Imperialist: The Voyage

Chapter Twenty-two; Honour

Votrek shaded his eyes as he ducked out of the military tent and quickly put distance between himself and the tent opening. He needed space to think and clear his head before he could rejoin the meeting.

He stared out over the long lines of Sieberon mercenaries, many of them sharpening their weapons, mock fighting and laughing. All primed for him to give the order to begin attacking the walls around the imperial city of Kalli. 

The King strolled over to a nearby trebuchet, rested his hand on the side of the siege engine and closed his eyes. Against his rough, calloused palm, the wood felt smooth and well oiled. It also felt primed to begin its onslaught on the imperial wall, which was within shooting range.

Troops, siege engines and a powerful runestone, all of which answered to his commands. Plus his son in law, King Khalid, would arrive in Bremon at any moment with an army of mercenaries and his daughter beside him as Queen, to take back his kingdom.

Of course, Thovina and by extension Votrek would be the real power behind the throne. She already dominated her husband in the marriage. So why not in affairs of state? When it comes to installing puppet rulers, titles mattered little.

He smiled to himself. He was on top of the world. Did he need help?

The sounds of shouting broke his reverie. Annoyed, he opened his eyes and looked around. His men were shouting and pointing out over the desert. Through the shimmering air, he saw it. A caravan of attendants and troops. Coming from the direction of Genda. 

Votrek smiled to himself. That could only be King Agamon, come to claim his son's body. He squinted at the head of the procession. The king would surely be somewhere to the front, dressed in black like the rest of his subjects.

"Your majesty?"

He turned. It was Drogo, his top commander. 

"Shall I order a battalion to head them off?"

Votrek shook his head vigorously.

"No no, what do you take me for? A barbarian? The man has come to carry his son home. Agdel was an honourable man. So is his father. Let it not be said that King Votrek attacked a fellow king whose only crime was seeking to bury his son. They are to pass unharmed, do you hear me?"

Drogo bowed and retreated. Votrek stood there watching until the caravan reached the city gates and they swung open.

Votrek sighed and reluctantly headed back to the tent.

When he entered, Morabi raised his white head and looked quizzically at him. The last time Votrek saw the former Chief Minister, he was in impeccable condition, with a well-lined beard, expensive silk robes and jewellery that proclaimed his wealth.

Now, Morabi looked like he had fallen on hard times. He wore tattered rags that were covered in soot and dirt. His sandals were frayed and had seen better days. His light brown skin and his white hair and beard were darkened by grime. The only things of distinction were his clear, brown eyes and his elegant mahogany cane with the gold handle.

What a disguise.

The King picked up an apple from the fruit basket in the centre of the table and bit into it, chewing noisily.

"Help yourself," he mumbled, between chews. Morabi did not move a muscle, but merely watched the King. Lords Setty and Corber, both in shiny black armour that had not seen combat in decades, also watched.

Lord Strackon, however, leaned forward and picked up a bunch of grapes. He slowly lowered them into his mouth. 

"Truth be told," Votrek finally spoke. "We've tried for years to bring you over on our side. My late father and then myself instructed Strackon to pitch offers to you. Your loyalty never wavered. Now, in this late hour when we're about to conquer Kalli, you come to us? I'm not convinced your services are required anymore."