Intrigue in Court II
Chapter 1
"With the death of the late Emperor Jakar Vixis, his son, Brandon, inherits his crown, and asserts his authority in the crown city of Windstard. The eastern horde of the Khuphates have made progression into the west, putting the torch to many strategic military fortifications preventing the outspill of barbarians into the western lands. Little has been heard from the Southern Kingdoms, besides the occasional rumor of war preparations against neighboring kingdoms. The tribes in the north have been more concerning in the past few months; the Saxxars, a tribe that has been slowly growing over the decades, has been reported of subduing enemy tribes, and forming confederations with those equal in their strength. The season is winter, and heavy snows fall across the land; the courtyards of the wealthy are empty, whilst the streets bustle with peasantry wandering about. The courtiers given royal summons are expected to arrive late in the evening, when the court ball is expected to be in full swing. The fate of the Empire rests in the hands of the most important people of the century: the men and women who have been summoned to court."
BRANDON VIXIS
Brandon had always longed for militaristic duties, always dreaming of being the valiant knight in the stories, and always longing for fame for his bravery. He dreamed of being exalted above everyone else, of being the greatest hero in all of Myyr, of being... somebody important. He had pondered over these things as a young boy, calling himself 'The Holy Knight' whenever he dueled with his childhood companions with wooden twigs plucked from underneath the large, twisting trees of the garden. He was scolded by his tutors for having this thinking, and he was always told to cultivate humility in order to be more effective in battle, but he never truly put away this sort of thinking, at least, not at that time. When he departed to the east to take command of a large military force, he always dismissed the strategy provided by those who had tremendous experience in the field, preferring his own methods. It wasn't until the fateful day he marched twenty two thousand souls through the swamps that he had changed, when he was scarred.
Brandon shook his head, pushing the thought out of his mind.
He had been in his room for two days, hunching over the maps, constantly placing and replacing wooden pieces painted in symbols over the three fronts, paying particular attention to the eastern front. Food trays and dried wine laid on his rich velvet bed, the sheets having not been touched since he had entered. He had the habit of planning strategy for days on end, always trying to calculate potential moves by his enemies, and considering all the possibilities that battle might bring. He rubbed his eyes, where large bags had already formed, and sighed. For his part, he's been neglecting a majority of his duties as the new Emperor, but truth be told, he never wanted the crown, nor did he wish to be born as royalty. He found the overbearing amount of responsibilities to be troublesome, and painful to a certain extent. Despite his opinions, he elected to put his duties first, as he always has since he came from the womb.
He placed a piece down in the eastern front, examining it carefully. Eleven pieces were stretched out in the east, sparse from one another, with thirty pieces on the opposite side of the boundary, majority of the pieces being carved as horseheads. He clenched his teeth, and with his fist tight in his hand, he swept all the pieces off the table. The room was filled with the sound of the pieces clattering on the floor. Brandon sat on his longchair, putting his hands on his face. No matter how Brandon arranged the pieces, no matter how he strategized, the eastern front always had too few soldiers to deal with the Khuphate forces. He had dealt with the savages for years, he learned their ways of warfare, their weaponry, everything, but he could not defeat them, he could only delay the inevitable.
Impossible, Brandon thought, it is impossible for Vexia to defeat them in its current state. Had the invasion begun a few decades ago, they would have been crushed as easily as a bug is crushed by the foot. He never thought it was possible for the east to be a powerful foe, but that thinking was influenced by childish illusions, illusions that were influenced by the stories promoting the greatness of his nation, which had blinded him from the devastating decline of strength. Despite these things, he believed that it was able to be reversed, with the proper nurturing and care, it could be like the days of old, just like in the stories.
He pondered on this false hope, on the hope of being able to fix what cannot be fixed, and soon he was lost in his thoughts.
-
The swampy terrain was difficult for the footmen to travel through, but Brandon insisted that they pass through, despite what the other captains believed they should do. They were moving to the summer fort on the front line, to reinforce the garrison there, and provide relief to the dwindling supplies. The march was usually made through a designated road heavily guarded by a multitude of guard posts, but the march would be long, taking up to a week to pass through the weaving road. However, he had discovered a route going through the large swamps, estimating that the route would lead them to the fort in no more than three days, short enough to make him make up his mind on the route. Despite the warnings from his captains, and from his trusted friend, Prince Roland Greystark, he marched them straight through the swamps, for two days and two nights without rest.
It was on the third morning, when rain fell upon the land, when those warnings became reality.
"Roland!" He yelled breathlessly from across the battlefield, his sword clanging against steel. "Leave me!" He pleaded with his loyal companion, "Go, rally the men, go!" He pushed the easterner with the blunt of his sword with all his strength, and struck him down with the edge of his steel. He stomped across the low waters, his chainmail rattling and his helmet bobbing on his head, roughly scraping against his scalp. The line in which the men marched was relatively thin, with only three men per row, and seven per column, a horrid marching formation terribly vulnerable from the flanks.
The whole world seemed to be engulfed in the bloodthirsty screams of the ambushers, and in the sound of metal clanging against metal. Brandon pushed his way across the battlefield, roughly dodging death as he did so. He remembered the young boy who had enlisted, a boy far too young to be in the heat of battle, who he took under his wing, a person he grew fond of. He had long lost his shield during the first few minutes of the ambush, moving with only the clothes on his back and the longsword he held tightly in his right hand. He was soaked in blood and rainwater, breathing heavily through his mouth as he forced himself through the lines, all the meanwhile watching fathers and sons being cut down before his eyes.
"Polamy, lad, where are you?!" He yelled into the passing groups of Vexian soldiers struggling to survive the onslaught. He found himself tackled into the waters, the water barely below his chin, being pinned down by a relatively large man, wielding a small ax. Screaming, he brought the ax down onto his chestplate, and Brandon flinched in pain. He felt the blow strike his flesh through the metal, but it didn't sink deep enough to make much of a wound. As the man tried to take the ax out of the chestplate, he grabbed the man, and pushed him off him with great effort. He quickly brought himself up, fueled by adrenaline, and struck him down with his fists, breaking his knuckles in the process.
Finally, he stumbled across the boy named Polamy, and he grabbed him by the arm, pulling him away from his unit. "Boy, stay close, and when I say so, run away, as fast as you can." Brandon yelled to him over the deafening sounds of warfare, as he stumbled across the piling corpses. He pulled the boy along with him to an opening in the enemy lines, pointing westward. The feathers of his helmet, once a brilliant purple, were made dull from the muddy waters, and dotted with red, the helmet which he handed to the boy. "When you get clear of this place, go get help from the nearest garrison, you hear?" He patted the boy roughly with his hand, and he reluctantly nodded. He pushed him along, and watched as he got further and further away from him, but at the moment when Brandon was about to return to the heat of the battle, an arrow appeared on the back of the boy, and he fell to the ground. It was at this moment when Brandon felt deep regret over the boy. He would have been sent home to his family had he not intervened, had he not nourished the child's ambitions. He had kept him because the boy, Polamy, reminded Brandon much about his younger self, and he was idiotic enough to give the boy a chance to begin a military career early, too early.
He stood there, motionless, watching the boy lay there on the ground, as still as a rock. Brandon's body then jolted, and he craned his head to look at his left shoulder, where an arrowhead pierced through the armor and flesh. He fell to his knees, and, too exhausted to get up, fell to his side. He unwillingly closed his eyes, and the sound of warfare soon faded from his ears.
-
A knock came to his chamber door, and he snapped out of his thoughts. "Your majesty, the ball is due to begin shortly. Your presence is expected." Brandon replied, "Yes, yes, I will be there. Ensure the feast preparations go smoothly." He turned his attention back to the maps laid on his map, ignoring the servant's formalities. He had forgotten about the ball that Lord Toad had recommended by letter, and he certainly did not look forward to it, rather, he preferred to sulk in his bedchamber, but it was of great importance to make a first impression on the courtiers due to arrive sometime after the ball has begun.
He thought back to the events of his life, and shook his head. He was still a young man, and had yet to fulfill his duties. But yet, he felt at a loss with himself. Those years at the front line, few as they may be, had taken a toll on him. He was relatively more grim, and cold towards others, but his sister Esmeralda was the reason for him to remain strong. She was one of the only ones he cared about these days, and when he heard she was almost assassinated, he was ready to tear apart the capital in search of the one behind it.
He stood up groggily, and donned the crown covered in gemstones on his head. After practicing his speech with himself for a few minutes, he opened his chamber door, and walked down the hallway, accompanied by Golden Falcon guardsmen. He would give a first impression meant to make him fierce, intimidating, and one not to be crossed. He would show that he has the Empire under control, that he could bring back the Empire to its glory days, and that he was not afraid of the many crucial challenges that face the Empire. But if he was being honest?
He was terrified.
MYA BIRDSONG
Mya poked her head out of the carriage, and took in the brilliance of the snow-covered landscape. The snow reflected the sun so well that she had to cover her eyes, and the streams rushing by the side of the road were a nice touch to the overall beauty of the area, but the beauty could not possibly compare to her homeland. She looked down by the side of the carriage, and her driver was hard at work, shoveling the snow with his bare hands. Her carriage had stopped a small ways from the main gate pointing north, the wheels were evidently unable to handle the thick snows. She had been summoned to court, and was expected to arrive very shortly, an arrival time being delayed by the weather.
"Do you need help with that?" She spoke to the driver, her smile flashing brilliantly at the man. The man, who couldn't help but smile in return, shook his head in reply, saying things such as 'A woman like you shouldn't be doing dirty work', or 'Don't worry about this, I'll get this fixed in no time'. She complimented the man for his hard work, and she sunk back in her chair, staring at the headboard of the carriage. Her smile dissipated, and she found herself conflicted with her thoughts. She was about to attend the largest court in the world, one filled with nobles from across the Empire, young men searching for brides, brides searching for young men, and the sorts, but what was her goal of attending court? She merely wished to get away from the north, and didn't put any thought into what she might hope to gain from her stay at Windstard. She would serve as the lady-in-waiting to the Emperor's not-so-secret favorite sister, Lady Esmeralda. She has heard that she was, like her, a kind woman, and she looked forward to meeting her, but she couldn't help but wonder what her life would have been like if her father was as kind as the woman, if the Saxxars were that kind, or, well, if everybody was kind in general.
Suddenly, she recalled an encounter with one of the Saxxar men, who held the tip of the ax to her cheek, tracing her scar. She yelped in panic, and froze, paralyzed with fear. She started remembering it all, as if she was reliving her life. Her childhood, her father, her brother, the villagers, everything. She could hear the cries from her beloved people she considered family as the Saxxars burned the village to the ground, taking slaves as spoils and cutting them all down as if they were mere dust. She remembered begging her father to not kill her brother, and how brutal he was when he hit her with the blunt of his ax. Instinctively, she brought her hand to her scar. She was hurt, not from the blunt of the ax, but from the fact that it had come from her father who wielded it. Had she tried harder, maybe her brother would still be alive, and maybe her village would still be alive and prosperous.
"My lady, are you alright?" The driver spoke in a panicked tone, clearly concerned. Mya nodded, scolding herself for being afraid, and for allowing herself to remember those things. "I'm quite alright, thank you." She managed to say quietly. "If you need anything, I'll be here. We'll be back on the road shortly." The man disappeared again from view. She managed to calm herself, and reasoned with herself that life at court will be able to cloud the past. She is, afterall, a Birdsong, and she would be strong for the sake of the family name. She watched as the sun slowly fell over the mountains, giving the land a glimmering sense of beauty.
-
"Imagine yourself as a maiden warrior, traveling to distant lands, what would you do?" The man asked the lady. She paused, in thought, before replying, "As it is, I do not like the idea of being a warrior, but if I were, I would fight." The man nodded his head, "Yes, because you would be a warrior. But as a warrior, what you do with such a skill will define who you are. Would you fight with honor or would you fight without it?" Mya immediately replied, "I would fight with honor, of course. Nobody likes a warrior who fights without it." The man nodded, "You are right, but a warrior who fights without it survives, while those who do die more often, what then, would you choose? No honor or death?" Mya considered his words, and replied, "Fighting without honor wouldn't be kind, regardless of the circumstances. It is better to die as a good, kind person rather than live on as a bad one." The man scratched his chin, and nodded. "Words well said, Mya. However, what about when it comes to family? Would you kill for family, even if it means having no honor?" She pondered over this, staring at the wooden table they were seated at.
She opened her lips to reply, but the words were taken from her as the town bells rang suddenly, echoing through the air into the buildings of the village.
"Quick, like we rehearsed, go to your hiding place." The man said, rising quickly from his seat at the table. Mya, looking pale, grabbed her brother's arm, "Come hide with me, there's no need for you to be out there." He rasped, "Mya, we've discussed this before, the safety of this village is paramount to us, and we can't afford one man to avoid the call to arms." He shook off her hold, and proceeded one step before being grabbed again, "If you go, you can be killed!" He turned to look into her eyes, "I've said this again and again, Mya, I will always return home." He shook off her grip for the last time, and disappeared through the door.
Quickly shaking off her sense of dread, Mya immediately began running down the steps of the estate, through the long halls, and into the cellar. She selected the barrel at the very corner of the cellar, the barrel being covered by the shadows. She struggled to open the lid with her hands, but, eventually, she succeeded.. It was a barrel of rich, red wine. She stepped into the barrel, and set herself down, wine overflowing over the edges of the barrel.
She reached for the lid that she leaned on the side of the barrel, and, lid on hand, placed it over her.
-
The ballroom was hosted in one of the largest halls of the palace she had ever seen. Luxurious jewelry was practically hanging in every corner of the chamber, rich paintings, and beautifully artistic columns all around. The floor was made of marble, as far as she could tell, and banquet tables were seemingly everywhere, hosting foods of grandeur, one, she identified, being meatballs, which she heard are all the craze in the capital. Looking up at the roof, a multitude of architectural designs twisted and sprawled across one another, fascinating her. She was not one for luxury, but she couldn't help but feel amazed, seeing as how she had never been in a luxurious ball in the entirety of her life. It hosted, she thought, at least over a hundred well-dressed nobles, but that's putting it roughly.
Many nobles appear to be wearing masks, no doubt a part of the customs in this part of Myyr, she thought to herself. They were relatively simple masks, they only covered the eyes and a portion of the nose, but the multitude of designs appeared to be intricate, carefully woven to fit the needs of the nobles. She examined the room, searching for familiar faces, or, particularly, for the newly crowned Emperor, and made out only a single man, Prince Roland Greystark. He was a famed man in the Northern Territories, most famous for his deeds in the far east. She had seen him once on a visit to Tha a Tuath as a child, at The Wolf's Den.
She continued to scan the room, and saw new people enter the hall, not wearing masks. They were clearly summoned by the Emperor as well, for what purpose, she did not know, but she had enough manners to mind her own business.
She selected a goblet already filled with wine from the banquet table, and sipped from it. She visibly cringed, as she was not used to weaker wine that was sparse in the north. She assumed that her duties would not begin until after the ball was complete, thus, she began to indulge herself in the food delicacies offered by the banquet tables, where the petty and rich nobles alike laid siege to.
There has been something nagging her about her upcoming stay at court, something she couldn't quite explain. These peoples faces, plastered with smiles and laughs... she could easily tell most of those smiles were fake, forced even.
Something was off about these people, but what?
