by P J Berman
To the most Imperial Emperor Graggasteidus, divine son of Estarron, Lord of the Verusantian Empire, first among Senators and all men, King of Kryatovia, Hingaria, Hetchitovinia, Aevania and Veuunessland, Conqueror of the Jotaeans, the Lopari, the Yotivii and the Asdannii, King above all others, I humbly write to you now with the most grievous news and with confirmation of what your Imperial Highness already suspected. It is clear to me now that despite his initial promises that he would rule Bennvika only as your vassal, it is clear to me that Lord Jostan Kazabrus has no intention of doing any such thing. On the contrary, he sees no authority above himself here, other than mighty Estarron. His ambition will only grow now that he has defeated the rebel army that stood against him here at Rildayorda.
I also believe that he may have become suspicious of my presence, as he has ordered me west with just a single cavalry unit to lead his remaining Defroni warriors on one last mission before escorting them back to their hovels. Hentani mercenaries fought at the side of Princess Silrith and I must pursue and catch any who are making for their homes and burn their villages in retribution. He has ordered me not to return until the entire Hentani tribe is back firmly under the rule of the Bennvikan crown. I cannot know whether this is out of trust that I will complete the mission, or out of distrust and an attempt to see me killed.
But all is not lost. From what I have seen I can tell you for certain that Bennvika is ripe for invasion. Jostan has defeated Silrith and for now, still holds power, but he haplessly allowed her to escape on a boat and there will be people here who still support her. The unrest continues and now is the perfect moment for your Imperial Highness to take what is yours for the glory of the Empire and crush Bennvika for all eternity.
Carefully he stamped his secret seal on the letter so that the Emperor alone would know who had sent it. Containing his sense of urgency he tucked it inside his tunic and made his way down to the port.
The port may have been recaptured along with a handful of ships, which would allow any remaining trade vessels to leave within days before the area was finally abandoned for good, but frankly, it was an embarrassment for the Bennvikan crown that the enemy had escaped at all. This was good. At the beginning of the siege, Jostan had listened to Vinnitar’s assurances that a small unit of professional soldiers would be enough to maintain control of the port and all the vessels in it. Now it was clear to everyone that Jostan’s orders had left the area woefully undermanned when the port and its ships were stormed by a desperately retreating opponent. By all accounts, the guards had put up some level of resistance, but as soon as the ships’ crews, still loyal to the enemy, had risen against them from behind they stood little chance and there hadn’t been much that Jostan’s troops could do but watch aghast as their prey sailed out to sea. This would drastically reduce their confidence in Jostan. Any feelings of unrest against the King would be most welcome and would smooth the way for the Emperor, should he lose patience with the insolent Jostan and choose to intervene in his rule.
Vinnitar smiled. It would be easy now. All that remained was for him to pay a messenger to board any one of the remaining trade ships that was bound for Verusantium and get his message to his master.
Chapter 27
CELRUN, HERTASALA, BENNVIKA
Some days later, Jostan’s army was camped outside Celrun, the provincial capital of Hertasala. He had marched into the city earlier that day, joined at the front of the column by the ageing Lord Lektik Haganwold, as the jubilant crowds flocked to welcome their troops home, apparently unaware of the significance of the white shields the soldiers carried.
Once the celebrations had finished, Jostan had given orders allowing all the soldiers of Hertasala to leave the army and head to their homes, on the condition that they told everyone they saw that it was the divine and mighty Estarron who had come to their aid and delivered them to victory, when Vitrinnolf and Lomatteva had turned their backs on them. The use of the word of the common soldiers to expose Bennvika’s weak and fickle Gods for what they were and drawing them to the light of the one, true Lord of all mortals, would make it easier to convert the whole population when the time came. It would also make it easier to mark any unrepentant heretics as early as possible.
He had written a letter to the Verusantian Emperor, telling him of this and requesting priests of Estarron be sent to Bennvika, as well as extra troops to help force the conversion of the people. This letter was in reply to the more threatening one that had been sent on to him by the Congressate. Jostan had been at pains to make clear his apologetic feelings to the Emperor, writing passionately about how all on Estarron’s earth were simply mortal people and that Jostan’s intentions were only to please their divine Lord and in so doing, to honour his God’s most illustrious son, the Emperor. That sort of sycophancy should be enough to get what he wanted from the old man, Jostan decided.
The only thing that troubled him was that, despite the fact that Bezekarl had said that the Amulet of Hazgorata was hidden in Rildayorda’s main temple, it had not been found there. Probably it had been looted by some opportunist. It was a small matter though and he certainly wasn’t going to weaken his reputation by telling Bezekarl or anyone else that he had failed to recover it. Image was everything. Anyway, he had only wanted the old relic in order to inspire his soldiers in their first battle in the name of Estarron. Now the divine victory provided for them by the one true God would be their guiding light and if it was ever found, the Amulet was no more than an idol to be smashed and destroyed.
In any case, he was now the undisputed master of Bennvika. He was both a conquering hero fresh from a great victory and a chosen mouthpiece of Estarron, come to bring the Lord’s holy word to his subjects. Now he sat in his command tent, discussing this with Feddilyn over a chalice of wine.
‘It will be an honour when I return to Saviktastad and tell the people of your victory, your Majesty. It shall give me much joy,’ gushed Feddilyn.
‘We are glad of that,’ said Jostan. ‘But do not forget who your true Lord is now. The Lord of us all. Do not forget the divine blessing that has brought us this victory. Just as we have brought you to Estarron, you must help guide others in the same direction. It shall not take long, especially when they hear that poor Accutina, their own Queen, was murdered by the enemy while fighting simply to rid this nation of blasphemy. They need not know the real details. We must use her fate to our advantage. They must know that their Queen died a martyr for the righteous and is reborn in the heavens, just as Estarron himself dies for our sins every night, but is reborn with the coming of the day to watch over us all and protect us from our enemies. I tell you, Lord Feddilyn, all must hear of the fate of our vanquished enemy. Nobody in Bennvika can deny the power of the one true God. Princess Silrith must be made an example of. We must use her to show the entire Kingdom what happens when you stand against us because to stand against us is to stand against Estarron himself.’
‘But your Majesty, we don’t have Princess Silrith,’ said Feddilyn with a confused expression.
‘Or do we?’ smiled Jostan. ‘How many people really know what she looks like?’
Feddilyn’s eyebrows rose as he caught on to what Jostan was telling him.
‘Your Majesty,’ said the Divisioman who had been guarding the tent. ‘There is a messenger for you.
‘Bring him in.’
The messenger entered, bowed, walked over to Jostan, handed him a letter, bowed a second time, then backed away before turning to leave. Jostan looked at the letter.
‘Strange,’ he said. ‘It bears the seal of Congressor Hoban Salanath.’
‘There must be urgent news from the Congressate. Though I can’t imagine what, considering any member of any importance is here with the army,’ Feddilyn said as Jostan broke the seal and began to read. His anger flared as he read the intercepted letter.
‘Guards! Bring that messenger back!’ he demanded.
A few moments later the confused looking young man in his militiaman’s
brown tunic was standing before him.
‘How did you come by this?’ Jostan asked the messenger.
‘I was stationed at a messenger post near Kriganheim, Sire,’ the man said nervously. ‘It seems that Lord Oprion sent the city into lockdown on his arrival. I heard there was rioting, but some girl got out and made it to our messenger post. She looked like she’d run all the way. She told me her master had urgent news to be taken straight to you, Sire.’
But Jostan was barely listening.
‘Alright, now get out,’ said Jostan. He couldn’t take his eyes off the letter and he paced around the tent reading it over and over as the man nervously bowed and left.
‘Traitor,’ he said.
‘Lord Rintta, I think you should hear this. Our friend Lord Oprion begins by saying To my sweet and goodly friend Silrith.’ He used a mocking tone as he read Oprion’s words. ‘The summer that you and I spent together was the happiest of all my life and it pained me so deeply to see you leave, especially in such saddening circumstances. Yet my soul will not rest. I love you with every heartbeat. I know my marriage prevents us from being together, but when the time is right I will be free from the marital union that circumstances obligated me to agree to. Without my wife to keep us apart, one day we can be together again; happy again. I desire nothing more than for us to be married. My heart burns for your reply.’
‘Sickening isn’t it?’ said Jostan. ‘This is the way in which the man we left in charge of the north as our regent addresses a known traitor. It seems that our campaign continues. See that your troops are ready to march by morning.’
‘Of course, your Majesty.’
‘It appears that all this time Lord Oprion has been acting as Princess Silrith’s ally. Send a messenger to Lord Haganwold. Tell him to have his troops on standby if called upon. And send a messenger to Ganust. Lord Tanskeld must be told the same. This further rebellion must be crushed before it does too much damage.’
‘Attack Kriganheim?’ said Feddilyn, finally catching on to Jostan’s meaning. There will be mutiny your Majesty. As soon as the army crosses the River Lavaklan without disbanding the militia there will be many among them who will know-’
‘-Silence,’ Jostan raged. Feddilyn bowed his head, almost cowering.
‘Do you think we are unaware that it will be seen as an act of war if we lead the army across the Lavaklan and march on Kriganheim? Do you think we haven’t thought of that? We know the law. But we also know that we march in the name of the one true God. He will see us to righteousness. When we get to Kriganheim, any one of Estarron’s children who wishes to leave the city walls, renounce their faith of falsehoods and join us in our crusade against evil will be allowed to do so. But once the black flag has been raised, there will no quarter given. We will slash as many necks as we need to in the name of Estarron. Now, Lord Rintta, we say again, send your messengers. We march on Kriganheim.’
RILDAYORDA, BASTALF, BENNVIKA
In the days after the fires had disappeared and the besieging horde had left, to walk the streets of Rildayorda had been almost like taking a stroll through the underworld itself. Every day since the Hentani survivors had returned to the ruined city, Ezrina thought back to what she had seen there. Amid the rubble and the acrid smoke was the overpoweringly pungent smell of death. Jostan’s soldiers had left a cruel legacy. Surely they weren’t mortals at all, but demons of a most bloodthirsty and evil God.
Yet Ezrina had felt little sorrow for the dead as she had picked her way through the bodies. Many of them were Bennvikan after all, and this was little different from what they had done to Hentani settlements in the past. Most of the tribesmen had been able to escape due to them having been outside the temple at the time of the attack. Many of the Bennvikan population, on the other hand, had been asleep in their beds, giving them no chance of survival.
Nevertheless, the bloodbath had reminded Ezrina of the ruthlessness of the enemy she had to protect her people from. She prayed that Bertakaevey would give her the strength to achieve such a destiny. People had been slaughtered in the most despicable ways. The burned corpses of men, women and children had been spitted on spikes all about the place. Even the bodies of babies had been found amongst the dead on the outside of the city, presumably having been hurled from the city walls. What could move even the cruellest of people to do such a thing?
Yet out of the pits of despair, hope bloomed.
It’s funny how, even when surrounded by death, life clings on, she thought. Every survivor turned to look at Ezrina as she passed, walking through the ruined streets in her Priestess’ regalia. Some gazed at her as if they were simply waiting for death. But there was a rage in the eyes of many. The fire of hate she felt in her heart was spreading amongst her people. Their whole world had fallen into the abyss of destruction, but the very idea of revenge was a bringer of hope. Revenge on those who had taken everything from them.
In truth, Ezrina’s evacuation of the city’s tribal population was more of a mad, panicked exodus of those who were lucky enough to escape the enemy’s fire and swords, but it had saved many lives. While the Bennvikan population were being slaughtered in their homes, Ezrina’s people had burst through the East Gate and made for the forest. In the confusion caused by the chaotic retreat of Silrith’s army, some had turned and run for the ships, but the Goddess had been with Ezrina that night and many had moved deeper into the eastern forest where they had hoped Jostan’s troops either wouldn’t dare to follow, or wouldn’t bother, hungry for city plunder.
In the hours after the soldiers withdrew, people had slowly begun to filter back into the city, each headed for the rubble that had once been their home. As well as her Hentani followers, there were a handful of Bennvikan survivors, who were tolerated by the tribesmen. Now they all looked to Ezrina for guidance. The tribesmen did so because of Ezrina’s revelations to them on the night of the attack, saying that their survival was down to her and the Bennvikans did so because there was no other source of hope left for them now.
Ezrina was keen to ensure that this led to the tribesman having the higher status in this new society, but the Bennvikans would be able to live peacefully as second class citizens so long as they recognised that their country had turned on them. More importantly, they must also renounce their religion and instead convert to the worship of Bertakaevey, or face the consequences.
‘You won’t be in this position forever, you know,’ said Jakiroc, interrupting her thoughts as they walked. ‘Look at them. You give them hope enough for them to try to rebuild their lives, but what when King Jostan realises the city is inhabited again and comes back? Right now we wouldn’t stand a chance. We need to do something fast if we are to be strong enough to survive should such an attack come.’
‘You worry too much Jakiroc,’ Ezrina said. ‘I am aware of that issue, but hope is everything. For as long as they are able to hear Bertakaevey speak through me, we have a chance.’
Not only that but also for as long as nobody knows the truth about Jezna and me, she thought.
As they walked, more and more people followed behind them and slowly a large crowd built up. The key to creating order was to establish routine and this was already very much a part of that. Within hours of their resettling of the city, she had decreed that on every third day, every man, woman and child who had resettled in the city should follow her out of the Port Gate and into the fields to the south, where a large mound in the earth created a natural stage and where the mighty sapphire ocean presented an awe-inspiring backdrop. There, she would stand before them in her emerald robes and they would listen to her talk. Sometimes it was about what they would have to do to live, sometimes it was about how one day soon they would have their revenge on Jostan, but always she spoke of how they were Bertakaevey’s chosen people.
Standing on her grassy platform, she looked at her audience. Their numbers seemed to be growing every day as more people dared to return home and there looked to be over a thousand of them now.
/> ‘Barely a month ago, King Jostan’s army was here, camped outside this very city, intent on our destruction and he will continue to attack our kin. But he is making a mistake. He thinks that no souls still reside here and in his arrogance he allows our numbers to swell. The blessed Goddess Bertakaevey has guided you to me; guided you to your salvation.’
Ezrina knew that this was all good talk for now, but it took all her faith to trust that Bertakaevey would sustain them when their reserves of food ran out. After the siege, much of the ground was in no state to be farmed, so they would soon exhaust their resources, despite the rationing that was being meticulously monitored by the priests and priestesses.
‘We may be hungry and therefore weak in body,’ she said. ‘But we are strong in will and that is why the Goddess favours us. She tests us now and if we endure that test, she will provide the means for us to grow strong in body again, to retake this land from the Bennvikans and to convert the non-believers. Trust in Bertakaevey’s divine providence. She will provide for us. Am I not her daughter? Did we not rise from the ashes of her holy fire? Now ash surrounds us all, but you must have faith. We are the Goddess’ chosen people and our destiny is to rise and rise and rise!’
The crowd cheered, energising Ezrina further.
‘In the past, too often the livelihoods of our people have suffered because of the Bennvikans. We have lived under their boot and too many times they have been allowed to attack us and burn our lands. Chief Hojorak and Prince Kivojo clearly thought that making allies of some Bennvikan factions would bring a change in fortunes, even if it meant becoming a Bennvikan lapdog like the Defroni. Yet now they are sent to the afterlife and our lands are burning once again. Let that be a lesson to us. Our people will only prosper if we stand up by ourselves and fight for our own future; the future of all who still worship Bertakaevey, not that of any King, Queen, Prince, Lord or Chief.’