Emperor Valerian
First Post
And the second part of a special double update
= = = = = = = =
Night had spread its dark wings across the sky when a damp Baron Valdemar glumly poured over the thin parchment of maps spread throughout his camp. The maps reflected dark orange and blood red back at him, as light reflected from the two precious candles he’d managed to save from the soaking of the past two days.
The Baron gave a slight grunt of tiredness, as his eyes traced a route between two small marks on this large, sprawling depiction of the center of the Empire. One was his home seat, the minor lands House Erelion had not lost in his elder brother’s ill-conceived rebellion some twelve years before.
The other, the small village of Thuyciden, was barely more than a lightly marked speck, its tiny dot now covered with lines and marks from where Erelion’s other commanders present had drawn lines.
“Lord Haldmar needs the Taynor Road clear before he can move his columns in!” Erelion’s ears caught his senior vassal and chief bannerman, Sir Albrecht Manse complain. It was Manse who had provided most of the mounted knights presently in Erelion’s force. “If that road is blocked, Haldmar’s columns could be delayed from joining us!”
“Of good Lord Haldmar even marches at all,” Earl Jyl Bearsan complained. The knight was of small stature, and his massive main of coarse, black beard seemed far out of proportion to his small size. None doubted his arms... as many on the battlefield had found to their despair that this small man could fight with the viciousness of the wolf that was his family’s sigil. This strange combination had led to an odd nickname in his younger days... before the old line of Emperors had ended. Beardstone... for his massive beard and his stout heart.
“Haldmar will march,” the Baron finally spoke, “as will Birstol, Martok, Mays and Harper. They know the time of this upstart house ruling our Empire is over!” Erelion’s hands clenched, voices of the past filling his mind. His brother, on that lost field, watching as his peasants and kerns all fled on the sight of that woman.
The witch in dragonscale, they called her... as they dropped their arms and ran with all the power their legs could muster, his thought bitterly. Mere peasants and kerns... and my dear brother... believing an army with those as a backbone could withstand the Emperor’s battlehardened Imperial Guard!
But we have learned now! Now, we marshal the nobles, and those who would sell their swords for coins! We have an army of honed veterans of fighting, of people eager for the clash of arms! No longer do we rely on the farmer taken from his field, but on the knights who are eager for more than a mere tourney!
“We have learned,” he muttered softly.
“My Lord?” Sir Manse asked.
“It was nothing,” Erelion said quietly, waving away the looks of concern. His eyes once again looked to the maps, taking in the lines of march drawn in.
“Our scouts confirmed what I suspected,” Manse continued, assuming his lord’s silence was a sign to continue, “the Imperial Army has left Iskeldrun, and is making haste towards Thuyciden. They are marching in two wings... the northern under the command of the Usurper,” Manse spat his name for the Emperor out, “and the southern one by the Desert Dragon.” The second name was said far more respectfully... all present had seen what she did to the previous rebellion so long ago.
“How many do they march with?” Erelion said quietly. His mind was already elsewhere, the mentioning of Iskeldrun bringing back other pangs in his heart.
There has been no news of Eyrna or Simeon... no word at all, the lord reflected mournfully. Part of his mind had come to grips with the likelihood that they were already deep in some Imperial cell...
...all the reason more to march with haste.
“The Usurper moves with some forty thousand spears, some five thousand of which are horse,” Manse replied. “The Dragon moves with the same, save fifteen thousand of her number are also horse.” Manse then pointed a finger towards the large walled city drawn on the map to represent the capital. “Our spies also point to the fact that Iskeldrun itself has another twenty thousand, the defense commanded by one of the Usurper’s children.”
“Which one?” Erelion asked. Four children of the Dragon walk in this world... but only two can harm us. If it is the Princess, Iskeldrun shall be an easy mark. None who have spent their lives studying meaningless magic would know how to defend a keep. But if it is the Prince... he has spent his days studying how to fight, and he would make any keep nigh unbreakable...
“We do not know,” Manse confessed, with a bow. “Our network of informants in the city has come under direct assault, and many have been silenced, or refuse to speak any more. The last report we have states that a, ‘great many riders’ left the city two days ago, riding east.”
“’A great many?’ How many is that? Fifteen? Fifty? Manse, your ‘informants’ told us the Empress would be an easy mark once a servant had gotten close to her!” Beardstone snapped.
Manse’s jaw tensed, and he glared at the other knight, before once again confessing, “We do not know. We do know that someone from the palace likely was leading them.”
“Well, that could be anyone!” Beardstone grumbled again. “If this is another column, that means we could be facing upwards of five score thousand! And m’lord,” the smaller man turned to Erelion, “with our columns dispersed as they are, we are in a most perilous position! Should the Usurper concentrate his forces...”
This entire time Erelion had been grating his teeth, slowly and silently. Once Beardstone spoke the obvious, the Baron’s voice erupted into a snarl of his own. “We shall not suffer the same fate as my brother’s armies!” His eyes flashed to all in the crowded tent, sharp with command and fury.
“M’lords, see to your troops. From now on, they shall rise at two hours before dawn, and march until two hours past sunset! We must concentrate our armies into one force!”
Vintressa’s eyes opened, fluttering as darkness covered her vision. At first, she thought it was her eyes adjusting, and then maybe that she was blind. But as her tired mind realized it was deep in the night, the darkness tried to call her back to the realms of sleep. A rustling nearby caused her to sit up suddenly, pushing aside her thoughts of sleep.
“Are you feeling better?” Royukgan whispered quietly. The princess blinked, realizing his voice was not part of any of the nightmarish dreams that had been haunting her the past night. Vintressa could feel bumping distantly along her side, as Royukgan struggled with his covers next to hers. Beneath her back, the bumps and ridges of the grassy ground under her blanket reminded her she was not in the safety of the palace any longer.
“Yes,” the princess lied. It had been two days since the vicious pain in her chest that had almost doubled her over in her mount. She had tried to grit her teeth against the sudden onslaught, only to cry out in agony after only a few seconds. Her world then blacked out.
It had been some five hours later, with a worried Royukgan at her side, that she had come to. His hand had been clasped fiercely around hers, to the point that she now was surprised her fingers had not been crushed. Even now, her stomach and her chest was still sore. It was a distant, far away pang, like a great distant fire causing the night sky to glow faintly.
She heard a sigh of relief, and felt a hand crawling along her arm, till it clasped her own. “Good,” she heard Royukgan’s voice say in the darkness. She could imagine his face, with that loving smile that before this mess had driven her crazy with delight in happier times, beaming at her in the darkness.
[]Then again, that might be some of the herbs they fed me,[/i] her mind darkly glowered. She remembered earlier that morning, when she come to after another dark night. The band had not moved since she had fallen ill. And she’d raved to Aeron and Aegrifyr about it. She remembered them trying to explain, and her shouting that they needed speed. Then Aegrifyr disappeared, and came back with a warm tea, which she had drunk greedily.
And then she’d woken up just now.
We need to move, her mind mumbled again, coming back to reality fully. Numbers, movements, and maps popped back into her head, and she remembered why they needed to move. Her mind’s call changed. We MUST move!
For a split second, she wondered why there was no fire, until remembering her own command when the entire force had joined together.
Only one campfire should be lit, in the center of the encampment, beside the wizard’s tents. We want to keep the chance of our discovery to a minimum!
Gingerly she slipped to the side, away from the voice she had heard earlier, and was rewarded by a fresh rustle of blankets.
“Vin, what are you doing?” Royukgan asked in the darkness.
“We must move!” she complained, urgency giving her voice a texture of command. Her stomach’s aches seemed to not matter anymore.
“Vin, its two hours past midnight. There won’t be any moving for a while... at least until sunrise,” his voice replied. Its measure of calm amazed her dazed mind, giving her pause. “You need your rest, Vin. Neither Master Aegrifyr nor Lord Aeron know what happened to you, but if you are feeling alright now, you’ll feel even better in the morning. And since this is your crazy scheme, we need you to be up and ready to lead us in it!” Vin’s imagination once again provided the smirk she new Royukgan had on his face.
The darkness still called to her, asking her to sleep. Sunrise... four hours her mind thought. Six miles of travel.... Eight if we move... not too much... she closed her eyes.
Royukgan looked into the darkness where his love lay asleep. Wearily, he laid back down, the words of Aeron the Court Mage occupying his mind.
Something related to the very blood running through her veins caused that. It can be the only thing, the wizard’s craggy voice repeated in his mind. Something happened... some kind of powerful magic the likes of which I do not fully understand. If it affected her... it could have affected her brothers and sister... or even the Emperor...
= = = = = = = =
Night had spread its dark wings across the sky when a damp Baron Valdemar glumly poured over the thin parchment of maps spread throughout his camp. The maps reflected dark orange and blood red back at him, as light reflected from the two precious candles he’d managed to save from the soaking of the past two days.
The Baron gave a slight grunt of tiredness, as his eyes traced a route between two small marks on this large, sprawling depiction of the center of the Empire. One was his home seat, the minor lands House Erelion had not lost in his elder brother’s ill-conceived rebellion some twelve years before.
The other, the small village of Thuyciden, was barely more than a lightly marked speck, its tiny dot now covered with lines and marks from where Erelion’s other commanders present had drawn lines.
“Lord Haldmar needs the Taynor Road clear before he can move his columns in!” Erelion’s ears caught his senior vassal and chief bannerman, Sir Albrecht Manse complain. It was Manse who had provided most of the mounted knights presently in Erelion’s force. “If that road is blocked, Haldmar’s columns could be delayed from joining us!”
“Of good Lord Haldmar even marches at all,” Earl Jyl Bearsan complained. The knight was of small stature, and his massive main of coarse, black beard seemed far out of proportion to his small size. None doubted his arms... as many on the battlefield had found to their despair that this small man could fight with the viciousness of the wolf that was his family’s sigil. This strange combination had led to an odd nickname in his younger days... before the old line of Emperors had ended. Beardstone... for his massive beard and his stout heart.
“Haldmar will march,” the Baron finally spoke, “as will Birstol, Martok, Mays and Harper. They know the time of this upstart house ruling our Empire is over!” Erelion’s hands clenched, voices of the past filling his mind. His brother, on that lost field, watching as his peasants and kerns all fled on the sight of that woman.
The witch in dragonscale, they called her... as they dropped their arms and ran with all the power their legs could muster, his thought bitterly. Mere peasants and kerns... and my dear brother... believing an army with those as a backbone could withstand the Emperor’s battlehardened Imperial Guard!
But we have learned now! Now, we marshal the nobles, and those who would sell their swords for coins! We have an army of honed veterans of fighting, of people eager for the clash of arms! No longer do we rely on the farmer taken from his field, but on the knights who are eager for more than a mere tourney!
“We have learned,” he muttered softly.
“My Lord?” Sir Manse asked.
“It was nothing,” Erelion said quietly, waving away the looks of concern. His eyes once again looked to the maps, taking in the lines of march drawn in.
“Our scouts confirmed what I suspected,” Manse continued, assuming his lord’s silence was a sign to continue, “the Imperial Army has left Iskeldrun, and is making haste towards Thuyciden. They are marching in two wings... the northern under the command of the Usurper,” Manse spat his name for the Emperor out, “and the southern one by the Desert Dragon.” The second name was said far more respectfully... all present had seen what she did to the previous rebellion so long ago.
“How many do they march with?” Erelion said quietly. His mind was already elsewhere, the mentioning of Iskeldrun bringing back other pangs in his heart.
There has been no news of Eyrna or Simeon... no word at all, the lord reflected mournfully. Part of his mind had come to grips with the likelihood that they were already deep in some Imperial cell...
...all the reason more to march with haste.
“The Usurper moves with some forty thousand spears, some five thousand of which are horse,” Manse replied. “The Dragon moves with the same, save fifteen thousand of her number are also horse.” Manse then pointed a finger towards the large walled city drawn on the map to represent the capital. “Our spies also point to the fact that Iskeldrun itself has another twenty thousand, the defense commanded by one of the Usurper’s children.”
“Which one?” Erelion asked. Four children of the Dragon walk in this world... but only two can harm us. If it is the Princess, Iskeldrun shall be an easy mark. None who have spent their lives studying meaningless magic would know how to defend a keep. But if it is the Prince... he has spent his days studying how to fight, and he would make any keep nigh unbreakable...
“We do not know,” Manse confessed, with a bow. “Our network of informants in the city has come under direct assault, and many have been silenced, or refuse to speak any more. The last report we have states that a, ‘great many riders’ left the city two days ago, riding east.”
“’A great many?’ How many is that? Fifteen? Fifty? Manse, your ‘informants’ told us the Empress would be an easy mark once a servant had gotten close to her!” Beardstone snapped.
Manse’s jaw tensed, and he glared at the other knight, before once again confessing, “We do not know. We do know that someone from the palace likely was leading them.”
“Well, that could be anyone!” Beardstone grumbled again. “If this is another column, that means we could be facing upwards of five score thousand! And m’lord,” the smaller man turned to Erelion, “with our columns dispersed as they are, we are in a most perilous position! Should the Usurper concentrate his forces...”
This entire time Erelion had been grating his teeth, slowly and silently. Once Beardstone spoke the obvious, the Baron’s voice erupted into a snarl of his own. “We shall not suffer the same fate as my brother’s armies!” His eyes flashed to all in the crowded tent, sharp with command and fury.
“M’lords, see to your troops. From now on, they shall rise at two hours before dawn, and march until two hours past sunset! We must concentrate our armies into one force!”
Vintressa’s eyes opened, fluttering as darkness covered her vision. At first, she thought it was her eyes adjusting, and then maybe that she was blind. But as her tired mind realized it was deep in the night, the darkness tried to call her back to the realms of sleep. A rustling nearby caused her to sit up suddenly, pushing aside her thoughts of sleep.
“Are you feeling better?” Royukgan whispered quietly. The princess blinked, realizing his voice was not part of any of the nightmarish dreams that had been haunting her the past night. Vintressa could feel bumping distantly along her side, as Royukgan struggled with his covers next to hers. Beneath her back, the bumps and ridges of the grassy ground under her blanket reminded her she was not in the safety of the palace any longer.
“Yes,” the princess lied. It had been two days since the vicious pain in her chest that had almost doubled her over in her mount. She had tried to grit her teeth against the sudden onslaught, only to cry out in agony after only a few seconds. Her world then blacked out.
It had been some five hours later, with a worried Royukgan at her side, that she had come to. His hand had been clasped fiercely around hers, to the point that she now was surprised her fingers had not been crushed. Even now, her stomach and her chest was still sore. It was a distant, far away pang, like a great distant fire causing the night sky to glow faintly.
She heard a sigh of relief, and felt a hand crawling along her arm, till it clasped her own. “Good,” she heard Royukgan’s voice say in the darkness. She could imagine his face, with that loving smile that before this mess had driven her crazy with delight in happier times, beaming at her in the darkness.
[]Then again, that might be some of the herbs they fed me,[/i] her mind darkly glowered. She remembered earlier that morning, when she come to after another dark night. The band had not moved since she had fallen ill. And she’d raved to Aeron and Aegrifyr about it. She remembered them trying to explain, and her shouting that they needed speed. Then Aegrifyr disappeared, and came back with a warm tea, which she had drunk greedily.
And then she’d woken up just now.
We need to move, her mind mumbled again, coming back to reality fully. Numbers, movements, and maps popped back into her head, and she remembered why they needed to move. Her mind’s call changed. We MUST move!
For a split second, she wondered why there was no fire, until remembering her own command when the entire force had joined together.
Only one campfire should be lit, in the center of the encampment, beside the wizard’s tents. We want to keep the chance of our discovery to a minimum!
Gingerly she slipped to the side, away from the voice she had heard earlier, and was rewarded by a fresh rustle of blankets.
“Vin, what are you doing?” Royukgan asked in the darkness.
“We must move!” she complained, urgency giving her voice a texture of command. Her stomach’s aches seemed to not matter anymore.
“Vin, its two hours past midnight. There won’t be any moving for a while... at least until sunrise,” his voice replied. Its measure of calm amazed her dazed mind, giving her pause. “You need your rest, Vin. Neither Master Aegrifyr nor Lord Aeron know what happened to you, but if you are feeling alright now, you’ll feel even better in the morning. And since this is your crazy scheme, we need you to be up and ready to lead us in it!” Vin’s imagination once again provided the smirk she new Royukgan had on his face.
The darkness still called to her, asking her to sleep. Sunrise... four hours her mind thought. Six miles of travel.... Eight if we move... not too much... she closed her eyes.
Royukgan looked into the darkness where his love lay asleep. Wearily, he laid back down, the words of Aeron the Court Mage occupying his mind.
Something related to the very blood running through her veins caused that. It can be the only thing, the wizard’s craggy voice repeated in his mind. Something happened... some kind of powerful magic the likes of which I do not fully understand. If it affected her... it could have affected her brothers and sister... or even the Emperor...