The burden of the crown lay heavily on King Leonard’s head, metaphorically speaking. He seldom wore it and did not do so now. The damned uncomfortable thing weighed enough to hurt his neck. It sometimes felt like a gilded animal trap open and waiting to snap, but it always sat there, physically on his head or not.
Currently, the metaphorical crown felt especially heavy because of the situation with Gotrox and the paper he held in his hand. He expected something like this, but it did not make it any less troubling. King Leonard read it several times and still considered what it implied.
Well, this is why he had advisers. He would get their opinions, assuming they had any. Half of them sometimes seemed only marginally competent, and he suspected his chief adviser placed many of them in their positions mainly due to membership in a powerful family or because they performed some political service for the Crown at some time. He let Horace take care of the appointments. He knew his chief adviser could handle such things with far more patience than he could.
Horace kept pace beside him as they strode down the hallway to one of the castle’s seldom-used conference rooms. The chief adviser stood taller than the king but probably only weighed about half as much. As always when on duty, he wore a full-length, black administrative robe. Dressing in accordance with one’s position, Horace always maintained, signaled character and breeding. Unfortunately, the outfit, in combination with his tall, extremely thin body and pale complexion, made him look not unlike an anthropomorphic personification of death. An impressive mind resided inside that skull though, and Leonard relied on the man’s ability to see things dispassionately. The king himself had never quite mastered the skill. Few people ever did in comparison to his chief adviser.
Their footsteps echoed in the empty corridors. All his advisers would be in the conference room already, probably fidgeting nervously waiting for him to arrive. This fell outside their normal routines. Leonard seldom called meetings of all his advisers together, and he did not hold regular staff meetings. He considered them a waste of his time. Horace and his other advisers kept him well informed, and when he wanted something, he called, and his people answered him—quickly. This indicated efficiency, and he took pride in running an efficient kingdom. Not every monarch did. He felt sure of that. On one extreme, tyrants and despots ruled without regard for their people. On the other, some places somehow managed without kings; the common people actually voted for their country’s rulers. The very concept made him shudder. How could you expect commoners to make wise choices or become rulers? Imagine the stupid things they would do! One important requirement of a good and wise king, which Leonard considered himself to be, is that he be conscientious about protecting the people from, among other things, themselves.
Sounds of muted conversation escaped from the open doorway. Horace stepped through first to announce him. Immediate silence descended except for the scraping of chairs on the wood floor as those advisers who had been seated rose.
Leonard strode to the head of the table and took his seat. He would have preferred pacing. It helped him think, but he kept his seat and tapped the edge of the paper he held against the hard surface of the redfruit wood table instead.
Horace hovered by the chair to the king’s right for a moment before giving an almost imperceptible nod to tell those assembled they could now sit. He too took his seat and assumed the frozen, expressionless face that the king found so familiar.
“By now, you should all have read your copy of the Gotroxian dispatch,” King Leonard said, glaring at those seated around the table. He held the original document pressed firmly under his hand. His scribes worked late the night before creating copies, which his clerks and pages distributed early that morning along with the summons to be there. All the invitees attended.
The king’s military adviser, General Ramsfield, sat next to Horace Barter. In contrast to the latter man’s pale and frozen calm, the general presented an ever-ruddy face and today seemed especially agitated as he fidgeted, his fingers drumming annoyingly on the table. The economic, intelligence, and foreign relations advisers appeared worried, or at least pensive. The king’s advisers on religion, trade, and other departments nervously glanced around the table, probably hoping to see clues that might reveal a majority opinion they could inconspicuously get behind to avoid attracting attention.
“Before we begin,” King Leonard said, “I need to give you some background information. For the last couple of months, we have been hearing rumors about the Gotroxians discovering some ancient magic, which they intend to use against us.”
He turned to his chief adviser. “First it was that rumor from your contact in, where was it?”
“The Westgrove trade delegation in Gotrox, Sire.”
“Yes, the trade delegation. Of course, I shrugged it off then as just a silly rumor. But then there was that cleric, uh, what’s his name?”
“The Reverend Tripgood. He has some considerable following among the common people, or so I am told. He said he heard about the Warden on a trip to Gotrox while bringing the holy word of the Faith to the unbelievers there, and he said that the Gotroxians were very graphic when they told him what their Warden would do to him.”
“Right. We granted him an audience as I recall.” The king remembered him saying something about throwing tomatoes, which, given there is no shortage of stones in Gotrox, sounded like they had exercised considerable self-restraint.
“I could use an expert opinion here.” He scanned the faces of his advisers. “Where’s our Court magician?”
“You sacked him, Sire.”
The king paused a moment, recollecting. “Oh, yes I did, didn’t I? I booted him out on his rump last autumn after he told me we would have a pleasant day for the Pumpkin Day harvest festival and then we got that torrential rain that washed away half of the archery contestants.”
“Actually sire, that didn’t happen until after the river flooded.”
“Yes, that’s right. It was right after that lightning strike that burned down the viewing stand. At least the flood prevented the fire from spreading to the rest of the city. But, there you go. You’d think a magician would be able to tell the difference between a sunny day and torrential rain, fire, and flood in his crystal ball or whatever fool thing they use, but that’s magic, just a bunch of mumbo jumbo and dressed up guesswork.”
“Of course, Sire. But as you say, we have heard essentially the same report from several sources.”
“True. Far too many to ignore now, all suggesting the Gotroxians have found a way to animate the Warden of Mystic Defiance and use it to lead an invasion. We still don’t have any details, but I have discussed this at length with Chief Adviser Barter, and we presume this would be as some kind of giant stone warrior. However, we don’t know when, we don’t know how, and, most infuriatingly, we don’t know why.”
No one said a word. King Leonard knew they waited for a cue before doing so from the cadaverously thin, black robed Chief Adviser. An invitation for comment did not exist while his stiff, emotionless expression remained. Sometimes the amount of control the man maintained over the bureaucracy gave him pause. A lesser king might have been concerned, but Leonard did not doubt the man’s loyalty to him and to the kingdom.
“Since the rumors came from multiple sources,” he continued, “I felt it prudent to take precautions. About three weeks ago, I sent messages to our garrisons and military posts between here and the border with instructions to begin gathering supplies and marshaling troops. I knew these activities could not go unnoticed for long, so I also sent a dispatch to Gotrox, telling them we were engaging in large-scale military training exercises. I feared this might provoke a reaction on their part, but I felt I had no choice. The message you hold in your hands, I believe, is their response.”
Leonard lifted the original document from the table without looking at it. In the formal and convoluted language of diplomacy, which has the unique ability to threaten someone politely and which Leonard found annoyingly indirect, it expr
essed admiration for the people of Westgrove and especially for King Leonard on his excellent idea to conduct military training exercises. These would undoubtedly have a variety of martial and economic benefits, some of which the message enumerated. It proclaimed it such a good idea, King Motte of Gotrox would follow his peer’s lead by ordering his own forces mobilized for similar exercises.
“I want your opinions.”