by Damien Lake
It had become a regular event as two found a close companion in the other. Once an eightday, if their schedules allowed, they would spend a candlemark before the king’s hearth, passing the time over wine or brandy.
Before he died, the king had asked Adrian to be a casket bearer at the state funeral, a duty traditionally performed by only the closest members of the king’s family line or his chosen heirs. The general still held that final service to his old friend as the highest honor, of far greater value than any of the awards displayed upon his chest.
Adrian had helped the king’s eldest son settle into his father’s throne and the younger man seemed competent to handle the job. The youth made many of the mistakes one new to such responsibility could be expected to make. None were serious and the council had been prepared for them. In time, Adrian had once hoped, the young sapling would grow out of his elder’s shadow to become his equal, if not his better.
But then changes had crept in. For instance, this new man had caught the young king’s eye. General Adrian still did not know how that had happened. All he’d discovered through his own careful prying was that he had arrived at the palace with a research group coming to report potential new gold and copper mines. Each researcher made individual reports to the council, and the king had asked many to elaborate on specific details privately.
Xenos must have impressed the young king. When the others returned to the field, he had stayed behind. Adrian admitted the man seemed learned in all manner of topics. The councilor could speak at great length on any subject, be it political, economical or woodcarving. He was quick to offer his opinions to his new benefactor, and the advice always sounded wise. As a councilor the man made an ideal advisor.
Except it was only the first sign of many of change in the young king. Appointing Xenos a councilor was merely the first of several eccentric decisions the young king had made. Gone were the edicts of a thoughtful young ruler, gone were the roots of wisdom that had underlain his decrees, gone were council meetings to discuss a royal proclamation’s ramifications prior to being announced before the court.
And gone were those who protested these changes. To what fate Adrian could only guess.
He fiddled with his buttons, mulling the past as he did every day lately. The king’s seers were another worrisome issue. For the past two years they had been unaccustomedly unified in their visions and predictions. Such unity from a group so habitually divided leant ominous weight to their words. This made most people lend greater credence to their predictions of monumental dark happenings. When time passed and their visions became more detailed rather than less so, the council majority finally accepted that preventive steps were in order.
The seers agreed that this unknown threat, when it arrived, would be too great for even their formidable kingdom to meet alone. Thus envoys were sent to warn the rulers of all the known lands, including lands not heard from in ages upon time. None had yet returned, save the two survivors from that unfortunate diplomatic party. Or rather, they had failed to return, entrusting their tale to a hostel owner before succumbing to grievous wounds.
General Adrian could find no sane reason why the Assembly of Kings would wish to commit such a heinous act of aggression, but the facts spoke for themselves. Still, why—
A handheld bell sounded, announcing the king’s imminent arrival. Adrian quickly nodded to the guards in their silver-colored uniforms. One pulled open a door intricately carved from floor to ceiling, allowing Adrian to enter the great hall.
The voluminous hall was vast, fifty feet in height with decorative columns and pillars sprinkled everywhere. Dozens of arched domes formed the ceiling, each grandly painted with different historical scenes. Beneath his feet, polished stone gave his footsteps an authoritarian echo. Stones of different natural colors created a massive mosaic of the king’s device, no stone tile less than a foot to a side.
In this hall, the highest ranks of aristocracy gathered at court, where they could pretend to each other they were as important as they believed themselves to be. Adrian held little liking for them. They wasted their days trading gossip or discussing the latest fashions. Open court took place whenever the king dispensed his proclamations or decrees. The king also sat in judgment whenever his nobles presented a dispute or petition or problem or grievance.
Today it would be a decree. Adrian wound his way between stiff-backed bluebloods to the dais that held the looming mahogany throne trimmed in satin and gold gilt. He needed to stand at the crowd’s fore since this announcement would concern his army.
Behind the throne, a door hidden by thick curtains opened. The king’s seneschal emerged with the court staff. He took his place near the throne, beside a round, wooden disk a few inches tall. A metal plate topped the disk. It thundered loudly throughout the cavernous hall when the seneschal pounded the court staff against it, cutting short discussion and gossip.
“Court is now open! Kneel before his Majesty!”
All the dukes and duchesses, marquises and marchionesses, earls and countesses dropped to one knee with head bowed or curtsied low. General Adrian knelt with them.
The king emerged from the same door, resplendent in his royal finery. Two young attendants carried the tail of his long robe. He paused before the throne. They arranged the robe so seating would not crumple or twist the expensive material.
Adrian’s heart froze momentarily when he noticed not the silver coronet gracing his liege’s brow, but the Eleven Point Crown. Ordinarily the ancient accoutrement remained under tightest lock and key, only worn during public festivities or at times of significant import. Recently though, the king had taken to wearing it when passing harsh decisions, at times when he wanted the court to remember he held power over them. Such times occurred with increasing frequency.
He sat, unlike his father who had insisted everyone rise first. Adrian had asked the old king about that one evening. His friend replied in surprise, “The king is supposed to be working for everyone below him. I should not be at rest while my subjects still labor, and that is what I say by doing so. I thought you knew.”
His son had maintained the practice when he first took the throne. Or he had until the changes began.
Xenos followed on his lord’s heels, dressed in the earthy brown robes he affected. He took his customary position beside the king’s seat of power.
Once the supplicant nobles rose, the seneschal withdrew a scroll from his robes of office, intoning the decree in his clear, booming voice.
“All assembled here today know the threat poised against Our lands from aggressors unknown, as revealed by the king’s own seers. It has been declared that Our forces cannot stand alone against this threat. Alliance is needed to preserve the kingdom. Envoys of peace and unity have been dispatched to renew old alliances against this dark threat, only to be met with scorn and violence.
“After consideration, We have decided that this must be seen as an act of war against Us. If it is the wish of the Assembly of Kings to act against Us, We shall respond in kind until such time as they accept Our authority, or until such time as the lands they rule come under Our domain. Once unified, Our sons will be made strong to meet this unknown peril.”
The seneschal released one end of the scroll to pound staff on disc, sealing the announcement. Everyone in the hall remained silent, the decision’s severity startling even the ruthless players of political intrigue. They all knew why, though. After the tale told by the dead diplomat guards had spread to every ear in the kingdom, the king had called the council together for one of its now rare sessions.
Many opinions had been put forth, several urging further diplomatic actions, others demanding a stronger response, but none advocating outright war. When asked for his own thoughts, Adrian had straddled the fence, saying, “Perhaps a misunderstanding occurred and further envoys can clear the air without bloodshed. On the other hand, a measured military response can make clear we will not tolerate such actions against any who represent our land and
our king, and we will be taken seriously in the future. I have no opinion either way.”
But that had not been the truth. As strange as the young king had become, Adrian never considered he would declare a war over one act, no matter how terrible. Had Xenos counseled this course of action? Adrian, strive as he might, could find no rational reason why the man would, and the councilor’s face was blank as a stone where he stood at his liege’s side.
Yet the time to speak out had passed. Adrian stood before his king, ready to receive his orders as faithfully as ever. When the echoes from the seneschal’s staff faded, his king looked down on him and spoke.
“General Adrian Ceylon. Are you ready to serve?”
“I have always been ready, your majesty, and always shall be.”
“Then receive your orders. Take adequate forces from the standing military to the borders of the Outer Kingdoms. There you shall annex the lands thereof in Our name, and you will defeat any and all military opposition encountered. You will continue until such time as all the land bears Our banner or until the reigning monarch offers his flag of surrender. In this event, the decision whether to return any lands thus claimed will be made by Us.
“We have also considered that these aggressors against Our envoys might be the origin of Our seers’ dark visions. In addition to your military actions, you will investigate and determine the truth or falsity of this. Do you anticipate problems?”
Conquering an entire kingdom was a task never to be undertaken lightly, even for one as mighty as they, and should be done only under extreme circumstances. Despite his qualms Adrian replied, “No, your majesty. Appropriate forces must be prepared. This will take the winter and perhaps the spring as well. We should begin the campaign by next summer at the latest.”
“Then go, and carry out Our wishes.”
In the past, members of the court might have protested the king’s rash rulings, except too many had disappeared. None made to speak or move while General Adrian departed the great hall.
Adrian lived to serve his kingdom, despite his current doubts over the people running it. His core existed for patriotic servitude. He still worried, but with orders to keep him occupied, his churning mind turned from unanswerable questions, focusing instead on the many preparations this next campaign would require.
* * * * *
Colbey had far too little to keep his mind occupied. He’d returned with his surviving squad members an eightday previous and spent the tedious time wondering if this whole embarking had been a giant mistake.
His squad had spent ten eightdays traveling in the saddle during the fighting season and the entire rest of it running around Tullainia, Galemar’s western neighbor. A pair of its highlords had decided that the time had come to settle their differences once and for all. This presented a serious problem since between them, they controlled almost twenty percent of the kingdom.
The situation sprang from years of convoluted grievances. Nobody could say exactly which insult acted as the final straw, and their king had refused to side with either. Their feud had placed him in a no-win situation. If he backed the claims of either, it would cause far too many troubles in the long run with his other vassals. In the end he proclaimed that private matters were of no concern to the monarchy. He had decided to let them have at each other, then try to pick up the remaining pieces afterward.
Not that Colbey cared why the highlords hated each other. These two minor distractions in his path bore no consequence to his ultimate objectives.
When he’d first heard that large scale trouble brewed in Tullainia, Colbey had been elated. Was this it? Was it part of the Tullainian aristocracy who had organized the raid on his home? Were they making their move? The Rovasii was closer to the western border than any other.
No one could tell him the trouble’s exact nature. His sudden interaction with the other men in the specialist units, along with his many questions, left his squad fellows unsettled. A massive conflict brewed, everyone told him, one which forced both sides to gather as many fighters as they could. The highlords involved were influential enough to reach far, and the head-to-head conflict would involve mercenaries from outside their kingdom. Highlord Faylin-dow had sent representatives to the top bands in Galemar, requesting only their most skilled, while Highlord Markis-gune had brought in the best fighters from Perrisan who were willing to leave their desert. All the available bands in Tullainia, good or poor, were divided between the two. With their own standing armsmen, it would be a battle of thousands versus thousands.
The Kings had sent Squads Two and Three, since Faylin-Dow’s recruiter requested specialists. But once they arrived and talked to the armsmen employed by their contractor, Colbey learned it was just two irritated highlords rattling their sabers at one another. His spirits had fallen for a long time while his frustrations mounted.
He had found slight interest in the job itself for awhile, pleased at how easily he could defeat these outlanders. The Second and Third Squads did behind-the-lines work; scouting enemy movements or making occasional strikes at a supply line.
The Guardian had never been in Tullainia before. It interested him mildly, except he soon learned that its people were as foolish and stupid as the Galemarans. Lack of intelligence, it seemed, was not an affliction stopped by borders.
Colbey had spent the spring and summer moving as directed, choosing only to become involved when fighting arose. On those occasions he merely concentrated on the fighting, unconcerned with the reasons behind it.
He reserved his mental energies for his thoughts. If these men were not the ones he sought, then where were they? Perhaps across the opposite border in Nolier? If so, they must have traveled along the southern coast in boats and penetrated the forest from the south, through the sealed areas. That might explain why the Guardians had been caught off guard. With only ocean facing the southern Rovasii, no outsiders ever wandered into the groves from that direction.
Of course, they might still have originated from Tullainia, coming from deeper in than he had journeyed. The Tullainians also could have sailed by boat, or these two highlords might have been behind the attack after all. Colbey felt that unlikely. In so large a conflict as this, surely they would produce the horrors that had killed the villagers in order to dominate their opponent, if they had access to such demonic creatures. Yet he had seen neither hide nor hair of them. With the descriptions he’d gathered from his fellow villagers, he would know the monsters when he saw one.
Perhaps they had come from the north, from Perrisan, but wouldn’t they have attracted attention marching across the countryside if that were the case? Colbey had kept his ears open even though he avoided socializing. No rumors of terrifying beast-things nor unusually clad strangers reached him. They could never have crossed the Stygan Gulf. That would have attracted equal attention.
Colbey kept turning the questions over in his head, never coming any closer to an answer. He told himself to be patient, as hard as such a course would be. The bastards would show their hand soon, and then he would make them know their mistake in making him their enemy.
It considerably soured his mood further that half the men he’d marked as possibly being useful to him had gotten themselves killed during the war in Tullainia. That’s what comes from being one of these foolish outlanders, he thought bitterly. You’re better than the fools around you, so you believe yourself a capable warrior in truth. Then you get yourself in a situation you can’t handle because you could not recognize your own weaknesses, and look what happens.
He needed to completely revise his plans for using these cattle. If he’d had the opportunity to pull them aside and show them how to be true warriors, they might have aided him. That had not happened and he knew now it never would. When the confrontation finally came, he would need to play it fast and loose, taking the opportunities as they came. Not a good strategy when planning a battle, depending on chance and lucky breaks, but his options were narrow at the moment.
Again he
waited in Kingshome, watching the chattel squads return as the fighting season drew to a close. He perched on the eastern wall above where the grooms and the stable master were releasing several horses returned by whichever squad had used them. When the last gate opened, they galloped down the slope to the sunken vale and the pond and their waiting herd mates.
Homesickness struck him harshly while he watched the distant horses trot upslope to greet their newly returned relatives and nuzzle their noses. His home was gone. He had no place to return to, no one to welcome him back from his journeys.
Colbey closed his eyes. He wanted to remember his village as it had been. Only the images of smoking wreckage and light glistening off tears running down the weathered checks of a dying old man remained.
I will not cry, damn it all! I am not so weak as that!
He had not even the comfort of his past to retreat to anymore. All had been stolen from him by those he vowed to find and make pay for their sins.
Perhaps he could return one day to what Thomas and the others managed to rebuild. He could hopefully bury the searing memories of the past under the experiences of the present. Perhaps he might one day find peace.
But that would be long years in the future, if indeed he could ever return. Too much remained unfinished, and it would all happen far too quickly once it began. Without proper knowledge regarding his quarry he could not adequately prepare, could not use this null time of sitting in the barracks, listening to his squad mates rehash old glories and watching the horizon from atop the walls. The days trickled away down history’s stream, unused and that much time less before the enemy appeared. One day closer to his battle. One day fewer to ready himself.
