by JManess
Derek caressed the soft silken ribbon, welcoming the ripping pain in his chest as he remembered. Time passed and he fell hard for Sondra as they always managed to find a moment in each other’s company. He came to the realization that he couldn’t bear it if her father married her off; he couldn’t stand to watch her become the wife of another man, one of the arrogant and pompous nobles who still disdained him, despite his wealth and title. He wasn’t certain what he would have done, what madness he might have resorted to if such an event came to pass, but he found he needn’t have worried. It seemed that the king favored him and, better still, a noble title lay without an heir.
With the flourish of the registrar’s quill, Derek suddenly possessed the ability to achieve his greatest dream—the hand of his princess—and he had the king’s blessing to do so.
Rage boiled away the pain as Derek remembered the events that stole his love away from him forever. He fought the anger, struggled to harness his deadly rage before he damaged any more of his office. Regaining control, he dropped the ribbon into the chest and softly closed it, flipping the latch and locking the memories away. He turned and surveyed the chaos in his office. He had much to do, but first he must conceal the evidence of his fury. It wouldn’t do for the citizens to believe their Warlord didn’t have his own emotions in check.
As he tidied up and stacked the broken furniture by the fireplace he glanced out the window, his gaze seeking the Thunder Mountain. He suspected that the dragon even now holed up in the largest mountain in Terroc’s Ring. He silently vowed that the dragon’s death would come at his own hands, and the princess would be avenged. He turned away from the window and continued his tidying. Later, when the majority of the castle slept, he would return to the royal library, and continue his research on dragons, searching every tome and 136
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scroll if he must for information on the legendary monsters. He spared a brief thanks to his father for paying a scribe to teach him to read and write when he was a boy; the skill would serve him in his quest for vengeance.
Meanwhile, Derek waited impatiently for word from his ”friends” residing in the southern lands. If they brought news of the war he feared, he could not begin his quest for vengeance. He hoped his suspicions remained unfounded, aware that his reasons were selfish. He wished to set out immediately for Thunder Mountain and the forbidden zone, damning the consequences of breaching that hallowed boundary. Already, his lance lay prepared, his armor polished, his warhorse awaited only tack. Only a strong sense of duty to the king he respected and the country he loved kept him from riding out that very night.
Things remained quiet for well over a moon-cycle after the death of the princess, and people began muttering resentfully over the conscription decree as their sons, apprentices, and young husbands marched off with the recruitment guard. Still others questioned the expense of the expanding army, certain that any fears the Warlord held about possible invasion arose from the grief-stricken phantoms of a battle hungry ex-warrior craving action. Lord Derek hardly appeared to notice their censure as he struggled through each cycle, impatiently delaying his own quest.
The king did notice the discontent, despite his own grief. Fearing a public outcry, he ordered the royal treasury emptied to pay for a grand party he planned to hold kingdom-wide. The messengers spread the word to every corner of the kingdom that all citizens were invited to the celebration, including the newly recruited soldiers. Royal decrees assured that this party would be the first of many to follow in the wake of the new ginacite trade and all the wealth it stood to bring the kingdom. With the royal debt mounting, word went out and preparations for the great party began.
Throughout the kingdom, from northernmost Clemdale to southernmost Passton, royal servants erected massive pavilions, sewn in a matter of days by harried seamstresses, in every royal park in every major town of the kingdom.
The royal hunters spent each day procuring the meat for the party and the citizens stripped every garden of all blooming flowers. Every bolt of fabric sold out of the milliners’ shops as the entire kingdom ordered a new dress or coat for the affair and seamstresses and dressmakers struggled to meet all the orders that came in, while sewing their own dresses and tunics in the evenings.
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Musicians spent their days writing new songs, and performers practiced their art, eager to please the crowds and earn whatever coins the people could spare, from the copper commons to the golden royals and the silver nobles in between.
Near Arivale, miners spent each cycle buried deep in the tunnels as the stone experts carefully inspected and rated the first loads of ginacite before they handed off the stones to the craftsmen to polish, clean, and cut.
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CHAPTER 15
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Only seven cycles remained before the grand aff air, when a ragged messenger on a half-dead horse galloped up to the castle gates. Th
e guards hailed him, and he claimed he traveled from the southern lands, the far kingdom of Empiron, and he brought news for Lord Derek and the king.
The guards sent for Lord Derek, who responded with alacrity, knowing that this was the news he waited for. The king and Warlord met the messenger in the council room, alone save for royal guards selected for their long service to the kingdom and the king. The messenger, a former soldier who once fought at Derek’s side in the mercenary army, bowed to the king and, once acknowledged, clasped Lord Derek’s forearm in greeting.
“Forgive me for arriving so late, Your Highness. It is because of the turn that you served me, Derek, saving my life in battle, that I took such risk bringing you this news, hopefully in time for you to prepare.” The king slumped in his chair and rested his forehead on his clasped hands. “So, it is as you feared, Derek,” he whispered.
“I’m afraid so, Your Highness,” the messenger answered. “Already, Halidor has closed their border to the Ulrick Pass and they approached both Barselor and Vanguard for an alliance.”
“Those kingdoms have always warred against each other; why would they ever ally with Halidor?” Derek demanded, well remembering his own days battling as a mercenary next to Vanguard’s soldiers against Barselor and Halidor.
“That is an excellent question. Right now, Halidor spreads a rumor 138
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claiming that Ariva awakened a monster through the foolish actions of one of the royals and that the beast might take its vengeance out on Ariva and continue to the southern land kingdoms if it cannot be appeased. Halidor promises that defeating Ariva and casting the royal family to the beast will slake its hunger and send it back to slumbering.”
“Surely they can’t believe that load of nonsense!” the king demanded, his face purple with outrage.
“It hardly matters what the leaders actually believe, as long as they can provide a valid reason for an alliance to appease their superstitious citizens.
Fear is a powerful motivator for war, and no doubt the citizens of both Vanguard and Barselor even now clamor for the chance to assist Halidor. Of course, Halidor offered up a portion of the ginacite trade to both rulers as an additional incentive for their aid in conquering Ariva. That is no doubt what will ultimately convince the queen of Barselor and the queen of Vanguard to ally with Prince Onian,” the messenger continued.
“What of the Priest King? Why is Onian orchestrating this war in place of his father?”
“The old king lies on his deathbed; he has left the kingdom in financial ruin. Prince Onian hopes to use the ginacite to refill the kingdom’s coffers and usher in a new golden age for Halidor.”
“At Ariva’s expense!” the king shouted, slamming his fist down on the table.
“Prince Onian will do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. I have heard that his father’s illness isn’t natural and only grows worse despite the frequent visits from hi
s doting son. The prince has grand plans for the kingdom and now that his father lies … indisposed, the prince has the authority to act in his father’s stead. Already he is effectively the leader of Halidor.”
“Damn! Onian is far more dangerous than his aging father. He will not be easily dissuaded from his course of action and he can be very persuasive when he desires something.” Lord Derek started pacing. Onian slowly poisoning his father explained why the spy referred to the prince rather than the ailing priest king when he confessed. It was sheer bad luck that Ariva discovered the ginacite just as Onian prepared to take control of Halidor and needed a large amount of capital to reverse the toll his father’s reign took on their kingdom.
“Does he have any weaknesses that we can exploit before he has a chance to descend on us?” The king looked briefly hopeful.
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“Unfortunately, I don’t know of anything that will stop him. He follows the radical Morbidion Temple that believes in glory for those who die in battle over all others. He fears nothing that we know of. He has many wives and concubines and cares little for any of them; they serve him and nothing more.
Though he has sired many children, he favors none of them and most of them now serve the Temple and train anyway, so they would not be vulnerable to our agents. Personally, we cannot strike him anywhere that will cause him to call off the attack. If we attempt to assassinate him, then it will almost certainly galvanize the fanatical Halidorians and we will find them fighting for their martyred prince.”
The king grimaced at the unpleasant turn of topic. Derek knew that the man, despite serving as king of a nation for many years, didn’t have the stomach for some of the more devious and brutal methods of securing peace. He also knew that he would not allow the king’s distaste keep him from exploiting all possible alternatives to outright warfare, since Ariva still hardly stood a chance against Halidor alone, much less any allies that might join them.
“What of Barselor and Vanguard?” the king queried. “Can we at least convince them to stay out of this conflict? Is there nothing we can offer them or … do to them to influence their actions?” The King looked sick, but he kept his head up as he addressed the question to the messenger.
“Queen Garacilla won’t join them, Your Highness,” Lord Derek assured the King. “I have met her personally. She is young and ambitious, but she is no fool. Her land borders the old empire, fractured by the Wizard Wars, and she requires the bulk of her military just to protect her southern border from the magical mutants that constantly raid her citizens. She does not typically engage in war simply for profit. For her, the cost of the mercenaries she must hire usually outweighs the benefit.”
“You are probably right, my lord.” The messenger concealed a smile as he spoke the title, amused and pleased by how far his old friend had risen in the world. “Garacilla has her own problems simply maintaining peace with Empiron and holding back the chaos of the old empire. She will be grateful if Barcelor and Halidor simply leave her in peace. Certainly if they both march off to war on Ariva, she wouldn’t complain because they’d be out of her hair; but you needn’t worry about her joining them.”
“And Barcelor?” the king asked hopefully.
“I’m afraid they are a different matter entirely. Queen Isa has a problem
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with her three daughters, who constantly bicker over who will inherit the crown and stand to tear the kingdom apart upon her death. For years, the queen has attempted to convince the priests of Morbidon to reveal the secret to necromantic magic so that she may extend her life indefinitely as a lich queen.
Up until now they have refused since they strongly object to female rulers and Barselor’s attitude toward her male citizens. However, the prince holds more modern views than his father and the old high priests of Morbidon’s Temple.
If he desires Barselor’s assistance, he will promise Isa her ritual and her undead immortality. We can almost guarantee Barselor will ally with Halidor, and that is a problem. Isa doesn’t have a powerful army but her engineers designed and built superior war machines and siege engines. They can also overcome the logistics of transporting their heavy equipment, thanks to a series of clever mobile bridges. I have seen their more peaceful constructs in action and it is a truly awe-inspiring sight; they have overcome obstacles we haven’t even encountered yet. Fortunately for us, even they have not devised an effective method to cross Terroc’s Ring.” The messenger felt pity for the king as each bit of information he passed on served only to highlight the apparent hopelessness of their situation.
“Does Isa have any weakness?” asked the king hopelessly.
“Besides her three daughters, I cannot think of any personal vulnerability.
If we had access to magic to extend her life we could promise it in return for her alliance against Halidor, because as I said, they do not approve of each other.
Striking at her three daughters would prove difficult, but I am not certain that she would be upset over their peril; she might even thank us if we eliminated them. Rumor has it that they are … unpleasant.”
“We have no such magic and I would not even know where to begin to find it. Ariva has not needed magic of any kind in so long that I fear we have all forgotten what it was like to use it. Even our own priests and priestesses find their spells lacking the strength and potency that history claims they once possessed.” The king dropped his head into his hands in defeat.
“We are not defeated yet, Your Highness. We also boast some of the best engineers from the southern lands. I have taken the liberty of shifting their responsibilities from civil projects to war machines, and our builders have worked tirelessly on their designs. I have also taken the liberty of sending for free mercenaries.” Lord Derek dared to hold up a hand to halt his king’s protest.
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the investment is well worth it. Our own men don’t stand a chance against veteran warriors despite the intense training we are giving the new recruits.
These soldiers served in the same wars I did, and I know many of them personally. I can assure you they will make a difference in our numbers; one of them counts as ten of our new soldiers in terms of skill and experience.”
“When do they arrive?” the king asked, resigned to the necessity of the expense.
The messenger grinned in anticipation.
“One of them is already here, Your Highness,” he said bowing.
“The others should arrive at Ulrick Pass within a few cycles; they already know to travel through Bladen’s borders and move in stealth. I believe a group of them are disguised as a troop of jongleurs coming to perform for the grand party,” Derek answered.
“You must have suspected we would have need of them some time ago to see them here so quickly, Derek. Why am I only learning of this now?” the king asked, regarding the Warlord.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but I did have strong suspicions that were confirmed by several spies detained in the Gate and Market districts. When I received more than one report confirming the rumors, I sent for the mercenaries.
I apologize if I acted precipitously.” Derek bowed slightly.
The king slumped back in his seat, realizing that he had put Derek in charge for a reason, and he had not been in any condition to deal with the details of this situation while grieving. He should be grateful to Derek for taking care of it for him.
“You said you detained spies. How much did you learn from them? Where are they, in the city jail?”
“Ah, no, sadly the spies did not survive the interrogation process, and unfortunately they were not as forthcoming as we hoped. We have learned more from my friend here than from the agents of our enemy,.” Derek replied.
“Hmm, I would have liked to have spoken with the spies personally, Derek.
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You overstepped your authority by executing them without my knowledge.” The king agued, but his words lacked any real heat.
Derek bowed again in answer; this time lower, aware that the king wasn’t really angry but he must show proper respect for the rebuke in front of others.
The king already allowed more informality than Derek had expected in front of the messenger, and Derek figured it was due to the king’s own distress.
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Things certainly were moving out of the realm of the king’s own experiences.
He’d played many a game of court intrigue but he’d never been challenged by a war. “Forgive me, Your Highness; I shall inform you immediately if we capture any more agents.”
The king waved a hand in acknowledgment, and continued the meeting.
“So, we face not one but two kingdoms eager to batter down our front gates and steal everything my people worked so hard for, including centuries of peace. You tell me that my own army is not up to the task of fighting this battle alone, and you hired mercenaries to assist. We have several war engines to add to our side. Is there anything else, any other plus on our side of the scales, or do we still stand unbalanced against our foe?” The king looked weary; lines of strain, grief, and worry etched his pale skin.
“The Valley of Ariva works in our favor, Your Highness. Recall that we maintain a very defensible position. We need only retain the Pass to win this war. If we hold out long enough, the costs of the venture will outweigh the benefits even for Prince Onian. Recall that his kingdom lies in extreme debt.
He cannot afford a drawn-out war, even with the aid of Barselor. That will also work in our favor. We need not withstand them forever. If we can block them at the Pass and keep them there, we can win against their superior skill and numbers.”
“Do we have enough men to hold the Pass once we boost our numbers with your mercenaries?”
