The king motioned the man to come forward. The bony man scurried up before the dais and fell on his face and knees, quivering in the sorcerer-king’s presence.
“Well, what have you to report?”
“Your Majesty, it’s such an honor to be in your presence.” The man’s head again touched the floor.
“Yes, yes, get on with it.”
“King Grekenbach of Graushdem led his forces against the Wizards’ Hall, during the day, when the light confined the wraiths in utter darkness. The king overran the defenses there, slaying the orcs and ogres. They located the wraiths in their daytime resting places and brought them out into the sunlight. When they tore open the cases, the wraiths burned to ash in the light. Graushdem’s forces took back control of The Wizards’ Hall.”
“So you drew the short straw as to who would bring us this news, did you?” Rage flared, but as a leopard crouching to strike, his voice softened. “We’d be surprised if you hadn’t made out your will.” A strained laugh cracked the ominous silent. The king looked over the gawking courtiers. No one moved.
The messenger, apparently thinking the danger past, strained a sympathetic broken laugh. He started to look up. A ball of fire burned away his face to the skull roasting his brain. The sizzle died away as the quivering body collapsed. The Dark Lord laughed, looking at the sprawled body’s smoldering skull.
“It’s always good to be prepared.” His anger satisfied; the Dark Lord smiled. “Remove that.”
Two ogre guards at the edge of the dais rushed to cart off the carcass. The king turned to his chatra, who used to such responses, was unfazed.
“While King Grekenbach destroyed my occupation force there, the king is ignorant of the hidden powers within the Wizards’ Hall. When the time comes, it shall be a race between Memlatec and me to see who unlocks those powers. Dismiss the court; we’ll entertain no more petitioners today.”
Smegdor hurried along behind the king, struggling to keep up.
“Will there be any further orders, Your Majesty?”
While he wouldn’t stoop to acknowledge his servant, he heard Smegdor following several steps behind, lest the sound of his dragging leg annoy the king. The chamberlain rushed down the hall behind the king and Smegdor, followed by some petitioner.
“Your Majesty,” the chamberlain called out. “Your Majesty, this man’s from the South, and –”
The king turned, and Smegdor dropped to the floor. The king shot wizard-fire that hit the chamberlain’s left hand. The blue fire burned so hotly the man’s flesh melted and bubbled on the bones before turning to ash and drifting to the floor.
Staring at the charred bones, the shocked man began to scream but slapped his remaining hand over his mouth. Before he could look up at the king, another bolt of blue fire whizzed past his head and incinerated the man behind him. Not daring to look back, the chamberlain dropped to his knees, falling prostrate on the floor.
The king sucked in a deep breath, enjoying the sweet, smoky smell of burning flesh. Invigorated, he turned to Smegdor, cowering against the wall.
“Smegdor, we’ve need of a new chamberlain. This one seems to have forgotten we dismissed the audience earlier.”
Smegdor stayed pressed against the wall. “As you say, Your Majesty. I’ll send candidates when you’re ready to receive them.”
The king continued down the hall. He heard Smegdor’s step-and-shuffle behind, straining to keep up.
“What of the former chamberlain back there?” Smegdor asked.
“Be creative, Smegdor. Send him to feed Magnosious. Tell him to say: This one doesn’t count against your half-dozen.” The king laughed, and the two continued on to the workroom in silence.
“Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?”
“No. Go attend to the chamberlain’s resolution before Magnosious eats an entire orc cohort.”
Hearing Smegdor shuffle away, the king turned to a huge blood-red spessartine crystal in an alcove behind the worktable. The rich color wasn’t very translucent. Darkness developed toward the stone’s center that deepened to black at its heart. The king spoke to the crystal, and the blackness seemed to absorb even his words.
“Never mind the recent losses along the peninsula’s eastern half. The armies we’ve reserved below in the Munattahensenhov’s catacombs are adequate to overrun the South. With our spring attack on Neuyokkasin, we can surprise the kingdom and overwhelm it from Sengenwha before the Neuyokkasinians are aware of the orcs’ presence there. With Neuyokkasin defeated in the first attack, the remaining states will offer little resistance. This Prince Saxthor is causing havoc now, but in the end, we’re destined to win, and rule all the peoples of Powteros.”
7: Turmoil & Fragmentation in Sengenwha
The Aquamarines of Unity
King Calamidese paced back and forth on the balcony of his study high atop Sekcmet Palace. He looked out over the southern plain at the dusty haze over the desert, southeast of his capital. North of the city, he enjoyed the blue tone of the distant mountains and thoughts of rich pastures, tranquil farms, and the forests beyond. He turned to his dog standing nearby, one of the few things he trusted anymore.
“I rule a great and diverse kingdom. The dynasty is the most ancient of any on the peninsula. Father and Grandfather took me as a child to ride out across the country and look over the kingdom’s varied lands. On those trips, they’d drill into me all the wondrous things each of my antecedents did that contributed to the stability of this ancient kingdom. The constant reminders of our dynastic accomplishments worried me. I felt I might never achieve the greatness they attained. As crown prince, my responsibilities intimidated and humbled me.”
The dog got up and looked at his master, but seeing the man was still talking, he circled on his cushion and curled up to doze again.
“Now, as king, I’ve just given away my legacy to the South’s hereditary enemy, without any struggle.” Putting the profound thoughts into words sent a chill through Calamidese. He looked at the dozing dog, envious she was so peaceful, so carefree.
“I’ll never be able to face my antecedents in the next life if I’m the one that brings down the dynasty. There’s no way out now.”
The king paced the balcony. After two days of internal struggling, Calamidese was exhausted. I suppose I should discuss the matter with the only person who might understand my predicament, he thought. He rang an attendant. “Summon my sedan chair.” I’m sure mother expects me, she’ll have heard by now, he thought. Only the timing will be a surprise.
The litter carried him to the dowager queen’s palace. She received her son in her private drawing-room, ordered refreshments and dismissed her ladies-in-waiting. The king paced, anxious to be alone with his confidant. Troubled and desperate to talk, Calamidese saw his deep concern reflected in his mother’s face, but neither would speak of important issues in the presence of others. When the doors closed behind the last lady-in-waiting, the king put down his cup and saucer and moved to the chair closest to his mother.
“I may have brought the kingdom to ruin, mother.”
The dowager stiffened, sitting upright, focused on her son. There was no softening the blow. He was direct with her as with no other.
“Nonsense, Calamidese, you’ve done no such thing.”
He drew in a deep breath. “I’ve made a treaty with Dreaddrac’s king, allowing his orcs to enter the kingdom. It was to be for security in exchange for training, but the stream never ends. They mass on the southern border. I think in preparation for an attack on Neuyokkasin in the spring. It’s as if we’re now an occupied nation subject to Dreaddrac’s every whim.”
The queen’s jaw locked; she paled but remained silent. Her eyes seemed to swell amid a frozen stare. Only her white knuckles betrayed her shock that stabbed him like a knife. He slumped and withdrew his hand from the arm of her chair. His gaze deflected to the carpet. The relief at sharing his burden was short-lived, seeing her tension.
The dowager cleared
her throat, and then her features relaxed. “I’ve heard my ladies mumbling since the incident in the throne room with that monstrous ambassador.” The dowager folded her hands in her lap. Both were silent for a moment. He felt nauseous, having shared his burden, now involving her.
“You see, father and grandfather pressed me for revenge on Neuyokkasin until their deaths; I still feel them pressing me to take revenge now. I let that demand blind me to the danger I’ve brought on the kingdom.”
He stood up, walked over to the fireplace, rested his arm on the mantle, and propped a foot on the fireplace fender. The fire’s heat felt good, dispelling his nervous chill.
“That’s not a good excuse for this disaster, my son.”
Calamidese turned to her. No one spoke to the king like that, but he drooped. She was right. “Now the orcs pillage the countryside and oppress the people. I fear Dreaddrac’s minions can seize the country and topple the monarchy anytime they wish. Those creatures know it, and so do I. They only permit me to rule as a front until the spring. After that, they’ll dispose of us all together, I suspect. I’ve failed the kingdom and the faith and trust of my people for simple revenge. The Neuyokkasinian queen had nothing to do with grandfather’s humiliations in Talok-Lemnos.”
The dowager sat listening without speaking, while her son talked through the horrible realization of his poor decision’s consequences. He talked about his fiasco for more than twenty minutes until he felt better. He realized that, while she shared his pain, she couldn’t resolve the problem as she had solved so many problems when he was a child. He was again alone with his burden.
She rose from her chair, went over and hugged her son. It was a rare moment. By custom, royalty suppressed their feelings, absorbing the strain behind stone faces in times of trouble to calm their people. Here in her private drawing-room, the queen displayed support and affection in the face of the dynasty’s collapse.
“Enough of this,” the queen said after they’d held each other for a moment. She patted his shoulder. “It was a mistake to embrace Dreaddrac’s king for revenge on Neuyokkasin, but your father and grandfather pushed you to it. You must understand that it’s not entirely your fault; however, as king, only you can affect the damage.”
“I don’t understand, mother.”
“Your father and grandfather sowed the seeds of this disaster long before you were born. Your grandfather, Calamidese V, was a vain man whose false pride demanded he conquer an empire. He was a good administrator but a poor general. Truth is, when he failed at military conquests, he couldn’t face his shortcomings and blamed the failures on others. He focused his anger on King Minnabec, your father’s rival for Lydia.”
“His bitterness increased with age. I remember thinking that as a child,” Calamidese said.
“His bitterness festered because his wounded pride would neither let him forgive King Henri Tulak nor accept his limitations. The fact is neither King Minnabec nor King Henri intended to offend your grandfather; they just sought their kingdoms’ advancements. Had your grandfather looked at it with objectivity, he would have seen that, but his pride got in the way. He died a bitter old man.”
“I remember there didn’t seem to be much grieving at his death,” Calamidese said. “I loved grandfather, but he was cold.”
The dowager queen put her hand on his shoulder, then went back to her chair.
“Your father was indoctrinated by your grandfather to hate Neuyokkasin. Dynastic pride has blinded the kings to the facts. Now we see where that unjustified revenge has led you.”
Calamidese stared into the fire. What she said was true. “I studied the history of Sengenwha as a boy. Before father’s venom destroyed my impartiality, I concluded Sengenwha was the aggressor. In fact, the Neuyokkasinians were very lenient with Sengenwha after the wars. Had I looked at the situation realistically, I might have had an alliance with Neuyokkasin. Instead, the family pride and our perceived humiliation twisted everything to ruin.”
He turned from the fireplace and faced his mother. “Well, it’s too late now.”
“It’s never too late, my son. You are king, and it will take a king’s strength to admit to the errors and correct the situation. As king, you are the only one with that power. You must find the strength within you to do so.”
“Aren’t you ashamed of me for admitting to such mistakes and bringing disgrace on the dynasty?”
“Pride has been this family’s shame. Rather than admit our poor judgment and misguided but human actions, our pride led to more of the same, and the people continued to suffer for it. Even kings make mistakes. It takes a real king to admit it as a prelude to correcting those mistakes.”
Calamidese studied his mother’s face and mannerisms. As consolation prize, grandfather insulted mother at every opportunity, Calamidese thought. Father used her to provide an heir with no respect for her as a person, or as queen. She endured their despicable treatment, raising me to reject their hatred and false pride. Perhaps it is too late, but I can at least try to undo the mistakes I’ve made. After all these years, and with the dynasty teetering on obliteration, she has defeated father and grandfather and banished the imagined need for vengeance.
Calamidese looked at his mother and saw not the submissive wife subject to the power of her late husband, but the queen who would have made a better monarch.
“You’re the strength to which royalty aspires, Mother.” He hugged her, and with a smile, turned, and left. Calamidese felt lighter, renewed, and stronger in his sedan chair on his way back to Sekcmet Palace.
How ironic mother is the person least concerned with revenge, he thought. She has the greatest reason to hate them all. King Henri offered her, his youngest daughter, as consolation after Lyttia rejected Father’s proposal and married Minnabec.
By the time the king arrived at Sekcmet Palace, he’d resolved to bury past animosities and save his kingdom if not his throne. Calamidese sent a messenger, ordering Dreaddrac’s ambassador to present himself at court the next morning.
“The wraith won’t be appearing unless he’s in the ambassador’s body,” Calamidese told his valet. “He won’t exert himself. The phantom is certain he intimidated me at the previous meeting. He’s confident I’m afraid to challenge Dreaddrac’s power -- overconfident.”
King Calamidese sat upright on his throne for the formal audience the next morning, holding his scepter like a sword. When Dreaddrac’s emissary strolled into the sparsely filled audience hall, his overbearing self-assurance withered at the sight of King Calamidese, glaring down at him.
“We’ve summoned Dreaddrac’s ambassador before our throne to inform the representative Sengenwha’s borders are henceforth closed to Dreaddrac’s forces,” Calamidese looked around at the stunned courtiers, while the ambassador absorbed the devastating proclamation. Then the king stared at the ambassador. “Should troops from Dreaddrac seek to travel south in the future; they’ll have to secure another route. We cancel the former treaty and demand your king withdraw his forces now infesting our kingdom.”
In front of the ambassador, the king told his senior generals, summoned earlier, to step forward.
“You will close the borders to any further influx of orcs, ogres, and trolls from Dreaddrac or Prertsten.”
“Let it be so; let it be done,” the chamberlain said. He smacked his staff on the marble floor. The ambassador jumped, his face flushed and puffed up.
“Have you nothing to say?” Calamidese asked.
“I request permission to withdraw, Your Majesty.”
“Granted.”
*
The ambassador scurried from the throne room as fast as his short, bowed legs would carry him back to the embassy, where he locked himself in his study. There he alternated pacing and sitting, drumming his fingers on the desk. He waited for nightfall, when the wraith, inactive in the basement, would rise. Meanwhile, he scribbled a detailed account of the audience with King Calamidese and sent it at once by messenger to Dreaddrac. He
packed his possessions, preparing for certain recall or possible flight. Nauseous at dusk, he stumbled to the reception hall, sucked up his gut, and stood erect to face the vaporous monster about to rise from the basement.
*
King Calamidese summoned his chatra and his scribes to his private audience chamber. Before admitting the clerks, the king spoke with the chatra. “First, let us say that we wish to thank you for your years of service to crown and country. It’s likely we will not have the opportunity to express our gratitude again.”
The stunned chatra’s head gawked at Calamidese. He hesitated, jerked an awkward bow, and cleared his throat. “It’s been my honor and pleasure to serve Your Majesty these many years, and I hope to continue for many more.”
“Well, it’s not likely we shall be on the throne for many more years – or even days. As you are well aware, Dreaddrac’s wraith has threatened us. The truth that we have kept even from you, our chatra, and the nation, is that we’ve made a secret alliance with Dreaddrac. You must have suspected it when ordered to allow the wholesale invasion of Dreaddrac’s minions through the kingdom. We made a dreadful mistake in that treaty when we permitted the orcs and ogres free passage. Now, we’ve attempted to curtail the damage. We ordered the borders closed. There are far too many aliens in the kingdom already. Our throne is no longer secure. That’s why the wraith felt safe in appearing and threatening us, even issuing orders to us.”
“But, Your Majesty ---”
“Allow us to finish. It is probable, almost certain the wraith will challenge the border closing. We have no means of stopping such a monster, and our wizard seems to have disappeared. It would seem he couldn’t face down the wraith either. We wanted you to know the situation since soon you may be administering the state in our absence.” The chatra jolted forward but remained silent. “Now that you’re informed, you may retire. Send in the scribes on your way out.”
The N Arc of Empire- Complete Series Page 83