Ancient Magic

by Blink, Bob

  Better they focus on taking on one of the two neighbors in its entirety and leave the other alone for now. Of course, there would be issues with the tribal leaders, the lesser kings, those who would not share in the gains of those leaders nearest to the conquered lands. That would make it difficult to impress the alternate plan on his people. There was also the chance that Branid and Kellmore might unite and come to one another’s aid. That would make the war more difficult than some expected.

  Now Sooor was advising him against the war.

  The witch nodded her head. “I cannot tell you why, only that it is so. Pursuing an extended war with the western lands will be the end of your rule. Other factors are changing and will become important. You will find yourself divided against multiple foes if the wishes of the lesser kings are not rejected.”

  “Divided. Another foe? Who? Who else is there besides the forces of Branid and Kellmore?”

  Sooor shrugged. “I do not know at the moment, only that it will be so. You know also that those under you already plan for your death?”

  I’Vorris was fully aware of this. It was always a consideration for leaders in Lopal. Someone else always yearned for the power and prestige of leadership. He didn’t know exactly who was plotting at the moment, but he could be certain at least several of the wishful would-be leaders were doing so. It’oni for certain. His former friend had become disillusioned with him and had become vocal in his condemnation of I’Vorris’s procrastination of the proposed war. More than likely Elm’ad and Bab’hon as well. He waved aside the talk of something that was a constant and which he could do nothing about for the moment.

  “What of the northern passage?” he asked the bent old woman. That was something he agreed with the others that they should pursue. Having a clear shot at the Great Sea on land they controlled would be a great benefit to Lopal. The land in question had been all but ignored by Branid since the last visitation of the plague, and he didn’t think they would fight very hard to retain lands so far from their population centers. He had hopes of focusing the unrest in that direction.

  “There is little risk of pursuing that effort,” Sooor said. “However, the gains will be far less than you expect.”

  I’Vorris wished there was a way to pull more specific answers from the witch-woman, but he knew that no matter how he tried he would get nothing very specific. He was considering how to proceed when Ton’er, the leader of the Guardians of the Faith, arrived for the meeting. He was uncharacteristically early, probably because he knew I’Vorris would be consulting with his witch. Ton’er and Sooor shared an ongoing distrust and hatred for one another.

  Ton’er was middle aged. His chubby face was mostly concealed behind a long flowing beard of curly brown hair. The beard concealed his facial expressions, which is one reason I’Vorris believed he wore it. Only the cleric’s eyes were visible to reflect his thoughts and attitudes. As usual he wore the long black robes that were a sign of his rank. The wide red sash that wound around his waist marked him as the senior leader of the faith. He had led the faithful for almost as many years as I’Vorris had been Lamane.

  Ton’er stepped into the room after I’Vorris recognized his presence. Like Sooor and a very few others, he didn’t bow to the Lamane. He was, after all, the spiritual leader of the land, and therefore in his own mind, if not that of many of the people, almost an equal. Nine out of ten inhabitants were followers of the faith, a fact that I’Vorris had to keep in mind when dealing with the cleric. In some ways the man commanded more respect and following than he did himself. Ton’er looked at the old woman as he found his place in one of the padded seats with distrust and annoyance.

  “You have started the discussions without me,” he observed.

  Unconcerned by the priest’s observation and annoyance, I’Vorris replied. “Sooor and I have many topics to discuss. Many are not matters you would find of interest.”

  I’Vorris disliked Ton’er immensely. He felt the man a phony, having more insight than most about the workings of the Guardians and the men who held power within the organization.

  “The extent of my interests might surprise even you,” Ton’er replied handing I’Vorris a small rebuke. It was a breach of etiquette that would have been unconscionable in the presence of anyone but the old woman. The three of them knew how each regarded the other. “What of the petition from the tribal leaders?” Ton’er asked, directing the conversation to the matter of greatest interest. Ton’er was behind those seeking war. New lands conquered meant more potential believers and power. “The God of War is in ascension and the God of Luck follows close behind. You cannot deny this is an auspicious time for Lopal to make its move. Such a favorable alignment does not come often.”

  I’Vorris was certain that manipulation by the cleric had more to do with the fortuitous alignment than fate. He also felt the pressure being applied. In addition to the cleric, and therefore the church and much of the population, virtually every lesser king had petitioned for war. For him to resist would be to pit himself against all others. Despite what the witch warned, he could see more chance of being overthrown by resisting such a popular action than by allowing the war to go forward. Even his wives had warned him that he must yield to the wishes of the tribal leaders. His two eldest sons saw the chance for glory and riches and had argued with him long into the night. Against all of these he had only the advice of the seer. Advice from one he had never known to be wrong, however obtuse her warnings might be.

  The truth of the matter was that he also believed that war was necessary. He might pursue it differently than the others, but he could see the signs that almost assured victory. Rather than attempt to take all of the land or expand the borders of Lopal beyond the Great Central River, I’Vorris sometimes wondered if it wouldn’t be better to burst out and send his fighters along the Triempol river all the way to the Great Sea. If they were to capture lands a day’s ride on either side of the river they would win the port they wished. The Triempol River would provide a natural path from Lopal, and more importantly the approach would completely separate Branid from Kellmore other than what limited trade they might be able to pursue by sending ships between the two lands. The long border they historically shared would be finally severed. That would limit the ability of the two countries to work against Lopal.

  The unfortunate side of his plan was the need to protect the long border of the corridor that would be formed from attacks by either side. Militarily it looked wrong to him, but in fact the length of border that would require protecting would be no longer than what would be formed if Lopal were to cross the Great Central River along the full extent of its borders. His plan would also have the advantage of concentrating his forces far more than the plan backed by the tribal leaders. He also knew that it would be an approach that wouldn’t be greeted with enthusiasm from the lesser kings.

  Setting aside logistics, options, and warnings from either side, the vast farmlands and ranching lands of Branid and Kellmore were more important than ever before. Early reports had been coming in from the Lopal’s eastern borders. The huge herds of wild elk and buffalo which Lopal relied heavily upon for its annual food supply were unexplainably shrunken this year. The numbers were far lower than anyone could ever remember, and some of the survivors showed signs of horrible wounds. Something was hunting the herds, and if it continued Lopal would find itself far short of its needs come winter. I’Vorris wondered if it might not be better if he sent his warriors into the Ruins along the eastern borders in an attempt to discover what was taking place in that long ignored wasteland than to begin a long war.

  I’Vorris listened while Ton’er presented his case. There was little new in the exchange, and Sooor listened without speaking. She seldom said anything in the presence of the cleric, considering the short plump man beneath her contempt.

  “Clearly a decision is called for,” I’Vorris said finally. He was tired of hearing the same arguments over and over. He needed time to choose the proper path. />
  “A Caucus is required,” he said cutting the cleric off.

  “A Caucus?” the clerical replied surprised. “There has not been a formal Caucus in many years. It will take time to get everyone here assuming they are willing to come.”

  Indeed it would. Given the time to send the invitations and for the lesser kings to travel, it would be later in the summer before they could all be assembled.

  “If they choose not to come that implies they are willing to accept whatever decision is reached,” I’Vorris said.

  “That could delay any war until the fall, which would mean in truth into the following year. We will have wasted an opportunity,” objected the cleric.

  “This is something we cannot rush,” I’Vorris replied sharply. “One does not rush into battle without a full understanding of the plan by his generals.

  “What of the raids that the tribal leaders are currently conducting? Do you demand that those be discontinued as well?”

  “No. The raids may continue. They will provide us a sense of the strength and resolve of the Branid and Kellmore leaders.” I’Vorris didn’t mention that the raids would also provide foodstuffs that might become very important in the future. Anything they could deny the others and bring into their own larders would be beneficial.

  “I assume you wish the Guardians to send your messages inviting the leaders?” Ton’er asked. The Guardians had a network and a means of sending messages that was far quicker than any other known means. It was a secret they had kept for generations, allowing the leaders to access it only in special situations or in time of war.

  “That would be most helpful,” I’Vorris agreed, even though he would have preferred to buy time by using his own slower system by sending his scouts.

  “I’ll see to it immediately,” Ton’er said as he stood to leave. “I’m not sure the delays that this Caucus will cause is wise, but I will send the invitations and provide you with the responses as they come back.” Ton’er shot a glance at the witch who watched him with those all knowing eyes. Then he turned and strode out of the room.

  Sooor nodded her head at the Lamane after the priest had stood and left. She knew that I’Vorris was acting to delay any immediate action. I’Vorris wondered if he would be any more prepared or certain how to proceed by the time of the Caucus, and more importantly, who he was going to dispatch to the Ruins to see what was happening along the wilderness that ran the full length of his land.

  Chapter 22

  Rhog stood high on the fortifications of the manor just above the entrance through the massive gates that led into the castle grounds. He was high above the gathering of soldiers that filled the available space of the courtyard and which were just now beginning to move forward and proceed out of the gate. At the head of the force his twin brother sat grandly on his personal steed, and flanked by his senior Captain, led the way. Rhog grinned happily, his scarred face glowing with happiness as the wind whipped his long reddish hair.

  “Branid Overtaglong” he shouted down the ancient war cry at his brother as he passed below, a cry so old few knew what the words really meant.

  Rhory must have heard him as he glanced briefly upwards, his own handsome face grinning as well as he passed through the gates. He raised his hand in salute to his brother and the cheering crowds. Finally, after weeks of preparations, they were on the way. It would take many weeks for the troops to reach the northern territories, but Rhory hoped to encounter the raiders that had been causing so much trouble in that area. Here was his first chance to show his father, and the citizens of Branid, what kind of leader he would be someday.

  Rhog’s happiness was not feigned either, although the reasons for it were different than those around him might suppose. While everyone else present today shared the excitement and hopes for the troops being deployed to chase away the invaders, Rhog was focused on what he hoped was the last time he would see his brother alive. War, even if it meant brief border skirmishes as this expedition was likely to face, was a dangerous business. Men could get killed, and no one would be surprised. Some were more at risk than others, but even the leaders faced an uncertain future. His brother looked forward to showing his skills as a fighter and a leader, but the simple truth was that he was going into danger. Even though he was heir to the King, he wasn’t invulnerable. If something went wrong he could be maimed or killed. It had happened before. There was no way to change it. A future King couldn’t hide in the castle and let others take all the risks. The people would not respect him and he would find the task of ruling impossible.

  Rhog had long hoped for this opportunity. If something happened to Rhory, he became the new heir to the Throne. It had galled him for years that a few minutes’ difference in the timing of his birth had deprived him of the power and riches that should have been his. The only way to remedy the situation was for something to happen to his brother. Over the years he had considered various accidents that might befall his handsome and well-liked brother, but it was not as easy as one might think to kill off the heir. Not and get away without suspicion. A mysterious death would be looked upon carefully and he would be a likely suspect. He had the most to gain after all. But if Rhory died in combat, weeks away from the castle, how could he be blamed?

  Not one to rely on random chance, Rhog had made special plans to ensure this fateful opportunity was not wasted. Two independent plans were in place. Among the troops were several ranking soldiers who worked for him. Friends of his for many years, they stood to gain substantially if he was to become king. They were tasked with making sure his brother didn’t return. There were those here in Sulen who would support him as well. Quietly, covertly, he had skillfully selected men who would trade their loyalty for expected gains if he became king. He even had several bishops aligned with his cause here in the capital. A secondary facet of his planning revolved around one of those church leaders.

  His brother’s expressed doubts about certain aspects of the Order of Risos had cost him support among the faithful. The small but dedicated band of followers Rhog had carefully assembled would support him in a variety of ways to see him elevated to the Throne. He knew there were others who coveted the Throne as well, so once Rhory was dead, he would have to choose the right time to make his move. He needed something that would take his father unexpectedly, so he could smoothly move into power before others could initiate any actions of their own. He hadn’t figured out how to make that happen just yet, but there must be a way. Worst case he would have to bide his time, but given his father’s age, it shouldn’t be too many more years. Once he was confirmed by the Cardinal, it would be more difficult for any one to make an independent bid.

  Rhog watched as the troops continued to flow out of the courtyard. He pushed off of the shoulder high stone barricade and turned so he could walk across to the other side of the wall to look out beyond the castle at the departing column. By the time he had crossed and found a place to peer through the slotted stone, his brother was already a goodly distance away. He could pick out the two riders at the head of the column, but only by the colors could he tell which was his brother.

  “Unsafe journey,” he whispered so softly that even had someone been standing beside him they wouldn’t have been able to understand his words. “You were always the fortunate one. Now it’s my turn,” Rhog finished his thought. Then he stood back from the stone and strode purposefully down the stairs and into the castle. He had a lot to do. First he had to visit the Temple of Risos.

  “They are on the way then?” Bishop Orano asked. He and Rhog were secluded in the Bishop’s private quarters where they met on those occasions they wished to speak secretly. Since Rhog was seen as a steadfast supporter of the faith, no one paid much attention to his visits. In truth, Rhog saw the church as simply another political entity, employing whatever deception and leverage they could to retain as much power for themselves as possible. In that small way he was in agreement with his brother, but he had been careful never to give voice to such thought
s. It was something he would remember however, once he was King. He wasn’t so naive to believe this Bishop was helping him for altruistic reasons.

  “The Cardinal cannot know of this,” the Bishop said. “He and your father have a long history with one another. My superior has elected to overlook many of the faithless comments your brother has made, something some of the rest of us cannot do.”

  “Even more so than my father, the Cardinal is very old,” Rhog noted. “He cannot live very much longer.”

  “And when he passes it is certain that one who feels as we do will rise to fill his post.”

  “Are we certain that those tasked are steadfast and will follow through?” Rhog asked. He hadn’t told the Bishop of his independent plans, which would only be activated if the followers of Risos failed to remove his brother.

  “The senior priest traveling with your brother is an understudy of mine and is loyal to me above all others. He feels as I that your brother cannot be allowed to rise to power where his lack of faith might be spread. Among the mercenaries that are part of the force marching with your brother are a handful that we have recruited and paid to follow the priest’s directions. After seeing your brother killed, they will disappear.”