“I am Artowen, the Promised One!” He announced, then unsheathed his sword. The guards before him looked on warily, but he ignored them. He set the tip to the ground and bowed before the King of Bardoo. Despite what they had been put through, this was the leader of a Dradris Kingdom, and that demanded proper respect. Though it was seen as ill manners to draw a blade in front of a King not your own, Artowen would not bow his head without his steel ready to protect his life.
“I believe you know me well enough, Sire,” His aunt said. “It has been some time, Champion of Bardoo. You seem in good health, my senior Truthsayer.”
“What is the meaning of this, Idwyn?” The King spat.
The tone caused Artowen’s head to fly up. How dare he? I can forgive putting me in danger, but my aunt and friends are something different. Then, to take that accusatory tone. How dare he? Artowen stood from his bow, his glare fierce. Instead of putting away his sword, he left it hanging in the air, a grim promise that would linger as the discussion continued.
“Tell us what this is all about, Sire,” An elderly Councilman demanded.
“Seeking the death of a Truthsayer,” Another said aghast.
The older woman, who must have been the Truthsayer his aunt addressed, cleared her throat. “Whatever rumors Lady Idwyn has been spreading must be greatly exaggerated. We have long awaited the arrival of her and the Promised One so we could unite with our brethren this coming summer and channao.”
“So she says when they attempted to bar us from access to the Kingdom,” Aunt Idwyn countered.
“I don’t know what could have given you such an outlandish idea.”
“Why, Mav, of course. Our stalwart guide who led us into a Bardoo infested with Uxsons and Citizen soldiers.”
The crowd behind them began to stir rapidly at those words. More shouts echoed throughout the chamber. The two guards by the King wore nervous expressions, but the old Champion stood perfectly calm.
“Silence!” The King shouted. After a short time, the crowd quieted to hear the explanation. “These are lies, woven by the devil. There are no Uxsons; they have retreated for winter, with the exception of a few small war bands to watch the border. The Territories of Saint Eddgaar have been exceedingly friendly with us. Since my ascent to the throne, we have not had a single skirmish. The truth is this, my trustworthy councilmen and my loyal guards, she is bewitched.”
That caused another stir, and Artowen forcibly held himself back. The anger of the crowd was not aimed at his aunt, however, as it still seemed to swell and point toward the King’s deflections.
Before the room grew more rowdy, Aunt Idwyn held an arm out and soothed the noise to a quiet, bated breath that waited on her word. She chuckled slightly. “What a jest to make at this moment, Sire. One only needs to travel a few weeks south to discover the loss of land to the Uxson horde. Misplaced citizens who were forced to relocate without so much as a fight. But that is why the Citizen soldiers are here, correct?”
The King began to pale as his machinations were exposed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, but you do.” Whispering behind them as the implications of his aunt’s statements were dawning on those present. She would not give the King time for an excuse. “It is only natural you would need help with a sudden invasion that somehow had already struck so deep into your land. Asking the other Dradris Kingdoms for assistance was out of the question; they are preparing for the fiercest battle of their history. Only one place to ask, the friendly Territory on your western border.”
The King’s face contorted.
The old Truthsayer cut in, “Quite a narrative to construct Id-”
“Quiet, sow.” His aunt would give them no time to regain their footing. “A reason to let them in, a reason to convince the council that traditionally opposed your schemes. Of course, you would have to convince the Uxsons to help, guarantee them more land, no doubt. Quietly pull your forces back without drawing attention. Elevated tensions to the north and east are another pristine opportunity. However, it was too soon to execute the full extent of your plan. The worry that the movements of the three factions might be discovered clouded your judgment as I came to secure our treaty and promise of a truce. A treaty that ran counter to your true alliance. So you tried to deter me and the Promised One, or hoped we would be killed. All so you could hide your goal, the turning of Bardoo into a Territory of Saint Eddgaar.”
The chamber was perfectly silent. The King’s shoulders were slumped, the old Truthsayer at his side unable to contain the fury that spread over her features.
“You all do not understand,” The King spoke in a soft whisper, “The state of the Dradris Kingdoms, or the future that does not exist.”
“You would sell your own people!” Someone decried.
“Fool!” The King screamed. “I do this for my people. The Territories will offer us protection and unity. We will not fear the Uxson scum any longer, nor will we have to engage with the constant bickering and fighting of the other Dradris Kingdoms. You all can’t see, you can never see.”
What a sight, witnessing this extravagant man decked in gold and finery cry out for his people. I can sense some truth to his words, still…
“You talk of unity and prosperity, but sanctioned raids on Welkia. Then you attempted to send a peace envoy to their deaths,” Artowen said.
The King chortled. “Peace envoy? Please, you came to twist Bardoo’s arm for troops. As for the raids, it is natural to raid your neighbors; it is a time-honored tradition.” The King waved his hand. “You are not a leader, you do not understand the difficulty of the decisions that I make.”
“I lead the Band of the Promised One,” He said, “You are using an excuse, King of Bardoo.”
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The King ignored him and turned his attention elsewhere, addressing the rest of the crowd, “Councilmen, you listen to the words of a whore over your King. Do you not feel ashamed? I have the blood of the royal Drajin running through my veins, yet you doubt the heart-wrenching decision to give our land over. At least with the facade ended, I can act openly and before the Uxsons devour more of our assets.”
“You talk too much for someone who will be torn down. You will no longer be King of Bardoo,” An elderly councilman said.
The old Truthsayer stepped forward. “And do what? He has no heirs and no near relatives who could replace him. The best would be royalty from another Dradris Kingdom, but that would certainly guarantee the fall of Bardoo.”
None approached as the Champion stood firm, but the arguments and tensions grew worse. Insults flung, and the chamber was an eruption of anger, though most of the councilmen avoided the ire of the old Truthsayer. Some did venture to insult, claiming that if any of the weavers of fate were possessed, it was her. To Artowen’s side, his aunt was reveling in the conflict with a wicked smile. Unbecoming of her position, but he understood where she was coming from. She, too, was human after all.
Through the chaos, he heard a grizzled voice, “I met your father on a few occasions.” It was the Champion.
The arguing of the others continued as their conversation went unnoticed.
“Is that so?”
“Vice was a good man.”
“That so? I hear it all the time.”
“Is there a problem, Promised One?”
“No. It is that you do not know me. I do not enjoy discussing him.”
“Hate your father? Did he beat you too hard when you were a boy?” The Champion’s face still held a jovial expression as he unclasped his great sword.
“I can’t forgive him. He went and died and left my mother all by herself. No one can fill that hole. I’ll accept his apology when I see him next, after I give his head a good rap.”
The Champion chuckled lightly as he hefted his sword. “As worthy a grudge as any.” The yelling was still fierce as even more people poured into the room, and the interaction went unseen except by a weary few who backed away to give space. “I tire of their constant bickering.”
“If this is what you have to deal with all the time, I don’t know how you stay sane.”
“Wine is what pulls me through.”
“Then perhaps you can offer me a cup after this. We can discuss subjects that have nothing to do with my father or the state of the Kingdom.”
Their blades met, rupturing the air and commanding silence. The presence of his deity filled him as did the putrid sensation. Pouring all of his strength into the strike, their swords bounced off each other. The Champion swung into another strike immediately, but Artowen batted it away.
Backing off, the Champion began spinning his overly large sword, gaining momentum and speed while keeping the weight from being a detriment. A lightning fast mass of steel. It was a technique for keeping multiple enemies at bay, though that appeared to be an unnecessary worry. Despite a duel in a throne room being a grave offense, no one stepped in to stop them or offered a word of objection. All watched with bated breath.
Artowen had been able to tell the moment they had begun their confrontation. He would not be able to defeat the strongest warrior of Bardoo. I struggled against Liza; there is no way I can beat him. But this isn’t the time to back down. Everyone’s hopes are weighing on me.
Artowen stepped into the whirlwind of death.
Clash after clash threatened to send him back, but he held his ground. Had the old veteran summoned his deity yet? There was no way of knowing. He could feel his aunt’s gaze on his back, giving him the courage to continue the fight.
Silence except for the clang of a furious battle, one where Artowen could feel his limits being tested, tasted, and analyzed by the foe’s unyielding slashes. Suddenly, the Champion changed stance and intimated a new attack, a flurry of stabs that took everything to dodge and parry.
An opening presented itself, a temptation to step into infighting and finish the duel. But Artowen had a bad feeling, and tired of the onslaught, instead opted to retreat. Without missing a step, the Champion spun his blade, swinging it straight down in hopes of cleaving anything that stood before it. Artowen managed to side-step the attack at the last moment.
The great sword cracked the pristine floor, marring the once perfect room. Artowen backed away and took a stance, but the Champion shrugged, then relatched his great sword to his back.
“My apologies, Sire, I do not think I will be able to carve a path to safety with the numbers they possess. Particularly with the Promised One there,” The old warrior said with a wide grin.
“No one told you to, you senile old fool,” The King chided.
Artowen took everything in and understood. All was still quiet except for those few words shared. It was a moment provided by the old man, a path through this mess, a time for him to be taken seriously. His aunt opened her mouth to speak, but he would not have it; this was his moment to step forward. As the Promised One.
He slammed his sword loudly into its sheath, silencing Aunt Idwyn. “My apologies as well, Sire, for the bout and how this meeting appears to you.”
The King of Bardoo raised a brow.
He thought on the words Royce used when they discussed the plot and ways to get through it. He thought on his aunt’s regal attitude. Connecting everything, he found the way forward. Artowen’s back straightened. “We have not come to tear you down or overthrow you. We came as our original purpose, an alliance, a front against the Uxsons that will be invading in the coming year.”
The King scoffed. “What could a single Dradris Kingdom offer that could outweigh what an empire offers?”
“Peace, autonomy, and a whole Dradris once again. Unity forevermore.”
“Simple words.”
“Yes, but true nonetheless. Think on how you are approaching this, Sire. Even you understand you cannot stand alone, and so I applaud your forethought of forming an alliance with the Territories.”
Confused whispers behind him.
The King’s eyes narrowed. “I am surprised you see the necessity of it.”
“Yes, all would rather deal with Citizens than Uxsons. Though I do not know why you were so quick to give away your Kingdom. An alliance would be enough.”
“They would not accept that.”
“Wouldn’t they? All the Dradris Kingdoms and the Territories of Saint Eddgaar united against the Uxsons to banish them from our lands. A powerful prospect.”
“And after? We Drajin will just go back to fighting ourselves.”
“We won’t.”
“How can you know that?”
“I guarantee it! After we unify this time, we will stay united.”
“Under you?” The King spat.
“No, at this time my duty as the Promised One is to unite these Kingdoms, not lead them. But let me declare this now for all to remember. In the far future, I will be the Drawalda!”
A roar erupted, and chatter once again filled the chamber.
“Well said, dear nephew,” Aunt Idwyn complimented, “I suppose Royce earned his keep by assisting in your revelation. Though it pains me to say. A clever boy to see the plan ahead.” She turned her attention to the King. “As you might infer, equal power among the kings keeps everyone in check. More power than some client king, more wealth. Prosperity for your people, and good relations with all sides. A perfect future.”
“You cannot listen to her, Sire,” The old Truthsayer said.
“Be gone, woman. You have failed me. They walked in without any trouble.”
“A testament to our ability,” Aunt Idwyn said. “Goodbye, senior, we will have to talk at a later date.”
Snarling, the old Truthsayer retreated.
“You wish to use me to secure an army from the Territories? I do not know if it will go well.”
“You are already in a precarious situation, Sire. I don’t think this risk is undue. Besides, think of the rewards”
They continued to talk, the others listening and bickering to themselves, but not interrupting the negotiations. Every time his aunt mentioned wealth or power, the King’s eyes lit up. With every word of prosperity for his citizens and Kingdom, his mouth watered. This would be enough.
Hopefully.
