Bloody Business
One man’s blood is another man’s opportunity.
piece of bloody steak with a gleaming silver fork, his piercing eyes fixed on Torrington. “Well, Lord Commander, report.”
“King Eiden is dead, sire.” Torrington chews like a carnivorous cow, rolling a mouthful of rump steak in his mouth.
King Adal reaches for another thick slice of meat and shovels it into his gaping gullet. His words muffle through the mouthful of meat. “How? What in The One’s name is going on. Torrington?”
“We received an anonymous missive and then found him in his bedchamber, sire.” Torrington places his cutlery down onto a plate, swimming with steak juices and blood. “Stark naked and frozen, sire.”
“Frozen? It’s early autumn. A man doesn’t freeze to death, Torrington.” Adal waves his bloodied steak knife in Torrington’s direction, his tone incredulous. “Speak sense, Lord Commander. My patience is wearing thin.”
“Poisoned, sire. Some rare venom of sorts. The physicians are cutting him open now.” Torrington wipes meaty juices from his chin with an immaculate linen napkin, his demeanor composed. “She stabbed him to death while they—you know?”
“No, Lord Commander. I don’t?” King Adal leans forward, his curiosity piqued.
“Copulated, sire.”
“The One damn you, Torrington. Speak, Thielian.” King Adal throws his napkin onto the table, his frustration clear. “Are you telling me she poisoned him, fucked him and stabbed him to death?”
“Sounds about right, sire,” Torrington confirms, his voice grave.
“Then why didn’t you say so?” King Adal waves his arms around in erratic frustration.
“Fucked to death. What a way to go, aye, Torrington?”
“Yes, sire. We found this.” Torrington reaches inside his pristine military blazer and plucks Nuria’s crooked hairpin from its inside pocket. He passes it on to King Adal.
“What in the thirteen hells is this?” King Adal holds up the gleaming hairpin to the candelabra’s soft light and spins it around before his confused eyes with a frown.
“It’s a hairpin, sire. They’re the height of fashion.” Torrington nods to himself sagely.
“Are you telling me she murdered a dozen armed guards and the king of Galt with a single hairpin?” King Adal stabs the hairpin into the table with a heavy thwack, his voice laced with disbelief.
“It looks like it, sire.” The Lord Commander gives a sheepish grimace. “Poisoned them first. The wine, most likely. The master physician claims the poison set them like stone statues. Then she picked them off one by one. A single killing blow with a hairpin or a pike into the brain through their eyeballs.”
“Cunning bitch.” King Adal stares at the hairpin stabbed into his table, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and fury. “I knew it, Torrington.” King Adal slumps back into his elaborate gold-gilded dining chair. “She played us all along, bloody remarkable.”
“Remarkable? What is, sire?” Sweat bubbles on the Lord Commander’s elegant brow.
“She is, Torrington. An assassin right under our own noses.”
“Assassin sire?” The color drains from the Lord Commander’s face.
“Of course, you bloody half-wit!” King Adal cuts in as his anger boils over. “Are you not responsible for the safety of your king? You let some killer slut waltz into my palace? Stand in my presence. I knew it, Torrington. She seduced Eiden, and she seduced us all. I should have put her head on a spike when I had the bloody chance.”
“Women are a devilish breed, sire.” The Lord Commander sucks in his breath and places his steak knife down, his voice full of sexism. “Their conniving never ceases to amaze me. They are always looking for better opportunities.”
King Adal muses on Torrington’s sexist words, his voice contemplative. “Yes, Torrington. You’re quite right. Opportunity.” King Adal’s calculating eyes light up in self-divination, with a smug smile at his own cleverness. “We will make the most of the opportunity, Lord Commander.”
The great dining hall double doors swing open with a loud creak, the armored guards taking a step back as Lord Elrich strides into the great hall. “I received your summons, my king. I came as quickly as I could. The military accounts required reconciling, as you requested.” His silken black robes flow behind him as he strides, and in his hands, he carries a giant tome.
“Elrich. My good man,” King Adal beams his most charming grin, gesturing for him to be seated beside Torrington. “Sit, have a steak, cooked to perfection, pink and bloody.”
The great hall doors swing open again as Cardinal Lehon rolls into the room. “My king.”
“Lehon?” I don’t recall sending you a summons.” The king frowns. “Have you been running? You have grass on your robes.”
“Yes, my king.” Cardinal Lehon pants keeled over, holding his knees. “I came as soon as I heard the foul news.” He chews on his words. “A most abhorrent business. How are you holding up, my king?”
“Holding up?” King Adal frowns.
“Yes. You and King Eiden were close friends. The news must be most terrible.” Lehon uses a napkin to mop a tide of sweat from his brow.
“A most terrible affair.” King Adal feigns sorrow and gestures for the Cardinal to sit beside Elrich. Lehon fits his fat, round arse into the chair with a shuffling squeeze. “So, this is my war council?” King Adal stands, resolute, at the head of the table as three pairs of surprised eyebrows raise in unison. Lord Elrich rubs his fingers together with glee.
“War?” Torrington’s squeal takes him by surprise as he repeats his statement in a more manly tone. “I mean, war, sire?”
“Correct the first time, Torrington. We’re going to war.”
“A war council requires my generals and the voting lords, sire.” The Lord Commander squirms in his seat.
“Damn you, Torrington. We need decisive action, not idle chit-chat. Are we incapable of forming a sound war strategy?” King Adal spreads his arms wide as he glances around the table. “The Colligi bitch presented us with an opportunity,” King Adal muses, thinking out loud. “King Eiden was a good man, but a fool.” King Adal stands, then paces around the long dining table. “I had been brokering a deal to claim all Galt’s’ gold.”
“So the rumors are true?” Elrich scoffs, a frustrated bark of contempt. “You planned to sell our lands to access Galt’s mine for your own currency.”
“The plan, Elrich, is to access the mines and secure the gold at any cost. I intended this to be by peaceful means, of course. I’m sure you agree that securing Galt’s only useful and considerable asset, which is mountains full of gold, is of high strategic importance.”
Lord Elrich gives a rapid nod as he latches onto the king’s impending thoughts. He reaches into his silk robes, finds a pair of round spectacles, and places them on the bridge of his hawkish nose. He taps his dexterous fingers together as only a thief can.
“Now, King Eiden has regrettably passed.” King Adal dons a faux look of sorrow as he beseeches his gold-gilded ceiling. “I fear his son, this Prince Madon, will be less accommodating to peaceful means. After all, his own father was slain on my soil under my protection.”
“Wars have been started for less.” Elrich rubs his hands together before running his fingers over the financial tome. “Wars are expensive.”
“Yes, Lord Elrich.” King Adal gives him a nod. “At least one of you has a sound mind for strategy.”
Lord Commander Torrington bristles. “War is risky, sire. A more peaceful approach should be considered first.”
“Torrington, you always hedge on the side of caution.” King Adal swaggers around the long table. “Lord Commander, what would you do if someone murdered me in Galt?”
“Justice, sire,” all eyes fix on the Lord Commander as he pulls at his tight-fitting shirt collar, squirming in his seat. “We’d march on Galt and deliver your justice.” Torrington stands, enraged, and slams his fists on the table. “By The One, I’d wipe Galt off the maps.”
“Correct, Lord Commander.” King Adal beams a predator’s smile. “We’d march on Galt and run them through.”
“The Galt’s are not so foolish as to take on the mighty armies of Thiel. We’d crush them, sire.” Torrington regains his composure and takes his seat.
“Now you get it, Torrington. Those half-starving, goat-fucking peasants are no match for the might of my armies.”
“Of course, sire. But war makes a mess of the world. Good Thielian men’s lives are put at risk.” Torrington shakes his head.
“They are soldiers.” King Adal slams his fist on the table, sending bloody meat and wine everywhere. “The king’s men, my army, to defend the glory of my kingdom.”
“The memory of the Golden War still lives. We lost many, and we found peace.” Torrington lowers his eyes from King Adal’s unwavering stare.
“Peace makes us poor.” King Adal’s words hit home. “Peace makes us weak.” He stands at the head of the table. “My father was a greater fool than Eiden. We defeated the Galt’s and sent them back to a land packed with raw gold. My father should have routed them to the last and claimed the mines.” He slams his fists down. “Am I the only one who can see the blatant opportunity to do what my father failed to do?” A river of red wine and bloody meat juices soaks into the pristine white table linen.
“My king,” Elrich says. He props his round glasses over his beady eyes and looks over their rims. “The Bank of Thiel is willing to fund such a venture for a sizable share of the gold.”
“Elrich, you conniving fiend!” Lord Torrington spins to stare at the banker with a mix of surprise and disgust.
“Sire, hunt the treacherous bitch down and have her sent to the Galt Prince,” Torrington pleads. “Let him deliver justice and work on more peaceful measures. Let him see sense, as King Eiden did. Eiden’s death is regrettable, but it does not mean war.”
“If I may speak, my king?” All eyes turn to Cardinal Lehon. “There is little point in wasting valuable resources on one woman. Those heathens in Galt are a flock led astray by a lifetime of wicked rulers.” The pompous cardinal rests his pudgy, clammy hands on the table in a sign of prayer. “Given the appropriate circumstances, The Order of The One can bring the heathen masses to our one true faith. Convert them to my order.” The Cardinal rubs his trotter hands together. “The Order of The One supports your war, my king, on the understanding that the innocent are spared so our flock can grow in Galt.”
“Lehon?” Lord Commander Torrington shakes his head in further disgust. “More contributions to your order, a few extra gold coins, so you can rest your lard on some poor boy’s back.”
Lehon stands, ignoring Torrington, and bows as low as his belly allows, with a fatty jaw-jiggling nod. “My king, I will make The Order ready for our mercy mission.” He then rolls from the great hall with surprising speed.
“Calm down, Torrington. I admire your upstanding moral high ground, but this is no time for false pride. We all have our vices. Even you.” King Adal stares down Torrington’s protest.
Lord Torrington slumps back into his seat, his defeated face flushed with anger.
“Lord Commander Torrington, The Liberator,” King Adal’s voice fills with admiration. “The most decorated Lord Commander in our illustrious history. You freed the Galt’s from tyranny and starvation, leading our mighty army to victory in defense of our glorious holy kingdom. They will sing your name in songs, forever etched into Thiel’s history.”
“Well, sire, when you put it that way,” Torrington’s chest puffs up with pride. A wide grin showcases his perfect teeth as images flood his mind, envisioning himself atop a white stallion clad in golden armor. The streets sing his name as they shower roses upon him.
“Tell me, Lord Commander Torrington, what is the condition of our armies?” King Adal paces, hands behind his back.
Torrington straightens up, snapping back to reality from his daydream. “They are ready to march at your command, sire. Forty thousand strong, across all regiments. Truth be told, they are itching for a good fight. Times of peace are dull for soldiers, sire.”
“And what of the fighting pit, Lord Commander?”
“Pardon, sire?” King Adal’s question catches Torrington off guard.
“How many men do we have?” King Adal clarifies.
“Approximately one hundred, sire,” Torrington responds with a frown. “But they lack the skills for warfare. They will contribute little value to our elite forces.”
King Adal nods, a devious plan forming in his mind. “I have a use for them.” King Adal twirls his gleaming steak knife between his fingers. “They may be outlaws, murderers, and thieves, but they know how to fight.”
“Indeed, sire,” Torrington admits, sipping wine, his eyes peering at King Adal over the goblet’s golden rim. “But they are unfit to wear our colors and stand among our regiments.”
A mischievous glint dances in King Adal’s young eyes as he considers Torrington’s response. “But they possess the ability to engage in good old-fashioned killing, don’t they?”
“Of course,” confusion clouds Torrington’s flummoxed face as he contemplates King Adal’s intentions.
“We must ensure the scales tip in our favor,” King Adal muses to himself. “Prepare them. They shall reclaim Ossan for the glory of Thiel. Offer one thousand gold Drakes to every Thielian man in the pits. Conscript them into the liberation regiment, granting them freedom once Ossan is liberated.”
“And if they refuse?” Torrington inquires, his curiosity piqued.
“Then let them face the king’s justice.” King Adal plunges his steak knife into a slab of raw fillet with a deliberate motion. “Serve or die. We must set an example. Find a suitable leader among them. Pay him well, Torrington. Buy his loyalty, regardless of the cost.”
“I know just the man.” Torrington directs his greedy glance to a slab of steak, his mind formulating a plan. “The Pit Master, Jorge. He already commands their respect, if you can call it that.”
King Adal nods in acceptance and says, “Do as you see fit, Lord Commander.”
Torrington rises in pride, elevating from his seat to give a respectful bow. “Of course, sire.”
“Torrington. You will lead the greatest army Thiel has ever set forth.” King Adal’s voice is filled with admiration. “Summon your generals and ensure they are ready for war. Double the drills and put the smithies and armories on triple time. We march, not two turns, behind the liberation regiment. Should they fail to take Ossan, we take it ourselves.”
Torrington stands to leave, his mind already racing with plans and preparations.
“Wait, Torrington. Take a seat.” King Adal pours another goblet of wine and passes it on to his childhood friend. “Long have we waited for this moment. Our fathers fought side by side in the Golden Wars. Now it is our chance to accomplish what they could not. A toast, Lord Commander.” King Adal raises his goblet. “To the liberators!”
Torrington echoes, raising his goblet to clink against King Adal’s before they both drain them dry and set them on the table.
“Torrington. You will spare no one. Wipe the Galt’s out. Do this, and Galt is yours.” King Adal’s tone leaves no room for doubt.
“Sire?” Torrington’s eyes widen in shock.
“Liberate them, whatever you want to call it, but I want every Galt put to the sword.” King Adal forks at a piece of bloody meat as he speaks. “Peace has made us weak, and other kingdoms now seek their own trade alliances and independence. I will not tolerate this, and as Lord Commander, you will not tolerate this either.” King Adal’s words hit Torrington hard, the weight of the responsibility sinking in. “Long have we been friends, from our first steps as children to our first adventures with women. You are a second father to my son, and I look upon you as my brother.”
Torrington blushes, touched by King Adal’s words.
“Fail me, and our kinship is forsaken,” King Adal’s uncompromising stare fixes on Torrington. “You are a fool to believe that from this moment forth, our friendship gifts you with leniency. You are the Lord Commander of my armies. The fate of my kingdom rests on your ability to execute my plan. Succeed, and I will reward you with a kingdom of your own. A warden of Thiel. The greatest Lord Commander that ever lived. Fail me, and I’ll strip you of everything. Land, deeds, and title,” King Adal reveals, a mixture of determination and disappointment in his voice. He gives a deep sigh. “Do you understand me, Lord Commander?”
Struck like a thousand blows to the body, Torrington can only nod silently, the weight of his loyalty and the cost of failure bearing down on him.
“Good man!” King Adal’s boyish charm returns, a fleeting smile crossing his face. “Excellent work, Lord Commander. Lead forth the greatest army all the kingdoms have ever seen. Let them know on every shore the might and glory of Thiel. Let them know it is Lord Commander Torrington who leads them into battle. Don’t dally on my behalf, Torrington. You have many duties to serve the kingdom. Call a war council with your generals. Mobilize the troops and prepare the supply lines. Winter draws near, and we must take Ossan before the snow sets in. There are no second chances.”
Torrington stands, unsteady, and regains his dignity. He gives the king a low bow and casts Lord Elrich a sullen glance. He straightens his military tailcoat, pats down his pressed trousers, and leaves the great dining hall with strides of determination.
King Adal slumps into his chair and undoes the top button of his silk gown. “Torrington is my best friend, but a king at war has no time for soft friendships.”
“War is a dangerous game, Adal.” Formality lost, Elrich takes a sip of wine. “You’re broke. You know the Royal Treasury cannot fund your war.”
“I know. That is why you are here, Elrich.” King Adal removes his crown and sets it on the table.
“I’ll fund your war.” Elrich takes off his spectacles and places them on the table. “Lord Varesh’s absence makes securing the finances easier. There’s a rumor he may not return, and until he does, the full resources of the bank and therefore the kingdom’s wealth are in my hands.” Elrich can’t help but grin. “Our hands, in this case.”
“I placed a bounty on Lord Varesh’s head, you know.” King Adal picks at meat stuck in his teeth. “Word reached me; he’s not the charlatan I mistook him for. He turned my hired help into clouds of blood and ash. If that’s the truth of it.”
Elrich undoes his top button and gives King Adal a concerned glance.
“The balance of power must shift, Elrich.” King Adal nods in self-reassurance. “Lord Varesh has got half that wretched Colligi family under his protection in The Planks. He used ‘The King’s Pardon’ to aid and abet them.”
“You knew?” Elrich can’t hide his surprise.
“Of course I knew.” King Adal smirks with his most arrogant grin. “Lord Varesh has forfeited his position in my kingdom. I’ve seized everything. His lands, deeds, homes, and stake in the bank. I’ll seize his bloody flotilla, too. Pirate scum.”
“Adal, the bank custodians will never agree. The entire wealth of the kingdom cannot come under your direct control.” Elrich hangs his head under his friend’s stare.
“The bank will control all the assets, Elrich.” King Adal stands and places a warm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You will act in Lord Varesh’s stead. At this very moment, the royal decree is already with the bank’s custodians. You are now the Lord Exchequer, Acting Proprietor of the Bank of Thiel. Lord Varesh is charged with high treason.”
“This is a dangerous game, Adal.” Elrich reclines into his seat, gob smacked.
“No. This is a much-needed war.” King Adal’s eyes dance with excitement.
“You planned this all along. Torrington, Lehon, the impromptu council, even me?”
“Of course I did,” smug as only a king can ever be. King Adal leans forward and spreads his hands on the table. “The Colligi bitch inadvertently did us a favor and saved me the bother of killing King Eiden myself. I had a regiment commissioned to escort him to Ossan; he would have never made it back to Galt alive. War makes kingdoms rich and kings even richer.” King Adal’s eyes sparkle with hungry greed. “Now, Lord Exchequer, Proprietor of the Bank of Thiel, we have a war to fund.”
Lord Elrich gives a deep bow as he opens the great military tome before him. He rests his round spectacles on the bridge of his nose and takes a sip of wine. “As you command, my king, War is expensive. Very expensive.”
“War always is, Elrich.”