"Chapter One - Wages of War"

Tryst

Tryst winced as Fenroth, leader of the Tartari, slammed a mailed fist on the table. His great steel helmet in the shape of a screeching raven toppled off the side, clattering to the floor with an unholy racket. Fenroth didn't even notice. Over the background shouting, Tryst leaned close to me and whispered, "This won't end well." Listening to Fenroth's ranting and raving, I couldn't help but agree. He and the other lords were no closer to choosing a successor than they had been a week ago. They never really discussed the possibility of uniting behind a new king, just blustered at each other until they were hoarse, and every night they retired to their bright silk pavilions frustrated and angry. It was getting to be about that time. Crickets chirped outside, and the meeting tent was lit by torches and candlelight alone.

A cold wind blew down my back from the mouth of the tent, a sharp chill that cut clear through my oiled ringmail. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Fenroth was going on about his birthright now, his bodyguards standing like steel gargoyles at his shoulders, their giant flamberges worn peace-bonded across their backs. It didn't make the blades any less intimidating.

"I am cousin to the King's own father, my lords!" roared Fenroth, his voice as rough and hard as old leather, like steel scraped across a whetstone. "Try to deny it! My claim is stronger than any of yours, and still you attempt to deny me my rightful throne with your petty squabbles and accusations. It belongs to me, that pile of old stones, and everything beneath it. This . . . this 'Chaostle'." He spat on the great octagonal table. "Who in the thirteen hells came up with that name, anyway?"

"Your only right is banishment to Tartarus for oathbreaking, torture and murder," spat Lord Commander Redheart, captain of the Order of Paladins. He sat at the side of the table reserved for Vespers, the Holy Lands, and he'd told it true. Fenroth had been a paladin once, a long time ago. "You belong in that shadowy pit you rule now, and I'll die before I let the Portal fall into your hands."

High Priestess Skei echoed his sentiment, as did a few others around the table, but then there was a cry of unfair prejudice and they erupted into a screaming fit again.

I nudged Tryst, silently telling him to join me as I headed outside.

"I'll be a minotaur's uncle if these fools ever bend the knee to anyone," Tryst muttered between hard, steaming breaths. A bitter breeze reddened his cheeks, probably a sign of things to come. It was depressing. Even the common camp was subdued, full of scattered men-at-arms drinking and dicing with each other, but their hearts weren't in it. I couldn't even hear any fighting, from men who'd been at each other's throats since the day they arrived.

I shook my head slowly. "I like some of them well enough. Redheart's a good man, I know that, but to hear him tell it, everyone not on his side is the Red Devil of Tempernile reborn."

The old dwarf turned out of the wind to light up his clay pipe, probably older than he was. He took a puff, then turned back around to the meeting tent. "I've said my piece, for all the good it did. I wash my hands of the whole affair."

That made me feel even colder somehow, cutting clear through surcoat and mail and boiled leather. Goosebumps prickled all over my skin. I drew the surcoat tight around me, huddling as I walked, the old deerskin snapping in the wind.

"Chilly night for this time of season," I said, trying to change the subject. "Might mean a bad harvest."

Tryst nodded, his face a brooding scowl. "You'll see just how bad a crop you're reaping soon enough," he snapped.

"What, you're blaming me for this mess now?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I'm just . . . worried."

"Don't try that jape on me, old friend. If you said you were angry, then yes, I'd believe you. Cantankerous? Oh, certainly! But worried? Not in a thousand years."

Tryst didn't answer. He only stared straight ahead, chewing and puffing on his pipe, and stepped back into the tent. I just managed to catch High Priestess Skei's finishing proclamation. ". . . Very well! If you desire the Portal so intensely, my lord, then the battle lines are drawn! Vespers goes to war before any man here lays a finger on that evil thing!" The Tartari side of the table almost cheered, while the Plainsmen and the river lords looked on with wide eyes and sullen faces. They were always the ones who paid dearest when Vespers and Tartarus marched on each other, raided and pillaged by both sides. The Elven lords were slipping out of the tent one by one, unnoticed in the chaos. Others spoke up for their own rights, their rights to the portal. Nomads burnt brown by the desert sun, the raiders of the Luminous Lake who always smelled of salt. Shouts of "So be it!" and "War!" were raised, and before long, the whole tent was chanting.

Dimensional Portal

My stomach churned with acid as Tryst and I fled into the night. My tabard with its Vespers heraldry felt heavier than the steel ringmail underneath.

"Nothing for it now," Tryst growled as he kicked at a rock. His tone was more resigned than angry. "Well, if they want the Portal, they can have it. Fat lot of good it will do them."

"You know something," I said, but the stubborn old dwarf wouldn't budge. "Has it got to do with Erebus? With the old king? Tell me!"

"I can't. You'll have to trust me on that."

The mysteries were driving me crazy. I groaned in frustration and buried my hands in my hair. "It does things to people, Tryst. It's like they can feel how much power lies under that blasted castle. I've tried to reason with Lady Skei, but sometimes I have to wonder if she does only want it to keep it away from Fenroth. The gods only know what he'd do with it. But what will she do?" I sighed, and a long silence fell. "What will I do?"

Tryst's eyes glinted as he rested his hand on the dagger at his belt. It was almost a shortsword when you counted the dwarf's height. "Leave Vespers. Come with me."

Aghast, I wheeled to face him, but found only sincerity in his eyes. He expected me to say yes. Expected it.

"I'm no turncloak," I said hotly. "How dare you. How dare you, dwarf? You were supposed to be my friend. Don't ever ask that of me!"

"Then stay here and fight. Die." Such sadness in his voice.

"I said the words. Better to die with honor than forsake my vows and everything I've lived for!"

"Dying with honor will leave you just as dead, lad," he sighed. "If you ever change your mind, I'll find you."

And with that, he was gone, vanished into nothing. Not even the decency of a puff of smoke. Cursing all things dwarvish, I turned east and saw the first faltering rays of dawn, turning the sky the colour of blood.