Overlords

by Matthew M Pyke

  Territh smirked, shaking his head in increasing degrees. “No.”

  King Pallan took in a slow breath and gradually released it. “You are a hard man; I shall have the payment to you before sunset.” He swung around to his followers and barked, “Let us be off.”

  Territh watched them leave with shifting eyes.

  Jardarah stood before the Kae’lem weapons seller for a few moments; the two men eyed each other down. Jardarah then left the chamber as a broad shaft of faded sunlight through the window continued to reveal currents of drifting dust, floating in the airless room.

  Outside, Jaegar complained to King Pallan, “Sire, such prices. Given the time, we could source weapons from any roundabout blacksmith—nay, even from some in our group.”

  Jardarah added with marked bitterness, “I should have cut off his ear for his impudence, that Kae’lem blacksmith. Extortioner.”

  King Pallan answered them after a few steps, for they were heading back up the street from which they came. “My dear fellows, sometimes it is necessary to pay the price; in others, to refuse. Given the time, Jaegar … It was foolish of you, Jardarah, to threaten that blacksmith. It is necessary to avoid conflict as much as feasible; fight only when given no other chance. If we were to test his mettle, as best as I can tell, after observing this town, the best we could have hoped for was a stalemate and a lot of wounded. And then what? Would we have secured the armaments we need for our journey? Have the requisite supplies to attend to our sick?” He turned to Jardarah and winked. “The price includes the cost of the swords. Do you understand his game?”

  Jardarah lowered his head a degree and sighed. “I suppose not, My Lord. Forgive my brashness; it was ill-timed. His game?”

  Jaegar said, “Sire is right; we must avoid conflict when possible. And fight only when necessary.”

  King Pallan comforted his chastened second-in-command. “Your loyalty was not misplaced; let us play by their rules for the time being.”

  Jardarah responded, “Yes, My Lord.”

  King Pallan declared, “And now, my good scribe, is the matter of raising the requisite funds for our purchase …”

  After looking through his pouch, which held various Paladian treasures, Yarek remarked, “We should have little issue in doing so; the villagers here, I am sure, will be more than happy to trade for such things.”

  King Pallan said, looking ahead, “We will see …”

  The Paladians sought out various traders in the village, seeking to exchange their treasures for Haiapadalan currency (a system of money recognized by lands south of the Teradaena Line, an imaginary line like a latitude across this world, somewhat to the south of Paladia). As the last remnants of light withered away and the sky grew dark, King Pallan demanded an accounting of the previous day’s exchanges.

  “Yarek, have we achieved what we set out to do—raised the necessary funds to complete our purchase?”

  Jaegar, Jardarah, and Garan watched the older scribe, of height similar to the warriors and their restless king, and perhaps even taller, fumble through receipts and wads of folded money (dyed parchment cut into rectangles), along with reams of stacked coins. After about a minute, the experienced Paladian scholar remarked, “It appears we have just enough to cover the cost of the armaments, sire.”

  King Pallan challenged him. “Are you sure?”

  Yarek flashed his eyebrows and then dove back into his satchel to tally up the receipts one last time. After several long moments, he concluded, “Quite sure; in fact, we have a little more than we need. However, I must caution, sire, that we have sold much of our treasure and that if we should need to rely upon it again, ever the possibility considering the circumstances, we may be hard-pressed to find items of interest to entrance the eyes … tickle the ears.”

  An indication of pain travelled across King Pallan’s countenance. “Noted. Unfortunately, the weapons bring a certain type of logic to those who understand. Pray, we do not need to resort to them, for we are few in number and burdened with noncombatants.”

  Yarek replied at once, “Yes, sire. We should have what we need to fully compensate the Kae’lem weapons dealer—blacksmith.”

  “Very good …” King Pallan looked into the distance.

  Jaegar asked, “Sire, what of this ‘private security force’ Territh mentioned? Is this of concern?”

  King Pallan pivoted his head to him, slowly answering, “Less so after we secure our armaments; the balance of power will swing in our favour, I should think.” He had a faint grin on his face as he said these last words.

  Jaegar made a very slow smile and chuckled. “Right, My Lord.”

  King Pallan prodded, “Let us go see this weapons purveyor—Territh—and pay him what we owe. By the morrow, before noon, I hope to rid myself of this village.”

  All three soldiers, Jaegar, Jardarah, and Garan, replied, “Aye.”

  After tucking his satchel firmly between his side and right arm, Yarek confirmed, “We are ready.”

  King Pallan and his men payed Territh all that was due, the Kae’lem businessman showing little surprise over their enterprise. When Territh promised that the remainder of the weapons would be finished before the evening of the following day, King Pallan reluctantly accepted the man’s accelerated efforts. The group returned to their comrades, who had set up a temporary lodging just outside town, several townspeople having shown them much kindness, with generous offerings of food and blankets, and kindling for their fires.

  The next day brought forth much hope and anticipation, for although the regiment was small, for the first time, it would be armed to the hilt with weapons—a force to be reckoned with. Predawn’s sleeping black-violet began to ebb as the sky grew more dull orange; a rising sun from the west was whispering the commencement of a new day. Soldiers began circling the camp in patrols as the sounds of twigs and sticks being broken signalled the start of fires for warmth and cooking the morning meals.

  King Pallan yawned lazily and began to stretch as he laid on his back on the ground, on a fuzzy, dark-blue blanket with patterns of white and orange. The sound of nearing clanging metal startled him.

  Jardarah tapped his chest and said, somewhat softly, “My Lord, the morning patrol has completed its rounds. There was nothing of note save a few gawkers from the village. A few coyotes were seen by a nearby hill but did not approach the camp to within the critical distance …”

  King Pallan sat up a degree, exhaling noisily through his closed mouth. Smacking his lips once or twice, he noted with the least bit of interest, “Aye … Jardarah.” He then looked around.

  Garan, who was with Jardarah, raised an eyebrow slightly.

  “My Lord, the people have begun to wake. We can break camp, if need be, before late morning.”

  King Pallan smacked his lips again and yawned widely. “Right; there is the matter of the weapons.”

  Jardarah took a step closer to his king. “Aye, My Lord; the men await their completion eagerly. The people of Kae’lem have extended much hospitality to us.”

  King Pallan sneezed and said, “Then it must be credited to them.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Garan asked, “Sire, what is your plan for me?”

  King Pallan seemed disturbed at the question. “Em—go with Jardarah and learn all you can from him. Follow Jaegar’s instructions to the last detail. Defy him, defy me.”

  Garan made a pronounced bow of his head. “Yes, My Lord; I shall do as you have instructed.”

  The two men left him. Making a few more yawns, King Pallan rose from his provisional bed rather gingerly; he had chosen to sleep out in the night air. Stretching, he then walked over to a pitcher of water, sitting on a small, portable wooden bench. As he was about to drink from it, a voice called out to him; he froze.

  “Sire, sire; forgive the intrusion, My Lord. But I must insist that we talk.” A hurried Hadara came bustling up.

  King Pallan answered quickly, “What is it?”

  Hadara made
a hasty bow. “My Lord, the matter of the treasure. We have expended much of it, here, in this town.”

  King Pallan poured some of the water from the pitcher into his parched mouth, making sure not to touch his lips to the spout. “You came here to rattle my nerves, before the morning sustenance, for that tripe? You’re a fool where you stand.” He resumed pouring the water down his throat.

  Hadara fumbled with his hands anxiously for a few seconds. “Yes, My Lord; my apologies for disturbing you so early in the forenoon. But the matter persists.”

  King Pallan stopped drinking from the pitcher and looked over at his scribe. “The matter of gold, of jewels? And how, my enlightened scribe, do you suppose I am to fend off my enemies with gold rings and trinkets? Shall I throw such things at them, with a curse? A blessing? Or do you suppose a mechanical clock will pacify the crudest of barbarians, for a time?”

  Hadara laughed quietly to himself. “No, I suppose, not, sire; still, if we should require—”

  King Pallan dismissed him. “Pfft; what else? When the time comes, my good Hadara, for us to exchange our treasures with foreigners once more, we will deal with that problem then. Besides, who is to say we will not accumulate some on the way—treasure, that is?” He gave a sly look to his scribe.

  Hadara manufactured a smile. Wrestling with his hands a tad longer, for he had picked up where he had left off, he said, “We have discussed the present situation, and we believe—Olish, Yarek, and I—that it, perhaps, may be in our sire’s best interests to seek the kindly help of the King of Ked.”

  Having taken up a stick, King Pallan examined it as Hadara was speaking and was about to use it to drive a stone; he checked his swing. “King of Ked—King Reydaren? Are you mad? Do you think I am a bloody idiot? King Reydaren … poof!”

  Hadara stammered, “We—I—meant no insult, sire. It is just that we thought he may be willing to form an alliance with you.”

  King Pallan shook his rump gently as he prepared to drive the small white-and-yellow stone with the meter-long stick. He remarked out the side of his mouth, just before he wound up, “I had already thought of that; makes sense.”

  Hadara manifested the faintest smirk.

  King Pallan whacked the stone perfectly, sending it on a curving trajectory for a tent some sixty yards away. His expression lit up immediately. He whispered to himself, “I actually hit it—square.”

  He then ducked—the stone ricocheted off a soldier’s buckler and zinged past his wife, who was attending to the morning fire. Her son, who seemed no older than six, began to cry. The startled woman stood up, looking around.

  King Pallan and Hadara at once put their heads down and pretended they were searching for something.

  The soldier’s wife gradually resumed stirring her porridge.

  King Pallan raised his head gingerly; he forced a grin. “Ah, you were saying, Hadara—about the King of Ked?”

  Hadara answered, “Ah; right, My Lord. The council members, the other two of my trade, believe it may be worthwhile to seek an audience with King Reydaren. He has shown some kindness to Paladia in the past …”

  “Some kindness …” King Pallan squinted as he looked around; the camp was growing more animated.

  Hadara made a half-hearted attempt at a laugh. “Yes, some kindness, sire. Still, it may be worth pursuing …”

  King Pallan scoffed lightly. “King Reydaren—a small-time king with a sparsely populated land.”

  “If I may, My Lord; his land is larger than Paladia. And he is quite the host, from what I have heard. Perhaps he will receive us, be open to an alliance with you.”

  “Land larger than Paladia … what, by his measurements? Bloody no one lives there, outside of, well, the capital city. If you could call it that. A city. His army—its members—are comparatively few.”

  “Ah yes; but you must permit me when I say that they have been effective at protecting their city, Paragon, the capital of Ked.”

  King Pallan walked around somewhat, his boots at times crushing the soft patches of grass. He grumbled intermittently as Hadara patiently awaited his response.

  Jaegar came up the low rise nearby; he was carrying something wrapped in thin cloth. “My Lord!”

  King Pallan stopped in his tracks and looked over at the nearing soldier.

  Jaegar came up to them and announced, “My Lord, top of the morning. I have brought you something from town.” He began to smile—just perceptibly.

  King Pallan’s expression revealed subtle perplexity. “Oh?”

  Jaegar partly unwrapped the item in his hand and handed it to King Pallan. He nodded for the king to take it.

  “What is it?”

  “It is a fruit-filled pastry, My Lord. I purchased it from a baker in town; told him it was for my king. He spent extra effort in making it, in decorating it.”

  King Pallan’s eyes brightened dramatically; his mouth cracked open with incredulity. “Why, thank you, Jaegar. Fruit-filled pastry is my favourite … bless you for remembering so. Oh, do I wish I was back at the castle …” He took a bite.

  Jaegar smiled enthusiastically. “No trouble at all, My Lord. Just thought you could use something sweeter than what is being offered for breakfast. Porridge is such a bland thing.”

  King Pallan munched away on the pastry, his hands getting sticky from its lemony and gooey top. “Indeed.”

  Hadara and Jaegar chuckled submissively.

  Jaegar soon asked, “My Lord, what are our standing orders?”

  King Pallan finished licking the fingers of one hand as he held the half-eaten pastry in the other. “The standing orders are thus: to maintain security ’round the camp; collect, in way of weapons, what is due us from that snide Kae’lem merchant; and to go to Ked.”

  Jaegar had a look of confusion; he leaned his head forward a degree and asked, “Sire, did you say ‘to Ked’?”

  King Pallan belched after gobbling down another portion of the pastry. “Indeed, my good soldier—to Ked. Perhaps that dullard King Reydaren will help us.”

  Jaegar took several steps closer to his king, wearing an expression of disbelief. “Do you intend to form an alliance with him, King Reydaren?”

  King Pallan chewed noisily in front of the two men. “I do.”

  Jaegar swallowed a few times. “But sire—we know little of that people. And King Reydaren has not been a true ally of Paladia, us, for as long as my memory can tell.”

  King Pallan appeared unperturbed at his lead soldier’s concerns. “Noted; we are here. And he is there. He has men and supplies, though his men are somewhat limited in quantity. Perhaps he will be willing to trade with us, at the very least.” Seemingly scoffing at his own words, he concluded, “As to forming an alliance with them, that is another matter entirely.” With big eyes, he stuffed the last morsel of the pastry into his cavernous mouth. He hastily wiped his hands together and said, “Tell the troops of my intentions.”

  Jaegar tapped his chest quickly. “Yes, My Lord.” Giving a brief bow, he then turned and joined Jardarah and Garan who were passing by.

  Hadara bowed officiously as King Pallan picked impacted pieces of the pastry from his teeth. “My Lord.”

  King Pallan stopped to answer. “Right.”

  Hadara then departed for the centre of the camp, where Olish and Yarek were holding council.

  The day began to wane. The Paladians prepared to break camp at the first sign from their renegade king, having spent most of the day preparing to depart the remote settlement. The sun soon began dipping below the hills, the fields of grass becoming shadowed. An anxious King Pallan surveyed the rises and falls in the peaceful landscape encircling him. His silent study of the pasturelands was soon interrupted by a clamouring Jaegar.

  “My Lord-My Lord.”

  King Pallan answered abruptly, “What is it?” He turned to face his lead guard.

  “The Kae’lem blacksmith—”

  “Territh?”

  Jaegar nodded hastily. “Yes, My Lord; Territ
h. He has finished the work, he and his workers, on our weapons. Part of the regiment is bringing them here, now.”

  King Pallan stepped down from the mound he was on and approached Jaegar. “Good.”

  Jardarah and Garan came to them swiftly. “Sire, Territh has completed the work we tasked him to do. Our armaments are ready …”

  Within moments, twenty men came marching down the path that led from the village; they were burdened heavily with swords, arrows, bolts, and shields. The noise of their approach alerted the rest in the camp.

  “They are here,” Jaegar noted as he swivelled to observe their approach.

  A man came running up to them; he was lightly armoured. “My Lords.”

  King Pallan asked, “What is it, Alynd?”

  The soldier came near and made a half bow to King Pallan. “Sire, we are ready to leave; an accounting of the weapons cache matches our agreement with the Kae’lem armaments peddler.” He was holding one of the bucklers made by Territh and his metal workers. “The shield … it is warm.”

  King Pallan grinned very gradually. He made a quick scan of the sky. “A man of his word, to the very last moment.”

  Jaegar prodded, “Territh, sire?”

  King Pallan stopped in front of him. Without saying anything, he gave Jaegar a faint dip of his head and headed for his tent. He signalled for his servant to begin dismantling it.

  VII

  The journey to Ked was not an arduous one. The smaller kingdom, by count of people, laid somewhat to the south and west of Kae’lem, though, from the map’s perspective, Paragon, its capital, was nearly due south of Erros’s second largest settlement, Daxon. The distance south, however, proving of an acceptable margin by King Pallan and his men, for they calculated it would take days for even the best outfitted vanguard to intercept the Paladian exiles.

  The rolling pastures began to give way to steeper rises. Farther south, a distant mountain range came into view, almost suddenly. These mountains formed a chain called the Dy’axalom (loosely translated to the peeking ridges) Summits. The chain of mountains wrapped around the Great Eland Basin, stretching north and west toward Avanand, the kingdom of elves. The Dy’axalom mountain chain, connected with a legendary mountain range of exceptional length, steeped in mystery and lore, called the Raklyn Mountains which were to the south and a tad east of the extreme eastern edge of Paladia.