The Tug of Fate
KALDOS, LORDSHIP OF KALDOS, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA
When the doors opened, Sigrun was surprised.
Of course, the entire negotiation business was supposed to take a bit longer than two minutes, but here the hedgehog was, dragging out his boxes of silver, gold and gems. His three guards were just alongside him, helping to heave the heavy chests out of the room.
"I thought that we were getting what's in the boxes," Sigrun nonchalantly breathed out the words. After all, were they not gifts?
"I understand what's in them is all too important to you and Dravania," the hedgehog quickly said, stopping his guards from speaking before him. "But then, he seemed to have some issues with the terms I offered. Although we are not accustomed for lords to walk away from us rudely, we will return if he comes back from his private chambers. For now, though, we shall leave the castle." The hedgehog bowed as he left Sigrun.
Thordan didn't manage to do anything, did he? He manages to flee into his bed every single time he receives a challenge. If he only knew that there were some that cannot be evaded.
Thordan's room was quite tidy, even for a noble. A double-poster bed with red and white coverings, a desk with a place for little candles, lit when reading books and writing letters at night, and a bookcase full of books, with not a single gap between them.
This seems strange. Even his journal's still here. When Thordan goes anywhere, there is bound to be at least one book beside him. If he did not take one, that would mean that he had left abruptly, without having time to grab one. That, in turn, would mean…
The sudden revelation hit Sigrun like a sack of books - almost literally. She sprung and ran into the hallways of the castle, and out of them again. She did not stop until she reached the walls.
She shouted at Lord Strandsor, for the first time in what must have been months. "Lord Strandsor!" she huffed.
"What happened?" The lord was busy trying to create a set of defenses impenetrable, and that dissatisfaction bled into his emotions as well. "It had better be importa-"
"They have taken him." Sigrun felt the tears fall down from her normally collected face. "The Southards have taken my brother!"
LORSA, LORDSHIP OF LORSA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA
"I see that you have found your candidate, Lord Valdemar." Bernhard of Lorsa descended from the stairs, staring at the otterlord all the way.
"Seeing that you had voted for him all those months ago, I suppose you need no further reason to do the same thing once again, I suppose." Lord Valdemar's paws scrubbed against each other, like they were cleaning themselves.
"Where is the otter himself?" Bernhard smiled, taking a seat while gesturing for Valdemar to do the same, which he did. "I very much wanted to meet him, but he seemed to be busy."
"My uncle is busy dealing with Worrad right now, while my son takes care of trouble back home, with the Trielians and all that."
"Worrad, hmm?" Unlike Vargo and Doma, or Gridain and Lorsa, it was a rare occurrence that two vassals of the same species could get along. But Lorsa and Worrad seemed more friendly than every duchy. After all, it was customary for members of one house to vote for the other in royal elections, until this one anyway, in which they had voted for different scions of House Crestworth, with Lord Mestwin voting for Valdemar.
"Yes." Valdemar was not a creature of many words, and this mouselord was not going to change that this easily.
"Of course I am willing to vote for Niels again. Why would I not?"
So it is that easy, winning him over? No. There always had to be a catch.
"But since I was so forthcoming…" Of course. "Would it make sense for King Niels to accept a little request of mine?"
"That depends on its nature."
"What would King Niels say if I asked him not to ally with Southsward during the war and after? You see, my sister and former heir Queen Bertrada is married to King Garmund of Triel, who is struggling in his war."
Ah, that. That made sense. Bernhard was all too close to his sister and vice versa. Bertrada even named her firstborn, delivered just two months ago, named after her only sibling. Some Otharn houses bypass female relatives for their male descendents, and now Bernhard Tiecelin was heir to Lorsa.
"That, I think, could certainly be arranged. Your contribution to our cause could certainly be welcome, and His Majesty himself has no intention of interceding in the war, unless it is to make a lasting peace. You would be welcome at his court and by his side, fellow lover of peace." Niels' will is not mine, though, and I will do as my heart calls me to.
To be fair, it was the Trielians' fault that they had invaded Doma. They had it coming. Thordan Swalestrom retreated after less than a day of attempts, to the amusement of Valdemar and the relief of Niels. Lorcan Stalwart may have been a wily leader, but his chief area of expertise was at naval warfare - he was untested on terra firma.
Valdemar continued, "I am glad we have a king who can bring the war across the straits to an end." Valdemar said truthfully. He may not be the most warlike of personages, but he has a mind for diplomacy, and more noticeably, healing. You would very much not regret calling him your king before any attempt at election."
"I am certainly glad for your newfound ability at the making of decisions, Lord Valdemar," Lord Bernhard nodded. "And you have my word that Niels would see his rudder on the Otharn throne in a month, and the Parman one in a season."
"That is good to hear." Valdemar answered curtly, yet tersely.
"Then I shall follow you to Kurburg within days, after I pack up. Aldabreschi may have broken us up once, but you know that this shall not happen again!"
DOMA, LORDSHIP OF DOMA, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA
"I think that remaining here is not my best option, Lord Sverker, so excuse me as I make a hasty retreat from Doma."
Lorcan Stalwart's rare display of eloquence shook everyone, including the otter himself. He was calm and collected, yes, but terseness was a family trait.
The siege had gone well at first, but Sverker let slip that he had a season's worth of food stockpiled within Doma. Assault was virtually impossible, and Lorcan was not his impulsive, impetuous brother.
Yet Alfyn was the decisive one. Lorcan wrestled with himself about leaving, and after sixty agonising hours, he decided to keep his beasts safe, and head to Kaldos where Thordan is. A king needs his friend.
"Just like that?" Lord Sverker had his doubts. Like Lorcan, he was a cautious beast, unable to come to sort of decision without thinking twice, yet he seemed to be more sluggish.
"Yes. We can't have your brother claiming all the glory, having to save your tail from the 'evil clutches of the rampaging Trielians', or something."
Once Harald Crestworth was mentioned, Sverker seemed more agreeable all of a sudden. "Well, off you go, then. You have a lord's word that I shall not pursue your forces." Sverker sighed, but his eyes betrayed a glare that seemed almost cunning. Almost. "It is dark now, and it may be one of your traps."
"Thank you for accepting my request for parley, Lord Sverker. I hope to work together in future seasons, and perhaps allow friendship to be born." With that final polite sentence, Lorcan Stalwart excited the room, the castle, the town, the beaches, and the shores of Parma.
ORIENCE, DUCHY OF DEILART, KINGDOM OF TRIEL
Somerled's death shook everybeast in the castle, though none could say for sure that they had not expected it.
Both Lord Domnall and his niece Morag were not on good terms with their late kin, and the same could be said for anybeast else. The only nobles of note to actually develop a facade of friendliness were the late King Thordan, the also deceased Duke Kestutas, and Lord Skipper Lorcan Stalwart, who as of this moment was alive.
Vega really could not point her finger at anything that she could blame. Altayras' new father in law was not a good creature, and certainly not an able one. He would have a hard time dealing with the after-effects of the war if he even got his bottom on the throne of Southsward. After all, having nobeast like you was bad enough, but having nobeast fear you or respect you was the deciding factor. After all, this was a squirrel who had lost every single pitched battle he found himself in.
Lord Domnall could only ascend the ducal throne if there was no posthumous legitimate son of his, which he did not due to being a widower, and if King Garmund recognised his ascension. The latter part was easy. Garmund had been wanting weak dukes since the beginning of his reign, and so far he had two child dukes on their thrones. One of them was his son Bohemond, and the other being Corrado of Jayso. If the mouse king got three dukes wrapped in his claws, the other three would have to band together.
That would not be possible - Garmund has always pushed for Thordan Swalestrom to succeed his mother instead of her elder son, nominally to prevent Thavnair and Obring from joining together. What he actually wanted was another weak duke, though the Dravania business seemed to impede the whole thing.
"I would say we should be leaving soon." A voice behind Vega spoke softly and politely, every word almost a whisper, and every breath almost silence.
The squirrelmaid turned to see another of her kind, shorter and sicklier than even her. Duke Domnall's pelt was as brown as loam, compared to his brother's flame-red fur that he had inherited from his Southard mother. Being born with seizures, a lisp and a lame right footpaw, he managed to keep a quick wit within his infirm body.
"What for?"
The elder squirrel sighed. "The Southards have broke through King Garmund's defenses. They are headed here all too directly."
"Here?" Vega gasped.
"Yes. I have issued orders that they city is to surrender immediately. The bloodshed is too much for the city to bear. We will be in Castle Deilart in the meantime."
"Why are we surrendering? We can still put up quite big of a fight, and delay-"
"Because King Garmund ordered me to." The Duke took a deep breath, no doubt exasperated at Vega being ignorant of what was not told to her. "You see, girl, it is custom in both Triel and Southsward that a surrendered city's properties should be left untouched."
"Pardon me, Your Grace, but I still understand little."
"If Lord Garrion takes Orience, he would have to garrison it adequately. This would deplete his beasts and supplies quicker than imagined."
"Leading to them being unable to take more cities!"
The Duke smiled. "Exactly. By then, King Garmund would have blocked their retreat and starved them into submission. But there is one problem."
"And what is that?"
"They count King Erlend as one of their prisoners. They can easily trade him for anything they want, him being a noble of high status."
Vega remembered the otter - she was the only one able to calm him down after he found out that his son perished in battle. He said that she was like Thordan his son - which was not entirely a compliment.
"That is bad." Vega stated the obvious.
"We can only hope that everything changes for the better now."
"I'm sure everything would!" Both squirrels turned their heads to see another one poking out from a doorway.
"Morag! How many times did Father tell you not to eavesdrop on the conversations of others?"
"How many times did you tell me, Uncle? And how many times did I listen to either of you? You tell me, Vega."
"None and none, as I recall." Vega smiled.
"I get your point, but can you knock next time? Having you enter every single room secretly while I am concentrating can be quite… disconcerting, you see."
"Well, where's the fun in life without a little surprise?" Morag asked, earning a chuckle in reply from Vega. The two had always been friends despite their opposite personalities, and Vega was among the first to celebrate her brother's betrothal.
"I may not know the answer to your question, but I do know about surprise, Morag. You have my word that I would not be as pleasant was you see it to be."
VALERAN STRAIT
"How could they have arrived so early?" Godred fumed, kicking over a bucket full of seawater. "The wind favoured us more than them, and they appear just as we set sail!"
"These questions should be directed to Great Seasons, and not to me." Of all the beasts Godred had met, Guido Aldabreschi has got to be the most annoying of them. Only a beast of such caliber can displace Thordan from that title. "They have but a stroke of good luck, and nothing else in its entirety."
"What could even be worse?" Godred screamed as Lord Guido grimaced at the noise. Their navy had just left the harbour, and the Garlean fleet just appears out of nowhere! Godred should have just stayed in Taralis, or better, Floret.
"Being dead would be a great example, Your Highness." Your Highness. Godred hated the upstart mouse with a passion. Godred Swalestrom may call himself king and behave like a king, but unless the mouse stopped whispering in his ear and stopped giving orders in his name, he was merely a king in name, little better than a pretender.
Guido continued. "Retreat is still an option, Your Highness, and I doubt we can-"
'Give the order to advance." This mouse will not disobey him.
"But-"
'You made me king, and you cannot unmake me." Godred spoke, as calm as he could be, at his cowardly vassal. "A subject's first duty is to obey."
"A second duty is to protect. And I will not let you in harm's way!"
"I can handle myself without you nagging in my ear." Before waiting for a response, Godred retreated into the relative safety of his cabin to don his armour.
A set of armour is a noblebeast's greatest companion. The ability to block arrows and glancing blows was essential, and Godred, as a king, had to have it made well. A doublet was cast on top of his torso, followed by cuisses, pollens and greaves for the footpaws. Three pieces of armour act as one for the most protection.
The haubergeon followed, and the breastplate in turn. Canons on forepaws waited their turn, and soon everything was ready.
But not for direct impact.
The very moment Godred opened the door, a ship crashed headlong into their own. Godred thought that all the ships carried the banner of Jayso, but this one was Vargan.
This belonged to Queen Lorelei.
For a while Godred thought her manageable. Leaping onto the ship's stern, he attempted to strike at the impassive queen, dealing a deathblow to all opposition to his rule within a single second, a single swipe of a broadsword.
Then she swept her paw to the left, and somehow, somehow, he moved with it.
He fell into the churning waters below. Struggling under the weight of his armour, he surrendered to the will of the tides.
RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, KINGDOM OF DRAVANIA
"Thus is our treaty etched, thus is agreement made." The last of those who considered themselves nobles, finally finished his oath of fealty.
"What is asked is given, and the price is paid." Lord Alfyn Stalwart was weary after an entire day of receiving homages, which was preceded by four days at sea. He managed to suppress a yawn and gave the squirrel permission to take his leave.
Finally! Egil stepped out from behind the curtains, being hidden the whole time. "See? I knew you would do fine!"
"Your confidence has surely been appreciated." Alfyn gave a crooked smile. It was Egil's idea that Alfyn immediately convince them to respect his authority - time was important, and more so in a time of war. "Though it is indeed a tiring job."
Unlike Thordan, who had Sir Lennart the Steward by his side (who betrayed him, and died regretting it), Alfyn had nobeast except for Egil to advise him - and it was known even to the weasel himself that his advice was not too reliable. "Thordan would be proud of you, working tirelessly to keep your fief safe."
Alfyn gripped Egil's paw. "Did I do anything wrong for now?" Seeing the weasel shake his head, the grip was loosened. "Gates, I sound very much like Thordan now."
"Well, the folk here like Thordan." Woodlanders saw him as yet another lord they were to obey, yet vermin were all too fanatical about a lord who promised to make them equal to woodlanders - and who just happened to edge closer and closer to the Dravain throne.
Alfyn promised Egil that he would continue his predecessor's policies, and in turn received a promise that Egil would meddle in anything political in nature. With both sides developing a sudden friendship, the likelihood that the agreement was to be kept has risen.
"I understand that I will never be Thordan - I know that much." Alfyn seemed almost pathetic now, with his tiredness overshadowing his looks. But there was also something else. "Yet I don't want to try to surpass him - the Islanders have standards too high. I am no king, and I have no intention of being one. But how will Thordan manage? If I can't bear a mere lordship, how will Thordan fare with a crown atop his head? He's not as strong as his mother wants him to be, and he seems to be weaker than even his father!"
But before Egil could offer up a response in return, a messenger blundered into the room. A brown squirrel, he was, and he could only give up a letter with the Dravain sigil, a wolf, on top of the seal. Before long, he was back to tending his birds
"It seems Thordan decided to send us something." Breaking the wax, Alfyn scanned the lines of the letter. But the more he read, the more likely the letter was sent by something else. Egil could see it on his face. Dropping the letter, Lord Alfyn Stalwart wailed in terror, fleeing from the room like a child.
Egil picked up the letter, and he would do the same after reading Lady Sigrun's plea for help.
A/N: Another boring chapter - yet intentionally boring! You may have noticed that a particular plotline was missing here - despite this chapter having a grand total of six segments. Hmm, I wonder what's happening back there?
Responses here, right after the appetisers!
Grey: Thank you. Somerled's death being so abrupt was not one of my plans, but the plot needs him to die early - you'll see. Noblebeasts tend to die tragic deaths (as well as anybeast in battle), but it is somehow weird that Somerled, the beast who is unlikable even in-universe, deserves pity. Well, everybeast deserves it - that is what I think. Your advice that I should also expand upon magic was also sound. As for Isangrim... he got overconfident. If one pays attention to the Flames of Truth trio, you can see that overconfidence is a shared flaw, though it is exhibited in differing forms. The Southard seers have no problem with that - unlike Old Thordan, Lorelei and Isangrim, they can play themselves off each other better - and hence know themseleves better. Isangrim, being used to his hyper-competence, cannot comprehend even how he could lose, much less why.
Sebias: Oh no! Isangrim's dead! Maybe... Chapter 26 is a 'wham' chapter (as opposed to this one) due to Somerled's death and the last segment, and I had fun writing it. Thordan had much, much less fun though... as you'll see. Soon. Who will be next indeed...
One-Eye: Heh.
Don't worry. You'll surely see what was missing here next chapter. All four seer plotlines, I hope.
Chapter 29 (Nemesis) will be up on 20/21 October! Yes, I know it's a Monday, but like Book I before, I can afford to make a few schedule changes, can I? ;)