Empire of the South

Book 3 of The Chronicles of Aertu

Work in Progress

Greetings All!

I decided to forgo my usual method of publishing new chapters as a blog post. Instead, I will post the entire text here as a page, add to it when I complete a new chapter, and post a blog entry linking to this page.

This excerpt is a draft, and there will be changes and adjustments prior to publication.

Once published, I will delete all but the prologue and first two chapters, to comply with Amazon’s Kindle Select program requirements.

I hope you enjoy.

Prologue

Zorekday, Day 12, Hunger Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

I hang naked, suspended by my ankles from a large branch, my wrists bound to a stake driven into the dirt.  Blood oozes from welts all over my body, especially the soles of my feet, the result of the vicious caning I only just received.  I am Xarch and this is the payment I expected for such bad tidings.  My entire squad destroyed by elvish sorcery; I should have just kept running but I needed to warn my people.  Two elves disguised as men, or possibly two halfbloods, both powerful sorcerers and traveling together was a danger to the folk.  I needed to warn them, despite the consequences.

I regret only the shortsightedness of the chief, in whipping me for the delivery of bad news that was none of my doing.  Were I the chief, I would not punish unjustly.  I know it is the man in me that leads to these thoughts, as goblins have no sense of justice.  They act out of anger or fear.  My mother was a hobgoblin, daughter to a slave woman, and my father the former chief because she would accept no lesser as her mate.  This chief forgets who I am, and he will pay dearly for the oversight if I do not die hanging from this tree. 

The crowd of onlookers has lost interest, the last of them finally wandering off.  Ignoring the pain, I wrench loose the stake, flip myself up to grasp the rope, and begin gnawing to free my ankles.  All but the most severely beaten free themselves in the same manner.  Those too weak to manage find themselves in the next day’s stew.  The people fully expected a beaten offender to crawl off to lick his wounds, returning to life in the horde as if nothing had happened.  I will do just that, until I have my chance at the ones who ordered this.

I was just a child when that beating happened, Xarch thought to himself.  It followed what was only his second foray with his new squad.  A few years later, fully into his adult strength, he challenged the chief and won.  His blood tasted sweet on my tongue as I crushed his windpipe in my jaws.  I had the chief’s first and second, the ones who carried out my beating, hung, and whipped as I had been.  I hung them with chains though, so they had no hope of freeing themselves.  The first just hung until dead, but the second managed to climb all the way to the limb.  He perched for three days before succumbing to thirst and hunger.  By that time, the cooks deemed his carcass unfit for the stew pot and had it thrown into the dog pens. 

These were fond memories for Xarch, now chief to a horde of hordes.  Over the past three years, since defeating his first chief, he managed to unite most of the scattered hordes south of the mountains and north of Arundell.  Only a few straggling bands remained separate.  From a band of nine-hundred, females and younglings included, he built a standing army of over fifteen thousand.  No goblin since the fall has ever managed such a feat.  We all feel the pull of the Master, gone for all these years.  A new age of power is upon us, and I intend to be among the powerful.

The goblin chieftain stood at the center of a large clearing, well out of bowshot from the wood line.  Resplendent in the bearskin cape and feathered headdress denoting his office, polished silver caps adorned his protruding fangs.  More than a dozen silver rings hung from his pendulous earlobes, one for each opponent he killed in single combat.  Below the cape, he wore a polished breastplate of man-armor, and a skirt of hardened leather strips.  His bare legs ended in heavy moose-hide moccasins, his only accommodation for the exceptionally cold weather.   Goblins are normally heedless of all but the most extreme cold.  Wisps of powdery snow swirled among the dead blades of grass, and the overcast sky was a featureless flinty gray cast.  A dozen armed retainers stood at his back, the dull black of their crudely forged armor in stark contrast to the snow and the polished armor of their leader.  Xarch stood taller and straighter than the other goblins, evidence of his one-quarter human ancestry.  They waited for the men to arrive, emissaries from the kingdoms of men willing to serve the Master. 

It is to be as it was before the fall, in the days of legend, goblins fighting alongside men, against men and elves, Xarch thought to himself, as he watched the line of men on horseback enter the clearing from the opposite wood line.

Molaki of House Kardif, the Ebareizan lord chosen to treat with the goblins, eyed the knot of figures with wary skepticism.  “Keep a tight formation as we exit the forest,” he ordered the lieutenant in charge of the retinue.  “I don’t trust these goblins as far as I could toss one.  Who knows what they have hiding in the tree line?  There could be hundreds of them, waiting to swarm all over us.”

“Like the hundreds you have hidden at our backs?” asked Yolotli, the Kolixtlani emissary.  “You should know that peaceful relations with our Master’s other children are not only possible, but highly beneficial.  Our goblin friends in Kolixtlan prove an excellent resource for disposing of unwanted prisoners after the priests have had their way with them.”

Molaki knew exactly to what the foreigner referred and turned his face to conceal the look of disgust he failed to suppress.

He did not know why they chose him to lead this treaty delegation.  Maybe it was because his own lands were far from this southwestern corner of the kingdom.  A local lord might take offense at having his lands crawling with these vile creatures, which would obviously need to forage off his subjects.  He was not, however, one of the faithful fools who believed the drivel spouted by the Kolixtlani missionaries filtering into Ebareiza these last few years. 

That idiot referred to goblins as his master’s “other children”, as if men were children of the Nameless God.  I may hang for it one day, but I will never accept that lie.

Now look at that; the one with the shiny breastplate stands almost like a man.  That must be the “Goblin King” we’ve been hearing so much about. 

He steeled himself for the inevitable unpleasantness of dealing with such vermin. 

Such is my lot in life, I suppose.  I’m a loyal subject of my King, and I will do as he bids me, but he can’t make me like it.

The crisp air seemed to amplify the crunching of the horses’ hooves on the dry grass, their exhaled snorts, and the jingle of their harness as they drew near the assembled goblins.  To Molaki, the lack of any other sounds added to the uneasy feeling he had for the whole affair.

Chapter 1

Shilwezday, Day 14, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

Gealton and Aleron sat across the heavy oak conference table from Prince Sethotep and Metjen, the Coptian Consul.  “Are you certain of this, Your Highness?” the steward implored the prince.  “My sources have indicated some issues, but this is still a surprise to me.”

Aleron kept his silence for the moment, waiting for Sethotep to elaborate on the vexing information he just deposited in their laps.

“Yes Steward Gealton, of this I am certain,” the prince answered in perfectly inflected Sudean.  “The Ebareizan crown is treating with Kolixtlan.  Our intelligence sources indicate they plan a two-prong attack on ours and Castia’s western borders, with the intent to annex territory and extend their borders to a meeting point.  They hope to gain coastline on the Castian Sea and create an unobstructed corridor from Kolixtlan to Sudea.  If successful, this will allow for naval attacks against us and Castia, as well as funneling Kolixtlani forces directly to your borders.”

“That would definitely be a problem for all of us,” Gealton agreed.  ‘We have maintained fairly civil relations with our neighbors for quite some time, but we have received intelligence of Kolixtlani infiltration in recent years, mainly missionaries up to this point.  Ebareiza’s declared neutrality in regard to Kolixtlan and Adar has long been a concern of ours, and now it seems the concern is warranted.”

“Yes, we as well have turned many would be missionaries of the Nameless God away at our borders and deported more that slipped through our nets.  Still, the church grows in popularity each year.  Apparently, now even the rulers of Ebareiza are under their sway.”

Aleron had been passing the time tracing the fine joints between the white marble blocks of the opposite wall, slowly formulating his thoughts on the matter at hand.  “Then the Ebareizan royals are no longer fit to rule their land,” he proclaimed.  “I believe it high time to reform the kingdom to its historic borders and past glory.” 

The others looked to him with expressions bordering on disbelief and Gealton asked, “Are you implying we should attempt to retake Ebareiza, Your Grace, after eight hundred years?”

“Not attempt,” he replied.  “We will mount a campaign to capture Ebarr and depose King Latrus.  We cannot afford another kingdom in the Adversary’s hand when it comes time to face him.  It will take some time for him to build his forces, even with Zadehmal in his hands.  We need to preempt their plot and bring our borders closer to Kolixtlan.”

“Your Grace, I can assure you that we lack the resources to mount such a campaign.  Our forces are fully engaged in the north or spread among our allies bordering enemy territory,” the steward informed him.

“I fully understand the situation with our force array.  I propose to generate new forces,” Aleron countered.  “Can you give me a rough estimate of just how many noble-born men of military age, but who choose not to serve, might we have in our great nation?”

“Conscription?”

“Yes Gealton…I apologize, Prince Sethotep and Consul Metjen, for excluding you but the Steward and I have spoken on these lines in the past.”  Turning back to Gealton, he asked, “So, that number?”

“I had it looked into, based upon our earlier conversation, Your Grace.  We estimate upwards of five-thousand men, aged sixteen to thirty.”

“The Officer Corps for a new army division,” Aleron said, leaning forward and casually resting his elbows on the table.  “It is time that the nobility resumes earning their place in society.”

Sethotep and Metjen sat erect, for the moment saying nothing and looking uncomfortable with being caught in the middle of this new debate.

The Steward steepled his fingers, seeming to mull over his words before speaking.  He did not disagree with the premise, but he wondered at the sudden stern countenance of his new son-in-law.  Then he noted the jeweled pommel of Andhanimwhid glowing with a deep inner light, barely noticeable in the bright morning sunshine that streamed through the windows.  I see…the old king is in attendance as well.  He was still unsure of how much of the Aleron he knew was present when the sword exerted its influence.  “And what of the rest of this new army, Your Grace, from where will we draw these troops, conscription as well?”

“If I may interject,” from Sethotep, “conscription has been our standard practice to fill our ranks since time immemorial.  Our nobles are career officers by definition and commoners serve an obligatory two-year term after they turn sixteen.  The system has worked well for us, as well as for our neighbor, Castia.

“As it once was with Sudea,” Aleron agreed, “but we grew too large for it to be practical, as I’m sure our esteemed Steward could explain more eloquently than I.  For us it would be a temporary measure, for the common folk at least, though I’ve long considered making it a requirement for nobles.”

 “Yes, Your Grace, we ended mandatory service for commoners over two millennia ago, and five centuries back for the nobility.  For the common folk, volunteers proved sufficient to fill our ranks, and for the nobility, a mandatory service requirement was unnecessary.  Until quite recently, the noble houses felt it their duty to send their sons to the military, at least for a time, until the duties of their houses called them back.  In recent years, however, many houses have chosen to shirk their traditional responsibilities and concentrate on commerce instead.”

“A sad turn of events,” commented the prince.  “It never goes well for the ruling class when we forget the basis behind our privileged position.  Protection of our people is the primary reason we exist.”

“I agree.  That is one point my grandfather continually hammered home, that a ruler’s primary responsibility is to the welfare of his people over his own well-being.  Forgetting that, they become tyrants.”

“Lord Marshal Hadaras trained our young king well, Your Highness,” Gealton commented to the Coptians, feeling relief that he was indeed speaking with his daughter’s husband.  “All the while without him knowing what he was being prepared for.”

“Such is evident, Lord Steward,” Sethotep agreed.  “I am impressed by your bearing, King Aleron, especially in light of the fact that you were not raised at court but in the countryside.  However, aside from that, the transition from ruler to tyrant has replayed many times in the history of Coptia.  Ours is the seventh dynasty and we have ruled only five centuries, after overthrowing a despotic regime.”

“Yes, Grandfather taught me well, though I had no idea why he was so insistent on me studying so many languages and so much history.  I was convinced then that he intended me to become a cleric.”  Switching to fluent Coptian he continued, “Yours was the third language he taught me, after Elvish and Dwarvish.  After that, I was able to read your histories firsthand, rather than translations.  I would love to continue like this but I’m afraid my father-in-law would feel left out of the conversation.”

“I agree, that would be rude of us.  Perhaps we could converse later, on a subject less dire?” Sethotep replied.

“Yes, I would enjoy that.  Please join us for dinner tonight.  But yes, we should get back to the subject at hand.  I’m sure Eilowyn would be delighted to have you over for dinner.  My apologies Gealton, for the aside, it was not my intent to be rude.”

“Think nothing of it, Sire.  I was able to follow about half of that, but my Coptian is a bit rusty,” Gealton answered.  “I agree that it was a mistake to release the noble houses from the legal obligation to serve, and we have often discussed reinstating the requirement.  Powerful houses, some of whom we have familial ties with will complain, and the people will chafe under a burden they have all but forgotten ever existed.  I’m afraid that your current level of support among the populace, both high and low, will erode, nurturing sentiments similar to those behind the attempt on your life.”

“Prince Sethotep, Lord Metjen, the Lord Steward, and I can discuss internal matters at a later time.  Rather, let us talk of the threat at hand and how we may help in preventing any territory loss for you or Castia.”

“Thank you, King Aleron, but may I suggest lowering the degree of formality.  I think it would greatly enhance our productivity if we did.”

“Nothing would please me more,” Aleron replied.  “My friends call me Al.”

“And my friends and family call me Teti,” the prince replied.  “As you probably know Al, Sethotep is my official name, that I will use when I ascend the throne.”

Aleron was familiar with the custom, and that his name meant “Son of Set,” the Coptian name for the god Corball.  He and Sethotep looked expectantly at Gealton and Metjen, in turn. 

After a few moments, Gealton said, “Call me Gealton.  There never was a short form of my name that I ever cared for.” 

“Likewise for me,” Metjen added.  “I never liked Met or Jen, so Metjen it will have to be.”

“Excellent, gentlemen,” Aleron continued.  “Now, let’s get down to business.  Teti, what would you like from us?”

What ensued was a two-hour discussion on troop relocation and logistical considerations thereof.  It proved a difficult undertaking, with none of Aleron’s military advisors at hand, but they finally agreed on moving an additional five thousand troops, including four hundred and ten officers and one general, into Coptia to aid in securing the border.  They suggested a similar strategy for Castia and Aleron promised to bring their consul into talks at his earliest convenience.  Sethotep agreed to remain for further talks with the Castian consul, Sudean generals and admirals.

“So, Gealton, who is the new Castian consul?  I don’t believe we’ve met,” Aleron inquired.

“Oh, I believe that you have, actually,” Gealton replied, a sly expression crossing his face.  “The king has blessed us with his daughter, Didia Aurelia as ambassador to Sudea.”

“Yes…we have met.”  Aleron failed to disguise the sick feeling that overcame him at the mention of the Castian princess, and Sethotep did not fail to notice his discomfort.  Additionally, Aleron wondered how his father-in-law knew of their connection.

“Didi is quite a lovely lady,” the Coptian prince offered, a grin forming.  “How are the two of you acquainted?”

“We met in Nhargul, several years back,” he replied, face flushing.  “She was a tad…forward.”

“Ah yes, Castians are delightfully blunt regarding such things,” the prince replied.  Gealton attempted to stifle a smile, with little success, while Metjen looked on with a bemused expression on his face.

Sensing that Aleron did not wish to further discuss the matter, Sethotep returned to the task at hand.  “I would like to address one more detail.  Mostly Coptians inhabit northeastern Ebareiza.”

Gealton had an inkling of what the prince was leading up to from that statement, though Aleron had yet to grasp it, his thoughts still preoccupied with the previous matter.  “And, if you join your forces with ours in retaking the kingdom, you wish to annex a portion for Coptia, I presume?”

Aleron, interjected, “Ebareiza is historically Sudean territory…”

“Before that, it was Coptian territory, as was most of Sudea,” Sethotep countered.  “I believe our historical claims to the area predate yours, and the bulk of the local populace will support the shift, if not the local nobility.”

Gealton, eager to forestall what seemed to be a disagreement brewing from what had been a fortuitous first meeting between the royals, pushed on before Aleron had a chance to retort, “I believe we can come to some sort of agreement if your kingdom wholeheartedly assists us in retaking Ebareiza.  Can we not, Aleron?” 

Following Gealton’s queue and thankful once again for his father-in-law’s political experience, Aleron quickly rethought his initial mulishness.  “I apologize, Teti, for my thoughtless reaction.  I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.  We just need to work out the details.  You obviously deserve some recompense if you assist us in this matter.”

“Excellent,” Sethotep replied.  “For a moment, Al, I thought I may have caused affront.  I only ask this for the welfare of those Coptians who moved into that portion of Ebareiza over the past century.  It seems that the local commoners filtered out of the area seeking better prospects elsewhere and leaving the local landholders with no one to work the fields.  The landowners actively recruited our people to fill the void, and now the northeastern corner of the kingdom is Coptian, aside from the highborn.”

“From what I know of the current social climate in Ebareiza, many of those highborn might jump at the chance to become Coptian nobles,” Gealton said.  “Our intelligence indicates a degree of unrest at every level of society.  I suspect now that it has something to do with the new state religion. 

Regardless, our annexation of Ebareiza is in no way driven by a desire for additional territory.  It is wholly to forestall an additional nation slipping into the pocket of the Adversary, one having substantial borders with both our countries.”

“With that in mind, I think we should offer to the Ebareizan nobles the opportunity to retain their lands and titles, if they support us in the annexation,” Aleron added.

“Yes, that might make the entire campaign flow more smoothly,” Metjen agreed.  “I doubt we can manage a bloodless coup, but we may forestall much loss of life, if we can convince enough of the nobles to support us.”

“Especially considering Ebareiza’s tiny central army.  Most of their fighting force consists of militias aligned to individual noble houses.  If we convince the body to reject the head, we might forestall an outright war and replace it with a minor battle,” Sethotep postulated.

“That is what I was thinking as well,” Aleron agreed.  “Gealton, how long would it take you to mount a subversive campaign aimed at the Ebareizan nobles?”

“Not long at all, Aleron.  I have many operatives spread throughout the country, some in high positions.  Since your decree openly welcoming those with magical abilities to enter service to the Crown, I managed to recruit several into my intelligence service, so I can get word to Ebarr and a few other cities in an instant.  From there, the instructions will make it to the farther flung agents over the course of two weeks or so.”

“Excellent, if we can convince nine-tenths of their nobility that they are better off with us than against us, we may be able to pull this off without a long, protracted war.  I would prefer that we weren’t worn down prior to the real war even starting.”

Because, frankly, I have no idea how we’re going to pull this all together to face the Adversary reunited with Zadehmal, and with a new horde of dark elves at his disposal, Aleron thought, after his last statement.  Allfather, I sincerely pray that you do not leave us to our own devices in this battle to come.

Chapter 2

Shilwezday, Day 14, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

With all the generals and admirals still in the city for the wedding, early evening turned out to be the earliest convenience for them and the Castian consul to join Aleron, Gealton, and the Coptians.  Gealton’s kitchen staff provided a buffet that rivalled the wedding feast of two days prior.

“This is not what I meant when I invited you for dinner,” Aleron explained to Sethotep, while they navigated the laden tables, plate, and skewer in hand.

“Understood, my friend,” he replied.  “This is both fortunate and unfortunate, in that we can address this issue promptly, but I lose the opportunity to dine with your lovely wife and you informally.”

“We could try again tomorrow, if you are still willing and available,” Aleron suggested, as they settled into their places.

That would be wonderful.  I’m in no great hurry to begin the trek back to Cop, so I will stay another day.”

The Sudean king and the Coptian crown prince made an interesting pair.  Though nearly the same height, Aleron’s fair skin, straight light-brown hair, moustache, and sharp military dress uniform made for a sharp contrast with Sethotep’s nearly black skin, shaved head, braided beard, and richly appointed robes.

Eventually, the remainder of the attendees took their seats.  With room for three at the head of the massive cherry table, Aleron sat to the center, with the prince in the honored position to his right and Gealton to Aleron’s left.  This time, Hadaras attended as well, seated first to Gealton’s left.  He was not present at the earlier meeting, as its military nature was not clear from the onset.   The Coptian consul politely ceded the position at Sethotep’s right to his Castian counterpart, taking the next seat down, so the newcomer could be closer to the king.  The admirals and generals of Sudea, twelve in all, each with their aide-de-camp, lined the table on both sides, most of them debating what they suspected to have brought them to the impromptu meeting.

Didia was the last to arrive, her guards taking up positions along the edge of the room, along with Sethotep’s and other assorted bodyguards in attendance.  Geldun and Barathol were there as well, at the far end of the table, to keep abreast of developments they were sure to play a role in. 

The assembled men rose, and Metjen assisted the princess to sit, after she set down her plate.  Once she, the lone lady in the gathering was seated, the men retook their seats.

“My apologies for my tardiness,” she addressed the gathered dignitaries.  “I simply could not decide what to wear to such an unprecedented gathering as this.”  Though a surprising choice, considering the winter’s chill, the low-cut gown cut from layers of sheer clinging silk, dyed sea foam green, drew no complaints from the assembled generals, admirals, and assorted officials, as they muttered that no apologies were necessary. 

She leaned over the table and looked to Aleron.  “Do you approve of my choice, Your Grace?”

“Y-ou look very nice, Princess,” he replied, fighting the flush rising in his cheeks.  When last he saw Didia, she was a pretty girl of sixteen.  She was now a strikingly beautiful full-figured twenty-one-year-old woman.

He looked over at Gealton and Hadaras, both of whom were grinning.  He looked to his right to see Sethotep grinning as well.  “You all are no help at all,” he muttered to the men to either side of him.  Didia did little to hide her own sly grin, seemingly enjoying his discomfort.

Once they settled in, Gealton stood and announced, “You are likely wondering why we have gathered here today, so I will tell you.  Our neighbor to the north, Ebareiza is in league with Kolixtlan, and they plan to annex western Castia and Coptia, opening a clear corridor between Kolixtlan and Sudea.” 

The group erupted into a roar of demands, some calling for immediate action and some for more information.  Aleron took careful note of who fell into either category, as well as noting those who stayed quiet.  It is good to know which among your leaders is rash, careful, timid, or calculating, he thought.  The trick is to determine the difference between the last three.  Rash is pretty easy to pick out.

Sethotep leaned over to Didia and said, “Apologies if this is the first you have heard of this, Didi.  I assure you that my father has sent word to your own by now.  We verified the information shortly before I rode here for the wedding.”

“We had inklings of this before I departed, Teti, but not verification,” she replied.  “I have been at sea for many weeks and only arrived in port on the evening of the wedding.  We had not even word of Aleron and Eilowyn’s return when we set sail.”

Gealton waited out the tumult for a moment and then shouted, “Gentlemen!  Let us recount the conversation your king and I had with Prince Sethotep and Consul Metjen.” 

The group quieted somewhat, and he briefed the assembly on the gist of the earlier conversation.  Upon his completion, the prattle intensified but died when Hadaras rose to his feet.

“I can see that good progress was made this morning,” he stated, “between our kingdom and Coptia.  Now that we have Castia on board, what concerns have you for your kingdom, Consul Didia?”

Before the Castian could reply, Jamir, an admiral Aleron only met two days prior interrupted, “Are you sure this is within your scope of authority, Lord Marshal, to preside over a military planning session?” his contemptuous tone, drawing surprised glares from many.

Hadaras did not recognize the man but assumed him one of the many young officers of twenty years past who resented the Lord Marshal’s influence with the Steward.  The position is an appointment, more an honorific than official military rank.  Traditionally chosen from the best fighters and tacticians, regardless of rank, the Lord Marshal’s sole charge is the safety and security of the royal and steward’s families.  Hadaras was the last to hold the title.  Gealton once confided that none of his potential successors could measure up to the performance the Steward came to expect when he held the position.

“Admiral Jamir!” Aleron said in a commanding tone as he stood, “The Lord Marshal is charged with the protection of the royal line and the line of stewards, yes.  He is as well, my grandfather and my most trusted advisor in all things.  Please do not feign to insult him again if you intend to remain in my employ.  My apologies to you, Consul, and please proceed, Grandfather.”  Jamir simply nodded and slumped back into his chair, without verbally acknowledging Aleron’s statement.  Aleron recognized him as one of those who blustered at the announcement of Ebareiza’s treachery, and he hoped the Admiral’s hot-headedness belied a sound tactical mind.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Hadaras answered.  “Consul Didia, your opinion?”

The princess turned ambassador rose from her seat and began, “Thank you, Your Grace, and Your Highness,” acknowledging Sethotep as well, “for the privilege of attending this council.  The news you present to us is grave indeed.  We as well are familiar with Kolixtlani missionaries infiltrating our and others borders, but we knew not of their turning the Ebareizan royal house.”

“Yes, that is very unsettling news indeed,” Aleron agreed.  “We hoped to make inroads with Ebareiza to support us in a campaign against Kolixtlan.  Now it appears that we must mount a campaign against Ebareiza first.  Just how do you see your country in a match up against Kolixtlan and Adar?”

“I see us on relatively equal footing with Kolixtlan and easily more powerful than Adar, but the two of them together would be a problem for us, unless we enlist Talik’s aid to distract Adar.”

“Do you wish for any assistance from us, in regard to reinforcing troops and or supplies?” Gealton asked.

“Since the action we fear is a direct threat to our capital city, I believe my king would appreciate some reinforcement on our western borders.  Between us and the Kolixtlanis it is a very close race and a minor shift in our borders would place Kass within easy striking distance of Kolixtlan.”

It occurs to me,” General Twylin interjected, “that our enemy’s plan would work to not only open a land corridor between Kolixtlan and Sudea, but would partially isolate the dwarvish kingdoms as well, especially the northern one.”

“Indeed,” Hadaras agreed.  “An unfriendly turn by Ebareiza cuts off three major routes from the Southern Kingdom and an incursion into Coptia would cut off a fourth.  Our main supply route runs right along the Ebareizan border, placing that in jeopardy as well.  The Northern Kingdom would lose its main route if Kolixtlan were to take any Coptian territory, leaving only the two routes into elvish territory.”

“Considering the dependence we might develop on dwarvish weaponry in a full-scale conflict, we cannot afford to lose those supply routes,” General Cyrain stated.  Gray haired and balding, a grizzled veteran of many arduous campaigns and now heading Sudea’s ordnance department, Cyrain had a greater feel for logistical concepts than most, but the point was not lost on the others.  They had all experienced the trials of thinly stretched supply lines forcing their troops to go without necessary food and equipment.

“It is evident,” Gealton injected, “that we cannot afford for this to happen.  The White and Green Mountain kingdoms should supply us willingly, but they are far from the likely center of conflict.  We need dwarvish manufacturing capabilities close at hand, if we would have any hope of prevailing against the adversary’s forces.  We know he has a force of over ten-thousand hobgoblins and half-trolls at his disposal in the Iron Hills and likely as many goblins staged in southern Ebareiza.  Fortunately, the mountain trolls seem to remain in their wild state, but it’s only a matter of time before they fall beneath his influence.”

“Have we any hopes of enlisting the dwarves’ aid in this matter?”  Jamir asked.

Aleron was pleased to see that his Admiral managed to put aside his resentment to address the matter at hand.  “I will travel to the Blue Mountain kingdoms in two days, in order to broker some sort of agreement.  I have a good relationship with the southern royal house and may be able to use them to influence the northern house as well.”

“Then we must organize this journey with most haste, Your Grace!” Cyrain exclaimed.  “I cannot imagine how we might mount such an expedition with only a day to prepare!”  Aleron was about to explain when one of the generals present for his earlier demonstration on traveling grasped Cyrain’s shoulder and whispered something to him.  He excused himself, saying, “My apologies, Your Grace, I forget you have methods beyond my understanding.”

“Quite alright General,” Aleron assured him.  “I’ll explain later,” he said sidelong to Sethotep, in response to the quizzical glance.  He was certain that news of his ability to travel had spread throughout the higher ranks since his little demonstration, and he wondered at how much of it was accurate, though some exaggeration could work in his favor.

“I would like to announce that an elven fleet of two-hundred-twenty ships is currently in route to the Wabani Inlet,” he continued.  “It will not be in time to prevent Zormat from accomplishing his goal of delivering Zadehmal to Immin Bul, but it will allow us the possibility of regaining control of the North Sea.”  From the prattle that arose from that announcement, it was evident that many had yet to learn of the results of his visit to Elvenholm.

“Though it is good news indeed to learn of Elvenholm’s support, let it not detract from the task at hand,” Gealton said.  “We must plan for the overland movement and staging of thousands of troops into Coptia and Castia.  Generals, please confer amongst yourselves tonight and bring your movement planners into the conversation tomorrow.  Admirals, your task is twofold.  First, determine your requirements for supplying the Castian and Coptian contingents via the Castian Sea and second, discuss the integration of the elven fleet into the North Sea operation.  We require a coherent plan in two days’ time.”

The noise that arose from Gealton’s last statement rivalled that from the announcement of Ebareiza’s treachery.  Aleron decided the military leaders should be left to their business and quietly announced to those nearest, “I think we should retire for the evening and let these men handle their business, without the distraction of our presence.”

Hadaras countered, “I believe that I should stay, not so much to interfere, but to keep tabs on any developments.  I will attempt to simply observe.”

“I as well,” Gealton added.  “They are used to my presence during planning sessions and know that I won’t interfere without good cause, but the presence of their King may put them on edge.”

“Didi, Metjen, I assume you will be staying as well?”

“Of course, Aleron,” Didia replied.  “Someone needs to be here to represent Castian interests.”

“And I as well, Your Grace, Your Highness,” Metjen added, addressing both the king and his prince.  “I will brief Your Highness of any developments at breakfast, if that works?” he asked Sethotep.

“That would be good,” the prince agreed.

“Very well then,” Aleron said.  “Prince Sethotep, please allow me to escort you to your rooms, or should I say accompany you, while your bodyguards escort us both.”

“Certainly,” Sethotep answered.  “It will give us a chance to talk.”

As Aleron rose from his seat, General Corbak, a marine and formerly Aleron’s commander, stood and saluted, shouting, “For Sudea!” the standard salutation for addressing a superior officer of the Sudean military.

The rest of the assembled officers, including Hadaras and Gealton, dropped what they were doing, stood if seated, turned to the king, and snapped salutes, all shouting, “For Sudea!”

Aleron, surprised at the display, fumbled momentarily for the reply to a salutation he was more used to delivering than receiving.  “For all time!” he returned after a slight pause, snapping his right hand, palm out, to touch fingertips to the middle of his forehead.  Dropping the hand to his side, he turned and walked out of the conference room, feeling somehow taller than before.

The guards snapped to attention as he exited the conference room.  Aleron had no penchant for bodyguards, so no one waited to accompany him as he left.  Sethotep, on the other hand, had four guards poised to escort him to his quarters.  They fell in around the pair as they moved down the corridor. 

“If you don’t mind, I would like to accompany you to your quarters,” Aleron told the prince in Coptian, for the benefit of his guards.

“Certainly,” Sethotep replied.  “When should I arrive for dinner tomorrow?”

“We usually dine on the sixth bell past noon,” Aleron answered. 

“I will be there.  What are your plans for tomorrow?  I was thinking I might take a chance to see the sights after my breakfast with Metjen.  I have not had the opportunity to visit your fair city since I was a young boy.”

“I would be glad to accompany you.  I’m sure I could show you a few things.  If I can convince Eilowyn to accompany us, we will have a far more informed tour.”

“That would be most wonderful.  So, you have nothing else planned for tomorrow?” the prince asked.

“I have a friend to visit in the morning, but after that, I am totally free.  I plan to travel to the Southern Blue Mountains in two days, so my intent for tomorrow is to relax.”

“Could I visit your friend with you?  I tend to rise early, and I do hate to sit around with nothing to do.”

“I suppose that would be fine.  Just to warn you, he’s a bit unusual so be prepared.”

Chapter 3

Corballday, Day 15, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron and Sethotep entered the prison yard, accompanied by Sethotep’s contingent of bodyguards.  Aleron, as usual, travelled with no guards.  Considering his heightened senses and abilities, augmented by recent lessons from his grandfather on passive detection methods, he believed additional bodyguards would only impede him in a close-quarters altercation.  Besides, Geldun and Barathol were busy with other assignments, and they were the only ones he truly trusted to guard his back.

This being a previously scheduled visit, Captain Lemael stood at attention along with the gate guards.  “Your Grace,” and then he followed quickly with, “Your Highness,” rendering the proper courtesy to the Coptian prince.  “Sire, I was unaware that you would be bringing guests for this visit.  I would have posted additional guards to the duty roster, had I known.”

“That’s fine Captain, the prince brought ample additional security, and I grant them access to the prison as well,” Aleron explained.

“Very good, Your Grace,” the captain replied.  “Shall we take you up to see Shaggat straightaway, or do you wish a full tour of the facility?”

“I wish to see Shaggat please.  I have no provocation to deliver a surprise inspection on your facility.  From all I have seen, you run a tight operation.”

“Your Grace, for that very reason, we are always ready; we have nothing to hide here.  I do believe that Lady Anjani is with the prisoner now.  Do you wish to wait until her lesson is over?

“No Captain Lemael, I would like to see that.  I have yet to witness Anjani’s Sudean lessons.”

“Absolutely, Your Grace.  Please follow me.”  Lemael set out with the sergeant of the guard to his left.

Aleron looked to Sethotep and he, being the more versed in protocol, took his place to Aleron’s left, while his bodyguards flanked the pair.

Sethotep commented as they moved out, “I understand your confidence in the security of your palace grounds, but why is it that you always travel without guards?”

“I would rather have fewer lives to protect in the event of an altercation,” Aleron replied, leaving the Coptian to mull over the implications of the statement.

Reaching Shaggat’s cell, he was pleased to see Anjani still present, apparently just finishing the hobgoblin’s Sudean lesson.  “Hello Anji, how are things working out with our guest?”

“Aleron, so good to see you,” she began before mentally processing the presence of the additional guests, standing, curtsying, and correcting herself with, “I’m sorry, Your Grace, Your Highness,” acknowledging the Coptian Prince.  “Shaggat is coming along quite well with his Sudean.  He’s even learned to write a bit.  Before long, I won’t be needed here.”

“That’s great news and I believe we can dispense with some formality here.  Anji, I would like to introduce you to Prince Sethotep and his retinue.”  He refrained from using the prince’s familiar name though.

”Sethotep, this is Anjani, a good friend and one of our best interpreters.”

“Pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” she greeted in the prince’s native language.  “I do hope you are enjoying your stay.”

“I certainly am, My Lady,” he replied.  Your king is most hospitable.  If you don’t mind me asking, is that a Sunjibi accent I hear in your voice?”

“Yes, it is, Your Highness.  I was raised in Sunjib, though I was born in Mittea.”

“Interesting,” The Prince said, “We don’t often see anyone of the race of men living among the westmen.  How did you come to be raised there?”

“I’m half Mittean and actually, only a quarter human.  My father is a halfblood and my mother a westwoman.”

“Very interesting.  One can see little of westman in you; your face belies not a trace of it.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I was considered quite ugly in my homeland,” she replied, with a chuckle.  “I had to move to Sudea to find men interested in me.”

“That is indeed laughable,” Sethotep stated.  “You are very beautiful.”

Anjani blushed at the compliment, which surprised Aleron, considering her normally bold nature.  “Thank you, Your Highness, you flatter me.”

“Her father is the bard Cladus, an old friend,” Aleron added.  “With any luck, you will meet him before you have to leave.  He is still residing in the city, for the moment.”

He turned to the cell and said in Kolixtlani, “Shaggat, I would like for you to meet the crown prince of Coptia, Prince Sethotep.”

“Sethotep, I would like to introduce you to Shaggat, once the supreme leader of the hobgoblins, and now our esteemed guest,” he continued, switching back to Sudean.

The prince was momentarily taken aback at the sight of a hobgoblin in the cell but quickly regained his composure.

Shaggat answered in only slightly broken Sudean, “I am good for speak in your tongue now.  Needs practice but better getting.”

“Very good!  Would you prefer me to speak in Sudean from now on?”

“Yes, Sire.  I needs much practice.” 

His accent was odd, similar to how it was off in his Kolixtlani as well.  Aleron expected it to do with his large canines and the resultant shape of his mouth.

“You speak Kolixtlani, atop your own tongue, and you are learning Sudean?” Sethotep asked, struggling to believe what he was seeing from this savage.

“Yes, Highness,” he replied, impressively remembering the proper honorific for a prince in the Sudean language.  “I too speak the jungle man tongues and Troll.  That is like Goblin, but simple; less words.”

“Most impressive!”

“He is a fast learner, Your Highness,” Anjani informed him, “one of the best pupils I’ve ever had.”

“Are you comfortable, being treated well?” Aleron asked.  He could see more blankets on the shelf than before, and they were reasonably well folded to afford some padding for lying upon the stone slab.

“I am well, Aleron King, and comfortable,” the hobgoblin replied.  “I miss air and sun outside but better treated me than a prisoner of my people be.”

“I AM better treated than a prisoner of my people WOULD be,” Anjani interjected.

“That is what said I,” Shaggat replied.

“Not quite, Shaggy, but we will keep working on it,” she retorted, rolling her eyes, followed by a chuckle.

“Well, I was only here to check up on you, and make sure you have everything you need,” Aleron continued.  “Let the guards know if you need or want something, or Anjani, and they will get word to me.”

“Exercise.  Me would like to climb, and run, and fight again.” Shaggat replied, but other thoughts raced through his mind.  He looked again at the Coptians and thought, Men with black skin like a goblin?  Darker even than my own, but with no green to it at all.  Much better to look upon than these fish belly white southerners.  The small teeth and thin flat nails would be hard though.  He looked down momentarily at his hand, turning the palm up and curling his fingers to inspect the thick semi-clawed nails of his kind. 

“And I would want to…pluck head,” he added, saying the word in Kolixtlani, not having learned the Sudean equivalent, and rubbing his hand against the short hairs growing in on the once bare sides and back of his scalp.

“I don’t know about the fighting part, but we can see about you getting some time in the yard for exercise,” Aleron replied.  “The word you wanted is pluck, and I will have a barber sent over as well.  Do you mind your scalp shaved instead of plucked?”

“What is ‘shaved’?”

“Shaved,” Aleron translated the word to Kolixtlani.

“Pluck better,” Shaggat replied.  “Pluck lasts longer than shaved.”

“I’ll see what I can do.  Goodbye, my friend.  Anji, we’ll be getting out of your way now.  Thank you for letting us interrupt.”

“No problem at all, Your Grace,” she replied to Aleron.  “And it was nice to meet you, Your Highness,” she directed to Sethotep.

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Anjani,” Sethotep replied.  “Shaggat, it was very nice to meet you as well.”

“For me to you also, Your Highness,” the hobgoblin answered.

As they walked away and out of earshot, Sethotep remarked to Aleron, “She is absolutely lovely.  Is she married?  I have but my first wife, and I will be expected to have several more by the time I become Pharaoh…”

“Not married, yet, but I think Barathol may have a problem with her joining your house.” Aleron replied, with a sly grin.

“The big Berberi captain of yours?”

“Not Berberi, as far as I know.  We grew up together, but he does look like the desert men, so who knows.  But yes, they are attached.”

“I do not think I would risk offending that one,” the prince ventured.

“Oh, he’s not so bad,” Aleron reassured him.  “He’s hit me lots of times, and only broke a couple ribs…”

The Coptian prince looked at him and seeing the smirk beginning to form on Aleron’s face, he laughed.

Over the long trek across the palace grounds, they had ample time to converse on numerous subjects.  The frigid temperatures of the past weeks had succumbed to milder weather, so their walk was a pleasant one.  The palace grounds encompassed over one hundred acres, and the prison block was placed against an outer wall, far from the centrally located royal complex.  They passed a small artificial lake surrounded by gardens to one side, still harboring patches of ice on its surface, and an expansive parade field on the other.  Minor administrative and utility structures lined the outer walls, and the House of Lords sat across a wide courtyard from the palace.  The courtyard was their destination, and Aleron could see Eilowyn and her retainers awaiting them there.  Their talking had slowed their pace a bit, and Aleron realized they were late.

He was impressed at the prince’s political acumen, and insight on issues that the youthful king had been grappling with.  It made sense, considering that, though roughly Aleron’s own age, the Coptian royal was raised since birth to assume the throne of the most ancient kingdom of men on Aertu.

They finally reached Eilowyn, Feadra, and two bodyguards he had not met before.  It was nearly half a bell past when he told her they would be ready, and her composure belied the annoyance he knew she must be feeling at having to wait for them, though he could see it in the expression on her lady in waiting’s face.

“I am so sorry to keep you waiting, my love,” he apologized.  “We lost track of time in our conversation.”

“No trouble at all, dearest.  I know how you get when you have someone new to talk with.”

“Your Grace, it is so good to once again make your acquaintance,” Sethotep greeted her, flourishing a deep bow.  His guards performed a half bow, but maintained their vigilance, as was customary.

She nodded in acknowledgement, while Feadra curtsied, and their bodyguards performed the same half bow.  “It is good to see you again as well, Prince Sethotep.  What has it been, ten years now?”

“Quite nearly so, I believe.”

“I can see that my husband still insists on traveling without guards, so I have a contingent staged at the gates.  Is this all you travelled with, Teti?”  She pursed her lips in reaction to her gaff.  She hadn’t intended to use his familiar name publicly, but he either didn’t notice, or didn’t mind.  His reply pointed towards the didn’t mind option.

“There are nine of us total, Ellie.  I have four on night watch who are sleeping now.”

They proceeded towards the gates, Eilowyn flanked on either side by her king and the prince, Feadra behind the queen, Sudean guards front and rear, with the Coptian guards two to each side.

“I always expected your father to petition mine for my hand in marriage,” Eilowyn remarked to Sethotep, partially to appease her curiosity, but mostly to raise Aleron’s ire in retaliation for his tardiness.  Aleron looked over but betrayed no emotion.  He didn’t wish to give her the satisfaction from seeing his annoyance.

Sethotep smiled, taking the cue to partake in the jest, and replied, “He fully intended to, but we were too late.  It seemed that you became engaged to some common soldier before we had a chance to make our move.  It led to much consternation and confusion at the palace.  I believe our vizier drafted a strongly worded letter in protest.”

“Well, it’s nice to know you hadn’t just forgotten about me,” she replied, while Aleron just shook his head.  “But don’t call him a soldier.  Marines get offended when you call them that.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he directed to Aleron.  “I meant no offense,” he said, with a grin.

“None taken, Your Highness,” Aleron replied, returning the grin.  He recognized the exchange for the good-natured jape that it was, and he genuinely liked this man, believing they could be good friends in the future.

Eilowyn glanced from one to the other and muttered, “Like two peas in a pod,” in a mildly vexed tone.

Aleron wanted no fanfare as they reached the marketplace, so the escort sounded no call, but the arrival of the king and queen with an escort of royal guards caused a stir, despite the lack of announcement.  Marketgoers parted for the entourage, bowing, and curtsying as they passed.

Aleron noticed a flurry of activity around the arena and said, “Looks like there’s a fight going on.  Anyone want to go watch?”

“I would like to,” Sethotep stated, “but the queen?”

“I’ll go watch with you for a few minutes, but only that,” she agreed.  “It’s not really my thing.”

“A few minutes then,” Aleron conceded, and then said to the sergeant of the guard, “Please send a guard to tell the officiator not to pause the fight on our account.”

They proceeded to the royal box of the arena and looked down into the fighting pit, only to see Barathol facing an opponent a head taller than himself, a huge redheaded man who, from his complexion, hairstyle, and clothing, appeared to be Elmenian.  Both men were shirtless, their torsos glistened with sweat, despite the chill in the air.  

Arena fighting had no particular rules, aside from no purposeful dislocations, breaking of bones, or life-threatening attacks.  The fight could easily start out as boxing and progress to grappling.

The Elmenian was the first to notice the royals, gestured to Barathol for a pause, and pointed to the box.  Barathol looked over, smiled, and waved, before returning to his boxing stance.  The fighters circled each other, throwing out tentative jabs and gauging one another’s skill.  The redhead had a definite reach advantage, and he obviously intended to use it, keeping Barathol at a distance with his jabs and the occasional cross.  A couple of the taller man’s punches connected before Barathol landed anything.  Then, deflecting the Elmenian’s cross, Barathol closed in with two hooks to the ribs, followed by something between a rear uppercut and a cross that came up under his opponent’s jaw, sending him reeling. 

Though Barathol looked like a lumbering bear at times, he was lightning fast and agile for a man his size.  Solid muscle and bone, he trained relentlessly to maintain his fighting trim.

As the tall man stumbled, Barathol continued with a leg sweep and a shove, sending the man sprawling on his back, followed by an arm bar.  The big redhead struggled to escape, while Barathol pulled his opponent’s arm into his chest, arching backward, with his legs crossed over the other man’s chest.  The Elmenian finally conceded, slapping the mat three times to indicate submission.

Sethotep gave Aleron an incredulous look and said, “Not so bad, you say?  Your captain took that giant down in a couple of seconds!”

“Barry has always been an expedient one,” was all he gave in explanation.

Eilowyn understood enough Coptian and giggled at the exchange.

“That’s two of three, Caid,” Barathol stated as they got on their feet.

“So ‘tis Barry,” the redhead conceded.  “It’s good fightin’ ya again, but ya got roosty.”

“Really?”

“Yea, we never got ta three rounds afore.  Ya used ta trounce me in two ev’ra time.”

“Maybe you got better?”

“I di’na think so.”

“Well, it was a long trip, but I’m back now.”

 “Don’t be a stranger,” Caid said, clapping him on the shoulder.  “Now go git yer winnins.”

“I won’t be,” Barathol assured him, returning the gesture.  He walked to the side of the pit where his clothing waited, put on his tunic, followed by his cloak.  He climbed the stairs out of the pit and waved to the cheering onlookers before proceeding to the officiator’s podium.  Not all the onlookers cheered, particularly those sullen individuals now handing money over to much more cheerful spectators.  Barathol took up the heap of coins and counted them into a sack, nodded agreement to the official, and proceeded to the widow and orphan donation box, tossing the sack of coins inside.  The crowd cheered louder as Barathol turned to exit the arena.

The cheering was interrupted by a trumpet blast from the royal box.  The sergeant of the royal escort announced, “The king and queen of Sudea, as well as the crown prince of Coptia request the presence of the last two fighters.”

The two men bowed low before the royals, and as they rose, Aleron asked, “So, what’s my captain, who I gave the day off, doing in the fighting arena?”

“Just making some coin for the widows and orphans, Al,” he replied with a grin.

“Does Anji know you’re doing this?” Eilowyn asked.

“Of course she does, Ellie.  She was busy this morning, and I need something to pass the time.”

“Anyway,” Aleron interrupted, “Barry, I would like to introduce you to Crown Prince Sethotep of Coptia.”

“Pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” Barathol responded, bowing low.

“Likewise, Captain,” the prince responded, with a nod.

Caid cleared his throat, and Aleron looked to him.

“Yer Grace,” the Elmenian began, with a slight bow, “Might I ask why ya called me up here?”

“Al, this is my old friend Caid,” Barathol offered.  “We’ve been sparring here since we got stationed in Arundell.”

“Well met, Caid.  I just wanted to meet you, since you and Barry seem to know each other,” Aleron explained.  “Have you been long out of the highlands?”

“A couple years, Yer Grace.  Come here to make me fortune, and I usually do pretty well in the arena, aside from when Barry here shows up.”

“No titles in Elmenia to keep you there?”

“I’s the fourth son of a clan chief, so not really.  Needed to make some coin to carve out me own stake up there.”

“Would you mind calling on me at the palace in four days?” Aleron inquired, a plan forming in his mind.

Chapter 4

Carpathday, Day 16, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron stood in Jacanda’s library, Barathol and Geldun beside him, all three looking into the viewing device at the ground before the gates to Dhargul, capitol of the southern Blue Mountain kingdom.

“How could anyone read all of this, even in a hundred lifetimes?” Geldun asked, as he looked around at the library again.  Never much for reading, he felt daunted by the sheer volume of manuscripts surrounding them.

“Well, my grandmother has had roughly a hundred and fifty lifetimes since they invented writing, and there are some that old here,” Aleron explained.  “Not sure she has read them all, even then.  I think it’s more of a collection, rather than for reading pleasure.  Grandfather says some of those old clay tablets are just accounting ledgers for goats, cows, sheep, and grain.”

“Sounds like pretty dry reading,” Barathol observed.  Surprising to most, aside from his closest friends, he had become an avid reader, often borrowing tomes from Aleron, and more recently, Anjani.

“We can come back here sometime to peruse the selection,” Aleron promised him.  “But first, we need to pay old King Faergas a visit.”

“Are you sure you want just us with you?” Geldun inquired.  “We’re not much of a royal entourage.”

“You’ll do.  Faergas and Ierick are old friends, and I don’t want to make a huge fuss; just a quick informal visit.”

They were dressed in their military dress uniforms, formal, but not to the extreme of Aleron’s coronation and wedding garments.  The royal purple piping, cuffs, and baldric, along with a thin gold circlet with a white gold raven distinguished Aleron’s uniform from that of a high lord.  He carried Andhanimwhid in the scabbard across his back, a gold-hilted long dagger hanging on his right hip.  His companions wore ornate but fully functional dress arming swords, with copies of the same daggers to balance.  Barathol missed his glaive and Geldun felt somewhat naked without a shield, but it would have to do.

“We’re early enough to avoid the morning crush entering the gates,” Aleron informed them.  “They should open in a few minutes, once the morning patrols report.  Travelers will still be holed up in the safe houses along the way.  The nearest one is about a mile away, and most won’t leave until the patrol picks them up.” 

Only a few people waited; the intrepid souls who did not wait for the morning patrol that was only just rounding the corner of the road approaching the gates.  “I see a clear spot right there.”  He pointed to a spot around a curve in the road, just out of sight of the gate.

He waited until the morning patrol rode through, after briefly conferring with the guards, leaving the nineteen travelers they escorted from the safehouse to await entrance.  Then, he opened a portal in the air beside them, and they strode into the open space he had observed earlier.  The mountain air was crisp but only due to the elevation, as they were close to the equator, and seasons held little sway here.

As they rounded the corner, Aleron flanked by his companions, one of the patrolling soldiers noticed them on the road they had deemed clear of travelers only moments before.  He raised the alarm, and the inbound patrol wheeled their horses about and set their lances, ready to charge out to meet the potential threat.  The gate guards brought their weapons to the ready, and the top of the wall now bristled with archers, arrows nocked.  Recovering from their initial startlement, the guards reopened the gate to allow the patrol to pass back out.

The three men held their arms out to their sides, away from their weapons, as the troop leader advanced, holding his lance erect, with two teams of six riders each fanning out at his flanks, their lances lowered in preparation to attack. 

“Who be you to arrive in such an alarming manner?” the dwarf asked, in barely accented Sudean.

“I be Aleron, King of Sudea, second of my name, and I seek audience with your king,” Aleron answered formally.

“What credentials do you present to verify this claim?”

“I present to you the official standard of my office.”  He reached over his shoulder, grasped the sword, drew it smoothly, and flipped it to rest point down before him.  Blue energy crackled over the blade and into his hand, tracing his veins.  His eyes began to glow with the same blue as the gemstones embedded in the sword’s pommel.

The lancers raised their weapons threateningly, and in response, Aleron’s captains moved towards their sword hilts.  Andhanimwhid seemed to sense the threat.  Lines of energy, visible only to Aleron but not consciously formed by him, reached out and pushed the tips of the lances to the ground.

“Stand down!” The troop leader commanded in dwarvish to his soldiers.  “I apologize, Your Grace.  My companions are quick to defend our home.  I recognize the standard of your office, and we mean no disrespect.”

“None is taken,” Aleron replied, the blue glow fading while his friends’ hands returned to their sides.  “I realize that our arrival was abrupt and unexpected, as well as unconventional.  I applaud your quick response and your professionalism.”

“That is appreciated, Your Grace.  We have been expecting your visit, though we were not expecting it with no prior warning.”  Then he directed his troop, “Order your arms dwarves!  This be the King of Sudea, and a powerful halfblood sorcerer.  We are to escort him and his captains to an audience with the king.  Halgerd, Birgil, ride ahead with all speed to announce his arrival to the palace.”

As the troopers rode off, one of the gate guards transmitted a message on the odd keyed apparatus that Aleron saw them use when he arrived here with Hadaras.  He knew it worked on the lightning energy the dwarves called ‘stroum’, that could move along copper wires to a duplicate of the device in the palace.

“That could not be helped, I apologize.  We needed to make most haste.  May I inquire to your name, Sergeant?” Aleron asked the troop leader.  “I would be very pleased to tell King Faergas of your and your troop’s exemplary performance.”

“Your Grace, I had heard you are a master of tongues.  I am honored that you think so of us.  My name is also Faergas; my parents named me for our king.”

“The honor is mine and my captains’, Sergeant Faergas.  I know the major languages, but I am far from a master of all.  Please lead us to the palace.”

At a command from their sergeant, the contingent of dwarvish cavalry dismounted.  Shouldering their lances, they led their horses about to form two ranks to flank the guests.  The dwarvish horses were short of stature, and stocky, compared to the riding animals favored by most men and elves, but neither were they draft ponies.  Aleron recognized them as steppe ponies, originally from Talik, and bred for generations to adapt to the high altitudes favored by dwarves.

Faergas said, “Please follow me, Your Grace,” as he placed himself to lead them, between the flanking troopers.  “The king awaits you.”

They proceeded through the massive archway that Aleron had last passed through over five years before.  They made their way across the wide outdoor marketplace and parade field that separated the outer walls from the entrance to the subterranean city.  Vendors were just opening up their shops to greet the new day.

Suddenly, the gates to the city opened, and a royal carriage, pulled by four full-sized horses, came barreling out from the thoroughfare that accessed the city.  As it closed with them, the drivers reigned in the horses and applied the brake hard.  Aleron expected the chamberlain, but instead, Ierick leapt from the carriage, before it came to a full stop.

“You lying, conniving, troll-loving son of a goat!” he shouted in Dwarvish, knowing that Aleron understood.  “You have some nerve to come here unbidden and unannounced after five years.”

Aleron was just opening his mouth, trying to think of some apology, when the young dwarf closed in and caught him in a bear hug, lifting his feet off the ground in the process.

“Good to have you back!” he finished.

“Lying…conniving…troll-loving?” Aleron inquired, in surprise.

“Don’t forget ‘son of a goat’,” the dwarf prince offered.

The other Sudeans looked on with bemused expressions on their faces, neither understanding the spoken exchange, but clearly understanding the tone and body language.  The dwarvish troopers bore incredulous looks, understanding all, and clearly unaccustomed to such behavior from their prince.

Switching to Sudean, Ierick offered, “Please, make yourselves comfortable in my carriage, while I speak to the good sergeant for a moment.”

“Thank you Ierick,” Aleron replied.  “We can discuss our parentage further in the carriage.”  He motioned for his companions to follow him into the conveyance.  The prince laughed and then turned to address the sergeant.

Hopping onto the running board, Ierick said to the drivers, “Give me a second to settle in and then back to the palace.”  He proceeded to sit next to Aleron, and turning to him said, “You look well.”

“For a son of a goat, you mean?”

“Especially for a son of a goat,” he replied.  “We haven’t been properly introduced,” he directed at Geldun and Barathol.  “I am Ierick.”

“These are my captains, Geldun and Barathol,” Aleron informed him.

“Pleased to meet you, Your Highness,” Geldun offered, followed by Barathol.

“Yes, it’s good to meet you, Your Highness,” he said.

“Enough of the honorifics.  We’re not so big on them here in the Blue Mountains.  You’re his boyhood friends, are you not?  He spoke much of you when he was last here.”

“Yes,” they answered in unison, with Barathol adding, “We’ve been friends since we were all eight years old.”

“So, how am I lying and conniving?” Aleron interjected.

“You told me you were not a magician, and you most certainly were, and are!”

“I was ordered to keep that a secret by my grandfather and your father.”

“Still a lie, no matter how you dress it up.”

“I know,” he admitted.  “I felt bad about it then and since.”

“I suppose you could be forgiven.  At least now I have a sorcerer friend, like my da.”

“How is the king?”

“Still spry as ever.  He’s taken to dying his hair silver, but it won’t be long until that ruse no longer works.  He plans to have an ‘accident’ in a few years, then move to the Green or White Mountains to take up as a merchant or some such thing.”

“At least he has a plan,” Aleron offered, “though we may have a continent-wide war to fill in the time between then and now.”

They sat in the same conference room that Aleron had occupied five years prior.  A fresh beer barrel occupied the corner, and a now silver-haired Faergas said, “Belly up and get yourselves a beer!”

They all complied, and Aleron asked, “Is this the new year’s beer?”

“No, actually, this one was made for shipment; extra hops, higher gravity…it’s been in the barrel over a year.  What do you think?”

“I think you might have reinvented beer, Your Grace!” Geldun exclaimed.

Barathol added, “This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted!”

Aleron agreed, “This is excellent; better than anything I’ve ever had, even in Sunjib.”

“Turns out that if you up the alcohol and add some extra hops, beer ages like wine,” the dwarf king admitted.  “We thought only of increasing our exports, and it turned out much better than anyone expected.  We call it Blue Mountain Export Ale.”

After several minutes of reminiscing, Aleron interjected, “I’m sure you don’t think we’re here to drink your beer and catch up on old times.”

“Definitely not,” Faergas agreed.  “What brings you here today?”

“We have a war to fight.”

“You’ve had a war for years now.  What’s new?”

“Have you ever heard of Zadehmal?”

“The Adversary’s weapon?”

“Yes.  It’s on its way home.”

“Allfather help us!” the dwarf king exclaimed.  “How has this come to pass?”

Aleron explained, “I’m sure you have heard of Zormat, who calls himself the Nameless God’s son?”  At the dwarves’ nod he continued, “He discovered where my grandfather hid the axe and has retrieved it.  He is currently underway to bring it to his father at Immin Bul.”

“Where was it hidden?”

“Someplace near Mount Norwyyl.”

“The mountain of fire in the land of ice.  That explains the blockade of the Wabani inlet.  Well, I don’t think old Goromir could have picked a more remote location.”

“No, with the current situation, we have no hope to intercept him, and we have good reason to believe that an additional Arkan fleet is on its way to reinforce the blockade.  On that second part, Grandfather told me that he considered the Teresian Archipelago but then decided Norwyyl would get the least foot traffic.”

“Sensible,” Faergas agreed, “but I’d heard the seal hunters make some sort of annual pilgrimage there each year.  Could that be why?”

“Grandfather always suspected as much,” Aleron affirmed, “though most people assumed they were going there to worship the volcano, and he wasn’t about to contradict that theory.”

Ierick interjected, “So, the Nameless One will have his magic axe back.  Will this Zormat be able to break the gates of Immin Bul with it, and hew his father’s chains?”

“We assume so.”

“Isn’t that a grand swivin’ mess?” the young dwarf exclaimed.

“Indeed, it is, lad,” his father agreed.

“Don’t worry; it gets worse,” Geldun offered.

Barathol nodded in agreement as he stood up, his empty tankard dangling from one massive finger.  “Anyone want a refill before Al goes into why we’re really here?”

“Please, good lad,” King Faergas said, offering up his empty mug.  Sounds like I may need another dose o’ the happy juice.”

Aleron waited until everyone who wanted to refill their mugs did so before continuing with, “We have it on good intelligence that Ebareiza is colluding with Kolixtlan to invade and annex western Coptia and Castia.  That will create an enemy corridor straight to Sudea, as well as cut off all eastern supply routes out of the Blue Mountains.”

“Those blasted blithering idiots!” Faergas exclaimed, slamming his tankard down, and splashing the beer out onto the table.  “They wanna put thi’selves right in the Adversary’s pocket, do they?  Why?”

“Prince Sethotep told me the Ebareizan crown has converted to the Kolixtlani religion,” Aleron offered in explanation.

“Even better!  I always counted Latrus as a conniving opportunist with no moral compass, but I never thought him an utter fool.  What you tell me is sheer madness!”

“I plan to mass troops in western Coptia and Castia to support the local defenses.  Five thousand for each, ten thousand total.  We would appreciate your support in that effort, mainly resupplying arms and such.  We can work out some plan for compensation.”

“You’ll have more than resupply from us, lad,” the king replied.  “You’ll get troops as well.  I’m sure I can convince my northern cousin to do the same.”

“We would definitely appreciate that level of help, and it is far more than we expected.”

“Our people were forced to mostly stay in our mountains for the last war, keeping the passes; our numbers were too low, but now we have ample numbers to contribute to the greater fight.”

“I don’t think anyone would think of diminishing your contribution to the Great War.  Closing your mountain passes did much to shield the southern lands from the Adversary.”

“We fought hard, but we shared in none of the glory,” the dwarvish king replied.  It was a fact that the dwarves never received much in the way of credit for their contribution to the war effort.

“I understand that,” Aleron replied, his captains nodding in agreement as they sipped their beers.  They all understood the importance of recognition for martial effort.  “No one doubts your ability to fight.”

“None should,” Faergas replied, “but that is not the point.  It is a point of honor for my people that we contribute to this fight to come.  We will be a force to be told of in the histories.”

“Our numbers are much greater than was the case four thousand years ago,” Ierick added, “and our fortifications many times stronger.  We’ll have no difficulty defending the passes, as well as fielding an army.  The north even more so.”

“That is much better than we were hoping for,” Aleron told them.  “We had no doubt in your willingness to support the effort, but we weren’t expecting troops.”

“Of course, we will require some compensation for our efforts, and I’m sure King Sindlar in the North Kingdom will think the same,” Faergas interjected.  “Not for the troops, mind you.  Those will be equipped and fully supplied by us.  I’m talking for the arms and supplies for your troops.”

“Understood,” Aleron agreed.  “We wouldn’t expect you to finance our portion of the effort.”

“There’s more.”  The dwarvish king’s face took on a shrewd expression as he continued.  “I’m sure we won’t be stopping at merely securing the western marches of Castia and Coptia.  You and Coptia will be carving up however much of Ebareiza you can grab, if not the entire kingdom between the two of you, and Castia will try to take the southern tip of Kolixtlan, or I’m the son of a billy goat.”

“Yes,” was all Aleron answered, eyeing the other king warily.

“We got no use for stifling lowland territory with no good mining, so we won’t be sharing in that.”  He paused briefly.  “We’ll need something else.”

“And that would be?”

Chapter 5

Sildaenday, Day 17, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

As Faergas and Aleron waited in the crisp morning air, just within the gates of Nhargul, on the outskirts of the market courtyard for the royal escort to arrive, Faergas commented, “Remind me to show you the under mountain border crossing before you go home.  It would create less commotion for you to pop in there, than arriving unannounced at the main gates like you keep doing.”

“That would probably be better,” Aleron agreed.  “The guards do make a fuss when the patrols report the road clear of travelers, and then we just show up.”

Dwarvish vendors and mostly Coptian travelers were beginning to fill the market, many of their attentions turned to the two unexpected royal visitors who arrived with neither fanfare nor retainers.  Aleron’s two captains remained with Ierick to tour Dhargul.

“As for Dhargul,” Faergas continued, “I’ll reserve a room in the palace for you to pop into, with a stroum powered bell installed to signal your arrival.  When the bell goes off, we’ll know it’s you and send up an escort.”

“Even more convenient,” Aleron agreed.

“I’ll suggest the same to my cousin here.  It’s just more expedient.

“Is he really your cousin?”

“Our mothers were sisters, so yes, we are in the simplest sense.

Speaking of close relations, that grandmother of yours…You’re sure she can’t escape your spell?”

“Grandfather said that the wards looked sound, if not very elegant.  We do need to come up with something more permanent though.  I’ll enlist his help when I find some time to devote to it.”

“Lad, I think ye ought to find that time sooner, rather than later.  Trust me, dark aelient demon witches are nothing t’ trifle with.  If she gets loose, you’ll lose your ability to travel as you’ve been doing, let alone whatever other trouble she manages to drum up.”

“Yes, I think we will have to deal with it before much else.  I’ve been busy planning and securing allies, but I shouldn’t put it off any longer.”

“Good lad,” the dwarf replied, followed with, “Look, here comes our ride.”

The royal carriage arrived, pulled by a pair of the stocky dwarvish horses, their meticulously groomed black coats gleaming in the morning sun, their manes and tails braided and tied off with red ribbons.  Driven by a blond dwarf with a short, for a dwarf, braided beard, the carriage was of similar make to Faergas’ royal conveyance, and the gold inlayed black enamel reflected the light like a polished mirror.

The carriage door opened, and an elderly white-haired dwarf, bound beard nearly reaching his feet stepped out and said, “Esteemed royal visitors, please allow me to escort you to the presence of our liege, Sindlar Stoutbow, King of the Northern Blue Mountains.”

“Please do, Aldrin,” Faergas agreed, as he strode to the vehicle.  “It’s good to see you.”

“And you as well, Your Grace.  It has been many long months since you have blessed us with your presence.”

“I don’t know about my presence being a blessing.  I’m sure my cousin is busy hiding his whisky as we speak, considering my last visit.”

“Possibly so, Your Grace,” the chamberlain replied with a chuckle.

“Now this young man you bring,” he went on, “I do believe I recognize.  Your Grace,” directing now to Aleron, in flawless Sudean, “I recognize you from several years back, trouncing about with old Hadaras, but you were no king back then.”  The chamberlain’s enunciation was more formal than most dwarves.

Aleron replied, “Yes, Lord Chamberlain, you are correct.  I did visit here about five years ago with my grandfather.  We were concealing my birthright at that time.  I had only learned of it myself that summer.”  He would have liked to answer in Dwarvish but respected the lord chamberlain’s choice of Sudean.

“You’ll find that old Aldrin misses nothing, and forgets even less,” Faergas stated.

“I can see that,” Aleron replied, giving the old chamberlain a nod of respect.

It was apparent to Aleron, as they entered Sindlar’s throne room, that the two dwarvish cities were very contemporary to one another.  He had not paid as close attention when he came here as a boy, that, compounded with the time between his visits to either city had him missing the similarities, but here and now, he noticed the route from gates to castle was laid out near identically to Dhargul, as were the entrances to the palaces and the throne rooms themselves.  He thought that quite possibly, the same dwarf had designed both cities, at least the older parts.  Even the throne itself was a close match to the iron throne of Dhargul, with only slight differences in the decoration.

“The kings of Sudea and the Southern Kingdom, Aleron the Second, and Faergas Goldhammer!” Aldrin announced as they entered.

Faergas and Aleron both executed a half-bow, as befitted greetings among peers, and the northern king rose from his seat and returned the courtesy.

“Welcome, my fellow monarchs,” Sindlar greeted them, as those in the room recovered from their bows as well.

The chamberlain took his place on the bench to Sindlar’s right, between the king and another councilor, with two more councilors seated to the left of the throne.  Two ornate wooden chairs were placed to face the throne for the visitors.

“Please sit, friends, and tell me what business brings you here so suddenly and unexpectedly,” the dwarvish king offered.  “Could ye not have telegraphed ahead, Cousin, to announce your visit?”

“And deprive ye of the same surprise I got yesterday, Cousin?” Faergas answered with his own question.  “That would not have been fair.”

“I take it ye have a habit of popping in unexpectedly,” Sindlar directed to Aleron.

“My apologies, Your Grace, but I’ve needed to trade courtesy for expediency these past days,” Aleron answered.  “War is brewing, and there is little time to waste.”

“Ye’ve been at war, many years now…  What changes are afoot?”

“It hasn’t really been a war, at least not officially before now, but with the abduction of the steward’s daughter, now my wife, last year by Kolixtlan, we consider that an act of war.  My killing their king sealed the deal on that from their point of view as well.

Now, we have word that Ebareiza is abandoning their neutrality and siding with Kolixtlan and Adar.  Once that is verified, I plan to declare war upon all three kingdoms.”

His statement resulted in worried glances between the dwarvish councilors and their king.  After a moment, Sindlar responded, “An official declaration of war.  That is a development.  I suppose you wish for our assistance?”

“That is correct, Your Grace.”

“Let’s dispense with the pleasantries and honorifics.  We’re three kings here.  Let’s retire to the council room for further discussion.  Guards, close off the throne room.  I will require all my councilors, and there will be none here to receive petitioners.”  With that, he rose and gestured to a door behind the throne.  “In here, Gentlefolk,” he directed.

“I see you didn’t hide your whiskey after all, Cousin,” Faergas stated as he noted the fine cut crystal decanter on the table, several clean tumblers beside it on the silver tray.

“If I did, you’d just drink all my ale instead, and I paid dearly for that,” Sindlar replied, gesturing to the barrel in the corner, conspicuously stamped with “Southern Blue Mountain Export Ale” in Dwarvish, Sudean, Castian, Coptian, and what Aleron could only assume was Chuan scripts.  Chuan script was pictographic, like Coptian, though more highly stylized.

“I even have a cask of Castian red, if Your Grace’s tastes are too refined for beer or spirits,” he added, directed at Aleron.

“No worries,” Aleron answered.  I grew up with ale, and elvish drakas and drank plenty of Elmenian usquebaugh in the marines.  I’ll go with the ale if you don’t mind.”

“Go grab yourself a tankard then, and get me one while you’re up,” the dwarvish king directed.  “The rest o’ you, pick your own poison.”

Aleron smiled as he stepped over to retrieve two tankards from the hooks by the barrel and proceeded to fill them.  He found that he shared his grandfather’s affection for dwarvish company.  The courts of Sudea and Elvenholm were much more formal and stuffier than those of the dwarvish kingdoms.  Dwarves were more focused on day-to-day business than on formality and posturing.

After they found their seats around the ancient oak council table, drink of choice in hand, they set about to business.

“First off,” Sindlar began, “I want to know what my cousin here promised, before I go spouting off, and what did ye promise in return?”

“We discussed weapons and supplies, that we will pay fair market prices for, as well as dwarvish troops, which the southern kingdom will outfit and provision,” Aleron answered.

“When, not if, we win, the kingdoms of men will carve up the captured land amongst them,” Faergas added, “but we got no use for sweltering lowland territory.”

“So, what do we get out of it, aside from some friendlier borders?” Sindlar asked.

“Free trade,” the southern king answered.  “We don’t tax food, charcoal, and other necessities we import, because we need those items, and we don’t want to drive up the price of basic necessities fer our people, but in return, our exports are taxed through the roof.”

That is true,” the northern king agreed.  “The balance o’ trade is not exactly fair.  You levy tariffs on our exports, driving up the price fer dwarvish weapons, armor, and mechanicals, so that only your rich may afford them, and greatly limiting how much we can export.”

“I speak for Sudea and can guarantee that we will lift any tariffs on dwarvish imports for a century, with negotiations at the end of that period.  I will petition the other kingdoms and the elvish colony for the same, in exchange for your help in this matter.  I fear that this is only the first skirmish in a much greater war to come.”

“I fear as much,” Sindlar agreed, Faergas and the councilors nodding in concurrence.  We will supply war materiel, just as my cousin pledged, as well as troops to counter any move against Castia, but our troop availability will be limited.  I expect we will be busy defending our own borders.”

“The hill tribes are worse even than the lowland jungle men,” Aldrin stated.

“And they’ve been stirring more than in years past,” Delfin, another of Sindlar’s councilors added, “along with hobgoblins and half-trolls.”

“I understand that you have long and unfriendly borders, and I don’t expect you to leave them unprotected.  Whatever you can spare, if anything, will be greatly appreciated,” the Sudean assured him.  “I expect that Kolixtlan will work to stir up the wild men, just to keep you occupied so they can have their way with western Castia.  Your defense of your territory will be as much a part of this war as will be our defense of the inland sea kingdoms and the overthrow of Ebareiza.”

“Oh, we’ll have some to spare.  We maintain heavy cavalry for just such a situation, and we got no real use for them in the hill country.  We’ll send them to Castia and keep the foot soldiers to ourselves.”

Aleron wondered what dwarvish heavy cavalry would look like but kept his apprehension to himself.

Chapter 6

Zorekday, Day 18, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron stepped into the entry courtyard of Morguilis’ house in Wynn.  He was there by himself this time, leaving even Hadaras out of this visit.  He did not wish for his grandfather’s opinions and input on what he suspected was a purely human ability.

He rapped the bronze knocker three times and waited for an answer to the door.

Sharin opened the door and exclaimed, “Aleron!”

She looked him up and down, and then again.  “Tis been less than six years, as I reckon, but you look much older.”

“My grandfather says halfbloods mature faster than either race.”

“Maybe so, but I’ve known several, and you look older than any twenty-year-old halfblood I ever met.”

“You’re right.  There’s another factor as well.  May I come in to visit?”

“Of course, of course, you are always welcome here…Your Grace.”  She added the honorific with a facetious lilt.  “Momo will be thrilled to see you again.”

Momo?

“Aleron, King of Sudea!” Morguilis bellowed, as Sharin led him to the central living room.  He hoisted an olive-skinned young boy from his lap to his hip as he stood.

“May I present our son, Levano.”  He set the boy down on his feet, facing Aleron.

“Levy, this is Aleron, an old friend of ours.”

Aleron squatted down to be closer to the boy’s level, and said, “Hello Levano.”

“Are you really the King of Sudea?” the five-year-old asked.  “Dada is from Sudea.  He told me all about it.

“Yes, I am.”

Aleron knew from asking Hadaras that Morguilis grew up in Arundell, with a Castian father and a Coptian mother.

“Did you really kill the King of Kolixtlan?”

After an uncomfortable pause, he answered, “Yes, but that was an accident.  I did not mean to do that.”

“I understand.  I make mistakes too.  It was nice to meet you, King Aleron.  Mama, may I have a biscuit?”

“Yes, My Sweet.  Come to the kitchen, Little Bee.”

“Well, he’s bright now, isn’t he?” Aleron commented.

“Frighteningly so,” Morguilis agreed.  “I imagine Hadaras thought the same of a small halfblood he once adopted…”

“Wouldn’t know,” he replied, laughing.

“So, what brings you to my home, after all these years.  I know you’ve been busy, but five and a half years?”

“Well, I was lying low in the military and didn’t have the means, and then the last year was a bit tumultuous.

Anyhow, I want to talk to you about the dream world.”

“We can talk about that, but how did you get here without fanfare?”

“I have access to a bubble of the dreamworld, created by an aelient.”

“Interesting.  I have heard of such things.”

“I need to know how it relates to the world of real dreams.”

“All right.  I may be able to teach you something about entering that plane.  What do you already know?”

“Apparently, I’ve been entering it in my dreams for years now, even before we met.”

“That, I already know.  I saw you there when we first met, and several times since.  I believe you simply reside there in your sleep.”

“Why did you never reveal yourself?”

“When I witnessed, you were involved in very personal interactions with your predecessor.  I felt it rude to interrupt.”

“So, you saw my dreams of the final battle?”

“Yes, that several times, and once the aftermath of Capar.”

“For that, I apologize, especially for the second.”

“Thank you.  Capar gave me nightmares for several weeks.”

“Me as well,” Aleron confided.

“You seem to know much already.  What do you seek of me that you do not already know?”

“I can enter Jacanda’s creation because I gleaned the key to it from her mind, but I have no idea how to physically enter the actual dream plane.  Jessamine showed me how she does it, but I could not replicate it.”

“Why do you need to enter that plane in the flesh?”

“I may need to move armies and navies through that plane to meet the enemy.”

“Are your armies and navies prepared to meet the monsters from their own dreams?”

“I will be with them, so hopefully, yes.”

“Very well.  I will take mezcalo and enter the dream plane.  You will observe me, to the best of your abilities.  Your grandfather and several others have attempted the same, but as you are a man, your results may differ.”

“May I have mezcalo as well?”

“Sure.  Can’t see as it would hurt.”

Aleron settled into the trance as Sharin beat the drum, the drug he ingested facilitating a mental transition that would have been impossible without extensive training.

He felt his spirit leave his body, and he was looking at a young, idealized version of Morguilis.

“Greetings, King Aleron, and welcome to the dream plane.”

“Greetings, as well.  I see how you come here.  That may be helpful.”

“Hopefully so.”  Morguilis led him about the place.  “Here is Sharin.  See how she is present in the physical realm but not here.”

Aleron could see Morguilis’ wife beneath them in the physical plane, along with himself and Morguilis.

“And here is our son.”

Levano was present in both realms.  He slept in the physical realm, but in the dream plane, he cavorted with creatures from story books that Aleron recalled from his own childhood.

A large fuzzy bear-like being confronted them with an outstretched paw.  “Halt! and state your business.”

“I am the Da-Da, and you have seen me before.  I bring an old friend to see Levi.”

“You may pass,” the bear conceded.

They passed into Levano’s personal dream world, where he and his animal companions battled against the creatures of the little boy’s nightmares.

“I am a halfblood knight, and I banish you all to the darkness from whence you came,” the little boy shouted to the dark monsters that beset him and his animal friends. 

Finished with the intruders, the guardian bear bounded to his side.  “Begone, foul beasts!” the bear shouted, and then an all-out melee ensued between Levano’s friends and the forces of darkness.

“I guess he’ll do,” Aleron commented, “When the time comes.”

“Yes, he’s a heroic little muffin, in his dreams.”

“I remember similar dreams from my youth.”

“I bet that you do.  Do you see how there are no elves here?”  There was nothing but Lenovo’s imaginings, Morguilis, and Aleron in this place.

“Yes.  Are they unable to come here at all?”

“Exactly.  This realm is the exclusive purview of men.  Elves do not enter here.”

“But what of the alient?

“They come, but they tend to not meddle with the dreams of men.  Our dreams can evoke forces for which even they are ill-equipped to deal.”

“Interesting.  Jessamine told me that dealing with the nightmares of men come-to-life was an issue.”

“It is for the aelient but not for us.”

“How do you mean?”

“Have you ever another’s nightmare infringe upon your own?”

“No, not that I recall.”

“As men, we are somehow insulated from the atrocities generated by other men, but the aelient are not so lucky.  They may be irrevocably damaged, even killed, by manifestations in the dream plane.”

“So, I could move armies and navies through the realm of dreams with no recourse?”

“Not necessarily, my friend.  Men are shielded because we only enter spiritually.  I cannot say the repercussions of entering physically, as the aelient do.”

“So likely, we will deal with the nightmares of men and have to fight them?”

“Likely so, and likely the nightmares of your very own people will rise against you.”

“Lovely.  Anyhow, I can see how we enter here in our minds, but not so much how I could enter in the flesh.”

“For that, I cannot say.  I have shown you all that I can.”

With all that he did not learn, Aleron did learn that day how to enter the trance that gave access to the dream plane.  He would need to work from there.  Realizing that he may never be able to move anything physical through the dream plane, he resolved to decipher the method to create his own bubble, like Jacanda’s.

***

That evening, when he spoke with Jessamine, she remarked, “I’m sure Jacanda learned the method from one of her parents.  Creating a dream world bubble is beyond my knowledge and that of my brethren, to my best understanding.  I know of no others who have made such a place.”

“What of the Nameless One?  Would he have such a thing?”

“Most definitely.  Our parents could travel from place to place in mere instances, probably using just such constructs.  There are likely several still in existence, providing the Aelir did not dismantle them before departing.”

“So, the Adversary could move troops across the world with little effort?”

“Likely so.”

“I need to determine how Jacanda built hers, or else take hers over as my own.”

“The latter may be your best gamble.  Any reason to need one of your own?”

“The servants…I know not what to do with fifty or so women, all loyal to Jacanda.”

Chapter 7

Gurlachday, Day 19, Hunger Moon, 8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron rolled through the sawdust, narrowly dodging Barathol’s glaive strike, and regaining his feet just in time to block Geldun’s left handed snap.  His captains, a half-dozen palace guards, and he filled the practice yard located near the center of the palace complex, while a few curious courtiers watched from the stands.  This practice session was a last man standing free for all, no teams, and everyone an enemy.  Though alliances were allowed, they would need to be broken in the end.

“Corball’s balls, I hate greatsword!” Aleron exclaimed, as he deflected yet another blow angling in from his rear.  He spun and dispatched that guard with a swipe to the hip, deemed a killing blow from a great weapon.  The vanquished guard raised his sword above his head and left the ring, while Aleron engaged a new foe.  He wielded a wooden approximation of Andhanimwhid, sized and weighted nearly the same as the real weapon.  He would much rather have his dual cutlasses, but such was his lot in life. 

“The king wields a greatsword,” Eilowyn stated, those many weeks ago, and it was true.  When he went to battle at the head of his armies, he would be expected to wield Andhanimwhid, and he would need the power housed in the artifact.

In a blindingly fast attack, he took out two more guardsmen before he was forced to face his friends, who teamed up against him, just as he had instructed them to.  They had also recruited a right-handed sword and shield fighter into their alliance.  Barathol worked from between the two shields, while Geldun and their new ally defended their flanks with their swords.  With a right-left combination, Aleron took out Geldun and the guardsman but was unable to defend against Barathol’s snap to his shoulder.

As Aleron and the others took their leave of the practice ring, Barathol looked about to find the one remaining guardsman, also wielding a glaive.

“This should be interesting,” Aleron commented, as they took their seats in the stands to watch the end of the bout.

The two glaivesmen faced off and began circling, trading blows and feints.  They seemed evenly matched in size and strength, and as it turned out, skill as well.  The bout continued furiously for over three more minutes, before the palace guard landed a blow on Barathol’s thigh.  Rather than continue from his knees, Barathol tapped the shaft of his weapon against his helm, signifying his ceding the match.

“He’ll do,” stated Geldun, as the pair doffed their helms, and pulled back the coifs of their gambesons. 

“Yes, indeed he will,” Aleron agreed.

Though part of their daily exercises was for the purpose of staying in proper fighting form, a primary goal was for recruitment.  With the palace guard already recruited from the elite of the military, it was the logical first stop for Aleron to assemble his royal guard.  Not to be simple bodyguards, he intended these for his vanguard in battle.  He would also recruit from the services at large, to find those who may have been passed over in the selection of the palace guard, as well as to select replacements for those guardsmen he took.  He wanted one hundred in all, and so far, he had fifteen.  Those he selected today for their ground fighting ability would need to demonstrate skill from horseback as well, and that weeded out about two thirds of the prospects.

“I will host a series of tournaments this coming spring and summer.  Ellie and her da are already working out the details.  That should work to pry some of the nobles out of the woodwork.  The royal vanguard will need an officer’s corps.”

“Hameln will want in on that,” Geldun added.  “Are you going to require him to compete?”

“Only if he wishes,” Aleron answered.  “He’s got Corball’s own piss running through his veins, so there’s no question about his eligibility.” 

Eilowyn’s younger brother, training to emulate Aleron since boyhood, was turning out to be a formidable warrior, even at his tender age of eighteen years and just two years in the Sudean cavalry.  Though Eilowyn implored him to forego vengeance, the young man swore to meet Ehacatl on the field of battle to personally redress the affront to his sister’s dignity by the royal house of Kolixtlan.  On one occasion, Aleron informed him that he would have to get there before him.  Eilowyn just threw her hands up in frustration at both of them and stalked off.

“Al, you still meeting with Caid this afternoon?” Barathol inquired as he walked up to where they were seated.

“Appearances, Barry,” Geldun admonished.

“My apologies, Your Grace, for my inappropriate familiarity,” Barathol conceded, flourishing a bow.

“Cut the horseshit, you two.  Yes, I will meet with him over the midday meal, in the audience chamber.  Can you get him there by noon?”

The exchange earned them a few sidelong glances from guardsmen who were not familiar with the trio, but most knew they were childhood friends.

***

“Sounds to me like you want to bring Elmenia back into the Sudean fold, so to speak,” stated Caid, as he skewered another sausage from the platter between them with his dirk.

“In a way,” Aleron agreed.  “I don’t wish to rule over them, or tax them, but I would like them as allies.  For that, there would need to be some semblance of unity.”

“That’ll be a hard sell, Yer Grace.  From me own experience, the clans be fuedin’ as often as at peace.”

“I understand that.  What do you think might sweeten the pot for them?  I would like to raise a highlander regiment, or even a brigade for the war.”

“Enough money, and maybe some official Sudean titles for the clan chiefs might be enough to make them play nice with each other, at least until the war’s over,” the highlander postulated.  “I’m not too familiar with what a regiment or a brigade may be, but there be six main clans, each with around five to six thousand folks.”

Gealton offered, “That could be a good-sized brigade, with each clan forming a battalion.  How many fighting men can a clan usually field?”

“Eight hundred to a thousand, more if the need be dire, and not just men.  Our lasses fight as well.”

“Six battalions of five hundred then?  Three thousand fighters.  How much might that cost us?” Aleron asked.

“Well, Yer Grace, the soldiers are gonna be wantin’ the same pay as yer’s, and the clans’ll be wantin’ some sort o’ compensation for takin that many folks away from the fields…”

“So, about one and a half times what we pay our soldiers,” Gealton concluded.  “Sounds about right for mercenaries.  We’ll have to work out who’s responsible for the cost of outfitting the units.”

“Mercenary is a strong term, Milord, and I wouldn’t bring it up in talkin’ to the clan chiefs,” Caid implored.  “We just can’t afford to mount that sort of campaign on our own.  We barely eke out a livin’ up there as it is.”

“Understood, my good man,” the steward agreed.

“Wasn’t there a similar arrangement during the first Aleron’s reign?” the king asked, “and what of the coastal duchy?”

“Well, Yer Grace, I can’t even speak for the highland clans, really, much less the lowlanders.  This is just friendly advice and guesses.  I don’t pretend to know the duke’s mind,” Caid stated, in answer to the second half of the question.

“In answer to your first question, Aleron,” Gealton interjected, “We did have essentially that same agreement with the highlanders leading up to the great war.  The main difference being that then, the Duke of Elmenia was a Sudean subject.”

“How do they feel about us in this age?” Aleron asked.

“With most living along the north coast, they have closer social and political ties to Coptia; most speak Coptian now, over Sudean,” the steward replied.  “Though not unfriendly, they show no desire to be a part of either kingdom.  In an all-out war, they would likely choose to augment Coptia.”

“Everything south of the Green River delta is desert,” Barathol added, just a few scattered fishing villages, and nothing inland.”

“They do speak Sudean down there,” Geldun offered.  “I’ve been on security detail a couple of times for resupply runs to those villages.”

“The south coast be mostly desert folk.  They don’t even know they’re part o’ the duchy,” the highlander clarified.  “The duke claims the entire region, but only controls the northeast corner, north o’ the river.”

“I’ve gathered as much,” the steward agreed, “and the desert folk are another issue entirely.”  He continued, “Hardly anyone lives in the south highlands as well.  I think we could “officially” ask the duke’s permission to establish a recruiting post somewhere just south of the Green River, maybe offer him some token compensation, and then go ahead and build it.  That would give us an embarkation point for highlander troops.”

“If they agree to come,” Caid finished.  “And yes, it’s too dry to make a livin’ much south o’ the river.  We jus’ got a few miners down that way.

“Your people are all foot soldiers?” Geldun asked.

“Aye, Geldun, we use horses for ridin’ about, but our terrain dun’t lend isself to no cavalry charges.”

“What sort of formations do you field?” Aleron asked.

“About one third each of pike and shield men, and a sixth each of long spears and two-hander swords.”

“That many greatswords?”

“Aye, they’re good fer breaking up formations.”

“What was your particular specialty?”

“I’s a two-hander man.  Takes more practice, but’s more fun ‘n bein’ stuck in a bloody shield wall formation.”

“Would you like to come by again tomorrow morning, a couple bells past sunrise?” Aleron asked the Elmenian.  “I could use a sparring partner who’s a real specialist in greatsword.”

Chapter 8

Shilwezday, Day 20, Hunger Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

The day was going well, as far as Aleron was concerned.  Caid had agreed to attend a couple of their daily morning practices a week and was at this morning’s session.  Today was the traditional rest day for Elmenians, but the highlander adjusted his schedule to the land in which he now resided. 

Though Hadaras, who had trained the young king, likely had more cumulative fighting experience than any living being, he was not a greatsword specialist, and neither was Aleron.  The Elmenian demonstrated techniques that Aleron had never seen, and he learned much that morning.  He even noted Barathol incorporating some of the new moves into his glaive work.

Now it was midday, and he was able to share the meal with his wife for the first time in many days.

“I decided to take Barry’s friend Caid into my employ, as a greatsword trainer, and a personal advisor on matters pertaining to the highlanders.  He is far better than me with a two-hander.”

“That’s nice, Dearest,” Eilowyn replied.  “I’d heard the highlanders tended to specialize in that weapon, more than other peoples.  You will be expected to be more than simply proficient.  Are you planning to take him into the royal van as well?”

“Not likely,” Aleron admitted.  “He has next to no riding experience, and that’s what weeds out most of the prospects.  Barry is by far our worst rider but he’s practicing daily and coming along well.  Caid has barely ever rode a horse in his life.”  He skewered a piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth.

“Understandable, considering where he is from.  I’ve heard they hardly even have any horses up there.  They mostly use draft oxen,” she stated.

“On the subject of training,” she went on, “I would like to resume my own.  I really haven’t practiced much of anything since that troll clobbered me last year.  I mentioned it to Father, but he was not too keen on the idea, and he said he would be hard pressed to find a trainer willing to teach a woman to fight.  Be that as it may, I think he just doesn’t want to try either,” she concluded, pausing to sip a spoonful of her soup.

Aleron swallowed, took a drink of water, and replied, “I can see that.  He likely just doesn’t want to, between you being pregnant and just being a woman in general.  He’s probably also right about finding you a teacher willing to do the job.”

“I’m barely pregnant.  I will be able to handle some physical activity for several months yet.”

He pondered the situation for a moment and then said, “Caid told us that he has a younger sister staying with him in the city.  I could ask him when I see him again in two days.”

“Why would she be an option?  Is she a trained fighter?”

“He said that the highland women fight alongside the men, until they become mothers, so she should know something.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” the queen answered.  “Please do ask him.”

“All right, but you probably should still avoid any rough contact.  No wrestling until after the baby comes.  So how was your morning?” Aleron asked.

“It was good,” she answered.  “I had an interesting time with Didi.  We haven’t seen each other since we were children.  You never told me you were acquainted.”

Aleron’s face reddened as he chewed on a chunk of salsify root.  Eilowyn appeared visibly amused at his discomfiture.

“She told me that she chased you all over Nhargul five years ago, and that you even got naked together in the baths a couple times.”

He choked down the food and stammered.  “Th-that was only one time in the baths, and I was already naked and in the pool.  She came in, got naked, and then got into the same pool with me.”

“Relax, Love,” she said, laughing.  “She said, and I quote, that you were “obscenely proper” regarding her.  But why, pray tell, did you never tell me,” she inquired, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Honestly, Ellie, I had nearly forgotten about her, until we met at the meeting the other night.  It was quite nearly a year between when I met her and when I next saw you.”

“Forgotten her?  She has some “attributes” that I would think would be quite difficult to forget.”

“Maybe, put her out of my mind would be a better way to describe it,” he admitted.  “She was pretty, and pretty forward, but I just wasn’t interested at the time.”

“At the time?  How about now?” she asked, with a mischievous grin.

“Even less now,” he growled.

“That’s the right answer,” she said, standing up from the table and smiling.  “Now, if the king has nothing else on his schedule for a few hours, the queen would appreciate some help in the bedroom, getting out of her gown.”  She grabbed the carafe of wine and two goblets before heading off to their private quarters.

Aleron quickly wiped his face, stood, nearly knocking his chair over, and followed behind his wife.

***

“I need to find a way to meet with more rulers directly,” Aleron mused over dinner.

They dined with Eilowyn’s parents, Gealton and Vetina, that evening, told them of Eilowyn’s pregnancy, and that she was weeks along.  They were surprised, but not upset, as they had been married by Bruji long before the official ceremony a few days past.  Gealton reminded them again that it was actually a rather common arrangement and would not raise any eyebrows if she delivered a few weeks before the usual forty-seven.  Now that conversation had withered, and their talk took the inevitable turn to state business.

“Do you men really need to talk shop?” the steward’s wife asked, in a mildly exasperated tone, while her daughter took turns glaring at her father and the king.

“My apologies, Milady.  It’s difficult to avoid when we get together.”

“Plus, My Dear, the king and I have not gotten the chance to meet together in a couple of days,” Gealton came to Aleron’s defense.  “We both have things on our minds to discuss.”

“Perhaps you can save them for your morning sunrise meeting you already have scheduled?” Eilowyn suggested.

“Perhaps we should, My Love,” Aleron agreed, “but I can’t guarantee we won’t slip again.”

“Understood, Dearest,” she replied, “but let’s try to keep the conversation pleasant for now.  I think we should attempt to turn in early, as we both have full days ahead tomorrow.” 

She gave him a sly wink, and he immediately understood what she was suggesting, his memory of their afternoon together still very fresh in his mind.

Vetina raised an eyebrow at her daughter, having caught her wink and guessing at the gist of their unspoken exchange.  Eilowyn just smiled serenely back at her mother, eliciting a derisive snort from the elder woman.  This caused Gealton to look up from his meal perplexedly.  He had obviously missed the exchange.

Chapter 9

Corballday, Day 21, Hunger Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

That morning, Aleron gave in and resorted to yellow magic to fortify himself.  He did not manage to get much sleep before he was roused an hour before dawn by the night chamberlain’s call through his door.  He looked at his wife placidly sleeping in the dim light of pre-dawn and softly brushed his lips across her cheek before leaving their bed.

He chose not to send for his valet at such an early hour, and he would take breakfast with the steward.  There was no need for the staff two hours before the table was set for the queen, and the only ones present in the royal quarters aside from him were the pair of interior guards.  They snapped to attention as he approached the exit doors.  One of the guards called to the outer door guards to “Make way for the king!”  Aleron paused, waited to hear “All clear!” and for the double doors of carved walnut to swing inward.  The outer guards who had opened the doors went back to their places flanking the doorway and came to attention as well.

“Carry on,” he ordered, as he strode through the exit and stepped off smartly to the left down the corridor.  As he strode off, the interior guardsmen closed the doors, while the exterior guards took up a ready position.  Normally, a ruler would have a contingent of four to six bodyguards already staged for any movement outside the royal chambers, but Aleron eschewed such things as unnecessary.  He would rather the guards attend to other security duties, as he did not require the level of protection that a non-sorcerer ruler might need.  He cast his mental feelers in a wide radius and only detected a few staff and guards seeing to the early morning business of the palace or conducting their rounds.

They were meeting in Gealton’s old offices, adjacent to the kitchens, they being closer to both the royal and the steward’s living chambers, as well as the kitchens.  As he neared his destination, the bustle of activity he sensed increased tenfold.  The kitchens woke well before the rest of the palace rose from its slumber.

The outer doors to Gealton’s offices were open as the king approached, and the guards flanking each side came to attention upon his approach, a couple servants scurrying back to the kitchens.  He told them to “Carry on,” as he passed through the outer doors to the receiving room.  He repeated the order the orderly who stood up from behind the small desk to one side.  The doors to the small conference room were open as well, and Aleron could see that the steward was already there, directing the servants setting the table for them.  He waited for them to leave, bobbing short bows or curtsies as they passed their ruler, while they carried empty trays and vessels back to the kitchens.  He nodded politely to them in turn, before proceeding into the room with his father-in-law.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” the steward greeted him as Aleron entered.  “I hope you slept well,” he continued, a smile barely reaching the corners of his mouth and eyes.”

“Thank you, Lord Steward.  I did sleep well, not long, but soundly.”

“I’ll wager that you did,” he replied, with a twinkle in his eye telling Aleron that Eilowyn’s mother must have filled her husband in on her suspicions last night.

“Is my daughter well?  Any signs yet of the hyperemesis expectant ladies often experience?” 

“Not yet.  She still seems quite hale in the mornings,” Aleron answered.

“That’s a relief,” Gealton stated.  “Our first indication of Vetina’s pregnancies were her rolling out of bed and running to find an unused chamber pot.  She was always sick for the entire first three months, if not longer.”

“Hopefully Ellie will not have the same problems,” Aleron wished.

“Yes, let us hope you are that lucky,” the steward agreed.  “Now on to business.  You expressed an interest in face-to-face meetings with other monarchs?”

“Yes.  Communicating through emissaries only gets me so far.  I want to talk directly to those in charge.  I suspect our time to organize will be limited.  I have only managed to visit the two Blue Mountain kings because I had been to their cities before, and the Elvish king, because I saw the gates of Cite in Elvenholm in a vision from the sword.  I believe I could get to Cop once Prince Sethotep makes it home, since I can find places I’ve been, and people I know well, but I’ve never been to Kass, Zio, or any of the other capitals, nor do I know anyone there, so I would need to travel overland or by sea, rather than use Jacanda’s library.

“Is there no way to navigate to unknown places from there?”

“I’m sure that she could when she was conscious,” Aleron replied.  “But it’s also likely that she’s seen every part of Aertu when they were building it.”

“That’s true.”  Gealton agreed, and then an idea occurred to him.  “What of your “cousin” Jessamine?  She’s likely seen every corner of the world as well.”

“I had not thought of that,” he admitted.  “Maybe I should pay her a visit today.”

“That would be wise,” Gealton agreed, “but we also need to discuss what you will ask of these rulers when you do meet with them.”

“What do you suggest?”

“For one, I suggest that you take me or Hadaras with you, for starters.  After that, we need to decide what role the other nations might play.  We have Thallasia on our side now, to augment our naval assets, but they have little in the way of ground forces to assist Castia.  Chu is a nation of merchants and scholars, with only a small defensive force.”

“Chebek and Talik are formidable though,” Aleron supplied.

‘Formidable, yes, but relatively light on population.  Plus, cavalry is of little use in the jungles of Castia and Kolixtlan.  They will likely flatten Adar, but after that, their usefulness will wane.  I can only hope that the White Mountain dwarves will lend troops, as well as supplies, to Castia.”

“I’m sure they will,” Aleron offered.  “If I can persuade King Sindlar to accompany me, the chances will be better.”

“Likely so if you have Sindlar to back you.  I maintain that treating with Chu is a nicety, but not highest on the list of priorities.  You have visited the Chebek coast, have you not?”

“Yes, I have, as well as the northern tip of Talik.  Havaq would not be a horrible overland journey from their port at Selk, still, over three hundred leagues, but the Talik capital at Jarmal is nearly a thousand leagues from their port at Kalbul.”

“You could fly it in a week,” the steward suggested.

“If all else fails, yes,” Aleron agreed, “but I think I’ll talk to Jessie first.”  He continued, “I would like for you to accompany me on some of these visits.  How do you feel about being a bird for a few days, if I can’t figure out an alternative?”

“I would rather not, truth be told.”

“I didn’t think you would be too keen on that.  The transformation has its risks.  If something were to happen to me, all my companions would be stuck in animal form.  I barely convinced Gel and Barry to do it, and they only agreed because of the direness of the situation.”

“I assume you want me along for my knowledge of the other rulers?” Gealton hypothesized.

“Exactly,” Aleron affirmed.  “I can’t pretend any knowledge of their wants and needs.  That’s why I want to take Sindlar to the White Mountains, and I will ask Faergas to accompany me to see the Green Mountain king.”

“Understandable.  So, what are your plans for the remainder of the day?”

“I have fighting practice this morning.  After that, Grandfather and I plan to relocate my grandmother to a more secure location and upgrade her warding.”

“Do you mind if I accompany you for the relocation?  It sounds interesting.”

“Certainly.  We plan to do it a bell past noon.”

***

“Shouldn’t we put her in our deepest dungeon?” Gealton asked, as Hadaras pushed the wheeled gurney out from the storage shed adjacent to the royal gardens, from where Aleron had opened a portal into Jacanda’s abode.

The series of wards surrounding her kept her in a state of perpetual stasis, neither dead nor alive, protected her from all outside forces, and affected to hold her body stiff as a plank.  Under his grandfather’s guidance, Aleron reinforced and fine-tuned them prior to them moving her, and they were now linked to storage repositories constructed of blue quartz, bloodstone, emerald, and topaz acting as buffers to further strengthen the wards.

“That was our first thought,” Aleron answered, “but unfortunately, most forms of magic are scarce deep underground, and I need all of them to maintain the wards keeping her in place.  We need both contact with the earth, sunlight, proximity to life and death to maintain them, so the royal cemetery is the best location we can think of.”

The royal cemetery, adjacent to the gardens and unused for more than a thousand years, was little visited.  Though filled with line upon line of full-sized granite sarcophagi, the remains entombed within were mainly bones left over from funeral pyres, as most rulers chose the traditional route of cremation over embalmment, though there were some that contained the full remains of ancient kings and queens.  The nearest row contained a dozen empty containers, waiting a millennium for an occupant.

Aleron noticed a look of mild disgust on the old elf’s face as Hadaras pushed his former mate toward the cemetery.  He knew full well from where the expression developed.  Hadaras was horrified to find that the maid he loved over three decades, and who’s death he mourned over, was an imposter, a dark aelient who possessed and pushed aside the one to whom the body rightfully belonged.

“Do you hate her that much, old friend?” Gealton asked, after noticing the same.

“Yes,” Hadaras answered, becoming stone faced and elaborating no further.

The steward decided against any pursuit of the question and walked along in silence.

The sarcophagus they chose was the last of the vacant lot.  Aleron did not feel it right to place Jacanda next to Queen Elina, consort to King Alagric, the last ruler of Sudea before him.  Its lid lay upon two timbers placed on the grass beside the open box.  Normally, a crew should be standing by to cap the tomb, but the king and steward had ordered the grounds cleared of all but the guards manning the exits until they completed the task.  Those citizens wishing to tour the gardens were told to return later, as some unexpected maintenance was occurring.

Aleron and Hadaras lifted Jacanda and placed her within the sarcophagus.  Then, they placed the storage devices within as well.  The king concentrated, and a mass of maroon energy, visible even to Gealton, formed beneath the lid.  The heavy slab of granite, nearly a foot thick as no image of the deceased was carved into it, rose from the ground, and settled upon the top of the chamber.  Once settled in place, the gap between the box and lid shone incandescent white, and the seam was gone, the tomb sealed entirely from the outside world.

“Magic will be able to get into that?” Gealton asked, a skeptical tone to his voice.

“Yes, magic penetrates stone just fine, particularly yellow, which comes from the ground.  It’s more the distance to the source, than anything in the way, which depletes everything but yellow when you are deep underground,” the king answered his father-in-law.

Aleron closed his eyes and formed a vision in his mind.   A tracery of white lines formed across the five exposed surfaces of the vessel.  The webbing reformed, coalescing into words forming sentences in all the languages Aleron knew, Sudean, Elvish, Coptian, Castian, and Dwarvish.  Repeated upon all sides, they read “Do not open this vessel lest ye release that held within and destruction upon the land.”  With a hissing sound, the words engraved themselves into the stone.

“A tad heavy,” Gealton remarked.

“Just want to get the point across,” the king replied.

Hadaras had nothing to say, only nodding his agreement.

***

Afterward, Aleron returned to Jacanda’s study, without his grandfather.  He took his position at the viewer and directed his attention to portions of the villa’s grounds and interior spaces.  What he found was disconcerting, though not unexpected.  All the residents of the compound outside the study were frozen in place, as if time stopped for them.  In the absence of its mistress, the entire construct ceased to move forward.  He saw that even the wind ceased to move the leaves and branches on the trees.

He decided, and stepped through the door to the study, into the suite beyond.  Out here, the air seemed to move normally.  Nothing stirred in Jacanda’s private rooms, so he moved out to the audience chamber.  Isla and another woman, whose name escaped him, suddenly stood up from their kneeling vigil.  Their expressions quickly ran from hopeful, through surprise and shock at seeing him emerge without their mistress, to wary mistrust.

“Where is The Lady?” Isla asked pointedly.  “What did you do with her?”

“She is resting.  She asked to not be disturbed, and I check up on things for her.  How is everything going?”

“Everything is running smoothly, as always, Lord,” Isla answered.  “We would like to see her.”

“I will let her know of your wish to see her when she awakens.  Thank you.” 

He turned, spun on his heel, and strode back to the doors into the private chambers.  He was through them and had them locked behind him before the women could react more than taking a faltering step to follow.

Back in Jacanda’s study, he found them in the viewer, where he could see them frozen in position, just outside the door he just closed in their faces.  He pondered the implications of what he just observed.  Jacanda’s presence in this construct, whether in her quarters or about the palace, kept time running normally.  Her absence from her realm caused time to stop there, for its inhabitants but not for him.  He could move about her quarters normally, while everyone outside them were also outside of time.

He only now realized the danger he had placed himself in by leaving her chambers.  He could have been frozen just like the servants, but instead, time resumed when he entered the outer area and stopped again when he left.  There was an obvious separation between the private chambers and the outer palace and grounds.  It must be some sort of safeguard, he surmised, possibly to allow her to leave a trusted servant in her quarters while she was absent, though from the women’s recollection to him when he was captive, she never actually did such a thing. 

He did not want to think about what could have happened to him had time stopped for the first portions of his body crossing the boundary, but not the parts following behind.  Aleron decided that he would try taking one of the servants into the private quarters with him next time.  Now, he was off to visit Jessamine.

Chapter 10

Corballday, Day 21, Hunger Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

The farmyard was just as Aleron remembered it, though he hadn’t been home in over two years.  He stepped out of the portal between the study and the waking world into the middle of the yard. 

The old mare was wandering loose and trotted up to greet him.  He patted and stroked her neck affectionately, while she nickered in response.  With a flash of white and an inrush of air, a juicy green apple materialized in the hand he held behind his back.  He offered it to her, and she took it from him happily.

Jessie was waiting for him in the doorway.  “Welcome home, stranger,” she called to him.  She held the guise with which he was most familiar, a beautiful dark-haired woman in her late twenties, with deep brown eyes and light olive complexion.

“It’s nice to see you again, cousin,” he jested back.  She was not his cousin, as she was billions of years old, but his own grandmother was of her kind, so maybe she was some sort of distant relation.  He resolved to ask her to clarify, among other things.

As they sat across the small table from one another, over afternoon tea, she answered him.  “I am the child of Shilwez and Cerdae, while Jacanda is the daughter of Iselle and the Nameless One, born before his exile.  The aelir were not brothers and sisters, though all had the same father but no mother.  Their relatedness does not follow the pattern of men or elves.  We aelient all have the same grandfather, the Allfather, so you could consider us all cousins, though we’re not as close a relation as with mortals.  If you consider me first cousin to your grandmother, then we are first cousins, twice removed.

“You really are my cousin.  That is funny!” he exclaimed.  But what about my mother and grandfather?  Wasn’t Hadaras’ mother also Iselle, as it turns out?”

“Yes, that is correct,” she confirmed.  Hadaras and Jacanda are technically half siblings, though Quina, the elf she possessed, was no relation to Hadaras, so it’s difficult to tell.  When we take over a living form, we slowly bend it to one that suits us.  What you see before you today began as a tiny animal, too small for mortals to see, many hundreds of thousands of years ago.  I grew it to a form to mimic the people of this land, before the races of men, westmen, and dwarves diverged.  From that base, I could easily transform it to match whatever people inhabited the region I called home.  Quiana was already of the physical form Jacanda wished to mimic, so no outward physical transformation was necessary.  You do, however, carry enough of my cousin and her father that my brother Iudhael was able to feel it in you.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“Most people have four great grandmothers.  If you consider Quiana to be your true grandmother, then so do you, but one of them was aelir.  If Jacanda is your true grandmother, then you only have three great grandmothers, two on your father’s side, one on your mother’s, and now the Adversary is also your great grandfather, so two of your greats are aelir.”

“What do you think is true?” Aleron asked in earnest.

“I think there is truth in both,” she replied.  You told me before that you could even now still sense a bit of Quiana in Jacanda, hundreds of years after she possessed the elf.  Likely, the transformation was far less mature when she gave birth to your mother, five-hundred and thirty-four years ago.  I believe you still have four great grandmothers, but Iselle is stronger than a mere one-eighth and Quiana’s mother’s presence is proportionally reduced.  Likewise, you have five great grandfathers, with the Nameless God and Quiana’s father sharing that eighth of your ancestry.  My brother sensed a large portion of your ancestry was neither man nor elf.”

“Wow.  Does that make my mother and I inbred?” he asked, partly to lighten the mood.

“A bit,” she replied with a smile, but the aelir didn’t have much in the way of bad traits to hand down, so you needn’t worry overmuch.”

“Now that we have that out of the way…  Wait a moment.  You said you had a form to mimic the first humans, before there were men, westmen, and dwarves?”

“Yes, would you like to see how I appeared over three hundred millennia past.”

“Yes, I would.  Grandfather told me you only revealed this to him a few years ago.  Why was it kept a secret?”

“No particular reason in the beginning,” she stated.  “The changes were so gradual that we barely noticed they were happening at all.  Gradual lightening in complexion and change in stature seemed natural as the early humans moved into other environs.  We of our kind tended to remain in one spot and most did not range widely, so even when the differences were so pronounced as to discourage intermingling, we were mostly unaware.  When our parents arrived to teach the people, they advised us not to reveal their common origin.  They believed it would cause more strife to do so.  I cannot say for certain that they were right in that.  It may as well have engendered a newfound sense of kinship.”

“Likely they were right though.  Men don’t really think that way, do we?”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed.  “But anyhow, you know, so you might as well see it.  Here is how I appeared when the first humans ventured into the forests at the feet of the Blue Mountains, where I called home, from the Coptian plain.”

She stood up from her chair and began the transformation.  She grew several inches taller.  Her hair remained black, but went from straight to tightly curled, bushy, and cascading down her back.  Her skin went from light olive to dark brown, nearly black, while her cheekbones and nose widened.  Her brows became thick, protruding like a shelf over her dark eyes, and her jaws and teeth expanded, causing her chin to recede.  Her proper ladies’ dress was replaced by a simple hide skirt, breasts exposed, and her overall build became more robust and muscular.  She looked like a very tall, black-skinned westwoman, and Aleron tried to not gawk at all her exposed bits.  With her perfect symmetry and flawless skin, there was a rough beauty to her appearance, and Aleron assumed that she would have been an astounding sight for that time and people.  Then, she transformed to her nymph form, hair interwoven with twining vines, and the hide skirt becoming green leaves.  Her skin remained dark, but at the same time glowed golden from within.

“What do you think?” she asked, as she morphed back to the familiar visage of his cousin and returned to her seat.

“Interesting,” he replied.  “Your body looked human enough, if a little more rugged than average.  We didn’t have the prettiest faces back then, did we?”

“Not by modern standards,” she agreed, “but standards change by time and place.  That form had men tripping over their feet and walking into trees whenever I appeared among them.  I didn’t often let them see me.  The women hated when I did,” she revealed, with a giggle.  It’s easier to get by in these days when people go around more covered up.”

“Couldn’t you make yourself plainer looking?”

“Oddly enough, no.  For some reason, we are constrained to look like the most attractive of whatever creature whose form we adopt.  We have little control over that.”

“What of your brother?  He looks like some monster from legend.”

“But still quite beautiful, as that form goes.  If he were to ever need to take the form of a man, he would by necessity, be distractingly handsome.  I believe that you and Hadaras have a bit of that in you as well.  With your aelir ancestry, it was likely impossible for either of you to come out ugly, or even plain looking, as elves are never ugly.”

“But you just said that beauty is subjective to time and place.”

“Yes, I did.  I just believe that you are constrained slightly, as we are.  The nymphs of the northwest look like exceedingly beautiful westmen.  I believe that if you were born of westman parentage, with the same degree of aelir ancestry, you would be an extraordinarily handsome westman, but likely only noticeably more attractive than your peers to an outsider.  There is something in our makeup that is influenced by the perceptions of the mortals around us, and it forces us to be beautiful in their eyes.  I think it was part of the Allfather’s plan to give us influence over mortals, to help us guide them.  I believe your Aelir ancestry causes the trait to be incidental in you as well.  You are considered quite handsome by the people you were born among.  You simply can’t adapt that to other peoples and places, as my folk are able.”

Aleron blushed a bit.  It was strange to him for Jessie to call him handsome.  He knew that to her, this was simply empirical evidence, with no emotions attached, but it still embarrassed him.

“It occurs to me that you may have come today for more than a discussion of genealogy?”

“Yes, actually, you know how I can move in and out Jacanda’s study, and use it to travel about?”

“Yes, it’s a very interesting concept, and I know of no others of our kind who have ever built such a thing.  Our parents had such constructs, but I always thought it beyond our abilities.”

“I know from her memories that she built it, but the method was nearly incomprehensible to me.  Regardless, I have a problem.  I can only get to places I’ve been to or at least seen.  I have no idea how to navigate to someplace I know not.”

“Can you take me there?” Jessamine asked.

“I was hoping you would agree to come with me,” Aleron said.  “Would you like to go right now?”

“Certainly.  Just give me a moment to tell the horse to stay in the yard.  She will sense me leaving and might wander off in search of me.”  After a moment she said, “Alright, we may go now.”

Aleron stood and turned from her to an open spot in the room.  He bent his will, and a hole opened in the air, revealing the study and its library.  Together, they stepped through, and he allowed the portal to close.

“Did you get a sense of what I did there?” he asked her.

“Yes, I did.  It is exactly the same as when we enter the dream plane, only you concentrated on this place, not the actual plane.  That would have taken you into the dream plane at the geographical location you occupied in the waking world.”

“Does that mean I could access the actual dream plane the same way?”

“It should be so.  They are entered in the same way.  How did you learn how to enter here?”

“It was the other way around, really,” he answered.  “I was trapped in here when I disabled Jacanda.  I had to look into her mind to find how to leave.  I had to exert my control over this place, and after that I was able to leave and enter at will.”

“That is a difference,” Jessamine observed.  “With the dream plane, it’s more of surrendering control than exerting it.  However, if you can do this, you can likely learn the other.  Hadaras said he was unable to duplicate what you do.  He observed you and could sense your intention but could not see the mechanism of action.  That makes sense, as it has nothing to do with any form of magic.”

“When we went to the Elvish Colony on that trip, his friend Morguilis said he thought that access of the dream plane was the natural prerogative of men,” Aleron offered.  “He didn’t enter it physically though.  He did through some sort of trance.”

“Yes, Hadaras and I have discussed his friend,” she admitted.   “He has a rare ability to enter the plane, control his actions there, and observe goings on in the waking world.  Humans regularly enter the dream plane when they sleep, but rarely have conscious control of their actions, or awareness of what is happening in the waking world.  But as far as I know, humans cannot physically enter the plane, and elves have no access to it.  Their dreams are entirely within their own minds.”

“So, me being able to enter here…”

“Is much like your ability with green and yellow magic,” she finished for him.  “You are more than a bit of an anomaly.”

“I was able to bring all of my friends through, and Grandfather.  Why would that be?”

“It is the ability to open the door that matters.  Once open, you may bring any number of things in or out.”  She continued, “Dark aelient would often lure people across the threshold and strand them in the dream plane, where they would waste away and die, their only hope of survival in being discovered and rescued by a friendly aelient passing by.  Time passes differently there, with weeks, months or even years, if they were quite resourceful, passing for the one trapped, but then rescued back to mere moments after they left the waking world.  If they reentered in the same locality as they left, friends and family often did not recognize the person upon their return.”

“So, years can pass there, with no time passing in the real world?” Aleron asked, skeptically.  “How does that work?”

“I’m not totally sure,” she admitted.  “It seems as if time is compressed there, so much time can pass there, while little passes in the waking plane.  I can travel many days in the dream plane, covering many miles, but only minutes have passed when I return to the waking world.  ‘Waking World’ is more accurate than ‘Real World,’ as they are both real.  What I truly do not understand is how the day and night cycle seems to remain connected to that of the waking plane, even though they operate at a different pace.”

“How do you know that they do?”

“Because human nightmares mainly come out at night, and most people sleep at night.”

“Maybe they aren’t really connected, and the nightmares just crop up on the nighttime side of the dreamworld,” Aleron hypothesized.

“That’s an idea,” she considered.  “But let us get to business.  We can attempt to teach you to enter the dream plane after this.” 

Jessamine walked about the study, perusing the books, scrolls, and other artifacts, before settling in front of the crystal dome of the viewer.  She placed her hands upon it, and after a few moments commented, “I am loth to believe that Jacanda built this construct, though she may have relocated it to this place in the world and added all of these trappings for her comfort.”

“If she didn’t build it, then who?”

“Her mother.  This place smells of Iselle.  Jacanda must have learned of its location and took possession of it after her departure.”

“Maybe that’s why I couldn’t understand how she built it.  Can you navigate with this thing like she did?  We were thinking, Gealton and I, that your kind may have an advantage from you being present when the Allfather created the world.”

“That might be,” the aelient agreed.  “You say that she could move to anywhere in the world she wanted from this spot.  How does it work for you?”

“When I concentrate on a place, or a person that I know, the scene opens up in this viewer.  I can move around the area and pick the spot where I want to enter.  Then I simply open the portal and pass through,” he answered.

“Have you tried moving out from a point that you know?”

“I have,” he replied.  “It works for a while but then the scene just fades away when I get too far from the last point I really knew from my own memory.  Also, even if it worked, it’s no faster than just walking.  It would take me weeks to find my way from the places I know on the Kolixtlan border to Kass or Cop.  I may as well just go there and start walking.”

“Well then, let me try my hand at it.”  She placed both hands against the crystal dome, and concentrated, her mind searching for the mechanism to move about.

Aleron moved beside her and noticed that she was looking about the palace grounds.  The women who lived and worked there were moving about normally now, just as they had before he removed his grandmother to the tomb.

“That’s interesting,” he observed.  “Time goes back to normal here when you are present, just as with Jacanda.  It seems to stop outside of these quarters, unless an aelient is present.  When I am here alone, everything outside is frozen in place.  Normal time only resumes for the servants when I step out of the quarters to meet with them.”

“There is no such thing as normal time in this place.  How are you sure that time does not cease outside this study, in her private quarters as well as outside them?  There is nothing alive within to tell one way or the other.”

“True,” he admitted.

“From what I sense, this room, and the outer building and grounds are independent bubbles of the dream plane, and time ceases in each when those who control them are absent.  Jacanda was still present, though incapacitated, when you seized control.  Had she left before that, you would have been frozen like the others.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.  You’re saying that this study, and everything around it, are two entirely different places?”

“Yes, but they are linked to one another, and this part is linked to the waking world, all of it at once.  The connections I sense are mind boggling, even for me.”  She continued, “How does time pass here, as opposed to the waking world?”

“It seems to pass the same,” Aleron answered.  “I was in here for several days, and the same amount of time seems to have passed outside, when I returned.”

“That is interesting.  If time freezes here when we leave, how does it resynchronize with the waking world when we return, and time resumes?” she pondered.  “I assume that the day cycle here matches that of the jungle at this location in the waking world.  Possibly, if you were to leave here in the day, and return at night, for instance, the sense of time passing here slows or speeds to match that of the waking world when you return.”

“That could be,” he agreed, “but how come time doesn’t restart in the outer bubble until I actually go out there, but for you, it resumes as soon as you enter the study?”

“Unknown.  It could be simply due to the difference between human and aelient.  I could assume that these constructs behaved differently for our parents who built them than they do for us, their children.  They likely have features and capabilities that we simply cannot access.”

“I suppose we could spend days here theorizing how this place works,” Aleron interjected.  “The real question is, can you find any place on Aertu from here?”

“Where would you like me to try?”

“How about Kass?”

“I know about where that is in the world, so let me try.”

She bent her will to the viewer, and they soon had an aerial view of the outskirts of the Castian capital city.

“I only had an approximate idea of its location, as I have never been there since long before it was built,” she explained, as she moved the view over the city proper. 

The city was beautiful, with its ornate structures of white marble.  Even the modest dwellings were of white marble, limestone, or other stone, whitewashed to match the rest.  Gleaming domes of gold marked the royal palace and capitol buildings.

“How about Zhargul, in the White Mountains,” Aleron asked.

“I could try, but I only have a vague notion of its location.” 

The view shifted to that of craggy mountainous terrain.  It was summertime in the north, but they were nearly above the tree line, so the growth was far from lush.  A wide well-maintained road led uphill alongside a steep ravine.  She moved the view up the road and soon came upon a way station.

“I believe we are on the road leading to the capital, but we could still be leagues away,” she explained.

The view jumped again, and they were far above the tree line, with no road in sight.

“Now, I think I overshot and went too far uphill.”

She rotated the view so that they were looking downslope, rather than up, and they saw the glimmer of water far below.

“That looks like an artificial reservoir,” Aleron remarked.  That’s probably the water supply for Zhargul.”

“Likely so,” she replied.

“May we test how far you can move from a known spot?” he asked.  “I can only manage about a half mile before the scene fades away.”

“I’ve never been far west of Swaincott.  At least not in the times since men roamed the land.”

She found her way to the western side of the village and panned west.  After nearly half a bell and several leagues in the viewer, they determined she could indeed move much further than Aleron and she could move much faster as well.

“It’s likely, as you suspected before, that I have at least a passing familiarity with all of Aertu, even places I have not visited in hundreds of thousands of years, so I am not limited in that respect,” she postulated.  “Perhaps, with an accurate map, I could coordinate locations on the map with specific places that I know from the distant past.”

“Are you willing to help me get to places I’ve never been.”

“Yes of course, Dear.  Just call on me, and I will help.”

She entered his mind gently and placed within a link to hers.  Unlike with other unshielded mortals, a sorcerer cannot simply speak into the mind of an aelient without their consent.

“Now we may speak together as I do with Hadaras, and those of my people.  Just call me when you need me, and I will come.”

Chapter 11

Zorekday, Day 24, Hunger Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

The day proved warm and sunny, perfect for the rest day, and many of the common folk toured the gardens and the throne room, just as Aleron had done that fateful Zorekday, so many years ago.  With no petitioners or formal audiences scheduled that day, he and the queen had attended morning services at the Temple of the Allfather after breakfast.  From there, Eilowyn ventured out to the market with Feadra, her other attendants, and a contingent of guards, While Aleron went off to the tombs to pay his respects and visit with Hadaras.

A couple days prior, with his grandfather’s help, as he had no knowledge of the location of his birth, Aleron retrieved a bushel of the soil from where his parents were cremated among the remnants of their homestead, along with the largest of the foundation stones.  He used them to create a grave marker, placed between Elina’s tomb, and the next empty tomb that would house his or Eilowyn’s remains, depending on which of them passed first.  It seemed only fitting, as Valgier was as much the rightful king as was his son, though never acknowledged or crowned, and Audina would have been queen.  He smoothed the stone on the five exposed sides, with the four-pointed star of Sudea carved in bas relief on the top, and inscribed upon the four outward faces in Sudean, Elvish, Dwarvish, and Coptic: “Here lies Valgier, descended of the line of kings from Beldan II, and his wife Audina, descended of the elvish royal house from Balgare, parents to King Aleron II.  May their spirits be forever at peace with the Allfather.”

He found Hadaras at the marker, sitting cross-legged in meditation.  He knew the old elf had most certainly sensed his approach, so he waited, head bowed in reverence, until his grandfather was ready.

They spoke for well over an hour on the history of Aleron’s family line through those lost years following the deaths of Prince Adelard, Aleron’s ancestor, and later King Alagric, who died heirless.  Hadaras told him of other branches, not as direct from father to eldest son as Aleron’s but still viably in line for the throne, and the locations of those families, should the need to find another heir ever arise.  All of the families were common folk, and of course, none knew anything of their relation to House Sudea.  He was surprised to find that some even resided in Ebareiza and Coptia.  Aleron expressed interest in contacting some of the closer relations, but Hadaras advised against doing so.

“Ignorance is bliss, so they say,” he told the young king.  “If they know nothing of their relationship to the royal line, it is highly unlikely that any will covet your position.  Once informed, the possibility becomes highly likely.  Say if your third cousin, the high ranking Ebareizan official discovered he has a claim to the Sudean throne…”  He left the thought unfinished.

Now, Aleron made his way across the gardens toward the entrance to the throne room, transiting on his way into the palace to the royal quarters, where he planned to meet Eilowyn for their midday meal.  He was a bit earlier than they planned but also famished, as they had foregone breakfast to honor the traditional Zorekday fast.  Though not brought up with any particular religious observances, as king, he thought it necessary to keep up with them for the sake of appearance.

The lack of guards posted outside their apartments alerted the king that all was not well.  He had avoided casting his senses into their quarters, in respect of Eilowyn’s privacy, but now he did so in earnest.  What he sensed were two dead men just inside the doors, and two live men further inside, in close proximity to his wife.  He found the doors locked from within, so he sheared the bolts and blasted the doors inward with his power.

Within, he saw Eilowyn gagged, her fine blue gown torn asunder, exposing her breasts and slightly swelling abdomen.  One man, in palace guard livery, held her from behind by the gag, holding a dagger to her throat.  A bright red bruise spread from her right cheekbone.  The second man, also dressed as a guard, whirled to face the intruder, blood dripping down the side of his face from a fresh cut on his cheek, Eilowyn’s belt knife a few feet away on the carpet.  He held his own dagger and looked as though he were about to say something, but Aleron was too fast for him.  In the blink of an eye, both men hung in the air, suspended spread-eagle by barely visible tendrils of blue energy.

Aleron rushed to steady his wife, as she stumbled and nearly collapsed upon her sudden release from the one holding her.  He closed the front of her gown and embraced her, as he undid the gag from her mouth.

“Are you hurt, My Love?” he asked earnestly.

She sobbed against his chest but managed to choke out, “Just the cheek, so far.”  After a couple more gasps to catch her breath, she continued, “The one I cut said he was going to cut the baby out of me…after they did other things to me first.”

From the corner of his eye, Aleron saw the bleeding man’s pants partially undone in the front, and his initial anger stoked to a controlled rage.

“Run to the door and call for the guards.  But close the doors behind you, and do not come back in until I say.  Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” she replied, standing on her own now.  She looked at the men, magically suspended and gagged, and added, “Please don’t do anything you will regret.”

“I promise you, I will regret nothing.  Now go.”

As soon as the door closed behind Eilowyn, Aleron turned to the two imposter guards and said, “This will not go well for you,” before ungagging them.

The bleeding one spoke out, saying, “We’ll get you and that brat to be of yours.  You can kill us, but more will come.”

He sensed their thoughts as he listened to the words, sensing that they both intended to rape his wife, and murder her and their unborn child.  He also sensed that the one doing the talking had the most malicious intent, and that the other was mostly in it for the money.  He re-gagged them and, with a flare of red energy, seared the genitals from both men.  Moaning gutturally through the gags, they writhed in agony against their bindings.

Aleron knew he had little time as he picked up Eilowyn’s knife from the floor and then thrust it into the guts of the man who spoke.  He twitched and spasmed as Aleron moved the point around inside him, all the while pouring the yellow healing magic into him.  The cut on his cheek healed while Aleron stabbed him repeatedly and healed him as fast as he stabbed.  The burned off genitals regrew, as if they had never been damaged.

“I could read all your thoughts, right on the top of your mind, you swivin piece of pig shit,” he told the suffering man, “and I’ll make this as painful for you as I can.  Unfortunately, I have to make it quick, but now I know now who sent you.”

He stopped stabbing the man, finishing the healing before releasing him.  With a flash of white magic, he repaired the scorched trousers and sliced up tunic as well, before moving to the other man.  He healed that man and repaired his trousers.  Looking at his bloodied hands, knife, clothing, and the pool of blood on the fine woven carpet, he scoured all clean with a wash of blue energy, to include the blood on the one assailant’s face and body.  Finally, he looked to both men, reached within them, and gently squeezed their hearts until they expired, whereupon he released them to fall to the ground.

Hearing the guards arrive at the doors to the apartments, he called out for them to enter.  Six guards rushed in, followed by Eilowyn, her father, Feadra, and two more attendants.

“Are you well, Sire?” the sergeant asked, as they took in the scene.  He brought with him a corporal and four privates, who rapidly moved to search and secure the apartments.

“Well as can be, considering,” he answered.  “I am unhurt.”

Eilowyn rushed to him, holding her ripped gown closed, and he embraced her again.  He reached to tenderly cup her bruised cheek and let flow the same healing magic he had just used to prolong the torture of a man, and to cover the evidence of that torture.  She glanced to the men, noticed the one she wounded was no longer such, and gave her husband a troubled look.

“Take the queen to her rooms and attend to her,” Aleron ordered the women, refusing to meet his wife’s eyes.  I need to speak with the steward and the guards.”

“Do you know these men?” Aleron asked Sergeant Corgil, the one in charge of today’s shift.

“Yes, Sire.  The ones at the door have been with us for several years.  These two at our feet, only a couple months.”

“These two killed the ones at the door, near as I can figure, and were about to kill the queen when I interrupted them.”

“Not another abduction attempt then,” Gealton commented grimly.

“No, he stated pretty clearly their intent to kill off my line, starting with your unborn grandchild, Gealton.”

“Did you kill them quick and clean?” the steward asked.

“No.  Quick, and dirty, and painful.”

“Good,” Gealton replied, Corgil nodding solemnly beside him.

“But… I have the names of some people I need to talk to,” the king continued.

“Yes, Your Grace?”  The steward inclined his head to one side.

“I need to see Admiral Jamir and Lord Kairgan, in chains, at their earliest convenience.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

***

At seven bells past noon, the king and the steward stood together in the king’s private audience chamber, just off the throne room.  A half dozen guards stood to the sides, along with two more outside the doors.

Aleron had not seen Eilowyn since the altercation that morning and hoped that she was faring well after her narrow brush with death, and worse.  He felt remorse for not being there to comfort her, but he was also glad that the tasks of the afternoon kept him from having to face her, and the inevitable questions regarding what he had done to her assailants.

“I believe I hear the guards approaching with the prisoners, Your Grace,” Gealton stated, breaking the tense silence that enveloped the room.

“Yes, they are right outside, about to knock,” Aleron replied, just as the bronze knocker sounded outside with a resounding boom.

“The palace guard requests entrance with the persons whose presence His Grace requires!” one of the guardsmen shouted through the grate in the door.  They could close grate by a shutter if the king required a private conversation.

“Enter!” Gealton shouted in answer.

Another contingent of guards entered, the same who had answered the distress call at the royal quarters that morning.  All had apparently volunteered to stay on duty to handle this portion of the affair, rather than going off shift and learning the outcome tomorrow.  Between them walked two men, dressed well, but markedly disheveled, wrists shackled behind them with a length of chain connecting the wrist shackles to the walking shackles attached at their ankles, and another length of chain leading back to a guard, holding it as he would a leash.

Jamir, who Aleron already knew, and Kairgan, head of House Torvald and Lord of Wyrfell, who Aleron only knew by reputation came to a stop before the king and steward and stood there, both glaring defiantly.

“Do you not generally kneel before your king?” Gealton asked, in a mocking, syrupy tone.

“This upstart brat is no king of ours!” the lord spat back.

Gealton glanced to the sergeant, who in turn nodded to the guards directly behind the prisoners.  A couple well-placed kicks to the backs of their knees had both captives dropping to the tile stones with yelps of pain.

“That’s better,” the steward commented.  “Now, we can make this easy, and you can tell us why you conspired to have the queen, my pregnant daughter murdered,” he continued.

“You have no proof that we have anything to do with whatever plot you are referring to,” Jamir interjected.

“Your men are dead, Jamir, at my hand.  Yours and Lord Kairgan’s names were right at the front of their thoughts when I read them,” Aleron told him.  “We checked into their records, and they were both marines under your command, who came to the palace guard under your direct recommendations,” he continued, “weeks prior to the first assassination attempt, as it turns out, which tends to implicate the two of you in that as well.”

“You still lack any proof,” the lord stated.

“He doesn’t need proof, Kairgan,” Gealton stated.  “As king, he could order you executed on the spot.  Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Your thoughts float right at the front of your minds, so I have little doubt as to your guilt now,” Aleron informed them.  “How can I talk my way out of this, or how can I pin this on someone else?  He doesn’t dare kill us.  That one’s funny actually.”

The looks of consternation on the prisoners’ faces were evident, as the men attempted to shield their thoughts from the sorcerer in front of them.

Aleron took notice of the several guards sporting uncomfortable expressions as well, at the revelation of what their liege was capable of.

“Rest assured men.  I actually have to concentrate and focus pretty hard to read thoughts that are basically on the tip of one’s tongue, and I would rather not spend that much energy to intrude upon anyone’s private reverie,” he said in an attempt to set them at ease.

“As for you two,” Aleron directed now at the two in chains.  “I sense your complicity, but not yet the reasoning behind it, nor whoever else might be involved in your conspiracy.”  He continued, “You may tell me freely what I need to know, and you will be fit to stand trial, defend yourselves, and most likely lose your heads as punishment, with your full faculties intact, facing your deaths as men.  If you force me to dig the information out of you, it is likely that you will not stand trial, as you would no longer be mentally fit after I finish with you.”

“Torture?  I fear not torture,” the admiral scoffed, still refusing to add “Sire” or “Your Grace” to his statements to the king.

“Not torture, Jamir,” Aleron assured him, “but the only two that I ever had to forcibly extract information from were left as drooling idiots after the fact, and I refuse to allow someone in that condition to stand trial in my kingdom.  You will have the night to think on it, Gentlemen.”

“Please have them housed on the first floor of the prison, Lord Steward.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” the Steward replied.

***

Aleron returned to the royal apartments much later than was his usual habit.

“Aleron, why did you heal the man I slashed?” Eilowyn asked him pointedly, after the servants retired from setting out their late supper.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked in return.

“Do you want me to know?”

“Not really.”

“Tell me anyway.  There should be no secrets between us.”

“I’m afraid you will think badly of me, if I tell you,” Aleron confessed.

“I already have my suspicions,” Eilowyn stated.  “I will love you regardless.  Just tell me the truth.”

“I had to heal him, so I could keep stabbing him,” he stated flatly.  “I must have stabbed him at least twenty times.”

“Just him, not the other?” she asked.

“The other was mostly there for the pay.  The one you cut was really eager to do you harm.  They both wanted to rape you, so I burned their ballocks off first.”

Her eyes widened in shock at that last revelation, and she put her hand over her mouth.

“I told you that you wouldn’t like it.  I was just so angry after I saw what they wanted to do to you.  I wanted them to suffer,” he finally admitted.

“I’m glad you told me,” she said to him, after regaining her composure, “but I did ask you not to do anything you would regret.”

“I don’t regret any of it, Eilowyn.  Maybe someday I will, but not today.”

They finished their supper with few words, before retiring to their separate dressing rooms and the attendants who awaited them there.

Later that evening, as they lay together in their bed, sleep evaded them both for quite some time, each for their own reasons, until they finally drifted off, clinging to one another.

Chapter 12

Shilwezday, Day 26, Hunger Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

“Jamir would have held out until I ripped his mind to shreds, but the Lord of Wyrfell was so helpful that I didn’t need to,” Aleron told Gealton and Hadaras, after the court scribe handed over the transcripts of the king’s interrogations to the steward.  “I started with the admiral but gave up and moved on to the Kairgan, in hopes of that very thing.  Once I confronted Jamir with the list of names Kairgan provided, his surface thoughts gave me all the verification I needed, as well as a few more names he let slip, though he said nothing.  I bounced those names off His Lordship, to further verify.”

“Did they each corroborate the other’s names?” Hadaras inquired.

“Mostly,” the king replied.  “There are six or seven that one or the other did not know.  I had the scribe underline those names.  They were all commoner names, so I suspect they may be palace guards or staff.”

“I will check those against the rosters,” Gealton stated.  “These names are concerning,” the steward continued.  “Not a long list, but some prominent figures are on it, lords, merchants, and the like, even some clergy.”

“Did either man let slip their motivation for this plot?” Hadaras asked.

“According to Kairgan, they had differing reasons, but came together under a common cause,” Aleron answered.  Some dislike the entire idea of having a king, some think I’m inciting an unneeded war, others dislike my decree for conscription of noble sons into the military, some dislike that I am a halfblood, and a few of them dislike that I chose my grandfather as my chief military advisor.  They were using the religious angle of me being an evil sorcerer and tool of The Adversary to sway some of the common folk to their cause, like with the first assassination attempt but I suspect that there may be some Nameless God adherents in the fold despite that.”

“Anything in their thoughts or testimony to indicate such?” Hadaras inquired.

“Just a gut feeling,” Aleron replied.  “Neither of them knows of any such thing, as far as I can gather without shredding their minds.”

“And, on to the next question,” Gealton prodded to further the conversation.  “What will be the penalty for these conspirators, should they be found guilty?  Execution, banishment, loss of titles, seizure of holdings…”  He let the question dangle.

The king replied, “That will depend on their level of involvement, but loss of employment, and any noble titles or positions of authority at a minimum.  I hesitate at seizure of holdings, considering the families of those involved.  I do not wish to visit the punishment of the fathers upon their children.”

“Loss of title is nearly as serious a blow to a noble house as would be loss of assets for a merchant household,” said the steward.

“True,” Hadaras agreed.  “If your goal is to not punish the families for the misdeeds of their head of house, you may consider handing their title down to the next in line.  “That would strip the noble of any real power, aside from influence on the heir, should they escape execution.”

“I don’t expect many of the nobles to escape execution,” Aleron stated blandly.  “Involvement for them, even in the most minor sense, will be considered high treason.”

“Agreed!” Gealton stated, emphatically.  “We may consider banishment for some of the commoners or clergy.  As for the clergy, we can remove them from positions of authority, but we have no say over their titles.  That bit is up to the leaders of their churches.”

“True,” Aleron agreed.  “I do not wish to trample on the authority of any church leaders, except of course, if we find any Church of the Nameless God clergy.  I will ban that church’s existence by royal decree today, and we will try and execute any of their priests.”

“On what grounds will you execute them, if they are found, and found guilty?” the steward inquired.

“Heresy?”

“We have free religion in Sudea.”

“High treason again then,” the king answered.  “What do you think, Grandfather?”

“I think that would be your only option,” Hadaras replied.

“You wouldn’t want to reestablish the charge of heresy in a kingdom where all are free to worship as they like.  Missionaries for the Adversary, however, are an obvious attempt to destabilize Sudea.”

“High treason it is.”

“Well, we have some more apprehensions to conduct,” continued Gealton, “and I suspect each interrogation will produce still more names.  Do you wish to be involved in all of them, Aleron?”

“I’m thinking, only if it’s something significant, say the implication of prominent people, or if you think the accused is lying.  Otherwise, no.”

“Very good; I will get on with business then.”

“Thank you.  I will get out of your way.  Geldun wanted to talk to me about something, so I’m off to find him now.”

***

He found Geldun at the yard overseeing the fighter practice he was unable to attend, due to his need to deal with the assassination plot.

“Hi Gel.  Any good prospects from this round?”

“Three, actually, who I think are plenty good to move on to the cavalry testing.  Not a bad haul for one morning.”

“That’s great news!  With them, we will have twenty-three, if they pass the next round.”

Aleron was pleased that at least this aspect of his rule was going well.  Though slow, the assembly of his royal guard was moving along at a steady rate.

“Now, what was it you wanted to talk to me about so badly?”

“May we speak privately?”

“Of course.  Give the men a break, and we’ll wander off for a bit.”

Geldun put the fighters on a water break and followed Aleron out of the courtyard and into a vacant meeting room.  The king closed the door and took a seat, motioning his captain to do the same.

“So, what’s going on?  You look upset about something.”

“Al, I really…appreciate your faith in me,” Geldun began hesitantly, “but I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“What do you mean?  You’re doing great so far.  We’ve been fighting together for years now, and I’ve never found any fault in your abilities.”

“Sure, I can fight, Al, but I’m no swivin’ captain.  I was never meant to lead on the battlefield.”

“What’s saying any of us were?  We all got thrown into this mess.  Who says I’m built to be the king?”

“You were raised to it, whether or not you knew it was happening.  Hadaras made sure of it,” Geldun retorted.

“I was not,” he continued.  “I was all right with it when I was younger and had no rank but now my heart is just not in it anymore.  I think I want a family with Fea, and I don’t want to be the soldier da, who’s always gone, leaving Ma to raise the younglings.”

“But I, um, the kingdom needs competent officers, especially now.  What are you going to do, take Feadra back to the farm with you?”

“Does the kingdom not need competent physicians as well?” Geldun asked his friend.

“I suppose… but what does that have to do with it?” 

“I want to study medicine, Al, here at the university, maybe even in Kass or Cop, eventually.”

“You are a great medic, Gel, but a physician?  That’s a lot more schooling.”

“Being a medic was the part I loved most about being a marine.  I am better at it than I am at fighting, and I want to take it further.

When it comes down to it, just cause or glory to the kingdom aside, we’re trained killers.  That’s not what I want to be, Al.”

“I’ll think about it, Gel.  I don’t think I can part with you straight away, until I find your replacement, but maybe we can make this work.  If so, we’ll get you through medical school, and maybe then have you study under the court physicians for a while.”

“You may be needing battlefield doctors before too much longer.”

“That’s true,” Aleron agreed.

“Ellie’s brother will be here to join the royal vanguard soon.  Hameln can replace me.  Besides, he’s the steward’s son, so you’re going to have to give him some high-ranking position in the organization.”

“You have a point there, but if you comb your hair right, no one should notice.”

It took a moment for Geldun to switch over from the serious bent of their conversation to process Aleron’s jibe.

“Swive you!  I don’t care if you are the blasted king.  Swive you!”

With the tension now diffused, the old friends joked and laughed as they returned to the yard to resume practice.

Chapter 13

Corballday, Day 3, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron turned from the blocks where the bodies of Admiral Jamir and Kairgan, Lord of Wyrfell, recently separated from their heads, lay in pools of their own blood.  The smell of their blood, along with other bodily exudates wafted across his nostrils as he strode to the edge of the execution platform.  Blue energy, visible only to him and a few others present cleared the blood from his person and Andhanimwhid.  Non-gifted onlookers saw the stains simply disappear if they were close enough to see anything at all.

The cleaning and funerary crews stood by, awaiting his descent from the platform, and bowed low as he passed them.  He would not be so barbaric as to display their heads or other body parts about Arundell, as was the practice centuries ago.  Priests waited at the prison block chapel to perform the requisite funerary rites, with pyres ready.  After cremation, the families could take possession of the remains, if they so desired.

A contingent of palace guards surrounded him and Gealton when Aleron joined the steward on the cobbled surface of the execution grounds.  They proceeded down the hill back to the palace complex, Aleron resting the sword of his office on his right shoulder, rather than sheathing the massive blade.  Citizens eager to catch a glimpse of their new king lined the route on both sides.

Today was only the start.  His questioning of the two just dispatched uncovered eighteen more conspirators, and their interrogations would reveal yet more.  At least six of the eighteen cases merited charges of high treason, like those today.

“What do you plan for the remainder of the day, Your Grace?” the steward asked.

“I think dinner is out,” the king replied.  “Maybe I’ll have my appetite back in time for supper this evening.”

“One can hope.  I fear that once this purge is finished, if ever it is, the faction of houses opposing your rule will be no smaller… and will have all the more reason to hate you.”

“The fact is not lost on me, Gealton, but at least I will have a better idea of who belongs to the faction opposing me.  Before, it was people smiling to my face, while literally plotting to stab me in the back.”

“Agreed, Your Grace.  It will simplify court politics to some extent.  Hopefully, these actions do not turn more great houses against you.  A civil war is the last thing the kingdom, or the world needs.”

“Agreed, Lord Steward.  Perhaps we should discuss options other than executions across the board.

I think I may interview a few of the commoner prisoners this afternoon, those unlikely to call for charges of high treason.  Considering this morning’s activities, I could use some lighter fare for the afternoon.”

“Yes, Gealton agreed.  “Most of those should prove to be cases of bribery and extortion.  Still resulting in crimes against the kingdom, but not likely to warrant capital punishment.

As for the treasonous highborn, I agree that an outright purge may not be the look you want for the beginning of your reign.  We should consider other options.”

Would you and Lady Vetina care to join us for supper?  I’ve invited Grandfather, Barry, and Gel.  Maybe we can brainstorm some alternatives.”

“I should be able to arrange that, Your Grace.  The lads will be bringing their ladyfolk, I presume?”

“Yes.  Will that be all right?  Fae is highborn, but I understand if Anji, Barry and Gel are not you or your wife’s typical social companions.”

“Vetina will survive the ordeal, and I kind of miss the company of common soldiers.  You officially raised both of your captains to the nobility, so the lords and ladies will need to adjust to a bit of battlefield coarseness.  This will be a beginning.  I have seen that Anjani is more than adept at comporting herself among persons of rank.  She will adapt well if their relationship progresses to marriage and perhaps help Barathol to adapt as well.  The same will be true of Feadra for Geldun.”

That evening, after seating the ladies, the men took their seats around the table, and the servers began transferring the laden platters from cart to table.

Feadra placed her hand on Geldun’s wrist to restrain him from reaching to skewer a stuffed quail with the dining knife he grabbed as soon as the cover came off the platter, discretely shaking her head in the negative.

The staff proceeded to serve the guests, beginning with the queen and proceeding to each lady in accordance with their standing before serving the king and then the rest of the men in kind.

Gealton, having witnessed the exchange, favored Feadra with a covert wink of approval.

“So, Lord Geldun, you will be temporarily leaving the service of our king soon?” the steward asked.

“Yes Milord.  I’m due to start at the medical college as soon as Lord Hameln arrives, and we get him up to speed on my duties.”

“I do look forward to our son being home for a while,” Vetina voiced.

“Yes,” Eilowyn agreed.  “I haven’t seen much of little Hammy since he entered the Army.  I barely saw him at all when he came home for the wedding.”

“I don’t think he would like to be called “Little Hammy” now love,” Aleron commented.

“Well, he’ll just have to deal with it,” she replied.

“He’s not so little anymore either,” Barathol added, remembering the towering youth from the wedding.

They enjoyed a meal of quail stuffed with sausage and barley, steamed carrots and parsnips, with spinach grown in the palace hothouse, followed by baked apple tarts topped with clotted cream.

Aleron worried he might grow fat from the nightly feasts presented to Eilowyn and him, and pointedly ate only a small serving of each, intending to burn off as much as possible in the practice ring the next morning.

As the servants cleared the table, the guests retreated to the adjacent sitting area with their goblets of mulled wine.

“So, does anyone have any ideas as to how I can avoid exterminating a quarter of the noble heads of house in the upcoming weeks?” Aleron inquired of the group as they took their seats.

“I can well understand your concern, Aleron,” Hadaras replied. 

He had witnessed the executions in secret among the crowd, partly to avoid overt association with the proceedings, partly to watch for trouble, and grieved that his grandson was forced to perform the grizzly duty.

“Too heavy-handed an approach may cast your reign in a tyrannical light and drive away the support you currently enjoy.”

“I also do not believe the role of executioner particularly suits you, Al,” Geldun added.

He and Barathol had also hidden themselves among the throng, along with other members of the newly formed Royal Guard.

“But, you did promise to lop all the traitors’ heads off with your bloody big sword,” Barathol countered.

“That I did, Barry,” Aleron replied, “and now I wish I hadn’t.”

“Need every offense be high treason?” Vetina asked.

“Not all.  Many of the common folk seemed to have been misled or coerced and only provided support, rather than active involvement in the assassination attempts.  But of the nobles, I’m not sure how it could not be.”

“I think,” Eilowyn offered, “That we should be very strict in our interpretation of what should constitute high treason and a capital offence.”

Though she attended the trials, she had pointedly avoided witnessing the executions, not wishing to see her husband in that light.  Yes, she had witnessed him fight and kill before but not execute another.

“How do you mean?”

“Jamir and Kairgan were at the forefront of the most recent plot to murder us.  They were the ones who planted the killers in the palace guard.  And we know that there is someone above them in the hierarchy, as they were not part of the first attempt on your life at our dinner party, but what of those lower on the ladder, supporters who had a less active role?  Possibly, you could show them more leniency.”

“Yes,” her father agreed.  “Many of the opposing faction may not have taken an active role or have even been aware of plans to kill you, rather than simply unseat you.  Some may have only contributed gold to the cause, not knowing the true nature of what they funded.”

“Also, you might send out a call for the conspirators to turn themselves over to the mercy of the crown, in exchange for some degree of amnesty,” Vetina offered.

“I agree,” Hadaras supported.  “We discussed differing levels of involvement, and you already spoke of your unwillingness to visit punishment upon the upcoming generations by seizing properties and titles.  Perhaps treating any coming forth voluntarily with added lenience may lessen damage to your image among the noble houses.”

“Perhaps simply fines and removal from appointments of authority with retention of titles, depending on their level of complicity,” Gealton suggested.

“That seems reasonable, if you lords and ladies do not mind me saying,” Anjani said.

“Of course you may speak freely,” Aleron assured her.  Hadaras, Gealton, and Vetina all nodded and murmured agreement.

“This meeting was intended as an open forum,” Gealton clarified.  “Aleron and Eilowyn wanted their closest friends in attendance when we discussed this issue.”

Eilowyn pondered her father’s statement.  Fea and Anji were in fact her closest female friends these days.  Her girlhood friends from before her abduction had grown distant since her return.  She wondered how many of them were ever truly her friends, as social conventions dictated with whom she could associate.  She could likely find closer friends among the palace staff than among the noble ladies, but she was never allowed to interact with them in that capacity.  These ladies, however, with whom she shared the trials of their journey across the Westlands, were as true friends as any she had ever had. 

As for male friends, Barry and Gel were the closest she had since Hans and Simeon died.  They willingly risked their lives to save her, though they barely knew her, and then fought to protect her many times since.  She never had any real male friends outside of her bodyguards.  The male nobility in her sphere were all in it for a chance at her hand in marriage, and once she was betrothed, they all melted away towards other, more profitable activities.

Chapter 14

Gurlachday, Day 7, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Four weeks from the spring equinox, the days were becoming noticeably longer and warmer.  The morning sun was well above the rooftops as Aleron left his breakfast meeting with the steward.  Foregoing the heavy cloaks of the passing season, he exited the palace to the outer courtyard in a crisp officer’s jacket of Sudean sky blue, with royal purple embroidered cuffs and collar, over deep indigo trousers, with a matching purple stripe up each leg, tucked into tall black leather riding boots.  A simple gold circlet crowned his head, and he wore a modest side sword and dagger.  Andhanimwhid remained secured in the back of the throne.

Without any entourage, as was usual, he strode across the grounds towards the prison block.  He wished to visit with Shaggat before things got busy later that day.  Treason investigations and visits to foreign capitals filled the last several weeks to overflowing, and he had been unable to see the hobgoblin since the time he visited with Sethotep nearly four weeks past.  Two days from now he had three more trials, and possibly executions to attend to but today, he wanted to check on Shaggat’s living conditions and the progress of his Sudean lessons.

“Hello Shaggat,” Aleron greeted as he came to the iron-barred cell door.

“Greetings, Aleron King,” the hobgoblin replied in oddly accented Sudean.  “It is good to see you again, friend.”

The king settled on the rickety stool provided for him by the guards, and Shaggat did likewise on the stool Aleron conjured for him weeks prior.

“I am afraid my chair is of superior quality to the one you sit upon, Aleron King.  It is unseemly that the prisoner be better appointed than the liege, but you are a much better chairmaker than whomever supplies your jailors.”

“Thank you, Shaggat,” Aleron replied, with a laugh.  I think I am much more able to envision and conjure a perfect piece with magic, than I could build one with my hands.  I have to agree though, this one is pretty shabby.  I think I’ll task the warden to inventory his furniture and requisition sturdier stuff.  Your Sudean is much better than when we last spoke.”

“Yes, Your Grace, it is.  Anji is teaching me some Coptian as well.

“Really?  Why do you wish to learn Coptian?”

“I can never go back to my own kind, nor do I wish to.  I see from living among you that beings can live together without constant hostility and cruelty. 

I think that when I am free, I would like to visit there, where it is warm like home, and the people look more like me.”

“Shaggat, while I don’t see much point in imprisoning you any longer, I don’t think that people will accept you simply walking free either.  Even if I release you from this cell, you will need to stay safely on the palace grounds.”

“Then, I would ask a favor of you…as a friend…something I believe only you could do.”

“What would you request of me,” Aleron asked with a touch of apprehension.

“I would that you turn me into a man, a human.  Would you do that for me?”

“You really want that?”

“I think I have little choice.  Either I become a human, or I remain a prisoner for the rest of my days.

I would miss these,” he continued, holding up a set of semi-clawed fingers, “and these.”  He bared his teeth and tapped a claw against an upper canine tooth.  “The round ears would be odd too, but I think I could get used to it all.”

“I will think about it, my friend, and I will not be long with my answer.  I promise you that.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.  I appreciate that you would consider my request.”

“You can call me Al, if just you and I, or my friends are present.  Are things well for you otherwise?”

“Yes.  They have set up the inner yard so that I may exercise.  They needed a few days to fortify it against me climbing out to the rooftop, but since then, I have been out at least once a day.”

“That’s good.  I am glad to hear you are no longer cooped up in here.”

Aleron headed back towards the palace, after conferring with the warden over a few issues.  He was to meet with Hameln and Eilowyn for an early dinner, pending her younger brother’s arrival and perfunctory time with his parents that morning.

His wife was practicing in the gymnasium with Eilidh, Caid’s sister, so Aleron went there first to watch the practice and wait for Hameln.  He signaled the guard to quiet as he approached, so as not to interrupt, and quietly took a seat in the stands.

He was not the only spectator, as it turned out.  Several courtiers and palace functionaries on their breaks were intrigued by the spectacle of two young women sparring, and apparently Eilowyn did not mind their presence as she had not ejected them.  Though he did not care much for courtiers, he welcomed the camouflage the crowd afforded him.  With a finger to his lips, he motioned silence to a few in the stands who looked about to say something in greeting to their king.

He thought on the subject of courtiers, as he often did.  Though he realized that most were present to represent their houses’ interests at court, he did not care for their general indolence.  Before long, he would see those able-bodied and younger than thirty gainfully employed in his new officers’ corps.  The royal mandate will force the high families to send their daughters, or some older male representative to see to their affairs in the palace.  Then, he thought of the changes that having many more young women in the palace might bring.

Both women wore the snug breeches and short tight tunics of sailcloth that men often wore for light weapon sparring, the queen with an added wide heavy leather belt protecting her lower abdomen.  Though evenly matched for height, Eilidh possessed a noticeably stronger frame than Eilowyn, and greater endowments in more feminine aspects as well.  Though the queen was in no way willowy, she appeared slight in comparison to her new trainer.  Both had their hair in tight braids, Eilidh’s a strawberry blonde to Eilowyn’s deep auburn.  Most of the male spectators maintained rapt attention to the proceedings, though a few watched casually while chatting amicably with the female attendees, validating suspicions Aleron already had as to their personal preferences.

The women fought with long-hafted Elmenian bearded axes, lightened and blunted for practice, and medium-sized bucklers spanning just past elbow and knuckles.  The queen held her own well against her heavier and more experienced opponent.  What she lacked in bulk, she made up for in speed and agility.  A couple weeks of daily practice had definitely improved her technique, and Aleron was impressed.  He watched his wife deftly block with her shield, hook and pull her opponents buckler with the beard of the axe, and nearly land a stab to the chest with the sweeping point of the blade, a blow unlikely to kill, but likely to cause significant distress to an unarmored opponent.

After about half a bell, Aleron noticed Hameln wander into the gymnasium.  No longer the slight boy of thirteen from Eilowyn’s and his betrothal, her brother had filled out into an impressively tall and muscular eighteen-year-old man.  Already taller, Aleron thought he might rival Barathol for stoutness in a couple years.  The rufous-brown-haired, hazel-eyed lieutenant had already made quite a name for himself as a cavalry officer on the battlefield in only two years, and the king believed he would make an excellent replacement for Geldun as one of his captains, though he regretted losing his old friend in that capacity.

The steward’s son walked in, waved to a few spectators before noticing Aleron signaling him to join him, and then waved to his sister.  Eilowyn indicated a desire for a break to her trainer by holding her axe horizontally and blade up before her face.  In turn, Eilidh dropped her guard, and both women turned to face the newcomer.  Eilowyn noticed her husband and waved her axe to him, grinning through a flushed face.

Hameln’s jaw dropped and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of the Eilidh, her guard down and her many womanly charms on full display in the tight-fitting outfit.  She must have noticed his discomfiture, as her sapphire eyes twinkled in amusement.

The queen noticed as well and said, “Get ahold of yourself, Little Brother.” 

She continued with, “Eilidh, I would like for you to meet my younger brother, Hameln, heir to our father, the steward. 

Hameln, this is Eilidh, youngest daughter to Chief Lachan, of Clan Erskine, and my personal trainer.”

The Elmenian woman transferred her axe to her shield hand and, with a slight bow, offered her right hand in greeting.  “Good to meet you, Milord.”

Hameln regained his composure and bowing low, took her hand and raised it to his lips.  She snatched it back in surprise.  He straightened and said, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Eilidh.  I apologize if I startled you.”

“I ain’t no lady, Milord, just a clan chief’s daughter.  We dinna got lords and ladies in the highlands.”

“You are a lady to me, as long as your presence graces our court, Milady.”

Eilowyn rolled her eyes at her sibling’s attempt to lay on the charm.  She looked over at Aleron, who just grinned amusedly.

“We should wrap this up for today, Eilidh.  We wish to have an early dinner with my brother, before he and the king move on to more important affairs.”

“Very well, Your Grace.  We’ll just pick up and pack away the gear.”

A pair of servants who waited to the side moved in to collect the weapons and shields.

“Might Lady Eilidh join us for dinner?” Hameln inquired.  “That is, if she wishes to.”

“That would be alright,” Eilowyn declared.  “Husband, do you agree?”

“Of course,” Aleron agreed as he walked over to them.  “Why would I not?”

“Your Grace,” Hameln declared, bowing low.  Eilidh followed suit, curtsying and echoing his statement.

“Milady, please rise,” the king implored, taking both her hands as she did.  He then turned to his brother-in-law and pulled him into a hug.

“I am certainly not dressed for dinner with the king and queen,” the highlander declared.  “I barely got anything decent to wear to begin with, and all that be at me brother’s place.”

“I’m sure my maids can find you something acceptable,” Eilowyn assured her.  “You can clean up in our guest quarters.”

“I…suppose that would work…”

“Splendid!  Shall I meet you in your quarters in, let’s say, one bell?” Hameln asked.

“Better make it one and a half,” Aleron amended.

“Great!  See you all then.”

Eilidh looked to Eilowyn with a bemused expression, to which the queen only shrugged.

After dinner, Hameln insisted upon escorting the highland woman to the carriage he sent for to bring her home.

“I dinna need no carriage, Milord,” she futilely insisted one more time, as they exited to the outer courtyard, and the turnoff for loading and offloading carriages.  She wore a lovely burgundy day gown, a spare of Vetina’s, Eilowyn’s mother’s proportions more like Eilidh’s than her own.  “Me feet work just fine.”

“I insist, Milady,” he implored, offering her a hand up into the conveyance.

“She’s bloody gorgeous!” Hameln exclaimed to Aleron, as they made their way to the meeting room, where Barathol, Geldun, and Gealton awaited.  “Gorgeous and witty.  Where on Aertu did you find her?”

“She’s my greatsword trainer, Caid’s little sister.”

“Well, she’s delightful!”

“You don’t mind her highland country accent?”

“It’s absolutely adorable.”

Sensing that his brother-in-law was truly smitten, at least for the moment, he patted him on the back, and they proceeded onward.

Chapter 15

Carpathday, Day 10, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Shabti, recently a hobgoblin named Shaggat but for the past hour a man, stood in a private courtyard near the prison with Aleron, Eilowyn, Anjani, Feadra, Barathol and Hameln, and a contingent of soldiers watching the entrance.  Geldun, busy with his first week of study at the medical college, was unable to attend Shaggat’s transformation.  

Today, Aleron put aside the unpleasantness of the prior day’s proceedings, where he executed two more of the conspirators, for more pleasant endeavors.  He announced to the warden that Shaggat was to be relocated, and took custody of the hobgoblin, bringing him to this more private venue.

The soldiers accompanying them today were of his new royal vanguard, from the most trusted of that number, and sworn to absolute secrecy regarding the event they just witnessed.

The newly formed man chose his new name, after an ancient Coptian pharaoh, partly for its similarity to his hobgoblin name, and partly for its meaning, ‘The One Who Answers,’ though he refused to explain the why of that to his companions.

He appeared as an average Coptian male, black-skinned, a bit under six feet tall, sporting the same shaved-sided topknot hairstyle he did as a hobgoblin since it was also a popular style for both sexes in the tropical heat of Coptia.  His hair was naturally curly now, rather than straight, as it had been, so Anjani wove it into a tight braid.  He realized that he would likely need periodic help to maintain the braid until he learned how to deal with his new hair type.  He wore good quality clothing, after the garb of a reasonably well-off Coptian traveler.

Were one to look closely, one might notice an extra rugged cast to his features, with brows a tad on the heavy side, and canine teeth a bit large for a man, but well within the range of normal.  One might also notice his exceptionally thick fingernails, marginally within the normal range.  Shaggat implored Aleron to please leave him as recognizably himself as he possibly could, and the king complied, to the best of his ability.

Aleron asked, “So, Shabti, what would you like to do first?  Metjen has agreed to take you on as an aide, and I’ve had rooms made up for you in the ambassadorial wing of the palace, so you have a job and a place to stay, but what would you like to see?”

“Your Grace, I would like to please see your palace, and my room, then your fair city, if that pleases you.”  Barely a trace of the strange accent remained, his now human-shaped mouth and throat forming the sounds properly.  Most would take what remained as a Coptian accent, so long as they had no close familiarity with any Coptians.  Anjani was sure that his accent would shift after a time of speaking little else but Coptian while in service to Metjen.

“Barry and I could take him about the city,” Anjani offered, “if you can part with my boyfriend for the afternoon.”

“That should be fine.  You good with that, Barry?”

“I dunno, Al, dealing with stuffy administrative issues I can put off ‘til tomorrow, or spending an afternoon about town with my lady?  Tough choice.”

“I guess it’s just you and me then, Ham, for the stuffy administrative stuff.”

“We’ll make the best of it then, Al,” Hameln agreed.

“Mother is expecting me for morning tea, so Feadra and I will take our leave now, Dearest,” Eilowyn announced, moving to place a kiss on Aleron’s cheek before moving to the guards who would be their escort waiting among the group at the courtyard entrance.

“Well then, let’s give you a tour of the palace and show you to your quarters.”

Shabti gawked, slack-jawed as they entered the throne room, craning and snapping his head about to the point that he looked at risk of breaking his neck, trying to take it all in.

“Your people built this place?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“Over four thousand years ago,” Aleron answered, “but I doubt we could afford to do it today.  Sudea was a lot richer before the war, and I suspect more than a few magicians were involved in erecting this part.”

“That is the sword you had when I first caught you, is it not?”  The former hobgoblin gestured across the hall toward the hilt of Andhanimwhid jutting from the throne, stones noticeably glowing with Aleron’s proximity.

“Yes.  Its name is Andhanimwhid, which means ‘Sign of the King.’  It’s the only truly official symbol for my office.”

“How is that?”

“Only the rightful king can draw it from the throne; it glows when that person holds it, and no one can use it against the rightful owner.”

“So, only you may pull it from that stone, and even if I took it from you, I could not cut you with it?”

“It would stop before you touched me and burn your hands at the same time.  Would you like to see it?”

The sword grew brighter as they approached and rounded the back of the throne.

“It did not shine so when I took it from you back in the Westlands,” Shabti commented.  “Why does it now?”

“It was because my accident in Kolixtlan shackled my powers, we think.  Go ahead and climb the steps and touch it.”

Shabti did as Aleron requested, laid one hand upon the hilt, and the glowing stones went dull.  He snatched his hand away in alarm, and Aleron noticed a faint tendril of blue energy stretching between his fingertip and the pommel, before snapping like a thread pulled too tight.  The man stumbled a moment before righting himself.

“Are you alright?” Aleron asked.  I’ve never seen it do anything like that to anyone before.”

The sapphires in the hilt shone more fiercely than before Shabti touched it.

“It felt like touching the coldest ice in the winter mountains, mixed with the feeling of being too close to lightning.  I feel weak.”

The king moved forward to offer a hand to steady his friend as he descended.

“I get a little tingle from it when I touch it, but nothing like that,” Barathol offered.

“Same for me,” Anjani agreed.  “I’ve touched it here in the throne, and when you have it out and about.  A tingle at most.”

“I think it was trying to take your life away.  I saw it drawing blue energy from your hand.”

“Let me try,” Hameln insisted.  “I haven’t touched that thing in years, not since you claimed it.”

The young officer stepped up and grabbed the hilt.  The stones dimmed, but no harm came to him, so he released it and stepped down.

Aleron stepped up to grasp the hilt, and as in the past, it jumped to his hand, rather than waiting for him to pull.  A blazing blue radiance engulfed the king, and a single powerful voice with many softer echoes spoke into his mind.

“Why did you allow that filthy beast to touch us?” the voice asked angrily.  “Kill the goblin!”

“He is not a beast.  He is my friend,” Aleron answered back, as he struggled to force the blade back into its granite scabbard.  It resisted his efforts and required he apply his will, rather than any physical strength, to accomplish his goal of returning it.

“A goblin will never be a friend!”

“He is a man now, and he is already a friend!”

“He was a goblin and will always be a goblin.  I demand that we kill him…Now!”

“I do not take orders from you.  Not now, not ever.”

“I am the king!  You will do as I say.”

“You WERE the king.  You ARE dead.  I am king now, and I make the rules.”

With that, he released the sword and shakily stepped down to the lower platform.

“What happened up there?” Anjani asked.

“It wanted me to kill him.”

“What did?” from Barathol.

“The dead king in the sword…kings, maybe.  It felt like more than one voice in my head.”

“The sword spoke to you?  Does it do that a lot?”

“Not like that, ever.  Before now, it gave me feelings and impressions, played out scenes in my dreams, though I think it may have used me as a mouthpiece once or twice.  I don’t really remember what I said when I first claimed it, sort of like someone else was talking, and I was watching from the side.”

“It was I that it told you to kill?” Shabti inquired.

“Yes, Shabti.  I got the impression that it would have taken control of me and used me to do the job if it could have.  I don’t think it safe for me to ever touch it with you in close proximity.”

“Why does it have a problem with Shabti?” Anjani asked.

“Once a goblin, always a goblin, according to what it told me.  It would not accept that he is now a man.”

“So, the old kings are in the sword and can sense that Shabti used to be Shaggat?” Barathol asked.

“From what I’ve been able to gather,” Aleron explained, “Aleron the First is all in there, I mean, like he put his entire soul in the sword when the Adversary killed him, probably to keep Zadehmal from taking it.  The Nameless God’s axe consumed the souls of those it killed.  The other kings are just shadows I can vaguely detect, like a piece of them went in, but not their souls.  I assume there’s a little bit of me in there by now.”

“Let us please continue the tour then, Your Grace,” Shabti implored, shaking his fingers, and rubbing his hands together, as if to throw off a deep cold.

“Your palace is most impressive, and these rooms are far more than I expected,” Shabti declared at the conclusion of their tour.

His new quarters were a modest three-room suite, consisting of a small bedroom, sitting room, and attached bath, in no way extravagant by palace standards.

“I am glad you like your rooms,” Aleron proclaimed.  “They are the standard suite allotted to consular aids, nothing special.”

“They are much nicer than my last accommodations, or even the houses I lived in before our meeting.  Again, much nicer than I was expecting.”

“Well, I guess you will be heading out to see the city now.  Barry, Anji, make sure to take him by the food vendors in the market.  There are a couple good Coptian stalls there.”

“Can I get fresh meat at any of these stalls?”

“Fresh, yes but raw, probably not.”

Shabti looked disappointed.

“We can get some good fresh meat at one of the butcher stalls,” Barathol offered.  “You’ll have to be a bit private about eating it that way.  Probably bring it back here to eat.  Nobody around here eats raw meat.”

“There may be a Wabani stall at the market, and they might have their chopped steak; they eat that uncooked,” Anjani postulated.  “Not likely, but you could get lucky.”

“We should get on to our meeting with Father,” Hameln said to the king.  “We asked him to meet us around noon.”

“Ham is right.  You three have fun, while we go deal with the dregs of my position.  Hopefully, Gealton has some new intelligence on the assassination plot.”

Aleron turned on his heel and left his friends in Shabti’s sitting room, Hameln following a half step behind and to his left.

Chapter 16

Sildaenday, Day 11, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Zormat stood watching the men lift the crate from the sled, preparing to carry it aboard his waiting ship.  Karsh and the king’s retainers preceded them to the ship to prepare it for their master.  Still a month from the equinox, the brief warmth of high summer had left, and the hand of winter was already settling upon these far northern lands.  An early storm halted their progress for three full days, and they found themselves nearly a week behind schedule.  At least the springtime icefloes were gone, the sea ice stable and beginning to expand.  They were able to moor the ships further up the inlet, avoiding the overland cart trek they endured on the journey into the mountains.

Weeks back, they passed hordes of men, headed for Norwyyl to observe the solstice, as the Arkans left the mountains with the object of their worship.  These men would soon make their way back to the coast to spend their winter hunting on the sea ice.  A few of the natives stayed to maintain the camp for the Arkans, but Zormat was surprised by the figure who exited a tent and approached his group.  A native priest, or “angokok” as they called themselves, strode briskly at them.  Most of these priests were complete charlatans, but Zormat sensed true power in this one, a lot of power.  He dressed in typical garb of his people, the fur parka festooned with fetishes and talismans.  One in particular caught the Arkan’s eye, a carved figurine of a bear, artfully rendered in blood red stone, and encased in an intricately crafted cage of copper and silver wire, a power reservoir of bloodstone, such as the Kolixtlani priests used.  He sensed a pull from the object, as it scoured the immediate vicinity for any traces of red magic.

“Angokok, why are you not with your brethren at the mountain of fire,” the Arkan king asked the stranger in the language of the seal hunters.

The hireling men set down the box and warily backed away from the sorcerer.  One uttered a word that Zormat recognized as pejorative for a dark magician.  He often heard the term used for himself and his companions among mutterings from these superstitious humans.  Unlike most angokoks, this man was no healer; he was a wielder of power.

“I sensed that what we seek there was on its way here.  Those of little to no power refused to believe, but I waited.  I am Leletke.”

The man raised his arms in a gesture that seemed friendly at first, until the stone-tipped dart flashed from the man’s sleeve.  Zormat raised a shield of red energy in time to block the arrow, but his effort proved useless.  He stumbled when the broadhead of flaked bloodstone tore through his defense and pierced his heart.  Somehow linked to the angokok’s talisman, the projectile ravenously leached the energy of dying from the Arkan’s body, seeming to accelerate the process of his expiration.  He dropped to his knees on the stone-strawed beach, tried to lash out with blue but there was too little life left in his body to affect any meaningful offense.  Zormat, son of the Nameless God and King of Arkus, dropped face first into the gravel, all life gone from his body.

Leletke gestured at the crate, breaking the locks, and causing the lid to spring open.  He gazed covetously at the thing of power within.  The black iron blade of Zadehmal glowed softly with red energy.  He reached in and took up the axe, ignoring the panicked retreat of the men, as well as the commotion from the deck of the Arkan ship.  Power flowed into him like a dammed reservoir bursting into a slot canyon.  A change washed over him as well, and when he opened his eyes again, they showed red irises and vertically slit pupils.

The thing that was once Leletke raised the massive axe into the air with one fist and in a booming voice declared, “I AM RETURNED!” in the language of the Arkans.

Far away, in an obsidian fortress deep in the central jungle, a god smiled, as his body withered and died, discarded for one more convenient to his purposes.  Having nothing to guard now, the elvish wards binding the empty husk of a body to the throne and sealing the exits faded to nothing.

“Zormat, my son,” the Nameless God intoned, “I am sorry that it came to this.  This useless mortal took it upon himself to steal what was mine and yours, so I gladly took what was his.  His soul now resides with me, in Zadehmal.  Were that I could bring you back but alas, your soul has departed your body, too late even to join you to me.  We will send word to your son that he is now the King of Arkus.

Blasts of red energy tore in from the direction of the ship, but the god in the form of a seal hunter angokok deflected the barrage with ease, absorbing the attack’s energy into his weapon of power.

“I AM YOUR GOD!” he bellowed with a voice louder than any mere mortal.  “KNEEL AND WORSHIP ME!”

The Arkans flooding from the ship stopped in their tracks, and dropped to their knees, the full import of their god’s power and intent driven into their minds.

***

“It is done,” Hadaras said aloud, as he and Gealton enjoyed a midday meal together.  “My wards are undone and the Nameless One is freed.”

He broadcast the thought wordlessly to Jessamine, Aleron, and those in the elven world with whom he maintained contact.

“The king will be joining us shortly.”

“That would be best,” the steward replied, too shocked by the revelation to think of anything else to say.

***

Zormat stood upon a flat featureless white plain, completely naked, but somehow not self-conscious of the fact.  The ground beneath his feet seemed like clean white marble, ground to a non-reflective matte finish, rather than polished to a shine, and there was no visible division between ground and sky.  He could not discern if it was a haze obscuring the horizon, or that there was no horizon, and the ground and sky were one.  The soft white light came from no particular direction, and he cast no shadow.  He noticed a brighter spot in the distance.  Soon, he discerned a figure, glowing, and walking toward him.  The person was male; that much was clear, but not his race.  He appeared both incredibly average, while at the same time, incredibly beautiful.  Zormat was unable to determine if he was an elf, man, westman, dwarf, or an Arkan.  He seemed to hold aspects of all races, even goblin and troll, shimmering between all.  As he drew closer, he became more Arkan, but somehow idealized.

“Father, is it you?”

“Grandfather, to you,” the figure replied.

“What?”

“You are the son of my son, so that makes you, my grandson.”

“Who are you?”

“Most call me Allfather, or whatever that translates to in their own language.”

“Why are you here?”

“To welcome you home.”

“This is home?”

“No, not this.  This is not really a place, but more a gateway between realms.  Some call it the veil.  Here, is where I meet all those who have left the realm of the living to rejoin me.”

“You personally meet everyone who dies?”

“Most, but not all.  Not every soul chooses to come to me.”

“How is it possible to meet everyone?  Thousands die each day.  And why would my soul choose to join you and not my father?”

“To answer your first question, we are outside of time, and as I said, this is no place.  I make the time to meet everyone.  There is no conflict.  Let me show you.”

Suddenly, surrounding them were hundreds of individuals, of all races, goblins, hobgoblins, and half-trolls included, all speaking to versions of the Allfather.  Some seemed to be just beginning their conversations, and others were leaving hand-in-hand with the creator, to fade into the mist, while still other pairs winked into existence.

“I show you this because you are special.  All living things are mine, but you are my actual grandchild, conceived of one of my first children.  You are like unto the aelient in that way, but without their special gifts, you having a mortal mother as well.

As for your second question, as I said, all living things in this universe are mine.  The offspring or creations of my children are mine, even the aberrant ones.  For that reason, I did not seek to exterminate the ill-conceived creations of my son, your father.  I merely adjusted the world to accommodate them.  All souls naturally gravitate to me, upon their corporeal demise.  They must actively shun me for it to be otherwise.”

“I think I understand.  But my father told me that you are an imposter, a usurper of his rightful dominion.”

“He lied.  He does that.  He has been doing so for such a long time that he believes his lies are truths, his own personal reality.”

“Even my father’s creations come to you?” Zormat asked.  “I see goblins, half-trolls, and the like here.”

“All beings with a sentient spirit come to rejoin me.  There are very few of them so maligned as to be unredeemable.”

“I see no mountain trolls or dragons among this throng.”

“Trolls are beasts, and the spirits of beasts take a different path in the afterlife.  They do not mingle with the souls of the self-aware.  Dragons die very rarely.  I have not greeted a dragon here in half of one of your years, and that was the first in many decades.  That one was the doing of your great-nephew, the Sudean king.  A most unfortunate occurrence.  Dragons are one of your father’s creations that came out mostly right, and they are very rare, so the loss of even one is a severe blow to the race.  However, Izoden literally tried to bite off more than he could chew when he attacked Aleron.”

“Aleron is my nephew, the King of Sudea?  How is it even possible that we are related?”

“My granddaughter, Jacanda, your aelient half-sister is his grandmother, making you his great-uncle, as the Sudeans reckon relatedness.”

“Interesting.  I have heard he may be the most powerful sorcerer alive.  With me dead, that seems all the more likely.”

“I blessed him with some unique gifts.  The reasons for which I will keep to myself for now.  Hopefully, my faith in his nature is well founded.  Very soon, all will be clear to you.  Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, Grandfather, I believe so.” 

Zormat found it very easy to accept as truth all this strange entity told him.  The Allfather offered his hand, and like a young child, the King of Arkus readily took hold of it, as the throngs of recently departed souls and Allfather copies disappeared from view.  A bright golden glow materialized before them, and they passed into it to the unknown beyond.

Chapter 17

Sildaenday, Day 11, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

“How do you know he is back?” Aleron asked Hadaras as he walked into the steward’s office.  Eilowyn was at his side, with Feadra tagging along behind.  They were together, partaking in a midday meal of their own when Hadaras’ message arrived.

“The wards I placed at Immin Bul suddenly failed, as though there was nothing left there to guard,” Hadaras replied.

“So, the Nameless God is loosed upon Aertu?” the queen asked.

“Apparently so,” Gealton replied to his daughter.

“This is early, too early,” Aleron muttered.

“There was never going to be a good time for this,” his wife replied.

“No, not that.  It’s too early for the Arkans to be at Immin Bul.

Do you remember that strategy meeting a few weeks back, Grandfather?”

“Yes, I do,” Hadaras answered, “and yes, you are right.  We went over how long it would take them to return from when you saw them leaving Norwyyl.  They should have just set sail from the ice shelf within the past week.”

“And it’s several weeks journey to Immin Bul from any port in Kolixtlan,” Aleron added.

“How then?” Gealton asked.  “How is he free?”

“I do not know, my friend,” The old elf replied.  “His son must have done something through Zadehmal to free his father from a distance.”

“Do the aelir travel the dream plane like the aelient?” Aleron inquired.

“I have to believe so,” Hadaras asserted.  “I also must believe that the Adversary has a construct similar to Jacanda’s, affording him a refuge from which he may hop to anyplace on the globe he wishes.  Jacanda’s estate was never his, originally.  You saw in her memories that she either built it, or as Jessamine insists moved it.  But it is not particularly distant from Immin Bul in the spot it occupies in the central jungle, and she must have learned how to do it from someone.”

“Does that mean he might regain control of it, and deny access to Aleron?” Gealton asked, concern written on his face.

“Possibly, but I got the impression, and Jessamine agrees, that Jacanda had complete control over her private realm, and it is still attuned to her presence and will.” 

“When I gained control of the library, I was inside with her,” Aleron added.  I carefully probed her mind for the keys, but they are still her keys.  I’m not sure if anyone could regain control without access to her or my minds.  Plus, she has been there a long time, considering the age of her collection, and the aesthetics of the place do not convey his tastes, so I do not believe he ever had access.”

“How would you know his tastes?” Feadra blurted, used as she was to speak her mind in the presence of just Eilowyn and Aleron.

Gealton looked to her sharply, while Hadaras looked amused at most, before the queen intervened.

“I must remind you, Father, that Feadra is used to more casual conversation when it’s just us, like Aleron and his captains.  Please remember that she was one of our companions in the flight across Mittea, and nearly lost her life, were it not for Geldun’s intervention.”

“My apologies, Daughter.  I momentarily forgot that.”  As Feadra was normally demure in mixed company, and did not speak out at their last meeting, her place in the group slipped his mind.  “Please go on, Your Grace.”

“Grandfather showed me images from his mind, Fea, inside and outside of Immin Bul,” Aleron explained.  Also, before he died, I looked into the mind of the one Arkan sailor we ever captured, and his homeland is austere, at best.”

“You’ve seen the Arkan homeland?” the steward asked excitedly.

“Only glimpses.  He was mortally wounded, and I did not want to do any further damage.  I was still hiding who I am, and destroying his mind would have made my ability obvious, but it seemed a very cold and dark place, like the South Tellesian islands.”

“That makes sense, considering what we suspect of their location,” Hadaras concurred, “but the South Tellesians also get the midnight sun in the summertime.”

“I think his memories of the winter were stronger.  All I got were impressions of cold, dark, and hard.  I don’t think there is a cushion in the entire country.”

“What does all of this have to do with Jacanda’s lair?” Eilowyn asked in exasperation.

“Jacanda built the epitome of luxury into her private abode,” Aleron explained.  “From what I saw of Immin Bul and Arkus, there is no luxury there, and if the Nameless God saw what she had, he would likely have made her destroy it.  He and his son, the King of Arkus, had no personal servants, only what was necessary to keep their palaces operating.  All efficiency, no frills or adornment.”

“Strange way to go about being a despotic ruler,” Feadra commented.

“The Adversary did not concern himself with comfort,” Hadaras provided.  “As an Aelir, his being was above the mortal realm, and he had no use for creature comforts.  I am sure he instilled such an attitude upon his chosen people.  Moreover, he was obsessed with efficiency.  He believed free will and personal agency to be a particularly inefficient way to run a society, and vowed to abolish it, for our own good.”

Everyone looked about in silence after the old elf’s statement.  Though they all knew the official doctrine from their upbringings, most had not given a thought past the Adversary’s personification of evil, to the very nature of that evil.

“So, the lack of free agency is the height of all evil?” Feadra questioned.

“Yes, my dear young lass.  You have it exactly right.  The lack of choice in a being to determine their individual destiny is the highest affront to the Allfather’s intent.  There is no greater evil than the enslavement of another’s will.”

“Does that make slavery the greatest evil of mankind?” Aleron asked.

“It’s more complicated than that, Grandson, as the greatest evil is the enslavement of another’s will, but in many cases, slavery does just that, but not in all.”

“The Ebareizans are slavers.  That’s good enough for me.”

“As it should be,” Gealton agreed.

“Aleron, do not let your temper rule you, and this nation.”

“Grandfather, I understand the need for caution, but I, here and now, vow to end the Ebareizan line.  Through their actions, they have proven their unworthiness to rule.”

“Would that extend to any younglings of the line,” Hadaras inquired.

“What do you mean?” Aleron asked.  “The current king has no heirs.”

“Neither did Alagric,” Hadaras replied.  “You are descended of his drunkard younger brother, Adalard, and a common whore.  Do you think that there be no such issue from the current line of the Ebareizan kings?

“No, Grandfather.  I cannot discount the possibility of an illegitimate heir, and I will never target a child, if any such are discovered but I will grant no mercy to those in power.”

“Just wanted to establish that as a parameter.  Were you to become a despot, Grandson, I would find needs to take you out myself, and that would break my heart.”

“I appreciate that, Grandfather.  If that should ever occur, please do as you promised, and make it as fast as you can manage.”

“You have my promise, Aleron.”

Uncomfortable silence filled the room.  The others waited for Aleron or Hadaras to continue, none wanting to follow their dark exchange.

“We must concentrate on the annexation of Ebareiza,” Aleron decreed.  We may not be ready, and we likely never will be, but we need to bring the war to the Adversary, not wait for him bring it to our doorstep.”

“Yes,” agreed the steward.  “Our troops are on their way, and should cross into Coptia by next week, about another two weeks for those moving into Castia.  In a month, they will be fully emplaced along the western borders.”

“Chebek has agreed to move cavalry into Castia.  They should be in place on their borders with Kolixtlan and Adar in three weeks as well, leaving Taliq alone to block any eastward movement from Adar.” Aleron said.

“We need to mobilize our remaining army troops to march into southern Ebareiza as soon as possible,” he continued.  “How many could we spare for that?”

 “With the ten thousand we’ve already sent north, and another fifteen thousand throughout the kingdom to maintain peace and order, we can perhaps field another seventy-five thousand,” Gealton answered.  Anything over that, and we will need to begin conscription, and the conscripts will require months to train.

The navy and marines can go on as they have been, though we may want to expand our presence in the western Castian Sea, in case of any breakthroughs against the border defenses.”

“I’ll pop in on the Blue Mountain kings,” Aleron offered, “and let them know there will soon be trouble on their doorsteps.

We should probably enact enlisted conscription now, in anticipation of the war expanding, once we defeat Ebareiza.

How is our new officer’s corps coming along?”

“The first of them started filtering in last week.  It will be several weeks for those from the more far-flung estates to receive word and send their eligible sons.”

“Good.  At least that is moving forward.  I made overtures to the Elmenian duke about a recruiting center for the highlanders.  He was all for it, so long as he receives some pittance for the piece of coastline we will need.  I think he anticipates an influx of revenue from it.”

“Possibly, you could pop back over there to let Duke Villam know that war is imminent, and Coptia may request his aid soon,” Eilowyn suggested.

“Yes, that is a good idea,” Hadaras agreed.  “I will contact my nephew the king, the governor at Wynn, and all the elvish emissaries I know to spread the word.  That will be the fastest way to engage the Westland and Northern Plains kingdoms.  The Chebek are sending troops, but neither they, nor Taliq or the Westlands know that war is imminent.

You may need to make some more personal visits as well, my boy, to back up the messages I send through the emissaries.”

“Yes, Grandfather.  That will likely be necessary.”

“Looks like we should get busy,” Gealton concluded.

Chapter 18

Zorekday, Day 12, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Morning found Aleron and Caid strolling down a narrow rock strewn path winding amongst rolling green hills, dotted with black-faced white sheep.  The high peaks of the Green Mountains gleamed in the distance, winter snows still clinging, obscuring the greenschist that gave them their name.  They had recently exited Jacanda’s library about a quarter league from the home of Caid’s father, the local clan chief.

They forewent armor, but Aleron wore Andhanimwhid, and Caid had his own greatsword strapped to his back.  Both wore pairs of long daggers at their belts, and cloaks against the chill highland breeze.

“Think we’ll find a warm welcome?” Aleron asked his greatsword teacher.

“Warm enough.  I left on good terms with me da.  We may get a challenge afore they recognize me though.  I’m wearin’ me clan colors, but they be hard to make out from afar.  They’ll recognize the blue and gold of yer clothes afore me.” 

His voluminous wool cloak bore alternating yellow, black, and red stripes in a diagonal pattern with the red and black stripes always separated by a yellow, never touching, similar to a venomous snake found in Coptia.  Elmenian clans adopted varied stripe patterns to identify themselves from a distance, as opposed to the heraldic devices used by Sudean houses.

Aleron wore an equally large cloak of indigo, with the four-pointed gold star symbolizing Sudea embroidered into the back over his standard Sudean officer’s uniform of indigo wool jacket but with royal purple cuffs, Sudean Star on the left breast, over sky-blue trousers with gold piping, finished with tall black leather boots, and a simple gold circlet upon his brow.

“Think he’ll listen to what I have to say?”

“That be another question entirely, Yer Grace.  Da should be hospitable, but he mebbe not be hearin’ what ya got to say.”

They came into sight of the log palisade surrounding the clan’s complex.  A horn sounded a quick sequence of notes.  Soon, the main gate swung up, two riders emerged and rode out to meet them, both armed with short spears, rather than lances, and tall lozenge shaped shields, wearing chainmail, steel spangenhelms and cloaks identical to Caid’s.

Elmenians almost never fight from horseback, and true to form, the clansmen halted twenty paces away and dismounted, leaving their horses to graze the short grass.

“Caid!” shouted the large older warrior with gray streaks in his brown beard who appeared to be in charge.  “What brings you back these parts?  Made your fortune?  Who’s the Sudean?”

“Eoghan.  Good to see you.  I dinna get rich yet, but I be workin’ to it.  This be me new boss, King Aleron.”

“King, eh?  So, the news be true.  Pleased to meet you, Yer Grace,” Eogan directed to Aleron with a shallow bow.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Eoghan, and?…” Aleron looked to the younger of the two, a tall hulking blond man with a sparse beard, appearing to be just out of his teenage years.

“Barra, Yer Grace,” he replied, with a slight bow, declining to say more.

“Li’l Barra!” Caid exclaimed.  “Ye were knee high to a stoat ‘en I left.  You done grown li’l cousin.”

“Tha’ I did, Caid.  Good to see ya.”

“Good to see ya as well.  So Eoghan, can ya bring us to see me da?  Al here has a proposition fer us all.”

“We’ll bring ya all in.  Please fallo us, Yer Grace.

When they reached the keep, Eoghan disappeared inside, emerging a few moments later to usher them in.

Caid’s father, Lachan, Chief of Clan Erskine, an imposingly large man whose red hair had mostly gone white greeted Aleron with a deep bow.

“Your Grace,” he greeted the king in a well enunciated rather than highland accent that surprised Aleron, considering Caid’s and Elidh’s manner of speech, “so good of you to grace us with your presence.”

“Thank you, Chief Lachan, for inviting me in,” Aleron replied, bowing in turn.

“It is my pleasure, Your Grace.

Caid,” he directed to his son, “Good to see you back home.  You’re keeping some high company these days.  How did this come about?”

“The king be needin’ a greatsword teacher, Da, an I was available.”

“I was thinking your accent would have improved over your years in Arundell.  But that’s neither here nor there…”

Caid looked a bit chagrined at his father’s comment, and Aleron suspected there was more to the story of his leaving the clan for the city than his new friend let on.”

“Your Grace, please come to the table,” Lachan offered, gesturing to the long wood table dominating the hall.  Several more clansmen stood before spots at the table, drinks and food marking their places.

“What brings you to our humble abode?” he asked as he led the way to the head.

An older man in finer than average attire moved his trencher and mug down from the head of the table to make room for Aleron to the chief’s right, executing a short bow as the king passed, which Aleron returned before taking the seat.  Caid took an available seat on the opposite side of the table, a few spaces down from the head.

“I have a proposition for you and the other clan chiefs.”

“Involving us fighting on your side in the wars to come, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“Fortunately for you, we have two of us here today.  May I introduce my wife’s brother, Chief Daithin, of Clan Trench.”  He gestured toward the man who had just moved for Aleron.

“Good to meet you, Your Grace,” Daithin proclaimed, also with hardly a trace of the regional accent, suggesting to Aleron an intentional distancing by the clan chiefs from their followers.  He wondered if that was the source of friction between the father and son, or if there was more to their conflict.

“Pleased to meet you as well, Chief Daithan.”

“Elspeth!  Please bring mugs of ale, some bread and meat for our esteemed guest and my son!”

“Yer son?” a voice called back from a side room, likely the kitchens. “Is Caid home?!” the voice asked excitedly. 

Soon pretty blonde woman of about twenty ambled out, balancing two wooden trenchers loaded with roast beef and bread on one arm, two earthenware mugs held in the other hand.

“Milord,” she said as she set the mugs down and handed one to Aleron, followed by a trencher, before retrieving the second mug.

“Your Grace,” Lachan corrected her.  “That’s the King of Sudea, come to pay us a visit.”

“The King!  Yer Grace!  I’m so sorry!”  She curtsied as best she could with her hands full, nearly dropping Caid’s food in the process.

“Please, be at ease,” Aleron assured her, reaching out a hand with unnatural speed to catch the trencher.  “I require no formality, please.”

Others at the table widened their eyes at the blinding speed Aleron displayed in the simple act of steadying the woman.

“He’s a fast one, aint no doubt,” Caid remarked.  “Keeps me on me toes durin’ practice, that’s fer sure.”

Elspeth recovered herself, saying “Thank you, Yer Grace,” before moving to deliver Caid his refreshments.  She bent down to deliver a peck to his cheek.

He wrapped a burly arm about her waist and half-hugged her, saying “Thanks Elsie.  Tis good ta see ya agin,” before releasing his hold on her.

His father glowered at him for a brief moment before turning his attention once more to Aleron.  Aleron was beginning to sense that Caid was not very interested in defining himself apart from the common folk, and that might be an issue for his father.

“You’re a halfblood and a sorcerer, I hear,” Daithin commented.

“And you nearly toppled the palace at Kolixtla,” Lachan added.

“News travels fast, I see,” Aleron replied.  “Yes, yes, and yes.  But that last one nearly got us all killed.  I overextended and lost my abilities for some time.”

“Now they’re back?”

“Yes.  Fortunately, I was able to recover from my own stupidity.”

“Is that speed of yours from the magic, or just the elf in you?”  Daithin asked.

“Mostly from the elf, I think.  My speed didn’t change, that I noticed, when I lost my power.  Grandfather said he was starting to notice it a couple years before the magic came out, the first time I managed to hit him.”

“Your grandfather being old Lord Hadaras,” Lachan injected.  “Fastest sword in Sudea, or so they said back in the day.  Never met him but heard plenty about him.  Now we find out he was an elf.”

“I didn’t know about that until I was about to turn fifteen.”

“You didn’t know you were a halfblood until…?”

“A bit over five years ago now, almost six.  That’s when I found out I was supposed to be king as well.”

“You didn’t know anything about either?” from Daithin.

“I didn’t even know Grandfather used to be Lord Marshal.  As far as I knew, my father was a reasonably prosperous woodsman, my mother, a serving girl turned goodwife, and my grandfather just a retired soldier.  I found out the truth of it all the day I happened to touch this sword.”

“So, you grew up fifteen years thinking you were common.  Why did you wait another five to declare yourself?” Lachan asked.

“The steward and Grandfather thought it best to wait until I was grown and more experienced before I claimed the throne.”

“Odd choice, but I can respect it.  Anyhow, let’s get to the point.  What are you wanting of us?  We prefer to stay out of the squabbles of the lowlanders.  We have plenty of our own to occupy us.”

“And we have no interest in falling under your dominion, Your Grace, no offence intended,” Daithin added.  “The duke on the coast claims these lands, but it’s been over a generation since he last tried to force it upon us.”

“This is more an offer of employment, though I might also be able to confer titles to any interested in more permanent and binding arrangements.”

The clan chiefs looked to one another briefly, and then back to Aleron.  Caid just rolled his eyes and tried to stifle a grin.  He had told Aleron offering titles was likely the bait to catch these fish.

“What you suggest is interesting,” Lachan declared.  “With titles would come seats on the Council of Lords?”

“Yes.  The Nameless God is free, and war is coming.  I want an Elmenian infantry brigade, like to the last war, and I’m willing to make concessions to get one.”

“The Adversary is free, you say?” the chief said in alarm.  “How do you know this?”

“Grandfather set the wards holding him and felt when they were broken.  We know he is coming, just not exactly when.”

“Looks like we’ll be fighting eventually, one way or the other, my friend,” Lachan commented to Daithin.  “We may just have the chance to better our circumstances in the process.  What say you?”

“I’m willing to consider it,” the other chief replied, “but let’s do something else first, before we decide. 

Your Grace, have you ever played Maw?  I’ve found playing cards with a man to be quite revealing to his character.”

“I’ve played a few times, but not a lot.”

“Excellent!  How about a round between us old men and you two young fellows?” he asked, sliding a card box from his belt pouch.

“Sounds like a plan,” Aleron agreed.

“We gonna lose,” Caid groaned, but he was smiling as he moved a chair down to make room for his father who moved from the head of the table so the partners could play diagonally from one another. 

The game ended after the fourth trick, the chiefs having won three out of five by that point, so there was no point in playing the last hand.

By the end of their game, the clan chiefs agreed to work towards convincing their fellows to form a coalition to ally with Sudea in the inevitable war to come.  They agreed to set another meeting with as many clan leaders as they could muster for a later date, probably much later, as Aleron had a campaign against Ebareiza to deal with first.

“Will you be coming back to Arundell with me, Caid, or should I come back for you in a few days?”

“I wouldn’t mind spendin’ a few days catchin’ up wi folks here, If’n ya don’t mid, Da?”

“That would be fine, Son.  You are always welcome here in your home.

But Your Grace, you don’t need to head back to the coast right away, and with no one to guard your back.  Please stay a couple days, and I’ll have an escort for you back to the port.”  He had not processed that Aleron had offered to leave and return in just a few days.

“Oh, we jus set out from Arundell this mornin’, Da.  Wait’ll you see what he can do.”

The chiefs and others in the hall looked puzzled as Aleron asked, “Do you mind overmuch if I just come straight back to this room, rather than the front gate?”

“I guess that would be all right…”

“Excellent.  Caid, this time, three days from now?”

“Sounds good, Al.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you all.”  Aleron turned to an empty side of the hall and opened a portal to the library.  He stepped through and it closed behind him a moment later.

All but Caid stared at the spot the king had just been, dumbfounded by what they had just witnessed, as he chuckled at their surprised expressions.

Chapter 19

Gurlachday, Day 13, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Hameln and Barathol flanked Aleron as they stepped from Jacanda’s library into the desert before the walls of Batni Oasis, the largest permanent Berberi settlement of the Great Southeastern Desert. 

Seven additional royal guardsmen followed behind, three each fanning to the left and right of the king and his captains after exiting the portal, with the seventh taking a position directly behind Aleron with the Royal Sudean Banner, displaying the four-pointed Star of Sudea in gold, surmounted by a simplified representation of the crown in gold, topped by a silver raven. 

Gealton thought it best to arrive with a stronger, more formal presence than they had for a single Elmenian clan chief.  Agelli Galas, Batni’s patriarch, is the de-facto supreme leader of the combined Berberi tribes, the individual tribal ahmgas all bowing to his wisdom and authority.  He is more akin to a foreign monarch than Lachan and Daithan were.  When Aleron next visited Elmenia to meet with the combined clan chiefs, he would need to arrive in more splendor.

Of the elves and dwarves, Aleron handled those first visits independently, without consulting the steward.  Gealton understood the choice to visit Elvenholm with only Hadaras in tow but gave Aleron an earful after his impromptu visits to the Blue Mountain dwarvish kings.  He brought a far more official entourage to visit the White and Green Mountain capitals.

They stood and waited for the inevitable patrol of horsemen to issue from the city gates.

A horn sounded and the portcullis rose, indicating they were sighted.   A dozen riders issued from the gates, half bearing unsheathed scimitars and small round shields, the remainder with raised lances and larger oval shields.  They broke into a trot and rapidly closed the gap to the Sudean entourage.

“Swords drawn,” Hameln observed, “not the friendliest of greetings.”

As if his statement was their cue, the lancers leveled their weapons, and the horses sped to a gallop.

“That doesn’t look good.”

“Not at all,” Barathol agreed.  “What now?”

He moved to high guard with his glaive, a much nicer version than he carried as an enlisted marine.  He now had a small collection of glaives, halberds, poleaxes, and a bardiche for use on horseback.

“Nope,” said Aleron, as he unsheathed Andhanimwhid and drove it point-first into the ground before him.

He would attempt a defensive spell that Hadaras taught him a few weeks ago.  It required much more power and control than the usual magic he employed, for which only simple visualization was needed.  Spells were somewhere between simple magic and warding, using words to guide and shape the magic, but without the longevity of wards, which incorporated symbols to perpetuate the spells involved.  The wards surrounding his grandmother, though invisible to the non-gifted, held magical inscriptions to hold and feed the spells he used to bind and sustain her.

He drew in blue energy and recited the words his grandfather taught him, channeling and magnifying the magic through the sword and into the surrounding ground.  A cloud of blue rose from the ground in the space between the approaching riders and Aleron, visible to him but not to them.  The horses foundered as if suddenly fording a deep river at full gallop.  One mount stopped suddenly, its lance-wielding rider pitching over its neck to the ground, but landing softly, perceptibly slowing toward the end of his fall.

Aleron was happy with the result, halting the attackers without harming them.  He could have killed them all in a simple blast of offensive magic, but he was here for allies, not more enemies.

“We are here in peace!  Why do you attack us so?” Aleron asked in the Berberi dialect, an odd, blended tongue with the basic structure of Coptian, but a hefty share of Sudean loan words to replace the original Coptian.  He let drop the spell as he spoke.

The dislodged lancer lifted himself out of the dirt and remounted, an embarrassed expression on his face.

The leader of the group, a captain, as indicated by the green plume of his helm loudly replied, “You appear out of nowhere with an armed retinue, and fly no flag of truce.”

“Do you not recognize this standard?” Aleron asked, gesturing to the royal banner.  “Why would your king require a flag of truce?”

“King?  We have no king here!  All defer to the agelli here!”

“Then, I wish to speak with Agelli Galas, either in the city or out here.  It matters not.”

“We will not treat with you.  You will leave the way you came, or we will kill you.”

Aleron directed two bolts of red energy, causing the blade of the captain’s scimitar and the bronze fittings of his shield to glow white hot before erupting in a shower of sparks.

The captain dropped the bladeless hilt and scrambled to detach the now burning shield from his forearm.

Precise individual shafts of the blue severed tips from lances, and blades from hilts of the remaining weapons of the entourage.

“I will see the agelli now.”

“You will see the underside of our hooves!”  The captain shouted, spurring his horse and waving his men forward.

Aleron tossed him from his mount with a pulse of maroon magic to the chest.  He left one boot in the stirrup, while the other strap snapped.  The stallion reared in alarm as his former master flew fifty paces back, ribcage crushed by the blow.

“I will see the agelli now.  If he refuses, I will knock down your walls and pick his palace apart stone by stone until I reach him.”

“I will take you to him now,” a visibly shaken lieutenant said in a quavering voice.

“No, that option is past.  Your captain’s lack of courtesy sealed my decision.  I will not bring my people into your city at this time.  Agelli Galas will meet with me here.”

“Barry, Ham, come with me and cover my back.”

He strode to where the captain lay in the dirt, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.  He bent down to touch the man’s forehead. 

Barathol expected to see a faint yellow glow but saw nothing.

Aleron straightened and said, “Too late.  He’s already dead.”

“Unfortunately, your captain is dead,” the king directed to the Berberi soldiers.  “Were he still alive, I could have saved him, and this would have been a simple lesson in proper etiquette.”

“Take his body back to the city and deal with it properly, then tell the agelli that I require his presence here in two bell’s time, sooner if he can manage it.”

In the time they waited for Galas, Aleron conjured a circular shade pavilion, like those he remembered setting up in past campaigns.  Starting with ten oak side and roof poles, linked by bronze hinges with upright pins for guy lines, a central hub to accept the roof poles, and purlins locked in to separate the hinges at the eaves.  He held the frame in place with strands of blue magic while he formed the stakes, guy lines, and deep blue silk canopy.  To the onlookers, he appeared to form the structure smoothly from the inside out.  For a final touch, he conjured a circular area rug and six sturdy chairs in two opposed semicircles.

“Please check the tension on the guy lines,” he directed his guards, breaking them out of their dumbfounded states. Some had witnessed Shaggat’s transformation to Shabti from a distance, but none had seen their liege conjure items from thin air.

“Agelli Galas; Welcome,” Aleron greeted the Berberi leader with a bow, as he arrived via palanquin with two viziers and twenty foot soldiers in tow.

“You murder my watch captain and then welcome me to my own lands, King Aleron?” the agelli asked derisively in fluent Sudean.

“Your captain made the poor decision to attack me, rather than consider my request.  He paid for that decision, as you will pay or benefit from your decisions here, this day.”

“You threaten me in my domain?”

“No threats, only promises.  All decisions carry both rewards and costs.”

The vizier to Galas’ right raised his hand and directed a powerful bolt of red energy straight at Aleron.  He raised a shield of red to block, absorbed the vizier’s attack, took in green, and directed a shaft of false yellow at his attacker, just as he did when subduing his grandmother.

The man dropped as if dead, and the other official rushed to where he lay, checking his neck for a pulse, as he placed his face before the other’s to check for breathing.

“He is dead, My Agelli!”

The Berberi soldiers went to guard positions at the barks from their section leaders, and Aleron’s men did the same.

“Not truly dead,” Aleron corrected, in Berberi, so all would understand.  “I will bring him back if you promise he behaves from here out.

Have him brought under the pavilion, if you please, and I will revive him there.  You may bring two guards and your remaining vizier.  I will bring my two captains and two guards as well.

“Bring two guards inside and have the remaining surround the pavilion,” he told his captains.

Barathol and Hameln relayed his instructions and followed him under the canopy with their two chosen soldiers.

They took their positions, with Aleron standing before the center chair of one set, leaving the captains to decide who took the right and left, the added guards widely flanking the trio.

After a short wait, Galas advanced with his remaining counselor, and two soldiers carrying the limp body of the sorcerer-vizier.

Taking his position before the center chair facing Aleron, the vizier to his left, he asked, “What would become of my vizier if you do not revive him?”

“I assume he would eventually die for real, unless I put protective and maintenance wards upon him to preserve his body.”

“Then, please do revive him.  I would not have him die if it can be avoided.”

“You will vouch for his conduct?  Should he attack again, I will simply kill him.”

“Yes, on my honor.”

“Very well then.  Please tell your men what I am about, so as not to alarm them.”

The vizier related the situation to their soldiers in their language.

Aleron stepped to the lifeless mage and went down to one knee.  He placed his hand on the man’s forehead and pushed green magic into his body.  Then, he drew in yellow to heal the inevitable aging that accompanied using green.

Feeling for the life force he found none and thought That’s odd!  Apparently, what worked on the shrub when he first experimented with his powers would not work on a person.

He tried yellow instead, then blue; still nothing.  This did not bode well.  He did not hazard that Galas would be amicable if he failed to bring the vizier back.

The only remaining course he could think of was to blend blue and yellow into false green, the form he used to revive the dead bush.  Pushing the blended form into the man, he felt the life force return, though weakly.  Heartbeat and breathing failed to return, and the man’s swarthy complexion became ashen.

Aleron used blue magic to restart his heart and force him to breathe again, followed by yellow to repair any damage the brief state of lifelessness caused him.  The color returned to his cheeks, and he lay asleep, breathing evenly.

As he rose, the king advised, “Best that you allow him to wake on his own.  His mind may need to sort itself out following what befell him.”

He returned to his chair and sat.  The others took this as their cue and sat as well.

“Agelli Galas, though your people never rebelled and broke away, I take it you no longer consider yourselves part of our kingdom, Sudea?”

“You take it correctly, Your Grace.  Though I apologize for the rashness of my captain and then my First Vizier, we have not functioned as a part of your kingdom in centuries.”  He emphasized “your kingdom.”  “Sudea essentially abandoned us when Ebareiza rebelled and never reasserted control.”

“I realize that to be true,” the king admitted.  “You have functioned in autonomy for nigh on a millennium.  I do not wish to impose control over you in that capacity, but I do want your help…”

The sleeping man startled awake and rolled to his knees.  Looking about frantically, his eyes locked on Galas, and he blurted, “My Agelli, I must speak to you of a most wonderous occurrence!”

“Your Grace, may I have your leave momentarily?”

“Certainly, Agelli.”

“Masan, come sit by me and tell us what you saw,” Galas directed his counselor.

The vizier sprang up and hurried to the chair his master indicated and began to speak.

My Agelli, I do not know what happened when I attacked the Sudean, but he hit me with a strange form of magic, and I think I died.”

“You did appear dead, though the king stated you were not.  Go on.”

I found myself alone in a featureless white void.  Then a man came to me, the most perfect man my eyes ever beheld.  He said he was the One, Amun, who Sudeans call Allfather.  He told me it was not my time to pass the veil but that we should heed the messenger he sent us, Aleron, King of Sudea.”

He finished speaking, and all the Berberis’ eyes turned to Aleron, who had heard and understood the entire exchange.

He commented, “You would think he would tell me I am his messenger…”

“Vizier Masan, are you an adherent to Amun?”

“Of course, Your Grace.  Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Your choice of red magic, mostly.  Traditionally, it is the choice of the Adversary’s followers.”

“I never knew it as such.  I can us either; I choose one or the other, depending on the utility.”

“I agree,” Aleron stated, as he produced a globe of red and blue in each hand.  “Can you do this?” he asked, as he pushed the two together to form a globe of maroon energy.

“No, Your Grace.  What is that?”

He directed the energy to a safe place beyond the guard perimeter and blasted a gaping hole into the exposed bedrock.

“It is a blend of power I find useful to move a lot of material with little effort.”

“I can use one or the other, but not at the same time.  What are you?”

“According to my grandfather, Goromir, I am something new, though you being able to switch between red and blue is fairly unique.”  As he said that, he generated balls of green and yellow in opposite hands.  He dissipated the green as he used the yellow to counter its effects.

“According to my great-great grandfather, I am his messenger.”

“You claim Amun as a grandsire?”  Galas interjected.  “That seems a bit ostentatious.”

“My grandfather, Goromir, is son of Iselle.  I am unfamiliar with your name for her.  My grandmother is the alient Jacanda, daughter to Iselle and the Adversary.  So yes, Amun is my great-great grandsire, also making the Adversary my great grandsire.”

He picked up a stone from the ground and, with a blaze of white magic and an inrush of air, transformed it into gold.  He stood up, stepped forward, and presented the gold nugget to the agelli, with a bow.

To their credit, Hameln and Barathol sat stone-faced as their leader and the Berberis conversed in, to them, a foreign language, while the king demonstrated spectacular feats of magic.

“Are you a god, a new god?” Galas asked.

“Not that I know,” Aleron replied.  “I am simply a man with some exceptional gifts, the reasoning for which I have yet to learn.”

The revelations helped to smooth over the dialogue between Aleron and Galas.  Their negotiations assured Berberi autonomy under the umbrella of the Sudean kingdom, with promises of cavalry troops in the likely event of war with the forces of the Adversary.  Aleron left a sizeable endowment of gold, along with an official declaration of apology to the family of the man he killed.  He knew it would be small compensation for the bereaved, but it was all he could think to do.  He felt a true sense of accomplishment as he and his men stepped out of the portal into the private courtyard of the palace he used for the transfer.

Chapter 20

Zorekday, Day 30, Budding Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron bade his wife farewell, and the queen and her retinue left the command tent to return to Arundell.  He then turned to Geldun, slated to leave with them as well, but who instead lingered.

“It won’t be the same without you Gel.  Ham is right-handed; I’ve got this ridiculous greatsword, and Barry is swinging a bardiche instead of a glaive.  We’re having to learn how to fight all over again.”

“Not to mention doing it from horseback,” Geldun added.  “I’ll miss you all too.”

He embraced Aleron, Barathol and Hameln in turn.

“Take care of yourselves.”

“We’ll be fine,” Barathol replied.  “You take care of you, lil’ guy.”

“Yes.  Take care in the city, and please check up on Ellie for me once in a while.”  Aleron continued, “You better go, or you’ll be riding hard to catch up with the party.”

“I’ll check on her as often as I can get away from the university.  She’ll have Fea, her da and all her bodyguards.  You sure you don’t need me to come with?  I packed all my kit, just in case.”

“I told you that you were free to do this, and I won’t back out of my word.  You can rejoin the army as a doctor.  Now get out of here.”

After only twenty days, the Sudean Grand Army was ready to march on their enemy.  They camped seventeen leagues north of the city, at the confluence of the two northern branches of the Arun.  In the morning, they would move north toward western Ebareiza.  The Coptian army, with its Sudean reinforcements under General Fanir, Second Cavalry commander, would travel west into the eastern half of the renegade kingdom.  If all went well, both armies would reach their respective borders without undue forewarning of the enemy.  Scouts reported no unusual gatherings of troops at the borders, but that could change in the weeks it would take to reach them.

“You two have your respective areas to check up on.  I’ll be there to review the combined armies at a bell past noon.  In the meantime, I’ll be with the Quartermaster General discussing supply lines.”

“Will do, Al,” Barathol replied.  He and Hameln left the tent to meet with the infantry and cavalry commanders.

Late morning saw Aleron sitting down to dinner with Hadaras and Generals Gershon, the Sudean Army commander, and Abershol, commander of the First Infantry.  General Twylin, Commander of the First Cavalry, was in Castia commanding the contingent guarding their border with Kolixtlan.

“So, you’re convinced this will be a relatively bloodless war?” Abershol asked.

“Yes,” Aleron answered, “for the Ebareizans, at least.  Probably not for us.”

“Gealton’s operatives have found many the ready ear among the nobles, and he’s convinced that many of them will side with us over their king, so long as we guarantee their titles and holdings,” Hadaras elaborated.

“But there is still a rather large goblin contingent for us to deal with,” Aleron continued.  “As you well know, they have had free reign by Ebareiza to amass an army in the southwest of the kingdom.”

“Ah yes, Xarch, King of Goblins and his horde,” Gershan spoke.  “We’ve had little issue with goblins in the wilderness these past couple years.  He has been drawing them all to him for this army.  I wonder, how is he managing it?”

“I believe it has to do with the arrival of the Arkans, and the activity of the dark aelient since that arrival.  They are mobilizing in anticipation of the Adversary’s release,” Hadaras answered.

Aleron offered: “Shaggat, the hobgoblin who waylaid us north of the Iron Hills said that he commanded an army of over ten-thousand hobgoblins, goblins, and half-trolls.  The steward’s intelligence indicates a similar sized force here in the south, all goblins.”

“No trolls yet?  That’s a good sign,” Abershol remarked.

“Back in the last war, trolls only organized to fight under the Adversary’s or his underlings’ direct supervision,” Hadaras stated.  “They are little more than beasts.  We will likely not meet them in this conflict, as it’s only a prelude to the war to come.”

“Let’s hope they stay in the mountains for now,” Gershan commented.  “Goblins are easy fodder, but mountain trolls are a different matter altogether.  Takes the strength of a dwarf or a westman to do much more than annoy one of those demons.”

“We have weapons in the works that will be effective against trolls in the hands of men, but they are several months out from completion in any significant numbers,” Hadaras stated.  “Dwarves in all four kingdoms are manufacturing weapons to my specifications, with built in power collectors.  Upon completion, my brethren will apply the proper spells to activate the warding, and they will cut through troll hide and bone like unto soft butter.”

“These will work so in the hands of ordinary soldiers, not requiring the hand of a sorcerer?” Gershan asked.

“Exactly.  We had such weapons for the last war.  The halfbloods were never numerous enough to field as an army of any size.  They made up the officer’s corps and the royal van, with tens of thousands of normal men making up the enlisted ranks.  We gave the most skilled of those men weapons of power.”

“What happened to all those weapons, Grandfather?” the king asked.  “Though elves commonly carry imbued weapons, I know of only Andhanimwhid surviving among men.”

“They are about, likely ancient heirlooms in the arms rooms of near every noble house and even handed down among the common folk.  Any ancient dwarvish or elvish blade could house a secret accumulator, though any lost will have rotted away by now.  We purposely made the wardings temporary, that the weapons did not find use for nefarious purposes after the war.  Your blade is a rare example of perpetual warding.”

“So, we may have hundreds, or even thousands of these weapons already in our possession?

“Yes, Aleron.  It may be worthwhile, once more elves make their way to Arundell, to begin a thorough inventory of our armaments to identify any survivors from the Great War.

“The first “Great War to End All Wars,” as it turns out, Abershol added sardonically.

“Never was in the human nature for that to be true,” Gershan observed.  “That’s why we have jobs, my friend.

Whatever became of old Shaggat?  I heard he is no longer in the capitol prison.”

“I had him moved to a more remote facility,” Aleron lied.  “He has proven both useful and helpful, so I moved him to a place with more room to exercise.”

“Oh, one of the countryside jails.  Probably a good idea to get him far from the capital.  Your mercy sometimes exceeds necessity, Your Grace.”

Aleron nodded his thanks for the apparent compliment, while Hadaras favored him with a sidelong glance at the untruth he just expressed.

Abershol shot a warning glance at his fellow general, knowing the “compliment” was really a veiled insult.

Many of the high command disagreed with the king’s lenience with traitors and enemies.  Though the worst offenders found their way to the block or gallows, in most cases their heirs retained the family holdings, and lower ranking conspirators received prison sentences, often commuted.  Aleron made it clear to his judges that he did not wish his reign inaugurated in blood.

The review of troops passed uneventfully.  Aleron, flanked by his generals, and followed by his captains flanking the bannerman, rode before massed ranks of infantry and cavalry, a sea of blue tabards, fifteen brigades in total, and fully three quarters of all Sudean army forces.  The remaining five brigades divided between the two sent to augment Coptia and Castia, and three remaining in the kingdom to maintain peace, and patrol the borders.

The pass and review complete, they circled their mounts to the center to face the formation.  Aleron stood up in his stirrups, and drew Andhanimwhid, raising it high in the air.

“Soldiers of Sudea!” he thundered, magically augmenting and projecting his voice to reach the flanks and rear of the formation.

To the soldiers, it sounded as though the king’s voice emanated from the sky above them.

“Today, I am proud to call myself Sudean, as should all of you be!  I am proud to be your king.  You are the greatest force ever to be assembled since the last great war for the freedom of Aertu!”

He waved the sword in a tight circle, and the troops erupted into a shouted chant, “Sudea, Sudea,” sword wielders hammering the flats of their blades against their shields.  Though he knew this display was rehearsed, as the generals told him to wave the sword in that manner after his opening statements, he still felt a rush from the sheer magnitude of seventy-five thousand roaring in unison.

Allowing the chant to continue several moments, he stopped it by raising Andhanimwhid skyward and releasing a bolt of blue energy into the clouds.  A loud thunderclap followed.

Ears ringing from the display, he healed his damaged hearing.  Probably should have warned my detail about that.  I’ll have to fix that for them after we finish here.

To their credit, none of his entourage or their mounts so much as winced from the barrage of sound.

“Tomorrow, we march on Ebareiza and their traitorous king!  Rather than standing with us against the Nameless God in the war to come, they have chosen to side with Kolixtlan and Adar, and fight for the Adversary!

Bear in mind,” he continued in a lower register, but still broadcasting so that all could hear, “that the people of that kingdom are not our enemies, only it’s king.  We will not pillage or loot.  We expect no hard resistance from lords and populace in the countryside but as you likely know by now, we will meet more than our share of goblins.  An army of ten thousand or more goblins awaits us, and they may not wait for our crossing the border to attack.  Be ever wary, from the start of our march unto the first contact with the enemy, as we know not when that might be.

Finish your preparations!  We move at first light!”

He returned Andhanimwhid to the scabbard hanging from his saddle and goaded the white destrier to turn and walk back to the command area, his detail falling in about him.

“A warning would have been nice, Your Grace,” General Gershon reproved him.  “My old ears are still ringing from that thunderclap.”

“Not to worry, my friends,” Aleron assured them.  “I can fix that as soon as we get back to the tent.”

Back at the command tent, waiting grooms took hold of the horses’ bridles, and they dismounted.  The bannerman replaced the Sudean standard in the socket at the ten’s front entrance, while Aleron laid a hand upon each of the horses and delivered a wave of healing yellow magic to each.  The generals, grooms, and bannerman looked on quizzically as the animals pranced and nickered, all their pains and weariness melting away.  Though due to their training, not alarmed by the loud noise, this sensation was unprecedented for them.  His captains knew what was happening but said nothing to the others.

He moved to Pol, the bannerman, and offered his hand, saying, “This should fix your ears Corporal.”

The soldier took hold of his king’s outstretched hand, and a pulse of yellow magic moved into him, healing all.  Pol was young enough that the healing caused no apparent reduction in age.

At the corporal’s astonished expression, he directed, “You are released until morning.  Make good use of your time.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he replied, bowing low before turning to gather his mount. 

General Abershol was next to receive healing, followed by Gershon.  Aleron carefully directed the yellow magic to only heal, but not to reverse age, as both men were in their fifties.  He did not care to reveal all of his capabilities to these men, and they would definitely notice returning to apparent ages in the mid-twenties.  The appearance of suddenly youthful generals would also require a lot of explaining to their subordinates.

“Well, Your Grace, that ability might be even more impressive than turning apples to silver and stepping through holes in the air!” Gershon exclaimed.

“Too bad that you’re the only one who can do it,” Abershol added.  “Am I correct in that?”

“Yes, you are, General, so there is no way I could possibly attend to an army of seventy-five thousand.  Grandfather thinks that the Allfather was intentional in keeping this power from mortals.”

“Why do you suppose you have it?”

“I cannot say for certain why he has granted me, alone of all mortals, any of these abilities.  He must have a purpose, but we have not yet divined it.”

After healing Barathol and Hameln, also young enough to not need careful control of the magic, he allowed Barathol, who held Andhanimwhid in waiting, to replace the sword in his back scabbard.

He directed both of them, “Check with the unit commanders and direct them to have any soldiers with damaged hearing report to me this afternoon.  Oh, and if any are cavalry, have them bring their horses.”

That afternoon, he healed over a hundred soldiers and troopers, along with fifty-two horses, and vowed to never do the thunderclap trick ever again.

Chapter 21

Zorekday, Day 12 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Twylin sat at the conference table in the Castian command tent.  Across from him sat the Crown Princess of Castia, Tatiana Aurelia, also the overall commander of Castian forces.  This was their first meeting since he relocated from the Cop-Cas border to directly command this contingent of the Sudean Army.  After a fruitful discussion involving troop placements, they dismissed the subordinate leaders to attend to their duties, but the princess requested he stay behind.

“No offense intended, but you are much younger than I expected for a Sudean general,” she stated, appraising him with deep brown eyes from across the table.

Having met her younger sister, Didia, now ambassador to Sudea, it struck him how different the siblings were from one another.  Though the sisters looked very much alike, where Didia was soft, sultry, and seductive, Tatiana seemed hard and brutally forthright.  Her commanders respected her not merely as a royal, but as a general.  That, and she looked quite physically strong.  She carried the full military battle kit with the ease of long familiarity, her sword hilt and scabbard sporting the wear patterns of frequent use.  She wore her dark brown hair in a tight braid to ease wearing her helm, and her deeply tanned arms bore solidly defined muscles, and more than a few thin white scars.  This woman was as much a warrior as her father was in his youth, before the duties of rule took him from the field.

For his part, Twylin was indeed the youngest of all Sudean flag officers, earning a generalship at the tender age of thirty-nine.  He was forty-one now and remained fit through rigorous daily training with his troops.  He was tall, with the build of a full-time cavalryman.  He preferred his long blond hair loose, slicked straight back, and it had a defined crease trained into it from the near constant presence of his own helm.  He too had darkly tanned skin, despite his naturally light complexion, as he rarely spent any time indoors.  Bright blue eyes twinkled in amusement beneath his sun-bleached brows.

“None taken, Your Highness.  I started young and rose fast through the ranks.  My family’s position allowed me to enter the officer’s corps at fourteen, rather than the traditional age of sixteen.”

“You come from a high house?”

“Among the highest, House Astor, though I am behind my two elder brothers in line for the lordship, hence my pursuit of a military career.  The steward is my brother-in-law, in fact.”

“Making you uncle to the queen,” she added, a calculating look in her eyes.

“How well do you know her mate?”

“As well as any other general, I suppose.  I’m away a lot, so I’m not as close to Ellie as my elder brothers.  Never had much chance to play the doting uncle.  I have spent time with him in conference.”

“How would you characterize your new king?”

“I’m not about to give out any state secrets, Your Highness.”

“Call me Tatia, please.  I would not we two be so formal, Twylin.  What would you have me call you?”

“Lin, would be fine.”

“Well, Lin, my sister tried to bed him, you know, back when they were just teenagers, in Nhargul, and he rebuffed her soundly.  She and Ellie are both brats cut from the same cloth,” she ended with a chuckle.

“He is decisive, for one as young as he, but not in any way rash, or impulsive.  I do not doubt he rebuffed your sister, as he had already promised Ellie.  I have looked into his history with my niece.  You know who his grandfather is?”

“Who doesn’t!  My father always knew Hadaras was an elf, but High Sorcerer Goromir!?  He who bound the Adversary!?”

“Well, with Hadaras, he got the best training as a warrior, and as a statesman, with Ellie to fill in the blanks of his naivete.  The lad is no one to trifle with.  I think we have the strongest king we could hope for, in these times, young as he is.”

“What of his abilities?  Magical, that is.”

“I’ve seen nothing much, mainly parlor tricks, but beyond anything I have seen, even from elvish magicians.  He steps out of the room through the air, and reenters from the ceiling, or turns an apple into silver.  As you know, he nearly leveled the palace at Kolixtla and squashed their king like a bug.”

“I have heard.  So, he really is that powerful?”

“It’s widely released that he transformed into a raven to rescue Ellie, and that he can readily transmute one element to another.  He does not try to hide those abilities, but I have also heard rumor that he can heal any affliction.”

“Is he one of the old gods returned?  Only they could do such things!”

“Maybe, but if so, I think that he himself knows it not.  Did you know that Ellie is with their child?”

“That child may turn out to be another demigod, like it’s great-grandfather.”

“Wha..?”

“Goromir, who you know as Hadaras is a demigod.  Do you know what that is?”

Twylin, not even familiar with the term, was stumped.  “I don’t.”

“A demigod is half god, half mortal.  It is suspected, let’s just say common knowledge,” Tatia explained, “that the high sorcerer, Goromir was really the son of the goddess Iselle and King Balgare.  He is half aelir, half elf.  How do you suppose he has lived over nine thousand years?  He is still spry when most elves are dottering well before their four thousandth year.”

“I never gave his age that much thought.  Aren’t elves basically immortal?”

“Hells no, Lin!  she exclaimed.  “They only live three to four thousand years.  Goromir has lived three times that.”

“Wait,” he stalled.  “Please tell me you are not involved in this crazy halfblood conspiracy that tried to assassinate the king and queen a couple times now.”

“Of course not!”

He was beginning to see more similarity to her sister, now that the setting was more private.  Where first he saw hard directness, he now saw focused passion.

“What better than a god reborn to fight a renegade god.  I just wish my sister would have bagged him, among all the useless suitors we had to buy off.”

“Any useless suitors of yours who needed buying off?”

“Only a couple,” she replied grinning.  “Why do you ask?”

***

I wonder what Twylin is up to these days.  Aleron thought, not knowing why the thought popped into his head.  Though not Eilowyn’s favorite uncle, he was one of Aleron’s favorite generals.  He supposed it was due to Twylin’s younger age, compared to other flag officers.  Cyrain was three times Aleron’s age, and most of the others were a decade more than twice his age.  Twylin was barely twenty years his senior.  He sincerely hoped Ellie’s uncle would do something to cement ties between Sudea and Castia.

***

This is unexpected, Twylin thought to himself, Tatiana’s warm brown body nestled into his.  I’m too old for her.  I was in the cavalry when she was in diapers.  She shoved against him, breaking him from his train of negative thoughts.

“Again?” he asked, incredulously.

“Giddyap horse boy!” she replied, reaching back to slap his rear.

Hours later, as Twylin slowly drifted awake in the early bell before dawn, he was greeted with, “So, horse boy, what do you think of being the Prince Consort of Castia?

“Ba…wha…Balls of Corball, what?”

“I don’t find many men that I like, and I like you.” She stated, and then confided, “I like many more women, than I like men, and I tend to act the man in those relationships, but I appreciate a real man.  You are a real man, and that’s becoming a rare thing in our culture.  I hope this war to come brings forth a few more.”

“So, you like women, more than men?”

“No, I like women more than cowards and sad excuses for men.  But I love real men, who are not ashamed to be men.”

“If you would have me, I would be your man, but I think talk of marriage is a bit premature.”

“You are such a man as I would have.  I vowed, years ago that I would have no man but the one who assailed me at my strongest.”

“At the head of your and my armies?”

“Yes, as your and my armies are now combined, I propose you and I be combined as well.  I will consult with my father, but you are a solid match, and my opinions carry weight with my father.”

“I am truly flattered, Tatia, that you would have me as a husband, but this is very fast, and very unexpected.  Don’t you think I’m too old for you, and won’t your father think the same?”

“My father will be glad that I finally chose someone, as I’ve rejected all the pretty noblemen he and mother have sent my way.  Some of them were fun to play with for a time, but not one of them could best me at sparring, so none of them were proper husband material.”

“And you think I might be able to?” he asked, with a chuckle.

“I secretly watched you practicing yesterday morning before the meeting.  You’ll do.

You don’t have to decide right away, but please do think about it, Lin.

Now, in the meantime, I have a couple hours to spare on continuing to convince you,” she declared, as she pushed him onto his back and swung atop him.

I do believe I’m engaged, he thought, as he walked back to his own tent.  The thought brought a wide grin to his face, and he made no effort to hide it.

A number of soldiers from both armies noticed his early trek from the princess’ tent to his own, but they pointedly looked away, as if to appear to not notice.

Let them talk.  They will whether I like it or not, he thought, as he pulled back his tent flap and entered.

Tatiana lounged in her bed a bit later than was her norm, smiling as she thought of the night she had.  She toyed with a spark of blue energy, casually sending it back and forth between her fingertips.

He will say yes.  I could feel it in the forefront of his thoughts this morning that he already wanted to shout yes.  Sudeans and their reservedness.

There having been much Sudean halfblood introgression into the family trees of Castian and Coptian nobility, sorcerers occasionally crop up there.  Tatiana and Didia shared an empathic ability, but with Didia, it went no further than her senses.  The elder sister, on the other hand, could actually wield magic.  Not a powerful sorceress, but a sorceress, none the less.

Chapter 22

Sildaenday, Day 17 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

One half-day’s march remained to the Ebareizan border, as the Grand Army of Sudea made camp for the night, the soldiers and horses having trodden all the daylit hours of the last five days.  They covered eighty leagues these past three weeks, averaging more than five leagues a day, and less than three remained to the border.  This was good timing, as tomorrow would be Zorekday, and Aleron intended to allow the men a day of rest before crossing into enemy territory.  He rested them every sixth day of their trek, to keep them fresh for the inevitable fight to come.

A surprise crossing was out of the question.  They sighted goblins daily, but confrontations were rare, the creatures taking flight as soon as they realized they were spotted, likely carrying word of Sudea’s progress to the north.  It seemed that the Ebareizans were using the goblins for advanced scouting.  Action upon reaching the border was a near certainty.

Ebareiza had lightly manned fortifications along the border, and the Sudeans expected they would send additional forces to reinforce them.  They could meet some Ebareizan patrols on their march two days hence, but recent intelligence indicated that the forts were still only lightly manned, not yet reinforced.

They discussed just bypassing the border forts to engage the main body of Ebareizans on the open plain, before they reached their fortifications, but that would leave enemies behind them, so they abandoned that plan.  They hoped to take the forts before that main Ebareizan army arrived, but that hope was a long shot, as they knew not the location of the inevitable opposing force.

The Sudean army occupied a massive clearing in open pasture lands, though no grazing animals currently inhabited the area.   They set up their perimeter security though no one expected an attack tonight.  Men were unlikely to attack after nightfall, and goblins would not foray this far out on the plain.  They generally avoided fighting on open ground, preferring guerrilla ambush tactics. 

Three days hence, providing they took the fortifications the day prior, they would move into more heavily wooded territory a couple leagues past the border, and that is when they expected the goblins to attack.

Aleron cast his senses abroad as far as he could manage but received nothing in return regarding men or goblins.  He did, however, sense a non-human presence nearby.

Looking to the raven perched upon a nearby outcrop of stone, he projected, “Hello friend.”

“Hello, man who talks in head,” the bird thought back at him.  “Who you that do this thing?  I never meet other man can do this.”

“I am different from other men,” Aleron answered.  “I have been one of your kind before and have friends of your folk.”

“Strange man you are.”

“May be.  Have you any news from the north?  Goblins, men, and such?”

“Many much goblins and a few men to north, strange man.  I say go other path.  Goblins bad meeting.”

“I’m afraid we must go this path, and meet these goblins, and make them go away.”

“Goblins go away is good.  They kill, eat ravens.  You kill them?”

“Hopefully we kill them,” Aleron asserted, “and not they us.”

“Good you do kill them.  Goblins not best eating, but food is food.”

“I suppose.  How far from here are goblins?”

“I saw yesterday.  A day or more for slow walkers like you, at edge of forest.”

“Thank you, and best of luck to you and your folk.”

“Luck to you, strange man.”  At that, the raven flew off to the west.

“Why are you staring off into space Al?” Barathol asked him, as he rode up.

“Just had an interesting conversation with a raven.  Turns out we have ‘many much goblins’ ahead of us, a day’s march away.”

“No big surprise there,” the hulking captain replied.  “You talking to birds, that is.  Let’s not make that one public just yet.

As for the goblins, also no surprise.”

“Swive you, Barry.

Wait a moment…Grandfather is speaking to me.”

“Aleron, I sense you are in reach of the border.  How fares your journey?”

“Grandfather, we are about three hours march to the border, and I’ve just verified a large gathering of goblins in the forest to the north.”

“How large?”

“Many much, according to the raven I just spoke to.  The thought he projected seemed to imply vast.”

“Not sure how high ravens can count, but vast is vast.  I would like to join you.  Please come to my quarters and retrieve me.”

“Are you sure, Grandfather?  We aren’t expecting trouble tonight and you’re more valuable at the palace advising Gealton.”

“I just have this feeling that you may need just one more sword arm.  Anyway, with you and young Hameln there are two family lines I once swore to protect, so there’s another good excuse.”

“I think you just want some of the action.”

“Possibly so.  Anyhow, please come for me before nightfall.  I have a feeling you will not have the quietest of nights.”

“I have to admit that feeling as well, though the forest is still a day’s march away, and no one thinks an attack tonight is likely.  I think now that we should have held back a few leagues yesterday, not putting our bivouac within striking distance.”

“Always easier to judge our past decisions than our future.  How long ago did the raven see the goblins?”

“Sometime yesterday so they could have moved overnight.  But what are the odds of marching all night to attack us on open ground?  That is not how goblins fight.”

“Not in this millennium, but not unheard of.  When they last had a king, they sometimes fought in ordered formations, in daylight.  Not often, but occasionally.

Now, you can either march back a couple leagues and set camp late or stay put and prepare for the possibility of attack.”

“Right.  I’ll be along shortly to get you, Grandfather.”

Hameln rode up to Aleron’s other side.  “Hello, Al.  Any special directives as we start making camp?”

“We can rest tonight, but not get too comfortable,” Aleron directed his answer to both his captains.  “Everyone will remain in their battle kit tonight.  They may take time for personal hygiene, but in shifts, and it will be complete by nightfall.”

“Expecting trouble out here?” Hameln asked.

“We may be within striking distance of a large army of goblins, and they may not wait for our arrival to the forest.  I don’t expect them to assemble this far out on the plain, but Hadaras is not so sure.  Double guards on the perimeter and get every source of light we can muster up deployed.”

The men nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Please relay my instructions to the generals.  I see them coming our way now, but I’m going to Arundell to get my grandfather.  I’ll return forthwith.  I assume he’s already geared up to fight.”

“Will do, Al,” Barathol replied.  I’m glad old Hadaras is choosing to join us.”

“Me too, Barry.”

“Is he really as good as my Da claims he is?” Hameln asked.

“Probably better, Ham,” Barathol assured him.

A bell later, a hole opened in the air near the newly erected command tent, and out stepped Hadaras and Aleron. 

Hadaras wore a light mail shirt of dwarvish manufacture, augmented with minimal plate at his shoulders, elbows, and knees, with splinted leather vambraces and greaves.  A dwarvish spangenhelm sat atop his head.  A punch shield, the sharp point currently sheathed strapped to his left forearm, he held a small duffel bag in his right hand.  Two long daggers and a short sword, all elvish make, adorned his belt, and he had a curious, long-handled, long-bladed scimitar strapped to his back.  The long sword was a northern Castian design from the Chuan border region.  Aleron had never seen one in person before.

“Where did you acquire the dashi?” Aleron asked his grandfather as they stepped through.

“A gift through Didia from her father,” the elf replied.  “Aurelius thought I might appreciate it.”

“Looks effective.  That’s a cavalry weapon, so we’ll get you a spare horse saddled up.”

“Oh, I won’t be fighting from horseback tonight,” Hadaras informed the king.  “I just wanted the extra reach, and the dashi is a superior slashing weapon.  Goblins rarely wear much in the way of armor.

I suggest you and Barathol fight on foot as well.  You both have a lot more experience fighting with your feet planted, and that will be better for you in the dark, with a highly mobile foe.

Hameln can fight with the cavalry, as that is where his greatest strength lies.  The generals can choose for themselves.”

“Not worried about using a non-elvish or dwarvish blade?”

“Oh, the forging method for these is impeccable.  This one came from their top smith, and I warded it against breakage.”

***

Xarch sat upon a felled log, waiting for the hare spitted over the fire to cook.  Unlike most goblins, he preferred his meat lightly seared.  Goblins will eat anything that holds still long enough for them to catch.  They commonly stew down tough meat and vegetables but prefer the more tender items as fresh and raw as possible.  The King of the Goblins was a quarter human, after all, and some of his preferences ran counter to the norm.

He was also more comfortable out in the open in broad daylight than his companions.  His first and second, along with their firsts and seconds, all fidgeted nervously in the last rays of the day.

The camp was just coming to life, goblin warriors uncurling from under the cloaks that shielded them from the day’s sun.  Human slaves wandered about the crude tents that the frail creatures needed for shelter, tending cooking fires to make the stew of dried meat and tubers that most of the fighters, aside from Xarch and his cadre, who rated fresh meat, would consume this evening.

They would leave the human slaves behind tonight, with minimal guards, to await the army’s return after conducting this night’s battle.  The bulk of the horde would march tonight, with their king at their head, to assault the Sudeans who had the audacity to think to invade the goblins’ territory.

He was glad for the extra slaves his new human allies afforded him.  Human slaves had a definitively short lifespan among goblins, especially the women, and were quite rare in his youth, but more common now with the supply from Ebareiza.  He hoped to whelp a few hobgoblin offspring of his own among them, to secure his line of succession, and so forbade the others from laying a hand on the new women.

He hoped it would not come down to one of his own eliminating him for his position, wishing to make it hereditary, like among the humans, but a generation or two of hobgoblin heirs would likely be needed to cement that change, and he wanted one of his sons to succeed him, regardless of the circumstance.

All that would be for naught if they lost this upcoming battle, and the Sudeans routed them, but that would not happen.  Tonight, he intended to demoralize and slow the men, not to defeat them.

Xarch knew the Sudean force to be five times the size of his horde, but the goblins had speed and the ability to see at night.  He would to inflict as much damage as quickly as possible tonight and then retreat.  The real fight would take place at the border, where the goblin army would occupy the fortifications alongside the Ebareizan reinforcements set to arrive at the border forts tomorrow.

Chapter 23

Sildaenday, Day 17 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Shadows lengthened as evening fell upon the plain.  The eastern sky faded from deep blue to purplish-black, and the western sky turned red with the sun sinking below the peaks of the Blue Mountains.  Nearly seven bells past noon, the days were growing longer than at the height of winter but were far from the length they would see in a couple more months.

The cooling of nightfall brought with it the clamminess typical of a springtime night.  They were glad for the thick gambesons between their skin and the chilled armor.

Earlier, scouts returned with the still surprising news that an army of goblins were camped on the plain, only a couple of bells’ march from their position.  Their suspicion of an attack tonight turned to near certainty.

With no time to dig defensive earthworks, the Sudeans set up a perimeter of hedgehog fortifications formed from double-pointed stakes lashed together in threes in a form like a giant caltrop, three points planted in the earth, and three points radiating skyward.  They erected sections of hedgehogs, with gaps between, to funnel the enemy into narrow passages.  It was the best they could manage with only a few hours to prepare and little in the way of local lumber.  The army traveled with wagon loads of sharpened stakes, along with sawn lumber for building siege engines.

Shielded lanterns, facing out from the perimeter to blind invaders and to illuminate them for the defender’s benefit, hung from tall poles.  Hopefully, the bright lights would negate the goblins’ night vision advantage.

Aleron strode among the formation, Hadaras by his side, moving from unit to unit to speak with their commanders and enhearten the soldiers.  Some of the soldiers had experience fighting goblins, but most did not, and those who did had fought them from defensive walls, not on open ground.  Hameln was a notable exception.  He had experience engaging goblins with cavalry.

“Your men ready to go?” Aleron asked his brother-in-law when he reached the troop of horsemen waiting on the right flank.  With the proliferation of lanterns, they decided that Hameln and his troop could function to sweep across the goblin line just prior to their engaging the Sudean shield wall and then regroup on the left flank to await further opportunities to harass the goblins.

The loud clank of an arrow impacting one of the tempered glass lantern lenses was the first indication of enemy engagement.

They could see vague shapes moving in the darkness beyond the lantern light.

Aleron shouted, “Hold!”  The command echoed through the ranks.  He would force the goblins into the light, not vice versa.

More arrows clanked uselessly against the glass lenses, occasionally followed by yelps of pain and alarm, as deflected projectiles still found marks among the densely packed men.  

Finally, goaded by their leaders, the goblins mounted an attack.  An unruly mass rushed from the shadows, forming the wedges typical of goblin frontal assaults, as the fastest took the lead, with their slower companions fanning out behind like a flock of migrating geese.

“Archers, loose!” General Abershol bellowed, the command repeated by the commanders of the archer companies.

The strums of a thousand bowstrings were followed moments later by a rain of shafts flickering into the lantern light.  Hundreds of goblins fell to the assault, but thousands came on.

After the second volley, Abershol commanded, “Archers, stay!”

“Cavalry, charge!” rang out from General Gershon as soon as the arrows ceased falling.

Hameln shouted “Charge!” as he and his troop goaded their mounts to a gallop to cross the advancing goblin line.  The loosely formed goblins were unprepared to defend against a flanking charge of heavy cavalry.  Hameln’s formation drew tighter as they came upon the first creatures.  The couched lances of the forward ranks skewered one, two, or sometimes even three of the enemy before the rider dropped it to switch to a sword, mace, or bardiche, as they peeled off left to allow the next ranks to employ their lances, circling to the rear of the charging formation to engage new foes.  The process repeated as the riders sheared the points from the goblin wedges.  Within moments, they spent all the lances, and the melee weapon-armed horsemen tore across the advancing line of goblins, before retreating to the Sudean left flank to regroup and receive fresh lances.  They left behind hundreds of bloody, trampled bodies, soon trampled again by still more advancing goblins. 

The cavalry’s success was not without cost, as several horses went down in the charge.  Occasionally, a rider would rise to lay about them with their weapon in hand, only to be swallowed by the flowing throng.

Aleron saw Hameln among the survivors and ceased worrying about his brother-in-law’s safety.  He grieved for the lost troopers, but he and the infantry had problems of their own to deal with.

Xarch worked to suppress his rage at the cavalry’s success.  Somehow, the Sudeans were ready.  After this, he would have the heads of the forward sentries charged with killing any human scouts coming close enough to verify his army’s size and location.

Two additional volleys of arrows fell upon the charging goblins, dropping scores of them before they reached the hedgehogs.

The barricades worked only marginally to funnel the goblins.  Though the bulk of the attackers made for the clear avenues, nearly as many of the semi-arboreal creatures clambered over the obstacles, deftly avoiding the sharp points, while their wolf dogs ran beneath.

The dogs came first, to be met by the Sudeans’ war dogs, held in reserve until the last moment.  Fearsome as they were, the wolf dogs were no match for the purpose-bred mastiffs, who tipped the scales at over one hundred fifty pounds, but several still made it to the front lines.  They bowled over a few soldiers but had little effect upon the armored men before being hacked apart by the nearest soldiers.

One goblin dog attacked Hadaras.  He simply took the beast’s maw with his shielded left forearm, raised it high, and slashed its hindquarters off with the dashi.  As the dead dog dropped from him, gushing blood, the first of the goblins reached the line.

One might think that magic wielders would have no use for hand weapons in a fight, but truth be told, it takes far more concentration to wield magic than for the muscle memory of simple fighting.  That was why Hadaras incessantly trained Aleron throughout his youth, so that his hand-to-hand fighting amounted to sheer reflex.  Aleron and Hadaras tossed the occasional simple attack spell but directed most of their attention to conventional fighting.

The Sudeans butchered their way through hundreds of barely armored foes, while sustaining light losses.  Xarch’s forces were counting on a surprise that did not prove true.  He spotted Aleron and Hadaras flailing through his troops and flinging magic at random.  He recognized them from their earlier encounter in his youth.

“You!” he screamed.  “You swiven elvish bastards!

Fall back!” he screamed to his troops.  He knew the sort of havoc these sorcerers could unleash, had they a moment to think, and had no desire to see his entire army engulfed by a mass of earth like the one that obliterated his first squad.

“Fall back to the fortifications!  Run for your God damned lives, everyone for themselves!”

As Xarch ran, he thought, so that swiven little bastard who killed my squad is the swiven king of swiven Sudea…

“Forget the slaves,” he directed his sub-chiefs.  “We get to the fortifications now!”

Aleron stood slack-jawed, as did many of his soldiers, when the goblin force turned tail and fled.

Barathol just finished flinging a skewered goblin from his glaive, only to find no new foes.

“What in the bloody hell just happened?”

“No swiven idea!” Aleron replied.

“He recognized us from somewhere.” Hadaras provided.

“How so?”

“No idea.  He screamed “You!” and called as swiven elvish bastards.”

“Who did?”

“Apparently, their leader.  As soon as he yelled “Fall back!” those who heard him turned and ran.”

“Intriguing.  Where do you suppose he knows us from?”

“Again, no idea,” Hadaras replied as he cast his senses toward the direction of the screamed command.  He mostly sensed confusion and consternation from the goblin minds until he happened upon Xarch’s.

After a moment, he proclaimed, “Freemarket.  He was among those who attacked us on the road to Freemarket.”

“I thought we killed them all.”

“Apparently, we missed one or two, and now that one is King of Goblins.”

“That was Xarch?  It figures we would miss the first one in four thousand years capable of uniting the goblins.”

“If not him, another would have risen to the task.  It is more a sign of the current age.  The hobgoblins and half-trolls united under your friend Shabti, when he was known as Shaggat.”

“Please be careful with that information, Grandfather.”  Aleron glanced about to see if anyone beside Barathol and the royal guard heard the name.

“I assure you that no one who didn’t already know was in earshot.

Anyhow, the Adversary’s creatures sense his strength growing and organize accordingly.  Now that he is loose, we will soon have trolls banding together and moving from the heights.”

“Lovely thought,” Barathol commented.

“We should probably get to cleaning up this mess now, don’t you think?”

“Likely so,” Aleron agreed.

He saw Hameln and the two generals converging on him from different directions, all of them likely wishing to discuss next actions.

Line medics were already busy triaging the wounded behind the ranks and tasking idle soldiers to carry loaded litters to the hospital tent.

The remainder of the soldiers not tasked to help the medics maintained their vigilance on the line, awaiting further orders.

Aleron already knew what those orders would entail, and his commanders were only coming to him as a formality.  Once their scouts verified the goblin retreat, the Sudeans would need to kill any remaining goblins, retrieve their dead and wounded, administer funerary rites for the men, and dispose of the goblin carcasses.

With the dearth of wood, they would need the sorcerers to incinerate the bodies.  Since sorcery was currently the purview of only Hadaras and he, Aleron looked forward to a long night of work.

Chapter 24

Sildaenday, Day 17 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Tatiana and Twylin sat side by side astride their warhorses, their combined complement of guards and retainers to their immediate rear, awaiting the approaching dwarvish cavalry officer and his retinue.

Their relationship now common knowledge among the troops, they made no attempt to hide it and now shared a tent.  The Castians, by and large, had no beef with their unmarried cohabitation, though some of the more conservative Sudeans disapproved, but they dared not state the fact to their commander.  Both had sent messages to their respective capitals on their self-arranged betrothal.

The combined armies occupied the northwest corner of Castia, near the intersection of their border with those of Kolixtlan and the Northern Kingdom of the Blue Mountain Dwarves.  The dwarvish additions would swell their ranks with a troop of one hundred heavy cavalry, and an equal-sized company of support personnel.

“What, by all the gods of Aertu, are they riding?!” Tatiana questioned emphatically.

“Looks like ibex, but bigger by far than any I’ve seen,” the Sudean general replied, his eyes wide.

The heavily armored dwarves rode mounts that appeared to be over fifteen hands at the shoulder, and exceptionally sturdy, possibly weighing three-quarters of a ton each.  Their long, curving horns were overlaid with serrated steel blades, fastened by steel bands.  Crossbars buttressed the horn’s blades and sported sharpened hooks extending two spans to each side.  The combined effect looked perfectly able to scythe through any opposition.

“Mountain cavalry?”

“It would seem so.”

As if in answer to her question, the leader goaded his mount to the top of a rock outcropping.  The beast managed to ascend four yards in just two bounds, its hooves gripping the sheer stone face with ease, as the rider leaned forward for balance.

The dwarf walked the gigantic goat around the top of the rock, surveying all about, before they descended with the same magical dexterity as the climb.

“That is certainly an interesting capability,” Twylin commented.

“Agreed, My Love.”

As the troop neared, another startling detail emerged.  Every fourth rider had a large cat seated on a special perch behind his saddle.  The felines sported black on silver spotted pelts and bushy tails as long as their bodies.

“Tame snow leopards!” Tatiana exclaimed.  “And again, far bigger than natural.  These look nearly two hundred pounds.”

“How big are they usually?”

“Rarely more than a hundred.”

“I’ll wager that can keep a troll busy.  Likely what they were bred for.”

“I’m not about to take that bet, My Dearest Lin.”

“Please, Love,” he whispered.  “We need to keep this professional for our troops.”

“My troops don’t care a whit, My Lovey Dove, and I am the heir to the crown, so I will say what I want.  You Sudeans are too caught up in propriety.  Must be the elvish influence.”

“Maybe so, but still…”

“Ho, Princess General Tatiana!” the lead dwarf hailed.

“Well met, Captain Fearwal.  Castia thanks you for your and your kingdom’s support.”

“Most welcome, Princess General.  We would be remiss if we did not help our most valuable neighbor.  Might I inquire of your companion?”

She looked to Twylin and he responded, “General Twylin, Commander of the Sudean First Cavalry Division, Captain Fearwal.  Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Pleased as well, General.  Your reputation precedes you.”

“For well or naught, at least I’m known,” he replied, with a chuckle.

Fearwal roared in laughter.  “Well said, good man.  I can see we should get along just fine.”

Twylin and Tatiana laughed in answer.  Things were looking up.

That evening, in the command tent, they shared Castian wine, as well as Sudean and Northern Kingdom ales.  Captain Fearwal and his lieutenants, Gherig and Screllar, proved amicable companions to the generals and their colonels, not at all intimidated by the gap in rank.  Dwarves never let social station get in the way of a good time.

Tatiana sat upon the floor, Gherig’s leopard draped across her thighs, purring as she scratched behind its ears.”

“He likes ya, Princess.  He don’t be that way with many folk,” the lieutenant stated.

“She got no fear.  Them cats can sense that,” Fearwal proclaimed.

“Yea, tis the key,” Gherig agreed.

“Fearless indeed, our princess is,” Colonel Murcius stated.  “Never seen her back down, not even to her father.”

“You flatter me, Murry!”

“Not flattery if it’s true, Your Highness,” Colonel Terentius contested.

“Terry, not you too!?”  She giggled like a young girl.

Twylin had never seen her act so relaxed, outside of their bed chamber.

Murcius and Terentius commanded her front-line cavalry regiment and infantry brigade, respectively.  They were her closest military advisors, having worked alongside her for nearly a decade.

“We seem a bit cavalry heavy hereabouts, if you don’t mind me sayin’,” Fearwal observed.  “I noted only one infantry brigade and cavalry regiment for Castia, but how many did you bring from Sudea?  Your force seems larger.”

“I brought two of my five regiments, around five thousand total,” Twylin answered.  Two more are with our king in the south, and one is patrolling the western border region.”

“So, we’ll have over seventy-five hundred riders, but only twenty-five hundred ground pounders?”

“Three thousand, but I have the remainder of my division two days behind.  We’re the advance force,” Tatiana explained.  “The main body is hauling the bulk of the supplies and support personnel, so they are moving slower.”

“I assume our job’ll be to bum rush the Kolixtlan border, with the division come behind to mop up and hold ground?”

“Precisely.  They think they can annex our borders with you and Coptia.  Instead, we’ll take the southeast corner of Kolixtlan, as far inland as we can manage.”

‘Still, this is a lot of cavalry, and not a lot of infantry.”

“The initial assault will be all cavalry.  Fully half of mine are horse archers from northern Castia, ethnic Taliks.  Their bows can surpass three hundred paces, and they will provide mobile harrying flights.  The rest, and all of Lin’s, are lancers.  We will charge in after the archers soften them up.”

Colonel Linsfar, one of Twylin’s commanders, asked the dwarves, “I didn’t see any lances among your troop, Captain.  How do you affect a charge upon an enemy line?”

“Aye, we let the goats bowl through with their steel-clad horns, us laying about with axe, hammer, or mace.  The cats will leap the line and tear about in their back ranks.  Makes like they’re gettin’ hit from two sides.”

“Sounds effective.”

“Works well enough with the hill men on our border with the jungle.  We’ll see how it works on Kolixtlani regulars.”

“Kolixtlanis fight like shit.  They’re all conscripts, aside from the officers.”

Heads nodded about the tent, along with murmurs of agreement.

“However, if they have good officers, they sometimes fight admirably,” Twylin countered.

The tent flap opened, admitting Colonel Hengle, the other Sudean commander, who had been out checking troop statuses.

“Did I miss anything good?”

“Only the first round of this excellent dwarvish ale,” Linsfar replied, “and a discussion on the merits of Kolixtlani line soldiers.”

“Mostly awful, but I’ve run up against a few solid units, rarely though,” the newcomer replied.

“Exactly,” Twylin agreed.  “But we need to proceed on the assumption that they will send at least some of their elite units to defend.”

“For certain,” Tatiana replied, suddenly all business, though she was now rubbing the feline’s belly.

“We must plan as though we are meeting a force as competent as our own.  They may be well on their way with their invasion preparations, or they may have gotten early wind of our massing of troops and already sent a counterforce.  It would be foolish of us to assume otherwise.”

Chapter 25

Sildaenday, Day 17 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

General Fanir, commander of the Sudean Second Cavalry Division rode at the front of the two regiments he brought to Coptia, his other three regiments charged with patrolling the home kingdom.

Beside him rode Liaison Kheti, his Coptian advisor.  A former cavalry overseer, Kheti advised him on Coptian military procedures, tactics, and translated messages between him and the Coptian command.

“Our scouts indicate fully manned fortifications ahead,” the liaison informed him.  “They knew we were coming.”

“Not a surprise,” the Sudean commented.  “What’s the plan?”

“We are sending a party under the flag of truce.  Hopefully, we will convince their leader to stand down, or better, to join with us.  Most of the soldiers on the battlements are local Coptians.”

“So, the local lord, and not Ebareizan regulars. 

What is the plan if they do not agree?”

“We leave a force of infantry and engineers to besiege the fortress, while the rest of us bypass and push onward.”

“As expected.

Who is leading the parlay delegation?”

“The prince insisted it be himself.”

“I’m not a fan of him being here at all, much less putting him within striking distance.”

“He refused to stay in the safety of the capital.  By his telling, if your king and the Castian heir can lead their armies, by all the gods, he will lead Coptia’s.”

“That’s a fine sentiment, but Aleron and Tatiana are seasoned campaigners.  What experience has Prince Sethotep?”

“He will gain the experience he requires or die trying.  The pharaoh has other sons, so the dynasty is not in jeopardy.”

“That’s cold.”

“That’s reality.  The nobility exists to protect the realm, not simply to profit from it.”

“True enough.  I wish him the best fortune.”

Sethotep rode astride his blue roan courser, his ornate yet fully functional armor gleaming golden in the mid-morning sunlight.  Beside him, General Kefir rode a chestnut courser.  He carried the truce flag high, signaling a desire for parlay.  A squad of light cavalry accompanied them as bodyguards.  They proceeded to a point just out of bowshot from the fortress walls and the Coptian army.

“And now, Your Highness, we wait,” the general stated.

Molaki, lord of House Kardif, released from his embassage to the goblins to defend his section of the border, observed the Coptians through a spyglass from the walls of Fort Kardif. 

His was the most northeastern province, bordering both Coptia and Kolixtlan.  His comfortable villa was several leagues to the west, but he spent little time there.  Barring his recent assignment, he normally maintained residency here at his stronghold most of the year.

“They ride under the flag of truce,” he told General Vachun, his second-in-command, referring to the bright yellow banner.  “We may as well see what they have to say.”

“As you wish, My Lord.  I will assemble a party straightaway.”

Molaki had a good idea what the Coptians would offer.  Word was circulating of the offer to retain titles and lands under Coptia and Sudea for those nobles willing to play turncoat on King Latrus.  Always loyal to his obligations to the kingdom, he still pondered the possibility.  The recent ascendance of the Church of the One True God was a thorn in his side, and the prospect of joining Coptia was enticing.  He, like most of the local nobles, bore a fair amount of recent Coptian blood in his ancestry, and the common folk were mostly that.

The Coptian delegation saw the portcullis rise and the gates swing outward, emitting a group of riders.  As the party neared, they discerned two swarthy-skinned nobles leading a squad of cavalrymen at a brisk canter.  Most of the troopers appeared to be Coptian, though they were outfitted similarly to Sudean heavy cavalry.  All wore the purple and gold livery of House Kardif.

The riders slowed and then stopped a few paces from the prince.

Recognizing the insignia adorning Sethotep’s helm, Molaki greeted in fluent Coptian, “Hail, Your Highness!  What brings you and your army to fair Ebareiza?”

Vachun nodded a greeting to Kefir.  They had met several times, in more amicable situations.

Sethotep returned the greeting.  Well met, Lord Molaki!  You speak very good Coptian.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.  I learned Coptian at my grandmother’s knee.”

Sethotep decided not to mince words.  “We are here to depose your king and bring him to justice.”

“On what charges do you wish to bring justice upon my liege?”

“Willful collaboration with servants of the Nameless God.”

The accusation hung in the air like the recent visit of a polecat.

Several heartbeats ensued before Molaki replied, “That is a serious accusation, Your Highness.  What evidence have you for such a claim?”

Momentarily, Vachun cast an incredulous look at his lord before regaining his composure.

“Our intelligence indicates that King Latrus has converted to the Church of the Nameless God.  It also implies that you, yourself, have treated with the Goblin King.”

“Are you referring to the Church of the One True God?”  Molaki stalled, playing “Devil’s Advocate.”  “My king’s religious affiliations mean little to my fealty to the crown.”

“And what of YOUR treating with goblins?”

“I do what is required of me, at my liege’s discretion.”

“So, you do not deny it?”

“No.”

“How do you feel about such requirements?”

“Distasteful, but necessary.”

“What would your grandmother think of such things?”

The question set Molaki back a bit.  His Grandmother, a commoner from an influential family, had been a strict adherent to the Church of the Allfather and taught him much of its doctrine in his youth.

“She…would not approve.”

“That in mind, if you let us pass, and we are victorious, you may retain your lands and titles under the Crown of Coptia.  If you assist us in our crusade, you might gain more, say control over non-cooperative fiefs, and nomarchy under the crown.”

“You would name me a Nomarch of Coptia?”

“If you were to cooperate, and your neighbors do not, yes.  If your neighbors cooperate as well, we could still come to some sort of arrangement, as you would be the first and the most prominent of the lot.  You are a Marquess, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“I could name you a nomarch, equivalent to a duke in your kingdom, even if you control only those lands you currently hold.  We would still require you to defend your border to Kolixtlan, at least until Castia takes it for their own.”

“Castia is invading Kolixtlan?”

“As we speak, Lord Molaki.”

“I must confer with my advisors.”  May we meet again in say, three bells’ time?”

“That would be good,” the prince replied.  “I look forward to your decision.”

As they rode back to the fortress, Vashun stated.  “The Coptians have two regiments of Sudean heavy cavalry, along with their light cavalry.  With their massed infantry, they can lay siege and barrel around us at the same time.

We know the Sudeans sent the same heavy cavalry to Castia.  Castia has its own division of heavy cav, as well as light cav.  If they choose to invade, rather than defend, Kolixtla stands no chance.  The smart tactical position for us is to let them pass or lose all.”

“This is not about tactical advantage; it is about our duty to the King of Ebareiza.  But it is also about right and wrong.  Don’t you agree, old friend?”

“Yes, My Lord, but with that, my conclusion is the same.  Let them pass.”

“No, Vashun, we join them.”

“My Lord?!”

“The right thing to do is join in their cause.  Latrus has proven himself morally bankrupt.  We owe him no fealty, and would be remiss in not dethroning him.”

“What of the council?”

“Any who disagree, I will cast into irons.  My deferral to my advisors was a mere stalling tactic, so we might formulate a plan and a list of demands.”

“Yes, My Lord.  I will see it done, if the necessity comes to pass.”

“I do not believe it will, though I could be wrong.  I think we are all tired of Kolixtlani meddlings in our affairs.”

That afternoon, the combined forces of Coptia, Sudea, and House Kardif set forth to the west, while a Kardif emissary rode south to the stronghold of Marquess Kircad, of House Pincur.

Chapter 26

Corballday, Day 18 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

The army set out mid-morning in three columns, each with a regiment of cavalry in the lead, and two brigades of infantry following.  A brigade of engineers and one of quartermasters were distributed among the three columns.

In a half-day’s time, the columns would fan out into ranks to face the string of forts and earthworks Ebareiza employed to defend their border with Sudea.  The columns diverged in preparation to form the nearly three-mile-wide formation that would meet the enemy.

Two bells into their march, they briefly halted to deal with the fifty-plus slaves they encountered at the abandoned goblin camp.  Aleron mourned internally when he saw the frightened mob, most half-starved, and many showing obvious signs of physical abuse.  Many of the women bore a look of primal fear that was hard for him to ignore.  He forced his expression to professional neutrality as he assured them of their safety, but he was boiling inside.

Hameln looked ill, as did many of the Sudeans, but Barathol bore an expression of unmasked rage, especially when he saw the women.  He noticed the effect that he had on the former captives and excused himself to attend to other duties.

“I can’t help my face, Al, and I’m only scaring them more,” he whispered to Aleron.

“I see that.  Go find something else to do.  It’s all good.  I’m barely holding it together myself.”

They had never witnessed firsthand the horror of slavery, and Aleron had one more reason to hate Latrus.

They redistributed supplies to free up three wagons to ferry the freed slaves to the nearest town, with a fourth wagon of supplies for their journey.  Aleron dispatched an armed escort to see them safely there, with orders and gold from the king to the mayor to house them and attend to their medical needs.

After losing three bells dealing with the unfortunates, the army moved on.

Late afternoon found them massed five hundred paces from the Ebareizan line of fortifications, well out of range for bows and catapults.  The cavalry formed a solid screen to the front, while the infantry left gaps opposite the forts for the engineers to erect their trebuchets.

The Sudean engineers worked with a well-practiced speed to assemble the disparate components from the wagons into siege engines capable of hurling stones past four hundred paces.  Much of the wagons’ components became parts of the trebuchets, leaving bare wagon frames, sans wheels and axles.  They brought some stone, gathered en route, for ammunition and counterweight, with rock-picking details to gather more from the farmlands behind them.

Behind the line of forts and earthworks rose the Angor Forest that stretched across the southern border of the enemy kingdom, from the Blue Mountains into southern Coptia.

Aside from the abandoned slaves, they encountered no civilians on their march through the border region and so assumed the local populace was holed up within the forts, or had moved on to nearby communities, outside of the imminent combat zone.  Had they found any, they would have rounded them up and herded them to the walls of the central fort.  Their likely presence within saved the Sudeans the trouble, and the added population would help shorten the length of the impending siege.

“I seriously doubt that the Ebareizans are cohabitating with goblins in their forts, but that forest will be teeming with them,” Gershan remarked to the king.

“Yes.  Even if we persuade the men to lay down their arms and avoid a siege, we will have to fight our way every step through the forest until we break into the interior.  Then it’s a weeks-long slog to Ebarr after that.  The Coptians will likely be there with the city under siege, long before we arrive.”

Abershol rode up to their position.  “Your Grace, the outriders we dispatched have returned with their reports.”

“What did they see?”

“No sign of goblins on the ramparts or outposts, but the majority of the troops manning them are wearing the royal livery.”

“Ebareizan regulars.  There is little hope of convincing them to lay down arms,” Gershan commented.

“Yes, we will have a siege,” Aleron replied.

“We will bivouac here tonight, set up a front and perimeter, move the trebuchets to range of the walls, and barrage the defenses through the night.

Tomorrow, as planned, two-thirds of our infantry and cavalry will assault the weak points of the defensive earthworks and proceed into the forest to engage the goblins.  The remainder, under you, General Abershol, will work to separate and surround the forts.

“As we planned.  I expect we’ll be fending off goblin attacks through the night?”

“Likely so.  I believe we all have work to do, My Lords, so let’s get on with it.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Gershan replied, and they dispersed to carry out the king’s directives.

The now assembled artillery was moved to position, while others established a perimeter and began setting camp for the night.

They set most of the shielded lanterns and hedgehogs along the front lines, the most likely avenue of attack for the goblins.  Meanwhile, pickets for the horses, field kitchens, the hospital tent, and the command tent were the first structures erected.  Troop tents would come last, after finishing critical infrastructure.

“A party rides out under the flag of truce,” Gershan announced as he rode up to the king.

“Really?  Might as well go out and see what they want.  Let me find my horse, and we’ll go out to meet them.”

“I’ll have your horse brought to you, Your Grace.  Will you require Abe as well?”

“Yes, General.  Him, my captains, and as many troopers as you see fit.”

“I’ll grab them, and six of the Royal Vanguard as escorts.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Half a bell later, they rode out to meet the Ebareizan delegation.  All wore the Sudean royal tabard of a four-pointed gold star on a blue field, with rank insignia embroidered onto the shoulders, over their mail.  Aside from the king, all wore the standard battle helm, also with rank insignia affixed to the brow.  Aleron wore a utility version of the Sudean crown, with the gold star and silver raven affixed to a polished steel spangenhelm.

The Ebareizans all wore the royal tabard, a black stallion rearing on a green field.  None wore the local lord’s colors.  The insignia on the leader’s helm was that of a general.  Two colonels and six troopers accompanied him.

“Greetings and good morning to you, General…” Aleron hailed.

“General Samone, Your Grace,” the other offered.

“Thank you, General Samone.”

“Your Grace, might I ask why you and your army are camped at our doorstep?”

“We are here to move against and depose your king for conspiring with our enemies.”

“That is a serious allegation, Your Grace.  How might you conclude that my dear liege is conspiring with the enemy?”

“We know that King Latrus has converted to the Church of the Nameless God and is colluding with Kolixtlan to invade and annex Western Coptia and Castia, to open a corridor for Kolixtlan to move against Sudea.”

“Baseless rumors, I assure you, Your Grace.  Sudea has nothing to worry about from our kingdom.  We have always been friendly neighbors and remain neutral regarding your conflict with Kolixtlan.”

“We do not believe these are rumors or baseless.  Conversations were witnessed in your high council and relayed to our intelligence.”

“Defamation against our king, then.  There are always those wishing to unseat him for their own gain.  The court is rife with traitors.”

“Allow us to pass, and I will confer with King Latrus directly on this matter.”

“I cannot allow that, Your Grace.  I would allow for a delegation to pass, with our escort to deliver you to Ebarr, but not an army of tens of thousands.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot agree to that.”  Aleron was not about to freely deliver himself to the enemy.

“If I may ask, General, where is Marquess Vallant?”

“He and his council currently reside in the dungeon, awaiting trial for high treason against the crown.”

“I see.  General Samone, I believe this puts us at a bit of an impasse.”

“I believe it does, Your Grace.

You have ample forces to lay our fortresses under siege and move past.  The forest behind us is teeming with goblins who will harry you every step of the way.  Keep that in mind, King Aleron.”

“We are aware.  We fought them last evening, and they fled in this direction.  I assume you allowed them to pass into the forest.  Judging from their equipment, you supplied them as well.”

“I will not entertain such an accusation, Your Grace.  Goblins will do as they do, and where they obtain their equipment is not my purview.”

“Well then, until we next meet, General?”

“Yes, Your Grace, until we next meet.”

Back behind the Sudean line, Aleron soon heard the rhythmic whine and thuds of his trebuchets at work on the fortress walls.  He decided to ride over to the central artillery emplacement.

He pulled a spyglass from his pouch and glassed the ramparts of the central fort.  Archers and men-at-arms lined the parapets.  He brought his gaze up to the top of the central tower and saw General Samone and others observing the field from their elevated position.

He concentrated, drew red and blue energy from his surroundings, and directed a tremendous but tightly focused blast of maroon power at the midpoint of the tower.  The tower wall imploded, and the entire structure collapsed in a cloud of dust and flying rubble.  Men atop the wall ran to escape the cascade of debris.

Until we meet next, indeed, Aleron thought.

The crews ceased their battery, as they looked in shocked awe at their king.

“Keep at it, soldiers.  I can’t do that very often, or I’ll be of no use in the fight to come.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” several replied, and they resumed their work shakily.

“Hopefully, I just cut the head from the serpent,” he commented to Abershol, who rode up to find the source of the commotion.

“That was you, Your Grace, not the trebuchet?” he asked.

“Yes.  I spotted Samone and at least one of his colonels atop the tower, so I took it out.”

“That should speed things along.”

“I hope so.  I can’t do much magic on that scale or risk burning myself out, but I thought this warranted the risk.”

Since the debacle in Kolixtla, he was much more aware of the pitfalls inherent in channeling large amounts of power.

Chapter 27

Zorekday, Day 18 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

The Nameless God sat brooding upon his cold black throne at the heart of his obsidian stronghold, Immin Bul. The space long cleared of the desiccated reptilian body he formerly occupied, along with the expended wards that held him in place for over four millennia, was now clean, dim, and cold.  No daylight penetrated; only a red glow like the dying embers of a fire, from the warded ceiling provided light for any who needed it to see.

Now, he wore the body of the seal hunter sorcerer, the man’s soul melded to his own.  He sensed no enmity from that new portion.  Rather, it was eager for the power his possessor promised.  Slowly, he transformed the body into one more powerful and terrible in aspect, choosing an Arkan appearance, not the serpentine form he chose before.  He was growing the squat figure into a tall, muscular, and coldly beautiful dark elf, with smoldering red eyes.  The transformation was not yet complete, but well on its way.

Nergui kneeled before him.  He was one of a score of powerful priests the Nameless God impressed into his direct service at Immin Bul.

“Lord God,” the old torturer began, “we have information on the whereabouts of your daughter.”

“Rise, Nergui, and go on.”

The Adversary had gathered many of his aelient followers in the month after he gained freedom, but he had yet to locate Jacanda, one of the most powerful and loyal of the lot.

“Lord God, we have the report of a newly sealed tomb in the Sudean royal cemetery.  Our spy says that it is heavily warded, in all four colors of magic, with warnings carved upon it of dire consequences should it ever be opened.  We have good reason to believe that is where Aleron of Sudea interred his grandmother.”

“Good, My Servant.  You have done well.  I will travel there straightaway.

You may return to your other duties.  What are you working on today?”

“Lord God, I am currently slowly flaying an unbelieving heretic, while her parents and siblings watch.  Their terror will increase the power I extract from each when their turn comes.  It is tedious, bloody work, but highly productive.  The red magic repositories are brimming with energy, and I am having more built to handle the overflow.”

“Fine work.  Please, carry on.”

“Thank you, Lord God,” he responded, bowing low and exiting the audience chamber.

The Nameless God mentally summoned three of his aelient servants who retained the ability to harness colors other than red.  I don’t trust the blue wielders, but they were useful, so long as they obey unflinchingly.

He briefed them on their upcoming task, stood, and opened a portal to his traveling room.  The room was an empty circular chamber of black obsidian, with a high domed ceiling, the only light provided by the crystal orb on a pedestal in the center, similar to the viewer in Jacanda’s study.

He opened the viewer to Arundell from high above.  Soft yellow light shone from many windows in the city, and lights winked on along the streets, as lamplighters made their evening rounds.  He zoomed the view to see the palace grounds and soon located the royal cemetery.  It was illuminated by oil lamps atop the surrounding fence, but no guards patrolled the grounds or manned the gate.  Guards likely checked the area periodically, but he would simply kill anyone interrupting them.

He opened a portal to the cemetery and motioned his servants to follow him.  They stepped through and walked down the row of tombs, each inscribed with the name of a long dead ruler or consort.  Soon, they came to the unoccupied tombs, not yet finding Jacanda’s. 

At the far end of the row, they found a sealed sarcophagus with no name inscribed, only a dire warning in several languages, “Do not open this vessel lest ye release that held within and destruction upon the land.”

“Quaint,” the Dark Lord commented, as he read it.

“Kinichau, My Son, please cut the lid from this box to release your sister.”

“Yes, Father.”  The aelient stepped forward.  He appeared as a man of the jungle tribes, aside from his golden eyes with vertically slit pupils, and short yellow fur in a mottled black on yellow pattern.  During his father’s long absence, Kinichau was worshipped as the Jaguar God by a tribe deep in the jungle.  He required regular child sacrifices from his people, lest he bring down destruction upon them.

The Nameless God did not begrudge him his hobby, so long as he brought his followers into the fold now.  He also knew him to be one of the most competent blue magic users among the dark aelient.

Kinichau neatly sliced free the stone lid, lifted it, and set it on the grass beside the sarcophagus.

The other aelient stepped forward with their master. 

Aigul, his niece, looked like a typical, though quite beautiful, Adari woman.  She wielded yellow and long hid among Nergui’s staff, secretly healing his victims to extend their agony.  She was now known to the priest, and he greatly appreciated her help all those years, and now sought her out.  She was helping him maintain the young girl he was skinning when her uncle called her away.

Kukal, his nephew and the Snake God of another jungle tribe, had used his mastery of green magic to assure bountiful harvests for his followers…if he deemed their sacrifices to him worthy of his assistance.  His tribe sacrificed a strong male, just past puberty and raised for the task, by strangulation and ritual consumption each solstice.

By comparison, his daughter Jacanda was one of the most humane of his followers.  The Adversary did not hold that flaw against her, as she was also one of the most adept and powerful of their number.  She simply had a lot of her mother in her personality.

They gazed down into the stone chamber where her inert body rested.  They could all see the intricate wards that held her in place and preserved her body.

“She appears as dead, but she is not.  Her spirit still resides within and is unable to leave,” the Nameless God told them.

“Let us unravel these threads that bind her.”

They each took hold of a warding in their preferred color and began to carefully dismantle the construct.  They soon had her free of the wards, but she still lay lifeless.

“This is not the work of an aelient, as I first suspected.  Someone used false yellow to render her thus,” the Adversary spoke with authority.

“Kukal, treat her with your green power.  Her spirit is still with her, and that should work.  Otherwise, one would need to blend blue and yellow to false green, and I am no longer capable of such a thing.”

As Kukal flowed green energy into his cousin’s body, the Nameless God regretted once more his decision to give up the other colors in favor of increasing his strength in the red.

Jacanda stirred, and Kukal ceased his effort.  She did not wake but lay asleep.

“Bear her back to Immin Bul,” he told his servants.  “We will lay her in a bed, and I will attend her until she awakens.  I need to know who did this to her.”

Kinichau lifted his sister from the sarcophagus and gently slung her over his shoulder.

The Nameless God opened the portal for them, but did not immediately follow them in.  Instead, he walked back to the tomb of Aleron I and used his red magic to scorch an eight-pointed black star deeply into the inscription memorializing the long-dead king.  Then, he strode back through the opening to join his aelient.

Bells later, Jacanda drifted slowly into awareness.  She lay upon a firm mattress in a darkened room, lit only by a faint red glow from the ceiling.

Suddenly, her most recent memories flooded back, and she sat bolt upright, eyes wide.  She looked about, alarmed, and her gaze settled upon a person she did not recognize, an Arkan, wearing a black uniform she had not seen in over four thousand years.

“Father?” she asked, after her awareness of his awesome power.

“Yes, Daughter, it is I,” he answered from the hard chair he occupied next to her bed.

“You freed me?”  She turned to face the speaker, dangling her legs over the side of the bed.

“Yes, Daughter, with the help of your brother and cousins.  The wards binding you were quite complex, and of all four colors.  Your condition indicated an attack only an aelir, or the Allfather, could have delivered.  Who did this to you?  Has my father begun taking an active role in this conflict, or have one of my brethren returned to foil our efforts?”

“Father, it was neither.  It was my grandson, Aleron, who did this.  How long have I slept?”

“Many months now,” he answered, leaning forward with interest.  “You say the new King of Sudea, a mere mortal, did this that only an aelir could do?”

“Father, yes.  I know not what he is, but a ‘mere mortal’ he is not.  He is grandson to Goromir and me.  He is of our blood, and twice over from Iselle.”

The Adversary leaned back again, folding his arms and contemplating aloud.  “I had heard that the new king is Goromir’s get, and himself a powerful sorcerer.  Goromir is fully half aelir, yet he holds no special power outside the blue, like any elf.”

“I cannot explain either, Father.  I shielded him from red and blue as I cleared his mind of a blockage to his magic.  He burst his shackles with yellow and then hit me with a power I never before tasted.”

“That was false-yellow, a combination of red and green.  It stops life but does not kill.  Were you a mortal, your spirit would have departed, and your body died.”

“How is that so, Father?”  She clasped her hands before her in agitation.  “Only your kind could do such, and even then, it was forbidden by your father.”

“No, not forbidden, we all used it to build this world as it is.  Our father attempted to control its use to his intent, but Iselle used white magic to beget Goromir, just as I used it to beget Zormat, and to raise this fortress.”

“What is he, Father?  I intended only to raise an heir to the Throne of Sudea and bend him to our will.  Now, I know not what I created.”

“I know not either, Daughter.”  He raised a hand to his chin.  “Perhaps our father intends to raise a new aelir to oppose me, or perhaps, only grant aelir powers to a mortal servant.

Now that you are free, what do you plan to do?”

“To serve you, Father, of course.”

“Yes, that is given, but what, in particular, would you like to do first?”

“I think, Father, I should like to check on my people, and then to pay a visit to my dear husband.”

“That sounds like a fair plan,” the Nameless God replied.

***

In his bed chamber in the palace, Hadaras awoke suddenly, a profound feeling of unease pervading him.

He rose from bed, dressed, and armed himself.  Then, he left his apartments to check the cemetery.

Chapter 28

Gurlachday, Day 19 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

“She is gone,” Hadaras told Gealton and Vetina over breakfast, “Jacanda’s tomb is unsealed and empty.”

“How is that possible?” the steward asked his old friend.

“Aelient, or the Dark Lord himself.  Many dark aelient retain the ability to wield all colors.”

He paused to sip his tea.

“I suspect that the Adversary somehow gave up his abilities in blue, green, and yellow to augment his power in red, but I cannot be certain of that.”

“How would they have passed the wards guarding the cemetery and the tomb?”

“We warded the walls and gates, but they likely used a portal.  We must assume that the Adversary, and all the aelir, had capabilities to travel like Jacanda.”

He skewered a pastry with his dagger.

“As for the tomb, one or more aelient could have unraveled the wards.  Aleron was adamant that we did not construct them to kill his grandmother were they breached.”

“Why was that?” Vetina asked coolly, cradling her teacup in both hands.

Hadaras finished his bite and replied, “He remains convinced that he may someday expel Jacanda and restore Quiana.  I think that unlikely.  I sensed very little of her being within.  I believe Jacanda has consumed most of Quiana’s spirit in the five hundred years since we were married.

“What do you think her next move will be?” Gealton asked, setting his teacup on the table.

“She will likely first return to her abode and put things in order.  After that, she will probably come after Aleron or me.”

“I am concerned that the Nameless God and his minions can simply step onto the palace grounds whenever they want,” Vetina said, hands clasped in her lap.  She wasn’t eating or drinking now.

“He could have done so in the last war, but he never traveled here to do us damage,” Hadaras explained.

“I believe he acts on some semblance of honor, of his own interpretation.”

“The Nameless God has honor?” Gealton questioned.

“Yes.  Once again, his own interpretation of such.

He always chose to meet us on the field of battle, rarely employed assassins, and never used a portal to strike us at unawares.  He seemed to want to win fairly, force against force.

We knew not how the aelir traveled back then.  Aleron brought the particulars to light.  The Adversary obviously had the ability and likely used it for the coordination of his forces, but never to attack us directly.”

“Why now?” Vetina asked.”

“This was not an attack.  He merely freed one of his followers and then left.”

“What of the potential for spying?” Gealton asked.

“We must prepare for such.  It is likely he is doing, or will do, just that.

I will construct wards against surveillance here, the throne room, the  audience chamber, our private quarters, and any other places we are likely to discuss sensitive matters.”

“That would be good. 

Will you send word to Aleron?  He must know that his means of travel is now compromised.”

“I already have, while we were speaking.”

A knock at the door, followed by, “Lord Steward.”

“Enter,” Gealton replied.

The door opened, and a palace guard entered the room.

Bowing low, he said, “Lord, Steward, I have dire news from the royal cemetery.”

“Rise, Soldier, and tell me the news.”

“Lord Steward, the newly sealed tomb with the dire warning is open and empty, and the tomb of King Aleron is defaced.”

Gealton cast a worried look at the others.  “Lord Marshal Hadaras has already informed me of the first, but what of the second?  In what way was Aleron’s tomb defaced?”

“Lord Steward, someone carved, or maybe burned, a black, eight-pointed star over his inscription.”

Hadaras turned to Gealton.  “The Adversary’s calling card.”

The guard paled at the revelation.

“It would seem so.

Thank you, Soldier.  Please return to your duties.  Tell your fellows not to gossip of this.”

“Yes, Lord Steward,” the messenger answered, in a shaky voice.  We will not speak of this.”  He bowed and exited the dining room.

“Well, now we have our proof that the Nameless God paid us a personal visit,” Vetina commented.

“Yes,” her husband agreed.

***

“What?” Barathol asked Aleron, seeing the sullen expression after their brief interruption from Hadaras’s communication.

“My grandmother is free.  They think that the Adversary himself came to take her.”

“Not good.  Do you think she’ll come after you?”

“Possibly, but it’s worse than that.”

“Your ability to travel?” Gershan asked, surmising what Barathol had not.

“Yes, General.  My ability to use her lair to travel is likely compromised.  I dare not go there, lest she capture me again.”

“Corball’s balls!” was all Barathol had to add.

Hameln: “Swearing about it won’t help.”

“Though this is indeed bad news, does it pertain in any way to our immediate task?” Abershol asked.

“No, General,” Aleron replied.  “For now, it’s an unwanted distraction.  I’ve already accomplished most of what I can with the easy traveling.  Now, we need to perform the grunt work.”

Aleron managed to place Elvish emissaries from Wynn in most of the allied capitals to facilitate rapid communication.  He had yet to devise a way to move armies and navies, so Jacanda’s construct was now a convenience, rather than a necessity.

“I’m a bit worn out from last night and this morning, but I should be good for the assault.”

He knocked down the other central towers the evening prior and took out a few forward-facing bulwarks early that morning, before breakfast.  He found purple to be the most difficult form of magic to contain, and it took a lot out of him.  Even rejuvenating himself with yellow, the purple magic took a toll that only time could heal.

“Excellent,” Gershan proclaimed.  “In two bells, Abe’s infantry will assault the earthworks and advance to the fortress walls with the engineers.  The cavalry will advance once the infantry has cleared paths through the earthworks.  It should all go as we planned.”

“Of course, no plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Hameln quipped.

“Quite true, Captain, but as always, an altered plan is better than no plan at all.  That’s why we have contingency plans.”

***

Xarch met with the man who called himself Colonel Quinlin, now in command of the Ebareizan garrison.

“We are falling back to regroup on the north side of the forest…Your Grace,” the man told the Goblin King.

“The Sudeans have breached our walls in multiple locations.  We will be routed if we attempt to hold.”  He couldn’t help wringing his hands in frustration.

They have a powerful sorcerer who has done more damage than their catapults.”

“I have met that wizard, and we have a score to settle, he and I,” Xarch replied, his expression darkening.

“Take your men and flee.  My goblins will harry them every step of their way through my forest, but we will not meet them head-on.  Their wizard is too strong.

What of your commoners and slaves?  Will you take them as well?”

“Your Grace, we leave most of them behind for the sake of speed.  The Sudeans will not harm them.  That is not their way.”

“So weak of them.”

After Quinlin and his retainers rode off, Xarch said to his first and second, “When the men leave, go to the slave pens and gather them up.  Leave the freemen.  I would take them all, but at least for now, we must maintain the goodwill of our allies.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” his first answered.

Chapter 29

Gurlachday, Day 19 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Two bells later, the Sudean forces advanced on the Ebareizan line.  The infantry formed tight ranks, moving forward with a well-practiced precision, maintaining a solid front.

Well within bowshot now, they received none of the expected volleys from the enemy.  Indeed, they saw no one on the walls, nor in any of the guard towers overlooking the earthworks.

“Do you think they have retreated?” Aleron asked Gershan, riding to his right.

“Likely, Your Grace.  I will send a rider to Abe’s position to get his opinion.”

He called to one of his men to pull abreast.

“Lieutenant, ride at speed to General Abershol and get his assessment of the situation ahead.”

“Yes, General,” he replied before coaxing his horse to a gallop.

The lieutenant returned and said, “Your Grace, General Gershan, General Abershol reports no sign of activity on the fortifications.  He believes that the enemy has retreated into the cover of the forest.”

Gershan looked to Aleron, and the king nodded for him to speak first.  “We should move forward cautiously, infantry and engineers together, checking for traps and signs of ambush.  When all is clear, we occupy the fortresses and decide if it’s wise to push forward with the cavalry.”

“Agreed,” Aleron stated.  “General, please proceed with your plan.”

“Right away, Your Grace.”  He motioned for his captains to follow and galloped off to confer with Abershol.

“What now, Al?” Barathol asked.

“We wait for the generals to handle their business, and then we proceed.  They know their jobs better than we, and I will not second-guess their conclusions.”

“Once clear of the defenses, we could easily catch up to the rear of their train,” Hameln suggested.

“Yes, Ham, we could, but I doubt the goblin horde will let us pass unchallenged, and we would likely need to camp within the forest and face their harassment through the night.

We planned for the infantry to besiege the fortresses while we passed through.  Now, I think we will spend several bells sorting out the occupation.  I do not wish for a late start into the forest.”

“We should have more than enough fun defending the shattered walls tonight as it is,” Barathol added.

“Let’s ride over to the generals and see what they are deciding.”

“Yes, let’s do that.”

They caught up with the generals, who already had teams of infantry and engineers moving forward to probe the defenses for traps.

“Generals, I see you are proceeding as I expected.  What do you think of our prospects for moving forward?”

“Your Grace, if we find Marquess Vallant and his council alive within, I think it best if you are at hand,” Gershan answered.

“I think so as well.  We should stay here for the night and set forth with the cavalry at dawn.”

Hameln couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face.

“Don’t worry, Ham.  We’ll see plenty of action tomorrow.  Be thankful for some rest tonight.  That will be in short supply soon enough.”

“Ah, the exuberance of youth,” Abershol said, smiling at the steward’s son.  “You remind me of your father, back in the day.”

“You compliment me, General,” he replied with a smirk.  “Should I live up to my da’s reputation, I will consider that success.”

Though Gealton cut a figure of noble bearing and diplomacy in these days, he earned a savage reputation in his youth.

“Success indeed!” Abershol agreed, laughing heartily.

With the portcullis raised and the gates open, Aleron and his entourage entered the central fortress.  They were met by a well-dressed commoner, a merchant by his looks, and a few Sudean soldiers.

“Your Grace,” the man bowed low as the soldiers snapped to attention.

“Please rise, good man.  Stand at ease, Soldiers.”

“Your Grace, I am Kildan, mayor of Ingleton, chosen to speak for my people here.”

“Good to meet you, Kildan.  Is Marquess Vallant available?”

“We showed your soldiers where he is held, as well as the stockade where his soldiers are held.  They are busy breaking the locks for their release.”

“Good.  Are there slaves here?  I want them released as well.”

His expression darkened.  “Your Grace, there were a few, well cared for by the marquess, but the goblins came and took them as soon as the soldiers left.  I now fear greatly for their well-being.”

“Is the slave-master available?”

“He put up a fuss with the goblins.  They lopped off his head.  None of the rest of us dared interfere.  He was a good man, as far as that sort goes.  Took good care of his charges.”

“I take it you don’t care for slavery?”

“No, Your Grace.  I do not allow it in my village.  It goes against the Allfather’s word.  The marquess kept a few as household servants, but slaves are otherwise uncommon in these parts.”

“That is good to hear, Mayor Kildan.”

“Your Grace, I believe Marquess Vallant will be here shortly.  Would you please grace me to answer one question?”

“Of course, Mayor.”

“Are we to become part of Sudea again, as in the past?”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”  He bowed low again and then withdrew to rejoin his people.

“Planning to chase down those slaves?” Barathol asked.

“I hate the idea of leaving them to the goblins.”

The marquess and his council strode toward them, escorted by a group of Sudean soldiers.

Aleron and the others dismounted.  

Abershol motioned for the escorting soldiers.  “Take and see to our mounts.  We will attend the marquess and his council.”

“Yes, General,” the sergeant replied, taking the reins from his commander.

“Marquess Vallant,” Aleron greeted the lord.

“Well met, Your Grace.  Your timing could not be better.  I am sure we were not meant to live beyond this day.”

“We gathered as much from our brief conversation with General Samone.”

“Ah, the good general.  How did he fare your assault?”

“I do not know with absolute certainty, but I believe we will find him somewhere in the rubble that used to be your tower.”

“So sad…for my tower,” he replied, looking wistfully to the heap of debris atop the wall.  “That will take some effort to clean up.”

“Your soldiers will be freed from the stockade soon.  We will keep them under guard for now, until we are certain of your and their allegiance.

Marquess Vallant, were you planning to side with us, against your king?”

“Your Grace, we were seriously contemplating your offer to join Sudea before Samone’s army and the goblins arrived.  He had intelligence that we were conspiring against the crown and immediately arrested us.”

“So, you know that if you join us willingly, you retain your lands and titles under the crown of Sudea?”

“Yes, Your Grace, that was our understanding.”

“You would have to free your slaves as well.”

“That was also our understanding.  I only retain slaves in my household for the expectation of our king.  The practice is not popular in this region, and I do not use them for menial labor, but I must keep up appearances when I visit the capital, or when the king’s representatives visit here.” He explained.  “They are my personal servants and are treated well.  I pay them, and they are not confined when off duty.”

“My Lord, how many slaves do you have?” Barathol asked.

“Ten, Captain, ten adults, and four of their children.  Why do you ask?”

“The goblins came and took your slaves.  They killed your slave master when he resisted.”

“They killed Fenton?  Oh Gods, the children!”  A look of horror formed on the Ebareizan lord’s face.

“Al, we need to get them back.  The goblins will kill and eat the children,  work or rape the adults to death.”  His knuckles were white where he gripped his bardiche.  “We can’t leave them to that.  Did you see any children with the goblin slaves we helped?”

“Barry, we will discuss that, but we can’t afford to delay our push to Ebarr.

Marquess, do you have a conference room or such where we might discuss things?”

“Of course, Your Grace.  The keep appears intact, unlike our walls.”

Vallant looked to an approaching group of men, flanked by Sudean soldiers.

“I see my men are free from the stockade.  Please allow us to speak with their commander.  I will vouch for their behavior.”

“Please do, Marquess Vallant.  We will wait.”

“Your Grace, vouch or not, we should keep a close eye on those men,” Gershan said when the group moved out of earshot.  “There may be some rabid loyalists among the lot.”

“Agreed.  We should put them to work on repairing the walls.  That should keep them busy.”

“I’ll direct that to my officers,” Abershol stated.  “Be right back, Your Grace.”

They sat in Vallant’s council room, with wine or ale before each, as to their preference, to discuss their next actions.

“Your Grace,  we discussed this among ourselves on our walk to rejoin you,” Vallant began, “and we wish to join the Kingdom of Sudea.  Our ties to your kingdom here in the borderlands are stronger than those with Ebarr.”

“What are your views on the new state religion?” Aleron asked.

“An abomination, and yet another reason to defect.”  His dark eyes smoldered.

Aleron kept a passive expression, but he could read the genuineness of the man’s words at the top of his thoughts as he said them.  He sensed no duplicity.

“I accept your offer to join us, Marquess Vallant.  You and yours shall retain all lands and titles you currently hold, but under my rule.

Might I suggest a lapse in decorum?  All this ‘Your Grace, Marquess, Lord, and General’ in every sentence just slows down the conversation.  Call me Al.”

Gershan and a couple of counselors looked as if they disapproved, but the rest relaxed.

Abershol stated, “Our king was raised in the countryside among the common folk, My Lords.  He prefers familiarity.  I go by Abe.”

“I had heard as much.  You may call me Val.”

They took turns introducing themselves in the familiar.

“Just call me Gershan,” the General offered.  “I hate the sound of ‘Gersh.’”

They discussed at length a plan for makeshift repairs of the walls and then the defense thereof. 

The cavalry would leave with the king in the morning at first light.  In a few days, most of the Sudean infantry would follow the cavalry north, leaving a company behind to assist the marquess’ soldiers in defending against the goblins.

“So, when do we chase down these swiven goblins and retrieve the people?” Hameln asked.

“I would not suggest going after them this late in the day,” Vallant stated.  “They are likely not far, but to engage them after dark would not be wise.

My soldiers are weary from their days in the stockade, but we will mount an expedition in the morning.  I have skilled trackers among my men, and we will find them.

I expect we will be busy tonight defending our walls.”

“I want to go with them,” Barathol stated.

“Barry, I need you with me,” Aleron protested.

“No, you don’t, Al.  I’m the worst rider in your vanguard.  I’ll just slow you down.  But on my two feet, I can outfight just about anyone.  I’ll catch up with the infantry after things are settled here.”

“I still don’t know, Barry.  Generals?”

“He has a good point, Al,” Abershol stated.  We’ve all seen him fight.  He’s not the greatest cavalryman, but he’ll be an asset to the raiding party.”

“Well then, Val, do you mind my captain tagging along on your raid?”

“If he’s as competent a fighter as you say, he will be welcome.  I am only sending my best.

How good are you, Barry, with that frightening blade you carry?”

Barathol was about to answer in a depreciating manner before Hameln interrupted, “I’ve seen him cleave a hanging boar carcass clean in two with that thing, one-handed.”

“That should do,” one of the counselors commented.

Chapter 30

Shilwezday, Day 20 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Barathol watched as Aleron rode into the forest at the head of the first cavalry column up the broad highway through the forest heading north into the heart of Ebareiza.  Hameln and Gershan would lead the second and third columns, spaced a half-bell apart.

As they had expected, no one got much rest the night before.

Abershol told him, “Don’t take any foolish chances, Captain.  We will need you on the other side of this.”

“General, I’ll be as careful as I can, but these are goblins.”

“Fair enough, and good hunting, Barry.  I’ll see you on your return.”

After the last of the cavalry sallied forth, their party stole into the forest, off the path.  Yesterday, the trackers determined the direction the goblins led their human captives.  The goblins would have a camp somewhere deep in the woods, and that’s where they would bring their slaves.  They counted on the bulk of the horde to follow the cavalry. 

Barathol prayed to Corball for his friends to emerge victorious.  He used his small knife to nick the edge of his palm and squeezed out some blood on the ground as a sacrifice to the God of War.  The Ebareizan soldiers saw his action and knew.  Several of them did the same, murmuring prayers to Corball.

They crept through the undergrowth for nearly a mile, all of them in green and brown woodland dress, their armor blackened with soot.  Finally, they heard the hoot of a goblin sentry and knew that stealth was no longer an option.

An archer spotted the sentry in a tree and loosed an arrow.  His aim was true, and the goblin tumbled from his perch, clutching the arrow in his chest.  His screech was such that none doubted that the entire camp was now alerted.

A soldier relieved the screeching goblin of his head as they all rushed headlong into the forest.

One of the fiends leapt from a tree to confront a tracker.  From previous conversation, Barathol knew him to be a hunter and trapper, not a soldier.  He bore no sword, but his long knives were deadly.  The goblin dropped with his throat slashed and his entrails hitting the floor before his body.  The trapper stabbed the next through the eye on his way through.  Later, Barathol learned that he managed to harvest an ear from both.

One leapt at Barathol from the undergrowth.  He skewered it on the tip of his bardiche and flung it over his shoulder in time to lop the head off another who charged him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a tracker fall under the attack of three goblins.  Soldiers hacked at the creatures, but too late to save the man.

They broke into a clearing.  Human slaves occupied a pen in the middle, and goblins milled all about.  One of the creatures, large cleaver in hand, stood before a firepit with the headless body of a small human child, gutted and spitted over the coals, a second hogtied, awaiting butchering.

Barathol succumbed to the depths of rage.  He roared like a feral animal and charged the goblin cook.  The cook met the charge with its cleaver upraised and lost its forearm in the process.  Barathol ran it through, and, grabbing its face in his left hand, surged forward and sank his teeth into its throat, crushing the windpipe.

Flinging the limp goblin aside, he engaged three more, laying about himself with blinding speed, wielding the bardiche one-handed, a long seax in the other hand.  Goblins died everywhere he turned.

One of the Ebareizans exclaimed, “Berserker!  Stand clear!”

Ebareizans had legends of the Berserker Cult, Corball’s own, who took the bear as their symbol, but none of these men had ever witnessed such a thing.

“You are the bear,” a voice whispered in the back of Barathol’s mind.  “Rend and destroy!”

Barathol did just that.  When he finished, dozens of goblin carcasses lay about his path, most in more than one piece.

He snapped out of his killing rage and looked about.  The Ebareizans, soldiers, trackers, and slaves alike, looked upon him with awe, all but two. 

A man and a woman knelt, weeping over the body of the child the goblin had spitted over the fire.  Mercifully, soldiers had taken it down, found the head, and placed it with the body.

Barathol walked over to the body and dropped to his knees, tears in his eyes.  “I am so sorry, little one, that we were too late to save you.”  He broke down, sobbing into the dust, his tears forming small puddles of mud.

The others looked on in amazement that the death of a child would so take such a ferocious man aback.

“I am sorry to you as well that we were not in time to save her,” he told the parents, swabbing the tears from his eyes.

They looked at him with pained expressions, but then the mother said, “You did what you could, and we thank you for that.  Our other child lives because of you and these men.”  The father nodded in agreement, though no words came.

A boy of about six years walked over, hugged him about the neck, and said, “You tried.”

“Thank you,” he replied in a choked voice, then sniffled.

The boy released his neck, and he rose from his knees.  He turned to see the sergeant in charge, Gallan, waiting to speak to him.

“My Lord Captain, we should see to getting these people back to the fortress before any other goblins arrive.”

“Yes, let’s get them to safety.  We will recover our dead but leave the goblins to the ravens.”

“Right away, Captain.  We found some tubs of oil.  Might I suggest we burn the goblins’ gear and supplies before we go?”

“Good idea, Sergeant.  Just be quick about it.  The smoke will alert the goblins that all is not well at their camp.”

The bulk of the party made their way back the way they had come, leaving two soldiers and a tracker to heap together the equipment and supplies and set them ablaze.  They caught up with the slow-moving group a few minutes later.

“We could all stand to clean up when we make it back, but you especially, Captain.  You’re covered head to toe in goblin gore.”

“Yes, Sergeant, I stink to the high heavens, and I know it, but I need to see to cleaning my weapons and armor before my body.”

“Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll task some privates to the job.  It will be good for them.  Builds character.”

“I won’t argue with you on that, Sergeant.  I can’t wait to wash this goblin shit off of me.”

Later, after a long, hot bath, Barathol relaxed in a chair in his quarters, reading a book Anjani gave him before they set out on the campaign.  He wore a thick cotton robe that he found waiting in the armoire. 

This is nice, he thought.  Too bad it’s only for a couple of days, and then we’ll be back on the trail.

He was also pleased to discover his armor and weapons waiting for him in the room, all cleaned and oiled.

He was beginning to doze when someone knocked at his door.  He set the book down, pages down to save his spot, and stood to answer.  He found Sergeant Gallan standing before him, freshly washed and in a clean uniform.

“Captain, I hope I am not intruding.”

“Not at all, Sergeant.  I’m glad to see you.  What can I do for you?”

“May we speak?”

“Of course.  Come on in and have a seat.”

He returned to his chair and gestured to the one across from it.  Gallan seated himself there.

“Captain, are you a devotee of Corball?”

“Yes, most soldiers are,” Barathol answered, though he thought the question odd.

“Does the Berserker Cult still live in Sudea?”

“Never heard of it.  What’s a berserker?”

“We have legends of the cult, over a thousand years old.  They were warrior-priests devoted to Corball.  They used the bear as the symbol of their order.  Legend has it that they worked themselves into a killing frenzy before battle, and no foe could stand before them.”

Realization crept in, and Barathol asked, “And you think I am one of them, because of what happened in the forest?”

“A bit,” Gallan replied.  “What we saw was inhuman.  You moved too fast, like an animal.  We could barely follow you.”

“Well, I don’t know about any of that.  I was so angry that I barely knew what I was doing, but I’ve never heard of this cult, and I’m certainly no priest.”

“Captain, I and many of the men in our party would follow you.  When word gets out, many more will want to.  Please keep us in mind.”

Saying that, he rose and returned to the door.  As he exited, he turned and said, “Thank you for taking the trouble to listen to me, Captain.”

“No trouble at all, Sergeant Gallan.  Go get some rest.  I think tonight will be even more interesting than the last.”

After Gallan left, Barathol did not pick up the book.

That voice in my head.  It spoke of bears.  This is too weird.

He clasped his hands before him and bowed his head to pray.

Corball, Great God of War, did you speak to me?  I pray to you for strength and wisdom.  Please grant me the answers I seek and the questions to ask for those answers.  I know not where to begin.

He rose from the chair, shook off his robe, and climbed into bed, determined to get some little sleep in before the night’s activity.

He drifted off and soon found himself in a dream.

I am seated at a large fire, the moon bright overhead.  I am one of two dozen.  All of the men, like me, are bare-chested.  We wear rough woolen trousers and primitive, yet sturdy hobnail boots.  They are dark-skinned, with dark eyes and wavy, dark hair.  We seem to be a mix of old and young.  The twelve older men are scarred, grizzled veterans, while the eleven others look to be about my age.  I see iron rods propped around the fire, each with an end sunk into the hot coals.

A new person enters the circle.  Otherwise dressed as we are, his face is obscured by the bear’s head mask of his heavy fur cloak.

“Great God Corball,” he utters.  “Accept our sacrifices this night and allow us to induct these men into your priesthood.”

He turns as he speaks, and I see the white scar in the outline of a bear, branded into the left side of his chest over the heart.

I look to my right and see the same brand on my older companion, my sponsor, I now realize.  I have known Davel for my entire life, and recognizing my ability, he recently became my mentor in the arts of war.

The one who spoke, High Priest Wulfar, cuts his palm and lets his blood drip onto the hot coals.  All of us rise, step to the fire, and do the same.  No one hesitates in the act of cutting themselves.  The sharp smell of burnt blood reaches my nostrils.

We, the younger of the men, the initiates, step two paces back.  The older men, Davel included, each pick a glowing brand from the fire.

Davel turns to me and says, “If you flinch or cower in the least, you will leave our company, never to return.

I hook my left arm behind my head, my right behind my back, and arch my torso to best expose the spot before my heart.  Davel grins and drives the brand home, just as he would a sword thrust.  My skin sizzles, and the pain is intense.  I do not falter but instead push into the brand.

Davel pulls the brand away and grins even wider. 

“You’re an eager one, young Bartol!”

The smell of burnt flesh is all around.  I look about and see men leading two of my companions out of the circle.  They must have faltered.  If they actually received a brand, they would soon receive another over the top, accepted willingly or not, to mark out the bear.  There was no shame among them for bearing such a scar.  You may still be a stout warrior, but you were not a Berserker.

“Glory and honor to Corball, the Great God of War, and to his father, the Allfather,” Wulfar proclaims.

We all repeat, “Glory and honor to Corball, the Great God of War, and to his father, the Allfather.”

Davel turns to me and produces a greased leather patch from his pouch. 

“Hold this over the brand.”

I place it over my charred skin, and he binds it in place with a strip of linen.

“Change this out every day until the dead skin sloughs off.  Wash your skin and the patch with soap and let both dry out before you put it back.  Use this to grease the patch.  It’s boiled bear fat with herbs to fend off pestilence.  Nothing in there for the pain.  That’s a reminder.  If you see pus or red lines, go straightaway to the healer.  A festering burn can kill nearly as fast as a blade.”

“Yes, Master Davel,” I answer.

“No training or armor for the next week.  Gotta let that breath and heal.  Go, enjoy your family for a change.”

Barathol awoke with a start.  He sat up in bed and felt at his ribs.  Nothing, just a dream. 

That might swive up a perfectly nice tattoo, but I may be able to squeeze it in beside the scorpion,  he thought.

Chapter 31

Shilwezday, Day 20 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Aleron rode at the head of the first column, his left hand on Andhanimwhid sheathed at the left of his saddle.  He also carried an elvish cavalry saber at his belt and a nine-foot lance socketed at his right stirrup.  The greatsword was not the best weapon to wield from horseback.  It would be another story if he ended up fighting on foot.  His only shield was a buckler covering his left hand, small enough to use with a two-handed sword.

Colonel Nalion had slowed to assess his troopers’ and their mounts’ condition, and to speak to his men as they rode past.  He was now at the rear of the column, and prodded his mount to a trot to move back to the front and join the king.  He noted the dense brush and weeds on either side, the thick canopy overhead, and silently cursed the Ebareizans for not properly maintaining the route.

The goblins attacked suddenly and silently, halfway down the column, dropping from the canopy or rushing from the undergrowth, while black shafted arrows winged from the dark forest. 

“Ambush,” someone shouted from behind, and Aleron wheeled his horse about at the commotion.  He momentarily wondered to himself why goblins seemed screened from the mental feelers he extended.  It was much the same as when they caught his grandfather and he at unawares all those years past.

Several more riders turned about to face the threat, which was just what the goblins wanted.  Scores more wielding scimitars and spears erupted from the forest to their front, rear, and flanks.

He turned back to the front and hurled his lance at a clump of goblins closing on him, more to be rid of the encumbrance than anything else.  It found its mark in the gut of one, but six others swarmed around their comrade.

The saber now in hand, he charged the knot of fiends, slashing two as his horse reared and stomped another. 

One scrambled up his left side.  The lance of one of his vanguards skewered it, as another rider took out the last goblin of the pack to Aleron’s right.  He was now surrounded by a dozen members of his vanguard. 

Their front clear, they turned to meet the goblins attacking their flanks.  Several men were unhorsed, fighting on foot.  More lay upon the ground, lifeless.  Goblins, men, and horses lay everywhere, pools of blood spreading across the red gravel of the highway.  Troopers wheeled their mounts, slashing and trampling, their horses’ hooves as much weapons as the riders’ swords.

Aleron’s group charged the largest clump of goblins they saw, trampling more than they cut.  Goblins screeched as hooves and swords mowed them down.

Many of the cavalry broke free of their attackers, regrouped into small units, and charged the masses of goblins attacking their fellows.  Goblin casualties mounted, with few additional losses to the Sudeans.

As quickly as the attack began, it ended.  The vile creatures melted back into the murky woods to regroup.

“Form a perimeter!” the colonel shouted.  “We need to triage the wounded.”

Battlefield medics had already dismounted, assessing the fallen men and carrying those still living to the center of the road.

Other soldiers were unceremoniously finishing off wounded goblins, or rather, stabbing every goblin corpse in the chest with lances, and occasionally finding ones not yet dead.

“Therrin, get us a count of casualties,” Aleron directed a lieutenant of his vanguard, the one who picked the goblin off his side a few moments before.  “And find out if our priest survived the fray.”

“Right away, Your Grace.”

All told, they lost six troopers and three horses, with several dozen wounded.  Inexpensive, lightweight, mass-produced dwarvish chainmail made it possible to equip their men and horses with the highest practicable protection, but goblin blades and arrows still found the occasional chink.

The goblins lost many times that, with over a hundred carcasses needing poking.

Some soldiers were about to put down a hamstrung horse when Aleron stopped them.  He walked up to the frightened animal and laid a hand on its neck as its rider held the bridle, attempting to comfort the beast.  Yellow power flowed through the king into the animal, so much that even the ungifted could see the faint golden radiance.  The severed tendon and skin knitted together before their eyes, and the horse knickered in obvious relief.

The trooper holding the reins had tears in his eyes when he choked out, “Thank you so much, Your Grace.”

“Think nothing of it, Soldier.”

“Lieutenant Therrin, I will see all the wounded now, men and horses.  Then I will need to see the priest.”

“You’re in luck, Your Grace.  Brother Clace is among the wounded.”

Brother Clace, a monk of the Corballan sect, warrior priests ordained to perform rites and services under the Allfather and Corball, nursed a bound arrow wound to his upper sword arm.  He insisted on being the last to heal, citing his wound as minor, at worst.

Upon healing the monk, Aleron said, “We must perform funerary rites for the fallen, Brother Clace.”

“Of course, Your Grace.  Will we transport the bodies to the rear?”

“No.  I will burn them here, as we did after our last meeting with the goblins.”

“Yes, Your Grace.  If I may say so, it is a shame that the troops behind us have not your abilities at hand.”

“Yes, Brother.  I hope that we were the primary target, and that the others are having an uneventful passage.”

The colonel rejoined Aleron after assessing the troops.

“Colonel Nalion, I think we should hold fast and allow the other columns to catch up.  If they saw as much action as we did, they may need my services.”

“Yes, Your Grace.  I will spread word among the troop.”

Brother Clace recited the traditional funerary rites over the six dead troopers, all still wearing their arms and armor, traditional for battlefield funerals.  He prayed for the swift return of their spirits to the halls of the Allfather and proclaimed their valor before the war god Corball.

Feeling unusually vital after the healings, Aleron said words of gratitude for their sacrifice and let loose a near-blinding surge of blue energy, incinerating all.  The steel and bronze of the armor and equipment burned to ash along with the bodies of the men.

He burned the horses next, after any serviceable tack and armor was removed to replace damaged items among the living mounts.  They did not wish to leave any meat for the goblins to scavenge. 

Let them eat their own dead as a reminder, Aleron thought.

He felt a bit lightheaded following his unleashing of so much blue magic.  He drew on yellow again to fortify himself.

Hameln’s column arrived, and the captain rode up to meet Aleron and Nalion.  The time it took them to catch up indicated that they, too, ran into trouble.

“Al, I see you had some action as well,” Hameln commented, following with, “Good meeting, Colonel.”

“Good meeting, Captain,” Nalion replied.

“Only about a thousand or so goblins,” Aleron replied, “and you?”

“About the same, Your Grace,” Hameln answered, remembering propriety before the watching superior officer.

“Casualties?”

“Two men dead, as well as four horses.  A few dozen of both wounded.  General Gershan’s group is right behind us.  They have similar numbers.”

“So, we all were hit about the same time, by about the same-sized forces.  I suspect that was only a third of the total goblin force, so we can expect more of the same as we proceed.”

“I would assume so, Your Grace.”

“Send back word to consolidate the wounded and dead.  I will be along to attend to both.  Did your priests survive the attack?”

“Ours did.  I can’t speak for the general.”

“Fine.  I will burn the bodies after the funeral rites.”

“Sure thing, Your Grace.  I’ll bring the word back.”

By midday, after more healings and funeral rites, the three regiments proceeded into the forest again.  The general and colonels decided to space the regiments by a half-bell once again to avoid the accordion effect that comes with moving too long a column.

***

Barathol dressed and left his room at mid-afternoon.  He sought out Trinde, one of the Corballan priests attached to the infantry.

He knocked on the priest’s door and called, “Brother Trinde, are you busy?”

Trinde opened the door, wearing a half-laced gambeson.  The priest was a tall man with flaxen hair and bright blue eyes.  He looked younger than Barathol, possibly only eighteen. 

He said, “Captain Barathol, please come in.  I was just preparing for the evening’s festivities.”

“I see that, Brother.  Do you have time for a quick chat?”

“Certainly, Captain.  Come in and have a seat.” 

He opened the door wide and stepped aside, gesturing to one of the two chairs, the only furnishings in the room aside from the bed and a writing desk.  All of their rooms were austere, as they had only just moved in, with no intention to stay long, but the priest chose one of the smallest and least furnished of them all.

Barathol took the indicated seat, and Trinde dragged the other to face him and sat.

“I heard of your exploits this morning.  Quite impressive, Captain.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Brother.  The Ebareizans thought I was something from their old stories, something called a berserker.  Have you ever heard of them?”

The priest looked thoughtful.  “We have records of them, yes.  They were the predecessors of our order, from back before the coming of the elves to Aertu.  The sect died out over a thousand years ago.”

Barathol recounted his experiences, from the voice in his head during the fight to the dream he had afterward.

“So, you think Corball spoke to you?”

“I don’t know what to think.  Maybe I’m just going crazy.”

“I don’t think it’s that.  You’ve never heard of the Berserker Cult, or its rites?”

“Never.”

“Well, your dream describes their initiation rite quite accurately, as far as our historical account goes.

The men were all dark-skinned?”

“Yes, darker than me, almost Coptian dark, but with wavy hair.”

“Like us, before we mingled with the elves,” Trinde offered.

“I suppose so.”

“I think this is more than your imagination.  Your dream was too on-point for that, especially with you having no prior knowledge of the cult.  Perhaps it was the god speaking to you, or maybe an ancestor of yours, from beyond the veil.

Are you a follower of Corball?”

“Yes, of course.  Most soldiers and marines are.”

“Did you sacrifice to him before the battle?”

“Yes.”  He held up his left hand to show the cut from that morning.

“I believe he heard and answered your prayer, Captain.”

“I have another question…or two, Brother, if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead, Captain.”

“Do you have any books or something from your order, and what is involved in joining the Corballans? 

Are you allowed to marry?”

“I think that’s three questions,” he said with a chuckle.  “But I’ll do my best to answer.

I have a book of our basic scriptures, those which differ from the Church of the Allfather that most are familiar with.  You are welcome to borrow it.

Joining our order is a matter of studying and understanding those writings, and the taking of oaths, relatively simple, but the oaths are binding.  Breaking those covenants will result in immediate expulsion from the order, and Gods’ know what repercussions on your soul.

As for the last, we are not a celibate order.  I am married, my wife with child back in Arundell.”

“That’s a relief, the last part,” Barathol confided.  “I’m not sure I could do the celibate monk thing.

May I please borrow the book?  I will take good care of it.”

“Certainly, Captain Barathol.  I can assume you read well?  Some of the texts are complex in meaning and archaic in verbiage.”

“I can read well enough.  The king taught me when we were boys.”

“Our polyglot sorcerer king.  I guess he was qualified enough to teach you.

Let me dig up that book.”

The priest rose from his chair and went to rummage through his bags for the volume.  He returned shortly with a well-worn leather-backed book of travel-sized dimensions but quite thick.

“Here you go, Captain.  I hope you find the writings enlightening.”

“Thank you, Brother Trinde.  I’m sure that I will.”

Barathol rose to his feet with a groan and arched his back to stretch.

“I may have overdone it this morning. 

See you on the walls this evening.”

“See you then, Captain.”

He left the priest’s room and went back to his own to deposit the book before heading to the kitchens in search of food.

Chapter 32

Shilwezday, Day 20 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Hadaras lay down to rest.  He had worked nonstop since yesterday morning, laying down wards against the Adversary and his minions throughout the palace and the surrounding grounds, as well as along the walls of the city.  Now, he was thoroughly exhausted.

I wish I had Aleron’s gift for the yellow now, he thought as he drifted off to sleep, but true rest is the only recourse I have with him away.

Soon, he found himself in a dream.  He dreamt not of Jessamine, but of his last wife, Quiana.  Her golden hair cascaded about her shoulders as she rode atop him.

“This is what I need from you, My Love,” she gasped as he climaxed.  “This is exactly what I need!”

That was vivid, he thought as he woke from his slumber.  He then started at finding his bedcovers pulled down and his undershorts gathered at his knees.  He glanced to one side to find Jacanda standing across the room, dressed in a diaphanous gown of red silk, her voluptuous shape quite visible, even in the semi-darkness of dusk, and her eyes glowing faintly red.

“How did you get here, past my wardings?” he asked, fear growing within him.

“I was here before you ever laid them, Husband.  This was nice, just like old times.  Now that I have your seed in my womb, I’ll be going now.”

She opened a portal to one side and darted from his chamber, closing the opening before he could react.  The alarms in his mind triggered at her action, and blue magic flared from the many wards scattered about the room.

She knew I would set up protections, and she hid here before I could complete them.  He thought as he pulled his undergarments up.  She must have cast some spell over me to keep me dreaming.  She wanted my seed?  Oh Gods no!

***

Jacanda stood, hands clasped and head bowed, before her father, lounging upon his obsidian throne. 

“Father, I have what I wanted from Goromir,” she stated.

“And what is that, My Daughter?  Did you kill him?”

“No, Father, I could not bring myself to do that.  I am carrying his child.”

“His child?  What do you want with another child of his?”  He straightened on his throne, feeling anger brewing within himself.

She also straightened from her subservient pose, letting her hands fall to the sides.  “I am thinking long-term, Father.  I will bear a son, one to match the daughter the Queen of Sudea now carries.”

The Nameless God smiled, his expansive mind immediately understanding his daughter’s machinations.

“This is good, Daughter.  If we cannot control Sudea in this generation, we will take it in the next.  Even if we succeed in this generation, we will have a ruler of my blood to claim Sudea, with the king’s get for his wife.

But what if the queen someday bears him a male heir?”

“I have assured that she will bear no more offspring after the one she carries now.”

“Good, very good,” he relaxed his posture, “but we must ensure that no harm comes to Aleron’s daughter to be, do we not?”

“Yes, Father, we must ensure her safety for my plan to bear fruit, but the male-line inheritance of the Sudean throne ends with my grandson.  I will search out any other branches of that line and ensure that those end as well.”

“As always, you are the most forward-thinking of my children, Jacanda, with plans for victory or for setback, but your soft heart concerns me at times.  Why did you spare Goromir, after you obtained what you wanted?”

“Father, I still love him, both as my husband and my kin.  I will win him back from my cousin Jessamine when this is all over.  He will see the right in what we accomplish.”

“I am not so sure he will ever come to our side, after so many years opposing me, and I have no intention to spare any elf from my wrath when I gain dominion over Aertu.”

“He is no more an elf than I,” she replied, with a hint of defiance.  “He is half aelir.  You might even consider him your stepson.”

“Do not begin to imagine what I might consider, Daughter,” he replied, his anger rising again.  “If anything, he is the result of my errant wife’s dalliance with a mortal.  He is not any son of mine.”

“Yes, Father.”  She resumed her subservient pose.  “It was wrong of me to presume upon you.”

“I will permit you this dalliance of yours, but only so far as it fits to my purposes.  If Goromir survives the wars to come, you may keep him as your plaything.

Now, go about the business you have contrived.  See to it that no other male heirs to Sudea continue to live and bear fruit, and see to the safeguarding of the king’s get.”

“Yes, Father, right away.”  She straightened and left the audience chamber.

So, one day, soon enough, Aleron’s uncle will become his son-in-law.  What good fun!  the Nameless God thought as his daughter left his presence.

Jacanda stepped into her library.  She had work to do.  She knew of three other male heirs to Sudea’s throne, less direct than Aleron, one in Ebareiza, and two in Coptia.  There were likely more elsewhere in the world, but those would require research to find.  She would deal with the ones she knew of first, then see to safeguarding Eilowyn and her unborn child.  After that, she would uncover any others.

***

Eilowyn felt odd today.  She had since she woke that morning.  It wasn’t the hyperemesis of the first four months of her pregnancy.  She did not feel nauseated, and besides, she was more than five months along and hadn’t felt that way in over a month.  She just felt wrong inside.

“Fea, how are you feeling today?  I feel a bit off.”  She settled into the armchair across from her lady.

Feadra looked up from her book and said, “I’m fine.  Are you tired?  Do you need to lie down awhile?”

“No, not tired, at least no more than usual.  If I sleep now, I won’t sleep tonight.  I just feel odd, have all day.

Will you be dining with Geldun tonight?”

“We were planning to.  I haven’t seen him since Zorekday.  He had a big test today to study for.  I hope he did well.  Otherwise, he’ll be miserable company tonight.”  She placed a bookmark and set her reading on a side table.

“He’s also stressing about our wedding.  He can’t decide between Al and Barry for his first groomsman.  It will be Al in the end, I’m sure, but he doesn’t want to upset Barry.  They’ve been friends since they were toddlers.”

“I don’t envy his choosing,” Eilowyn agreed.  “It would seem odd to many for the king to be the second groomsman, but he and Barry go back further and have more in common.  Aleron wouldn’t mind either way.  He doesn’t have much thought for propriety.

Gel is lucky that’s all of the wedding planning he has to worry about.  We have all the rest of it on our shoulders.

Plus, I’ll need to find a new lady-in-waiting after you’re married, so one more task on us.”

“I could still do the job,” she insisted.

“No, Fae.  It’s not a proper job for a married lady.  You’ll have a household of your own to set in order.  I have a long list of applicants, all unmarried ladies.  I will simply have to pick one.”

“Pick one without ugly arrow scars on her ribs.”

“That won’t be difficult.  I don’t think any of them are battle veterans.  Aleron could heal that for you, erase the scars.”

“Then what would Gel and I have to talk about in bed?”

Eilowyn giggled at that.  She knew Feadra and Geldun were not practicing chastity in their betrothal, but the reminder surprised her.

“Have you set the date? 

It won’t do for you to be six months along in your wedding gown.”

“A few weeks after the boys return from their war, whenever that might be.

As for the other, we’re being careful.  Gel’s tongue is good for more than fast talking, you know.”

Eilowyn blushed furiously.  “No, I didn’t know that, and I didn’t need to know it now.  You can be a naughty wench!”

“That’s what my Dearest likes,” she replied placidly.

“How is the king’s tongue?  Is it as magical as the rest of him?”

“Stop it!” she implored, grinning and, if possible, blushing even more.

Feadra laughed and picked up her book to continue reading.

***

Geldun sat at a table in the Royal Medical College Library, anatomical reference volumes spread out before him.  He wished, not for the first time, that he had concentrated more on reading after Aleron taught him letters.

He took notes on human anatomy, though he knew from his battlefield experience that some were less than accurate.  He decided to study for the test and not to introduce his knowledge on the actual arrangement of human internal organs.

I think this diagram is based on a dog.  One day, I will write a textbook more in tune with what I have actually seen.

“Studying up, Farmer?”  Telore inquired, sidling up to him.  Two of his usual cronies stood behind them.

Telore was a highborn student and never let Geldun forget his humble beginnings.  On their initial meeting, the lordling attempted to recruit Geldun into his band of followers, knowing Geldun’s connection to the king.  Geldun refused his advances, leading to their current animosity.

In a display of false camaraderie, he laid his hand on Geldun’s shoulder.

“I know that you’re a little slow on reading.  Would you like some help, Farmer?”

Fed up with the young lord’s constant taunting, Geldun reached behind the offended shoulder and grabbed Telore’s wrist.  He twisted the wrist, reached behind with his free hand, and slammed Telore’s face into the table.

Standing now, his stool toppled behind him, he said, “That’s Lord Geldun, or Captain Geldun to you.  I told you before to never touch me again.”

He released Telore and shoved him toward his friends.  He saw one of them drawing his small sword.  He had no sword but drew his long dagger in an ice pick grip, laying the blade along his forearm and adopting a strong fighting stance.

“Put that blade away, Little Boy.  I can gut you all like fish before you manage to touch me once.  Ever fight a leftie?”

The young man, fear blossoming in his eyes, pushed his half-drawn sword back into its scabbard and backed a step, though his hand remained on the hilt.  They all knew Geldun as an experienced combat veteran.

“I will report this!”  Telore shouted at him, his lower lip swelling and blood dripping from his nose.

“Go ahead, Lordling.  Hopefully, it gets all the way up to the steward, or maybe the queen.  The king will have to wait until he returns to find out how big an idiot you are.”

Telore glowered at him but had no reply.  He turned to the others and said, “Let’s go.  He’s not worth the trouble.”

Jackass lordlings without the guts to serve the kingdom.  He thought as they left the library. Though many young nobles put off their education to answer the king’s edict to join the Officer Corps, nearly as many used their university admissions to exempt them from the requirement.

That night, lying next to Feadra in bed, he ruminated over the exam he completed that evening.  He couldn’t put his finger on any particular question he might have answered wrong, but confidence still evaded him.

I must have botched something.  I know it.

He drifted off to an uneasy sleep and into a dream.

Where is this place? he wondered.  He was seated in an unfamiliar room.  The walls, floor, and ceiling all of polished white marble.  Books lined the walls.  The place reminded him of Jacanda’s library, where Aleron had taken he and Barathol months before, but this place seemed larger, more grandiose.

Suddenly, a woman was seated across from him.  She hadn’t been there a moment before, when he began looking about him.

“Welcome, My Son.”

“Who are you?” he blurted in startlement, as he rose from the chair.

“Sit, My Son, and be at ease.  I mean you no harm.”

He sat, as if on her command.  He did not understand what compelled him to do so, but compelled he was.

She was quite beautiful, in a strange, ageless sort of way.  He could not guess her age.  She looked both youthful, and uncountably old, all at once.  Her oval face of dark olive complexion held dark, almond shaped eyes, all framed by wavy black hair that ended below her hips.  And she was tall, so very tall.  It was evident even as she sat.  She wore a gown of the purest white, her dark ankles just peeking out below the hem, over pearlescent slippers.

“I am your patron, Dear Geldun.  The one you know as Iselle.”

“Goddesse Iselle!”  He slid from the chair to his knees and bowed his head.

“I, of all people, am not worthy of your patronage!”

“Rise, Dear Boy.  Why do you say such things?”

He climbed back into his chair, embarrassed.

“I…I am a killer, Great Goddess.  I want to be a healer, but I am a killer.”

“My dear son, you are a warrior.  Yes, you may have killed in your life, but did you ever relish in the killing?  Did you not feel empathy for those you slew?”

“No…and yes, Great Goddess,” he answered.  “I never liked having to kill.  I always grieved over it, and I did save the lives of a few of my enemies.”

“That is right, My Son.  You have always cared more for the living than you did for killing.  I have watched you for some time now.  In your rash youth, you might have pledged yourself to my brother, Corball, but now you are mine, of your own choosing.  In your heart, you are a healer, though you may still be a formidable warrior.  The two are not exclusive.”

“Why would you choose me, of all the other healers in the world?”

“Oh, My Son, you are not the only one I have chosen, but you are among the most important.  You and your friends are entangled in the web of time in this place.  You will stand against our brother, my misguided husband, the Nameless One, in the conflicts ahead.  Your influence with my great-grandson, King Aleron, is not to be discounted.”

“Your great-grandson?”

“Dear boy, do you not know?  I am mother to Goromir, who you know familiarly as Hadaras.  Your friend’s grandfather is my son.  If you must know, he is also great-grandson to my estranged husband and me, through his grandmother, our daughter, Jacanda.”

Clarity came to Geldun’s mind then.  All the weird pieces fit together now.

“Great Goddess, what does that make my friend, Aleron?”

“We do not yet know, My Son.  Our Father has granted him abilities reserved for my kind, but in a mortal’s body.  We do not know what the Allfather intends for him, but we do know that he must stand before the Nameless One.  If he succumbs to the calling of that portion of his blood, Aertu is lost.”

“What must I do?”

“Remain his friend.  Do not allow yourselves to drift apart, though you are on different paths.  He needs your sound guidance, lest he turn to darkness.”

Geldun awoke with a start.  Holy Gods!  It’s on me now, isn’t it?

He rolled over to watch Feadra, her face barely visible in the dim moonlight filtering through the windows.  She slept fitfully, obviously in a dream of her own.

I wonder who’s visiting her?

Chapter 33

Corballday, Day 21 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Willema, wife of Garan, the Ebareizan minister of the interior, woke next to her husband.  She rolled over in bed to prod him.

“Dearest, isn’t it time you wake up.  You have an important meeting this morning.”

She prodded him again.  He did not move.  Panicking, she rolled to her knees to look him in the face, a face blue and cold.  She pressed her hands to his cheeks only to feel the chill of death.  She screamed in anguish.

Soon, servants came to their door, one of them banging loudly against the heavy wood with their fist.

“My Lady, what is wrong?!”

“Come!  Please!  My husband is dead!”

The servants opened the door and rushed in, crowding about the bed.

“Tis true,” one said, “He died in his sleep.”

Tears streaming, Willema pulled her robe from the bedpost and wrapped it about herself.  She felt chilled, despite the tropical morning air from the open windows.

“My children!” she exclaimed and ran from the room.  Somehow, deep in her being, she knew they were also in danger.

The servants found her weeping, crumpled on the floor of her eldest and youngest children’s room, her two boys, both dead in their beds, like their father.  She had checked on their daughter first, finding her alive and sleeping still.  Then, she checked on her sons.

Similar scenes occurred in Coptia.  A young wife flung herself from an upper-story window after finding her new husband lifeless, and a widowed mother mourned over the body of her single child, a twelve-year-old boy.

In Castia, an aged fisherman lay dead, his teenage son with whom he shared the hovel, dead as well.  No one missed them that morning.  It was only the smell of decay that brought his neighbors to check on them days later.

***

Jacanda reclined on a sofa, feeling a sense of accomplishment.  I have weeded out all possible heirs to the throne of Sudea, save my grandson.

She was sure she had located them all.  Goromir kept no secrets from her, his wife, when they were together, and she knew all of his machinations to protect the royal line of Sudea.  Research of her personal records revealed one more potential heir, unknown to her husband, in Castia.

Irokaiteri, the senior of Jacanda’s servants,  stood before her mistress.   “You sent for me, Lady?”

Her given name was not to be said aloud in the company of others, as was her people’s custom, so Jacanda named her “Isla.”

“Isla, we must move from this place.”

“Lady, why?”  She was somewhat vexed, having known no other place for nearly three centuries.

“You have been with me long, Isla, so it may be natural for you to think of questioning my directives, but do not let it become a habit, or you will find yourself right back in the crude village you left behind.”

“Yes, Lady.”

“But, I see no need for secrets between us, so I will give you the why.  I am with child, for the first time in over five centuries.  Nothing ages in my realm, and so, a child may not develop to be born and mature.”

“My Lady!  Of course, this is momentous news.  To where will we journey?”  She clasped her hands before her.

“We will adjourn to the plane of dreams, where the gestation may proceed with no time passing in the waking realm.  Then, we will retire to an estate in the waking world, to allow the boy to mature.”

“Yes, Lady,” but then she thought about it.  “Will we all grow old then?”

“Isla, you need not worry.  You will age there, yes, but I will use the healing yellow magic to restore my servants.  You will age to healthy, mature women, but no further.  You might lose your pubescent physiques, only to replace them with full womanhood.”

“Yes, Lady.”  She remained with her head bowed in submission, but she was secretly pleased.  She observed over the centuries that her lithe teenage form was attractive only to the youngest of men, or the most abhorrent of older men.  She was eager for a body more befitting her years of experience.

***

“This could be a problem,” Gealton agreed, after Hadaras told him of last night’s happenings.  “What do you think is her aim in this?”

“I do not know for certain why she wishes another child by me.”

‘Half aelient, one quarter aelir, and one quarter elf?  I can see some possibilities.”

“Audina was our offspring, and she held no notable power in magic.”

Steepling his fingers, “I have studied your history, old friend.  Is it not true that power in sorcery is exceedingly strong in the males of your family, including your grandson?”

“Yes, Gealton, me, my father, my brother, his son, my sons, and Aleron are or were some of the most powerful sorcerers Aertu has ever known.”

“But the females less so?”

“For some strange reason, yes.”  He paused and looked down.  “None of the females of our family held more than average abilities.”

“So, if she bears you a son, we may have an opponent equal to you or Aleron?”

“Maybe so.”

“But we shouldn’t face such a foe for at least two decades.”

“Not necessarily,” Hadaras replied, his hand on his temple.  “She could birth and raise him in the dream plane, and we could face him tomorrow.”

“The dream plane works like that?”

“Time seems to pass on the dream plane as it does here, day and night, changing seasons, but for those who enter and leave, no time passes in the waking realm.”

“How?”

“We don’t know.  Elves are unable to enter by ourselves; our dreams take place only in our own minds, but humans may enter in their dreams and Aelient in the flesh.”

He scratched his head.  “Hasn’t Jessamine told you anything?”

“She uses it but doesn’t completely understand it either.  Like the other aelient, she uses it to travel distances.  She ran home from the coronation and the wedding.  It took her several days, but she arrived at the farm the moment after she left Arundell.”

“So, a human brought into the dream plane will age normally, then come back to the same moment here, but older?”

“It has happened.  Aelient have tricked men and elves to cross through their portals into the plane.  Some have grown old and died there, others killed by the hazards of that place, and a few rescued but returning years older.  Aging is no consequence to aelient, so they may spend months, or even years there.”

Gealton poured each of them a fresh cup of tea.

“You say elves and men have been tricked into entering in the flesh.  Have you ever been there?”

“Jesse has taken me.  It seems the same as here, but no buildings or roads, aside from structures the aelient have built there for their own use.” 

Hadaras sipped his tea, grateful for the warmth.  He felt a coldness in his heart this morning, beyond the physical.

“You mentioned hazards that can kill a person there?”

“The usual physical hazards of a wild place.  Wildlife exists there that man has extirpated in the waking world.  Lions and hyenas still roam the site of Arundell in that plane.  Plus, at night, the nightmares of men come to life.  Most of the aelient structures on the dream plane are refuges for spending the night, fortified to resist the monsters of human dreams.”

“I can see where this could be a problem if Aleron attempts to move troops across, as he stated.”

“Yes.  Your nightmares cannot harm your physical body in the waking world, but were you to cohabitate with them in the same plane…”

Gealton turned back to the problem at hand.

“An elvish sorcerer, of your blood and possibly more powerful, loyal to the Adversary, and we have no idea when he will arrive?”

“Yes.”

“That will not be good at all.”

***

Shabti remembered his visitor from yesterday afternoon.  The lady was waiting for him in his quarters when he retired for his midday meal.  He kept an icebox in his rooms for the raw goat meat he preferred to eat whenever he was not in the company of other humans.  Metjen knew his real identity and allowed him his privacy in matters of dining, so long as his breath did not reek of raw meat when he returned to his duties.

“Shaggat, you look a bit…different than when we met last.”

He froze in the doorway, torn between closing the door for privacy and running for help.  He quickly realized that she could kill him on the spot if he chose to turn and run, so he closed the door.

“Lady Jacanda!  It is a great surprise to see you here,” he said, a slight quaver in his voice.  Out of reflex, he spoke in his native dialect of Goblin.

“It is a surprise to see you in this guise as well.  How did this come to pass?”

He thought back to the events of the previous year.

“My friend, Aleron the King, made me so.  I could not return to my people, though he offered me that.  I am now called Shabti.”

“Shabti, then…Why could you not return to your people?”

“I was captured by the king’s companions after you took him from me.  The westmen forced me to betray my cause, with drugs, not under duress.  I would have endured to death under simple torture.”

“Yes, Dear Shabti, the Westmen have discovered ways more elegant than torture to extract information from their captives.

How did my grandson transform you so quickly?  Also, I sense something fundamental is missing from you.”

“Lady, Aleron used a white magic to transform me into a man.  He can conjure objects from thin air with it.”

“He wields the white, surprising, more surprising even than him wielding green and yellow, but he bested me with a combination I never expected possible, so this is not such a surprise after all.

But how are you also missing your essential goblin essence?”

“Lady, he brought me through your realm, the place you said I could not go.  Something was wrested from my very being when I made the passage.”

“Ah.  That passage would have killed a full goblin.  I know, as I have tried.  Your human blood must have saved you, but you came through more human than goblin.  Interesting…

I see now that your loyalties are torn.  You are more loyal to my grandson than to me or my Father.  Is that not the case?”

“Yes…Lady.  Aleron is my friend.  I am loyal to him.”

“No bother, Shabti.  I will not fault or smite you for loyalty to mine own kin.  Someday soon, our opposing sides will be one.  I will bring my errant grandson back to the fold in which he belongs.

I have a task for you that will not conflict with your loyalties.”

“Lady?”

“You will endeavor to protect the queen, and the princess she will soon bear.  Her offspring is key to my plans, and I will soon share those plans with my Father.  I am sure he will agree.”

“I can do that, Lady Jacanda.”  He was relieved that her demands would not force another betrayal upon his spirit.

“You will watch over the queen and her daughter.  If you find any who plot to harm them, kill them, or report them to the steward or my husband, Goromir, who you know as Hadaras.”

“Yes, Lady.  I will gladly do as you say.”  Husband?  He had not wondered before how Aleron was her grandson, but now it made sense.

“I will soon be unable to return here.  My dearest husband is even now laying traps for me and my kind.  I will find a way to contact you in the future, likely through an intermediary, unless you are outside of the city.”

She stood, and rather than opening a portal to leave, she faded to invisibility.  Only a faint shimmer in the air hinted at her passing.  His door opened, and the shimmer passed out into the corridor.

He decided he would tell Hadaras and Gealton of their meeting.  He regretted not deciding to do it yesterday, but regrets are like lost winnings; you keep counting what might have been, as if wishing could change the outcome, but the bones have already fallen.

***

Aleron strolled through the camp with Hameln and Gershon.  The soldiers they met tried to move smartly, but they were all tired.  It was obvious in their faces.  No one had gotten much sleep.  They exited the forest near dusk the night before and set up perimeter defenses.  They had no tents.  The night was spent fending off goblin attacks from the forest behind them,  troopers managing only to rotate out for short naps, wearing all their gear, lying on the cold earth near the fires.  They picketed the horses to the center of the camp for their protection and fought on foot.

In the morning light, they could see the Ebareizan army camped across the field.  It was far larger than the force that held the forts to the south.  The army that fled the Sudean advance had met with reinforcements.

“Do you think they’ll wait for our infantry to show up?” Hameln asked no one in particular.

They estimated the opposing force at around five thousand cavalry and fifteen thousand infantry.  The Sudeans started with seventy-five hundred horse soldiers, now somewhat less after a day and a night against the goblin horde.

“Not likely, Captain,” Gershon answered.  “We have superior numbers in cavalry.  We should attack first.  We can overpower and outmaneuver their cavalry before we take on the infantry.”

“Yes,” Aleron agreed.  “Abershol is at least a day behind us, and he will need to fight through the same goblins we faced yesterday.  They will be in time to help mop up the remnants…or avenge our passing.”

Hameln looked to his brother-in-law, wondering at the grim proclamation from his usually cheerful friend.

“There will be no avenging, Al.  We’ll take out the cavalry and pick away at the infantry until the others arrive.”

“Well said, Captain,” Gershon said.  “Let’s now rally the troops to attack.  We’ll get this over with before the sun is high.”

As the general and captain left him to spread the word and prepare their troops, Aleron worried for the columns of infantry and quartermasters following in their wake.  He and his troopers carried only a few days’ worth of combat rations and little else.  They needed that supply train to proceed any further.

Can’t worry about that now.  I need to saddle up and be ready to fight.

Chapter 34

Corballday, Day 21 Plowing Moon.  8766 Sudean Calendar

Barathol saddled and packed his horse for their trek through the forest.  They would soon head out to join Aleron and the cavalry.  He had little doubt that they would face stiff resistance from the goblins on their way.

He, Gallan, and several Ebareizan and Sudean soldiers attended Brother Trinde’s early morning service that he performed every Corballday.  It was the highest turnout the monk ever had for the rites.

Word spread like wildfire among both Ebareizan and Sudean ranks about Barathol’s exploits the day prior, much to his chagrin.  A private man, he did not glory in the attention.  Several of the men expressed wishes to become part of his personal entourage.  He tried to discourage them.  He did not want an entourage, but remembered the latest dream he had last night, when he stole a nap between shifts manning the walls.

He stood alone on a grassy prairie looking south, a dense forest to his back.  He recognized it as the same place he was in Ebareiza, but wild, without the trappings of man.  A faint breeze rustled the grass, carrying on it the scent of spring wildflowers.

He was himself this time, wearing his mail and holding the bardiche at rest, as one would a walking staff.

He saw a shape coming toward him from the distant horizon.  Soon, his eyes made out a bear, one of the long-legged plains brown bears, rare now, but rightly feared by those who travel in wild places.

He brought up the weapon in a defensive posture.  The worst thing he could do would be to turn and run.  Perhaps, when it saw him, the beast would turn and move elsewhere.

As it approached, the figure changed.  The bear reared up on its hind legs and continued to walk, transforming to the shape of a man as it neared.

He was a large man, dark-skinned with curly hair and a bushy black beard.  He stood before Barathol bare-chested, clad in baggy trousers tucked into sturdy boots, with a massive sword belted about his waist.

“Fear not and be at ease, My Son.  I come not to harm you.  Thank you for meeting with me here in the dreamlands.”  He held his hands before him, palms out.

“Corball?”  Barathol released one hand from his weapon and set the butt once more upon the ground.

“I am the one you call by that name.  I go by many names in as many places, some outside of the world you know.”

Barathol dropped to his knees and bowed his head, laying his bardiche on the ground.  “Great God…”  He found no other words.

“Rise, My Son.  I came to speak with you, not to receive your groveling.”

Barathol looked up to the god, smiling down at him.

Corball reached down to touch his shoulder.  In a flash of white radiance, his armor and gambeson dematerialized, leaving him bare-chested, like the god.

“Rise.”

Barathol climbed back to his feet, as he was told.  He looked down at himself and noted fewer tattoos.  Only the designs with deep meaning to him remained.  The illustrations he had inked upon himself on a whim were all missing.

“Great God, I thought you left us.”

“We did leave you, for a time.  There are other worlds we built and people thereupon to teach.  I and my brethren are returning now, for a time, to this, the first world we built.”  He gestured with his broad hands as he spoke.

“Why do you come back now, Great God?”

“We have tolerated our brother’s unchecked meddling for too long.  His followers are paving the way for him on other worlds as well.  If he succeeds in his efforts here, he will proceed to places that have not yet felt the taint of his full presence.”

“These other worlds are better than here?”  He looked about at the natural beauty surrounding them.

“Only insomuch as He Who will not be Named does not dwell there now.  When we first banished him from Aertu, he made his way to the other places we, as children, built alongside our Father.  He left his followers and his ill-begotten creatures on all of them, planting the seeds of his discord.”

“How did the Nameless One return here, if you banished him?”

“He returned after our departure.”  The god gestured to one side.  “This being our first world, he always coveted it above all others.

Now, he wants our Father’s entire universe and His place ruling it.  I believe we must halt him here, else we fight him for an eternity, never free to pursue our own destinies.”

“Why does the Allfather allow him to do these things?”

“I know not our Father’s mind in this.  We are sure He will quash our nameless brother, should he attempt to fully usurp His dominion, but in the meantime, He leaves it to us, and His free peoples, to defend against His errant son’s onslaughts.”

“Oh Great God, what must we do?”

“There are many things that need be done.  For you, My Son, you will reinstate my priesthood in this world.”

The god reached out and touched one finger to Barathol’s chest, in the spot just over his heart.  Barathol felt a searing pain but did not flinch.  He looked down at his chest to see an angry red brand mark in the outline of a bear, just beside the tail of his scorpion tattoo.  It quickly healed into a white scar.

“So you may know the pain you must inflict upon the first priests of your order.

Go now, My Priest.  Remake the Order of the Bear.  Bring the Berserkers back from your history.”

Barathol woke from that dream and returned to serve again on the fortifications.

After the service, he spoke to Brother Trinde, recounting the entire experience.

“He left me with this,” he said, lifting his tunic to expose his lower ribs and the white, healed brand scar of a bear.

“That wasn’t there yesterday.”

“I…I’ve seen you without your tunic…I believe you.

He told you that he is returning and that you need to restore his priesthood?”

“Yes, and yes.”  He let the hem of his tunic drop.

“I need time to think on this, Captain.  It implies that my priesthood is false, somehow.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“Perhaps not false, but missing an important element?”

“Maybe that.

I wouldn’t worry over that now, Brother.”  He placed his hand on the priest’s shoulder.  “We need to get ready to move soon.”

“Could we discuss this in more detail later?”

“Yes, I would like that.”

***

Aleron and Hameln charged headlong into the line of Ebareizan cavalry, the royal vanguard surrounding them.  The sounds of crashing steel and splintering wood mixed with the screams of men and horses, as they fell on both sides, to be trampled under hooves.

Aleron lost his lance when he skewered an enemy rider.  He drew his long cavalry sword and laid about himself, slashing at man and horse, wherever he saw an opening.  He was not nearly as experienced fighting from horseback as were most of his retinue.  Andhanimwhid remained sheathed at the front of his saddle.  The two-hander was not the best choice for mounted combat.

He marveled at Hameln’s ease in the task.  Rather than lose his lance, the young man deftly rotated and slid his grip to pull his weapon free of one after another opponent, all while deflecting incoming strikes with his tall kite shield.  Not until his lance broke did he draw his sword.

They broke off and, allowing the next wave of cavalry to engage, retreated to regroup and grab fresh lances.

“You’re getting the hang of this, Brother-in-Law,” Hameln complimented.

“Not nearly as good as you yet, Brother-in-Law,” he answered.  “I need to learn that trick of yours to get my lance back.”

“We can practice that sometime.  It’s easy when you figure it out.”

They collected new lances and reformed.  The royal van looked mostly intact.  Aleron surveyed the battlefield.  As they hoped, the enemy was not well prepared for their early and swift action.  The Sudeans had not bothered to waste time with another attempt at parley and simply rode to attack.

Though the forces facing off were similar, the Sudean cavalry was better armored and more numerous than the Ebareizans, and that was taking a toll on the enemy.  In his mind, he thanked Feargas for the timely shipment of dwarf-made armor and weapons.  The forces looked to be matched two-to-one now, better than the three-to-two advantage the Sudeans enjoyed at the beginning.

Hameln identified an opening for them and pointed.  “There, Al.”

“Let’s ride!” Aleron shouted to his men.  They goaded their mounts and charged back into the fray.

***

Barathol walked his horse, Sergeant Gallan and Brother Trinde alongside him.  He didn’t feel right riding when others walked.  Besides, he was a better fighter on foot than on horseback.  He carried his usual polearm today, holding the familiar weapon in an easy grip.

Seventeen others flanked them and brought up the rear, a nearly even mix of Sudeans and Ebareizans, Barathol’s new platoon of followers.  He petitioned General Abershol and Marquess Vallan that morning to allow the men to attach themselves to him.  As he was Aleron’s first, though only the rank of captain, the general and lord acceded to his request.

Abershol was leaving a full company of soldiers and a platoon of engineers to augment the Marquess’ forces, so the loss of a few soldiers was not a hardship for the Ebareizans holding the forts.

“Captain Barathol,” Trinde sought his attention.  “When shall we perform the rites of the old priesthood?”

“Not right away, Brother.  I want these men to understand to what they are pledging.  They need to learn some of the lore and scriptures before they commit.”

“Fair enough, Captain.  I can recite passages from the book when we rest, and you could recount your dreams.”

“Yes, good plan.  We’ll also need a smith to forge a branding iron for us.”

Not long after, the goblins came, in the thousands.

The sorcerers are not with this lot, Xarch thought as he commanded his forces to attack.  Now, we will meet them head-on.

He was wrathful at the destruction of his camp and the men’s theft of his new slaves, but he had other camps and supply caches throughout this forest.  He would not let rage fuel his decisions.

Barathol released his horse and brought up his glaive to defend against the goblin flying from the branches to his side.  He hoped the riderless horse would fare well on its own.  A downward slash of the polearm laid the fiend open before it hit, crumpling into the ground.

He lopped the head off another that was clinging to Trinde’s back, clawing for his eyes, as he was attempting to draw his sword.

“Thanks!”  The priest had his blade out and shield up, meeting the next attacker.

Barathol whirled about, slashing and stabbing at goblins that seemed to come from all directions.  An arrow glanced off his helm.

Wolf-dogs lunged from the underbrush, attacking their flanks, some met by Sudean war dogs now released by their handlers.

“Form a circular shield wall!” he shouted to the soldiers.  “Spears and glaives inside!”

His men were competent enough, but had no experience fighting together.  Simple tactics would have to do.

After sliding between two shield men into the forming circle, he quickly surveyed the battle.  Goblins attacked the column as far as he could see in both directions.  More arrows flew from the forest, glancing off or embedding in the shields of the infantrymen.

He stabbed upwards at a goblin that managed to leap the shield wall, impaling it through the abdomen and slamming it headfirst onto the roadway.  He turned back to the shield wall and took his place between two soldiers, reversed his glaive over the tops of their shields, and swatted aside spear thrusts from the mass of goblins surrounding them.

“Push north!” he shouted, intending to squeeze the enemy between his and the general’s group.  With no little effort, they closed the gap with the others and linked their formations.

A larger group allowed them to reform into two ranks deep, with the spear men operating from the back line, thrusting over the shields of the rank before them.  General Abershol commanded from the center, using his bloodied sword like a conductor’s baton.

“Push south!” the general ordered.  “Polearms, recover any wounded as we go!”

Goblins had swarmed in to fill the opening left by Barathol’s platoon.  They needed to close that gap and link with the company behind, which had formed a circle around two supply wagons.

They stepped over the dead and wounded as they advanced.  The forward line finished off struggling goblins, while polearm wielders worked to drag any wounded soldiers along their path, keeping them within the relative safety of the circle.

Barathol dragged a leg-wounded soldier.  They all wore a braided leather harness, fastened about their shoulders, with a handle at the base of the neck, for this contingency.  He wasn’t sure the man would make it, but you left no fallen comrade behind. 

He was trying to tie a tourniquet above the wound to his thigh as Barathol pulled him.  Barathol stopped to help him position it, but soon had to resume dragging, lest they be left behind.

Gradually, small pockets of fighters linked to form larger defensive circles throughout the formation.

The Sudeans have regrouped, and our advantage of surprise is over.  It is time to leave them and regroup ourselves.  Xarch sent out the call to retreat.

They heard goblin shouts, repeated down the line, and after nearly a bell of heated combat, the goblins melted back into the forest.  The only goblins left fighting were those surrounded by human foes and quickly eliminated.

The men were left to pick up the pieces of their formation from the disarray of the attack.

With the after-action reports delivered, they lost one hundred and six men, with another sixty-three wounded.  Two supply wagons and one carrying engineering materials lay in smoldering ruin.  Soldiers had pulled as much as they could from the burning wagons while the battle raged, but most was lost.

Two of Barathol’s men were among the slain, and three with the wounded.  He recovered his horse and gave it to one of the wounded men fit enough to ride.

All who rode, even the general, gave up their mounts for the wounded to ride.  Those unable to walk or ride were loaded onto supply wagons for the remainder of the journey.

Battlefield physicians and medics scurried about in their dire tasks of triaging and treating the wounded soldiers, while priests performed funerary rites over the groups of dead soldiers collected at various points.

Trinde performed the rites over one such group, despite an arrow wound to his thigh, recently bound by a medic, and ragged scratches on his cheek and neck.

“We need to get these bodies burned, while the wagons still have some substance left,” Abershol stated to his gathered officers.

“Assemble details to gather the dead at the three wagons, others to gather dead wood along the roadside, and a few men to spread the burning wood into suitable platforms.

We’ll have to layer them to fit all the bodies on those three pyres, with wood in between layers.  We’ll use some of the hedgehog stakes if we have to.  We can always make more where we’re going.  Liberate some of the cooking oil, too.

Understood?”

The column marched north up the forest road, hundreds of dead goblins and three massive pyres in their wake, sending flames and black, oily smoke past the treetops.