The Wrath of Kings

Chapter 2: News of War

The shattering glass of a wine chalice, hurled with intense rage and passion, pierced the dense, silent atmosphere, rending all peace asunder. A rain of a thousand daggers of jagged glass was strewed about, smashing relentlessly against the granite tiles with their successive clinking pounding like a hailstorm. Each shard, a clear, acutely edged blade, crashed into the stone floors, ringing keenly in the echoing chamber. Deeply red wine splattered against the wall, seeping into the ashen stone and trickling down to the floor where it pooled about the jagged fragments of glass like a stream of blood.

Across the room stood Kirlian, his face as crimson as blood and as scarlet as wine, with fury burning in both his fiery blue eyes. His hands were devoid of anything, for he had already flung his wine away, but his right hand was instinctively already straying towards his sword hilt. Joining him in this room were two other individuals, both of them regally draped in the blood red hues of Maroozo and both of them the cause of the King's ire.

"Asino has taken the Safino?" he bellowed, his calloused hand firmly grasping his blade's hilt. "Damn him! Where is the Lord of the Safino now?"

One of the men, whose sudden cold sweat and hand straying to his side betrayed his fear, staggered slightly away from his monarch and stuttered: "The Lord is dead, my King...he...he was slain."

The precise ring of steel on steel echoed about the room as Kirlian drew his saber from its scabbard. Almost instinctively, the other unsheathed his blade as well, as he cowered back against the wall.

"How, damn it? Bloody hell, how?" demanded Kirlian, as he slammed the tip of his broadsword into the ground in infuriation. "Was he impaled, asleep in his stronghold, like the Lord of the Hearthlands?"

Suddenly, the third man in the room, who had watched keenly as Kirlian's ever-present anger had steadily risen throughout this encounter, stepped in.

"The Lord of the Hearthlands was caught off-guard. One could hardly blame him for—"

"Silence, Durian!" snapped Kirlian, darting his bloodshot eyes to the one who had spoken, gazing intently with a commanding glare.

But unlike his cowering companion, Durian did not back down, nor did he show signs of fear. Instead, he steadily met Kirlian's gaze with a calm, confident eye.

"Kirlian," Durian said, using the sovereign's name rather than any authoritative title, "If you must know, the Lord of the Safino was killed in battle. The narrative I was told was that it was your youngest nephew that hewed off his head."

"Threyndim!" A yet unkindled flame of rage leapt up within Kirlian. "Bastard of hell!" The cracked lips of Kirlian sneered bitterly in disgust and, possibly, a tinge of sorrow and grief, as memories of a not yet bygone age flooded his mind. "What became of Threyndim?" he inquired, conflicted as to what he wished to hear.

The one who had cowered spoke.

"He is dead, my King. Slain on the field of battle. Dead now like the Lord of the Safino."

Kirlian staggered back slightly, at a loss for words, for he did not know how to take this loss. His teeth grit together, determined to maintain his control and authority in this situation.

"...was a body recovered?" he asked, careful to avoid letting his distress seep into his voice.

But Durian stepped forward before an answer could be given.

"Kirlian, your nephew is a servant of the Emperor, Asino. By the gods, why should you care? The Lord of the Safino is dead and it is your nephew, not your loyal, I repeat, loyal Generals that you grieve for? I see it in your eyes. I have known you for far too long to not notice where your true feelings lie."

Kirlian met his gaze with Durian's. A hard and intense flash of hatred shone through them, for Durian was right and Kirlian's front, his deception, was unmasked.

"It is not his fault, Durian. I have no anger towards Threyndim, only against Asino who turned my own kin against me."

"He slew your most competent General, and need I remind you that you have few of those left?"

"What are you implying?"

"Your nephews have long been valuable assets to the Emperor, but now that one of them is slain, a blow has been stuck against him. There remains but one more to eliminate. Tithinus is one of Asino's youngest and most successful Generals. His position as your nephew puts him as a double threat, attacking us, attacking Maroozo, not only as a physical threat but a personal one as well. If we take him out, it'll strike a major blow against the Empire. Not only will we have taken out one of their most valuable Generals, but we will also have eliminated a major source of their morale."

"I am not allowing you to kill my nephew. If he is slain in battle as Threyndim was, so be it, but he is not to be hunted like some wild beast."

Durian scoffed, frustrated that his keen plan was not so well received by his King.

"Damned by the gods! Why the bloody hell not? We've sent out spies to assassinate your brother by your command, why not your nephew?"

Kirlian let out a short, curt laugh of utter contempt.

"My brother? Hafer? That bastard is pitiful and weak! He lacks all honor, all loyalty, all courage, all—all character! May he rot in hell. I care not if his blood is spilt. Hell, I'll spill it myself if I must!"

"Then do it!" challenged Durian, "Stop your idle threats!"

"Where is Hafer now?"

"He and his court were last reported as travelling to the aftermath of the Battle of the Safino."

Kirlian spat on the shattered shards of the wine glass in disgust. "The bastard brings a court to a battlefield of his dead!"

"As you said, he has no honor, my lord..." nervously added the man whom Kirlian had nearly slain. Kirlian darted his head towards him, his disdainful stare piercing the cracking soul of the poor man.

"Leave us now," he commanded, "We have much planning to do."

A sly smirk barely touched the corners of Durian's mouth as he raised a single eyebrow, evidently pleased with himself.