by R. T. Kaelin
Zecus paused and hazarded a glance at his father. The man looked heartbroken to hear of his family’s suffering.
With a quiet, burning intensity, Duke Rholeb said, “I am very sorry for your hardship, young man. Please know that I did what I could to help your countrymen.” He shot a hard glare at Lord Tilas. “But we were simply not prepared for thousands to arrive at our walls.”
The baron stared straight ahead, refusing to meet the duke’s gaze.
Duchess Aleece said, “Where is your family, Zecus? Did you leave them in Demetus?”
Zecus winced inwardly at the question and nodded, saying, “I did, my Lady.”
Duchess Adnil, the sovereign of the Long Coast, lifted an eyebrow and asked, “You left them behind? Why?”
“I was angry, my Lady,” replied Zecus. “Angry about what had happened to my family. Angry at what had happened to my home.” He paused, took a deep breath, ashamed for what he was about to say. “And I was angry at my father for leaving on what I believed to be a fool’s errand. I wanted to stand against whatever the evil was. I did not want to run away.” He dropped his head to stare at his absurdly shiny boots. “So, I went home to fight.”
A heavy sort of quiet filled the room briefly before Lord Tilas, in a voice absent any sympathy, asked mockingly, “And at what point in your sad tale were you supposedly captured by the mythical oligurts roaming the Borderlands? Or would you like to retract your claim and save yourself a week in the stockade?”
Zecus’ shame fled in an instant. Snapping his head up, he glared at the baron, his eyes hot.
“You want the whole tale? You shall have it, my Lord.”
Zecus relayed everything that happened once leaving Demetus. His journey home to find Drysa nearly deserted, his search for the rumored resistance, how they had found him instead, and the attack by Sudashians mere hours later. How he was knocked cold by the glancing blow of an oligurt’s club, woke up in a dark tent, and carried through an encampment filled with countless oligurts and razorfiends. He included every detail he could to legitimize his story. The pennants flying over the tents. The earthen burrows of the razorfiends. The rotten-sweet smell of men roasting over bonfires.
He took careful time to describe the Sudashians’ leader, a demon-man with horns, blood red eyes, and the unusual scent of wildflowers that wafted from the monster. He told them about the saeljul mage interrupting his interrogation to speak with the demon and the fight that fortuitously broke out a short while later. The demon-man rushed out to put an end to it, at which point the saeljul mage called forth a magical black doorway that he stepped through, disappearing from the tent. Zecus could still remember the desperation he had felt.
“My feet were bound, yet I hopped across the tent, and leapt straight through the flap. I could not know what lay on the other side, but I was willing to take a chance. It was better than what faced me if I remained.”
He glanced along the table to find every lord and lady staring intently at him. Whether or not they believed him, they certainly were intrigued by his tale.
“One moment, I was in the demon’s pavilion, the next I crashed into a wooden beam and collapsed in a pile of straw. I—”
“Enough!” bellowed Lord Tilas. Everyone in the room turned to stare at the wide-eyed baron. “This man is wasting all of our time! Demon-men? Mages with magical doorways to—”
“Quiet!” shouted Duchess Aleece. Her eyes burning as she glared at the man, she said, “Baron Tilas, you will hold your tongue until Zecus is finished with his tale else I will see to it that you are the one visiting the stockades for a few days!”
The man stared daggers at the duchess but kept his mouth shut regardless. When it was clear he was going to comply with her order, Duchess Aleece looked back to Zecus.
“Continue, young man.”
Before Zecus could do so, however, Lady Vivienne stepped forward and said, “Actually, my Lady, I might be better able to explain what happened next. It seems the blow to his head was severe enough that he was knocked unconscious. One of my servants found him—bound and injured—in the stables of my estates in Argolles. He was brought to the servants’ quarters where he slept for days on end. Once he awoke and recounted his story, my steward sent a dispatch to me here in Freehaven that included this seemingly outrageous story. It only arrived the day before last turn’s public petitioning and was the reason I requested the hold when I heard their tale.”
She turned and nodded toward Zecus’ father and Boah.
“Their shared name and similar claims seemed implausible. So, I sent for the young man to come to Freehaven as soon as he was able to travel, escorted by my personal guard. They arrived this morning at my city villa as I was preparing to come here today.”
Zecus, along with Jak and Sergeant Trell, gaped at the baroness. Lady Vivienne was lying outright, every word an utter falsehood. Ignoring their stares, the noblewoman pressed on with her yarn.
“I had no time to warn Duchess Aleece, even though she most certainly should have had this information before today’s public hearing. Had the timing been better, perhaps we all could have avoided today’s embarrassment. I apologize to the First Council for my part in the young man’s outburst.”
The baroness delivered the account with such conviction, that had Zecus not lived a different path, he would have believed every word. He was beyond impressed. Her story explained his presence in the Southlands without revealing anything of the Progeny, the Shadow Manes, or the prophecy of Indrida.
A few quiet moments passed before Duchess Adnil offered, “That is quite a tale.” Her eyes locked on Zecus. “Disturbing, if it’s true.” Her concern sounded genuine.
Sitting back in his chair, Lord Tilas crossed his arms and asked, “Are you finished, young man?” He shot a quick frown at Duchess Aleece.
Zecus nodded.
“I am.”
“Good,” said Lord Tilas with a nod. “An excellent story, I admit. Were we at festival, and you a playman, I would award you first prize, but, honestly…oligurts? Razorfiends? Demons? The level of preposterousness is obscene. Not to mention the unsanctioned magic, by an ijul no less! Truly?! You expect us to believe this tale?!”
A voice, nasal and thin, wafted through the chamber.
“I do.”
Zecus’ eyes flicked to Lord Lucius, an olive-skinned man with shaggy, black hair and bushy mustache. The representative of the Foothills Duchy sat forward, leaning his elbow on the table.
“The detail in his story is too rich to be false.”
“Cook the stew long enough and even the toughest meat will be tender,” retorted Lord Tilas. “He’s had turns to concoct his tale!”
Lord Lucius shook his head, his eyes on Zecus, studying him as one would an onion, peeling back the layers one-by-one, looking for any hint of rottenness. After a moment or two, the baron said, “He spoke with such passion earlier. And just now, when he spoke of the Sudashians’ camp…” He trailed off, sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh, and said, “I am sorry, Tilas, but I believe him. Fully.”
“As do I,” agreed Lord Osvanni, the representative of the Colonial Duchy. He turned to glare at Lord Tilas. “Which means I don’t believe you, Tilas.”
Zecus scanned the rest of the council, hoping to find more support. Duchess Aleece and Duchess Adnil both appeared quite pleased with the announcements made by the two barons. A quick glance at Duke Rholeb confirmed that he, too, seemed quite satisfied. Duke Kyle, however, looked very nervous, a thin sheen of sweat clearly visible on his brow.
The Freeland’s duke reached up to wipe his forehead and asked, “Hader? Jonda? What say you?”
The black-and-gold-clad Baron Hader waved a dismissive hand.
“I will take the word of a nobleman over that of any citizen. I am tired of wasting time on this. Borderlands issues affect the Northlands not.”
Zecus frowned.
“And you baroness?” asked Duke Kyle, turning to stare at the Red Peaks’ represent
ative.
Lady Jonda sat still for a long moment, her hand caressing her chin as she stared hard at Zecus. After a few moments, she said, “I do not know, my Lord. I was inclined to believe Tilas before, but I am not so sure now. Talk of demons is of particular concern to the Red Peaks.”
“Oh, please,” snapped Lord Tilas. “I would bet coin they only added that falsehood to sway you, Jonda!” The man sounded desperate.
With a shrug of her shoulders, Lady Jonda conceded, “Perhaps, but the risk is too substantial to dismiss outright.”
Tossing his hands up in frustration, Lord Tilas exclaimed, “This is madness!”
Duke Kyle gently suggested, “Perhaps Vanson would consider an investigation into the claims? A small joint force by a few of—”
Lord Tilas slammed the table with his fist, sending a rattling boom throughout the chamber.
“No! He will not accept such an intrusion! You have no right! Our lands are as sovereign as yours!”
“Are you afraid of what might be found?” asked Duchess Aleece innocently.
Lord Tilas glared at her, stewing like a covered pot resting over a roaring fire.
“Let me be perfectly clear: should a single soldier of any duchy—any!—cross into the Borderlands, Duke Vanson will declare war on the offending lord or lady!”
He immediately shifted his gaze to a visibly uncomfortable Lord Treswell. The pair’s eyes met for only a moment before the Great Lake’s representative sighed and said reluctantly, “I have been instructed by Duke Everett that should there be such a conflict, then he will side with Duke Vanson.”
Zecus shot a quick glance to Jak and Sergeant Trell, both of whom were from the Great Lakes Duchy. The pair wore bitter, angry expressions.
Other than the muffled sounds of a bustling city outside, the council chamber was deathly silent.
Duke Kyle broke the quiet, saying softly, “Such an action would mean civil war, Tilas. Are you sure you are speaking with Vanson’s authority?”
“I most assuredly am, my Lord,” replied Lord Tilas confidently. “He was incensed to hear of the accusations from last turn. He is prepared to withdraw the Borderlands from the Oaken Duchies if need be.” Lord Tilas glared at Lord Treswell, whipping the man with his eyes alone. “I believe Duke Everett has said the same, am I correct, Treswell?”
The baron nodded, muttering, “My liege lord’s loyalty lies with his friend and neighbor, Duke Vanson.” The words were spoken in a wooden, emotionless manner, as if he were reciting something from memory.
Again, a tense, suffocating quiet swelled within the chamber. Zecus shook his head. The nation was falling apart before his eyes.
Duchess Aleece’s clear voice cut through the silence.
“It would seem that we are at an impasse, then. We have two petitioners standing before us, requesting the help of the council. Yet the ruling lord of the duchy in question insists help is not necessary. What to do?”
As if on cue, Duchess Adnil answered, “According to First Council procedure, we must rule on the petition one way or another.” Glancing up and down the table, she asked, “What say everyone?”
Duke Kyle nervously interjected, “We cannot provoke a civil war, my Lady.”
“I do not think Adnil is suggesting such a thing, Duke Kyle,” responded Duchess Aleece.
A furrow appeared in the man’s brow, providing a nice channel for the sweat to follow on its way down his nose.
“Then what are you proposing?”
Shifting her gaze to Zecus and the others standing with him, the duchess of the Southlands said, “I believe we have ample evidence that something is happening in the Borderlands. And that Vanson is hiding something.”
Lord Tilas immediately spit, “Again, you have no proof but the—”
Swiveling her head to glare at the baron, Duchess Aleece raised her voice, saying firmly and crisply, “Bless the Gods, Tilas! Shut your mouth and let me finish!”
The baron complied with the duchess’ order, but sat back in his chair, festering.
After a moment, Duchess Aleece continued, her tone tranquil yet again, saying, “Vanson has every right to refuse entry to whomever he wants. I will not dispute that accord.” A smug expression filled Lord Tilas face. “However, the same law also permits any one of us to grant access to the other. Therefore, I propose those of us of like mind reach an agreement.”
Almost immediately, Duchess Adnil asked, “What are your terms, Aleece?”
With a nod to the older duchess, the Southlands sovereign responded, “I will open my borders to the armies of anyone who pledges to fight against what I believe is to be a massive Sudashian army—complete with demons who were once men—openly marching through the Borderlands, unchecked and perhaps even aided by Duke Vanson. A second Demonic War could very well be at our threshold, and unlike our predecessors, I hope to be prepared for whatever is coming.”
Without pause, Duke Rholeb spoke, saying, “Consider the Marshlands open to the Southlands, Aleece.” He glared at Lord Tilas. “I will not allow my lands to be overrun by whatever marches east.”
In the time it had taken for a dozen heartbeats to pass, two duchies had apparently formed an alliance against two others. Considering the brevity with which it had happened, Zecus suspected that had been the plan all along.
Duke Kyle looked along the table and declared, “There has not been armed conflict between the duchies in centuries. Please, be reasonable!”
“I believe Aleece has been extremely reasonable, Kyle,” said Duchess Adnil. “So much so, that I formally pledge my support to you both. The Long Coast Duchy will join with the Marshlands and Southlands.”
Duke Kyle stared at Duchess Adnil in shock.
“You cannot be serious, my Lady!”
“Oh, don’t look at me like that Kyle,” replied Duchess Adnil sharply. “I am not advocating that we attack anyone. I simply am of the opinion that Aleece’s wish to be prepared is wise.”
“May the Gods save us,” muttered Duke Kyle. Sweating even more profusely now, the nobleman patted the excess moisture from his head and glanced up and down the length of the table. “Where do the rest of you stand?”
Both Lord Lucius and Lord Osvanni stated their own personal support for the Duchess Aleece proposal, but professed that any formal decision would have to be made by Duke Eli of the Foothills and Duchess Catherine of the Colonial Duchy. Lord Hader insisted the Northlands would refuse to take sides in the dispute while Lady Jonda said she would need more information before she could recommend anything to Duke Thomas.
Zecus listened in quiet awe, the fate of countless lives resting on these proceedings. History was unfolding before him. Glancing at those on his side of the table, he found that Jak, Boah, and Joshmuel looked as worried as he felt. Both Sergeant Trell and Lady Vivienne were stone-faced, their expressions utterly blank.
Once every noble but the Freelands’ duke had voiced his or her intentions, Duchess Adnil asked, “And you, Kyle? What say you? Where do the Freelands fall?” Her tone and frown indicated she already knew what the man’s answer was going to be.
Duke Kyle looked ill. With a quick shake of his head, he muttered, “I refuse to commit Freelands soldiers or resources to prepare for war against another duchy.” Shooting an uneasy glance between the others at the table, he added, “The Freelands remains neutral in this dispute while I personally pray that sanity will prevail and you all come to your blasted senses.”
Zecus frowned. He doubted that would happen. The God of Chaos would not let it.
Lord Tilas rose from his chair and announced formally, “If that is the case, you will all excuse me. I must contact Duke Vanson to warn him of the treachery perpetrated here this morning. Good day, council.”
After one last sneering glare toward Zecus and his companions, the baron strode to the doorway behind the council table, grabbed the handle, and yanked hard. He stepped through the exit, letting the oaken door crash against the stone wall, its crack reverbera
ting through the chamber.
Lord Treswell stood and said in a polite, almost embarrassed, tone, “Excuse me, but my duties require me to inform Duke Everett. Good day to you all.” With a short bow, he turned and hurried out the door as well.
Once the baron was gone, Duke Kyle said, “I suppose this means council is adjourned. If you will excuse me, I must go speak with my advisors.” Looking up to Zecus and the others standing opposite him, he said, “I hope you are pleased with what you have wrought here today.”
Zecus glared at the man, irritated. War was coming one way or the other. This was not his fault.
As the duke pushed his bulky figure from the table, stood, and exited the chamber, Zecus heard Lady Vivienne whisper, “You weak-willed, short-sighted fool of—”
The screech of the wooden chair legs scraping against the marble floor swallowed the remainder of her comment as the rest of the First Council stood and left through the back door. Some went alone, others in pairs with their heads tilted close together, whispering. Duchess Aleece glanced in their direction and gave a short nod before turning and leaving with Duchess Adnil by her side.
Lady Vivienne immediately took three quick, dress-swishing steps forward and turned to face them.
“We will now head back to my villa. There you will wait for me while I attend to a number of things. Understood?”
A frustrated Boah crossed his arms.
“I’m not going anywhere until someone explains to me what in the Nine Hells is going on. What just happened here?”
Unconcealed annoyance flashed across Lady Vivienne’s angled face. “I do not have time for this.” She swept past them, striding toward the double doors at the rear of the chamber. “If you have questions, Boah Rasus, ask the sergeant. Or Jak. They seemed to have figured things out.”
Boah glanced over at Sergeant Trell and Jak with a raised eyebrow. With a lopsided grin, Jak inclined his head.
