by Jeramy Goble
Jularra knew most of the general Acorilinian populace doubted the true motive for the bolstering of arms, but she was publicly framing the activities as an overdue series of training exhibitions and equipment overhauls. Jularra also hoped to use the façade to minimize any suspicion that might arise from outside Acorilan’s borders.
In the days following the final council meeting, food supplies across all counties had decreased to an even more dire level. Even so, Jularra secretly ordered Morganon’s stores be dangerously depleted in preparation for the invasion. And while Jularra and her lords knew the supplies would go towards sustaining their armies that they might deliver a long-term solution to their food shortage, they also knew that the citizenry's response to their conduct would be entirely dependent on its success.
Jularra leaned on the rail of her bedchamber’s balcony and rubbed her eyes. They felt swollen and dry—not from her usual hangover, but from the early hour and brazen sun. She let her hand fall and blinked repeatedly.
She heard the daily throwing back of the curtain, and turned to see Korden holding two cups. She held up a dismissive hand.
“No, thanks. Not this morning,” she said.
“Want mine?” Korden offered. “It’s just water.”
She stared at his cup for a moment, hesitating. Maybe she did want the wine.
No. She stepped over and reached for Korden’s water. She held the cup up to him in a thankful toast and walked back to the ledge.
“It’s really quite something,” Korden said. He set the wine down on a table before continuing. “We’re on the brink of a famine. Granaries are running low. But they’re down there, giving it their all for you. For Acorilan.”
Jularra cut a disdainful glance at Korden as she drank his water.
“Oh, you know I’m teasing you,” he said. “But the trust and devotion really is humbling.”
“I know,” she replied. “I want to reward that. I want to reward them.”
“Reward? That’s an interesting word choice.”
“You know what I mean.”
She sighed and leaned out over the balcony, but turned around again almost immediately. She stared deep into Korden’s eyes.
“I don’t want to fail them.”
She walked over to Korden. Once she was within a few feet of him, she leaned over and swiped the wine cup from the table. Korden didn’t blink.
“You won’t fail them,” he said firmly. “Our strategy is solid.”
“I still don’t like trading famine for war.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“I know,” she said. “But it still doesn’t change how I feel.”
“There are no good options, Jularra. We all know there are no good options. Everyone knows that you know there are no good options. You’re doing what you think is best for the survival of our people. You can’t linger on doubts.”
“I’m not lingering.” Her words became sharper and louder. “I’m suffering the conscience of a leader, of a queen. I will always doubt, second-guess and question my actions and any options. Once I’ve made up my mind, though, I will see my plan out. And should the plan involve combat, I will be merciless.”
Korden scratched his head. “I’m only saying you don’t need to waste your energy on those options you didn’t choose. Your decision is good. Your motive is just. Like I’ve been saying all along.”
He turned to leave as she shot back another throatful of wine and slammed the cup down.
“Wait.”
He turned back to her with a slight grin.
“I know what you meant,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap, and I don't mean to patronize. You feel these burdens just as much as I do.”
He replied with a slight but sincere bow. Jularra shook her head at their exchange and turned back to the ledge. Korden joined her at the railing.
“Once we are on the field,” she began, “victory will be my only consideration.”
Korden said nothing, and she soon spoke again.
“Let’s go over to the training grounds,” she said, mentally running through a checklist of preparations. “I want to see how things are coming along.”
Korden stepped back, but Jularra lingered, still looking down on the crowd.
“What is it?” Korden asked.
She shook her head quickly, turned, and marched out.
The two skipped the lifts and raced down the stairs after collecting a contingent of Bedrock. The guards helped them cut through the courtyard, and Jularra and Korden made for the training grounds. The usual clanging and shuffling of the Bedrock armor grew to its typical volume. Jularra barely noticed it anymore. Each time she emerged from the residence tower, her mind was already swarming with scenarios, negotiations, the ramifications of a thousand decisions. This walk to the training grounds was no different.
Until they came upon the blacksmith’s corridor.
She halted at the start of the corridor and, together with her guard, caused somewhat of a blockage in the crowd’s flow. She hadn’t intended to disrupt the area, but she couldn’t help it.
“Jularra?” Korden whispered.
She stood, rigid, holding her ground as though struggling in the face of a violent gust. She leaned forward and squinted, as if trying to see something on the horizon. But she was looking at something only feet away. They weren’t there, but her mind inserted the beggar and his daughter into the spot they'd been in previously.
A half-dozen carts were passing, rolling by slowly due to her and her guards' presence. The drivers weren’t fazed; they weren’t even paying attention. They looked just ahead of their horses, faces drawn, oblivious to most anything other than the feel of the reins in their hands.
She feared the father’s and daughter’s poverty were what all of Acorilan had to look forward to. She surrendered to uncertainty. It sliced through Jularra’s nerves like a dagger. There was nothing that would relieve her or her people. Her nerves remained open and exposed, ready to be packed with despair.
But then the fog of doubt lifted. Anything that took away from her focus on a victory in Torguria drained out of her mind. Only a delicate, possible premonition of the merchants in front of her remained. They wore carefree smiles in a future where they returned to working only for themselves, and sold their goods for the benefit of their families.
Jularra flashed Korden a dauntless smile and resumed their march.
“On to the grounds!”
Still surprised, Korden and the other Bedrock had to skip a few steps to keep up.
Well before they passed into the training yard, Jularra made out the smacking of weapons against armor and targets. She shivered with anticipation, anxious to see what everyone was up to. There was a degree of excitement for war, but this was mostly a feeling of pride in her people.
The men and women in the yard at the moment were representatives of her Bedrock and Spire—the elite of her warriors. Their combined skills of brute force and agile lethality exemplified most any combat skill available to a fighter. Any Bedrock or Spire on their own was an intimidating prospect; fighting alongside each other, they made for an almost unstoppable line of offense. She had absolute confidence in both, and Jularra—together with the rest of the nation—revered them as the epitome of military might. Each member was a mentor and an example of excellence to all the other common fighters in the country.
The bulk of Burrek's regular forces trained outside the city walls, where they had room to do so. The Bedrock and Spire, however, were small enough in number to meet in the training grounds. The yard could be divided and configured into numerous layouts, depending on the need. At the moment, it was divided into three sections: two large areas for the Bedrock and Spire to train separately, and a smaller section where the two elite groups sparred together. This area allowed for each specialization to train against the other so that each unit developed skills to adapt to any foe.
Once the queen and her guards had entered the grounds, Korden announced
her arrival by screaming a command everyone was trained to identify and obey immediately.
“Quit all current matches in three… two… one…”
The countdown was so that each combatant could follow through on their attack, and so that each could be subsequently defended. No one showed much surprise, since the senior commanders of each elite unit always brought their sessions to an end in this manner.
As Korden bellowed the countdown, the flurry of activity rapidly decreased. Violent bashes against armor trickled to gentle scrapes of metal on metal, and then nothing. Korden quickly followed up with the announcement proper.
“Fall in for presentation to your queen!”
Men and women from around the grounds scrambled and dodged to race to their proper presentation formation. Lesser marshals stepped out from their respective groups to keep an eye on the formation coming together. As each subdivision filled its ranks, that group’s marshal would count off and then fall in themselves. When the formations were complete, each group greeted their queen in a unison of biting syllables.
“Our queen! ‘Zah!”
The last syllable, short for "huzzah," was sustained by the assembled men and women, and rang out for no longer than three seconds. And since the queen followed in the steps of some of her predecessors by being an active member of the Spire, the women offered an added greeting of their own.
“Strike!”
An homage to the Spire’s full motto: From the peaks we strike and destroy. Their united voices ripped through the air and ricocheted off the nearby walls. Jularra’s eyes blurred and then refocused as pride and adrenaline raced through her veins.
“Thank you!” she shouted. She held her arms up as she repeated her appreciation. “Thank you for that humbling greeting!”
Only faint hints of sound from elsewhere in the city could be heard between the queen’s words.
“I am visiting today to check on your readiness, and to marvel at your skill and capabilities. It has been a fair length of time since some of you have seen a battle, and others still have yet to be tested.”
Jularra turned slowly as she addressed the entire yard.
“Regardless, I wouldn’t bet on anyone on the receiving end of a Bedrock or Spire blade!”
The training grounds roared with appreciation. The men boomed “'Zah!” while the women yelled, “Strike!”
“I will also be making sure your equipment is in a state that matches your talents. Should you need anything before the battle, let your superiors know, and we will have it taken care of. I am confident that our victory is assured, and I am honored to fight with you. Our people will not be outmatched in the field.”
Jularra looked at Korden and the nearby marshals for any comments or questions. Receiving none, she prepared to leave.
“I will let you return to your training. I will be staying for a while to review some of the matches, but please do…”
A lone voice from within the Spire ranks soared out and interrupted the queen.
“What about you?”
To their credit, only a few of the women let the question distract them from their respectful stance; most did not so much as turn their heads in hopes of identifying the brazen speaker. A marshal immediately began jogging around to the rear while other marshals started to push their way through the ranks.
“Wait. Wait!” Jularra said hurriedly. The angry marshals halted in their effort to identify the disrespectful challenger and turned around for their next order.
The queen shifted to a stern but calm disposition. “In any other context,” she called, “I would have that person found and brought to me, so that I could cut out their tongue.
“But that challenge,” she continued, “is justified.”
The Bedrock and Spire remained frozen in formation, equally stunned by the challenge and by the queen’s reaction. Jularra looked to the marshals.
“With whom shall I spar?”
Korden eyebrows dipped with disapproval.
“Your Majesty,” he whispered. “You are under no obligation to—”
“Ease yourselves, everyone! Let’s have a fight!”
The warriors in the yard relaxed as instructed. The indecipherable chatter over what was transpiring began immediately.
“Who will be my challenger?”
No names were shouted, and no one stepped forward. Jularra laughed. “It’s too late to be shy!” she yelled. “Let’s have the bold woman who shouted from the back step up! Unless shyness isn’t the issue. Perhaps she’s a coward?”
Torsos leaned and necks stretched as the fighters tried to catch a glimpse of Jularra’s challenger.
A wedge started to cut through the Spire ranks as someone worked their way to the front. Uninterested in the identity of the challenger, Jularra walked towards the open sparring area. Korden and her Bedrock followed, but she turned and motioned for them to remain at the perimeter. With her back to the onlookers, and the challenger still making her way through the Spire ranks, Jularra dismissively issued her rules for the match.
“Single round to first submission. No killing blows, obviously.”
The queen turned to face everyone else and waved her hand as she continued.
“And magic is allowed... if the challenger knows any.”
Jularra unsheathed her sword and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, exaggerating her impatience.
The front ranks of the closest Spire group split and spat the challenger out into the sparring area. It was Wona—the Spire those in the yard most expected to see, and someone definitely justified in issuing a challenge to Jularra.
Jularra smiled and opened her arms wide, sword in one hand.
“Ah! Good!” She addressed Wona directly. “Did you hear my rules?”
Wona replied with a slow curtsy.
Spire don’t curtsy.
Jularra let loose a genuine belly laugh as the onlooking Bedrock and Spire snickered and gasped at the show. Outside of the training grounds—absolutely anywhere else—such a display would have been regarded as unequivocally disrespectful. But inside the grounds, amongst their own, the queen, Bedrock and Spire knew Wona’s challenge and Jularra’s feigned condescension to be playful and respectful.
At the lowest point of Wona’s curtsy, Jularra reached out with her free hand and pinched at the air. She pulled it downward. As she did, the ground just below Wona began to crumble and sink. Wona lost her footing from the destabilized ground and started to sink with it - until Jularra pushed her hand up, restoring the ground beneath Wona once more.
Wona stumbled, fell, and rolled onto her side. She looked up at Jularra from the ground, her eyes sparkling with mischief and calculation. And then, with a violent surge of energy, Wona pushed up with a hand, whipped her legs underneath her and launched back up to her feet.
Jularra lowered herself into a preparatory stance as the rank and file of Bedrock and Spire held their breath in anticipation.
But she had no intention of initiating an attack just yet. She relaxed and stood to her full height.
“Actually, I believe we should thicken the mix a bit.” Jularra held up a finger at Wona. “Don’t we need a Bedrock to spar with as well?”
The volume of the men’s rapid reply was the loudest since Jularra’s arrival.
“'Zah!”
Along with their cheer, the men stabbed their swords and spears into the sky. Jularra reciprocated the gesture as she turned to Korden.
“Who should join us?”
The Bedrock had begun repeating their chant of “'Zah!” while Korden looked at Jularra, expressionless.
“What are you doing?” he asked her. His voice fell like a fatigued parent stumbling upon a mischievous child.
Jularra stepped back and twisted her face in teasing puzzlement.
“Do you need to do this right now?” he added, exasperated. “A week out from the battle? With real weapons?”
“What better time to do it?” she replied.
&n
bsp; Korden scanned out and across the Bedrock before looking back to Jularra. He sniffed, bowed his head disapprovingly, and approached the Bedrock with his arms up. The chanting drew to a close.
“Well, it’s apparent the queen desires a proper exhibition. I think, together with Wona, we can provide a suitable diversion, eh, men?”
The chanting burst out into the open air once more. “'Zah!”
“What do you say, Vischuno?”
The Bedrock erupted into a frenzy at the mention of Vischuno’s name. Their next "'Zah!" was the final one before their cheering morphed into wild whoops, shouts, and heckling. It seemed Vischuno was revered as being close to perfection when it came to combat. Wona apparently welcomed his selection, too, joining her cheering male comrades with a hearty round of applause.
The queen was overcome with curiosity and forgot to perpetuate her playful facade for a moment. She had heard stories of Vischuno, just as she had heard stories of Wona. But Jularra had met Wona before. Vischuno only existed in tales related to her by others.
Her neck stretched as she worked to identify him. Then she realized what she was doing, and forced herself to land on her heels and look to the ground. She waved and circled her arms, affectionately antagonizing the grounds as she returned to her spot in the sparring section of the yard. Having reclaimed her starting spot, she turned to see if Vischuno had emerged yet.
He had.
Jularra’s body stiffened. Her mind was sundered from every emotion but disbelief. Her eyelids slid down and peeled back up in a slow blink.
“Well, there’s a fucking nightmare,” Jularra mumbled.
Korden didn’t hear what the queen had said, but still had to work to keep from laughing at the scene.
Fists whipped in the air like dandelions in a tornado. The queen’s ears rang with cheers. The Bedrock’s champion had emerged.
The towering seven-foot slab of humanity burst out from the front row of Bedrock. Once the Spire identified the Bedrock’s champion, their own cheers were injected with a fresh wave of hysteria, causing the entire training yard to resemble a gargantuan orgy of friendly bloodlust and spectacle. Vischuno was the Bedrock’s equivalent to Wona.