Zarryiostrom Main Page
Chapter Five
“Weakness”
With trembling hands, Lain reached down to cover the child’s eyes and tried desperately to hold back his tears. It took great effort and iron determination, but even then he was only partially successful; his face and eyes did indeed remain dry, but within him his soul wept inconsolably. He gently touched the child’s forehead—the flesh was already cooling—and said a brief prayer for the dead. Once he had finished his prayer, he abruptly stood up and nodded to the Grand Vizier who quickly pointed to the eunuch guards and snapped his fingers. Silently and obediently, the guards bent down and wrapped the body of the child in white linen, and just like that the murder had never happened. As the eunuchs carried away the pathetically small bundle, Lain fervently wished that his own memories could have been as easily removed. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the child’s face would haunt him to the grave, just as the faces of all the other children Xan had butchered over the years had tormented his dreams for as long as he could remember.
His father was spiraling out of control, and Lain knew it. A thought burned through his grief and horror like a lightning bolt: Xan would never stop. Never. The murders would come more and more frequently, and more and more children would die, strangled to death by a man that didn’t even see his victims as human. “His pretties” he called them, never even bothering to learn their names, for they meant nothing to him as anything other than objects to be used to sate his twisted desires. Lain suspected that it had never even occurred to his father that they might have had names, or families, or hopes, before he took from them everything that they were and everything that they would ever be. He didn’t understand what drove his father to do these horrific things, but in the end it didn’t matter. His father was untouchable, for he was simply too powerful to be called to account for his crimes. The nobles weren’t fools—they knew exactly what kind of man Xan was, and the simple truth was they didn’t care. Lain had no illusions about that: the provincial governors turned a blind eye to Xan’s appetites because the stability and prosperity his long rule had brought kept them rich and powerful. They truly believed that the peace his long reign had brought the empire was worth far more than the lives of a few little girls every now and then. Compared to the endless wars and the countless deaths that had preceded his rule the lives of a few children didn’t matter at all…they were an insignificant price to pay. As long as the palace continued to cover up his crimes—and as long as the wealth continued to flow into the coffers of the nobles—his father would never face justice for his heinous acts.
Lain hung his head in bitter shame. The nobles and the governors were wrong. Lain knew that as surely as he knew his own name: these children had mattered, and the price the empire had paid for peace—was still paying in fact—was too high by far. The thought echoed and reechoed through his mind, and no matter how hard he tried to block it, he couldn’t. A madness overcame him, and tore through the clarity like a red wave, drowning him in his rage and pain and fury. Too high! Too high! Let her be the last! The tears Lain had refused to shed fell then, pouring from his eyes like rain, and with a cry like a wounded animal he whirled towards his father’s cabin with bloody murder in his eyes. Without even realizing he had drawn it, he found his scimitar in his hand. In his mind he could see the event as clearly as if it had already happened. He would break down the door to his father’s sleeping chamber and Lain would cut him down like a rabid animal. Once his father was dead the souls of the countless children his father had murdered would at last find peace. He found a measure of comfort in that: at long last the children would have justice. His father was a dead man. That murdering his father could mean his own execution didn’t matter to him in the slightest, for Lain already knew that he was damned for the horrors his father had committed. For him, death would be a welcome release. He took two unsteady steps toward the door separating him from his father, and violently threw his scabbard behind him. The sound of it striking the wall echoed hollowly through the wooden walls of the ship. Before he could take a third step however, something caught his arm. He tugged at whatever it was trying to free himself, but it wouldn’t budge. Still snarling, he looked down at his arm, and noticed for the first time that the Grand Vizier was holding it in a vice-like grip.
“The emperor does not wish to be disturbed at this time, my Prince. It would be better if you returned later.” For several heartbeats, Lain could not comprehend the Grand Vizier’s words. He tried to raise his sword, but something restrained him, refusing to budge no matter how hard he struggled. He thrashed then, tossing his head to and fro, trying desperately to regain his freedom. The harder he struggled, the less freedom he had. It was as if the air itself had congealed around him like a cocoon, as in fact it had.
The Grand Vizier waited for several moments more, and as suddenly as it had come, the prince’s killing rage ended. Lain’s taut muscles strained one last time to the point of tearing, then slackened noticeably, and the prince sagged until only the prison of air held him up at all. The madness had passed, but tears continued to flow unchecked down his face. Once he was certain the prince would do nothing…untoward, The Vizier lowered him gently to the floor and let the cocoon of air dissipate around him. The prince, still weeping, cast an accusing glare at the Vizier and spoke, bitter hatred evident in his sharp voice.
“Why, damn you? Why did you stop me? You above all know what he is, what he does! Why?” The question rose to a shout, and for a second the Vizier wondered if the madness had returned. He considered the prince for a moment, but saw that rage, not madness, had spawned the shout. Once he was sure the prince still had himself under control—as tenuous as that control was—he answered in a hard voice.
“I serve the empire, as do you. You are the Crown Prince, and the Emperor’s only son. It is my duty to protect the both of you and to ensure the Empire and the Succession remains safe. To protect his Majesty, I make sure no one finds out about his sickness. For you it means I will prevent you from doing something irrevocable in a moment of madness. If you kill the Emperor, I will cover up his murder as I have done so many times in the past with so many of his victims. But secrets will out, my Prince, and the greater the secret the faster it will be known and the wider it will be spread. Murder is a crime, but regicide is more terrible by far, especially for a ruler as universally loved as your father. If he dies of suspicious causes and you are implicated—if you are so much as suspected—the scandal would poison your reign. The nobles would have no choice but to have you assassinated, if only to quell the unrest in their own demesnes.” He paused to let the point sink in, and then continued in a gentler voice.
“Furthermore, I know what killing your father would cost you personally. You are not like your father, for yours is a gentle nature, my Prince. Murdering him would destroy you from within. I fear you would not long survive the Emperor if yours were to be the hand that slays him. Your noble nature simply wouldn’t allow it, and you would destroy yourself in a vain attempt to atone for your perceived crimes. So hate me if you must, gentle Prince, for I will continue to serve your father with absolute loyalty, if by doing so I ensure the future will survive him.”
Lain stared at the Vizier for several moments, then without saying a word he slowly, leadenly, climbed to his feet. He reached down and picked up his scimitar then silently looked around the room to find his scabbard. Once he had retrieved the scabbard, he slowly sheathed the sword and returned it to its proper position at his waist. His tears were gone as if they had never existed, replaced instead by his usual veiled look, a look that gave no hint as to the thoughts going on behind his eyes. He turned to the doorway leading out of the small parlour, and passed by the Vizier while walking towards it. Before he left however, he stopped, turned his head to the side, and asked,
“What do you see when you find one of his victims? When you look in their dead eyes? What do you see when you are looking at another dead child, murdered for no reason other than to amuse your Emperor?” The Vizier thought for a moment, and then answered carefully,
“I see a necessary evil. I see all the good your father has done, and I see the price that that good demands.” The prince waited for the Vizier to finish, and once he had Lain didn’t respond, simply turned to leave. Before he could take a step however, the Vizier asked him,
“And what do you see when you look upon one of his victims? There must be a reason you insist on being notified whenever another one is found?” Lain looked over his shoulder once again, his eyes shrouded in darkness.
“I see my mother’s face.” He said simply. With that he walked away, leaving the Vizier standing alone in a room that suddenly felt much colder.
***
Grand Vizier Shar thought about what the prince had said for a long while, and many things he had only suspected about the young man suddenly became as clear as fine crystal. For one thing, Shar had never been sure if the prince had even suspected his father had murdered his mother, for he had been very young indeed when it had happened. Now Shar knew the truth, and he decided that he would have to watch his future monarch very closely indeed. Had he not been there, Lain would have killed Xan, of that Shar had absolutely no doubt. For just a moment, Lain had gone mad. Shar shook his head sadly. He had hoped that the madness that infected the Imperial line would die with Xan, but now he knew better. Shar had seen that look many times over the years on the face of his liege lord, and he could recognize it instantly no matter who wore it. Lain had no idea how very like his father he had looked when his dark mood had finally turned murderous. The prince favored his mother in most things. His height, his coloring, his features—all of these things he had received from his mother. But for just a minute, he had been his father’s son.
He was certain Lain could not remember his mother as anything other than an impression, but she had been very beautiful indeed. She had been very young—as all of Xan’s wives had been—and the daughter of a highly ranked noble of exceptional loyalty. Xan had been 57 years old at the time, and had already outlived several wives. Unlike the other wives however, Lys had had the good fortune to bear the Emperor an heir. Shar had believed that this fact alone would save her from the fate that had befallen Xan’s other wives, mistresses, and concubines, but he’d been wrong. He could still remember Xan standing over her body 19 years past, panting like an animal with his fingers curled into claws and madness burning brightly in his eyes. It had taken some time, but eventually the madness had passed. Slowly, oh so slowly, his panting had subsided, his fingers had uncurled, and his arms had dropped to his sides. Xan had then closed his eyes and hung his head, and his shoulders began to rise and fall gently with what Shar had assumed were sobs. A wave of pity had overtaken him, for he had believed that his Emperor had been overcome with remorse for his deed, but Xan shocked him. The Emperor tossed his head back and Shar was horrified to see that Xan’s face had split into a ghastly smile, and that he hadn’t been shaking with remorse—he’d been shaking with laughter. Shar had thought the countless murders Xan had committed before Lys had hardened him, but the beatific smile on Xan’s face had turned Shar’s very marrow to ice. Xan’s head weaved slightly from side to side, as if he were listening to music only he could hear, and even in his horror, Shar had been fascinated. The Emperor listened for a little while longer, and then slowly opened his eyes…and only then had he seen the Grand Vizier. Shar hadn’t known what Xan would do and had prepared to defend himself, but the Emperor merely nodded to his wizard as if nothing were out of the ordinary. He glanced down at the body of his wife and smiled again. Shar could still remember his Emperor’s words as clearly now as if the Emperor was speaking them. I can hear her voice, Vizier. She has joined the choir, my perfect choir, and her beautiful voice fills my heart with joy. They serenade me, you know. Every night they sing me to sleep with their lullabies, and I treasure them for it. My pretties never leave my side, you see—I make sure of that. They sing their beautiful songs for me…only for me. I must find another. Soon. Xan had gone to bed then, his Vizier still staring at him in disbelief. The second his head had hit his pillow he had fallen into a sleep so deep and peaceful that Shar had almost believed that he had imagined the entire episode. Only the corpse of Lys at his feet convinced him of the reality of the event. In a daze, he had ordered the guards to summon the physician. Lys had been too well connected, her family too important, to simply disappear the body as he had done with so many of the Emperor’s other victims. So, at Shar’s direction the physician had proclaimed the death to be the result of a sudden sickness, and the Vizier had been left to tell the four-year old Lain that his mother had passed away during the night.
Lys’ family hadn’t believed the story of a mysterious sickness, and had flatly refused to keep silent to preserve the peace. Shar had attempted to reason with them, and had later tried to bribe them, but neither had worked: they had simply taken the attempts as confirmation that their daughter had indeed been murdered. Threats—first veiled and later direct—had also failed, and their efforts to obtain justice for their daughter had begun to have an effect; the nobility had begun to stir. So in the end, the Vizier’s hand had been forced. In the Emperor’s name, he had reluctantly ordered the assassination of Lys’ family, and made sure that the manner of their deaths would send a very direct message to the other nobles. The bodies of Lys’ mother and father were found the next day, lying in a blood-drenched bed with their tongues cut out and nailed to their headboard. After that, a new provincial governor had been appointed in their place. The newly appointed governor had been much more…accommodating, and had been amply and generously rewarded for his “loyalty”. The murders, as distasteful as they had been, had gotten the point across, for the noble families of Ferralin had learned two valuable lessons. The first lesson was that no matter what your station or how just your cause, crossing the Imperial family would invite swift—and fatal—retribution. The second lesson: the Imperial family could be very generous indeed to those who kept their peace. In Ferralin, silence quite literally was golden.
So well had the lesson been learned in fact, that Shar had never again heard even a whisper of dissent from the nobles. Perhaps fortunately for the empire, the nobles and provincial governors had learned not to offer their daughters to the Emperor. Instead, they would send young slaves of exceptional beauty or talent to the imperial court to “entertain” the Emperor, or they would send young concubines to be added to his Majesty’s harem. In the years following the murder of Lys, it had become almost a game for the nobles to see who could find the most exotic “gift” for the Emperor. After all, everyone knew that the fastest way to curry favor with the Imperial Throne was to send the Emperor a sacrificial lamb. Unsurprisingly, the Emperor happily encouraged this competition, and he generously rewarded those whose gifts pleased him the most with riches or titles or lands.
Unfortunately, the nobility’s tacit acceptance of the status quo had also emboldened Xan, for he had begun murdering children at a much faster rate. With a steady stream of victims constantly being delivered to him by simpering nobles seeking to gain influence and favors, he never lacked for a victim, and as a result the palace guard had had to become quite expert at disappearing the evidence of his insanity. It has been said that with practice comes perfection. Had that only been the case, my Prince, you would have been spared much suffering. The Emperor’s bodyguard had been efficient at removing the bodies, but they hadn’t been perfect. One evening 10 years earlier, a 13 year-old Lain had come to his father’s apartments to show his father a new trick he had taught his favorite puppy. He’d entered the Emperor’s private garden to look for his father, and the playful puppy had squirmed out of his arms and gotten away from him. Lain had eventually found the dog gently licking the face of one of the Emperor’s victims who was lying next to a reflecting pool. It had been a horrible mistake: the guards were away, dealing with the body of another victim. Unbeknownst to them, the Emperor had actually killed two girls within minutes of each other, for the girls had been twins. The guards, efficient as they were, had only known of a single victim and had moved quickly to remove the corpse. It had never occurred to them that there might actually have been two victims.
At first, Lain had believed the girl to be asleep and had pulled his puppy away from her unmoving form to keep the dog from waking her. Young as he had been, he had known the instant he had seen her face that the girl was not asleep, for she had died a hard death indeed; her eyes bulged in horror, and her blackened and swollen tongue lolled out of her head. Shar himself had overseen the removal of the first body, and had just returned to the Emperor’s garden to make sure no evidence remained, when he had heard Lain’s terrified screams. He knew the Emperor was sleeping peacefully in his bedchamber, listening to the choir only he could hear, so Shar knew the screams couldn’t be another victim. He had responded instantly, hardening the air about him into an invisible shield and readying his best offensive spells. He followed the piteous sounds of the young boy’s screams to the source, only to find that it hadn’t been an attack after all. When he saw the body he knew instantly what had happened, and so he rushed to the Crown Prince’s side to give him comfort…only to find the boy was inconsolable.
It had taken a long time, but eventually Lain had calmed down enough to speak. Shar had pulled the young prince away from the body and led him back to his room. A dazed prince meekly followed the wizard without making a single sound, and only after the prince was safely in his bed had Shar quietly asked him what had happened. Lain told him the entire story, and after he had finished Shar had done the only thing he could for his prince: he had looked the prince directly in the eye…and lied. In his many years of service to the empire, Shar had lied countless times for countless reasons. Some of those reasons had been for political expedience, while others had been to cover up the Emperor’s many crimes. Over the years he had become more than adept at covering up inconvenient facts, and had accounted himself an excellent liar. He called upon all of the skills he possessed to weave a credible falsehood, to somehow convince the prince that what he had seen had been a tragic accident. Lain had laid quietly in his bed listening to the story Shar had spun with such care, and when Shar had finished, Lain had waited for a moment, and then said simply, I don’t believe you. Tell me the truth.
As the Grand Vizier, Shar had been truly surprised only a few times, but this was one of them. All of his polish, all of his vaunted ability at deception were undone in an instant by eight simple words spoken by a thirteen year-old boy. He thought furiously, trying to think of a lie that Lain might have believed, but in his shock nothing came to him. All the while, Lain simply watched Shar without saying a word, demanding the truth from Shar with his eyes. After several moments of intense scrutiny, Shar had relented. He told the boy everything...everything that is, except for the fact that Lain’s mother had been one of the Emperor’s victims. Once the explanation was complete, he waited for a moment while the prince coped with the truth, then added, You must understand, my Prince, that your father is ill. He has a sickness of the mind and of the spirit, and sometimes he does things that are evil. He does not intend harm, but he cannot control himself. When your father becomes…ill, he hurts people. Sometimes he hurts them badly. But remember this: in all your years, your father has never harmed you or threatened you in any way. Your father loves you, Prince Lain, and he would never harm you. If you believe nothing else, believe that. Lain didn’t say a word. He simply rolled away from the Vizier and stared at the wall until his soft breathing convinced Shar that the boy had finally fallen asleep.
The next day, Lain had changed completely from the boy he had been. Gone was the boyish enthusiasm, the wonder and excitement of youth, burned away as if it had never been. It had been replaced instead by…intensity. No other word could accurately describe the change that had overcome the prince. He had found the Grand Vizier the next day, and had given him the first command he had ever issued. Whenever my father is overcome by his illness, you are to send for me immediately. Shar had protested of course, for exposing the boy to the results of his father’s acts of madness would be needlessly damaging, and Shar had no intention of helping to further destroy the child’s innocence. Lain again surprised him, and spoke as if he had heard all of Shar’s thoughts. I know now what my father is, Vizier, and what he does. The damage has been done. While I do blame him for what he does, he at least is not in control of his actions. You do not have his excuse. You conceal his crimes, and allow him to commit more. As such, the greater part of the blame is yours. For this you must be punished, and your punishment is to send for me whenever you find one of his victims. This is my decree.
The boy’s tone had left no room for argument, and Shar knew that he would obey the order absolutely—obey it as absolutely as if it were his father that had issued the order. It was at that moment that the Vizier knew Lain would make an exceptional leader, possibly the greatest that Ferralin had ever seen, so long as he survived his youth. He bowed low to the young prince, and said simply, As you command, so shall it be. He hesitated, and then asked the prince a question he would never have dared to ask the Emperor. If I may ask of you a question, why is it so important for you to view the bodies of the victims? What possible gain could there be for you to torture yourself over something that is not within your control? The prince thought about it a moment, and then said, Your loyalty to our family is absolute, and you protect your Emperor well. But in doing so, you have forgotten something, Vizier...and I have no intention of making the same mistake. His victims were people once, and I will come to honor their memory. I will look upon their bodies, and I will say a prayer for their souls that they may find in death the peace they were denied in life. He paused, and then added simply, One day I will rule Ferralin, Vizier, and I refuse to become my father. All life is precious and must be treated as such. If we forget this—no matter what the reason—we become no better than my father.
To this day Shar had remembered his prince’s words, and had obeyed his commands without question. Over the years, the prince had proven time and again that the intelligence and insight he had shown as a boy had not been a fluke. In many ways he had proven that he was wiser than the Vizier himself. Shar had never again attempted to lie or prevaricate to his prince, and as the years passed a bond of trust had developed between them. The two of them became…close. They were not truly friends, nor would they ever be, but what they had was stronger than mere friendship. It had taken time, but the Vizier had come to love his prince. The Vizier served the Emperor out of loyalty to the empire, but he served his prince out of fanatical devotion.
Shar’s greatest fear, the one fear strong enough to bring him nightmares, was the thought that the prince he loved so well might inherit his father’s madness. Until now Shar had seen no sign of the mental illness that so plagued the Emperor, but now that he had seen the first telltale sign of it he would watch his prince very carefully indeed. He loved his prince…loved him well enough to know that the man he was would rather die than become the man his father had become. Shar had vowed long ago that should the prince ever be in danger of crossing that line, he would do whatever he had to do, to either bring him back…or end his pain. Shar did not believe in prayer, but for just this once he bowed his own head as he had seen his prince do countless times and whispered a prayer he fervently hoped would be heard and answered.
Zarryiosiad, I beg you to let him find within himself the strength he needs to resist the madness. Give him the power to be the man he is destined to become, and not the monster he has it in him to be.
***
Ascham Illvanin, Duke of Saerce and younger brother of the king of Illymar looked at his maps and smiled to himself. The maps showed the island of Illymar in various ways, but the map that currently had his attention was divided into political affiliations. The duke turned to his political advisor, Earl Vitaly Saxe, and said
“It is clear to me that the monarchy has never been weaker than it is now. So many nobles have been set aside by my brother and replaced by unpopular members of the Savonne family that Orem is literally driving the remaining nobles into my arms.” He gestured at the map. Aside from a few regions clearly marked as Savonne holdings, the entire island stands beside me.” Earl Saxe nodded his agreement, but held up a cautioning hand,
“Your allies are indeed many, your Grace, but the Savonnes are wealthy almost beyond measure. Should open warfare break out between you and King Orem, some of the nobles that are currently in your camp will undoubtedly succumb to bribe attempts. Human nature is uncompromising on that issue.” Ascham looked at his advisor and said,
“While that may be true, it really doesn’t matter in the long run. I do not plan to go to war with my brother if at all possible. I am building up the military not to overthrow the monarchy, but to prepare for the Dakkadian invasion I believe is inevitable. Orem knows Dakkadia is eyeing us as a potential conquest, but he believes that he can find a diplomatic solution to our troubles, and has no intention of preparing for the worst. In my opinion, that is not only shortsighted, it is also potentially deadly for our country. He bet heavily on an alliance with Ferralin to stave off Dakkadia. With that arrangement nullified, we are more vulnerable than ever before.” Vitaly considered the point for a moment, and gave his Duke a slight shrug.
“I agree that war with Dakkadia is inevitable, but do you really think that Illymar itself is vulnerable? The true strength of our nation has always been our navy, and the defense provided by the Teeth of Amhar. The combination of the two gives us an unbeatable advantage. As long as our navy remains strong and concentrated, Dakkadia has no chance whatsoever of successfully invading the island.” Ascham snorted at that and sifted through several piles of paper, until he found a single piece of paper with a list of names. He glanced at it for a moment to make sure it was the one he was looking for, and handed it to his advisor for his inspection.
Vitaly looked at the paper and saw immediately it was a list of ship names, all part of the Royal Navy. There was no header on the page to indicate what the list meant, but a quick count showed him that the list contained the names of 27 ships, ranging from merchants to warships.
“These are ships of the Royal Navy, your Grace. Does this list bear any particular significance?” Ascham snorted and gave his advisor a level look.
“Those are ships late of the Royal Navy, Vitaly. The significance of that list is simple: they are prizes captured by the Corsair and turned over to Dakkadian shipyards.” Vitaly’s eyes shot open in shock, and his eyes returned to the paper for a closer inspection.
“Surely not, your Grace! I recognize some of these names. Four of these ships are from the same squadron, and many of them had Water Mages assigned! A simple privateer should have had no chance against their combined might. No chance whatsoever!”
“That might have been true under the command of Lord High Admiral Arkady, but he has recently been forced into retirement, and the Queen in her infinite wisdom has placed her cousin Lucas Savonne in charge of the Admiralty.” He waved a hand in a contemptuous manner and said in a dry voice, “Oh, I’m sure he’s perfectly qualified for the post. After all, his qualifications do include having worked for his father’s textile business for most of his life. As that business was centered in Illymaine, I’m positive he must have seen the ocean at least once in his life. After all, we do live on an island. Wouldn’t you agree that that makes him uniquely qualified to command our ships in battle?” Ascham’s level look didn’t change at all, and he handed a second piece of paper to his advisor. Before Vitaly could read it, Ascham spoke.
“This is a report from one of my spies in Dakkadia. The ships on that list have already been repaired and are now flying Dakkadian colors. What’s more, many of them are now equipped with the new weapons that we have heard so much about.” Before Vitaly could ask, Ascham answered, “No, my spies have been unable to find out what this new weapon is that gives them such an advantage. Whatever it is, it is apparently devastating, as attested by the crews that survive a Dakkadian attack. Surprisingly enough, Dakkadia has followed the rules of war to the letter and the surviving crewmembers of these ships have been returned to us unharmed, but that doesn’t change the fact that nothing we currently have can stand up to the power of their new weapons. This list,” he indicated the first list he had handed Vitaly, “includes only the ships the Corsair herself has captured. They have several other privateers at work in our waters, and while none of them have been as successful as the Corsair, they have been bad enough. The Dakkadian navy is bleeding us dry: we are hemorrhaging both hulls and gold, and with every ship we lose we come that much closer to actual invasion. It is my estimate that if these numbers remain constant, we face invasion in no more than two years.” Vitaly shook his head.
“I respectfully disagree, your Grace. Illymar has a long-standing agreement with the Mage Citadel for mutual defense. Should Dakkadia attempt invasion, we have but to invoke the treaty and Dakkadia will face not only our navy, but an army of Powerborne as well. No, I agree that Dakkadia is building up an invasion force, but I think the true target will be Ferralin. They won’t risk annihilation by the combined forces of Illymar and Ithram. It would be pointless suicide.”
“If it were pointless, my dear brother would not be so desperate to forge an alliance with Ferralin in the first place. No, he’s not completely stupid: it is clear to me that he sees the same weaknesses that I do and he’s taking steps to repair them. Unfortunately, I believe strongly that he’s taking the wrong steps, and unless someone does something soon, an invasion by Dakkadia is a very real and very deadly probability. He must be made to see this.” Vitaly cocked his head to the side and asked,
“What do you have in mind? Remember, your beliefs have made you extremely unpopular at court, especially among the Savonnes. King Orem has banished you to the Northern Reaches until he personally sends for you.” Ascham didn’t respond immediately. Again he rifled through the papers until he found a cream colored envelope with his name written in elegant calligraphy on the front. The letter was unopened, but he turned it over and allowed his advisor to see the wax seal imprinted with the symbol of the Patriarch of the Zarryiostrom.
“My brother may have banished me, but the Zarryiostrom still understands the importance of my position and title. I think it is time I returned to the capital, and have a little talk with my brother. If he sees reason, we will support him in every way possible. If he doesn’t…?” He trailed off at that, leaving the rest unspoken. Vitaly smiled slyly.
“I do hope the weather is agreeable in Illymaine. But then, with the mages controlling it, I’m sure it will be.” Ascham laughed and clapped his friend on the back.
“That’s the spirit! I’m sure my brother won’t be at all pleased to see me, but then the ram is rarely pleased to see the black sheep. It doesn’t matter. My duty is clear: I have to force Orem to understand how vulnerable we are, or I have to take other steps to ensure the security of our country…monarchy or no. We leave in two weeks. I’ve already made all the arrangements.”
*
Zarryiostrom Main Page
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Click here to read Chapter Two
Click here to read Chapter Three
Click here to read Chapter Four
Click here to read Chapter Five
Click here to read Chapter Six
Click here to read Chapter Seven
Click here to read Chapter Nine
Click here to read Chapter Ten
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