Deathless

Deathless Chapter Twenty One: Parley

Chapter Twenty One: Parley

The walls of the Dragonskeep rumbled with the thunderous footsteps of the Lion Division, the backbone of the Imperial Battalion, as they gathered in its courtyard of grey stone and lime green moss.

Fifty thousand warriors, longswords hanging from their belts and shields strapped to their back, assembled in the clear, bright sunlight to await the orders of Iepenel the Merciless, Emperor of Arlenia.

The stone courtyard held nine centuries of history within its confines. Nine centuries of war, of droughts, of famine, of economic crises. And now Arlenia stands on the brink of oblivion. Merely a single nudge can bring them to ashes.

From ashes they emerged, and to ashes shall they descend once more.

So now, as Iepenel marshals the last of the mighty Imperial Battalion from all across Arlenia, leaving the bare minimum to guard even the most key positions from across the last of their territory: Aegarr City, Seapoint, Barackien. All have been emptied to assemble this great host that gathers at Ninquelen, the City of Roses.

Most of the commanders had thought Iepenel mad when the couriers had arrived at their respective outposts across Arlenia. With the border cities held by so few soldiers, Ashmur could take them in an instant. They thought that Iepenel was unwise to give up such key positions, like Plaeus Town, their main stronghold near the Peaks of God, from which the Battalion now got most of its metals to forge its weapons.

Nevertheless, as other commanders theorised, they suspected that Iepenel had simply concluded that it was not worth the soldiers spent to defend these lands against Ashmur's wrath. Better to let Ashmur grind his army to dust as he marches across the land, and then destroy his weakened army in one fell swoop with the combined might of the Empire, instead of trying to hold back the swelling tide with scattered forces, weakened and weary with battle.

Whatever the case may have been, they now gathered in the Dragonskeep courtyard, awaiting the Emperor's orders, for their plan of action.

For they did not know it, but this was to be the last great gathering of the Imperial Battalion in the Arlenian Civil War, and the actions of this host would determine the fate of Arlenia for years to come: to rise from the ashes or to descend into them once more.

And from the weathered stone balcony above their heads, emerged their lord Iepenel the Merciless, the Warrior King, clad in gleaming silver robes, the colour of the empire. Underneath his ornate robes, embroidered with silk and gold, he wore a plain suit of steel plated armour, covering his entire body except his head, on which he wore the Silver Crown of Arlenia, an heirloom that had been passed down since the days of Emperor Arlenis the Dragonslayer.

Sheathed on the great emperor's waist was his decorated silver sword, its hilt barely protruding from underneath his robes, and yet it proclaimed its presence all the same.

The men cheered for their leader as he emerged and stood at attention when he prepared to address them.

At the Emperor's side strode Caswil, the Emperor's most trusted advisor, who had shared his counsel with Iepenel's father before him.

Caswil was an old man, and his stride was a testament to that. He ambled alongside Iepenel gingerly, leaning heavily on his left side. And yet he carried himself as proudly as Iepenel did, his regal face blanketed with lines. Caswil's thin, ailing face showed no signs of weakness or cowardice.

Caswil stood as strong and proud as he had in the year 1076 2E, when he had stood alongside Emperor Arseph the Mageslayer, on the historic day when Arseph had declared the bloody beginnings of the Mage Wars.