Hope Sundered

Zordecai stood at the entrance to his tent, scowling at the impenetrable city before him. By now the flag of the empire should’ve been waving from every tower in Wyndham, and he should’ve been marching to Seagate to complete his conquest of Aveliria.

He’d considered abandoning the siege and marching east anyway, but this was personal now. Losigalender was inside, along with this mystery archer, and he would have both their heads. Once the scaffolds were complete, he’d scale the wall and claim his prize.

Zordecai’s wound throbbed, and his fever had returned. He ducked back into the tent and returned to his secret stash of anodyne. Forgoing the slate, he grabbed a fistful of the narcotic and buried his nose in his palm, inhaling deeply. His pain fled and he felt infused with inhuman energy before he finished cleaning his face.

The day waned on, leading to the inevitable meeting with his last four top-ranking officers. Following the reports on rations, morale, and scaffold progress, Kalder cleared his throat to bolster his nerves. “A courier arrived today, General. The emperor has decided to stop providing rations. The last wagon train will be departing Chastin in a day or so. After that, we’re expected to provide for ourselves.”

Zordecai turned and stared at him but said nothing for several long moments. Kalder trembled where he stood, exchanging nervous glances with the other three officers.

“Where is Varzeth?” Zordecai asked in a low, calm tone.

“M-my lord?”

“Major Woxley swears he never reported for reassignment. I also noticed three of my Kuronah are missing, so I can only assume they’ve joined him. I know Burk was in league with him, and now I’m left wondering how many others are plotting to betray me. So where is he Kalder? Where is my treacherous ex-lieutenant?”

“Truly, I have no idea, my Lord. Perhaps he fled.”

Zordecai sighed, a tired sound. “Why does everyone insist on lying to me? Burk lied to me, and I had no choice but to end his life. I know you and Varzeth are friends, Kalder.” He took a menacing step toward his officer.

“The Kuronah are indeed with him my lord!” Kalder cried, fear shattering his resolve like a brittle pane of glass. “They made it inside the city! I couldn’t stop them! Forgive me, my lord!”

“Inside...the city?” Zordecai stopped, his face twisted into a grotesque blend of bewilderment and fury. “Do you honestly expect me to believe such ridiculous nonsense?” He drew his blade.

Kalder’s eyes grew wide. “It’s the truth!” he shrieked, backing away. “I’d swear it before the emperor himself!”

“Liar!” Zordecai drove his sword into Kalder’s gut with both hands. It burst through his back, painting the tent wall in crimson. Holding the dead man where he stood, Zordecai looked around at the others, studying their reactions. “Who else knows? Are you all in this together? Tell me!”

“In what together, my lord?” one of them dared to ask, his voice tight with anxiety.

“Do you think I’m a fool?” Zordecai roared. “I know you’re all against me! Varzeth is your puppet master! He wants my head, but the coward won’t face me himself! Where is he?”

“We have no idea where he is, my lord. None of us have had contact with him since you banished him to the pikemen,” one of the others said, his voice pleading for their general to see reason.

“Get out!” Zordecai bellowed, lifting his leg and kicking Kalder’s lifeless corpse from his blade. He swung the gore-covered weapon back and forth in the air toward the retreating officers. Kalder’s blood splattered their backs as they scurried from the tent.

Zordecai stalked out after them but stopped several steps later. He looked around at his men, staring back at him with looks ranging from confusion to fear, with a subtle smattering of disappointment. He scanned the crowd, convinced the devious manipulator was hiding in plain sight, somewhere close by, watching him, taunting him.

“Varzeth!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He called out the name like a curse for several minutes before the power drained from his voice. Growing self-conscious, he returned to his tent. He wrapped himself in his furs and sat before the fire.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours; he couldn’t be sure. He no longer noticed the feverish sweat pouring down the side of his face. How did one man end up causing him so much trouble? He tried hard to think back. Rendoya had been a small, insignificant nation with no more than a handful of decent conscripts. Clearly one of them was far more ambitious than anyone anticipated.

“I know what you’re up to Varzeth,” he mumbled aloud. “You’re waiting for me to grow weak, hoping to be evenly matched when you come for me. Ha, you fool! I’ll always be stronger than you, and this army is mine!”