The War of the Gilded Beasts Page 9

  “I wiped out the rebels’ leaders! Now I burn more of this wretched kingdom!” Gyran muttered as he held the right side of his face together.

  The chimera growled, causing Gyran to look and see five more dragons flying towards him.

  Knowing he could not win against those odds, Gyran turned to his chimera and ordered, “Retreat!”

  The chimera then flew southwards as the remaining Magnus dragons chased it out of Umbran.

  CHAPTER 12

  The aftermath of the monster attack shook the very foundations of the northern kingdoms. Many towns and forests in Umbran were set ablaze, with hundreds dead and thousands injured. The walled city outside of Magnus Keep looked like a smoldering ghost town with buildings on the verge of crumbling. Soldiers were busy piling bodies onto carts before burning them in a field outside of Magnus Keep.

  Within the castle, the atmosphere was frosty as the surviving members of the northern royal families gathered in the Privy Council chamber. The crowns of the fallen monarchs rested on the table, including the Ferruman crown of the late Numen the Slayer. In addition, the maimed hand, sword, and damaged helm of the enemy rider lay amongst the crowns.

  Kemrin looked at his siblings and fellow sovereigns. The Magnus siblings were devastated, with tears dripping from their cheeks. It was the same with the other princes, princesses, and Queen Mya. Some grieved the loss of their loved ones, some displayed bitter anger, and a few showed no sign of emotion. Kemrin was one of the apathetic ones. As a son, Kemrin should be mourning the death of his father, but Kemrin felt nothing. It was as though he was trying to figure out what he should feel, but could not fully process the extent of what happened.

  Slamming his fist against the table, Daegar demanded, “How can you be so calm, Kemrin? Our father is dead! Our home is destroyed! What are we going to do?”

  Calmly, Kemrin replied, “We must first evaluate the belongings of the assailant. What can we learn from them?”

  “The sword is the best castle-forged steel I have ever seen, and the ornate hilt is too pretty for either a prince or king. With this in mind, I think whoever was riding that beast must be affiliated with the Emperor,” Erik explained.

  “Be careful saying words like that, brother. What you just said borders on treason!” Lyra reprimanded.

  “It’s not treason if it is the truth, Princess Lyra. The hand has a ring that bears the Sylva sigil, which is also engraved on the sword’s pommel. The evidence is very damning,” Mya countered.

  “I don’t understand! Why would the Emperor want to attack us?” Yarma asked tearfully.

  “The answer to that question is quite obvious. It has long been rumored that House Magnus are descended from the original Imperial Family, House Marvak. That blood claim combined with the dragons and forming alliances with the northern kingdoms must have been perceived as a threat to the Sylvas. This must have been a preemptive strike to wipe out House Magnus and every royal family who sided with them before we could rebel. If that was the assailant’s mission, then it was only partially successful. We are still here! When you attack a family, you make sure none of their kin remain to avenge them!” Caelum elaborated venomously.

  “Aye, but how can we avenge our fallen? The Sylvas have a beast that is strong enough to kill a dragon! We don’t know if they have more of them. Plus, the southern kingdoms have a combined military strength of two hundred or two hundred and fifty thousand men! The northern kingdoms are rich and fertile in their own right, but we are more thinly populated by comparison. At best, our combined armies can number to a hundred thousand,” Marek said.

  “Are you saying we cannot win against the Sylvas? That we can’t avenge our fallen?” Ymir cried.

  Firmly, Kemrin answered, “It is not a matter of whether or not we can or cannot avenge them. We have to avenge them!”

  Surprised, Vaeron asked, “How can you say that, Kemrin? You always hated Father!”

  Nodding, Kemrin replied, “Aye. I hated Father more than anyone. He used me as a tool for his political ambitions instead of letting me be my own man. However, after this attack, I started to understand his way of thinking. Every day that he and the other dead royals remain unavenged, the less respect our Houses will gain. If another House, even the Imperial Family, kills our kin and devastates our home and gets away with it, then we will not be monarchies to be respected. If we are not respected, then our vassals will no longer fear us. If our vassals don’t fear us, then they will rise up against all of us. If they rise up against us, we risk losing our power.”

  “How can you think of politics in a time like this?” Vaeron demanded.

  “Because this attack was politically motivated. We were perceived as a threat to the Sylvas’ power and we were attacked for it. Whether our motives are political or not, we have to retaliate or we will be seen as weak not just to our vassals, but the rest of the Empire,” Kemrin explained further.

  Smirking, Mya noted, “I like your way of thinking, Kemrin. My brother Ronald died in the firestorm. I may have a personal reason to avenge him, but I can see your logic behind the politics we will be facing in the war to come.”

  “All of this is well and good, but what is our next course of action?” Walter asked, his left eye covered by a bandage.

  “I am wondering the same thing. Even if we defeat and overthrow the Sylvas, who will take over the Imperial Throne?” Thanon asked intently.

  “I say we do exactly what I said a moment ago. We retaliate and avenge our loved ones. When the dust settles, House Magnus will become the new Imperial Family. While we raise levies, my siblings and I will buy us time by using our dragons to set the southern kingdoms ablaze from Waes to Gaena. That will stall them with their own levies and maybe frighten some nobles into neutrality. Let us summon the full power of the northern kingdoms and rain fire and fury upon the Sylvas!” Kemrin declared.

  In a thunderous roar, everyone in the Privy Council chamber cheered in agreement with Kemrin. The spark was lit and the flames of war were about to immolate the entire Empire.

  ______

  Gyran knelt before the Imperial Throne and displayed his wounds for the whole court to see. His maimed wrist was cauterized along with the large, diagonal cut that ran from his chin to the back of his scalp. The High Prince felt humiliated to not only lose his half of his handsome features, but also being stared down by the glaring gazes of the entire court. No gaze was more imposing than the disappointed and furious eyes of Emperor Autem.

  Struggling to speak coherently, Gyran pleaded, “Father, I did what I could to eliminate the northern threat. King Numen is dead along with his dragon and the rebellious royals have been wiped out. We can rest easy knowing that our enemies have been weakened.”

  Autem rose from the Imperial Throne and lumbered towards Gyran. The entire court held its breath in anticipation of what was about to happen.

  Stopping in front of Gyran, Autem softly asked, “Did you see the bodies of the deceased northern families?”

  Gyran hesitated before answering, “Apparently, King Numen’s children all survived with their dragons.”

  Suddenly, Autem released a snarl of animalistic rage and punched Gyran hard in the face, screaming, “You fool!”

  Cowering on the floor, Gyran meekly asked, “What did I do?”

  Autem then proceeded to beat Gyran to a bloody pulp, shouting, “If the Magnus heirs are alive, they will retaliate with an army behind them! You thought you could eliminate the threat they posed with a preemptive strike? Don’t make me laugh, boy! You started a war and undid everything I built!”

  When Autem was finished beating him, Gyran begged, “Forgive me, Father! I will do whatever it takes to make amends for my mistake!”

  Fuming, Autem coldly said, “Oh you will make it up to me, boy! You and your brothers are going to crush the Magnuses and their allies when they march south! For now, you are disinherited as heir apparent to the Imperial Throne!”

  Upon hearing his father’s declaration,
Gyran broke down and cried on the floor. Autem looked at his bruised and bloodied knuckles and noticed his hands were trembling violently. Tightening his hands into fists, Autem managed to stop the tremors.

  Autem turned his attention to the surrounding, shocked courtiers and ordered, “Civil war is about to break out, my lords and ladies! Thanks to my son’s arrogance and stupidity, the northern kingdoms are about to unleash their full might upon us! Return to your homes and start gathering levies!”

  After that, all of the courtiers left the throne room, leaving Autem alone with his wife and son. Agatha emerged from the vanishing crowd with sadness and dismay etched into her face. Gyran continued to sob as he lay in a submissive position on the floor.

  “Was it necessary to beat our son?” Agatha demanded.

  “I gave him an order to not attack the northern kingdoms and he attacked them anyway. Words were not going to reach him, so I used my fists,” Autem countered.

  “Can I at least heal the deformities the Slayer inflicted on our beautiful boy?”

  “No! He has disgraced himself and our House in front of the entire Empire! His wounds stay as a mark of shame! He will wander amongst us as a freak!”

  “When did you become so cruel, husband?”

  “Since the day I became Emperor! The past eighteen years taught me that I need to be cruel if I want our dynasty to survive! Now Gyran has undone all of my back-breaking work! If I don’t teach him the consequences, then he will not learn!”

  All of a sudden, Autem began to cough loudly before collapsing limply. Agatha rushed to Autem’s side and placed a hand on his chest. Autem wheezed heavily as he struggled to breathe.

  “Now look what you have done! You pushed yourself too hard, husband! The toll of the blood magic is accelerating,” Agatha said, her eyes widening.

  After a coughing fit, Autem asked, “How much longer do I have?”

  “Three years, maybe less. Fortunately, I think I can create a potion that will give you more time to live until this disaster is behind us.”

  “Do it. I can’t die yet until I undo all the damage Gyran has caused. By my iron wrath, I swear it!”

  CHAPTER 13

  In the mountainous castle of Leon’s Pyre was a subterranean beauty to behold. Its halls were so vast and lavishly constructed that it looked like they could occupy gods. A silvery-gold light illuminated the lower levels of the castle like the gateway to another realm. Resting in the middle of a large platform was a great throne carved from the stone of the mountain. Sitting on the throne was King Gandell VI Baen, ruler of the kingdom of Waes.

  Gandell possessed red hair and crystal blue eyes, which were common features for members of House Baen. His beard was neatly trimmed and he was dressed in the finest red and silver silk and a furry cloak draped over his shoulders. On his brow was a masterfully crafted silver crown decorated with emeralds. The King of Waes possessed the demeanor of a man who has known only peace his entire life.

  Sitting quietly, Gandell was consumed by thoughts of tranquility. He could see visions of waterfalls made of silver flowing down the sides of hills. The sound of his miners’ pickaxes clanging against rock was like the soothing song of requiem bells. It was an image that gave Gandell bliss like he was basking in the light of the gods themselves.

  Suddenly, Gandell’s peaceful solitude was broken when a herald walked down the cavernous dais with a note in his hand.

  “Your Majesty! A message from your cousin the Emperor himself!” the herald announced.

  Coughing in surprise, Gandell asked, “Well, what does my beloved coz command?”

  “His son has started a rebellion in the northern kingdoms. A civil war is about to break out throughout the realm. The Emperor commands you to muster your armies and meet the other Imperial forces outside the gates of Megdarfort in Raevor. He has given you three months to collect your levies.”

  Gulping, Gandell mused, “That is a tight schedule, but I will do anything for my coz and Emperor. Send homing pigeons to all my barons. Tell them to start recruiting their levies.”

  ______

  Towering above the kingdom of Raevor was the Megdarfort, the second-largest castle in the Empire. Its curtain walls were fifty meters tall and formed around four towers that were each one hundred meters tall. In the center of the walls was a colossal keep that was one hundred and fifty meters tall. Surrounding the Megdarfort was a busy and elaborate walled city that stretched for three miles. The city and castle were an impressive sight that imposed their presence across the countryside.

  In the Megdarfort’s massive great hall, King Valdrake II Faan was enjoying lunch with his massive family, which consisted of his nine children, thirty grandchildren, and forty great grandchildren. King Valdrake himself was a decrepit, gaunt man in his eighties, displaying gnarled hands and clawed fingers twisted by arthritis and gout. He sat in his seat in a hunched position and he was dressed in ragged robes. Valdrake’s crown was a platinum circlet with square sapphires embedded in it.

  Valdrake watched his family talking loudly to one another as the younger members stuffed food into their mouths like starved animals. Growling, Valdrake thought, I have turned my castle into a battlefield. My descendants are beasts. Gods, strike me down, I beg you!

  Amongst the domestic chaos, a herald discreetly handed Valdrake a note, which the old king stiffly took. Valdrake unrolled the note and what was written on it almost gave him a heart attack. He choked briefly before regaining his composure, but none of his descendants seemed to notice his discomfort.

  With all his might, Valdrake howled, “Silence!”

  Upon hearing their patriarch’s order, House Faan obediently sat quietly. All eyes were on King Valdrake as he announced, “Civil war is about to break out. The northern kingdoms have declared war on the south. The Emperor has commanded us to summon our armies and expect the rest of the Imperial forces to gather here. Since a number of you are promised to the High Princes in marriage, I intend to obey the Emperor’s command!”

  One of Valdrake’s sons, Prince Valton puffed out his chest and declared, “Let me lead our forces to victory, Father! I will bring honor to our House!”

  Valton possessed the demeanor of a vain man with chiseled features and graying black hair. Despite being in his late forties, Valton was still as physically strong as a man half his age.

  Another of Valdrake’s sons, Lyman added, “May I join him, father? That way I can be Valton’s adult supervision in case he does something stupid.”

  Compared to Valton, Lyman Faan was slightly younger and was seemingly meek in appearance, yet his blue eyes possessed a fiery intensity.

  Waving his hands indifferently, Valdrake said, “Fine! Fine! Just start recruiting our levies! Now!”

  After those words, all of Valdrake’s descendants scampered out of the great hall, leaving Valdrake alone in his chair.

  Picking up a single grape from a pewter plate, Valdrake mused, “So we are at war once again. Despite the wild nature of my family, I was getting used to the atmosphere of peace. I just hope we can end this rebellion soon so we can enjoy peace again.”

  ______

  In the southernmost kingdom of Darrm, King Wylar X Staan sat on an oaken throne inside of the castle of Armelot. The interior of the stronghold possessed a gently curved wooden ceiling, jade columns that lined the halls, and numerous gold statues of kings and ornate beasts of legend. Hundreds of guards watched over every chamber, dressed in iron scale armor and armed with yari spears. Hanging from the rafters were the banners of House Staan, which displayed a white stag with gilded antlers on a blue field.

  King Wylar was a physically strong man with a stern face, broad shoulders, and sharp features. Like all of the denizens of Darrm, Wylar had jet black hair tied into braids, and amber eyes that looked like hot coals. Resting on Wylar’s brow was a copper crown decorated with orange gemstones. His robes were white and blue with yellow trimming. He was smoking herbal tobacco from a long pipe with small puffs of smoke
rising in the air. Compared to his fellow monarchs, King Wylar was more like a hero from ancient myth instead of a mortal man.

  In front of Wylar, his court was watching two knights armed with katanas clashing with one another in a brilliant display of artistic combat. It was more like an intricate dance instead of a true duel. Amongst the courtiers, minstrels were playing a delicate song that was as gentle as a psalm.

  When the combative dance was over, both knights stood before Wylar, held their swords high, and declared, “Happy birthday, Your Majesty!”

  The rest of the court cheered with the knights as Wylar bowed his head in acknowledgement. However, the joy in the throne room was broken when a herald ran towards Wylar and handed him a piece of parchment. This attracted the attention of the entire court to Wylar. If a herald ran towards the king in such a frantic and reckless manner, then whatever was on that parchment must have been grim.

  Curious, Wylar unrolled the note and read its contents. When he was done, Wylar held the note over his pipe and let it burn in his fingers before letting the ashes fall on the floor. Then Wylar returned his attention to his smoking.

  Anxiously, one courtier asked, “What was it, Your Majesty?”

  Scowling, Wylar answered, “The Emperor’s idiot son started a war in the north. As a result, Darrm has been ordered to summon its armies and assemble with the other Imperial forces in Megdarfort.”

  Another courtier asked, “Shall we go summon our levies, sire?”

  His gaze becoming icy, Wylar ordered, “Do nothing! I will not support the Sylvas after they dishonored my House! I offered the heir apparent to the Imperial Throne my daughter’s hand in marriage and in return the Emperor spat in my face by offering his sons to House Faan’s daughters instead!”