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The BloodVaine EpicChapter 101: Brooding
Bersun dismounted and bowed to everyone seated around the fire before beginning his report.
“Right then. My men have searched Orion and the Yellow Castle and have dealt with any pockets of resistance. The residents of Orion have barricaded themselves into their homes and will not come out, thought we pledged no violence. They are scared to death BloodVaine will somehow return and kill the rest of them off. It seems BloodVaine had begun to round up the city inhabitants and slaughter them. We ran into a maimed dragon that was stalking the main square and were able to quickly dispose of it, though we sustained an amount of casualties.”
Radjar looked up. “Was it’s wings shredded?”
“Aye, like it have been fool enough to fly into a hurricane.” replied Bersun.
“That would be mount of the demon Aezezal, then.” affirmed Radjar.
Bersun continued, “We found some wounded Allied men in Orion, but there was no sign on BloodVaine’s remains.”
“Were you able to treat all the wounded?” asked Willem.
“I’ve seen to it that my men have brought back the wounded here, seeing that you have better healers than I.” replied Bersun.
A trumpet sounded. Everyone turned to the sound.
“Those are Classics.” observed Graygon.
“That must be Quorandis!” smiled Sir Dractor.
Bernard Quorandis and his army had taken their time marching towards Orion, in order to allow the wounded to travel with them. It was a sorry sight that met their eyes as they came over the last hill before the city.
“Orion,” announced Quorandis to Elwen, who was riding beside him, “The Golden City.”
Elwen looked down at the sprawling city, surrounded by yellowstone walls, the buildings made of the same material, and where it hadn't been burned, covered in golden thatch. But it was a much damaged city. There were gaping holes in the walls, yellowstone debris littered the streets. Houses were almost totally dismantled. And in the late sunset light, there were few signs of movement in the city.
“It’s been four years since I was here,” said Quorandis, half to himself, “Four years since I was given command of the Talistrani division of the Cavaliers. This city has been through a lot…”
“Will we enter the city?” asked Elwen.
“Not today,” said Quorandis, shaking his head, “I don’t know how safe it is. We’ll join the Allied camp tonight, and compare notes with them. Tomorrow we will enter the city. I wonder how de Graff has done at rounding up the local nobles.”
They went down the hill, past the ruined walls of Orion, and to the Allied camp. Bersun and his Falcons were returning even as they were. Sir Dractor, Willem, and Barbod, and a Bull Knight escort came to meet them. Sir Victor de Graff was close behind, with the intent to report on his findings.
“Hail King of the Wolfpack! Hail King of the Dark Forest! Hail King of the Bull Knights!” cried Quorandis in greeting, “Congratulations and thanks for your victory.”
“Welcome,” said Barbod, more simply, “Our thanks for keeping Falconis off our backs. Welcome home!”
As they made their way into the camp, de Graff made his report.
“Some of braver nobles who escaped began to make their way into the Allied camp even as the battle was still being fought. More have come since our victory, and we gathered several that fled south on our march up here. It seems that only one or two nobles of the Inner Court survived, as they were away from the city, but several of the more powerful nobles who were not a part of the court have come to join us. Among those who have been brought into camp is Constantius Legonis.”
“Legonis?” said Quorandis. “As in, the Imperial House of Legonis. A relative of the Emperor?”
“His uncle,” nodded de Graff, “He’s the youngest brother of the late emperor’s father. Since the Emperor died without offspring, and since his older uncles and cousins seem to have died, Constantius appears to be the Emperor-apparent. Obviously though, we will still need to confirm that his older brothers and their children are deceased, but as near as we can tell, that would be a formality only.”
“Yes,” said Quorandis, “BloodVaine would have made certain that as many members of the Imperial family as he could find would have been killed. What kind of a man is Constantius?”
“An excellent man,” said de Graff, “He's not too old: mid-fifties. He spent most of his life in the diplomatic service, the last few as ambassador to the Black Knights, and is thus well-equipped to take over the rule of this nation. He’s a good man too, and has no history of corruption or scandal. Best of all, although he’s a widower, he has two boys. The older was killed by BloodVaine, but the younger was serving with the Cavaliers in Royal Knight country, and is still alive. I’ve sent a delegation to bring him back to Orion.”
“He has a heir then,” said Quorandis, “Excellent. You’ve done a great job. As soon as I meet with and thank the Allied leaders, and visit Constantius, I’m going to turn in. It’s been a long day. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, sir.”
It was night time at the allied camp. And with the arrival of both the pink Black Falcons and the Sorcerer-King’s Dragon Masters, the warriors of the battle for Orion were finally getting some well earned rest. At least, for the most part...
Targon couldn’t sleep. So much had happened since the departure from Talistrand. The army had passed through waves, fields, and trees like a wind or a hurricane. Things had happened. LOTS of things had happened and Targon needed some time to sort it all out. Either that or something to drink.
But Targon wasn’t the only one chasing sleep. In his tent Caimlin tossed and turned. He was exhausted of course. Terribly exhausted from his exertions during the battle. But for some reason he couldn’t sleep.
What’s wrong with you, Caimlin? The battle is over. Go to sleep.
It was true. The battle was over. All that was left of enemy was a few pockets in the lower half of Orion and the Back Falcons. They would pay for their part in BloodVaine’s war. With BloodVaine gone, the Allied army was had little left to attack. Caimlin didn’t doubt that their next task would be to bring retribution to the Black Falcons. Also, Bernard would surely want to liberate his allies the Royal Knights. Caimlin could see that there was still more to do before order was restored.
That was another thing. How would the Dragon Masters survive without Lord Void? BloodVaine had taken many of the high ranking Dragon Masters into his ranks and as a result there were few who were fit to take their king’s place. Caimlin knew that Jarvick would never take the position. His place was at sea and the Dragon Master troops already had other ideas. They had mourned the lost of their leader, but not for long. Above all things, Dragon Masters adapt and Caimlin had a sinking feeling that they would want him for their king. Not that he was afraid. If they people wanted it then he would do his duty to his country and accept the crown. But still...Caimlin had never wanted to rule and he worried that perhaps it would be too much for him. Sure, his men looked to him as a war hero, but Caimlin knew that it took more then that to run a country.
Sighing, Caimlin tried to think of other things. He wouldn’t have to worry about ruling for a while, anyway. With the Emperor dead and no present heir to the throne, no new rulers would be appointed for a long while. With these thoughts behind him, Caimlin tried to get to sleep. He found, however, that there was more to be pondered first.
So BloodVaine is dead eh? But how do we know? All we have is that Bourne’s word. We didn’t see him go and we don’t know how he died or who killed him either. And what about the deceiver? One minute it seemed like he was on our side and the next...the next we find that he’s demon possessed. But what did it matter? They were both dead. Derrek Stormspear had finished off the demon and Keavur stabbed the deceiver with his spear and dragged him off.
Caimlin rolled over and furrowed his brow. That’s when it hit him. Every strength sapping blow he had delivered on the battle field suddenly built up and hit him at once. And Caimlin was out.
Meanwhile Targon sat with his back to a tent, downing a pint of rum, he had pinched from a keg in the tent behind him.
“Ahhh…” he said, coming up for air, “That’s some good rum. What shall we drink to? To us? No. To Lord Void? Ah, yes! Here's to your health, Lord Void. May you endure a long and painful stay at the burning gates. Oh, and say hi to Bargon for me.”
Targon laughed. A long cruel laugh that fizzled out into a deep sigh. “Oh, what’s the use. How am I supposed to gloat with Caimlin still around?"
Targon knew that his old friend was the first in line to receive lordship of the Dragon Master kingdom. “Tyco, that burns. TYCO!”
Targon stopped swearing, suddenly. He thought he heard noises and wondered if someone was watching him.
Ah, well. You’re still alive Targon. That’s more then you can say for Drock.
Now, there was a hint of sadness in the sergeant’s thought. Drock was one man that Targon had actually respected. One that had been, perhaps, a kindred spirit in some ways. But sorrow, (unless it were for himself) was a place that Targon never lingered and he soon returned to his own troubles. Taking another swig from his pint, he turned to his favorite subject. A list of the people he loathed.
The Sorcerer-King was first.
Bloody sorcerers. Targon thought, Oh yes, ‘Come on, lets go sailing around for no reason at all!’ Bah! He’s not so tough. Doesn’t scare me any.
The truth was that the everyone (with three small exceptions) was afraid of the Sorceror-King. First there were those with great power or bravery, such as the Old Man. Second there were those that the Sorceror-King chose not to reveal himself to, such as King Valentis and Bernard Quarandis. Lastly there were those, who like Targon, were too stupid to be properly frightened. Still, Targon was glad to be away from the Sorcerer King and even more glad to be away from Bernard.
Bernard was next on the list, right above Elwen. For although Targon was no longer enamored with Elwen, the events of the Grand Ball had left him with a strong distaste for the Classic LEGOlander.
Arrogant show-off! He’s perfect for the prissy princess.
Targon also had a strong dislike for Elwen. He couldn’t tell where it came from, (she had never done anything to deserve it) but then, he didn’t care. On the other hand Targon also felt a strange attraction to the lady. Maybe it was the challenge of winning her. An even greater challenge for someone like Targon. Or maybe...maybe it was the constant ribbing that Elbadar enjoyed giving him. Targon was reminded of one such time on his voyage to the Royal Knights land.
“So tell me Elbadar. Who’s idea was it to bring that snobby princess with us?”
“Princess? I’m surprised you don’t know who she really is, Targon. Especially considering how close you were at the ball. Of course it was misery for me, overhearing your ‘tact’ with words and your ‘gift’ for song. Though I must say, it was nice to see you enjoying yourself, even if the lady wasn’t.”
“Don’t you have better things to do, Elbadar? Like checking the water depth...personally.”
Whatever the case, Targon’s thoughts often turned to Elwen. Especially when drunk.
Elbadar wasn’t on Targon's list. The two had declared a truce for the moment. And a good thing too, because if they hadn’t it would likely have resulted in chaos on the battle field. But Targon wasn’t thinking of Elbadar now. Now he was thinking of Caimlin.
That tyco back-stabber! Targon thought. He pulled out the dark green rock that Caimlin had given him.
“Magic rock. Ha!”
Targon hurled the stone into a patch of tall grass.
“Yeah right.”
Targon lasted a full twelve seconds before running after it. Down on his hands and knees, he groped wildly for the stone. Strangely, the rock had become a sort of friend to Targon. Pretty sad when your only friend is a stone. When Targon found it he realized that his pint was empty and would need to be refilled, so pocketing the rock, he returned to the tent and did just that.
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