Steel And Flame (Book 1) (46 page)

Adrian tugged on the embroidered vest that displayed
his medals and awards of merit.  The general’s thoughts never strayed from the
state of affairs opposite those massive doors these days.  He delayed his
entrance as long as he could by again trying to decipher the truth.

He had served his king and kingdom since childhood
with loyalty and fierce determination.  Unwavering service to the Eleven Point
Crown had always fed his spirit as food fed his body.  Appointed the commanding
general, he’d remade the army into a machine of precision, efficiency and
integrity.  Adrian had overseen many campaigns for his king and friend using
the steel-like army he’d forged from the dilapidated iron it once had been.

Neither had the luxury of casual relationships, given
their positions.  Their responsibilities precluded friendship with others,
requiring instead they surround themselves with competent, yet distant men. 
They’d come to recognize their similarities after countless council meetings
and strategy sessions.  One evening after many years, the king had invited the
general to his private chambers to share a glass of wine and continue a
discussion regarding the current campaign.

It had become a regular event as two found a close
companion in the other.  Once an eightday, if their schedules allowed, they
would spend a candlemark before the king’s hearth, passing the time over wine
or brandy.

Before he died, the king had asked Adrian to be a
casket bearer at the state funeral, a duty traditionally performed by only the
closest members of the king’s family line or his chosen heirs.  The general
still held that final service to his old friend as the highest honor, of far
greater value than any of the awards displayed upon his chest.

Adrian had helped the king’s eldest son settle into
his father’s throne and the younger man seemed competent to handle the job. 
The youth made many of the mistakes one new to such responsibility could be
expected to make.  None were serious and the council had been prepared for
them.  In time, Adrian had once hoped, the young sapling would grow out of his
elder’s shadow to become his equal, if not his better.

But then changes had crept in.  For instance, this new
man had caught the young king’s eye.  General Adrian still did not know how
that had happened.  All he’d discovered through his own careful prying was that
he had arrived at the palace with a research group coming to report potential
new gold and copper mines.  Each researcher made individual reports to the
council, and the king had asked many to elaborate on specific details
privately.

Xenos must have impressed the young king.  When the
others returned to the field, he had stayed behind.  Adrian admitted the man
seemed learned in all manner of topics.  The councilor could speak at great
length on any subject, be it political, economical or woodcarving.  He was
quick to offer his opinions to his new benefactor, and the advice always
sounded wise.  As a councilor the man made an ideal advisor.

Except it was only the first sign of many of change in
the young king.  Appointing Xenos a councilor was merely the first of several
eccentric decisions the young king had made.  Gone were the edicts of a
thoughtful young ruler, gone were the roots of wisdom that had underlain his
decrees, gone were council meetings to discuss a royal proclamation’s
ramifications prior to being announced before the court.

And gone were those who protested these changes.  To
what fate Adrian could only guess.

He fiddled with his buttons, mulling the past as he did
every day lately.  The king’s seers were another worrisome issue.  For the past
two years they had been unaccustomedly unified in their visions and
predictions.  Such unity from a group so habitually divided leant ominous
weight to their words.  This made most people lend greater credence to their
predictions of monumental dark happenings.  When time passed and their visions
became more detailed rather than less so, the council majority finally accepted
that preventive steps were in order.

The seers agreed that this unknown threat, when it
arrived, would be too great for even their formidable kingdom to meet alone. 
Thus envoys were sent to warn the rulers of all the known lands, including
lands not heard from in ages upon time.  None had yet returned, save the two
survivors from that unfortunate diplomatic party.  Or rather, they had failed
to return, entrusting their tale to a hostel owner before succumbing to
grievous wounds.

General Adrian could find no sane reason why the
Assembly of Kings would wish to commit such a heinous act of aggression, but
the facts spoke for themselves.  Still, why—

A handheld bell sounded, announcing the king’s
imminent arrival.  Adrian quickly nodded to the guards in their silver-colored
uniforms.  One pulled open a door intricately carved from floor to ceiling,
allowing Adrian to enter the great hall.

The voluminous hall was vast, fifty feet in height
with decorative columns and pillars sprinkled everywhere.  Dozens of arched
domes formed the ceiling, each grandly painted with different historical
scenes.  Beneath his feet, polished stone gave his footsteps an authoritarian
echo.  Stones of different natural colors created a massive mosaic of the
king’s device, no stone tile less than a foot to a side.

In this hall, the highest ranks of aristocracy
gathered at court, where they could pretend to each other they were as
important as they believed themselves to be.  Adrian held little liking for
them.  They wasted their days trading gossip or discussing the latest
fashions.  Open court took place whenever the king dispensed his proclamations
or decrees.  The king also sat in judgment whenever his nobles presented a
dispute or petition or problem or grievance.

Today it would be a decree.  Adrian wound his way
between stiff-backed bluebloods to the dais that held the looming mahogany
throne trimmed in satin and gold gilt.  He needed to stand at the crowd’s fore
since this announcement would concern his army.

Behind the throne, a door hidden by thick curtains
opened.  The king’s seneschal emerged with the court staff.  He took his place
near the throne, beside a round, wooden disk a few inches tall.  A metal plate
topped the disk.  It thundered loudly throughout the cavernous hall when the
seneschal pounded the court staff against it, cutting short discussion and
gossip.

“Court is now open!  Kneel before his Majesty!”

All the dukes and duchesses, marquises and
marchionesses, earls and countesses dropped to one knee with head bowed or
curtsied low.  General Adrian knelt with them.

The king emerged from the same door, resplendent in
his royal finery.  Two young attendants carried the tail of his long robe.  He
paused before the throne. They arranged the robe so seating would not crumple
or twist the expensive material.

Adrian’s heart froze momentarily when he noticed not
the silver coronet gracing his liege’s brow, but the Eleven Point Crown. 
Ordinarily the ancient accoutrement remained under tightest lock and key, only
worn during public festivities or at times of significant import.  Recently
though, the king had taken to wearing it when passing harsh decisions, at times
when he wanted the court to remember he held power over them.  Such times
occurred with increasing frequency.

He sat, unlike his father who had insisted everyone
rise first.  Adrian had asked the old king about that one evening.  His friend
replied in surprise, “The king is supposed to be working
for
everyone
below him.  I should not be at rest while my subjects still labor, and that is
what I say by doing so.  I thought you knew.”

His son had maintained the practice when he first took
the throne.  Or he had until the changes began.

Xenos followed on his lord’s heels, dressed in the
earthy brown robes he affected.  He took his customary position beside the
king’s seat of power.

Once the supplicant nobles rose, the seneschal
withdrew a scroll from his robes of office, intoning the decree in his clear,
booming voice.

“All assembled here today know the threat poised
against Our lands from aggressors unknown, as revealed by the king’s own seers.
It has been declared that Our forces cannot stand alone against this threat. 
Alliance is needed to preserve the kingdom.  Envoys of peace and unity have
been dispatched to renew old alliances against this dark threat, only to be met
with scorn and violence.

“After consideration, We have decided that this must
be seen as an act of war against Us.  If it is the wish of the Assembly of
Kings to act against Us, We shall respond in kind until such time as they
accept Our authority, or until such time as the lands they rule come under Our
domain.  Once unified, Our sons will be made strong to meet this unknown
peril.”

The seneschal released one end of the scroll to pound
staff on disc, sealing the announcement.  Everyone in the hall remained silent,
the decision’s severity startling even the ruthless players of political
intrigue.  They all knew why, though.  After the tale told by the dead diplomat
guards had spread to every ear in the kingdom, the king had called the council
together for one of its now rare sessions.

Many opinions had been put forth, several urging
further diplomatic actions, others demanding a stronger response, but none
advocating outright war.  When asked for his own thoughts, Adrian had straddled
the fence, saying, “Perhaps a misunderstanding occurred and further envoys can
clear the air without bloodshed.  On the other hand, a measured military
response can make clear we will not tolerate such actions against any who
represent our land and our king, and we will be taken seriously in the future. 
I have no opinion either way.”

But that had not been the truth.  As strange as the
young king had become, Adrian never considered he would declare a war over one
act, no matter how terrible.  Had Xenos counseled this course of action?  Adrian,
strive as he might, could find no rational reason why the man would, and the
councilor’s face was blank as a stone where he stood at his liege’s side.

Yet the time to speak out had passed.  Adrian stood
before his king, ready to receive his orders as faithfully as ever.  When the
echoes from the seneschal’s staff faded, his king looked down on him and spoke.

“General Adrian Ceylon.  Are you ready to serve?”

“I have always been ready, your majesty, and always
shall be.”

“Then receive your orders.  Take adequate forces from
the standing military to the borders of the Outer Kingdoms.  There you shall
annex the lands thereof in Our name, and you will defeat any and all military
opposition encountered.  You will continue until such time as all the land bears
Our banner or until the reigning monarch offers his flag of surrender.  In this
event, the decision whether to return any lands thus claimed will be made by
Us.

“We have also considered that these aggressors against
Our envoys might be the origin of Our seers’ dark visions.  In addition to your
military actions, you will investigate and determine the truth or falsity of
this.  Do you anticipate problems?”

Conquering an entire kingdom was a task never to be
undertaken lightly, even for one as mighty as they, and should be done only
under extreme circumstances.  Despite his qualms Adrian replied, “No, your
majesty.  Appropriate forces must be prepared.  This will take the winter and
perhaps the spring as well.  We should begin the campaign by next summer at the
latest.”

“Then go, and carry out Our wishes.”

In the past, members of the court might have protested
the king’s rash rulings, except too many had disappeared.  None made to speak
or move while General Adrian departed the great hall.

Adrian lived to serve his kingdom, despite his current
doubts over the people running it.  His core existed for patriotic servitude. 
He still worried, but with orders to keep him occupied, his churning mind
turned from unanswerable questions, focusing instead on the many preparations
this next campaign would require.

*        *        *        *        *

Colbey had far too little to keep his mind occupied. 
He’d returned with his surviving squad members an eightday previous and spent
the tedious time wondering if this whole embarking had been a giant mistake.

His squad had spent ten eightdays traveling in the
saddle during the fighting season and the entire rest of it running around
Tullainia, Galemar’s western neighbor.  A pair of its highlords had decided
that the time had come to settle their differences once and for all.  This
presented a serious problem since between them, they controlled almost twenty
percent of the kingdom.

The situation sprang from years of convoluted
grievances.  Nobody could say exactly which insult acted as the final straw,
and their king had refused to side with either.  Their feud had placed him in a
no-win situation.  If he backed the claims of either, it would cause far too
many troubles in the long run with his other vassals.  In the end he proclaimed
that private matters were of no concern to the monarchy.  He had decided to let
them have at each other, then try to pick up the remaining pieces afterward.

Not that Colbey cared why the highlords hated each
other.  These two minor distractions in his path bore no consequence to his
ultimate objectives.