The Fall of Erlon

by Robert H Fleming

  “There’s a bucket.” Nelson pointed to the port wall of the room, but Lannes kept staring down at the floor.

  “I’m okay.” The green hue of the emperor’s face didn’t agree with his statement. “Just need to keep my mind off it.”

  “Smart.”

  Nelson shifted the paperweights around on the desk. They held down various letters and maps and drafts of royal orders from the frequent rolls of the ship. He had too much work to do.

  “I assume you knew about the betrayal through your network of spies. Or someone from Morada passed along information.”

  Nelson looked up from his papers and found some of the color was returning to the emperor’s face.

  “Yes.” Nelson nodded. “Being allies for so long gives you plenty of access to inside information on your friends.”

  “And of all the things you could’ve done to stop the betrayal and prepare to fight the Kurakin, you chose to come and talk to me.” Lannes raised his eyebrows and kept his eyes locked on Nelson.

  The king’s advisors had said the same thing. Sorceress Thirona had been the strongest opponent to this part of the plan.

  “I wanted to consolidate allies,” Nelson said. He moved the stone paperweight next to his right hand slightly to the left. “I couldn’t stop the schemes already in motion and I feared telling other Coalition members would only muddy the waters even more.”

  Nelson was surprised to see Lannes nod in agreement. It was the king’s turn to raise his eyebrows back at the emperor. He’d expected Lannes to disagree with Nelson just like everyone else did.

  “You chose to prepare for the battle rather than try to prevent it,” Lannes said.

  “Precisely.” King Nelson nodded. “I thought keeping you alive instead of letting Moradan poison be slipped into your food was the better move.”

  Lannes’s eyes drifted back to the stern window, but he quickly snapped them back. He looked like he regretted the brief glance outside and chose to keep speaking instead of dwelling on the rolling sea outside.

  “You’ll need Erlon in this war,” Lannes said.

  Nelson nodded once. “Your armies will be key.”

  Silence fell on the quarters. Nelson watched the emperor’s mind work. The man had somehow guessed at parts of Nelson’s plan early on and kept quiet. But now that the Kurakin betrayal was out in the open, the emperor was seeing the full field for the first time.

  Lannes tilted his head and the side of his mouth turned upward in a wry smile. “I can help you with Erlon, of course. My people, my soldiers, will follow me and my officers.”

  Nelson agreed. Lannes as a figurehead would be invaluable.

  “But my real value is elsewhere.” Lannes didn’t continue the thought. The other half of his mouth joined in his smile now and the emperor showed his teeth to the king.

  Nelson knew what Lannes was thinking. It was the part of his plan that he doubted the most. It went against everything Brun had fought for the previous decade. It was something none of his citizens would agree with and all of his advisors, especially Thirona, would oppose.

  But it was the only way.

  “My real value is elsewhere,” Lannes said again. He met Nelson’s gaze across the table and the king waited for him to form the same question Nelson had been asking himself every night for months.

  Lannes, the greatest military commander on the Continent, took a breath in and spoke quietly. His voice was barely audible over the sea wind outside the stern window.

  “Are you going to let me fight again?”

  Leberecht

  Leberecht’s carriage rattled down the road as he basked in the glory of his victory. His plan was finally in motion, the Kurakin turn had finally happened.

  The carriage slowed and a knock came on the window. Leberecht moved the curtain aside and opened the glass to find Mikhail outside, sitting on a horse. The Kurakin’s hair hung down in tangled locks from his head. He wore a black coat against the drizzle of the rain falling.

  “Good evening, Mikhail.” Leberecht offered his gloved hand out the window and shook Mikhail’s.

  “Evening, sir.”

  It was strange seeing the ambassador now dressed in the normal Kurakin attire. He wore a black military uniform with heavy riding boots. The now-empty dagger scabbard was replaced by a long, curved sword not dissimilar from the cavalry swords used by the northern armies.

  The sight of Mikhail’s blade made Leberecht’s eyes shift to the bundle of cloth seated opposite him in the carriage. Leberecht always felt drawn to unwrap the religious sword and strap it to his own belt. He felt it was a good trophy for the man who had accomplished the betrayal of the Wahrian Realm.

  Leberecht didn’t truly believe it was the Ascended One’s actual sword. The chances of the blade surviving and being kept in such great condition over the centuries were quite low. Leberecht believed it was merely a propaganda tool used by the Tribune to inspire piety.

  But Duroc had requested the blade be stolen and it was easy enough to steal. Leberecht had been happy to agree to such simple terms, as it meant full cooperation from the mighty Kurakin.

  He looked away from the wrapped bundle and back at Mikhail.

  “Scouts made contact southwest, just off the road in the Lainian hills.” Mikhail wiped moisture off his forehead and made a clicking sound down at his horse to keep its path steady next to the carriage.

  “Your army?”

  Mikhail nodded. He looked up the road to the west. “We should reach their picket lines tomorrow morning, I hope.”

  “Good. Thank you, Mikhail.”

  This had been a part of the plan that had kept Leberecht up at night. He’d never worried about fooling the Wahrian royals or the Brunians or even the parts of the Moradan leadership that would oppose this betrayal. Instead, he’d worried about the chaos at the start of this new war.

  Reports from the front were few and far between. The few letters Leberecht had received in the two days since leaving Citiva had been vague at best and useless at worst. He felt blind in his march west. He just had to hope they wouldn’t be found by the Wahrian army.

  But the Wahrians were in even more turmoil than Leberecht’s side. Leberecht had known this great betrayal was coming. He’d orchestrated it from the beginning, since before the Erlonian Emperor had started his exile on Taul.

  Prince Rapp, or King Rapp now if Duroc had completed his side of the plan, hadn’t suspected a thing. The Wahrian queen had never trusted Leberecht, but she never would’ve dreamed a lowborn Wahrian would be capable of such a betrayal.

  There were risks along the entire journey. Plenty of places where things could’ve fallen apart. Rapp had even suspected a traitor attended the summit. That could’ve undone Leberecht’s carefully laid schemes easily.

  But Rapp had made a fatal mistake. He’d confided his beliefs in the actual traitor and never stopped to investigate the man right in front of him.

  It’d taken all of Leberecht’s willpower to not laugh in the boy’s face during their discussions about the traitor. Leberecht had often wanted to scream at the boy and tell him how stupid he was. Rapp was full of royal arrogance.

  Leberecht’s carriage slowed again and he looked around the curtain to find that night had fully fallen.

  “We’ll camp here; it’s a good spot off the road,” Leberecht heard his driver say.

  A group of horses galloped by. Mikhail gave orders to the guard around them. Leberecht stepped out of the carriage to stretch his legs.

  He smiled at the world around him. To the north, through the dense forests of western Wahring, sat a portion of the Wahrian army. Back to the east, down the road Leberecht and Mikhail and the Kurakin guard with them had just traveled, sat Citiva and the Wahrian royals in turmoil.

  How Leberecht wished he could see the faces of the Wahrian royals now.

  He was surprised to find himself actually feeling sorry for them, especially the boy Rapp. He was a good kid, or at least wanted to be.


  Maybe he would’ve even made a good king, if one believed in hereditary monarchies.

  Leberecht shook his head and smiled even wider at the thought. If Rapp wanted to be king, he’d have to fight for it. That was what the boy had wanted throughout the whole summit. In a way, both Rapp and Leberecht were getting what they wanted through Leberecht’s schemes.

  But only one would win.

  Leberecht would ensure he proved victorious. He’d planned for too long to lose the war now. He had the Kurakin on his side, he had every advantage. Now he just needed to direct his allies to victory.

  A question passed through Leberecht’s mind that he knew the answer to, but he imagined all the royals across the Continent were now puzzling over it themselves.

  Why?

  Why would Leberecht do this? Why would the Kurakin betray the Coalition after all those years of neutrality in the far south? Why would a Wahrian-born diplomat rebel and betray his country and start another war just as peace seemed to be descending on the land for the first time in centuries?

  Because the royals of the Continent needed to go.

  That was Leberecht’s answer. The royals themselves wouldn’t understand it, but it was the truth behind this coming war.

  The people didn’t need the kings and queens anymore. They could choose their own leaders, like the Kurakin chose their generals to lead them.

  The big irony here was that Leberecht actually supported how the Erlonian Emperor had risen to power. He disagreed with Lannes proclaiming himself an emperor—that was such a dirty word used by ancient tyrants from before the Ascension—but the Erlonians had actually voted to put him in power.

  Lannes had earned the power. That was worlds better than the late King Charles Franz being a monarch simply because of who his father was.

  Leberecht’s stomach grumbled and it sounded like far-off cannon fire. He shook his head and turned to reach back into the carriage to grab his pre-dinner snacks. A small wedge of cheese and a link of salami was exactly what his stomach was grumbling for at the moment.

  “We’ll camp here,” Mikhail said as he trotted back from relaying orders to his men. He dismounted and walked with Leberecht down into a grove of trees just off the road.

  “Let’s get an early start tomorrow,” Leberecht said. “We won’t need to unpack much, let’s get to the army as early as possible. No need to risk being captured this close to safety.”

  Mikhail nodded and waved away Leberecht’s offered slice of salami. The Kurakin walked off to relay Leberecht’s wish to the carriage driver and the other officers.

  It was strange, trusting a Kurakin. There were centuries of northern beliefs that screamed at Leberecht to stop and run away any time Mikhail smiled and showed his pointed teeth.

  But General Duroc and the Kurakin army were Leberecht’s key to overthrowing the power structure on the Continent. He needed their mammoths, Scythes, ferocious soldiers, and military excellence to fight the remains of the Coalition.

  The Kurakin never should’ve been offered a spot in the Coalition in the first place. Emperor Lannes had backed Brun and Wahring and every other northern faction on the Continent up against a wall and forced them to call upon the great southern beast for help.

  Leberecht’s great scheme had appeared to him as if it were divine intervention when he’d heard the news that Duroc would treat with the Coalition leaders. Leberecht wouldn’t completely rule out the idea that the Ascended One was guiding the recent events on the Continent. Things were almost too perfect for the god to not be involved.

  But Leberecht also knew that he was one of the only men to be able to pull off this brilliant plan. No one else was as politically savvy or as smart as he was. The escape from the Wahrian plateau with the Ascended One’s sword proved that by itself.

  Leberecht smiled again and felt a now familiar cramp in the small muscles of his cheeks. He’d been too happy lately. His face wasn’t used to smiling continuously for days on end. The pain felt good and only made his mouth turn up even more.

  He ripped off another chunk of cheese and tossed it into his mouth. He chased it with a bite of the salami. The mixture was flawless and would serve to please his stomach before the servants could get dinner ready.

  One more night, Leberecht told himself. Only one more night and then they would reach the Kurakin army on this side of the Antres Mountains and it would be finally time to fight.

  Then Leberecht and Mikhail and the generals from Kura and Morada could unleash the next phase of their plan and march towards their ultimate goal.

  They would campaign against the Wahrian army and defeat them before winter struck. It would be quick and painless, at least for Leberecht’s side.

  Then the former farmer’s boy born north of the capital would march on Citiva itself and overthrow the royals of the Wahrian Realm.

  Rapp

  There were too many emotions for Rapp to deal with without shutting everything out. Confusion. Sadness. Anger.

  Fear.

  The gathering of Wahrian leaders from Citiva and beyond sat in the pews of the temple of the Ascended One. Rapp watched the backs of their heads from the back of the sanctuary.

  The Ascended One’s statue towered over the scene. He looked down on the temple and the Wahrians gathered to coronate a new king. The god didn’t have eyes for the commoners, whether they were important dignitaries or not. Rapp knew the god only watched one person.

  The person who had failed him.

  Rapp hung his head and buried the thoughts deep inside his gut. They were replaced with others that were almost as distressing.

  The news of the Kurakin ambassador attacking the palace guards had been disturbing and confusing by itself. But when it was confirmed that Ambassador Leberecht had left with the Kurakin, things had devolved into chaos.

  Morada was splitting along with the Coalition. All the work of the peace summit had been for nothing. The Kurakin official declared war on the Coalition factions the next day. The delegations fled the plateau and the talks ceased. Only the war councils remained in contact with each other.

  Then the worst news of all arrived.

  King Charles was dead. His army was betrayed and scattered. Numerous were dead and captured at the hands of General Duroc himself.

  The Kurakin had hung Rapp’s father in front of their army, making Rapp the king.

  He’d dreamed of the day of his coronation since the time he’d been old enough to understand what being king had meant. He’d always known he’d do a better job leading Wahring than his father and mother.

  But now that the time was here, long before Rapp expected it, he felt the weight of the entire world pressing down on him. It was suffocating.

  The Wahrians shifted in their seats. A few looked backwards at the royal gathering at the doors. They looked impatient.

  Rapp wasn’t ready for this. He would never be ready for this.

  The soon-to-be king felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He turned his head and found his mother behind him. The now ever-present sadness still hung in her eyes, but she smiled at her son. Her hand gave a soft squeeze on his shoulder as the music started from the string quartet in the alcove by the door.

  The commoners stood up and turned towards the back to watch the procession. The widowed queen started down the aisle, flanked by two soldiers. Rapp’s sister Julia gave him a kiss on the cheek and followed her mother.

  The Royal Guard went next. Everyone was dressed in black, the normal yellow of the Wahrian colors stricken from the palette for mourning.

  Rapp was left at the back of the temple alone. The towering statue’s eyes bore into him. He felt very tiny all of a sudden. He wanted to run away.

  He’d failed the task given to him by the god. He’d failed to prevent the war the god said they couldn’t win. Now Rapp would be king and he’d march off to fight that war.

  It was exactly what he’d wanted for so long, a war and a throne. And he found his knees shaking as he stood just inside t
he doors of the temple and the eyes of the Wahrians in front of him stared at their new king.

  The music changed. Horns blew and joined the sad strings. The commoners bowed their heads. Rapp’s legs stiffened.

  He finally started forward and almost broke into a run. He felt like he was moving downhill. The walk passed quickly and he didn’t remember a single face he saw in the crowd. It was all a blur.

  Rapp was on the Tribune’s dais behind the statue before he could process his own actions. The Ascended One’s priest held the crown up and said a few words. Rapp knelt and looked up at the priest. The blank wall where the Ascended One’s sword used to hang screamed out from behind the Tribune and dominated the scene.

  Then the crown was on his head. The horns started again. The commoners cheered. The noises echoed in Rapp’s ears.

  The royals proceeded back out of the temple. Rapp was thankful for the traditions of the realm being short. If they had been drawn out any longer, Rapp would’ve ordered them cut. He had work to do.

  Only the momentum of action would keep his mind off the terrible thoughts dwelling inside the new king. Only decisive action would get revenge on Mikhail and Leberecht and win this war for Wahring.

  “Rapp,” the queen said after they’d exited back out into the bright sunlight of the fall day.

  Rapp ignored his mother and marched down the street of houses that had been abandoned by the summit members. The housing had reverted back to holding the servants of the palace or were now empty and waiting on the next royal guests.

  The plateau felt hollow now. Rapp never would’ve believed he’d want all the stuffy diplomats to be back around him, but their company would mean the Coalition was still in control. It would mean there was order in the world.

  Rapp forced his mind away from those thoughts as well. Too many other terrible things flashed before his mind, though, and he couldn’t hold them back. His father hanging from a tree. His weeping mother. Leberecht lying to Rapp’s face.