Chapter 25
“This is outrageous!” shouted Fritzer. All of the Sodorfian nobles huddled around the gore-covered, frightened-to-death young Sodorfian soldier nodded their heads in consent. “They once again wish to enslave us!” Fritzer said. “Just like in the Seven Years War! The next Dachwaldian who even sets foot into our country must be killed on the spot!” he added.
“Fritzer,” Bundor said, “the evidence certainly does seem to show this was an ambush laid by the Dachwaldians. I don’t question that. But let’s not be overly swift to shed blood. Let’s send warriors to go and check out the site of this ambush and look at the evidence. Then, they can come back and tell us their conclusion. If they conclude it was a Dachwaldian ambush, then I’m in agreement with you: We will have to look to our defenses, and we will have to ready ourselves for a possible attack. Possibly an imminent one. However, regarding your desire that the next Dachwaldian who even sets foot into our country be killed, I say this is too hasty. Let’s give anyone that comes from Dachwald into our country one warning to turn around and go back the way he came, at top-speed, and that if he returns he will be killed.”
“I suppose that’s reasonable enough,” said Fritzer, his hot temper cooling slightly, “but I’ll certainly ensure the people going to investigate don’t suffer a similar massacre. I’m sending all six thousand Sodorfian Hugars!”
“All of them?!” responded Bundor. “That will leave only ten thousand troops to protect the rest of Sodorf, and the rest are Sodorfian regulars, not nearly as skillful as the Hugars.”
“There’s always some risk when it comes to military maneuvers. However, as you well know, our spy reports indicate the entire Vechengschaft only has nine thousand men. Even if they sent over every last man, that would still be a thousand less than we will have defending the rest of Sodorf. I say it’s a reasonable decision, and I am the elected leader this year. Granted, the position is normally just administrative, but during times of war or dire threat of war, the nobles have the option of increasing the leader’s power until the emergency passes. We simply don’t have the time to be voting on every single decision right now, and if you aren’t willing to give me that power, give it to another noble then. Someone must take charge!”
The nobles unanimously expressed their approval of his powers being increased.
“Send for General Fuhdor,” he commanded. Without delay, a messenger was sent for him, and about forty-five minutes later he arrived.
“Yes, Sir Fritzer,” he said; “I have heard about the horrible massacre. Do you want me to go and investigate?”
“Yes, I do. I authorize you to use military force against anyone crossing the border, unless they are carrying a white flag, in which case you are to give them one warning and one warning only to promptly go back to where they came from. No second warnings.”
“How many of my Hugars shall I take with me?”
“All of them,” Fritzer replied, looking the general dead in the eye. General Fuhdor was stunned and immediately sensed the gravity of the situation.
He summoned his Hugars and set off for the site of the ambush. When he and his men got there the next day, they were all sickened by what they saw. Body parts everywhere. Maggots gnawing away at the dead. Flies buzzing around. Fuhdor was disgusted by the gore covering the tree with the severed rope attached to it. He looked high into the trees but could not see what exactly the rope had been attached to. He pulled out his telescope and looked.
Nothing.
As he looked at the smashed remains of what once had been strapping young soldiers, he vomited. He would have been embarrassed under other circumstances, but this was unlike anything he had ever seen. And it wasn’t just the sight. There was also the smell. It smelled as bad as 524 rotting people filling the bellies of millions of maggots possibly could. Most of his men were puking their guts out.
He regained his composure and examined the bodies. The force of the spear had been so great when it hit these men that huge cracks had gone throughout all of their armor, like the cracks formed when a rock is thrown onto ice. Some pieces of armor had been knocked clean off even though they were not even at the point where the spear made contact. And then there were those who had been cut in half. It was chilling how clean the cuts were. They had been sliced through like a hot knife through butter.
“The bastards are going to pay for this,” he said under his breath.
The remainder of the bodies—those that had not been mauled by the devilish device—were pincushions. Some had been pierced clean through by so many arrows that they were partly propped up, not touching the ground. A diligent student of military history, he knew the feathers on these arrows were those used by the Vechengschaft.
“THE BASTARDS ARE GOING TO PAY!” he said again angrily, this time shouting.
Just as these words were leaving his mouth he heard the sound of approaching horses.
“Horsemen approaching!” announced a Sodorfian picket.
General Fuhdor pulled out his telescope and looked through it. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
Approaching southward down the path appeared to be a group of Dachwaldians.
“READY YOUR WEAPONS!!” he screamed furiously at his men. Some used crossbows, and they immediately loaded them with arrows. Others had bows—not longbows, but quite large—and they promptly, but calmly, fitted them with arrows. Most of the rest had swords, which they quickly unsheathed and held ready for battle.
Fuhdor began walking towards the Dachwaldians. When he was within thirty feet of them, he could see eight bodyguards and one emissary. The emissary was carrying a white flag.
“I’m giving you one, and only one, warning to get out of here and not look back! You’re lucky you’re not already full of arrows!”
“Good Sir,” replied Lixen, “there has been a big mistake; we had no knowledge of the ambush. We are going to conduct an investigation; we—”
“Now you listen to me, you treacherous, two-tongued, lying son of a whore! I don’t want to hear ANY of your lies!!” General Fuhdor responded. He then proceeded to raise his crossbow and shoot an arrow right through the white flag of truce Lixen was holding.
“That is how much respect I have for your flag of truce!! Now, if your back isn’t turned and you’re not heading back to where you came from in ten seconds, the next arrow’s going to be aimed right at your throat. And I have deadly good aim.”
Lixen was disappointed, but not surprised. As he and the eight bodyguards had neared this scene of carnage, they had seen the bodies. From where he was sitting on his horse while having this exchange with General Fuhdor, he could see even more terrible destruction further down the road. Although it was several hundred feet away, the sight was still disgusting enough to make him nearly sick. He had known the odds were nearly nil that the Sodorfians would listen to him. It was no use.
“Let’s go,” he said to his bodyguards dejectedly. They turned around and headed back north.
When they crossed back into Dachwald, they began to speak with General Sivingdon.
“I will launch a thorough investigation into this, and I will show no mercy to the perpetrators when I find them!” he said angrily.
But days turned into weeks and weeks into months. After about three months, still no evidence had been found by General Sivingdon or his subordinates that any of the Vechengschaft had crossed into Sodorf at all. Sivingdon had his most trusted, able trackers scour the area to see if there were any tracks from Vechengschaft troops going into Sodorf. None.
The situation was getting bad in Dachwald. Rations had already been reduced by seventy-five percent throughout the south. The northern regions had seen about a fifty-percent decrease. Even the senators and the king had suffered a twenty-five percent decrease in their rations; of course, they still ate well compared to the rest of the country. Much to their frustration, the
one-hundred-man committee they had appointed had failed to find any useful information at all. They were as perplexed as Sivingdon.
People throughout Dachwald were showing signs of malnutrition, losing their teeth, growing emaciated.
Crime was on the rise. Before, one could travel throughout the whole countryside without fear of being attacked or robbed. Now, you’d better have a good reason to do any traveling across the countryside because you were risking your life. Gangs of hunger-crazed Dachwaldians roamed the countryside, ready to attack anyone they thought might have food.
Or anyone who looked like food.
Unconfirmed stories of cannibalism had begun circulating. Stories were being told about wealthy people being attacked, killed, cooked, (although not always in that order) and then eaten by bands of Dachwaldian cannibals.
Some had begun mixing sawdust with their food.
In spite of the fact it did no good nutritionally, it filled up your stomach if only for a short while. Women were so malnourished they couldn’t produce breast milk, so thousands of infants were dying. The country was transforming. Before, people had talked about peace, shunned war as a barbaric activity, and encouraged philosophy and the writing of poetry. The Vechengschaft was looked down upon by many, especially those in universities, as remnants of a barbaric, outdated past. Most common people had not gone to quite this extreme, but they didn’t feel there was much point in having a military, much less a powerful one. It had been so long since they had had any kind of military conflict or any serious suffering. Especially on this scale.
Rioting became common throughout the numerous cities of Dachwald. As a result, security at Castle Dachwald had increased drastically. The number of guards assigned to guarding the castle gates, walls, towers, and especially the underground tunnels had nearly tripled. The senators and the king were horrified at the crimes being committed throughout Dachwald due to hunger, but they didn’t know how to stop it. If they could just make it through this winter, they told themselves, they could plant food again, and everything would go back to normal. But making it through the winter at this rate was going to be a long shot. It had the kind of odds that would scare even the most compulsive gambler from placing a bet.
The king and senators feared revolution was imminent. They got so scared they even cut their own rations by fifty percent. They prayed rumors would circulate about just how gaunt they had become, how they were suffering right along with everyone else.
They considered hunting. Unfortunately, the vast majority of Dachwaldians hadn’t hunted for centuries. The land to the north was ripe with game, and had enough animals to feed everyone until they burst. But no Dachwaldian was skilled enough to hunt in the northern regions. These were unforgiving lands. In addition to the animals that would be easy prey and make good meals—deer, caribou, fish, squirrels, etc.—there were . . . others. Animals that weren’t so soft and cuddly. Animals that could wipe out small hunting parties in a matter of minutes. Bears measuring over fifteen feet tall and weighing over two thousand pounds, with flesh so thick and muscles so large most arrows wouldn’t even come close to reaching a vital organ. Wolves the size of deer traveling in packs as large as, and occasionally exceeding, a hundred. Wolves that made the vicious northern wolves of Sodorf look like the kind of pet you’d buy for your three-year-old daughter’s birthday party. A few Dachwaldians, out of sheer hunger and madness, had gone to the northern regions to try to hunt. Those Dachwaldians weren’t seen again.
The king and senators reached the sober conclusion there was no chance of completely rectifying the situation. Thousands more would die and suffer. However, in order to avoid revolution, something had to be done to show the Dachwaldian people their government wasn’t a bunch of incompetents. Someone had to be punished. A scapegoat was necessary. This idea was first set forth by a shrewd senator about a month after the disastrous incident with the Sodorfians, but King Duchenwald had rejected it initially as being underhanded. After about three months, however, he brought the senate together to discuss the proposition again. After some difficulty, they decided the only person whose punishment could possibly quell the wrath of the Dachwaldians sufficiently to prevent rioting was none other than General Sivingdon himself. After dozens of lengthy debates and discussions, the senators decided, nearly unanimously, that the best approach would be to falsify reports and state that the hundred-man committee, after a lengthy and careful investigation, had found out General Sivingdon had secretly and illegally ordered fifty Vechengschaft soldiers to cross the Sodorfian border and attack the Sodorfians.
Crooked work lay ahead.
Forgeries would have to be made, confessions extracted—by whatever means necessary.
The Dachwaldians knew there had been an attack on the Sodorfians by some unknown persons, and that as a result all chances of obtaining assistance from Sodorf had vanished. They were angry about the attack, but none concluded the Vechengschaft was responsible. But . . . they could be led to believe this, and that was all that mattered. Once the populace found out General Sivingdon was to blame for their suffering, they would scream for his blood.
And the government would give it.
They would publicly execute him and fifty Vechengschaft soldiers, who would all sign confessions to having participated in the egregious attack. This wouldn’t solve the hunger problem, but it might stave off revolution. That would have to do.
They had to tread carefully, however. If they simply tried to round up fifty Vechengschaft soldiers and General Sivingdon, they would all be slaughtered like a gang of pups taking on a group of angry lions. No, they would have to be methodical. They came up with a plan. It was understood, even by the Vechengschaft, that the investigation committee had arrest powers and could call people in for questioning.
The king and senators prepared lists of people to be “questioned.”
The committee members took no great amount of convincing to go along with the scheme. The king knew better than to pick an investigation committee that was afraid to get a little blood on its hands. The committee members went around to the various Vechengschaft camps and, one by one, summoned individual soldiers to Castle Dachwald for questioning. These soldiers were then tortured mercilessly in a dungeon below the king’s palace used for the most hideous of purposes. The torture could make a man admit to cheating in a game of poker with the gods if it would make the pain stop. Once all fifty signed confessions had been obtained, the king and senators decided to make their next move. They summoned the general.
General Sivingdon was finishing breakfast when he received the message:
Esteemed General Sivingdon:
It is imperative that you report to the senate chambers at Castle Dachwald immediately. A matter of the highest urgency must be discussed.
Your prompt compliance with this request is greatly appreciated.
Yours truly,
His Majesty King Duchenwald
Perplexed, he got on his horse and rode to the palace. Upon entering, he was escorted by guards to the senate chambers. All the senators were there, and it was obvious hunger had taken its toll even on Dachwald’s elite. Even King Duchenwald, formerly a grotesquely fat man, was now thin.
These starvation rations have probably been good for your health, he thought.
Those senators that had been medium-sized or even thin before the “Great Famine” (the name it had already earned) were now walking skeletons.
“Greetings, King and senators. I have come before you as requested,” General Sivingdon said. He noticed that the king’s eyes—and those of the senators, for that matter—looked tense and uneasy.
Something was amiss.
“General Sivingdon, you have served this country for many years, and we are grateful. We can never repay you for all the times you kept order when domestic disturbances have broken out or for your leadership during some of the skirmishes we
have had with our neighbors. But, recently, some very unpleasant news has reached our ears. People from your own ranks have come forward and confessed that YOU gave the order for them to go and attack the Sodorfians. Now—”
“But, Your Majesty, this is outrageous! This is slander! How dare these vile men speak such treacheries about me?! I would have never endangered the fragile peace we enjoyed with the Sodorfians. If I had wanted to do so, I would simply have taken the Vechengschaft across the border into Sodorf without even asking for YOUR permission, and would have CRUSHED those vile maggots and made them pay for what they did to our farms! We would now be served by them as our slaves, not starving like wretches; mothers and fathers would not be going mad with hunger and eating their own children; people would not be eating sawdust! NO, I did not order any of my Vechengschaft to attack, and I believe that none of them did. The only witnesses we have to this supposed massacre of Sodorfians were eight bodyguards and one emissary. No military officer viewed this supposed bloodbath. The whole thing was probably made up by Sodorfians to distract us from discovering that they did indeed ravage our farms, probably as a preliminary move to INVADING OUR COUNTRY, which, with the current state of affairs here, would not prove overly difficult!! A rowdy band of barbarians from the east could wipe this country of walking skeletons right off the map with a good stiff blow of air. With the abominable cuts in military expenditures that we have suffered over the centuries following our ignominious surrender to the perfidious Sodorfians, it probably never would have taken much of an army to wipe us out, and just look at us now: pitiful, starving, vulnerable! Furthermore, even if there was indeed a massacre of Sodorfians, it was probably a massacre ordered and sanctioned by none other than the Sodorfian nobles themselves! What better way to make themselves the victims and prevent us from discovering what they clearly did to our farms?!
“Those despicable maggots have always sought to prevent Dachwald from becoming great again, the way she once was. They have always sought to destroy our people! Believe me—no Vechengschaft soldiers attacked the Sodorfians! They wouldn’t dare do so without my explicit orders! And furthermore, these vile Sodorfians—”
“I have heard ENOUGH of your invective,” shouted King Duchenwald. “Do you DARE defy me?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
(not yet)
“Good. Now, you will of course receive a fair trial. We will see if the accusations brought forth by these fifty Vechengschaft soldiers are true or not. We will see if they are lying. If they are, they will be executed, and the committee will continue its investigation. However . . . and, believe me, this is not easy for me to say . . . as of right now, we have no choice but to relieve you of your command. You must turn over your sword and your armor immediately. The Vechengschaft and the rest of the populace will be notified tomorrow of the upcoming trial and of you being relieved of your command pending the trial. The people of Dachwald must and SHALL know that we do not take treason lightly at any level, no matter how high!! Your trial will be public; if you are found innocent, you will be reinstated as general of the Vechengschaft. If you are found guilty . . . .” King Duchenwald paused.
He looked down.
“If you are found guilty . . . well, you will be executed.”
“Treason? Executed? Your words cut deeply. I do indeed look forward to looking into the eyes of every one of these so-called ‘soldiers’ who are falsely claiming that I gave them this command. I doubt they will have the nerve to tell their lies to my face!”
“You will be judged based upon their written confessions. You will not be permitted to cross-examine them or see them.”
Sivingdon looked like someone had just thrown a brick and hit him square in the nose. As the shock subsided, however, it was replaced with something else: fury. It rose inside his soul like lava exiting a place where it had rested calmly for centuries, now shooting upwards to erupt.
“This is outrageous! This is a violation of the constitution of this great land! I am being considered guilty until proven innocent and will not have the chance to look my accusers in the eye?! This goes against everything our legal system stands for!”
“Stood for,” corrected King Duchenwald. “That system is for times of peace; this is clearly a national emergency and will be treated as such. You have mere seconds to turn over your sword and armor, or I will have twenty of my fiercest royal bodyguards subdue and imprison you!!”
General Sivingdon was stunned. The lava was not quite ready for eruption.
It rested again. Shock replacing it.
For now.
He felt like everything he had ever believed in had just been proven to be a complete lie. He had believed that Dachwald was a just country. He had believed it had fair laws and a good constitution. He was flabbergasted and sickened. Reluctantly, sadly, and very slowly, he removed his sword and sheath from his belt and removed his breastplate armor, which bore the insignia indicating his generalship. He set it on the ground before the king.
“The trial will be in two days,” said King Duchenwald. “It will be a public trial and will be held in the town square at noon. Please do not show your face around here until then, and get out!”
These last words stung deeply, like a whip on bare skin. He didn’t know what to think. He strongly suspected he was being made a scapegoat. Perhaps some soldiers, mad with hunger, were enticed with the promise of food or out of fear had invented this lie to take the heat off of their shoulders and point the blame in another direction. He turned around and stormed out of the room. As he did so, he looked at the senators’ faces. They were also watching him closely, but as soon as he made eye contact, they quickly looked down or off in another direction, unable to meet his fierce gaze.
As he walked out of the castle gates and back to his mansion, he felt his life was over. He had lost his generalship, upon which he had based most of his sense of purpose and self-worth for nearly as long as he could remember. He had always been patriotic towards Dachwald. He loved her. He had been raised on stories of Dachwaldian legends, of times when Dachwaldians ruled large areas of land and were rich and prosperous. Over time, they had been constantly thwarted from success, however, by the . . . Sodorfians.
(the DAMN Sodorfians)
The Sodorfians had always acted to undermine the Dachwaldians. Oh, yes. This was all the more apparent now. They had ransacked the largest, most vital farms in Dachwald, feigned a desire at alliance, and then pretended to be attacked by Dachwaldians. And all this for what?
(to soften you up for the kill)
If the Sodorfians attacked now, after all, it wouldn’t be the least bit difficult for them to conquer Dachwald. They could probably do so within a few months. Maybe weeks. As these infuriating thoughts raced through his mind, the most pressing demanded attention.
(you’re going to be publicly discredited, humiliated, and EXECUTED!)
How would they do it? he wondered. By archers? The gallows? The ax? He shuddered.
His entire life he had strived for honor and integrity. Sure, there was perhaps some chance he would be found not guilty,
(sure, and one day pigs will fly, monkeys will write poetry, and fish will walk on land holding hands with one another)
but the odds were too low for him to risk it. He knew the government was all too happy to have a scapegoat, especially one as important as him, to blame and thereby shift the focus off its own horrible mistakes and misjudgments that had gotten the Dachwaldian people into this horrible predicament in the first place. He knew the Sodorfians were responsible for this.
(It was a bold move. I’ll give the bastards credit for that, damn ‘em!)
They had gambled on Dachwaldian weakness and pacifism and had won.
(If only you could have taken your troops across the border, you could have crushed them!)
As he thought about this more and more, it became clear there was no
reason to go on living. It was time to hang up his sword. Call it a night. His last night.
(can’t win ‘em all sometimes that’s just the way the crap falls)
After living a life of such honor and dedication, he wouldn’t allow himself to be publicly shamed and humiliated as King Duchenwald and the senators obviously planned on doing. There were two options: flee or kill himself. The first option had some appeal to it: He could thereby demonstrate the utter inefficiency of the Dachwaldian government when they failed to find him.
(and you know if you chose to disappear you could; you’re adept at surviving off of the land; you’re knowledgeable about the geography of the mountains and forests of the northern regions; hell, with any luck there will be a revolution and the king and senators will get their just deserts);
However, after thinking it over some more, he decided that he couldn’t live the rest of his life on the run, being thought of as a coward and a criminal. No, unfortunately, he was going to have to hang up his sword and leave this rotten world, this world that had ungratefully decided to use him as a scapegoat despite a lifetime of service to his country. He began considering the different ways he could do the job. He could stab himself with his sword, cut his femoral or carotid artery, jump off a cliff, hang himself. After mulling these options over, he decided he would prefer hanging.
He decided that his death would be completely in vain, however, if he did not leave a note behind explaining why he killed himself. Taking out some parchment and a quill pen, he wrote these words:
I, General Sivingdon, have been forced, due to the egregious injustices of the Dachwaldian government, to take my own life in order to prevent being unjustly and falsely exposed to shame and dishonor. I have been falsely accused of ordering the Vechengschaft to attack the Sodorfians and thereby angering the latter to the point of not being willing to assist us during this horrible famine. Ashamed of the fact that indeed the Sodorfians were to blame and that they should have allowed me to avenge their evil deed from the beginning, the Dachwaldian government, to cover up its own mistakes, cowardice, and stupidity, has decided to come up with bogus claims against me and put me in a capital trial wherein I will be considered guilty until proven innocent and will not have the right to even see, much less confront or cross-examine, my accusers. I implore all those who love Dachwald to rise up against this horrible government and remove its leaders. They are not worthy of ruling this wonderful nation.
It was getting quite dark by now. Sivingdon put the note inside his pocket and began walking towards a cliff nearby his mansion. Part of him wanted to go and say goodbye to his wife before turning in, but he knew if he saw her face he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
It had to be done.
By the cliff, there was a tree, one of whose branches extended over the side of the cliff. He went to his barn and got a twenty-foot rope and came back to the tree. Ironically, it was a beautiful night. Its contradiction to his current circumstances could not have been greater. It was slightly cold. Winters didn’t get very cold in the southern regions of Dachwald, but they did in the north. The moon was full; the stars shone brightly.
“Well, at least I get to die on a beautiful night in this beautiful country that I love so very much,” he said out loud, not giving a rotten damn if anyone heard him. He took the rope and began forming a noose. He had never hanged a man before, but he certainly had plenty of expertise tying knots. It only took a few moments before he had a perfectly formed noose. He tied the other end to the tree and then wrapped the noose around his neck as he looked off into distance.
“What a damn beautiful country I live in,” he said out loud. He was saddest about leaving his wife, but he did not want her to have to endure the shame of being the widow of a disgraced, executed husband. Perhaps this way, at least, he and she might retain some of their honor.
“Well, ancestors, here I come to spend eternity with you,” he said. He went to the cliff and, without too much hesitation, jumped.
He could feel the wind rushing by his face as he fell, and then suddenly he stopped. Here it comes, he thought to himself: I’ll meet my ancestors.
But he didn’t.
No ancestors.
Wind still rushing against his face. He wasn’t dead. Somehow, he was even breathing normally. This couldn’t be.
(Have I gone insane? Has this all been a horrible dream and nothing more? Am I going to wake up any second?)
Suddenly he felt himself being lifted. Very, very slowly.
“What in Uchinweld’s going on?!!” he shouted.
He continued being levitated. The rope was now hanging limp and lifeless below him . . . yet it was still around his neck. Suddenly, he felt his body being turned.
What he saw nearly made him wet himself. Hundreds of tall, blonde, armor-clad figures, heavily equipped with crossbows, halberds, and swords facing him. In front of them all was a tall, thin man with white hair and eyes as blue as the sky.
(What in Kasani!?)
“Have you given up on Dachwald so easily?” the tall, thin man asked.
“Oh, I see,” he said; “I am dead; you all must be Dachwaldian heroes from years gone by. Well, yes, I apologize; I did indeed give up on Dachwald, but I think it would also be fair to say that Dachwald gave up on—”
“YOU FOOL!!” the tall man thundered. “You’re not dead, and for that you should be thankful, for anyone who has given up on Dachwald, like you were about to, wouldn’t end up in Cixore with Dachwaldian heroes from long ago, but rather in Siphore, to be tormented by Sodorfian scum for eternity!! Now, I ask you again—HAVE you given up on Dachwald? You’re not dead. You are in fact being levitated by the last surviving grandmaster of Glisphin, and if I do not like the next answer that comes out of your mouth, I’ll let you drop; the noose will snap your neck; and you will quickly find out what happens to cowards like you who give up on Dachwald without first shedding their last drop of blood! Now, HAVE YOU given up on Dachwald, or would you like to regain her?!!!”
Sivingdon was in shock. On the one hand, he was experiencing something unexplainable—gravity appeared to be taking the night off. On the other hand, this terrifying person—if he could even be called a person—was arousing his instincts of fear far more greatly than his instincts of doubt.
“W-w-w-well, of course, I’d like to regain her, but I think that it would be nearly impossible. She’s run by cowards and weaklings, and the Sodorfians have plunged us into famine!!”
The shadowy figure smiled. “Good answer,” he said. “You just might survive the night. I decided to save you from killing yourself tonight. Do you know why? Because I’ve been watching you. That’s right. You don’t know it, but I have eyes and ears in many, many places. I know that your heart would like to see Dachwald strong again and to wholly crush the perfidious Sodorfian maggots, but you thought it impossible. Well, let me ask you a question: If I gave you my word that it was not only possible, but probable that this goal could indeed be a reality, to what extent would you go to see this dream achieved?”
Sivingdon was flabbergasted. “I’d do anything! I’d go to the end of the earth, fight the devil . . . give up my soul!”
The man smiled. “Good answer. Now, one more question. One of the reasons I chose you was because I believe you know about Dachwald’s grand past, how we were betrayed at the end of the Seven Years War. Let me ask you, do you know who these men are?”
Having said this, the men lit torches and held them close to their faces so that Sivingdon could get a good look at them. He was stunned, absolutely speechless. He had done lots of military history research, and he knew what these men appeared to be, but . . . .
(no, that’s impossible, they died centuries ago)
“ANSWER!!” shouted the shadowy figure.
“Well, they l-l-l-look like Moscorians, but s-s-s-surely—”
?
??Right again,” the shadowy figure said. “Your accuracy is improving greatly; at this rate, I strongly believe you’re not only going to survive tonight, but also do great things for Dachwald. However, before I can be totally sure, I have just one last question: who am I?”
Sivingdon hesitated; he thought all the grandmasters of Glisphin had died several millennia ago. According to Dachwaldian history, they had all been hunted to extermination by the Sodorfians . . . but there had been a legend that one had survived, and that this person’s name was Tristan. He hesitated, but he felt more afraid of denying the possibility than affirming it.
“T-T-Tristan?” he said, “The last surviving grandmaster of Glisphin?” He flinched after saying the words; he was afraid he had perhaps spoken incorrectly and would be dropped to a certain death below. Somehow his life had gained immense importance, and he was now scared to death of falling.
“CORRECT!!!” Tristan responded, and then he started moving his fingers in the air, untying the noose without touching it. Once untied, Sivingdon was left hanging in the night air, held by nothing other than unseen forces this man was somehow able to manipulate. Tristan held out his hand, and slowly drew Sivingdon towards him. Sivingdon shuddered as he looked down into the utter blackness which would be his death if Tristan stopped levitating him. He breathed a sigh of relief once his feet hit terra firma.
“Now, the first thing we’re going to have to get straight is the chain of command, from the bottom to the top: the Dachwaldian populace, then the Vechengschaft, then the Moscorians, then me. You will very rarely see me. In fact, you may never see me again. I prefer to work behind the scenes, but, as many of the Moscorians can attest, occasionally I just can’t resist getting involved in the action. Now, as you well know, this country is on the point of collapse, and the current government has got to go. Fortunately for you, the Moscorians here are going to help you take care of that. What I need from you is quite simple. To swear an oath of allegiance to me and to the Moscorians right now. After that, I need you to promise me that once the Moscorians take over and the Vechengschaft has been properly retrained, which will take some time, you will make the Vechengschaft swear loyalty to Feiklen”—Tristan pointed to Feiklen—“as ruler over all of Dachwald. He, of course, will answer to me; but they don’t need to know that. You’re not to mention my name to anyone other than the Moscorians. If you do, I’ll find out. And if and when I find out, you’ll wake up one night to see my face hovering over yours, and it’ll be the last thing you ever see. We’re going to make this country great again—are you with us?”
“Yes, master,” General Sivingdon responded. Tristan then proceeded to have him repeat the oath:
I acknowledge that in this great world that we call Gackse there is one nation and one people destined to rule all others. That nation is Dachwald; its people are Dachwaldians. The destiny intended for Dachwaldians by the powers that created this world was one of conquerors and rulers, not beggars and slaves. For hundreds of millennia the Dachwaldians ruled as intended, but due to the most evil race of man ever conceived—the Sodorfians—the Dachwaldians fell from grace and have continued to be thwarted by their enemy, the Sodorfians. All other peoples can be dealt with and reasoned with, when possible, but as long as there is a Sodorfian alive in this world, Dachwaldians will continue to suffer and anger the gods by failing to live up to the purpose predestined for them. The gods have chosen the Dachwaldians as a favored race, and are angry with the Dachwaldians for failing them time and time again. For great love of the Dachwaldians, however, their paternal love has been ever patient. But it will not always be so, for if we fail to destroy the Sodorfians categorically, the gods will certainly annihilate our people in anger for having let them down. I acknowledge that there is only one group of Dachwaldians strong enough to help the Dachwaldians overcome their petty differences and unite as one to destroy the Sodorfians. That group is the Moscorians; its leader is Tristan, the last of the grandmasters of Glisphin, and the last hope of the Dachwaldians. I hereby swear this solemn oath in front of all present that I will shed my last drop of pure Dachwaldian blood in this struggle against the Sodorfians and will unquestioningly serve the Moscorians and Tristan, who alone can make victory possible, and if I shall ever break this oath, I am aware and it is my desire that my tongue shall be ripped out at the seam and my eyes plucked out.
Tristan smiled. “Welcome,” he said.