Fortune Favors The Brave
Flames flicker, and angry sparks rise, their hypnotic embers spiraling upward into the red dawn sky. The slums of Thiel burn, the flames’ slaughterous jaws consuming all. Buildings crack as flaming, rickety timbers buckle and sway. The fire bell rings, chiming out for all to flee, take safety, or join the cause. As the slum masses scurry away, timber frames collapse, crushing the fleeing masses as they swim through an ocean of blazing surf. Children weep as their mothers call for brave fathers carrying pales of rancid sewage to damped the flaming walls. Sleepless eyes stare up at the soot-clad clouds, where, from astral origins, a torrent of heavy rain, buckets down from the sky. A rare rainstorm wipes away the malicious blaze. Clouds of ash wash through the labyrinthine streets, where charcoal soldiers sizzle like roasted meat. The Slaughters’ lanes stream with rivers of blackened filth, and as the monsoon subsides, black tendrils of treacherous smoke climb into the sunlit sky. The smoke wisps away, carrying malignant whispers and swirling with cinders of change.
morning air. “Burning?”
He breakfasts on the Great Palace’s eastern wing balcony, adorned with glistening marble columns and gilded arches, opulent furnishings, and golden tableware. The balcony overlooks the meticulously manicured royal gardens, where a balmy breeze carries the gentle nose of fragrant citrus groves mingling with the acrid stench of ash.
“Yes, sire. A night filled with riots. Half the city watch buildings were aflame,” Lord Commander Torrington remarks, smearing bright white, salty butter onto a slice of burnt toast. “Over a hundred good men were hanged, butchered, or burned alive, sire.”
King Adal smothers cherry jam onto a well-toasted slice of seeded bread. “What’s got them going this time?” He takes a large bite and licks the thick jam from his lips.
Torrington takes a large bite of a sweet pastry, spitting crumbs as he speaks. “Mere rumors and speculation, sire. We had a lad on the rack talking gibberish about you selling our lands.”
King Adal takes a sip of grapefruit juice; his face screws up as the bitter, sweet, and sour juice hits his palette. “Utter nonsense. What do you suggest as the best course of action, Lord Commander?” Adal’s eyes sparkle as he reaches for a soft-boiled egg.
The overly handsome Lord Commander nods sagely, his wavy golden hair blowing in the morning breeze. “Cut the rations, sire. Close the taverns and marshal the lanes.” Torrington rubs his defined, clean-shaven jawline. “Show the rabble the true meaning of the king’s justice. A few beatings and public hangings wouldn’t go unnoticed. An eye for an eye, sire.”
“An excellent plan, Lord Commander.” King Adal smears another slice of toast with a perfectly soft-boiled egg. “However, on this occasion, I fear it will have the opposite effect. Best not add fuel to the fires.”
The Lord Commander nods with a charming smile as he picks at a strawberry and pops it into his mouth. “Bloody good strawberries, sire.” He smacks his lips together, savoring the sweet juices. “Then let’s reward their insolence,” he guffaws at his own joke, polishing a bright silver button on his military tailcoat.
“Reward, yes, a fine idea, Torrington,” King Adal says, reaching for a thick slice of crispy, cured bacon.
“Sire?” A flummoxed look falls onto the Lord Commander’s chiseled face.
“Yes, reward them, Torrington. It has been a while since the vermin have something to celebrate.” Shards of the crispy bacon fly from Kind Adal’s mouth as he speaks. “Announce a public holiday at the king’s personal expense. Ensure the tavern landlords receive the full consumption of ale. Call it ‘The King’s Day’.”
Lord Commander Torrington’s suave face can’t hide his concern.
“You doubt my course of action, Lord Commander?” Adal raises questioning brows.
“I doubt the simple minds of the rabble, sire. Our own men are eager to dish out some justice.” Torrington eyes another sweet pastry.
“Now, Lord Commander, be a splendid fellow and ensure your men understand your strong leadership.” King Adal chides.
“If I may, my king?” Lord Elrich interjects, peering from the balcony terrace down onto the royal gardens. He beams a nauseating grin, reserved only for thieving bankers. “Fifty thousand silver Drakes should appease the rioting masses,” he says, raising his thin brows as if struck with a dawning thought. “Perhaps it’s also prudent to let our own men enjoy this holiday, this King’s Day? Blow off any notion of dishing out justice. Sixty thousand gold Drakes should cover the regiments, Lord Commander?”
Lord Torrington forks a slow-roasted tomato. “Always one step ahead, Elrich. No doubt the men could do with a night of ales with suitable entertainment.” He stuffs the whole tomato into his wide mouth with a loud smack of his lips.
“Money solves many problems in life,” Elrich frowns as he watches tomato juices run down the Lord Commander’s chin. “This one is no different, sire.” Lord Elrich’s teeth knock together as his beady eyes widen in another premeditated thought. “We can introduce a new winter tax, my king. ‘Burning coal tax’ to recoup the expenses from the riffraff and skim a little profit for the Royal Treasury.”
“You always possess a sound mind for making coin, Elrich. Let’s lend the scum the money, and everyone can blow off a little steam. Hike up the taxes in winter; make them pay the bloody coal tax or they can freeze.” King Adal’s hungry eyes fix on a well-crisped venison sausage, he points at it with his gleaming fork. “A twelve-pointer. I took this one down with a single arrow to the heart. I gutted and butchered him myself.” King Adal looks as smug as only a king can.
“A damn good shot, sire,” Lord Commander Torrington nods in genuine approval. “It puts some of our finest archers to shame.” He chews on a mouthful of venison sausage, seasoned with wild thyme and cracked black pepper. “Bloody good sausage, sire.” His bright white teeth tear through the sausage caul and into the tender, juicy meat, causing a spurt of grease to splatter onto the table’s pristine white linen.
“Sausage, Elrich?” King Adal gestures with his fork toward the enormous platter of sizzling meat.
"No, thank you, my king,” Elrich says with a gracious nod. “I’m watching my waistline. Fruits will have to suffice.” Lord Elrich nibbles on a cherry.
“Fifty thousand silvers is a lot cheaper than rebuilding the bloody slums,” the king remarks, pointing his bright silver eating knife at the Lord Commander. “If the bribery fails, redeploy the city watch and deliver the king’s justice. For now, withdraw your men from the slums, double the watch on the wall, and quash these absurd rumors, Lord Commander.”
Torrington stands, proud and lordly, with a bow. “Of course. A pleasure, as always, sire. Forgive my hasty exit. Drills at noon, followed by the graduation of the new recruits. Fresh pickings from the slums. An insolent lot, but nothing a few cycles of shoveling slop from the barracks on East Gate won’t fix.”
“Don’t let me detain you from your duties, Lord Commander.” King Adal gestures with his napkin for the Torrington to depart.
King Adal then shifts his attention to King Eiden, who remains seated on the balcony terrace, gazing out at the palace gardens. “Forgive me, King Eiden. Allow me to relieve myself of these minor duties.”
King Eiden sips fresh orange juice from an ornate golden goblet. “A king’s duty is a king’s duty.” He watches Prince Amos dashing between an army of gardeners at work below, where they trim, prune, and pick through the falling green leaves. The wind blows a scatter of leaves onto a patch of clean lawn, where a young gardener picks up each leaf one by one, placing them with fastidious attention into a cloth sack.
“Sire, if I may?” Elrich adjusts his fine silk robes. “There’s the small matter of loans and interest to discuss.” Lord Elrich taps his long fingers together, and his calculating eyes light up with greed. “It’s been an expensive summer, my king.”
King Adal spoons a large dollop of clotted cream onto a warm scone. “It always is, Elrich. Come now, spit it out. How much? You’re never shy with coin.”
“Seven hundred and thirty-five thousand, two hundred fourteen gold Drakes, give or take. That excludes the extravagance of the moon ball.” The bankers eyes light up with greed as King Adal chokes on a mouthful of flaky custard tart, then regains his composure. “The Bank of Thiel is more than willing to cover the expenses for the usual interest rate of 3.3%.” Lord Elrich limbers his coin-counting fingers.
“I recall it was 3% last summer, Elrich,” King Adal’s eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Yes, my king. Quite right, but we all have debts to settle. Trade with the Tivanians fell off by 0.3% this summer. They are expanding their trade agreements beyond your kingdom, making alliances with the Nareshi's.” Lord Elrich leans forward with a leering grin. “3.3% sire, and we can ensure we merge the interest into the winter budget.”
“Alright, Elrich. 3.3%—have the paperwork drafted.” King Adal savors a fruit and cream pastry. “Anything else, Elrich?”
“I’ll add the ‘King’s Day’ expenses of fifty thousand silver and the sixty thousand gold Drakes to the loan, my king.” He taps his fingertips together.
“Damn you, Elrich.” King Adal licks the custard from his fingers. “I’m sure you leave with more coin every time I see you.” Adal’s greedy fingers hover over a delicate cherry tart. “Don’t let me keep you.” King Adal gives Lord Elrich a departing nod as he stands to leave.
Lord Elrich departs through the double doors and strolls out of sight.
“The One damn that robber baron. He’s enough to put a man off his appetite.” King Adal throws his napkin onto the food-laden table in a petulant tantrum.
King Eiden slumps into his gold-gilded chair, seeming to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“You seem rather out of sorts, Eiden. What troubles you?” King Adal raises an eyebrow in curiosity.
“I must return to Galt and settle the growing unrest. It seems Madon has far greater ambition than I expected.” King Eiden reaches into his silk robes and produces a small, rolled piece of parchment. He passes it to Adal with a long sigh: “The message arrived before the first sunrise from Lord Aiseld. The Accession Lords have been summoned. Prince Madon claims the throne.”
King Adal reads the parchment, then shrugs and passes it back to Eiden. “So, what of it? Assert your authority over the prince. Tell him to bide his time and ensure your lords remember their oaths of fealty. In the meantime, you best get busy and make a more suitable heir.”
“I must ask something of you, Adal. Call in that favor.” A hint of shame flickers in Eiden’s old eyes.
The young king does his best not to look surprised. “If it’s within my power, I will see it done. Take all the grain and supplies you need, or soldiers, to shore up your legitimacy. You need not see this as a favor.”
“Watch Nuria for me; keep her safe until I return.” Eiden’s tired eyes shine with a hint of concealed gratitude.
“That’s it?” King Adal gives a hearty laugh. “You worry about this? You worry more about your future queen than you do the bloody treachery in your kingdom,” he gives a mischievous chuckle. “She’s bloody ensnared you. True love is a rare thing. Consider it done. Queen Aina will take Nuria under her wing until you return. Aina will show her how to navigate the intricacies of the court and introduce her to Thiel’s elected ones. You won’t recognize her; we’ll make a Thielian of her yet. You needn’t worry; the estate is yours, and I’ll assign my personal guards to watch her every step.”
King Adal reaches for a jug of ruby wine and pours them both a drink, saying, “Besides, I also have a favor to ask in return.”
“I am indebted to you, Adal. Whatever you ask of me, it is done.” King Eiden says with an accepting nod.
King Adal stands, then strolls to the balcony edge. He perches and turns to face the seated King Eiden. “I want you to consider a financial proposal. I’m held to ransom in my own bloody kingdom. Every cycle, I lose more land, wealth, and power to the bank.”
King Adal paces back and forth along the balcony, looking down at his son playing hide and seek in the garden. “My father, the great King Adran. His war with you cost us dearly, and it was the Bank of Thiel that funded the war. Ten great cycles of fighting, and with every cycle, he borrowed more from the bank to fund his grand vision. To claim all the land of our ancestors. Land that you also claim. They call it the Golden War, not for the victory or the endless fields of golden wheat, but because of how much gold it cost.”
King Eiden winces but nods in understanding. “He was a tough bastard, your father. Merciless on the battlefield. We lost our pride the day we retreated. A day I will never forget.”
“Do you regret your choice?” King Adal takes another sip of wine and stares at Eiden, questioning.
“No. Fortune brought us peace, but without the crops in the golden lands, my people starve.” A long silence ensues.
King Adal breaks the ominous silence. “Fortune,” he rolls the word on his tongue. “If my brothers didn’t die in battle, I would not be king. If my father had been in better health, I would not be king. Fortune brought us together, King Eiden, and fortune shapes our future.”
“Then what fortune do you speak of?” King Eiden inquires, unconvinced.
King Adal gives Eiden a reassuring pat on the back: “I need your gold, Eiden. All of it.”
King Eiden coughs and splutters as King Adal paces. “Peace between Thiel and Galt exists while times are good and the harvests are true. When your mines run dry, what then? If Thiel’s crops fail? Eiden, already our crops are thinning, and the harvests are lighter. A wretched new blight plagues the lands, turning fertile crops into fields of rot.”
King Adal picks at a small sugar cake, rubbing the crumbs that fall through his fingers. “I’m tired of sweet words and false hopes. Every turn, I’m held to the whims of these overfed, ambitious bankers. These financiers are bleeding me dry in my own kingdom. They acquire more of my land in return for the debt payments. They then gift this land to my lords to weaken my position. Soon enough, The Bank of Thiel will govern the entire kingdom.”
Adal growls in agitation. “The era of kings is coming to an end. Gold governs the people. Fear, greed, and faith. We are not worshipped like our forefathers. We are mere figureheads who throw parties and dance like fools.” King Adal laughs as he breathes in the cool autumn air. “Is it not so?”.
King Eiden massages his weary temples with his forefingers. “Adal, Galt has enough gold for the next hundred great cycles and more.”
“And what then?” Cuts in King Adal. “What of our children? What of our legacies?” King Adal takes a large gulp of wine.
“King Adal, speak simple and true.” King Eiden squints, shading his dull eyes from the sun.
King Adal’s well-rehearsed words flow like Thielian wine. “We make a new coin, a new currency, free from these archaic banks that hold our kingdoms in eternal debt. A single currency is used in both Galt and Thiel to unite our kingdoms.”
“Go on.” King Eiden’s words escape as a whisper.
“We unite our kingdoms and govern with a mutual council. A council of Galt and Thiel with equal standing,” Adal’s words flow like wine. "Together, we build and manage a union built on peace and free trade, all with a new currency, a new coin mined in Galt and minted by our union.”
“What you mean is that you take our gold and buy yourself out of debt?” King Eiden’s head aches as his brain wrestles to comprehend King Adal’s ambitious idea.
“No, Eiden, I considered this, of course.” King Adal runs his groomed fingertip around the rim of his golden wine goblet. “I also propose an extension of the border.”
King Eiden chokes, spluttering on a mouthful of fresh orange juice.
“I release lands in Thiel to Galt. Galtish lords, nobles, merchants, and farmers alike can live and thrive in this free trade area.” King Adal’s words come with energy and conviction. “The new border area will be of a sizable proportion, as much as half of the golden lands. Galt will never starve again.”
King Eiden sits in gob smacked silence.
“Through our new trade council, we issue licenses to trade freely in all thirteen kingdoms. Everyone will pay a duty to our joint union.” King Adal lets his words sink in. “A new trading alliance with our new currency, governed and managed by our shared council. There will be a unanimous vote of confidence for all decisions. I do not doubt the early days of such a union will be tricky, Eiden, but surely working together is the better way.”
“This is not some new idea. Why wait all this time?” King Eiden asks, his voice almost a whisper.
King Adal blows through his lips. “Because now we have peace, but we hold on to our kingdoms by an unraveling thread. Your own son and lords conspire against you, and I wonder if your son will see the same sense and reason as you do. When the bank commands my troops, will they see stability or opportunity? Eiden, we’re out of time.”
King Eiden squints up at the bright sun as his thoughts clear. The mental fog lifts as his words become simple and clear. “Galt must buy this land. It cannot be a gift. It must be the first transaction of the union. Galt’s by deed, then there can be no quarrel over the lands' legitimacy.”
King Adal spins around in excitement. “Our legacy as kings will be building the foundation for our people to thrive and prosper together. Our children will rule in times of peace, free from these meddling banks. We will build a lasting future of shared prosperity.”
King Eiden reaches for his wine and takes a large gulp to disguise his broad smile.
King Adal struts around the balcony, enraptured by his own cleverness. “We are still kings, and these are still our kingdoms, are they not? If we do not act, we will be our own downfall. We can set our right to rule for all our future generations. What say you, brother? What say you, King Eiden?”
“I say I need time to think.” King Eiden stands, and the two kings embrace, both arms linked at each other’s shoulders as their foreheads touch. “Alright Adal. I’ll sow seeds of thought into whatever supporting ears remain. When I return in spring, I’ll bring you an answer.”
King Adal looks down from the balcony to the palace garden and puffs out a long breath.
Prince Amos dashes and darts, taking cover in the shade of the orchard. The prince pinches his nose and holds his breath as Nanny Slatt waddles past him, like an oversized partridge. He looks up to his father with a playful wave. A golden light shines on the prince’s face as he places a hushing finger on his youthful lips.
King Adal roars with laughter as his son darts from his cover and sprints back into the safety of the palace.
“King Eiden, our future depends on us. Fortune favors the brave.”