The waves crashed against the rocks, and the wind howled as Kyrad Durmaddon descended the ramp of his ship. Although Aidris was deemed his home, this island was his true refuge. He would never admit it to his father, though.
“Glad to see you made it back safely, your grace.”
Kyrad nodded at the guard and continued on. He noticed some natives trailing their masters and men disembarking from their boats. The raids on Vandalor, Eshil Domain, and Azzellia had been successful. He'd defeated a formidable warrior and observed how the nations responded to raiders.
High Lord Khorias approached, flanked by two guards. “Your father wishes to see you.”
“Not one for patience, is he?” Kyrad remarked, bypassing Khorias towards the palace. He wasn’t surprised by his father's eagerness. He had news to report, though nothing about the sword—something he hoped to uncover during the next expedition. I keep telling myself that every time, he mused.
“Why are you trailing me?” Kyrad inquired.
“Your father's orders,” Khorias replied.
Kyrad pondered whether Bazeir had an ulterior motive or simply wanted to ensure his immediate presence.
“Your grace,” Malian, one of the soldiers from Aidris, addressed him.
“Yes?”
“Do you have instructions for us?”
“The usual. Rest and spend time with your families. We could be summoned to Aidris anytime.”
Malian nodded, relaying the orders to others.
“You’re too lenient. Malian should always be battle-ready. The emperor could command an attack at any moment,” Khorias commented.
“Content soldiers fight better,” Kyrad retorted. “Besides, war isn’t imminent.”
Khorias raised an eyebrow. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“A great many things,” Kyrad quipped, pausing at the palace entrance. As the doors swung open, he glimpsed his father on the throne.
Bazeir rose and embraced Kyrad. “Were the raids successful?”
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“Yes, they went smoothly.”
“As expected,” Bazeir remarked, addressing Khorias, “Wait elsewhere. I need a private word with my son.”
Khorias bowed. “As you wish.”
“What news do you bring?” Bazeir questioned.
“Our raids yielded significant intel. Our captives didn’t need much persuasion to talk. Their response to our attacks were weak. Moreover, the rebellions we instigated have sown chaos among the five nations,” Kyrad reported.
Bazeir smiled. “So, those rebellions were fruitful.”
“Now's our chance,” Kyrad asserted. “They're at each other's throats, especially Azzellia, failing to rally them against us. We should strike now.”
Bazeir grew stern. “We can't strike without the Sword of Calamity.”
“But father—”
“No arguments!” Bazeir's voice thundered. “What about the sword?”
“Little is known. Indications point to Azzellia or Malvarian. I need more time.”
Bazeir nodded. “ It’s interesting how history doesn’t appear to remember the Sword of Calamity. I wonder why that is.”
“Most likely the many wars that have happened while we’ve been stuck here,” Kyrad said. “I know a lot of information was lost in their war of power.”
“Yes, perhaps you’re right,” Bazeir said. “Without anyone to wield the blade, there has been no reason for the common folk to remember its power. I refuse to believe our family name has been stamped out. We ruled those lands for over a thousand years.”
“I can attest that our name hasn’t been forgotten,” Kyrad said. “I have asked around and our name lives on.”
“Good. Perhaps they’ll rally behind us.”
“I wouldn't count on it,” Kyrad cautioned. Aidris's perception of the Durmaddon legacy was not in their favor. The victors wrote history and the common folk would believe the Durmaddon’s were evil.
“I never would,” Bazeir said. “People flock to who they think will win. When our army closes in on our enemies, the others will join us. First, we have to find the Sword of Calamity.”
Kyrad said nothing. The Sword of Calamity was indestructible according to his father and grandfather. He had asked if it was possible to destroy the weapon and was told it wasn’t. His ancestors said it would never be possible. He hoped it was true or else they were wasting time looking for the sword that may be useless.
“We’ll send another raiding party to both Malvarian and Azzellia. The sword must be found,” Bazeir declared. “Prepare to leave in a week.”
“Can’t we wait a bit longer? The men-”
“Will do as they are told,” Bazeir said. “The faster we find the sword, the faster we can conquer Aidris. We’ll crush any resistance and then your men can rest.”
“As you command,” Kyrad said and began walking away. There was no point in arguing with his father. He wouldn’t budge. If only I was Emperor. We could conquer Aidris now! The thought didn’t make him feel better.
Upon walking outside, Kyrad searched for Malian and found him talking with a few of the other raiders. Sighing, he walked up to him. “Malian.”
“Yes?”
“Tell the men they have one week until we sail back to Aidris,” Kyrad said.
“A week?” Malian asked. “I’ll let the others know.”
“Sorry about that,” Kyrad said, meaning every word. “If it were up to me, we’d stay here at least a month.”
“Not my place to complain,” Malian said.
With nothing else to be said, Kyrad walked off. He hoped the Sword of Calamity was worth the effort. Otherwise, the Durmaddon’s were throwing away the perfect time to attack Aidris. For now, he would have to be patient.