by Pedro Urvi
“Is he dead?” General Zorberg asked.
“Yes,” Egil replied in tears.
Lasgol wanted to comfort his friend, but knew that nothing he could do or say would assuage the immense pain he was feeling. For a moment a funereal silence reigned in the room. The Dukes were in shock, unable to believe what had just happened. Egil was distraught. Lasgol and Viggo kept a respectful silence.
“Magic?” Lasgol asked.
Egil shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s something worse than that.”
“What could it have been?”
“Poison,” Viggo replied, and Egil nodded.
“Where? When? How?” Count Malason asked.
“I had breakfast with him,” Svensen said. “We ate and drank the same things, and I haven’t been poisoned.”
Viggo was thoughtful. “It might not have been in the food or drink. That’s the most usual way, but it’s certainly not the only one.”
“Check his armor,” Egil said. “Carefully.”
“I’ll do it,” Viggo hastened to say, seeing that the Dukes were about to. “It’ll be the most prudent thing.”
The Dukes moved back, and Viggo checked the armor with great care.
“I’ve found it,” he said at last, and pulled out something metallic. It was a needle. He sniffed it.
“Yes, this was it. A needle with poison in the inner part of the forearm brace.”
Egil bent his head disconsolately.
“Who? How?” Erikson asked.
“Thoran, who else? And as for how, an assassin. Probably a Natural Assassin.”
Svensen cursed.
“We need to get back to the battle,” Erikson said.
“Yes, let’s get this over. We’ll make Thoran pay with his life.”
“I’m afraid not,” General Zorberg said.
They all turned to stare at him where he was watching the progress of the battle from the window.
“We’re going to lose. Without the King of the West leading us, we’re not going to defeat Thoran and his Invincibles of the Ice and Ice Magi.”
“We will!” Svensen cried, clenching his fist furiously. “We’ve got to put an end to Thoran!”
“If you want to continue the battle, that’s your business,” General Zorberg said. “My troops will retire.”
“We have a deal!” Duke Erikson cried.
“My deal was with Arnold, who’s lying dead on that bed. The King of the West is dead, and with him our agreement.”
“That’s base!” Duke Erikson said.
“I’m afraid that’s what agreements and politics are like,” General Zorberg said, unmoved.
“The deal was with the King of the West,” Duke Erikson pointed out. “The King is dead, long live the King. His brother will take his place with our support.” He pointed to Egil.
Everyone in the room turned to Egil. General Zorberg looked at him from head to foot twice, then shook his head. “When he really is the King of the West, we might have a deal. At the moment, however, he’s not the king. Nor, I very much fear, will he ever be.”
“He is the King if we support him,” said Svensen.
“I’m sorry. He might be of his blood, but I don’t regard him as a king, nor does the situation permit it, however much all the nobles of the Western League may support him.”
“If you leave us now it’ll be the end of us,” Erikson said, almost pleading.
“If I don’t, then it’ll be the end of me and my troops. I’m sorry. One has to know when a cause is lost and it’s time to step back. Unfortunately, this is one of those situations.”
With these words General Zorberg left the room. Svensen made to take out his sword, but Erikson stopped him.
“It’s pointless to kill him”
“He’s leaving us to our doom.”
Egil had remained silent all this time. Now he said suddenly: “We always ran that risk, and we accepted it.”
“He didn’t want to accept you as King of the West,” Count Malason said bitterly.
“And he was right to do so. I’d have done the same thing in his position.”
The nobles looked at him in surprise. Lasgol was equally surprised. Viggo on the other hand, who was watching the battle through the window, did not appear surprised by the answer.
“Egil… sire…” Duke Erikson began.
“The General made a deal with my brother. A deal because my brother was the King of the West. My brother Arnold has fought against the East and earned a reputation as King of the West. I haven’t. I still have to earn that title.”
“The worth of Egil Olafstone has been proven a hundredfold in this war,” Erikson said.
“A brilliant mind, a master strategist,” Svensen said. His voice was deeply appreciative.
“However, not a leader,” Egil corrected him. “Not as my brothers and my father were. Without a leader, there’s no way we can win. Without my brother leading the men, the battle is lost. This is something we both knew. And we’d foreseen this situation. If it came about, he ordered me to withdraw and surrender. That’s what we’re going to do.”
“Never!” Duke Svensen cried.
“The battle is lost,” Egil assured him.
“We’ll hold out in the castle,” said Count Malason.
Egil shook his head. “That would only prolong the inevitable. In the end we’d not only lose the battle and the war, but nearly all our men. We can’t condemn them to death. We have to save them.”
“Egil’s right,” Erikson said. “We can’t win.”
Svensen and Malason were denying this, amid curses.
“It’s the moment to withdraw. We still have something to negotiate with: those forces fighting in the battlefield. We must withdraw and negotiate a surrender. It’s the only viable way out.”
There was a long silence. The nobles of the West did not want to surrender, but there was no alternative.
Erikson turned to Egil. “We’ll surrender and save as much as we can.”
Egil nodded. “Thank you. It’s what my brother would have wanted.”
Erikson went down on one knee before Egil, and Svensen and Malason did the same.
“Egil Olafstone, by lineage, right and honor: the nobles of the West swear loyalty to our new King.”
“The King of the West,” said Malason and Svensen.
Lasgol looked at his friend, wide-eyed.
Egil sighed deeply. “It’s an honor and a privilege. It’s my destiny, I know it now, but this is not the moment.”
The nobles looked at him, troubled and displeased. “Sire…” Erikson pleaded.
“The General was right. It’s not the moment. If you declare me King of the West, Thoran won’t negotiate, he’ll destroy us, because he’ll still have a rival. Without a rival, there’ll be nothing to destroy. No, I don’t accept. Not now. It’s neither the appropriate time nor place. The day will come, but it’s not today. I must think of the people of the West, and make sure they no longer suffer both this war and the consequences of losing it.”
“Are you sure, my lord?” Duke Svensen insisted.
Egil nodded heavily. “I am. The war and the suffering end today. Enough is enough.”
“And the crown?” Count Malason asked.
“The crown belongs to my family, the Olafstone, and one day I’ll get it back. You have my word of honor on that. It’ll take time, a long time, and we’ll have to work very hard to regain it, but one day we will.” He looked straight into their eyes. “Can I count on the nobles of the West when the day comes? Will they support me?”
All three bowed their heads. “You can count on my life and my honor,” they replied, as one.
“One day I’ll call you. Don’t fail me.”
“We won’t,” they promised.
“Go back to the battle and sound the retreat. Send a messenger with a white flag to negotiate our surrender. When Thoran asks who’s in command, say no one is. You have no leader. Your leader is lying dead here.” He indicat
ed his brother on the bed.
“So be it,” Erikson said.
“And what will you do, my lord?” Svensen asked.
“I’ve never been here.”
The nobles nodded. “So be it,” they said again, and left.
Lasgol and Viggo looked at Egil. Lasgol wanted to tell him how sorry he was, but Egil, who had read on his face what he was about to say, raised his hand.
“There’ll be time for that, at another moment and in another place.”
Lasgol nodded. “All right.”
Egil turned to Viggo. “I need someone to get me out of here alive and in secret.”
Viggo smiled at him. “I’ll take care of that, know-it-all.”
Chapter 45
Three months had gone by since the end of the siege of Estocos. The civil war was over in Norghana. The nobles of the West had done what Egil had asked them to, and to many people’s surprise, Thoran had accepted the surrender and pardoned their lives once he had made sure that Arnold was dead – of course on the condition that they swore fealty and obedience to the conditions of control and tribute he imposed. The nobles of the Western league accepted these and thus saved their lives, even though they were yielding rights to a King who was going to control and bleed them economically as much as he could.
The realm regained a relative calm. Peace brought a degree of tranquility to Norghanian lands, something which all Norghanians were in desperate need of. There was a time for mourning, and for healing deep wounds. East and West were reconciled, at least on the surface, and hatred faded gradually. It would take a long time to fade from the hearts of ordinary Norghanians, but it was a beginning. Thoran took iron control of the kingdom and forced the Western nobles to travel to the court of Norghania every season for a week, bringing with them the tributes he demanded. To refuse would have been considered treason, and he intended to have no mercy, he would hang them. He made this very clear. In this way he made sure he had them all under control.
The King then turned his attention to the south and the problem of the Zangrians, who had not forgotten what had happened and were very active on the border once again. Mage Eicewald had his eye on the northern problem and the Frozen Specter, and the rumor was that the news from the frozen territories was ominous. These two problems were now the most important ones for Thoran and his brother Orten, now that they had the West under control.
At the Crazy Owl, a small inn in Erdiano, the most central city of the realm, a group of six friends were chatting at a round table at the far end. They all wore Ranger clothes and had their hoods on to avoid being recognized. They were talking animatedly. There were only about a dozen locals on the premises.
Viggo raised his jug. “More beer!” he called to the innkeeper.
Gerd raised his own. “That’s right! Keep it coming!”
“Could you stop making an exhibition of yourselves?” Ingrid snapped at them. “Half the inn’s staring at us.”
“So what?” Viggo said, apparently not understanding the reproof. “We’re not doing anything wrong. Drinking beer and shouting is the most Norghanian thing we can do. Well, that and starting a brawl.”
“Yeah, but the Panthers are supposed to have met ‘in secret’. So we need to be subtle.”
“Subtle is my middle name,” Viggo replied. He was moving the jug above his head, signaling for another.
“You knucklehead, you wouldn’t know subtlety if it bit you on the backside.”
“I’m the subtlest of the subtle,” he retorted, and burped.
Gerd laughed. “Subtle…” he said amid chuckles.
“I want another one too,” Nilsa said, raising her jug.
“Nilsa, don’t be like them,” Ingrid snapped.
She shrugged and giggled. “It’s fun. You ought to try it some time.”
Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Lasgol, Egil, say something, please. They’re too much for me, they’re like children.”
Lasgol and Egil looked at one another and smiled.
“I don’t suppose we’re in danger here,” Lasgol said as he looked around the inn.
Egil, who was the one keeping most in the shadows, did the same. “This place is safe. I chose it personally out of several. We won’t be bothered here and we’re not in danger. The innkeeper is from the West… trustworthy…”
“Oh… perfect,” Lasgol said, and beamed at his friend.
The innkeeper brought another round. Ingrid and Egil did not drink, but the others enjoyed their beer and chatted animatedly. They would not have many other opportunities to do so. Now that the war was over, they all had to go back to their posts and missions.
“I can’t believe Thoran kept his word and let the Western League go free,” Nilsa commented.
“Me neither,” Gerd said. “I was sure he was going to hang them, or else cut their heads off.”
“That would have been very bad business practice,” Egil said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t in his best interest to shed more blood, especially not that of the heads of the Western nobles. Their duchies and counties are very important to Norghana, not only at the military level but also at the economic one. Antagonizing all those counties by something as despicable as failing to keep his word and executing the nobles after they’d surrendered would have cost him dearly in the long run.”
“Even so, I was surprised too,” Ingrid said. “I felt that being the sort of person he is, he might have a fit of anger and sentence all of them.”
“He does have fits of anger, it’s true,” Egil said, “but he’s also intelligent. He’s thought it out properly and made sure he has the whole kingdom under his control. And besides, he’s filling the royal coffers. He’s intelligent. We mustn’t underestimate him.”
“You’d foreseen all that,” Lasgol said.
Egil nodded. “It was the most likely outcome. Although I could have been wrong.”
“But you weren’t. You’re not often wrong, pal.”
Egil gave the ghost of a smile. “And I thank the Ice Gods for that every day.”
“Nobody knows you were there, that you played a part in things, right?” Ingrid asked.
“No. Nobody. Otherwise I’d be dead by now. Thoran and Orten don’t suspect I was involved. They believe I was at the Camp and that I had nothing to do with my brother’s actions.”
“How did you arrange things?” Nilsa asked. She sounded very intrigued.
“I left the Camp to look for certain tomes of knowledge in the Library of Edmusdren, in the west, to help in the study of the rare disease that has Dolbarar prostrated. Eyra gave me permission, and it was the perfect excuse. It allowed me to reach Estocos unobserved.”
“Is Dolbarar still ill?” Lasgol asked. “Didn’t the plants I brought from the frozen territories do any good?”
Egil shook his head sadly. “He’s still getting worse. He can no longer stand, and he’s been in bed, unable to get up, since the end of the war. Eyra and Edwina have tried everything, but all they can do is keep him alive, and that only just. They can’t cure him. They fear it’s something terminal.”
“That’s terrible!” Nilsa cried, greatly distressed.
Ingrid was shaking her head sadly. “Very bad news. He’s a good man.”
“I’m really sorry,” Gerd said with moist eyes.
“I’m doing everything I can to help him, but so far nothing’s worked.”
“Any idea of what’s causing it?” Lasgol asked.
“No, not so far. Eyra’s consulting Erudites from other kingdoms, hoping one of them will come up with some solution, or at least a clue.”
“If only they can!” Nilsa said hopefully.
“You’ll manage to save him,” Ingrid said to Egil. “I’m sure of that.”
“I’m not so sure…”
“With that privileged mind of yours, I’m sure you will. You only need to look at what you did to Thoran’s armies.”
“I had to help my brother. That’s family, and family is the most important thing in
this world.”
“We’re your family too,” Nilsa said. Her gesture included everyone at the table. “You could have told us what you were planning.”
“You don’t give away secrets,” Viggo put in, shaking his head.
Egil nodded. “A secret isn’t a secret any longer if someone tells it. It’s very bad practice to do so, and there were a lot of lives at stake.”
Gerd jabbed both thumbs at himself. “Not even your best friends?”
“Even them. I didn’t want to endanger you or my brother. That’s why I acted in secret.”
“And it’s a good thing you did,” Viggo said, “because if they’d found out, Thoran or Orten would’ve sent you a couple of pretty assassins to pay you a visit,”
“Like they did to my brother…”
“Exactly. Although my mission was to kill any Olafstone, and that included you. But I didn’t know you were in the castle until the last moment.”
“When you came to get me,” Lasgol said.
“Yeah, and I didn’t very well know how to go about it.”
“What d’you mean, you didn’t know?” Ingrid snapped.
“Well…I’m an Assassin…I’d been assigned a mission…and we Assassins carry them out…”
“But it was Egil, you numbskull!”
“Yeah…well, I didn’t kill him, did I?”
Ingrid was red with fury. “I’m going to give you the worst beating a Norghanian’s ever had!”
Viggo gave her a broad smile and batted his eyelashes at her. “How I love that fierce temperament of yours, Blondie.”
“I’m going to kill him!” Ingrid said, and got up to attack Viggo.
Nilsa held her back. “Ingrid, subtlety,” she whispered in her ear, and gestured to her to look at the other customers.
It took Ingrid a moment to regain her poise and sit down again. “One of these days…” she muttered as she threatened Viggo with her fist.
“Nothing makes me happier than your caresses,” Viggo replied calmly.
This time Gerd had to help Nilsa hold her back. Viggo gazed at them nonchalantly, smiling: utterly happy.
“Will you please stop it! You’re like a couple of toddlers!”
