“Yes, this business of an heir.”
The business of an heir had come up a number of times, yet Vad’Alvarn was unmoved. He had lived longer than any man on his council. In fact, he could think of few creatures truly older than him in the world which made the business of him creating an Imperial family foolishness. Vad’Alvarn waved the entire idea away once again, pinning down his second.
“Tonight the council convenes. They seek to bring an end to our campaign. This is a fight for glory, Navar. Will you ask me to abandon it?”
“I promised I would follow you into the beyond, my Lord, I will do exactly that. I will stand with you until I cannot stand at all. Just as I promised.”
“Do you think it would be the best for the men if we did abandon it?”
“I think what the men want and need the most is someone who will offer them a clear direction. Someone who will show them the proper way to glory. What will they do when they return home now but say they were among those who stood with Vad’Alvarn at this or that battle? They will remember your many great deeds, the things you asked of them. What more can they hope than you will ask them for even more than they have done already?”
Navar leaned back against the stone, his eyes full of the man who had picked him from a number of young men who all sought the same honor, the honor of standing with the man now watching the horizon for a change in fortune. Every one of them had wanted to be the ones who could be remembered for all time as the one who tacked the king’s horse and kept his armor. Navar had his own men under him now. He could have given up the place as Vad’Alvarn’s second in order to become a general. Except he knew where his loyalty laid. It laid with this man, this man who was more than any man he knew.
“The council will seek to muddy the waters. I do not intend to allow them to stop me. Tell your men to stand ready in the council chamber, should it come to blows, as it may well, I want to insure we are the winners.”
“We can never lose so long as you stand at our head, my Lord.”
“I know. Prepare for dinner. You will be sitting with your Princess.”
Navar cut a bow and slipped back down from the ruins. Vad’Alvarn had not needed to say anything about dressing in the presence of the Princess. Navar would have found his dress clothes with no prompting. The blond beauty need only snap her fingers to bring the Second to heel.
The hall, previously used for executions, was clean once again. Now it glittered with hundreds of brass ornaments hung in garlands along the length. Each tiny mirror reflected the light until it created a mimicry of the night sky in the room. The table set in the center of the room seated 12 people in a circle. Vad’Alvarn sat in a carved throne in sight of the door. His wife, Curcula, beside him with Navar at her elbow. Each of the 8 other councilmen had a chair leaving the 12th space, directly before Vad’Alvarn and in front of the door, empty.
Around the hall, standing at intervals, were 15 men. Each of them handpicked by Navar to stand near the king and keep him safe. Though most of the council had declined their weapons for the dinner, each of the guardsmen was armed with the swords of their station held before them at rest, the points to the floor.
Each sword gleamed clean in the light.
The conversation around the table was quiet, subdued, though there were starbursts of laughter among the assembled.
“It is a pleasure to see you, my love.” Curcula leaned over to speak low in her husband’s ear. “I have waited your return to the capital, but it takes too long. Orsten thought it might do you well to have a woman nearby.”
Vad’Alvarn sipped from his cup and said nothing, then put the cup down before breathing in his wife’s ear.
“I never lack for women, as you well know.”
The plate before him was empty, left so intentionally. Others ate around him, servers working furiously to keep those plates filled and those eating from those plates with full cups as well.
“And I may have Orsten’s head on a platter for bringing you here.”
He pressed his lips to her ear then, kissing her lightly.
“I see things have not changed at all with you,” she murmured over the edge of her own cup. “Who is she?”
“No one of import.”
His current conquest was in the bedroom he had taken for himself, quiet, more than likely waiting for him to return with fear in her spine. With his wife in the castle however she had reason to fear. Curcula’s temper was a tempest, growing from a calm sea to a screaming storm full of thunder and lightning with little provocation.
“Then why mention her?”
“Because it amuses me.”
With a chuckle, he shifted his attention to Orsten who sat at his elbow.
“Tell me what is occurring in the capital.”
“All goes well, as to be expected, my lord.” Orsten wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing quickly to speak. “Tribute arrives daily to fill your coffers. Young men seek the favor of joining the army every day.”
“Is that so?”
“It is so, my lord.”
“Then do you stand with those who would see this campaign come to an end?”
“I’m sorry, my lord, I don’t understand what you speak of.”
“No matter. It will be discussed later, you can find out then.”
Settling back in his chair, he looked across Curcula at Navar who had his head ducked slightly to speak with the Princess. As easy as it would have been, he didn’t bother attempting to hear what was being said.
The dinner ended, the food cleared away by shadowy and quiet servants.
“Let us begin.” Vad’Alvarn stood and walked around the table. “I have been told my Council wishes to bring an end to this campaign. Those in favor, stand.”
Of the 8 Councilmen at the table, 6 stood. Orsten was among them.
“Then it is true.”
His footsteps rang around the room as he walked. His fingers, already becoming claws, scraped across the back of the wooden chairs.
“WHY!” The demand echoed off the walls. Two of the council sat down heavily, their eyes wide and shocked.
“Why, my lord?” The old man who came to him spoke quietly, his tone almost mocking the anger Vad’Alvarn showed. “Your army drains the resources of the Empire. You may have bled to build it, but you do not stand alone upon it. We all see the end coming if you spread us any thinner. Yet you want to continue this to the Eastern Sea. You want to bring every kingdom to heel. When will you have enough?”
“When I have it all,” the king growled. “I will rule the world. I will create an empire unmatched under Heaven.”
“An empire you cannot hope to control. We help to control it for you or will you have us all killed and rule yourself?”
Every man at the edge of the room moved as one when Navar rose.
“Do you seek to threaten the king?”
“No.” Those still standing sank to their seats. “We only seek to make him see reason.”
“The only true reason is the king’s reason,” said Navar. “Command us, my lord.”
“Stand down. I am in no danger here, not among those I have elevated from their humble beginnings. If you think I should stop now, tell me how you would have me complete my conquest without further draining your empire?”
No one stood up again, though one did finally say something.
“Bring the other kingdoms to heel without violence.”
One of the dissenters shouted,
“Shall we now turn against all the Burning Island has stood for over the years? We are the greatest warriors in the world and you would have us slink into a kingdom from the shadows?”
“I would have us waste no more lives. Tell me why it cannot be a treaty that brings our rulership to bear? There are only a few more places which dare to fly their banners freely without your permission. Why waste our young lives when we can win without a drop of blood being spilled?”
The fight erupted across the table, words shout
ed back and forth between those who were for and against the idea of a peace treaty. Vad’Alvarn stood quiet, watching, his eyes skipping from one man to the next without paying more than a passing attention to any of them. The sound of a sword being drawn drew his attention to Orsten who lunged at the dissenter nearest to him. The king was there in a moment, his hand catching the blade, the blood dripping off his palm splashing on the tabletop.
“You would spill blood for your belief?”
“I would spill blood to see the Island stand tall, my lord. I would, but for every young man who holds honor in your army, there are hundreds who have died over the course of your campaign. You have stood at the head of the army for so long, you have forgotten what it means in a time of peace. To truly care for those who look to you. Consider how close you have come to this goal and how much you can still win without giving away all.”
When Vad’Alvarn glanced around, he saw the signs of assent from those who backed Orsten.
“I granted you the care of the Capital. Of the Burning Island itself. Of all that I hold dearest, Orsten. And this is how you repay me?”
“I repay you with loyalty, fidelity, and strength, my lord.” The old man scrambled to take a knee, his sword point digging into a space between floor stones.
Vad’Alvarn stood over him, his hand bleeding onto the same stones. He directed his gaze from the kneeling man to Navar, who had his own blade nearly out, but stood statue-still awaiting the final order. The woman beside him also had her hand on a blade, this one tucked into the wide belt around her waist.
“Orsten, today you keep your head. If you ever raise a blade at my council table again, I will take it from you. Am I understood?”
“Of course, my lord.”
“As to this matter of treaties--”
Each man found himself gazing into the eyes of a monster.
“I will grant you your request.”
Even Curcula could not help but gasp.
“Send word to each of the kingdoms between here and the Eastern Sea. Let them send their emissaries to treat for their lives.”
“It shall be as you say.”
She was at his elbow before he made it to the door, pressing a cloth into his hand.
“You’re bleeding everywhere.”
“Hardly more than a scratch, Curcula. I am fine.”
“So you may well be, my husband, but do not forget there are those who will see the sight of your blood as weakness in you. Will you tempt the dogs?”
“The only dog in that room is Navar and he would never stand against me.”
She tied the cloth tight around his hand, a small smirk growing at his feigned wince.
“As you say.” Her hand moved up his arm, taking hold of his elbow. “Shall we spend some time together, my husband?”
“Do you desire my company?”
“I desire you, but your company shall do if that is all you will offer me.”
He kissed her hair in place of a spoken response, leading her along through the halls of their taken fortress.
7
Time moved as it always did, uncaring of the mortals of the world. They were only there for a blink, why spare even so much as a moment on their petty concerns. Mordaen wondered that often, if the world truly paid any attention at all to the lives of himself or his children or his wife, so long disappeared into the vastness of the mountains.
Those were not his thoughts the day Lecern came running in with another rolled parchment.
“No interference from Sorren?”
“No, sir, none. He’s out in the meadows with his siblings. All is well.”
The young man glanced down at the parchment still in his hand before attempting to give it over.
“I do not recognize that seal, my Lord.”
Mordaen, hand outstretched to take the parchment, stared at the seal turned up toward him. Emblazoned upon the stiff wax was the graven image of the God of War, the patron of the Burning Island, the home of the Usurper King. His hand did not tremble as he took it, though his face darkened.
“Is there something wrong?”
“Lecern, go.”
The words came out clipped and once the door was shut, Mordaen settled once again at the overstuffed desk, the still rolled tube of parchment before him. The seal stared at him, a red eye mocking his concern. The old man could feel every one of his years settling on his shoulders.
Within was the future. The Usurper King had taken Kerlan. There was not much holding him back from marching into the mountains on his way to the sea. Though Sartol could withstand him for a time, they could not survive forever. Evil had the force of numbers behind him. They would be swept under unless the world itself stood in their defense. He expected there would be no such aid forthcoming.
Mordaen took the knife from his belt and broke the seal. The red wax crumbled to powder and slipped across the desk to the floor. Thick fingers smoothed the roll into a single sheet. He skimmed the words, searching for the time frame he might have to prepare his people for disaster.
“WHAT!”
The exclamation drew Jalcina’s attention where she had been sitting reading in the next room. Lecern had missed her, thankfully. She hadn’t been certain of him since the mess with Sorren, so she avoided having to speak with him as much as possible.
“Father, is everything all right?” Stopping in the doorway, she watched him with concerned eyes.
“Yes, Jal.”
Mordaen beamed.
“Will you please send word I need to speak with the council as soon as possible? There is something we must discuss without delay.”
“Yes, Father.” Jalcina was out the door before she truly thought about how happy her Father seemed. He hadn’t been so happy since he had brought Sorren home alive after fighting that awful monster.
The council gathered as they were bid, as night wrapped itself around the small kingdom of Sartol like the mountains around the valley. Jalcina was not allowed into the proceedings, but lingered at the door of the chamber with Lecern near at hand. He sat, quiet, nearby as she waited near the door, occasionally pressing her ear to the ancient wood.
“You’re never going to be able to hear anything that way,” Lecern pointed out, as he did every time he was there with her eavesdropping.
“I might hear something. Anything is better than waiting for the news to come out.” She waved away his words, just like always, straining to hear what might be said in the room beyond. There were tantalizing whispers, occasionally single words seemingly shouted, but nothing so clear she could hear the entire discussion. Then came the sound of footsteps, a small multitude, approaching the door. The council deliberations were done.
When everyone was gone, even Lecern who was helping his aging father back to their own homestead, Jalcina was left alone with her father still sitting at the council table.
“What’s happened?”
He gazed up at her with the numb appearance of someone only recently roused from a heavy thought and pushed the parchment across the bare expanse of table toward her. Jalcina picked up the paper carefully with the edges of her nails and let her eyes scan the page. Her reading was good, but the flowery script used by the scribe made deciphering things difficult.
“The King is offering a chance at peace to all those yet unconquered,” Mordaen said as he watched his daughter read. “If we attend a peace conference two months from now in Kerlan.”
Jalcina’s eyes lit up.
“I want to go.”
“Out of the question, even with the detail I’m allowed, I cannot protect you there. The city will be occupied with his soldiers. Nor is this some pleasure trip. We’re not going down off the mountain to sell the wares of Sartol or to take orders for marble, Jalcina. This may be only the prelude to war.”
“All the more reason for me to go now before the entire world is burned down, Father.” She slid the parchment back onto the table and it sat there, staring the proceedings. “Besides, if this is to be a
meeting of peace, then how can he justify attacking anyone during it?”
“He is not like me, Jalcina. He believes in his own evil. He will destroy all we hold dear and each of us in the meantime.”
“How can you be certain? He is a conqueror, Father, but you’ve never spoken with him.”
“No, I have not.”
“Then how can you know he will be so unreasonable?”
“Are you truly this naïve?”
“No, you taught me to question everything. Now I question this. We do not know this man, this king, this creature who brings with him war as one carries a basket. We do not know his reasons. We only know his methods. Do you not think it may be better to know his reasons too? After all, a man with a purpose is a man who can be reasoned with.”
“His only purpose is to see every man under his boot. Every woman as well. I will not take you, Jalcina, and that is final.”
“Do you plan to lock me up here like they do in the fairy tales, Father? If not, that I will come down to Kerlan by myself and see what I wish to see. You cannot keep me here against my will and I will go to see the city. Besides, at my age, shouldn’t I have seen it already? You’ve taken me to the very edge of the holdings, to the far places where people can barely live for the constant cold. Why can’t I go down out of the mountains to see the world?”
“If it were not now, when war is waiting on our doorstep like a basket, as you said, I would be happy enough to take you. Except now, war waits. A killer stands ready at our door. I cannot do it.”
Jalcina drew back a few steps and gave him her back.
“You can’t stop me.” She crossed her arms over her chest. In that moment, she appeared more like her mother than Mordaen could stand. He looked away. “You will take me with you or I will go alone. Decide.”
Then she walked out of the room, her back still stiff and straight.
Mordaen watched her go and remembered a scene much the same, many years ago, when his darling wife had done the same thing, leaving him with a walking babe in Jalcina, and three squalling cradle babes. She had walked away, back stiff and straight, out into a snowstorm, when he knew would be the death of her for her stubbornness. Her body was never found. He prayed, sometimes, she remained alive somewhere beyond his reach. At least then he didn’t feel as if his pride had cost his children their mother.
Chains of Fate (The Fate Circle Saga Book 1) Page 5