Realm of Monsters - Chapter 693: She Lies

Chapter 693: She Lies

  “How many?” asked Corvus, lord of House Morrigan.

  His council all stared at the chancellor expectantly, though the dark look in their eyes told a different story. They already knew it was not good.

  The chancellor cleared his throat. “…It is hard to say, your highness. Not all the messengers we sent out have come back yet. We would have to wait a few more days before we can have a true grasp of the situation.”

  “How many?” Corvus asked.

  “…Of the fourteen river towns the Sylvan Fleet was expected to pass by, all fourteen have been confirmed razed to the ground. As for the villages lined across the rivers and streams leading to Murkton… Nine were razed and twenty-eight were left in such disrepair that they will not recover.”

  The councilors muttered amongst each other with scowls and frowns.

  Corvus gripped the armrest of his chair tight but held back from yelling at his councilors. Instead, he spoke in a calm, measured voice. “How long until the Sylvan Fleet reaches our city’s walls?”

  The chancellor shifted in his seat. “They are using some sort of magic to keep their ships of ice sailing upstream without any impediment. However, their consistent attacks on our settlements have slowed them down…”

  “But?” Corvus pressed.

  “But not as much as we hoped. The goblin mongrels are more efficient at destruction than we expected. By our estimate, they will arrive in our city in two days.”

  Corvus inhaled deeply and exhaled through his nostrils. “What about our fleet? When can we expect them to intercept, High Admiral?”

  The High Admiral sat up and nodded with a placating smile. “Our fleet has suffered no mishaps. We are on schedule, as expected of your highness’ soldiers. Your fleet will intercept the Sylvan warships by tomorrow morning.”

  “Then why are you not with them?”

  “I plan to leave in a few hours, your highness. I have my best yellow and blue mages preparing my ship as we speak. With the help of their magic, we will join the fleet by nightfall.”

  Corvus nodded with a grunt. “What of our armies? War Master?”

  The general of all his forces shifted in his seat, “Our forces are mustering near the Lyre Crossing, where our fleet is expected to encounter the enemy. Our ships are better than theirs, which are flimsy magical constructs made of ice. When the High Admiral prevails and runs their ship down into the riverbed, the green mongrels will have no choice but to embark on land, where our armies shall be waiting for them. We will slaughter them, as our ancestors did 300 years ago.”

  “And if the Sylvan Fleet manages to break through?” Corvus asked.

  “Surely, you cannot believe that our fleet could ever lose against these goblin ice floes?” the High Admiral bristled.

  “No, but that does not mean they will not sacrifice a few to save the many. If even half the Sylvan Fleet tries to flee instead of engage and break through our ships’ line, our ground forces will be left ineffective. What then? Murkton will be left defenseless against our enemies,” Corvus said.

  The High Admiral and War Master glanced at their court mage, Arch Mage Belisarius. The man leaned forward with a wisp of a smirk. “We need not worry about such a thing, your highness. I have implemented your plan to the letter.”

  “The dam is complete? Already?” Corvus asked.

  “I had laid the groundwork around the Crossing for many years now. Supplies, mundane and enchanted, were built and placed in storage for such a time as this. The framework towers on the shores have been completed for over two years now. All that was left was to assemble the wall itself.”

  Belisarius continued, “I employed practically every free common labourer in the nearby villages, and every competent Brown and Green mage in this city for this endeavour over the last week. I pushed them day and night. We had some losses, but the dam’s enchanted wall has been completed, along with a significant set of ramparts at the top.”

  “How many did we lose?”

  “Pardon?” Belisarius blinked.

  “How many men and women died constructing the dam?”

  “A good three-quarters of the commoner crew died. Nothing we can’t replace.”

  “I don’t care about the commoners. What of our mages? How many died?”

  “About a fifth of the brown mages. A little less than that of our greens. Along with a hundred or so blue mages that we employed to help push against the river,” Belisarius admitted.

  Corvus closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “The dam is complete?”

  “Yes, your highness. If some part of the Sylvan Fleet breaks through, they will be met with an insurmountable wall. We will rain fire and arrows down on them until not a single goblin lives.”

  “Hm. Any other news, Spymaster?” Corvus asked.

  “Another port town was attacked. Half the town was burned down. But the town was not in the path of the Sylvan Fleet. Which suggests a secondary, smaller fleet has broken off and begun raiding other towns.”

  “Look into it.”

  The Spymaster nodded. “Your will is my command, your highness.”

  “If I may, your highness,” the chancellor spoke up.

  “What is it?” Corvus asked.

  “The people in our city are— worried, commoner and noble alike. Perhaps, I could arrange a festival of sorts to put their hearts at ease. Open the Crimson Tracks for racing? Nothing better to calm the residents than seeing blood and battle from a place of safety.”

  “Safety?” Corvus scoffed. “Only the weak need such reassurances.”

  “We also have several goblins—not Sylvan, mind you—in our prisons. But we could still have our white mages torture them and have the prisoners paraded through the city before a ritual burning to the gods in the evenings?” the chancellor offered.

  “The people tend to enjoy the ritual sacrifices and anguish of the goblins,” the Spymaster noted.

  “Very well, you have my permission,” Corvus said.

  “Thank you, your highness,” the chancellor bowed his head.

  “This meeting is over.” Corvus stood from his chair and left the council chambers without waiting for the others. He strode through the massive halls, not caring to glance at the looming ceilings high above him that he once marveled at in his youth.

  Servants stopped what they were doing at his presence and bowed low, only continuing their duties long after he walked past them. Corvus ignored all of them and made a beeline towards the one place he could truly be alone with his thoughts.

  A pair of guards stood in front of the doors of the throne room. They stood aside as Corvus entered and closed the doors behind him. For all the short stature of goblins, the throne room was larger than any in the Ebon Realm. A twin set of thrones sat atop a dais, fit for giants.

  The whole place was utterly quiet, devoid of any life. In 300 years, the throne room had not once been used by Corvus’ ancestors. All because of those twin chairs. Both were made in the same style, mirroring one another, but with different materials. The first chair was built of a smooth white stone, inlaid with silver. The other was built of a sleek black stone, inlaid with gold.

  When Lady Morrigan, first of her name, conqueror of Lunis, sat down on the black throne, she had gone rigid, unable to move. Before anyone could help, her body had burst into golden flames. Her screams were short-lived. The body was nothing but ash and charred bones in a matter of seconds.

  Her second son had tried to sit on the white throne not long after his older brother had taken the mantle of warlord. Like his mother, the second son had gone rigid in the chair. But unlike her, he had not burst into flames. Instead, his body was frozen from the feet up. Thawing him out was useless. He was dead before he had taken a single breath.

  The two thrones had haunted his family ever since then. Several Morrigans had tried to claim the thrones, each to no avail. How goblins had managed to sit on those giant thrones, Corvus did not know. 

  Many mages had studied the Sylvan architecture of the chair, but they could not understand a single arcane rune in its design. A few warlords had even tried to destroy the thrones, yet their powers could never leave a scratch.

  The throne room was sealed off and its existence had been hidden from the world for centuries for one vital reason. Lunis had powers that not even the might of the orcs could comprehend. If such a power were to return and be used against Murkton…

  “No.” Corvus shook his head. It wasn’t possible. The might of Lunis had died out long ago, all that was left was a miserable spark known as the Sylvan folk. All he had to do was crush that spark. Simple in concept. But the people worked underneath him… “Incompement. I am surrounded by incompetence.”

  Only Belisarius seemed capable and even then, it had come at great cost to his mageborn forces.

  “I have been called many things, but incompetent was never one,” spoke a quiet voice, yet it boomed in his ears and sent Corvus crashing to his knees.

  Corvus gnashed his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. “Show yourself!” he drew Feather from its sheath. The blade made from the fang of the legendary blood-wyrm, Fraxinus, glowed an eerie red.

  A stranger stepped out from behind the shadows of a pillar. She was draped in a black cloak, but it did little to hide her feminine figure.

  An assassin? Corvus thought. She had attacked him with some form of mental magic, perhaps? Even now, he was struggling to stay afoot.

  As she drew closer, her form seemed to change, and with each step she grew taller, until she loomed over him, his head barely reaching her waist.

  “What are you…?” he whispered.

  “I am the goddess your family has prayed to ever since you stepped into these lands. I am the goddess who has answered your prayers.” The hood fell off, revealing an ebon helmet. 

  All Corvus could see was the lower half of her face, warm brown skin, and lips twisted in disapproval. Her blazing eyes of gold pierced through the dark helm and a mane of scarlet curls that spilled behind her back. 

  He didn’t need to see her face to know who stood before him. Corvus dropped his sword and fell to one knee. “Lady Bellum, your humble servant bows at your glorious presence.”

  “There is nothing humble about you, Corvus. At least you do not reek of arrogance, either. Confidence in your own power, yes. I can work with that.”

  “My lady,” Corvus did not dare raise his head. “May this servant ask a question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you come to lead us into victory against our Sylvan foes?”

  Bellum sighed. “I have come to save the people of Murkton from an enemy you and your ancestors have never truly faced.”

  Corvus beamed. “Then you have come as our goddess of victory.”

  “I would not be so merry if I were you. The one who comes for you is a goddess of vengeance.”

  “If I may… You are the goddess of war. With you by our side, none can stand against us.”

  Bellum frowned. “You do not understand the true gravity of the situation your people find themselves in.”

  A knock came at the doors. Corvus glanced at the doors, brow furrowed. Who would dare bother him in this place?

  “My lord?” called out one of the guards. “Your daughter, Beatrix, wishes to speak with you.”

  “Beatrix?” What was she doing back in Murkton? Had something happened in Hollow Shade? Did this have to do with the Sylvan Fleet?

  It didn’t matter, not so long as the goddess of war was here. Corvus dared glance up at Bellum, who now stood at the height of mortals, her hood drawn once more.

  “Let her in,” Bellum said.

  “What shall I say about your presence?” Corvus stood to his feet. 

  “Nothing.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” Corvus turned to the throne room’s entrance. “Let her in!”

  The doors swung open with a loud creak and Beatrix stepped inside, no worse for wear, it seemed.

  “Father, I am glad to see you in good health,” Beatrix bowed low.

  “Beatrix, what are you doing here?” Corvus demanded.

  Beatrix glanced at the hooded figure standing next to her father and gave Corvus a questioning look.

  “Speak freely,” Corvus said.

  “As you wish, Father. Uncle Ivander is dead. Killed by a Sylvan assassin in the home of our cousins, the Katags. I barely managed to survive the attack myself. Cousin Tauri was injured in the battle.”

  “And the assassin?”

  “Escaped. I left not long after to inform you of Uncle’s passing and the rise of a massive Sylvan force coming to attack our home.”

  “What of the Katags? And Hollow Shade’s forces? Have they decided to send reinforcements?” Corvus asked.

  Beatrix looked away. “No, not to my knowledge.”

  “So you came here alone, defeated?”

  Beatrix swallowed. “…Yes.”

  Corvus glared at her. “I expect so little of you and still, you disappoint.”

  “Forgive me, Father.” Beatrix shrank beneath his gaze.

  “She is lying,” Bellum said.

  Corvus straightened and turned to the goddess, “My lady?”

  “Your daughter is afraid of you and terrified to disappoint you, that much is true. Yet her last answer was a lie.” Bellum threw off her hood and removed her helmet, freeing a mane of scarlet curls and revealing two wolfen ears atop her head.

  Beatrix’s eyes widened in recognition and she stumbled backwards as Bellum moved closer, like a predator sniffing bloodied prey.

  “I can smell her on you,” Bellum growled. “Where. Is. My. Daughter?”