The Orb of Wrath

by Nic Weissman

With a stroke of the spur, the warhorse began his ride around the track of the tournament. Abakai leaned forward to get the maximum range with his spear and prepare for impact. His opponent came from the front at a blistering pace, while the large audience held their breath.

  The knight he was competing against was Elynath, champion from the Mark of Calen. A warrior of great experience, equally feared and respected by all his contenders, and had also been a champion of the tournament of the kingdom of Bor twice. They said his white horse, Mephineus, was the fastest of the ones competing: a thoroughbred of the Aurum Emirates. The spear struck the armor of the opposing knight with a huge roar.

  Vargarr watched, carefree, from the Royal Box. As a Major from the Bor Army, he had the privilege of attending this box as guest of honor at any occasion. He always tried to attend when the most famous knights participated in the competition. He enjoyed thinking that, with a little luck, one of the gentlemen would die during the joust. This would make the show more vibrant and interesting. It was so tedious and boring when the warriors turned out unharmed! Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Who do you think will win?” Lakajev asked, as he sat on Vargarr's left.

  “Elynath has more experience, and still has a formidable arm. He's a famous knight and most people see him as a favorite,” the Major answered.

  “How about you?”

  “I bet on Abakai. I've seen him training with the military during the last month.” Vargarr laughed under his breath.

  “Um! Maybe I should have gone with him too.”

  The contestants galloped back to their starting positions, where their squires waited to facilitate a new spear. In a match like that, they had five each. In the first attack Abakai had taken a direct hit in the chest, and had lost his spear with the strike, without hurting his opponent. The knights collected their second spear.

  “Are you sure that Abakai is a safe option? I see him limping a little after that blow.”

  “Ha ha ha! No way! The impact wasn't that bad. I think that he's actually faking an injury. I would say that he's going to try to tire the Calen champion before going on the offensive. Pay close attention during the fourth spear.”

  Count Lakajev was not particularly fond of tournaments and jousts. But he always wanted them to be regularly celebrated in his county. It was the best entertainment for the common people, and a distracted populace was easier to manipulate. It was easier for them to accept a tax increase or a change in regulation to extend the powers of the Count. “Bread and circuses,” he had been told by his tutor when he studied before joining the County's militia.

  He turned to watch Vargarr, who missed nothing of the fight, with a sadistic glint in his eyes. He found Vargarr to be rather unpleasant, but he was one of the best allies that he could count on for his goals. In addition, Vargarr was also very ambitious and this was always useful.

  “Since you've come here, I understand that you have news,” Vargarr asked.

  “You understand well,” the Count said.

  “Has Devgon returned?”

  “Yesterday afternoon I visited him at the close of the session of the Chamber.”

  “Wait, pay attention now,” Vargarr warned.

  After two more thrusts without major damage from any of the opponents, the Knights collected their fourth spear. Without having put his horse in position, Abakai started surprisingly, making a sharp turn with the reins. His horse turned electrically and galloped in a trained move. This last sprint seemed much more violent than the ones that preceded it.

  Calmly, Elynath placed his horse in position and also galloped. He spurred his horse to try to reach speed quickly. But it was too late. At three quarters of the track, Abakai's spear accurately struck the old champion and threw him off his horse. The tremendous impact broke the spear into many pieces.

  “Yiha!” Vargarr hissed. “Now you will see why he has chosen the fourth spear for his surprise attack.”

  Abakai quickly rode the way back to the position of his squire and picked up the fifth and final spear. Attacking a rimless knight with a spear was not considered a particularly honorable maneuver, but it was perfectly legal. Again he galloped, this time aiming at the head of his opponent. It was a deadly attack.

  “Didn't they ban that maneuver?” Lakajev asked.

  “Some idiot introduced the amendment last year. But I saw to it that Central Tournament Committee didn't accept it,” Vargarr said with delight.

  Elynath waited, sitting on the floor without making any effort to get up. Standing wasn't so simple from that position wearing full armor of nearly four arrobes of weight. The old champion knew this could be his end. Abakai's spear was approaching at high speed, directly pointing at him. In the stands of the tournament, an anguished whisper was heard.

  Surprisingly, with a quick swipe of his arm, Elynath managed to divert the point of the spear to the side and down. The movement surprised Abakai, who couldn't stop the path of the gallop. Then the inevitable happened. The spear stuck in the ground. Abakai lost his balance. His horse stumbled and fell, dismounting Abakai abruptly.

  Elynath knew that where the horse ended up at that moment was pure luck. The animal could kill him with the impact of his weight moving at high speed. But that was not what happened. One of the hind legs hit him without great consequence, as the horse fell to the side.

  Abakai had been thrown to the side and looked slightly stunned. Elynath knew he had to seize the opportunity. He rose laboriously and quickly approached his flag.

  “Greatsword!” he bellowed urgently.

  His squire took the weapon and quickly gave it to his knight, who quickly turned to return to combat. The knights were armed with a short sword in their belt, even as they rode. But this sword was too light to cause damage easily on full armor. The greatsword was heavy and unwieldy, but devastating when used with skill and determination. Abakai approached his fallen shield, picked it up and leaned it against him to get on his feet. Before he had time to draw his short sword, the Calen Champion shook him with a powerful blow that he managed to contain with the shield with difficulty.

  “Surely you didn't expect this,” Lakajev said.

  “The champion could not be so easy to defeat. But this is not over. What did Devgon tell you?” the Major asked.

  Abakai quickly drew his short sword while preparing the shield against a new onslaught of the champion's sword.

  “He told me it cost almost twice what we had expected, but he managed to get it,” the Count answered.

  “That's good news, but... almost twice as much! How is it possible?” the Major roared.

  “He says he could not access the seller on time and it ended in a secret auction. You know how these things are. It seems that everything was disbanded a little and he had to pay much more than expected to acquire it.”

  Elynath breathed tiredly as he lifted the heavy sword for another blow. Then, Abakai started with a brilliant gallop with his shield forward and charged the Calen by surprise while he held the sword up. The champion fell back and lost the two-handed grip on the greatsword. Before he could react, Abakai was upon him with the edge of his short sword at his throat. The fight was over.

  The stands, surprised with the victory of the young local, roared cheers and gibberish. Part of the audience began shouting shyly the new hero's name: Abakai! Abakai! Soon, the opposite stand began to roar to a far greater outcry: Bor! Bor! Bor!

  For some inexplicable reason, despite being the capital of the Kingdom, Deepcliff wasn't used to producing famous champions. Most of the warriors of the capital who had achieved success and fame came from neighboring counties and marks. Lakajev watched Vargarr look at the square with satisfaction.

  “Looks like you now have your local hero,” the Count said.

  “Exactly, this will attract more people to the tournament, which will create more vocations in the brave young people to join the Army. The Province of Central Bor is the most populated, but proportionally,
it's the one that has the fewest soldiers,” the Major reasoned.

  “Being at the center of the country, you do not have a border to defend. That's what the Marks are for. And in any case, the province of Bor continues to have a militia of more than fifteen thousand soldiers, in addition to the power of having the Army Headquarters of the Kingdom here.”

  “I see you know the numbers well, for not being a man of special dedication to weapons. Let’s go to a more private place while the next fight doesn't start,” the Major requested, while pointing the way to the Count.

  They walked into a room located behind the box, inside the Royal Castle. After crossing the room, they looked out to a balcony overlooking the main square inside the enclosure. A thick layer of clouds left just a glimpse of the midday sun in the sky of the capital. It was a warm day in late autumn. The temperature had dropped considerably since the summer, although the harsh winter had not begun yet. In the distance, the roar of the stands of the tournament could be heard, still chanting and cheering.

  “How do we know that the orb is authentic?” the Major asked.

  “Devgon took Urlabus with him; you know, the magician he confides in. Urlabus recognized and identified the object before the auction began. All bidders had option,” the Count explained.

  “Yes, of course. If there is no doubt of its authenticity, you can get a much higher price. How have they transported it? They say that if it's not handled correctly, you can go crazy in a second, or it can even kill you.”

  “Urlabus was prepared with a special container. I guess with an inhibitor spell or something like that.”

  “What has Devgon said about the gold?” Vargarr asked.

  “That he will talk to his contacts in the Chamber and the Industrial Association to request additional funds for our mission,” Lakajev said.

  “As long as you don't ask me,” Vargarr clarified. “Devgon was responsible for the gold and the orb, you of the Marquis, and I of the maneuvers and King. That was the deal,” clarified Vargarr.

  A figure approached the doorway from inside the room. For some reason, Lakajev had not heard his footsteps. He could observe that it was a reasonably well-dressed dark elf. But not enough to be one of the guests of honor. He had some disturbing red eyes, one of the most distinctive and common signs of the dark elves. The Count noticed that the figure avoided entering the balcony and had stopped just at the point where the shade that the cornice of the building provided ended. He had heard stories of how the dark elves avoided direct sunlight whenever they could. They were accustomed to places with low light, like caves or the underground. Nothing prevented them from staying under the sun, but the shadows or darkness were their preference. The elf waited before speaking.

  “What is it, Phoroz?” Vargarr asked.

  “The next battle is about to begin, sir,” the elf said.

  “I'll go in a little while. I have some business to attend to,” the Major said.

  The elf got lost inside the room, with the same secrecy with which it had appeared. Lakajev could not help feeling a chill down his spine.

  “I did not know you had that servant. It is something unconventional,” the Count asked.

  “Ha ha ha! You're jealous! Indeed, Phoroz is extremely helpful and very good at certain types of tasks,” Vargarr commented mysteriously.

  “Where did you get him? And where did you keep him?”

  “I found him a couple of years ago in the woods of Hardin, in the marks. He was bound and badly wounded. He was to be dinner for a group of ogres.”

  “Ogres!”

  “Yes. We were going to see the Marquis of Mositus, and decided to cut through the forest. Although it is not a recommended road, you save some time. When we had boarded, I heard the sound of a campfire and went with two of my men by a flank. At that time there was only one ogre on guard. It seemed that the others had gone hunting. We eliminated the ogre, catching it off guard. And thank goodness. He was incredibly strong! Despite being surprised, with a blow of his ax, he cut one of my men in half before we could finish him off.”

  “And then I guess you'd get out of there as quickly as possible.”

  “Not really. Before releasing the elf, I made him an offer he could not refuse. He had to swear to serve me until the end of my days or I'd leave him there to be chopped up and end up in the stomachs of those ogres.”

  “I see. You're very generous.”

  “Ha ha ha! If you think it's a good deal for someone who can live several thousand years. At the end of the day, I saved his life,” Vargarr reasoned, satisfied.

  “But, although we have met often during the last three months, I'd never seen him,” the Count inquired.

  “True, he was out there, doing some errands. Like I said, he's very clever and very useful. And, no, I will not consider giving it to you, even if you are a very dear friend,” Vargarr commented with a sarcastic twist.

  Thundering trumpets sounded. The next battle was beginning. Vargarr looked thoughtfully at the castle square, where some soldiers were training, before resuming the conversation.

  “Then Urlabus will be responsible for activating the orb?” the Major asked.

  “That's right,” the Count confirmed.

  “Did he explain how it works? From the moment they activate it, how long do we have?”

  “The effect begins immediately. So, discounting some minimal skirmish, the bulk of enemies might appear a few hours after,” Lakajev explained.

  “We should prepare ourselves a few leagues of the border—say about three leagues—perhaps on a hill or other breeding grounds. This way no one will doubt that the attack was not provoked.”

  “Yes, I had considered that,” the Count lied.

  “Also, we must minimize the garrison of the border. The excuse would be to mobilize some of these men to participate in the maneuvers,” Vargarr planned.

  “I don't understand. Why?”

  “That way we can show the King's men how the orcs have killed our border guard, and give a dramatic touch to the story.”

  “But it will be a slaughter!” Lakajev commented, disgusted.

  “Exactly. I see you're getting it. However, if we are to wait inland with the bulk of the troops, the border will have no choice. By moving troops to the maneuvers, we minimize losses, while reinforcing our story,” Vargarr mused, machiavellian.

  “I see you have it all figured out.”

  “How long does the effect last?” Vargarr asked.

  “Urbalus said about three days. But, possibly, after the first 24 hours, there won't be more battles; maybe some minimal skirmish,” Lakajev said.

  “Good. I need to coordinate times. I have to call a man of the King's utmost confidence to visit the maneuvers; say, after half of the second day. In this way, they won't have the opportunity to see how we activate the orb. At the same time, there is probably an opportunity to show some skirmish, although we will have finished most of the work. In any case, a field strewn with orcs' corpses three leagues inland at the Mark will be irrefutable proof.”

  “The plan seems solid, but what about General Bellish?” the Count asked.

  Vargarr's face suddenly changed.

  “That bastard will not be able to do anything. I'm almost tempted to invite him also the second day of maneuvers. So I can see his face of fear and cowardice, when he realizes that nothing and nobody can prevent a war on a large scale,” Vargarr said with an angry look.

  “Calm down, man. And think about it. I personally prefer not to have the old man there. He has damn good timing,” the Count said.

  “Yes, I know,” Vargarr remarked with a snort of resignation. “If he appears at the wrong time, he would immediately question the size of the maneuvers. We cannot mobilize troops over a territory without an explicit royal warrant. And in this case, to be sure of the victory, we will mobilize all territorial troops of two marks and two counties. I may even convince the King that the orcs have attacked when they realized the scale of the mane
uvers, as a defensive act.”

  “That would ruin all of the plans.”

  “That's why it is very important that in the middle of the night, after the first day of battle, the bulk of troops of Kiyats, Borydos and Golsou stay away from the battlefield and hide in a forest. We can call them to return a few days later, in order to ‘strengthen’ the border.”

  “I agree. Moreover, the regrouping of troops could be the start of a full-scale campaign where we'll crush the kingdom of Fugor,” Lakajev commented with ecstasy.

  “I see you do not know a lot about logistics,” Vargarr commented with a gesture of contempt. “To prepare the campaign, with its supplies, logistics routes, and all the necessary organization requires many weeks. Besides, that's what Devgon and his contacts of the Chamber and the Industrial Association want, right? The opportunity to make big business with the war.”

  “Yeah, what about what you want? General Bellish is too old to lead a large-scale campaign. If the war begins, as number two in the Army, in practice you would lead the campaign. The general would become a mere figurehead. And rather sooner than later would be forced to resign. You would become the general of all the armies of the kingdom of Bor.”

  Vargarr turned and looked carefully at Lakajev. The Count had perfectly understood his intentions. Now Lakajev knew he had a lot to lose if the plan did not go forward for some reason and the war didn't start. That placed him in a situation of vulnerability in possible future discussions. So, he decided to change tactics and raise the bet.

  “It's possible you're right. But let's talk about what you want. You've managed to align the marquis and a count with your position regarding this war. If the campaign starts and we win, you'll earn enormous prestige. First, the ‘vision of the state’ demonstrated between the nobility to devise this initiative; second, for the period of peace that would follow a victory in a campaign like that; third, to provide enrichment to all who were properly positioned around you. In the latter, Devgon's help would be invaluable.”

  “True, but I don't see what's so special about all of it,” Lakajev replied.

  “The campaign would allow you to win prestige, influence, power and you'll also win a lot of money too; all very necessary for your following objectives,” Vargarr said.

  “What objectives?” the Count asked.

  “Though the King isn't very old yet, he's not going to live forever. You're much younger than him. Anyways, there are always other ways …”

  “If you're implying ...”

  “I'm not implying anything. But the fact is that with that kind of military success, you would have many options to align two other counties with you, and then you'd have six votes. You could win the next Reprobation Ceremony and end the Eladel House. Next, it would be a natural step to replace them with your own house and just take the Crown.”

  This time it was Lakajev who stopped and looked attentively and scrutinized his speaker. All the bets were off. They all had a lot to gain from this war and, therefore, they all had the most interest in taking things forward without wasting time.

  “I think it's time to return to the box,” Vargarr declared.

  In the background, the trumpets sounded, announcing the end of combat. Although Lakajev had missed part of the show, it was worthwhile to clarify things and make plans.

  “What comes next? Oh yeah! The archery contest.”

  CHAPTER 3: ARROWS AND BOWS