Kingdom Come (Price of Power Book 1) Page 6

  Then there came the incident that lead to his discharge. While he was indeed a ferocious soldier, he did have discipline issues. One particular captain of the army, a man by the name of Gert Bendler, took a disliking to Ostinus, likely out of jealousy. He always made life hard for Ostinus, who was not the type of person to take treatment from anyone regardless of their seniority. One day Captain Bendler was really riding Ostinus. He embarrassed him in front of other soldiers, and Ostinus snapped. With a strong punch he broke the man’s nose and laid him unconscious for an hour. Striking an officer was a bad offense. The council of the city knew of Gert Bendler’s sour reputation as well as Ostinus’s growing heroic name. Gert threatened to leave the army if Ostinus was still there and not disciplined for the incident, so the solution was to not punish Ostinus but to discharge him.

  Geeyor Runsevor had given them a letter just as they left. It was on rolled up parchment sealed with wax, which was stamped with the symbol of the house of Runsevor. They both guessed it just stated the details as had been described to them. They were to present it to the council along with their story. Orzalar and Lunemire had been friendly cities for many years, but hardly interacted.

  “There’s got to be a way we can open this things and reseal it.” Ostinus said with crooked smile on his face.

  “Do not try it.” Elberon snapped..

  “No fun…ever.” He replied, stroking his goatee.

  The next day the companions and the cargo-laden mule traveled quickly again. Neither had slept well the previous night. Before midday they had reached the top of a large hill from which they could see the walls of Lunemire in the distance. The sight of the city had been one they’ve seen many times before, but both men now looked at it differently. The sky surrounded the city like a blue canvas. Thin clouds passed overhead in the gentle breeze. Flags positioned along the parapets pointed southeast in the wind. They bore the symbol of the city, which was green quarter moon over a navy blue backdrop. Elberon found himself feeling relieved that the city was not surrounded by legions of orcs, laying siege. The mere fact that the sentiment even existed annoyed the priest.

  As they approached the city, it was clear something was awry. The city gates were closed and the guard nearly tripled atop the walls. The two humans continued on. As they got closer, the gates were opened and they were allowed in.

  “What is this about?” Ostinus called up to several guards up on the top of the wall.

  “Carry on your business,” the guard barked down.

  Ostinus turned back to his friend and whispered, “do we tell these idiots that we have news for the council?” A nod from Elberon had Ostinus turning back to the guards. “We have news for the council, important news from the city of Orzalar.” Instantly the guards all perked up.

  “What news do you have?” The commanding officer yelled down.

  Many eyes beamed down at the two men. “News of an attack on the dwarven mines by an unknown force,” before Ostinus even finished the statement, the commander motioned for one of his subordinates to descend the wall. The guard arrived at the companions and motioned for them to follow him. They all began to walk towards the city hall, where the council met.

  “Tell me of your news.” The guard demanded.

  Elberon began to speak of what he had seen, but was cut short by his friend, “We are to speak of this only to the council for now.” Ostinus then smiled and shot Elberon a wink. He was right, the guard had no need to be informed. They continued on with their mule, following the guard.

  The city somehow suspected that something was wrong, but of how they knew and what they knew neither companion was aware. They would have the full attention of the council soon enough.

  Within a short while they arrived at the government building called The Great Hall of the Fathers named after those who first founded the government of the city. A high flagpole was in the square outside the entrance. On the top was the largest flag of Lunemire that flew in the city. The building was large and square with many windows that each had artful moldings. The two men were led through two large double doors. They continued inside with the guard until they were told to wait on a bench outside of a set of closed doors. The sentry entered the doors while Elberon and Ostinus sat quiet waiting. The guard returned quickly and instructed the two men to go inside the room.

  The chamber inside had extremely high ceilings. On the walls hung paintings of former prestigious members of the Lunemire council, along with scenic paintings done by some of the most famous artists that lived in the three cities by the South Sea. Towards the back of the room was a large oval table. It was made of polished wood and was surrounded by twenty four chairs. On the wall behind the table was an enormous map of the nearby lands with Lunemire in the middle. In the furthest chairs facing the entrance sat six members of the Lunemire council who all eyed the two men approaching.

  Both Elberon and Ostinus stopped after just a few strides. It was not normal for average citizens to enter this chamber. Neither man knew what to expect. Ostinus nervously adjusted his wrist bracers. An older man who was bald except for a white beard and hair around the side and back of his head, beckoned the companions to come closer. “Gentleman, please come. You must share the news that you bring,” said Bernot Oxbane, spokesman of the council.

  Ostinus rolled his eyes slightly as he noticed one of the council members from his army discharge hearing. She was Tenezza Almore, the only female member of any of the councils of the three cities by the South Sea. She was notoriously tough and immediately fixed her gaze on Ostinus. Their eyes met and Ostinus casually looked away. He couldn’t stand Tenezza. She had beautiful long blonde hair. Her complexion was pale with freckles scattered around her face. A long nose with a bump in the middle prevented her from being attractive. She was not yet fifty years old.

  The priest and the warrior reached the table and walked slowly towards where the council members sat. “Please sit,” Bernot said as he held his hand out to chairs near him. Ostinus pulled a chair out and sat but Elberon, before he sat, approached the council members and handed the nearest of them the scroll that Geeyor Runsevor had given him.

  “This is from the noble house of Runsevor of Orzalar, from Geeyor Runsevor one of the lords of the clan.” He said and then sat next to Ostinus. The scroll was passed to Bernot Oxbane who opened it. He sat reading the letter for a moment, his face becoming very serious and intense. After several minutes of silence the councilman put the scroll down and moved closer to the table. He leaned onto his elbows and folded his hands in front of him. Before speaking he cleared his throat.

  “Well...we thank you both for representing Lunemire with our dwarven allies,” He slid the letter to one of the councilman to his left who picked it up to read it immediately. “Please tell us of what you saw at the Singrin Peaks.”

  The two men looked at one another, not knowing what had been written in the letter. Elberon then told the story of his conversation with Geeyor Runsevor and the events that followed. The councilmen sat and listened in earnest. As the priest spoke, the councilmen continued to pass the letter around to one another. Ostinus shifted in his seat as Tenezza looked his way again after reading the scroll. When Elberon finished recounting the story, Bernot Oxbane leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard.

  “When you were away, we were visited by a strange group. A goblin, two humans, and three orcs approached Lunemire. Similar to how you were told by your dwarven business partner, they bore a standard, a red flag with a black scorpion on it.”

  “An ominous flag indeed,” said another councilman, a thin man with curly brown hair and pointy facial features. The others nodded in agreement.

  The speaker of the council continued, “They asked to speak with us, assuring all that they came in peace. We cautiously snuck them into the city to prevent our citizens from becoming alarmed at the site of orcs. We brought them here and listened to what they had to say. They spoke of their nation to the northeast which they called Faletonia. The
y said that they came in peace and that their goal was to establish peaceful alliances with the three cities. Alliances that would benefit us...so they claim. They were rather convincing and the stories of their society shocked and impressed us. Apparently one of the missions of Faletonia was to, and I quote ‘heal the rift between the races of the realms while helping each other prosper.’”

  “Humans? There were humans in the group?” Ostinus tilted his head and asked, surprised by the fact.

  “Yes, they said they represented a growing number of humans within the…the…nation.” Bernot didn’t know what to call it. “The humans actually did most of the speaking.”

  “Bah.” Tenezza spat in disgust and folded her arms.

  “They sure seem to have brought peace to Orzalar,” the thin man called Alexander Farsic exclaimed sarcastically.

  “The group also said that they wanted to be a trading partner with Lunemire, and that their interests did not conflict with those of Lunemire in the least. They actually made sense when they spoke. They gave us details of cities that were being built and acres of cultivated land. There was no threat whatsoever and they asked for nothing more from us than a consideration to be trading partners.” The elder man looked to his fellow council members. “This news from Orzalar is extremely unsettling though.”

  “And what did the council conclude?” Elberon asked in a tone that was rather impatient.

  The scroll from the House of Runsevor returned to the hands of Bernot and he rolled it up and stood from the table. The other council members followed his lead and stood. “That is still being discussed. We sent them away knowing that we wanted peace. The rest is being contemplated. That is not for you to be concerned with, we will choose what is best for the city.”

  “And when will we know the course of action. We could be facing the same fate as the dwarves of Orzalar,” Ostinus said as he stood, knowing that their time with the council was coming to an end.

  “You will know when the rest of the people of our city know Ostinus Deenor. And you should watch your tone when speaking to your council.” said Tenezza Almore who clearly remembered the warrior from his dismissal hearing. “Bitch.” He thought. Ostinus shot her a stare that showed he didn’t care much for her.

  “Thank you and farewell,” said Elberon and he tugged Ostinus’s arm to turn and walk to the exit.

  “That one is trouble. We should have listened to me when I said a serious flogging was appropriate for what he did to one of our army’s officers.” Tenezza said lowly and her lips were pursed in anger.

  “They were only messengers and brought a good message.” Alexander replied.

  “They say not to slay the messengers, but sometimes it’s not a bad idea.” She shot him a fake smile that indicated she was done discussing Ostinus Deenor.

  When Elberon and Ostinus got back outside of the Great Hall of the Fathers, a guard pointed to their mule, which was tied to a post nearby. The two companions gathered their cargo-bearing animal and walked to the main street.

  “I don’t know what to think of all this,” said the priest of Phelios.

  “Nor do I, but let’s go deliver our goods and collect our money. I can use a good meal and a bath,” Ostinus said while rubbing his face with both hands. Elberon nodded and they headed towards old Martely’s shop.

  ***

  The orc circled slowly. His adversary was doing the same, which kept them an equal distance apart. Their eyes were locked on each other. Neemno was shirtless and sweat caused the skin in the center of his chest and abdomen to glisten. It was hot in the confined space. He was thin by orcish standards, but his muscles were tightly corded. His green jaundice eyes were locked on those of his shorter foe. He feigned lunging in, but his opponent didn’t bite. They continued to circle each other and look for an opportunity to strike.

  Finally his adversary charged. Because he was significantly shorter, he went for Neemno’s knees…but would never make it. Neemno stepped back and shoved his opponent’s body down but then quickly let him up. They engaged and grappled for control of each other’s arms. When the opponent lost patience he swung up in frustration and his little fist hit Neemno’s chest. In turn, Neemno backhanded him across the face, sending him tumbling to the ground.

  “Patience. If you don’t secure the position you like, you have to keep a level head.” Neemno said in the orcish language. His green eyes, which were a rare color for an orc, looked caringly at the smaller orc that was getting to his feet across from him.

  The orc was still a child. As he returned to his feet he put the back of his hand to his lip. No blood. The child nodded to his father and was eager to learn more. “Drop to your knees and let’s continue.”

  Neemno tilted his head sideways as if surprised by the request. “Would your enemy do that upon your request? No, you have to fight your opponents as they present themselves.”

  The young orc stomped his feet. “But your too tall, it is not fair. It’s too hard to beat you father. You’re still taller than me even on your knees”.

  “Son,” Neemno smiled, and continued with an orcish proverb, “Aton loc ugan ugas ubalh,” which has its closest translation into the common tongue as “the best views come after the most difficult climbs.”

  His son growled and his small tusks could be seen. A small cough interrupted them and both orcs looked to the corner of the tent. There sat a female orc holding an infant. The baby had coughed and had milk surrounding its mouth. The mother touched its nose and smiled at her husband and son. She then pressed the child’s mouth back to her bare breast so that it could continue to feed.

  Neemno and his son once again started to circle in the middle of the tent in preparation for another round. Halfway through their first revolution a voice could be heard calling from outside the tent.

  “Sir, are you available?”

  All the orcs in the tent looked towards the entrance. Neemno recognized the voice.

  “You may enter.”

  The tent flap lifted and a large orc wearing leather armor entered. His skin seemed a grayish color. A thick neck sat between broad shoulders. The marks on his face made it clear he had seen many battles.

  “Bazik, what brings you here?”

  Bazik looked at Neemno’s wife and the infant and then his son. “Sir, shall we talk here?”

  Neemno’s gaze turned to his son then back to Bazik, “Yes, you can tell me what news you bring in front of them. They can hear our business.”

  The armored orc began immediately. “We’ve received word from the Singrin Peaks. We have won the battle; the mines are ours. Mogar has secured the tunnels for now. He requests immediate support and workers.”

  “Yes! Excellent” Neemno exclaimed with a hiss. His smile quickly gave way to a serious expression. “What about our losses?”

  “The report is that there were many sir.”

  Running his hands through his thin wiry hair, Neemno said, “We must send soldiers at once. Send four hundred soldiers, mostly orcs. We cannot give these mines back. The resources are too precious. Find orcs, or some goblins, that have lived in caves or mountains before and know how to defend them. Also, locate that orcish tribe that claims to have knowledge of mining. Inform them they must all go and teach their skill while they work the mountain. Pay them well.”

  “Yes sir.” Replied Bazik. “Also, if you recall there is also a small group of goblins that claim they mined the mountains to the far west. Shall they go as well or remain here?”

  Neemno’s green eyes looked to the roof of the tent in thought. “They can go as well. We need as much experience with mining as we can get to those mines.”

  “Yes sir.” The soldier turned to leave.

  “Bazik.” Neemno called before he got to the exit. When Bazik turned back his thinner superior orc walked up to him. “Have Mogar arrange for a third of what we mine to be given back to the dwarves.”

  “Sir?” Questioned Bazik as his face crunched in confusion.

  “Th
ey may attempt to remove us from the mines either way, but we want it easier for them to feel they can drop the effort. These reparations may help with that.”

  Bazik paused a moment as if to argue the logic but then nodded slightly and said, “Yes sir,” and left.

  As the tent flap dropped, Neemno turned back to his son. “Where were-“ before he could finish the question the young orc unexpectedly flung himself into his father, gaining an advantage.

  Chapter 6

  Each year towards the end of spring a wondrous event called the Festival of Flowers was held outside the city of Lunemire. Flowers of all different types were seen around the city and outside the walls. They decorated shops and hung off street signs and lampposts. Private growers would display their collections for all to see while florist would set up shops to present their gorgeous arrangements. The festival was centered on flowers, but merchants of all trades participated in the festivities. Just outside the city would be a boisterous network of shops, games and food and drink stations. This was the fifty sixth consecutive year for the event and it seemed to have drawn the largest crowd in the Festival of Flower’s history. It was a joyous time for the city. The citizens of Lunemire, as well as citizens from the other two cities Abellard and Rogsnelk, roamed the festival, stopping at booths to browse homemade or imported goods or cuisine or to watch an entertainer please the crowd. Spirits were always high at the fair as a result of energetic music sung by bands or bards and the carefree consumption of delicious ales wine and cocktails. Along with the bountiful libations, the pleasing aroma of flowers traveled the air and was itself almost intoxicating. Perhaps not as much as the occasional drifting smell of tobaccos and various herbal leaf concoctions that were being smoked throughout the fair.

  It was the second day of the five-day festival and the weather couldn’t have been better. The sun was glaring high in the sky, occasionally hiding behind a passing cloud only to reappear in a hurry seconds later. There was barely a light breeze, just enough to carry the fantastic fragrances from nose to nose. The temperature was comfortable which further brought out the great crowds.