A successful warlord demands loyalty from his followers but gives his loyalty to no one. This may mean that the birthday cards you receive from your henchmen are not written out of genuine emotion, but that is a small price to pay for supreme power.
—THE WARLORD’S PATH TO POWER: AN ANCIENT TOME OF DARIAN WISDOM
“What do you mean, ‘There were trespassers’?” Deeb Rauber stood on his throne so he could literally get in Vero’s face. He flipped up his unnecessary eye patch in order to give his swordsman a full, unabridged stink-eye. “That can’t possibly be true,” the boy continued, “because if there really were trespassers, you would have captured them and brought them to me.”
Vero didn’t flinch. Nor did the two scouts, both transplants from Dar, who stood behind him. “This is, of course, what we attempted to make happen, Your Highness,” Vero said casually. “However, apprehending these particular intruders—it was, as they say in my country, not to be. Still, I thought you should know.”
“I’m disappointed, Vero,” Rauber said. “You blew it big-time. You’re supposed to be my right-hand man. I can’t have you embarrassing me in front of the Warlord.”
“Too late for that,” Lord Rundark intoned. The dark-eyed warrior strode in, his beard-braids bouncing on his wide chest as he walked. “Where I come from, such a misstep is unacceptable. Your highest-ranking officer has failed you. You are right to be embarrassed.”
Fig. 21
VERO
Rauber bit his lip. This sounded like scolding. He didn’t like scolding. Scolding was what got his parents locked up in a cupboard.
“However, in Dar we say that a leader can be forgiven the mistakes of his followers,” Rundark continued. “Provided the underlings are properly punished.” He folded his arms, watched, and waited.
Rauber stroked his preteen chin as if it were covered with the beard he was still years away from growing. He had to think about this carefully. He liked Vero; he didn’t want to do anything too harsh to the guy. But if he wanted to keep Rundark and his men around, he knew he’d have to impress the Warlord.
“Who were these people that you and your two buddies here couldn’t manage to capture, Vero?” Rauber asked.
“We did not get their names,” Vero said. His eyes darted over to Rundark, and the sheer intensity of the Warlord’s stare made him recoil just a bit. “It was a rich lady in a wagon driven by two girls,” Vero admitted. “They had a bodyguard with them.”
“One bodyguard!” Rauber shouted in exasperation. “Oh, Vero, that’s pathetic. I might have to send you down to Wrathgar.”
Vero went white. The two Darian scouts behind him swallowed hard.
“Surely, Your Highness, you do not need to do anything so drastic,” the swordsman said. “If I might remind you, there have been some men who have never recovered from the . . . adjustments Wrathgar made to their bodies.”
Rauber glanced over at Rundark. He couldn’t read anything in the Warlord’s cold, hard stare. “Sorry, Vero,” the Bandit King said. “You bumbled.”
“There was a troll,” Vero blurted. “There was a troll, Your Highness. This is why we could not apprehend the trespassers.”
“A troll?” Rauber began breathing in loud, heavy snorts.
The two scouts nodded, backing up Vero’s claim.
“Repelling trolls from Rauberia takes top priority: This you said yourself, sir,” Vero argued. “When the troll appeared, I focused my attention on the beast. It was only then that the intruders were able to flee.”
Rauber was still seething but managed to slow his breath and appear a bit calmer. “Well, this changes things,” he said. He looked to Rundark. “It’s true. My men have a standing order to drop everything if they see a stupid, stinking troll slopping its way onto my property. I hate those broccoli-headed, onion-reeking, marsh-faced, cruddy-eyed, lemon-knuckled—”
“Sir?” Vero interjected.
“Where was I?” Rauber asked. “Oh, yeah. Vero, you’re off the hook. For now.”
Vero breathed a sigh of relief.
“Your men may have to follow this rule about trolls,” Lord Rundark said as he strolled over to the quivering Darian scouts. “But mine have no such order. And a lesson still must be learned.”
The Warlord lifted the nose-ringed scout by his throat. He carried the man, flailing, to an open window, where he held him outside and dropped him into the moat three stories below. The man’s shrieks echoed across the wastes as the bladejaw eels went to work.
Rauber was agape, unable to decide whether Rundark’s act had been terrifying or awesome. “You gonna do the guy with the pointy teeth, too?” he asked.
Lord Rundark shook his head. “No, Falco will be spared for the moment,” he said. “I doubt he will make such a mistake again.”
The bald scout stood at attention, blinking sweat from his eyes.
“Come, Falco,” Rundark said. “It’s time for barracks inspections.” The Warlord strode from Rauber’s throne room, with Falco scurrying at his heels.
Rauber, filled with unfocused energy, paced around snapping his fingers rapidly. His heart was pounding.
“Sir, if I may,” Vero ventured. “Having the Darians here—you still think this a good idea?”
“Good idea?” Rauber burst out. He leapt from his seat and grabbed Vero by the shirt. “It’s the best idea I’ve ever had! I’ve been playing this king thing all wrong. I thought I was tough—but I can’t begin to compare to Rundark. That man is the real deal. He’s heartless. He’ll stop at nothing. A guy like that could rule the whole world someday. And that’s no good. Because I wanna rule the world someday.”
“What is it you are saying, sir?”
“I’ve gotta take Rundark down. He thinks he’s so big and scary and impressive—”
“He is big, scary, and impressive,” Vero said.
“But he won’t be after I embarrass him in front of my entire army.” Rauber fell back into his throne and started cackling with glee. “Vero, the circus is coming in a few days. And I’m going to make sure the grand finale is the utter humiliation of Warlord Rundork! I’m talking cow pies in the face, bucket of slime over the head—maybe even a good ol’ pantsing! When I’m through with him, he’ll be too embarrassed to ever show his face around here again. And to think—he said I wasn’t a serious villain!”