Stephen Zimmer - Crown of Vengeance

The messenger bowed his head immediately, instantly dropping to one knee before the tall, immaculate presence standing before him. He fumbled about as he nervously unlaced and removed his conical iron helm, revealing the short-cropped hair covering his head from his ears forward.

The back half was shaved smooth, as was his face. It was a manner of style that hailed from an earlier age, now embraced by the warriors of the Unifier’s Avanoran garrison within the great citadel. Stoic, determined, and well-trained, the warriors that exhibited the strange, half-shaven style were normally to be respected and feared, at least by the populace of Avanor. The Unifier had no respect for the warrior, and was well aware of the man’s great fear.

As one of the elite garrison force, the man had been privy to many things that few others knew about the powerful being looming before him. Only the Sorcerers knew the Unifier more intimately.

He had no difficulty keeping confidence concerning certain aspects regarding the true nature of the Unifier, as he had openly witnessed what could happen if he ever failed to do so. Bold, even arrogant, in his dealings others in the realm, he was frightened to the point of paralysis just from being in the immediate company of the Unifier.

The moments spent directly before the Unifier were those that he dreaded the most. Being alone with the Unifier, in the middle of an empty bailey, was staggering to his inner composure. It was all that he could do to function within the oppressive climate.

“What is the report?” the Unifier calmly demanded, ignoring the tremendous fear swarming within the guard, and well aware of everything that the man was thinking and feeling.

The messenger kept his eyes averted from the powerful, penetrating gaze of the Unifier. “The Darroks destroyed a large village, and caused much damage to one of the tribes.”

“A village? One village? Did I not make myself clear that five villages were to be destroyed, in the first use of the Darroks?” The Unifier replied in an even tone, intertwined with tendrils of anger. “How was this not clear?”

The guard’s heartbeat was now racing precipitously, as he mustered up every ounce of his will to answer. “Your will was clear, my Lord… They could not continue their attack… They were challenged by tribal defenders, upon sky steeds. They were able to destroy the village, before losses to the Trogens, and threats to the Darroks, forced them to retreat. The losses to the tribesmen were great. Two of every three warriors that came up on sky steeds were slain.”

“And it was said that we would command their skies. That there was no way that the tribes would be able to contend with the Darroks. What can I believe now?” the Unifier stated darkly.

His eyes took on a blazing, reddish hue, with pulsing, swirling movements just beneath the surface of the baleful orbs. Anger rose up within Him at the news that the great Darroks had somehow been forced to suspend their assault, after leveling just one paltry village.

“And of the Darroks?” He inquired in a near hiss.

“They are all healthy,” the messenger replied quickly. “All of the losses were to the Trogens upon the carriages. Be assured that there was no harm to any of the Darroks.”

The Unifier narrowed His eyes as He focused upon the soldier. He could easily sense the increasing trepidation in the human at having to deliver the less than spectacular tidings.

“There is a threat… yes? Speak now, and openly,” the Unifier commanded in a low, threatening voice.

The sky warrior nodded, sweat beading all over his forehead. “Yes, my Lord… A couple of tribesmen were able to cut a harness free on one Darrok. They flew on its underside, and cut the bindings. The carriage was near to sliding off of its back. The Trogens had to abandon the area, or lose the carriage and themselves.”

“How could that be? How could they even reach My Darroks to do such a thing?” the Unifier questioned with clear disgust. The feeble tribesmen had exposed a weakness in Avanor’s mighty new weapon, on just the very first use of it. “Why were those savages able to even come near to My Darroks? How did they pass through the Trogen sky warriors?”

A sickening dread gripped the messenger, as he knew that he could not lie, nor could he sweeten his words. There was no use even trying, and a part of him felt that he should simply run for the steps to the circuit wall on the terrace, mount them, and fling himself quickly from the wall.

“They… were not… sent in the carriages. The Trogens were sent without steeds. It was deemed that all room should be used for the stone missiles. The Darroks were loaded with as much stone as they could bear, with enough of a crew to handle it,” the messenger responded, the cold sweat surging all over his body. A breeze engulfed him, as it channeled through the rectangular buildings nearby, causing him to shiver.

“It was thought that the tribesmen could do nothing,” the guardsman continued. “That their steeds would not be expended on trying to attack the Darroks. That the Trogens would be able to fend any tribesmen off with just bows, if they did emerge to resist. Only a very small number of the tribesmen’s sky riders have even been seen in recent weeks… and none in force near this village. Their numbers were underestimated. It is said that they attacked together… concentrating in a group on one Darrok after another, felling as many Trogens as they could.”

Had the soldier looked up, he would have noticed no change in expression on the Unifier’s face. There was no outward sign of the instantaneous rage that was now churning violently within the tall, dark-haired being. It would not have been unusual, for whether fire or ice surged within Him, His countenance could remain uncannily placid.

The Unifier did not have to ask which magnate or leader had made the errant decision. It would not have been the Trogen leaders, a race of beings that rarely underestimated an opponent. The Trogen warriors had likely had great resentment for the order to go unescorted to begin with. They never would have gone unescorted under their own full command. If anything, the clannish Trogens would probably respect the tribal humans too much. The Trogens that had survived the fight would surely bring word of the debacle back to their own leaders, straining an already tenuous alliance.

The messenger would have been horrified to learn of the torments that the Unifier considered giving to the one responsible for the decision to leave sky steeds off of the Darroks.

The fact that the guard did not know his Master’s thoughts also mercifully spared him the brief moment when the Unifier contemplated immolating the guard, simply for having brought word of vulnerabilities that could have been so easily avoided.

The Unifier did not reply to the guard, instead calmly walking past the messenger and on towards the steps leading up to the wall walk. The Unifier’s long, rapid stride carried Him there in moments. The guard remained on his knee behind, not about to follow the Lord of Avanor.

The Unifier simmered, yet what was done, had been done. Another measure would have to be considered in regard to the Five Realms. The ongoing defiance of the tribesmen, like a wind fanning a fire through parched woodlands, had spread growing flames of hatred within Him. The news of their partial success against the Darroks made His spirit boil.

For just a moment, He contemplated the ironies inherent in the moment, as poor tribesmen continued to resist and reject what rich and powerful Kings, Sultans, and Emperors readily embraced.

Once at the wall’s crenellated edge, the Unifier swept His gaze across Avalos. He could see the spires of the great Cathedral of Avalos far below, a place nearing completion after many long years of construction. Being constructed with the latest techniques of architecture in the western lands, with towering spires, flying buttresses, and intricate vaults, it would bring a stream of visitors into the city. Though it appeared tiny from His vantage point, the huge edifice served as the most elite church in all of Avanor, the seat of the powerful Archbishop Regnier himself.