War Wizard

by King, DB

  “What is it?” Corvan asked.

  His back to Gracen, the squeaking of wood against the floor sounded through the room followed by the pattering of soft slippers as the minister approached Corvan. Soon, the elf was at the king’s side. Gracen was small and slender, his size reminding Corvan of a human more than any elf.

  “It’s about the Lunar Empire.”

  “If this is another suggestion of surrender, I’ve already given my orders on the matter.”

  “It’s more than that. The last time I was at their capital… I was given an audience with the Emperor.”

  Corvan whipped his head around toward Gracen.

  “You what?” he growled. “Is there a reason you didn’t bring this up during the council?”

  “I didn’t want to cause too much of a stir. And more than that, I was forced to swear, upon pain of death, that the subject of our audience would be for the king’s ears and the king’s ears only.”

  Corvan turned back toward the window, anger roiling inside of him. “Speak.”

  “The Emperor… believe it or not, he looks upon the Tyan Kingdom with no small amount of admiration.”

  “I care not in the slightest for any attempts at flattery from the likes of him. Get to the heart of the matter.”

  “I only mention it because his admiration for you and this kingdom have affected his decision for the future of Tyan. After all, Tyan was the kingdom that held the line at the Battle of Dragoneye, the one that fought the orcs tooth and nail in order to give the other coalition soldiers time to regroup and drive the orcs back.”

  “I know of our history. Now, I’ll ask one last time—get to the point, Gracen.”

  He glanced toward the city, then back to Corvan. “The point is, that the Emperor has offered very, very generous terms if you wish to—”

  “Not a chance in the nine hells,” Corvan snarled, rage boiling inside of him only kept in check by his royal discipline.

  “Please,” Gracen said. “Hear me out. It’s my duty to tend to your foreign affairs, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I failed to relay to you the words of a neighboring Emperor.”

  “Then spit them out and be done with it.”

  “The Emperor’s terms are such. Surrender to him and become a vassal state of the Lunar Empire. If you agree to do this, he will only require half of the pledged soldiers and half of the gold tribute. Lunar forces will occupy the city, and—“

  “And we’ll be slaves.”

  “No slaves,” Gracen said. “Merely… indentured servants who work directly for the empire and receive food, shelter, and protection in return. They won’t be able to leave the city, however, and are subject to the empire’s law.”

  “Sure as hells sounds like slavery to me.”

  “Call it what you will, but this way your people, our people, will remain safe. They will be under the protection of the Lunar Empire, and none of the other kingdoms would dare stand against them.”

  He snorted. “And all I have to do is give up the freedom of my people, to pledge their lives in the service of a distant Emperor. And more than that, I’ll be the one responsible for conscription the soldier tribute and sending them off to die.”

  “The Emperor thought you might have a problem with that. But he assured me that the soldiers from your kingdom will be part of the Emperor’s great crusade to secure not only the east, but all of Varsyth.”

  Corvan raised an eyebrow. “He plans to attack the realms of man?”

  “So he says. And you can be a part of this glorious struggle.” Gracen’s eyes lit up as he spoke. It seemed to Corvan that Gracen was less a diplomat working on his side, and more an advocate of the Emperor himself.

  “If I were to do that, I might as well cut the throats of the soldiers myself, save them the trouble. A crusade to conquer the realms of man—a fool’s errand is more like it. How many elven kings have had such a dream? And how many have attempted it? Men are corrupt, short-lived, but they know how to fight. Every attempt at conquering all of Varsyth has ended in untold bloodshed.”

  “But it will be different this time,” Gracen said. “The kingdoms of man have fallen, and only the orcs remain. It would be a simple matter of sweeping over their scattered tribes.” Corvan noticed Gracen was no longer speaking for the Emperor—he was speaking for himself.

  “Nothing simple about conquering a continent.”

  “You need only leave that to the Emperor,” Gracen said, the excitement building in his voice. “But I haven’t gotten to the best part.”

  “The ‘best part’?”

  “Yes, your grace. The Emperor told me that if you agree to become his vassal, all the Tyan nobles will retain their titles and privileges. That means we won’t be subject to the same stringent rules as the rest of our people. We’ll be able to stay in the castle and you will remain king!”

  His words, his cowardice, pushed Corvan over the edge.

  “That is meant to be the good news?” he asked, turning toward Gracen, looming over the smaller elf. “You’re telling me that I should be content with selling out my people so long as I can live in comfort as a puppet king? That I would be fine with my people being slaves so long as I could retain my wealth?”

  “It’s… It’s merely an offer of good faith,” Gracen said, his voice low and his eyes downcast.

  “An offer of good faith from who? From the Emperor? Or one that you came up with in order to get me to go along with this? Tell me, Gracen, just what happened during this diplomatic mission? Where do your allegiances now lie?”

  Corvan’s hand tingled. Part of him wanted to draw his blade and drag it across the neck of the minster. But he kept his rage in check.

  Gracen brought his eyes back up to those of his king.

  “My allegiances lie where they always have, my king—with you and the people of Tyan.”

  Corvan said nothing for several long moments. Part of him knew Gracen was lying, that he’d switched allegiances and was now working on behalf of the Lunar Empire. If that were the case, Gracen would deserve nothing less than death—and a swift one, if he was lucky.

  But in that instant, as the minister stood before him, the elf’s eyes wide with the fear of knowing he might’ve just overplayed his hand, Corvan settled on a decision. Matters were tense enough in the Crescent Castle. If he were to unilaterally decide to kill a member of the council on nothing more than a hunch, tensions might very well boil over. As far as the rest of the court and council were concerned, Graven was nothing more than a capable diplomat and loyal servant of the crown.

  And more than that, it would be more useful to not overplay his own hand. If Corvan pretended not to suspect something, he could feed Gracen incorrect information, perhaps gain some of his own about the goings-on of the Lunar Empire.

  He pushed his anger down, regaining the calm, regal composure expected of a king.

  “I want to send you on another diplomatic mission to the Empire,” Corvan said. “Bring me a report on the conditions in the capital.”

  “You wish to send me back?” Gracen asked. “But… but I can’t return without an answer for the Emperor.”

  It was more evidence of his allegiance. Why would he care about upsetting the Emperor unless he was working for him? But Corvan allowed only a warm smile to take hold.

  “Tell him that his offer is a generous one. But I need more time to consider the matter. In the meantime, I want you to ensure that peace is still extant between our two nations.”

  “I… I see,” Gracen said. “I will be sure to pass along your message, your grace. But I can make no guarantees on how long this peace will last.”

  “I understand. Now, prepare for your trip. I want you to leave by first dawn tomorrow.”

  “As you wish, your grace.”

  Gracen regarded the king for one more long moment, his eyes searching as if he wished to know if the king suspected something. But Corvan stayed placid, his face one of calm benevolence. Gracen broke eye contact and l
eft the chambers, his slippers soft against the tile.

  When he was gone, Corvan let out a sigh. He hated duplicity, hiding his true intentions. But the situation in the kingdom was dire—he knew he would have to use whatever skills he had at his disposal, from his prowess with a blade to his insight into the behavior and motivations of others.

  But at that moment, he knew he needed the guidance of the Goddesses. A plan had been set into motion, one that was out of his hands, one that required his patience. Corvan was a man of action, however, and standing aside while forces outside of his control moved into place, while threads of prophecy unspooled—such behavior didn’t come naturally to him.

  He passed the hours of the day attending to various matters in the castle. He sent word that the meeting for the afternoon would be cancelled, instead deciding to let Gracen stew in his uncertainty. There was no need to put too much pressure on the rest of the council, and he had no reason to suspect their loyalties

  When the evening came, Corvan was eager to get on with what he’d wanted to do since his meeting with Gracen. He returned to his chambers, the full moon already high in the purple sky. Once there, he took the Crescent Blade from its scabbard and placed it back in his display. But once it was there, he moved the blade until a click sounded, the blade setting off a lock on the other side of the room.

  A section of the smooth, stone wall rumbled open, revealing a passageway down a long hall. Now that the door was open, Corvan took the blade and slipped it back into the scabbard and began his trek.

  The path led to a set of winding stairs that went down, down, tall, rectangular windows along the side almost too thin for fingers but wide enough to illuminate the stairwell in silver light. Corvan’s boots echoed through the space as he made his way down, the path soon shifting from vertical to horizontal as he reached the basement of the castle.

  He continued, the rectangular window bathing the small passage in moonlight. The walk took some time—his destination was outside of the city, after all—but he enjoyed it. The path to the temple was one of the few places where he could be alone, away from the prying eyes of his attendants and the attention of the nobles. The path traveled upward, but so slowly that it was nearly impossible to notice.

  It gave him time to think, to focus. Something about the quiet and the moonlight allowed him to collect his thoughts in a way that he couldn’t while inside the castle.

  After a half-hour or so of walking, he reached the end of the path. The path ended at a stone door, a crescent moon carved into the face, a small notch in the middle of it. Corvan took his blade out of the scabbard and slipped it into the notch, the slit perfectly shaped for the Crescent Blade. It slid in up to the hilt, another click sounding as the door opened for him.

  When the door opened, Corvan simply smiled at what he saw—a vision that brought him peace every time he laid eyes on it. It was a small, rolling glade situated just before the face of the mountains, forest on both sides. In the center was a small lagoon surrounded by raised stone, a perfect circle that was, despite its appearance, a natural formation.

  He stepped into the glade, the air still and peaceful. In a circular formation just beyond the treeline were several small temples, each the size of a mausoleum. These were the shrines to the Moon Goddesses, and the location was a sacred place of prayer known only to the kings of Tyan. The view behind him was high enough for a sweeping view over the city, the gilded spires rising into the night sky like fingers, the Crescent Castle imposing, thick cords of Ravenfinger Vines curling over it like veins.

  Corvan approached the small lagoon, dropping to his knees at its edge. In the center of the lagoon was a stone statue of a beautiful woman, a scimitar in one hand and a crescent moon in the other. Corvan closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, asking for the guidance of the goddesses.

  It wasn’t long before he heard a response.

  “You know, Corvan,” said a woman’s voice from behind him. “You needn’t go through all that prayer business if you wish to speak to me. Merely showing up is more than enough to make me happy.”

  He rose and turned. Before the sweeping vista of the moon-light sheened city stood a beautiful elven woman clad in gossamer robes, her skin fair and her hair the same gray as the stone. Her face was heart-shaped and her features so beautiful that it was almost painful to look upon them.

  She was Allanarath, one of the six Goddesses of the Moon. And she was the only one of the goddesses who remained in that sacred place.

  “I always feel a bit of humbleness is in order if I’m going to speak to a Goddess,” he said as he approached her.

  She smiled, this smile more seductive and inviting in nature.

  “There are many reasons why I favor you, King Corvan,” she said as she stepped toward him, her wide hips swaying as she came close. “But your humbleness is not one of them.”

  When they reached one another, they embraced. Corvan and Allanarath brought their lips together as they kissed deeply and passionately. Corvan placed his hands on her soft, round hips and gently pushed her away. Allanarath raised one gray eyebrow in mild surprise.

  “That’s not why I came here tonight,” he said.

  She smiled. “Your body says otherwise, Corvan.”

  He couldn’t help but smirk at this comment. But Allanarath seemed to detect the heaviness that weighed on the king’s heart. She took his hand and led him to the lagoon. Once there, she placed her hands on his shoulders and guided him down to sit on the stone ridge. Allanarath sat next to him, the two of them looking out over the city.

  “I know that expression,” she said. “It’s the one you get whenever you feel the burdens of your kingdom are too much to bear.”

  “It’s not a burden,” he said. “It’s a pleasure greater than any I have ever known.”

  She raised an eyebrow once more. “Any pleasure?” Allanarath chuckled, and Corvan did the same. The goddess always had a way of lightening his spirit.

  “Even greater than that,” he said. “And today… today I realized the situation facing my kingdom, my people, is more severe than I’d known.”

  She nodded, turning her face to the city. Despite his troubles, Corvan couldn’t help but notice how striking, how beautiful her profile was in the moonlight.

  “You have to have faith,” she said. “Faith in the plan I laid out for you.”

  “I understand. But it’s difficult, Allana. The kingdoms of the realm draw closer by the day. It’s only a matter of time before the Lunar Empire escalates to full-on hostility. And now I have good reason to believe that my own people are working against me. And you wish that I simply bide my time and wait? Not only that, but to wait for a single human who may or may not wish to assist me?”

  “Not a mere human,” she said, raising a slender, graceful finger. “A War Wizard.”

  He scoffed. “A War Wizard and an Elderwood Ranger. I don’t need to remind you, but the Elderwood Rangers weren’t exactly our allies before they were destroyed in the Shadespear Invasion. Throughout history, whenever we requested assistance, they were content to hide in their forests.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Allanarath said. “And this ranger was only obeying his orders. Moreover, you’re aware of the fate of the Elderwood Rangers. Their isolation didn’t exactly do them any favors in the long run.”

  Corvan nodded. “The Elderwood Rangers fell like all the rest of the human powers. And it would’ve been foolish to think they might do otherwise. The rangers were but men, after all. And men only look out for themselves.”

  He considered the matter further.

  “But what’s to say this ranger would be any different? Say we bring him back from the dead, wrest his spirit from the immaterial plane and bring him back to the material world. We won’t have control of his mind, won’t be able to expect him to obey our every command. He could scoff at us and go off into the world to do whatever it is he wishes.”

  “That is true, Corvan. We have the power to bring hi
m back. But we don’t have the power to command him. There is a simple solution to all of this, however.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Is that right? Forgive me, Allana, but not a single bit of any of this is simple.”

  She smiled. “This part is. All you have to do is have faith.”

  “Have faith.” He said the words with a heavy tinge of disbelief. “Bring this ranger back from the dead and then hope and pray for the best.”

  “That’s right. You have never lost faith in the Goddesses, no matter how dire the situation has become in Tyan. I can’t think of any reason why you would start now, no?”

  “I suppose not. But…” He trailed off, as if understanding that the next words out of his mouth might be taken the wrong way.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t want to seem ungrateful. But how is it that one man could mean the difference between life and death, between Tyan surviving, or falling like so many other kingdoms have?”

  She smiled. “That’s where faith comes into play. I don’t know what will happen. Moon Goddesses have insight into the future. But we are not all-knowing, all-seeing. But there is no doubt to me or the others that he is the one. We have the power to bring him back. And you have the power to execute our will. What happens after that… we can only play our roles.”

  “I suppose I should know by this point that asking for solid answers won’t get me anywhere.”

  He smiled faintly, and she matched his smile with one of her own.

  “Now you’re speaking like an elf who has faith.” The smile faded. “But there’s more, more that I have to tell you.”

  “Let’s hear it,” he said. “What’s one more bit of bad news on top of all the rest?”

  “The Shadespear Pass—something is stirring there, something that neither I nor the rest of the Goddesses can place.”

  “Something stirring? You mean, something dangerous?”

  “Something evil, something destructive. I haven’t felt this way since the rise of the orcish hordes all those years ago. And there’s more.”