Michael Mathias - Kings, Queens, Heroes, and Fools

“Those aren’t swordsmen, Lord Cryden, those are slaves,” Lord Tromas spat at the interruption.

“Enough,” Ra’Gren said with a booming bang of his trident on the marble floor. “The next man that speaks without permission will be fed to the skeeks.”

Lord Tromas smirked at the upstart then turned back to his king with his chin held high, but Ra’Gren paid him no mind.

The King turned to one of the men standing patiently behind him. “I want the shifts of the city guard thinned down to the minimum. Send everyone who isn’t absolutely necessary along with two thousand of our cavalry to aid Lord Ra’Carr immediately. I want…”

“My King,” a young breathless boy called out loudly, just before one of the great oaken doors of the throne room boomed closed behind him. “Forgive me,” the boy huffed between breaths. A clear path between Ra’Gren and the intruder had opened up. Everyone expected Ra’Gren’s trident to go flying into the young man at any instant.

“This had better be extraordinary news, boy,” Ra’Gren said. The vein on his forehead looked like an earthworm, and his white hair contrasted violently with the bright crimson tint of his anger.

Confused, the boy looked uncertainly at the men who had parted before him. “Lord Paleon sent me.” He gasped for breath and continued. “An army of Seawardsmen have crossed into Dakahn.” The boy breathed again, this time taking a few breaths before going on. “When Oktin’s guard challenged them, the Seawardsmen killed them all. M’lord Paleon says they’re headed to Wildermont to aid the Wolf King.”

Ra’Gren turned to Lord Antone and said hotly, “Well you can scratch the men from Oktin from Ra’Carr’s count. I want riders, birds, and fargin smoke signals if need be sent to warn my Battle Lord. He is to advance his men into the Wildermont hills beyond Seareach long before those tattoo-covered mongrels can get there. The maps show a narrow bottleneck where he can trap them.”

When he didn’t make for the door immediately, Ra’Gren stood and looked sharply down at Lord Antone. “You’d better make sure Ra’Carr gets the message soon, man,” the King growled. “If those Seawardsmen get there before Ra’ Carr can set the trap I will personally flay you and keep your children as pets.” The look in King Ra’Gren’s eyes conveyed a threat far more intimidating than the words, and with that Lord Antone was off.

“You, the man with the trained slaves,” Ra’Gren called out.

“Yes, my King,” the man rose and gave Lord Tromas a smug glare.

“Take your men and slow the Seaward army’s passage.” Ra’Gren ordered as he began to pace back and forth before his throne. “I don’t care if your men are killed or not, nor you for that matter. Buy Lord Antone a day, that’s all I ask. If your men fail, and you still live, I’ll know you for a coward. Now go.”

Lord Tromas pulled on his chin and cringed. He had expected the King to punish the man for his outburst, but not with such finality. He jerked his attention from the matter when his name was called. “Lord Tromas, I want your men on their ships,” Ra’Gren’s voice was harsh. “This goes for all you fargin pirates there in the back as well. Every ship flying Seaward’s setting sun is to be molested. If you can take the cargo, do so; if not, they rest at the bottom of the sea. Valleyan and Highwander ships as well. I want every captain who does not fly the trident to be afraid.”

With a dismissive wave to the attendees Ra’Gren turned back to the captain of the city guard who was still waiting beside the throne. Ra’Gren almost berated him for standing there after he had been given orders, but remembered that the young messenger boy had interrupted them. “Two thousand cavalry, two thousand infantry, and all the city guard that can be spared,” Ra’Gren told him. “I want the cavalry riding today. They are to compress Queen Rachel’s little army between themselves and Ra’Carr’s sell-swords. When the infantry and the city guard arrive at the bottleneck at Seareach, I want them to find that there’s no one left to fight. Do you understand?”

“I will lead the cavalry myself, my King,” Captain Da’Markell said with a sharp salute.

“Good, Overlord Da’Markell,” Ra’Gren nodded. The new title of overlord made Da’Markell’s eyes widen and his chest swell visibly.

“We will be expecting word of your victory soon,” Ra’Gren finished with a dismissive wave.

The man saluted again, and hurried off to begin carrying out his orders.

Ra’Gren turned toward the court’s scribe, whose desk was at the side of the hall. “Remind me later, Brackly, to send a bird to Shaella. The Dragon Queen owes us a favor or two.” The King surveyed the throne room then. It was nearly empty now, save for a few men still waiting patiently in the pews. “What else do we have today?”

“A Lord Northall and his associates from the Island of Salazar,” the scribe answered dutifully. “They are seeking to purchase a large quantity of slaves.”

“Lord Northall,” Ra’Gren said expectantly as he sat back down on his throne. The redness had left his face and he seemed to be far calmer than he had been earlier.

Lord Northall rose and strode forward, his expression that of a nervous businessman, while inside he was torn.

He wanted to help King Jarrek, and in the process get the mines and forges of Wildermont up and running again, but he had doubts now. He didn’t think Jarrek could protect the people he had released, much less any others. King Ra’Gren’s attack on Wildermont seemed far more serious now than it had before. It wasn’t just a bunch of greedy sell-swords now. Trained city guard, and cavalry were about to be involved.

The fact that Queen Rachel was sending men to aid Wildermont brought about another set of problems. If Ra’Gren killed her men, she would retaliate, and after all the death and destruction that Pael and King Glendar left behind, Seaward and Dakahn had taken the fewest losses. Both countries still had strong militaries. A war between them could have unforeseen repercussions for Jarrek and the slaves he sought to free. Lord Northall decided to go about his plans to purchase a thousand slaves and free them. But he needed time to sort out his company and the island’s best interest in all of this. It pained him how his personal feelings had to be put aside. If it were up to him, he would buy all the slaves, and the sell-swords, right out from under the power hungry tyrant, Ra’Gren. He’d set them on the man like a pack of wolves. He took a breath, and mentally checked his expression to make sure his hatred for the King before him wasn’t showing. Once he reached the foot of King Ra’Gren’s dais, he bowed graciously.

“Salazarkian coins are always welcome in Dakahn,” Ra’Gren said encouragingly. “But it is a strange request when the island folk want to purchase slaves. Slavery is forbidden on Salazar, is it not, Lord Northall?”

“It is Your Highness,” Northall answered, and offered no more.

“Explain your need to me, and why you are choosing to break the law and custom of your people then.”

“King Ra’Gren,” Northall started his well rehearsed and mostly factual story. “The sudden lack of iron ore and forged products from abroad has caused the prices of those items to take dragon’s flight. To compensate for the extra expense, some of the wiser builders are trying to cut down on the cost of labor. We believe the entire industry will come around to our way of thinking after they realize the losses their coffers will feel if we cannot continue to build and sell our ships.”

Ra’Gren tilted his head, considering Northall for a moment. “How many do you need?” he finally asked.