by S. Nileson
“Apologies, Emperor.” The trainer grasped his blade and shield firmly then plunged at Malus, bashing him in the face and knocking him down. When the Emperor tried to get up, he was kicked down and held firmly in place by the immovable Turian’s foot.
“That is more like it,” praised Malus. His pride was wounded but at conflict, for he did not want to seem weak and withdraw his request. The Emperor grazed on his teeth.
The trainer helped Malus up and said, “Perhaps you should consider a more balanced style and focus on remaining alive long enough to let others do the fighting for you.”
“Remarkable!” He looked at the Turian’s surprised face and explained, “I’ve been thinking of how to have Starkad gift me his Varangian Guard.”
“I don’t see the relevance.”
“They serve to protect and I can feint needing such protection.” Malus never thought of himself as weak and in need of protection, even though many of his subjects knew how inadequate the Emperor was at the martial arts, and truly thought that he had to act the part to convince anyone of his helplessness.
“I see, Emperor.”
“Starkad is the only true loyal subject that remains.” He looked at the Turian and asked, “Do you think he will give me his Varangian Guard if I command him?”
Even as Emperor of Nosgard, Starkad was beyond the influence of Malus. The only thing that bound the hot-blooded Kolian to the Emperor was his father. After all, Servak was the Razul to their god of vengeance, Rostam. Starkad, everyone knew, was beyond being commanded and tamed.
“Not commanded, Emperor, but perhaps convinced.”
“I certainly can convince my uncle.”
Since his first memory Malus could remember Starkad visiting his brother and him and telling them stories of Kolian heroes. He would speak of Batuta, his father, and his deeds against Senna, of Rostam and how he came to show the Kolians their folly and guide them back to a virtuous life, and of Servak and his mighty deeds unifying the Four Kingdoms and the rest of Nosgard and casting out many enemies. Even though unrelated by blood, Starkad was in every way an uncle to the two brothers, and a brother to Servak.
“Like me,” Malus said, resuming an attack stance, “the Varangian think that the best defense is an attack, and they are the best defenders Nosgard has ever seen.” The Emperor looked at his two training swords, light blunt weapons that are only capable of inflicting bruises at the most, and said, “I will continue training as I always have, with a blade in each hand.” He charged at the Turian.
4
The Emperor despised being disturbed in his quarters. In fact, he did not like any unexpected guests, announced or not, coming without being summoned and would punish them mercilessly, if he could. Yet he always made an exception when Teeban interrupted him, for the advisor was beyond punishment from Malus.
Teeban walked in without halting for the guard stationed outside the Emperor’s quarters to be allowed a chance to inform him that a guest has arrived. “Twelve thousand Oboi’s worth of gold for our assistance and the acceptance of our terms,” Teeban announced, startling the Emperor.
Malus was examining the fiber of a new gown made for him. It was a shining red and had a smooth texture to it that made his fingers gently slide at the touch. He continued his examination, barely holding his enthusiasm in check and attempting to hide his anxiety, and said, “And the other terms?”
“Declare me an official imperial advisor of Nosgard. We would also expect you to offer your full cooperation should the Abyss Brood, our enemies as much as yours, attack either of us.”
“I accept, but I do not see the people accepting so easily. Can we not have this arrangement remain undeclared?”
“For practical reasons it must be so.”
“And the Sky Wing truly believes it is for the best?”
“Without doubt.”
Malus bit at his finger, as he often did when thinking, and said, “Then it is done. Tomorrow I will make the declaration in Gallecia and send messengers to the rest of Nosgard.” He then took a short walk across his room to continue pondering the situation with Archer and why it was not mentioned in Teeban’s terms. “What about the outlaw?”
“We believe he is a subject of the Abyss Brood and is to be dealt with as an enemy and traitor. Speaking of which, have you come to decide how to deal with the rebels?”
“Not entirely, but I have an idea to help keep me safe from their vile reach.” Malus smiled as he disrobed to try the feel of his new Parthan gift on his skin. “In one of the messages I sent to Prince Iolcus of Partha I praised the quality of their silk. He sent me this Parthan robe in response.” After changing, he approached Teeban and said, “Don’t let this gift fool you. Partha is not out ally. I wonder what gifts I can manage from those who are loyal to me.”
“Kol!”
Malus smiled. “I want Starkad’s Varangian Guards. I want to take them under the guise of needing protection and using them to capture Archer. Perhaps even sending Kolian agents into Parthan territory could further complicating their fragile relations.”
The advisor was pleasantly surprised by Malus’ cunning plan, though he hid it well. “A clever plan.”
“Clever indeed, but lacking details. Have you any idea how such a feat can be accomplished?”
Teeban approached a wall covered entirely in books, Malus’s personal library, and picked out one with the title: God of Vengeance and Blood. He flipped through it as he said, “To the Kolians your father was more than a man, he was a profit, and his death stirred quite the ruckus in Kol. You have inherited Servak’s divinity, and with Salus’ death you became its sole wielder.” He slammed the book, causing a huff of dust to clear its pages, and added, “They must dread the occurrence of such loss again.”
Confused and curious, the Emperor stood silent in his Parthan robes.
“We will make it seem as if the cycle of assassination is happening again by spreading rumors about an attempt on your life. This will surely cause the Kolians to take action and seek new ways to protect you. Once the Warchief’s attention has been earned, we will convince him of using his Varangian Guard.”
“Starkad will not give me his personal bodyguards so easily.” Malus cusped his hands together and sighed. “Perhaps the Guild could prove useful. Although I have lost faith in their abilities ever since they failed to capture my father’s Unnamed Blade’s thief. Let’s hope that they seek to regain their Emperor’s favor.”
“A very sound plan, Emperor.”
“Teeban, my friend and trusted advisor, when this is all over and Nosgard is finally under my firm grasp, we can proceed to continue conquering the world together and expanding the Empire and the Sky Wing, spreading true freedom and enlightenment to all sentient races.”
The dragon smiled at the Emperor’s naivety and at how well he has been manipulated into being utterly convinced that the Sky Wing were truly his allies. Brothers, we will once again regain our herd, thought Teeban.
5
Loud decisive footsteps pounded on the Gallecian marble leading to the throne room. The steps bore the mark of a military march and a man used to issuing command, for they had an imposing manner which manifested itself in their every movement. The sound grew louder as Starkad and his contingent of guards approached the imperial chamber. When they were just outside the door, a cry ordered, “Halt!” The sound of a slap followed.
The gate was aggressively shoved by the Warchief of Kol, Starkad son of Batuta, and the guard dragged by one of his Varangian Guard. “Is it true?” he asked of the Emperor.
Malus, not yet recovered from the shock of Starkad’s violent entrance, hesitantly replied, “Uncle, please explain.” Malus’ voice quivered and his hands shook.
“Has there been an attempt on your life?”
“I heard rumors and my spies confirmed them. One of my servants was killed last week and I was told that the assassin’s true target was me and that it was only by a stroke of luck that I escaped.”
Malus was not used to be insulted and was greatly offended by the Warchief, but even he, with all his pride and vanity, would not dare risk stirring the wrath of Kol’s strongest. “Uncle, I simply did not want to worry you.”
“You think yourself only an Emperor? You are much more than that to Kol. You are the Razul’s son, an important figure to all of us. If we cannot worry about you then there is nothing we can worry about.”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Come back to Kol where I can protect you. The Gallecians are clearly not ready to handle the protection of someone of your importance.” Unimpressed, he shot glances at the Gallecian guards spread around the hall.
“Unacceptable.” Malus’ voice stiffened quickly and softened just as swiftly when Starkad grimaced at his tone. “I must stay by my people. It is my father’s will.”
Starkad, too, was not used to being refused or challenged. To him Malus would always be a child, as he understood his father to view him long after his death. “Then you leave me no choice. I myself will guard you.”
Of all people Malus sought to avoid, Starkad was the one he most dreaded. Whenever Starkad was present, Malus noted, he assumed control over his affairs, leaving the Emperor no room for negotiation or involvement. He was, as Teeban often noted, too wild to be in civilized company.
“Uncle, it will pain me to be the reason of your separation from your people. My life would be but a small price to pay to prevent that from being so.”
“Speak of no such sacrifice again.” Starkad stared at Malus’s eyes for a long moment, firmly acknowledging that he did not fear the Emperor, and continued, “You might be Emperor, but to us you are a living symbol.”
“Uncle, please speak not as such in front of my guards,” said Malus, he tried to shout at the Warchief but could not amass the courage.
“Guards!” He looked around and saw how dwarfed the Gallecian guards were, even in their royal silver armor, when compared to his half-naked Varangian Guard. He pointed at his Varangian Guards and said, “There are proper guards, not the pretty things you have decorating your palace.”
“Then perhaps they should protect me.”
“Perhaps they should.”
Malus’ heart slowly returned to its normal pace, and his perspiration withdrew from the tip of his pores. But he was too soon to relax, for the Warchief was not done yet.
“There is one more thing that worries me still,” Starkad said.
Malus turned his head curiously.
“That advisor of yours, Teeban is his name, I believe.”
“What of him?”
“I don’t like him and I think he has no business being in your company. We have not forgotten the prophecies your father warned us about. The dragons, in all forms, are a menace. You should be weary of what this vile lizard whispers in your ear.”
“This vile lizard has proven his loyalties, Uncle, and I have no cause to suspect him of any malice.”
Starkad sighed. “Do you not see how far we have fallen since they arrived? Kol and Alvissmal are nearly at war, the Peacekeepers have been reduced to small scattered forces by an army of your very own, and the Sennan Alliance no longer raise your banners. How can you not see this?”
“This Empire was built on fragile supports that crumbled with the death of my father. All we can do now is salvage whatever we can from the ruins of a glorious, short-lived past.”
“It was all a wicked plan set in motion with the Razul’s murder. It was the Sky Wing’s doing.”
“Have you proof?”
Starkad shook his head in response. “Time reveals all.” No salutations or farewells marked the end of Starkad’s visit, just the distancing sight of his brown cloak bearing Kol’s insignia, the clashing axe and sword. “You now protect the boy,” he commanded his Varangian Guard as he left.
6
Once Starkad had left with a small contingent of his Varangian Guard, a fraction of those who came with hi to Gallecia, Malus resumed his ploy and summoned the Varangian’s leader to the court, with specific instructions to come alone. An entire contingent of Gallecian guards –disciplined and armed – welcomed the lone Kolian.
Khatar was his name, the frightening hulk who served directly under Kol’s Warchief, and murder was his talent. The Varangian had a uniform unique to the other Kolian warriors. They wore the best scale mail armor Kolian smiths could craft when heading to battle or on a mission, covering them with the dull golden tint of their metal. Brown leather bound the armor to its wearer’s body in a perfect fit that allowed ample protection without constricting any movement. An axe and a sword were the weapon of most Kolians, but Varangians had no preference as they were equally skilled with all tools of war. A true image of terror stood in front of Malus, an image decorated in countless scars from the little skin that showed, and his Gallecian guard seemed to be inconsequential in Khatar’s presence.
“You lead the Varangian Guard?” Teeban asked.
The man remained silent, showing not response to Teeban’s inquiry.
“My advisor asked you a question, Kolian,” Malus said, his voice rich with authority.
Khatar removed his pointy helmet and set his piercing gaze upon the Emperor. “You think to put me in place? Don’t forget how easy it is to protect one who is bound in chains and tucked far away into a cellar which no one knows of. Boy, this snake has no authority over me and is merely kept alive because Warchief Starkad wills it…for now. I will not dignify his presence by granting him even the mildest form of attention.”
The Emperor’s teeth grazed while he shot a glance to one of his Gallecian guard. Somehow the terror in the man’s eyes sent chills up the Emperor’s spine and made him, too, agitated in Khatar’s presence. A dragon and over a dozen of Gallecia’s finest soldiers could not give him the confidence required to properly scold the insolent Kolian. He looked at the dragon and asked, “Do you mind leaving us?”
Teeban nodded and walked past the Varangian, brushing his shoulder with the brute on his way out. The gesture was a sign of animosity and a demonstration of his physical superiority to the human, for he did not bulge at the resistance of Khatar’s presence during the moment of collision and, in fact, Khatar was slightly shoved aside. Regardless of how frail he might have looked, Teeban was still a dragon and his strength vastly superior to that of any living man.
When the advisor was out and the door shut, Malus continued, “You are here a guest and your comfort is important to me. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do for you.”
“I seek no luxury or pleasure, just your protection. Speak your mind quickly and let me return to my duties, Son of Razul.”
Malus sighed and squeezed his eyes with two fingers. “Very well. I have received word about the whereabouts of someone who seeks to assassinate me, perhaps even the man behind the plot on my life. This man should be heading to Partha now, or somewhere else where he can be safe from my wrath. I want you and your men to dispose of him.”
“Unacceptable. The Warchief wants us to remain here for your protection, and here we will remain.”
“Do you propose we just wait?”
Khatar withdrew for a moment, growling as he thought and stirring much worry in the Gallecians surrounding him. “The Varangian will remain here and a new temporary commander will be instated in my stead as I pursue the man myself.”
Malus clapped in childish eagerness, a gesture Khatar thought unfit for a man in his position. “Well then, he is easy to spot. The target has his face completely covered in ink.”
“Somewhere near Partha?”
“Between Fort Pax and Partha, to be precise. He was spotted by one of our lieutenants and a small raiding party of his near Stonerift.”
“And where is this lieutenant now? I wish to speak to him.”
Malus nervously said, “The man failed
me and suffered the consequences. He is with his troop now, somewhere in a ditch long covered.”
“I see.” Khatar nodded approvingly. It was the first positive gesture given by him to the Emperor. “I will leave once finished with the preparations regarding your protection. With no salute or formal gesture Khatar left, his brown cloak fluttering behind him as he walked past two lines of silver-lad Gallecian guards standing steady and still with their sharp halberds held high.
Chapter 7: A Warrior Appears
‘Find an honorable adversary, seek a harsh tutor, and follow a Warchief with command over the heavens and earth.’ Varangian Code.
1
There were no more blue drapes and flags in Fort Pax and much of them replaced by the crimson and black of Gallecia. Some Gallecian soldiers had discarded their bulky armor to help raise their flags and redecorate their new post, and they worked diligently.
No battle was waged for the fort, only acts of subterfuge and dishonor, qualities which vexed Khatar beyond his tolerance. He walked through the open gates guarded by the shining Gallecians with their halberds raised and passed without even the briefest exchange of greetings. They had been informed of the Varangian’s arrival.
Past open shops and taverns made noisy by the songs of Gallecian soldiers, Khatar walked and silently calculated his plan to seek out the mysterious man who troubled Malus so. He remembered Starkad’s words before leaving Kol, “Whatever happens, Varangian, know that your first and final loyalty is to me. No one else is to know a word that did not cross my ears.” And Khatar, as the loyal man he was, would not forget those words till his last dying breath.
Commander Chordus Cestus was a man who Starkad spoke of more than a few times to Khatar. The Warchief was not particularly fond of him, and trusted Duke Constantine far more as the Peacekeeper Commander, but he had fought by his side before and spoke well of his battle-worth. His intentions were not pure, Starkad claimed to have felt, and his eyes always said that there was something he chose to hide. His honor was never tested and he remained a subject of distrust, especially after being made the leader of all Peacekeepers.