To Rule by Right: A Dark Tale of Fantasy- 2nd edition Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Yagor Ar-mown, (To Fear the Elevated Citadel) rose high above the deep, dark waters of Lake Shanderan. It was cut from the stone of the natural talus and was as old as the thousand year old spruce trees that grew on the cliffs. The palace was like a monumental stone edifice, casting its shadow across the land, as it looked down on Daloseos, the capital of Tasmorea. A population of ten thousand was well protected behind its thick fortification wall, rising high as it climbed the mountain reaching for the castle. Multitudes of people had come to the city for the coronation of the new king and it was cause for great celebration. For fifteen years Tasmorea was without a king and they had waited with great expectation. “The Return of the kings of old,” some said and “The reincarnation of Daloseos himself,” others believed.

  It was among the throng on the streets, a man hurried down the avenues on the outskirts of downtown. The sky was heavily laden with thick grey cloud and his thoughts were as shadowed as the sun. With his brown cloak pulled tight over his head, he blended into the old stone and the people he passed. As he came down the hill and around the corner, the familiar sign of the 'Snow Dragon Inn' appeared. He quickly entered the establishment and hardly noticed the picture of a snow dragon breathing its frost breath on a group of dragon hunters.

  The room became dark as the doors closed behind him. And as his eyes adjusted to the dim light he began to see, far in the back at a secluded table, were the two men he sought. Vaundr Iowerth- leader of the Council of Ten Lords, and Meogin Kamill- Commander of the Legions of Tasmorea. The three men gathered in the tavern whenever they had a matter to discuss that no one could over hear. He called this meeting for a reason as he hoped to avert a war.

  “Glad you could make it, Oril,” Vaundr said as Oril took his seat with his back against the wall beside Meogin.

  He sat back as the owner of the inn- an old friend, brought over a dark ale and placed it on the table before him. “Thank you, Atlon.” Oril said.

  “Your welcome, Sir,” was all Atlon said and returned to his business.

  Leaning over his mug, Oril said in a hushed tone, “They will be leaving Citadel Ahern at dusk and he'll have the Radah Guard with him.”

  “The Subjugation guard- that says something doesn't it.” Vaundr stated. “At least he's no longer in the citadel, that place has protected him too long. We have to stop him within the next three days, before he gets here. The whole council has sanctioned it.”

  “No,” Oril bluntly stated while staring right at Vaundr. “We're doing this my way.”

  “I'm riding out tonight to meet up with him at Winter-acre Bridge in two days. It’s Othion Tacur that has to die. And remember- I don't want my nephew hurt in all this. Coel will be king!” Oril stood firm on his belief.

  “Look,” Vaundr debated. “You know as well as anybody what’s at stake here, Oril. If Coel does take the throne who knows what the consequences will be. We can't let that psychotic bastard take the throne.”

  “Watch you tongue Vaundr, remember what family still rules in Daloseos.” Oril stopped for a second letting go of his frustration of the matter and took a drink of his ale. “Look, we've been over this many times in the last ten years. You know that’s not the reason the council doesn't want him on the throne- so don't play games with me. The people want their king and they've been waiting fifteen years for him. We have no proof, only hear say and circumstantial evidence- no proof of his being responsible. And I think he's innocent. Othion is the true danger; he's the one that killed my father and brother. He can't get anywhere near the throne again.”

  Oril realized his voice was becoming louder, so he took a deep breath and released years of anger and hatred while looking over at Meogin. Who was listening to the conversation, deep within his own thoughts.

  “The people want their king- the army serves the people.” Meogin said, as his thick black leather armour creaked while shrugging his brawny shoulders. His dark skin stood out in stark contrast to the usual patrons of the bar so he had his cloak pulled high on his head. A life time of service to the Tasmorean people commanded respect by both men. “What of the Radah guard?” He asked Oril.

  “I haven't heard much of them in the last few years.” Oril commented. “They've been mostly ceremonial in the past- so there's no reason to believe that has changed.”

  “The council won't agree.” Vaundr shook his head.

  “Well, the council won't matter much if he walks up those steps with me and the people at his back- now will they. At least then they'll have a chance of surviving. We do this my way. Agreed?”

  Both men nodded their head's in acceptance.

  “Meogin, prepare the army- bring two battalions out to Fallwood Hedge. Let’s just hope we can avoid a conflict and you'll only be an escort. If I can't convince Coel of the truth about Othion, we'll have to take him by force. And remember- I don't want my nephew hurt! So, I'll meet you both at Fallwood Hedge. If things go well I'll be with him. And the people will have their king.” Oril downed his ail and left the two men to ponder his words.

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