THE LORD CHANCELLOR

  The greatest man this world has ever known, those words were etched onto the tallest statue the world has ever known. Cassius The Great. Standing at a hundred feet tall, it is the picture and true legacy of the First Consul. He was the Senate’s god. No, he was greater than a god to them. He is the creator.

  The statue and the Senate Hall were both built out of great white marble and quartz. The pillars stood tall, and at each end was the symbol of the Phoenix. The interior was made of polished wood planks and decorated with grand purple curtains and paintings of every Lord of Senate in the history of the Republic.

  His Grace had called court there, unusual for him, yet most knew that if the entire capital was called to Court, best not to push it off for any matter.

  When Alric entered the grand hall, it was packed full of squabbling Lords, Ladies and Senators. The Dias in the centre of the hall was empty, and the stage as well. It quite reminded him of the start of a Gladiatorial game. And that was all it was for almost an hour. No Chancellor, no Lord Senator, no Lady of State, no Lord Commanders…and no Emperor.

  It was probably an hour or so before the sun would begin to slowly begin its decline before the High doors opened, and the rest of the High Council finally entered. His Grace seemed unusual, almost as if he had just woken up-and with Lord Varserys looking as if he were annoyed with the lateness of the meeting, even a fool could’ve put together the fact that His Grace had fallen asleep and probably was late.

  His Grace sat at the dais, a grave look on his face. “I have called you here to-day not for a vote. Not for an election but for an announcement. A declaration of my intentions as the Emperor of Velmyria.” He pulled his eyes up and stared at the crowd of Senators and nobles in front of him “I will be asking Lord Alric to take the Sixty-eighth and Ninety-fifth legions and batter the army that holds the Empire’s Castles and Forts.”

  A wave of gasps went through the crowd, and even Alric himself caught himself staring at the Emperor with his mouth open in surprise at such news. Alric had never commanded an army with such a great goal in mind. The army shore held eight forts, and three Castles, and only two forts were held by the Empire and both were under siege.

  “Furthermore,” His Grace continued. “I will also be marching the Ninth to the Northern frontier of the war. The Seventh Custodiaus is marching on Alzugar. The Sixteenth and Eight legions are already holding the northern forts. The eighty-fifth Auxiliary Custodiaus regiment are also patrolling, and so is the eighth scouting legion. I will take the ninth and march with them to aid Sar Sartem and drive Alzugar’s army north, out of Velmyria and into Lanvari territory.”

  The room sat quiet once again. Even Varserys seemed to be contemplating something. “I…wish you well, Your Grace…” Alric broke the silence.

  Your loyalty honours me, malord, is what Alric thought he saw in the Emperor’s eyes before Varserys cut in, “Are you truly sure about your plan, Your Grace?”

  “I am sure, Lord Varserys.” His Grace’s voice cut through the hall’s silence like a sword through an unarmoured man. “The Lanvari have crippled, raped, and burnt Velmyria for too long. We will take back our lands, and we will retake our place as the Emperors of the World. We will conquer Lasor. We will conquer Lanchsat. We will conquer Fywern. We will conquer Suthgard. Kelset. Welpold. Carrion. Walach. Bronar. We will conquer them all. None will stand against us and survive.”

  The hall erupted in a prideful chant of glory as the senators chucked their fists in the air, and began chanting the old chants of Renval, “Velamyr Imperator.” They chanted the name of the Emperor. The name of the first Emperor, the name of the Triumvirs, the name of the last Consul. The name of the first consul. The name of the last conqueror, the name of the first conqueror. The name of the first king and the name of the last. “Imperator. Imperator. Imperator,” they chanted

  His Grace stood, his arms supporting him as he hunched forward onto the desk. An imposing image as the grand Phoenix wall emblem made him look like a true Imperial Phoenix with his wings spread wide and a crown on his head.

  “We will retake Sylograd. We will rip the crowns off of every pretenders’ heads,” His Grace kept on speaking. “The Empire will rise again. The Phoenix will rise again. Velmyria will rise again.”

  Alric was still contemplating his role. Lord Commander of the retaking of the Army Shore? Alric had commanded a few scouts and maybe a battle or more but not the most ambitious campaign in centuries. Yet the crowds still cheered, all except for Alric and Lord Varserys…and the Emperor-of course.

  Lords help me, Alric whispered to whatever God was listening. But His Grace kept going. He kept firing up the Hall. “We will retake our Empire across the world. We’ll retake our lands in Asorna. We’ll retake Arfone. We’ll take back everything and take over even more. Velmyria will once again rise, reborn like the Phoenix of my sigil.”

  The chanting and cheering went on for about half an hour before Lord Varserys stood, raised his hand and said, “Enough.” The crowd silenced. And a few even sat back down. “While I too take great pride in the fact that His Grace is promising to reclaim the lost lands of Velmyria, the day will not wait for our cheers. The Senate has much to do. And the Lords and Ladies here also have to go and ready your men for His Grace’s war. The subject of this Council was this announcement, and as the subject is already over with, I end this Court for today and order all of you to return to your homes.” Lord Varserys pushed his chair back and walked around the table. “And I call my Senate to clean themselves up and ready themselves for today’s Senatorial Council. All of you are dismissed,” He says and walks out of the Hall.

  His Grace stands, “Council dismissed. I order you all to return home and do as Lord Varserys advised.” and he too leaves.

  The crowd gather their things and all souffle their way out, and Alric is left alone on the High Council table, contemplating. Lord Commander of the campaign for Army Shore? Fucking madness, he thinks to himself…he contemplates on it more as the Lords and Ladies and Senators leave, and a bit too long maybe.

  When he looks back up, no one is there. The hall is empty and all he can hear is the city folk outside the walls, and the yells of produce and fish sellers. Lord Alric stands and makes his way over to Lord Varserys’s personal chamber, and he knocks on the door silently. “You may enter.”

  The inside of the Lord Senator’s chambers were surprisingly small. The most lavish parts were the marble walls, and the red curtains. Yet the room was still large.

  Lord Varserys was sitting at his writing table. A small open bottle of black ink on his right, and a quill in his hand. A small piece of paper was open on his table, a few lines written of what was clearly a letter.

  “What do you want, Lord Alric?” Varserys asked, his eyes still on the letter that is being written.

  “I was here to discuss with you about His Grace’s plans.”

  “What of it?” Varserys inferred, still focused on the paper. “About how it will get our armies in the west crippled?” Varserys finally looked up from his paper. “Or about how he will die if he tries his luck?”

  Alric sighs and reaches for a goblet, but is barred by Varserys. “I let you enter to speak. Not to drink. If you have nothing useful, you can show yourself out.” He moves his gaze back to the paper on his table. He dips his quill in ink and begins writing.

  “I came to speak about His Grace’s plan of sending me as Lord Commander of the Army Shore campaign.” Alric sat down on a wooden chair that was small and huddled against the door. “I do not truly believe I can carry it out properly.”

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  “No, you can’t,” Varserys said. “You are a good Lord, but you cannot carry out a military campaign of that sort. I have tried. It did not work.”

  “I…did not know you led a military campaign."

  “Oh, I did. Years before you were even appointed to the Council, and before Aeryan was even named Emperor Paramount. I led the armies of Lord Dien.”

  “I never knew that. Who did you lose to?”

  “I didn't." The Senator looked back up from his paper, setting the quill inside the ink bottle. “I won thirteen battles in four years. But I couldn’t stand war. I couldn’t stand staying in a pavilion while my men died under my own commands, and I barely tried to even care.”

  “You still do though, right?”

  Lord Varserys let out a deep sigh, and even closed his eyes a bit. “I do…” Varserys licked his lips. “Have you ever seen the casualty numbers of this war?”

  “I remember something mentioned about eighty–thousand lost at the Vornar caves?”

  “No, I mean the entire war.” The Senator’s voice was heavy, words spoken with long pauses in between. “From the first invasion to today. How many men have died as we are speaking?”

  Alric had no answer. Yet he still gave an answer to the Old man. “I don't know. Ten? Twelve million?”

  “Twenty-five million men died altogether. Most of those men weren’t even soldiers. They weren’t even holding a damn sword. Not even a shovel.” Varserys spoke with disgust in his voice. Almost as if he was about to puke over the idea. Or as if he was about to murder the God of War himself over it.

  “That is a sad reality we live in,” Alric sighed, drawing his eyes down towards the table.

  “It’s worse than sad.” The Senator’s voice was barely above a whisper, he sounded like he was getting news of the death of a loved one. “Hundreds of thousands die…because they live under the wrong banner.” Varserys pouted. His whiskers and moustache covered his mouth like fur. “Do you know how many people were murdered in our border towns by their own kin?”

  “I…I certainly don’t. But I can imagine that it is a high amount…”

  “It is said that men lose themselves when they are given a sword and a shield and are told they are allowed to do whatever as long as they don’t betray their Lord.” Varsery’s voice slowed so down that…he took a second between each word. “I could not control them. I did not want to witness women raped infront of their children and dead husbands as their house burnt.”

  The world seemed to crash onto Alric with those words. He had never even really thought of that. Velmyrian troops raping infront of children. Yet it would be logically true.

  Varserys kept speaking. “I was fighting on the border. My men weren’t killing and raping and skinning foreign men. They were their neighbors. Yet none of them cared. I think I was told one man raped his own sister.” He took a moment of silence to reflect. “Never again, I told myself. Never. Again. I gave up my robe. I gave up my titles. And I joined politics.”

  “That’s umm…quite the story.”

  “Yes…I guess it was…” Varserys responded. “I’m sorry that I dragged this on. I get carried away sometimes. What were we speaking of again?”

  “I came to speak about His Grace’s plan to put me in charge of the retake of Army Shore,” Alric quickly replied. Although, he had quite enjoyed the story even if it turned very dark at the end. “And it’s fine that you dragged on…it seemed as if you needed it.”

  “Thanks.” Varserys sighed once again. “I do believe that you can retake Army Shore, only if you play your cards properly.”

  “I came to ask if you could request for the Emperor to…delay the campaign.”

  Varserys drank a sip of red wine from a silver goblet by his side. “And why is that?”

  “I have reason to think that we might need as many loyal troops as possible outside of combat as His Grace goes to war. I also hear that he will be taking a trip to Olar’s wall to inspect it.” Alric had heard a few whispers of it from some Palace workers that His Grace had announced a trip to Vallaros in private. “I believe that King Belas is loyal to his brother-in-law, and more so to his sister…yet I do also believe that there are those there who would gladly poison His Grace if given the right prize.”

  “Of course there are,” Varserys responded in a moment. “Any man with half a grain of sense would gladly poison the man for a Lordship or even the chance of being a Duke.”

  “Would you?”

  “Any man with sense, would. I have lost my senses a long time ago,” Lord Varserys took a large swig from his goblet and set it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “Although, I still would never even begin to contemplate such an action. Dragons will breathe shards of ice before I ever order a man killed again.”

  “That is…reassuring, My lord.” Alric pulls his eyes down, and tries to keep his mind quiet. He thinks about what he wants to say over and over…and finally says it. “You know that I do not have the best relationship with Her Grace.”

  “You called her a Sollerreian bitch the first time Aeryan told of his marriage, the entire realm knows it.” Varserys poured himself some more wine, and grabbed another goblet and gave it to Alric. “What of your hate for her?”

  “I suspect that her Council appointee might be thinking of a coup.”

  “Lady Elanor? Well she does seem like the type of person who would try.” Varserys set his goblet aside and seemed to truly pay attention to the conversation. “What exactly makes you think she’s planning a coup?”

  “All the Lords and Ladies of the High Council are ordered to stay at the capital during winter. She disobeys.”

  “And so did most. There’s seven High Council members who were actually staying here. Only three at most are staying through the whole winter. Even His Highness the Prince is leaving for Ina tomorrow.”

  Alric frowned. “She constantly skips meetings. She constantly undermines His Grace and even disobeys him completely. She is not a good Chancellor. Her reforms are angering the people, she put the Empire a hundred million in debt. She put her brothers as commanders and they lost us many battles. I suspect she's colluding with Alzugar.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “No, not yet.” Alric chugged the goblet of wine. “I am investigating. I have spies around the Empire, in Castle Derry, Lasor, Vastor, Fywern, think of a city and I have some sort of intelligence there.”

  “Isn’t that High Treason?”

  “It is not. Using spies to conspire is, me having spies alone is me having spies.”

  “Of course you found a loophole,” Varserys said with the click of his tongue. “Tell me, what would you do if Lady Elanor found out and ordered you hung?”

  “I will not fall for that, Lord Varserys.”

  Lord Varserys chuckled. “Smart man.” Lord Varserys pushed his chair back and opened one of the red curtains slightly and peered through. He stood up, dusted himself off, and spoke, “My Lord, it is getting late, and I have much work left.” He strode over to the door, and opened it. “I would like to kindly ask you to leave.”

  “Of course, My Lord,” Alric said, standing. “I very much apologise for taking up your day and stopping you from getting your work done,” he said, striding over to the door.

  “No need to apologise, My Lord,” Lord Varserys said with a smile. “I quite enjoyed our talk.”

  Alric stepped out, and Lord Varserys closed the door behind him with a click. Outside, he saw through the windows a black sky. Stars shining in the air, and the moon a bright silver orb in the sky.

  The Senate Hall was quiet. It must’ve been at least two hours past sunset, and the city was quiet. In the distance, up Imperial Hill, the Imperial palace hummed with the glow of lanterns, and the Royals dining.

  Alric walked, not uphill, but down. He made his way down the winding steps, and down and down and down. The road was winding, made of dirt and led all the way to Castle Baelor. Where he took a mount, and began a ride down to the city.