And now, the thrilling continuation.

Chapter 20: War Mongering

Three Weeks Prior

Lord Antor tapped his foot impatiently. The King's court was in full session, and the complaints had come flooding in. The Urgals had carried out more raids of villages and caravans up and down the edge of the Spine, and the countrymen had come out in droves to issue their grievances to the king, who himself had gotten tired of the constant barrage.

King Jörmundur sat in his throne, slouching into the thick cushion. He looked exhausted, as the years of his life and hours of the day had begun to show. He had been drinking wine all day, and at that point, he was rather inebriated. His mind was still about him, but only just so

"The next grievance is from Jeffery from Daret!" Jörmundur's steward called out. The King's head drooped. He was not ready for the next one, but he knew he had to as King.

"Send him forward," the King slurred, with barely any energy.

Jeffery stepped forward. He owned a caravan driver from Daret. Antor had heard a rumor that his caravan had been destroyed by urgals, but since the urgals were rumored to be involved with any robbery, destruction, and raid, it was easy for a rumor to pop up blaming them. "Your majesty, I come bearing a grievance for the caravan I own. Not a week ago, it was attacked by urgals and completely destroyed, killing all of my guards and traders. I lost everything in their raid."

The King sighed. He waited a minute before he responded. Speaking slowly as to not show his buzzed state. "How do you want me to help you? I won't wildly attack the Urgals as penance. And you have no proof of this attack?"

"Please, your majesty. You must help me, help us. The Urgals must pay for these criminal acts. Would you so easily forget Nerghain?"

"I cannot risk a war with the Urgals. Our peace is already fragile as it is. You will just have to take the loss on this.

"But Your Majesty!" the caravan driver yelled angrily, stepping closer to throne. A few guards near Lord Antor put their hands on their swords, ready just in case, "There are many of us here today wanting you to do something about this threat! You cannot sit idly by and watch your own citizens be slain by those monstrosities! You're a pathetic excuse for a Monarch. I only wish Nasuada hadn't left us in the hands in a weakling."

Jörmundur's anger burst. "I will not be insulted by someone as petty as you! I am the King! I AM THE KING! Guards! Take this man to the dungeon! Maybe there he'll learn some respect."

The guards quickly stepped up, grabbing the man despite his angry protests. As the guards carried him away, boos rang out from the large crowd in attendance, angered by the King's outburst and lack of understanding of the pain they were experiencing..

The King slumped back into the throne, mentally defeated. "Bring me more wine," he spoke to his steward. Antor nodded to the steward, who hesitated for a moment. He scuttled away to the kitchen.

He returned not a minute later with the King's ornate goblet filled to the brim with red wine. Jörmundur snatched the cup angrily from his steward, spitting to the ground. The King eagerly drank from the cup, pounding down the entire glass. When he had finished, he threw the cup to the floor, echoing against the stone floors. The steward quickly picked up the cup, scuttling back to where he had been standing.

King Jörmundur sighed. "I will not be taking anymore complaints today," he spoke to those in attendance. "I wish you all the best." Angry shouts came up from the crowd. They were furious that the King gave no real answers, and refused to help any of them. The king stood up, taking a few steps. He doubled over, grabbing at his stomach, screaming in pain. The whole crowd stared in shock.

Jörmundur fell onto a knee. He looked upward, and his face was as pale as snow. His eyes rolled back in his head. He tried to speak, but vomit spewed from his mouth, as black as tar, spraying all over the steps in front of the throne.

He swayed, falling over the stairs face first. Lord Antor and the steward rushed over. They turned him face up, but all the king showed was a blank look on his face.

He wasn't breathing.

"He's dead!" Lord Antor yelled. Instantly, a riot broke out in the crowd, as everyone panicked in the shock of the news. The soldiers created a wall, protecting the King's body and Lord Antor from the throngs of the mob.

The people were running and shouting, oblivious to all others, scared at what this might mean for the kingdom. Who would take power? What would happen? The soldiers struggled to keep the citizens back as everyone wanted to rush the throne.

"ENOUGH!" Lord Antor screamed above the noise, his voice carrying over the crowd. The people stopped in their tracks, holding their breath. "Do you see what happens when we let our enemies go unpunished?" he continued. "They kill our own! Aye, it is a tragedy of King Jörmundur's passing. But he was weak. He allowed our enemies to attack your villages and caravans, burn your crops, and kill indiscriminately. A traitorous elf even kidnapped my own son, and Lord Stronghammer houses him with no regard for my son's fate."

"But no more!" Antor continued, raising his voice to a powerful tone, "We will not let our enemies walk all over us. We will take the fight to them! As King Jörmundur's second-in-command, I will lead us with grace into a new future! One where we shall not be afraid of the Urgals, or the elves, nor any man. We will fight for what is ours!"

Antor's voice died off over the crowd, as they stared at him with stunned silence. Then, all of a sudden, a roaring applause rippled through the crowd. People cheered Antor, calling him a hero. Within a few moments, they began chanting, "ALL HAIL KING ANTOR! ALL HAIL KING ANTOR!"

King Antor smiled smugly. The first step of the plan was complete.

A few hours later, King Antor called a meeting with the generals stationed in Illrea, hoping to plan the battles to come. There were three in attendance with King Antor, each with years of battle experience under their belts. No other men were in the room, as this meeting needed to be of absolute secrecy.

"Gentlemen," King Antor began, "We must now begin our fight. I want you to get the army together, and I want you to attack Carvahall in order to bring back my son and capture that damned elf Varen."

The generals were taken aback. "But Your Majesty," one of them spoke up, "That is the home of Roran Stronghammer. He is the Lord of the Northern Lands. If you attack his home, it'll bring resentment from all the northern cities. And another thing, it is the childhood home of Eragon! If he were to ride out to defend, he could wipe out our entire army!"

"Lord Stronghammer is an accessory to the kidnapping of my son. He ignores my commands and houses that traitor. If it comes to war, so be it. We shall be able to unite the rest of our lands if this works. Eragon is thousands of leagues away, he would not dare leave his citadel for this. He hasn't even seen his cousin in almost fifteen years.

The generals nodded in agreement. "What would you have us do?" they asked.

"I want you to gather an army and travel north, picking up soldiers along the way from the towns and cities. Also, I want you to call a conscription of able bodied men to take up arms, by force if necessary, and soon, we will crush Roran and the Urgals without a second thought. Be ready men! The fight will soon be ours." The generals stood up to leave. They were about to the door with King Antor spoke again.

"Let your soldiers know. If any of them kills my son's dragon, they will be given an earldom. Whatever happens, make sure that thing is wiped off the face of the earth."