Elantion. Valentina Massano
was behind him. “Don’t make promises,” she said harshly, holding out her things.
A militiaman grabbed Cilna, lifting her up and bringing her back with the group. Kaj felt distressed by what had happened, and shocked by that unexpected battle. Oloice joined him and Clarice, and handed his things to the elf. The two gripped each other’s wrists in greeting. Clarice raised her hand to her heart and bowed, while Oloice thumped his chest. Kaj thus gleaned how deep their friendship was.
Clarice and Kaj set off on their march. Dawn would break shortly, and the long and intricate paths through the thick of the Shadetrail were the only way forward.
Much further south, amidst the Shrouded Hills, tulvaren troops led by Zund arrived after two weeks of travel. Fording the Black River, they entered the territory of the Twin Liegedoms. The Shrouded Hills were part of Kelast County, administered by Jarl Hurley, the trusted bishop of King Osman IV, who had entrusted him with the task of protecting the Savorfruit Hillocks when the next invasion occurred. Hurley was an excellent leader, and had managed to defend the Kelast’s Bastion much longer than expected.
Behind the County, the Twin Liegedoms, headed by the nobles Pugh and Alston, had surrendered to the invaders after witnessing the defeat of Jarl Hurley at the hands of King Athal, pledging to deliver two thirds of their annual fruit harvest to the tulvars.
That day, a messenger from the outpost on the Black River was riding fast toward the High Liegedom. He left the horse at the entrance of the city and ran toward Pugh’s Palace. Exhausted, he collapsed in front of the nobleman’s desk, who (with some difficulty) rose from his armchair and stood before the messenger. His prominent belly, big arms and his impressive rump allowed him to inspire a not inconsiderable amount of awe, to say nothing of his face, marked as it was by his supreme passion for wine, sweets, and meats. Thick black eyebrows topped his beady brown eyes, and his outsize nose was pockmarked and glossy. Pugh wore clothes almost as old as he was, and he was well over sixty years old. The red woolen garment that reached his knees was discolored and stained. His belly’s girth was further highlighted by a creased brown leather belt. The light-colored linen under-tunic poked out from the sleeves of his garment, and their ends had been mended several times over. His high leather boots were also shabby and discolored. His head was always covered by a white cap and a blue woolen beret. The only thing that made him recognizable as the Lord of the city was his thick and heavy gold necklace, attached to an equally heavy, emerald-studded medallion with the emblem of the Pughs.
“Why the haste?” asked Pugh, sipping from his chalice.
“General Zund is currently traveling down the road to your palace,” he gasped.
Pugh’s eyes widened, his wine going down the wrong pipe. “Why didn’t you say that right away!?” he shouted, spitting up his drink. “I should have you thrown into the dungeons, and leave you at the mercy of the beast!” By now he had turned purple.
The man, prostrate at his feet, was about to be seized by the tunic by the nobleman’s fat hand when the blare of the rampart horn echoed through the city. Pugh stiffened, and treaded with heavy steps toward the window. Zund was at the gates; he had no time to spare for the messenger. And so he left him alone in the library as coldly as he’d welcomed him, frantically exiting the building to receive his guest.
“Pugh…” said Zund, disgust written all over his face.
“Great General Zund,” began a panting Pugh adoringly. “What an immense honor! What can I do for you, as your humble servant?”
Zund’s red eyes leered at him. He loathed the deal his father had struck, and despised that useless stooge human even more. “The King was disappointed in the quality of the tribute last month: withered, sour-tasting fruit.”
Pugh paled, and searched for the right words. “Grand General… we… I… have looked for the best fruits…” The tulvar’s silence seemed endless to the man; he felt his eyes on him, and did not dare to raise his head.
“I ought to punish you, but unfortunately I’m here for another reason,” said Zund.
The man gulped loudly, unable to say a solitary word. He guided the General towards his palace, where he himself served bloody meats and fermented keb-brew, made from the juice of kebs, pineapple-like fruits from Alceas that were so pungent that keb-brew was drinkable only by tulvars.
After the banquet, the nobleman really began to shake in his boots. It was never a good sign when Zund appeared. The man remained silent while the tulvar sipped the brew from his metal chalice.
“For some animals, you’d make for a great meal, with all the fat on you,” said Zund.
“Definitely, my General,” said Pugh, cowed.
Zund took the last sip and then, as if seized by a moment of madness, he rose quickly, for Pugh to find himself with the blade of a tulvaren sword pressed against his throat. The nobleman shivered, squinted his eyes, and held them shut until he felt the cold metal on his skin.
“Are you feeding the beast regularly?” asked the tulvar.
“Of course…” Pugh answered, trembling as he opened his eyes.
“Good.” The tulvar sat on the Lord’s throne. “That good-for-nothing Alston is later than usual. You had better make sure he’s coming,” he concluded with contempt.
“At once, General!” exclaimed Pugh, flustered and shaken.
In the meantime, Alston of the Low Liegedom had entered the city, and was preparing to appear at the palace. Pugh came out, and soon they were standing in each other’s company. Short in stature, and dressed in his usual blue velvet clothes, Alston wore a ring-shaped hat, from which a flap of blue cloth descended down one side. Over his chest, he wore a large brooch with his family emblem. His curly, blonde hair covered his ears, framing his long, gaunt face. His hook nose and small mouth did nothing for his looks. The inhabitants of the Low Liegedom often joked that his mother must have laid with a goblin.
“Well you took your sweet time!” snapped Pugh.
The nobleman looked at him, and with his usual monotone he said: “So where’s General Zund?”
Pugh started pushing his peer along. “You’d best present yourself to him immediately!”
Bored and listless, Alston entered the palace. “Grand General Zund! I can assure you that we didn’t expect you here in the Twin Liegedoms…” he said, inspiring terror in all the humans present.
Zund walked up to Alston. “Your idiocy is unmatched!” he shouted angrily. He took the aristocrat by the clothes and forced him to the ground, pressing his face with his foot against the muddy boot tracks mixed with dung and piss. “You shall pay for your insolence by crawling to my throne.”
Alston crawled across the room, coming to Zund’s feet with his clothes soiled. Terrified and trembling, he was sweating profusely, and as soon as the General leaned over him, he burst into tears like a child, his stammering, incomprehensible gibberish punctuated by moans.
“Now beg!” shouted the tulvar.
“Mercy! Have mercy!” whined Alston. “I’ll do anything, Supreme General… for you, and for our only King!”
“Get up, scum!” Zund nodded to one of his soldiers, who recalled about twenty tulvars into the palace, and they settled along the walls of the hall; at that point it was clear that they would not leave soon. The door opened, and in stepped Auril, Zund’s younger sister. On the orders of the General, Alston was chained and gagged by the soldiers while Pugh took the brunt of Auril’s magic. The priestess, with a quick swish of her hand, raised the man from the ground as he moaned fearfully. Auril’s invisible power wrapped around Pugh’s throat, and his feeble flesh was devoid of the strength with which to resist.
Zund approached the man, and motioned for his sister to ease her grip; Pugh’s toes barely touched the floor. “Tell me where the crypt is located,” ordered the tulvar.
“What crypt!?” choked Pugh. He yelped when he felt a sharp pain