The trees of the Bloodsucking Forest rustled uneasily as countless shapes slithered through their dense weave. Glittering scales were covered in cloaks, backs slung with packs of supplies and weapons. Spearheads were wrapped in cloth to stifle the glinting sunlight that would announce them.
The pink-scaled vizier, Pyreza, watched with approval as the warriors flowed around his perch on a rocky outcrop. The army could not entirely hide themselves, especially from aerial observation – that had been learned at great cost in the wars of the past – but with the measures he had devised it would be difficult for the Harpies to gauge their true numbers or intent.
The Sultan had desired a faster attack on the Eyrie, to take advantage of the increasing reports of chaos within the Harpy realm; however Pyreza had convinced him of the need for patience. It had been a difficult conversation, the old vizier’s tail curling at the memory of his master’s displeasure, but ultimately the Sultan had agreed.
The high paths south-east would have been faster, a more direct route into the Cyclopean Bones from the domain of the Sultan to the North-west, however there were few passes that could take so large a force through the vast natural barrier to their south, and they were closely watched.
Speed was no use if it cost Naga lives for no gain; the Harpies were sure to respond with force if an army were seen advancing through their mountains towards their capital.
Moving through the dense forest as they did was slower than the direct route through the mountains, but by sticking to the lowlands as long as possible the army of the Naga would be difficult to detect until they were close to their goal. The Harpies laid claim to much of the Bloodsucking Forest, but they sent few patrols over those skies.
Even if harpies were to overfly the army while it passed through the Bloodsucking Forest, they would have no idea of its true scale or destination. A smaller force could be ignored by the Harpies, especially if it wasn’t even heading towards them. Such reports would be passed off as just another internal squabble between the forest denizens – until they were in range to bite.
The side-winding circuitous route that Pyreza had constructed would lead the Naga through human territory, circling around from the western end on the mountains towards the center, but the humans were of no concern – even if they detected the Naga forces, they would never think to warn the Harpies.
Humans were especially despicable creatures, short-lived and barbaric despite their affectations of ‘civilization’. Treacherous and base though they were they thought themselves above the other intelligent species, even branding the mighty Naga as ‘monsters’.
The Sultan of Scales would change that. Pyreza gripped his staff tighter in his scaled palms as he recalled their first meeting and the promise they had exchanged then. Even as a mere fifty-year-old the Sultan, as he had already proclaimed himself, had been terrifying.
The boy was the youngest and ‘weakest’ child of his lineage, raised in war-torn lands by a ravaged clan consumed by infighting and betrayal, but Pyreza has seen the grand fate awaiting him, a destiny without compare.
In two decades he had grown to be an indomitable presence within his clan, and now, over fifty years on, the Sultan was a man grown, finally in his prime, his divine blessing and unshakeable will unassailable.
His sultanate was made a reality by his own will – and a little help from others, like Pyreza. Soon it would grow larger still. The Sultan would do what past generations failed to and claim lordship of the Bloodsucking Forest – and the vast mountains beyond.
Some said the Sultan of Scales was a cruel and merciless tyrant. In truth Pyreza wished he might have cured him of that ruthless brutality, but it was a symptom of the same merciless resolve that that had made all his achievements possible. The recalcitrant clans would be brought in line once the Harpies were defeated and there would be no more need for infighting.
Descending the rocks, Pyreza rejoined the flowing river of reptilians, his bodyguards falling into line behind him as he pushed his aching tail to catch up with the royal party.
At the core of the group was the Sultan, his stature making him difficult to miss even with the brilliance of his gleaming golden scales muffled in the drapery of finely crafted furs.
Pyreza took up his proper place at the Sultan’s side. The Sultan graced him with a glance.
The old vizier gave a wordless bow. He still hoped to live to see the Sultan’s ultimate victory, but he had already been elderly when the two had first met. His scales had grown dull in recent decades, his body slow and heavy. Pyreza would settle for having sown the seeds, even if he might never enjoy the shade they would one day cast. Pyreza’s final years would be dedicated to ensuring nothing could poison the fertile ground.
What truly mattered was the prosperity of the Naga people. As hard and cold a leader as the Sultan could be, he had the power and determination to accomplish what others could not.
On the other side of their monarch there slithered Qamar, their silvery-blue scales almost as beauteous as the sultan himself. The two had known each other longer even than Pyreza, members of the same clan until the Sultan renounced his name and family, leadership passing from the Sultan to Qamar.
They had served the Sultan loyally ever since, but Pyreza had his worries about the refined courtier. They had united the moderate voices at court and held great influence, and they had argued against the attack on the Harpies.
“How is our progress, Vizier?” Qamar inquired in their usual light tone, meeting his eye.
Pyreza realized he had been staring at the younger naga. “Ah, yes, progress. We are ahead of the schedule I composed, and as of yet our scouting parties have reported no Harpy activity over the forest, a very encouraging sign, very encouraging indeed – provided it isn’t the result of some… leak of information to the Harpies of course.”
Qamar ignored the pointed but unfounded remark. “Then you believe we will be able to enter the Cyclopean Bones undetected?”
“Hum, well, it would perhaps appear to be so presently.” Pyreza nodded. “But we should not lesson our wariness. Even for an area paid little attention, this lack of oversight by the Harpies is unusual.”
The Sultan spoke with a rumble that rolled into a hiss. “When will the Harpies detect our presence?”
“Ah, that is, um, difficult to say, my Sultan, given that we have never undertaken so large an expedition in stealth before. Even if the Harpies have withdrawn all scouts from the forest and have minimal mountain patrols, there are many smaller settlements between here and the capital to consider. There is much we don’t yet know about the situation, despite the reports of war within the mountains-”
“Vizier.”
Pyreza gulped, his tail swishing unhappily as ever it did when the Sultan held him to an answer. The Sultan rarely tolerated prevarication, but it didn’t do to give assurances that would prove false either. Even for Pyreza disappointing the Sultan could be a dangerous mistake.
“Even… even if we escape their notice initially, they would also never leave the approach to the Eyrie unguarded. I believe we will not be able to approach closer than three days out.”
Qamar spoke once more. “Even three days would be enough time for the Harpies to reinforce their defenses, and we still don’t know the situation of the Stormqueen. If she is present then victory will become difficult, even with our numbers.”
“I will deal with the Stormqueen,” the Sultan promised.
~~~
“You can’t!”
Gastores frowned. “What do you mean, Petrino? Someone has to go looking for the captain and the others. Not everyone was as lucky as mother and father….”
His brother gripped the ogre guardsman’s hands tighter. “Don’t leave, Gas, stay here with mom and dad and me….”
Although too young to pronounce longer names like ‘Gastores’, his little brother was still old enough to know how to tug the heartstrings of his elder sibling.
Things had been difficult for everyone in Grand Chasm, even after they’d started discovering survivors in the Erdroot farms and other side tunnels. Until his parents came out alive and unharmed Gastores hadn’t dared believe they’d made it. For a child who’d never encountered death before it had to be all the worse.
Not that Gastores had any experience with either subject until the day of the attack of course. The events of that day were still hazy, even now, three days later, but a few moments were painfully clear in his mind.
He sighed, scooping the boy up in his free arms to sit him on his knees.
“Petrino,” he spoke sternly, locking eye with the child, “You remember Captain Encheiro, right?”
“Yeah, she looks scary but she’s kind. She always gives me fruit when I see her, and she taught me how to play dice, but she said I couldn’t tell or she’d get in trouble with dad – but I think she can beat up dad easy!”
Gastores smiled at anecdote. “You’re right, she is kind. She was kind to me too, when the attack happened. She stayed behind in the barracks so I could get away…. But….”
The young ogre could feel a tear welling up in his eye, but held it back. It wouldn’t do to worry Petrino any more than he already was.
“But I let her down. She trusted me to go, to fetch help, but I didn’t do it, I just ran.” The words were tumbling out, mixing with Gastores’ tears despite himself. “I ran here to find you, to save you. I abandoned the captain when she needed me, when she was hurt and fighting all alone. I ran from the fight like a coward and ignored my duty.”
He stopped as his brother reached up to wipe Gastores’ brow before his nostrils could start to run; he’d miraculously escaped scarring from the burns he’d suffered, but his eyebrow hadn’t grown in yet. “Don’t feel bad, Gas,” the child said, looking up anxiously.
“Heh, thanks kid…. I’m sorry; this probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to you, Petrino. I just… I made a mistake back then, and I think that maybe the captain is missing because she paid the price. That’s why I need to help find her. I need to make it right. Like when you broke mom’s necklace, remember? One of the stones rolled away and you had to go find it. Only this time there’s a lot more at stake than a few quartz beads.”
His brother gave a quiet nod. Petrino might sulk, but he seemed to understand at least.
“Even Lady Feme agreed that we have to try to find all the missing people, I hear she’s sending Valkyries too, the smaller ones that is – it’ll be very safe.”
“You’ll come back once you find the captain, right?”
Gastores hesitated at that. Encheiro was far from the only person missing.
“Do you remember how I told you about the human lady who came to help us?” HE asked after a pause. “How she arrived just in time to save the town?”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The boy nodded.
“Well she’s missing too. Everyone thinks she died in the battle… but there’s no way the enemy killed her off that easily. She’s down in the chasm or the tunnels somewhere, with the captain and everyone else who went missing. They’re probably lost, or worse captured, and they all need our help. Just like how they helped all of us. I wouldn’t be with you now if it weren’t for Captain Encheiro and Lady Safkhet, so I can’t just give up on either of them, or anyone else who’s down there.”
“But… what if the bad people come back? While you’re gone? What if they take mom and dad this time….”
That was the real crux of the problem. For a terror-filled night the child had feared that his parents were dead and seen the terror and desperation of his big brother slowly turning to resignation.
Gastores pulled his brother into a tight hug.
“I know it’s scary, Petrino. It’s not just you who feels that way. Everyone’s afraid. No-one thought this could happen. But we’re determined too, to make sure it can’t ever happen again. The Valkyries and the guards drove the enemies off and we have extra defenders now. Everyone knows what to watch out for and we’re all being careful. They won’t be able to surprise us like that again.”
~~~
To the Valkyrie Nefret, looking out at Grand Chasm from the Shards, the wounds of the attack were obvious on the valley sides, too fresh and raw to be scars. The battle was won, but it felt like a loss.
Countless homes and workplaces were damaged or destroyed, rubble and burned ruins cutting broad swathes through the streets below. Here and there roads had been cleared to allow access, but reconstruction efforts would have to wait. The damage to the buildings was far from the worst they had suffered.
Even the lowest estimate of the death toll was too high; the attack was a disaster worse than any that had befallen the town since its founding. And that death toll could still rise.
The discovery of survivors underground had been a great relief, as had the escape of the Flight Corps members and most other low-born and civilian harpies to the Shards, but there were still hundreds of ogres and members of other species unaccounted for, perhaps more – they had no way to know, but it was too many by far. Everyone had lost someone it seemed, be they a father or a son, an aunt or a niece, a cousin or a friend.
Reports were that the enemy had been capturing all they could, soldiers and civilians, children and the elderly alike, but no-one knew where the captives had been taken, or if all of the missing were prisoners.
Lady Feme had already proclaimed many dead… including Lady Safkhet.
Nefret had witnessed her tragic fall into the chasm. She had seen the terrible injuries the human girl had suffered; blinded and bleeding from every inch of her body – it was no wonder that most believed her deceased.
Even so, Nefret was less certain. She had experienced firsthand the miraculous magic the human could work, felt the power and weight of her mana, seen her terrifying strength and durability. If anyone could survive it was her.
And yet the Valkyries had found no trace of Safkhet.
The depths of Grand Chasm were a labyrinth of caves and tunnels, flowing water and jagged rocks sharp as talons. Venturing too deep could even draw the ire of subterranean creatures, monsters like the Formorians.
But whatever had attacked them, it had come from even deeper – and might well have retreated back into the depths with their captives. The Valkyrie gripped the handrail against which she leant tighter. They didn’t even know who they were at war with, or what the enemy might be doing to their prisoners.
“Nefret.”
The Valkyrie turned, looking down at the smaller newcomer and bowing her head. “Captain Berenike.” She greeted the low-born Valkyrie leader.
The autumnal woman alighted on the handrail Nefret had been leaning against. “You look troubled, Nefret.”
“Yes, Captain. I… was worrying about the missing people. We should have sent a rescue party by now.”
“Damn right. Lady Feme’s more worried about her safety than about saving lives,” Berenike growled.
Having known the captain since her training days, Nefret was aware that her fiery plumage reflected an equally heated personality, but even so the captain’s reaction surprised her, even if she couldn’t disagree.
“You should be careful who you say things like that to – this is Lady Feme’s territory and she’s not as tolerant as the Queen.”
Nefret realized too late what she’d said, but Berenike just laughed. “Are you going to tell on me?” She asked, looking over at the taller woman with a smirk.
Nefret shook her head. “I think you’re already in enough trouble…. I was sorry to hear the Queen relieving you of duty.”
Berenike leant back, looking up at the sky outlined against the mountains, her tail flicking irritably. “The Stormqueen was right to be angry with me, I brought Lady Safkhet here against her wishes. I thought it would be fine, I thought the Queen was just being irrational….”
“I heard a lot of strange things at Lady Feme’s court before the attack – you’re not the only one who was saying things like that. The nobles were saying that Lady Sakhet was doing all sort of evil things… trying to seduce the Queen… to control her… even that she’d been bewitched or was going mad.”
“Until a few days ago I’d have said they were full of the usual self-serving lies,” Berenike replied grimly.
Nefret felt a chill at the look on the smaller woman’s face. “What changed?”
“The Queen did. After the attacks started and she dispatched the Princess to Southtown she wasn’t the same. It’s nothing to do with Lady Safkhet though. At least not directly – they were a cute couple, even if they both denied it. Lady Safkhet only wanted to help us. But Queen Aellope’s not herself lately. I wasn’t the only one who saw it.”
~~~
“Your majesty, don’t do this!” Masika implored, clutching her hands. “The Stormqueen can’t leave the Eyrie undefended, not now, while we’re under attack!”
“The decision is made, Masika. The Eyrie will not fall so easily to attack from below.” It was testament to Aellope’s respect for her advisor that she kept her voice calm. “Sister – Princess Arawn – has not returned from the attack. Even now she may be engaging our foe, somewhere deep beneath Southtown. Or worse….”
“Princess Arawn is not Lady Safkhet,” Masika spoke quietly, her head hung.
Ael’s aura sparked as her plumage bristled. “What are you saying, advisor?”
The smaller harpy took a step back, her wings and tail drooping under the weight of the Stormqueen’s glare.
“I… I only mean to say… the Marshal is a trained Valkyrie; she’s led our warriors into battle countless times over the past century. She won’t make the same mistake as-”
Masika’s words caught in her throat as she saw the expression on the face of her empress.
“Masika… don’t… do not speak of Safkhet,” Ael spoke softly. “I cannot help the dead.”
Ael closed her eyes, allowing herself to slump against the side of the balcony where she stood.
“She made a great sacrifice for us, to save Grand Chasm and drive back the invaders.” The words were tortuous to speak.
She turned away from her advisor as a tear blurred her vision. It was all happening again, just as it had to her mother.
“But sister need not make that same sacrifice. Arawn need not lay down her life over a mere town. What is Southtown but stone and timber? Why should a princess of the Harpy Empire die for that?! I should never have sent her!”
“You did what you had to, my queen,” Masika spoke, the weight of her centuries clear in her voice. “The Marshal has her duty and you have yours. The Empire has to be protected.”
“Why?”
Masika’s jaw slackened at the question. For a moment the grey-feathered noble’s mind was a blank.
“For the sake of the people, your majesty!”
“Why should that duty fall on one family alone of thousands? Why should I alone reign over a hundred thousand lives while my sister and her Valkyries alone die fighting for them? If it truly were for the sake of the people should we not all gladly share the burden?”
“We… we each have our roles to play, for the good of the Empire as a whole.”
“Does living in an empire make the people happier? Or safer?” Ael asked.
“Of course, the Stormqueen has always protected us, all of us! Just as your flightmother, Empress Nicothoe did before you!”
“Yet while we speak of protecting all our subjects, she could not even protect broodmother….”
“Your majesty… what happened to Lady Ocypete was-”
Aellope spoke over her. “I always believed that flightmother had done what she must, that broodmother’s passing was a sacrifice made for the sake of all. Something I should take pride in. A legacy I must be worthy of.”
The Stormqueen should have been proud, yet as she spoke Masika saw a melancholic beauty about her mistress, her powerful features marred by sorrow and regret.
That scared her more than anything the Queen had said, but she made herself answer as she usually would.
“It’s… as you say, your majesty, she gave her life as Marshal to protect the Empire. We should honor her memory.”
“To protect the Empire, yes, but not to protect its people. Broodmother died putting down the Naga rebellion. The enemy were not outsiders, they were our own citizens.”
“They would have torn the Empire apart from within.”
“They sought to rule themselves, to claim a share of the power we have always held.”
“Power they never earned, my Queen. The Goddess chose us Harpies to rule. If not for the Naga your majesty’s mother would never have died!”
“As you say, Masika,” Aellope nodded sadly. “But could one not also say if not for flightmother’s refusal of their demands, broodmother would never have had to fight them? If we had simply granted their demands, my mother, Marshal Ocypete, could still be alive, as could so many more. Is mere land worth dying over? Is an empire worth killing each other for?”
Aghast, Masika searched for the words to reach her queen and empress. Aellope had never spoken in such a manner before, not to anyone. She spoke of putting her own personal desires ahead of the whole empire! From any but the Stormqueen herself the idea would have been treasonous!
Aellope went on. “I believed it was a tragedy that the Naga rebelled, that they could not see the good we did for them, for us all. When I became Stormqueen I promised myself I would do better. I would treat all our subjects justly; I would show them all that the Empire served them just as they served it.”
The giant harpy gave a slow sigh. “I see clearly now how I had misunderstood. We were not fighting the Naga to protect the people of the Empire, we were fighting to Naga to protect the Empire itself, to protect our power. If we had truly thought of the good of all the people we would never have sent a single wing of Valkyries to defeat an army of thousands. If the people of the Empire were truly in peril we should have called upon all its peoples to fight with their empress at their side – no, the people should have been rallying to do so without our order!”
“Your majesty… I don’t understand. Please stop these thoughts, they… they scare me. What we face now is no rebellion!”
Aellope seemed not to hear her final words. “I will not let my sister die as did broodmother! I will not be the second generation to… to send her loved ones to die in her place! I shall go to Southtown and bring her home. I cannot lose Arawn. I – we – need her.”
“But we need you, Empress!”
“My mind is made up. Summon general Jagna. I imagine she will wish to assign me guards for the flight south.”
“If this is your decision should we not convene the court?!”
“I told you, Masika. My mind is made up. This is my will and the court shall obey. I can ill afford to waste time placating the squawking nobles. Not while Arawn is missing.”
~~~
“This is a disaster!”
“Justicar?” Ingeborg looked surprised by the older Pharyes’ anger. “We may not have taken Grand Chasm, but we still control the Southtown mines. We’re winning the war, are we not, General Reginn?”
Reginn couldn’t hide a grimace at being dragged into the discussion. “It’s true. We’ve suffered a setback, but every day we’re increasing gem output with more captives and restored infrastructure. We have thousands of golems stored at the ready – they just need fuel.”
“And what if we don’t hold Southtown?!” Justicar Hreidmar demanded, the old noble’s moustache and eyebrows shuddering with the force of his words. “The Harpy Marshal is still free to harass and sabotage our operations – what happened to your grand plan to lure the princess into a trap under the town, General?!”
“Well it worked perfectly, we lured her into the tunnels, it just turned out to be a trap for us, not her.” The general’s gold-toothed smile was slipping, betraying his frustration, but still he laughed it off.
“How can just a handful of Valkyries stand against the might of two hundred Varangians?” asked another courtier, head in her hand. “The depths are supposed to be our domain, not theirs!”
“The Harpy princess proved more powerful than expected, and more cunning. She never over commits to an engagement and escapes our encirclements before we can catch her.”
“All the while she disturbs our mining operations and ties up our forces!” the Justicar spat.
“She doesn’t have the numbers to take the town or mines, or to fight her way back to the surface.” Reginn insisted, fist held tight on the marble tabletop. “You can rest assured, Justicar, the Marshal will surrender. It’s only a matter of time. Our numbers are increasing every wheel. I give her less than a week.”
The Justicar regarded him with a dark glare down a bulbous red rouse inflamed with ire. “You’d better be right, general. The King will not be so forgiving of another failure like the disaster at Grand Chasm.”
“That wasn’t Reginn’s fault!”
Ivaldi’s chest seized with panic as he realized it was he who’d spoken the words. If looks could kill the Justicar’s would have been his execution.
“Um, I mean, General Reginn, he was just… making the best predictions he could with the information that we had to hand, you know, at the time of planning the attack.”
The Justicar looked ready to bite his head off, but Ingeborg jumped in once more, raising a malachite-nailed hand as if to cut off the Justicar’s flow before it began. “The Chief Aulogemscire is right; we had no reason to believe the Harpies were hiding so powerful an asset in reserve – that was why we all gave our agreement to the plan. With the information we had there was no reason to think the attack would fail. If only your source within the Empire had warned us of the danger we were walking into…. Perhaps the Lady Ventora is not as thoroughly fooled as we believed?”
Ivaldi closed his eyes, taking a moment to compose himself while the attention was on his sister. Ingeborg always knew how to diffuse tense situations. She’d saved him and Reginn both from plenty of trouble over the years.
“We were told of the existence of the ‘human’ they called Safkhet, however even the Harpies didn’t realize what she was capable of.” The Justicar’s anger had been quelled by the subtle redirection, his answer composed, if still irritable as ever.
“Then there was no way we could know that our predictions were awry.” Ingeborg proclaimed.
“Perhaps,” the Justicar admitted. “But even so… it seems none of you understand the high expectations our King has for all of us. King Jotunn seeks to lead us to salvation – we will not reach it with half-victories and devastating defeats. Grand Chasm alone saw the destruction of two heirloom Skidbladnir and serious damage to a third, along with dozens of production models and hundreds of golems. And the Gullinbursti…. The King could scarcely believe the losses I reported….”
The old Pharyes lent back in his chair, his weary look contrasting the appearance of what would, to human eyes, have seemed a young man or even a boy if not for his faded hair.
“Justicar?” Reginn spoke up cautiously, perhaps wary of provoking any more outbursts. “Is the King well? I know we can’t expect him to trouble himself with every little detail of the kingdom… but it’s been months since his last visit to the council meetings, and I hear he’s not left his chambers in weeks now.”
“Y-yes,” Ivaldi chimed in. “There have been some disturbing, uh… rumors, going about as well. About punishments being handed out to his staff….”
“Hmp! This is the matter of the cup-bearer, is it? The one who was ‘poisoning’ King Jotunn?” Hreidmar snorted. “An unfounded rumor. The man displeased his King and I had him pusnished; his attitude was disrespectful and insubordinate – as yours is growing close to being.”
“Apologies, Justicar, we were wrong to listen to rumors.” Reginn spoke, Ivaldi also bowing his head across the table for the general.
The meeting went on after that, other reports made and other courtiers harangued by the Justicar.
Ingeborg caught plenty of ire after she’d gotten in the way of the Justicar’s rant – he had plenty of fuel in her report on the collapse of the Vitrgraf mine, the largest and deepest shaft the Pharyes had bored in their desperate search for gemstones.
It had been hoped that Vitrgraf marked a turn in the fortunes of the Pharyes, a fresh source of food and fuel. Instead it was a tragedy, the reinforced walls failing despite the engineers’ promises, flooding the mine with magma, hundreds of lives lost in the disaster.
Ingeborg’s investigation into the public and painful failure had found no answers – not to satisfy the Justicar at least. The engineers pointed to mistakes by the miners, the surviving miners to unusual geological activity or to faulty construction, the families to the engineers and overseers both. In the end, with the whole site submerged in a gradually cooling coffin of magma it seemed they would never know what happened.
It had been shortly after Vitgraf that the King and Justicar turned their attention to the surface in earnest, but now that venture too was growing precarious and the Justicar was out for blood.
By the time they broke up the Justicar seemed placated, for the present at least, but doing so was harder of late.
In the privacy of his Skidbladnir Ivaldi pondered the situation, mulling over his concerns as he ‘walked’. He did his best thinking in his cockpit. Piloting a Skidbladnir was just stimulating enough to block out other distractions, the focus needed to inject mana and control the vehicle quite meditative.
He passed out of the royal palace and up into the streets above, striding like a giant over the bustle of the commonfolk, who parted like a wake around him. Some stared – they didn’t see many heirloom Skidbladnir in the upper districts after all. As commoners they wouldn’t even qualify for the smaller production models used by the bulk of the Varangians.
It was the Justicar’s attitude that was on his mind. The old Pharyes had always been an irascible figure at court, cantankerous and strict, but in the past there was fairness to his reprimands. Blaming Reginn for the defeat at Grand Chasm certainly wasn’t fair.
The simple explanation was just stress. When the King was displeased the Justicar bore the brunt of his anger, and he had never been a patient man, even in better times.
But even so, Ivaldi thought, to imprison a cup-bearer for mere rudeness? Surely there was something wrong there. Disrespect towards the King would be ample reason to replace the man, but to throw him in a dungeon?!
Assuming the Justicar was telling the truth about the incident. Reginn might trust the man, but Ivaldi’s assessment of Hreidmar was less charitable.
With the seclusion of the King, the Justicar reigned.
Hreidmar might claim that he was enacting the will of King Jotunn, but none were permitted to meet the king in his absence. None save a few servants, like that cup-bearer. Of course He doubted anyone would dare confront King or Justicar on the matter either. Everyone was afraid.
That went double for Ivaldi himself of course; just speaking his mind at council meetings was hard enough. But if no-one spoke out nothing would change.
Of that Ivaldi was painfully cognizant. If only he’d spoken out more vocally even the war the Pharyes found themselves in might have been averted. The monsters on the surface weren’t mindless savages – they could have tried to negotiate. They should have.