by Awert, Wolf
The prince stayed in the chamber for a long time, talking to his dead father. He knew he would never be heard, would never receive a response, but that would not save him from the reckoning. Sergor-Don was alone behind closed doors for so long that he began to hear voices; they worried about him – might not the young prince need aid in his sorrow? But everyone who tried to enter was repelled by the guards. Many hours passed before the prince opened the door and stepped out to meet those who had waited.
“A great king has left us. We shall honor him for a full moon’s cycle.”
Haltern-kin-Eben leaned towards Grand General Sarch and whispered mockingly: “The less we mourn, the longer the festivities.”
“And take down the pathetic rags from Gulffir’s towers. I wish to see great black banners, whipping in the wind, to capture the truth of our sorrow. And…”
The prince paused for a moment as he waited for the muttering in the hall to stop.
“And I wish for the black banners to be accompanied with the red flags of our kingdom. We will show the world our sadness, but we will not let them forget, even for a heartbeat, that the Fire Kingdom stands as it always has and always will. Mighty, proud and strong.
“Now go and mourn your king. Return to your homes, to your families, or ride out into the lonely plains of our lands. Mourn for him. Tomorrow, I expect all of you to return. I beg the company of Auran-San, Haltern-kin-Eben and General Astergrise.”
Once the double doors had again filled the hall with their echoing bang as they shut, the prince turned to his advisors.
“We ought to find a more private area.”
“This way, your Highness,” Auran-San said as he led them into another chamber. He signaled to a servant to bring refreshments.
“You have ridden long and hard, Prince Sergor. A little fireless wine will do you well.”
“You have my thanks. It has indeed been a long day, full of impatience and the pain of saying farewell. I do not wish to keep anyone longer than necessary. What I need is an estimate of the position we are in. We have much work to do.”
“Your Majesty,” Auran-San began, noticing as he did that the prince straightened at the address. “Your Majesty, all the troops, with the exception of the border guard, have returned to Gulffir to protect the king. Our supplies are spent, our gold scarce.”
“I noticed upon my arrival that many representatives of the tribes are camped outside the city. What is the reason for this?”
Auran-San had difficulty concealing his amusement.
“The tribes wish to negotiate. Could there be a better time for it than a change in regency? They want more independence, more money, more rights, a voice in matters of the kingdom. I would advise heeding them in certain things; we do not have the strength to quench a rebellion. The long years of experience your advisors have will see us through. There will be a long fight, and in the end common sense will triumph. We mustn’t act too hastily. The tribes need their king as the king needs his tribes.”
Haltern-kin-Eben nodded.
“And the troops?” Sergor-Don asked almost indifferently.
Astergrise bowed his head and gave the answer. “We do not have enough horses, our weapons are of low quality, and the soldiers have not had their pay. They are discontent. However, I must add that I believe all our generals to be reliable and capable of overcoming these problems. Auran-San’s mistrust towards the court does not extend to our troops. The soldiers are loyal to their leaders.”
“And the leaders themselves?”
Auran-San glanced towards Astergrise.
“Apart from the palace guard, they are united to the last man under Grand General Sarch. He is an excellent man. The palace guard obeys, as ever, Marshal Astergrise.
“Yes, yes, all in order. The soldiers are the least of my worries. One last question: what about the royal treasury?”
Auran-San’s eyes glided towards Haltern-kin-Eben, whose gaze flitted to Astergrise, whose eyes were fixed on Auran-San.
“Your Majesty, the treasury’s walls are hard and dry and will withstand any storm. The doors are open, and fresh air might help displace the old haze,” Haltern-kin-Eben answered reluctantly.
“I see. It’s empty.”
Auran-San nodded.
“Very well. I know what I needed to know. War is coming from the borders because our neighbors think us weak. We have unrest within the kingdom, because my father was too ill to keep a firm grasp, a regime that has not done as it should have, and no more money. On top of that our military is badly equipped.”
“Only briefly, your Majesty, only briefly,” Auran-San attempted to soothe the prince. “But I must suggest you arrange your coronation as soon as possible. The people need a keen eye to read the future for them, a clear voice to tell them what to do, and a strong hand to guide them. Without these things some might believe they would stand a better chance riding another road.”
“Your counsel is well-reasoned as always, Auran-San,” the prince smiled, but silently he thought something else. Act quickly and take your enemies’ chances of learning the foreign territory, and victory is yours. Oh, Auran-San, you have read the Book of Sunn well. But have you forgotten that you were the one who schooled me in the art of war?
“I will follow your advice. The preparations for my coronation will begin immediately. Keeper of Tradition, I know that you will do better than I could imagine.” For a moment, the small group showed only satisfaction. Only Astergrise’s hard face was immovable as ever.
“As there is no hope of solving all our problems in one evening,” the prince continued, “we should take the time to sort out two smaller issues. We must keep the people entertained until I am crowned. There shall be tourneys in my father’s name, tourneys the like Pentamuria has never seen. Every soldier will have the chance to prove his worth and carve his name into history. Even the border guard will participate. The King of Woodhold is a coward; he will never strike against us. The King of Earthland will be too surprised to make a move – if he considers it, he will suspect a trap. We will send him a delegation with many gifts and honeyed words to bargain an alliance. It would bring both our lands harmony and other benefits. Have I made myself clear?”
“But, your Majesty,” Haltern-kin-Eben protested, “where are we to come up with the gold for such gifts? Our treasury is as empty as a peasant’s head.”
Sergor-Don remained impassive. “We will borrow it from the nobility. Do not forget that I need a generous champion’s purse for the winners of the tourneys.”
The satisfied smile utterly evaporated from the keeper of tradition’s face. He opened his mouth to protest again, only to feel a magical grip on his jaw.
Teeth might freeze without the protection of their lips. The wise keep them shut for that reason, he heard a voice say in his head. He felt Auran-San’s penetrating stare and obediently closed his mouth.
Prince Sergor pricked up his ears. He thought he had heard some magical breath pass him, but no more interruptions came, so he addressed the old marshal.
“Astergrise, Shield of the King and Strength of Gulffir. I want one of the tourneys to be for archers only. The fifty best of them will be rewarded, and no matter their current position, will have command over five other archers who have proven themselves in the tourney. These three hundred will be under your command. Forge them into archers the like Pentamuria has never seen. Arrows will be supplied.”
The old marshal bowed his head obediently, but secretly wondered what he could accomplish with only three hundred archers.
“And secondly?” Auran-San inquired gently.
“Secondly what?”
“You spoke of two issues, your Majesty.”
“Oh. Yes, the second one… I would invite every arcanist in the kingdom to my court. Send the messengers today. They are to ride through the night. I believe that is all we can do today. I will retire for the night. Haltern-kin-Eben, I do hope you have prepared an appropriate chamber for me.”
&nbs
p; “In the Western Wing. I will lead you there personally.”
“That won’t be necessary. I grew up here. I know this castle.”
“One last word, your Majesty,” Astergrise called after him as he followed with lengthy steps.
“He is still a child,” Haltern-kin-Eben commented smugly once the prince and the marshal had left the room. “The first thing he thinks of is a competition to honor his father. And that rubbish about leaving the borders unmanned… I do hope Astergrise can talk him around on that. Of course it would surprise Earthland, but for how long? Grand General Sarch will be furious if he hears of it.”
“Sarch is furious whether he has a reason to be or not,” Auran-San quipped. “But I must disagree – the prince has never been a child. Even when he was yet small and my charge. I had a long time to study him, get to know him. He always knew exactly what he wanted, and I wonder what his plans are at the moment. Why would he summon all the other arcanists if we have the best and most experienced sorcerers here at court already?”
“Do we need to care? He has no experience in handling matters of state, the troops – apart from the palace guard – are behind Sarch and Sarch is behind us. And if the prince wants money, he’ll have to either ask the gentry or raise taxes. Both could get him killed.”
“You are right, Haltern, but he won’t be a prince forever. He’ll be our king soon. And you forget that kings are never completely powerless, for one always listens to a king. No, no, I would rather we knew what he plans to do.”
“So overthrow him and be done with it.”
The small room froze. Just those few words had filled the chamber and pressed against the walls, ceiling and floor with such force that Auran-San could not breathe for a few heartbeats.
“Sometimes I wonder whether you still have your mind, Haltern. Overthrowing the crown means murder. Would you truly take his place and rule as a kingslayer?” Auran-San’s voice thundered through the room before suddenly going quiet and soft again. “No, my old friend, we must approach these things differently. Listen now…”
All of Gulffir waited in the sweltering heat for the troops’ arrival, led by their quietly cursing commanders. The people stood expectant for their future king, and the court readied itself for the crowning. The prince, on the other hand, made himself scarce.
The nervous anticipation grew more and more intense the more ease was enforced, and it began to tip. The dignitaries of the realm kept their eyes on the minutest of mood swings, picked up on every quiver in the air, and hearkened even to the sound of steps as they hurried through the halls. Everything was discussed and analyzed for what changes it might bring for the future; everyone suspected everyone. Nothing was worse than inactivity and uncertainty.
As the unease grew on the surface, the wide lands around the capital sprouted camps for the soldiers and riders of the wild tribes. Haltern-kin-Eben obtained the gold the prince had demanded from the officials and the gentry, noting carefully as he did so how much each willingly gave.
The opening of the tourney did less for the situation than had been hoped. The games distracted the common spirit only momentarily, and some used the chance to go about their business inconspicuously.
The jousts with the sons of the desert were succeeded by the melee, where lances and swords and maces clashed. Each day closed with the archer’s competition.
Prince Sergor-Don sat motionless in his raised chair with his generals and cavaliers gathered around him, listening intently to their comments and to the words of the older masters-at-arms. The younger ones had all decided to take part in the fights.
He watched soldiers and sellswords compete for victory, applauded and rewarded the winners, handed out gifts and had the names of those he wished to see promoted inscribed. And those were many. Haltern-kin-Eben wondered where they could possibly get the gold to pay for all these new captains, and the generals and cavaliers grew more and more unenthusiastic.
“Loyalty cannot be bought with gold,” they muttered. “Gold means greed, greed means envy, and envy is the death of obedience.”
As much as they all tried to keep their thoughts and feelings hidden, by the end of the fifth day Grand General Sarch felt compelled to hint that, while a few promotions were good for the troops’ morale, many caused little more than unrest. Astergrise secretly agreed, but kept his silence and instead busied himself observing the young prince.
Sarch knew no such reticence. He not only disapproved of these promotions, he considered them an interference in military matters best kept to experienced warriors. His displeasure mounted until he finally asked Prince Sergor-Don to his face about the reason for this extraordinary amount of recognition he was giving out. The prince’s face remained calm, yet a short sigh before his answer told of his annoyance at this lack of respect.
“A soldier rarely has the chance to meet a new king. Being touched by a king – this is something he will never forget. Dear Sarch, my father’s illness quenched their fires; it is our duty to reignite them.”
‘Dear Sarch’ flinched.
Auran-San too noticed that the mood of the soldiers had changed. There was indeed disquiet among them. The promotions had changed the long-practiced rules of orders and obeisance. There were too many captains and not enough to follow them.
“If this carries on, a captain will have but ten men to his company! It’d be more honorable being an outrider!” one of the generals boomed. The older captains were also upset at their dwindling influence. And the confusion was yet to grow: the prince had begun to honor specific warriors with the title of family.
“You are the first of my family,” he would say. “And you will help me grow this family until there is no difference between the king and his men.”
The soldiers did not understand what he meant, but they knew that the young prince saw promise in them. The generals grew yet more agitated as it became clear that members of this new family came from all units, further muddying the chain of command.
“We must do something, Auran-San,” Sarch warned the first councilor. “The prince is muddling everything up. The strength of our troops is falling apart, and our power with it. An attempt on the palace guard and Astergrise is unlikely to succeed.”
Auran-San merely raised an eyebrow. “We need not make an attempt on anything. Pitching the soldiers against their own king serves no one. You are right – the prince has made quite a mess of his own forces. But that hasn’t weakened just his generals, but also himself. Sergor-Don is clever, but he lacks experience. We will let him be. At the end of all this nobody will expect him to bear the weight of his own crown. We shall watch him dig his own grave.”
As the last fanfares heralded the end of the tourney and all eyes were on the hornblowers, a slender, gray-brown bird landed on the prince’s shoulder.
“Your old friend Nill has found acceptance in Ringwall. He is now a mage under the magon’s custody,” the message read. It had been written on a small piece of reed, hidden in a tiny capsule attached to the bird’s right leg.
“If someone who can barely even use magic can become a mage in Ringwall, then the center of power in Pentamuria is in a truly sorry state,” the prince mused. “Yet all things will make sense over time. I could hardly say whether or not I dislike this new development. Time will tell.” Sergor-Don rubbed the dry leaf between his hands until it had dissolved. Then he got to his feet and had all those who had proven themselves in the tourney step forward: archers, cavaliers, captains and lancers alike. More than a thousand soldiers stood on the square before the castle and gazed with pride and adoration at their future king as he smiled down at them benevolently.
The generals were dumbfounded when they saw the full extent of the havoc the promotions had wrought, and Haltern-kin-Eben groaned as he calculated the costs the crown would soon have to carry. Grand General Sarch leaned over to Marshal Astergrise and hissed in his ear: “If you wish to sow discord and mutiny in an army, all you need do is make standing and ranks not mat
ter and promote useless footmen to officers. As if the ability to hold a bow or swing a sword made them good commanders, pah!”
The chains of command had always been strong enough for those obeying and flexible enough to allow for quick changes in tactics. The Fire Kingdom had built it over many years, and it had never had much to do with martial ability. A warrior’s rank was based not on merit, but on his birth, his family and his closeness to the commanders.
Prince Sergor-Don had destroyed it in less than a week.
It would take some time for the new order to take hold as the dust settled.
Astergrise nodded almost unnoticeably at Sarch. He showed no further sign of having even heard the general’s complaint.
“A good general must understand before he judges, and must judge before he acts. For this he must be quick.” That was written in the Book of Sunn. Astergrise had read the scripture over and over again until its essence was not only firmly in his head, but in his very guts, so much that it had become a part of who he was.
How much does Prince Sergor understand? What does he want? the old marshal wondered.
As restless thoughts still shot through the minds of the higher-ups in the realm, Prince Sergor stepped forward and began his speech for the soldiers. He spoke long and clear, and he fused magic and words into sentences. He finished with all eyes on the future, summoning up images, and laid a solemn silence on the square before raising his voice once more.