Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1)

by Blake Bisciotti

  After hours of time with his men, the King summoned his top commanders. They met in a tent that he had ordered to be put up. There was much to discuss. One does not simply walk into two cities and announce himself the ruler, denouncing the most powerful men in the region while relieving them of control. The next few months would be tumultuous indeed. How would he establish his power? What would his first actions be? How many advisers did he have to appoint? The King would not let his uncertainties be apparent though. The reign of King Victus Antonel would begin the following day and nothing would stop it. Then, tireless days and weeks of instituting his dominion were expected to follow.

  ***

  Elberon closed the flap of the tent behind him and looked around. He felt nervous, but not because someone may spot him. The priest had nothing to hide. Nervousness and anxiety were prevalent feelings for him since he left for battle, but even more so since his dream of Phelios. The night was dark and humid. Some men were about but no one paid him any mind.

  The army had unexpectedly stopped a little over two miles from Rogsnelk. Camp was set up and men sent out on horseback to make sure there was no trailing Faletonian force following them. Some scouts would also keep an eye on the conquered city and the men tasked to stay within. The city was now referred to as Verrigon, a name suggested by Orvious. When several senior men discussed what to call the city, Orvious mentioned the name in gest. It was a made up city that was part of a fable he often told to his young son. When Victus asked where the name came from so the commander from Abellard told him. With a chuckle, Victus stated he liked it and so it became, at least temporarily, the name of the stronghold.

  So much was running through Elberon’s head. He pushed his blonde hair back, but it would not stay. It had been days since he even washed it with water. Just before arriving at Victus Antonel’s tent, he fixed his robes and brushed some dirt off of the sun that was stitched in his garment over his chest. He felt unprepared when he had to confront two armed guards near the tents entrance.

  “What’s going on, my friend?” One of the guards calmly asked as Elberon approached him.

  “I would like to speak with the King.” He thought his voice sounded nervous.

  “It is late and he is busy,” replied the guard less calmly.

  “It is an urgent matter, please. I am Elberon Per Finn, priest of Phelios.” The two guards exchanged glances and the one who had not yet spoken went into the tent. Within two minutes he came back out and held the flap open for the priest, silently beckoning him to enter.

  It was dim and warm inside of the tent. Two torches were lit and the light waltzed around the cloth walls. In the middle of the room was a table with a chair on each side. Seated in the chairs were King Victus Antonel and his top commander Bayloff. More of his officers may have been with him earlier, as was evidenced by several other chairs, but they must have been dismissed for the evening. Both men rose as the priest entered. Although Elberon had met and spoken to Victus before he still felt timid. How does one address a king?

  “Congratulations, my king. May the gods bless you and make your reign long and prosperous.” Elberon said with a bow of his head.

  “Thank you, brother Elberon,” replied the king in a soft voice. The priest was surprised that Victus remembered his name from their brief meetings.

  “I know you are very busy and I would not think to bother you, lest it was very important. Thank you for allowing me to speak.”

  “I have only been a king for less than three days, but I already figured out that a king would not be successful if he did not take time to listen to his people,” a quick assuring smile found his face, “especially those that represent the gods. What is on your mind?” Bayloff leaned as if to listen better. The effects of age seemed more apparent than ever on the commander. His normally short beard was now a little longer, and the grey and white hairs shown predominantly.

  “Without a doubt the next few days, weeks, if not months, will be very busy and challenging for you to establish your power. You will have to deal with each cities’ councils and all of your citizens…” He suddenly thought what he was about to say would seem silly. Would they laugh at him? The pause was painful.

  “Speak, it is ok, we are your audience. Speak your mind,” said Bayloff.

  “We are a few days away from the beginning of Zentiog, I trust you are aware?”

  “Of course,” affirmed the King in a tone that made the question seem silly.

  “Well I…I have recently had a vision. I know this may sound far-fetched but Phelios came to me. He was with us when we invaded the Faletonian city. I have pondered the blessing of the song of Calaris. What did it really mean? What was Phelios’s intention? In my reverie, he asked that we do not forget what he has given us and how he has stood with us. I do not wish to make any suggestions to my king, that is not my place, but I feel compelled to remind you that Zentiog is coming. Actually, he asked…or insisted that we all remember. It is the most sacred day and the week of celebration is a holy time. We will inevitably return home to uncertainty and chaos as you enforce you rule. My king, as your loyal subject I ask that please remember who has blessed us…and warned us as well.”

  “Warned us?” Asked Bayloff quickly.

  “Yes. Phelios let me know that there would be a foreign threat and that it would challenge us. Surely Faletonia.”

  “Tell us more about your vision. Where was it, what was it like?” Victus inquired with an expression that clearly showed his interest, his blue eyes staring intently towards the priest.

  Elberon looked at the two powerful men. He was concerned that if he explained his experience, Victus and Bayloff would not take him seriously. What choice did he have though? “I was in the sky. It is hard to describe … it was not like my physical self...but my spirit. I was tranquil yet focused. Clouds passed by and the sun was in front of me, welcoming me. Then...he spoke to me. He was with me.” The room was silent for a moment as the three men looked to one another as if trying to understand what the other thought of it all.

  Victus stepped away from the table, walked up to Elberon and put a hand on his shoulder. The King looked tired, his long straight hair was tucked behind his left ear, but dangled over this face on the other side. “There is not a man in our army that believes we have seen the last of Faletonia. When, and if, they rear their ugly head again, we will be ready. As for Phelios, his blessings are a reason…if not the reason for our success. He will be honored. He will always be honored. Let’s hope this transition of power will be quick and peaceful. Nothing will change for Zentiog. In fact, I will do what I can to have the celebrations be a focus of the cities. I will ensure there are feasts and festivities worthy of his power. Have no fear, brother Elberon, the gods will be near the heart of this kingdom under my rule, now and forever.”

  Victus patted Elberon’s shoulder reassuringly. The cleric looked into his leader’s eyes and saw sincerity and poise. “Thank you, sire,” he said. Then, after a nod to Bayloff, the priest left left the tent. He felt better, but there would still be anxiety until the celebrations of Zentiog

  ***

  For a summer day the wind was gusting hard from northwest to southeast. The temperature was warm so a breeze was welcomed. The scent of the nearby fields of crops was carried on the air. Victus’s army stopped their march a mile from the Rogsnelk. They remained in formation but were at ease. The city was not visible and therefore those on lookout within the city could not see the army. Victus had intentionally marched the army to the east of Rogsnelk because he knew that it would enable them to get close to the city but yet remain out of site due to a series of hills that rolled over the terrain.

  Victus, Bayloff, Orvious and Andres were on their horses fifteen yards ahead of the army. They all looked in the direction of the city of Rogsnelk. Its flags or walls could not yet be seen, but they knew it was there beyond the hills. The wind and sun had each of them squinting.

  “I feel as though I would be a coward were
I not to be the one to enter the council’s chambers myself and inform them that they no longer rule the city.” Victus’s facial features held serious and intense. “It is I that relieves them of their power. Should it not be I who makes it known to the council?” He asked, holding his gaze in the direction of the city.

  “You are the king. This is not the type of thing for you to carry out. This is the duty of your commanders. You will have your chance to address them, but the initial confrontation could be volatile. The council could be surrounded by guards who may foolishly continue to remain loyal to them. It is not worth the risk. We will handle this, sire.” Andres said confidently, his hair blowing lightly in the breeze.

  “Very few will remain loyal to the council. They will gladly join us.” Bayloff chimed in. “Even the council’s bribes will not sustain their allegiance. Look how quickly the decision was made by the scouts.” His eyes looked back towards the army. He was referring to scouts that were sent from Rogsnelk. Their mission was likely to keep an eye out for Faletonians, but when they saw the human army returning, they quickly approached them. The scouts knew many men in the army and embraced the movement they saw happening. They accepted Victus Antonel as their king. They were not expected to return to Rogsnelk until the following day so they just remained with the army and became Victus’s men.

  “Very well,” The King said. He looked back to the army. His men wanted to go home. They wanted to be with their families and bathe and rest. “Bayloff will deliver the news…but not alone.” He turned his blue eyes to his top commander. “You will approach the city with Andres and fifty of your men...good men.” Both Orvious and Andres looked at him curiously, not expecting the king’s messenger to travel with such a detail of soldiers. “I will not have any chance of my men being detained or worse. Orvious, you are to take your army to Abellard, do the same…and be cautious.”

  “I do not have an army, my lord.” Orvious turned his round face towards the soldiers behind them. “It is all your army.” The King did not turn his attention Orvious’s way as the commander rode back to the men and began to round up the troops from Abellard to head home and herald in Victus’s rule.

  “Andres,” Victus said, finally turning his head from the direction of Rogsnelk.

  “Yes sire.”

  “Bring one hundred men with you to support Bayloff.”

  Andres wasn’t quite sure this was the best approach, but he had to learn to not question his king. “Yes sire. And if there is resistance, we will resolve it peacefully.”

  Victus turned to his commander, “And if they won’t accept a peaceful resolution?”

  Andres looked his commander right in the eyes. “Then they will regret resisting.”

  Victus returned his gaze back in the direction of his city.

  Chapter 31

  “Since the men have left for war there have obviously been less boats out to sea, less fishing traffic, and less competition. I, like a select few others, have been chosen to remain behind and continue fishing so that our people may have food,” said the fisherman. He wore the attire of his trade: a vest with several pockets and pair of light shorts with several tools attached to a belt. The smell of fish could be detected on him if one got close enough. He spoke in the center of a chamber before the council of the city of Rogsnelk. The leaders of the city sat on an elevated dais at a U-shaped table. This was the room they used to handle discussions with the people of the city. The fisherman stood humbly at the top of the U, as if it were the gaping maw of a predator fish, and he the prey.

  “And you realize the privilege that remaining here is, don’t you?” Asked Craegan Moorefont.

  “I do. But were I to have to go fight, I would,” the man said proudly.

  “So you were to remain here and fish to help those who were still in the city?”

  “Or to send my catches to the army if need be.”

  “What a just man!” Jordyn Kynburl shouted mockingly. He was a dark skinned man with curly black hair and little patience. “You fish with little to no competition, catching vast quantities of fish, more than ever, and sell them back to the people of the city?” Jordyn’s tone was pointed and sharp.

  The fisherman first looked down then held his chin high, but did not reply.

  Craegan broke a brief silence. “Right. Then with your supply up ten fold, probably more fish than can fit in your boat, you have raised your price by ten percent because there is sparse competition? Yet, you don’t think to pay more to the city as part of your good fortune? Do you not think the city needs money at this time of war?”

  “The city or your own pockets.” The fisherman thought but did not say. Instead he replied. “But I have paid my proper taxes on all the sales. The market has determined the price. I ask and they bid…”

  He was cut off by an outburst from a portly council member named Enrik Heistel. “Don’t be coy with us!”

  Craegan continued in a loud voice. “The market determines the price and we shall determine the tax. You can continue to charge your fellow men higher prices. In fact, you will have to because we are increasing your taxes.”

  “Yes yes…we are at war after all.” The eldest councilman, Shurlos Vinter, said in a raspy voice. He appeared ancient.

  “Indeed… war. So you’re increase will be…” Craegan put a finger to his chin as if pensive. “One hundred and twenty five percent!”

  “Absurd! How could I run a business with such taxes? Surely there is another way. I’ll lower my prices. You’re right, let us do what is right for the rest of the people of Rogsnelk. Forgive me.” He looked down repentantly.

  “You will pay us our taxes and we will do what is right for the people with the funds.”

  “Bullshit!” He was dying to say, but knew it wise to not. “But how..”

  “Leave us!” screamed more than one member of the council.

  “But…” as the fisherman opened his mouth the great door to the chamber opened and a guard was at the door. This was his final cue to leave, lest he find more trouble than higher taxes. The fisherman spun quickly and stomped out of the room. The great door closed behind him.

  “One hundred and twenty five percent?” Asked Jordyn.

  “Yes, I thought we spoke of one hundred percent?” asked another man.

  Craegan poured more wine into his chalice. “We did agree upon that, but I was not liking the way this fastidious fellow carried himself…besides, who is he to grow richer as we have been becoming poorer. He will keep his nets filled or he will find his pockets empty.” He sipped his wine. The room went quiet for a moment and several men looked at each other while considering Craegan’s response. Then, as if all in unison, the chamber broke out in laughter and held their wine cups up in cheers to him.

  The laughter ended abruptly as all eyes turned to the great door, which opened again but only slightly. A guard quickly entered. Guards usually knocked first unless they were summoned. He looked back out of the door then returned his glance to the council. His nervous swallow could be heard from across the room.

  “Well what is it?” One councilman demanded to know what prompted this intrusion.

  “Uhh…some men are coming,” the guard said in a panic.

  “Some men?” Asked Craegan.

  And then, as if on cue, a resounding thump was heard and the great door swung open. In walked an older soldier in armor with a sword sheathed at his waist. Ten men flanked him; all were armed. Several of the councilmen rose to their feet. This was a man they new well.

  “Bayloff! You’ve returned!” said plump Enrik Heistel with a tone both shocked and pleased. Bayloff and his men walked to the center of the room and stopped; the grizzled man then took another large step forward towards the council. “Is the war over? Have the beasts been eradicated?” Asked Enrik.

  “The war is over,” Bayloff replied.

  “Oh thank the gods!” Screamed Zandel Armson while others dramatically sighed in relief or made other elated exclamations.

&nb
sp; “Faletonia has not been destroyed nor disbanded.” Bayloff continued and the council chambers went silent. If they hadn’t already, most were beginning to get an uneasy feeling about the presence of the armored soldiers before them. Bayloff’s demeanor was demanding and grave.

  “And what of our men? Is the army home? Did we…did we lose the war? Where is Victus Antonel?” Asked Craegan Moorefont.

  “We did not lose. As I’m sure you are aware, we sacked Faletonia’s nearest city and took it as ours. Shortly after, we defended the same city against a vicious assault. We would have been defeated. The city would have been all of our graves, were it not for…” Bayloff turned back to the great door, which was still mostly closed, and one of his men lightly blew a small horn made of a goat’s horn. The sound of heavy boots could be heard coming down the hallway. Those councilmen with better vision did not quite understand what their eyes were seeing. Or perhaps they just didn’t think it made much sense. Soon they all saw ten dwarves enter the room. They closed the great door behind them with a boom. “The dwarves of Orzalar. One thousand strong came to our aide with impeccable timing, said Bayloff as he motioned toward the stout warriors.

  The dwarves were clad in armor. They huddled closely together and looked around cautiously before offering the council expressions as solid as the stones of the Singrin Peaks. The bearded contingent felt out of place surrounded by humans in the heart of a human city. The remaining forty of their kin remained with the human army just a hundred paces outside of the city walls.

  “Well then they are truly our allies and we are immensely in their debt,” said Enrik Heisted.

  “We can not thank you enough,” Jordyn Kynburl shouted. His tone lacked sincerity.

  “Indeed!” Craegan said loudly. The rest of the council nodded or muttered concurrences.