by CS Sealey
ABOUT EQUILIBRIUM: EPISODE 3
The Ronnesians are forced to answer for their deception, which comes at a deadly price.
Lord General Archis Varren, intent on avenging the murder of his predecessor, has traced the assassination contract to the Ronnesian Mayor Challan, one of Queen Sorcha’s most valued supporters.
Meanwhile, Vrór viciously attacks the Ronnesian capital of Te’Roek, luring Angora back from her self-appointed mission in the north. The two Leikas finally come face to face and their ensuing battle takes them far from the city. But is this fight one Angora can possibly win?
In the aftermath of the attack, Varren hatches his plan to cripple Queen Sorcha’s power at its very source and the equilibrium begins to tip.
CONTENTS
ABOUT EQUILIBRIUM: EPISODE 3
MAPS
EPISODE THREE: 368 Third Era
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
ABOUT EQUILIBRIUM: EPISODE 4
ABOUT CS SEALEY
COPYRIGHT
EPISODE THREE
368 Third Era
CHAPTER 25
Rasmus trudged wearily up the main street of Te’Roek toward one of his favorite places in the city, Berri Tavern. The lingering chill of winter still clung to the street and the trees lining the main street showed little sign of new growth upon their branches, even though spring had already arrived. The ride down from the northern border had been long and arduous, more so than ever before. A horse had been delivered to him at Calormen, well groomed, with a message from Commander Tiron that Rasmus should return to Te’Roek for some much needed recuperation. Apart from collapsing onto his bed and going straight to sleep, having a drink with his brother was the only thing Rasmus wanted to do. He grinned when he spotted Tiderius and hastened up the slope to meet him, putting aside his aches and pains.
“How’s things?” Tiderius asked, pulling him into a warm embrace. “You look as good as new.”
“So the healers say,” Rasmus reported, leading the way into the tavern.
“Let’s see them, then.”
Rasmus lifted up his left hand begrudgingly and wriggled his remaining fingers.
“Not bad,” Tiderius said, eyebrows raised. “They’ve done a pretty good job, considering what they had to work with. How’s the rest of you?”
“Almost back to normal. I was lying around for I don’t know how many weeks! But I think the warmer climate will do wonders for me.”
They went straight to the bar, ordered two ales each, and headed up to the roof garden. The sky was darkening in the east and the sunset was spoilt somewhat by the bank of thick clouds drifting in from the distant coast.
“So…” Tiderius said, setting himself down on the floor with his back against the low wall. “The north is calm, is it?”
“I just don’t understand it,” Rasmus said after a lengthy draft of ale. “Not even a whisper of an army now on the other side of the river. It’s as if they’ve simply packed up and gone home, though I won’t start hoping yet. During the winter, it didn’t seem so unusual, but even when spring arrived, there was still no sign of them. We’ve received the same report from Kilsney for a full fortnight: nothing.”
“I suppose they’re mourning for their general,” Tiderius said. “He was assassinated.”
“What?” Rasmus exclaimed, sitting up.
“In his own home.”
“Bloody hell!”
“Varren left us a note accusing the queen of having organized it.”
“Ah, that explains the absence of an army at the front line at least. They’ll be adjusting to a new commander.”
“We suspect Varren himself has taken up the mantle.”
“What, a mage?”
“The others seem quite certain.”
“Cassios told me that transport ships were seen going up the river, so there must be someone in charge,” Rasmus reasoned. “They only went past one night but there were so many of them – eight, I think he said.”
“If they were all large vessels,” Tiderius muttered, “we’re looking at thousands of men.”
“They just went up the river, silent as ghosts, and haven’t returned. Must be regrouping in Delseroy for another invasion.”
“They’ve used that tactic before,” Tiderius said, nodding. “Remember that six-month truce just before Corhillar died? The last battle before his death was brutal! That’s when I got most of my scars.”
“Yes, just before Angora came. Have you heard from her?”
“No,” Tiderius said, sighing. “I had half expected to see her at the front line but she remains elusive. Aiyla can’t find her, not even a glimpse. She simply disappeared.”
“What did you say to her?” Rasmus asked accusingly.
“Nothing!” Tiderius exclaimed. “She was angry she couldn’t go north to protect the farmsteads should the Ayon invasion break through our defenses. After the queen said no, she ripped up her oath and left. I tried to calm her down, but you know what her temper is like!”
“She just needs time. I was there the day you lot recruited her, remember? She did not want to go.”
“But it’s been months now! How much time does she need to calm down? And she can’t very well protect every town and village south of the border on her own. What in the world is she doing?”
Rasmus shrugged and took another long draft of his ale. “So what else has been happening here?”
“The queen sent both Markus and Kayte south to seek alliances with Zennor, Gorran and Esgarth but, as of yet, they haven’t been successful. I gather they’re supposed to move on after that but I’m not sure where else they can go. Even if the elves do agree to help, which I doubt they will, they wouldn’t be able to get up here in time for any war. They’d probably arrive at the battlefield just in time for the clean-up, then they can sprinkle their elvish dust on everything and make the flowers grow!”
Rasmus laughed and drained his first mug of ale before starting on his second. Tiderius sighed and slowly finished his first.
Rasmus felt very content, being back in the city he called home. The familiar sights and the sound of his brother’s voice helped him momentarily forget about the troubles in the north. However, when Tiderius went downstairs to refill their mugs, he found himself wondering why King Samian and the Ayons were remaining strangely silent at the northern border after massing such a large force. What were they waiting for?
CHAPTER 26
Each morning in the streets of Delseroy, puddles were still frozen and the cobblestones were covered in a thin layer of ice. Healers were overrun with patients with sprained ankles and fractured wrists. The city guards had been forced to organize street sweepers to grit even the lower city streets to prevent serious injuries. Those who had to brave the cold did so with heavy jackets and walked with eyes cast to the ground, anxious to avoid the slippery patches. Varren walked briskly, casting a heat spell to melt the ice in his path. He held a small decorated box in his hand, containing several important documents needing his immediate attention. He had made journeys to Delseroy’s trading office multiple times over the past few days, awaiting the arrival of this very box. Now that it was finally here, he would know the complete numbers of men and ships he could expect from Monreith.
The hilly kingdom to the west had signed a truce with the Ayon Empire one hundred and fifty years previously and had been an important ally, politically and economically, ever since. Discussions had recently commenced
between King Samian and King Marn of Monreith about strengthening their alliance even further. By incorporating Monreith into the Ayon Empire, as Samian proposed, he would give them protection and support in any endeavor in return for their manpower in the current war.
“I have sent my most gifted ambassadors,” King Samian had told Varren, “and I’m confident that they will succeed in persuading my cousin of the advantages of my proposal.”
“Distant cousin,” Varren had reminded him. “Just remember that many still hold grudges for the bitter war before the truce.”
“Perhaps, but I have offered him a consulship. He will retain all his current wealth and power, but with one condition.”
“And that is?”
“That he will report back to me on all important matters of state. He will retain his status as ruler but under my jurisdiction. I will recognize his sons as his successors but should they think to introduce laws contrary to our best interests, then I shall be forced to veto their implementation.”
“And this scheme is of your own design?” Varren had asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’m impressed.”
“Perhaps you should be proud instead,” Samian had said, smiling. “After all, you did teach me everything I know.”
The ambassadors had now been in the capital of Monreith, Myia’Suene, for a considerable amount of time. That could only mean that King Marn was taking the proposal seriously and might just agree to it. Marn had already promised Varren twenty thousand men, but with the discussions still taking place, he dearly hoped the documents he held would reveal that Marn would pledge even more.
He crossed the upper city courtyard and was admitted through the castle perimeter gates. The guards bowed as he passed and muttered, “Lord General.” Varren was still getting used to the title. Though he relished the power of his new position, he still wished the king had thought to promote one of the captains instead. He preferred to battle with magic rather than his sword, though he was very capable. Whenever he had a moment to spare away from his duties at court, he busied himself toning his muscles and experimenting with binding magic and steel. So far, he had had mixed results.
“Archis, at last!”
Varren glanced up and saw the king standing on the balcony above the castle doors.
“I’ve been looking for you. Meet me in my library, would you?” The king turned on his heel and disappeared inside. Varren sighed, and tightened his grip on the box.
Samian welcomed him into his personal library a little while later and, after firmly closing the door, the king offered Varren one of two grand chairs in front of the fireplace. Varren glanced at the fire and flicked his wrist lazily, causing the flames to grow stronger and warmer.
Samian chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were reading my mind, Archis.”
“Never, sir, of course.”
The king laughed and gave Varren a friendly punch on the arm. Varren took the strike with forced good humor and sat, placing the box on his lap.
“Something important?” Samian asked, nodding to the box.
“I hope so,” Varren said. “I just received it from the trading office.”
“News from Marn? Open it.”
Varren flicked open the box’s decorative clasps. Inside, the wood was lined with silk. The two documents within were sealed with red wax. Without saying a word, Varren removed the documents, placed the box aside, then broke the seals. He read in silence but was aware of the king watching him expectantly.
“The first is for you, I believe,” Varren said, handing over the document. “An update from your ambassadors regarding your proposal.”
King Samian accepted it eagerly and read with his eyes wide. Varren returned his gaze to the second and more important of the two documents. It was a detailed description of each and every unit King Marn intended to send to Delseroy. He smiled and lowered the report, feeling better than he had for weeks.
“I don’t believe it!” Samian exclaimed. “The discussions have been going on for weeks now and all they have to report is that King Marn is still deliberating! Look.” The king pointed to a passage in the letter. “Talks have, as of yet, been inconclusive, but I assure His Majesty that progress is being made. What is that supposed to mean? Progress? I can see no evidence of it!”
“Perhaps, then, you should listen to what I have to report,” Varren said, crossing his legs comfortably.
“Go on, then,” King Samian said impatiently, his anger subsiding.
“Before your proposal, King Marn promised us twenty thousand men from across his nation, which was a generous offer. Now, after you have initiated talks regarding a more permanent alliance, it seems he is more willing to involve his nation in the war. See, he now promises thirty thousand men. He has already started sending infantry and cavalry but says his siege machines will take longer to construct and prepare for safe travel.”
Samian was stunned. Varren could not help but chuckle, for it was not often that the king was rendered speechless.
“Well, Your Majesty, would you consider that good news?”
Samian grinned and a short laugh burst from his lips. “The best I’ve heard in months!”
Archis Varren nodded his agreement and folded the second document before replacing both inside the box. Even if King Marn was understandably reluctant to surrender complete autonomy of his nation, he was more than willing to send his men to aid his ally. Thirty thousand men would boost the Ayon army to a size that could outnumber the Ronnesian force three to one, and he was still waiting on some of his promised units from the far east of Turgyl, which would increase the army’s capacity to almost one hundred thousand men. His smile widened at the thought of having sufficient strength to finally eliminate the Ronnesians.
“I believe I was right in placing you as general,” the king said, rising from his chair. “Ever since you took over command, our force has doubled in size. Not to mention the fact you managed to track down Tirk and bring him to justice.”
“I still have to decide how to deal with Mayor Challan,” Varren admitted, ignoring the praise. “I don’t wish to stoop down to their level by assassinating him, but his death has long been desired.”
“Would Queen Sorcha exile him if she knew what he had done?”
“I’m not sure,” Varren said. “She might wish to brush off the matter.”
“Then go to Te’Roek. If he squeals, record his every word and take a testament to the queen. Monitor what she does.”
“And if she does nothing, even with his confession?”
King Samian thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. In that instant, he looked unexpectedly like his father. Varren watched him closely, his own mind working. Yes, if he could force Queen Sorcha to banish one of her most trusted advisers, that would shake the city even more than finding the mayor dead.
“If she doesn’t act,” the king said, “let it be known that crime in the Ronnesian Empire no longer carries any consequences.”
He turned to Varren and their eyes met. For a moment, Varren thought his master was joking but very quickly realized otherwise. The king’s mind was growing more cunning as the weeks progressed. He was fast becoming a great politician like his father.
“It would certainly test their faith in their queen,” Varren said.
“My thoughts exactly. After her deception over my marriage proposal, I have been waiting to take a small act of revenge. Riots, pandemonium and mass crime in the capital will give her something to think about. I’m sure you know what to do, Archis.”
Varren nodded and turned to leave.
“Remember that Challan was the one responsible for Carter’s death,” Samian added. “Don’t be afraid to hurt him, physically or mentally. I want that man scared to death of you by this evening. Understood?”
Varren grinned. “It will be my pleasure, Your Majesty.’
CHAPTER 27
“My lord, another servant from Her Majesty,” the maid reported, curtseying in the doorway
.
Mayor Challan looked up from his writing table and sighed. He had already received three of the queen’s servants that day, all regarding the necessary preparations the people of Te’Roek would have to make in the coming weeks. In the event of an emergency, such as the city being under siege, temporary warehouses were being constructed away from the outer wall to provide shelter for those ordered to evacuate their houses. From conversations with General Kaster and some of his senior captains, Mayor Challan understood that the enemy would attempt to block off supply routes and then launch flaming projectiles over the wall to cause chaos and destruction. With the citizens cleared from the areas closest to the outer wall, the casualties would be minimal. The only problem remaining was how to stock enough food to supply a city for an indefinite length of time should the Ayons be successful in establishing the blockade. The letters between Challan and the queen had addressed the problem of where to store and distribute the rations. The queen thought the market district would be best but Mayor Challan was not confident of the area’s security. The mayor had been stuck at his table for the better part of the day and his back ached.
The maid cleared her throat and Challan flinched, suddenly remembering she was there.
“What, Mary?”
“The queen has sent another messenger, sir.”
“Oh, right. Yes. Show him in, then,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his hand.
She did so and returned a moment later with a tall, smartly dressed man. Mayor Challan rose from his chair to meet the man he had already received twice that day. They exchanged a mutual glance of weariness before Challan extended his hand for the message. He broke the dark blue wax and ran his eyes quickly over the words.
“Ah,” he said, reaching the end of the letter. “You may inform Her Majesty that the reformed suggestions are met with wholehearted support and that I look forward to discussing the final arrangements at her convenience.”