by T. G. Neal
“The Maker,” Kyvan scoffed and rolled up the scroll in his hand.
“The Maker.” Elmis said, looking at his son. “You may question the Maker and what He does, but one way or another, you will learn that He is indeed real. How you could doubt it after surviving the Barbarians astounds me.”
“Surviving the barbarians was nothing more than having good soldiers at my side and a good healing battle mage.” Kyvan said, standing from his desk.
The King shook his head and sighed. “You must never let the people know that you do not believe. It will cause unrest.” Elmis fell into one of his coughing fits.
“Father, I’m sorry.” Elmis waved him away. “I didn’t mean to upset you, it’s just...”
“Folly is what it is. You are my son, and you are strong willed, and you will be a good ruler as you are. Now, at some point, you must choose a wife.” Elmis said, covering his mouth with a handkerchief.
“I have my pick of all the women in the Brendom, and they all fawn over me. Yet none of them bring me a slight of pleasure or happiness or love.” Kyvan said, walking to the window.
“In time, my son. In time.” Elmis said.
As he finished what he was saying, the door at the end of the large study opened and in came the two court chancellors, the right and left hands of the king. The right hand acted as the offensive arm, carrying out military and judicial decisions. The left hand acted as the defensive arm, using spies, intelligence and dealt with the economy. As they entered they bowed and the left hand began speaking, “Your Majesty, intelligence from the Brendoms.”
King Elmis turned to face the Left and nodded. “Aye?”
The Left bowed his head and spoke, “It would seem that a shift in power has happened rather quickly in and around the Brendom of Drachenara. Our informants have told us that Bren and Brenness Drache were murdered just over a week ago. In the time since then, their eldest son Jorvig Drache has taken the title of Bren.”
“That is sad for the family, but good that it changed to reliable hands.” Elmis said, leaning on one arm.
“It would be, except Jorvig Drache married the widow Brenness Miliria Pardis from Stormvale, and merged their Brendoms. Yet, that is not all. To begin with, rumors spread of the Crimson Hood mercenaries being behind the attack, though for what purpose it is unsure. Now, word has spread throughout Drachenara’s larger cities that a former guard is behind the act of murder and was planning to instill the Drache’s youngest child as the Brenness and himself as Bren. This seems unlikely, because they fled and haven’t been seen since. No news from anywhere.”
“Strange, indeed; perhaps the Crimson Hood mercenaries could be asked who hired them.” The King said.
“They appear to all be dead, Your Grace. It also seems that Bren Hemund has strangely relinquished his title as Bren, and has taken on the title of Governor, and the Brendom of Greyvale has also fallen under banner with Drachenara.” The Left said, with a hint of concern in his voice.
The Right then bowed his head and spoke. “According to this intelligence, Governor Hemund also authorized an act of recruitment for soldiers.”
“Soldiers?” Prince Kyvan interjected.
“It would seem that this new alliance framed around the events in Drachenara is forming an army. Though for what, we know not.” The Right said.
Kyvan slammed his hand down on the table. “Then we march on Drachenara! We take boats into Greyvale and show them that isn’t something they can do.”
The King raised his voice and spoke again. “You aren’t going anywhere, if we choose to do anything at all.” He looked back at the Right and Left and asked, “What are the chances that they could cause any issues for us?”
The Right looked to the Left and the Left spoke. “We don’t know their intentions. They could be fearful of another mercenary attack. There are many sellswords around the Nine, and any one of them could pose a moderate threat to the Brendoms.”
Kyvan spoke again “Yet that is why we have an army, to quell such chances.”
The Left spoke, “Yes, Your Grace, but we cannot be everywhere all the time, and even if we had heard of the attack on Drachenara, we could not have had soldiers there in enough time to put down the threat.”
“Then we station soldiers across the realm.” Kyvan said, angrily.
“Perhaps. Right now, we are contending with the potential that we may upset the Drachenaran people in the midst of their mourning.” The Right said. Then the Left chimed in, “And though they cannot legally form an army without permission. It is a hard decision to make.”
“For money hungry bureaucrats like you, I’m sure.” Kyvan said, seething with fury.
The King slammed his fist on the arm of his chair. “You may be the commandant of our forces, and the prince of this nation but you will, and I mean you will, listen to me. This isn’t a barbarian nation, these are our own people and we will not force them into a corral.”
Kyvan sat back in his seat, contemplative, while his father looked at a pile of scrolls on the table before him.
For the first fifteen years of his reign, Tivanis took a more hands-on approach to his ruling. He would visit neighboring Brendom’s and get a feel for the people. As time went on, and he grew more and more tired, and more and more ill, he delegated more and more power to the men who were The Right and The Left. The two represented the decision makers of the realm, while the King represented the final voice. It was the King who chose when and where to spend money from the coffers. It was the King who approved new buildings, tournaments, and when delegates came from across the seas, it was the King who hosted them.
The King himself now only saw a fraction of the people of the Kingdom, and rarely left the confines of the mighty castle of Mreindale, whose structure stood stories upon stories above the other buildings and reached out over the sea. The King unrolled one of the scrolls of paper sitting before him and leaned back in his chair. He stifled a small cough and cleared his throat before continuing, “Lucandis’ crops are low this season. The Bren requests aid. Honor it.”
The Left nodded, “Yes, Your Grace. How many bushels shall we send them?”
Tevanis pursed his lips. “Are we well supplied for the winter?”
The Left held a rather large, leather-bound book in his left arm, and he opened it. “Yes, Your Grace. We have enough supplies to last thrice a long winter.”
“Send them one hundred bushels of grain, ten barrels of wine, and have fifty head of cattle marched to them before the fall.” Tivanis coughed into a handkerchief, before clearing his throat again. He sat the scroll aside and opened the next one, scanning over the scroll. “This is a letter from the northern forest border of Stormvale. It appears there has been an influx of bandit attacks from the north. Send twenty more men to reinforce them and protect them.”
The Right nodded. “That will make seventy-six men at the northern border, Your Grace. Should we not offset them with perhaps more men from Stormvale?”
Tivanis shook his head. “I do not think that wise, considering the state of the unions in the northern Brendoms,” he mused.
Tivanis may have stayed mostly reserved to his castle, but he did as much as he could to stay involved in the overall affairs of the Realm. He spent the remainder of the day in the main hall, trying to show his son just how to manage an effective Kingdom.
Several days more on the road had put Aurelia and Vaelen on the southern approach into Quardanis. The border was a combination of the Jagged Peak Mountain range and the Swiftlist River, and those mountains ran all from near the coast in Alfendul, along the border of Midland and almost across half the border of Berlessis. Where the mountains weren’t, the river was.
Vaelen had never gotten what happened the night at the Midland Grand Market out of Aurelia, and she had been much quieter the first night after, though she stayed much closer to him ever since.
With every stop they made, whether it be for rest or water for the horses, or water for themselves, Vaelen t
aught small lesson to Aurelia about combat. He re-taught her things he had gone over before with her, just to make sure she knew them, and her bladed combat was showing more confidence.
As the mountains came into view, Vaelen looked back at Aurelia. “I’ve been a lot of places in the Nine, Aurelia, and I hope not to worry you but for once, I have no idea where I’m going from here. I know that The Silver Sort operate out of Quardanis, but I’m not sure where. And I know that Quardanis is on the other side of the Jagged Mountains.”
Aurelia looked up at them and sighed, then she started trotting forward and looked back to him. “Well, what are you waiting for?” She asked with a smirk.
Her confidence was a blessing for Vaelen, who was grateful every day for the woman she was and had become. She was a decent fighter now, a proficient archer, and put Wilder Rangers to the test with her survival skills; all things she had been taught whilst behind the walls of a highborn’s keep. Vaelen smiled and followed behind her.
As the road lead on, the terrain changed from grassy hills to barren flatland with rocks protruding from the ground, and just scattered around. The road at this point almost seemed to blend in with the rest of ground; the only difference was the lack of stone on the road, only a dry dust that kicked up as they approached. Aurelia stayed ahead of Vaelen, a broken-down caravan on the side of the road catching her attention. It had been there for quite some time and had clearly been looted. “Poor people,” Aurelia said aloud.
Vaelen nodded as he caught up to her. “Such is the law of the road.”
“What do you mean?” She asked him.
“There is none.” Vaelen said, looking around him to make sure this wasn’t a place for highwaymen to strike. As he glanced about, his eyes caught sight of where the path wound into the mountains. “Up there,” he said, gesturing to the mountain.
Aurelia looked up at the mountain, its sheer size blocking out the sun at its base. She sighed and rode forward steadily. The ground was barren of all life here. A single dead tree stood in the shadow of the mountains, and a ghastly sound screeched through the mountain canyon. “What was that?” She asked.
“The wind, I hope.” Vaelen stated, getting closer to the path.
The two of them rode forward into the path opening, and started on the incline, the screech coming again. This time the sound startled the horses. Vaelen and Aurelia had to comfort their mounts and keep them steady as they climbed. Here the path was before them like it had been used by countless other travelers.
The path wasn’t easy for them or for the horses. As they neared a less steep incline, they could see that the path wound around the mountain ahead of them and in between the two sharpest sides of the mountain, passing the worst parts and leading them in the small sort of valley of the two.
“I’ve never been here, but I’ve studied plenty of maps.” Vaelen said. “The maps don’t do this place justice.”
Aurelia could only snicker. Making light of the situation seemed to be the best option here. She crested a small hill and realized that it was only the beginning. The hill they just topped would lead them back down into a small valley that existed between the first to lines of the mountain’s various peaks, then up and over another edge a few miles away. She assumed that the Swiftlist River was on the next side of the mountain, situated at the bottom of the Jagged Peak Canyon.
Vaelen took the lead at this time. As they dipped down into the small valley, the area here was devoid of life as well. Not even weeds began to grow within the cracks of the stone beneath their feet. “Such a cold and listless place this is,” Aurelia said behind him. Vaelen only nodded a response.
“I know merchants with carts or carriages usually go around through Alfendul, or Berlessis, but this is a much more direct route. Though with this beautiful landscape, I might should have studied my map further.” Vaelen said and scoffed.
“There is a bridge across the canyon, right?” Aurelia asked.
“Aye, there’s one that crosses it.”
“Great,” Aurelia said with sarcasm in her voice. “Here I was hoping that we could turn around and go the long way.”
Vaelen stifled a laugh as the screech was heard again. Vaelen grabbed hold of the reins of his horse to calm her down, “Whoa, girl!” He said. “What is that sound?”
Aurelia shrugged. “You’re the one I trust for everything out here.” She said.
“I’m a fighting man, that’s what I do.” He let out a short laugh, “Beyond that, it’s all educated guesswork.”
“Could have fooled me,” Aurelia said, riding past him.
It took more effort to keep the horses calm the closer they got to the interior of the mountains. By the time they reached the threshold of the canyon, the tall mountains surrounding them had already obscured the sun from reaching them. From where they walked it was already all but night time, and the blazing orange of the setting sun was nothing more than a faint splash above the peaks of the blasé stone mountains rising from the ground.
The interior of the mountains was indeed a canyon. It seemed like the ground came together in a neat flatland in the middle, and at some point some great being grabbed both sides and pulled them apart as if they were paper, for in the very center was a crevasse that dropped hundreds of feet to a rushing river below.
The color of the stone was all the same here, like burnt wood. Differentiating between the ground, the sides of the mountains, and the side of the canyon itself would be difficult. It was almost as if whenever this particular range of mountains was created, it was all done at once, and perhaps it was.
Night fell fast on the Jagged Peak canyon, and as they continued down the thinnest side of the canyon, they had yet to find a bridge. “We may actually have to turn back,” Vaelen said offhandedly.
“Maybe camp here?” Aurelia asked.
“Maybe.”
They rode onward a spell before finally they saw the bridge, but it was not at all what they had hoped. Stretching the gap in front of them was an old rope bridge that spanned the entire gap, though it missed a few planks here and there.
“No.” Aurelia said matter-of-factly.
“Do we turn back, then?” Vaelen asked. In the distance, he heard a rumble.
Aurelia looked up at him, acknowledging the rumble, but then looked back to the bridge and really giving it a second thought. “We’ve put a day behind us trying to get here,” she said and sighed. “How long would it take us to go back and go around?”
“Days,” Vaelen answered. “But there’s no way our horses can cross that. We will have to go on foot from here, which will lengthen our trip as well.”
The rumble came again, and Vaelen attempted to look around him to discover the source of the sound, but to no avail. As if in response, the screech from earlier happened again. Unease began to settle in him deeply. After calming their horses again, Vaelen looked up to find only a small amount of moonlight to help them.
“We’re here already. Let’s just take the bridge.” Aurelia said, hesitantly dismounting her horse. She pressed her face against the neck of the mare and patted “It’s been a good ride, girl. You be careful wherever you go from here.” Aurelia took off her pack and all the gear she could carry and turned the mare toward the exit. “Alright, go now.” She patted the horse on its hindquarters and watched it walk away.
Vaelen, too, released his horse and then adjusted the straps on his pack as it hung over his shoulders. “A night time walk across a rickety old rope bridge. This is exactly what I had in mind.”
“At least no one is trying to kill us,” Aurelia said with a smile.
Vaelen took the first step out onto the bridge. If it would support him, it would support Aurelia. After a few steps and the confidence boost that came from the bridges ability to support him, he motioned Aurelia onward. Each step was a test of stability, so the process took some time. It was clear that the bridge had been here for many years, far more than either of them would have liked. In places, the ropes were fray
ing, and planks were missing, but it seemed that the ones that were still intact were still strong enough to support a human with no issue.
Then, at about the midpoint of the bridge, it began to rain. The rain preceded the lightning flash by only a few seconds, and then the rumble that came earlier was defined. Along with the next flash of lightning came a gust of wind and the screech. “The sound must have been the wind in the canyon!” Vaelen said, raising his voice over the sound of the rain.
Aurelia didn’t respond, she was too busy making sure that her footing was secure. As she looked down, with each lightning flash, she could see the rushing river below them white capping as it tore through the canyon. Now she wished again that they hadn’t released the horses and had just turned back.
Another rumble of thunder came, shaking the ground and the rope bridge. As they crossed they felt the wind again, but this time there was no screech, and it was a gust unlike the others they’d felt. It felt closer.
The storm they hadn’t expected was now upon them. Rain fell in great sheets and blew sideways in small gusts. The lightning struck close; sometimes close enough to visibly see it hit the sides of the mountains higher up and send boulders falling to the flatland around the canyon below.
Vaelen and Aurelia rushed across the canyon now, moving as fast as their feet would allow them, barely taking time for caution. Being stuck out in the middle of the open canyon was as much as a death sentence as it was taking their time to cross. With each step, they felt closer to their death.
Finally, they crossed the bridge, standing on solid ground on the opposing side. The storm raged on, but as soon as they were off the bridge, a bolt struck the bridge, quickly destroying a pair of planks there in the middle. Vaelen huffed, and looked back, and then looked to Aurelia, whose fright was apparent on her face. “We’re okay.” He breathed.
Then the screech came again, but this time it was close, and better described as a roar. When looking toward the sound, Vaelen made out a shadow that darted through the air. “Aurelia…” he trailed.