Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1)

by Blake Bisciotti

  “How bad were the losses?” Asked Argorok.

  “We lost just over half the army. No ogres survived.” He took a heavy breath before he continued. “All giants perished.” Frick and Argorok straightened in their seats and both and exchanged glances. Argorok slammed an open fist on the table and shook his head, but said nothing. Neemno continued, “They fought bravely and gave us an incredible advantage. They were committed deep into the battle, and could not escape when the dwarves attacked. Or perhaps they could have but chose to fight honorably until the end, I can not say.”

  “Damn the dwarves!” said Abutosh with a goblin accent on his common language.

  “Did anything happen while we were away? The Singrin Peaks? Eastland? Northland?” Neemno digressed and he did not know how the question would be received. The matter of the army’s defeat would certainly require further discussion. When Frick began to answer him he felt relieved that the council was not demanding explanations from him.

  “We have made good progress to the north and east. Walls are being constructed and the lands tilled for farming. More of your kin have arrived, but the number of arrivals has begun to drastically decrease.” The giant explained with a stroke of his goatee. “A large tribe of just over one hundred goblins did arrive though. They were from Lirrowick Forest and claimed to be tired of bowing to the wild elves.”

  Abutosh hastily interrupted, “My kin were able to bring much wood from forest.”

  “Yes, indeed, they did arrive with wagons of much needed wood. It seemed as the though the elves were overjoyed at their departure and sent them away with gifts for their new home,” Frick continued, receiving a not so adoring glance from the goblin leader for the comment. “There were some outbreaks of feuding. Nearly forty orcs. The brawling was quickly stopped, but four were killed. We shall hold trials for the offenders this week. Nothing has changed from the mines. We dispelled the workers there, allowing them a reprieve from the hard work of mining. Others replaced them and all were grateful.”

  After a brief pause, Argorok continued the original conversation. “Will the human and dwarven forces continue their attack?”

  “No,” said Neemno confidently. “There will be no further attacks on Faletonia.”

  “How can you be sure? Together the humans and the mountain folk make a formidable force and it seems they, or the humans at least, desire conquest,” boomed the stone giant, frustration still evident in his voice.

  “They know they can not conquer us. Their losses were also great. Humans fear what they cannot conquer…but there is more.” With this Neemno looked to each member of the council present. He felt anxiety swirl within his body. He sighed and continued “We met with their leader after the battle and negotiated an end to the war.”

  “What?” Screamed Minsheen as he leaned forward in his seat.

  “We made peace so that we would not be at risk any longer.”

  “Without consulting this council?” Minsheen said with anger elevating his voice.

  “The humans want to abandon their campaign. War only slows our growth; it was the right move and had to be made quickly. There was not time for a council discussion.”

  “And what did you negotiate?” Asked Argorok. Minsheen slammed his fist on the table, clearly angry that the giant chose not to rebuke Neemno.

  “They would return their army to their cities and would not get involved with our affairs with the dwarves in the mountain.”

  “And our end of the bargain?” Asked Minsheen, knowing there was more to be told.

  “We will not go near their lands in the south…” Neemno swallowed hard and each council member waited for the inevitable next more painful condition. “And we will leave the city of Southland with them.”

  “Damn it! Sunth Pedotc!” Cursed Minsheen, partially in orcish as he aggressively rose out of his seat. “We have the strength to take the city back. Our scouts have reported the dwarves have left to return to the mountains.” The two orcs looked at each other scornfully and puffed out their chests. Neemno clenched his fist while Minsheen growled.

  “The decision of war or peace should indeed be a decision voted on by this council,” Argorok stated, “but peace is the best option for us now. We are dug in for defense, but let’s hope to avoid having to fight in our cities. I am not sure if we can trust the humans, but time will tell. There is much to discuss now, whether we find ourselves in war or peace. Let us welcome a life without war, for Neemno was right…we could be more productive in the sanctity of peace. It will allow us to focus on other matters.”

  “Oh fuck off!” Minsheen roared. All eyes went his way.

  “I did what I thought this council would approve. There was a small window to negotiate peace. I seized that moment.” Neemno said as he took his seat.

  Minsheen gave Neemno a stare that was soaked in contempt, but then he sat back down as well. The meeting continued for another two hours with discussions of economics, diplomacy and law.

  ***

  Lightning sprang to one target and then quickly zigzagged to strike two others, each severely burned by the bolt. The cloths that draped the targets were singed, but before the flames could burn out, huge sharp shards of ice zipped by and pierced into three more targets.

  Clapping ensued as Rez Mostin looked on, impressed by the two wizards’ efforts. “Well done.” He complimented the men. As he stopped clapping, something happened to the two targets, which were designed to look like men. Each suddenly repaired itself and looked as if nothing had happened.

  Rez and Ardius had been watching a group of four mages train for an hour. There was a middle-aged man who looked odd wearing all red. His pants went down to midway through his shin and has shirt’s length was to the middle of his forearms Two of the men wore rather nondescript clothing and could easily pass for any random person in the streets. The fourth was dressed in a manner that one might expect from a wizard. His purple cloak was long and had gold on the cuffs of his sleeve. Atop his head sat a wide circular brimmed hat that had a cone pointing up from the middle. It was a very cliché wizard’s hat indeed. Ironically, he was the least talented of the four; at least within the field of magic they were practicing. The training was primarily focused on attack spells. This was only the second time Ardius had observed some of the Crimson Fox’s wizards and the first time he was introduced to any. They knew who he was and but he wasn’t sure if they were aware that he was to be the Magi Warden.

  “Fantastic.” Ardius said as he slowly walked closer to the two magic users. Once again he was impressed with the power of magic. Its destruction was incredible. “Can either of you cast illusion spells?” He asked as he looked from man to man.

  “I can not.” One man said quickly.

  “I can, but minor illusions.” Remarked the other.

  “Such as?” prodded the future Magi Warden.

  “Um…” the man looked to Rez Mostin who stood awaiting an answer. “I have two spells. Illusory Wall, which creates an illusion of a wall…or floor or ceiling.” The mage looked proud as he spoke.

  “Very useful, and the other?” Ardius asked.

  The mage shifted uncomfortably. “A cat. I can cause the illusion of a cat.”

  Ardius laughed, “Excellent.” He thought to ask the man to do so, but did not.

  “We can continue with this, or we can move onto non battle work?” Rez asked his soon to be successor. Ardius rubbed his bald head and looked around at the mages. He could tell they preferred to work on and learn spells related to battle. He thought how it must be an incredible feeling of satisfaction and power to conjure a lightning bolt or a fireball.

  “Let’s turn to some civil training. From what I’ve seen so far, the demand for our services on the farms and mills has grown substantially with the war and men away,” Ardius said. Rez Mostin nodded in agreement and approval. This was the wise decision, the right decision, and the decision Rez hoped to hear.

  “To the field,” Rez said to the mages and they be
gan to walk away from the dummies. They were in the vast magical room in the basement of the house Ardius had first learned of his future role. This was where all magic training occurred. The large cornfield remained in existence and some men were already there, working on some spells while others tended to the stalks. The size of the field was around thirty yards by thirty yards.

  Arcane magic was not able to create food and crops. Only divine magic, mostly from Tuemis the god of the hearth and home, could accomplish this; however mages were able to create water and light as well as quickly clear fields and protect them from pests and vermin.

  “Rain?” Rez inquired.

  “Sure,” replied Ardius with an excited smile. Rez turned to one of the wizards nearby and gave him a nod. The man raised both of his arms. In one of his hands was a wooden staff with a gnarly bulb at the top. He mumbled a few words and dark clouds appeared over the field. The men working within the fields looked up. Before they could react, the clouds opened and rain poured down on them. They began to run to avoid getting wet. One man slipped as he started to scurry away and fell face down into the dirt, which was fast becoming mud. Laughter went up among all who observed.

  Rez fixed his wise green eyes on Ardius, who continued to laugh and stare up at the rain cloud. It seemed like a trivial question, but choosing to go to the field was the right decision. It was the type of decision that someone taking over as Magi Warden should make. Battle spells were sexier and far more interesting, but usually less important. The ability to make these decisions was why the Crimson Fox turned to Ardius to take over such a powerful position. He hoped young Ardius would make good decisions with magic for a long time.

  Chapter 28

  Thump Thump Thump. Argorok looked up from his desk towards the front door. It was late for visitors. He was writing a letter to another giant who was helping build the city of Eastland. With a steel quill in his hand (no bird would have feathers large enough for a giant to use its feather as a quill) he continued to look at the door.

  Thump Thump Thump. The giant rested the quill in the ink well and went to the door. He suspected it was another late night visit from Frick and was surprised to see three orcs outside.

  “Greetings Argorok, and apologies for the late visit,” said Neemno. He was accompanied by a short muscular orc with tattoos and an elderly shaman.

  “Neemno, Stath good evening. Please come in.” The giant looked down at the shaman. “I do not believe we have met. I am Argorok.”

  “My name Yizego,” said the shaman. His accent made it clear that the common tongue was not well known to him.

  The orcs entered the large doorway and followed Argorok to a giant sized table.

  “Wine?” he offered them.

  “No, thank you,” answered Neemno on behalf of all three orcs.

  “What brings you this way, Neemno? Before we begin discussing anything, allow me to say that I think what you did with the humans was the right move. Peace is what we need. Peace affords us the best chance at success. Of course, it would have been preferable if it was discussed with the council…were time to allow it,” Argorok said as he sat on a chair. The tabletop was three feet above all the orcs’ heads and the chairs around it were too high for them to just hop on to sit. Neemno propped himself up on a chair to the right of Argorok and helped pull Yizego up onto the save chair as well. To the left of the giant Stath, who was short by orcish standards, grabbed on to a chair and pulled himself up. Stath made up for his height with brawn. He was said to be nearly as strong as an ogre. His arms were so muscular they hardly looked like they properly fit his body. They were also covered in orcish tribal tattoos. It took little effort for him to pull himself up.

  Argorok smiled as he did not expect the orcs to jump onto the chairs. “What do they want?” he thought to himself. He would get the answer quickly.

  Neemno produced a scroll from his pocket. He held it in front of him at the table and took a deep breath and then said, “There is no easy way to discuss this, but we must speak of Minsheen. We fear that he is close to trying to disrupt all we have accomplished in Faletonia so far. He has plans that could our nation crumbling down.” The giant shot Neemno a concerned look and then sat back in his chair. Neemno continued, “At first he just mentioned radical ideas about an orcish society that was meant to be by the will of Zatelboz, our god. But now it sounds as though his intentions will soon be actions. No one would deny that orcs are the strength of Faletonia, our numbers are great, our contributions greater…but this does not mean that we must forget all that we’ve built here. Minsheen believes it should be so. Minsheen wants all the power. We cannot allow such a thing”

  Argorok didn’t know what to think. He felt uncomfortable. The shaman, Yizego, motioned his hand forward towards the giant while looking at the scroll that was in front of Neemno. Neemno did as Yizego requested and slid the scroll forward. The stone giant looked at both orcs and took the scroll. As he unraveled it Neemno asked, “This letter is written in our language, but I believe you have been studying orcish and can now read it?”

  “Yes,” replied Argorok as he straightened out the paper in his hands. The scroll was extremely small in his massive hands. The writing was even smaller to his eyes. He squinted and began to read aloud, giving his translation of the words into the common tongue.

  “Neemno, I have learned of our loss in battle. My heart goes to our kin who…” Argorok squinted even more. He did not know the translation of the next orcish word.

  “It is the equivalent of died in battle…with honor,” said Neemno as he looked at the scroll.

  Argorok looked at Neemno whose green eyes continued to be focused on the letter. He continued, “We will forever remember those who helped us accomplish our goal. Do not despair, for soon Faletonia will be ruled by only orcs.” The giant looked around to the orcs at the table. They all looked back and Neemno shook his head with a look that showed either disapproval, disappointment or both.

  “Now is the time…” the giant continued to read, his deep voice speaking slowly as he translated the orcish characters. “Now is the time for…” again he stopped and stared at a word he did not know.

  “Which word?” Asked Neemno as he leaned in to look at the letter.

  “This one.” Argorok said as he put his face closer to the page and pointed a large finger at a word.

  “Which, this word here?” Neemno pointed to the same word as the giant, who squinted to read it. “It means…the revolution!”

  At that moment, with Argorok staring intently at the page, both Stath and Neemno quickly pulled swords from their waist. In one quick motion both orcs shoved the blades into the throat of the giant, who was leaning over the table. The powerful orcs each yanked the blades in different directions gashing his thick throat open. Yizego screamed something out in the brutish orcish language and pointed his hands towards the shocked and dying giant.

  Argorok stood at once, but could not get his breath as blood spilled from his throat. He swung his left arm, delivering a blow that knocked Stath off his chair and drove him into the wall. The giant tried to move from his seat, but he felt so heavy and immobile. He could not tell if it was his fleeting life that made him feel that way, but he suspected otherwise as he saw the orcish shaman holding his hands up towards him as he chanted. Hitting the table on the way down he dropped to his knees and managed one last glance at Neemno. The giant thought to deliver a blow to the traitorous orc, but the apparent magic and his grave wounds proved to be too much.

  On his knees, Argorok, the stone giant, was still taller than Neemno. The orc took his blade and thrust it deep into the giant’s chest. “The revolution,” Neemno hissed in his native language and then pushed the blade in deeper.

  ***

  The door shut behind him and he let out a relieved sigh to be home. Frick had had spent most of the afternoon and night helping to finish building a tall watchtower at the south end of the city. He normally would not have worked so late into the night, but
his great strength and size made a profound difference in completing the tower.

  He removed his boots and rubbed the top of his shoulder. His large body ached from lifting stones all evening. Entering his bedroom he stopped in his doorway as he saw a spectacle before him. On his bed, wrapped in his sheets was Amara, a female giant Frick had been seeing. They looked at each other and smiled.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in moments ago, I thought you would have been home already when I came by.” As she spoke she pulled the sheets up exposing most of one of her legs.

  “No problem at all,” Frick responded moving his long hair from his face. “I was helping complete the watchtower in the south of town.” He watched her as she sat up; she kept the sheets over her apparently bare breasts. “Wine?” he asked.

  “That would be delightful,” she said with a smile.

  Frick walked to the next room and stood completely still as he thought he heard a sound coming from a small pantry room nearby. He stared at the door while remaining motionless for a few moments. No other sounds were heard so he slowly made his way to the door. He leaned in cautiously and put his ear to the door but heard nothing. Leaning back he grabbed a frying pan that sat on a counter nearby. With a quick motion he grabbed the pantry door handle and yanked the door open, lifting the pan ready to strike. Inside the pantry were a sack of potatoes, a small barrel of ale, three loaves of bread and a half a dozen heads of cabbage. There was, however, no assailant.

  The giant shook his massive head. He had become so paranoid lately, for several weeks now actually. Argorok had said something to him recently that should have relieved his anxiety a bit. Faletonia was at war with a formidable human force. Thus it would be the absolute worst time for internal fighting and conspiring. The humans in the south had just vanquished their army. The orcs are not foolish enough to be unable to recognize the real enemy. Frick turned back around towards the wine and was startled by a figure that had silently approached him as he turned. He lifted the pan again, ready to strike.