The Orb of Wrath (The Merchant's Destiny Book 1) (3 page)

“I see. You're very generous.”

“Ha ha ha! If you think it's a good deal for someone who can live several thousand years. At the end of the day, I saved his life,” Vargarr reasoned satisfied.

“But, although we have met often during the last three months, I'd never seen him,” the Count inquired.

“True, he was out there, doing some errands. Like I said, he's very clever and very useful. And, no, I will not consider giving it to you, even if you are a very dear friend,” Vargarr commented with a sarcastic twist.

Thundering trumpets sounded. The next battle was beginning. Vargarr looked thoughtfully at the castle square, where some soldiers were training, before resuming the conversation.

“Then Urlabus will be responsible for activating the orb?” the Major asked.

“That's right,” the Count confirmed.

“Did he explain how it works? From the moment they activate it, how long do we have?”

“The effect begins immediately. So, discounting some minimal skirmish, the bulk of enemies might appear a few hours after,” Lakajev explained.

We should prepare ourselves a few leagues of the border; say about three leagues; perhaps on a hill or other breeding grounds. This way no one will doubt that the attack was not provoked.

“Yes, I had considered that,” the Count lied.

“Also, we must minimize the garrison of the border. The excuse would be to mobilize some of these men to participate in the maneuvers,” Vargarr planned.

“I don't understand. Why?”

“That way we can show the King's men how the orcs have killed our border guard; and give a dramatic touch to the story.”

“But it will be a slaughter!” Lakajev commented, disgusted.

“Exactly. I see you're getting it. However, if we are to wait inland with the bulk of the troops, the border will have no choice. By moving troops to the maneuvers, we minimize losses, while reinforcing our story,” Vargarr mused, machiavellian.

“I see you have it all figured out.”

“How long does the effect last?” Vargarr asked.

“Urbalus said about three days. But, possibly, after the first 24 hours, there won't be more battles; maybe some minimal skirmish,” Lakajev said.

“Good. I need to coordinate times. I have to call a man of the King's utmost confidence to visit the maneuvers; say, after half of the second day. In this way, they won't have the opportunity to see how we activate the orb. At the same time, there is probably an opportunity to show some skirmish, although we will have finished most of the work. In any case, a field strewn with orcs' corpses three leagues inland at the Mark will be irrefutable proof.”

“The Plan seems solid, but what about general Bellish?” the Count asked.

Vargarr's face suddenly changed.

“That bastard will not be able to do anything. I'm almost tempted to invite him also the second day of maneuvers. So I can see his face of fear and cowardice, when he realizes that nothing and nobody can prevent a war on a large scale,” Vargarr said with an angry look.

“Calm down, man. And think about it. I personally prefer not to have the old man there. He has damn good timing,” the Count said.

“Yes, I know,” Vargarr remarked with a snort of resignation. “If he appears at the wrong time, he would immediately question the size of the maneuvers. We cannot mobilize troops over a territory without an explicit royal warrant. And in this case, to be sure of the victory, we will mobilize all territorial troops of two marks and two counties. I may even convince the King that the orcs have attacked when they realized the scale of the maneuvers, as a defensive act.”

“That would ruin all of the plans.”

“That's why it is very important that in the middle of the night, after the first day of battle, the bulk of troops of Kiyats, Borydos and Golsou, stay away from the battlefield and hide in a forest. We can call them to return a few days later, in order to "strengthen" the border.”

“I agree. Moreover, the regrouping of troops could be the start of a full-scale campaign where we'll crush the kingdom of Fugor,” Lakajev commented with ecstasy.

“I see you do not know a lot about logistics,” Vargarr commented with a gesture of contempt. “To prepare the campaign, with its supplies, logistics routes, and all the necessary organization requires many weeks. Besides, that's what Devgon and his contacts of the Chamber and the Industrial Association want, right? The opportunity to make big business with the war.”

“Yeah, what about what you want? General Bellish is too old to lead a large-scale campaign. If the war begins, as number two in the Army, in practice you would lead the campaign. The general would become a mere figurehead. And rather sooner than later would be forced to resign. You would become the general of all the armies of the kingdom of Bor.”

Vargarr turned and looked carefully at Lakajev. The Count had perfectly understood his intentions. Now Lakajev knew he had a lot to lose if the plan did not go forward for some reason and the war didn't start. That placed him in a situation of vulnerability in possible future discussions. So, he decided to change tactics and raise the bet.

“It's possible you're right. But let's talk about what you want. You've managed to align the marquis and a count with your position regarding this war. If the campaign starts and we win, you'll earn enormous prestige. First, the "vision of the state" demonstrated between the nobility to devise this initiative; second, for the period of peace that would follow a victory in a campaign like that; third, to provide enrichment to all who were properly positioned around you. In the latter, Devgon's help would be invaluable.”

“True, but I don't see what's so special about all of it,” Lakajev replied.

“The campaign would allow you to win prestige, influence, power and you'll also win a lot of money too; all very necessary for your following objectives,” Vargarr said.

“What objectives?” the Count asked.

“Though the King isn't very old yet, he's not going to live forever. You're much younger than him. Anyways, there are always other ways…”

“If you're implying...”

“I'm not implying anything. But the fact is that with that kind of military success, you would have many options to align two other counties with you, and then you'd have six votes. You could win the next Reprobation Ceremony and end the Eladel House. Next, it would be a natural step to replace them with your own house and just take the Crown.”

This time it was Lakajev who stopped and looked attentively and scrutinized his speaker. All the bets were off. They all had a lot to gain from this war and, therefore, they all had the most interest in taking things forward without wasting time.

“I think it's time to return to the box,” Vargarr declared.

In the background, the trumpets sounded, announcing the end of combat. Although Lakajev had missed part of the show, it was worthwhile to clarify things and make plans.

“What comes next? Oh yeah! The archery contest.”

CHAPTER 3: ARROWS AND BOWS

The footmen worked quickly and effectively. A group of them removed the partition that was used in the battle of the knights, while the Squires collected the weapons and pennants of the last two contenders. Another group placed eight major targets at the bottom of the track. They were very heavy and needed at least two men to move each one. At the other end of the runway, about two hundred steps away, a third group of lackeys placed starting positions and marked a line on the ground.

In a few minutes, everything was ready to begin. A new trumpet served to mark the start of the archery tournament and to welcome the first participants. The crowd cheered and shouted at the archers, while the nobility and other high ranking representatives of the government and the Army watched from the Royal Box.

Samar had to wait patiently. There were about forty registered participants who were competing in their order of arrival. And she was one of the last to arrive. She had to do it with the fifth and final group.

In this first round, each archer had five arrows. If the archer could not reach the target with at least two, he was immediately disqualified. If he could reach the target with four, he automatically passed to the next round. The archers with the top four scores between the ones to reach three targets also passed.

Samar watched silently the participation of the archers of the preceding rounds. Six archers got at least four targets. Two of them had done the full five shots on the target: a young man named Goulbire from Carition who was handsome and well dressed, and a high elf belonging to the nobility of the Principality of Hovako called Nemelas.

The elf was wearing a long ocher cloak that reached her ankles, and the coat included a hood that covered her head. Under the cloak, she was wearing a discreet green doublet and light brown tights. The outfit was completed with high black leather boots of good quality. Her clothes did not attract attention and constituted an outfit that could have been of any explorer, ranger or common traveler.

The hood barely hinted her oval sapphire eyes. The common beauty of her elf face was also hidden. In fact, her face could hardly be seen. This allowed her to register for a tournament that was supposedly only for men. This, and the potion that she had gotten the week before, which modified her musical voice to make it sound like a rude boy's voice; fortunately, its effects were limited to a few hours. She had also covered her thin hands with tight riding gloves. In general, all these elements weren't the most comfortable way to compete in an archery tournament, but each participant had his own crazes or curiosities in their gear and no one was especially surprised by it.

For Samar, the bow was the main focus of her life. Perfecting her technique, beating the best of the best, learning new tricks, gaining more agility, getting a higher rate of fire, bettering her aim in the worst visibility, weather or discomfort conditions were some of the challenges that she sought daily. There was always something new to learn or improve. This was her greatest passion. Her greatest desire was to become a legendary archer, even within the elf standards; the best archer in history, second only to the goddess of the hunt, Callemora. She lived for this.

For this, and to accomplish the genuine desire of her heart to experience adventure and feel free and independent. That's the reason she had left her home, about a century ago, and had left the comfort and security of her father's house, a senior official of the Principality of Chartres.

“It's your turn, sir. Prepare yourself. Your position is third in line,” a voice behind her said, bringing her mind back to the tournament arena.

“Thanks,” Samar said, after a moment's doubt. Her voice still sounded strange.

She advanced to the right position and handed her belongings to the assistant she had been assigned. It wasn't really a squire, just a footman who would facilitate arrows and other objects that she that might need. She took her bow and waited. It was a simple bow, but one of good quality. She could never go to those competitions with her usual bow, which was fine work of the Nira Clan elves, in the Principality of Hovako. A bow like that would draw too much attention. People would ask questions and she would be discovered even before competing.

“Archers to their positions,” bellowed the coordinator of the tournament's voice. “Remember, you have five shots. Only one arrow in hand for each attempt. You must wait for my notice before taking the next arrow from your footmen for the next shot. Best of luck to you! First arrow!”

Samar took an arrow, turned and placed it in position. She looked left and right, watching the other seven rivals from that round. She only knew one of them. A strange gnome that was quite clever and who she had seen compete on other occasions.

Samar and the other archers took their positions. The elf closed her eyes for a moment to feel better the light but icy breeze blowing from the southeast. It must have been about three or four knots. It was intermittent, and had to be taken into account at the time of shooting. The sun was high but almost always covered by clouds and didn't bother her at all. It was a little cold, but the temperature was not too unpleasant, and there was barely any humidity, as usual in the capital of the Kingdom.

The arrows that the tournament provided were of standard quality: boxwood, steel tip, common goose feathers and manufactured by the gunsmiths of the Royal Army in the Mositus mark. Its balance wasn't particularly good. Some had their center of gravity slightly askew. Samar grabbed the arrow with the palm of her left hand to feel its balance before placing it rapidly in the firing position of the bow. The opponents started shooting.

Samar slowly tightened the string of her bow, aimed high and fired. The arrow was thrown at high speed across a distance that covered the entire square up to the location of the targets. The arrow surpassed the target and it hit the ground behind it, a few steps away from the target; exactly where Samar had aimed.

She could hear some laughter from a couple of opponents to her left, and some murmurs from the stands. Only the gnome and his opponent in the eighth position, a local young man, reached the target. But no one had missed from such a distance like she had.

“Don't worry. It was only the first attempt. We'll have more luck in the next one,” the adversary in the second position laughed.

Samar didn't answer, and waited.

“Archers, the next arrow!” the coordinator cried, after writing down the scores from the first attempt.

She rapidly took the second arrow, stiffened, shot it and could feel the impact in the center of the target, even when the arrow was barely out of her bow. The score for that shot was a ten out of ten. She heard a few snorts of surprise.

“Wow. Now that was lucky!” the heavy adversary to her left commented, again, without anyone asking.

The gnome also reached the center and the crowd erupted in applause. The local boy made the target, though only just, almost touching the outer edge of it. It was the second target he reached and the stands broke into a loud applause.

After the completion of the round of shots, the archers came back to their lackeys to collect the third arrow. With the sharpness of her elf eyes, Samar noticed that the archer to her right changed his for a similar one that he kept in his gear. He made the switch with a quick gesture that apparently no one could perceive. Tournament rules prevented such an option, as all participants should use the same type of arrows with the same quality. But Samar decided to say nothing.

The elf aimed this time to the top left of the target holder. It was sturdy wood, and much harder than the material with which the target was made of. To be able to nail the arrow on said support, she needed the shot to reach a high speed. For that, she had to reduce the inclination of the shot, looking for a more direct angle, and draw the bow to the fullest. A lot of force was required, both from the arm and chest muscles and from her hand. Samar fired. The arrow flew directly at a high speed and hit the support, exactly in the position where she had aimed. This time she heard no laughter around her. She had been a little off, not like the first time. Moreover, after the center she managed with the second shot, her opponents didn't know what to expect from her.

This time, only the gnome and the archer to his right reached the target. Apparently, the arrow that the latter had used had a better balance and was of better quality.

“Arrow!” the coordinator cried after writing down the scores.

This round was a repeat of the previous one, except for the fact that Samar pointed to the circle that was worth eight points, to the right of the target, and hit it.

“Footmen, please bring the last arrow of the young archer in position four,” the coordinator shouted.

One of the footmen in the bottom of the track quickly approached the target and pulled the arrow that had reached the target. Then he crossed the track in a sprint, while the stand murmured, curious. The footman handed the arrow to the coordinator, who began to examine it. After a while he said:

“This arrow is illegal. It is not the type provided by the tournament. The young man from the Terentias County in the fourth position has cheated. He is disqualified!”

With a gesture, the coordinator called the officers responsible for ensuring order, and preventing the most fanatical crowd to end up inside the zone that the tournament occupied.

“Take this man to the city dungeons. Let him stay there for the night while he ponders what he has done!” the coordinator declared.

“Just a moment!” a scream was heard, coming from the Royal Box.

It was Vargarr, the Major of the Royal Army for the Central Bor County, one of the most respected and feared men throughout the Kingdom. Vargarr made his way down from the box and through the crowd to get into the center of the track.

“This man is a cheater! He has deceived his rivals, and has tried to deceive the authorities of this tournament. Ultimately, he was fooling us all, who have come here today to enjoy an honest show.”

Vargarr paused and turned to look at the whole audience in the square. He waited a moment before continuing.

“Tell me, honorable people of Bor, do we like liars in our sacred realm?”

“No!” the crowd said.

“Do we like to be lied to?”

“No!” the crowd repeated.

“Can we allow any citizen of the world of Oris to think that he can come to the capital of the kingdom of Bor to make fun of us?”

“NO!” the crowd roared with great joy.

“No. Of course not!”

Vargarr again took a few seconds before continuing.

“And to make sure that we send a loud and clear message to all the cheaters who may have any doubts, we will give exemplary punishment to this Terentias man. Tomorrow, after he has served the sentence that the honorable and benevolent tournament coordinator declared, this man will be brought to this square and tied to a pole in the middle of it. There he will receive twenty lashes on his back for all to see, before being expelled from the city. And to make sure of this, I will execute the punishment!” Vargarr cried with a sadistic glint in his eye.

A relative majority of the audience applauded the initiative while the Major retired and returned to the Royal Box. The audience kept applauding, forcing Vargarr to greet the people couple of times, before asking with a gesture for them to cease the ovation to resume the competition.

“Archers, let's return to the tournament!” the coordinator cried. “Bailiff, read the status of the competition.”

The coordinator gave the paper where he had been scoring the results to the sheriff. He moved to the center of the track and began to speak.

“Nemegrim of the Vulcanus Islands leads this round, with four targets, has already qualified for the semifinals.”

The gnome stepped forward and greeted with great pomp the roaring crowd.

“Then, with three targets, Caorpurak of Deepcliff.”

The applause grew louder to acclaim the local youth.

“Finally, with two targets, the archers of the third and fifth position.”

This latest announcement received a much smaller applause. Samar gave a damn about fame or the public. She did not compete for glory, let alone by a misunderstood fame. The sheriff then detailed the status of the competition including the scores of all the archers of all rounds that still had possibilities. Samar calculated that to ensure her passage to the semifinals, she had to overcome twenty points and, therefore, should get at least a six on her last shot.