Chapter 44: The Fools of White Winter (3)
The great serpent coiled its body unhurriedly.
For a moment, it seemed as though Lanxer was born without a pair of lungs inside his back. He forgot how to breathe, intoxicated and infinitely humbled to the creature’s majesty.
Lanxer watched unblinkingly, in awe, as the alien-looking creature in front of him shifted its massive body. Its great scales chimed like wind-bells as they collided. “What are you?” He asked the creature absentmindedly. He has yet seen anything like it.
People said that the children of Craxus were born with obsessions in them. It was true at least for the fools of Lanxer’s family. Regan’s were fable swords and opponents of equal might. Krady’s were dwarven gadgets and numbers. Lanxer’s, his were beasts and wars.
Lanxer has been to many lands during his years of campaigns and conquests. He has seen many exotic beasts, creatures that were so small and insignificant yet made Lanxer worshiped the famed boundless creativity of Niwdar, creatures that made him felt small and insignificant, creatures that made him felt glad that he had a chance to witness them, creatures that made him wanted to discover the world of Escana in full.
With his eyes, Lanxer has seen creatures so massive and so majestic that even the bones of the last dragon Karijard, which adorned the throne room of the Imperial Palace, seemed dull.
The Titanic Whales of the North Sea, gargantuan, its fins massive, twice the size of the great mast of Neversummer’s biggest warship, a beautiful beast. They were known to be the protectors of seamen. Their benevolence can only be humbled by their massive size. There were countless stories of ships that were swallowed in whirlpools and storms being saved by the grace of a pod of passing by Titanic Whales. Old seamen often told old stories of shipwrecked sailors being guided to nearby islands or landmasses by the benevolent beasts as they clung to their floating driftwoods.
The Iron Kraken, the mortal nemesis of the Titanic Whales and sailors, Lanxer had yet a chance to marvel such creatures in full, only the damage they wrought, scars, the proof of their mighty strength printed on the hull of a Neversummer warship. However, he knew from stories that it was the equal of the Titanic Whales within the sunless depth of the North Sea.
Lanxer has seen the fabled unicorns of Murkwood, all white and fair. They possessed a tremendous mystical power within their blood. Male-haters they were, all of them, born like that, created like that by Niwdar herself, loathing the touch of a man. Only female, the fairest of elven maidens who know not the touch of male could ride them. The unicorns can run on water as though land. Their eyes can penetrate the thickest of mist. Their blood can heal wounds and lift curses. They were not to be mistaken with the common wild horses, being one of Lady Niwdar’s most beloved creatures.
Lanxer has come to admire the Smiling Tiger of the Great Plain. Striped in black and gold, the cat’s grace can only be matched by its ferocious strength and fearlessness, its weight was twice that of a snow lion, endowed with twice the muscles. Lanxer has heard of another type of the Smiling Tiger living in the long continent, much smaller in stature, yet possessing the same ferociousness to fight a grown Earth Dragon that many times their size.
Beasts made Lanxer realized that he has always been the strange one of his family since he was a boy. His family, when they saw an exotic beast of any kind, the men would hunt them as trophies, the proof of their prowess in hunting and combat. The women would try to make nice coats out of their hides and feathers, proving their accomplished needlework.
Lanxer was opposite. Lanxer, Krady, and Regan, the three of them have always been the weirdest kids of the imperial family since they were young. But, Lanxer has always been the weirdest of the three. He had the habit of quietly observing beasts from a distance while asking himself all kind of silly questions. If the beasts tolerated his presence, Lanxer would respectfully approach, looking at them from up-close to paint them with his brush.
Those paintings were Lanxer’s prized trophies.
It was our cursed nature, children of Craxus, spawns of the dragon.
Dragons were known for their obsession. They obsessed with gold and shiny treasures, but their trophies even more. The last dragon Karijard famously kept the skull of the four dragons that he slew within his lair as trophies. As he bled to death, he requested Craxus to leave his trophies alone, which Craxus honored it.
Dragons were strange creatures, bizarre and confounding, beasts that were not beasts, yet not quite one of the intelligent races that Sinintee meant to create either.
The dwarves and elves often tell stories of the time when Sinintee freely shared the Divine Flame to Escana. The beasts that feared and stayed away from the great flame remained beasts until this day. The beasts that sought the flame, shared and learned to wield its power stopped being beasts and reborn in the godly form of Naharis one way or another.
Interritus, the all-father of dragons, not yet a dragon at the time, it neither steered away from the Great Flame nor learned to wield it like the other beasts. The four-legged serpent did something stupidly impossible and unthinkable. It swallowed the Divine Flame into its belly, hogging the Divine Flame to itself.
Since then, the Divine Flame was lost forever.
The Divine Flame burned Interritus’ body through and through, yet Interritus lived, refused to die, and morphed into a different form by the power of the flame.
Its body bloated, bigger than the biggest mountain. Its scales melted and tempered by the heat of the Divine Flame, became harder than tempered Titanite. Its blood boiled like magma, hosting the magical properties of the Divine Flame.
People said that only a dragon could kill a dragon, or a god, or Demon Lord.
Craxus, the man who killed the last dragon was also a dragon, a dragon in human form. He had the strength of a dragon, the blood of a dragon and the immortality of a dragon.
When Lanxer heard that bedtime story for the first time, he was proud of his bloodline, proud of being a child of Craxus, but no longer as he grew up. That story explained why the people of his family were like that, selfish unrepentant fools. That story made Lanxer fed up with dragons and being a dragon-spawn.
Yet, the great serpent in front of Lanxer revived the boy within him.
Scaly like the serpent that Patocli killed in yesterday noon, but majestic was its serpentine frame, many times the size of the biggest whale Lanxer has seen yet.
Dark was its adorned scales, like polished onyx, a lustrous black, gleaming with the splendor of a thousand stars. Long was its impressive long snout, stretched wide, a toothy smile contained the absolute confidence of a tyrannical predator.
A pair of whiskers, grey, garnished the creature’s snout, long and majestic unlike those of the mud-dwelling catfishes or River Menace Serpent.
Ivory antler adorned its head, silvered like polished Titanite. Long untamed dark mane traced the serpent’s back, wild and flowing, graced the creature with the elegance of a feline despite its serpentine look. Four griffin’s legs sprouted out of the creature’s frame. Its talons sharp as razor, large as a stone pillar.
“What are you?” Lanxer quietly asked the great serpent, admiring.
Suddenly, Lanxer found himself locking eyes with it. Most beasts, despite their massive frame and feral nature, were terrified of all the intelligent races, men included, but not this one. This serpent was anything but a beast. Its eyes contained no fear.
Its eyes, intelligent, unforgiving, deep, oppressively dark like a starless sea, yet enchanted, like polished gems, embellished with an ardent halo of fire glowing from within.
Lanxer motionlessly stood and watched the great serpent, breathless, soaked in its exotic magnificence. His fingers slowly roamed around his waist, habitually searching for brush and scroll, but he found none.
It did not take long until Lanxer felt something was amiss. He could not find the reflection of his sickly willowy body within the serpent’s dark massive eyes. He thought he was locking eyes with it, but he was wrong. He was looking at it but it did not look at him.
Within that deep starless sea, Lanxer found the reflection of the Imperial Palace of Kingscrown buried within a furious howling blizzard. Lanxer turned back on the serpent, finding his kingdom covered in a frigid tombstone of ice and snow, ashen, desolated and ruined. He inadvertently turned to look at the serpent again. An inferno burned in its glowing halo. The world billowed in flame, blackened in smoke, embers, and sooth, and Lanxer was right in the middle of that inferno.
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Again…
Lanxer languidly woke up to the fragrance of healing arcane incense, the same kind that he was familiar during the time he was bedridden with pneumonia.
Lanxer blinked his eyes, feeling crushed by a mysterious weight.
Silvered feathers of mountain eagles rested on snow lion’s hide, exotic spider silk buried beneath, along with Lanxer’s fur seal coat mounted his chest. With his lanky arms, Lanxer quietly pried away from the layers of clothes wrapping around him, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
He was inside an unknown room, white oaken door with a large bed and thick cushion, adorned with exotic furnished decorations. A large painting of galloping wild Zardian horses running toward the halo of dawn above Etá Délador hung on the wall, high and prideful, that was the clue for Lanxer to determine the identity of the owner of this room.
Kahar was there, so did Levy, just in time to help Lanxer removing the crushing weight on top of his chest. They helped him sat up. Lanxer filled his nose with the arcane mist to freshen his mind. “What happened?” He remembered riding his horse through the sooth covered streets of Etá Délador with Patocli, teaching the boy the rope while making sure that his soldiers would not commit the act of plundering.
“You passed out, Your Highness,” Levy replied disapprovingly.
Kahar poured some diluted fire wine into a silver goblet and handed it to Lanxer. The ripples inside the goblet made Lanxer realized the draught within his throat. His tongue soured with the ever-present taste of vitality potion.
Lanxer inwardly groaned. It was decisively bad, “How long?” There was a mountain of works to be done, yet he fainted, again. His fleshless knuckles whitened as he clutched the silver goblet.
“Half a day, Your Highness.”
Kahar’s disapproving reply woke the demon living inside Lanxer’s stomach from its slumber. It growled, thrashing around violently in an unhinged rampage.
Lanxer squeezed his eyes shut and pretended not to notice the demon’s presence. He ended the draught inside his throat in a large gulp. The liquid smelled like dwarven fire wine but did not taste like fire wine. It was so diluted that it would be an insulted to be called a wine.
He stood up in a rush, languidly. The ground beneath his feet suddenly slipped, spinning. Was Levy not there, he would have hit the ground.
“Your Highness,” Levy shook her head, supporting Lanxer’s weight with her arms. Her grips were firm, making Lanxer realized that she has become stronger while he has become weaker.
Kahar immediately dropped the salves and potions that he’s pouring to support Levy, pulling Lanxer to the bed.
“Sorry,” Lanxer apologized, trying to find the strength needed to support his soft legs.
“You can stay rested, Your Highness. Master Hados is handling the business in your stead.” Levy advised.
“That’s all the more reason for me to be up.” Lanxer shook his head. While Lanxer could trust Hados with his works, the amounts of works loaded on Hados’ shoulders would break him. And Lanxer really needed Hados to stay healthy for the length of this campaign.
“I know you would say that. It’s fine. We can handle it.” The oaken door opened and Krady’s voice resounded. He entered the room, stroking the bridge of his nose to combat his tiredness, blinking his sunken sleepless eyes. His unshaved stubble colored in straw, dry and drained of life just like the color of his hair. Krady has truly become a part of Lanxer’s circle of walking corpses with that kind of appearance.
“What’s the state of the granary?” Lanxer immediately asked.
“It’s safe from the fire. Combined with our current rations, we can last for another four months and two weeks. Enough for the march to the capital,” Krady answered.
“Good,” Lanxer nodded his head, habitually. His preparation was shaping accordingly, “Good.”
However, his mind was not at ease. The images from his dream made Lanxer restless. It felt prophetic. This was the second time in his life that he came to know what’s a Divine Dream was.
The first time, he witnessed Regan fell off his horse, laid dead on the ground, bleeding black blood as the cursed spear tore through his armor. This time, it was that great serpent and the fate of White Winter.
“Casualty?” Lanxer asked.
“Hados reported three hundred wounds and twenty-three dead, all under your Men of No Banner”
“I see,” Lanxer nodded his head. He has expected similar numbers.
“Hey, can you sit down first? So I can sit down as well,” Krady found a chair inside the room, standing next to it, asking with a fake courteousness in his voice. He was obvious in his effort to make Lanxer rested.
Lanxer chuckled, sighed and yielded to his soft legs. Kahar and Levy assisted him to sit down on the bed. “Have the White Robes arrived yet?” He inquired.
“They are currently boarding at the dock.” Krady flopped down on the chair, deflated.
Lanxer’s eyes flickered. He found Krady’s answer strange, as if the latter was thinking when he replied. So, Lanxer pressed, “How many ships they brought with them?”
“I counted more than seven hundred.”
Krady’s answer, again, felt strange to Lanxer. Numbers were Krady’s fire and claws like war to Lanxer. Krady was always precise with his numbers. “Exactly how many?”
Krady paused for a moment. The pause was more noticeable this time. “…Twelve hundred and fifty-one,” He replied as if he has just given up on something.
That’s about five hundred ships more than Lanxer’s original estimation. He remembered asking for seven legions of Judgment Army from the Great Temple. That should be around 700 to 800 warships. Within his head, Lanxer reflected the latest royal documents regarding the amount of reserved grain stored inside the local granary of Lamentia, Whitestone, and other major territories of White Winter. Even the total of that amount did not add up to an extra five hundred warships. Thus, Lanxer deducted that those extra warships did not come loaded with supplies, but something else, perhaps, someone.
Lanxer felt his belly grumbled. “Who’s leading the White Robes?” Lanxer found his voice strangely quiet and low in exhaustion, almost deflated as if he has already known the answer to that question.
“I haven’t met that person yet,” Krady agitatedly scratched his nose, avoiding Lanxer’s eyes.
“Krady,” Lanxer called out on his childhood friend’s lie with authority in his voice.
“Yeah…”
“Who?”
“Letrailos,” Krady muttered a name.
It was the previous crown prince of White Winter and the current Supreme Priest of the Great Temple.
Levy muffled her long sigh. Kahar pressed his temples. Krady had a “That’s the reason I lied” on his face.
Lanxer closed his eyes. His blood boiled. His stomach demon audibly sounded the war horns. His bony fists whitened, betraying bulging greenish veins.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Yet, Lanxer was surprised at how composed he was. He hated Patocli. He loathed his uncles and aunts. He detested his father and stepmothers even more. However, Letrailos, that fool made Lanxer sick with contempt. He could not stand to breathe the same air with that fool.
That fool has nearly cost Lanxer the entire Battle of Thunderbound with his foolhardiness in the past. He had the knack to mess up everything.
Letrailos was the reason why Lanxer has banned the royal princes whose abilities he did not recognize from participating in his campaigns.
Now, the fool was back to haunt Lanxer again, this time not as a crown prince but as the supreme ruler of the Great Temple.
Why can’t he just be content with being the head of the Great Temple?
Lanxer breathed in and out, deeply, in and out, in and out, mimicking his late teacher’s breathing technique whenever the old man had to deal with the amount of horse manure that Lanxer’s father and uncles left him to clean at the imperial court. When Lanxer reopened his eyes, he pointed his finger at the silver goblet on the table.
Kahar knowingly refilled the goblet with diluted wine and handed it to Lanxer. Lanxer drained it completely, “One more,” he asked.
Kahar refilled the goblet, and once again, Lanxer drained it in a single gulp. “What’s that fool doing here?” His voice was unbelievably composed.
“Regan is questioning him at the moment. He said that he can handle this.” Krady unrolled a scroll and started reading.
“So he sent you here as his messenger?”
“That’s the gist of it, so do me a favor and stay rested for the moment. Also, if you want to rest for the day, nobody would say anything.”
Lanxer sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. He could not laugh at Krady’s poor attempted joke, “What’s the time?” He asked.
“Quarter past four,” Krady took out his hand-wound pocket watch and replied.
It was the same golden orb, which Lanxer has swiped from the gifts of the Starfell Island dwarves to his family five years ago. It was round and cladded in gold, slightly bigger than a swan egg, a strange object that garnered no attention from Lanxer’s father, uncles, aunts and siblings.
Shiny dwarven swords of unparalleled sharpness and godly looking armors caught the attention of the men. Intricate ornaments adorned with the most polished jewels caught the fancy of the women.
Lanxer was more interest with signing the treaty with the dwarven delegation at the time, more than the gifts until he saw that golden orb. It was such a strange gadget, delicate and extremely detailed. Lanxer could feel the amount of workmanship poured into such a tiny object and saved it as a gift for Krady.
“Two hours, no more,” He gave Krady his estimation. He doubted Regan’s ability in dealing with Letrailos’ shamelessness. Letrailos was a fool, a shameless fool. That’s what made him difficult to deal with.
“After that, I will see that fool,” Lanxer declared his ultimatum.
“I expect no less.” Krady sighed. “Hados sent you this,” He tossed Lanxer a scroll waxed by the seal of a gold Menace Constrictor crowned by three crescent moons. Lanxer has been expecting it for weeks.
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The noble house of Sadrian, one of the richest and most powerful noble houses of the Western Region has kindly vacated their entire mansion for Lanxer’s army, clearly displaying their subservience to the new ruler of Etá Délador. They approached Lanxer’s army first, ahead of the other noble houses, probably caught the wind of Lanxer’s loss of consciousness on the street. For years, Lanxer has been their primary patron and business partner, in secret, investing his gold in their horse stables and many other businesses. They were about the second smartest of merchants that Lanxer has ever known. They knew which wind to sail their mast, which was not, capable opportunists. Their pledge of subservience to Lanxer’s army has opened the door for the other noble families to offer their pledges.
Kahar briefed to Lanxer the entire process of how he ended up sleeping inside the mansion of the Sadrian. Nevertheless, Lanxer has already predicted that the moment he saw the giant painting of Zardian horses on the wall.
Lanxer asked Levy to bring him his quilt and ink, which she reluctantly obeyed. Lanxer answered the letter Krady passed to him while keeping Krady company with the various topics, the most notable was the number of rations they needed to feed thirty thousand mouths just in the case that their original plan would be messed up by Letrailos’ presence and his paladins.
Krady suggested creating an independent unit to gather supply in advance and set up a supply line across the western territory for the whole army. That plan had many risks but Lanxer approved it.
Other than Letrailos’ unwanted presence, everything was according to Lanxer’s plan.
The two of them decided to avoid talking about Letrailos if possible. Lanxer had no confidence to stay calm and composed for two hours when Letrailos’ unwanted presence was the topic of their talk.
While Krady was not a man of valor or a master of sword and reins, he knew war, though not as much as Lanxer or Regan.
But then again, Lanxer and Regan were the extreme oddities of their families. They were already in the mid of their forties, and still, neither of them have sired a child nor known of a woman’s touch. War and campaigns interested them more than the fickle heart of any maiden or the topic of bedding matters. Their family has long given up on convincing them to change.
Krady was an oddity of his family, a part of their trio, but not so much like Lanxer and Regan. He was expecting to see his first grandchild at the end of this winter.
Krady could fight a war, but not with a sword, spear, bow or arrows in his hands. His weapons were abacus, quilt, and scrolls. If possible, Lanxer wished to elevate Krady to the seat of Chancellor of the Right, even if that meant he would have a conflict with his uncles and father. Krady was in a way, Lanxer’s equal just like Regan.
“Hey, do you know of any noble house that wields a black serpent on their banner?” At some time, a question propped inside Lanxer’s mind.
“No, as far as I can remember, no family on White Winter used a black serpent.” Krady squinted his eyes.
“Me too…” Lanxer mumbled his words.
Lanxer did not consult Krady about that strange dream of his. Again, he kept it a secret, just like he did before.
He was not completely sure the meaning of that dream yet. The great serpent he saw in his dream made him suspected the betrayal of the Gold Serpents of the Southern floodplain. But, the great serpent Lanxer saw was armored in black scales. Its oppressive visage and air of majesty belonged to that of a ruler and conqueror, the opposite of the Gold Serpents. It was anything but an opportunist beast.
The doom of White Winter that Lanxer saw in his dream, he wasn’t sure if it caused by that black serpent. He only saw the doom of White Winter through its dark eyes. He wasn’t sure if that serpent was the bringer or a prophesier of that destruction.
However, Lanxer knew that he could change that fate. Once, he has challenged fate and won.
White Winter can be saved, still. It did not fall when his teacher was still alive. Therefore, it would not crumble, not on Lanxer’s watch, not when he’s still alive. The Master of War vowed in secret.
“Are you sure that thing is not a dragon?”
Krady asked a strange question. Nobody would mistake a dragon for a normal serpent, the differences between the two were like a unicorn to a horse.
“What?”
“The first dragon was believed to have black scales. That thing was burned by the heat of the original flame, so it would not be strange if its scales were black.”
Dragon, is that what you are? Lanxer could feel hi eyes flickered by the recognition. He was indeed a fool. The answer was right in front of him and yet, he refused to realize it. That serpent was a dragon, a dragon of different scales, a dragon of a different form.
Lanxer saw Krady gave him a strange look, one that of doubt and concern, “I remembered that the serpent I saw had no wing,” he said absentmindedly.
“Then, it’s definitely not the first dragon.” Krady’s reply was as Lanxer has expected, “Anyway, what’s the deal with it?”
“Nothing, I just suddenly remember something I have read a long time ago.” Lanxer lied. He has managed to gather the first clue to his dream, a royalty. However, Lanxer was still confused about the dream. He remembered the banners of all the Royal Houses of the northern realm, none of them wield a black dragon on their banner.
It’s not that easy…
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“Brother, it’s good to see you healthy and well.”
The moment Lanxer arrived at Regan’s hastily established headquarter, Letrailos was there to greet him with a smile, a smile that contained all the shamelessness in the world within it.
Healthy was the one word that nobody used to describe Lanxer and the people of his circle. But Lanxer did not want to correct that.
That shameless smile was just as maddening as Lanxer remembered. Lanxer’s eyes, loaded with disdain, swept Letrailos’ frame from top to bottom. Letrailos remained the same fool that Lanxer has not seen in years. Lanxer saw Regan’s apologetic face at the edge of his vision, tired and helpless as Lanxer has pictured. Even the mightiest general of White Winter stood no chance before this shameless fool. Letrailos’ shamelessness was one of the many reasons for Regan’s inability to deal with him, his disposal as the first-born prince of White Winter and head of the Great Temple was another reason.
Letrailos’ hair shone in gold just like Lanxer and the rest of his family. However, unlike the straight golden lock of Patocli and Lanxer’s father, Letrailos’ hair was wavy and curled like his mother the queen. His was brimmed with vitality, tended by aromatic oil, rich and lustrous like that of a maiden. A Doura, a tiara shaped after the Divine Flame adorned Letrailos’ golden lock in the glistening of coppered gold and rubies as though setting Letrailos’ head on fire.
Letrailos’ eyes had so much gold that they became unbearably blinding to Lanxer. His chin was spotless, plugged clean of facial hair as usual. His lips colored in glistening scarlet, moistened by some kind of oily southern lips balm. Letrailos appeared as though he has never aged a single day since the last time Lanxer saw him, without a wrinkle on his forehead or a strand of grey on his head. Letrailos donned a white vestment of a holy man that buttoned in gold rings, a golden dragon humbled to the fiery sun resting on his chest. His hand held an ivory scepter adorned with rubies and diamonds.
Letrailos rushed to Lanxer, hugging him with a stifling air of familiarity that Lanxer was not accustomed to.
Lanxer scowled his eyes, full of disgust. He did not bother to hide that disgust. He grabbed Letrailos by the shoulders, pushing the shameless fool away with his lanky arms.
“Ah, you are just as cold as ever,” the shameless fool chuckled and put some distance between Lanxer and himself.
“What are you doing here?” Lanxer did not waste his time and jumped straight to the topic.
“Brother, I thought that you would need my help. This is such an important campaign after all.” Letrailos pumped his chest, his lips a boastful smile, laced with frivolousness.
Lanxer stood. His hand rested on the handle of his rapier, clutching. He spoke no word. His steady gaze expressionless and unforgiving, a cold flame burned, reminding Letrailos of a distant disgraceful memory, a nearly successful execution.
Letrailos’ golden eyes flickered. His smile broke, no longer boastful and frivolous. He tightened the grip on his ivory scepter and put more distance between him and Lanxer. He gulped audibly, blinking his eyes, seeking help from his chosen paladins.
By the time Letrailos’ paladins understood the meaning of his blinking eyes, Regan has drawn his long sword and Levy has completed her chanting her spell. Regan’s bodyguards, too, have freed their weapons, ready to strike down any fool that dared to interrupt Lanxer.
“Let us not do this brother. I want no quarrel with you, especially you.” Letrailos said, exaggeratedly fixing his fiery tiara. He’s trying to remind Lanxer that he was now the Supreme Priest of the Great Temple and no longer just a crown prince with that simple gesture. A smile curved on his scarlet lips, betraying a small flickering self-reassuring composure.
Lanxer remained silent, undaunted. His gaze remained unyielding and fierce. His hand moved a small distance, just enough to shine a glint of silver on Letrailos’ face with the blade of his rapier.
“What do you think would happen when you struck me down right here right now, brother?” Letrailos asked. “You are the smartest of all of us. I suppose that it would be extremely easy for you to imagine that scene.” He smiled a daunted smile, not fully believed in his own words. “Unlike that fool, you can see it,” he nodded his beardless chin toward Regan, “Or this fool,” his gaze then fell on Patocli for a moment, betraying a clear enmity.
Lanxer wordlessly widened the glint of silver reflected on Letrailos’ face. His expression unchanged.
A bead of crystal fattened on Letrailos’ temple. His tiny composure wavered even more, “Do you honestly think that I would have come here unprepared, brother? Me?” the shameless fool changed his tactic. “I’m not as smart as you, brother. But, I’m not a fool, neither am I reckless like them,” Letrailos blinked his eyes, full of doubt and full of fear, did not even believe in his new approach. Yet, he continued to push his luck, “Strike me down if you are prepared to face the consequence, brother,” gulping quietly.
Lanxer wordlessly freed his rapier. His wrist flickered. A ring of metal sounded and every man stood inside the room held their breath. Letrailos squeezed his eyes and hissed sharply, clenching his jaws as if expecting the worst. Slowly and gingerly, he opened his eyes to the sound of Lanxer’s sheathing rapier and the ringing of gold on the ground.
Lanxer has only cut a golden button on Letrailos’ vestment with his rapier.
“Yes, of course, by Niwdar’s tits, of course,” Letrailos laughed with his chattering teeth at the realization that he has just evaded Mistress Death’s bony clutch. His face drained of color. He wiped his sweat, “Of course, you would not do that, brother. By Niwdar’s tits, you would never do that. You are always cautious and full of distrust. You believe that even if you have struck me down, you can still rule over my white robes and paladins. Yet, you could not deny the probability of that hastily made decision of yours would end up in ashes and doom your campaign. What was our teacher’s favorite phrase again? Gods make games, men make plans, wasn’t it?”
“Just in case that you are too dull to understand, that button on the ground is a warning, the only warning I would give you as a royalty to a royalty.” Lanxer coldly announced.
“You have become soft, brother. You never gave me a chance before, didn’t you?” Letrailos continued to wipe his sweat.
“Do you think I dare not kill you?” Lanxer asked menacingly in a low and deep voice, his hand has never left his rapier.
“You would never ask me that question if you really intended to kill me, brother.” Letrailos’ eyes flickered, clinging to a small hope, a small hope so small that he obviously did not even believe in. Letrailos’ flesh apple awkwardly moved as he gulped, again. He’s playing a dangerous game, a gamble with his life as his stake.
Lanxer gnashed his teeth and removed his hand from the rapier. He clicked his tongue, “You are right,” and straightened his posture.
Letrailos finally heaved a sigh of relief. His eyeballs bulged. He wiped his dripping sweats. “Of course, you are too smart and meticulous to do something like that, brother.” He absentmindedly spoke those words as if to reassure himself. His teeth chattered still.
“You are right. I would not kill you. I can’t kill you, not like this,” Lanxer admitted.
Letrailos self-reassured and nodded his head, his golden eyes brightened, “Yeah… you would…”
“Until I discover who talk you into this utter foolhardiness and execute that brave fool.” Lanxer cut in, “Until I gain a valid reason to execute you as the Master of War of this kingdom, you will live as our kingdom’s current Supreme Priest,” Lanxer spoke with casualness in his voice, not the fake casualness that Letrailos had, real casualness. It was a statement, not a warning, not a threat. He only stressed the word “current” to make Letrailos understood his position. He shredded away any false hope that Letrailos harbored with him, leaving none.
Letrailos visibly palpated. His expression betrayed fear and doubt. The word “How?” inaudibly formed at the corners of his lips.
Letrailos’ expression of utter confounded and dreaded did little to brighten up Lanxer’s mood. “You are smart,” Lanxer said, looking sternly at Letrailos’ paled visage, “Smarter than this lazy stubborn fool,” glancing at Regan
“Oi,” Regan complained immediately, scowling.
“And smarter than this reckless fool,” Lanxer glanced at Patocli for a short while, then stared at Letrailos with a steady gaze, cold and emotionless. “Yet, not smart enough to realize that you were merely used as a puppet for someone’s ambition in the end. Not smart enough to know where is your limit. Not smart enough to put a quit to your envy. Not smart enough to realize that in the end, you are just another fool of this family. You are equally foolish as these two fools, if not more.”
Letrailos gritted his teeth and choked his adorned scepter. His face changed from the ashen white to the scarlet of his lips. He looked at Lanxer with fury, then directed that fury and hatred toward Patocli.
Just when Lanxer thought Letrailos would do something stupid, Letrailos decorated his face with his usual shameless smile. “Brother, you are really the smartest of us all. If only you are not so clouded by your prejudices, you would see that I am a far better company then them,” It was as though the anger and shame he displayed before were staged.
“Is that so?” Lanxer scratched his stubbly chin and pondered, “Well, at least, I was not caught by an illusion that I can win a war with another nation just because I won a few battles with some untrained fire-farrowing demons.” He made sure that his words to Letrailos this time were as caustic as his stomach demon.
“Do you really think that this kid would make a better king than me?” Letrailos hissed, glaring at Patocli. His eyes darkened to a coppered color, no longer blinding in gold.
“No, absolutely not,” Lanxer replied flatly, “The two of you are equally bad of a material to be kings.”
Letrailos clicked his teeth, “Then why?”
“This fool would never kill his siblings just because they pose a threat to his claim for the throne.” Lanxer glanced at Patocli, warmly, “Or he would ever be so blinded in envy like you. He would not dream of killing me just to prove that he is the smartest of our siblings. He would not dream of killing this lazy fool here just to prove that he is the bravest.”
Letrailos blinked his eyes. With that blink, darkness evaporated completely from his eyes, “That’s why I keep telling you that you are quick to prejudice, brother. Those were mistakes of my youth. I have grown up from them. I have become a better man.” A thin smile spread on his lips.
Lanxer smiled as well, greeted that much- welcomed-familiar smile with his own, identical. “Sure, you have changed. You have changed so much that I almost did not realize you.” Lanxer spoke, maintaining that thin smile on his lips, “You have grown to be an even more shameless man.”
“It’s unfortunate that you are so blinded by your prejudices, brother.”
“I believe that dragons are obsessive and stubborn, incapable of being repentant. Unrepentant fools, we all are, brother.” Lanxer smiled, spreading his chapped lips.
“How unfortunate,” Letrailos muttered grimly. “I think that’s enough chitchatting between brothers, don’t you? It’s about time I should go back to my tent to offer my prayer to Almighty Sinintee for our victory in this campaign.”
Regan confirmed with Lanxer through his eyes, lowering his sword. Levy promptly did the same, lowering her magic cane but without canceling her spell.
Letrailos exited the room, not without bumping into Patocli’s shoulder first, “A mere kid like you…” he hissed.
Patocli did not meet Letrailos’ gaze, looking at his own feet instead.
“Do remember that your White Robes, all of them, are under my command? If you try to give them an order that conflict with mine, consider surrendering that Doura and that scepter.” Lanxer reached out to Letrailos with a slightly louder voice than usual.
Letrailos did not reply.
As soon as Letrailos and his entourage of paladins walked out of the room, Regan’s bodyguard took a sigh of relief, relieving all of their tension. Regan hastily slipped a chair underneath Lanxer’s ass, making Lanxer realized just how soft his legs have become. Patocli knelt next to Lanxer’s chair.
“Unpleasant fellow as always,” Regan sighed.
Lanxer nodded his head, “Levy, set up your Windless Trope around his perimeter. I want no echo, no whisper, no bird, and no letter go out of his tent untracked. If he’s so stupid to contact his source out of anger, we will know.” Lanxer did not provoke and humiliated Letrailos without a purpose.
Levy received the order and went out of the room immediately.
“Good job on holding back,” Lanxer asked Patocli.
“I’m not afraid of him,” replied Patocli, smiling fearlessly.
“You should be.” Lanxer said, “He’s dangerous.”
“I’m stronger,” Patocli replied confidently.
A familiar reply, one that made Lanxer inadvertently turned his gaze at Regan. “Physically, but that means nothing on a field of chaos.” Lanxer then removed his gaze from Regan’s mysterious expression, “That means nothing if he struck you down with a dagger when you are most vulnerable and most unguarded. Craxus our mighty ancestor is invulnerable in combat, a warrior of no equal, yet, he too, fell because of a dagger buried in his chest when he was most vulnerable. Never forget that!” Lanxer admonished the boy.
“I’m sorry,” Patocli replied obediently.
However, Lanxer knew, his entire family made of unrepentant fools. The boy only said that to please Lanxer’s solemn mood. Unless this boy went through the same experience as Regan, he, too, was incapable of change.
“Don’t be sorry. Be wiser,” Lanxer scowled, asking, “Do you know why I have made you swear to stay silent and unreactive whenever you are around him?”
Patocli shook his head.
“Your unpredictability is your only viable weapon against Letrailos, not your physical strength, not the dagger and the spear father gave you, not the sword and armor Regan gifted to you. Never think otherwise! If you spoke to him, if you reacted to his taunts, he would know what kind of fool you are. That makes you become a clear target for him. However, if you remained silent and stupid in front of him, he would look down on you. He would underestimate you. He would think of you as an easy target, a target that he can leave alone until he dealt with us first.” Lanxer rubbed the boy’s head, not sure how much of his wisdom the boy would absorb.
Within his head, Lanxer tried to link Letrailos with the black alien dragon in his dream. It could not be Letrailos this time, not Letrailos.
Letrailos had the arrogance but lacked the noble and majestic air of that dragon. He, too, lacked the tyrannical strength Lanxer felt from that great serpent. He's lacking in many things.