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Anders was called on to act as interpreter for King Yarler and his people, almost constantly over the next few days. The man didn’t try to kill him, but he glared, grumbled and made rude hand gestures when he thought no one was looking. He failed at that part of things, but was ignored. After all, Anders was just standing there, hour after hour, sending messages to Master Tolan and receiving answers, back and forth.
Endlessly, it seemed.
It was just as hard on Prince Erold, who had to sit there, trying to seem peaceful and calm, as the angry King became less tractable over time, not more. On the third day, upset that King Mathias wouldn’t lower the ten percent annual payment he’d demanded, the man practically foamed at the mouth.
“If he will not bend on this, I will have his son raped and flayed alive!” He pounded the table, standing to his full height.
Right before he flew backward from the large wooden table, the ten soldiers in the room finally getting to do something, pointing their spears at the large man. He slid on the floor, which was smooth enough to not damage him too much. Anders moved around the table, having been standing on the other side, his right hand held out, in a fist. A thing that presaged death to him, but probably just looked odd to the man on the floor.
“Enough!” He was yelling, sounding angry enough that several of the guards covertly took a few steps away from him. “You will not make threats! You have lost and if you don’t accept it, now and agree to what you already swore to, I will kill you and put someone else on your throne! One word, other than asking for King Mathias to have a fine day, and I will end your days!”
He actually readied himself to do just that.
Behind him, in a similar stance, Erold cleared his throat, speaking in Istlan.
“I missed that. You’re going to kill him?”
Anders nodded.
“If he doesn’t give over, here and now, in a very real fashion. He just threatened to have you raped and flayed alive, as a threat to King Mathias. Who do you have in mind to take his place?” He wasn’t being glib or friendly, having had enough of the man, ruler or not.
The words included a sigh.
“My brother Alpert, was mentioned for the position? If we do that, we’ll have to kill King Yarler’s entire family line. I was trying to avoid that.”
“I know. I have been as well.” Then he switched to Yansian, the man on the floor fuming at him.
“So, what will it be? This is in your hands. Do you actually bend the knee, or are you...”
The King scrambled up, pulling his belt knife. From the side, backing away, Mourn called out. “No!”
The councilor was correct in what he likely saw coming. Anders didn’t pause, since the blade made it a real fight, between the two of them. As the large, decently powerful man moved in, rushing faster than Anders would have credited as possible, trying to plunge the hand long blade into his face, his own right hand opened. With the greatest flow of energy that he’d ever put into an explosion, using that particular spell.
The man was a King, after all, so deserved the best he could manage.
His upper torso and head were gone, the lower portion of the body standing for a few moments, before crumbling, the black leather boots and cream-colored trousers covered with blood and bits of the King. None of the guards screamed, and Prince Erold made no more than a harsh, somewhat grunting sound. Berit Mourn moved back, in fear, clutching himself.
“The fool...” His eyes went wide, then the old, rather thin, man, simply nodded. “My family is blameless in my activities. I know that you must slay me, as a threat, but if you could leave them alive? My sons are grown and live far from here, not having chosen the life of power. My wife is... She’s a good woman. Spare them, please.”
Anders stared at the man, wanting, in part, to simply send the man away. He knew too much to waste, after all. The other portion of himself nearly murdered him, as he stood there. It was the way that things were done, after all.
Breathing hard, he nodded.
“You will get a payment in gold, to keep you and your wife. The family of Yarler must...” Kindness wouldn’t work, of course. Even if they promised themselves to King Mathias, in five years, or ten, they’d come back and become a problem. Farad knew that, from the old histories. It didn’t happen every time, but so often that he couldn’t risk allowing it.
He repeated the words in Istlan, with Prince Erold, who looked pale, agreeing with him. A bit too eagerly, as if he wanted to placate a wild animal.
“We should clean up in here and then contact Father, to let him know that the plans have changed. I’ll pen a missive to that end?” His tone was slightly nervous, as if that might not be allowed.
Anders nodded, and started muttering a spell. Everyone stared at him, until they noticed that the blood and viscera of the former King came together, forming a ball, which then floated into the air. That was walked to the front of the castle, past the wall, and deposited to the side of the heavy wooden gate there. On the right.
He didn’t tell anyone what his point was, in doing that. They didn’t have the man’s head, since that was beyond recognition, being in thousands of pieces, as it was. Then, spinning on his heel, he went back inside, to finish removing the blood and missed chunks of flesh. That didn’t have to be touched, if he did it, instead of forcing some boy with a mop to take care of the mess.
When he entered the room again, Erold had a rather hasty note for his father. It was, when he read over it, kinder to him than he would have been.
It spoke of how King Yarler had made vile threats against his personal safety, then attacked Anders with a blade. It was all true, but lacked a bit in the telling. Worse, it wasn’t even being done to protect him, he didn’t think. His friend was simply shortening the tale, so that the spell of communication wouldn’t be too long.
It took about ten minutes to translate it into the special language of the spell, then, since it involved the death of a King, it was set to play ten times, instead of the normal five. They had to sit, for a very long time, with Berit Mourn becoming more and more uneasy. A thing that made sense, when Anders thought about it for a while.
After all, it really did make more sense to simply kill Mourn, rather than to pay him some gold to go away. He wasn’t in line for the throne there, but all of the nobles who wanted to resist the yoke of Istlan would seek him out, if he were left alive. A bit of shiny metal probably wouldn’t be enough to stop that from happening. Still, they could make the man vanish, later. If he killed him then and there, everyone would be afraid of him. If he followed the man himself, when he left, and made it seem as if he simply ran off, for his own protection, that would probably work well enough. People would suspect, but they wouldn’t know who to blame.
He spoke out loud, when Master Tolan’s voice spoke inside his head. It sounded as if the man were right there, next to him.
“Prince Alpert is to move here, securing Yanse for Istlan as Regent, his heir becoming King of Yanse, when he reaches the age of majority. The family of the former King, to the seventh in line for the throne, are to be put to death, as soon as possible. All others of that line are to be dispossessed, regardless of station. If they are of noble lineage, they must be put to death.”
Prince Erold made a considering sound, and then smiled, softly.
“Interesting. Father is making certain that Alpert won’t be seen as benefiting from this directly. That’s a fiction, of course. The powers of a Regent are very similar to that of a King. So, we need to round up what relatives of the former King we can find and log who they are. This is bloody work, and needs to be done in public. Hiding this won’t have the needed impact.”
Anders was already standing, and readied himself to personally kill women and children. It was bloody work, as had been said, but part of him at least was already dead inside, and wouldn’t care too much about that.
That wasn’t the real plan. Not at all. Erold simply sent the guards, two of them, to set things up, and had the Army collect the needed people. Some, wisely had fled, in the previous days, but five hours later the screaming and crying people, just seeming like any noble might, were being pulled out of their line and having their heads chopped off by a hooded ax man.
He was one of the Istlan military, and large, but a full black head covering protected him from being known, in case retribution was to be delivered later. The scent of the dead, a combination of released bowels, urine and a coppery hint of blood, reminded Anders of the battlefield. Only with less smoke and more high-pitched screaming.
The public came out to witness the act, a thing that Anders didn’t understand at all, at first. They jeered those dying, in a cruel fashion, making hand signs that were probably considered most rude. It wasn’t until they were dead, and Anders was waved at by Erold that he really thought about it, however.
“Would you speak for us? Explain to them what our thoughts were here?”
He didn’t have anything prepared, but was used, from his past life, to speaking to the masses. This was a large crowd, of thousands, dressed in a variety of brown and beige homespun clothing, with smatterings of brighter colors in the mix, which was what commoners there wore to work, he thought.
He moved to the front, Prince Erold beside him, and formed an illusion. It took a moment, but was large, and commanding seeming. King Mathias, if he were twenty feet tall, and perhaps ten years younger.
The voice that came out was correct as well, but loud, so all assembled might hear it. He also spoke in Yansian.
“Good people of Yanse! Attend my words. The King of your land Yarler, in most vile fashion, attempted to attack and kill Prince Erold of Istlan, after swearing to protect that land and it’s King! He died in that attempt. These good people here, blameless, were his relatives. Their lives were ended, to buy you and yours peace, in the coming years. This was not done to be cruel! Istlan and Yanse, are lands of laws, where none is held too far above any other. You are safe, as long as you throw in with those of Istlan and seek to be peaceful. Your King made mistakes. We do not seek to make you, his former people, suffer for his actions.” The seeming, a giant thing that was impressive enough, heaved a sigh, and took a single step forward.
“To that end, King Mathias of Istlan is sending his second son, Alpert the wise, to act as regent for your land! Celebrate this, for your lives will improve far more under him than under those who foolishly started a war they could not win! Rejoice and spread the word of the new order. That you now, all of you, have a chance for a better life, that you were kept from before!”
There was cheering. If it was due as much to fear, as had their previous efforts of jeering, as it was to his rousing speech, no one called out to challenge him on it.
The massive vision of the King vanished then, and the bodies of the dead were left in place. To rot. As a warning to the common people, he had to think.
Anders waved in their direction.
“We should see to proper ceremonies for them. We’ve won. No need to seem like savages now. People hearing of this will get that we aren’t to be trifled with.” Plus, bodies rotting in front of the castle would start to stink, shortly.
Prince Erold agreed though, after some thought.
“Cart them away, and bury them, in an appropriate space. Can we find a religious leader to say what rites they might require, so their souls can rest?”
The crowd was still there, so Anders walked toward the crowd, wondering if they were going to attack him, for being on the wrong side of the war. After all, they didn’t know who he was, personally.
“Excuse me, please? Does anyone know a local religious leader, who might speak for the dead? We’re going to have them buried, if that’s welcome.”
No one spoke for a long time, until a rather wizened old man stepped forward. He was stooped, missing most of his teeth and a bit filthy in places, showing he did some form of physical work for a living.
“We burn our dead, most times. Are you cursing them?”
Anders shook his head.
“Not at all. We can do that instead, then. Burn them as their customs call for? These people did nothing wrong. They were just related to the wrong man. We should see to them, as kindly as we can, after what was done here today.”
The man grunted, and looked at Anders closely.
“You with the Prince there? Herold? His advisor, or...”
“Erold. I do some small magical work for Istlan. Anders Brolly.”
The man spit then, on the ground.
“The Warbow? The man who killed most of the army?” He glared for a bit, then shook his head. “You seem a bit small for that, truth told.”
It was a bit insulting, but also not a thing for him to worry over at all.
“I know. A constant consternation in my life. So, a religious leader for these people? I don’t know what gods they served or followed.”
There was a pause, then the man pointed, down the road, into the distance.
“I don’t know what the King or his people did that way, but the Followers of the Waters have a temple down that way. They’re a big enough group that no one will think it odd that they handle this. Straight down, on the right. You won’t miss it. Big stone place, with waterfalls.”
People, picking up that not much else of note was going to happen that day, started walking back to the city, in the same direction that Anders traveled. No one bothered him, for some minutes, until finally, a woman who looked to be about two and a half decades smiled at him, sizing him up before moving next to him. She had golden hair and a lithe frame under her skirt. Anders gave her a nod, not smiling.
“Well met, miss.”
“Well met, Sir. You’re one of those Istlan types? Do you know what the plan is for us? I saw the giant speaking back there, but is this new Prince we’re getting a cruel man, or... He was called the wise. That sounds like the type of thing that the powerful call themselves, to fool the rest of us, doesn’t it?”
It truly did, so he let his head tilt side to side for a moment.
“He’s a good man, to be honest. Not prone to anger or making poor decisions. There’s a penalty that King Yarler agreed to, of ten percent of all goods and coin going to Istlan for ten years. That might change now, but if it does, it will be lessened, not increased. A lot of that was about preventing Yanse from attacking us again for a while. If Prince Alpert is in charge here, that might not be as large of an issue.”
The woman moved a strand of her hair out of the way, her pale face rosy at the cheeks. The rest was pulled back, into a long tail. He thought so, at least. Anders didn’t look at her all that hard. Not past making certain she wasn’t pulling a weapon or making ready to cast magic in his direction. No one walking was doing anything like that, though the conversation was about what they’d just seen.
The lady touched him on the arm, to get his attention. It was a bit off, given they weren’t familiar at all. Then, others were doing that with each other, so it could have simply been the habit there. Even with unfamiliar men.
“You know of this new Prince? The Regent?”
He nodded.
“I traveled with him and his wife, to Barquea, recently. I’ve spoken to him many times before that, since we both lived in the same building. His wife is Princess Aisla, from Barquea, hence going there. She recently had a child. A boy, Leopold.”
There was a pragmatic nod, and a few of the other people walking near them, clearly listening, seemed to agree with the idea.
“Oh? That’s good then. Barquea is a very civilized place, I hear? Perhaps having a wife from there will prevent too much violence from this Istlan fellow? They have a child, as well, which is a sign of a strong line, unless he’s old already?”
Anders shrugged, bored with the conversation and the stress of watching everyone as if they were secretly plotting to take his life. He did it, because it was needed, but it didn’t entertain him much. Which gave him an idea, if he wasn’t sent home in the next few days.
“About your age, plus a small few years?” He paused then, since he’d said that incorrectly. “A few years older, that is? I think he’s seen twenty-seven years. I don’t know when his birth season is, to be honest.” It hadn’t come up, so far.
“He’s not evil though, you think? Those women were going to be raped, and some of the soldiers and one of their war mages fought them, to stop that... Is that normal for Istlan people?”
It wasn’t, he didn’t think, but he nodded instantly.
“Yes. They’re just people. Not so different than you and yours. Not perfect, and the men were making a mistake, the other day, but you should be safe that way. At least to the same measure that you always have been.”
The woman seemed to relax then.
“In truth? That’s good to hear. The soldiers didn’t beat us earlier, or order us to go and watch the nobles being killed. It... We had to jeer them. It was too dangerous not to seem to support what was done. What if they did it to us? Istlan... They’re primitive people. We have all learned that, our entire lives. They are barbarians, who don’t use magic, even. Except... That giant man... I don’t...”
Anders spoke with no heat to his words.
He’d heard such things before, after all. From what he could see, Yanse and Istlan were actually very similar, in many ways. They worshiped similar gods, if under different names, for instance. The language was different, but clearly shared a common root source. Even the clothing was similar in style. They had kings and nobles, and their system, so far, hadn’t seemed too strange that way.
Meaning the big point was about magic.
“The people there, in Istlan, have recently changed their views that way, in regards to magic. Instead of fearing it, they are learning to accept it as a mere tool, now.” It wasn’t true, but if he told enough people that kind of thing, eventually it might be.
“Oh? That... makes some sense. They certainly used it in the battles, didn’t they? How did you come to live there? You’re from down south, in Yanse, right?”
The streets were filled with people, many of them simply standing and talking to one another, as they hit the edge of the city. It was a well built up place, and smelled, but no worse than any other large place he’d seen in that part of the world. Barquea had been better, but a lot of that was due to how dry it was in places. This place was, currently, made of stone, with cobbled roads of tan rock, and buildings with exposed timbers and more rock. There were wagons, some with goods, in different places, but it seemed to be too few for a large city.
Then, if he had a wagon in an occupied area, he would have hidden it and whatever he had to sell, as well.
“I’m from Istlan. From the castle there, in fact. Anders Brolly.”
The woman didn’t seem to recognize his name, but an older woman, walking close enough to hear them, growled at the mention of his name.
“The beast who slaughters armies?”
A lot of people looked at him then, and started to close, by a few steps. Sighing, he nodded.
“Yes. I wasn’t alone, but much of the carnage was caused by me. As was my duty. I hate war.” He didn’t really care that much about it, but it was the right thing to say. No one tried to stab him, at least.
A man from the side, lean and hard from work, as well as too old to be a levy, made a hard face.
“Aye, boy. We are ordered to go and do, for others, and get little choice in it. I’m sure that when you return to your land you’ll be lauded as a hero for the same things we fear and condemn. Not that we won’t do it, anyway, even if it isn’t fair.”
That got him to nod, as a strange, rather grand, building came into view. It literally had a small stream cascading over the roof, into waterfalls down the front, marking it as the temple he sought. There was walking to do in order to get to it, the place being decently large.
Glancing at the man, he grimaced.
“About in that vein. War itself is seldom fair, is it? We were attacked, without need or reason, so I came to fight, having some small skill with magics that helped. I had to go and do what I could to save my people. It was required, but doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate your people as well. As this man said, we are sent to war and have to do what we can.”
The original woman spoke again, her voice soft.
“Did the King truly go for the Istlan Prince? That sounds insane. I heard the announcement, but...” She looked nervous then, as if he might take umbrage at her suggestion that they’d been lied to. Which they had.
So, he corrected himself.
“It was far more complex than that. He’d threatened to rape and flay Prince Erold, in anger. I pushed him down with magic and told him to step lightly. Instead, he tried to kill me with a knife. An eating blade, since that was all he’d been allowed to keep. I made him explode as he came for me.”
No one spoke, so he went on.
“When I made the image of King Mathias, the giant? I tried to make the whole thing shorter, so it would be easier to understand. I didn’t really have a speech prepared, so... I probably should have just explained the whole thing.”
The elder woman cackled a bit then, bitterly.
“Nah... People will think what they want and telling them anything will just get them to assume you’re lying to them. The King died. It really doesn’t matter how it happened. We burning the body, do you think? Last time the King died we had a week of mourning. Men shaved their beards and heads and women covered their faces with ashes. King Medred. He died in bed, of a pox.”
Waving to the temple ahead, Anders tried to figure out what they wanted him to say.
“I’m going to find a religious leader from the area to see to the burial of the former King and his family. The ceremony. We bury people, in general, but we’ll probably do what you consider respectful, here. Do you want a week of mourning for the King?” He didn’t see a reason for that, but waited, which was a good thing, since everyone started to nod.
The blonde woman ducked her head then.
“That would be a comforting thing. A sign that Istlan won’t simply kill us all or take us to be their slaves. Not a week though. King Yarler lost in a war... Three days, perhaps?”
That seemed to be a popular time frame. A thing that, to their way of thinking, should begin at sundown, the next day. When they had the fires, to burn the bodies.
“I’ll suggest that then. It depends on if we can get a religious leader to help us or not.”
The lean fellow, rubbing at his great tan and yellow beard, with long white streaks in it, made a face.
“Yeh. You know how that type is. Offer him a few coins and let him boss some people around for his imaginary god and he’ll do what you tell him to, I suppose. You headed to the Followers of the Waters? I worship over at the Temple of Denog, the Earth God, myself. Farmer by trade, so I pay a bit to the waters, of course. Farmers need rain, as well as dirt. They’re fine with deaths, I suppose. All of them are.”
Again, everyone around him seemed to think that was well enough done, if he could make it happen. People started to pull off, though the blonde woman held pace with him, finally, when they were alone, being a bit more personal.
“I’m Verissa. My husband is the local cooper, for this area. I don’t suppose you have need for barrels, do you?”
It was a strange thing to ask, but after a moment, he nodded.
“Honestly, I might have use of a few, before I leave. He has a shop close by?”
“Two streets over. The sign is marked, so easy to find. That way?” She pointed, off to the side, down the street. “I should get back now, I suppose. It was good meeting you, Brolly. I hope all from Istlan will be so kind.”
He did too, but doubted that would really happen.
“Well met, Veritsa.” He stopped and bowed, ready to fight if it was needed. The lady bobbed back, showing she didn’t really know what to do that way, and walked away, not looking back as she did it.
He didn’t turn to look either, since he wasn’t planning on courting her and had no other reason to stare at her as she left, other than that. She wasn’t a high beauty, but had seemed kind enough, given who he was. Really, even the old woman who had growled at him had come around easily enough, given that.
Of interest, no one had seemed to be afraid of him, in particular. They hadn’t loved what he’d done, but seemed to understand, without asking, that he didn’t really go around killing for no reason. That they, not being against him in a battle, or coming at him with a blade, would be fine.
At least it seemed like that and he hoped it was the truth.
The temple of the Fellowship of the Waters was even more impressive, close up. There were six waterfalls on the front of the building, falling onto rocks, with a nice pond in the front of the place. There were things growing in that, and large fish with a bright golden color moving in the clear waters. There was a covered portion, but water came through it, in places, seemingly on purpose. You weren’t going up the stairs and then inside without getting wet, it seemed.
Which was annoying of them to have put in place, but did fit the theme, so he simply walked up the roughhewn stone steps and moved toward the vast, already opened, door. Inside the space were fires in places, to fight the chill and produce light. The roof was closed at the top, and the inside of the cavernous place had another pond, of all things. There was no place to sit, other than on the ground, which was covered with a sheen of liquid. A rather fussy seeming man scurried over to him, his blonde hair lank and darker than it would have been if dry. His clothing was blue, and light, sticking to the man’s thin frame in places.
“Brother! Have you come to give praise to the waters?”
Anders bowed, using first courtly, which had the man, seeming baffled, doing that back, bending in half, humbly, arms at his sides, like a commoner. Then, while they had bowing in Yanse, it was mainly kept to the nobles, who had their own secret fashion of doing that, just like Istlan had.
“I was sent to arrange funerals, for many people. The King is dead. King Yarler? His family as well. It’s a sad thing, but what comes from war. We’re to have three days of mourning, I think? It might be more than that. What would...” He looked around and shook his head. The place was strange an uncomfortable, but it had clearly taken some coin to make. That or magic. “I’m from Istlan, and don’t wish to give offense, but what would you like in return for arranging such things?”
The thin man simply bowed again and grinned.
“We don’t properly charge for such services, but, if it isn’t a hardship, a small bit of coin would be welcome, as a gift?”
Anders pulled his purse out, looked at what was inside, and nodded. Then he closed it and handed the whole thing to the man. It was only about ten gold, which was enough it seemed. Then, he wasn’t aware of just how many had died.
“There will be more. A gold for each person? I don’t wish to cheat you.”
That got a sigh, at least.
“The gift is normally a silver per person.”
Which was still pricey.
“This is the family of a King. Their lives were stolen from them before their natural time. I would like their way into whatever afterlife they believed in eased as much as it may be.” He hadn’t liked the King there, but the man was gone now. Being seen as kind that way was worth more to him than mere coins.
A thing that no one would probably understand or care about.