Chris Evans - A Darkness Forged in Fire

"The only talk of rebellion appears to be coming from you," the Duke said, his eyes drilling holes into Gwyn.

Gwyn sat up a little straighter. The Duke was perhaps not as obtuse as he had first suspected. "I don't think you appreciate the severity of this." He motioned to another adjutant. The elfkynan stepped forward carrying a long, leather tube which he upended on the table. A beautifully tanned sheepskin hide slid out, which the adjutant carefully unrolled.

"Fortresses have sprouted up along the river," Gwyn began, standing to better point to the map, "here, here, and here. Worse, my spies report that elfkynan rebels have occupied the fortress Taga Nor and are rebuilding its walls. Truly, the situation is grave."

The Duke leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the multihued sheepskin and snorted loudly.

Peasant, Gwyn thought, staring lovingly at the map.

The entire Calahrian Empire was laid out like a jeweler's wares. Strips of real gold foil delineated the outer boundaries of the territory controlled by the Empire, while beaten silver represented the major rivers. Mountain ranges made of crushed rubies gleamed and Celwyn, the Calahrian capital, sparkled with all four carats of a rare obsidian diamond.

"You could feed a village for a year with the baubles on this thing," the Duke murmured.

"Whatever for?" Gwyn asked. Diplomacy was art, something the Duke clearly didn't understand. Monarchs had broken down and wept as they looked at the map and realized the wealth and power arrayed against them. Often it was enough to offer the map as a gift, making sure that a particularly impressive jewel, though never as large as the one representing Celwyn, was placed on the capital of the ruler in question. Her Majesty wishes to assuage any concerns you have that your voice will not be heard within the Imperial Empire. You can see the importance She gives to your voice…

The map was oriented so that Celwyn was perfectly centered, the seat of power around which the world turned. That it was in reality several thousand miles north of the equator had been easily fixed by the royal cartographers.

"Pretty. Can I get one of those for my daughter? She's turning five next month," the Duke remarked.

"It's no laughing matter," Gwyn continued, scanning the faces of the elfkynan. If even one of them smiled …"The Empire is facing a significant threat."

"I'm still waiting for the part where you tell me why I'm here," the Duke said. He began tapping the table with his boots, dislodging bits of material that Gwyn chose to believe were mud.

Gwyn motioned for his retainers to leave and the elfkynan quietly exited the ruined throne room, leaving him alone with the Duke.

"Tell me, how is your land these days?"

The Duke said nothing, but his eyes flashed bluer than any gem on the map.

"I've heard stories of pastures lying fallow and a disease infecting the herds," Gwyn continued, careful to keep the smugness out of his voice. "A most disconcerting event for Her Majesty's primary supplier of fine horses, is it not?"

"It's nothing," the Duke said through clenched teeth.

"Really?" Gwyn asked, with what he knew sounded like genuine empathy. He'd certainly practiced the tone enough. "I was concerned that so many sick and dying horses would unduly affect your fortunes. Still, rumor has it Her Majesty has been forced to seek mounts for her cavalry units from more far-flung parts of the Empire. I shudder to think what that would mean should the trend continue. What a terrible shame it would be to have to sell off Greendale Manor," Gwyn said, knowing damn well the Duke had put the manor and most of his land up as collateral to borrow against his losses.

The Duke's right hand slid slowly across his body until his hand rested on the pommel of Wolf's Tooth. Gwyn judged his distance. He was well within the arc of that vicious blade. He pressed on quickly.

"Strange days. I only mention it because I've received reports that a magnificent herd of horses roams the plains to the west, near Linma," he said, pointing at a sparkling sapphire on the map. "Hundreds, perhaps thousands of fine specimens. True, they aren't the royal stock of your purebloods, but then again, they aren't dying either. Quite a windfall for the man who captures them. Enough to pay off one's debts, I would think? With a bit left over for sport."

The Duke's hand remained on the pommel.

"Go on," the Duke said, clearly unconvinced.

"The orcs, as always, are proving troublesome. If you were to mount an expedition and head west, really just a show of force, the sort you used against the former orc king, I think we could secure that border for the foreseeable future. And while you're in the area…"

Gwyn slowed his breathing and waited. It was pitiful, really, to watch the Duke struggle with his sense of honor. Rakestraw's family fortune was gone, pilfered away while he was out galloping at everything. Less time in the saddle and more with an accounting ledger would have served the man well, but he was too much the adventurer, and for that he would pay. Only the constant sales from the Duke's stables had kept the gold flowing in, but now, with disease decimating his herds, there was nothing.

"The orcs?" The Duke laughed, shaking his head. "Someone's having you on. Those hairy buggers have kept their heads down for the last ten years."

This was not going the way the Viceroy had planned.

Gwyn reached down beside him and picked up the haversack, holding it out for the Duke.

The Duke leaned forward to have a look inside, then jerked backward, his hand clutching at the pommel of his sword.

"Where did that come from? Those things are dead."

Gwyn smiled pleasantly. Now this was more like it. "I see nothing gets by you. Yes, it is dead, now, but it appears the orcs have been playing with magic best left alone."

The Duke slowly released his grip on his sword, never taking his eyes off the haversack. "Orcs? You're wrong. That's the work of that elf-witch."

Gwyn nodded solemnly, sliding his argument along this new line of thought. "I can see you understand things perfectly. You are right, of course, it is Her work, and my informants tell me the orcs have struck a deal with Her. Reports are coming in of more of these things to the west, near the orc border. Would you rather hunt them here, or wait until they are roaming the fields of Greendale Manor?" Gwyn put the haversack back down. Things were once again as they should be; the Duke was off guard.

The Duke warily looked back at Gwyn, as if trusting him were the most dangerous thing he could ever do.

"The orcs in league with Her? Are you sure?"

Gwyn pointed casually to the black banner around the Duke's midriff. "The Empire has long thwarted their expansionist aims. Why, you yourself decapitated their King and routed their army with but a handful of cavalry. A truly heroic deed that saved Elfkyna from being overrun years ago, but one that served to box the orcs in. Clearly, they have not forgotten."

"Have you spoken to the elves of the Long Watch about it? Word should be sent to them at once," the Duke said, but his voice was quieter now.

Gwyn rolled his eyes. "Really, I have better things to do than bandy words with skittish elves who see dark intent behind every squirrel that burrows into a tree. I assure you, my dear Duke, the creatures are here. I had rather hoped the solution would be found here, too."

"What of these rebels to the east?" the Duke asked, so obviously stalling that Gwyn had to pinch the bridge of his nose to keep from smiling. "If I'm off to the west, what then?"

Gwyn nodded solemnly and clasped his hands together. It was like toying with a child. "Rest assured they will be dealt with. In the meantime, the orcs and their terrible conjuring must be stopped, and who better than you and your gallant men to do it?"