Terry Simpson - Etchings of Power

Knight Commander Varick stepped onto the dais and bowed from his waist to the King. “Your Majesty.” He gave a mere nod to the rest of the room; his gaze strayed to Ryne for a moment. “People of Astoca and those of the other Ostanian Kingdoms, I thank you for accommodating me.” His attention returned to the King.

Without standing, the King gave a slight bow. “You’re always welcome Knight Commander. I hoped for a quick response, but this is faster than I expected.”

“We could have come directly, but we did not wish to create alarm or provoke any attacks. A High Ashishin brought us as close as he dared, Your Majesty. The Tribunal recognizes the threat we all face. I’ve been ordered to help in whatever way I deem necessary.”

The King stood. “In that case, would you all please excuse us?” He gestured to everyone within the chamber. “The ambassadors who represent the interests of the other four kingdoms can stay.”

All the other nobles, dignitaries, and their translators bowed to the King and filed out of the audience chamber. Those still left were the representatives from Cardia, Harna, Bana, and a black-coated Felani Lord. The King’s Advisors and Generals stayed. Ryne turned on his heels to walk from the room.

“A moment if you will, Master Waldron,” Voliny said.

Ryne stopped and turned to face the King. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Would you stay and lend an ear to the proceedings?”

“No,” Ryne said. Face a blank mask he met the King’s stony gaze. “You know my opinion, and even without me you already sent word to the west. His presence,” he gestured to Varick, “means the Tribunal’s offer of support is genuine. Now the strategy is up to you. I was never good with that sort of thing.”

The King eyes tightened, but Ryne didn’t flinch. “That is not what I have heard when my soldiers faced you. However, I will not try to force you into something you do not wish. Yet, can I ask…will you fight for us?”

Ryne sensed a subtle shift in the Royal Guards hidden around the room. A touch on his arm announced Sakari stepping up next to him. Ryne’s hand rose to the scarred left side of his face, and he stroked the old wounds. “Yes.”

Sighs rolled around the room like whispered hisses as the Royal Guards relaxed.

“Master Waldron,” said Knight Commander Varick in his familiar gruff voice, “I’d like to speak to you after this meeting.”

Ryne still stared at the King who finally looked away. “Sure, I’ll be outside when you’re finished.” Ryne’s gaze brushed Varick long enough to see the twinkle in the Knight Commander’s eyes. “It’ll be a pleasure.” Ryne strolled from the room.

Almost three hours later, with the sun waning in its dying throes, Ryne and Sakari rode with Varick toward the Knight Commander’s encampment accompanied by Rosival. They left the lights and sights of Astoca behind them to the north. Rosival took his leave when they reached the encampment comprised of several hundred white tents with the Tribunal’s Lightstorm standard flying high above.

They dismounted, and several Dagodin took their dartans. Knight Commander Varick led the way through the neat tent lines. The camp reeked of the droppings from gathered mounts mingled with the sweet aromas of food for a stifling contrast. Soldiers acknowledged Varick with a bow or knuckled their foreheads. Many relaxed at fire pits, either cooking or sharpening weapons, while others practiced the sword using wooden lathes. The clack, clack of the weapons played a soothing beat. Almost every soldier they passed studied Ryne, often fingering their weapons. They ignored Sakari.

“I had no desire to speak around Rosival,” Varick said.

“I figured as much.”

“I was surprised to find you here. And discussing war no less. I thought you retired?” Varick led them to a tent about twice the size as the others.

“I did.”

Two lance-wielding guards stood at the pavilion’s entrance, snapping to attention at the sight of Varick. The Knight Commander nodded to each man in turn.

“Knight Cosar,” Varick said to the one on the left. “I’m as hungry as a starved bear. Send for food.”

The soldier bowed, leaned his lance on the canvas with care, and strode away toward the cook fires. Varick entered the tent.

“I’ll wait out here,” Sakari said.

Grumbling to himself, Ryne raised the flaps and ducked low as he stepped inside. Too often, he had to keep his body hunched and head down when standing inside one of these contraptions.

“Sorry about that.” Varick pulled off his gauntlets and threw them on the plain, wooden table. They thudded next to a bright lamp and Ostanian maps. “If I knew we would’ve found you, I would have had the tent raised.”

Ryne grunted dismissively. “You would think I’d be used to it, but it’s been too many years.”

“Now, that’s the truth.” Varick turned to face Ryne. Smiling, he held out a callused hand. “It’s been too long, old friend.”

“Indeed.” Ryne clasped the shorter man’s arm. “Way too long.”

“Well, at least the years have been good to you. You haven’t aged a day since we first met.”

Ryne grinned. “I wish I could say the same for you. Your hair is almost as white as this tent.”

“Don’t let the white hairs and wrinkles fool you.” He looked Ryne up and down. “I could still manage a blow or two on you.” Varick released the handshake and faked a strike at Ryne.

Leaning away from Varick, Ryne held up his hand. “I’d never make such a mistake, old timer.”

Varick wrinkled his nose. “Although, I would have to beg you to take a bath first.”

They both laughed. Ryne sniffed himself. The smell of death and days without a bath clung to him still.

Varick took a step back and studied Ryne. “So, are you joining with the Astocans?”

“No.”

“But, you said-”

“I said, yes, I’ll fight. Meaning I’ll fight for the Alliance. If he took my words to mean I’d fight for Astoca…” Ryne shrugged. “I didn’t want to cause trouble, so I said it in a way he’d want to hear. After I came here, the plan was to go find you.”

“Oh?” Varick removed his sword and strode over to a bedroll, the only other contents in the tent. “The gods work in strange ways. Before I received the message from the Tribunal, I planned to come to Carn-.”

Ryne took a deep breath at the mention of his home, his hand tightening on his sword.

“I’m sorry,” Varick said. “I forgot. You feel like talking about it?” He carefully lay his sword down on the bedroll.

“Not much to talk about. They didn’t leave anyone alive. Not much different than what I’ve done in the past.”

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to them. You’ve always fought for the light, for Ilumni.” Varick headed to the table and its maps. “There’s nothing but darkness in what they do. We’ve both seen it, Ryne. They have to be stopped, or else we all fall.”

Stooping slightly, Ryne moved close to the tent’s center to better accommodate his size. “I just don’t understand the point to all of this. The killings, the wars. Is it just for territory? For power? If this is all part of a divine battle in preparation for the day the seals break, wouldn’t Amuni secure his powerbase in Hydae first, before he tried to claim Denestia? What of the other gods? Where do they fit in? If Denestia is Ilumni’s, why does it seem we’re always defending? When do we attack? Is this really about divinity or just some story drawn up for us to spill blood so one kingdom can claim another in the name of religion?”

Varick remained silent for a moment. “You’re asking questions I can’t answer. I’m just a soldier who’s been fighting for too long. The Tribunal points, I attack. This is the way things have always been.”