A Strategic Error
“My liege, I don’t consider this a viable move.” General Ser Raylen arranges the miniature models across the war room map. “The Rigans may hold our northern oasis, but remember that they are nomadic. They will leave soon enough, of their own accord.”
“‘Soon enough’ is not what I want to hear, General,” growls King Bermand. “You yourself have seen the state of the kingdom. Its citizens are forced to sell assets just to keep themselves in drinking water. We need that oasis, and we need to mobilize our forces to take it back. You will lead the charge.”
“But the Rigans, my liege,” Raylen sputters. “Nomadic as they are, they would need no preparation to mobilize a counter-assault on us the instant our forces came within a day’s march. We’d lose more soldiers to them than if we merely held our ground here.”
“You forget that it is a soldier’s oath to die in defense of the kingdom. A citizen makes no such oath. To lose a hundred soldiers to a fight is nothing. To lose a citizen to negligence…”
“So you would consider us expendable?”
“You speak out of turn, General.”
“My apologies, Your Highness, but if I may be so bold, a soldier is as much a part of this kingdom as anybody else. I’ll not see lives wasted as long as I am a part of the Caynean Guard.”
Bermand smiles wickedly. “Ah, but General, you speak as if you’ve already lost the war, when your forces have not so much as been awoken for the morning.” He pushes a handful of archer and siege artillery tokens up the map, approaching the Northern Oasis in a wide open V. “Would this not be an ideal way to retake the Oasis from the barbarians?”
“With respect, Sire, I would never send archers on the front line.”
Bermand slides a few cavaliers in from the sides. “Then we support them with mounted forces on their flank…”
“The cavalry would work better up front, if we gave them enough room to charge.”
The King does not acknowledge this correction, and continues shoving pieces towards the oasis. “And then light-equipped infantry this way…”
“Sire!” Raylen exclaims. “The infantry do not work that way!” He sweeps all of the pieces from the war map and begins placing them himself, before realizing what he’s done.
“You see, General? You are incapable of leaving your army alone. Even if you oppose the campaign…you would not dare let innocent Caynean soldiers march to their deaths.”
Raylen furiously upends the war map and draws the short sword from his hip. “Highness, I refuse to allow this to happen. I’ll not let you squander your army on a selfish march to claim land that we aren’t even capable of holding!”
“Your mistake, General, was drawing your weapon.” King Bermand pulls a dagger from his belt. “Have you the gall to attack your lord and master? Even if you don’t, I’ll have you tucked away into the part of the dungeon that the guards tend to forget about. And if you even try to strike me with that blade…”
Raylen lashes out with his sword, in an attempt to knock the dagger from Bermand’s hand. “I’ve had my suspicions, but your behavior is telling enough. You are an impostor. The real King Bermand is a kind-hearted man that would never issue such dire threats!”
“Ah, but that would be another mistake.” Bermand makes a “tsk” noise with his lips. “Had you been any more observant, you might know that there are no impostors to be found here. I am just as much King Bermand as the man you call your lord and master. And you…” He takes a step forward, sweeping his arms in a broad gesture, and before Raylen is aware of it, Bermand’s dagger is in the back of his neck. “…you are merely a brick in Caynea’s road to greatness. Only fit to trod upon.” Raylen collapses on his chest, having stopped breathing. “Hmph. I suppose I shall need to summon the housekeeping staff for this mess.”
Bermand leaves Raylen and the dagger as they stand, but takes the short sword from the dead general’s hand. He ruffles his hair a bit, and carves a small incision in the sleeve of his extravagant robe. With sword firmly in hand, and facing the one window to the war room, Bermand calls out. “Assassin! ASSASSIN!”
Lynia, who has stationed herself just past the window to eavesdrop, realizes that the palace will soon be on high alert. She dashes along the outer wall and climbs back in to the window of her quarters, dives into her bed, and pulls the covers over herself, pretending to be asleep. That was certainly her father in the war room, she could be sure of that…but Ser Raylen was right, too, in that Bermand had not been quite himself. She’d known her father to have occasional swings of mood once in a while, but never enough to murder his own chief advisor.
The door to Lynia’s quarters suddenly bursts open. Two Royal Guards march in, spears in hand, and peek around the room, behind the dressing screens, out the window, inside the armoire. Lynia finally calls out to the guards. “Excuse me, what’s the meaning of this?”
“Assassins, milady,” replies one of the guards. “General Ser Raylen has been murdered. The culprit cannot be far, but we need to be sure.”
“Well…” Lynia considers telling the guards what she has witnessed, that her own father is the murderer, and that Ser Raylen died because he refused to aid in a needless war. But being the only witness aside from King Bermand himself, it would become a trial of words against words, and Lynia would simply be discredited due to her tender age and lack of authority in her own kingdom. And most of all…it would tell Bermand that he had been seen committing his crime, and force him to conceal his actions.
At last, the two guards finish their search. “Our apologies for the disturbance, milady. I shall report my findings to the Captain at once. Shall I leave a guard posted at your door?”
“…Yes…please, please do.” She finds the words difficult to say. These same guards had failed to protect their General, but how would they have known that the King planned to do what he had done? There was not a single way they could. Lynia watches as the last guard carefully closes the tall door to her room, and feeling quite powerless for royalty, she rolls over in her bed and fails to fall asleep.
Bermand’s words haunt her throughout the night. “I am just as much King Bermand as the man you call your lord and master.” What could it mean? Were there truly two King Bermands? Was he possessed by some sort of demonic being? Lynia cannot put the thought out of her mind, and the rest of the night is sleepless.
