most minor notice. It was unremarkable.
...
“I think it’s time,” Queen Inger told Colonel Gales.
Gales blanched.
“I’m sorry, Josiah. I no longer have a choice. So I insist that you make
one of your own.”
“Your Majesty?”
“You know. You see the reports. You can add two and two. I won’t be able to hold on here without Dane’s men. In two months they’ll be the only real soldiers left.”
The old regiments were dissolving. Whom they had supported before no longer mattered. Kristen had vanished, the gods knew where. The intelligence system was falling apart faster than the army.
Inger continued, “Kristen’s friends can’t pay soldiers, either. And I won’t be able to pay the palace staff much longer.”
“I understand.” He had seen the estimates. The Queen’s friends had stopped making donatives.
“Before long Dane will be able to ride in and take it all, Josiah. I won’t be able to stop him. I need to make a move or kiss it all goodbye.”
“You could reconcile with your cousin.”
“No.”
For Dane of Greyfells reconciliation would mean him taking over.
Gales slumped. She was right.
“Josiah, I won’t let Fulk become my cousin’s puppet.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Any men willing should come now. Admit that I can’t pay them right away but that they will eat well.” Unlike her native soldiers, the Itaskians did not have families to support. “And I want Babeltausque.”
“As you wish.” Gales did not doubt that the sorcerer would come. Greyfells would insist.
His moment of choice was, indeed, approaching. It had been inevitable for some time. He could no longer delay the reckoning. Each pole of his loyalty expected him to betray the other. Neither really trusted him. He saw no way to avoid making an enemy. Neither would the friendship of either be enduring.
He ought to desert them both. Let the snakes devour each other. He could not do that.
His betrayal, however he bestowed it, would not define the future. Neither would rule in Castle Krief by the end of the year.
Gales believed Kavelin’s northern neighbors could not resist temptation, however much they had suffered themselves during the Great Eastern Wars.
The horrors had begun to be forgotten the way a woman forgets childbirth’s pain.
Josiah Gales had mentioned the threat to Inger and the Duke. Neither wanted to listen.
“I have chores, Majesty, and things to do if I’m going to travel.” He was sick of travel. He wished he knew some other way of life. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“I want you on the road to Damhorst tomorrow.”
Gales sighed. “As you command.”
Gales was a frugal man. He had been paid well back when soldiers received regular pay. He decided to spend some of his savings getting drunk.
...
The warlords of Anstokin and Volstokin were less tempted than Colonel Gales feared. Both kings did feel the urge. Kavelin lay sprawled like a naked virgin tied to a mattress of silver. But lurking in the shadows above those splayed enticements was a hideous guardian, a monstrous infant inside a transparent pinkish magical excuse for a placenta. A horror renowned for its evil deeds during the Great Eastern Wars.
The Unborn turned up whenever either king’s fantasies progressed to the assembling of troops. It needed do no more, so far.
Manifestation of the Unborn was not just a promise of terror. It was a clear announcement that a greater horror still had an interest.
Thus was peace assured amongst the bellicose Lesser Kingdoms. And the absence of war inflicted prosperity.
...
Josiah Gales was out of practice with ardent spirits. Handling large quantities was not a skill much admired in senior military men. Wine with dinner, small beer with breakfast, the occasional brandywine of an evening whilst relaxing with his fellows, those were his norms. Some children imbibed more in a day. His most recent falling-down-sick romance with alcohol happened the day they buried Dane’s assassinated granduncle.
People
...
“I think it’s time,” Queen Inger told Colonel Gales.
Gales blanched.
“I’m sorry, Josiah. I no longer have a choice. So I insist that you make
one of your own.”
“Your Majesty?”
“You know. You see the reports. You can add two and two. I won’t be able to hold on here without Dane’s men. In two months they’ll be the only real soldiers left.”
The old regiments were dissolving. Whom they had supported before no longer mattered. Kristen had vanished, the gods knew where. The intelligence system was falling apart faster than the army.
Inger continued, “Kristen’s friends can’t pay soldiers, either. And I won’t be able to pay the palace staff much longer.”
“I understand.” He had seen the estimates. The Queen’s friends had stopped making donatives.
“Before long Dane will be able to ride in and take it all, Josiah. I won’t be able to stop him. I need to make a move or kiss it all goodbye.”
“You could reconcile with your cousin.”
“No.”
For Dane of Greyfells reconciliation would mean him taking over.
Gales slumped. She was right.
“Josiah, I won’t let Fulk become my cousin’s puppet.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“Any men willing should come now. Admit that I can’t pay them right away but that they will eat well.” Unlike her native soldiers, the Itaskians did not have families to support. “And I want Babeltausque.”
“As you wish.” Gales did not doubt that the sorcerer would come. Greyfells would insist.
His moment of choice was, indeed, approaching. It had been inevitable for some time. He could no longer delay the reckoning. Each pole of his loyalty expected him to betray the other. Neither really trusted him. He saw no way to avoid making an enemy. Neither would the friendship of either be enduring.
He ought to desert them both. Let the snakes devour each other. He could not do that.
His betrayal, however he bestowed it, would not define the future. Neither would rule in Castle Krief by the end of the year.
Gales believed Kavelin’s northern neighbors could not resist temptation, however much they had suffered themselves during the Great Eastern Wars.
The horrors had begun to be forgotten the way a woman forgets childbirth’s pain.
Josiah Gales had mentioned the threat to Inger and the Duke. Neither wanted to listen.
“I have chores, Majesty, and things to do if I’m going to travel.” He was sick of travel. He wished he knew some other way of life. “I’ll be back tonight.”
“I want you on the road to Damhorst tomorrow.”
Gales sighed. “As you command.”
Gales was a frugal man. He had been paid well back when soldiers received regular pay. He decided to spend some of his savings getting drunk.
...
The warlords of Anstokin and Volstokin were less tempted than Colonel Gales feared. Both kings did feel the urge. Kavelin lay sprawled like a naked virgin tied to a mattress of silver. But lurking in the shadows above those splayed enticements was a hideous guardian, a monstrous infant inside a transparent pinkish magical excuse for a placenta. A horror renowned for its evil deeds during the Great Eastern Wars.
The Unborn turned up whenever either king’s fantasies progressed to the assembling of troops. It needed do no more, so far.
Manifestation of the Unborn was not just a promise of terror. It was a clear announcement that a greater horror still had an interest.
Thus was peace assured amongst the bellicose Lesser Kingdoms. And the absence of war inflicted prosperity.
...
Josiah Gales was out of practice with ardent spirits. Handling large quantities was not a skill much admired in senior military men. Wine with dinner, small beer with breakfast, the occasional brandywine of an evening whilst relaxing with his fellows, those were his norms. Some children imbibed more in a day. His most recent falling-down-sick romance with alcohol happened the day they buried Dane’s assassinated granduncle.
People
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