The High City of Man

The High City of Man

 

 

“Where is he!” shouted the unimpressed and highly angered voice of King Tralven Lord of the cities of man and the subjects that lived in them.  “Where is he!” he shouted again. The sounds echoing off the stone floors and walls of the King’s Keep, his outbursts scaring the servants and sending lesser men running, only Tralven’s entourage of knights were not afraid of his anger. Then again they were standing behind him.

“Wh-Who do you mean sire?” asked a frail old servant who for all his faults was the bravest man in the room. “Who do I mean!?” Tralven bellowed, his many golden chains rattling as his rather oversized stomach bounced in accordance to the shouting. He was about to shout again but in his anger he had forgotten how out of breath he was, the colour of his face had turned from a pale cream to the colour of rotten tomatoes in the summer sun. His many chins waggling as he gasped for breath. Everyone remained silent as their Lord King, regained his breath and calmed down somewhat. “Who I want,” he began to say “Is the man that I came to me a week ago talking of nonsense!” he calmly but angrily shouted. The servants looked at each other, the guardsmen exchanged quick glances and finally the small servant-man said “Do you mean Commander Rogan of the Wood Rangers?” his question was a fine representation of himself, small and reserved and not at all imposing. “Of course I mean him, who else would I be talking about?” asked the King as he pushed past the small servant man and waddled down the stone steps. Walking closer and closer towards the court of the rangers; where Rogan would sit all day, signing parchment and sending orders to the garrisons that were under his command. That’s where he would be but no one had seen Rogan in over a week, though no one had the strength to tell the King that.

The fat man bulldozed through the frightened guards and entered the court of Rangers, all eyes were upon him and he felt not at home. The bookshelves full of Parchment and the raggedy Hawk sitting on a perch in the corner were far too uncivilised for his liking. And of course the Rangers themselves, they all wore green cloaks made out of some foreign material Tralven cared not to remember but underneath that they wore hardened leather armour, which smelt of mud and dirt and dung.

They were savages compared to him.

However despite his authority towards the council he felt an outcast in a council he had created, or rather his father had created and he continued to govern. The eyes of the Rangers pierced through him with unsettling gazes. It was a rarity that King Tralven ever graced the members of any council under his reign.

Such things bored him he said.

“Where is Rogan?” He asked, summoning all the authority he felt he had. It was a few seconds before anyone dared to speak, only Rogan’s Daggerman spoke through the silence “Do you mean Commander Rogan?” he said in jest, as a small smile was painted across his lips. His dark beard blending in with his evenly darkened face, his mattered black hair was not wet with oils and did not smell of flowers as many of the other council heads did. This was the Council of Ranger not some women’s vanity house. Though King Tralven knew not of this and he reeled from the stench of the councilmen, whose skin smelt of rotten earth and not of its wonders. But he regained himself, his anger overcoming his distaste for their smell. “Hear me now Wylern, it is not wise to jest at a King unless it is done in his court, you may be the Daggerman of the commander but do not think that I would not have you beheaded if it amused me. Now where is Rogan?” he asked for a second time, his anger finally earning the respect of the Council. Wylern sat petrified at the threat he had been issued.

“My lord, Rogan rode for Seldamor nearly a week ago,” he said looking at his companions for approval “we assumed he had the blessings of the King,”

“Seldamor!” he bellowed, shouting so loud that the entire castle had heard his shout. “Do you know why?” he asked though he knew of the reason.

“No m’lord, he had told us that there was business that required him to travel there, he often orders parties to travel there to complete our trade agreement with the Dwarfs, our gold for their steel, so we assumed that there was something that required his presence,”

“Yes I’m aware of our agreement I signed it, you are the Council of Ranger and you cannot tell me where a single man is? Bah! You have failed me,” he said as he stormed off. King Tralven was an impatient man, he had no wit for tactics or plans or strategies. He knew not of steel or any metal, so of course he had signed the agreement. It concerned steel and weapons, so he gave it over to the man responsible for that which was Rogan. However if he had known that the agreement meant sending gold in exchange for Dwarfen steel he would never had agreed. As far as he was concerned there was no need for the Dwarfs, their forges could make weapons. And to him, steel was steel.

But he looked past that, what he was interested in was Rogan. The Commander of the Rangers had come to him a week ago as the Castle already. However the manner of the meeting was not known, for when Rogan had spoken of the subject the King had sent the entire court, including his advisors and his Daggerman, out of the room allowing Rogan to speak his mind. He spoke of nonsense, of threats and dangers that were long since passed and mostly of the Gry’a’tel. The King’s skin crawled; speaking of their name had been outlawed in the Cities of Man; punishable by death and for good reason. The Gry’a’tel were the scourge of the Free Races of Thelemor, of the living and of the dead. They were a plague that had ravaged the land for hundreds of years before the First Great War had begun and for years after that when the first races had failed to defeat the menace. Only when the Lords had united the Seven Races had they had the strength to defeat them, well that was what Tralven believed. But Rogan spoke of them in modern terms, as fact not fiction that they were real and an ever present threat. He demanded the resources of an army to march upon what he believed to be a stronghold of Gry’a’tel. Tralven had him thrown out of court and would have him banished if it was not for the fact that his Father had personally appointed Rogan head councilmen of the Council of Ranger. And his banishment would raise too many questions, all of which he was too lazy to answer.

His appearance had left the Council of Ranger bewildered, however not enough for them to betray their lord and friend Commander Rogan. It was by chance that Wylern was in the middle of addressing the council on Rogan’s orders which he had sent via Hawk whilst he was at Seldamor. He waited for the sounds of the King of Swine’s footsteps to fade and the clanks of his knights to wither away before he dared to speak. “It seems that our friend has angered the pig,” Wylern said with no hint of fear in his voice, surprising for a man that had just been threatened by the most powerful person in the South. “The fool King has no taste for battle, Rogan angers the Swine just by doing his duty,” grunted a man opposite of Wylern whose gaunt face was the result of years of duty and his white hair the proof of his many years senior over the other councilmen and the King. “Rogan does his duty in honour of the Fool’s noble father not his fat whelp of a son,” pipped up another on the Council whose face and hair was covered by a shadowy hood of Elven make. Men all around the council table grunted and nodded in approval, it was known by many that the King was not respected or even loved around those that would guard the cities of man against its enemies. However they did their duty not in the name of their King, but the King’s father who had ascended to the throne when he had helped end the Second Great War. He had lived the lifespan of three great men, often attributing his longevity to his trust in Elven knowledge and their medicine. However many thought that his life had been due to his exposure to the weapons of the Azvel, which had been spellforged by the Fires of the Elder Dragons. However in his later years he had turned mad and exiled himself to his chambers afraid that he would turn ruin to the Kingdom he had secured.

“Nonetheless,” Wylern began to say, “This council has been brought to order under the will of Commander Rogan, I received a Hawk from him today with a letter from the halls of Seldamor,” He produced a fine parchment scroll written in the traditional Dwarfen ink, that was the colour of their steel. Wylern unrolled the scroll and began to read.

 

My Fellow Councilmen and Friends

No Doubt the King of Swine will have noticed my absence by now, he will know the reason behind my leave but he will not be certain of my destination. He will assume that I have gone north towards Seldamor and he will be correct. But by the time that you have received this message I will have taken my leave from the Dwarfen city, I will not tell you my new destination for if I do I will fear for your safety. Just know that I am travelling towards a haven. The fool King knows not of the dangers we are in or that these are troubled times. I wish for you to keep him that way, if I am to succeed in my work I cannot have him interfering. I am sorry that I cannot say more in fear that this letter may fall into the wrong hands. Be safe and be well. Oh and tell the Ghoul that I will move the Rook to take his Pawn

Commander Rogan of the Council of Ranger

 

Wylern lowered the parchment and placed it silently on the table. Rogan loved his Oath Brothers and he would never place them in any danger he could avoid. Though that did not mean that his brothers approved of the fact that they were always put in the dark when it came to Rogan and his plans. Another man on the council slammed a fist onto the table, the many goblets clanged as they either fell or precariously tipped only to be caught by the councilmen. “Damn that man, we are his Oath Brothers are we not?” the man said rising, leaning over the table supported by his two hands “We would ride to the Death-Meadows and back if he willed it! Why will he not allow us to help?” he asked, furious that his friend would not allow their help on this perilous journey.

“Sit down M’Drell,” said the man sitting next to him. Eventually the younger M’Drell sat down as he was instructed. The council sat silent after that, they were all men of action they knew not how to wait or plan. Except for the old Ghoul, who sat across from Wylern on the other end of the Council table. His old shaggy robes were a testimony to his age and his white beard just as such.

“What would you have us do? Wylern,” said one of the younger men eventually, his rough beard and short hair shinning in the flickering light of the braziers. Wylern turned to look at him; he was not one for giving orders but for following them. How could Rogan have left him like this? He had no idea of how to lead, especially now that they were a target for the Pig’s rage. “I don’t know, first we must try and decipher Rogan’s message after that, we can figure out what must be done,” he said, suddenly realizing that his hands were trembling slightly, he shoved them in his cloak to conceal his worry.

“Rogan….said he was travelling to Seldamor,” began one of the older men, his brow buried deep in thought. “I know those roads well, Rogan may be the Commander of the Rangers but even he would need companions to fare those trails and beyond that he would need entrance to Seldamor. Only a Dwarf can give you that access,” The entire council was lost in thought pondering over this new revelation until finally one word echoed through the silence.

“Shalk,” Wylern finally said

“The Forgelord?” someone asked

“I thought he had travelled to the DrakeLands in search of more Dragon’s Fire,” said another

“That would be a suitable cover story to those not trustworthy,” said Wylern pointing at the man in acknowledgement “Which means the two are travelling in party, there’s your companion,” he said looking at the other, who nodded in appreciation.

“So our Oath Brother would trust a Dwarf instead of us?” said a man in anger.

“I doubt that, Rogan loves us more than the pleasure of a thousand w****s and he trusts us more than his steel, he did not tell us for he feared for our safety,” said M’Drell who had not spoken since his outburst. “Indeed,” echoed the entire council who all nodded in approval. It was true, Rogan loved these men more than anything and would do anything to keep them out of his own quarrels, even allow them to think that he would desert them. “Despite what he may believe he has left us in an interesting position,” said a man “We now have information that the King wants, information about a suspect traitor,”

Heads bowed as the men came to realisation of this, King Tralven was not accustomed to being lied to and he did not enjoy it. There were many a punishment for withholding information from the King and none of them were pleasant.

No one wanted that fate.

It was a long time before Wylern spoke; he too was contemplating the many possibilities that were laid bare before him. He would never betray Rogan to the King, though he had no wish to become a traitor either.

“The King will hunt for this information,” Wylern said holding up the parchment “He will brand Rogan a Deserter but it will be more than that, Rogan went against strict orders set by the Pig himself, he sees this as an insult to what honour he has left, if any, so all formal actions are off the table, meaning that he will use an informal person…” Eyes started to fall upon Wylern, many knew of the person he was referring to, though many wished that he was wrong.

“Wylern are you suggesting?”

“Yes, I’m suggesting that the Pig will use Ishmear for this,”

Silence fell.

“Are you sure?” asked M’Drell “Ishmear? Wylern are you sure?” M’Drell’s eyes were full of fear; his normal steadfast face was now a shamble it took all he strength not to reel back in fear.

 “Yes, I am sure. As you all know before I took the oath I was the head of the Crown Guard and serving that close to the King you learn things. A matter quite like this arose when I was under his direct command, it was the matter of the Herbalist Gregor, Tralven used Ishmear then and he will use her now,”

“How can you be so sure Wylern?” piped up Rohan, the youngest and smallest member of the Council, whose slim build often had him mistaken for that of a tall child.

“…The King turns to only two people when he wishes for something of this magnitude to be dealt with, his Daggerman Drell or the witch. And for Rogan he will use Ishmear,”

The council of Ranger, which was filled with men of battle, now all looked at Wylern with fear in their eyes.

And for good reason.

Ishmear was known throughout the Kingdom of Man as a witch and a trickster. Many, like King Tralven, only used her to gather information, or to find fugitives or deserters. Where she used her network of w****s and whorehouses to extract information from unsuspecting innocents and then subsequently dispose of them. Though she was much more than that, many who have had the displeasure of meeting her have all sworn that she is a Haunter. A witch who twists the minds of lesser men and bends them to her will; making them betray their comrades. Only men of high standing seemed to have immunity towards her fiendish powers and it seemed that King Tralven shared that immunity though many disputed that he deserved it.

“What will he use her for?” Asked Rohan. Who feared for the fate that may befall his beloved friend.

“The Pig does not believe in Ishmear’s more, unholy practices so officially he is only hiring her as a means to track down Rogan,” replied Wylern who, for all his knowledge was only speculating at the Pig’s plans. “However I believe that the…”

“May I interrupt?” asked the Old Ghoul, who had stayed silent since M’Drell’s outburst “I think I may know why Rogan has left against the King’s orders,” He was many years his senior and was obviously a man of thought. He stroked his long white beard, sitting there in deep thought his wrinkled face pondering the outcomes of a thousand different plans. Eventually his stern lips turned into a ridiculous smile which lead to, too many disgruntled faces and even one Old man crack.

“This requires the acts of thought not action,” He said now looking at Wylern, who was now looking back at the old man hanging on every word “Rogan was always one for plans and for strategies, which was why he appointed me on the council even though I am not one for swords,” Laughter erupted from many of the younger councilmen and even caused a smile on the older ones. Wylern though was still stern faced, “As you know Rogan uses code in his more…Secretive letters and he often consulted me for more, including this one”

The room remained silent; any trace of the laughter or smiles only moments ago had vanished from the room. Wylern’s face was as stern as ever. “What did this code mean?” he asked

The Old Ghoul looked back at Wylern, “You have to understand these were made whilst we were drunk at the King’s Annual day of birth celebration,”

“What did they mean?” Wylern said, persisting

The old man stood up, sending his chair falling backwards making the entire room jump and the hawk in the corner squawk in excitement. He turned and faced a window looking out at the sprawling forests before The King’s Keep. He took one long deep breath and turned back to face his fellow councilmen.

“There were many codes that Rogan consulted with me, most of them he shared with you and of course with the Crowns Guard. However there was one that he kept between us, one that was so important that it needed to be kept away from the King,”

“What was it?” Asked Wylern, with unprecedented curiosity, The Old Ghoul paused unsure if he should divulge what he knew was information of an incredible magnitude. But his loyalty to his fellow men took charge and with a quick breath he finally said “Gry’a’tel. The Rook to take the Pawn means that the Gry’a’tel are returning,”

And For the first time in Thirty years the name of the Ancient enemy of Thelemor was spoken by a member of the race of man.

Reviews

[jjwilbourne]

I've been waiting for this chapter and I'm stoked on where this is going. The coded letter idea was awesome!
First, a few typos and phrasings that stand out.
- “Who I want,” he began to say “Is the man that I came to me a week ago talking of nonsense!” he calmly but angrily shouted.
The typo here is pretty clear.
- Only when the Lords had united the Seven Races had they had the strength to defeat them, well that was what Tralven believed.
Had they had is kind of clumbsy. 'Had they' or 'did they have' are both easier to read.
- “We would ride to the Death-Meadows and back if he willed it! Why will he not allow us to help?” he asked, furious that his friend would not allow their help on this perilous journey.
Seems a bit repetative.

The letter from Rogan comes off a bit more like dialog rather than a written letter. I don't know much about Rogan's personality yet, but generally, people don't write the same way they talk.
Towards the end, your paragraph construction becomes much more easy on the eyes and brain. It makes your format inconsistant, but the second half reads much easier. Especially because there is less dialog nestled within long paragraphs and dialog between two different characters within the same paragraph.
You have serious potential for literary greatness. Keep it up!