"This is a drastic measure my Lord, perhaps reconsidering a less direct route would be more..."

"Damn indirect routes! Cranaks are ravaging my lands and the king wants to dip in, dump his daughter and perhaps bandy some consoling words." Garion yelled, slamming his mailed fist on the cracked wooden table.

A hush spread around the room, the five lords Garion had invited for counsel looked uneasily at each other. Speaking like that of the king was a terrible offense, even from his own brother. "I spoke... Rashly my Lords. But we need Casterland to take action and calling the banners will speak volumes more than my pitiful whimpering to the king." Garion said, breathing normally.

"We do not doubt the immensity of our predicament but wouldn't first speaking with the king be more..." Sir Leuen paused "Subtle? We do not want to anger his majesty."

"I hear your counsel my Lord, but things are growing dire and calling the banners now might make the difference between my brother arriving in a decorative barge or a dozen warships."

"I agree with you my Lord," Sir Rosby said before looking pointedly at Sir Leuen. "It is said another eight hundred raisets joined his legion, how many more will it take to bring Casterland's support?"

"I also agree, action will bring King Lonan and send a message to the bloody Cranaks," Growled Sir Payke "I will not allow that Raiset bastard to touch Crawntun if I have to stab him myself."

"Sir Brandos? Lord Haite?" Garion asked looking pointedly at the two men who had not yet voiced their opinion.

Sir Brandos looked up "I have Lord and Lady Darwoden's daughter as my ward, I'll bring her Dorma's head myself." Garion smiled and nodded and Lord Payke pounded his empty goblet on the table.

It was a majority decision already but Lord Duswin Haite was the oldest lord there and his opinion was greatly valued by all. "I was at Darwood when Lord Darwoden was born, I was at Noxbridge when Lady Noxraft was born and I was there when Dorma Spear-Lord ripped off the head of Lord Grandolph at the battle of Yariff. I want him to hang from the gates of Dunlord Keep for a generation, as a reminder that Rawthawn men are stronger than some orange-skinned savages!" His normally frail voice strengthened with emotion and his words made every one of the Lords nod.

Garion breathed deeply and, followed by his procession of Lords, stormed into the hall. "Men!" He called making his steward and the fifty visiting Lords and knights raise their heads "Call the banners, war is upon us!"

They cheered and stamped with most of them departing immediately, to warn their Liege Lords and Ladies that war was upon Rawthawn. "Are you sure this is the way my lord?" Sir Leuen asked.

"Certain." Garion answered watching Sir Leuen uncertainly. Sir Leuen nodded slowly before staring resolutely at Garion "I shall call my banners, we will rain hell upon them!"

Garion smiled. The Wavens were a powerful house, who ruled a powerful city. Their support was vital and Leuen Waven's blessing would inspire others. Garion moved over to his steward, "How many messengers can we send?"

"Three and thirty my Lord." The steward said promptly,

"Good, send thirty of them to visit every Lord in Rawthawn, war is upon us and we need everyone we can get." 

"What of the other three?" The steward asked, quick to question.

"I do not know if any new... revelations might spring forth. To be devoid of means of contact is to be devoid of speech in Rawthawn." Garion explained, as if convincing himself as well.

"Rightly said my Lord, I shall inform them to prepare at once. Is there any specific message you wish to pass?" The steward asked, parchment at the ready.

"Tell them war has come, tell them to call their men to arms and tell them if they aren't here or haven't sent an answer by the turning of the next moon they'll be branded for treason."

"As you say my Lord," Was his only reply before hurrying off.

"Sir Rosby!" Garion called "I would have you attend me in the council chambers."

"Of course, my lord." They entered together and Garion placed himself in the middle of the wooden table while Sir Rosby poured two goblets of wine from a nearby pitcher.

"Thank you," Garion said, accepting his goblet and taking a long swig.

"I think that went rather well," Sir Rosby stated, taking a sip from his own drink.

"It went well with those four but there are eleven other Liege Lords of Rawthawn and ten times that number of Lords, Ladies and Knights. How many will disagree I wonder? How many will be called traitors and beheaded? How many beheadings would it take until half the country is at war with each other? It is a cruel game ruling."

"People will band together against the common enemy, my Lord."

"I find positivity disadvantageous in my position." Garion said, shaking his head. "Rawthawn is a wild beast, the conquest of my ancestors may have united them but it cannot control them." Sir Rosby was silent as Garion drained his chalice and went to refill it. "Who was the longest reigning Regent of Rawthawn before me?" Garion muttered bitterly.

"Lajon Duncaster, my Lord."

"And how did Lajon die?"

"He was slaughtered by his Liege Lords during a meeting after he..." Rosby stopped "After he called the banners." Sir Rosby answered hesitantly.

Garion raised his goblet in a mock salute. "And how long ago was that?"

"One hundred and twenty years ago my lord."

"And have they been raised since?"

"No, my lord."

"Here's to making history." Garion said cynically before draining his goblet for a second time. "My lord, there was something I wished to discuss." Rosby asked haltingly

"Yes?"

"Your sons..."

"What about them?"

"Well, they have been raised in Rawthawn and they're both good, strong intelligent lads."

"What about it?"

"Well, Rugan Duncaster has no brothers, wouldn't it be right for you to ask the king?"

"Ask him bloody what?" Garion said impatiently

"Ask him to name Fauris the Regent after you." Sir Rosby blurted, watching Garion's expression intently.

"I suppose, but my brother has always been a stickler for rules. He'll probably name his daughter the Regent before Fauris."

"Not if you prove to him how apt Fauris is in skill with the sword and how sharp he is of intellect. The king is already coming, surely if you manage to impress him he'll name Fauris the Regent." Sir Rosby rushed.

Garion looked at him thoughtfully, "Why do you care so much?"

"You have been the finest ruler Rawthawn has seen, any of your brood will be a blessing. And I would prefer a man born and bred in the winds of Rawthawn then a spoilt maid."

Garion looked deeply into his cup, "You are right," he said finally. "I shall arrange a tourney and will have a word with Fauris."

"That is good my lord."

"Now leave me, you have men to gather, a country to unite and an incoming war."

"As you wish my lord." Sir Rosby bowed before walking out. The door closed with a crash and Garion poured himself more wine. He drank two more cups, before slamming it down still half-full. He unsteadily got to his feet and walked out. As he left, his cloak knocked over the goblet, but Garion was too drunk to notice. The crimson drink swirled down the soft grooves of the table-painted-map. Before long, most of Rawthawn was completely covered in the sticky, blood red liquid.

--------------------

Author's note:

How did you like the ominous metaphor? Enjoying the book so far? Please leave a vote if you enjoyed the chapter!

--------------------