Dishonour by Dee Carteri (simple e reader TXT) 📕

those millers went!"

"I suppose so," said Jaku, dubious.

The serving girl knocked again and entered, taking their orders. They received their food and ate it, but afterwards remained locked in quiet conversation, and did not leave for several hours.

"I would like to invite Knight-Marshall Maceol to describe the situation in the West for those gathered," declared Nesel to the representatives in the Hall of Kings as two royal pages produced a large canvas map of the Westerlands and hung it on two conveniently placed posts.

Maceol strode to the front and loudly began, "As most of you know, the war began when the Shadow worshippers invaded the kingdom of Vanstardt in the May of 1265. Later that year, a council of war was called in the Valley of Life in the kingdom of Hemlock. All nations of the continent immediately declared war on the Shadow worshippers save Brosurg, Sybürmia and the Rosian Isle. The next January, the last stronghold of Vanstardt was overrun and King Adelik was captured. The Shadow worshippers refuse to negotiate for a ransom, and the current whereabouts of the king is unknown."

A duke by the name of Galai, who supported Nesel, stood and stated, "Forgive me, for I am unfamiliar with the history of the war, but if Sybürmia initially declined to aid Vanstardt, who or what changed their minds?"

Maceol immediately responded, "After Sarune was slain by the honorable Duke Iaen in 1247, the people of Sybürmia signed a treaty indicating that ‘though our ways may be different, let it be known that any enemy of Octania is an enemy of ours.’ This treaty was well kept until the Shadow worshippers invaded."

A lady in the crowd asked, "So they fight merely for the treaty?"

Maceol turned, "Then they fought for the treaty, but now they have seen the power of Shadow’s black host. They fight now, as do all of us, for the fate of the Westerlands."

He turned back to the map. "Moving along, an army two thousand strong crossed the border into Heinsydil and laid siege to the castle of Leksandof in the March of 1267. In light of the besiegement, the neighboring kingdom of Brosurg agreed to enter the war. Since then, The Shadow worshippers have taken over half the kingdom of Heinsydil, as well as all of Kenin, Co’til, Keshir and its sister kingdom Sethir. They were finally turned back in a battle before the gates of Hemlock Stronghold."

Maceol gazed around and the confused looks of some of the gathered as they watched Maceol trace the enemy campaign. He said, "Those of you who having studied modern warcraft are no doubt wondering at the strange path taken by the bulk of the Shadow worshippers. Instead of crossing the Lom in several places and gradually expanding their domain, they have instead had heir army occupy territory that is bordered on three sides by hostile territory. All of our strategic analysis has come up with only one conclusion: that they wish to take the Valley of Life, even at the cost of most of their conquered realm. We can only assume that they felt the capture of the Valley would lead to the capitulation of the remaining kingdoms. This assumption, which is agreed upon by all allied kingdoms, indicates they have no desire to sign a peace treaty.

"Do you hear me? They wish to take all the continent! They did not stop at Vanstardt and will not stop at the Westerlands!" He was not really sure if this was true, and in fact they would fight the war simply to save the Westerners, but he needed something to help convince the unbelievers.

Guildmaster Jaku scowled and said, "Enough with the history lesson. You were to present the current situation in the West."

Maceol gestured to the map.

"Since our recent campaign began February this year, we have liberated Keshir, Sethir and all provinces of Co’til that lie north of the Lom river. At the moment the armies lie thusly," he said and began pointing to the map.

"Octania has fourteen divisions of six hundred soldiers each, four of which come from the Grand Duchy of Lecoy, guarding various fords and bridges of the northern Lom. We also have four full-sized warships and several smaller frigates in the north branch of the river, although we have not yet achieved naval superiority in the southern branch. Every remaining Western kingdom has committed two full divisions, with the exception of Lomstaag and Tenal, who could only field one division. Collectively the Westerlands have armed nine warships and a score of smaller craft, which are currently engaging Shadow worshipper transport frigates offshore."

"Sybürmia and Brosurg are holding down the Great Bridge in southern Heinsydil with eleven divisions of seven hundred, eight from Sybürmia and three from Brosurg. Altogether we have managed to prevent an enemy force of any considerable size from crossing either branch of the Lom River."

Oni asked, "What can you tell us about the Shadow worshippers themselves?"

Maceol thought for a moment, then said, "They are a very pale-skinned people, and burn easily in the sun. Their government is a delicate power struggle between hostile lords and feuding covens of warlocks. Ten years ago, a great majority of them were subdued by a coven of warlocks whose name roughly translates as Shadow’s Chosen. They are presumably behind the recent hostilities."

"These ‘warlocks’ you speak of. What are they capable of?" asked Archdeacon Gelir.

Maceol slowly answered. "They are wielders of great magiks, terrible magiks. I once saw six of them, huddled together, spinning a ball of black cold which they cast into our ranks. I saw twenty men as the ball passed through them, diminishing as it gave its cold to our soldiers, and their faces, frozen by an instant of unbearable pain, dead in the black boulder’s wake. Our battle Seers have no defense against it but to grow life in its way in a frantic attempt to steal its deadly cold, and the glorious metal armor in which we hold so much pride holds little protection against such a perversion of nature. Individually, the warlocks cast small bolts of frost, aimed at the chest to constrict the lungs of our men and prevent them from breathing. This malady, called Warlock’s Grasp by the soldiers, sometimes lasts several days and results in a slow, painful death for the victim. Fortunately, the Seers of the Valley of Life have worked with our own Seers to create a tonic to restore life to failing lungs." At this, a rustling murmur went through the Seer delegation, for they had not authorized the battle Seers to ally with the heathens that refused to acknowledge the Mother Temple.

"What does their army consist of?" asked the Duke of Rikalia.

Maceol answered, "They have knights, as we do, though theirs pay as much heed to the principles of honor as the paladins of Lyn’quo do. These knights command large numbers of well-armed and armored spearmen and archers. However, a small portion of their armies fight with no armor and rusted weapons, and fight with fear in their eyes, fear not only of the army before them, but also, I think, of the warlocks behind them."

Oni asked, "They are mercenaries, then?"

Maceol shook his head sadly. "No. Slaves."

Lakent rose and stated, "Men taken from their homes and made to fight."

"Aye.

Indeed, many faces of Western descent can be seen among their ranks."

"Men taken from their homes and made to fight," repeated Lakent. He turned to the gathered and challenged, "Who here can tell the difference between these poor slaves and the men Nesel wishes to conscript into the army? Men taken from their homes to be sent, against their will, into the hell of war?"

Nesel stood and calmly stated, "I can."

"Oh? How would you described these ‘conscripts,’ then?" he mocked , as if he were condoling a child.

Nesel gripped his table tightly. "You will show respect for me as I have shown respect for you in these debates, Bolare."

Lakent contemptuously said, "Continue."

"The slaves of the Shadow worshippers are forced to risk their lives, but far worse, are forced to risk their souls. Should they kill a man who does nothing but defend his own, they shall surely pay in the after-life. But conscripts of Octania shall save far more lives than they shall destroy, and so shall be favored in the end."

"The end does not justify the means, Nesel. Gaia does not care if your murder has resulted in a net gain, as if men were but goods to be sold at market."

A few scattered laughs rang throughout the Hall.

Nesel, his face burning with humiliation, spoke, forcing the words roughly through a filter of respectability. "That is true. But, even the Seers would agree that it is necessary to kill one who would kill you. And so shall the conscripts rout the Shadow worshippers utterly, and cast them into the sea before they should threaten Octania."

Lakent firmly corrected, "If they should threaten Octania."

Nesel turned and departed the hall, with Lord Iaen hurrying after. Nesel scurried through the halls and almost ran up the staircase, Nesel saw a local baron and forced himself to slow to a walk, slowly breathing and muttering Gaia’s Love as the man walked past.

When the baron faded from sight, Nesel slipped into a disused room and ran to a chair, which he picked up and smashed violently against the unforgiving stone wall. Nesel collapsed onto a rug and began to weep violently.

Iaen walked over the threshold quietly closing the door behind him. He put a hand on the young baron’s shuddering shoulders and asserted, "You did well, Nesel. You did well."


Daken and Rodul paced over the stretch of road above the quarry. They both were wearing simple brown tunics and trousers. Their horses, tethered to trees on the side of the road furthest from the quarry, were laying down placidly. Daken’s and Rodul’s Honor Blades and shields were strapped to the flanks of the roans. Daken’s shield bore a crest conceived by his great-great-grandfather when they first entered aristocratic life; it depicted an oak tree on a field of gold above a red stripe. His ancestor had made a fortune selling oak to be used in Yantsima’s blast furnaces, in a time when steel was needed but coal was rare. Oak, when cured properly, could fire steel just as well as the blackest coal. By contrast, Rodul’s coat was relatively new, and was a simple drawing of a Cauldron Dragon with a spear through his heart. Rodul’s father, Sir Cirice the Dragonslayer, was the leader of one of the few groups of knights who managed to bring down a drake at the infamous Siege of Dragon Gate, and had redesigned the family crest in his own honor.

Rodul said, "Well, that was a waste of time." He was right. Whoever had committed the murder had covered up all tracks for fifty feet in both directions.

The only evidence that the baron had been here at all was an area where a horse seemed to have galloped off the road, tearing a path through the vegetation. Not nearly enough to base an accusation on. He went on to say, "My guess is that they spooked his horse as he galloped past, and it went off the road, stumbled on the incline and fell."

Daken replied, "Then how did they get the letters off of him?"

"They walked down and got them, Daken."

Daken’s mouth curled up in a smug little smile. "The gate to the quarry