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Chapter 2. Destroy it all you want, then tell me what tasted good! XD

Chapter 2

 

The next day, Abner woke to find the sky as cloudy as ever. Grey light streamed in, from an open window, and he stretched, yawned, and walked to the door, calling for his servants.

He endured the grievous dressing routine, and about half an hour later, he was joining his fiancé Lorraine for a walk before the dreaded war council.

Dressed in royal finery, he boasted a white undershirt lined with red trim, a red and gold robe, lined with bear-fur that came down past his ankles, and the traditional metal studded kilt that the Arhonian Royalty wore for dress occasions. Lorraine wore a simple green dress lined with gold thread.

She held his hand, making small talk for the majority of the stroll, but after a pause, she asked, “Abner, are you nervous?”

He swallowed, and didn’t speak for some time, gazing at the overcast sky.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose I am. I don’t feel like I know what I’m doing. Even though I’ve ruled for three years, I don’t really feel like a king. I still feel like a child.”

Lorraine thought, then spoke her usual wisdom. “Abner, your young. You will feel like that. But you must realize that everyone goes through it, and you can only learn more.”

Abner smiled, and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Lorraine. Your encouragement means more than you know.”

He glanced at the Great Hall, his destination, and bid Lorraine farewell.

“I’ll see you tonight.” Lorraine said, and it was those words that gave Abner the strength to climb the steps and open the heavy wooden doors to the Council.

 

 

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

 

The war council was nothing as exciting or nerve-wracking as Abner had expected. Mostly, it was bureaucrats arguing about the levying of taxes, the raising of militia, none of which concerned Abner.

After the customary homage to the king, he was almost forgotten. Abner had to pinch himself to stay awake, and before long the butterflies in his stomach were all but gone.

So it was, that sometime after noon, Abner was jolted from his daydream by loud banging on the doors and muffled shouts.

The commotion silenced the Council’s conversation, and they all looked annoyed at the ruckus outside.

“Let me in!” A voice shouted, and the two guards by the door looked with question at Abner. Eager for a change in the mundane monotony of the Council, Abner waved at the guards to let the man in.

When the doors opened, a bear of a man, clothed in furs from various animals stepped into the hall. He walked deliberately to the center of the room, faced Abner, and spoke.

“News from the Barrowmark!” He shouted. “The garrison in Ensteyr reports a force moving from the south. A force of several thousand.” A hush fell over the Council. Soon, however, a young noble, Lord Rekner, scoffed.

“So? Call up the militia from each shire and we shall send these fools back to where they came from. Do we not have a superior military?”

This very question had lingered in Abner’s mind, but he had the tact to keep silent about it.

The messenger, clearly disgusted with the flippancy the young noble had displayed, voiced his distaste.

“Your light air does not befit the situation, noble. You have only heard the half of it.” He paused for effect. “They march under the banner of a red sword, and a black hand. They march under the banner of Armagon.”

The statement quieted even the most inexperienced of nobles.

Abner had only read of Armagon, but he knew enough that the messenger’s words sent a chill down his spine. The Arhonian Library only had a few books on the nation of Armagon, and it’s place in Arhon’s history, but that was simply because the lack of information on Armagon, not the lack of influence.

Abner recalled reading one of the books, which detailed a period of time about three hundred years prior, when Armagon had invaded Arhon, and completely pillaged the peninsula. The survivors had fled to the mountains, building a crude fortress to protect against another invasion by the forces of Armagon.

And invade they did, and were it not for a courageous effort from the king and his men, Arhon would have been destroyed that day. Instead, a small band of Royal Marines, led by Abner’s ancestor, Thegn, miraculously pushed back the enemy, and over time the peninsula was retaken.

Apparently Abner’s trip back in time had led to a sizable daydream, and he was shook out of it, when a familiar voice sounded in his ear.

“Abner! Abner! What is your answer?” It was Jethro, and Abner blushed when he realized that not only Jethro, but the whole council was looking at him expectantly. He looked desperately at Jethro, who wisely stood, and announced that there be a short intermission for the king to come to a conclusion.

Whatever the conclusion was to be about, Abner didn’t know, but he was sure Jethro would fill him in.

The Hall emptied quickly, and Jethro herded Abner to a private room where he was promptly handed a drink to sip on while Jethro gave his speech.

“Your Highness, you truly should pay more attention to your Council! It’s not fitting to be distracted, especially at your first one! You could lose favor with the Council, and then your every decision would be bemoaned and fought.” He droned on, and Abner dutifully endured the criticism. Finally, Jethro sighed, and put a hand on Abner’s shoulder, an unusually paternal act that Abner wasn’t used to, though he wasn’t upset by it.

“Abner, I have councilor you, and your father before you. I am committed to your family. If you go down, I do as well, and there’s way I’d rather have it. But you must put diligence and solemnity into your rule, for only by it can you be respected.”

Abner thought the harangue was a bit of an overreaction as he had been lost in thought about the situation, not something silly. But he could see how it would seem in the eyes of the Council, and he appreciated Jethro’s wisdom, so he nodded his head, and thanked the old magi.

“I understand your wisdom, Jethro. I see where I have erred. Thank you.”

Jethro smiled, and nodded appreciatively. “Have you thought of what your decision should be, regarding whether to send troops to Ensteyr?”

Abner drew a breath in, and let it out slowly, speaking after a long pause.

“I don’t see how we can leave the garrison to fend for themselves. But neither should we empty the peninsula of all forces of defense.”

Jethro smiled, nodding. “A wise choice.”

“Perhaps,” Abner said, chewing on his lip, “Perhaps, I shall take a group of cavalry, 500 or so, and reinforce the garrison.”

“Lead the troops yourself? You should asses the risk, Sire.”

“I know the risk. I cannot lead on a throne if I cannot lead on a saddle.”

A sad smile spread over Jethro’s face. “Abner,” he said, “You have a good heart. Just like your father.” Tears welled in both men’s eyes, one remembering a conquering king, mighty in battle, the other a tender father, who helped a boy grow to a man. A silence fell, then Jethro spoke, with a chuckle.

“Just mind that head of yours.”

 

 

 

 

 

~ ~ ~ ~

 

 

It was with baited breath that the council anticipated Abner’s decision. The young king stood, cleared his throat, and spoke.

“Lords of the Council, in response to the unexpected messenger, I have come to a decision.” Abner swallowed, mulling the weight of his first important order as king. After a small pause, however, he steeled his resolve, clenched his jaw, and said with as much kingly dignity as he could muster, “Levy the shires, and call up the militia. Defensive procedures are to be followed. I will take men to reinforce Ensteyr. We ride at dawn.”