The Fourth Age Shadow Wars: Assassins (The Fourth Age: Shadow Wars Book 1)

by David Pauly

  'Prince Daerahil, it is precisely your softness in Shardan that has led these upstarts to rebel against their lawful King, is this not so?' asked Mergin slyly.

  This question was directed at Mebron, who prevaricated for a moment before replying. 'Yes, Lord Mergin, they specifically cite the guarantees that Prince Daerahil made to the rebellious Shardan provinces of Kraylor and Voth, which acknowledge the sovereignty of their lords, who pledge fealty unto Eldora. The Council of Traders from Nexus has announced that it has formed a Confederation and thereby ask that any and all foreign troops remove themselves from their towns and farms in any official capacity, though all are welcome to come and trade with them.'

  'You are responsible for this, my son?' asked the King ominously. Creon's voice became cold and thin. 'You gave sovereignty to two separate provinces in Shardan? I cannot believe that you would thwart my will in this matter. Your prior actions of placating rebels and criminals already made my next order necessary, but today's news only underscores how quickly I must put a stop to this seditious nonsense.'

  Creon hated the peoples of Shardan, despising them as a whole. Their bizarre form of ancestor worship, the stench of their foul food, with its foreign odors and alien spices, sickened him. And if that were not enough, their libidinous, licentious social behavior, multiple wives, and any number of mistresses—or concubines, as the Shardans called them—provoked a never-ending internecine warfare where brother slew half-brother, stepsister poisoned niece, resulting in a social structure even lower than that of the jackals of the deep desert. They were not truly men, Creon thought, but half-men, resembling rutting beasts in the forest rather than civilized people.

  In fact, as far as Creon was concerned, only the Men of Eldora were truly civilized. His closest allies, the nomadic Kozaki, were crude and savage, spending all of their lives upon their horses. They, too, had multiple wives, which made Creon shudder. Still, at least their white skin was the right color, and they had always honored their treaties with Eldora, so though they were not generally fit to be seen in Eldora, they did have great value. 'Perhaps,' mused Creon, 'as time goes by and they adopt more of our customs, the best of them may seem less barbaric and approach our level of sophistication and worth.'

  Other men of the northlands were essentially farmers and herders of flock animals, simple traders and craftsmen, benevolent, distant neighbors, but not anyone that you would seat at your table. The Dwarves were excellent metal smiths and stone wrights, but like moles and other animals which lived underground, rarely seeing the light of day, they were best left in the dark. The Lesser Elves triggered only dark memories for Creon of the loss of his only true love and the abandonment by his mother. They would be allowed to live their lives in peace, provided that they remained in their forest abode—all of them, that is, save one, whose name was Creon's most treasured secret: he would die a terrible, shameful death.

  Someday, Creon hoped during his lifetime, the men of Eldora could bring a permanent peace to Shardan and turn their attention to projecting Eldoran power throughout all of Nostraterra, causing all other races and peoples to bend the knee to Eldora. Creon did not think of the Greater Elves in his world view. They were a race apart from Nostraterra, their homeland forever remote, across a distant ocean horizon. The ones who lived in Phoenicia were relics of the past; Eldora was the present and future of Nostraterra.

  Now the King nodded to Mergin, and the First Minister cleared his throat and spoke. 'It has been decided, my lords and ministers, that the Shardan campaign has reached a point of stagnation and that a bolder approach must be taken to solve this problem once and for all. Prince Daerahil, you are hereby relieved of command of the First Host of the Shardan army and promoted to command of the Great Host of the army of Eldora. There you will first conduct a rigorous inspection tour, identifying waste and mismanagement, learning the logistics of supply and support for the Army as a whole. You will begin by inspecting the companies guarding the outlands between the city walls and the out-walls, and only after a thorough review of these fortifications will you extend your tour throughout the realm of Eldora. Your schedules of review will be sent to you after we have reviewed your reports from your first assignment. Do you have any questions?'

  Daerahil was speechless. He had expected to be given command of both the first and second Hosts of Shardan, a promotion giving him command of the entire Shardan army. Instead, he found himself 'promoted' to a sentinel position as commander of the Eldoran Army. While any other soldier would look upon it as an actual advancement, Daerahil knew that this position reported directly to the King and his ministers. This meant that he would have substantially less freedom in his movements and reforms then he had when only a Host commander. Plus, he would be mired in Eldora, reporting in and out of the Council chambers at the whim of that vile serpent Mergin; harassing him at every opportunity.

  Thinking quickly, Daerahil spoke. 'My Lord King, clearly this idea has originated with you, though doubtless there are many who would disagree with your decision. My brother until recently has held the post of Commander of the Eldoran Army. May I ask where he is to be dispatched?'

  'You will address your comments to me, my Lord Prince,' said Mergin silkily.

  Ignoring Mergin, Daerahil looked at his father directly and again posed his question. Mergin restated his point with much less silk and more venom in his voice.

  That was too much for Daerahil. 'Silence, you vile little worm!' he erupted. 'If you were not my father's treasured errand boy, you would have faced my wrath long ago. I am speaking to my father, the only man that I answer to in this kingdom.'

  Anger flashed across Creon's face; this was not proceeding the way that he had intended. Instead of attacking the King's decision and openly defying him, Daerahil had shifted the focus to the authority of Mergin relative to that of the Princes of the realm. Creon knew that he had been outmaneuvered, as the law forbade anyone, no matter their rank, from ordering a Prince of the Realm to do anything at all. Only the King had that authority.

  'My son, you will show more courtesy to our faithful Minister Lord Mergin,' Creon said. 'But to answer your question, your brother is today appointed to the General Staff of the Army of Shardan, where it is to be hoped that our royal policies will be carried out both in form and spirit.'

  'My lord King, who then will take over my position and see to the reforms of the Shardan campaign?' asked Daerahil.

  'Prince Daerahil, your reforms have not achieved the effects that you claim, and they shall be terminated forthwith,' replied the King. 'In fact, in light of today's news, more disorder than I could possibly have imagined has come as a result of your intransigence in this matter. Your royal cousin, Prince Frederic of Amadeus, shall be given command of the first and second hosts of the Shardan army in hopes that my will and that of our Council will be more clearly followed.'

  'Frederic?' exclaimed an incredulous Daerahil. 'With all due respect to our royal cousin, he can barely manage the peaceful realm of Amadeus, much less command men in the Shardan campaign. The stories of his errors would fill many an hour if they were read together.'

  Creon's face darkened. 'Do not presume to lecture me on the disposition of the commanders at my disposal. Be thankful that I do not hold you more accountable for the dismal lack of progress in Shardan and this new rebellion that I must quell amongst our own trading colonies.'

  'Lack of progress, my Lord?' echoed Daerahil. 'Please, majesty, you might not have had access to all of the information from Shardan, particularly if Mergin is deliberately withholding it from you. Let me show you the latest figures of casualties, pacified cities and towns, and trade revenues from my last six months as commander of the First Host.' Daerahil gestured behind him, and Lord Zarthir prepared to speak on Daerahil's behalf, unrolling the scrolls he had prepared for this meeting. But before he could begin to read from them, Mergin played his last card.

  'My Lord,' said the First Minister, 'while I am certain that Prince Daerahil had some m
inor successes in his endeavors, in addition to giving partial autonomy to two of the provinces that I have mentioned, he failed to instill complete obedience from those foul rebels and even sided with four of their tribal leaders against his own troops on three separate occasions. Worse, he ordered the Royal Governor of Voth to reduce his taxes and recall his own guards to his own barracks so that the Prince's troops could exercise the authority actually given to the governor.'

  Daerahil was speechless, for while this information was true, he had thought it had been carefully hidden and that the overwhelmingly powerful results of his actions would deflect any questioning of his methods or orders.

  'Is this true, my son?' demanded Creon. 'Have you actually sided with the rebels against the loyal forces of Eldora? Do you govern one of our provinces, usurping our distant cousin, the Royal Governor of Voth?'

  'I would not phrase it that way, my Lord. The disputes that are mentioned by Lord Mergin were gross disobedience by three separate Eldoran officials, and the Governor's guards were ransacking and looting the provincial city, fomenting great hatred amongst the populace. I was able to pacify this city and the surrounding province by curtailing the inept, greedy actions of the Governor.'

  'So, you willfully admit that you have disobeyed my orders and exceeded your authority,' said the King. 'Is this so or not so?'

  'Yes, my Lord,' said a flustered and angry Daerahil. 'But –'

  'I have no desire to listen to the justification of your actions. You openly defy my orders, side with known rebels, and now argue about assuming your new command. Even today I hear that your seditious ideas have spread beyond Shardan, creating more chaos and disorder for me to deal with. Be silent for the rest of this Council; we shall speak privately about your actions later. Say nothing until the meeting of the Security Council.'

  'What is to be said in private that cannot be said here?' demanded Daerahil. 'My policies and plans are successful. Your blind insistence on total subservience from a conquered people has led us to our current predicament. It is clear that I am the only one who can quell this rebellion. Give me leave, my Lord, to take command of the entire Shardan army, and I will pacify this country and bring our troops back home within a year. Furthermore, the good citizens of Nexus and the trading Confederation exist outside the borders of Eldora and are beyond both our jurisdiction and our control.'

  'You dare imply that I am the cause of the failure of the Shardan campaign? You defy me yet again in open Council! You claim that these upstarts from Eldora that have founded this vile Confederation have the right to govern themselves? Your contagion will spread like a plague before a dark wind if it is not stamped out! Be gone from my sight, and be prepared to take command of your new post on the morrow. Now get out!' roared the King.

  Daerahil stood and was about to reply, when he saw the fear in his brother's face and realized that he had been about to go too far. Only a fool would bait a bear in its own den without a viable weapon. Still, such was his fury that he did not trust himself to speak. Without bothering to salute or ask permission to leave, he turned on his heel, intending to leave the room. It was then that he heard Lord Mergin's mocking laughter. He froze, and then walked back to this place at the Council table. There he picked up his goblet of wine, moving as if to drink from it, but instead threw its contents into Mergin's face.

  'I call you out again, coward, and if you have any honor or backbone at all, you will meet me on the morrow with your sword in your hand upon the field of honor.' he said.

  Roaring, Mergin leapt from his chair, but the King ordered silence again. 'Prince Daerahil, you are fined fifty gold pieces for your disruption of the Council chamber and your insult to Lord Mergin. Apologize at once.'

  Daerahil reached into his purse and counted out one hundred gold pieces, placing them on the table. The King looked at him quizzically, and said sarcastically, 'It was fifty, my son, not one hundred. Has your time in the desert left you unable to do simple sums?'

  'No, Lord, I am merely paying in advance for my next disruption.' With that remark, Daerahil reached over to a jar of pickled fish and hurled its contents at Lord Mergin, splattering one of the other ministers in the process.

  'Now I will take my leave, my Lord, and assume my new command tomorrow.'

  Ignoring his father's command to return and apologize, Daerahil strode from the hall and, without pausing, from the Citadel itself.

  #

  The meeting recessed briefly so that Mergin could cleanse himself in a nearby washroom personally allocated to him. Entering the room, Mergin saw his ancient manservant, Carlith, who was deaf as a post and thoroughly discreet, standing before him, holding out a steaming washbasin. A new suit of robes lay on a rack nearby. Smiling that his needs had been anticipated, Mergin undressed, cleaning himself before putting on clean clothes. Glancing at even this most loyal servant, Mergin did not trust him as far as he could proverbially throw him; Mergin knew everyone and anyone would betray him if given half a chance, as betrayal and treachery were Mergin's closest companions. Mergin trusted no one but himself, for if he ever failed in his tasks significantly, he could be dismissed back to the poverty-stricken village of his birth.

  Thinking of the meeting, he began to smile. His plan to provoke Daerahil had worked perfectly. Once again, the prince's complete lack of tact and his inability to restrain his temper had proved useful. The First Minister knew that Daerahil was a far stronger prince than his brother, Alfrahil. Yet because Mergin blamed Daerahil for the death of his only son, he loathed the man and opposed any chance that Daerahil might have of becoming King. But it wasn't merely his personal distaste for the prince that fueled Mergin's hatred. Daerahil's strategy for pacifying the rebels was folly, a policy of appeasement that could only end in disaster.

  Yet he also knew that the weak, indecisive Alfrahil would make an even worse king than Daerahil. While Alfrahil was too weak to make a good king, he was not weak enough for Mergin to influence and control properly. Mergin was of the opinion that the kingship and the role of Eldora in the wider world were much more important than the man who wore the crown, and, not for the first time, he vowed to himself that either a strong man would sit on the throne after Creon was gone, or a very weak man that Mergin could control. Who either man should be, Mergin had not yet decided.

  These thoughts Mergin buried deep within his mind, lest the king, with his mental powers, detect them. With his body cleaned and clothes changed, Mergin returned to the Council room for the Security Council meeting.

  #

  Daerahil paused to collect himself on the steps of the Citadel. He knew that he had lost his temper and would be subjected to further recriminations from his father and from Mergin, but he could not sit there and stomach any more of their machinations and outright foolishness. Still, he felt better for putting out into the open what many had whispered, and perhaps there were others on the Council besides Zarthir, including his brother, who would speak on his behalf. Daerahil had few illusions that he would be sent back to Shardan anytime soon, but hoped that at least some of his policies would be kept in place once his deputy had an opportunity to read them to the Council.

  From his present vantage, Daerahil could look over much of the city and even beyond. Titania comprised several small hills in a wide natural valley in the Encircling Mountains. These mountains formed a rough circle over a hundred miles wide, with a fertile central area rich in farms and people. The city of Titania filled the wider southern valley between two arms of the mountains that curved east and west away to the north, coming together where the Eldoran city of Amadeus lay in a much sharper valley. A great wall stretched for miles from the last shoulders of the mountains, separating Titania from the fallow grasslands that led down to the river Aphon. There was one aperture in the southern wall, the Great Gate, the sole entrance and exit point for commerce, leading as it did outward from Eldora into the wider world. The City had a smaller, less fortified northern gate that led into the interior realm of Eldo
ra and the six minor royal fiefs that lay there. Inside the walls was the flat land of the natural valley, the plain of Sisera, a vast expanse nearly fifteen leagues wide and ten deep that was surrounded on all sides by mountains. Most of Sisera was given over to farmland, with small hamlets nestled here in there in the enormous sixteenth district, which included all of the valley floor, fields and orchards, vineyards and pastures adorned with the rich tithe of soils washed down for millennia from the neighboring mountains. Fifteen other districts were set about the city, centered around each of the seven hills, with the poorer areas closer to the south wall and the villas of the wealthy on the hills closest to the north wall.

  Small rivers ran down from the wild mountainsides to the east and west of the City, providing fresh drinking water as well as an efficient sewer system. The rivers, channeled together into a single great canal that had been reinforced with huge, rough blocks of stone, exited the City through a metal grate impassable by any creature larger than a rat. The southern wall was made of indomitable stone, smoothed and without joint or seam, rising fifty feet above the plain.

  The valley was essentially flat, crossed with small streams, except for the Great Escarpment, an ancient massif of white granite, thirty feet high, a mile deep, and ten miles wide that nearly bisected the city into two parts. Roads went around this jutting granite ridge on the east and west ends, but the great road from the south gate to the north gate pierced the Escarpment in its center. Before the Great War, incursions of raiding parties from Shardan had showed the need for greater defenses than those provided by the small walls around each hill. A great quarry had been hewn from the escarpment from north to south, extending the width of the formation and plunging fifty feet deep. This stone was moved and formed into the great blocks that comprised the southern and northern walls. A wooden bridge was built, more than a quarter mile long, over the quarry pit, allowing travel in a direct line throughout Sisera.