Encladeia: Thrones & Dominions

Chapter 3 | Northern Resolve

Baron Zerpentis

Baron poked his half-roasted stick around the campfire, shifting the pieces of burning timber. The sky had grown dark and the Moon was absent, leaving an abyss that was dotted by thousands of glimmering stars of the night. Creatures of the forest croaked from all around them.

They had been traveling south along the coast for several days now. For food and drink, they resorted to what was available from their surroundings, along with the supplies procured from the beach. Jon had managed to spear some large fish from a river, and Baron had forced the savage to show what plants and berries were edible. Of course, he had the tall brute taste each one first before them. He, for one, did not intend to be tricked and poisoned.

He looked over the flames and observed the sleeping Timbarman, who sat tied to a tree. They had forced him to bathe in the river and given him new clothes that they had salvaged, which solved the issue of his foul stench. For that, Baron was eternally grateful to the Gods of the Sea. The first few days had been horrible with the smelly savage in tow.

Jon sat to his side and looked over their remaining supplies. Baron nudged his elbow, still keeping a watchful eye on the Timbarman.

“Yes, my lord?” asked Jon.

“How much do we have, do you know?”

“We have a few more days worth of food, if we properly divide it,” answered Jon. He then lowered his voice, looking at Baron. “But, my lord, I fear that the barbarian may be taking a toll on our supplies. Perhaps it is better we dispose of him.”

Baron looked at him, nearly outraged. “No, you idiot,” he said in a hushed voice. “He is familiar with these lands. He has already proven his worth by showing us what is safe to eat. He can help us navigate these dreadful woods. So, why in the Gods of the Sea would I kill him?”

Jon shrugged, closing the pouches that held their supplies. “A little more food in the morning couldn’t hurt.”

“You will deal with what you get, and that will be the end of it,” scowled Baron, who stood and towered over Jon. His subordinate looked up in fear.

“A poor joke, my lord," he panicked. "My apologies.”

Baron grabbed Jon's collar and lifted him up. His glared into Jon's eyes. “We are in a life or death situation, you monkey tickler. I do not have time for your silly games. Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Baron saw the fear in Jon's eyes and felt a little remorseful. He was right though, they could not afford to slack off in such dire times. He released the poor man and returned to his seat, contemplating the weight of his predicament. If they ran out of food, he would never get to return home. What would his legacy be, then?

No matter what, they had to get back to Augustos. Baron had too much to lose. He was still young and had much potential yet to be unlocked. To die now would be an insult, an utter embarrassment for the family name. He would not even be able to receive a proper burial at sea, for no Zerpentian could possibly find his body this far north. Baron tightened his grip upon his sword’s hilt, determined to survive. Perhaps a good night’s rest would help better prepare him for tomorrow.

“Jon,” he called as he stood. “Take the first watch, wake me after you believe an hour has passed.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Here,” Baron offered his sword. “Take this. Return it when I wake.”

Jon took it, nodding. “As you command, m’lord. Have a good night.”

“You as well,” responded Baron. “Remember to put out the flames.”

“As you command.”

Satisfied, Baron settled under a large tree and closed his eyes. He found it hard to sleep at first, as his mind juggled many concerns and he felt something pressing into his lower back. He shifted ever so slightly, which moved him away from the nuisance and brought a better sense of comfort. As the thoughts subsided, he drifted into the night at last, his strength spent from the day’s worries.

The next morning Baron awoke, feeling as if a heavy weight were pressing on his eyes. He had taken three shifts the night before and left Jon with the last one.

“Good morning m’lord,” Jon greeted. He leaned against one of the trees.

Baron waved his hand and stood. “Is there anything to report?”

“No, m’lord. Quiet morning, it is.” Jon returned the ensign’s sword.

Suddenly, they heard rustling in the bushes. Both men drew their weapons and turned to where the sound had come from. Baron attempted to search for what had made the noise, examining the brushes closely. Jon scouted their sides for a possible ambush. The Timbarman was awake and fully alert, looking around.

A squeal came from the bushes and out charged a ferocious tusked boar.

“Watch out!” Jon cried as he stepped away from Baron.

Baron readied his sword and took a swing at the beast. He missed, however, and the boar brought him to the ground. Having lost the sword, Baron began wrestling with the animal. As the two flailed violently amidst the struggle, Jon ran forward and stabbed the back of the boar with his dagger.

Squealing in pain, the enraged boar turned around and pummeled Jon to the ground. As Jon began to grapple with the beast, Baron rose and retrieved his sword. Rushing to them, he skewered its head. The boar gave a final cry before it went limp and fell over Jon.

“Get it off me!” Jon yelled, groaning in pain.

Withdrawing his sword, Baron lifted the boar’s body off of Jon before rendering assistance.

“Are you alright?” Baron asked.

“Yes, m’lord, thank you.”

“Good,” said Baron, relieved.

The two of them were exhausted and took heavy breaths as the rush that came with fighting wore off. They inspected their bodies for any fatal wounds, but found nothing more than bruises and small scratches. However, the pain still persisted.

“You fight like little girls,” said the Timbarman, cackling aloud. Baron and Jon turned to face him.

“Remind me how you ended up in those ropes, savage,” Baron retorted. He slowly approached the barbarian with his sword in hand.

“I went easy,” said the Timbarman, smiling cheekily at them as he chuckled. Baron struck him across the face, which only prompted the savage to laugh even more.

“Shut up,” snapped Baron, pressing his blade against the barbarian’s throat. “Unless you wish to lose your manhood, then you will remain silent unless spoken to.”

The threat reduced the Timbarman to silence.

Satisfied, Baron sheathed his sword and returned to Jon. He inspected the corpse of the boar and smiled. It seemed that they had found their breakfast for the day.

After the boar was roasted, they feasted upon its succulent flesh and washed it down with their waterskins. The leftovers were given to the Timbarman for consumption, which proved adequate enough to satisfy his hunger.

“Delicious, that was, m’lord,” Jon said gleefully, his belly full.

Baron nodded in agreement, still picking out bits of meat from between his teeth. “We shall rest here for a while and resume the journey afterward. Our stomachs will need it.”

“Agreed, m’lord.”

Baron sat down on a nearby rock, pondering what events could be transpiring elsewhere in the world.

Zoren

The bells of Kelin’s Point rang, each toll reverberating through the narrow streets with a hallowed echo. The bell towers, once simple aspects of daily life, had become heralds of death and destruction.

“Zoren, where are we going?” asked Zariah, Zoren’s sister. Her face was stricken with doubt and fear.

“To the gates,” he answered, though he questioned whether they would make it.

The sky was painted a hellish orange as entire buildings were engulfed by flames. Thick smoke blackened the night sky, leaving only a smothered Moon to oversee the devastation.

Zoren ran as fast his legs could go, with his sister in tow. People were screaming from all around. He could hear the clash of steel as men butchered each other in the streets.

A pair of city guards in leather armor approached Zoren and his sister. The fire that raged from behind cast the guards as ominous shadows.

“You, boy!” called out one of the guards. He drew his sword and pointed it at them. “Stop right there.”

Zoren was struck with fear and immediately halted. He knew if they tried to flee the other way, the guards would quickly run them down. He ushered his sister behind him.

The guards came closer for a better look. One was tall and the other considerably shorter. The tall guard’s face was ugly and scarred, while the short one had a crooked nose and a bushy mustache.

The ugly guard loomed over Zoren and inspected his face closely. Without warning, he grabbed Zoren’s wrist and twisted, revealing the “S'' that had been branded into his forearm.

“Slave,” he uttered, a hint of disgust in his voice. “Kill them both.”

He released Zoren and took a step back before thrusting his sword to stab the boy. Before he could follow through, an arrow pierced the back of his nape. He cried out in pain as he fell aside and dropped the blade.

The other guard turned to face the unknown attacker, his spear poised. Seizing the opportunity, Zoren took up the tall guard’s fallen sword in a heartbeat and thrust it into the short guard’s back. He shouted in agony, dropping his spear. Zoren quickly withdrew the sword and kicked his body to the ground.

The archer who had shot the tall guard knelt down and recovered the arrow from the guard’s body. Zoren had guessed the archer was friendly, but remained cautious. Shielding his sister, he kept the sword poised for combat.

The archer seemed unphased. He stood and examined the two siblings. Zoren tightened his grip on the sword’s hilt. He felt his entire body tremble in fear, but he knew he had to remain strong for Zariah’s sake.

After a tense moment of silence, the archer rolled up his sleeve and showed his forearm.

“No need to be pissing yourself, friend,” he said, grinning.

Zoren lowered his guard upon seeing the “S” that branded the archer, sighing in relief.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Jorbin,” replied the archer. “A friend.”

Horace Corent

Horace rolled up the piece of paper and sent the last messenger hawk on its way home. He had just received two messages at once: one from the Crown and the other from Kelin’s Point.

“Ser Morris,” he called his captain of the guard to the balcony.

Ser Morris approached and bowed before Horace.

“My lord, I am yours to command.”

Horace turned, stuffing the second message in his coat’s pocket.

“Call my banners,” he ordered. “Instruct them to muster at Ausemere Castle. Summon Lord Avonta’s forces as well. We shall assemble the council in the war room for further discussion.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Horace went to his bedside to retrieve his sword before departing the room with Ser Morris in tow.

Leo Avonta

It was a beautiful day outside. Leo lay in the tall grass, his gaze lost in the clusters of puffy clouds that drifted lazily across the blue sky. A gentle breeze brought forth a refreshing wave of cool air, brushing softly across his face.

The day had gotten off to a poor start. Dawn and Rex had both woken up incredibly early in the morning and were in horrible moods. Their incessant crying had forced his wife and her maids to constantly minister to their infants for over an hour. Unable to sleep amidst the chaos, Leo had opted to ride out with Commander Kevan to the hills for a brief retreat.

Fortunately, he had been able to procure some semblance of peace. So much so, that he had lost track of time. Leo was keenly aware he had to return eventually, but found it incredibly tempting not to do so, for the tranquility he had discovered was far too wonderful to abandon. Alas, he knew his wife would need him back as soon as possible.

Thank the Creator for Promise, he thought. Leo was certain that the household would collapse without the resilient fortitude of his ironclad wife. Their twins were certainly a menacing force to be reckoned with.

Siring children was not his forte. Leo had a keen preference for brawling and adventuring, pursuits that seemed to align more closely with his skillset. Regardless of his preference in interests, however, it was his responsibility to raise a proper heir and be present for his children, a duty his wife constantly reminded him of.

At least, when the twins were older, all of their hard work would pay off. They would be rewarded with two brilliant children, the successors to House Avonta. Leo smiled as he fantasized of embarking on ambitious quests with the twins when they became of age. The stories that were to be told for generations would be legendary.

The tremors in the ground from a horse’s approaching hoofbeats brought Leo back to reality. He stood and searched for the incoming rider, alerting Kevan.

Though there was no rider visible at first, one eventually appeared over a nearby hill that carried the banner of House Avonta. He rode with haste towards Leo.

Relieved the rider was one of his men, Leo eased his guard and waved him over.

“Hello, Boren,” Leo greeted, smiling. “What news do you bring?”

“Urgent message from Lord Corent, m’lord,” answered Boren. “Lady Promise has requested you return at once.”

Leo sighed, nodding. He knew his duty was now calling.

“Commander Kevan, fetch my horse. We ride immediately.”

The three men rode with great speed back to Hedgehall, the seat of House Avonta. Upon his return, Leo called for an emergency convention in the council chambers. All those summoned arrived promptly.

“I thank all of you for having arrived on such short notice,” said Leo, taking his seat. The councilors sat down as well.

“I have called the banners to war,” he continued. “I will be leading them personally.”

“War?”

“Yes.” Leo unfurled a map and rolled it across the table. His finger traced a path far to the northeast of Hedgehall, stopping on a city located on a small peninsula next to a bay.

“Kelin’s Point is in open rebellion,” he explained. “Tens of thousands of Timbarmen captives have risen up and overtaken the city. The City Guard and the household guards of House Argentum have been completely overrun. Their surviving remnants are now holed up inside Lord Argentum’s castle.”

“So the city has been lost to slaves, my lord?” asked Exavion, an advisor who specialized in military strategy.

“Yes, the slaves have taken the city,” Leo responded bitterly.

He was disgusted with having to use the word. Earlier in his reign, he had pushed for the total abolition of slavery within House Avonta’s lands, but his plea had been denied by Lord Horace Corent, his liege lord. Worse yet, members within his own council were still avid supporters of laws that permitted Timbarmen to be enslaved.

Out of spite for slaveholders, upon his ascension as lord, he had ordered all slaves under his household to be freed and given employment. The decision was seen as controversial by some of his councilors and other northern houses, but Leo refused to retract his decision. The prospect of now having to violently suppress a rebellion waged by captive Timbarmen infuriated him. All they sought was freedom, something he would have freely given without hesitation.

But to refuse his liege lord’s direct command was to court death. He could not afford to jeopardize the livelihoods of himself and his family. Leo had little choice but to obey. At the very least, by personally leading his army, he could better avoid unnecessary bloodshed and prevent his soldiers from committing atrocities against the innocent.

“I will lead the bannermen to Ausemere Castle,” he continued, now explaining the general plan. “After meeting with Lord Corent’s army, we will then march on Kelin’s Point and crush the rebellion. When that is over, we shall return home. Any questions?”

Commander Kevan raised his hand.

“Go on.”

“My lord, who will be left in charge of the realm in your absence?” asked Kevan.

Leo turned to his wife, who sat beside him. “Lady Promise, of course. Kevan, you will remain here as well to command the garrison.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Leo nodded and rose from his seat, prompting the others to do the same.

“Then this council is adjourned,” he concluded. “Return to your duties.”

The councilors bowed and departed the room, leaving Leo and his wife alone. He waited until the doors were shut before he spoke.

“Lord Horace insults me with the command that he has given me,” he said, a distinct bitterness clear in his voice. His eyes reflected a sad reluctance as he turned to her. “But I have no choice but to obey.”

Promise approached, taking Leo’s hands into her own and gently squeezing them for reassurance. He looked down and met her eyes—beautiful and rich brown, sparkling with a captivating light. He remembered exactly why he had married her.

“There will come a time when you can finally put an end to these horrors,” she said softly. “But as of now, the odds are stacked against you.”

“I know,” replied Leo, his voice quiet. “In the meantime, I must play the part of a loyal vassal.”

“One step at a time, Leo.”

Leo nodded. “One step at a time.”

“Now,” he said with a smirk, “will you be able to handle the twins all by your lonesome?”

Promise returned a sly smile and crossed her arms. “As if I haven’t been doing so already,” she quipped.

“Without your legions of housemaids, of course.”

She rolled her eyes in response. “Oh, spare me. Most of them run around like headless chickens anyway.”

Leo laughed. “Right.”

“Promise me something, as well, Leo,” she said, her tone growing serious. She looked him in the eye. “Promise me you will return, alive and well.”

Leo gave her a solemn look. Placing his hand under her chin, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. “I promise.”

They held each other’s hands. “I will pray every night for your safe return,” she said, smiling. Leo nodded, returning the smile.

“I shall pray for your safety as well,” he replied.

After the couple had bid each other farewell at the castle’s gates, Leo departed with an escort of twenty guards to rally his bannermen.