Lord Storm Nattas

Task for a lesser man

 

 

 

The throne room was half-lit.

The few shadows and colors mixed, but everything standing still, no sound following the one made by the old oaken doors, when they closed behind him. The king siting on the throne, not the well decorated marble one that was in Cartagen, but the plain stone seat of the old kings. The first Aldens. He held his usual slightly leaning pose, right elbow on the armrest, gold ring visible, and the left arm loose between his relaxed legs. Face gaunt, eyes piercing the semi-darkness, with what could’ve been described as hatred easily, but was Alistair’s favorite expression.

His fine boots are muddy though, Nattas noticed, always keen on the most mundane of details. The dark red leather doublet he wore, equally weathered.

The latter points, the only slipups to how the King of Regia habitually appeared.

Storm wasn’t a fool to think, the man was in a good mood.

“My King, allow me to offer—”

But King Alistair stopped him by a simple half-raise of his left hand, wrist slightly bend backwards, fingers loose. Held the gesture for a moment, lips pressed into a thin line, almost white. Wrath building up. Storm gulped down all anxious, expecting the worst, thinking more worthy men than him had been lost to fits of rage, through no fuckin’ fault of their own.

It’s not that I hadn’t broken my goddamn body, to prevent all this fuckin’ mess from happening—

“Offer me, what others can’t, Lord Nattas,” Came the King’s warning, interrupting his internal rant.

“It was my only intention, my King.”

“Why were you in Riverdor?” Alistair asked, voice a menacing snarl now, his patience wearing thin.

“I followed a trail, your highness,” He blurted.

“Stop being vague. Explain.”

Storm felt his leg act up and he punched it once hard, hurting his not yet fully healed finger. The pain brought tears in his eyes, but he kept them from rolling down his face, through sheer willpower.

“Duke Winfield insulted the Khanate,” Alistair raised a grey brow and sat up a little straighter on his throne. “A Prince came to deliver a letter of grievance, asking for the Duchy as compensation.”

“The Khan can’t have the Duchy. It’s in the treaties. If he breaks them, the High King will call us all to war,” Alistair said, his words a question.

Is that what the Khan wants?

“Could it be, it is his intention?” Nattas offered, having nothing more concrete or less hazardous for his own neck.

The king frowned, thinking about it.

“Ri Yue-Tu, will be closed or too dangerous to sail from in a month. Eikenport is a dry, miserable place to park an army. More criminals than citizens live there. That leaves a straight assault on Rida to stop Antoon from reinforcing… what is the window here?” He asked him and Nattas licked his dry lips before replying.

“A couple of months?”

“He’ll never take it. Save for the Duke losing his mind and even then. Not in that time. Not even twice that,” Alistair breathed deep, let the air come out slow, eyes boring holes into lord Nattas. “Kaltha can have an army across afore a month and it will be over.”

“Aye, my King. It is foolish.”

“Which is why, it doesn’t make sense.”

Storm pondered, if he should say something else. The moment dragged, him not wanting to presume he knew better and the king deep in thought, dark circles under his eyes barely visible in the gloomy throne room, right fist clenched tight, as if the man was in pain.

“What did the Duke say?” King Alistair asked, finding the thread again, mind still sharp even if his body was aging.

“He sent a messenger. A man carrying his Shield. Somehow, his ship sunk and the man perished,” Nattas paused and the hint of a smirk appeared on the corner of the King’s mouth. He knew Lord Storm, since he was a young man. The King had ‘chosen’ him for this position over men with far greater standing, than a crippled believer of the Old Gods. “Sigurd and King Eikenaar received the message nonetheless. The Prince appeared, rather shocked,” Storm added pleased.

“Was it a ruse then? Made up? And the Duke… why not use the birds?” The king tested his knowledge, as if he’d knew something, Storm didn’t. Which was almost preposterous, but still worrying enough, to warrant further investigation, Storm thought.

“It was something else. Duke found something that made them change their strategy, I believe. Something ruinous. A loyal man was chosen to secure its delivery, away from prying eyes. We are missing details of course, but the Duke learned some kind of a secret, whatever that secret may have been,” Nattas laid out his suspicions. “If he didn’t, then the Khan would have attacked without warning. You don’t risk losing a war, over a spouse’s hurt feelings,” He concluded.

“No you don’t,” King Alistair agreed, looking at his great ring.

“They tried to stop me from reaching Riverdor,” Nattas added. “Almost succeeded. The assassin is still on the loose.”

“Hire more guards,” King Alistair said simply.

As if guards worked for free.

Abrakas give fuckin’ patience here.

“If I was in his place…” The king started and Nattas snapped out his trance, “…I wouldn’t attack Rida. I’ll block the forts, staying clear of the mountains, then send an army to attack from Altarin, burn everything until the banks of Yeriden and taunt the High King’s men to come at me in the open.”

“Attack the Cofols out on the plains?”

“Antoon will have to do something, if half the duchy is burning.”

“I don’t… my King. I’m not sure, even a fool like Antoon will fall for it.”

“Unless he has no other play left, or the Duke himself blinks,” King Alistair said, his meaning unclear to Nattas. Until the man added sounding tired. “Perhaps no other way to go, or no other chance of success.”

“A feint?” Storm asked worried. “The Khan’s ships can’t come another way. Assuming he even has them in such numbers. You can’t cut across the Scalding Sea. Not from Rin An-Pur. You’d have to hug the Wetull coast, navigate the reefs. No one alive knows how to do that. No one with a brain will attempt it, if they did.”

“Aye,” Alistair said, his mind elsewhere. “I have to think on this further, Lord Nattas.”

Storm bowed his head.

“My king.”

King Alistair pushed himself up with difficulty. For a brief moment, he appeared feeble, an old man barely keeping the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then the moment faded. Tied his hands behind, shoulders straight and face lost in shadows.

“I’ve talked to Lucius and Roderick,” He said, voice low almost a whisper. “Consult with Lord Doris about the girl.”

“Of course,” Storm replied readily.

King Alistair took a deep breath, his eyes taking in the badly lit hall.

“If you’ll excuse me, Lord Nattas,” He finally said, surprisingly polite. “I will visit my son now.”

 

 

 

Storm left the meeting with King Alistair less reassured than he’d preferred to. The King appeared worn out, which could be attributed to having just lost a son, on top of all the misfortunes a long reign always brings. Still they needed the king to be a rock for Regia in this troubled time. Someone to steer the ship to safe waters, especially with a war looming large over their heads. A war Lord Nattas didn’t want. He could let a smaller conflict slide, but a war with the Khanate could last for years. Armies needed people and coin, provisions. A tremendous amount of investment, with no sure way of getting something back.

Anything.

You turned into a fuckin’ pessimist. He admonished himself. You don’t know, if it will happen.

Doris Alden, Lord of Aegium the city of ‘Always Summer’ and Master of Treasure for the Kingdom of Regia, had the cheekbones of his cousin King Alistair. That’s were their physical similarities ended. A full set of grey hair, kept very short, being the biggest difference. He was also shorter, but not overweight, dressed in fine red Alden leather and wore a good amount of jewelry on his person.

The man was also deep in thought, reading from a thick ledger, two large scrolls secured under an armpit. Storm checked they were alone in that corner of the library’s main hall. Other than a library official, half-hidden in one of the narrow corridors, arranging books on shelves after checking their labels, they were. Which he thought fortunate, for the time of day.

Not that Abrakas gives a shit about luck.

Or time.

“Lord Doris,” He said, minding to keep his voice subdued. There was a ruffian hidden on every corner, far as he was concerned. Even books have ears, Storm Nattas thought, paraphrasing the infamous Thieves Guild quote.

“I wasn’t aware you were in Alden,” Storm added evenly.

“Ah, Lord Nattas,” The man replied, closing the book he was reading, before Storm had a chance to peruse its contents. Then again, this Alden of the provinces, was always an annoying little shit, Nattas thought sourly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Is why I walked almost half the bloody city to find you, arrogant turd.

“The King wants the girl returned to her family,” Lord Doris recited from memory, what he’d been told no doubt, under the patient stare of Storm Nattas. He kept any surprise from his face. Things have happened, so everything was more fluid now, Nattas original assessment of what the King would do, null and void. “In return for a guarantee from the O’ Dargans that they’ll be no raiding on Regia’s lands. Also no rebellious behavior, or trouble from the war-bands.”

That is a weak trade, Storm thought unimpressed.

“They don’t control them all though,” Storm noted. “Especially those roaming in Sovya lands or the Crull disputed territory. What about those?”

“He can put a stop to them, for a time,” Doris insisted.

Eh.

Storm rubbed his unshaven face with a hand. “Like a season? A year?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s decent I guess… can’t we get something more from them?” He asked, not seeing the long term benefit of that.

“Like what Lord Nattas? We can’t exactly advertise our deals with them,” Doris sighed pensively. All an act. “I thought you sharper than this.”

Said with the air of one, who’d his sister as Queen of Regia.

If Storm had a reason to dislike Queen Miranda, it was standing right there.

“What do we need time for?” He asked with a grimace, this time under his official capacity. “The King wants me to know Doris,” Storm could forgive a grieving father with delegating lesser matters, but he’d no patience for this glorified assistant.

Lord or not.

“Antoon sent word, asking for help,” Doris replied, after showing his annoyance to his words with an eye roll. “So King Alistair ordered the Legion to move to the coast.”

His words a huge shock for Storm Nattas. Had the High King lost his mind? He just gave his sister to the Cofols! Another diplomatic attempt surely is warranted! Talk it over the darn royal wedding, for fucks sake! He couldn’t believe, things had escalated so dramatically. What’s the fuckin’ rush?

Abrakas rotten cock!

Doris sighed, a genuine sadness on his face. “We haven’t finished the road yet, all that equipment, engineers, and constructing crews… without the Legion, will have to be replaced, out of our coffers,” The thought haunting to him. But Nattas had stopped listening half way through, eyes darting from the young official carrying six large tomes and placing them carefully on a reading table, to the still empty hall. This wasn’t another random occurrence.

Look behind the bloody curtain, he urged himself.

“Lord Doris,” He said, interrupting whatever the man was saying. “What does the king need from the Library?”

The master of coin, a non-flattering moniker the man hated and Nattas used with great enthusiasm outside his presence so it would spread to the populace, exhaled peeved at the rude interruption.

“King Alistair was reviewing the old treaties,” Doris replied, after taking a long moment to compose himself. “More context was needed, so young Veturius there, is helping us with the research.”

Nattas smacked his lips, opportunity too appetizing to miss. “Can I help?” He offered.

“It’s a tedious job,” Lord Doris said, unsure on his sudden interest.

“I have time.”

That you don’t.

“Well…”

“I’ll report to you or the King any of my findings, Lord Doris. And you dear Sir, can make sure a huge amount of our Treasury, is not wasted on the other matter we discussed,” The man frowned hearing his little speech. Storm paused for effect, then added. “Now this is a task, you can’t leave to a lesser man, Lord Doris.”

“You present a strong case, Lord Nattas.”

“Just try to be of service.”

“Commendable. Truth is, I can’t bother myself with such trivial matters,” Lord Doris thought aloud.

Not when coin is on the line, Nattas translated, barely preventing a wayward grin from appearing on his lips, seeing the man reach a decision.

“That’s it then. Time is of the essence. Report your findings to the King, Lord Nattas, but I want to know all about it the moment you do,” The Master of Treasure ordered him and turning on his heel, walked out of the Library.

The likelihood of Storm obeying the latter so close to nil, we might as well call it that.