IX. THESE HOURS OF DESPAIR
The former Duke turned King sat upon the high backed throne, carved from the wood of a single tree from Alfheim, and gilded with gems and precious metals of Rhode. His lean face was full of youthful vigor and haughty discipline spurred more by arrogance than principle, marked by two eyes as deep and blue as the sea in winter. Being a man of distinguished military service, he wore the traditional officer's garb of white house, violet coat with white facings and high embroidered collar, gold epaulets and a fencers cape clasped with silver chain and a jeweled brooch. Upon his brow he wore the jeweled circlet of kings, framed by tastefully trimmed and slicked back brown hair.
The throne room of Marquez palace was as opulent as the man who sat upon its throne, a cavernous temple-like hall flooded with pastel colored light from the clerestory of stained glass. The throne itself sat atop a dais after a short flight of stairs. Below was a rabble of petitioners, awaiting the chance of an audience, and those who bore tribute for the new king.
The long carpets of Eurithanian and Catharonian design layered atop the hand cut tile gave vibrant color and life to the otherwise drab ivory and marble hall. Fine art and portraits of those who sat upon the throne prior filled the empty spaces upon the walls, illuminated by crystal chandeliers and gold candelabras. Violet and gold banners hung from the ceiling, and bore the coat of arms for House Eluveitie, a squared shield with a rook to symbolize the impregnable fortress city his ancestors had created millennia past.
Light music and gentle song echoed the hall and mildly amused the pitiful gathering meant to celebrate his ascension. His eyes were sharp, yet aloof as he regarded the subjects assembled before him. Those absent were the Dorso sycophants who still held hope that their lost princess would return and reward their loyalty with her hand. All old men and their worthless children, men the princess would sooner flay alive than offer her bed to.
He ignored the lusty glances of the woman who sought his favor, fully aware that his sculpted physique alone could gain him any multiple of them with a simple nod. While he did need to sire an heir eventually, he was not yet thirty, he could afford to enjoy the bachelor’s life for a while longer.
He turned his disinterested gaze upon as a group of Morlock women as tantalized his retainers with a seductively erotic dance. Such a show would have had his undivided attention in any other circumstance, but as the saying went, ‘heavy weighs the crown’. It was heavy indeed with the Xanavien horde and their monsters tearing across the continent.
He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. The women took this as a sign of displeasure and upped the eroticism of their dance. Their pale ivory skin, eye colors in shades of violet grey and red, and dark hair offset by blood red lips made them quite desirable to many; their exotic form beauty was matched and prized only by certain carnies of northern Xanavene. Their pimp swore up and down that they were willing employees of his, but seeing as none of them spoke Elysian there was no way to verify his claim. If nothing else, the threat of violence from their handler would keep them silent. Laelianus made a mental note to have the man beaten once the ‘festivities’ were completed. He cared not that a woman sold her comforts to the highest bidder, but found the superfluous presence of the pimps to be distasteful, a remnant of the flesh trading the previous monarch had allowed to flourish.
Upon seeing his new liege’s dispassionate look, a sickly and frail looking advisor ordered servants to attend their master’s needs. He bore the look of a man whose nose would remain forever brown; his back was slightly misshapen and gave him a stooped appearance. Laelianus looked upon the groveling children with disgust as they offered him wine and a platter of fresh fruits and nuts. Despite wanting to be rid of the remnants of the previous king’s perversions, he could not very well just cast them out to the streets. They were orphans, parents either killed or willingly sold their children to be prostituted to the old fat Dorso. Even if he were to cast the urchins out, one of the old guard, those feckless lords that so stained Duvachelle, would swoop them up to be subject to further abuses.
“I have no further need for your services today child.” Laelianus motioned for the children to stand. “All of you, take with you a pastry or slice of cake and return to your quarters.”
The children’s eyes lit up as they bowed and dashed off to obey their kings command. It continued to amaze Laelianus how so many had aligned themselves with such a wretched man as old king Dorso. Even if his line had held the throne since the third incarnation of Renata, it was no reason to support a man who diminished the greatness of the Kingdom with his debauchery and incompetence. It had been a pleasure to watch the man's last, gasping breaths, choking on his own vomit in a bed stained with shit.
“Be away with you.” He spat and stood abruptly. “All of you.”
“You heard his Majesty! You!” His advisor aimed a frail finger weighed down with gemstones at the Morlock women’s handler. “Get your whores out of here.”
"The woman clamored to grab their garments as they were ushered out amidst curses from their handler. Guards quickly ushered out the confused nobles and supplicants, leaving only the king and several of his advisors.
“Is all well my king?” The advisor wrung his hands, his rings clicked like marbles.
“Yes, I thought his Majesty enjoyed such diversions.”
Laelianus cut his eyes sharply to the elderly Earl Rembrandt, one of the former king’s most trusted advisors. He was a stout man, but while his physique had diminished somewhat in his twilight years, the warrior beneath was still clearly visible. His hazel eyes held intelligence, often belied by the cheeky candor acquired from years of invulnerability his station in court offered. The mandilion he wore was in the colors of the former king, though his badge of office bore the Eluveitie emblem.
While he held no love for the previous lieges, proclivities, he was still a man of the old guard. His family had served the Dorso’s for generations, and was not the type to accept change easily. While the king groomed his young daughter to one day be his consort, Rembrandt rallied a circle of defenders for the girl, sparing her the horrors her demented father had planned. He was also the only one that held the kingdom together so to speak, when the former king’s madness threatened to sink the entire realm, and the noble houses frantically tried to cannibalize what remained.
Should Rembrandt choose to leave his service or be dismissed, half of the kingdom would rally to him and the reign of Laelianus Eluveitie would come to a quick and decisive end. As such, he opted instead to ignore the Earl and turned back to his own families’ vassal, Orson. He was a conniving and greedy man but one far too stupid and inept to be of any real trouble. So long as he remained content to pilfer a trinket or pocket full of gold from the treasury every few months, he could remain as the king’s top advisor.
“No, in fact all is not well. I am bored, Orson. I believe I have had my fill of whores, food, and drink, a thought that troubles me deeply.” Laelianus sighed. “It seems that there is truth to the proverb ‘too much of a good thing’.”
“Would his majesty like to try something else? Perhaps governance would be more to your liking?”
Laelianus smirked and plopped down on the throne, Rembrandt certainly had a brass pair. He waved his hand, urging the Earl to continue.
“There is the issue of shortages since the western kingdom has been abandoned. Then there is the constant flow of refugees from Sorn, we may need to begin rationing and close our borders to the east.”
“If I recall, I opposed the idea of abandoning our cities and fortifications to the west, but you insisted it was a sound plan. What has changed?’
Rembrandt swallowed hard and drew himself up. “It was a sound plan, given the marching route of the Xanavien armies, we could not spare the manpower required to defend outposts that would likely not see any combat at all. These…dusk born filth arriving was something no one could have predicted.”
“…No, I suppose they weren’t. Tell me Orson,” He stepped down from the throne, and took the goblet of wine with him. “How fare my subjects? Are they all fed? Housed?”
“Yes my King, and if I may say, you are most compassionate for asking of the public’s well being—”
“Compassion?” He scoffed. “That has nothing to do with it. I merely don’t have the energy to quell some idiot peasant’s revolt. So long as the fools have food and are out of the cold, they are happy. And happy fools suit my needs far better than irate ones, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of course my King.”
“It is indeed a solid policy, but how long shall they remain that way?” The Earl asked, ignoring the slight. “We certainly can’t fit them all within the walls, they run around sixty or so square miles, but the city itself is nearly seven times that size. Even the outlying towns and villages are already feeling the strain.”
“So what does the good Earl Rembrandt advise me to do?’ Laelianus asked testily and took a sip of wine.
“Close the borders.”
“No.” he said flatly and turned on his heels to walk away.
“Your majesty, we are not responsible for the failure of Sorn!” Rembrandt shouted red-faced as he hurried after the king.
Laelianus stopped abruptly and turned back to face his advisors. “You’ve said yourself, between the dusk spawn and the million-man strong army of Xanavene; we need all the men can muster.”
“I understand your concerns, my king, but we cannot afford to feed and shelter them all! Think of your own subjects!”
Laelianus paused, reconsidering his stance around the Earls impertinence. There were only two people permitted to speak to him with such disregard for standing, and one of those men was his late father. He took a breath and relaxed, such a display at this point would be pointless without a proper audience, and self-defeating with one. He chalked it up to the Earls relationship with his predecessor; the old were notoriously inept when it came to adapting to new things.
“I am.” Laelianus said at length after a sip of wine. “Moreover, when this war is inevitably won, my people shall march the Sorn back to their wretched little kingdom and claim it in my name. Not as conquerors, but as celebrated heroes and liberators.”
Rembrandt recoiled in shock, temporarily at a loss for words. He quickly recovered and Laelianus could see the wheels turning in the old man’s mind. He stroked his closely cropped beard and allowed himself to nod as he went over the various contingencies in his mind. Laelianus frowned as the seconds ticked by, he was greatly offended that the Earl thought such a plan was beyond him and also that he wasted time thinking over details and conundrums he had already solved and prepared for.
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“If they are to stay, we must put out an edict that all able bodied men of age must report to the nearest barracks for training.”
“Yes, you should make haste in drafting it, have it to me by sundown.”
Rembrandt’s eyes flashed briefly with indignation, but he quickly dismissed it. Laelianus laughed to himself, if nothing else the Earl would keep him entertained amidst the sea of simpletons the previous liege had fostered.
“That still leaves the matter of food your majesty. Under normal conditions the city has enough in its stores for maybe two winters.”
With the abandonment of the outlying counties and farmland having been abandoned before the harvest, it was a pressing issue Laelianus had brought up at least three times before. If he recalled, Rembrandt, be he a tactician or something else entirely, had remained silent, allowing the pitiful lords’ fears to push the king’s hand. Now the fruit of their failure had come to ripen on what should otherwise be a most auspicious day.
“Open up the palace greenhouses in the southern wing for agriculture,” Laelianus said with a wave of the hand, “I’m certain the missing, presumed late, Princess Dorso won’t lament the loss of her Lyresian rainforest too much.”
Rembrandt attempted the calculations in his head. “It would take months at minimum to clear the gardens and refit it for sowing grain, then another season to grow, our supplies will likely be tapped by then.”
Laelianus swore to himself; that was one detail he had overlooked. Usually kingdoms in the rockier or northernmost regions employed geomancers, mages capable of coaxing life from a seed in days rather than weeks or months. Unfortunately, for Duvachellé, King Dorso had severed all contracts with the mages employed in the palace shortly before his death. This included an entire division of war mages and geomancers.
“Send a request to The Academy for replacement geomancers.”
“Such a request takes months even in the best of times my King.”
“Which is why we shall begin the process by hand. Send some men to scour the city; surely there were mages in Sorn that came up with the rest.”
“At once my king.”
Laelianus dismissed the Earl and continued down the hall at a brisk pace. “Now come, Orson, let us walk.”
Orson scurried along after his King. The massive oak doors were flung open before him as he strode into the main atrium of the palace. Bright winter light filtered in from floor to ceiling windows, outlined in frost and stone tracery. Laelianus briefly paused to shield his eyes as they adjusted to the wintry brightness.
“What news of this Xanavien menace?”
“I am afraid we lost all messengers with the fall of Aglaë, but we have had no further aggressions directed at us either, at least not from the Xanavene army.”
“Humph. I take it you mean those creatures of dusk still harass our borders.”
“Y…yes my King. Western Duvachellé has also fallen silent, but on a bright note, the towns and cities abandoned along Sorn can be reclaimed. Or so they say…”
“Who is ‘they’ Orson?” Laelianus paused to examine a portrait of the previous king.
“The Generals and Lords that fight the encroaching beasts. I hear they are without direction, roaming as, well, mindless beasts my Liege.”
“Is that so? Could that mean that this madman does not in fact control the forces of Dusk?” Laelianus stopped a passing maid. “Have this removed and hire a painter to make a new one in my image.”
“Right away your majesty.” The woman bowed and ran off to complete her tasks.
“Why did Rembrandt not see fit to mention this?”
“He is a shrewd man, my king, perhaps he was awaiting results before presenting this to you.”
He smiled; Orson was equally shrewd, if not tactless. The little imp sought to curry favor by undercutting the Earls sound reasoning. The lands east of the Silver River were far too valuable to have sacrificed as they did, but the cowardly lords of the previous regime demanded protection behind the walls of Marquez.
“Ready an army to go reclaim the eastern territories. If it is only the Dusk Spawn we’ve got to contend with it should be a relatively simple task.”
“I shall do so at once your Majesty.” Orson said through a smug grin.
“What of Clarissa? Has she delivered her message?”
Orson’s smile faltered. “No, I am afraid we have heard nothing from her or Elysia my king.”
Laelianus rubbed his hand across his face, as if wiping away the stress he had had for the past several months. While everything else had seemingly gone to pot, he at least had that loose end taken care of, and could proceed to fully embrace his new mantle without worry or fear. Though he had grown quite fond of her, she was far too simple, far too innocent to be allowed to continue in his service. Her strict adherence to the healing tenants of The Order of all things was absurd, particularly when the man she sought to keep alive was a known pedophile whose mind had been lost to dementia. What was worse was that her methods had been effective before he managed to send her off. If she had been able to cure that old fool, the country would have fallen to ruin, and his designs on the crown would have been dashed.
“A pity, she was always so eager to please.”
“You will find me just as eager, your Majesty.”
Laelianus laughed heartily, much to Orson’s confusion. “Yes, I’m sure you would, given the chance. What of Lucien? Did he not say he had a plan for holding back the creatures from the west? It involved using the peasant militias or some such nonsense.”
Laelianus finished the goblet of wine, and handed the empty cup to Orson before jogging up a grand staircase. Orson looked around for a servant to pass it to, but found none. He set the goblet down upon a buffet and chased after the king.
“Well, we lost all contact with everyone your majesty, it may well be we are all that is left off the world.” Orson huffed as they mounted another flight of stairs.
“Don’t be absurd Orson.” Laelianus halted another passing servant. “Go into town, boy, and find that slave trader with the Morlock whores. Bring him back here and there shall be a fine reward for you.” He handed the boy several crisp banknotes and shooed him off. “But all the same, we do need to do some reconnaissance, good thinking Orson.”
“You are too kind my king.”
“Yes, I am.”
Laelianus abruptly halted and turned sharply on one booted heel. “Orson, I want a ball to be thrown, make it… two days from now. Are you writing this all down?”
Orson scrambled to retrieve a small book and pen from his coat. “Yes your majesty.”
“Two days from now, all military personnel and their families. No, limit it to spouses. I don’t need a bunch of crying children spoiling the atmosphere.”
Laelianus paced before a grand window that overlooked the courtyard and gardens some half dozen stories below. Already the colorful foliage had begun to shrivel up and fall from the bows. The walks were alive with the resident nobles taking leisurely strolls or having conversation, seemingly oblivious to the state of the world outside their city’s walls.
“How much is in the palace stores Orson?”
“We still have enough to last should we come under siege, I’d say about three months’ worth, as for drink and the like: the wine cellars have barely been cracked open.”
“Good. Open them fully.”
“Your majesty?”
Laelianus turned to face Orson, a devilish grin spread across his face, his pearl white teeth as straight as a razors edge on full display. “I need to rally them, and find suitable replacements for the foolish lords I inherited. It will be a show of strength and prosperity before we reclaim our territories, as well as gather valuable intelligence on the Xanaviens held up in Sorn.”
“Who shall be leading the men your Majesty?”
“Me of course.” Laelianus snorted.
“With all due respect your majesty, is that wise? We know nothing of what lay beyond our borders—“
“Yes, and I shall go find out. Do not worry so Orson, I am not marching off to reclaim Sorn, merely to see what has become of the western half of my kingdom. Perhaps send some of my subject’s home and be rid of their filth upon my cities' beautiful streets.”
“Ah. As you wish my king.” Orson bowed grandly as Laelianus walked away.
* * *
Clarissa let out a startled cry as she tripped over a corpse in the street. She swore aloud as Eth lifted her to her feet effortlessly. She nodded her thanks and attempted to readjust her robes and wipe the tears from her eyes. She hoped that the craven mercenary Ransom had not taken off and left the rest of the party to die, but did not hold out much hope. All around them were pools of blood and mud, piles of entrails, and corpses bearing sword wounds or several arrows.
“Well it’s obvious they came dzis way, dzose must be Taryn's arrows.” She shuddered and bundled herself against the cold and rain.
Odell kneeled down to examine one of the corpses. “Can’t tell, don’t much know how the woman makes arra’s.”
He stood back up and brushed his hands off on his tunic, smearing it with blood. “Ain’t been around her long enough. Damn it, can’t get any diseases from this can I?”
Aislyn nudged Odell in the ribs playfully. “I don’t see any signs of Madden, should be footprints, no?”
She watched the two children with interest. Aislyn in particular was strikingly familiar to her, though she could not place where exactly she had seen the woman. The young woman glanced back at her nervously and attempted to hide herself behind Odell. She certainly was not a commoner; she carried herself too snootily for that.
Aichlan issued a halt as Enyo approached, rubbing her shoulders with the look of a wet cat. “Nothing General…”
“Ransom claimed that all the paths converged at some point.” Aichlan tousled his near shoulder length hair, shedding excess water. “Yet we’ve found no such place.”
Enyo rubbed her hands together, steam rose from her skin, her clothing, or lack thereof, which was completely inadequate for the climate. Clarissa simply could not fathom why so many Colby-Nau were so adamantly against clothing.
“How about we take a detour through the buildings instead.”
Aichlan draped his coat over her shoulders. She was impressed by his chivalry, despite the foolishness of the gesture. No doubt, he would come running to her when he inevitably came down with the sniffles.
“Perhaps you should petition Clarissa to make you all some clothes, winters in this region are notoriously harsh.”
“I am right here Aichlan.” she grumbled. “And I ’ave told you before; dzere is only so much so few can do. Once we ascertain zee whereabouts of our lost soldiers, perhaps we can scour zee ruin for some shops.”
A deep roar rumbled through the lane, rattling windows, and the shattered shards of those already broken. Aichlan drew his sword as the gentle downfall turned torrential. They stood in silence, as the rain drenched them to the core, and sought the source of the sound.
“Bloody brilliant…” Aichlan shook his head and spewed water droplets like a dog.
Eth grinned as he removed his blade from its covering, an eruption of heat swirled around him, causing the rain to sizzle inches from his body. Clarissa raised her hood and clasped her hands under her sleeves. A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky in the distance, followed by the low rumble of thunder.
“Enyo, bring a squad forward, have the rest in reserves. Clarissa, stay with Eth.” Aichlan wiped the wet locks from his face for the third time, swearing under his breath. “Aislyn and Odell take to the rooftops once we’ve made sufficient distance from the rest; stay out of sight, cover us when needed.”
Enyo buttoned up the jacket as she shouted for a squad to step forward. A group of six lean Alfheim warriors ran over to answer the call; they shivered and steamed in the downpour. Unlike the rest of the Colby-Nau, her soldiers actually wore armor, mostly leather and chainmail, much like the shirt she had purchased for Fiora so long ago. They also had a fairer complexion and hair the color of mossy bark or a field of daisies. Their weapons were all elegantly formed and made of silver, unlike the massive slabs of steel that the Colby-Nau used.
They were apparently a gift from her belated grandfather, on her mother’s side, one of the forest dwelling elves of Alfheim. Eth had done his best to explain the structure of what remained of their society, but given so many powerful and influential people had died at Rhode, it was nearly impossible to say who was in charge currently. Suffice it to say, only six or seven members of the council still lived, and three of them were currently in the army.
“Ready General.”
Clarissa could not help but to smile, Enyo had been Aichlan’s greatest detractor when he took over this army, now she was infinitely more agreeable. She wondered what it was that finally won her over; Aichlan did seem to have a way with the elven women, though it was likely his more barbaric tendencies that enamored her. Despite constantly picking Eth’s brain for details on their culture, she still did not quite understand many aspects of it, such as the Colby-Nau reverence for strength and cunning in battle. Despite his other shortcomings, Aichlan did have a way with people, perhaps because he led just by example. The roar of several other creatures fast approaching quickly ended any further idle thoughts.
“Well now what?” Eth spat in irritation.
“Stay in formation,” Aichlan pointed down the lane to the presumed source of the sounds. “Whatever it is, it sounds large.”