Plight of an Empire

Chapter Twenty Nine- part 1: Arkayus

Hecuba, Didaan

“There are rumors going about that the entire north has been wiped out, Your Grace,” said Sir Willas Stralham as he kneeled to the king.  Snow whipped in through the flaps of the felt war tent sending the little flecks into his blond hair before melting in the heat.  The wind was loud enough to shroud the sounds of the preparations being made outside the tent.  “Some of the knights are considering abandoning their posts to return home.”

Arkayus watched his father out of the corner of his eye.  The king’s face was stone beneath his beard, but he could see the red vein popping out of his neck.  “Send word around that the north is being secured by my lords Cyrill Frey, Othyll Stralham, and Gared Bulwark.  They will know that the north is safe with those men defending it.”

“But, Your Grace,” the knight shifted uncomfortably on his knee, “they have not yet arrived to the front.  And the letters have stopped coming from Shadow’s Hand.”

“I bloody well know that!” King Wymare shouted, slamming his meaty fist on the table.  “Just spread the word!”

Sir Willas nodded and rose, taking his leave of the king and his war council.  Arkayus stole a glimpse of the world outside the warm confines of the king’s tent as the knight exited.  The land was enveloped in a white blanket—the last snow of the winter they all suspected.  The last snows were always thick, coming off the cold Black Rocks to the north.  It was the perfect time for the white demons to strike.  Their white fur was camouflaged perfectly in the white backscape.  It made spotting the monsters difficult, even to the sharpest eyes among them.

“I want more sentries posted watching for deserters,” the king said to his Thane.  “If any are caught, hang them from the trees in the pavilion.  I want every man to see what happens when he leaves the service of his king.”

“By your will, Your Grace,” said Thane Mikald Storm-Heart.  “We do not want cowards fighting among our ranks.  They will flee at the first sight of the Behemoths and our lines will break.”  The Thane was as icy as ever.  He spoke of hanging his own men with such ease, it troubled the young prince.  He is loyal to the king, he reminded himself.  He would not dare turn his coldness against House Strom.  We are bears.  Still, that did little to warm the chill running down his spine.

King Wymare nodded stiffly, along with the murmurs of agreement from his court.  “Precisely.  Have we heard from your lord father at Northhold?”

“As of the letter we received this morning, no Behemoths have been sighted within fifty leagues of the castle.  Though he says the north roads have been eerily silent.  It is likely that the commonfolk dwelling at the edges of the Black Rocks are dead or in hiding.”

“Dead, more like than not.”  The king took a gulp of his hot wine.  “Gods, damn it!”  The chalice thumped heavily against the wooden table.  “How are we ever going to recover from this?  Why have the gods forsaken us and left us to these beasts?”  He spat the word.

“The dirtmen will reproduce, Your Grace.  They breed like flies.” Does he truly care so little?  Arkayus bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

“Very true.”  He shouted for another fill of hot wine.  “How many Iceglass weapons do we possess in our camp?”  This was not the first, nor second, nor even the tenth time he had asked this question.  Even the other lords and knights were mouthing along the Thane’s answers.

In a monotonous tone, he recited, “We have distributed the cache of a hundred and half amongst the men here.  The near hundred taken from the blacksmiths in Hecuba have been distributed to the rest of our men here, as well as to the few scouts patrolling the areas east and south.  The north is protected by the Rocks.  More Iceglass should be coming in from the lords and their smiths.  Also, each high ranking knight carries his ceremonial Iceglass sword in placement of his steel blade.  In our camp, that numbers to about a hundred knights wielding their own Iceglass.”