Hope Sundered

Prett Urdis made excellent time to Dioria. He squinted his eyes and wrinkled his nose from the assault of the sea air, brisk and briny, rushing in from the northern Sea of Qurah. The sun was setting, and with it the residual warmth from the late autumn day. He was exhausted and his clothes were dirty and damp from sweat, but the real challenge was yet to come.

He had what some would argue to be the most difficult task of all the couriers Bel’ami had sent out. Dioria’s merchant barons bore the legacy of being shrewd businessmen, and Malphus was no exception.

Prett was up to the task. He’d already been successful at gaining sympathy in towns and villages along the way. Many pledged their support and began mobilizing at once, and he was confident this momentum would aid him well with Malphus.

Running just beneath the surface of amicable trade with the capital was the impatient bitterness of the generations-old debt, incurred from mining a mountain’s worth of granite to build Wyndham’s famous wall. Despite the consistent annual payments of Wyndham’s patriarchs, the avaricious lords of Dioria saw fit to raise the interest every year.

Prett headed straight for the palace. It was gaudier than M’klarin Keep, but the patriarch’s ambassador would keep such opinions to himself. He announced his business to the guards at the entrance, who led him to a small antechamber. Not long after, he was summoned to the audience hall.

Most Wyndhamites had heard stories of how Diorians displayed their wealth in audacious ways, and this room served as ample proof. Ornate candelabras hung from the high ceiling, lighting the hall with a brilliance matching the light of midday.

Tall portraits of the city’s ruling ancestry hung in rows along both side walls, framed in polished mahogany and curtained with thick velvet. Prett's boots clacked on the polished crimson agate floor as he approached the dais decorated with hammered gold and jewels.

A slender man with a delicate moustache was reclining upon the throne, which confused Prett. Chief among the tales of Diorian decadence was that of the merchant lord’s infamous girth, though clearly not all the rumors were true.

To the left of the throne stood Commander Jaxin, well-known in Wyndham as the perennial runner-up of the Spring Festival Tournament. Prett noticed both he and the baron were armed and in uniform, though both outfits were different from the other.

And where were the ladies? he wondered with more than a little disappointment. It seemed the famous harem amounted to another false rumor; not that it changed anything, though as a single man Prett had been looking forward to enjoying the view.

“Baron Malphus?” he asked with less confidence than intended.

“Were you expecting someone else?” the man answered with a sly grin.

Prett chuckled with embarrassment and silently berated himself for jeopardizing his credibility with such a foolish question.

“And who might you be, good sir?”

“My name is Prett Urdis, here before you on behalf of Lord Bel’ami with a most urgent request.”

The man on the throne cocked an eyebrow, and his smile seemed to widen. “You’re a long way from home, Master Urdis of Wyndham. The patriarch’s request must be urgent indeed. Tell me, would it have anything to do with needing military assistance to fend off an Azrahteran invasion?”

Prett stood in silence for several seconds with his mouth agape before responding. “Why, yes Lord, that’s exactly why I’m here! How did you know?”

“Oh, I’m aware of more than you realize.”

Prett smiled in relief. “Then you’ll help us?”

“Of course not.”

“But-but-but … why not?” He’d been warned Malphus would open negotiations with outrageous demands to put him off balance, but he never expected outright refusal, even with the looming presence of a debt they couldn’t seem to square.

“You don’t honestly expect me to attack my own people, do you?” Admiral Laeroset asked. He looked at Jaxin and nodded. The commander moved toward the courier.

Prett’s confusion paralyzed him. He sensed the danger but didn’t understand why. The tingle of mortal terror crept up his spine like a tiny spider, confident of its kill. The dread of knowing he’d not return home chilled his soul while the realization Dioria wouldn’t be coming to Wyndham’s aid broke his heart.

“Fear not, my expedient friend,” Laeroset assured him. “Yours will be a quick death. It would be rude of me not to respect your dedicated, if not misguided service to your patriarch. He’d be proud, I’m sure. I do thank you for the update on General Zordecai’s progress, however. It’s most enlightening.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaxin whispered as he drew his sword and silenced Prett Urdis forever with one quick, clean blow.

⸞ ⸎ ⸟

Jaxin watched with veiled despair as the courier’s body slid from his blade to crumple at his feet. He knew the apology was meaningless, but sanity insisted he say it anyway.

Laeroset smiled approvingly. “I must confess I had my doubts about you Commander, but you continue to earn my trust, and I always reward obedience with longevity.”

Jaxin said nothing but bowed to Dioria’s new ruler, as much to show fealty as to hide his rising contempt. He managed to keep his face devoid of all emotion, a discipline he learned long ago at the hands of a drunken, abusive father, the only other time in his life when he’d been utterly helpless and alone.