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Monarch - Whitefall I
🕑 Added 2022-09-16 00:00:29 +0000 UTCThe camp had gone up quickly, wood from the forest efficiently felled and processed into defensive towers and strategically placed barricades. Tents of white and blue placed in uniform rows made up temporary barracks for the soldiers. Larger variations emblazoned with the banners of an eagle, bear, wolf, and panther surrounded the King’s pavilion.
An old fear took hold, like a rat gnawing through my guts.
In the twenty-some years I’d survived my father, there was really only one gilded rule that withstood the test of time: expect the worst, knowing he will still somehow plunge deeper. King Gil would be the pinnacle of fairness one day, an utter monster the next. And my detailed familiarity with that volatility, and the harrowing anticipation which followed, was almost as terrible as the volatility itself.
I’d bought myself the requisite time to secure the infernals. But I still had no idea at what cost. I’d hit him. With all of my strength, I’d struck my father with my own hand. That, along with Maya’s gambit, had served to waylay his single-mindedness.
But that was nearly a day ago.
A day he’d spent stewing over what I’d done, with an instrument of reprisal readily available in the form of my most cherished companion.
He wouldn’t kill her. Maya had done well, establishing both her station and her value as a healer. Nevertheless, there were countless ways he could make her suffer.
Two knights with open visors stood at attention as I approached. They looked less than pleased at my return, a brief look at their blackened armor explanation enough. The men were probably among those on the front line for my arcane demonstration the day prior. One of them gave me a long-suffering look, and clanked slowly as turned and called back over the barricade.
“Make way!”
A collection of knights and servants pushed several smaller barricades aside. As I passed into the camp, a man in a tabard and rope belt approached, his sandals sinking into the mud.
“Shall I tender your horse, milord?” The mundanity of the exchange was overshadowed by the man shivered, despite the early leafwake warmth. When I kicked a leg over and dismounted my horse, he visibly jumped. For a moment, I thought he might sprint away.
“What’s your name, servant?” I asked, hoping to confirm Maya’s whereabouts.
“No one of import, milord. No one at all.” He took the reins with a practiced hand and immediately retreated.
“The hells?” I muttered under my breath.
A nasally monotone sounded from my left. “And so the prince returns. Resurrected and anew.”
I grimaced. “Is that a snake I hear, slithering through the grass?”
“I should have known, from the moments my whisperers within the enclave began to vanish, to treat any ensuing information as suspect.” Thaddeus’s hairless scalp gleamed with dew-like perspiration as he sidled up next to me. Arms clasped behind his back, he studied the camp before us. “The misdirect with the letters was sloppy. But the suppression of information and deception was leagues above what I’ve come to expect from the Enclave.” He gave me a sidelong glance. “Whoever coordinated your smokescreen is an exceptional talent.”
“Or you’ve lost your edge.”
“Unlikely, your grace.”
In truth, I had no idea what he was talking about. Ralakos or Persephone were the most likely possibilities. Given the additional detail of vanishing contacts, however, it was probably the latter. I’d never known Persephone to play nice, regardless of the setting.
“Where’s Maya.” I asked coldly.
“In a moment.” Thaddeus placed a hand on my arm, considering me thoughtfully. “I understand you may harbor some residual distaste towards me.”
You have no idea.
“Thanks in no small part to the King and Queen’s tendency to squander my talents on monitoring your activities. An irritant for us both, let me assure you. I would like for us to start anew.” Thaddeus continued. “You have proved yourself in more ways than one.”
I looked at his hand on my arm until he removed it. “Minutes after my return, and you’re already currying for favor.”
“I am merely a man who can see which way the wind is blowing.”
Another servant struggled through the mud, a woman carrying firewood. I called out to her, “Where’s the infernal—“
I watched, aghast, as the woman dropped the firewood, turned tail and ran. “What has my father been telling everyone? Why are they all scared of me?”
Thaddeus chortled. “Nothing. Save that the crown prince died at the hands of the infernals. Shortly after, that same prince—now very much alive—marched up to the battle-lines and started throwing up columns of violet fire, capping it all off by punching the king in the face and living to tell the tale. Why do you think they’re afraid?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “They think I’m some sort of avenging spirit who fought my way back through the hells, imbued with demonic power.”
“Aren’t you?” Thaddeus peered at me.
“In a way.”
“I heard that you fought a revenant in the Everwood and won.” Thaddeus pried, his amusement fading somewhat. “Quite an accomplishment for a distinguished soldier, let alone a boy of ten at the time.”
Ah. There it was. He was probing me, trying to find out how much I knew.
I gave Thaddeus a sadistic smile. “Oh, Barion? A twisted monster to be certain—all the kidnapping and child experimentation and whatnot—but he loved the sound of his own voice.”
“You talked to this creature?” The beads of sweat crowning Thaddeus’s head grew in number.
“At length.” I said blandly. “Before I knew his true nature. He had much to say on his purpose, the intent of his research—” I locked eyes with Thaddeus. “—and the organization that spurned him.”
“I see.” For possibly the first time ever, Thaddeus looked genuinely blindsided.
I snapped my fingers. “What was their name again? Crustacean—no. Chrysalis? That’s not it. It was insect related, I’m sure.”
“We should speak more on this at a later time.” Thaddeus said quickly.
“I’m counting on it, old friend.”
Thaddeus watched me carefully, before finally breaking his gaze. “The infernal is in the King’s pavilion.”
A cold chill went down my spine. “To what purpose?”
“One can only guess. From the sounds coming out of that tent, however? I would make haste.” Thaddeus gave me a cool smile, then bowed. “Pardon me, your grace. I have business to attend to before we depart.”
“I’m sure you do.” I said aloud. As I watched him go, I grasped the amulet around my neck and murmured. “Vogrin?”
“I’d forgotten how sparse the mana was on the surface.” Vogrin’s groggy voice echoed in my mind.
“I just held Thaddeus upside down by his boots and gave him a solid shake.”
“Ah. The spymaster. Shall I follow him and see what comes tumbling out?”
“Yes.”
“A quick word of warning. It will take me longer to recover. Your mana stores have vastly improved, but are still a far cry from my previous masters.”
“Understood. See it done.”
Vogrin’s presence vanished. Seconds later, a balding servant that bore a striking resemblance to my demon’s human form emerged from a tent and followed Thaddeus.
With that done, I rushed through the camp at a hurried walk, just short of a run.
/////
My father’s pavilion was gaudy, bordering on gauche. The ornate tent exceeded the size of his bannerlords by several magnitudes, an utterly unnecessary accommodation considering the bannerlords’ tents often held entire families, while King Gil’s rarely housed anyone but himself and numerous servants.
Men in dark armor closed ranks as I approached the entrance. More than a few sneers amongst my father’s honor guard were directed my way.
“Let me through,” I commanded, stopping a foot away from them.
“The king is unavailable, yer grace.”
I looked between them. “He demanded my presence.”
One of the guards spit a wad of herbs onto the ground and closed the short distance. His breath was sour, rank. “Aye. And you’ve presented.” The man cocked his head and jerked a thumb to the side. “Now piss off.”
Bad soldiers are, more often than not, a reflection of their commander. My father’s honor-guard inhabited that principal to the letter. I remembered the glee with which these men had torn Lillian from my arms.
The small semblance of calm I’d clung to since entering the camp slipped away.
Demonic chitin overtook my left arm. I felt it creeping from my shoulder towards my chest as I reached up slowly, placing my hand on the throat of the man’s breastplate. He braced, as if he expected a shove.
“You don’t scare me, demi-lover.” He leered.
My grip tightened around his breastplate, metal whinging as the superior xescalt metal fingertips dug imprints into his armor. The guard glanced down, suddenly less confident.
With a sudden, abrupt motion, I dug my heels into the mud and threw him. With more force than intended because instead of stumbling to the side, the guard ragdolled through the air and landed on his back in the mud with a wet slap some distance away, letting out a groan.
The other three reached for their swords.
I allowed a wreathe of violet fire to overtake me, and stood my ground. Word by word, I hissed in guttural demonic, emphasizing each consonant. “Gorn mir’a, dondalais dicht.”
Get the fuck out of my way.
They didn’t need to understand what I was saying. Demonic sounded terrifying enough on its own. As one, the guards’ hands dropped away from their swords. Two of them backed away, then went to retrieve their comrade, casting frequent looks over their shoulders. The remaining guard moved to the far side of the tent and cast his eyes straight ahead.
A mix of people had stopped to watch, expressions a jumble of fright and alarm. I sighed, releasing the fire. This wasn’t going to help my image issue.
Pushing the tent flap aside, I prepared myself for the worst.
And stopped short.
Elaborate rugs covered the dirt and grass floor of the pavilion. Dark wood furnishings were placed on top of the rugs. In the rear of the tent, Maya was reclined on a cushioned sofa, one leg propped on an ottoman as she sipped from an ornate cup. She was clad in a white-gold dress that was strikingly panthanian, and her feet were bare, a pair of matching, uncomfortable looking shoes unshod at the base of the sofa.
My father sat across from her on a leather chair that was too luxurious to be considered a throne, resting his head on a fist as he often did when he was paying attention, a matching cup sitting on his armrest.
Maya held out a hand palm up towards the king.
“Gods be damned.” My father scowled. He reached into a small satchel and withdrew a copper rod, which he tossed to Maya.
“My thanks, your grace.” Maya went to place the rod in her pocket instinctively, and finding that she had none, placed it atop a small pile of copper rods at her side.
I stared at the two of them, unable to fully comprehend what I was seeing. Lacking any other feasible explanation, I approached the table and seized the kettle, removing the lid and placing it beneath my nose, breathing deep. Then I dipped my pinky in and tasted it, slowly coming to the realization that it was nothing more than elderflower tea. No trace of hallucinogenic or any other poison I knew of.
My father made a disgusted noise and tossed Maya another copper rod.
“My thanks.”
“Rub it in, demon.”
“Respectfully, father. What’s happening here?” I asked.
“The hells does it look like?” King Gil glowered at me. “While you took your damn time, I’ve been thoroughly fleeced.”
“You’re… betting.” I said slowly. Then looked at Maya. “With him?”
They took on expressions of discomfort, Maya placing a hand to her forehead, my father visibly wincing.
“Keep your voice down, please.” Maya groaned.
“Loud since the day he was born.” My father growled.
“I’m loud—You’re hungover. You’re both hungover.” I realized.
“What else was there to do besides bet and drink while you were pussyfooting around.” King Gil rolled his eyes.
“You did teach me how to convincingly scream in pain.” Maya said plainly. “That killed some time.”
I nearly choked.
“Mmm. All in the diaphragm.” My father said gruffly.
“What—”
He waved me off, putting a hand against his temple. “Sit down before you fall down, boy.” When he peered out and saw I hadn’t moved, he sighed. “These gossipy bastards were either going to assume I was beating her or fucking her. And it wouldn’t do to let them think I was fucking her.”
“Indeed. You’re a married man, after all, your grace.” Maya sipped her tea.
King Gil snorted. “I prefer my women hornless.”
“You’re unharmed?” I asked Maya.
“Entirely. The king has proved a magnificent host.” She peered at me. “Were you successful in your mission, Prince Cairn?”
“Yes.” I said quietly, barely even surprised, as Maya held out a hand and King Gil tossed her a copper rod. “You were betting on me.”
King Gil shifted in his seat. “I expected you’d run out of time, come back here with your tail between your legs, and wait for me to summon you. The infernal contested that. ”
“Don’t forget the tea.” Maya pointed out.
“Pressing your luck, girl.” My father growled. “How was I to know he’d become a damned apothecary overnight.”
“I did tell you, your grace.”
“After six bottles of wine, you told me.”
There was a rush of warm air as the tent flap behind me opened. “Is everything—”
A single blink was all it took for my father to cross the room. An honor guard in dark armor collapsed on the floor, clinging to his throat and gagging as blood ran freely between his fingers. King Gil crouched over him and slowly wiped a dagger long enough to be a short-sword on the fabric beneath the guard’s armor. “I made it abundantly clear,” he growled. “That I was not to be disturbed. For any reason.”
Numbly, I stepped aside as the blood soiled the carpet I’d been standing next to. This, was the father I knew. A powder-keg in human form. Only distinctly faster than I remembered. He’d always been powerful, immensely strong. But this speed was alien to me.
Understanding dawned.
In my past life, King Gil grew increasingly bitter and angry as the kingdom thrived over an age of peace. He stopped practicing in the training yard. Relied on others to handle the sparse fighting for him.
For all his posturing, he’d taken me seriously. This was what my father looked like, preparing for a distant conflict on the horizon. Instead of falling into complacency, he’d honed himself into a living weapon.
This was my doing.
Maya retained her calm. But she was sitting up, her back ramrod straight. “Shall… I heal him?”
King Gil glanced down at the dying guard, still choking on his own blood. “Mercy dulls the message.” He clucked his tongue. Then stuck his head outside the tent and roared. “Pack it up, we’re due for Whitefall!”
There was a raucous cheer as the camp immediately buzzed to life, awash in the sound of a thousand hurried footsteps.
King Gil pointed to Maya. “Emissary. You’ll be placed amongst the noble women and children.”
Maya’s eyebrows furrowed. “As you please, but I’m uncertain if they’ll be amenable to my presence. My kind has something of an infamy in association with children—”
He reached in his satchel and, instead of a copper rod, withdrew a golden pin, emblazoned with the likeness of the frigid mountain range that surrounded my home. I sucked in a breath. The crest indicated Skathi’s Favor. It was frequently bestowed on human diplomats, but as far as I knew, a non-human had never received it. “That will grease the wheels. My people learn slowly. But they will learn.”
Maya fixed the pin to her dress and curtsied deeply.
As she straightened, regal and calm, I felt the significance of the distance between us. Maya had transformed in my absence. And I’d missed it.
“Boy.” My father waved for me to follow as he exited the tent. “With me.” I gave Maya a small wave and felt the pain in my chest lessen as she returned it. Then followed behind King Gil as he weaved through the frenzied camp, ducking beneath a deconstructed log before the elves carrying it could register his presence.
Elves?
I glanced around. Now that I wasn’t in such a rush, a peculiarity stuck out to me. The majority of the camp was human, but there were a small number of dwarves, elves, and even infernals on the fringes packing up the camp. None in the army or the guard, but still. Not a single non-human in chains.
“Are you a sheep?” King Gil asked suddenly. It took a moment to register he was talking to me.
“No.” I answered evenly.
“Then stop grazing at my heels and walk beside me.” King Gil commanded.
I nearly tripped. It was all but written law that any nobles or members of the royal family followed in the king’s wake, reinforcing his place as figurehead.
Never losing the feeling that I was walking into a trap, I took my place beside him, feeling his eyes on me.
“Much has changed, in your absence.” My father said.
“It’s certainly not the same world I left.” I murmured agreement, my mind struggling to keep up.
Suddenly, he slapped me on the back and grinned wickedly. “Let’s talk about this war of yours.”
