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80. Swear Fealty
🕑 Added 2024-10-08 00:28:24 +0000 UTCBare-chested men and women danced across the far end of the great hall, reenacting legendary scenes from the Igmani Sagas as they swung axes and blew on horns.
As the performative dances filled the room with cheers, clan leaders and elders quietly approached Mark and Yelinda to bow and swear fealty to their union.
However, the clans' words of allegiance were only an acknowledgment of the union taking place and Mark’s new position within the Warmandy, not a guarantee that they would send their warriors east.
There had been dozens of clans who had already promised their warriors when asking for favors, but many held out. Mark had never expected to win everybody over, but he doubted half the attendants had promised their forces to him so far, which was a worrying development.
“Are you concerned?” Yelinda said, eyeing the crease in Mark’s brow.
“Your hospitality has been amazing, Yelinda, but the situation east of here isn’t as rosy. While we enjoy ourselves, war ravages the land, and we need an army if we’re to do anything about it. Kind of makes it hard to enjoy these festivities.”
“You think I don’t know that?” She said and turned to watch the increasingly drunk invitees clap for the dancers. “This is politics. Maybe it doesn’t appear that way to an Imperial, but trust me, it is as important as anything else we’ll do. You’ve shown your strength with that fiery display against the Vaghani Clan. That was good. They needed to see that side of you if they are going to trust you in battle. But they also need to see your other side. You need to convince them you’re not just a tyrant looking for slaves to serve you. Let loose, and show them your human side; that’s what they’re waiting for, and that’s what will win you an army.”
My human side? Is that how I’m perceived? Maybe I let the war for the Frontier get to me… Perhaps I can try to unwind a little.
Nodding, Mark took a cup from beside him and gulped it down. He had kept a clear mind since arriving, but it looked like that wouldn’t be an option for this feast. Not if he wanted to achieve what he set out to.
“Sorry, I don’t want to–”
“It’s fine, Yelinda. I understand. Maybe I’ve been a little too focused on my mission. I’ve gotten so used to people following my orders. It’s easy to forget what it’s like to have to win people over. What you said makes a lot of sense,” Mark said and poured himself another glass.
“I’m glad you understand. But take it easy. You don’t need to overdo it, either.”
“It’s fine,” Mark smiled and gulped the drink down. “Perhaps this is good for me. Can’t be all work all the time.”
“That stuff is strong,” Yelinda grimaced.
“I might not look like it, but I’ve had my fair share of big nights.”
Years ago, in my past life. But I’ve still got it, haven’t I?
“If you say so,” Yelinda shot a worried glance as Mark filled his cup up again.
***
Groaning, Mark rubbed at his temples as thudding pain echoed through his brain. “Maybe I overdid it.”
Rolling over, the scent of… shit assaulted his sense, and his eyes flung open.
“Straw?” Mark crooked his head, pushed himself up from the pile of straw, and swung around as he heard an oink.
Pressed up against the timber railing that separated them, a giant, hairy pig snorted and sniffed at him.
“Where the hell am I, and why am I sharing a room with you?”
The giant pig chopped at their air and snorted.
Great, just great.
Rubbing at his eyes, Mark got up and stumbled toward the door. He pushed it open, immediately realizing he only wore a cloth gown as the icy wind funneled in.
“Shit,” he murmured and pulled the cloth gown close as he hugged himself, and he stepped out into the frosty weather.
“King Atlas,” a barely conscious man sitting up against the barn smiled and raised an empty hand as if he were holding a flagon.
Okay, at least I’m not that guy.
Turning, Mark realized trees and several other small timber structures surrounded him. This certainly isn’t the temple. Where am I?
Taking cautious steps, he walked through the tiny settlement, eyeing passed-out barbarians at every step, a couple of them having turned blue from exposure.
I don’t think he’s waking up from last night… Mark sighed. What a waste.
“Hold ye arm steady, Norn.”
“I’m holding it steady.”
“Nay ye ficken not. Ye wobbling all over the place.”
Voices? Mark perked at the sound of two men speaking and stepped through a gap between two of the timber shacks into a clearing.
Two men stood before a target as one of them shakily aimed a throwing axe.
Hearing the crunch of snow beneath Mark’s boot, they swung around, and the axe flew from the man’s hand, embedding itself in the timber beside his head.
“Tis the king, ye idiot!” One of the men said, smacking the other over the back of the head.
“Sorry, me lord,” the other said, falling forward as he attempted to bow, landing face-first in the snow.
“Too close,” Mark eyed the axe. “What is going on around here, anyway?” he added, shaking his head.
“Huh? You hit yer head or something, me lord?”
“Why aren’t we in the temple?”
“Twas your idea, me lord,” came the muffled response from the man in the snow as he pushed himself up.
“Aye, the Body of the Goddess even tried to step ye. Not that it did ‘er much good. You were adamant about going for a fly, me lord.”
“For a fly? Wait, where’s my throne ship?”
“It’s that way,” one of the men pointed through surrounding trees, and Mark rushed off in the direction he pointed.
“Think something happened to the king’s head?” One of them said as Mark ran off.
Making his way through the forest, Mark spotted the wreckage of several fallen trees surrounding the half-buried throne ship. Mouth agape, he walked toward it. The hatch was open, and several men and women were asleep both inside and around it—the embers of a small fire crackled atop the hatch door itself.
“My ship—what happened to you,” he mouthed as he walked up the ramp, which sat horizontally thanks to the front of the ship being buried in the snow.
“To King Atlas,” a man murmured in his sleep as Mark stepped over the sprawled bodies.
Remind me never to party with these people again. Mark sighed internally.
Reaching the cockpit, he gasped. Several naked barbarians filled the room, including a couple who were asleep on his seat.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse. Alright, enough of this.
Mark raised his hands and placed them against the walls of the throne ship, sending a crackling burst of energy rippling through it. The lights flickered and then brightened as if the sun itself was rising within the ship.
“Whaa,” groaned a man.
“What’s happening,” another rubbed at his eyes.
“Get your arm off me,” a woman jerked awake.
“Everyone, get the hell up already,” Mark barked, and the moment they realized what was happening, they bounced to their feet and grabbed at whatever they could reach to cover up with.
Mark’s gaze fell on those still within his cockpit, and the barbarians scrabbled out in a hurry.
“Sorry, me lord,” one of them bowed as they passed.
Calm down, Mark. What’s done is done. Remember, you came here to make allies.
Exhaling and thinking happy thoughts, Mark turned to the barbarians, who now gathered up and dressed themselves.
“Gather everybody up and bring them back here. Now!”
The barbarians recoiled at Mark’s raised voice, nodded, and hurried out, collecting their brethren and returning within a few minutes.
By the time everyone was back in the throne ship—minus those who had succumbed to the weather—the ship’s cargo and passenger bay was filled like a rush-hour subway train.
How on earth did I even manage to get all these people here? And, more importantly, why? Damn it, why am I asking myself to rationalize this mess. Shaking his head, Mark walked into the cockpit.
The ship rocked and shook as Mark pulled it up into the sky, and he felt the tug of the additional weight of all his passengers as he urged it higher into the clouds above.
Thankfully, they weren’t that far from the temple, and they were landing within several minutes.
Yelinda’s guards awaited the throne ship as Mark brought it down, and he noticed the suspicious glances they gave him as he stepped out. Not that the Warmandy temple faired much better. The signs of the previous night were littered about the place, with passed-out clan elders and all kinds of trash littering the place.
“The Body of the Goddess awaits you in her chamber, my lord,” the guard leader said, directing Mark through a corridor as his men followed.
Reaching an ornate door hanging from a giant archway, the guards stood aside and gestured for Mark to enter.
“Her chamber lies beyond, my lord,” the guard bowed.
“Thank you,” Mark smiled and breathed into his hand. That’s putrid, just great.
Inside the towering arch, Yelinda brushed white hair from her face as she scribbled on documents at a desk in the room’s center. The destructive path of the previous night showed itself just about everywhere but here, and Yelinda looked as fresh as ever.
“Come in,” she said without raising her gaze.
“Sorry about–”
“Don’t be,” she cut Mark off. “You did well. I must admit, I’m a little surprised you could let go so well, but it worked. Several clans promised their aid to our cause throughout the night, and I believe this is only the beginning. Your recklessness made the clans comfortable. You showed them that you don’t see yourself above them, which is worth a million words.”
“Glad I got something right,” Mark scratched at his head.
Yelinda looked up and smiled softly. “You should go home. We’ve kept you away from your people long enough, and it’ll take weeks for all of the clans to gather their warriors. I will have my Warmaster lead them to your people when they are ready. Now go make sure your people survive until they arrive.”
“Yeah, sure,” Mark crooked his head and nodded. “And what about—you know. Our–”
“This is an alliance, isn’t it?” Yelinda said without blinking. “Worry about winning the war. If you have questions to ask me, you can do so once we’ve settled these urgent matters.”
“Right,” Mark nodded and turned back toward the entrance. “To victory, I guess.”
“To victory,” Yelinda smiled and returned to her documents.
Is it just me, or is she acting differently? Mark lingered on the thought for only a moment. She wasn’t wrong about the urgency of their situation, and he had been away from Winterclaw for too long.
Without a second to spare, he returned to the room provided for him and his entourage.
Collecting his people—who weren’t in much better shape than the barbarians—Mark ordered them to prepare to leave.
The group’s departure was a far sight from their arrival. They stumbled back to the ship with several men, including Leonard, hoisted over the shoulders of their comrades with fluids strained to their shirts.
I don’t have the best feeling about this, but at least we did what we came to do. Mark thought, eyeing the temple as they loaded up in the throne ship, which now had a distinct smell to it.
Like I have time to worry about things I can’t remember.
Sighing, Mark turned into his ship. It was time to get back to the front, but he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed upward if it could even be considered that.
