Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  You have reclaimed your lands from Lodreb; now fulfil your end of our arrangement, lest you find the hunters of Hessani against you this time.

  “I am a warrior of my word, Faceless Lord, and I now swear my allegiance and shall aid you when you are in need of it; however I shall not perform any action that would break the Ancient Law. To do so would be a crime that is punished by death and eternal torture for betraying the gods.”

  And I shall not ask you to do so. I bid you farewell, Eraniel, until the time comes to fulfil your oath.

  Back within his fortress, his magic ended for the time being so that he might savour the success of his plan, Moragil allowed his thoughts to wander to the tales of Telaniec within the Lebrusktan mountains.

  I have only to wait for you to have unwittingly aided my cause, demon, and I shall be ready to make my move. Santelion will be powerless without the dragons to aid him, for the nations of Men are too divided to aid the efforts of a foolish renegade.

  Disinclined to Acquiesce

  September 21st, 1190

  The Council of Elders had reached its decision nearly a week ago, and many riders had been dispatched to the kingdoms within the continent of Periand with but one message: the fate of their lands shall be decided within the land of the Fire Elves. Even as he had made the request of the Council Katchanga had known his chances of a voluntary gathering was slim at best, but he would never have believed that a millennium could change so much for the race of Men.

  “Let me settle my mind with this matter,” came the slow and deliberate voice of Agaron the Watchful as the robed messenger, resplendent in his garments of scarlet and gold, rose from his reverent bow to the King of Berinan. “What would a race all but faded from the legends of my people know of our fate?”

  “The weapon of a long ago enemy has resurfaced, and the general who liberated your lands long ago has requested one of your nobles now aid him in an effort to bring about its destruction before the forger reclaims it and repeats history.”

  “I see, and who pray tell does he request I send to help in this…endeavour?”

  “He asks that General Barinya Escafaust be dispatched to the realm of my people to hear more of the matter, and decide for himself whether it is worth risking his life.”

  “He may well request that he makes such a decision, and such a choice requires much thought by any who would go, but it must also be made by me. My nation is at war with a fiend who betrayed us, and now you come here asking me to send my highest ranking officer to risk his life on the say of a nation who has nothing to do with us? How do I know that you and the legendary Katchanga do not seek to betray us also? His loyalties have shifted before; how am I to know that he will not switch sides again?”

  Only the slightest rise in volume showed the seething anger Agaron felt at such impudence, for how could he willingly allow his best commander to depart at such a crucial stage in the war against the treacherous Aithan Curith? The Berinain had liberated many of their towns and villages, and pushed the border of Camentar back past the Greenwood, but pockets of the traitor’s soldiers still held out in several areas, including some villages along his nation’s main trade routes, and it would take men of Barinya’s calibre to remove them.

  “Lord Katchanga felt you would say that, and warns you that the task is of such importance that measures are ready to be put into action if you should refuse him.”

  The Elven messenger knew he was risking a lot giving King Agaron such an obvious threat, but he had been ordered to use whatever means possible to get the matter resolved without the need for forceful persuasion.

  “How dare you? Where do you find the nerve to threaten me in my own palace?”

  The King of Berinan had tensed upon his throne, his fury barely contained when he was faced with such talk.

  “He also told me to inform you that he considered you to be the only other candidate among your nobility capable of such an endeavour as would be required of you, but your lack of an heir means that you are too vulnerable if the worst should befall. Lord Katchanga remembers well your days upon the battlefield, and offers the counsel that you could ably lead your army in General Escafaust’s stead.”

  “While he may consider me capable of leading my men into battle, I cannot do so for the same reason he dismissed me from being the candidate of choice.”

  “Not all generals must lead from the front. Lord Katchanga would point out that the general who watches his men in action can better react to his foe’s tactics because he can see the bigger picture than the commander who is engaged in combat. He claims that no one knows the terrain of Berinan better than you, Your Majesty, and believes that such knowledge would allow swift and decisive victories to remove the Camentari from your realm.”

  “I am sorry, but the answer must still remain no, though I shall summon General Barinya to me so that he might decide whether he would have desired to hear the proposal of action. I remain positive, however, that he shall agree with me that now is not the time for him to depart on some fool’s errand.”

  Dismissing the Elf with a wave of his hand, Agaron watched him back out of the throne room and disappear into the hall. Settling back, his arms folded across a torso that still displayed the muscular tone of a militaristic life once enjoyed by the fifty year old king, his thoughts inevitably began to dwell upon the counsel of Katchanga, and a smile came to his lips as he pictured himself commanding the troops as he had done before the death of his father a decade ago.

  “Summon General Escafaust to me immediately!” he barked to an attendant, who stood to attention before rushing from the room. Easing back into a relaxed pose upon the ornate and luxurious throne, Agaron began to seriously consider what the messenger had stated as the counsel of Katchanga. So often had the Eastern Elf used such a tactic to manipulate a being into performing the task he required, yet no records existed of a time when the offered advice was not accurate. If such was still the case, then perhaps this was a chance for the Berinain monarch to show that he still possessed the qualities of his youth that had earned him fame and glory in bygone days, but if times had changed more than the Elf seemed to perceive then could the loss of the most decorated officer of Berinan truly be replaced without ill effects? So many questions; and no answers were forthcoming to the aging king.

  ***

  Every culture is different, every nation holds possession of a unique style in all areas, yet few changes are as remarkable amongst the nations of Men as the stark contrasts between the dwellings that served as the principal stronghold of the leader. In the days before the conquest by the Camentari the King of Valinia was housed within a rudimentary hall of timber and thatch, with stonework used only in the crafting of the fortifications and the inner chambers. The last King, known by his people as Anirien the Wild in reference to his fury in battle, had switched to using timber for an outer perimeter for his court and constructing the building itself from stone, but his had been the only building to know such a strengthening. The use of thatch had remained however, and so the hall had fallen to the heavy use of flaming arrows when Olgerd had attacked him; leaving but an empty shell to signal that the structure had ever been created.

  Since his conquest and self-crowning, Olgerd had gone on to have all buildings of importance constructed after the fashion of his own people; that is to say using stones to craft the main body, while lighter stones were forced together under high heat and pressure to form the upper stories and a roof of light shingle was laid over large wooden beams. Such was the construction method of all Camentari architecture save their fortifications, which were built in their entirety of the heavier stone but with a thicker base to the outer walls than the higher levels, though the roofing was created in the same way with the sole exception of the pressured stones used over the beams instead of shingle. To any walking through Wolanionan it was easy to identify the palace where Aithan Curith now ruled, its marble and gold architecture in stark contrast to the more practical structures of the g
uild houses along the main street that ran away from it.

  The Berinain ruling family had a different stronghold again, favouring an expansive country estate covering many acres over a relatively cramped residence in the capital. In times of high trade and kinship between the nations of Men, before the start of Carrassiel’s conquests, the King of Berinan had ordered that marble be shipped from the Charad Empire, and so they had crafted the grand palace from the smooth and beautiful material in much a similar style to that of the northern regions of the Empire; pillars standing either side of the great doors and main windows of glass, the voluptuous forms of angelic maidens sculpted into the marble upon the West while the eastern pillars displayed images of demons dancing upon fire. It was rumoured that the designs had been suggested and overseen by the old Sage Huvalin, who had often been heralded as a prophet before he tasted the bitterness of Mortality for himself, and so many felt it had been an early warning of what was to come in the Age of Conflicts, though such a theory had been readily dismissed by others as “idle superstition” without an alternative reason being given.

  Such differences were recognisable only to those who had seen the different types, and few among the Fire Elves had ventured to the three Western-most factions of Men, and so it was that the estate of Aithan Curith enchanted the messenger in much the same way as had the Berinain palace affected his counterpart; despite lacking the grandeur of Agaron’s own residence. In comparison it could best be said that the emphasis of the Camentari palace was upon the possession of an imposing air, towering several storeys above any other building save those dedicated to religion and with the towering domes of gold upon each tower, so despite the heat that still held during this September the Elf could not suppress a shiver that ran along his spine as his winged mount landed within the shadow cast by the great structure.

  Raising a sceptre forged from gold and studded with diamonds surrounding a large fire opal, a symbol of status reputedly crafted by Katchanga since the end of the Age of Conflicts, the Head Ambassador for the Fire Elves struck the base against the heavy doors of polished oak before clasping his hands in front of him with a bored expression upon his slightly tanned face. He had thought this task to be routine, just a simple request for a representative of the Camentari to travel to a meeting with the Council, but had soon been set straight by the Eastern Elf before the two of them had departed to perform their own duties.

  “Do not give up in thy efforts to persuade the ruler of Camentar to allow us the use of his son in the coming tasks, for his participation is vital if for no other reason than allowing the nation to end their feud with Berinan before the two factions are lost to any effort to bear arms against Moragil. Thy chance of success is almost nonexistent, I cannot hide the fact from thee nor would I wish thee to expect for better than a minor failure, but still I beseech thee to persevere until thou have no choice but to depart.”

  The words were spoken with Katchanga’s usual calmness, yet the Head Ambassador could acknowledge better than most the hardness and soft strength behind the words that showed the Eastern Elf to believe completely in what he had said, and such resolve was possibly the reason why the Ambassador was unfazed when the doors opened to reveal fifty armed members of the Royal Guard in full regalia. Two halberdiers led their comrades to surround the Fire Elf, the halberds crossing to bar his path as the other soldiers brought their shields before them and turned to face him, weapons drawn whether they were spears or swords. The Ambassador retained his appearance of simple boredom, as if the display of martial strength was in no way the awing sight it truly was. He had been advised to carry both his ceremonial blade and a dagger in addition to the sceptre, yet the Council members had also warned that he would be wise to relinquish the blades when asked rather than hold them in case he needed to defend himself.

  “I have come at the command of the Council who lead my people, and seek an audience with King Aithan. It is a matter of great importance to both my nation and yours, so hasten to bring me an answer to my request.” He spoke slowly, hoping his melodious tones would calm the alert sentries who stood upon all sides.

  “You do not make demands of us, Elf,” rose a harsh call from the Captain of this squad of Royal Guards; a soldier who, despite being in military service while his country was at war, bore the faint signs of corpulence beneath his armour. Striding from the wall of soldiers to face the Elf, he tried to appear imposing despite being many centimetres shorter than the Ambassador’s two metres of height.

  “Now relinquish your weapons, or you shall only be taken before the King bound in chains.”

  A servant of the Palace was sent to inform Aithan Curith of the arrival of the Ambassador, who smiled as he handed over the long blade he carried before leaning against his sceptre once more in boredom.

  “Hand over your staff as well,” barked the Captain suddenly, moving to pull the ornate item from its his hands, but the command only served to broaden the Elf’s smile further, and he laid a hand upon the human one that gripped it.

  “My sceptre is not a weapon of war, nor would I wield something so cumbersome to any avail. I am sure that your King will have bodyguards, doubtlessly armed similarly to you, so what good would the symbol of my status within my nation’s society be should I wield it in such a manner? Ignoring the obvious impracticality of my wielding it, this sceptre is an item of great personal value, and not for anything would I place it in the hands of any save its creator and my own.”

  The words were spoken with conviction in the soft voice of the Elf, the Ambassador staring down at the Captain with a gaze of utmost intensity. The look was matched with a piercing glare, the Captain restrained from striking the Ambassador only by his not wanting to appear so easily affected by a stranger’s calm attitude. All collapsed into silence, and it was only now that, over the soft whinnies of nervousness from the winged stallion, the Fire Elf could discern the whispers from the gathering crowd of Camentari serfs as all wondered aloud at what manner of being could ride so mystical, and hitherto merely mythical, a creature. Many minutes were passed in this manner, with neither the Royal Guards nor the Elven Ambassador speaking, until the messenger returned to whisper in the ear of the Captain. Turning to face his men a curt nod of his head was all he gave in signal that the audience had been granted to the stranger. Forming tight ranks surrounding the Elf they marched through the Palace doors, the messenger ordered to stay and watch over the strange mount until its rider returned.

  The inside of the King’s residence was much like any other stately home of a nobleman from Camentar, with wide and sweeping stairways leading from the entrance hall to the next tier within the towering building. Looking straight up as he followed the unbroken march of the soldiers the Ambassador saw that all five floors of the Palace seemed to centre around the chamber, with each level built so that the single stairway was used for all, and that the roof was lavishly decorated with a huge painting depicting Havuar, the Camentari God of Time, bringing a group of innate figures to life while appearing to select those whose time upon the earth had ended. It looked as if the Camentari people believed Life to be simply a measure of Time rather than the gift the Elves knew it to be, and possibly this explained why Olgerd and now his son Aithan always acted upon impulse; because they never knew when they would have another chance to have what they desired. The Ambassador almost pitied the nation that they had so little understanding of something as universal as Life and Death, but then he realised that understanding such a concept would never be possible. For too many generations the nation had lived such a lifestyle, and perhaps it would be beneficial for the cause of Katchanga that such was so, but to try and teach them that their belief was erroneous would result in worse than war, removing the motivations for actions both good and bad within the nation and causing each Camentari citizen to drift aimlessly through their short lives until they found a new belief for existence that they could thrive with.

  Aithan Curith was found to be within a chamber that domin
ated the short Northern side of the fourth floor, seated at the head of a table covered with a miniature reconstruction of the border between Camentar and Berinan. The depicted terrain was that of the various areas where his troops had escaped to since his last defeat at the hands of Barinya Escafaust, little figurines and scrolls listing statistical numbers placed at each location. Aithan himself seemed to be deep in thought, and glowered darkly at the Ambassador as he was led in by a small group of the Guard, the others having returned to their post to continue their duties. Tall guards in battle regalia were stationed across the walls either length of the chamber, large pikes and halberds held beside them as they stood to attention awaiting a reason to perform their roles as Aithan’s bodyguards. The Captain of the Royal Guard and his troops bowed in reverence before departing the chamber to return to the ground level, leaving the Elf standing looking bemused as he waited for the King of Camentar to order him to speak. He bowed his head in respect to the angry ruler, the action seeming only to antagonise him further, before walking slowly and calmly towards him.

  “Why have you come to me, causing such interruptions when time is precious in my war with Berinan?” The question was spoken slowly, almost in a hiss as the cold gaze of Aithan was kept focussed upon the Ambassador’s relaxed frame, the tone making it clear that the Elf was already just one short step away from being completely rejected.