High Chancellor Grimwald walked down the long hallway towards the throne room. The sound of his crocodile hide shoes on the white marble reverberated up into the intricate archways high overhead. As he approached the throne room, the words of Divine Prophet Venyov echoed vehemently in his mind.
His palms began sweating and Grimwald stopped for a moment outside of the massive copper doors magnificently engraved with snow-capped mountains and mythical beasts. Taking a deep breath and massaging his eyelids, High Chancellor Grimwald forced the menacing voice out of his thoughts. He could hear King Denethor having a heated discussion beyond the closed doors.
Sighing through his nose, Grimwald knocked gently. After a moment two guards opened the doors motioning for the High Chancellor to enter. Oversized sandstone tiles carved with rivers and peaks adorned the walls beneath a massive rotunda. A mural of a young King Denethor discovering amethite had been painted on the dome a decade back by the finest painters in the kingdom. Grimwald had always found the king’s braggadocious demeanor sickening—the self-aggrandizing painting grated at the High Chancellor like climbing a mountain with a burr in one's boot. Just as the High Chancellor had done since he and Denethor were boys, Grimwald buried that malice deep down inside of himself behind a polished mask of kinship.
The High Chancellor tip-toed down the long rug that led to the throne. Slumped in the seat of power, as if the weight of the crown had sapped every last drop of energy from him was the king. Denethor rubbed his temples as General Atwater rambled on, “Your majesty, things look grim in the north. My spies in New Halifax have sent word that anti-Enthamerean propaganda is being plastered across the nation. King Malik has been waiting for an opportunity to move against you for years now and I fear the time is nigh—”
King Denethor grunted with impatience, face twisting in displeasure before interrupting the general, “And what of the trouble within our very own walls? Have they been able to locate Cassian? Have the gangs been eliminated? Have your men made any progress on apprehending my wives murderer?”
“We’ve utilized our resources the best we can to deal with the gangs, my lord. Our holding cells are full to the brim with gangers. Cyrus is in hiding and we’ve turned the Undercity upside down searching for Luna Stone. At this point, I hate to say it, but I must infer that she fled the city.” Atwater said, shaking his head slowly. “Considering Cassian was the last one to speak to her the night she broke out of the dungeons, we still believe that she somehow blackmailed or tricked the prince into helping her escape.”
The King sprang to his feet in the blink of an eye and threw his glass of expensive liquor against the wall. The glass shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, the liquid tinting the wall. Denethor looked sickly and his eyes were dark like the tunnels beneath the mountains.
He pointed his finger at the general. “Send every last soldier into the tunnels after her if you have to general! She has kidnapped my son! And how can I be trusted to look after the well-being of my country, if I cannot even bring my wife's killer to light? I’ll be the laughingstock of the other nations if we don’t get this situation under control.” King Denethor waved a servant over and barked a command at him, “Bring your king more wine!”
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General Atwater attempted to remain straight-faced, but he struggled to hide his dismay. “Your majesty, we cannot continue to have our army scattered across the nation looking for this murderer and your son. We will need every last man if we hope to stand a chance in the north against New Halifax.”
The king’s face contorted with fury and he went to speak when High Chancellor Grimwald stepped forward, bowing low before interjecting, “Your majesty, sorry to cut in, however I think I might possibly have a solution.” Grimwald put his arms out with palms turned up and glanced over at the general momentarily before settling his eyes on Denethor.
A female servant made haste to the king, handing him a goblet of wine before turning and disappearing from the chamber. Denethor held the goblet up with one eye closed, swirling the liquid and spilling some on the floor. He stared out the oversized circular window behind the throne at his city for a minute as his advisors waited in uncomfortable silence. Suddenly the king spun around taking a big gulp from his goblet and sinking back down into his throne. “Go ahead old friend, do tell.”
Grimwald bowed once again and put his arm out abreast, before speaking in a soft yet charismatic tone, “Our amethite reserves are dwindling your majesty. Our mines are becoming less bountiful than they once were. Word has reached me that the miners in Deadwood have mutinied against your appointed auditor.” The High Chancellor was never a mighty warrior, but he had always had a way with words, a trait he utilized in this moment, pausing dramatically to allow his point to percolate. “Allow me to begin operations at my mining facility in the Undercity and we will have more amethite than ever before. We can utilize those funds to bring in reputable mercenary companies to hunt down our beloved Queen Lilith’s murderer, locate the prince, and take care of the gang problem once and for all.”
General Atwater’s brow furrowed, and he appeared to be searching desperately for the right words to advise against the High Chancellors plan. Unfortunately, while Atwater had always been a skilled warrior, finding the right words in the heat of the moment had always felt to him like finding a needle in a haystack.
High Chancellor Grimwald gestured with his hands as if he were putting all of the pieces together in thin air. “No need to fret, General. With mighty mercenary companies protecting the cities and doing the King’s bidding, your army would be free to move north to push back King Malik and his New Halifaxian mongrels.”
The General seemed unsure about the proposition, he paced back and forth trying to think through the intricacies of the plan. King Denethor’s face was expressionless for a moment, but then it was as if a fire had been lit inside of him. He slammed his goblet down and jumped to his feet, patting Grimwald hard on the back. “A perfect solution, old friend. General, gather your men and prepare to march for the border as soon as Grimwald’s mercenaries arrive. High Chancellor, commence operations in your mining facility at once and bring in the sell swords.”
General Atwater looked stunned, and he stood speechless. The High Chancellor patted Denethor on the arm and nodded before turning to leave the throne room. As Grimwald walked quickly from the chamber his usually inscrutable expression shifted to a subtle grin.