The King’s council had shrunk significantly since the war began. Lord Commander Drakonstone paced through his private chambers, wondering when Mildred would return from the buttery with wine and ale. Scents of basil and camomile drifted from the floor. Elric had watched as two servants (whose exact roles within the castle Elric was not entirely privy to) got down on hands and knees and spread all sorts of herbs onto the floor to disguise the scent of spittle, grease, and beer. The previous nights in Elric’s private chambers had been messy. He’d had more company than he’d ever had before, especially now that King Tarren had been moved closer to the infirmary. His mind was feeble and in need of constant attention. It had gotten to the point where he was not able to make it to the latrine and his feces were painting the floorboards like splattered paint.

Elric Drakonstone squinted through the peephole of his solar, peering down at the light activity in the great hall down below. The hole would be disguised from the other side, he knew. It was a neat peephole that left Elric wondering how many other sneaky holes and secrets were obscured from throughout the castle. He directed his gaze directly below where he stood, and saw two servants tidying the high dais. King Tarren would be seated there in a few hours, and Elric would be on his left. The queen’s seat was vacant, and would remain vacant. Her death had been sudden and unexpected, but in King Tarren’s current gloomy state he had not seemed to notice. He hadn’t managed more than a moan that sounded like either “ye” or “nuh” in over a month.

“Cobwebs,” muttered Elric.

“Huh?” replied Mildred as she entered the room with two bottles of wine and a tankard hugged tightly under her arm.

“Cobwebs…in the corners of the King’s mind.” Elric turned away from the peephole just as the almoner had exited the great hall with leftover peas and beans to feed to the poor. Their number was growing by the day. Elric frowned slightly, figuring there would be bloodshed over those peas and beans. He didn’t envy the almoner. Not one bit.

“The King’s mind decays with every day. We ought to figure out who his heir will be.” Mildred locked eyes with Elric, a crease forming on her forehead. “And soon, love.”

“I know, I know…” said Elric. He trailed off, pacing along the floor again with one hand resting below his nose and on top of his bushy mustache. His stomach growled. The smell of smoked herring was rising up from the kitchens downstairs. That was the downside of spending so much time in a solar. It was too close to everything. His old chambers were secluded and away from everything up in the east tower. I ought to move back there, Elric thought to himself. He sucked his teeth, shaking his head. He knew he’d never follow through with it--not when he was so close to cementing himself as the Castellan of Stormhold (formerly Rarington).

King Tarren had informed Elric of the decision in one of his increasingly rare moments of lucidity. He was seated on his throne, black ooze slowly dripping out of his nose and white smoke drifting out of his mouth like misty, humid rasps. It gave Elric chills at first…back before he had convened with Basidin.

“Our Lord and Ruler has spoken through me,” said King Tarren, his eyes glazed. His face had aged thirty years since Basidin had taken hold of the castle. Elric had tried to push away the guilt…the fear. Is all of this my fault? Did I bring Basidin here? From Northrock? King Tarren resumed after a lengthy pause to catch his breath. His fingers trembled, clutching at the edge of his royal crimson robe. “He wants two Lord Commanders to lead our armies. One of them will be a young man…his name is Kael. Akar is seeking him out now with the token.”

Elric shuddered at the thought of the token. He knew the pennant of the gnarled, twisted tree was on a necklace somewhere beneath King Tarren’s robe. His cupbearer had tried to rip it off in the King’s sleep, desperate to rid the King of this terrible illness of evil that had befallen him. No one knew how the cupbearer had died. He was found the next morning by the bedside of the weak King Tarren with strangle marks around his neck. Elric wondered if the queen had suffered a similar fate.

“Two commanders?” asked Elric. “But I’m…I’m the Lord Commander of the King’s armies. Remember?”

“No,” said King Tarren. He wagged a bony finger. “You will have a new role here. You will serve as Castellan of the castle. We shall name this place Stormhold, for it will endure a mighty storm against a great host.” Elric’s brows furrowed. He didn’t know of any mighty army advancing on the castle. Denderrika’s armies were scattered, fighting many small battles on different fronts. “And the other commander besides the young man Kael will be another with the name of K--” The King’s words caught in his throat and his eyes bulged. Elric thought he might choke and keel over right then and there. Two tending servants rushed to his aid. Elric recognized one of them as the castle laundress. The King sat up, his handing massaging his throat. He gently brushed aside the pats of comfort from the two servants. “Ken--Ke--” King Tarren’s eyes rolled back and his head tilted onto his shoulder. He was fast asleep.

“Took all of his strength just to say that?” said Mildred. Her boots clicked softly along the stone floor as she approached.

“I guess I’m to be named Castellan soon,” said Elric.

Mildred’s eyes slowly widened in surprise, then her mouth curled into a smile. “That’s great, right?”

“I suppose,” replied Elric. His gaze lowered. Castellan was not the same as Lord Commander. It wasn’t what he had worked for all of those years--not what he’d journeyed to Northrock for. Mildred pulled him into her embrace, planting a tender kiss onto his lips. Elric resisted initially, then felt himself irresistibly drawn into her warm embrace. Their lips met like soft pillows. His stomach fluttered.

“Who are we expecting for council this evening?” asked Mildred. She could sense Elric’s restlessness. He didn’t like to wait. Meetings weren’t his thing. The council always drove him mad, although he’d never admit it.

“The Steward, erm…his name evades my memory.” Elric brought a hand to his forehead as his eyes searched the ceiling for an answer. “Halson. I believe that’s his name.”

“Just Halson?”

“No.”

“Then who else? Is the King coming?”

Elric paid Milred a sarcastic glance. She shrugged. “No, the King is in no condition to appear in the small council.”

“The chaplain?”

Elric shook his head, irritation plain on his face. “I’ve told you before, we’ve done away with the chapel and the chaplain. He disgraced this castle in his sermons.”

“Spymaster?”

“We still haven’t found a replacement.”

“Bodry’s still being held by the Denderrikans?”

“He is. And he’d better not return now. He’s spilled too many secrets already, I’m sure of it. What a weak minded bastard--”

“Elric.”

“Sorry. I forget that he was your…family.”

“He still is,” snapped Mildred. She busied herself, twisting a strand of her hair into a braid.

Elric moved to a corner of the room and lit a candle. Its orange flame flickered wildly. Shadows danced along the walls like ghosts. The door to the solar opened. It was Halson. Two more men trickled in behind him.

“Lord Commander,” said Halson, nodding as he stepped into the room. “These are the two engineers we hired--Bilgar and Myogar of Rittgeal. They’re ready to begin effective tomorrow, as you requested.”

Elric’s gaze held the two engineers for nearly thirty seconds before he held out a hand. “Pleasure.”

Bilgar shook his hand first, and then Myogar.

“Let’s begin, shall we?” said Elric.

“After initial assessment of your holdings here in Windem, Stormhold seems to be the heart of the land--your most strategic point. To lose Stormhold could be detrimental.”

“Correct,” said Elric knowingly. He’d paid a hefty fee for their services and demanded to see the value now.

“Your position is weak. Your walls are breachable. I tasked Myogar to find a way in overnight. You know how long it take him?” Bilgar’s accent was weak. He wore a single spectacle over one of his rich brown eyes. A bushy mustache covered his entire mouth and his thinning brown hair was covered by a brown hat.

“He never made it in. My guards would have seen him. Unless someone was paid to let him in,” said Elric. He looked to Mildred, who shrugged. “I didn’t hear of anyone getting in,” she said.

“It take him…two…hour.” He paused a while between the last two words, as if searching for a difficult word that was somewhere in the back of his brain. His words were thick with Rittgalian dialect.

“Well how did he get in?” asked Elric incredulously. He didn’t believe Bolgar, and was hoping that he’d come up with a ridiculous answer so that Elric could tell him off right then and there and shoo him off. They didn’t need some overpaid engineer to come in and tell the future Castellan how to fortify a castle.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Bolgar slowly strolled across the chamber, stopping right before the latrine.

“What? You need to go?” said Elric.

Bolgar pointed with a short, stubby finger. He waited for Elric to look at where he was pointing. He finally gave in, striding across the room and peering down the latrine.

“Through there, Myogar made his way into the castle.”

“Impossible,” said Elric. “I would have noticed.”

“You were sleep,” said Myogar. “Snore loud!” He suddenly popped to life like a wind up toy, an expression of pure amazement coming over him.

Elric chuckled, looking at Mildred with a look of disbelief. Halson nodded his head as if confirming what was just said.

“Why are you nodding your head?” Elric said. He was glaring at Halson now. “What? Were you watching this head of dirty blonde hair emerge from the hole with which I offload my shit?” Myogar pulled back in dismay at the description of his hair.

“Clean hair, not dirty!” said Myogar.

Bilgar’s face was full of patience, waiting for Elric’s disbelief to die off so he could move on to the next topic. He peered around the room, noting the crimson bed curtains that were drawn back to reveal a bigger bed than he’d ever seen. He sniffed the air. Basil, thought Bilgar.

“We will need to reconfigure your latrine and others like it,” said Bilgar. “In addition, we will need to build a new outer wall. Your walls here are square. Square is breachable.”

“Our walls are not breachable. We keep our walls heavily manned,” said Elric.

“Just wait,” said Halson. Elric scowled at him. Halson was a short man, and Elric towered over him like a man scorning a child.

“Square walls have blind spots in corners. Cannot have this,” said Bilgar. “Need circular keep to ward off sieges and avoid breaches.”

“Hold on,” interrupted Elric. His hand had shot up and was not prodding at Bilgar’s chest accusingly. “You mean to tell me that we need to rebuild our entire keep? I’m not sure if you’ve heard the latest, but we’re in a war. Our enemy has eyes and ears, and they will jump at an opportunity to take us down when we’re weakest. If they see us--”

“You have workers. People. Hungry people. Hungry people will work. For food.” Bilgar had not been phased by Elric’s overbearing stature. “Pay well with peas, beans, oats. People will build.”

“What he’s saying,” interjected Halson, “is that we don’t need to take down the square keep. We can just build a new curtain wall around the square keep. He wants to build a circular wall.”

“Yus,” confirmed Bilgar. Myogar nodded his head, standing shoulder to shoulder now with Bilgar. They both wore brown from head to toe, Elric had just noticed.

“Okay. What else?” asked Elric.

Bilgar and Myogar looked at each other. Myogar nudged Bilgar.

“Ninety feet high, twenty two feet thick. Impenetrable,” said Bilgar.

“Ninety feet? Halson, how tall is our current wall?”

“Seventy-five,” said Halson, looking from Elric to Mildred, and back to Elric.

“Fifteen feet make a difference?” asked Elric.

“Yus,” said Bilgar. “And we build meutrieres for your men.”

“Moo-tree what?” said Elric. He had never heard such a word.

“I do not know the word for the common tongue here in Windem…em…” Bilgar looked to Halson, who shrugged. “Holes…in wall.”

“You mean arrow loops?” said Elric.

“Yus,” said Bilgar. “Arrow loops better for defending the walls. Archers on the ramparts…can die easy.”

Elric nodded. He saw the value now. “Anything else?”

Bilgar smiled. “Yus.”

“Yus,” repeated Myogar. His grin was too wide and Elric nearly smacked him across the face. Or perhaps he was still fuming from the fact that Myogar had snuck in through the latrine while he was sleeping.

“We build ditch around circle wall,” said Bilgar. “Fill with water.” Bilgar motioning the action of someone pouring something.

“A moat,” said Elric.

Bilgar nodded, exchanging satisfied glances with Myogar.

“Wall built in hundred days. Moat built after wall. Record time. Never faster,” said Bilgar.

“I told you these guys were good,” said Halson.

Elric looked from Halson to Mildred, and then to the two engineers. “When can you start?”

Elric had stepped out onto the ramparts to get air. The sun had set hours ago and the night guard was on watch. The air was always so crisp at night, and especially during Elric’s favorite time of season. Winter. Windem had its fair share of brutal winters, but this one had been mild so far. It had only gotten cold enough for mild flurries, but no serious snowfall had beleaguered them so far this year. Elric found he had developed a newfound love for the cold after the ill-fated trip to Northrock. His fortunes had changed for the better ever since that trip.

“Have you had your dreams lately?” asked Halson as they paced along the ramparts. They walked past a guard who had been chiseling his dagger with his back pushed against the wall he was supposed to be looking over. He nearly fell as he turned his body to assume a watchful position. His dagger fell to the stone walkway, clattering loudly.

“What dreams?” asked Elric.

“You know,” began Halson. “The ones that you told me about…the ones about your friend, Gareth--”

“--enough.” Elric became cold with bitterness. Halson shivered at the way his tone had rolled into a low growl. “Do not utter his name anymore. He is dead.” Elric’s teeth were snarled into a grimace. The guard on watch thought twice about reaching down to grab his dagger until his Lord Commander was out of striking distance. His temper had consequences for even the innocent.

“My apologies, Lord Commmander,” said Halson. “I was merely trying to check in on you, like a good friend.”

“We are not friends, Halson. You are the steward of this castle and I am soon to be its castellan. If we are going to have a good working relationship, I recommend we keep our conversations professional from here on out.” Elric stopped walking. Halson turned to face Elric, his cheeks rosy red from the cool air.

“I understand,” said Halson.

“I need you because you know things. You know things that I myself cannot prod and ask, therefore you are of value to me. Do you remember what happened to the Master of Whispers?” said Elric.

“Uh…I believe you threw him…from the…ramparts,” said Halson evenly. It was important that he keep his cool here. Elric was testing his resolve.

“There are many stories about me which are not true. That one, however, is true.” Elric chuckled. King Tarren had wanted him dead anyways. It was too dangerous to have someone with a loose tongue running around and spreading rumors to the people of Windem about some vile creature that dwells in the castle’s tunnels. The fun part for Elric had been deciding how to go about killing him. He had made sure that the Whisperer’s death was well seen by his guards. Word would travel fast. Men ought to fear him, whether by falsities or true stories. It mattered not.

Elric and Halson walked the length of the ramparts, taking the time to examine and discuss the square shape of the castle’s curtain wall. Elric leaned over the ledge to examine the supposed blind spot that Bilgar had been attesting to. “I suppose this could be a blind spot,” said Elric. He yanked Halson by the collar, pushing his upper body over the edge to view the blind spot.

“Ah, I see,” said Halson. His breaths were quick and his heart rate rapid. Elric released his grip and Halson steadied himself away from the corner.

“They begin work tomorrow,” said Halson.

“Aye.”

As in shifts, Halson made way for the next man who was due to speak with Elric. It was one his messengers, who had been sent to dispatch the assassin, Shiv.

“You’re late,” said Elric.

“I was held up,” said the messenger.

“What of the assassin?”

“He accepted, of course. My intel claims they saw him enter the city of Elaria on his black and white spotted horse and he exited shortly thereafter with two heads in his lap.”

“Have the heads been identified?” asked Elric.

“No,” replied the messenger.

“I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. Although I did want the Blackthorn boy brought to me alive but I didn’t let on to Shiv that it mattered much whether he was dead or alive.”

“You did include higher pay if the boy was brought to you alive,” said the messenger. His voice was confident and assured. It was a far cry from the tremors that Shiv had sent through the messenger when he was face to face with the assassin. Few men could inspire genuine fear like Shiv.

“What’s with the boy anyways?” asked the messenger. “Is he some sort of pawn in this war?”

“Not quite,” said Elric. He wished he had remembered to bring his tankard of ale outside with him. It was still sitting inside his private chambers. “It’s just that he’s a Blackthorn. That’s all.”

“A Blackthorn,” said the messenger, testing the words. “Isn’t that the name of the Lord Commander who preceded you? I forget his first name,” the messenger frowned, bringing the palm of his hand to his forehead. “Gavin, was it? No, I can’t remember. Funny how even legends begin to fade from memory after a few years.”

Elric snorted in derision. “You are correct in that assessment. He’s the son of a man who paid a great service to this nation…to Windem. But he has taken a different path than his father. A very dangerous and twisted path.”

“Why’s that?” asked the messenger. “What could a boy do to cause you so much headache? He have some sort of guarded secret or something?”

Elric laughed heartily. “No, nothing of that sort. But he’s got his father’s blood in him, and he’s coming after some of our men. Some of our very important men.” Elric thought of Festal Crowe and of Kael Voryn. The other’s faces became lost in his mind with all the other faces he saw on a daily basis. Those two were the important ones.

“They doing work for Akar?” asked the messenger. Akar’s name was one that did bring a shudder to the messenger. He was in the same league of dark and mysterious men such as Shiv. As he came to think of it, he supposed Elric was in that company now too.

A cold draft suddenly blew them back a step. The guard on watch brought the cowl of his hood lower and tried with all his willpower not to show how cold he was.

“Akar’s involved, yes…anyways, I’ve talked too much already. It’s getting late.”

Without another word, Elric brushed past the messenger and returned to his solar. The fireplace was roaring and Milred was already submerged beneath the covers of their bed.

“Hurry, Lord Commander,” said Mildred, a twinkle in her eye and her lips twisting with seduction. “I’ve been waiting.”

Elric smiled as he undressed himself. He took a quick look down the latrine to make sure he wasn’t met with the face of Myogar. Once he was assured of that, he wandered over to his bed and snuggled up beside Mildred. No wonder Gareth had always been desperate to turn in early for the night, thought Elric. It all makes perfect sense now.