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Lord di Sauria sat in the giant ballroom of Barnavor Castle, having breakfast by himself. He sat at the end of a long dining table made from solid oak that stretched from one end of the room to the other. The dining room was the heart of the palace and had, during Saurania’s glory days, been the host of many balls and festivities. When the nation first fell, di Sauria had been given the honor of attending the victory feast held there—and later his own inauguration. The room itself contained more art, crystal, and gold than di Sauria had ever imagined existed in the world. Crystal chandeliers hung in rows from the wood ceiling, and gold frames encased paintings of Sauranian lord and ladies. Busts and statues lined the white wood-paneled walls, and it gave the room a very regal and awe-inspiring appearance.
He returned to the grilled pheasant that lay before him and let his thoughts rest for a while.
A knock was heard from one of the four doors leading into the dining room, and before he had time to answer, one of them opened. His aide-de-camp, Sir Callman, quietly closed the door and walked towards di Sauria.
Sir Callman was one of the oldest members of di Sauria’s staff, yet he seemed to be the least tired of them all. His face bore a modicum of wrinkles—the ones he did carry were gathering around the eyes, which must have come from the constant squinting he did due to failing eyesight. His blue eyes were full of life, and they displayed the strength and the power, which also became evident when he spoke. He wore his silver hair long and often in a braid, and his black goatee was always trimmed to perfection. He wore the black leather boots, gray pants, and black tunic of the army, and draped over his back was the crimson red cape of the high-ranking officers. A silver sash was tied around his waist, marking him as a war hero. Sewn into its end were three golden broaches, symbolizing the three campaigns he had survived. Sir Callman was well respected among the other noblemen in the Haugarian kingdom, and his exploits as a warrior had turned into legends worthy of Haugar himself. It was by pure coincidence that he did not bear the title of di Sauria. He had been one of King Daiunn II’s favorite officers, which made him a likely suspect when it came to weeding out King Crauco’s enemies. He came very close to being executed when he managed to discover the whereabouts of Prince Quale. The prince was nearly caught but got away. For this near capture, Sir Callman was pardoned, although his land was taken from him as a warning and with it the prospect of the Lord of Saurania. di Sauria always had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that he coveted the title and that if Sir Callman really wanted to he could snatch it at any time.
Sir Callman held a pile of papers that he put on the table next to di Sauria’s pheasant.
“What is this?” di Sauria asked whilst wiping the grease from his chin. “More pressing affairs of state?”
Sir Callman smiled at him. “They need your signature, sire. They are documents that will allow work on our city improvements to commence.” Sir Callman spoke in a tone that made his requests sound more like orders.
“What improvements might they be?” di Sauria believed that Sir Callman would realize his place if he refrained from using his title.
“The roads need repairing as well as the city walls, my lord.” Sir Callman ignored di Sauria’s unspoken comment.
“Very well.” di Sauria sighed as he eyed the documents. Sir Callman handed him a quill dipped in ink, and he quickly signed them. He was eager to be rid of the chore—not so he could return to his breakfast, but so he could get rid of his aid.
As soon as the deed was done, Sir Callman took the documents and moved away towards the door. Before he grabbed the doorknob, he paused and turned back to the table with a concerned look. “Excuse me, Your Lordship?” he said.
di Sauria leaned back in his seat and grunted in reply, which Sir Callman took as a sign to go on. “Despite the reasons for me being appointed to this task, it was stated that I act as your lordship’s secretary and advisor.”
“Get to the point. I have not all day. My time is occupied by other matters.” It was a bald-faced lie, and he knew Sir Callman was aware of it.
“I would like to know what was to be accomplished by sending a squadron of untrained soldiers into the Eccliat Mountains?”
“You know very well that, as Lord Di Sauria, I need to make sure that this entire region is ours completely.”
“The Eccliat region is so remote, and if anyone lives there it would not be worth the loss of men to find out.”
“May I remind you that this was a collective decision by His Highness, King Crauco, and His Holiness, Baulo Allguén? I simply acted on their orders.”
“As Lord di Sauria your word weighs heavier than any other in this matter. You know as well as I do that these young men and an innocent monk are walking into certain death. One word from you could have saved them.” Sir Callman was clearly becoming agitated and had dropped his respectful tone.
“You forget yourself, Sir Callman. I need not explain my reasons to you. What would His Highness say if I went against his expressed wishes because of advice I received from a suspected traitor?”
“Sire?” Sir Callman was obviously taken aback at the remark because his jaw dropped in surprise.
“You are dismissed, aide. I have breakfast to finish.”
Sir Callman quickly vanished from the room, realizing that he had crossed the line this time. Lord di Sauria turned to the food in front of him, but instead of finishing it, he threw his napkin on his plate and left the room.
It was the second night of the journey, and the fire had been lit and the watch divided. The military cook had begun their meal for the evening, and Prolur saw it only fit to move away from the squadron to be alone. They had covered many miles the second day, and he felt it in his backside. It had been so long since he last rode any great distance. They had reached the first of a series of rivers they had to cross, and the camp lay next to the bridge. He walked onto the wooden construction and stopped in the middle, looking out over the flowing river below. In the fiery red glow of the setting sun, he saw the mountaintops of the Maelvin Pass in the distance. He was amazed by its sheer beauty and found it hard to believe that among it all there could be political turmoil that forced him to run from his safe environment. He could smell the food from the camp and wondered what tasteless concoction was on the menu. He laughed at how much his stay at Craucés had spoiled him. He heard the faint sound of footsteps on wood approaching him, and he turned towards the camp and saw a figure moving forward. It was Captain Roe, who had put aside his cape and shield. As he came closer, Prolur could make out the features of his face that radiated nothing but kindness. He faced the mountains again as Roe halted beside him and leaned on the railing of the bridge.
“How are you, Sir Prolur?” he asked.
“Please, Captain, I have asked you to refrain from using that title.”
“I am sorry, Sir.” Roe was sincere in his apology. “You will always be the greatest general our country ever had. I have a difficult time stopping myself.”
“You are excused, Captain. The name belongs to a different time, a different lifetime.”
They were silent for a minute and stared off into the evening. “May I ask you a personal question, Father?” Captain Roe broke the silence carefully.
“You may,” Prolur replied without considering the awkwardness he might put himself in. Another minute of silence followed.
“Why did you leave the army?” Roe paused. “I mean you had everything. You had been knighted, a general with acres of land, and you were rumored to be the di Sauria. Why leave it all?”
Prolur turned his entire body to face Roe and leaned against the railing as well. “Why did you join the army, Captain Roe?” he countered.
“The thrill of adventure and sense of duty towards the kingdom, I guess,” Roe replied with a confused look on his face.
“Did you have a choice?”
“My father was a merchant in Tieten with his own trading house. So, I could have followed his path. An easy life of fancy dinners and journeys to far off countries.”
“I had no choice,” Prolur explained. “My family lived in poverty, and my brothers and I were forced to enroll to save the rest. I soon realized that I had a knack for war, for fighting, and for tactics. I soon developed a passion for the battle and began living for it completely. One day, I found that it all had eaten up my life. I had too many lives on my conscience and too much blood on my hands. One cannot live upon the life of others. To preserve my own self-being, I had to get out at any cost. It had destroyed so much that I had to leave it all behind—no memories.” Prolur looked down on the boards that made up the bridge. The memories came back to him, and he knew that there was no point in holding them back because he couldn’t. “In the army, there is no in-between. You live and breathe it, and you do what they say without question or thought. No rest and no time off, but you know that.”
Roe nodded as Prolur lifted his head. “I do,” he agreed. They were silent again for a moment, and Roe turned around and leaned against the railing again. He stared back at the camp and sighed. “I never told the men that we might not return,” he said, and Prolur could clearly hear the sadness in his voice. “As far as they know, this is going to be one of the easiest campaigns of their lives. Although they will be facing much tougher enemies than men—the mountains—it is no way for a soldier to die. In a way, one could say that they will be fighting off the gods themselves.”
Prolur smiled as he said, “We will make it. Nothing good ever came from giving in. I know you feel responsible for these young men, and I know that you want to make a good impression on your superiors, but the worst thing you can do is fail them by not believing in yourself and your abilities.” Prolur turned to Roe and put his hand on his shoulder. “Remember the legend of Haugar from last night. He found the strength to defeat Enco and so can you.”
Roe took a pipe from a pouch in his belt. He put it in his mouth and pointed a finger at the end of it. A small flash of light exploded from his index finger and lit the tobacco. Roe took long deep puffs and let the smoke emit from the side of his mouth. He smiled at the monk. “A little trick my father taught me—it runs in our family.”
Magic was uncommon amongst Haugarians, and those who had the ability were revered as being gifted by the gods. The truly powerful were used during battle, although the rarity of mages had been the reason for the defeat during the Dourian campaign whose people were more gifted. Prolur had seen his share of magicians and sorcerers during his army days, and he remembered the nuisance the Sauranian ones had created.
“Tomorrow we will stay over in Cambas,” Roe continued through his wall of smoke. “There we will replenish our supplies as best we can, sleep in real bunks, and eat well. I have been promised a real meal at a good inn—a form of last meal before we ride into the unknown.”
“Then we stay the night on the northeast side of the Coronian Woods before beginning our journey into the mountains?” Prolur asked, and Roe nodded. They both stared off into nothing again, and then Prolur slapped Roe on the back. “Let us have some fine army cooking, Captain Roe.”
“It would be my pleasure, Father Prolur,” he replied, and they both laughed as they walked off the bridge.
The food didn’t taste any better than the night before, but the wind had subsided, and the warmth from the fireplace spread and heated them all. Prolur once again took out his book and told them about how Haugar saved his mother from the quintac-headed god, Deverian, who wanted her for his wife. The legend didn’t have the same effect as the previous one but left the soldiers happy. The sleep that night was one of the best ones Prolur had experienced underneath the stars.