“Lord Straboc, this is a…pleasure?” Deuleca appealed as she strode towards her chair, which some may have called a throne, but for her, it was just a comfortable chair. She wasn’t sure what to make of her surprise visitor. The old man in front of him was covered in bruises and mud, as was the younger man who accompanied him. He was barely holding onto his anger; she could sense that much.
“Wipe that smirk off your face!” Lord Straboc shakily shouted. The fire in his eye burned as bloody spit escaped from his mouth.
“Sir, is this how a man of your stature behaves?” she belittled in a motherly way.
Men often revealed who they were when pushed over the edge. It had been so with her father, husband, brother, son, and now with this…creature. The Commander of the West would be no different. After all, men were all ever so predictable, slaves to their urges and impulses.
For a moment, the proud lord froze in place. Perhaps he was weighing his options and quelling the fumes of his rage. Deuleca had had the displeasure of meeting this man a few times before. In every instance, this patrician found a way to make it unpleasant.
That, however, had been before she emerged as the governor of East Deystro. She had seen this man as little more than a happy drunk, certainly not suited for the military. At least, not as grand as he had been given. Though with the patricians politically motivated, so was his appointment.
Out of the eight patricians she had met throughout her long life, Lord Straboc was the least fit. Most competent must have been Lord Paubemec, now the Commander of the North, whose endless exploits had exhausted the Empire. Few men enjoyed his charisma and temper, certainly not the disgrace in front of him.
“We were ambushed… We barely escaped…” the Lord finally uttered in shame. Did he expect sympathy?
“I see… And now you have come crawling here?” Deuleca mocked.
Lord Straboc tightened his fists. Giving into his impulses so early, how disappointing. She had enjoyed a pleasant afternoon thus far, this sudden intrusion would provide her with much entertainment.
“Most of my army is gone… We need to rebuild it with haste,” he lamented while looking down. It must have been humbling.
"Do we?" she questioned.
This buffoon expected the governorate to pay for his shortcomings. In truth, she had no responsibility for such things. The Commander was bound to his budget directly approved by the Chamber. However, if he resorted to begging, he must have exceeded his budget and was out of other options, except one... cover it out of his bag.
“If we idle, those devils will seize our strongholds in West Deystro,” he continued his presentation.
There was no way he cared about those forts, most of them had been captured by Lord Paubemec before his reassignment. As the two most powerful houses in the realm, the rivalry between them was natural as it was infamous.
“Oh yes, those important frontier forts…. Why do you care about them again?” she challenged, trying to hide her resentment. She knew the answer, but making this fat slug bullshit his way around it was pristine entertainment.
“My lady doesn’t understand war strat—” he tried to brush the issue aside. Of course, a man like him would try hand-waving the issue. Unlike most patrician women, she wouldn’t have gotten to her position, if she had ignored the military affairs.
“Perhaps you can explain it to a foolish wench like myself?” she interrupted with a wet smile.
Awkwardness overtook the hall as her guards and servants gave an uncomfortable look towards her. To interrupt a patrician was bad enough, but to test House Straboc was cocky, she knew it, but could not help herself. Her court lacked her guts, not wanting to get on their bad side. She wondered if her guards would just step aside when Straboc eventually lost his mind in a fit of rage.
“I don’t need to—” he uttered, apparently shocked he was treated like this. Perhaps he had never faced a power dynamic like this. The boy next to him contrasted his confusion with a smirk.
“That’s alright, commander. My spies have observed your so-called war strategy,” she interrupted a second time.
To be born in a realm of men plagued by endless war, one could not prosper without trying to understand its madness. Those who turned closed their eyes to it, were spineless, as was her husband. And when one is without a spine, what are they but pawns?
“You neglect the forts you now speak so highly of!” she accused, as it was a trial.
“That isn’t—”
"Leech, that's what are you. You ransack the cities for profit, then withdraw without a fight," she presented as she flexed her wrist.
And, of course, it was hardly surprising that after such adventures, his exhausted force would walk into an ambush. Their enemies didn’t need to be particularly clever to take advantage of the inherent flaw in the Commander's strategy.
"Are you not squandering resources with these futile assaults?" she threw.
“It’s merely my humble opinion, but… You are accomplishing very little with this.”
“Ah, I see the lady confused by the complexity of war. You see—” he began his counter, only to lose his turn once more.
“You think you are weakening our enemies, but you are doing the opposite,” she lamented.
“I beg to differ. The key to winning conflict lies in reducing West Deystro to a wasteland,” the Lord proudly argued. He seemed ever so pleased not to be interrupted that she decided to let him continue his ridiculous rhetoric.
“And once it has been done, I expect Zobozandish to abandon the region and sue for peace,” he finished his rant.
What drove men to seek the destruction and suffering of others? How could such behavior ever be justified? He was a bigger idiot than Deuleca had imagined. To think this man was of the patrician flock and not a pig farmer.
“I can see your perspective, but not how you can still be such a fool.”
At that moment, the boundary had been crossed. As Lord Straboc wiped the remaining mud out from his face, his face was ambushed by a shade of redness, which complemented his lamellar armor also painted in crimson red.
“I’m a patrician of the Realm, a king’s whore or not; you will face trial for this insolence!” he spouted like a maniac.
For this man to burst into rage so easily was interesting… A king whore, was it? It wasn’t very creative ad hominem, but supposedly Lord Straboc wasn’t the most imaginative of men. Aggravated magnates always had to stir some conspiracy about why she had been given such a prominent position. Of course, like all stories, they contained some seeds of truth.
At that moment, he snapped and rushed forward. Her guards tightened their grip on the polearms, ready to stop his advance. Only be halted by the much younger man who had accompanied him, who placed his hand on his shoulder. The repaid the kindness by turning around and punching the boy.
As the boy wiped the blood off his lips, he exposed Deuleca to a content face, as if he had waited for it. He then returned the favor. His strike contained such momentum Lord Straboc was thrown off his feet and fell to the stone floor. What kinda retainer had the spine to assault a patrician? No, this boy must have been… Something else, perhaps his son?
The man then offered him his hand, but he was too proud and angry to resolve the issue. He tackled the boy and began beating him on the floor.
“My lady, should we stop them?” one of her guards confusingly asked.
As they fought the hall became covered in mud. After eight or nine hits, Deuleca decided to intervene.
“Calm yourself, good patrician. If you can’t handle the rattling of some old woman, how do you deal with those whom you consider to be your peers?”
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No answer, but the Lord did stop attacking the boy. He coldly turned towards the west wall where lost himself in her hall’s elaborate tapestries. The waving resting on the west wall was set in a gloomy forest, in torn dress-wearing girl wept as she was being forced to marry a wolf-headed man covered in blood. On the floor lay a handsome but dead boy.
“You know why you are a fool, my dear patrician?” she asked with the most sincere tone she could muster.
“Let me now…” he sighed, trying to calm down.
“Our little kingdom lacks resources to finance your systematic destruction, and even if it didn’t… What good would a region scorched be?”
The boy began rising up from the floor fully covered in bruises, blood, and mud, yet he looked amused as he retook his place next to the man who likely was his father.
“With time, we would rebuild, of course.” he proudly proclaimed.
More of his bizarre delusions. Deuleca could only imagine how many centuries the process would take without a sizeable investment. Would it ever pay itself back?
“By spending even more coin on it? Only for the Zobozandish to resume the war?” Deuleca inquired.
“Perhaps so, but that would be after our time, and thus not our problem.”
How expectedly small-minded of him, she thought. How could this man be completely ignorant of the grand tapestry?
“Do you realize there is a way to solve this conflict without extremities?”
“Share your wisdom, you wise crone,” he mocked, clearly not even taking the conversation seriously anymore.
“Those cities you assault, those are not Zobozandish, but Deystrian occupied by the Zobozandish?”
“I see the lady does not grasp the situation. Those are the one and the same.”
“But there is… A major difference. And you should be aware of it...”
“Oh, my…. I did come across rumors of you being a lover of the Deystrians. Are the Deystrian cocks sweeter than the King’s?
“I wouldn’t know… My sympathy for these people…”
She gave her servants a look, many of them were of the Deystrian origin.
“Only extends as far as winning the war,” she reasoned.
It was a bold thing to admit all her kindness towards them was conditional. The Deystrian servants gave her a deluded gaze. They were justified in doing so. No one wants to hear they are but a pawn in the greater scheme of things. But to ascend beyond their station, they had to hear it, even if they were too ignorant to realize it themself. She had been a pawn once, and to an extent, she still was.
“By conscribing the men of East Deystro?” he proposed optimistically.
Of course, he wanted a conscript to solve his issue, such as typical male behavior. She had devoted her entire reign to avoiding alienating the locals. Instead, she had tried to bring their people together. However, everyone was determined to undermine her policies, even her own son would rather be reduced to a vagabond than take the hand of the Deystrian noblewoman.
“No. Conscription would only deepen the scars you carved with your destruction.”
“Then, I don’t see the point.”
“Of course, you don’t. You are man ignorant of humanity and history,” she sighed, tired of this beggar. She stood up from her chair.
“Do I have to spell it out for you, dear?” she riddled.
“Huh… You wish to cooperate with the Deystrians?” he dizzy asked…
“Indeed, winning the hearts and the minds of the locals is most paramount,” she proclaimed proudly.
“Such feminine naivety. The Deystrians do not care who lords over them. They have lost their identity as a nation, they are but docile cattle.”
“Utter rubbish, it takes centuries for a nation to fade away.,” she dismissed.
It had been merely two decades since the independent kingdom of Deystro fell to a war of succession. Since then, it had been a prolonged dispute between Aliaze, Zobozand, and their ally, the Empire.
“If you continue ransacking, what choices do the people of West Deystro have? You are driving into the lap of the Zobozandish. When a father sees your men ravishing his daughters, he might devote the rest of his life to spite our realm,” she proposed.
“Or perhaps he gets so terrified he stays out of my way. Either way, the locals don’t matter. Our solemn responsibility is the morale of our troops,” he countered.
“And if the fun comes at the expense of the local maidens, is that not the worthy price to pay?” he continued.
“No… No matter how many soldiers come for this land, without the local aid, it’s all wasted effort”, she persisted.
“Such bold perspective from someone who has never seen bloodshed,” he patronized.
Deuleca pinched her gown cotton gown; its stark black background was embroidered with a pattern of a golden beetle; the sigil of her father’s house. Lord Straboc was mistaken, she had seen a battle, but how she wished she hadn’t. Memories of that event nearly thirty years ago, the imagery of the stampede of the imperial cavalry and her father… It kept coming back to her.
“Did you ever consider how the thing might be if the people saw you as a liberator instead of a conqueror?” she implored.
“Would you not face less resistance? The Deystrians might even volunteer to aid you.”
“Conscripts or volunteers, I see little difference,” he stated.
“You should… Conscripts won’t die for you…or me. They will be the first ones to desert you. Wouldn’t you agree, Commander?”
He didn’t offer much protest. It wasn’t hard to imagine desertions being common under his command. After all, this man was stubborn and a complete pit of charisma. He simply had no place in the military or politics. Perhaps, he would have been made a decent priest like the founder of his house.
“If anything, having conscripts in your army erodes it from the inside. Is the chain not as strong as its weakest link?” she inquired.
As far as she knew, Lord Straboc was the weakest link of his host.
“Volunteers on the other… They will proudly die for their cause, at least that’s what I’m told,” she stated.
“At your age, it’s humorous you mistake romantic ideal for reality, just like a milk maiden,” he mocked.
“That is the reality of things… When our patrician fathers rose against the Empire, were they not joined by volunteers? Did they not face the full might of the Empire? And yet, against all odds, they emerged victorious... How do you explain its success without the people’s will?” she ranted.
“It makes for a good story to keep the peasants from rioting, but it’s nothing but a founding myth,” he observed.
“Back then, the Empire was about as corrupt as it’s now… Our fathers simply bought our freedom by bribing the imperial officers,” he explained.
He wasn’t completely to have such a take, but it was certainly an oversimplification. Though, her view could as easily have been guilty of it. Perhaps the truth was something between.
“I’m not denying that was a part of it…” she admitted, the key to getting through to people was meeting them halfway.
“But I cannot fathom it to be the only reason.”
“Then you are a bigger fool than me,” Lord Straboc sniffed.
“A character in your predicament should restrain from such accusations.”
Deuleca began guiding this buffoon in the right direction. Perhaps, he wasn’t completely hopeless and could be used to avert a crisis.
“My army might be in ruins, but—” he tried to rationalize.
“I’m not referring to that… Tell me, proud lord, why do you think you were given this position?”
While the position of commander was always bestowed to those of patrician origin, and not those known for their martial prowess, it was generally in everyone’s best interest the patrician was at least competent. Lord Paubemec for instance, had held a junior command since he was but a teen. Hence it was hardly surprising he would emerge as the commander of the West by the time he turned twenty. In contrast, Serec Straboc had spent his entire life avoiding military roles, despite the countless opportunities.
At least that was before he accepted to replace Paubemec as the commander of the West. Supposedly, the reason why he changed his mind wasn’t nearly as complex as the conditions of his nomination. Most likely Serec had realized that he wasn’t going to amount to much in the Capital and hoped to abuse the war to enrich himself further.
“The other patricians would rather just toil in their mansions and I—”
“That’s not it…” she said. “You’d make a terrible commander, everyone knew it.”
For some reason felt awkward and uneasy telling him this, she almost blushed. It was like telling a child their drawing was no good, something they should have known for themself. But this was an adult man, whose networking should have made them aware of their standing in court.
“But the King sent you here either way….”
“If I didn’t know any better…. The one who wrapped his lips around—,” she suggested.
He sighed. “Your insolence has no limits, wench”.
“Or perhaps there is another reason why you were chosen…”
Her eyes moved to the tapestry of the east wall. This was her favorite art, in it was a smiling demon with three horns. His upper torso was that of a black goat and his upper torso was that of a man who was fishing in a pond made composed out of eyes. The demon was amused, his cat eyes glowed as his long tongue slipped his lips.
“This is more of my feminine fiction, but I reckon you were not wanted in the Capital,” she presented her hypothesis. Still staring at the demon.
The Lord, who so valiantly vanquished his rage a moment ago, was struggling to swim against a new current of emotions.
“Cow’s ghost cock! People adore me there,” he argued.
“Do they? Do they really? Pardon me, but you aren’t most…observant of men,” she snarked in her most mocking demeanor.
“You are but a simpleton, they probably laughed at your back,” she continued the roast.
“You…” he uttered, but he wasn’t smart enough to come up with a counter.
She dignified him by turning back to face him.
“I, on the other hand, trace shadows, perhaps too much,” she sighed.
“I will tell you my conspiracy theory, not because I have fondness or respect for your family. But because the King is undermining the balance of power…,” she shared.
“And I must prevent it…”