Varsus had just finished the last shipment reports when the door opened.

Into the tapestried room stormed Reginald, who tossed his cloak onto a nearby chair. Anyone else would have been reprimanded for that; Auga would never have tolerated it. But Varsus was not Auga and had long since given up curtailing Reginald's attitude. At the moment, Reginald's orange hair was a mess, like always, and his scowl was more profound than usual. His hands were in his pockets as he sat down.

He remained silent momentarily, looking out the partially open window at Brisgald beyond. The High Priest had passed through here recently and had been doing a great deal of church business. And he'd taken his share, sure enough. Arranging supplies for Khasmir had been complex. All the tools and demands for protection.

Varsus had been forced to get creative, finding cheaper routes that only burned a little time. But they had done.

"What is it?" asked Varsus.

"I cannot believe we missed the entire war!" Reginald exploded. "Damn our parents for making us go through this!" Reginald was technically the uncle of Baroness De Chevlon. Though he could have been her brother. His parents were cousins to Raynald and were of little prosperity or achievement. They had had children late.

Thus Reginald and Varsus were introduced. Vanion's friendship with Raynald had formed a schism in House De Chevlon. One that grew with Raynald's fame.

"Calm yourself, Reginald," said Varsus. "We have gained valuable experience with the administration of lands."

"Damn the administration, Varsus," said Reginald. "I want to see some action. We've been organizing grain shipments for months. Do you know how often I've had to give money for 'unexpected expenses' to the Thieves Guild? Or the church, for that matter?

"And that bastard Rundas just sneered at me when I asked him for help. Like I was the dirt off his shoes. I hope Raynald guts the bastard when he comes back.

"Meanwhile, your cousin William has gotten all the glory."

"There are many ways to serve one's house, Reginald," said Varsus, filing away the documents. Father had always said that, but Varsus was not like Father. He had been told he took after Uncle Vanion more and began to see why that was said.

Though Varsus was considered a much better fighter. Vanion had never been in an engagement without losing his sword.

"Oh, come on," said Reginald. "You look me in the eye and tell me you aren't disappointed we missed the war."

Varsus sighed. "I cannot.

"I admit, I wanted to prove my bravery upon the battlefield in a full-scale conflict. However, it was not Elranor's will. So, I will content myself with finishing things here.

"There will be another war soon enough." And when that happened, Varsus was not paying those bribes again. Something would have to be done about it, and he made a note to write to Lady Atravain and House Bailey on the subject.

This was ridiculous.

Harlenor was being prevented from conducting a holy crusade by its own church. There were solid gold statues in the Temple of the Gods that became more gaudy and elaborate by the day. Silver and gold were engraved on the very well. And in the meantime, people starved to death in the streets. And nobles who were actually using their time were undercut instead of aided.

Should he write to Rius as well?

No point; that man was an ineffectual fool and corrupt to the gills. He would probably try to use the letter to alert his criminal friends for some benefits. Something had to be done about him as well. There was news Prince Aras was out there, but Prince Aras was always out there. He was a man who was constantly traveling and rarely stayed in any one place for long.

The silence had gone on for a bit.

Reginald peered across the table at him. "What makes you so sure there will be another war? Calisha got what it wanted."

Varsus shrugged as he remembered his histories. Father had always tried to cite moral lessons from them. Meanwhile, Uncle had always sought pragmatic ones. Once, Lord Arthur Gabriel had read Varsus a story;

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

It was the story of Gwendoven, Anoa, and Orson.

Anoa the Bright had been the first and most excellent King of Harlenor, uniting the human tribes. He drove out the elves and set events that reshaped the cosmos. Not only that, but he had gone to many other worlds and was known there as a great adventurer and conquerer.

His companions were with him: Gwendoven, Lady of Horses, and Orson, the Greatest Knight to ever live. Their achievements were legendary. That was even before Anoa became King, and Gwendoven and Anoa were eventually married.

However, as time passed, Orson and Gwendoven became too close. Eventually, an affair between them was revealed by Anoa's son, Anoa II. Gwendoven had fled with Orson to the castle that was now Blackfear, and Anoa had pursued. There had been a great war, and enemies of Harlenor had seen their chance to seek vengeance.

But Anoa had won.

Depending on who you asked, the final battle had ended with Anoa defeating Orson in single combat. Or, alternatively, shooting him in the back from behind a stone. Gwendoven had been captured in battle and burned at stake.

After that, Anoa lost patience with his neighbors. The High Elves had organized rebellions against him. Others had come out to raid him, like the goblins and gnolls. They all had suffered terribly and lamented the days when Sir Orson was at his master's side.

Harlenor had done pretty well out of it all. Anoa II became a King nearly as great as his Father, though less remembered. His achievements were largely in organizing the laws and roads. Anoa had an informal style, and there had been little in the way of records from his reign. Much of what was known was known from elves who survived his rampage. They conjured the picture of a demon in human form.

Gail Arengeth had provided certain records, however. As had Tuor, the Disciple of Baltoth, before he betrayed Harlenor.

It was interesting to note the reactions of the two.

Father had viewed the story as a cautionary tale against succumbing to base passions. One must never allow lust to make one abandon one's duty. Uncle had instead noted that if Orson was going to betray his King, he ought to have knifed him while his guard was down. That would have avoided a civil war, at least.

Father had been incredulous at this. But Uncle had noted that the result was inevitable once the adultery was committed. Someone would find out, and Anoa would be enraged and burn everything down. It was just how Anoa operated. So if Orson was going to shame his knighthood and steal the King's wife, he ought to do it properly. Just kill him before you take her and set yourself up at King.

"Mediocre half-measures bring the worst of both worlds," Vanion had said over dinner.

Best to kill Anoa II as well since Orson would want his own son by, Gwendoven on the throne. They were natural enemies in this. Though Uncle had added it as an afterthought, it would be better not to do it at all.

That statement had met general agreement.

Uncle had never liked Orson, dismissing him as an overrated scoundrel. He was one of the worst traitors in history, undeserving of his laurels. Father had embraced the romantic view of him, as had Mother. But then, Uncle didn't like anyone from that period. The elves he considered sloppy and tyrannical, Anoa he considered wasteful and psychotic.

To Uncle Vanion, the founding of Harlenor was a comedy of errors. A place populated by monsters who blundered around, causing ruin and menace. Eventually, they accidentally created Anoa II. And he was a good king who managed to get things running again. It was a cynical view of things born from a love of order and a hatred of unnecessary violence. And excessive violence more or less described that entire period.

Everything had broken down. The systems set in place by Alchara failed, and the abuses became too great. The revolution arose and went too far in its retribution. Meanwhile, those trying to stop it responded in the worst possible way. Sylvar's brutality with humanity from her raids in the Greenwood was a legend. Instead, those who could have mediated an end to things tried to use violence to settle grudges of their own.

It was a tapestry of horrors and heroics. Beautiful and terrible, and one of those tapestries was on the wall now. This office had been the room where Varsus had heard that story.

"Varsus, are you getting lost in your thoughts again?" asked Raynald. "I asked you a question."

"That is the way of mortal races. We desire conflict in one form or another," said Varsus. "If the truce with Calisha holds, then the Kings of Harlenor will seek other enemies to fight. You cannot halt wars.

"Only redirect them."

"That's odd," said Reginald. "Your uncle, Vanion, seems to spend most of his time trying."

Varsus looked out the window at the courtyard below. In this very office, his uncle had uncovered a conspiracy. In one move, he'd made a fool of a powerful demon and discredited his political rivals. Not to mention, he secured himself a place as King Andoa's most trusted lieutenant. Varsus had yet to match the feat.

"My Uncle is not interested in world peace," he said at last. "Merely the advancement of his house, and through it, the creation of Harlenor Reunited. His method is through appealing to enlightened self-interest." Uncle had no faith in the benevolence of humankind, not like Father did. Father believed that if given a chance to do the right thing, most people would do it. And those who chose the path of evil must be allowed their choice and be pitied for it.

Uncle, in contrast, believed that if you incentivized people to do the right thing, they might do it. Provided you had something to threaten them with to keep them in line.

An important destinction.

"Well, what about our self-interest?" asked Reginald. "How will we get our names out there if we're not even near the fighting? I mean, I know we seized those shipments a few months ago. But that's small compared to some of the battles."

Varsus took out a letter and raised it. Reginald peered at it. "What's that?"

"It is an announcement," said Varsus. "Gel Carn is holding a tournament. They hope that the strongest and bravest of Harlenor will go and fight there.

"It is of symbolic importance. And there are rumors that the Heir of Kings will be participating."

"You mean the mystical descendant of Anoa the Bright, destined to reunite Harlenor?" asked Reginald. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Be that as it may," said Varsus, "Harlenor will be paying attention to the tournaments. There is a good reason to think that every nation will send knights there. And I have received permission from my uncle to go there and represent House Gabriel."

"That's perfect!" said Reginald, a grin on his face. "Right, we'll head there and win the tournament! Well, one of us will."

"You should also seek the Baroness De Chevlon's blessing," said Varsus.

Reginald leaned back. "She'll want to see this for herself. I would want to participate if it weren't for the elders forbidding that sort of thing. I'll speak to her about it as soon as possible.

"Finally, a proper challenge." He stood up and stretched.

"Just don't become overconfident," said Varsus. "There are many fine swordsmen in Harlenor. And most of them will be at the Tournament of Kings."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," said Reginald, grin becoming like a shark.

As he left the office, Varsus decided he'd had all he could bear of administrative work. Even if he would never admit it. Showing weakness was always a bad thing. He wondered what Anoa, Orson, and Gwendoven would have thought of the world they created.