Eros

Hail to the King - 11

The war room was a windowless circle. Patterns of red were drawn across its wall's golden paint, resembling splatters of blood in their fluid curves and sharp drops. At the room's center, bathed in the light of a chandelier, was a large, round table. A detailed map of Aros was spread on top of it. Three men sat around it, leaving the throne and one of the seats beside it empty.

War-Councillor Farus Everflame reached for the wine bottle and splashed a little into his goblet. A long, drawn-out sip soothed his nerves, and he eyed the other two in their wait. Both of them looked more like soldiers than councillors, wearing breastplate and bracers instead of proper clothes.

Not that any of us is a councillor as much as he's Julian's errand boy. The king never asked for their advice. Hell, they wouldn't even know what he was planning until it happened. That made Farus a much worse spy than he might've been.

The king entered. His golden hair was stroked back, and his tattooed chest bare. The War-Councillors rose from their seats and bowed down.

"Greetings, your highness."

No response came, so they remained bowed as the king walked up to the table. Farus cursed inwardly when Julian snatched the wine bottle and sat in the largest of armchairs around the table. He sipped, his gaze passing over the two other councillors before falling still on Farus. Farus prayed to Velsair and to Adonael that those amber eyes would shift on, but they lingered.

Sweat wet the councillor's skin beneath the lavish silk of his clothes. Unlike the other two councillors, he belonged to the losing side of the civil war that broke in Veramor when Julian usurped the throne three years ago.

Farus knew that Julian didn't spare his life for the groveling. Many other Kingmen groveled, and they were massacred like the rest. He was the last remnant of the former king's council, and for the knowledge it granted him, Julian allowed him his life and his seat as a councillor. Thus he remained a spy for the Conqueror, only on another Veramorian king.

Unfortunately, Julian was nothing like Senarion. Whereas the former king never showed a hint of suspicion, Julian's eyes seemed to always be on him, prying into his soul. He wanted to flee Veramor. But he knew that no matter how far he would run, the Conqueror would reach him. And if there was one person he feared more than Julian, it was the Conqueror.

"So," Julian spoke, his gaze shifting to the older of the military men. "When will the recruits be ready?"

"As you know, your highness, we have never seen enlistment in such high numbers before, but our veterans managed to get the young men in shape. They are good material, your highness... eager." The man explained.

"How long?" Julian asked.

"They're already ready to fight a battlefield your highness, but to bring them to the ideal form you require will be at least another month."

"You have two weeks." The king said, and his eyes flickered from the councillor to the map.

"Farus." He said as he scanned it. "Care to explain why the Great Wall is manned by a legion of over a thousand of my soldiers?"

"These thousand men are but a skeleton crew of the three thousand that were guarding it before the civil war." Farus said.

"Senarion kept three thousand men on the Great Wall because of two hundred years old stories?" Julian sneered.

"According to all historical records your highness, the Warspawn had nearly destroyed the human and elven kingdoms-"

"According to the same records, Brasgar, the god of war, had descended upon Aros and commanded the destruction himself. To be stopped only by the human god Velsair and the elven goddess Lyandra. So spare me the bullshit the Church claims to be history and move this legion with the rest of the army."

"Your highness, I beg you to reconsider. The Warspawn are a threat that dwarfs even the Bladeweaver." Farus knew he was treading on thin ice. The king was seldom argued with, and his intentions regarding Anerock were a guess.

A likely guess, based on the recent dispatch of the High Magus to the Damuzari Woods parting between Anerock and Veramor, yet a guess still. But experience taught him that in order to keep his position as councillor, he had to prove his worth as one.

"Tell me, Councillor," Julian eyed him, the mild amusement in his tone unnerving when paired with the ever-harsh expression of his beautiful features. "Have you ever seen a Warspawn?"

"No your highness, I have not."

"Has your father ever seen a Warspawn?"

"No, your highness."

"Has anyone you've met ever seen a Warspawn?"

Farus lowered his gaze. "No, your highness."

"Then quit wasting my time and move the fucking legion."