a warlords tale, part 20.
“This arrived for you, from Baiden.” Arandel’s voice was tinged with disappointment as he offered the letter that had come through a courier to the king who sat at his breakfast table. Across from him was the omnipresent fiery red hair of Tahvaen, who seemed to be making short work of the spread of beef and eggs before him. Arched was a brow from the roguish visage as he saw the poise with which the wax seal of the Rosenlied family was hinged loose and the letter unfolded. It carried all the finesse and grace of the overdone movements when Mercurius removed his cape for council. While Tahvaen certainly considered Arric his best friend, some of the things that nobility had to do would always continue to be overdone and off putting. For a moment his attention was again upon his food until he saw the hand of his king rise from the table and rest over his mouth. It was an expression of… shock? Concern? He could not make much out of those blue eyes for the time being, and so it was fit that he swallow the food in his mouth before speaking. He didn’t want to seem too much like an animal, after all. A certain grace was expected even of him since he came to live in the castle instead of on the streets where he had grown up.
Even his keen half-elf eyes could not make out the writing from across the table, though he got a glimpse of black ink that seemed rather short. “What’s it say?” was the inquiry after a mouthful of eggs had been swallowed.
Arric took a deep breath through his nose for a moment as he closed his eyes, dark lashes resting momentarily against porcelain skin. He was not sure what he had initially expected the response to be, or if he had expected one in general. It was not as though he was not aware of the tumultuous nature of war even if it had only been through historical accounts and stories that he had dealt directly with it. When his eyes reopened, he read the letter aloud. At best it was a few lines of script written in a hand that was most assuredly not Mercurius’s when the content was considered.
“Your Majesty King Lander,” which was alone enough to confirm the fact that this was not penned by the hand of the king, as well as the particular looping writing. He couldn’t rightly claim that he had seen the man’s writing but he could not imagine it would look like that. “We would like to thank you for your concern regarding the Baidenese affairs. Your words of well-wishing will be delivered to the king upon his return. As of the writing of this letter, he rides to war. Continue to hold him highly in your thoughts and beg of the Sister Goddesses their blessing as he travels henceforth.
“We hope this letter finds you well. With highest regards, Zanil, Appointed Advisor to His Majesty King Mercurius Rosenlied of Baiden.”
Before either Arric or Tahvaen could speak, it twas the deep ton of Arandel who interrupted them. “It is to our advantage that none yet are seeking to intercept mail ment for the king, Arric, or else we would strongly run the risk of seeming to take a side.”
In his ears rang still the caution of the elven advisor: Do not make it seem as though a side has been taken. But the defiance still burned within him as he placed the letter down and inhaled deeply. It was quite unlike Arric to so staunchly oppose the orders of his advisor but deep was the frown on his face as he set the letter aside. “Arandel, I greatly value your advice, and so have I since I have been serving Vaira as king. But I do not understand why siding with our own spoken allies would in any way create a stain upon our reputation? You yourself were at the council and saw the means with which Iolas of the north spoke to us and the disrespect that was done. Our people are not fools and very few of the elves of Vaira possess ties to the Ceredi of the north. An expression of care for a fellow king of Liev is scarce something that should soil my reputation.”
“Most Vairan elves come from the south. You know, like you?” Tahvaen felt the need to interject as he watched the man bristle with a grin upon his face. Oh, there was always some selfish satisfaction when he got a reaction out of the stoic advisor. “And the units lead by Iolas attacked us. They attacked our king. So what the hell is with this neutrality business? We’ve hardly any trained soldiers of our own, true, but damn! We’ve got healers! Sending some of our folk out would probably help, and--”
“Do you want Vairans to die for a cause that is not ours?”
It was not shouted. It was not yelled. Volume was not even raised and yet with that single line it felt as though all the warmth in the room had been suctioned out with a single breath. Even the gaze of the king had dropped again to his breakfast as red brows narrowed hard over the half-elf’s blue eyes. So they had spoken of the harm involvement would do, but what of the good? That is when it was the voice of the blonde which rose as he pointedly looked across at the advisor before him.
“The good it will do is assisting in our alliance, Arandel. Pacifism has long been the lay of the land in Vaira, but here it will not do. We were attacked. Baidenese blood was spilt to protect us, dignitaries and delegates of Vaira, when they could have simply fended merely for themselves. Thanks to those knights we returned virtually unscathed.
“I do not have a doubt within my heart that should Vaira fall under attack, Baiden would ride to save us with no concern. So should we not offer the same?”
Though grey eyes did flash beneath furrowed brows, the advisor seemed to be genuinely thinking over the words. But then came the inhale and exhale that cued in the king to already know the answer. Thin drew the ruler’s lips as he watched the elf turn his back to where he and his comrade still sat at the breakfast table. Scarce ever did Arandel eat with them, preferring to start his days in his study save for when outlying events such as these transpired.
“I can admit when you are in the right and I am in the wrong.”
Rapidly did black lashes flutter against fair skin as the words rang in his mind. While there had been moments that Arandel came to admit his own errance in one way or another, rarely was it that they were so blunt.
“What are my orders, then, Arric? If we are to move units to Baiden for the sake of healing those that are injured?”
For a moment did those blue eyes close again and a nod was given. Upon those lips was a bright smile before he spoke, “Call upon Shedal. She will know those who are the best healers. Recruit only those who are willing to help Baiden; I do not want this to seem forced or like an obligation, merely something people choose to do of their own will.”
“They ride towards the north border. Reports say that the eastern front… has been all but wiped out by Iolas’s units.”
The paper within the hand of the elf king did crumble as he listened to the report of the scout whose mask was drawn down beneath his lips so he could speak of what he knew. “I myself cannot verify the latter. Maeir has not returned and he was the one who gave me such information, so it could indeed be a false assumption. It is he you will have to ask for that information, my lord and king.”
To be so brazenly made a fool of. His own units could not even waylay those knights that were sanctioned upon their borders and the legion that followed after the bastard could. Back did the scout step before a waved hand dismissed him and his attention set to turn to his son who had mutely listened to the words.
“Iolas’s units have wiped out the Baidenese knights on the eastern front. Use that weakness to lead men into Baiden.”
Though his body bristled visibly, fright chilled his blood and advised against attempting to speak wisdom against Ionwhyn. It would be met with the gratitude of striking a rock against a mountain, though in this case it was most likely the rock was a boulder that would roll back upon the one that tried to press it against the mountain. No logic would his father hear and thus there was no point in trying to put it forth. Had Iomyr not already been imbued with bitterness towards his father then certainly this war would have consecrated it.
The words spoken in exchange with the female knight still lingered in the back of his mind. Should things continue as his father desired them, no good would come to the elves. Not eternally long for this world was Ionwhyn and yet pride would not allow him to step down and allow the title of king to fall to his son. Such was a situation even reflected in humans, for the decisions made by a current king would impact the next king when they were factored in so late in life. Slightly did the jaw of the prince steel, though, as he continued listening.
“I will not deal with this continued incompetence. Find Iolas and kill him.”
Had he bitten his tongue any longer, he was quite assured that he would puncture it and that iron would fill his senses. The urge to rise was quelled but he did grip hard to the arms of the throne in which he was seated as he took a deep inhale through his nose.
“Do you not think that we have made efforts to do so, my Father and my King?” came the voice of the prince though low slung was his head. Around his face draped the blonde hair for which the Ceredi were so known. “Prior to the declaration of war, such was the focus of our scouts, of our men. But it seemed no sooner had we managed to find a location that he was using as a roost than he had moved himself elsewhere. It is fruitless. It is like trying to bare-handed catch an eel.”
Through grit teeth did he hear his father’s voice: “Then find and kill his informant.”
The possibility that within the ranks of their own men there was one who played as an agent for Iolas was not a thought that was new or revolutionary. In fact, if he recalled correctly, it was one that he had suggested some time ago, only for his very father to protest that such disloyalty was not possible for Ceredi elves. And now? His own teeth were still clenched and he did not speak as Ionwhyn continued saying whatever it was he felt the need to say.
“Of course, my father and my king.”
But then the teeth were unclenched and he heard a laugh. This caused him to lift his head with a thin brow arched as he gazed at his father. Naturally, these councils were scarce held alone. By the door did linger a smattering of knights in their elven armor and their golden platinum hair lying over the plates upon their shoulders and chests. Among them did Iowyr recognize the eagle eyes of Drunel, the elf who stood as head of the elven army. And were those piercing eyes not visible, the dark hue to the hair worn often in a thick braid down his back would have given him away the moment that he turned his back. The mere presence of Drunel was enough to raise the ire of Iowyr, which was frankly already constantly raised given the current situation.
“Do you think I would place such a task in the hands of my incompetent son? The very one who allowed the prisoners to escape?” The particular accent upon the word allowed was enough to make his skin crawl. Already had he dealt quite ad nauseum with the accusation that he was traitorous and that he had allowed them to go free out of defiance. Both of these were things that he had openly protested but was in no real mood to attempt to clear his name of. Even in his defiance, Iowyr did not want to openly feel himself as a liar. He had acquiesced that the escape of the prisoners had been under his watch and from that point would not move further towards a confession. “This task is not for you, Iowyr. You will remain here to keep guard of the castle. Durel will be the one to seek out the informant.”
Narrowed were those eyes as he gazed upon his father before he forced his visage to relax. His muscles were forced to find some sort of relief and deep was the inhale followed by the exhale as he cut his eyes from his father to Durel. He and the head knight had hardly harbored friendly feelings towards one another. Near was it to jealous that Iowyr felt for the praise that was lavished upon the elf man who was in all ways, according to his father, superior to he. And now, Ionwhyn was placing in Durel faith that he had openly denied his son, and before the very eyes of the child that he bore. But in this instance, he would not remain silent. His voice rose again before the armored elf had so much as an opportunity to speak aloud in regards to the current state of affairs.
“So you would have the greatest of all your men remain here when he is needed as a leader upon the front lines of battle, my father and my king? Is that truly what you feel is wise?”
For a moment the prince was braced for the impact that never came to him. Usually such audacious speech would have been met by a firm slap across his face but such proved not to be the case as when he opened his eyes he saw only the strong profile of his father looking at Durel. Likely this was the first time that Iowyr could state that his father had openly made any inclination that he listened to the words that his son had said. The moment could have been bittersweet, but it was not. A hundred years ago, something like this could well have changed the course of this relationship. But not now. Too often did he stir upon the words that Elfreda had left him with before his departure. Already he had committed the errance of even entertaining the thought of killion Ionwhyn so the crown would fall to him alongside the decisions. The decisions that he would have to live with… assuming, that is, that he did live. The concept of dying in war was a very real one.
“Then you will remain,” as he felt his father’s frigid eyes upon him. While it had been an act of protest and defiance, even the king of elves could not deny when a point had solid logic behind it. His best knight remaining in a space that had little to no chance of being attacked did seem to be a waste to him. “And you are to be tasked with finding the informant, Iowyr. Know that I will not tolerate further failure from you.”
It was as though every nerve in his body was aflame the moment that he was aware all eyes were upon him. Even the knights that flanked their leader seemed to be fixated upon him with the same damning doubt that his father looked at him with. Iowyr had never been the child that the king had wanted and at no point in his life had he been made to believe otherwise. Too old was he and far too late in his days was it to have any grandeur or redemption in his father’s eyes. Even if he did manage to find the informant, his father would manage to praise someone else for the task that he saw to. That was perhaps the most bitter of tastes upon his tongue, yet he said nothing and kept the thought to himself.
“Is that understood?”
Whether it was a second or a minute or even longer that passed as he stood there in his mute array he could not rightly decipher. But as the breath he did not know he was holding slowly was released from his lungs his body bent stiffly at his waist in what was essentially a half-bow. Too weary was he of throwing himself at the feet of the man. Weary of dealing with the disdain of his father since his very childhood. Too much like his mother he had always been called, too much like the woman that he could not rid himself of, for the sake of propriety. Too much like the mother that had been beaten into a near permanent silence by her husband.
“Of course, my father and my king.”
It was with that confirmation that he would inevitably bend a knee to what was asked of him that the king saw fit to take his departure. Alongside him were the knights who had stood at the side of Durel, and yet the latter remained for a moment. Alone in the room were Iowyr and Durel now, and up did the gauntlet clad hands lift to remove the light helmet from his head. Down furrowed those brows far darker than the ones upon the prince’s face as their eyes came to meet. Grey and brown. The two were about as disparate in physical appearance as Ceredi could be.
“Audacious.”
Though there was favoritism of Durel from Ionwhyn, there was still the severe difference in rank. It was not as though the head knight would be punished for any percieved misgivings against the prince and so he was allowed to, essentially, behave as he saw fit.
“Excuse me?”
“You cannot even follow orders,” as he was met with a view of the golden ribbon woven into the thick plait down the back of the warrior’s back. “How is it that you, of all people, expect to find the traitor?”
part 21.
read from the beginning.