Voyages of the Kaliban's Cradle: The Oncoming Storm

CHAPTER ONE: A STATE OF EMERGENCY

A bell tolled over the city of Asenfort, ringing out over the white stone buildings all throughout the city. They stood atop a series of tall cliffs that were only feet away from dropping directly into the ocean below. Darkness encroached upon the city as the sunset, and slowly as the minutes ticked by, torches were lit around the city and the guards changed.

King Davis looked out at the pristine view of the harbour from the Evergrande meeting room on the top floor of the Citadel. From here, he commanded more of a view than anywhere else in the city. Why his father hadn't made this the throne room, he had no idea.

He could see his dozens of guards patrolling the walls, pacing up and down in their assigned areas, waiting for a sign of sails on the horizon, which unfortunately, Davis knew would come. The war in the west wasn't getting any easier to fight, especially not with those bastard pirates out there plaguing his forces to the east.

With a sigh, Davis turned to face the five men seated at the large wooden table. The sunset was still shining in through the windows, bathing the men inside in a golden light. Davis shifted the blue shawl he had wrapped around his shoulders and removed it, throwing it towards the only empty high-back chair that remained on this side of the table. The shawl landed and wrapped itself over the top of the chair before finally settling. Each of the five men in the room had watched his movement, their eyes raised as they waited for Davis' word.

"This won't be enough, gentlemen. This won't nearly be enough," Davis said. He spoke with a soft demeanour, as he glanced at the maps and charts sprawled across the table.

"Peace is our best course of action."

Davis' eyes snapped to the man that had spoken. He sat the furthest away, well out of arm's reach of Davis, as was customary for those new to the Council. Whilst the others sat upright, this man was hunched over, peering at one of the charts nearest to him. He wore a monocle on his right eye as he sneered at the parchment, paying no attention to Davis.

Davis saw this and moved around the table nearer to the scrawny advisor. "Peace? Peace has never been an option. The barbarians from Crotia will never back down. We are a threat to their empire, as much as we are to them! And the pirates are just as relentless."

He should have been surrounded with the best advisors, but the Council was instead made up of men chosen based on their lineage. If this was the best, then Asenfort and the rest Davis' Imperia was doomed.

Another man quickly spoke up, trying to cover the first's mistake. "With all due respect, Your Highness, the pirates are yet to take out any of our major supply ports. They're only preying on lone ships that have no escort. They are not a risk to us the same way that Crotia is. Perhaps we would be better suited to leave them and focus our efforts on the west?"

"Not a risk? Do I need to remind you who killed my fucking father?" Davis asked. He lashed out striking the table with his fist. The sound made every advisor look up from what they were doing as it echoed around the room. "My father thought that it would be wise to leave the pirates to their own devices and look what happened to him!"

"I agree with the King," another advisor said. This man was much older than the rest, with grey hairs flaking in his beard, which he stroked as he glanced slowly around the table between squinted eyes. "Pirates have shown that they need a tight leash at worst, and an executioner's axe at best. Master Demot, do I need to remind you about what has happened to your merchant ships in the last quarter alone?"

The first advisor that had spoken at last looked up from his parchment and shot a glance at the older man. "No sir, I can see it here. But the expenses are frankly not a concern and are what I'd deem as an acceptable loss."