An Axe in the Flames

Truth and Consequences

Vanni raised a hairless eyebrow, the scars on his forehead wrinkling up, "Lied, my High King?"

Lucan closed his hand, and the flame extinguished, smoke curling between his fingers. "He lied to me, to the Kingdom, and to the men that were my charge. The reason I named this army the Flame Sect was for the fire that was lit inside of me because of him. He lied to his own people about that pagan town. It was witches, the last remnants of the former people of this land. Not just pagan witches either, but witches of the old dark magic."

"But...we knew it was witches. What he denounced was how you slaughtered everyone, down to the children." Vanni replied.

Lucan looked up at him, his eyes glowing a deep red, "He sent me there to kill every last one of them because he didn't want the stain of a rebellion to start his rule. When the people caught wind of what happened, he had to cover his own ass and used me as a scapegoat!"

Vanni lowered his head, "I am sorry, High King. That was a side of the story that I never knew."

Lucan slammed his hand on the wooden platform of the catapult, "He told his people that I was sent there to end the rebellion diplomatically but took things into my own hands and needlessly killed every single person in that town. That is not the truth. He ordered it done; he demanded it of my men and myself. He promised wealth and promotions and told us that we were the ones suited for that work, not his Battle Priests. Those pretentious fucks."

~~~~

King Herrod sat in his solar room, elaborate woodworking carved into scenes of battle, and angels decorated the room. A fireplace in the corner was ablaze, popping and cracking as the logs inside cherried and burned. A massive bed sat in the corner of the room, tall posts reaching the ceiling with a drapery of sheer linen falling in curtains around it. The room was warm, but the King sat at a wooden table, bundled in furs. He studied the map that was laid out across the table, small iron symbols set into the position of the two attacking armies. His aging face looked haggard this morning, hard lines forming into the creases and furrows of his once regal face, thinning gray hair cascading around his shoulders. A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts.

"Yes?" He called out.

"My King, it is Tuskar as you called for." Came the reply back.

"Please, come in, my friend." Herrod's response came out in shaky tones.

The wooden door opened inward as Tuskar walked in wearing his customary black robes of the priesthood. His long black hair was oiled and tied back in anticipation of the coming battle.

"I came as soon as you called. I assume to talk strategy?" Tuskar said, giving a small bow of respect.

Herrod's gray eyes met Tuskar's as he searched for the right words to say, "War is coming, yes, but I called you here for more than that. You are a priest and know the ways of our God. My heart and mind weigh heavy on me this cold winter's morning, and I feel I need a man of Cor to talk with."

Tuskar furrowed his brow in concern, "My King? I don't fully understand what you speak of, but yes, I am here for you as a man of Cor."

Herrod sighed deeply and looked out of his solar room window as the snow came in great silent flakes, blanketing the rolling hill in white and wrapping the tree tops in its frozen embrace. He motioned for Tuskar to sit on a chair in the corner of the room. It was a simple carpenter's chair with no elaborate carvings or linen, and it slightly groaned as Tuskar sat. Herrod turned to him and smiled warmly.