Lipmon sat on his bed with his shirt off while Saurek’s personal surgeons sat beside him carefully tugging at the stitches in his side. The surgeon used a small blade to carefully cut the bits of string and then, with a pair of tweezers, he pulled the string out of Lipmon’s skin. Lipmon winced each time the string was pulled out, though the doctor tried to do it as carefully as possible. The pain caused Lipmon to clench his whole body, gripping a pillow in his arms and pressing it firmly against his chest.
“I’m going to tell you one more time that this is a bit premature,” the surgeon said, “We should’ve waited a few more days before I took these ought. I’m really afraid your wound’s going to reopen. And really you should be taking some bed rest. You’re not going to recover by marching through the mountains all day and spending your nights sleeping outside in the cold. As someone interested in your recovery I cannot recommend that you march with the army.”
The surgeon spoke these words as he continued to remove the stitches, and, during this time, Lipmon was silenced by the pain. But, once the surgeon, was finished Lipmon took a long deep breath and in a voice that sounded strained and fatigued he told him, “You’re absolutely right about everything you say. But I’m going anyways. This is all I’ve thought about for the past ten days. Nothing else.”
Lipmon turned his head and looked at the suit of armor that had been laid out for him: a personal gift from Saurek with a sword and shield lying beside it.
After rinsing off the wound, the surgeon advised Lipmon to cleanse the wound regularly and try to keep it covered. The surgeon himself tied a clean strip of cloth around Lipmon’s midsection to protect the wound, telling Lipmon to replace and clean the cloth every day. He last advised Lipmon to try and mitigate his physical activity as much as possible and to take as much sleep and food as he could.
Lipmon heard it all, but was focused on the armor as the surgeon spoke, and, as soon as he was left alone in the room, he began to array himself in the armor. He had to guess at the order that the pieces were supposed to be put on. He put the cuirass—a stiff chest piece made of multiple layers of leather, reinforced by an internal layer of tin—over his shirt, before he realized that the chainmail was probably supposed to be beneath it, since the cuirass’s chest was decorated by an ornate crest, which he assumed was supposed to be displayed. He the discovered that the cuirass had to be tied beneath the arms to make it fit more snuggly. He put on two leather gloves, which extended up and protected his forearms, before he realized he still needed his hands to put on the skirt and boots, which required the dexterity of his naked fingers to put on and tie in place. He put on his helmet last of all, a chainmail aventail dangling from its bottom to protect his neck.
He picked up the metal sword and it felt heavy in his hand. He swung it around clumsily and had difficulty holding it steady and maneuvering it where he wanted it to go. He picked up his round shield last, much lighter than the sword, since it was made of a thin sheet of metal wrapped in several layers of leather skins. Fully decked out, he stood himself in the battle stance he’d seen other soldiers make, with his knees bent, his eyes peaking out over the top of his shield and the sword pointing upwards next to it.
Moments later he was walking hastily towards the Adrus Palace courtyard, the pain from his wound preventing him from moving any faster. When he arrived there, he saw the masses of soldiers departing, their numbers flooding up the stairs and out of the palace in long and regular rows. A continuous stream of them was marching through the archway and the remaining blocks of soldiers were being unwound into this stream.
He walked up to an officer who was overseeing the soldiers and told him, “Lipmon from Still Creek-for, here to join the march.”
“Yes, I know about you,” the officer said, looking him up and down, “You don’t need to be fully armored yet; we’re not in battle. You can stick with me. We’ll join in at the tail, just ahead of the supply carts. Glad to see you could enlist with us. You’re a real patriot, you are.”
“Just here to do my part,” Lipmon said with a smile, while he removed his helmet.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Friday, January 11, 2013
Aresan Clan pt 99
“You walk through the Dunes every day?” Tine asked the General in wonder, “But they are holy ground. And also there’s the blank spot. Because the dunes are always shifting, no one knows precisely where it is. No men dare enter the dunes. Aren’t you afraid?”
“You think there are blind spots in the eyes of God?” General Burlingam laughed good naturedly, “To Anan, the dunes are holy ground, and I walk barefoot, and am always under his protection. If there could possibly be a place where the all-seeing eyes of Anan cannot see and where death could take you instantly down into the underworld to join the ranks of his army for all eternity, then our God should not be so great as I believe he is. And that I cannot accept. The eye of Anan sees all. He saves all from Death. There cannot be any real battle between Anan and Death. The contest between them would be so lopsided to be ridiculous. We humans go into battle to prove which side is the stronger. Between God and Death, no proof is necessary.”
Tine delicately tried to interrupt General Burlingam’s monologue without offending him. He began, “Sorry, but we’ve actually come to ask you to lead the armies of the Omnia. The Fourth Order is launching an attack and we need to organize a defense.”
“When are they expected to attack? And when are our armies expected to march?” the General asked, shifting his line of thought as soon as he heard Tine.
“We expect the Fourth Order to march any day, and we’ve decided to march in four day’s time.”
“Four days?” General Burlingam said, “That’s too soon. Far too soon. What time will there be to train the troops? Training is essential and it can take months to really shape a mass of independently-minded men into an organism with its own unified will. Four days is not enough. We certainly can’t go into war without training. Training is the root and stem of all military strategy. To take any plan I might form in my mind and spread it out onto the battlefield, I need men that obey my will and are capable of doing the things I ask of them. I need to be able, should it be necessary, to send them straight towards death, running and with their eyes wide open. I must have my weapon shaped and ready before I go to battle, and I’m afraid four days is simply not enough time. I will be merely playing in the sand. I’ll be like one trying to plant his flag atop the dunes.”
“Please General, we need you,” Tine pleaded, again trying to delicately interrupt him.
“I know you do,” the General chuckled, “But the question is: do I need you. What does a man need in his waning years more than anything? Immortality. To be saved from the afterlife. But since that isn’t possible, then I can at least attain immortality by means of an undying reputation. I want my name carved onto the surface of eternity. I want it carved onto the wind and onto the flowing streams so that every moment that flows by people will be reminded, ‘General Burlingam served his country and he did it masterfully. He was a man we should calibrate our actions to. Whatever direction he walked, that direction was towards something higher.’ Do you understand what I mean? I want to do something truly great. I’ve had a distinguished military career so far, but true greatness has eluded me. That is what I’ve been waiting for.”
“This will be your opportunity,” Tine said, with quiet earnestness, “It may the beginning of a great war. The biggest in more than a generation most likely.”
“I’ve decided to reserve myself in these final years for a truly great endeavor,” the General confessed, “Is that what this is?”
“Yes,” Tine assured. Tine had to admit to himself that he didn’t quite know what high standard precisely General Burlingam was aiming for, whether this would be great enough to qualify by the General’s standards. But he certainly knew that two large armies would be meeting in battle, and he couldn’t think of any battle so big since he was a child. “Can we expect your leadership, then?” he asked.
“All day long all I can think about are battle strategies,” General Burlingam said, “I think about lines of attack, lines of defense: movement and countermovement. I’d like to see how my ideas respond to reality.”
Tine smiled and said to the General, “We’ll help you pack.”
“You think there are blind spots in the eyes of God?” General Burlingam laughed good naturedly, “To Anan, the dunes are holy ground, and I walk barefoot, and am always under his protection. If there could possibly be a place where the all-seeing eyes of Anan cannot see and where death could take you instantly down into the underworld to join the ranks of his army for all eternity, then our God should not be so great as I believe he is. And that I cannot accept. The eye of Anan sees all. He saves all from Death. There cannot be any real battle between Anan and Death. The contest between them would be so lopsided to be ridiculous. We humans go into battle to prove which side is the stronger. Between God and Death, no proof is necessary.”
Tine delicately tried to interrupt General Burlingam’s monologue without offending him. He began, “Sorry, but we’ve actually come to ask you to lead the armies of the Omnia. The Fourth Order is launching an attack and we need to organize a defense.”
“When are they expected to attack? And when are our armies expected to march?” the General asked, shifting his line of thought as soon as he heard Tine.
“We expect the Fourth Order to march any day, and we’ve decided to march in four day’s time.”
“Four days?” General Burlingam said, “That’s too soon. Far too soon. What time will there be to train the troops? Training is essential and it can take months to really shape a mass of independently-minded men into an organism with its own unified will. Four days is not enough. We certainly can’t go into war without training. Training is the root and stem of all military strategy. To take any plan I might form in my mind and spread it out onto the battlefield, I need men that obey my will and are capable of doing the things I ask of them. I need to be able, should it be necessary, to send them straight towards death, running and with their eyes wide open. I must have my weapon shaped and ready before I go to battle, and I’m afraid four days is simply not enough time. I will be merely playing in the sand. I’ll be like one trying to plant his flag atop the dunes.”
“Please General, we need you,” Tine pleaded, again trying to delicately interrupt him.
“I know you do,” the General chuckled, “But the question is: do I need you. What does a man need in his waning years more than anything? Immortality. To be saved from the afterlife. But since that isn’t possible, then I can at least attain immortality by means of an undying reputation. I want my name carved onto the surface of eternity. I want it carved onto the wind and onto the flowing streams so that every moment that flows by people will be reminded, ‘General Burlingam served his country and he did it masterfully. He was a man we should calibrate our actions to. Whatever direction he walked, that direction was towards something higher.’ Do you understand what I mean? I want to do something truly great. I’ve had a distinguished military career so far, but true greatness has eluded me. That is what I’ve been waiting for.”
“This will be your opportunity,” Tine said, with quiet earnestness, “It may the beginning of a great war. The biggest in more than a generation most likely.”
“I’ve decided to reserve myself in these final years for a truly great endeavor,” the General confessed, “Is that what this is?”
“Yes,” Tine assured. Tine had to admit to himself that he didn’t quite know what high standard precisely General Burlingam was aiming for, whether this would be great enough to qualify by the General’s standards. But he certainly knew that two large armies would be meeting in battle, and he couldn’t think of any battle so big since he was a child. “Can we expect your leadership, then?” he asked.
“All day long all I can think about are battle strategies,” General Burlingam said, “I think about lines of attack, lines of defense: movement and countermovement. I’d like to see how my ideas respond to reality.”
Tine smiled and said to the General, “We’ll help you pack.”
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Aresan Clan pt 98
After word had spread that Alles would lead the Aresan troops, Anders ordered General Burlingam to be invited to lead the Omnian troops. He told Tine, “Alles is a fine commander, undoubtedly, but if we can persuade General Burlingam… I mean, if you can persuade General Burlingam, since I’d like you to go talk to him. If you can persuade him to lead our troops, we’ll be in good shape indeed. Bring some men with you. Be quick about it.”
“I don’t know where we can find him,” Tine replied.
“Far side of the Great Dunes, so far as anyone last heard,” Anders said, “He should be there still now.”
Tine, with soldiers Orick and Jyorg, departed Lamosa on horseback soon thereafter, galloping fast. They aimed themselves directly for the glowing hills of sand located sunriseward from Lamosa, the Great Dunes rising prominently above the valley floor, the Walking Mountains constantly pushed and reshaped by the winds that streamed across the valley.
As morning approached noon and they neared the Great Dunes, the three riders steered summerward to circle around them. Once they’d reached the other side, they turned winterward, heading up the river valley between the dunes and the mountains.
“Everyone tells me his abode is easy to spot,” Tine said to the men, “He has a big red flag on the entrance, apparently.”
They trotted up the valley, keeping their eyes fixed on the slope to their right, which was covered in low, thinly spread shrubbery, that patchily covered the bare face of the rock. After a few minutes of riding, they saw there a red cloth flapping in the strong winds and approached it.
The red cloth was secured on all four corners against the furious wind that blew against it and constantly tried to pull it away. It was all that appeared to be there, but, lifting one corner, which had been affixed to the ground by a hook, they saw that it was the door to a cave dug into the ground.
The three of them entered, calling out General Burlingam’s name, but hearing no response. The space was dark and dusty, but apparently had been fitted out nicely for living in. A mattress lay in a far corner for a bed; a small nook had been carved out at one side, and been fitted out to serve as a fireplace, complete with chimney; and the room was stocked with food. Most notably the room was strewn about with handwritten pages of notes, along with a small desk with ink, plume and more blank pages.
While Tine looked about, Jyorg announced, while standing at the entrance, “There he is.” Jyorg pointed towards the dunes, and the three of them, as they squinted, could see the figure of a man walking down the near slope of the dunes in bare feet. He carried shoes in his hands, and when he arrived at the bottom, he stopped to put them on. He crossed over the river, and ascended the slope to where he saw, with surprise, the three men waiting for him at the entrance to his abode.
“General Mikkei Burlingam Tode,” Tine said to him as he approached, “We have come to speak with you on urgent business.”
“Tine, is it?” General Burlingam said, as he looked at the old soldier. Tine nodded and introduced the other two men with him.
General Burlingam moved at an unhurried pace and seemed to have grown accustomed to a solitary life of idleness and ease. He moved with the deliberate elegance and grace of a choreographed dance with a body that looked every bit as large and imposing as he was when he first started as a rank and file soldier in his youth, though the years had weathered and perhaps slowed him down a bit.
“If you gentlemen would join me inside,” General Burlingam said, slowly entering his cave. He sat down on the ground as the two men followed and he stretched out his legs to rest them and then removed his shoes and began to massage his feet.
“I walk through the dunes everyday,” he explained to his visitors, “It awakens the mind. Lets it flow like the dunes.”
“I don’t know where we can find him,” Tine replied.
“Far side of the Great Dunes, so far as anyone last heard,” Anders said, “He should be there still now.”
Tine, with soldiers Orick and Jyorg, departed Lamosa on horseback soon thereafter, galloping fast. They aimed themselves directly for the glowing hills of sand located sunriseward from Lamosa, the Great Dunes rising prominently above the valley floor, the Walking Mountains constantly pushed and reshaped by the winds that streamed across the valley.
As morning approached noon and they neared the Great Dunes, the three riders steered summerward to circle around them. Once they’d reached the other side, they turned winterward, heading up the river valley between the dunes and the mountains.
“Everyone tells me his abode is easy to spot,” Tine said to the men, “He has a big red flag on the entrance, apparently.”
They trotted up the valley, keeping their eyes fixed on the slope to their right, which was covered in low, thinly spread shrubbery, that patchily covered the bare face of the rock. After a few minutes of riding, they saw there a red cloth flapping in the strong winds and approached it.
The red cloth was secured on all four corners against the furious wind that blew against it and constantly tried to pull it away. It was all that appeared to be there, but, lifting one corner, which had been affixed to the ground by a hook, they saw that it was the door to a cave dug into the ground.
The three of them entered, calling out General Burlingam’s name, but hearing no response. The space was dark and dusty, but apparently had been fitted out nicely for living in. A mattress lay in a far corner for a bed; a small nook had been carved out at one side, and been fitted out to serve as a fireplace, complete with chimney; and the room was stocked with food. Most notably the room was strewn about with handwritten pages of notes, along with a small desk with ink, plume and more blank pages.
While Tine looked about, Jyorg announced, while standing at the entrance, “There he is.” Jyorg pointed towards the dunes, and the three of them, as they squinted, could see the figure of a man walking down the near slope of the dunes in bare feet. He carried shoes in his hands, and when he arrived at the bottom, he stopped to put them on. He crossed over the river, and ascended the slope to where he saw, with surprise, the three men waiting for him at the entrance to his abode.
“General Mikkei Burlingam Tode,” Tine said to him as he approached, “We have come to speak with you on urgent business.”
“Tine, is it?” General Burlingam said, as he looked at the old soldier. Tine nodded and introduced the other two men with him.
General Burlingam moved at an unhurried pace and seemed to have grown accustomed to a solitary life of idleness and ease. He moved with the deliberate elegance and grace of a choreographed dance with a body that looked every bit as large and imposing as he was when he first started as a rank and file soldier in his youth, though the years had weathered and perhaps slowed him down a bit.
“If you gentlemen would join me inside,” General Burlingam said, slowly entering his cave. He sat down on the ground as the two men followed and he stretched out his legs to rest them and then removed his shoes and began to massage his feet.
“I walk through the dunes everyday,” he explained to his visitors, “It awakens the mind. Lets it flow like the dunes.”
Monday, January 7, 2013
Aresan Clan pt 97
Jule was led up the stairs and out of the storage room where he’d been held. When he reached his room, the door was opened and he was let inside. A crowd of Sages lingered about him, making sure he made no attempt to flee. The spritely old weaver moved around the room quickly gathering up his possessions into his bag.
When he began to pull the bed away from the wall, Noone told him, “You can take everything except for the books.”
Jule looked at her with a truly pained expression and complained pathetically, “But these are my most valuable possessions. You don’t understand what it takes to collect this much. I’ve been building this collection for years.”
“I do understand,” Noone replied, “Which is exactly why I want to keep these for the Cloisters. Consider it payment for the watermill. Besides, what do you need such books for?”
“To learn. I can read, you know,” Jule said with great pride, “And I learned the languages I know through reading these books. I learned my Omnian by reading (and by listening, of course). I learned the Aresan dialect and the Fire Tongue.”
“I take it you didn’t acquire these by legitimate means,” Noone added.
“I couldn’t afford that,” Jule said with an apologetic smile, “Many thefts over many years. I’m going to miss these books, I can tell you that. You better take good care of them. These things are valuable. They ought not to be manhandled by the grubby fingers of young novices. They should be handled by people who appreciate them for what they are.”
“We’ll take good care of them,” Noone said, leading Jule out of the room with his bag in hand. The crowd of Sages remained on all sides as they moved through the hall, into the gallery and out the door.
They walked Jule downhill to the base of the valley and continued in that direction. In the distance they could see a crowd of Itinerants walking towards them. At the center of this crowd was Amida, dressed in her same brown frock and bearing on her shoulder the bag she’d packed when she’d left.
The two groups stopped once they were within vocal range. Noone told Jule, “Tell him: Welcome, we’re pleased to meet him.” Jule translated, shouting the words in the Itinerant dialect.
Erek-Monte who led the group gave a hearty laugh, and, as soon as he laughed, the rest of his group followed. He shouted back at Jule, in his own language, “And welcome to you too.” He gave a mocking bow towards Noone and laughed again. He asked, “So, we’re going to exchange then? You send our guy over, we send your gal, and from hereon there is no bad blood between us? All is forgotten?”
After Jule translated, Noone nodded and agreed, “All is forgotten. So long as it doesn’t happen again.”
Jule translated for Noone, but decided to add, on his own, in both languages, “I just want to tell everyone that Noone took my books. All my books. All of them. I loved those books.”
Erek-Monte simply smiled and laughed when he heard this, commenting quietly to his men, “Such lot of weight to carry round those were.”
Noone nudged Jule forward and he began to bridge the gap between the two crowds. Amida was released and she simultaneously walked towards the Sages. “Lovely as ever,” Jule said, as he passed by Amida, “I’ll miss your pretty face.” Amida didn’t say anything, merely turning her face away from him with the intention of denying him the sight of it.
“May I ask you why you destroyed our watermill?” Noone asked in Erek-Monte’s direction once Amida arrived. Jule translated and Erek-Monte listened to him, but he didn’t have anything to say. “For the Fourth Order,” Noone added, “You did it on orders of the Fourth Order, right?”
After hearing these words translated, Erek-Monte immediately replied, in Omnian, “Yes. Fourth Order,” shouting at Noone with a big smile on his face. “Money,” he added with a hand gesture to emphasize the point.
Just to make it clear, Jule said, in Omnian, “The Fourth Order hired us to commit an act of sabotage. They paid us handsomely.”
“Yes,” Erek-Monte said again, in Omnian, “Fourth Order.” He and all of his men seemed to be holding back the laughter as he said this. “Good bye,” Erek-Monte shouted in Omnian, turning around and ordering his men to follow him.
Noone didn’t reply, ordering her own crowd to follow her back to the cloisters.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” she asked Eloh who walked beside her
“Not likely,” Eloh replied.
When he began to pull the bed away from the wall, Noone told him, “You can take everything except for the books.”
Jule looked at her with a truly pained expression and complained pathetically, “But these are my most valuable possessions. You don’t understand what it takes to collect this much. I’ve been building this collection for years.”
“I do understand,” Noone replied, “Which is exactly why I want to keep these for the Cloisters. Consider it payment for the watermill. Besides, what do you need such books for?”
“To learn. I can read, you know,” Jule said with great pride, “And I learned the languages I know through reading these books. I learned my Omnian by reading (and by listening, of course). I learned the Aresan dialect and the Fire Tongue.”
“I take it you didn’t acquire these by legitimate means,” Noone added.
“I couldn’t afford that,” Jule said with an apologetic smile, “Many thefts over many years. I’m going to miss these books, I can tell you that. You better take good care of them. These things are valuable. They ought not to be manhandled by the grubby fingers of young novices. They should be handled by people who appreciate them for what they are.”
“We’ll take good care of them,” Noone said, leading Jule out of the room with his bag in hand. The crowd of Sages remained on all sides as they moved through the hall, into the gallery and out the door.
They walked Jule downhill to the base of the valley and continued in that direction. In the distance they could see a crowd of Itinerants walking towards them. At the center of this crowd was Amida, dressed in her same brown frock and bearing on her shoulder the bag she’d packed when she’d left.
The two groups stopped once they were within vocal range. Noone told Jule, “Tell him: Welcome, we’re pleased to meet him.” Jule translated, shouting the words in the Itinerant dialect.
Erek-Monte who led the group gave a hearty laugh, and, as soon as he laughed, the rest of his group followed. He shouted back at Jule, in his own language, “And welcome to you too.” He gave a mocking bow towards Noone and laughed again. He asked, “So, we’re going to exchange then? You send our guy over, we send your gal, and from hereon there is no bad blood between us? All is forgotten?”
After Jule translated, Noone nodded and agreed, “All is forgotten. So long as it doesn’t happen again.”
Jule translated for Noone, but decided to add, on his own, in both languages, “I just want to tell everyone that Noone took my books. All my books. All of them. I loved those books.”
Erek-Monte simply smiled and laughed when he heard this, commenting quietly to his men, “Such lot of weight to carry round those were.”
Noone nudged Jule forward and he began to bridge the gap between the two crowds. Amida was released and she simultaneously walked towards the Sages. “Lovely as ever,” Jule said, as he passed by Amida, “I’ll miss your pretty face.” Amida didn’t say anything, merely turning her face away from him with the intention of denying him the sight of it.
“May I ask you why you destroyed our watermill?” Noone asked in Erek-Monte’s direction once Amida arrived. Jule translated and Erek-Monte listened to him, but he didn’t have anything to say. “For the Fourth Order,” Noone added, “You did it on orders of the Fourth Order, right?”
After hearing these words translated, Erek-Monte immediately replied, in Omnian, “Yes. Fourth Order,” shouting at Noone with a big smile on his face. “Money,” he added with a hand gesture to emphasize the point.
Just to make it clear, Jule said, in Omnian, “The Fourth Order hired us to commit an act of sabotage. They paid us handsomely.”
“Yes,” Erek-Monte said again, in Omnian, “Fourth Order.” He and all of his men seemed to be holding back the laughter as he said this. “Good bye,” Erek-Monte shouted in Omnian, turning around and ordering his men to follow him.
Noone didn’t reply, ordering her own crowd to follow her back to the cloisters.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” she asked Eloh who walked beside her
“Not likely,” Eloh replied.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Aresan Clan pt 96
“Our armies?” Chief Royal Sirr interrupted the messenger, spitting as he talked, “What do you they need them for?”
“For defense against the Fourth Order,” the messenger repeated, continuing where he had been interrupted, “Who it is believed will begin marching summerward with a sizable army in less than two days time. The object of their attack is unclear, but since they most certainly intend to attack either one or both of our nations, then it is imperative, per the terms of our treaties, we unite in defense as near to immediately as possible. We request as many soldiers as you can muster in five days from today, armed, equipped and ready to march winterward.”
The Royal gave an exasperated sigh at this and said, “Certainly. Our armies are yours. Tell someone who cares about these things that I give over our armies for this defense.” Sirr looked around the room for someone who might respond. He added, “I think you can put Alles in charge of the Aresan Clan’s armies. Have someone send him a message or something. And also have someone who knows were all of our squadrons are stationed have as many as possible brought here. And it wouldn’t hurt to bring in some more recruits. We can put aside some of the treasury for some recruiting. As many as you can get. And they’ll need arms or whatever. See what we can do about that. Yes, that sounds good. That’s about the limits of what I can suggest. Put someone in charge of this who knows what they’re doing.”
The Royal spewed his words in all directions. The servants, guards and courtiers that crowded the throne room, though, took note of what he said, and many of them peeled off to perform what they perceived as their assigned tasks.
Then Sirr looked directly at the messenger and he said, “You messenger! If Alles is in Lamosa, you get the message to him. Tell him he’s got an army to lead and he should get here now. He’s probably in Lamosa. He’s not around here, I don’t think. I haven’t seen him around. Does anyone know where Alles is?”
“I believe he is still in Lamosa, your majesty,” the messenger replied.
“Excellent,” the Royal replied, “Then tell him all that. And tell the Omnia that we’re the last clan to try and worm out of a treaty. Our armies will be ready to stand beside theirs and fight off those Fourth Order hordes and send them all to Death with swords through their gullets.” Sirr pointed his finger directly into the air to enunciate this point. After doing so, he returned his hand to the woman sitting next to the throne and she continued to massage it.
“Now if this is all that needs to be done, then you’re dismissed, messenger. I might as well dismiss myself too,” Chief Royal Sirr said.
“Thank you, your majesty,” the messenger bowed and then retreated.
Sirr began to pull himself out of his seat. His already round, red cheeks, grew even redder at this exertion and sweat began to bead on his skin. The women offered some help, holding onto his hands and then helping him along after he finally stood up and walked out of the throne room.
The room he ended up in after a short walk was his boudoir: a warm, beautiful room filled with many young women prancing about. In the center was a heated pool in which several women swam, and in one corner was a massive circular bed, sunk into a recessed alcove. Several bowls of beer sat on table, ready to be served from and generous quantities of fruit were laid out beside them, ready to be eaten.
Sirr walked towards the massive bed, stripping off his clothes as he walked, dropping his royal robes to the floor with indifference. With his huge round belly exposed, he lay down on the bed and let women swarm around while he told them, “Sorry girls. Affairs of state have to be taken care of. I wouldn’t mind so much, if they weren’t so tiring. But I’m back. Time for fun.”
The women giggled as he grabbed at some of them and started to play.
“For defense against the Fourth Order,” the messenger repeated, continuing where he had been interrupted, “Who it is believed will begin marching summerward with a sizable army in less than two days time. The object of their attack is unclear, but since they most certainly intend to attack either one or both of our nations, then it is imperative, per the terms of our treaties, we unite in defense as near to immediately as possible. We request as many soldiers as you can muster in five days from today, armed, equipped and ready to march winterward.”
The Royal gave an exasperated sigh at this and said, “Certainly. Our armies are yours. Tell someone who cares about these things that I give over our armies for this defense.” Sirr looked around the room for someone who might respond. He added, “I think you can put Alles in charge of the Aresan Clan’s armies. Have someone send him a message or something. And also have someone who knows were all of our squadrons are stationed have as many as possible brought here. And it wouldn’t hurt to bring in some more recruits. We can put aside some of the treasury for some recruiting. As many as you can get. And they’ll need arms or whatever. See what we can do about that. Yes, that sounds good. That’s about the limits of what I can suggest. Put someone in charge of this who knows what they’re doing.”
The Royal spewed his words in all directions. The servants, guards and courtiers that crowded the throne room, though, took note of what he said, and many of them peeled off to perform what they perceived as their assigned tasks.
Then Sirr looked directly at the messenger and he said, “You messenger! If Alles is in Lamosa, you get the message to him. Tell him he’s got an army to lead and he should get here now. He’s probably in Lamosa. He’s not around here, I don’t think. I haven’t seen him around. Does anyone know where Alles is?”
“I believe he is still in Lamosa, your majesty,” the messenger replied.
“Excellent,” the Royal replied, “Then tell him all that. And tell the Omnia that we’re the last clan to try and worm out of a treaty. Our armies will be ready to stand beside theirs and fight off those Fourth Order hordes and send them all to Death with swords through their gullets.” Sirr pointed his finger directly into the air to enunciate this point. After doing so, he returned his hand to the woman sitting next to the throne and she continued to massage it.
“Now if this is all that needs to be done, then you’re dismissed, messenger. I might as well dismiss myself too,” Chief Royal Sirr said.
“Thank you, your majesty,” the messenger bowed and then retreated.
Sirr began to pull himself out of his seat. His already round, red cheeks, grew even redder at this exertion and sweat began to bead on his skin. The women offered some help, holding onto his hands and then helping him along after he finally stood up and walked out of the throne room.
The room he ended up in after a short walk was his boudoir: a warm, beautiful room filled with many young women prancing about. In the center was a heated pool in which several women swam, and in one corner was a massive circular bed, sunk into a recessed alcove. Several bowls of beer sat on table, ready to be served from and generous quantities of fruit were laid out beside them, ready to be eaten.
Sirr walked towards the massive bed, stripping off his clothes as he walked, dropping his royal robes to the floor with indifference. With his huge round belly exposed, he lay down on the bed and let women swarm around while he told them, “Sorry girls. Affairs of state have to be taken care of. I wouldn’t mind so much, if they weren’t so tiring. But I’m back. Time for fun.”
The women giggled as he grabbed at some of them and started to play.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Aresan Clan pt 95
As soon as Strya was gone Anders left the study and told Silva to get word out immediately to the Closed Table that they would need to be at the Public House as soon as possible.
By the time the sun was just separating from the horizon, Anders was standing before the Closed Table while they all turned towards him waiting for him to speak. He looked at the mural on the wall—Hieronymous capturing and expelling Char-Sensa-doon after Char-Sensa-doon’s failed attempt to infect William Sirr in order to effect the fall of the Five cities. Just as Hieronymous stood as a bulwark against the encroachment of evil, he too imagined his role as leader as similar: to prevent his wicked enemies from infesting his lands.
Anders began speaking as soon as the last straggler hastily ran into the room and sat in his seat. “I have it under good intelligence that the Fourth Order will be marching summerward with a large army within days,” Anders said.
Indistinct voices all began speaking at once around the room, but one question came out loud and clear, “What are their intentions?”
“We think they are hostile,” Anders responded, nodding his head, “We don’t know their exact plans, but the size of the army being organized and the direction of their march indicate that it is more than simply an attempt to secure the disputed territories. They apparently expect military resistance and thus must be intending to march far enough summerward that they will meet it. They may be marching against the Aresan Clan, in which case we will have to provide military support, or they may in fact intend to march around their territory and head straight for Sanlosslee park. Either way, we need to immediately begin to organize our armies and be prepared to meet them. Unless there is any dissenting voice, I think we are in agreement that all the clans of the Omnia will need to contribute soldiers and weapons in full abundance. We will immediately contact the Chief Royal of the Aresan Clan and ask the same of him. And we should understand that our timescale is on the order of days. If the Fourth Order marches in two days, their armies can be at the Outer Bulwark in as little as eight days from now. We want to be able to march in five with an army sufficient enough to meet them. Is everyone seated here capable and willing to meet these demands?”
Anders saw several heads nodding around the table, but seeking something more definitive he said, “concur?” He heard all of them announce, “concur,” in clear voices that sounded throughout the room. “May it be recalled that there was unanimous concurrence to these requests,” Anders said and the men all again silently nodded.
Just as the sun was at its highest, a messenger was arriving at Plats Castle, the home of the Chief Royal of the Aresan Clan. It was located in the summerward-sunsetward corner of the massive Summer Park, the land of the Aresan Clan, a valley nearly as large as Sanlosslee park. Plats Castle was nestled in the shoulder of a prominent hill that overlooked most of the valley, surrounded by a wall of white, peppered granite that skirted the base of the hill.
The messenger passed by a bevy of armored guards as he entered this outer wall, slowing his tired horse to a trot as he ascended the hill towards the castle. He moved up the streets of a densely packed and crowded city that surrounded the castle, crammed with many large and expensive buildings. The castle itself, rising above the city, had its own high, windowless wall, which formed its exterior, made of a chalky limestone that glowed in the sunlight. A dry moat had been dug around the castle and itself lined with limestone, which created smooth walls on both sides of the moat. A drawbridge, currently lowered, permitted passage for the messenger, who urged the horse forward
A servant was there just inside the wall to take the horse and the messenger hastily dismounted. The messenger was a young man, quick on his feet and lean, with wiry, frantic energy. When he entered the throne room, he was recognized and a personal guard ran off to fetch the Chief Royal from his boudoir.
The messenger knelt before the throne and waited. His knees were growing sore on the hard floor, by the time he heard the sound of Chief Royal Christo Rabeus Sirr entering the room from behind the throne. Looking up, he saw a massively obese man, who swayed as he walked with two beautiful young concubines helping him along. After he tumbled into his chair, the women remained at his side and held onto his hands, gently stroking and massaging them.
“A message from the Close Table of the Omnia for Chief Royal of the Aresan Clan,” the messenger began.
The Chief Royal urged on impatiently, “Yes, yes, get on with it,” in a voice like the strident trumpeting of a crane.
“We request the full assistance of your armies for defense against the Fourth Order,” the messenger said.
By the time the sun was just separating from the horizon, Anders was standing before the Closed Table while they all turned towards him waiting for him to speak. He looked at the mural on the wall—Hieronymous capturing and expelling Char-Sensa-doon after Char-Sensa-doon’s failed attempt to infect William Sirr in order to effect the fall of the Five cities. Just as Hieronymous stood as a bulwark against the encroachment of evil, he too imagined his role as leader as similar: to prevent his wicked enemies from infesting his lands.
Anders began speaking as soon as the last straggler hastily ran into the room and sat in his seat. “I have it under good intelligence that the Fourth Order will be marching summerward with a large army within days,” Anders said.
Indistinct voices all began speaking at once around the room, but one question came out loud and clear, “What are their intentions?”
“We think they are hostile,” Anders responded, nodding his head, “We don’t know their exact plans, but the size of the army being organized and the direction of their march indicate that it is more than simply an attempt to secure the disputed territories. They apparently expect military resistance and thus must be intending to march far enough summerward that they will meet it. They may be marching against the Aresan Clan, in which case we will have to provide military support, or they may in fact intend to march around their territory and head straight for Sanlosslee park. Either way, we need to immediately begin to organize our armies and be prepared to meet them. Unless there is any dissenting voice, I think we are in agreement that all the clans of the Omnia will need to contribute soldiers and weapons in full abundance. We will immediately contact the Chief Royal of the Aresan Clan and ask the same of him. And we should understand that our timescale is on the order of days. If the Fourth Order marches in two days, their armies can be at the Outer Bulwark in as little as eight days from now. We want to be able to march in five with an army sufficient enough to meet them. Is everyone seated here capable and willing to meet these demands?”
Anders saw several heads nodding around the table, but seeking something more definitive he said, “concur?” He heard all of them announce, “concur,” in clear voices that sounded throughout the room. “May it be recalled that there was unanimous concurrence to these requests,” Anders said and the men all again silently nodded.
Just as the sun was at its highest, a messenger was arriving at Plats Castle, the home of the Chief Royal of the Aresan Clan. It was located in the summerward-sunsetward corner of the massive Summer Park, the land of the Aresan Clan, a valley nearly as large as Sanlosslee park. Plats Castle was nestled in the shoulder of a prominent hill that overlooked most of the valley, surrounded by a wall of white, peppered granite that skirted the base of the hill.
The messenger passed by a bevy of armored guards as he entered this outer wall, slowing his tired horse to a trot as he ascended the hill towards the castle. He moved up the streets of a densely packed and crowded city that surrounded the castle, crammed with many large and expensive buildings. The castle itself, rising above the city, had its own high, windowless wall, which formed its exterior, made of a chalky limestone that glowed in the sunlight. A dry moat had been dug around the castle and itself lined with limestone, which created smooth walls on both sides of the moat. A drawbridge, currently lowered, permitted passage for the messenger, who urged the horse forward
A servant was there just inside the wall to take the horse and the messenger hastily dismounted. The messenger was a young man, quick on his feet and lean, with wiry, frantic energy. When he entered the throne room, he was recognized and a personal guard ran off to fetch the Chief Royal from his boudoir.
The messenger knelt before the throne and waited. His knees were growing sore on the hard floor, by the time he heard the sound of Chief Royal Christo Rabeus Sirr entering the room from behind the throne. Looking up, he saw a massively obese man, who swayed as he walked with two beautiful young concubines helping him along. After he tumbled into his chair, the women remained at his side and held onto his hands, gently stroking and massaging them.
“A message from the Close Table of the Omnia for Chief Royal of the Aresan Clan,” the messenger began.
The Chief Royal urged on impatiently, “Yes, yes, get on with it,” in a voice like the strident trumpeting of a crane.
“We request the full assistance of your armies for defense against the Fourth Order,” the messenger said.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Aresan Clan pt 94
In the early morning hours, Anders' bodyguard, Silva heard a gentle knocking coming from one of the backdoors of Anders' Private House and cautiously approached to investigate. The door was located in a hallway near Anders' bedroom and led out to the main garden on the side of the house opposite the main entrance. Silva cautiously approached the door, drawing a sword for defense.
He pulled it open rapidly and stepped back lest there was a person on the other side ready to attack. Instead he saw a motionless figure in a hooded black cloak whose head was stooped forward to hide his face. When the figure raised his eyes the thin face of Strya appeared.
“Strya,” Silva said, “Didn't know you were coming.”
“This is an unscheduled visit,” Strya said, “I had to take unusual precautions to avoid being seen. But I take it that Anders is here.”
“Certainly,” Silva said. He led Strya to Anders' study and left him there. Then Silva found Anders in his bedroom. Anders was wrapped under the warm sheets of a capacious bed with his wife beside him, quietly snoring. Silva stepped towards him and gently touched him on his shoulder.
Anders opened his eyes and looked up at his bodyguard asked, “Did I oversleep?”
“No sir, I'm afraid you have an important visitor,” the bodyguard said quietly.
“Can it wait until I'm awake?” Anders asked groggily.
“I think not,” the bodyguard said, and Anders rose from his bed.
He disturbed his wife when he moved and she asked, “What is it?”
“You don't have to get up,” Anders said to her, “Get your sleep.”
Anders left the bedroom with Silva leading the way. When he was presented with Strya sitting in his study, his previously sleepy demeanor and foggy mind immediately opened into wakefulness. “What brings you here at this time?” Anders asked.
“It couldn't wait,” Strya said, “The Fourth Order is organizing large numbers troops in Waldoon. Probably most of their army. An estimated fifty thousand troops. The troops are moving summerward soon, perhaps in a day or two. It seems clear they intend to attack.”
“Do you know why?” Anders asked, “I mean, why they claim they’re going to war?”
“You destroyed one of their villages and Saurek is publicly proclaiming that you’re out to conquer,” Strya responded. “Why they think you’re out to conquer I don’t know, but probably because they take the destruction of Still Creek as evidence enough. They're already prone to distrust you,” Stya speculated, shrugging his shoulders to show his uncertainty, “You could’ve sent them a message trying to explain yourself to them, if you hadn’t wrecked what was left of any sort of amicable ambassadorial dialogue long ago. You tell them now you have no intentions of conquering, they'll take it confirmation that you are planning to conquer posthaste.”
Anders' remained stiff and unspeaking as he listened to Strya's words. A great army was going to be descending upon his empire and he had to meet it with considered action. In perhaps as little as eight days they would be bursting through the gaps in the Outer Bulwark and flooding into Sanlosslee Valley with weapons raised and battle cries on their lips.
“I'll leave you then,” Strya said after a prolonged silence, “You have other people to summon and consult I expect. I'll keep you apprised of relevant intelligence.”
“Yes, thank you,” Anders replied absentmindedly. Then, as Strya stood up to leave he announced suddenly, “Wait, one more thing. Can you get a message to Mill?”
“It should be no more difficult than before,” Strya replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Anders crossed the room to a desk and he pulled out a piece of parchment. He hastily wrote out a note to Mill and then folded it up. He sealed with a few drips of wax and then took a small stone cylinder to leave his insignia upon it. The cylinder was rolled through the soft wax, leaving the imprint of his family insignia in the wax. It depicted a sun rising over a mountain, an ear of corn and a sword interlocked, and a great tower with many windows touching the clouds.
Anders handed the sealed letter to Strya and he said, “For Mill and for Mill alone.” He then handed Strya a bag of gold and said, “Give this to Mill. The letter will explain how he's to use it.”
“Is this a priority?” Strya said, looking skeptically at the letter, “Delivering this could take time. I won't be able to bring intelligence as promptly.”
“Yes,” Anders replied, “It takes priority.”
He pulled it open rapidly and stepped back lest there was a person on the other side ready to attack. Instead he saw a motionless figure in a hooded black cloak whose head was stooped forward to hide his face. When the figure raised his eyes the thin face of Strya appeared.
“Strya,” Silva said, “Didn't know you were coming.”
“This is an unscheduled visit,” Strya said, “I had to take unusual precautions to avoid being seen. But I take it that Anders is here.”
“Certainly,” Silva said. He led Strya to Anders' study and left him there. Then Silva found Anders in his bedroom. Anders was wrapped under the warm sheets of a capacious bed with his wife beside him, quietly snoring. Silva stepped towards him and gently touched him on his shoulder.
Anders opened his eyes and looked up at his bodyguard asked, “Did I oversleep?”
“No sir, I'm afraid you have an important visitor,” the bodyguard said quietly.
“Can it wait until I'm awake?” Anders asked groggily.
“I think not,” the bodyguard said, and Anders rose from his bed.
He disturbed his wife when he moved and she asked, “What is it?”
“You don't have to get up,” Anders said to her, “Get your sleep.”
Anders left the bedroom with Silva leading the way. When he was presented with Strya sitting in his study, his previously sleepy demeanor and foggy mind immediately opened into wakefulness. “What brings you here at this time?” Anders asked.
“It couldn't wait,” Strya said, “The Fourth Order is organizing large numbers troops in Waldoon. Probably most of their army. An estimated fifty thousand troops. The troops are moving summerward soon, perhaps in a day or two. It seems clear they intend to attack.”
“Do you know why?” Anders asked, “I mean, why they claim they’re going to war?”
“You destroyed one of their villages and Saurek is publicly proclaiming that you’re out to conquer,” Strya responded. “Why they think you’re out to conquer I don’t know, but probably because they take the destruction of Still Creek as evidence enough. They're already prone to distrust you,” Stya speculated, shrugging his shoulders to show his uncertainty, “You could’ve sent them a message trying to explain yourself to them, if you hadn’t wrecked what was left of any sort of amicable ambassadorial dialogue long ago. You tell them now you have no intentions of conquering, they'll take it confirmation that you are planning to conquer posthaste.”
Anders' remained stiff and unspeaking as he listened to Strya's words. A great army was going to be descending upon his empire and he had to meet it with considered action. In perhaps as little as eight days they would be bursting through the gaps in the Outer Bulwark and flooding into Sanlosslee Valley with weapons raised and battle cries on their lips.
“I'll leave you then,” Strya said after a prolonged silence, “You have other people to summon and consult I expect. I'll keep you apprised of relevant intelligence.”
“Yes, thank you,” Anders replied absentmindedly. Then, as Strya stood up to leave he announced suddenly, “Wait, one more thing. Can you get a message to Mill?”
“It should be no more difficult than before,” Strya replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Anders crossed the room to a desk and he pulled out a piece of parchment. He hastily wrote out a note to Mill and then folded it up. He sealed with a few drips of wax and then took a small stone cylinder to leave his insignia upon it. The cylinder was rolled through the soft wax, leaving the imprint of his family insignia in the wax. It depicted a sun rising over a mountain, an ear of corn and a sword interlocked, and a great tower with many windows touching the clouds.
Anders handed the sealed letter to Strya and he said, “For Mill and for Mill alone.” He then handed Strya a bag of gold and said, “Give this to Mill. The letter will explain how he's to use it.”
“Is this a priority?” Strya said, looking skeptically at the letter, “Delivering this could take time. I won't be able to bring intelligence as promptly.”
“Yes,” Anders replied, “It takes priority.”
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