Daughter of the Wind

5. Bloodletting

Fifth of Harvest

The Kingdom of Svaleta was named for its capital nestled in a valley opposite where the Archon crossed Lustria's southwestern border. It was still an important trading city, a sprawling metropolis of people of all races. Atop the western hills sat the king's palace, a towering monument of gold and stone. The road leading to the gates was lined with crimson-robed guards, elite troops who gave blood vows to defend the king and his family. Attack dogs wandered the palace grounds, powerful creatures bred for their vicious look and lethality. The previous king had been grievously wounded in an attempted assassination, and his son-successor, Farhad Orinor, had taken liberty to ensure that it would not happen again. Despite the security, he was regarded as a peaceful king. He had come to power at thirty when his father could not bear the pain of his injuries any longer, and had done little to alter the Kingdom's trajectory. The Army's conscription rates had increased slightly, taxes had remained steady, and the western labour camps had quietly grown without much notice. For all his outward peace, though, Farhad had long held secret fears for the Kingdom's future. The day Belkai crossed the border was a week before harvest in Rignar's Hold, and the timing was not lost on Farhad as he listened to his general's report on the fight at Narandir.

"And you are certain that they didn't simply stumble on some orcs in the night?" Farhad attempted to be dismissive as he sat on his throne. It was solid gold, with crimson leather along the centre. Its arms ended in tigers' faces, snarling teeth confronting all who bowed before him. The chief of the army, General Alihad, stood at the head of an oak table. Seated behind him were Farhad's senior advisors and Alihad's aides. There was a time when all who entered the Throne Room had given their reports while bowing before the king. Farhad had found that the more comfortable his advisors were, the better their advice became. So reverence had taken a step into the background for the sake of clear counsel.

"I saw the creature myself," Alihad answered, his body tense. "At least, what was left after they burned the abomination. I have not seen anything like it. Were it only orcs, I would not have ridden through the night to return."

"We've always kept the Forest's threat as nothing more than a rumour," Farhad's political advisor said from where he slouched in his chair slowly eating a bowl of red grapes. "The beast's presence threatens that stability."

And it only attacked when you were already visiting the troops at the Forest, Farhad thought, but kept silent. The timing was strange indeed.

"The fear has been useful to keep people away from Narandir," Alihad confirmed. "We've had no conflict with the inhabitants. But smugglers still brave the danger. And the ferals still cross our lands. We all knew that this day would come."

"A week from harvest," the economic advisor pointed out, voicing Farhad's concerns. "We cannot ignore that."

"The Hold is a week's march from Narandir," Alihad shot back, taking his seat. "A lone creature is not a threat to our food supply." He waved his hand dismissively. "The timing is a coincidence. The threat is, as ever, to the northwest."

"Your fear of the elves is almost warmongering, General," Farhad cautioned. "One could say that your troop movements would be a trigger for any true conflict. We have not fought for a hundred years."

"Every year their bandits raid our farms, pillage our people," Alihad said quietly. It was a fight he never won, but he had sworn an oath to serve his people, the king's complacency be damned. "If they don't pay them, they at least permit them free access to the border. That is an act of war."

"And we have fortified Larton. And we have increased deployments to the Hold. And we have strengthened our border defences." Farhad counted off on his fingers as he listed his responses. "At some point, we cannot blame the elves for our own failures."