He looked down.
“If you are found guilty . . . well, you will be executed.”
“Treason? Executed? Your words cut deeply. I do indeed look forward to looking into the eyes of every one of these so-called ‘soldiers’ who are falsely claiming that I gave them this command. I doubt they will have the nerve to tell their lies to my face!”
“You will be judged based upon their written confessions. You will not be permitted to cross-examine them or see them.”
Sivingdon looked like someone had just thrown a brick and hit him square in the nose. As the shock subsided, however, it was replaced with something else: fury. It rose inside his soul like lava exiting a place where it had rested calmly for centuries, now shooting upwards to erupt.
“This is outrageous! This is a violation of the constitution of this great land! I am being considered guilty until proven innocent and will not have the chance to look my accusers in the eye?! This goes against everything our legal system stands for!”
“Stood for,” corrected King Duchenwald. “That system is for times of peace; this is clearly a national emergency and will be treated as such. You have mere seconds to turn over your sword and armor, or I will have twenty of my fiercest royal bodyguards subdue and imprison you!!”
General Sivingdon was stunned. The lava was not quite ready for eruption.
It rested again. Shock replacing it.
For now.
He felt like everything he had ever believed in had just been proven to be a complete lie. He had believed that Dachwald was a just country. He had believed it had fair laws and a good constitution. He was flabbergasted and sickened. Reluctantly, sadly, and very slowly, he removed his sword and sheath from his belt and removed his breastplate armor, which bore the insignia indicating his generalship. He set it on the ground before the king.
“The trial will be in two days,” said King Duchenwald. “It will be a public trial and will be held in the town square at noon. Please do not show your face around here until then, and get out!”
These last words stung deeply, like a whip on bare skin. He didn’t know what to think. He strongly suspected he was being made a scapegoat. Perhaps some soldiers, mad with hunger, were enticed with the promise of food or out of fear had invented this lie to take the heat off of their shoulders and point the blame in another direction. He turned around and stormed out of the room. As he did so, he looked at the senators’ faces. They were also watching him closely, but as soon as he made eye contact, they quickly looked down or off in another direction, unable to meet his fierce gaze.
As he walked out of the castle gates and back to his mansion, he felt his life was over. He had lost his generalship, upon which he had based most of his sense of purpose and self-worth for nearly as long as he could remember. He had always been patriotic towards Dachwald. He loved her. He had been raised on stories of Dachwaldian legends, of times when Dachwaldians ruled large areas of land and were rich and prosperous. Over time, they had been constantly thwarted from success, however, by the . . . Sodorfians.
(the DAMN Sodorfians)
The Sodorfians had always acted to undermine the Dachwaldians. Oh, yes. This was all the more apparent now. They had ransacked the largest, most vital farms in Dachwald, feigned a desire at alliance, and then pretended to be attacked by Dachwaldians. And all this for what?
(to soften you up for the kill)
If the Sodorfians attacked now, after all, it wouldn’t be the least bit difficult for them to conquer Dachwald. They could probably do so within a few months. Maybe weeks. As these infuriating thoughts raced through his mind, the most pressing demanded attention.
(you’re going to be publicly discredited, humiliated, and EXECUTED!)
How would they do it? he wondered. By archers? The gallows? The ax? He shuddered.
His entire life he had strived for honor and integrity. Sure, there was perhaps some chance he would be found not guilty,
(sure, and one day pigs will fly, monkeys will write poetry, and fish will walk on land holding hands with one another)
but the odds were too low for him to risk it. He knew the government was all too happy to have a scapegoat, especially one as important as him, to blame and thereby shift the focus off its own horrible mistakes and misjudgments that had gotten the Dachwaldian people into this horrible predicament in the first place. He knew the Sodorfians were responsible for this.
(It was a bold move. I’ll give the bastards credit for that, damn ‘em!)
They had gambled on Dachwaldian weakness and pacifism and had won.
(If only you could have taken your troops across the border, you could have crushed them!)
As he thought about this more and more, it became clear there was no reason to go on living. It was time to hang up his sword. Call it a night. His last night.
(can’t win ‘em all sometimes that’s just the way the crap falls)
After living a life of such honor and dedication, he wouldn’t allow himself to be publicly shamed and humiliated as King Duchenwald and the senators obviously planned on doing. There were two options: flee or kill himself. The first option had some appeal to it: He could thereby demonstrate the utter inefficiency of the Dachwaldian government when they failed to find him.
(and you know if you chose to disappear you could; you’re adept at surviving off of the land; you’re knowledgeable about the geography of the mountains and forests of the northern regions; hell, with any luck there will be a revolution and the king and senators will get their just deserts);
However, after thinking it over some more, he decided that he couldn’t live the rest of his life on the run, being thought of as a coward and a criminal. No, unfortunately, he was going to have to hang up his sword and leave this rotten world, this world that had ungratefully decided to use him as a scapegoat despite a lifetime of service to his country. He began considering the different ways he could do the job. He could stab himself with his sword, cut his femoral or carotid artery, jump off a cliff, hang himself. After mulling these options over, he decided he would prefer hanging.
He decided that his death would be completely in vain, however, if he did not leave a note behind explaining why he killed himself. Taking out some parchment and a quill pen, he wrote these words:
I, General Sivingdon, have been forced, due to the egregious injustices of the Dachwaldian government, to take my own life in order to prevent being unjustly and falsely exposed to shame and dishonor. I have been falsely accused of ordering the Vechengschaft to attack the Sodorfians and thereby angering the latter to the point of not being willing to assist us during this horrible famine. Ashamed of the fact that indeed the Sodorfians were to blame and that they should have allowed me to avenge their evil deed from the beginning, the Dachwaldian government, to cover up its own mistakes, cowardice, and stupidity, has decided to come up with bogus claims against me and put me in a capital trial wherein I will be considered guilty until proven innocent and will not have the right to even see, much less confront or cross-examine, my accusers. I implore all those who love Dachwald to rise up against this horrible government and remove its leaders. They are not worthy of ruling this wonderful nation.
It was getting quite dark by now. Sivingdon put the note inside his pocket and began walking towards a cliff nearby his mansion. Part of him wanted to go and say goodbye to his wife before turning in, but he knew if he saw her face he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
It had to be done.
By the cliff, there was a tree, one of whose branches extended over the side of the cliff. He went to his barn and got a twenty-foot rope and came back to the tree. Ironically, it was a beautiful night. Its contradiction to his current circumstances could not have been greater. It was slightly cold. Winters didn’t get very cold in the southern regions of Dachwald, but they did in the north. The moon was full; the stars shone brightly.
“Well, at least I get to die on a beautiful night in this beautiful country that I
love so very much,” he said out loud, not giving a rotten damn if anyone heard him. He took the rope and began forming a noose. He had never hanged a man before, but he certainly had plenty of expertise tying knots. It only took a few moments before he had a perfectly formed noose. He tied the other end to the tree and then wrapped the noose around his neck as he looked off into distance.
“What a damn beautiful country I live in,” he said out loud. He was saddest about leaving his wife, but he did not want her to have to endure the shame of being the widow of a disgraced, executed husband. Perhaps this way, at least, he and she might retain some of their honor.
“Well, ancestors, here I come to spend eternity with you,” he said. He went to the cliff and, without too much hesitation, jumped.
He could feel the wind rushing by his face as he fell, and then suddenly he stopped. Here it comes, he thought to himself: I’ll meet my ancestors.
But he didn’t.
No ancestors.
Wind still rushing against his face. He wasn’t dead. Somehow, he was even breathing normally. This couldn’t be.
(Have I gone insane? Has this all been a horrible dream and nothing more? Am I going to wake up any second?)
Suddenly he felt himself being lifted. Very, very slowly.
“What in Uchinweld’s going on?!!” he shouted.
He continued being levitated. The rope was now hanging limp and lifeless below him . . . yet it was still around his neck. Suddenly, he felt his body being turned.
What he saw nearly made him wet himself. Hundreds of tall, blonde, armor-clad figures, heavily equipped with crossbows, halberds, and swords facing him. In front of them all was a tall, thin man with white hair and eyes as blue as the sky.
(What in Kasani!?)
“Have you given up on Dachwald so easily?” the tall, thin man asked.
“Oh, I see,” he said; “I am dead; you all must be Dachwaldian heroes from years gone by. Well, yes, I apologize; I did indeed give up on Dachwald, but I think it would also be fair to say that Dachwald gave up on—”
“YOU FOOL!!” the tall man thundered. “You’re not dead, and for that you should be thankful, for anyone who has given up on Dachwald, like you were about to, wouldn’t end up in Cixore with Dachwaldian heroes from long ago, but rather in Siphore, to be tormented by Sodorfian scum for eternity!! Now, I ask you again—HAVE you given up on Dachwald? You’re not dead. You are in fact being levitated by the last surviving grandmaster of Glisphin, and if I do not like the next answer that comes out of your mouth, I’ll let you drop; the noose will snap your neck; and you will quickly find out what happens to cowards like you who give up on Dachwald without first shedding their last drop of blood! Now, HAVE YOU given up on Dachwald, or would you like to regain her?!!!”
Sivingdon was in shock. On the one hand, he was experiencing something unexplainable—gravity appeared to be taking the night off. On the other hand, this terrifying person—if he could even be called a person—was arousing his instincts of fear far more greatly than his instincts of doubt.
“W-w-w-well, of course, I’d like to regain her, but I think that it would be nearly impossible. She’s run by cowards and weaklings, and the Sodorfians have plunged us into famine!!”
The shadowy figure smiled. “Good answer,” he said. “You just might survive the night. I decided to save you from killing yourself tonight. Do you know why? Because I’ve been watching you. That’s right. You don’t know it, but I have eyes and ears in many, many places. I know that your heart would like to see Dachwald strong again and to wholly crush the perfidious Sodorfian maggots, but you thought it impossible. Well, let me ask you a question: If I gave you my word that it was not only possible, but probable that this goal could indeed be a reality, to what extent would you go to see this dream achieved?”
Sivingdon was flabbergasted. “I’d do anything! I’d go to the end of the earth, fight the devil . . . give up my soul!”
The man smiled. “Good answer. Now, one more question. One of the reasons I chose you was because I believe you know about Dachwald’s grand past, how we were betrayed at the end of the Seven Years War. Let me ask you, do you know who these men are?”
Having said this, the men lit torches and held them close to their faces so that Sivingdon could get a good look at them. He was stunned, absolutely speechless. He had done lots of military history research, and he knew what these men appeared to be, but . . . .
(no, that’s impossible, they died centuries ago)
“ANSWER!!” shouted the shadowy figure.
“Well, they l-l-l-look like Moscorians, but s-s-s-surely—”
“Right again,” the shadowy figure said. “Your accuracy is improving greatly; at this rate, I strongly believe you’re not only going to survive tonight, but also do great things for Dachwald. However, before I can be totally sure, I have just one last question: who am I?”
Sivingdon hesitated; he thought all the grandmasters of Glisphin had died several millennia ago. According to Dachwaldian history, they had all been hunted to extermination by the Sodorfians . . . but there had been a legend that one had survived, and that this person’s name was Tristan. He hesitated, but he felt more afraid of denying the possibility than affirming it.
“T-T-Tristan?” he said, “The last surviving grandmaster of Glisphin?” He flinched after saying the words; he was afraid he had perhaps spoken incorrectly and would be dropped to a certain death below. Somehow his life had gained immense importance, and he was now scared to death of falling.
“CORRECT!!!” Tristan responded, and then he started moving his fingers in the air, untying the noose without touching it. Once untied, Sivingdon was left hanging in the night air, held by nothing other than unseen forces this man was somehow able to manipulate. Tristan held out his hand, and slowly drew Sivingdon towards him. Sivingdon shuddered as he looked down into the utter blackness which would be his death if Tristan stopped levitating him. He breathed a sigh of relief once his feet hit terra firma.
“Now, the first thing we’re going to have to get straight is the chain of command, from the bottom to the top: the Dachwaldian populace, then the Vechengschaft, then the Moscorians, then me. You will very rarely see me. In fact, you may never see me again. I prefer to work behind the scenes, but, as many of the Moscorians can attest, occasionally I just can’t resist getting involved in the action. Now, as you well know, this country is on the point of collapse, and the current government has got to go. Fortunately for you, the Moscorians here are going to help you take care of that. What I need from you is quite simple. To swear an oath of allegiance to me and to the Moscorians right now. After that, I need you to promise me that once the Moscorians take over and the Vechengschaft has been properly retrained, which will take some time, you will make the Vechengschaft swear loyalty to Feiklen”—Tristan pointed to Feiklen—“as ruler over all of Dachwald. He, of course, will answer to me; but they don’t need to know that. You’re not to mention my name to anyone other than the Moscorians. If you do, I’ll find out. And if and when I find out, you’ll wake up one night to see my face hovering over yours, and it’ll be the last thing you ever see. We’re going to make this country great again—are you with us?”
“Yes, master,” General Sivingdon responded. Tristan then proceeded to have him repeat the oath:
I acknowledge that in this great world that we call Gackse there is one nation and one people destined to rule all others. That nation is Dachwald; its people are Dachwaldians. The destiny intended for Dachwaldians by the powers that created this world was one of conquerors and rulers, not beggars and slaves. For hundreds of millennia the Dachwaldians ruled as intended, but due to the most evil race of man ever conceived—the Sodorfians—the Dachwaldians fell from grace and have continued to be thwarted by their enemy, the Sodorfians. All other peoples can be dealt with and reasoned with, when possible, but as long as there is a Sodorfian alive in this world, Dachwaldians will continue to suffer and anger the gods by failing to
live up to the purpose predestined for them. The gods have chosen the Dachwaldians as a favored race, and are angry with the Dachwaldians for failing them time and time again. For great love of the Dachwaldians, however, their paternal love has been ever patient. But it will not always be so, for if we fail to destroy the Sodorfians categorically, the gods will certainly annihilate our people in anger for having let them down. I acknowledge that there is only one group of Dachwaldians strong enough to help the Dachwaldians overcome their petty differences and unite as one to destroy the Sodorfians. That group is the Moscorians; its leader is Tristan, the last of the grandmasters of Glisphin, and the last hope of the Dachwaldians. I hereby swear this solemn oath in front of all present that I will shed my last drop of pure Dachwaldian blood in this struggle against the Sodorfians and will unquestioningly serve the Moscorians and Tristan, who alone can make victory possible, and if I shall ever break this oath, I am aware and it is my desire that my tongue shall be ripped out at the seam and my eyes plucked out.
Tristan smiled. “Welcome,” he said.
Chapter 26
Sergeant Iginverd was dead tired. He had been standing at his post now for about ten hours straight, which was located in the final stretch of the tunnel below Castle Dachwald that went straight into the heart of the castle. He guarded the doorway leading to this final stretch.
Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2) Page 17