Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert

our kingdom. We will show the world our sadness, but we will not let them forget, even for a heartbeat, that the Fire Kingdom stands as it always has and always will. Mighty, proud and strong.

      “Now go and mourn your king. Return to your homes, to your families, or ride out into the lonely plains of our lands. Mourn for him. Tomorrow, I expect all of you to return. I beg the company of Auran-San, Haltern-kin-Eben and General Astergrise.”

      Once the double doors had again filled the hall with their echoing bang as they shut, the prince turned to his advisors.

      “We ought to find a more private area.”

      “This way, your Highness,” Auran-San said as he led them into another chamber. He signaled to a servant to bring refreshments.

      “You have ridden long and hard, Prince Sergor. A little fireless wine will do you well.”

      “You have my thanks. It has indeed been a long day, full of impatience and the pain of saying farewell. I do not wish to keep anyone longer than necessary. What I need is an estimate of the position we are in. We have much work to do.”

      “Your Majesty,” Auran-San began, noticing as he did that the prince straightened at the address. “Your Majesty, all the troops, with the exception of the border guard, have returned to Gulffir to protect the king. Our supplies are spent, our gold scarce.”

      “I noticed upon my arrival that many representatives of the tribes are camped outside the city. What is the reason for this?”

      Auran-San had difficulty concealing his amusement.

      “The tribes wish to negotiate. Could there be a better time for it than a change in regency? They want more independence, more money, more rights, a voice in matters of the kingdom. I would advise heeding them in certain things; we do not have the strength to quench a rebellion. The long years of experience your advisors have will see us through. There will be a long fight, and in the end common sense will triumph. We mustn’t act too hastily. The tribes need their king as the king needs his tribes.”

      Haltern-kin-Eben nodded.

      “And the troops?” Sergor-Don asked almost indifferently.

      Astergrise bowed his head and gave the answer. “We do not have enough horses, our weapons are of low quality, and the soldiers have not had their pay. They are discontent. However, I must add that I believe all our generals to be reliable and capable of overcoming these problems. Auran-San’s mistrust towards the court does not extend to our troops. The soldiers are loyal to their leaders.”

      “And the leaders themselves?”

      Auran-San glanced towards Astergrise.

      “Apart from the palace guard, they are united to the last man under Grand General Sarch. He is an excellent man. The palace guard obeys, as ever, Marshal Astergrise.

      “Yes, yes, all in order. The soldiers are the least of my worries. One last question: what about the royal treasury?”

      Auran-San’s eyes glided towards Haltern-kin-Eben, whose gaze flitted to Astergrise, whose eyes were fixed on Auran-San.

      “Your Majesty, the treasury’s walls are hard and dry and will withstand any storm. The doors are open, and fresh air might help displace the old haze,” Haltern-kin-Eben answered reluctantly.

      “I see. It’s empty.”

      Auran-San nodded.

      “Very well. I know what I needed to know. War is coming from the borders because our neighbors think us weak. We have unrest within the kingdom, because my father was too ill to keep a firm grasp, a regime that has not done as it should have, and no more money. On top of that our military is badly equipped.”

      “Only briefly, your Majesty, only briefly,” Auran-San attempted to soothe the prince. “But I must suggest you arrange your coronation as soon as possible. The people need a keen eye to read the future for them, a clear voice to tell them what to do, and a strong hand to guide them. Without these things some might believe they would stand a better chance riding another road.”

      “Your counsel is well-reasoned as always, Auran-San,” the prince smiled, but silently he thought something else. Act quickly and take your enemies’ chances of learning the foreign territory, and victory is yours. Oh, Auran-San, you have read the Book of Sunn well. But have you forgotten that you were the one who schooled me in the art of war?

      “I will follow your advice. The preparations for my coronation will begin immediately. Keeper of Tradition, I know that you will do better than I could imagine.” For a moment, the small group showed only satisfaction. Only Astergrise’s hard face was immovable as ever.

      “As there is no hope of solving all our problems in one evening,” the prince continued, “we should take the time to sort out two smaller issues. We must keep the people entertained until I am crowned. There shall be tourneys in my father’s name, tourneys the like Pentamuria has never seen. Every soldier will have the chance to prove his worth and carve his name into history. Even the border guard will participate. The King of Woodhold is a coward; he will never strike against us. The King of Earthland will be too surprised to make a move – if he considers it, he will suspect a trap. We will send him a delegation with many gifts and honeyed words to bargain an alliance. It would bring both our lands harmony and other benefits. Have I made myself clear?”

      “But, your Majesty,” Haltern-kin-Eben protested, “where are we to come up with the gold for such gifts? Our treasury is as empty as a peasant’s head.”

      Sergor-Don remained impassive. “We will borrow it from the nobility. Do not forget that I need a generous champion’s purse for the winners of the tourneys.”

      The satisfied smile utterly evaporated from the keeper of tradition’s face. He opened his mouth to protest again, only to feel a magical grip on his jaw.

      Teeth might freeze without the protection of their lips. The wise keep them shut for that reason, he heard a voice say in his head. He felt Auran-San’s penetrating stare and obediently closed his mouth.

      Prince Sergor pricked up his ears. He thought he had heard some magical breath pass him, but no more interruptions came, so he addressed the old marshal.

      “Astergrise, Shield of the King and Strength of Gulffir. I want one of the tourneys to be for archers only. The fifty best of them will be rewarded, and no matter their current position, will have command over five other archers who have proven themselves in the tourney. These three hundred will be under your command. Forge them into archers the like Pentamuria has never seen. Arrows will be supplied.”

      The old marshal bowed his head obediently, but secretly wondered what he could accomplish with only three hundred archers.

      “And secondly?” Auran-San inquired gently.

      “Secondly what?”

      “You spoke of two issues, your Majesty.”

      “Oh. Yes, the second one… I would invite every arcanist in the kingdom to my court. Send the messengers today. They are to ride through the night. I believe that is all we can do today. I will retire for the night. Haltern-kin-Eben, I do hope you have prepared an appropriate chamber for me.”

      “In the Western Wing. I will lead you there personally.”

      “That won’t be necessary. I grew up here. I know this castle.”

      “One last word, your Majesty,” Astergrise called after him as he followed with lengthy steps.

      “He is still a child,” Haltern-kin-Eben commented smugly once the prince and the marshal had left the room. “The first thing he thinks of is a competition to honor his father. And that rubbish about leaving the borders unmanned… I do hope Astergrise can talk him around on that. Of course it would surprise Earthland, but for how long? Grand General Sarch will be furious if he hears of it.”

      “Sarch