The Plea

Lord Tyrraen arrives in Vorlinkah to attempt his plea for unity to the King.

            Lord Tyrraen left Tureia before his troops, whom he had left under the command of Lord Acteon.  His townsfolk would remain in Tureia under the watch of Lord Acteon’s son.  His hasty departure was in hopes of reaching Vorlinkah with enough time to persuade the King to fortify his city with the help of nearby towns before the troops of his newly formed coalition started to arrive.  It was risky to preemptively send troops to Vorlinkah before notifying King Vorlin of the coming events.  Delan’s errand was also to plead with the King to ask the other two Kingdoms for help.  He knew King Vorlin would never ally with the other Kingdoms, and even if he sent word the other Kings would shrug off the request.  The animosity between the three Kingdoms would never be overcome even when faced with destruction by a common enemy.

            Delan rode up to the main gate of Vorlinkah.  It was closed, as it always was in recent times.  The white stone walls of the city curved away in a semi-circle toward the lake behind the large Citadel of the King looming above in the distance.  The city wall stood as high as five men and was wide enough to march an army across the top six abreast.  Large circular towers rose another two men higher and were spaced within bowshot of each other.  The gate in front of Delan was nearly as wide as the wall was tall.  A wide border around each of the wooden doors was plated in gold, with the faces of the first ten Vorlinian kings engraved in the gold.  The King’s coat of arms dominated the center: a kite shield bearing a black and white checkered design with a bright red lion with its head lifted in a mighty roar.

            “State your name, allegiance, and purpose for visiting the city of Vorlinkah, seat of King Vorlin the Great!” a guard yelled from wall above gate

            “I am Lord Delanynder Tyrraen of the town of Braxxon under the rule of the Vorlinian Kingdom.  I’ve come to seek an audience from the King,” Delan shouted back at the guard as he pulled his horse to a stop.

            The guard’s head disappeared behind the top of the wall.  Moments later, the loud groan of a heavy weight on metal hinges sounded from the gate as a single door opened just enough for Delan to squeeze himself and his horse through.

            Once inside the city Lord Tyrraen was greeted by no one.  He took a look around at the city in front of him.  The buildings were all built of the same white stone as the wall, and not a thing in sight had any sort of blemish or discoloration save for the wooden doors and window shutters.  The entire city seemed to sparkle as if it was polished from top to bottom every day.  The buildings were all crammed together, however, to make room for the city’s massive population.  Vorlinkah was rival only to Molohvkah in size and boasted nearly a hundred fifty thousand citizens.

            Delan urged his horse forward to the wide highway that extended from the main gate all the way to the Citadel of the King at the back of the city.  Pedestrians filled the avenue criss-crossing paths, some going to work and some coming home, but most were milling about visiting the many merchant shops and stands that lined the sides of the road.  Colorful awnings and signs cluttered the facades of the buildings on both sides all the way down the highway to the Citadel.  However, Delan noticed that not a single person smiled or looked happy.  The dominant emotions among the people were anger, frustration, and irritation, like each person had a strong distaste for everyone else around them.  Delan began to wonder how such a beautiful city could have such callous citizens.

            When Lord Tyrraen finally reached the Citadel, he was approached by another guard demanding the same information he had given at the city gate.  His horse was tended to and he was led to a waiting chamber.  Within moments, a bearded man that looked to be in his fifties approached him.  The man wore black and white robes with the same red lion from the King’s coat of arms on the chest.

            “My Lord, I am Thorallaen, advisor to the King,” the man announced as he approached, arms extended to the sides and head slightly bowed.  “What is the purpose of your visit to the King’s Citadel today?”

            “I seek military assistance from the King,” Delan nodded his head in return.

            “My Lord, his Majesty, the King, is a very busy man,” Thorallaen replied in a tone reflecting the attitude of the general populace.  “He has no time, nor does he have the resources, to supply troops to a town on the border of his kingdom in a petty argument with its neighbors.  I’m afraid your long journey was a waste, my Lord.”

            Delan wanted to punch the man in the face and leave, but common decency wouldn’t allow such barbaric acts, especially in the King’s Citadel.  He held his composure and stated, “This is no petty squabble between two towns.  This is a matter of the survival of the Vorlinian Kingdom.  I speak of an invasion by the Oruite Empire to the North.  Their troops have fallen upon us so quickly that I barely had time to evacuate my town.  Vorlinkah will be besieged within the next three weeks by an army more than thrice that of the King’s army.  This Citadel will fall unless the King will heed what I have to say.”

            Stunned, the advisor bowed curtly, “As you wish, my Lord.  You will have an audience with the King momentarily.”

            Thorallaen quickly turned on his heels and left the waiting chamber.  After a few minutes, the advisor peered his head inside the door.

            “This way, my Lord,” he said lightly with a false smile.

            Delan stood and followed Thorallaen through a series of winding passageways that led to a long straight hallway with a black and white checkered rug down the center.  Portraits of the last sixty Vorlinian Kings hung on the walls all the way to the guarded door at the other end.  The King’s advisor bowed slightly and gestured for Delan to continue down the passageway by himself.  Delan paused, took a deep breath, and strode down the hallway towards the King’s Chamber composed as if he were just strolling through his own home.

            “All hail King Lothius Vorlin!” Lord Tyrraen exclaimed as the guards opened the door.  “Sixty-third King of the Vorlinian Realm, son of Artaerius, father of late Prince Tellius.  I regret to inform you that I bring ill news, your Majesty.”

            Delan took ten paces into the grand hall and fell to one knee, briefly bowing his head.  A sickly and decrepit old man sat hunched over on the throne at the opposite end of the hall.  He wore thick robes of fur draped over his back and shoulders. His bald head covered by an intricate golden crown.  He stroked his long white beard as Delan knelt in front of him.  A young man in a stark black and white outfit, a cape, and a small silver crown stood to the right of the King, his grandson, Prince Philus, heir to the throne.

            “Speak,” the King said in a hoarse voice.

            “The Oruite Empire is on your doorstep, aiming to conquer all the southern lands.  They will strike Vorlinkah first, to sunder the southern kingdoms in two.  They bring an army of nearly thirty thousand men and are only a few weeks march away.”

            “Nonsense!” the King bristled.  “Those of the north have not been seen south of the great divide in fifteen generations.  What do you intend to achieve with your lies, particularly by telling me?  Have you gone mad?  Do you hope to incite chaos among my people?  Why have you come to me?”

            “N-no, your Majesty!” Delan stammered.  “I only bring you this warning.  What I say is true, sire.  Please, you must believe me.  My town, and many more on the Northern fringes of your land have fallen to their extraordinary might.  The grasp you hold over your people is too weak.  Towns are falling one by one. They cannot survive on their own.  The safety of your people is your responsibility, and you are doing nothing.  You must unite your kingdom to survive the coming threat.  I already have a coalition of fifteen town Lords with nearly five thousand men marching in defense of our capitol.”

            “Enough!” King Vorlin roared as he rose from his throne.  He staggered a moment and his grandson coaxed him back down into his seat.  “I see right through your devious lies.  You’re giving me a chance to step down from my throne before supplanting me by force.  Am I that poor of a King?  I care not what you do with your little army of peasants.  Go ahead and take my throne if you want it so bad.  This shattered kingdom is nothing more than a rebellious wasteland anyway.  Hardly worth the effort of uniting even if what you say is true.  Let the Oruites have it.  Let their emperor be the target of mockery from the towns of this land.  They will all rebel in time.  Better to let the towns rule themselves then to try governing them all from here.”

            Delan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He started to wonder if the Oruites relied on some sort of black magic to strike at the minds of their foes from a distance. That must be how they’ve been able to conquer so much land so quickly.  They weaken the fortitude of the defenders before they arrive so they can just walk in without a fight.

            “I am regretful that you are not taking my warning, your Majesty,” Delan rose.  “If you will not listen, I must find someone else who will.”

            “What? No assassination attempt?” the King guffawed as Delan turned to go.  “You come to take my throne by force, but you don’t even give me the satisfaction of trying to kill me?  Good riddance.  Your little coup will not succeed.  Be glad I am not sending my guards to take care of you.  This will be the most exciting moment of my reign since my father died.”

            The King’s guard held the door open for Delan as he stormed out the King’s Chamber.  He wished he could slam the door, take his anger out on something. Delan would have to try contacting King Mohlov to attempt some sort of resistance against the Oruites.  And since Delan was from the neighboring kingdom, King Mohlov would be even less likely to listen to him. Maybe he could turn his coalition around and seek refuge in the Mohlovian Kingdom, bolster their forces.  Perhaps that would be the best option.

            Delan left the King’s Citadel, retrieved his horse, and began to ride down the main highway toward the city gate.  His journey had been a bust.  As he rode, Delan noticed a hooded figure on the side of the rode keeping pace with him. The young lord halted his horse and the hooded man ducked into an alley.  Delan dismounted and followed him in.  The man stood, waiting for Delan, shrouded by the shadows of the buildings.  Delan couldn’t see his face.

            “Lord Tyrraen,” the man said flatly.  “His Royal Highness, Prince Philus, requires your presence immediately.