A New Plan

December 29

My concerns over Odrar are well founded. Today Jehan and I met with Ardythe over the rising crisis, but to no avail. The king cannot, or will not see beyond his own loss. I do not know what it will take to shake him out of this depression.
As planned, Jehan arrived two evenings ago and settled in to a guest room. Much sooner than I expected, he found me and we visited the king. Ardythe continues to reside in his son's room, though the healers have convinced him to let them remove the body—for which I am eternally thankful. We found Ardythe in his seat beside the sick bed, as though he were still watching over his son. He looked up at us, blinking a sleep and alcohol haze from his gaze.
“Jehan? What're you doin' here?” he slurred.
“First and foremost, I came to pay my respects to you and your son, my lord. May the gods smile upon him and he find safe haven in Orun. I am sure Adalah has welcomed your son in all his great wisdom.”
My gaze, which had been focused on the king, jerked towards Jehan's face. It was an odd statement to add to the traditional blessing, especially during a time of peace and for a young man who had died in a sick bed rather than on the battle field. Adalah was the god of war and bloodshed.
I steeled myself for Ardythe's response and therefore was greatly surprised to see his parched lips turn up into a smile.
Jehan always knew how to handle the king; he was as much a politician as he was a warrior.
Ardythe seemed to think slowly, as if the gears in his head needed oiling. Finally he stared up at the general. “What's the other reason you're here.”
The general smiled back. “You're perceptiveness never fails you, my lord. I understand from Marcys that Odrar is becoming something of a bother.”
“Yes,” growled the king as he turned back to the empty bed. “And I told Marcys to deal with it.”
“He has, my lord, within the scope of his abilities. He came to me, but now you and I must work together to solve this problem. We cannot allow Odrar to take us to war. I think we both know that in our current state we don't have the man power to defend our nation, and after three lean years, we don't have the wealth to hire an army from the foreign lands.”
“What does it matter? I also have no son to pass this once great nation on to. Therefore, why worry. Odrar can have it all back. What do I care?”
I wanted to speak up, to yell at him—anything, if only to see life in his once energetic eyes again. Instead, I bit my tongue and let the general respond.
“My lord, why did your great-grandfather fight for the Island's freedom, all those years ago.”
“You don't need a history lesson from me.”
“No, I do not. But you clearly need to be reminded of the great suffering endured by our people at the hand of Odrar. We were their slaves, their convicts, their whores. Now we are people with dignity and respect, because you're family never gave in to despair, never lost hope.”
“Don't patronize me, Jehan.”
“I wasn't, my lord.”
Ardythe looked up at us with fire in his eyes. Though it made me quake in my boots, I was happy to see something other than apathy in him.
“Get out!”
“But my lord.”
“GET OUT!!! It's over! Can't you see that! We have lost. The gods have abandoned us to the hands of our former masters. NOW GO!”
I quickly bowed and scurried from the room, but Jehan followed at a more sedate, dignified pace. Ardythe didn't frighten him the way he frightened me. Perhaps it was because Jehan was not employed quite so directly by Ardythe, as I was. Or maybe because Ardythe knew better than to strike a soldier like Jehan. Either way, Jehan was safe from his fists, I was not.
In the corridor we both slowed down as we thought through the king's response.
“I have an idea, but it may be rather foolish.”
Jehan nodded for me to continue.
“What we need most right now is time. Time for Ardythe to grieve in peace and time for us to come up with a plan of action, if I'm not mistaken.”
Again, Jehan nodded.
“Perhaps we could give them Aempleforth... as a sort of peace offering.”
“The whole island?”
“Well, it is difficult to give away half an island, especially one as small as Aempleforth.”
“I'm worried such action will advertise our weakness.”
“Our weakness hardly needs advertising. I am sure Odrar is perfectly aware of our abilities. Besides, if we plant a few dissidents in the island we can make it look as though we are doing it to please our people, while mostly pleasing Odrar.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I do recall hearing rumors of the residents on Aempleforth wishing to return to Odrar,” smirked the other man as he swiped his nose with a finger in a knowing manner.
“Then I can leave this project in your capable hands?” I asked.
Jehan nodded, his face severe and formal while his eyes danced with mischief.
Of course we will not arrange the gift without the king's permission, but we can still get things in motion. It will take some weeks, I believe, before the island will be ready and willing to return to Odrar. Rumors must be started. Discordance must grow. The men and women must become disheartened by Ardythe's rule and seek the boon of Odrar—this will give Ardythe plenty of time to battle the grief that presently consumes him.
I suddenly felt as though this task were impossible. How could we manipulate an entire island into thinking they wanted to return to their former masters—the very nation that brutalized and enslaved us less than a hundred years ago. Our memories are not that short.
Marcys

Sorrow Awaits

December 27

Today I told King Ardythe of the friction pervading our seas. It did not go as well as I had hoped, though I'm not sure I really thought it through properly.
I brought the captain's letter to Ardythe first thing in the morning. He was just rousing from his position at the bedside of his deceased son. This should have been the first clue that this was not the time. His eyes were blood shot and his breath smelled of stale liquor. The king climbed to his feet, took the letter, and lumbered across the room to the fresh fire. He read the letter slowly before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the flames.
“You deal with it,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep and alcohol.
“My lord, it is beyond my duties and abilities to handle a military situation. If you would like I can convene your generals.”
“I DON'T WANT MY GENERALS!! I WANT YOU TO DEAL WITH IT!” he shrieked at the top of his voice. I tried not to flinch, but I don't think I was very successful. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the healers jump as they worked to remove the body.
“I realize you are distraught, my lord, but this...”
“You know nothing! I lost my son. My only son!”
“May I remind you, my lord, that I have lost three children in my life time. I know...”
What was I thinking? I should have kept my mouth shut, bowed, and gotten the hell out of there! Instead I took the blow to the face and staggered against the hot hearth, nearly falling into the fire.
“Get out,” growled the king before slumping against the mantel and staring into the crackling flames.
I wanted to argue, but for the first time today I chose to do the wise thing, and left.
Now what? My job is to order goods, supervise the servants, over see entertainment, and keep up accurate records. The state of the military and the kingdom's foreign relations are far beyond my scope of abilities. I needed help and I needed it now.
Only now I didn't have the captain's letter.
I made quick tracks out of the castle, flinging away requests for my attention as though they were flies darting around my head. I didn't have time to stop and sort out squabbles between laundresses or arrange the evening's entertainment—not that there should be any on this sad day. As the sun crested the mountains I heard the sound of the castle bell toll, loud and mournful.
Now the city would know that the prince had died during the night.
At the stables I ordered a horse to be saddled for me and was presented with an old nag more ready to be turned into dog meat than to bear me across the rambling city. Evidently they remembered my general lack of equestrian skills. The nag would be calmer than the destrier they gave me last time, but it would also be slower.
Perhaps this would be the time to tell you a little about Bathum City which surrounds the enormous castle. Bathum is a costal city that deals in fish and finished goods such as silks, furniture, or jewelry. It is the largest city in the Island Nation with a variety of people residing within it's tall walls—from wealthy nobles and merchants to the lowly whores and gutter children lining the streets, begging for coin.
I mounted the old nag and made my way pass the inner wall and into the city proper. General Jehan lived a few miles outside the city walls on a large estate. Though his father, the general to bring about our freedom from Odrar, had brought his family into wealth, Jehan had extended their holding through wise investment and thrifty transactions. Now Jehan spent these peaceful years training new soldiers and enjoying his wealth.

Despite being born in a time of peace, the old general had taught Jehan everything he knew about the arts of war and strategy. For a nation devoid of people who experienced the last war, we could only rely on those well educated, and that lead me to Jehan.

His high gates were open and I rode right up to the enormous doors of his house. It was almost a castle in its own right, made of stone and at least three stories tall with one tower for the guards to spy upon his vast acres. A man servant appeared and took my horse, directing me to the main hall.

I found Jehan sitting behind a large table covered in paper, books, writing sticks, and stoppers of black ink. He looked up as I entered and rose with a smile on his face.

If only he knew why I had come.

The general insisted I sit and take refreshment before I began my story. I obeyed as quickly as I could.

When I told him of the recent encounter with an Odrar ship and the captain’s actions, he grunted and nodded. I went on to explain the current predicament with the king's current state of mind.

“Wait! The prince did die?” he grumbled as he adjusted the fox skin he had draped over his broad shoulders for warmth.

I belatedly realized he would not have heard the early mourning bells this far from the castle. I nodded and told of the prince's last hours; it was a sad and miserable story to tell.

The general rumbled deep in his throat before waving for me to continue. Once I had finished telling the happenings of the last twenty-four hours and how they had brought me to him, he sat quietly, swirling his mulled wine in his mug until it nearly spilled over the edges.

I sat, trying to be patient. What made Jehan a good leader and our best hope for a real general was his ability to stop and think through a situation if time allowed. Truth be told, I didn't feel like time did allow at the present moment, but I trusted him to know better than me.

Finally he spoke. “I will come to the castle. Have a room prepared for me. I think I shall be needed too often in the days to come to be traveling back and forth.”

He seemed to notice my apprehensions. I was sure hoping he would say more in regards to the present crisis. Evidently he noticed something in my look.

“You did right, Marcys, in coming to me. Captain Ellis will keep an eye on the enemy ship until I have had a chance to look over our ship placement. I will be within the walls of the castle by dinner time. For now, let the king rest and we will approach him in a day or two, once I have had a chance to review our current situation.”

I nodded slowly, letting his words sink in, before setting my mug down and leaving.

I just hope he's right and that we're not too late to avoid a war with Odrar.

We shall see.

Marcys

Death Arrives

December 26,

In the year twenty-nine of my King's reign,
I Marcys, in the days that may be the last of this once great nation, now do write this journal, that others may learn from our mistakes. My father always encouraged me to note down the experiences of my life, but being the obstinate man that I was, I never thought it necessary. If only I had listened to him sooner. Fifty-four is a hard age to learn new ways of doing things. And yet I fear it is necessary if we are to survive, therefore I will tell you of our doings as things unfold in what precious minutes I can set aside. I'm sorry I do not have the time or patience to make this an eloquent retelling of our tale.
Before I begin to share our situation with you, whoever my readers may be, let me first tell you a little of myself. I am the head steward to King Ardythe, the third king of the Island Nation. His great-grandfather, Amis, led us to freedom ninety three years ago and we have thrived since; the oppression we endured under the rule of the Odrarian people was severe. The line of Amis has long fought to maintain our freedom and fought valiantly.

Now though? Now it seems unlikely that Ardythe could possibly stem the tide of change that washes against us, may he forgive me for saying so should he ever read these scrawling notations.

But I digress. I had meant to tell you a little of who I am, that you might judge me honestly. As I said, I am King Ardythe's steward. I have served him, and his father before him, since I was a small lad, though I did not step into the position of head steward until Ardythe was crowned after his father's death, may he rest his peace.

Ardythe's father, Dragoslav, was the very best of men. His son on the other hand. Well, I suppose I better be careful what I write. I prefer my head where it is: attached to my neck.

Again I digress. It is hard to talk about myself. I would rather remember the friends I have lost. But dwelling on the dead will not save us. Then again, I doubt this little journal will save anyone either. Still, I cannot continue without sharing my thoughts and feelings, even if it is only with this piece of paper.

First you should know my life has not been what one would call a happy life. I was married once, a long time ago. Marianne was a beautiful woman, full of life and vigor when we first met. But years of living under Ardythe's rule and in his castle drained her of all joy. The change was slow and I missed the signs until it was too late. I will not go into detail. It is enough for you to know that she took her own life and it is my fault.

During our marriage we had three children. The first, a son and greatest blessing of my life, died after falling from a horse at the age nineteen. This was ten years ago. Now it's hard to even remember what he looked like. Like me, he never had time to sit for a painting despite my wife's urging. Still, the deed is done.

My daughter, a young girl just like her mother, died in the great plague a year after her brother's death. She was eleven.

Lastly we had a son who died shortly after childbirth. Though my wife survived in body, I do not think her spirit survived that dreadful night. Six months later she was dead, found broken at the base of the high tower.

What else shall I tell you about myself? I am short and stocky, but strong. I am in motion all day and couldn't become truly fat even if I tried. My face is long and shrouded with graying hair that had originally been dark brown, long ago. I am wrinkled and soft in my old age, but still vigorous enough to continue my duties to the king.

There, I think that is enough about me. Now I am sure you are wondering what could have brought a middle aged steward to the point of wasting time with a journal.

The prince is dead.

King Ardythe has lost his only child, Prince Fendrel. The line of kings is ended.

At the age of sixty-one it seems unlikely Ardythe will produce another heir even if a woman were to conceive this very night, and unlike the king's of Odrar, Ardythe has no bastard sons to call upon. Here we take our marriage vows seriously enough not to stray, or at least not to leave any evidence of our failures.

What will the king do now?

As if this wasn't enough, our relationship with the main land is strained. Shortly after the prince's passing a messenger came to me.

“Lord Marcys,” he began, though he knows full well I am no lord. “I bring word from the Decenter. It has come in contact with a Odrar ship and it nearly came to full attack. Captain Elis said he did everything he could to keep them from attacking, but that they have remained some thirty miles off the cost of Aempleforth.”

“Thank you. Wait outside,” I ordered as I took the letter handed to me, despite the fact the anxious lad had verbalized all the essentials. Still, I read the letter. It said little I hadn't already heard.

But what could I possibly do? The king was hardly in a position to make decisions of this magnitude. All I could do was pray the situation did not escalate over night. I penned a quick reply to the captain, ordering him to not engage unless fired upon, and sent the messenger back to the trade-cog that would sail him back to the Decenter.

The Decenter is our fastest, and possibly most lethal ship. It would not let the mainland ship out of it's sight.

Tomorrow morning I will discuss it with the king. For now I will rest and hope the king drinks himself to sleep.

Marcys