Circle of Reign (38 page)

“Out with it man!” Wellyn commanded.

The Minister held a small square of parchment, which he brought up before his eyes. His hands were unsteady as he read the message.

“High Duke Emeron Wellyn by care of the Ministry of State and the Minister thereof: For acts beyond treachery against loyal subjects and your own people whom you have sworn to protect, the Western Province now hereby cedes from your rule and is a state unto itself. Your demonstration of aggression against my person and people has postured us to stand apart from and against you, your authority, and those who seek to uphold your position. Banner Therrium, Prime Lord of Arlethia.”

The Minister’s aide placed the wooden box on Wellyn’s desk and lifted the sealed lid. A rank scent attacked the senses of all present. Inside the box was the shaved head of a man. Not any man’s head, Wellyn noted.
Maynard’s head
. The message with insult could not have been more clearly delivered. Therrium knew who had ordered such destruction upon his house and he had survived, as Josi’ah reported. Despite the flood of anger welling up inside him, Wellyn barely gave the box more than what appeared to be a disinterested glance.

When Duke Wellyn gave no response, the Minister nervously demanded, “My Duke, what does this mean? Of what does Lord Therrium speak?”

“Tyjil,” Wellyn said, ignoring the Minister’s questions, “release them. All of them.”

Tyjil didn’t need to ask to whom the High Duke referred. “Therrium will be the Charge?”

“In part, yes,” Wellyn said with eerie calmness. “But bring me Rembbran first.”

Tyjil departed at once. Turning about to face the Minister of State, Wellyn asked, “Has Hadik returned yet?”

One of the Khans replied, “My Duke, we received word by wing that he is within an hour’s distance. His mission is reported as a complete success.”

At least something went right, by Cursed Heavens
, Wellyn swore silently. “Very well. You are dismissed.”

The Khans turned to leave but the Minister stood looking expectantly at Wellyn. Mawldra began a low growl. “Your Grace, I need answers to—”

“You were dismissed, Minister,” Wellyn said with venom seeping in his voice. Mawldra took one step toward the man, who quickly decided he did not need answers to his questions after all.

Wellyn’s mind repeated one thought over and over at high velocity:
Therrium is alive. Therrium is alive!
A modicum of trepidation started to pulse through his chest as he wondered about the progress of his obscure northern allies. Would he have enough time to make things right before their arrival? He doubted it.

Tyjil re-entered the chamber with Rembbran in tow. “He’s here,” Tyjil announced, stating the obvious. Still, the High Duke did not lift his head or give the slightest acknowledgement.

“My Liege?” the chase-giver inquired in a pained tone. No doubt leaving the somewhat protective borders of the Kail allowed his nearly omnipresent pain to resurface to a level hard to control. “How may I serve you?” This last entreaty was said with a great deal of forced restraint.

Wellyn came to himself and finally looked up, taking in the scene. He looked slightly surprised to find others were in his presence. Noticing the shorn-headed figure standing in front of him, he addressed Rembbran by motioning to the wooden box on the desk. Rembbran instinctively sniffed the air before leaning over and looking inside. He immediately retreated as disbelief followed by anger found place on his face.

“Why?” he demanded.

“No, it’s not what you think,” Tyjil assured him quickly. “This was not the High Duke’s doing.”

“He failed me. He failed his Charge,” Wellyn calmly added.

“That’s not possible!” Rembbran protested. “He was the most skilled among us. No one could have overcome him.”

“And yet,” Tyjil answered, “there he is, a head with no body.”

“Who?”

“Banner Therrium, or likely one or more of the hold guard.” Tyjil said.

Rembbran considered this information and the typical predatory smile he was so accustomed to wearing slowly spread across his face. He was anticipating what would come next.

“How may I assist, my Liege?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Lord Calder Hoyt

Day 15 of 1
^st
Dimming 412 A.U.

THE DIMMING SEASON WAS
Lord Calder Hoyt’s favorite time of the year in Thera. More mild temperatures combined with sunsets that lasted hours gave the circular clouds of the season a halo effect and were awe-inspiring to him. The South’s state city cradled the edge of the Roniah, not far from the river’s crossing at the border of the Southern and Western Provinces. Large yellow-whitish walls more than five men high bordered the city itself. From the tops of the walls stood large wooden posts that resembled ship masts in height and thickness. The posts did extend skyward but also slightly inward toward the city. An intricate system of ropes and pulleys were strung about the wall masts that would raise thick canvas sheets, called storm sails. The system shielded the city from sandstorms that occasionally reached from beyond the Schadar Desert, an occurrence that seemed to be increasing in frequency as of late and had Lord Hoyt a bit concerned. Instead of one or maybe two a year, Thera had seen five thus far this year. The Ministry of Terran Studies had taken a keen interest in the occurrences and had sent many of its people to study the phenomenon first-hand. The reports they filed with their findings, however, were conspicuously not shared or made known.

The storm sails at the top of the city’s walls were designed to deflect the sand and wind gusts upward, away from the inhabitants below. Though it was still unwise to be out during a sandstorm, the barricade effectively lessened the danger and damage. Most of the repair work done after a storm was focused on the masts and storm sails themselves, a far less expensive endeavor than rebuilding entire portions of the city. The population of Thera swelled when a sandstorm approached, inhabitants of other cities and towns in the province nearby making their way within the walls for protection. Many throughout the province, who lived farther from the safety of Thera, had underground storm shelters burrowed deep in the earth.

Within the city Hold Hoyt was splendid, as were most holds of noble families. The wealth possessed by House Hoyt due to industry and trade was rivaled by very few in the Realm. An industrious and creative spirit drove the people of the South, pushing them to greater achievement. It was not a drive rooted in greed for excessive gain but more in pure curiosity. Many of the inventions and advances the Realm enjoyed sprang from the Southern Province. Their demand by the Realm’s people expanded the wealth of the South throughout the centuries until they were the wealthiest province per capita in all of Senthara, though their province was the smallest in size and lacking in natural resources greatly when compared to the East and West Provinces.

The message was read to Lord Calder Hoyt by his page in front of his court, with all noblemen in the Southern Province present. His wife, Briel, and fourteen-year-old daughter, Kathryn, were also present. Lord Hoyt had already read the message, of course, but wanted the proclamation to be heard straight from the parchment by his court. Jonathon, the young page, spoke with an unsteady voice as he read the unbelievable words.

By royal decree of His Grace, High Duke Emeron Wellyn, the first of his name and protector of the Realm, all peaceable interactions with the traitors of the Western Province are hereby terminated forthwith. All Provincial Lords are commanded to call together their arms and prepare
for operations to suppress the rebellion and end the sedition. The heretical tyrant Banner Therrium has joined the ranks of his deceased treacherous cousin, Thannuel Kerr, in striving to bring about a plot of usurpation. He and those who follow him must be stopped immediately, no matter the cost. Battlefield directives will be forthcoming within a matter of days
.

The court was silent. The Southern Province was marked by colorful and festive décor, themed settings throughout the province. Lord Hoyt’s people had amassed wealth from lucrative trade throughout Senthara, but especially from trade with the Western Province. The shared border of his province and the west was far more populated than the border shared by the south and east. This turn of events was not going to be received well by his people. Hoyt sat in his ornate throne with his left hand ponderously rubbing his chin.

“I don’t believe it,” Gernald Quary said. He served as master of the hold guard for Lord Hoyt. “All our dealings with the wood-dwellers have always been upright. This cannot be right.”

“Careful,” warned Hambly, one of Lord Hoyt’s advisors. “Your opinions could be construed as treason now.”

“I am only stating historical fact,” Gernald countered.

“All the same, this is new ground,” Lady Briel cautioned. “We must be wise until we are sure of our footing.”

“It’s not true!” Kathryn said, rising from her seat next to her father. Her dress of gold, orange and red embroidered with white lace flowed as she stood. “Don’t you see? This is a trick!” Normally sober and reserved, her conviction surprised those in attendance.

“Kathryn!” Lady Briel snapped. “Be silent!”

“How can I? Father, you’re not actually thinking of believing this filth, are you? We can’t go to war with the West!”

“Daughter, we may have no choice,” Lord Hoyt said calmly. “The High Duke issues commands, not invitations for debate.”

“Good!” came a new voice from the back of the court. A short figure emerged and approached slowly but confidently, flanked by another much larger figure clad in a thick hooded robe, his face
not visible. The crowd parted as the pair made their way forward. The smaller man, advanced in years but not elderly, was clad in gray garments bordered by dark red trim at the edges. The sigil of House Wellyn shone on a gold amulet that hung from his neck. Several subdued mumblings of curiosity were heard. Lord Hoyt’s knuckles turned white from the pressure of gripping the arms of his throne at seeing the two newcomers. He wasn’t sure which of the two created more worry inside him.

Master Gernald mumbled curses as he turned and recognized the first unannounced intruder.

Lord Hoyt arose. “This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do we owe the honor, Tyjil?”

“Honor? None have considered my presence an honor, Lord Hoyt,” Tyjil replied with a half smile. “I did not take you for a fabulist, my Lord. Let us dispense with the small talk, yes?”

“Mind your tongue! Lord Hoyt was being polite, snake!” Gernald warned. “You might try adopting some manners of your own, such as properly announcing yourself before barging into a Provincial Lord’s court.”

“Lord Hoyt, does your man know his place?” Tyjil asked, not lowering himself by addressing a mere guard. “Surely he did not just insult the High Duke’s advisor.”

Calder glanced toward Master Gernald, silencing him with a slight wave.

“What business brings our Duke’s representative so far from Iskele?” Lady Briel asked.

“Ah, Lady Briel, ever the diplomat.” Tyjil bowed slightly in acknowledgement. “I have come to look after the High Duke’s interests, of course. It sounded like I arrived just in time to overhear expressions of absolute loyalty upon receiving our Duke’s missive. It was truly warming to my heart.” Tyjil shot a narrow glance toward Kathryn.

Lord Hoyt did not miss the action. “Yes, we are indeed in receipt of High Duke Wellyn’s message. It was surprising to my court, I think. We are discussing how best to support the Realm.”

“Ah, but isn’t it already clear, my Lord?” Tyjil asked. “I believe you are waiting for further instructions on how to deploy your troops.”

Calder swallowed before answering. “As the High Duke is no doubt aware, this directive will be obeyed. However, we were not prepared. The Southern Province’s forces are not organized currently. We have well trained men and women, of course, but we were certainly not expecting a conflict of such a sudden nature. Perhaps—”

“Treason is often sudden,” Tyjil answered. He waited for several seconds before continuing, letting his statement hang in the silence. He looked to his companion. “I am certain Lord Hoyt will do what is necessary to comply, yes?”

“Doubtless,” came the single word reply from beneath the hood. Its pitch was low and resonant, filling the royal chamber. Lord Hoyt swallowed hard.

Having given Tyjil the assurances that he was looking for, Tyjil and his companion retreated. Gernald had two hold guards escort them from the palace. Calder sat contemplative while the others in attendance spoke heatedly back and forth as to what actions to take from here. He did not hear most of their discussions as he pondered within himself. It did not make sense, not in the least. He did not know any history or even tales of wood-dwellers being aggressive without provocation. Attempting to usurp power was totally against all Calder knew of their disposition.

Reluctantly, he gathered himself and joined the conversation before it turned even more heated.

Lord Hoyt spoke softly, not waiting for a lull. “Jonathon, please have High Marshal Wenthil summoned. We will make preparations immediately.”

“How many men shall I tell him to recall?” the page asked.

“Not less than thirty thousand.”

The page looked dumbfounded. “Is my Lord certain? This will be nearly the entire army.”

“More,” Master Gernald said.

Hoyt nodded. “We will need to institute a draft.”

“What?” his wife exclaimed. “We cannot force our people to join the military. If we do not have the numbers then the High Duke will have to do with what we have.”

Lord Hoyt put his hand on his wife’s. Her hand was warm and dry, a contrast to his own clammy touch. “I’m afraid we do not have a choice in this.” His eyes communicated the concern he felt. He saw Briel’s eyes cloud with confusion at his look, but she did not voice her question.

The page had not left but continued to wait, assuming his orders must be wrong.

“Were my instructions unclear?” Lord Hoyt asked.

The boy stuttered. “N-no, my Lord, of c-course not.” Jonathon hurried out and the room returned to being filled with various conversations, though lower in volume than previously.