The Conquest of Kiynan
Gaurbane

Gamidaus Silvertongue stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his dark eyes staring unseeingly out the window of his antechamber. The gentle breeze blowing in through the window caressed his flawlessly smooth, olive-hued skin and rustled through his long black hair. His calm, composed appearance belied the turmoil in his mind. He could see the world in motion. Ever since the end of the great war between the Qume and the Gaurvians, when the Gaurvians had first come to Kiynan, a series of trade agreements and uneasy peace treaties had maintained the status quo for over three centuries. Cornered on their peninsula, the leaders of the Qume were too timid to act against the Gaurvians to reclaim their heritage, for fear of losing what little they had left. The centuries of subservience had come to an end however, when Manss Proudfist fractured his father’s kingdom by leading many powerful noblemen north to found Daybreak. The ageing Mamos of the Qume was wont to take advantage of the Gaurvians’ disarray, but seizing power through an abrupt coup d’état, a young nobleman named Aman Kingsbury and his ally, the general Jomon Windsword, launched a campaign of aggression against Gaurvia. To hear the Gaurvians tell the tale, it was but a minor uprising, easily quashed with the aid of the Paladins. In reality, the Qumish army had routed the Gaurvian hosts, sacked Nunliss, and laid siege to Vidliank itself. Deprived of provisions for over a month, the castle’s defenders’ resolve was deteriorating when Manss Proudfist returned to Vidliank with a powerful host. The battle was long and hard fought, but in the end the superior discipline of the Paladins led them to victory. Rallying the Gaurvian troops, the Paladins pushed the Qume back into their own lands. Since that day, despite the renewed agreements and treaties, the Gaurvians were more careful in maintaining civil order and their military force.

In the political tempest that followed the end of the war, Aman Kingsbury succeeded in retaining his throne and placed his allies into positions of power and influence. After a handful of executions for the crime of high treason, the Qumish nobles and common folk came to accept their new leaders. Gamidaus’ father was among the few who were close to Aman, and when he died, Gamidaus was named to replace him as First Councilman, only to watch the Qume return to their previous stagnant subservience.

Now, something was happening once again. Rumours and fragmented reports had reached the Qumish council telling of a fiercesome host of Iceborn that had attacked the Gaurvians. The rumours were confirmed when a Gaurvian messenger arrived warning the Qume of the imminent threat to their sovereignty posed by these invaders.

“Surely the time for action approaches quickly,” Gamidaus whispered to himself. “The question is what kind of action? If these Iceborn barbarians seek to conquer Kiynan, we may have no choice but to fight alongside the Gaurvians,” the thought brought a scowl to his face.

A sudden commotion on the battlements below his window brought focus back to Gamidaus’ eyes. He heard the soldiers calling to each other in urgent tones, but could not make out their words. His curiosity quickly evolved into anxiety as his roving eyes caught the reflection of moonlight off hundreds of metal helms, armour and shields. As he watched the column of troops approaching Gaurbane’s walls, he heard the whiny of horses and the heavy tread of many warriors. He turned away from the window and ran to the door to his chambers. As he reached for the handle, the door was flung open and Organa, his maidservant, gasped as she saw Gamidaus charging toward her. Knowing the content of her message, Gamidaus shouldered her aside as he rushed down the corridor toward the Mamos’ war room.

Bursting into the conference chamber, Gamidaus found Mamos Aman Kingsbury and General Jomon Windsword in earnest discussion. The two men looked up as the First Councilman entered. A moment later, Councilman Rali Sharptooth calmly strode into the room.

The red satin sleeping robe, his dishevelled hair and the semi-glazed look in his eyes revealed that the Mamos had recently been roused from sleep. Despite his awkward appearance, Aman exuded a confidence and control that had always served to keep those around him calm and obedient. Although he had not made it to his own bed, Gamidaus was similarly garbed in sleeping clothes, but no such aura of command surrounded him. Jomon, as always, was fully clothed in the dark brown military uniform of the Qume, with a mail vest over his shirt, and his heavy hand and a half sword at his side. Gamidaus reflected that he had never seen the general dressed in any other fashion; he wondered if the old soldier slept with his armour on. The general’s wrinkled and grim visage was turned to the Mamos, with a focus of supreme intensity. Like the general, Rali Sharptooth never left her chambers in any way but perfectly composed. However, in contrast to the general’s spartan, functional style, Rali always appeared in the most extravagant gowns and dresses. Tonight was no exception, as she swirled into the room accompanied by the scent of jasmine, wearing a two-layered gown, cream velvet under transparent violet silk. Her smooth, flowing black hair was perfectly brushed, and a tight neat braid kept her eyes unobstructed. Despite all her grace and elegance, Rali would be considered beautiful only by a rare few. Her face was homely, her eyes were of a sickly yellowish hue and her voice was raspier than a bitter old crone.

“The Iceborn host has come,” began the Mamos, answering Gamidaus’ unspoken question.

“Can you estimate their number?” asked the First Councilman. The Mamos turned to Jomon, whose grim expression darkened further.

“It is difficult to say, but by my scouts’ reports, I would estimate their numbers at perhaps three hundred horse, and… well over a thousand foot.”

“A force we could perhaps match… given a week to gather levies,” surmised Silvertongue glumly.

“From behind our walls, we might be able to hold them long enough to muster our forces,” reflected Kingsbury doubtfully.

The moment the Mamos finished his statement, a soldier stepped into the room and dropped to one knee.

“Rise and speak,” ordered the general tersely, expecting troubling news.

“Riders have approached the gate bearing a broken sword, my lords.”

“A broken sword?” inquired Gamidaus with a touch of incredulity.

“An old symbol. I’ve learned of this from the Gaurvians. It is a request for a parley. Soldier, tell these riders that we shall meet with their leaders in front of our gates, at once.”

The soldier bowed formally and left to carry out the Mamos’ command.

“I’ve heard reports-s that the Isse-born captured Nunlis-s not three days-s pas-st, and here they are already, calling at our gates-s,” said Rali, her sibilant voice turning all eyes toward her.

“Either their commander is impatient or he seeks to intimidate us by moving so quickly, and arriving by night when we are least able to determine his numbers,” added Gamidaus.

“If our reports are accurate, the Iceborn already control two major cities of the Gaurvians. To have wrested so much, so quickly, their leaders must be very cunning indeed. We can not afford to underestimate these men, better to assume the latter,” commented Jomon.

Haal’s horse tossed her head and snorted impatiently. The spirited young charger was the finest mare the stables of Nunliss had to offer. Haal had been certain Masc would take it for his own steed, but instead he chose a fierce, stubborn destrier. The Blackheart refused to ride anything but an uncut, proud stallion. As stubborn as he was, the Blackheart’s horse was quickly bent to the King’s will. It seemed that few indeed were the creatures of this world that were able to resist the King of the Iceborn. Glancing over at Blackheart, Haal reflected that the proud stallion was now more obedient than his own mount. Looking over his shoulder, Haal observed the soldiers acting as his and the King’s bodyguards. All ten of them were slouched in their saddles; exhausted by the long journey from Nunliss, and the pace Blackheart had set for them.

Speed was indeed a powerful weapon. With so few riders having been allowed to escape Rest, news of the invasion spread slowly and in a confused manner. With the speed at which Masc and Haal led their forces between Rest and Nunliss, the defenders had not grasped the magnitude of the threat that they faced until their defences had been overrun. The battle was quick and bloody. As soon as it was over, Blackheart had already begun preparations to march on to Gaurbane. Leaving the bulk of his army behind, Masc brought only the strongest of his men, just enough to impress the Qume. Arriving by nightfall not only served to rattle the Qume leaders by interrupting their rest, and to cloud their true numbers, but to mask the weary state of the troops. In their current exhausted state, the Iceborn troops would have been completely ineffective. However, their presence outside the castle walls was sufficient to make the Qume uncomfortable and hence more receptive to the Blackheart’s proposition.

Noting a Caimen among the bodyguards, Haal gave him a sharp stare. The warrior quickly drew himself up and pulled himself together, projecting a more menacing air. The other guards quickly followed suite, and the image of the tireless, ferocious Iceborn horde was ready for the Qumish leaders.

Presently, Gaurbane’s gates were opened and a multitude of riders charged forth. The riders moved in two ranks that quickly divided, one rank forming on either side of the emissaries. Suddenly fearing a trap, Haal carefully eyed the soldiers as they surrounded him. The Qume outnumbered the small Iceborn group more than two to one. Haal’s hand moved to the hilt of his glaive.

As the last of the Qume riders silently came to a halt, three more horses emerged from the castle. Atop a bulky white destrier rode a compact, brawny man in military garb. Next to him rode a woman with a fierce gaze and extravagant dress. Haal identified the tall, wiry man next to her as the Mamos by his stern manner and the royal insignia that hung from his neck. The three of them trotted toward the Iceborn, their demeanour displaying none of the anxiety Haal had hoped to see.

A moment after the first three Qumish leaders came to a halt, a fourth rider emerged. He wore black flowing robes and rode a fiery black charger whose hide glistened in the starlight. The man rode his steed past the first three riders, up to Haal’s own mount, his eyes shining with defiance. Despite himself, Haal glanced quickly away, escaping the intensity of the man’s gaze. Haal immediately turned his eyes to face the man once more, but Quickeye knew all had noticed his falter. The man spurred his mount suddenly, and all but galloped up to Blackheart to lock eyes with his new adversary. Blackheart coolly returned the gaze with such a lack of hesitation, that a shimmer of doubt passed over the man’s face. Still, he did not flinch and the two men stared into each other’s eyes as if the world around them had suddenly ceased to exist, and nothing remained but their contest of will.

Recognizing the impasse, the Mamos broke the silence in a loud, indignant tone.

“I find myself disturbed from my rest, to be told that an army of northern savages has trespassed its way into my realm, and now prepares to camp on my very doorstep. I am not a patient man, but I will allow you to justify your actions before I remove you with the might of the Qume.”

Haal was surprised to hear the man speak flawless Berish, but he again noticed a distinct accent in the Mamos’ speech. After several moments passed, Haal turned to see that Blackheart and the fourth Qume leader remained locked in their struggle. Facing the Mamos, Haal summoned his most haughty voice and replied.

“Our horde is vast, and already two of the Gaurvians’ cities have fallen to our swords. Even the might of the Qume could not stand against us for long. But we have not come to Gaurbane as conquerors. We have come to meet with the wise and noble leaders of the Qume. We seek an ally to aid us bring a swift end to the insidious Gaurvians.”

At this, the Qumish escorts shifted in their saddles, producing a series of faint leather squeaks. The general turned an outraged glance at all of them in turn, but even his demeanour seemed to relax slightly.

“What do we have to gain from aiding you? Once the Gaurvians are gone, you would simply take their place, exploiting our ancestral lands while leaving us to squabble over fish with the Sea Tribes.”

At this, the Blackheart spoke up, but without removing his gaze from the Qumish man.

“Once the Gaurvians are gone, we will return to you all the land south of Vidliank. Although we would retain your northern lands, we would not seek to influence or control your people in any way. You would have more power and autonomy than you have now. More importantly however, you would have rid yourselves of the people who took your lands and manipulated your culture ever since.”

As Masc spoke, Haal could see the demeanour of the black-clothed Qumish man change. Instead of conveying contempt and loathing, his manner seemed to express delight.

“My King has found himself one ally at least,” thought Haal to himself.

The Mamos however, was not swayed.

“How gracious of you, to offer us the chance to do your fighting for you, and to pay you in blood for half our ancestral land. Your empty promises are of no interest to me, Iceborn. Return to your frozen continent, and trouble Kiynan no more!”

The Mamos’ face flushed red with fury as he finished his refusal. He angrily turned his horse around and rode back into Gaurbane. The woman and the general followed immediately, leaving the man in black still facing the Blackheart. A minute smile touched the lips of the Qumish man, and he nodded to Masc, acknowledging the unspoken agreement between them. The King returned the gesture, almost imperceptibly.

Haal watched the last Qumish man and the royal escort file back into the castle, as he reflected. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“The leader of a proud nation, adamant in his refusal to help us, is swept away by Blackheart with nothing more than a glance and a feeble nod. Now, we need only wait for Qumish soldiers to march out of these gates and follow us to Vidliank.”

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