Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert

never been a child. Even when he was yet small and my charge. I had a long time to study him, get to know him. He always knew exactly what he wanted, and I wonder what his plans are at the moment. Why would he summon all the other arcanists if we have the best and most experienced sorcerers here at court already?”

      “Do we need to care? He has no experience in handling matters of state, the troops – apart from the palace guard – are behind Sarch and Sarch is behind us. And if the prince wants money, he’ll have to either ask the gentry or raise taxes. Both could get him killed.”

      “You are right, Haltern, but he won’t be a prince forever. He’ll be our king soon. And you forget that kings are never completely powerless, for one always listens to a king. No, no, I would rather we knew what he plans to do.”

      “So overthrow him and be done with it.”

      The small room froze. Just those few words had filled the chamber and pressed against the walls, ceiling and floor with such force that Auran-San could not breathe for a few heartbeats.

      “Sometimes I wonder whether you still have your mind, Haltern. Overthrowing the crown means murder. Would you truly take his place and rule as a kingslayer?” Auran-San’s voice thundered through the room before suddenly going quiet and soft again. “No, my old friend, we must approach these things differently. Listen now…”

      All of Gulffir waited in the sweltering heat for the troops’ arrival, led by their quietly cursing commanders. The people stood expectant for their future king, and the court readied itself for the crowning. The prince, on the other hand, made himself scarce.

      The nervous anticipation grew more and more intense the more ease was enforced, and it began to tip. The dignitaries of the realm kept their eyes on the minutest of mood swings, picked up on every quiver in the air, and hearkened even to the sound of steps as they hurried through the halls. Everything was discussed and analyzed for what changes it might bring for the future; everyone suspected everyone. Nothing was worse than inactivity and uncertainty.

      As the unease grew on the surface, the wide lands around the capital sprouted camps for the soldiers and riders of the wild tribes. Haltern-kin-Eben obtained the gold the prince had demanded from the officials and the gentry, noting carefully as he did so how much each willingly gave.

      The opening of the tourney did less for the situation than had been hoped. The games distracted the common spirit only momentarily, and some used the chance to go about their business inconspicuously.

      The jousts with the sons of the desert were succeeded by the melee, where lances and swords and maces clashed. Each day closed with the archer’s competition.

      Prince Sergor-Don sat motionless in his raised chair with his generals and cavaliers gathered around him, listening intently to their comments and to the words of the older masters-at-arms. The younger ones had all decided to take part in the fights.

      He watched soldiers and sellswords compete for victory, applauded and rewarded the winners, handed out gifts and had the names of those he wished to see promoted inscribed. And those were many. Haltern-kin-Eben wondered where they could possibly get the gold to pay for all these new captains, and the generals and cavaliers grew more and more unenthusiastic.

      “Loyalty cannot be bought with gold,” they muttered. “Gold means greed, greed means envy, and envy is the death of obedience.”

      As much as they all tried to keep their thoughts and feelings hidden, by the end of the fifth day Grand General Sarch felt compelled to hint that, while a few promotions were good for the troops’ morale, many caused little more than unrest. Astergrise secretly agreed, but kept his silence and instead busied himself observing the young prince.

      Sarch knew no such reticence. He not only disapproved of these promotions, he considered them an interference in military matters best kept to experienced warriors. His displeasure mounted until he finally asked Prince Sergor-Don to his face about the reason for this extraordinary amount of recognition he was giving out. The prince’s face remained calm, yet a short sigh before his answer told of his annoyance at this lack of respect.

      “A soldier rarely has the chance to meet a new king. Being touched by a king – this is something he will never forget. Dear Sarch, my father’s illness quenched their fires; it is our duty to reignite them.”

      ‘Dear Sarch’ flinched.

      Auran-San too noticed that the mood of the soldiers had changed. There was indeed disquiet among them. The promotions had changed the long-practiced rules of orders and obeisance. There were too many captains and not enough to follow them.

      “If this carries on, a captain will have but ten men to his company! It’d be more honorable being an outrider!” one of the generals boomed. The older captains were also upset at their dwindling influence. And the confusion was yet to grow: the prince had begun to honor specific warriors with the title of family.

      “You are the first of my family,” he would say. “And you will help me grow this family until there is no difference between the king and his men.”

      The soldiers did not understand what he meant, but they knew that the young prince saw promise in them. The generals grew yet more agitated as it became clear that members of this new family came from all units, further muddying the chain of command.

      “We must do something, Auran-San,” Sarch warned the first councilor. “The prince is muddling everything up. The strength of our troops is falling apart, and our power with it. An attempt on the palace guard and Astergrise is unlikely to succeed.”

      Auran-San merely raised an eyebrow. “We need not make an attempt on anything. Pitching the soldiers against their own king serves no one. You are right – the prince has made quite a mess of his own forces. But that hasn’t weakened just his generals, but also himself. Sergor-Don is clever, but he lacks experience. We will let him be. At the end of all this nobody will expect him to bear the weight of his own crown. We shall watch him dig his own grave.”

      As the last fanfares heralded the end of the tourney and all eyes were on the hornblowers, a slender, gray-brown bird landed on the prince’s shoulder.

      “Your old friend Nill has found acceptance in Ringwall. He is now a mage under the magon’s custody,” the message read. It had been written on a small piece of reed, hidden in a tiny capsule attached to the bird’s right leg.

      “If someone who can barely even use magic can become a mage in Ringwall, then the center of power in Pentamuria is in a truly sorry state,” the prince mused. “Yet all things will make sense over time. I could hardly say whether or not I dislike this new development. Time will tell.” Sergor-Don rubbed the dry leaf between his hands until it had dissolved. Then he got to his feet and had all those who had proven themselves in the tourney step forward: archers, cavaliers, captains and lancers alike. More than a thousand soldiers stood on the square before the castle and gazed with pride and adoration at their future king as he smiled down at them benevolently.

      The generals were dumbfounded when they saw the full extent of the havoc the promotions had wrought, and Haltern-kin-Eben groaned as he calculated the costs the crown would soon have to carry. Grand General Sarch leaned over to Marshal Astergrise and hissed in his ear: “If you wish to sow discord and mutiny in an army, all you need do is make standing and ranks not matter and promote useless footmen to officers. As if the ability to hold a bow or swing a sword made them good commanders, pah!”

      The chains of command had always been strong enough for those obeying and flexible enough to allow for quick changes in tactics. The Fire Kingdom had built it over many years, and it had never had much to do with martial ability. A warrior’s rank was based not on merit, but on his birth, his family and his closeness to the commanders.

      Prince Sergor-Don had destroyed it in less than a week.

      It would take some time for the new order to take hold as the dust settled.

      Astergrise nodded almost unnoticeably at Sarch. He showed no further sign of having