Alexander strode through the dimly lit passage, trailed by a retinue of his newly appointed staff.
“King Alexander. If I may…” His grace, Ramses, Duke of Cornwall, Curia Regis had to trot to keep up with Alexander. The Whisperer had a social ranking of twenty-two, but his overall rank was somewhere in the thousands. The notion that he was qualified to advise him on anything was insufferable conceit on his part.
“I am not interested in your opinions, Ramses.” Alexander, of course, called him an obsequious mote of space dust, but Mother dutifully informed him of the word substitution and docked him a fame for the minor intrusion violation—a price he would gladly pay for the duration of the contest.
“Queen Charlemagne will not want to engage you in a military campaign,” Ramses continued. “Demand any tribute you desire, and she will almost certainly pay it. This is the perfect opportunity for us to build our strength.”
“Our strength?” Alexander sneered. “I did not pay ten million fame to cower in the shadows and collect resources. My fans want a military campaign. The time to strike is now!” Mother notified him of another intrusion violation. This time, however, she had redacted the entire speech. “Charlemagne is a second-rate accountant who equates mathematics for actual thought. I will destroy her army and annex her entire kingdom.”
“But Your Majesty… We need more time. More time to raise an army. More time to train the soldiers. More time to figure out how everything works.”
“You presume to lecture me about military strategy?” Alexander turned on the diminutive Ramses.
“Of course not.” He backed away until his avatar was pressed against the corridor wall. “I was just suggesting…”
“I hold all the advantages.” Alexander turned to address the rest of his staff. “The first military campaign yields the greatest reward. If I, the Almighty Unconquerable, am ill prepared for battle, how much more unprepared will Charlemagne be?”
“Of course, Your Majesty, but—”
“Lord High Constable.” Alexander turned to his so-called military commander. “I want my army assembled and ready for training in three days. Understood?”
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“Consider it accomplished, Your Majesty.” The large gray-skinned man ducked his head in an awkward show of respect. “We have assembled twelve hundred conscripts and counting.”
“Not good enough,” Alexander barked. “I don’t care what they thought they were signing up for, I want every player in the kingdom assembled and ready to go in three days—even if it leaves holes in our infrastructure.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Alexander strode to the end of the corridor, threw back the heavy tapestry, and stepped out onto the dais of his throne room. The eight person delegation from Charlemagne’s kingdom was engaged in a heated discussion with a few low level leaders from his own kingdom—something about exchanging food for transition metals.
“Who speaks for Charlemagne?” he bellowed.
“I have that honor, Your Majesty.” A tall, pointy-eared female stepped forward and bobbed in an elegant show of respect. “I am Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine. Queen Charlemagne sends gifts of fine steel, gold, and bright gemstones as well has her most solicitous wishes for your health and—”
“Enough!” Alexander cut her off the second he realized her identity. Spectrum’s overall rank was in the early two hundreds, but her social ranking fluctuated between one and five. If Queen Charlemagne’s desire was to irritate him, she couldn’t have sent a better player. “Tell Charlemagne she can keep her gifts and empty words. I’m only interested in war.”
“Of course,” Eleanor said smoothly. “Queen Charlemagne is of the same mind. Our two kingdoms share a common border with King Alfred’s Golden Vale to the east. If our two kingdoms allied ourselves against Alfred, you would obtain access to unlimited resources.”
“Twenty days,” Alexander said. “There’s an open plane just to the north of Charlemagne’s border. “Our armies will battle there.”
Eleanor swept towards the dais and prostrated herself in a florid bow. “The Almighty Unconquerable does us a great honor. You Majesty’s generosity knows no bounds, but regretfully, I must decline on Queen Charlemagne’s behalf. She has already scheduled a military campaign with Alfred during that time. If Your Majesty cared to join us, I’m sure Her Royal Highness would gladly forgo all claims to the spoils. The privilege of fighting at your side would be—”
“Enough!” Alexander had been subjected to enough words. “Either Charlemagne meets me on the field of battle in twenty days, or we burn her kingdom to the ground. Do you understand? Now go. Dance along home, and when you tell her about the twenty day deadline, make sure to use an avalanche of pretty words.”
Eleanor fixed him with an ugly look. For a moment, he hoped she might challenge him to a one-on-one battle, but then she turned with an uppity little hmmmph and marched out of the room.
“Got that?” He pinned his so-called advisor with a look. “We’ve got twenty days before the battle. Start hyping it now.”