by King, DB
“And what else?”
“The Blackscale Plague. The infected grow by the day.”
Corvan winced once more. The Blackscale Plague, that horrible disease that had swept through his city, so named for the hard, scaly skin that spread on the infected, had been one more travail on top of others.
“Currently, the plague is confined to the lower wards. But our herbalists believe that it will only be a matter of time before it spreads.”
“And still no cure.”
“Still no cure.”
Corvan’s mind filled with images from his trip to the lower wards to inspect the extent of the plague. The Blackscale Plague… it wasn’t kind to those it infected. The scales were simply the first symptom. After that came the bloody cough—itself a sign of the final stage of the disease, when the organs of those stricken by it liquified as they still lived.
“Then we’ll stay the course of quarantine,” Corvan said. “Make sure no one but herbalists and priests are allowed in and out of the infected wards. Supplies can be taken in by ship, but there is to be no contact between the infected and the uninfected.”
“Very good, your grace. The unfortunates in the lower ward will be pleased to know you haven’t forgotten about them.”
“And what else?”
“The council—your meeting to discuss the state of the kingdom.”
Concern for his people was replaced by anger at his council. There was no doubt to him of the purpose of the meeting—to convince him to sue for whatever sort of peace they could get. But Corvan was in no mood for surrender.
“Eleoth, if you have any more bad news to give, I suggest you speak it now. And it wouldn’t go unappreciated if you could follow it up with some news of the good variety.”
Eloeth nodded. “More farmlands were burned last night. And we’re still stretched thin guarded our food shipments. Pirates are still a plague—forgive the turn of phrase—to our imports. We don’t have much time before food supplies run out in the city and the people begin to starve.”
“No doubt these are matters the council will want to discuss. And the good news?”
A small smile formed on Eleoth’s lips. “J’neya Sameth.”
“The stablemistress?”
“The very same. She had her child early this morning—a healthy boy.”
The news was of no small joy to Corvan. New life meant new hope.
“Bid her my warmest congratulations,” Corvan said. “And see if the cooks can’t prepare her a little something more decadent than what she’s used to eating.”
Eleoth’s smile broadened. “With pleasure, your grace.”
The two elves reached the tall, arched wooden doors of the council chambers.
“Is there anything else you wish from me, your grace?”
Corvan gave the matter some thought. “Hm. Any chance you could head in there before me, tell them their king had a bit of a slip on the way over, twisted his ankle something fierce and simply won’t be able to attend?”
Eleoth grinned. “They might not be happy to hear such news. But I’d be more than happy to share it. It is a fine day for a ride, in my estimations.”
His words were enough to make Corvan wince. The mere idea of taking his horse, Plainsrunner, out for a leisurely ride in the sun was so pleasurable that it was almost too much to bear.
But Corvan only sighed. “Perhaps another day, one when I don’t have the council breathing down my neck.”
“Perhaps, your grace.” Eleoth raised his eyebrows and tilted his head toward the door.
“Very well,” Corvan said. “Let’s get on with this.”
Eleoth opened the door, and Corvan strode through.
“It’s about damned time the king bothered to show up.”
Corvan allowed himself a small grin as he entered the cavernous space, more arched windows to his left looking out over his dying kingdom. A rectangular table dominated the center of the room, four seats on each side for each member of the council. At one head was a high-backed chair, a carved moon at the head.
The other head was for the queen. But the kingdom hadn’t had one of those for a long, long time.
Corvan’s boots echoed through the room as he strode to the chair at the head. He pulled it back and placed his hand on the back before sitting down.
The voice belonged to A’ethan Shadowane, Corvan’s Minister of War. The aged elf was tall and study and built like a barrel, his eyes small but intense, burning like twin coals, his beard as flame-red as his pony-tail, the color vibrant despite his years. A’ethan was a holdover on the council from when Corvan’s father still reigned. The old man was hard as nails, but damned good at his job—despite still seeing Corvan as a young whelp who needed the stern discipline of an elder.
“You know this blade isn’t only for show, correct?” Corvan asked with a slight smile, his palm on the hilt. “Another outburst like that and I might decide I’ve seen enough of that beard of yours, A’ethan. Perhaps I’ll send you out of this meeting clean-shaven.”
Chuckles sounded from the remaining members of the council, A’ethan’s eyes narrowing. Corvan held the military minister in high esteem. But even so, the man needed to know his place.
“Now,” Corvan said. “Unless anyone else wishes to serve me a bit of impudence with my morning tea, let us begin.”
He surveyed the table. Aside from A’ethan, there were three other members of the king’s council. There was J’niath Silverhair, the lean, powerfully built Minister of Domestic Affairs. Corvan had served with him in many campaigns back when the king still fought on the field, and knew of the elf’s martial prowess first-hand. However, despite being brothers on the field, they disagreed mightily when it came to affairs of the kingdom.
Second was Minister of Coin, Alya Glenneth. She was fair and beautiful, with hair like the sun and slivered silver eyes that glimmered with intelligence. Her beauty was legendary, but it was her reputation as a brilliant mind that had brought her to the attention of Corvan when the last minister passed. She was sharp-tongued and had no problems speaking her mind, and had made a fine addition to the council.
Rounding out the group was Gracen Amarenth as the Minister of Foreign Affairs. The newest addition to the council, Gracen was something of a political appointment, the second son of one of the most prominent and powerful noble families in the city. Gracen hadn’t been the first choice of Minister of Foreign Affairs, and Corvan tended to despise giving away positions of importance for diplomatic reasons, but Gracen had done a capable job in the recent years. But with war being the state of things between the kingdoms, there wasn’t much diplomacy to do.
However, Gracen had taken a special interest in the affairs of the newly formed Lunar Empire over the last few seasons. More and more he’d been an advocate for submission to the empire, and Corvan had found himself more than a few times wondering where his loyalties truly lied.
Corvan stepped in front of his chair and stood with his arms splayed out over to the end of the table.
“A’ethan,” he said. “Tell me what the situation is with our military matters.”
A’ethan snorted. “I’m sure you’ve already heard of the disaster that befell the expeditionary force. I told you it was a bad idea at the time. We can barely keep the bandits from hounding the lifelines that lead into the city. The last use of our forces should be pie-in-the-sky invasions that never had a chance of succeeding.”
“You would have us hide behind the walls of the city?” Corvan asked. “Our troops idle while, what, we wait for the other kingdoms or the Lunar Empire to finish us off once and for all?”
A’ethan shook his head. “No. But the fact of the matter is that we don’t have the manpower to launch an invasion force. Like it or not, we’re on the defense.”
Corvan sighed, knowing A’ethan was right. A victory abroad would do wonders for the morale of his people. But it had been a gamble—one that hadn’t paid off.
“The troops will be on the
march back to the city,” Corvan said. “I’ve already given the order.”
“Well, thank the Goddesses for small miracles,” A’ethan said. “Once they’ve returned, I’ll make sure to put them to proper use defending what little farmland we have left.”
Corvan nodded to Alya. “The treasury.”
The beautiful elf woman sat up straight and began with her usual grace and poise.
“The situation is grim. War between the kingdoms means that trade is all but a memory. Our navy is still in fighting shape, but it brings me no pleasure to report that what little goods we’re able to bring in from our ports is that which our navy has managed to seize from enemy vessels.”
Corvan snorted, sliding into his chair. “The once mighty Kingdom of Tyan has become a pirate cove.”
“Now, it’s not technically piracy if it’s done to enemy ships during wartime,” Gracen said, his voice light and mellifluous, his gestures as prim as his expensive clothing. “It’s merely, ah, commandeering enemy supplies for our own practical use.”
“Either way,” Corvan said. “I don’t want our people to be forced to subsist off what we can steal from others.”
“We don’t have much of a choice at the moment,” Alya said. “More and more kingdoms are falling under the influence of the Lunar Empire. And the moment they do, the gates close to our traders.”
A’ethan nodded. “The Lunar Empire wages war with armies and blockades alike. One by one, the other kingdoms fall to them.”
“And what few holdouts remain fear the retribution of the Empire,” Alya said. “Between that and our farmland that is under daily attack…” She trailed off, leaving the rest to Corvan and the council’s collective imagination.
“J’niath,” Corvan said. “The situation in the kingdom.”
“Most dire. There’s the plague, the food shortages, and on top of it all, tensions are high among the nobles. Many are beginning to wonder if there’s any need for the war to continue. Some of them are beginning to discuss whether or not it would simply be better to surrend—“
Corvan slammed his fist on the table, the boom echoing through the hall. Not one of the members of the council said a word.
Once the king was assured the silence was absolute, he spoke.
“In this hall, I am pleased to hear all of your opinions,” the king said, his voice stern. “You are all here for a reason, and no one would be seated at the table if I were in any way unsure of your expertise. But there is one, and I mean one option that I will not discuss—and that is surrender.”
The silence hung heavy in the air for several moments.
“I agree, your grace,” J’naith said. “But I’m merely reporting what the talk is among the nobles.”
“You agree?” Corvan asked. “Because from where I’m standing, I’m hearing many problems but few solutions.”
The council regarded one another with the same uncertain expression.
“Gracen,” Corvan said. “Tell me of the affairs of the other kingdoms.”
“Well, your grace, the affairs of the other kingdoms are almost no more. Soon, the affairs of the other kingdoms will simply become the affairs of the Lunar Empire.” He smiled slightly at his remark, as if pleased with his cleverness. But Corvan’s expression stayed steely. Gracen took the smile from his mouth, cleared his throat, and went on. “With the fall of the Kingdom of Corinth, the majority of the twelve kingdoms have now, through capitulation or diplomatic surrender, become vassals of the Lunar Empire.”
Corvan shook his head. “How the hells is this possible? Two pissant kingdoms join forces and soon they’re the most powerful force in the east? Did they come across the greatest cache of gold the world has ever seen?”
Or are they tapping into dark powers that have allowed them to gain so much strength, so quickly? The thoughts appeared in Corvan’s mind, but he kept them to himself.
“Perhaps they’ve grown in the same way that all empires have expanded,” Gracen said. “Through a combination of military prowess, luck, and determination.”
Corvan knew there was no point in discussing what had happened. Only that day and the future to come mattered.
“But you’ve been meeting with them,” Corvan said. “Meeting with the enemy.”
“I’ve merely been maintaining diplomatic ties to the now-largest power in the east. And they’re not technically the enemy yet. We’re at war with the other kingdoms, to be sure, but the Lunar Empire is still neutral toward us. However, I can assure you that this state of affairs won’t last forever.”
“They’re already exerting pressure on us through trade,” Alya said. “And it doesn’t take a strategic mastermind to understand that an embargo to soften up your enemy is an action proceeding something more… severe.”
“And the less said about our military, the better,” A’ethan said. “The Lunar Empire… they’re beyond powerful. I have total faith in our men and women to fight to the bitter end should the Empire attack. But my question for you, your grace, is this: Is having our soldiers fight to the bitter end something you want? Do you wish to be known as the king who allowed his people to perish? That is, if you’re even remembered at all?”
“The nobles,” J’niath said. “They’re loyal to the kingdom, but they’re also loyal to their houses. Should the Empire begin making offers, they might find themselves eager to switch to whatever allegiances will keep their families safe.”
Corvan snorted. “My own council advises me to give up, to throw away the legacy of our kingdom in order to become a vassal of some upstart empire. Do you need me to explain the price of surrender? The crippling taxes to fund their war machine? The men and women we’d be giving in tribute to their Emperor, our own children sent to live in bondage? We’d be at the mercy of a bloodthirsty empire who seeks power above all else.”
“But what other options are there?” J’niath asked. “Entreat the human kingdoms for help?”
“What human kingdoms?” A’ethan asked. “There’s nothing on the other side of the mountains but warring tribes of orcs and the occasional village waiting to be plundered. Their cities are even more desolate than—“
Corvan shot A’ethan a hard glare, one that shut up the elf on the spot.
“The humans will be of no help for what’s ahead,” Corvan said. “And more than that, these matters are the affairs of elves. This is our situation, and it’ll be up to us to find our way out of it.”
“And what is your solution, Corvan?” A’ethan asked. “Our people are broke, stricken with plague, and perhaps even conspiring with the Empire. If you’ve got a plan to get us out onto the other side of this, I’m sure we’d all love to hear it.”
Corvan nodded, not waiting a moment before speaking.
“We do what the leaders of Tyan have always done when faced with peril. We stand together, we fight with all we have, and we pray for the intercession of the Goddesses.”
His words sent a wave of frustrated sighs through the council room.
“That’s your solution?” A’ethan asked. “You wish to simply pray and hope that the Goddesses take pity on us?”
“It’s not a matter of hoping for pity,” Corvan said. “It’s a matter of remaining faithful.”
“All due respect, your grace,” Alya said. “What has this faith brought us so far? We are in the darkest hour our kingdom has ever faced. And it hasn’t come out of the ether—this decline… it’s been underway for centuries, since before any of us were born to witness it.”
J’naith was next. “Faith is not enough. And more than that, the nobles’… faith isn’t as strong among them as it once was. In fact, most of them feel that belief in the Goddesses is silly, out of fashion, the realm of children.” He took a deep breath, as if he didn’t want to say what was on his mind next.
“Tell me, J’naith. No messengers are slain in these halls.”
“To them, a king who still believes so fervently in the Goddesses, who openly consults them for guidance and
prays for their intercession… it seems silly to them at best, and at worst leads them to believe that their fates are in poor hands.”
“And what do you all think?” Corvan asked. “Do you believe that faith in the Moon Goddesses, a faith that has seen this kingdom through thousands of years of war and struggle, is the domain of children and fools?”
J’niath pursed his lips and spoke. “I don’t believe you to be a fool, old friend. But I would be lying if I were to say that my faith is now as it always was.”
“I’ve never been a believer,” Ayna put in. “I’ve always considered myself too… rational for such beliefs.”
“And you, A’ethan?”
“See many of your friends cleaved open on the battle, their bloody guts in their hands as they scream for death or their mothers, and you tell me if you still believe in the Goddesses.”
Corvan turned his gaze to Gracen. “And what of you?”
He smiled. “I’ve always praised the Goddesses and held them close to my heart. And, in all honesty, I don’t believe that they would want you to throw away your kingdom on their behalf. But I’m not so bold as to speak for them.”
Corvan brought his gaze down to the table, trying to process what he’d heard. His council, save one, were unbelievers. But he quickly brought his eyes up, not wishing to appear to his council as conflicted as he felt.
“I want you all to return here at third hour in the day’s second half. And I want you all to have at least one solution for me that doesn’t involve surrender. This meeting is over.”
The council knew better than to add anything to Corvan’s words. They rose, filing out of the room.
But one remained—Gracen. The foreign advisor stayed seated, a small smile on his face.
“Did you not hear me?” Corvan asked. “The council is over.”
“A moment of your time, your grace,” he said, leaning forward and clasping his slender fingers together. Corvan glanced at his hands, able to tell that they’d never held a blade or a trowel or otherwise seen a single day of physical labor.
Part of Corvan wished to dismiss him. But instead, he rose and stepped slowly toward the arched windows that looked out over the city. Storm clouds gathered in the distance, swirling around the mountains that separated the realms of man from the realms of the elves.