Sacred Bonds
ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL
After a long voyage, one would think to lay head to the nearest inn for a short rest. A bit of food and drink would also be welcome - or even a full-blown feast.
These things would have to be content with a second place within the mind of Erlend Swalestrom, as he had more important matters to discuss.
Admittedly, Orience was a good city to be in. Its climate reminded Erlend of Kaldos, his birthplace, half a world away, yet they are almost horizontally aligned to each other.
As Duke Somerled was away, his duchy was governed by his half-brother Domnall, who may be sick of body, but with his mind mostly spared, he was considered an acceptable replacement. However, the regent soon proved to be feeble-minded and occasionally incapable. He was a decent beast, with some displays of quick-wittedness. Like his own Thordan, he had also kept a journal with him, so his thoughts must have been quite coherent, even legible. With him being incapacitated by occasional bouts of seizures, he was sidelined by Somerled's daughter.
Lady Morag may have been a young teenager who is quite obsessed with physical pleasures, but she has the ability to win the hearts of her subjects slowly but surely. Judging by the fact that Lord Domnall has a low probability of marrying (and an even lower one of having children), Lady Morag walked closer to the Ducal throne by each passing season.
Being betrothed to a Boreller did nothing to dampen the spirits of the lady. She may come of age in one season, but she has been already seen having affections - no, not affections. Having desires for any malebeast that crossed her path. Erlend was lucky to shake her off for a brief moment. Or two. He hoped for a few hundred more.
Right now, King Erlend had to contend himself with less personal issues.
The hedgehog, Bertil he was named, had a short message for him. "Your Majesty, Valdemar Crestworth, Lord of Doma offers his friendship, and would like to negotiate with you for the matter of the Parman throne."
Quite frankly, his candidature as future King of Otharn was surprising. The general rule was that a King was chosen from the Electors, and was crowned in Kurburg. Then, the king journeys to Ilsadia, and was crowned as her king as well. Finally, he (Lorelei may protest with varying degrees of success, but it's always a he) will arrive at the ruins of Old Parma, and was officially crowned as High King.
This, of course, had its problems. Numerous kings have seen antikings pop up from nowhere, though the requirement of four noble grandparents still stands as of now.
The second challenge lay in Ilsadia, which has long resisted the Parmans - for centuries, in fact. Erlend has fought them before on his father-in-law's behalf. They were tenacious foes in open battle, yes, but they could do nothing against theft, bargain and deceit. Only a war of attrition, alliances with other Parman foes, and a very timely surprise attack saved them.
Of course, the Parman nobles can ignore you and see themselves independent, and kings in all but name. Thordan neglected Otharn for Ilsadia, and his successor will pay the price, whoever he might be. If he acts to take the throne, the throne will act upon him.
Erlend may have been a beast of many flaws, but overlooking them was not one. He would not make a good king. If he could not handle Garlesca alone, then ruling the much larger Parma stands no chance.
He toyed with the thought of selling his claims to Parma for a large sum of money - wars are expensive, after all. Or forcing Lord Crestworth to give up his claim over Meraholmer. That could have worked as well, if his wife would agree.
But it would be easier for an ant to move a mountain than for him to persuade his wife to drop her ideas. Her first husband's death was unexpected, to be sure, but Erlend should have waited before the situation was ripe before going for her. Both of them had been content with the match, but none of them were truly happy with it. The only long-lasting impacts were an alliance with the late King Thordan, and a chance to make a grab for the Parman throne.
He dismissed the hedgehog ambassador with a few vague promises, and waited for something to happen next. In the latest four months, nothing good seemed to have happened. Erlend hoped that he would be able to travel to King Garmund or King Somerled fast enough to join up with their armies, leading his Thavnairese units in tow.
Of course, things may not go to plan, but in the end they will triumph.
Another messenger entered the room, this one more nervous than the last. Wearing Dravain colours, the otter hesitated with every single step.
"Speak up." Erlend took a deep breath. Whatever he's planning to say, it won't be pretty.
His belief was vindicated as the messenger said four simple words, and the sound of maddened screaming will be heard in every corner of the castle.
FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD
At this point of the war, the last things Lady Bellamy Swalestrom would have guessed it the horns of victory. Last time she checked, the Trielians have overrun most of the Southard defences. Fort Tiernan toppled, her brother Bedric killed, villages decimated - by the time the Trielians win, Somerled of Deilart will have been a 'glorious' king over a pile of ruins. Her mother said that Garmund had planned to do that, and she guessed that she was right.
Speaking of her mother, she was in a bad mood for the previous few weeks. It did not take long before Bellamy realised its origin - her brother was assassinated before he could name any heir, and the throne lies in the paws in a five-season old child. She might have nothing against the child, but either her cousin Anzeka or her Garlean husband must have been responsible for her uncle's death, as the only other likely candidate - King Thordan of Parma, was dead.
Garrion led the way of the victory procession, as was expected of a lord. He may be bandaged in many areas and had splints across his right arm and leg, but no wound that he had was expected to last. He was young and strong, after all, and father had plans for him.
It started when he was married in the most literal of manners. Her father managed to persuade Lord Lorents to give his daughter a larger than normal portion of land as the accustomed dowry. Seeing that House Rueford has been a valuable political ally in her father's struggle against the Dravanians, Lord Rueford has received favour upon favour, but this has served to push previously unaligned lords to Erlend's side due to simple jealousy.
"We should come to greet them!" Lady Ellisiv was clearly happy at her husband's return. Her marriage caused a small stir in the Southard court, as the bride's family was considered much inferior in rank compared to House Swalestrom. But of course, her father would accept this advantageous match - provided that Lord Lorents give away the aforementioned dowry. Bellamy spoke against the match privately, though she became fast friends with the young and very energetic Lady Rueford.
Floret's supply lines have been cut to shreds by the Trielians. Even without counting the Trielian main force advancing with a snail's pace, both the Otterguard and Sword have been hard-pressed against Lord Somerled's diversion.
Having been a maternal cousin to King Gideon meant that Somerled had quite a claim by himself, and the Deilart line was considered genealogically superior than the Southard Kings. The current kings managed were legitimate by the principle of proximity of blood, though primogeniture favoured the Deilarts. The previous Deilarn Dukes refused to press their claims due to Trielian pressure, though time and circumstances changed, and here Somerled was, calling himself a king at the head of an army.
This of course, was not the main point. Somerled was a beast given to ineptitude, and only his loyalty to Triel and previous experience at commanding an army allowed him to ascend. His weak and sickly brother could be a better puppet, but clearly Garmund of Triel had other ideas.
Despite the sufferings that have descended upon them, Floret's citizens were in a celebratory mood. Southsward square was packed with beasts of all sorts, and their victorious army can finally take a rest.
"I'm glad to see you two safe," said Garrion Swalestrom. He looked over their shoulders. "Where is Mother?"
"Mourning." Ellisiv said somberly. "Your brother is not the only casualty of this whole thing."
"King Winchell perished at the paws of a crossbow-wielding beast, and Corrado of Garlesca seized the throne. The younger Corrado, I mean."
"This is bad…" Garrion shook his head. "This is much, much worse than I first thought. We must stop them before they decide to get involved. It doesn't matter if Erlend or the elder Corrado leads the Garleans toward us. We're doomed either way."
A voice piped out from the back. "Unless if we brought the fight to them."
"I do not think you were supposed to speak now, Galen." Garrion sighed as he turned his head towards a tall otter at his side - clearly a bodyguard.
"Many apologies, my lord, but you were the one who told me to be more active." The other otter smiled. "And it is also not customary to disobey a lord."
Garrion smirked - which was not a major occurrence. Bellamy's older brother was usually a pensive scholar, who knew what to do but not what not to do.
"You have a point, Galen." Turning to his sister, he returned to his signature flat expression.
" I fear we have to call Godred back. He has a kingdom to win, and he should move with haste."
SOMEWHERE
Thordan woke up. Or did he?
It certainly did not seem like it. He seemed to be standing on another circle of glass, this time without the ornaments. Instead, the glass seemed to be coloured intricately. Red, green and blue circles hugged close to each other, together in an ocean of violet.
Thordan visited Kurburg Shrine when he was ten, and was amazed by all the stained glass windows. He can safely say that this figment of a dream surpassed everything the real world could make.
"You are here."
Thordan turned his head to see a mole clothed in white robes - emissary robes. He had met the mole before - at Floret, though the creature's name evaded him.
"You sound familiar. We have met in Southsward, have we not?"
"Yes. It is quite disappointing that you have forgotten me so soon, young Thordan. I am Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret."
"Oh." A few memories snapped into place, not all of them pleasant. "So you're the one who defeated me in chess five times in a row."
"Pardon me, but we have much, much more at stake."
"Just where are we?" Thordan wondered aloud. "You ought to have some idea."
"I don't have a name for this place yet. Mayhaps you can be so generous as to provide one. Moving on." The mole smiled, as if he knew something Thordan was, which in every sense was true. "Had you ever heard of anything called Conjuration before?"
"No. What is it?"
"It's a concept hard for you to understand…" Dagbert seemed to smile. "A river of power, infinitely strong, and hard to grasp."
Thordan shook his head. "I understood none of that."
"Perfectly normal. There is a lot I can teach you." Dagbert reached out a paw.
"And lead him astray?"
Mole and otter turned towards the source of the voice. Standing in front of them was a black fox, with both ears folded in rage, and a face which seemed to be locked in a scowl - permanently so.
"You!" Dagbert exclaimed.
"If I remember correctly, yes, I am me." Isangrim never took his gaze off the mole. "Now what in the world are you doing in my charge's dreams?"
"I was planning on revealing on what you have hidden for so long, Darkening Cloud." The Archivist spat the last two words enough that the whole disk seemed to tremble and quake. "You cannot keep him locked out of the loop until the day he perishes - at your paws or otherwise."
"At my paws?" Thordan looked towards Isangrim, while remaining completely silent. "I swore to protect the kid, and you think I will kill him? You, who attacked his grandfather?"
Before Thordan can react, the mole snapped. "That was in self-defence! I had no choice! Besides, I took no part in his killing!"
Thordan gasped. Killing a king was sacrilege of the highest order, and who was responsible would be left in a world of pain if his mother ever got her paws on him. His vision was beginning to distort, like that time when Egil described drunkenness to him (which was, and still is an alien sensation to Thordan). This seemed much, much worse than having too much to drink though.
"Wait! Wait! Who killed hi-" Thordan felt his tongue growing heavy and his words slurring into unintelligible gibberish. Then everything faded away.
The last thing he heard was the panicked raging of a mole.
GYSTRA, DRAVANIA
Lord Becker Swalestrom was exhausted, starving and grumpy, but his situation could be a lot worse - he could have fallen under the arrows of the Trielians, or be led in chains to Arnet. But now was no time to worry. His army, his force, his Otterguard was intact, and will live to fight another day.
Now, he was talking with one of his subordinates in a firelit chamber. Lord Lorents Rueford was only younger than Becker by a single season, and was one of the few individuals who had more courage, if not drive, than his liege.
None of this was on Becker's mind. He had more personal matters to deal with.
When the phrase 'your son is dead' was uttered to Erlend, he broke down almost instantly and completely, breaking tables and chairs, and bemoaning the grip of fate had on him. Becker's reaction to this was to silently weep, hide his sorrow, reach for a bottle of Parman damson wine, and share it with his fellow lord, having undignified reactions all the way.
Here's the first
Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la la la"
Here's the first
Sing "hup fol-de-rol la la"
He who doesn't drink the first
Shall never, ever quench his thirst
Here's the first
An entire glass was swiftly placed between Becker's lips, while the dark red liquid whirled around within the lord's muzzle. Before he could sing another verse of that song, a figure suddenly appeared, Becker's guards flanking him.
"Huh? Who's this here?" Lord Rueford smiled drunkenly - Becker could not believe that he was drunk in less than forty-two seconds.
"An emissary," the guard sighed as he shook his head. "He came from Sjovin, and bears a message from Lord Gustav and Lady Sigrun."
Lord Becker groaned. It was not the alcohol - he was sure of that. It was more of the matter that Sigrun lost a brother to his plans. What she had to say will not be pretty.
"Pray tell. What does the young lady have to say?"
"I address you in a most direct manner, Lord Becker Swalestrom." The squirrel envoy talked in a very strange manner, but he seemed to be reading directly from a script. "Please listen, as if-" the squirrel's ears tensed, and his tail never stopped moving, twitching like some broken dowsing rod.
"Go on." Lord Becker nonchalantly replied, ignoring Rueford, who was seeping into the usual symptoms of inebriation.
"Please listen, as if you are an effective tactician and administrator, and not a drink-sodden piece of flotsam." Seeing Lord Becker's face, the poor squirrel started to rush his words.
"You are certainly not without accomplishments. Only the most distinguished of Skippers can boast of being unable to lead the Otterguard to defeat Greymorg without outside help."
Becker snarled. The squirrel trembled. Lord Lorents vomited.
"By participating in starting the whole war, you have brought upon the Southards battles, pestilence and unparalleled destruction. You are Southsward's siren, whose actions shall lead to shipwreck without doubt. But then-" The speaker silenced himself.
"Go on." Becker tried to keep himself calm. "Go ON!" He had failed.
"But then, like me, a lady of my realm, a female's role has suited you best from the exact moment you were born."
Lord Becker screamed, arching his arm back to throw the half-full bottle at the flinching squirrel. The bottle never made contact though. Remembering the rising prices of Parman goods - a side effect of the war - Lord Becker reverted to his stern glare, and he stood over the drooling body of his vassal. No words were spoken as he simply put the container down and pointed at the exit. It did not take long before the emissary took the hint, breaking into a panicked run soon after.
It seems that I don't have to share now. Back to the bottle.
A/N: Hello there, everyone. I am back! I hope you found Book I to your liking, and I hope that you like this one as well!
The next few chapters will be darker in tone compared to those in Book I, so keep your eyes shut if you don't want these things!
The Erlend part took me quite a long time, the expositions included, but I cannot think of any way to bring everything into dialogue. The other three segments are simpler to write, and to read as well, I hope.
Next, a brief shout-out to fellow members of the RRR - Sebias of Redwall, The Grey Coincidence, One-Eye the Wildcat, Socca Kingkiller and Keldor314! Without them, I could never have written this much! May your hearts be your guiding keys - and yours as well, Abrahem!
Finally, thank you, all of you, for providing more than 1000 views and 50 reviews for ARR! I assure you that I am most grateful for your actions! As a little reward, you will be treated to actual replies of your own reviews -starting from next week!
Chapter 19 (Beyond the Unknown) will be ready on 14/15 August!