Yspaddaden - Chapter 22

 Finngal, Barram

Ko'Othuraka, king of the Finngal nation, lord of the minotaurs of the East Quadrant, master of the entire Hull, leader of the second most powerful army on the planet, wielder of Gathakbrak the Troll Bane, husband to Hrodlious the Sorceress, slept quietly on his bed, afraid of nothing.

His wife slept in the house next to his, the woman lying next to him in the bed merely a form of pleasure. His sword, the renowned Gathakbrak, sat within arms reach, able to leap to his grasp at a moments notice. His curved horns lay on the pillow, pressing it into the mattress. They almost touched at the tips and it was to his great displeasure that they did not for only the oldest and most wise among the minotaurs horns ever met atop the head and grew into one long loop of horn that haloed the beast underneath. His fathers horns, now displayed proudly on the mantle, showed what a true minotaur leaders horns were to look like as they sat there in a complete circle. But his mind was not on horns at the moment. It was on his dreams.

Othurk, for which his name was without the kingly honorary, slept deeply, though not soundly. His mind raced underneath the placid eyelids, running to and fro, trying to escape his mind but remaining trapped inside the imaginary world he had created under deep sleep. It was a trait he shared with his wife, the ability to dream, which is what made them such a good match. It was curious how astute his mind could be inside the dream world, for he could think about and question what it was his wife was dreaming about at the time, while continuing to play out the fantasy stories he made up. He could simultaneously dream, being in another world completely, a strange place filled with nothing but humans, and at the same moment, scrutinize his own wandering mind. Very curious.

He woke abruptly, sitting quietly up in his bed and reaching for his sword. He moved so silently he did not even wake the woman beside him. What was her name again? He couldn't remember. He sat there, naked, trying to discern what it was that had woken him so suddenly. He heard nothing, saw no strange movements and could not detect any foreign scents. Yet he did not budge. Something had awakened him and it was only a matter of time before that source would reveal itself. He would wait.

Eventually he saw the shadow. It wasn't much, a tiny movement on the wall. Something had blocked the moonlight coming through a tiny hole in the wood. Othurk's hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. The pack knew never to interrupt his sleep. Either something major had happened to send a messenger to him in the middle of the night, causing the man to break the rules, or his fateful day had finally arrived. When one of the pack thought himself worthy to lead the Hull and came to assassinate Othurk in his bed. He wished that were the case. Anyone dumb and brave enough to attack him in his sleep would be fun to kill.

But he was disappointed. There came a knock at the door. Othurk audibly sighed and called out in his rough voice for the person to enter. He kept his hand solidly on his sword. The woman beside him stirred and he jabbed her in the shoulder to keep her down in the quilts. She gave him a despising look but obeyed him and curled up underneath the large blanket, watching the scene play out. A smallish male entered the hut, barely over the age of twelve, standing roughly eight feet tall. He grunted at the king and strode across the dirt floor, kneeling beside the bed and staring him in the face. The man reached up and grasped the kings horns, one in each hand, and pulled his head downward, knocking his horns with Othurk's. When he let go Othurk nodded for the man to proceed.

"Ko'Othuraka, we have grave news. It appears that the armies of Ynwfn are amassing and could quite possibly be heading in the direction of Finngal. Our latest reports put the numbers at roughly seventy-five thousand soldiers. They remain encamped outside the capitol, but the march could have already begun. These reports are three days old."

Othurk sat there quietly. Which no doubt frightened the man and the woman. Any normal minotaur would have gone into a murderous rage, yelling and throwing things, venting his emotions. It was the minotaur way. But Othurk had long ago learned that keeping his emotions hidden for the most part was a wise practice. In that way he remained mysterious. This was interesting news indeed. War with Ynwfn? He had expected it to happen at some point in his life, but to be so soon? And facilitated by the humans? In cycles past the minotaurs were mainly the race that engaged in the war, not the other way around. They were a bloodthirsty race, Othurk had no delusions about that. It was the minotaur way.

He pushed the blanket aside and lofted his sword, striding toward the door and exiting into the chill night air. He may be different from the rest of the minotaur society in some ways, but he was still a minotaur at heart. He did not even look back at the faces of his previous companions. In fact, after he had left the hut, wind blowing against his naked body, the people he had left behind simply flew from his memory. He would never waste good braincells on dutka like them. Faeries they were. Unmemorable.

He strode the few paces along the dirt path toward the hut that sat adjacent to his own. Had he approached any other house in the country he would have simply walked right in, interrupting any activity the occupants would be engaged in. It was his right as king. But at this place, and at this house alone, did he succumb slightly to social protocol and stop, gather his breath, and knock. It would have been preposterous to wait to be invited in, even here, but the least he could do for his wife was give her the warning of his entrance. He paused for but a moment before raising his hand and shoving the oak door inward.

Her place was different than his. While his floor was uncovered, allowing the dirt to provide, she lay down rugs. He did not have any adornments on his walls. She had hung a few paintings and a tapestry. His bed was simple, made of wood, square. Hers was rubbed down smooth, rectangle, covered with a colourful quilt. He had no windows. Each wall of hers was half open to the elements. But as he barged in they did share one thing. They were both acting exactly as minotaurs in their positions should.

She knelt in the middle of the room, her back to him, her arms raised and the moonlight streaming down over her giving her an ephemeral glow, naked as he was save for a single strand of thread stretched between her two horns, various objects hanging from it. She was older than Othurk was, already thirty-seven years, her dark fur lined with grey giving her age away. Othurk had known Hrodlious all his life, grew up with her in this very village. He had mated with her at the age of eleven, two years later than most of his grown male friends had married their first wives. The only difference being he had stayed married to her his entire life while most men around him married multiple times. It had not been out of love. He admired Hrodlious, but he had to admit he had never loved her. Marrying the sorceress of the province had been a power play, and it had worked out for him. He would not be where he was today without that one union.

She knelt there, arms raised, chanting words and incantations that meant nothing to Othurk. He glanced out the window and noticed the half moon. He vaguely remembered her mentioning once the significance of that moon, something to do with the cycle and her perceptibility to the spirit world. He could care less. Half the stuff she believed in he had no knowledge of, and probably didn't even believe the same way. She had a lot of interesting theories about the natural world and the world beyond, the world no one ever saw this side of death. As long as it kept her happy.

He strode across the room and walked to the other side of her so that he was facing her. She lowered her arms and looked deep in his eyes, malice and anger in her face.

"Idly do you interrupt the worship of the sorceress of the Hull? Fell happenings await you, Othurkakavar, if you continue to disregard and disrespect my practices."

He grunted at the use of the suffix she had placed at the end of his name, "woe bringer". She had meant it as a slur, but he took it as playful banter. It was the only way to deal with one such as her. He enjoyed the prestige that came with their marriage and he had to admit, being with her in bed was quite enjoyable when it happened. But there was that constant undertone, that feeling that if you pressed her too far she would snap and go berserk, ravaging the land with her magical powers. He had never seen her pushed over the edge, but he relished seeing how far he could shove. Most dealt lightly with her. And it was only the ones closest to her that knew she despised and disrespected those people. Othurk always chose to speak bluntly to his wife.

"The armies of Ynwfn gather. They are to bring the battlefield to us. War."

He could see her eyes grow brighter in anticipation. The long peace they had shared with their neighboring country was mainly out of respect for the previous king, AethelKil. And yes, many provinces had been stirring and suggesting a new war with the human nation. Othurk had never fully figured out why it was he had not gathered his own forces for an invasion against Ynwfn. Perhaps it was because he knew his army was not at all large enough to attack them. The filthy humans allied themselves with the Kind often, and though he had heard that the Dragons did not support AethelBald's reign, there was still the long standing contract between humans and elves and Dragons. Was it fear? Never. He refused to let the thought squat in his mind.

Hrodlious rose up onto her feet, raising her arms once again. She turned toward the east, a smile upon her face. In all her cycles as sorcerous of the Hull, married to the king of the minotaurs, she had never seen war. He could not begrudge her the anticipation. He found himself growing more excited as he watched her. She started chanting again, unknown words in an unknown language that only she and her acolytes knew. After a spell, she turned and stared directly in his eyes. He had never seen such joy there.

"The powers finally move our way. Rising, falling, shifting sand. Moving, moving, constant and steady, the colourless ones beginning their end. The moon speaks and the sun stands still. Red dread. Blood coursing, blood flowing, blood standing, blood black. Is this what the start of things is? Long cycles and nothing, finally, pinnacle. The nigh of the end!"

Othurk had to admit, he enjoyed it when she talked of such things. She had such a wistful look in her eyes, as if she wasn't connected to this plane of existence any longer. It was if she had found another place to live, at least for the time being, and journeyed there, loving every second of the voyage. Often she would become docile, unlike the hard, gritty woman she played on a regular basis. That was the one he enjoyed. The one who would obey. The one who would do his bidding. The one who would submit.

"Yes. War with Ynwfn. It is a dream I share with you. The last king to go to war with the filthy humans was my father, and that was many cycles ago. I have sometimes not believed myself to truly be a king of the minotaurs unless I have had human blood on my hands. Bald is a fool, to bring his entire army to our doorstep. He will lose the high ground, but let him come. We will build up a fighting force so strong nothing can penetrate it. The bulls have become restless and the kits have become weak. It will be quite a spectacle, to see them finally in action again, gathered in bloodlust, hearts set on the destruction of the humans. Yes, we will go to war. We will redefine the word. When people think of the word fear, they will picture us. We shall become nightmare."

Hrodlious nodded profusely, her eyes half closed in ecstasy. She shifted about the room quietly, the moonlight glinting off her body, her arms pressed to her chest. She ran her fingers through her fur and spoke out loud her rambling thoughts.

"The peace of the people is in jeopardy. One ant rises, the other falls. One bird catches the air, the other fails. The last leaf will fall. Another must come. Always another. Strength will rise, higher and higher, until it reaches climax, dying in its glory. Another. The same and different. Alike and strange. True and False." She opened her eyes at him and stared, raising a hand to point at Othurk. "You will bring about change. Your name will survive. Your defeat will become triumph. Your rise will swell, becoming new. So says I."

Othurk had no idea what it was she was talking about, but he enjoyed it. He grinned, his leathery face contorting into a grimace that rarely saw the light of day. This was his time of triumph. He would rise high. Or fail trying.

For that was the minotaur way.

Yspaddaden - Chapter 21

 Ynwfn, outskirts of Anaij.

Dastra walked among the men of Ynwfn, drawing the stares of them all. She encouraged no one and stared down those who smiled at her. She was not here for pleasure. Neither were they. They stretched out as far as she could see, covering the entire valley. Seventy-five thousand men all together, training with swords and spears, bows and arrows, horses and unicorns, was a sight to see, even for one such as her who had seen plenty of the world and the oddities that it held. The army of Ynwfn was the largest on the planet and AethelBald was right to be proud of them. Dastra felt very honoured to be the one that he had chosen to lead his men halfway across the continent to battle the minotaurs, arguably the fiercest people in the world. A chill rushed through her body just thinking about it. She was about to go to war!

The general of the army, Mr. Torrant, walked her way. He strode toward her with a very noticeable swagger, his feet thumping along though never seeming to touch the ground. His hand lighted gently on the hilt of his sword and his medals gleamed in the bright light. He brushed his giant mustache gently, tenderly, massaging it into a well known form that he had perfected. His beefy hands appeared able to tear the meat right off the bones of a live bull. He was stocky, short, but he had an air about him that thrilled and impressed Dastra. She would never have been attracted to him, but he did have a quality that she liked. As he approached he stuck out a hand to her as if she were an equal.

"Commander Dastra. Good of you to come and inspect the troops. I pray they are to your liking?"

And indeed she had become his equal. Commander? But of course, she was the leader of an army now. Why not the title that came with the position? Commander Dastra of Ynwfn. It was something she could get used to.

She nodded at the man and turned herself toward the valley. They stood on a slight ledge, overlooking the men. They spread out as far as the eye could see. Tents had been erected as men from all over the country traveled to be a part of the fighting force that would storm Finngal. It was not yet dark, but fires were lit, cooks scurrying about trying to stay on top of the monumental task of feeding the giant group of people. Some men were training, some were resting, some were settling in. Once they were ready to leave the procession would stretch to over two miles long, appearing to the birds and faeries to be a moving river of people. Not only would the soldiers be traveling to the land of the minotaurs, but there would be with them over ten thousand others, serfs and cooks, medics and clerics, armorers and blacksmiths, hunters and spies, women for work and women for rent. The armies of Uisnech would arrive within three days. Once the fighting force of Najja met up with the fleet of Epona and crushed in on the opposite side of Finngal, the total number of men would reach to over two hundred thousand. The largest army ever to be assembled.

Dastra turned to Torrant and spoke to him.

"Mr. Torrant, I appreciate you coming. There is a delicate matter I wish to talk to you about."

Mr. Torrant turned and looked at Dastra with scorn. He obviously was not in the habit of conversing with females as he would a man, as an equal. Hopefully he would not be difficult and that the journey would go smoothly.

"Of course milady. Whatever you wish."

He spit on the ground. Dastra had not noticed him chewing anything, so the unnecessary action perturbed her. She licked her lips and tried to begin again.

"General Torrant, you are a man of high honour. The AethelKing has spoken very highly of you. I can see for myself upon your breast the many awards that have been given you over your years of service. I've heard of stories of your heroics, rogue Dragons, trolls, giants. You vanquish every enemy you come across. I'm sure there is no man that would dare stand against you. Barring the king of course." Torrant bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment. "So please believe me when I say that I do indeed respect you and wish our relationship to become a smooth one." Torrant's nose flared as he straightened and set his jaw in anger. Dastra gave a step closer to him  and raise her hand, pointer finger emphasizing her next words. "But if you ever address me as 'milady', or 'Dastra', or anything other than 'Commander' again, I will be forced with no other course of action than to have you arrested by the marines and hung in front of every man here so they can see what happens to one who disregards the strict hierarchy of command. Is that understood?"

The man seemed almost to burst with anger as his face grew immensely red and his hands balled into fists. A low rumble seemed to be coming from the back of his throat as he contained a yell that sat there, ready to burst forth at any moment. Dastra let the man stew and compose himself before he was able to respond.

"Understood. Commander."

He spat the words at her in disgust. Such hatred! He either had a true abhorrence to woman, or he was simply unused to taking orders from anyone but the king. Or perhaps it was a combination of both. Whatever it was, Dastra felt the thrill of pleasure run through her again as she saw how much power she had over him. She thanked Bald in her mind for giving her complete control over the army. All those years in his bed, detesting him at times, proved to finally be worth it. She grinned and placed a hand lightly on Mr. Torrant's shoulder.

"Thank you my dear. Now, I will be the first to admit that I know almost nothing about commanding an army. However I'm going to be happy to attempt to apply my expertise in the compound to this job as well. Being the most sought after courtesan in the land gives one certain power over a great many people. I shall be relying on you heavily to advise me on the day to day machinations of this campaign. We shall be a great team, leading this army to its first war with Finngal in over thirty years. To its victory." She leaned over and gave him a small peck on the cheek. As she leaned back, she could almost see the hatred written across his forehead as he held himself back from murdering her on the spot. Maybe the kiss was too much. She had enjoyed taunting him, but she had to admit he really did know more about her in this respect and it was going to be a long journey from here to Finngal. She was going to have to watch her back for a knife at all times. Perhaps she should hire a few body guards?

Zwarrin

Commander Zwarrin strode through the camp of the Ynwfn army taking it all in with his large green eyes. Men milled about, getting their swords repaired, polishing armor, eating, conversing with women. He nodded to all that held his gaze and even waved to a few of the soldiers as they stared at him and his retinue. Behind him trailed fifteen men, ranging in age from ninety-five to twenty-seven, all human. They were his own personal group of body guards, though he never introduced them as such. Whenever meeting with another Commander, Zwarrin liked to come off as unimposing as possible. His lanky body and seemingly skinny arms and legs gave people the impression of weakness, but the men that surrounded him were the first to admit to his power and strength, his ability to lead men into impossible situations and their love for him. He was often touted as the most liked of the Commanders that Uisnech had ever seen, working his way up the ranks over the course of twenty years or so. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to easily rally soldiers around him into crazy frenzies, even back when he was just a young knight. Rising swiftly through the ranks, Lieutenant, Major, Master, Captain, General, he had finally achieved his dream of becoming Commander of the army of Uisnech. It wasn't something he bragged about, but the men he led into victory after victory praised him behind his back and to his face. He held honour, prestige, love. And, unlike many other people like him, he held them with respect and hard work, as opposed to power and violence. Yes, his men loved him greatly. As did his country.

As Zwarrin walked swiftly among the tents, observing everything, nodding to the men and smiling to the women, there seemed to be a ripple through the entire camp and whispers wafted up and over the tents as their speakers did not even attempt to hide their speech. Commander Zwarrin of Uisnech is here! Zwarrin tried to ignore the vaguely hidden praise around him, but his right hand man, General Dozod, took the liberty to lean over to him and whisper in his ear.

"It seems, Commander, that your presence is known already. Perhaps we should postpone the parade and surprise party? It appears simply getting a glimpse of the infamous Zwarrin is enough entertainment for these folks."

Zwarrin turned and caught the mischievous grin of his General. He tried not to smile in response.

"Perhaps you are right Doz. Though I'd hate to disappoint these people. What will they say when they hear the festivities are canceled? I fear a riot could occur."

"Nah, we have a riot scheduled for later in the day and I don't think they want to get all hot and sweaty before then."

At that Zwarrin couldn't help but laugh out loud. His mirth only lasted a moment as he rounded the corner of a tent and beheld his destination. He stopped and raised his hand, turning and commanding most of his men to stay where they were and stand guard. He then turned back around and walked up to the entrance of the large tent, taking with him only General Doz, Captain Fark and Captain Harcour. He walked straight up to the centaur that stood guard outside at the flap entrance and stopped, bowing his head to the man. His men did the same. Knowing the customs of the centaurs, Commander Zwarrin kept his head bowed as he spoke.

"Commander Zwarrin to appear before Commander Dastra, leader of the Ynwfn army. May I approach?"

The centaur reached out his hand and touched the Commander lightly on the chin, raising his head. The centaur looked into his eyes and nodded slightly.

"Commander Zwarrin, son of Jayle, enter. You are welcome. But your men are not."

Zwarrin didn't budge.

"My men go with me wherever I say they do. This is a land of war. Why can my soldiers not accompany me?"

Before the centaur had a chance to answer, a voice from inside the tent called out.

"Let them in Carel. It is alright."

Carel the centaur firmed his lips and grunted a response. He waved his hand grudgingly at Zwarrin and motioned him access to the tent. Zwarrin bowed his head once more before stepping up and taking hold of the flap, flipping it to the side and walking boldly into the large tent.

The first thing the Commander noticed about the tent was its decor. Most high ranking soldiers who had their own tent either filled it with elaborate furniture and rugs and art work to try and intimidate the people who visited them or they left it bare, imposing a false sense of modesty that most people saw through. This place felt like home. It was the best way he could describe it. There was a table in the middle of the enclosure and a walled off area to the side where he guessed Dastra's sleeping area to be. Other than that the only piece of furniture in the room was a table to the side with a few bowls of fruit and pastries and a large container of what seemed to be cheap wine. Zwarrin was impressed. She didn't seem to be trying to intimidate anyone, nor trying to appear too humble. She seemed to simply use her tent as a meeting place, a central area where the Generals and Captains could gather and discuss strategies with her. He liked this woman's style.

Dastra turned around as they walked in and noticed Zwarrin and his men standing there. She gave a smile and started walking their way, stretching out a hand to the Commander in greeting. He took her in as she approached, decked out as she was in her own style of battledress. She wore a very tight, very low cut shirt made out of leather that had no sleeves and tight pants that left nothing up to the imagination. Her hair was pulled back and she also wore gloves with the fingers cut off of them. A sword was strapped to her side and a small dagger clung precariously to the back of her pants. Zwarrin had to admit, never forgetting his wife at home, waiting for his safe return, that this woman was quite beautiful and imposing. She had a bearing about her that he liked, and also felt uncomfortable with at the same time. All this passed through his mind quite rapidly before she had a chance to speak.

"Commander Zwarrin of Uisnech, welcome to Ynwfn! I pray you had a safe and comfortable journey here? The oceans of Lithavan can be quite tempestuous this time of year I understand."

Zwarrin took her hand and gave a short little bow, kissing the back of it in a polite gesture. He smiled at Dastra.

"The journey was quite uneventful. Only one mild storm and we were able to circumvent the extent of it. I bring you greetings from the king of Uisnech. He apologizes that he could not accompany us and wishes us fair fighting and a speedy victory. It is a sentiment I also share."

Dastra gave him a small smile. Zwarrin felt like it was one of those that a parent gave when they are tolerating an annoying child. He hoped that his initial admiration of this woman was not misplaced. But Dastra grinned wider and gave a small laugh.

"Of course! No one wishes unnecessary bloodshed. These minotaurs have been a blight on the world long enough."

"Blight?"

The female seemed to be struggling to find another word that would replace the one she had carelessly spoken. She sputtered for a moment before Zwarrin interrupted.

"I trust my king completely. I was not told of the exact reasons why me and my army were sent here to assist you in this campaign, but I'm sure that we would not be here unless there was a very good reason to be. I'm a soldier, Commander. Not a politician. When my king commands me to go to war, I do and I do not question it. If you harbor a prejudice against the Finngal nation, that is your business and I have no right to judge you on it. But if I learn that this is a campaign of vengeance or discrimination, I shall become very cross and have no choice but to withdraw my men. If you wish to divulge the reasonings behind this war, I would welcome hearing it. Otherwise, I suggest we leave our personal feelings about this to ourselves."

Dastra nodded profusely in answer.

"Indeed. Yes. I was not spoken to of the reasonings either. I was recently promoted into this position and am quite unfamiliar as to some of the finer etiquette that comes with the title. Please forgive me if I offended you with my careless remark."

"Not at all. I understand. It was a pleasure to meet you Commander. Now, if you'll excuse me, I will see to arranging the integration of our armies. I have a lot of men waiting to find a place to pitch their tents and they have traveled far and are weary. If you'll excuse me."

Dastra nodded her assent.

"Of course. Carel will help you with the arrangements. He will show you where all the accommodations are. I do wish that you would return in the morning at dawn. I am inviting the Generals and Captains to talk over our plans.

Zwarrin bowed to her once more. His men copied him and then exited quietly, allowing her to return to her work. As he walked out of the tent, a sense of relief flooded over him, which was strange, for he had not noticed being all that apprehensive until he felt the absence of it. Curious. He would have to learn all he could about this woman Commander.

Yspaddaden - Chapter 20

 Ynwfn, Anaij.

Dastra sat on the side of the room, on the edge of the long table, looking down it with Bald on her right staring at a young soldier on her left. The young man looked quite nervous and gripped his hat with small hands, eyes never leaving the floor, darting all around as if searching for an escape among the cracks in the tile. Toth sat opposite her, easily ten feet away, at the other end of the table. He stared at the soldier, trying to look important and part of the discussion but just coming off looking like a conversational leech. The king sat in an ornate chair, face intent on his task at hand on the table, ignoring the other people in the room. But as the soldier gave his report and Dastra watched him closely, she could tell that Bald was listening, for he grew more angry by the second as the bad news slowly rolled off the tongue of the nervous kid. She smiled slightly. It was always fun to watch someone else as they tried to talk to the great AethelBald. Most didn't know how to present themselves. There were those that came off nervous and unprepared, such as the youth that stood here now. Most were dignitaries that tried to look more powerful and regal than they really were, and simply came off appearing fat and uncoordinated and uninformed. There was even a young girl who had come to see the king about something a month ago or so and simply crapped herself in his presence, wasting all over the floor. Dastra had thought Bald was going to bust a blood vessel, trying to decide whether to laugh at her or kill her.The girl still lived, but only as a form of possible future entertainment.

Today though, there was no doubt as to the kings mood. Maybe most wouldn't be able to guess at it. He was quite adept at hiding his emotions. But Dastra was close enough to him that she could tell. And, she hoped, it wasn't just her proximity to him. She prided herself on knowing people and reading their faces, figuring out what they wanted and desired. It was a skill the girls at the compound had noticed and Dastra had been cultivating over the past several years. How else could she have gotten where she was today without knowing the secrets of the realm that no one else did? Course, that could be not so much her skill at reading faces but more to do with her jumping into bed with every able bodied piece of royalty that came through the capitol. Male and female.

She must have chuckled out loud at the thought, because Bald looked over at her with an evil look on his face. Dastra simply smiled and waved at him, causing him to grow even more angry. But he would never show it to the soldier who kept rattling on about the details of the failed mission. She just enjoyed watching him suffer. He glared at her again and went back to his task at hand. He grabbed a large turkey leg and bit into it, holding that in one hand and a goblet of wine in another. Around him lay the decimated remains of birds, bovine, pigs, cheeses, breads, bottles and pastries. It sickened her to see how much he could eat, and he didn't stop. It amazed her. The man was not fat, yet he could put away three times as much as a man twice his size in half the time. It really was a sight to see, but it wasn't pretty. At the moment, juice dribbled down his chin and spotted his tunic from the turkey as his head bent back to drink in wine from the goblet. He set the turkey down to pick up a large pastry and bit into it, cream spilling out and falling onto his lap. Dastra couldn't help but laugh silently. His hands were plastered with fruit juices, syrups, sugars and chocolate. She had even seen him, a while ago, place a piece of meat in between two slices of cake and squirt pomegranate juice on it. She had almost thrown up at that point.

The young soldier stopped talking and Dastra came out of her revery. Toth was nodding profusely, grunting in feigned acknowledgment and pointing cautiously at the man as if he was important enough to do so. Bald kept eating, tearing off tendons and meat from the turkey bone, washing it all down with expensive wine. He stared at the young man, making him even more nervous than he already was. Dastra almost felt sorry for the man, than realised what she was doing and corrected her demeanor. The soldier stood there, out in the open in the middle of the throne room, blinking rapidly at the smooth stone floor, hat in his hands, almost unwearable at this point. Dastra began to tap her foot in anticipation, knowing what was coming next and relishing the feeling. Bald simply ate. Toth looked like a fool.

Bald set aside his now empty goblet of wine and motioned for a servant to come and fill it. A small girl hurried forward, pitcher in her hand, hastily grabbing the goblet and refilling it to the brim. Bald never took his eyes from the young man. He grabbed the wine and took a sip as the girl hustled back to her spot behind him, pitcher at the ready. Bald gulped at the wine and downed at least half the goblet before slamming it down on the table, splashing the beverage all over the cloth. He then picked up a large mint-chocolate pastry and rose from his seat, sidling around the table toward the young man. He passed by Dastra, hand brushing at her bare shoulders, making her shiver in pleasure.

"You bring me foul news. Foul news indeed. What were the words you used earlier? 'They were unsuccessful in completing the intended mission.' I believe that's the phrase you used, was it not?" Toth nodded along with the young man, trying to look more important than he really was. Bald ignored his servant. "Unsuccessful. I do not like this word. Do you know why?" The young soldier shook his head, a speck of sweat flinging off his wet forehead and landing solidly on the table. By now Bald had reached the young man and walked behind him, hand on his shoulders, not as gently as he had caressed Dastra moments before. She watched, waiting, trying to figure out how long it would take for the storm to hit. She didn't have to wait long.

"I do not like it, for it seems to soften the tone of the phrase. When you use big words like that around me, I lose interest fast. I go from listening to you to contemplating ways I can kill you without anyone noticing." He leaned in and whispered in the mans ear. "It wouldn't take much skill, I promise you." The soldier was sweating quite profusely now. Dastra smiled. As much as she hated the king and the fact that she had to be around him, she did admire his ability to hold in his anger until it was at the most applicable moment. "Unsuccessful in completing the intended mission. Let's replace 'intended mission' with 'what I told you to do', and maybe 'complete' with 'doing', and 'unsuccessful' with, I don't know, maybe 'fail'? What does that leave us with?" The soldier mumbled something incoherent. Bald leaned in closer. "I'm sorry, what was that?" He mumbled again, the sweat pouring off his head. "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't understand 'Mmm mmm mmm'." Bald reached up and took the pastry he had been holding the entire time and gently brushed the top of it against the soldiers cheeks. The icing from the pastry smeared all over the mans face, giving him a green, sugary makeup. Bald rubbed the rest of it in the mans hair, matching with his face. Then he ever so gently shoved the chocolate pastry part into the soldiers mouth. Dastra tried hard not to laugh as he held back a retch. Bald leaned in very close to the man and stared him straight in the eyes. Dastra had to give him credit as he stared directly back at Bald, albeit with great fear.

"Yspaddaden still lives. You failed in doing what I told you to do."

The sharp turkey bone that Bald had been chewing on slid smoothly into the soldiers stomach. Bald had the foresight to step out of the way as the mans eyes widened and he involuntarily hurled the entire pastry all over the large table that lay in front of him. Band twisted, making sure that the bone hit all the appropriate vital organs, before pulling it smoothly out. The blood lubricated the wound as he did so. The young soldiers hands flickered in pain at his stomach as his eyes turned up inside his head and he fell to his knees, then forward, banging his head on the table as he did so. He was dead before he hit the floor. Toth looked on with horror at the body. How long had he worked for Bald, and he still didn't see that coming? The girl holding the wine pitcher cried out in shock and dropped it, causing it to shatter on the floor, the red wine mixing smoothly with the red blood, each pooling out toward the other in one giant puddle. She would have been dead within seconds had Bald not already left the room. Dastra turned her head to see the tail end of him exiting through the large doors into the hallway of the castle. She stood and looked in disgust at the tiny man that stood quivering at the table.

"Make the girl clean it up."

Dastra turned and followed AethelBald out of the room.

Dastra sat in front of the mirror, gently brushing her hair. The hairbrush slid smoothly through her raven curls, the result of lots of tender care. She had heard somewhere that if a woman gave her hair a hundred brushes every day, it would eventually turn to gold and capture the heart of any man who looked upon it. She of course did not believe in such nonsense, but she still brushed her hair like the tale said. It did make it shine, and she never had to deal with tangles.

She felt hands on her neck, encircling it, rubbing her collarbone gently. She closed her eyes and smiled. Had she been anywhere else her reflexes would have caused her to fight back, to lash out at the unknown attacker. But sitting in the bedchamber of the most powerful man on the planet gave her a sense of calm. The king of the mighty country of Ynwfn rubbed her skin, caressed it softly to give her pleasure. There wasn't a prostitute alive that would hesitate to murder Dastra for that kind of privilege. Dastra knew her position with the king was perilous at the best of times, but she wouldn't trade it for anything. Not even tresses made of alluring gold.

She laid the brush down on the table and reached up, taking his hands in hers, kissing the backs of them. She could hear his breathing grow heavier. She turned and put her arms around his waist, kissing his belly then laying her head against it. He brushed her hair with his hands.

"Aren't you angry? Usually when bad news concerning the mercenary reaches you, you go into a rage, killing people."

He laughed.

"I already did kill someone, remember?"

Dastra smiled.

"Yes I know. But you seem in a good mood. Have you given up on the giant? Is he as important to you as before?"

Bald took her head in his hands and lifted her face to look at him.

"I will never stop until I have that mans head lying on my mantle."

Dastra smiled at him. He thought it was because she liked him and his strong hand. She knew different. His dedication toward this man would eventually come to fruition. And when it did, Dastra would have her dream fulfilled as well. To see Kady lying dead in her own blood.

"So what's the plan? What do you have in mind to capture Yspaddaden? Are you going to send out another party?"

Bald laughed. And it wasn't just a kind, simple laugh that one made to evoke an emotion. No, this was real laughter, the kind that couldn't be controlled, the kind that made one mute with pleasure. It took him a moment to gather himself before he could answer Dastra's question.

"Another party? You may say so. Though, this party may be significantly larger than the previous one. And I'm going to have to send someone I truly trust along to see the mission through."

Dastra waited, trying to urge him into speaking without actually asking him to. Bald turned away, seemingly content with his statement. Dastra seethed behind him, wanting to hear his plan, but not wanting him to know she wanted to. How could she ask about it without actually asking? Bald leapt on his bed and lay there, hands behind his head, relaxed, eyes closed and a smile on his face. Dastra gave it a little more thought, then rose slowly, choosing her words carefully.

"It's a good plan. Marus was a fool. He was a great soldier for AethelKil and after you came into power, I thought for sure he would have left the service. But he stayed on. Mixed loyalty like that is for cowards. He chose a comfortable job over his loyalty to the king. Yspaddaden on the other hand was quite loyal. It shows true fortitude to follow a man, not only in the good times, but also in the bad, when the one you are following fails. When you can lead your men to ruin, and them still happy about following you? That's the mark of a true leader." Dastra by this point had crawled up onto the bed beside Bald and laid her head on his chest. "Marus was not to be trusted. You must have someone new, someone worthy, to lead your new company of soldiers to find and kill the mercenary."

Bald opened his eyes and looked down at the woman. He gave a large smile, one that showed he knew more than she did.

"A company? No my dear. More than that. Much more. An army."

Dastra sat up, shocked. How many men was he talking about here? Did this mean war? She voiced her questions.

"War. Such a small word. Such a powerful one. Ynwfn and Finngal haven't been at war together for quite some time. It used to be rather of a tradition between our two countries, almost an obligation from year to year. Perhaps we have fallen too deep in our own passivity. Maybe we are growing too soft." Bald stood up in the middle of the room and started to gesture. When he became animated like this, Dastra knew he was excited.

"War with Finngal! It has such a nice ring to it does it not? And what's to stop me? I am leader of the most powerful nation in the world. True the minotaurs, by the individual, are stronger, faster, more powerful. But I have more men at my command. It  is my alliances that make Ynwfn strong. I command the most powerful army in all of Aropod. Ten thousand men reside here in the capitol alone, and another fifty thousand I could have here within the month. I am allied with the countries of Najja, Uisnech and Idris. The fleet of Epona is stronger than any, and I am friends with the elven-king who is Commodore over them. All I need do is ask and I could have within my borders a fighting force worth two hundred thousand men, elves and dwarves. Two hundred thousand. The last counts put the armies of Finngal at a mere seventy-five thousand. We could take them easily. And not just war with them and go our separate ways. But true war. Conquering war! Sacking and pillaging. Burning cities, enslaving children, humiliating their soldiers. It could be done. And so I shall do it."

Dastra looked at him in awe and reverence. She knew not what it was exactly that made him so attractive to her at the moment, but it was all she could do not to pull him onto the bed and ravish him until morning. He had such an air of confidence, of arrogance, of power. He was beautiful.

"But, would it not take a long time to gather that many men? Surely months would be required to mobilize such an army. By the time Yspaddaden reaches Finngal and begins his search for the Aszkastone, your messengers to those places would just be returning. He could easily find the Stone before half of the men could get here."

Bald returned to the bed and knelt, taking her face in his hands. He stroked her hair, seeming intoxicated with some unknown emotion. He rubbed her cheek and cold chills that burned like fire ran through her entire body. He smiled at her.

"I know. Which is why I sent my messengers the day after AethelKil died. The armies are gathering as we speak. Within the year we will be knocking at Finngal's door. It's going to take Yspaddaden at least nine months to reach the border from where he is. By then we will have declared war and sent the first wave of soldiers across to their land. If I have to pick the desolation clean after we win to find that Stone, so be it. It will be mine. And you shall lead them to their victory. There is no other I trust enough. We will have our war."

And Dastra kissed him.