Chapter 16
King Duchenwald stepped out of the bath. A nice, hot steamy bath. He grabbed a luxurious purple towel, dried himself, and slipped into a long comfortable robe made out of bear fur and decorated with gold.
(now seems like as good a time as any for a massage)
He walked out of the bathroom and down a long hall. The walls were made of smooth, solid stone and reflected the light pouring in from the afternoon sun. Elegant pieces of weaponry and armor adorned them. Golden statuettes and other luxurious treasures decorating them lent them a majestic appearance. At the end of the hallway was a rope attached to a bell. He pulled it a few times, and some servant girls immediately came running.
“Your Highness” they said, kneeling.
“A massage.”
“Yes, Your Highness—as you wish, Your Highness,” they said.
He lay down on the massage table. Warm oil was poured onto his back, and the massage was soon underway. Even though it was a daily enjoyment he pampered himself with, it still felt so good he thought he had died and gone to Cixore. Just when he was beginning to feel so relaxed he was about to fall asleep, he heard a loud knocking at the door. One of the servant girls went and answered it. She turned and came back to King Duchenwald.
“Your Highness, one of the servants says there’s a messenger here; he says it’s very, very urgent.”
“Ahh, for Kasani’s sake, can’t it wait?!” King Duchenwald responded gruffly. The servant girl went to the door, exchanged some words with the servant and then returned.
“Your Highness,” she said, “he says it’s very, very urgent; he says that it has to do with General Sivingdon. He says General Sivingdon has a very urgent request and it demands your immediate attention.”
“General Sivingdon?! Well, why didn’t you say so? Okay, girls, massage time is up; I need to see what all the commotion is about.”
As he got up slowly from the massage table, his servant girls exited the room. It was a large, spacious room. Smooth marble walls, floor and ceiling, all painted a light sea blue. An ample view of the Dachwaldian countryside could be seen from the large window. King Duchenwald adjusted his robe and said, “Come, servant, I haven’t got all day!”
The servant entered the room.
“Your Highness,” he said, “there’s a man at the front gate of the palace named Efenktor; he says he’s one of Sivingdon’s top trackers.”
“Yes, yes, indeed; that’s true.”
“Well, he has a message from General Sivingdon himself, but he says he’s under strict orders to deliver it to you personally. He wouldn’t hand it to me.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to go down and see him then. No doubt, this has to do with that crop damage all those farmers were raising hell about recently. Tell’em I’ll be down there shortly.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” the servant said and exited the room.
King Duchenwald was curious. He was hoping it would turn out to all be a big lie. Surely these farmers had to be exaggerating about their losses.
It took him a while to squeeze his oceans of fat into his kingly robe. After finally managing to wrap it around his portly body, he walked towards the door to his room, down the hall, and then began descending the large, mammoth-sized staircase that went down to the main floor. His bedroom was on the eighth story of the castle, so he had a long way to travel going down the staircase. The walls held torches about three feet long, a system of small passages within the castle walls pumping a continuous supply of slow-burning oil to keep them burning. It took him about twenty minutes to get down to the bottom of the stairs, and by the time he did he was huffing and puffing like a man who had just run two miles at breakneck speed. He had often considered moving his room to a lower level to avoid such odious exercise, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of anyone sleeping above him. Three guards accompanied him. Two spearmen and a man holding a large battle hammer who was larger than life and twice as ugly. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he saw Efenktor waiting for him. As Efenktor saw the king, he put one knee on the ground and bowed.
“Your Majesty,” he said.
“You may rise.”
“Your Majesty, I bring urgent news . . . and a request.”
“Speak, Efenktor,” King Duchenwald said in a mildly pleasant tone.
“Your Highness, the first piece of news I have for you is shocking, but I have seen it with my own eyes, so I swear to its legitimacy . . . .”
“Speak your mind!” King Duchenwald said in a very impatient tone.
“Your Highness, to put it both bluntly and succinctly, the tracks from the farms lead towards Sodorf. More specifically, they lead into Sodorf. I’m sure of this, and so is General Sivingdon. He’s requesting permission to cross the border and engage whatever enemy he comes across. This more than likely means war with Sodorf.”
King Duchenwald’s heart nearly stopped. The words knocked him backwards like a solid punch to the chest. He would have fallen and cracked his skull had it not been for his muscular bodyguards that caught him. He felt dizzy. Like he was having a nightmare.
“HAS GENERAL SIVINGDON CROSSED THAT BORDER?!!!!” King Duchenwald screamed at Efenktor. It sounded more like an accusation than an inquiry. His face was red with a potent combination of rage, panic, and fear. Although Efenktor fully expected the king to not be happy with the request, his sheer ferocity overwhelmed him. Even the guards were stunned.
“Of course not! No, Your Highness; he wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing without your permission! That’s why he sent me, instead of just an ordinary messenger. He knew the enormity of the request would take you off guard; that is why—”
“Give me that message!” growled King Duchenwald.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Efenktor said and quickly handed it to him.
King Duchenwald’s eyes devoured the message like a starving animal consuming its prey. His blue eyes darted back and forth across the words of the message, sometimes growing wide and large, other times narrowing suspiciously. Sure enough, it said what Efenktor averred and bore General Sivingdon’s unmistakable seal.
“Efenktor, I’m going to have to call an emergency senate meeting. This isn’t a decision I can make off the cuff, even if a substantial proportion of our food supply for the next year has indeed been ruined. Ride back to General Sivingdon and tell him I’m having an emergency consultation with the senate to resolve this matter. Your expert tracking skills are needed by him. I’ll send a messenger to give General Sivingdon my response as soon as the senate and I have deliberated this important matter.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Efenktor said. He stood up, turned, walked through the door, got back on his horse, and began galloping madly back towards General Sivingdon.
King Duchenwald could not have been more taken aback. The last thing that had crossed his mind when he had heard about this alleged act of mass vandalism was war. Would the Sodorfians dare launch such a brazen attack as this?
(What could their motive possibly be?)
This baffled him the most. All the spy reports he had received from Sodorf had confirmed Sodorf was basically in the same state of affairs as Dachwald: peaceful, spending little on the military. Furthermore, all reports had stated most people in Sodorf were living comfortably. Their crops were doing well; people had plenty to eat; the government was corrupt and lazy, but not overly oppressive towards its subjects.
(perhaps it was a group of troublesome Sodorfians not acting in accord with the Sodorfian government)
This was plausible.
There was a system in place for an emergency summoning of the senate. Inside the castle was a large rope that went over a pulley hanging about ten feet in the air and into a hole in the floor from where it passed through an underground tunnel, equipped with pulleys about every fifty feet to make pulling the rope easier as it went around turns.
Underground, the rope was attached to a large ring with holes drilled through it and ropes attached to it that went off in different directions through the different passageways, splitting off and going to a large bell in each senator’s house. The rope was relatively easy to pull, and a tug on it nearly simultaneously rang the bells in the senators’ homes.
King Duchenwald grabbed the rope and pulled down hard. The ringing reverberated with a nearly ear-splitting volume. A few of the senators were in the midst of eating lavish meals, and the cacophonous sound of the bell caused a couple of them to soil their clothes with food that they spilled all over themselves. Some were in the midst of a nice, relaxing nap, and the sound of the bell woke one of them up so suddenly he fell out of bed and nearly incurred a concussion when he introduced his head to the floor. One bell caught a senator in the act of trying to seduce his maid, and the cursing that resulted would make a longshoreman blush.
Within thirty minutes all twenty of the senators had arrived, bowing to King Duchenwald as they walked in. One look at his face told them there was serious business to discuss.
“Senators, into the meeting hall,” he said.
They walked around the large staircase, descended a short flight of stairs, walked down a long hallway, turned right, and then went through the second door on their left. This led into a large open room. King Duchenwald sat on a throne, and ten senators sat on either side of him in rows of two.
“Senators,” he began, “I’ll get right to the point. I’ve been requested to authorize General Sivingdon to take his men across the Sodorfian border, and, if necessary, authorize him ‘to engage any enemy combatants’ he might come across.”
A horrified gasp escaped the senators like hot steam emitted from a pot.
“You can’t be serious,” one yelled out. “This is insanity!” shouted another. “We don’t want war!!” chimed a third.
“SILENCE!!” King Duchenwald screamed, instantly ending the grousing. “We’re here to discuss this, and discuss this we shall—but in an organized fashion. You know the rules: one senator speaks at a time and must stand while speaking. All speeches must be kept to the point! Now, before we begin to debate this important issue, let me lay out all of the known facts for you. First of all, our country indeed may be facing famine. It has now been confirmed by General Sivingdon himself that nearly all of the southern farms have been destroyed. As you well know, almost all our food comes from the south, and harvest time is merely weeks away. The vast majority of our reserves from last year’s harvest are gone. We are dependent upon each harvest’s success. True, some food comes from the north, but nowhere near enough to feed everybody.
“To survive the coming year, we’ll have to slaughter massive amounts of livestock, including horses, dogs, and other domestic animals, and put the whole country, us included, on rations. The second fact to keep in mind is this destruction wasn’t the work of a small group of men or even several small groups of men. This had to have been a coordinated effort amongst a large number working together—a thousand or more in the opinion of General Sivingdon. Lastly, all reports from our scouts and trackers indicate the tracks leading from these farms go directly south towards the Sodorfian border and into Sodorf. Now, you must bear in mind there would simply be no conceivable reason for any Dachwaldians to do this. Even if there were a few crazed Dachwaldians who wanted to ravage our farmland, they wouldn’t have been able to accomplish it on such a large scale without major assistance, and our spies would have found out about it in advance. General Sivingdon reports heavy rainfall in the south and a very real danger of the tracks leading into Sodorf disappearing soon if he is not authorized to pursue them.
“If I permit General Sivingdon to cross the border, it’s almost certain the result will be total war, one which would not only be very unfortunate, but also one that we might lose. We have had a peace—albeit an uneasy one—with the Sodorfians for 830 years. When the Seven Years War ended, we were more or less at the mercy of the Sodorfians. They had destroyed the majority of our most elite soldiers—the Moscorians—and assembled one of the greatest military forces the world has ever seen. They could have razed our castle to the ground and slaughtered and enslaved us. Instead, they merely demanded the return of their subjects, the expulsion of all Dachwaldians from Sodorf, and permission for Sodorfians to live in Dachwald to keep an eye on us and prevent such a horrible war from ever breaking out again. It wasn’t an enormous number of Sodorfians that took advantage of that final clause of the treaty, especially not right after the war. But over time, many small Sodorfian communities have arisen throughout Dachwald. In fact, there are even some prominent businessmen in Dachwald of Sodorfian descent. The bottom line is we’ve had peace for a very, very long time. And while it might seem ludicrous to suggest Sodorf wants war with us, the facts can’t be ignored. Something must be done. We cannot lie down like sheep oblivious to the blade cutting our throat.”
After he finished speaking, an unusual silence descended upon the senate like fog on previously clear day.
Finally, one of the senators stood up. His name was Alexinduhr. He cleared his voice as he prepared to speak: “I propose we send emissaries to the City of Sodorf, bring eyewitnesses with them, and demand that justice be done.”
“I second that motion,” said another senator, eagerly standing and then quickly sitting.
One senator after another rose to concur with Alexinduhr. Other senators added to the proposal, stating that, if it was Sodorfians that had caused this horrible damage, the Sodorfian government should have to pay immense reparations. Just when it seemed complete unanimity had been reached and the only logical action was sending emissaries, an old, nearly antique-looking man stood up to have his turn to speak. He was the oldest of the senators: 115 years old, to be precise. He could have been the grandfather of any of them. His name was Gullingsor, and if he were lying asleep next to a corpse, you probably wouldn’t notice a difference. He had long, snow-white hair, thin spectacles, and a large walking staff he used to help steady himself as he stood. Like a supporting beam keeping a fragile building from toppling right over and breaking into a million pieces.
“Good senators,” he began, in an old, croaky voice one would expect from such an oldster, “it pleases me to still be here with my fellow countrymen at such an old age,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I have great respect for each and everyone of you, and I can see great wisdom in all of the suggestions that have been proffered thus far, and so I must preface the following by saying that I can see the reasoning behind each and every one of the points that have been made by all of you . . . but I must say I disagree. I will say why I disagree, and I will also say what I propose. I propose you simply let General Sivingdon cross the border.”
Chaos broke out throughout the senate; several senators stood and shouted things like, “That’s outrageous!” and “NEVER!” The old man had lost all his marbles. He was an embarrassing piece of decoration with no real use. Or so they thought.
“SILENCE!!!” King Duchenwald thundered. “Gullingsor will have his opportunity to speak. He is not only the oldest senator, he is also the most experienced; he will be heard without interruption! Gullingsor, please continue.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” he said, looking just as resolute as before in stating what he had to say. “Starting where I left off, I believe General Sivingdon should be allowed to cross the border. As many of you know, General Sivingdon isn’t a bloodthirsty man. He’s no warmonger. Why . . . many of you must remember the mercy he showed to the rebels several years ago after quelling that rebellion in the east. This is not a man eager to shed blood or to plunge our country into war. This is a man who wants to save our country from destruction. Now, keep in mind sending emissaries will take time. General Sivingdon says that the tracks will not be visible for much longer, due to heavy rainfall. By the time we send emissaries all the way to
the City of Sodorf—assuming, they aren’t attacked or even killed along the way—and get permission to send Dachwaldian soldiers and trackers into Sodorf, there aren’t going to be any tracks left!
“Then what will we have to depend on—the pity of the Sodorfians?! After all, we won’t have any proof of Sodorfian involvement at that point other than our word. They will be unlikely to believe us and will in no way be obligated to assist us. In the event that they were to do so, it would only be out of philanthropic goodwill. Do you all want to stake the lives of millions of Dachwaldians on Sodorfian philanthropy?! On the philanthropy of a people that, despite that fact they’re not at war with us as far as we know, trusts us as far as they can throw us?! They also have an agrarian economy and aren’t exactly going to be keen on living on rations to support a people they fought a vicious war against years ago, especially if they feel there’s no proof Sodorfians are to blame. Most likely, they won’t offer us any assistance! We’ll be lucky if our emissaries aren’t attacked in the City of Sodorf itself, so great is the suspicion that still exists between our two peoples!
“Now, consider an alternative scenario: We decide to authorize Sivingdon to cross the border, which, yes, would be a violation of our treaty; I do not argue with that. If we send a messenger today to authorize Sivingdon to cross the border, he could find out just how far into Sodorf these tracks actually lead while there is still time. Senators, I am, as you know, a very, very old man; I probably don’t have much time left in this world. Something tells me this wasn’t the work of Sodorfians. Our great king earlier gave reasons for which we shouldn’t believe it was the Dachwaldians; he makes a strong argument. But there is even stronger evidence the Sodorfians wouldn’t want to do such a thing. All of our spy reports inform us Sodorf is experiencing peace and comfort. Their harvests have been rich and plentiful; they’ve suffered very few rebellions or attacks, and as a result they have drastically cut back not only the size of their military but also the quality thereof. These certainly aren’t the qualities of a nation itching for war. And although they must also know our military isn’t strong and that the sentiment in Dachwald is peaceful, they certainly know if they launched such a devastating attack on our economy and livelihood and we discovered they did it, our peaceful sentiment would be transformed into a desire for martial vengeance. Senators, daring though it may be, I strongly suspect that if we were to allow General Sivingdon to cross the border into Sodorf our trackers would quickly find these tracks circling back around and going either back into Dachwald or into some neighboring country. Perhaps the Seleganians to the east or the Metinvurs to the west either wish to wage war on us or force Sodorf and us into war with each other so we’ll destroy each other and let them pick up the pieces. Or, and I know that many of you might find this fantastical, perhaps this is the work of the Moscorians—”
Pandemonium broke out. The senators shouted, “ABSURD! This is fantasy! He’s gone mad!” and many other derisive remarks. King Duchenwald shouted them down like a father dealing with unruly children and requested Gullingsor to continue.
“As you know,” Gullingsor said, picking up where he left off, “no one knows exactly what happened to the Moscorians. Those of you who have studied history know that after the Seven Years War, the Moscorians quickly fell out of favor. Many people feared civil war would break out and the Moscorian elite would attempt a coup d’état and fight against the Vechengschaft. Mysteriously, and very contrary to their truculent nature, they simply vanished, no one knowing where exactly they went to, nor what happened to them. No one knew either what happened to Tristan, the almost mythical person purported to be a grandmaster of Glisphin and the leader of the Moscorians and the source of their ideology. Now, many of you may think such a person never existed, that he was simply a bit of Dachwaldian legend. But many of you also know that there are numerous surviving accounts of the Seven Years War reporting many amazing feats by the Moscorians: for example, fighting for days without rest, or sustaining wounds that would have killed the average person and yet resuming fighting within days without any apparent ill effects. Maybe these accounts are all fantasy, maybe not. But the fact remains most historians agree the sudden disappearance of the Moscorians was baffling and nonsensical. No historian has ever been able to come up with a convincing explanation as to their demise. Many of you are probably wondering why this old man is rambling on and on about legends, history, and folklore when we have a very pressing matter at hand. I am simply trying to make you consider all the options and to remember that things aren’t always what they seem. I propose that at the very least we authorize General Sivingdon to cross the border with certain limitations.
“For example, to cross the border but not fight except in self-defense. If this indeed was the work of some outsider trying to instigate a conflict between us and Sodorf, probably a few miles into Sodorf, there will be evidence of this. Such a large group of people couldn’t march very far south into Sodorf without being detected themselves. No, they would march south for several miles and then change course, going back to their true homeland, hoping all the while we don’t have the courage to cross the border and find this out for ourselves. If it does turn out to be Sodorfians that did this and General Sivingdon and his men come across them and engage them in combat, then I don’t think there is a man here who would say he’d be acting unjustifiably. If General Sivingdon and his men cross the border and are confronted by Sodorfian soldiers, Sivingdon can present to them a letter signed by all of us stating immense agricultural damage has been incurred in Dachwald and appears to have been carried out by Sodorfians and that to rule the Sodorfians out as the perpetrators, we couldn’t waste any time in diplomatic wrangling and had to cross the border to find out who or what was responsible, lest the tracks be washed away by the rain and leave a horrible doubt as to who caused the damage. If the Sodorfians truly seek peace, then they will understand our position and, in a spirit of peace, assist us in hunting down those responsible. If, having heard our motives, and being given the opportunity to send their troops across our border to see the damage for themselves, they still seek to attack us, then it would be they who would be in the wrong, not we. For they would almost certainly do the same thing if the situation were reversed. That is all.”
Gullingsor took his seat. An uneasy silence invaded the room and lasted for several minutes. The senators weighed the words they had heard and tried to assess their impact on their fellow senators. Even King Duchenwald was silent.
Finally, he broke the silence. “How do you respond to these words?”
Silence still.
“Come, speak up.
“Fine, I will speak. I must admit Gullingsor’s words powerfully argue for a completely different approach to this whole matter. Our initial response was affected more by a literal interpretation of an ancient treaty and how best to follow it. Gullingsor’s words, on the other hand, go far deeper. He asks us to not simply parrot what is written in an ancient treaty, but ask ourselves what is in Dachwald’s best interest under these extreme circumstances. Usually, we could deliberate for weeks—go home, think it over, take time to make sure we make the right decision. Unfortunately, time isn’t one of our present allies. We must vote now. Do we authorize General Sivingdon to enter Sodorf, or do we send emissaries? We’ll follow the decision of the majority.”
He distributed tablets amongst the senators. Every senator’s vote was worth one vote; King Duchenwald’s, two; and, he would decide in the event of a tie. Twenty agonizing minutes of silence ensued while the senators weighed the pros and cons of each course of action. When they had all decided, they delivered their votes personally to King Duchenwald. Once the votes were all tallied, King Duchenwald read the results: eight votes for allowing General Sivingdon to cross the border, fourteen for sending emissaries. The senators eyed each other, wondering which way their counterparts had cast the die.
“Well
, rightly or wrongly, we’ve decided against allowing Sivingdon to cross. Now let us proceed swiftly and not lose any time.” King Duchenwald said.
An uneasy round of applause ensued. Lifeless applause. Like the applause you give watching a rival receive an award that was rightfully yours. Even those who had voted against letting Sivingdon cross the border were starting to second-guess themselves. The decision was made.
King Duchenwald left the room, as did the senators, and he handpicked two emissaries to go to the City of Sodorf. Their names were Sifindel and Lixen. Both spoke Sodorfian fluently and were knowledgeable of Sodorfian customs. Ten of the king’s best bodyguards were also chosen to protect the two emissaries on their journey. Three of the bodyguards wore a sword as their main weapon, both long swords, weighing about forty pounds each and measuring five feet in length. Two carried longbows; three carried crossbows; another, a large halberd; and the tenth, a long flail.
This flail was a terrifying weapon. The steel pole to which one end of the chain was attached was about three feet long, and the other end of the chain was attached to a steel ball about ten inches in diameter. Fifteen razor-sharp spikes protruded from it, some straight outward, others at an angle. The spikes protruding straight would hit their target more or less head-on. The curved spikes would tear and cut through flesh. And they had the additional benefit of being able to hook an opponent’s armor, drag him to the ground, and take him on a nice, long ride. They could also be used to hook an opponent’s weapon and yank it from his grasp, leaving him as defenseless as a woman in a dark alley.
All the bodyguards were heavily armored, but their horses were lightly armored because speed was essential. The horses they and the emissaries would be riding were anything but ordinary. They were spider horses.
Many, many centuries ago, a man who was both a horse-breeding expert and a dabbler in magic figured out a way, using a secret combination of magical herbs and breeding, to produce horses with an extra pair of legs in the front and in the back, as well as razor-sharp teeth. Although the secrets for creating these horses were long lost, there were still a small number of them because Dachwaldian kings had continued breeding them with one other. Only the king could own one of these horses, but in the event of war or emergency sometimes generals or emissaries were allowed to borrow them. Dachwaldian kings had long dreaded the idea of their enemies getting a hold of these horses and breeding their own.
Fortunately for the Dachwaldian kings, there was a special recipe of oats—which the Dachwaldian kings guarded very closely—these horses had to eat, without which they would turn incredibly vicious, attack everyone and everything in sight, and then die within weeks. It was for this reason that over the centuries, although occasionally spider horses were captured by other nations, they weren’t able to hang on to them. The horses turned on their new owners, who were utterly ignorant of the special oats they required, and devoured them with their sharp teeth or pulverized them with their powerful, sharp-hoofed legs.
The party got onto their spider horses—two large bags of special oats inside each saddlebag—and headed towards General Sivingdon. The saddle used was very different. There was a large, extra piece of leather brought tightly over the rider’s legs to prevent him from falling off. Another piece of leather covered nearly all of the rider’s back, and it was tied around the front of the horse’s neck and trunk. This was to keep the rider from flying off when the horse galloped. Also, shock-absorbent leather helped the rider not to injure his back when he was thrust backwards. Anybody attempting to ride one without this special equipment would either have to be a master horseman or have a death wish.
The horses took off like an arrow shot out of a longbow, the harnesses straining against the riders’ backward momentum.
During their ride, they passed Efenktor, whose horse was traveling at top speed, and he was astonished to see the party gallop past him as if he were standing still. He had a head start of at least several hours, and now, less than two hours after these men on their spider horses had taken off from Castle Dachwald, they had already passed him.
The senate sure didn’t take too long to make up its mind, Efenktor thought to himself, watching the spider horses grow smaller and smaller off in the distance. Did the king and senate decide to give General Sivingdon permission to cross the border? As he wondered about this, he urged his horse to go faster.