. That would be unnecessary,” Damian said.
He turned back towards the prisoner. “Had only I known of your arrest earlier, I assure you the punishment you’ve endured would not have occurred,” Damian said in a conciliatory tone. “I do not believe that answers can be coerced from men. The truth can only be recognized and spoken upon one’s own volition. Would you agree, comrade?”
“Y-yes,” the prisoner replied.
“Would you also agree that I do all within my power to protect and provide for each of you within our Legion?”
The man nodded, his chin trembling.
“Would you also agree that our fight against the Realmsic Kingdom is justified by the continued suffering of our people? That only we have thus far proven to be their equal, and only by eliminating their threat of magic can we free the known world of endless tyranny?”
“I-I-I agree …”
“Then why would you tell our fellow comrades anything other than this?” Damian’s look became stern. The Legionarie submissively lowered his eyes, staring at some invisible spot on the floor.
“Comrade, I need you to answer me,” Damian demanded.
“My Lordship,” the man began, “please, I meant no offense to you or your righteous cause. I only asked that if our purpose is to eliminate magic, why do we use it in battle?”
“And who else did you ask that question of?” Damian asked.
The man hesitated slightly. “O-o-only to my m-mates Tam and Reeze.”
“Are Tam and Reeze officers in my guard?”
“No, my Lord.”
“Then how would they know the answer to your question? When you carelessly speak out of turn, comrade, you cause dissention amongst our ranks!”
The man’s eyes became teary in response to the Warlord’s anger. Seeing this, Damian tempered his emotions. He disliked publicly displaying his temper.
Calmly, he continued. “When an enemy has an advantage, we should use it against them. We are able to face our enemy as equals by utilizing the same weapons they seek to destroy us with. That is why I sometimes practice magic, and that is why we use magic.”
Tears rolled down the man’s cheeks, mixing with the blood and sweat that was just beginning to dry. He flinched at Damian’s fingers reaching towards him.
Damian laid his hand on the prisoner’s neck and smiled. “You don’t like my ring?” he asked facetiously. “It belonged to my father. He wore it always.”
Down the prisoner’s throat to his shoulder, Damian gently slid the cool surface of the ring. Its point was so razor sharp, the Legionarie didn’t realize his neck had just been sliced open. As the blood pooled into his mouth and poured down his bare chest, horror filled his eyes. He twitched and struggled. He could no longer breathe. His body shook violently as Damian applied pressure, forcing the ring’s one-inch point deeper into flesh.
Blood raced across the Warlord’s knuckles, down his forearm, and dripped from his elbow. For this reason alone, Damian often wore sleeveless armor. After several more violent jerks, the body was still. Damian reached for a cloth from a nearby officer and wiped the blood from his hands and ring. After a kill, Damian never rinsed with water. He enjoyed the smear of blood across his palms and fingers. Damian looked at the man’s body now slumped in the chair.
“Remove this traitor from my tent,” he commanded. Giving the damp cloth to General Thane, he paused. “Also, Tam and Reeze … eliminate them as well.”
“Anything else, my Lord?” Thane asked.
“Yes, General. See that this never happens again.”
With a snap of Thane’s fingers, two officers grabbed the body. Without untying the deceased prisoner, one grabbed the back of the chair, the other grabbed the man’s legs. They carried him out of the tent, leaving Thane and Damian to themselves.
Damian walked towards his desk. A flickering lantern illuminated a large map of the Realm spread across its surface. Several handwritten notes and directional arrows outlined the progress of his campaign. Additional documents were stacked neatly on the edge of the desk, evidence of Damian’s meticulous nature.
He held his hands above the lantern, letting the warmth soothe him through to his bones. The flame felt good, as his tent was always entirely too cold. He knew additional bulk on his frame would stave off the cold. He was wiry but powerful. His true strength had always been his mind. People praised his handsome facial features and long silver hair as appearing angelic. Those who feared him found him to be ghostly.
General Thane joined Damian at the table and stood quietly by his side. Standing a massive six-foot-three inches tall, Thane towered over most people. Unlike Damian, who was relatively thin and impeccably groomed, Thane was a grizzly bear of a man, possessing its girth, unkempt whiskers, and violent temperament.
The two men analyzed the Realmsic map, though Thane’s proximity annoyed Damian. He could feel Thane’s shoulder pressed against his own. He could feel the warmth of Thane’s massive body, and could hear his nostrils wheeze with the heaving of his oversized chest. Perhaps the ogre had never learned about personal space? Nonetheless, Damian tolerated the encroachment, as Thane was the Legion’s most ambitious General.
Damian had hand selected Thane to join his personal detail. It was an obvious choice. The man’s natural size and ability had thus far allowed him to accelerate through the Legionarie chain of command. Time and time again, Thane had proven himself worthy of his position. He possessed
an uncanny sense of resourcefulness that Damian had never before encountered. Of all Damian’s military officers, Thane had never failed a task. Therefore, only the most significant missions were assigned to him.
Finally, Damian broke the silence. “Tomorrow, you and I will lead the military procession to the region known as Centre Pointe.” He pointed to a location on the map. “It’s the capital of the Realm, and also the location of the Realmsic Castle, which is our target. After crossing into the Realm, I don’t believe we will encounter much resistance until we actually arrive at the castle.”
Thane grunted his agreement. “Indeed. The entire territory is covered with sentries, but the bulk of their force will likely be guarding the capital. If the Legion approaches upward from the Hellish South Plains, I believe we will be largely undetected. Many think the southern terrain is too rugged for a military force of our size. So no one would be expecting us from that direction. Our men could easily cut through the forest, so I think this is our best angle for assault.”
“Absolutely not!” Damian exclaimed. “We have no need for such sneaky tactics. Aside from our sheer numbers, our advantage is our ferocity, our blunt power. Even if I had the magic to cloak our entire force, I would not. I want them to see us coming from the west, and I want them to fear us.”
Thane smiled. “Yes, my Lordship.”
Damian clapped his hand on the General’s shoulder. “Rest now, Thane. Tomorrow, we begin our march into history.”
• • • • •
After weeks of conquest, Damian settled his forces within the western city of Amden, only two days from the Realmsic border. His forces needed the respite to regroup and resupply. With satisfaction, Damian listened to the reports of scouts and spies who relayed how fear of the invading Warlord stretched across the land. He witnessed the fear himself in the flight and defeat of the lands he trespassed. Those Western Nations who once doubted Damian were surely believers now.
The Hero of Legend Page 2
