Dragonworld: The Drive For Power

Part 23: Winds Of Change

Storm inside

The king of Alpen, Jahan XI. paced up and down in front of the large window of his palace in Beren, the capital city of his kingdom. As the heir of a dynasty stretching back over a thousand years, his lineage was one of the noblest in the entire West.

Originally not destined to rule, he had taken over the throne after his brother, Karal V., the former king, died in a battle against the forces of Dasmoydan. 

His brown hair and boyish looks made him popular with the crowds. Whenever venturing outside, he would be met with throngs of heartfelt adoration.

As he stared at the scene outside, one of his advisors approached him.

"Sire, I bring good news. And I bring bad news," said the advisor.

The king's eyes opened wide. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Give me the good news first," said the king.

"Very well, Your Majesty," continued the advisor. "The combined troops of Mistelon and Alpen scored a complete victory against the troops of Kandah at the fort in Mistelon."

"Very well. And the bad news?"

"The troops of Alpen were completely routed. Very few survivors," said the advisor, his voice trailing off, as if not wanting to hear the reaction of the king.

"What? How can this be?" The king began to raise his voice. "Routed?"

As he was pondering the news in his head, he became visibly more agitated. His furrowed brow deepened as he absorbed the implications. The fingers tapped rhythmically against the surface of the golden table set next to the window.

His head started shaking from side to side, a subconscious reflection of the turmoil brewing within. The storm inside was broiling to the surface.

A slow, deliberate inhale marked the calm before the tempest. The subtle clenching of his jaw betrayed the mounting frustration. The tapping fingers ceased, replaced by a clenched fist.

Then, all of a sudden, the king unleashed. His face red with anger, he ran up to the advisor and kicked him as hard as he could. The advisor, visibly shaken, fell to the ground. Clutching his leg, the body part that felt the impact, he lay on ground, softly whimpering because of the pain.

"Our troops routed! Very few survivors," shouted the king. "What kind of a victory is this? More victories like this, and we will have no army!"

The courtiers present in the room all scoured for cover. They knew what the king's anger could mean for any one of them.

"Was this a trick? Did our esteemed allies in Mistelon trick us? Did they set our troops for failure?" The king kept screaming. "Maybe they decided to eliminate two powers for the price of one."

The advisor, in the meanwhile had gotten up, and kept on nodding vigorously in front of the king. He knew the only way to abate his anger was to play along with his ideas, whether they were good or bad.

"We will investigate, Your Majesty," said the advisor, hopping around on one leg.

"You better, advisor," said the king, his inflection rising with a hint of darkness. "For your sake."

"Of course, sire," said the advisor. Clearing his throat he then continued: "In other matters, have you heard of the fire priestess of Astapar? They call her holy."

"What of the Fire Sisters? There are many," said the king.

"No, sire. The one they call Naleen, the holy one. Apparently, she has abilities to communicate with fire. Her visions foretell of the future," said the advisor.