Plight of an Empire

Chapter Thirty Three- part 2: Audriel

“In last week there have been five murders, seven rapes, at least a dozen burglaries, and two missing children,” said the captain of the guard, Sir Raymen Nalor.  His cloak of chainmail rattled with every movement.  It grated Audriel’s ears dreadfully, but she gave nothing away.

“We cannot continue to support all these people, Your Grace,” said Owyn Parrett.  “There are too many mouths and not enough food.  Riots will begin soon if the price of bread continues to rise.”

“Riots have already begun,” said the captain.  “I lost one of my men to a group armed with rocks and pitchforks.”

“What would you have me do?” commanded Audriel.  “Turn my people away at the gates?  Where would they go?  Many are coming here because they’ve no place left to go.”

“We could send them south.  The south is safe from the Behemoths,” said her steward.

She sighed. “But not against highwaymen.  If I were to send them south, many would likely die on the roads, at the hands of the bandits or in the claws of starvation.”

“Could we not send them to the farms?” asked Lord Thorin Barlett.  “Too many have abandoned their farms, leaving us and many other cities without a steady source of food.  If they continue to stay here, then we will starve.”

“And how do you propose we return them home, my lord?  Would you be willing to assign patrols to guide them back to their farms and stand guard against the bandits that would come for them?”  The Island lord looked away.  “Would any of my lords be willing to do this?”  None stood willing.  “Very well.  My case is at rest.  The people stay here and we will continue to keep our gates open.  But the guard is too few for so many.  I will call upon some of Lord Vangallen’s men to come from beyond the wall to aid the guard.”

“That would be most appreciative, Your Grace,” said Sir Raymen Nalor.  He stood, giving her a bow, before taking his leave of the throne room.

She stroked the cool gold of her medallion, rubbing the wings of the eagle.  She wished she could have been born an eagle.  They ruled the skies with such magnificence and grace, yet they were quick and deadly.  They watched over the lands, knowing everything from their high perches.  And they feared nothing.  She had to be an eagle to rule the empire.  She had to fear nothing and see everything.

“Owyn,” she called, “send a message to the man leading Lucien’s men outside the walls.  I want three hundred of his men to come aid the city guard.”

He blinked, shaking his head.  “But Your Grace, that is a third of his men.  Surely they are needed more outside?”

Her temper flared up.  “Did you not just hear what I heard, steward?  Riots and murders and rapes have come to my city.  Tell me, how many murders did we have before the Behemoth invasions, hm?  Perhaps one or two a month, correct?  But now we are facing five a week.  Not to mention the rapes and kidnappings.  Tell me, steward, how many do you think it would take to keep my peace in my own city?”

He remained silent, his neck flushed and his eyes turned down.  She rubbed her temples, but that did little to help the pounding in her head.  On days like these, the words of her uncle swam in her head.  Perhaps finding a husband would be beneficial to her well-being.  The bags under her eyes certainly did not give her comfort.  I’ll be fifty by the time I’m twenty, she thought sourly.

“Who’s next?” she snapped.  “I’m ready to be done.”

“We can send the rest away until the morrow, Your Grace,” said Lord Thorin.

She shook her head.  “No, I will finish today.  Who’s next?”

“A man called Rohar Tarner,” said Owyn.  “He is a refugee from a village outside of Oakenhall.”