To the North of Overland was the sea, to the South, the entirety of Ferenor. Because of its elevation, one could see the city in its fullness. The Westbottoms to the South, the Noble District to the East, and the Common District in between. Overland was home to the Royal Estate, the residence of the royal family. It was also home to Overland Hall, the meeting place of the High Council met.
The High Council was still comprised of the Wullmont, Tielly, and Izzet houses. But along with them, Vicar Alaine, Captain of the Vanguard Royale and Thomas Siln, Lord of Coin, had joined.
But still, the head of The High Council, was of course, King Wullmont. He ruled over The Realm with the High Council's advice. Governance of Miriela's Kingdoms was further delegated from the High Council to each Kingdom's Head House, ensuring that the former kings still retained a lesser form of rule. The Head Houses were to carry out the will of the High Council, and govern their people under the laws of Kline Wullmont. With the unity of The Realm at hand, the High Council held the fates of Highland, Oaksguard, Kessex, and Cranst alike. But while the Council held great power, they faced an even greater challenge, rebuilding Miriela.
It had been months since Kline had seen the dead Mirielan bodies floating West past his ship. But it was still seared in his mind. He had made the High Council aware as soon as he had returned. And they too now shared in his worry that another Great War was soon to be upon them. And so they planned, day and night, to ready The Realm.
The King had fallen asleep in his study, preparing for his meeting with the Council. The study was hidden in the corner of the King's chambers, an excellent place for solitude. He still had not seen Rebecca since returning from his ride to the Grounds, to behead Kadrin Redford. Queen Wullmont was as a tall and thin brown-haired woman. In her youth, her beauty had caught the attention of a younger Kline. But her beauty had now begun to leave her, and so had Kline's interest.
"Hello Kline," the Queen said with a flat face, as she stood on the chamber's marble stone balcony. A warm breeze swam through the Queen's hair and gently tossed the balcony's awning about. The sounds of servants working below in the garden, rose to reach the chambers along with the chirping of bluebirds. Kline did not respond to the words of his wife. He was in a rush to gather what he needed for the High Council meeting, and his mind was elsewhere.
Rebecca came in off the balcony to join him. "I haven't seen my husband in a day, maybe two, I have lost count. It would be nice to at least be greeted. I've given up on being loved, but being acknowledged still seems a fair request," Rebecca remarked.
The king stopped from shuffling around through his drawers and shelves. He turned to face his wife, her face pure and pale, her hair dark. She was indeed still beautiful, any man could see it, any man but Kline. He saw nothing in her eyes but anger and contempt. The woman he called his wife, he hardly knew.
"Hello, my Queen." Kline took Rebecca's hand into his, and brought it to his lips. His hands swallowed hers as his dry crusting skin caressed Rebecca's smooth palm. "Careful, Kline, or you may give the impression of being a caring husband," Rebecca said.
Kline dropped her hand from his and began to search again. He had, somewhere amongst his things, a scroll. And written on the scroll was a map. Kline had wished to discuss the trade routes of export during his meeting with the High Council.
"What is that you search for, Kline?" Asked Rebecca. "I may have seen it. Though I am seldom in our chambers, seeing that whores commonly accompany you to bed these days," Rebecca jabbed towards the king.
"A scroll. A scroll to bring before the High Council. But it's no business of yours. Don't the children need tending to?" The King responded.
"The children will be fine. The Royal Servants are with them. They can keep them entertained long enough," The Queen said. The awnings still flapped in the warm breeze, as it howled across the balcony.
"They are your children, woman. They need their mother," The King said.
"You're their father, much more so than I am their mother. If it was a mother you wanted, then the whores were an unwise choice," Rebecca said. She never could carry a child. Each time she did, the baby never lived. And so, Kline had turned elsewhere to produce his heirs.
"Careful woman," The King responded. He stopped searching and sternly glared at his wife.
A servant walked by the chambers, the grey, wooden door still opened into the hallway. "Your Grace, My Lady. Is there anything you may need of me?" The servant asked.
"Would you go and help the others with the children? They will need breakfast soon," Rebecca said with an inviting smile.
The Royal Servants were a much more than serfs or slaves. They were free people who simply chose to serve the King. They were an ancient order. It was said the Royal Servants began as a group of assassins, disguised as servants, always near to protect the King and Queen.
Whether or not the story of their origin was true, they had remained loyal to throne for many years. The same family had served the Kings and Queens of Ferenor all along, and they had become an essential part of its rule.
"Very well," The servant said, as she went on her way. Kline felt Rebecca draw her attention back towards him, as he continued to search for his map.
"I've heard word from the servants that the slavers were headed towards the Grounds just a couple of days ago. I take it we need more men, able to produce," The Queen remarked.
"The slavers will bring more men to the Grounds. The more we can produce in Ferenor, the stronger The Realm will be because of it," Kline said as he shuffled through piles of paper and looked over crowded desks.
"Are the Grounds' exports arriving successfully? I've heard Lord Siln suggest they are not. It seems there is little point in increasing what we produce if it is only to be taken by the highwaymen and thieves. Perhaps there is no way to send these exports efficiently to the other Kingdoms. Imagine the army that Ferenor could produce if we were to keep the Grounds' exports for ourselves. The strength of Ferenor should be your first priority, Kline," Rebecca said.
King Wullmont stopped gathering his things and took a step towards his curious wife. Kline's red beard was tangled, and his golden hair hung wildly across his face, as his patience lessened.
"I said, that business is none of your own, Rebecca. I am the King of Miriela, not just Ferenor, and I shall determine how it is best kept safe." He stared at her sternly. Kline slowly moved towards her, like a wolf nearing the kill.
The voices of the servants outside began to lessen, as they finished their work in the garden. The barks of dogs filled the air and the warm winds of the summer produced a gentle breeze.
Rebecca turned to start searching through a pile of scrolls and letters, which sat upon the shelf to her left. Kline watched as she flipped through the unorganized piles of writings and books, and pulled from them, a scroll.
"Here, Your Grace. A map. I this what you are looking for Kline?" Rebecca said. Kline swiftly snatched the map from Rebecca's hands and hid it against his chest.
"This is not for the eyes of a woman, how many times must I tell you? None of these matters are," Kline said.
"Can you not trust the one who has been with you for all these years? The one who is bound to you not only by law, but by the choice of the Gods? Might not a wife wish to know the doings of her husband? While Miriela lies in ruin, you keep me here locked away in an Estate on a hill, like a beast." The Queen began to raise her voice. "There is war at hand Kline! Fifteen years of peace and you have failed to sufficiently prepare The Realm. Esternlund will return to our shores, more powerful than they ever have been, and thirsty for Mirielan blood. They may arrive at Ferenor's walls, and yet we send our supply to the kingdoms who, not long ago, wanted us dead. Can't you see, Kline? The Realm is nothing more than a facade. Keep your eyes focused on your people, on your own kingdom, on Ferenor." Rebecca's words were stopped as Kline pressed his hands around her neck.
Rebecca's face turned white, and her eyes began to fade. Kline's strength was great, and her neck so frail. Kline could no longer stand the criticism of a woman, let alone that of his wife. She had no right in telling a King of Miriela that The Realm was not his own. Kline had fought for what he had, and it was his to rule, his to protect.
Kline lifted the Queen from the floor. Her feet dangled in the air and her body shook, in a desperate cry for release from Kline's grip. He thought of only pressing tighter. Rebecca was no mother, she was no wife, and she certainly was no Queen.
"Enough woman. This business does not concern you, nor shall it ever. I am the King of Miriela, king over all five of its cities. And I will do what is needed to keep them all," Kline shouted.
Finally, he released his grip, and tossed Rebecca to the floor, where she lay distraught, tears streaming down her face, as she gasped for air. The birds had stopped chirping and the breeze had paused, as life slowly returned to Rebecca's desperate lungs.
Kline watched as her eyes overfilled with tears and he stumbled, unable to get to her feet. From her knees she reached out her thin pale arms to the sky. Kline grasped them, and helped her to her feet.
Slowly, she regained strength, and her breathing resumed. Spit and mucus poured from her mouth and seeped out of her nose. Tears continued to flood from her eyes. Kline had hit her before, but he had never seen her like this. She finally made it to her feet and with each breath she took, Kline could see hatred fill her heart. The love they may have once had was certainly gone now. All that remained was a growing hatred.
"How could a man so incompetent, incapable, and cowardly ever unite the five Kingdoms?" Rebecca said to herself. Kline smiled. Even near death, his wife still fought, and he did respect that about her, if nothing else.
"Frisa! Frisii!" Rebecca cried out for one of the servants.
"Oh, my Queen. Come, come," Frisa said as she held the tearful Queen in her arms, her head resting against her breast. She walked Rebecca out of the room, to care for her elsewhere.
But Kline cared little. Rebecca's wellbeing was of little concern. Their marriage was nothing more than a symbol, a demonstration of false unity.
King Wullmont took the map and left the Estate, for he was needed at Overland Hall. The High Council was soon due to convene. A dirt trail lead from the Estate further up the hill and to the Hall, which was buried within the dense Overland Woods.
As Kline walked the trail, Rebecca's words lingered on his mind. Ferenor was not his only responsibility. His throne held power, and to keep it, he would need to defend more than a single city.
The King's mind was always at work when he walked through the Overland Woods. His journey to the Hall provided time for his thoughts to carry. The Hall sat on the highest point of the hill, though it was truly more like a mountain. Other than the Valendale Mountains, no ground sat higher in all of Miriela.
To the North of Overland Hill, were the dark blue waters of Skull Bay, a gulf which spanned from the Midsea to the Farsea. The waters crashed against the shores of The Unknown North, a land surrounded by an impassable mountain pass.
Many men had sailed ships there, with the hope of exploring the lands of the Unknown North. Yet, only one had ever done so and lived to tell of what he saw, Rin the Explorer. But his claims soon became wife's tales and the words of drunkard men in taverns. The stories of the Unknown North became legend, the tales of Miriela.
But Kline's mind was far from thoughts of the Unknown North. There was plenty to occupy him in Miriela. His mind continued to race as he walked. The sounds of the woods joined him and pulled at his mind, trying to distract it from thought.
But it seemed that nothing could remove worry from the King's mind. The stress of responsibility weighed upon Kline and had begun to age him. His thoughts were with Esternlund, as usual.
Esternlund was the largest country that man had ever known. They had conquered all lands to the East, and word of their lust for conquer had traveled across the Midsea before them. All of Miriela heard the shrilling tales of the marauders across the Midsea. And now they were to return.
He approached the hall from the west, as he ascended the hill to its highest point. With each step, King Wullmont's boots became heavier, and thickened with mud. It often rained upon the Overland Hill, and the night before had been no exception. The splashing of the wet soil stained the fringes of his white and yellow cloak. The sigil of the serpent was sewed upon its breast.
Kline continued onward, up the hillside and towards the Hall, to the grand entrance. As he entered to greet the High Council, familiar sounds of argument awaited him.
"We must send the majority of our export to the coast! Oaksguard and Cranst sit a mere voyage across the Midsea from Esternlund. Abren Oldain is sure to strike again, and when he does his boats will smash against our Eastern shores. If we cannot defend our border, then what chance to we have?" Said Lord Mardwin Tielly. He was the younger brother of Aaron Tielly, who had fallen to sickness just years after The Great War. Mardwin was a thin man, his thinness made more apparent by his height. But his roaring opinions made him seem stronger than he truly was.
His face was stretched out, and his nose was large. His cheekbones were sharp and angled in towards his nose. He was much less patient than his brother, and seemed unable to advise Kline like Aaron could. But even as opinionated as he seemed to be, Lord Tielly was an intelligent man, and his words were important to the High Council's success.
"My reports, Lord Tielly, suggest that Oaksguard is in political unrest. Lord Gessel has sent a raven to report of some woman, a peasant of Oaksguard. A rumor has spread through the city that she plans to lead a revolutionary effort against the kingdom. Conspiring against Oaksgaurd is conspiring against The Realm. Now tell me, why should our exports further aid a city whose people pose such a threat to our livelihood? Should not Lord Gessel be held accountable for the civil rest within his own walls? What we shall export is not weaponry, or food, but order. We should send a fraction of the Vanguard to suppress this movement. Kill the revolutionaries in the streets, hang them. Show them the consequences of revolting against The Realm," Sidia Izzet was a stern woman who, like her late father Jallen, believed that force and fear were great tools to be used in ruling successfully.
Jallen Izzet had also died in sickness, only months after Aaron Tielly, Kline's greatest friend. Madam Izzet understood the threat at hand, and the thought of the High Council losing its power truly frightened her. Although, one could never see fear in her eyes, yet one could never see any emotion at all.
She was the only woman to have ever joined the High Council. Her father left no heir, and before anyone could tell her no, Sidia began to assume all of her father's former position, the Council included. Kline had lover her father, so he made an exception and allowed the woman to sit with the council. But Sidia was different. Kline found that she was much like her father, an excellent advisor.
Kline continued to wait near the door, as he listened and watched, still unnoticed.
"The Vanguard must establish an order amongst The Realm. But that order won't be established through shedding blood in the streets. That will only further feed the desire for revolution. We must enforce the law, the delegation of power from the High Council, down through the Head House of Oaksguard. Along with the rest of The Realm, this is how we suppress revolution. Indeed, Lord Gessel should be held responsible for keeping his people at bay. But the Vanguard belongs in Ferenor, it is here where our forces must remain, to protect our own people, not some foreign kingdom." Vicar Alaine spoke his opinion in a noble tone.
Vicar Alain was the son of Eadwig Alain, an old man who was soon to succumb to the clutches of death. Vicar was younger than the King, just past his thirty fifth name day, and he had taken over as the head of the Vanguard just after the Great War. It was around that time when his father's mind began to turn, and his madness began. Eadwig Alain was no longer suited for battle. He couldn't seem to remember anything, not even the face of his own son.
Vicar's opinion was respected greatly, almost as much as the King's. He had fought alongside his father against most other kingdoms in The Realm, before unity was established. Even as a young boy, only eleven years of age, Vicar fought in battle. It was the Vanguard Royale that fought with Kline at the Balen Hall, and everyone of Ferenor's battles before it. They were an elite faction of Ferenor's army, the most skilled warriors.
Kline knew that Sir Vicar would give his life to protect Ferenor, it was everything to him. But he never seemed in favor of The Realm. His trust of the other kingdoms of Miriela was little, they had been his enemies for most of his life. He had slaughtered those men on the field of battle, fighting for lands in the Valendale, the unclaimed lands in the heart of Miriela. He watched as men of Oaksguard, and Cranst, Kessex, and Highland, ran swords through his men. Kline knew that for Vicar, the kingdoms of Miriela would always be nothing more than enemies.
"Exportation of goods to Highland, Kessex, Cranst and Oaksguard must not be suppressed. How long will it take, Lord Tielly, before civil unrest arises in every kingdom if we do not supply them basic needs? If we leave them unprepared and defenseless, why would the people still remain loyal to King Wullmont? We can deal with the peasant woman and her revolution. Send the Vanguard to end the matter, but continue the export to Oaksguard. Send food and weapons. This will show the people that Ferenor cares for them and we are to stand with them against the East," Lord Siln said.
Lord Tielly's face tightened and his teeth clenched as he heard the words of Thomas Siln combat his own. He stood from his chair and flailed his hands through the air as his large nose filled red with anger.
"The Grounds don't produce enough to fully supply each Kingdom of Miriela. Better to have three Kingdoms actually prepared for war, than five who won't survive a single battle," Lord Tielly replied.
"I believe we can afford increasing the quotas," Said Lord Siln.
"Increase quota in the camps? How many men must die at the hand of your labor, Thomas? How many men will die in the heat as they forge weaponry, work in the fields, or prepare armor for battle? The quotas are already too high as we speak," Lord Tielly shouted.
"This is war we are discussing, Mardwin. Death is inevitable. Men will die, soldiers and slaves alike," Lord Siln responded as he too stood from his chair.
Kline finally stepped forward to break the tension. He emerged out of the shadows from which he had listened. Shadows from the fire which warmed Overland Hall flickered and danced across his face. Those who had not yet stood, did so with haste.
"The Revolution will be suppressed. Through bloodshed, authority, and law alike. Unity of The Realm must be kept at any cost," The King said. The crackling of the fire popped, but the fiery tempers of the Lords cooled, in respect for their King.
"Sit, please. We have much to discuss." The King made his way to the table and sat in his chair, placed at the head of the table. The others sat as well and the discussion resumed.
"Madam Izzet, please present to the council your information regarding this woman from Oaksguard," Kline demanded as he sat in his chair.
"I have sent spies to each Kingdom of The Realm, each in search for potential start of a revolution. My spies in Oaksguard have found the start of one. They send word of a woman by the name of Alina Morione. She is a peasant woman who runs an alehouse. She has started a revolutionary effort to overthrown political rule in Oaksguard. Her men have been attacking our caravans which travel from Cranst North to Oaksguard. They have been taking much of the weapons and gold that we send. The spies say, they take it in an attempt to arm soldiers of their own, a revolutionary army of peasants. They estimate that she has accumulated a wealth comparable to that of the nobles," Madam Izzet said.
Kline didn't need to hear of the woman, but the others did. He had heard word of Alina Morione before. Madam Izzet had told him all about her. She explained that although a peasant, Alina Morione had confiscated loads of gold, resources, and weaponry. With her wealth came power, and she used it to amount a loyal following, whose roots run deep into the society of Oaksguard. Those roots spread deeper each day, and some speculated they had reached the Royal Keep of Oaksguard.
"Why haven't you called these spies to come before the High Council? I'm sure having them here to testify themselves would have been helpful," Mardwin Tielly cut in, impatient with Madam Izzet's winded speaking.
"My men? They lived long enough to relay this information by raven. A raven's flight is a few week's journey from Oaksguard. Those men died hours after the raven left them, I'm sure. Alina Morione knows everything that is happening in that city. It wouldn't have taken her long to figure out who my men truly were. I don't expect that they will ever be returning, but they knew the risk. Are my own words not sufficient enough for you Lord Tielly?" Madam Izzet spoke as she glared at Lord Tielly, who sat to her right. The air in the hall was thick with the heat of a fire and the violent exchange of opinion.
"Then this tree must be cut at the base while it is still vulnerable. Head house of Oaksguard, Lord Gessel, send him word, we are sending a fraction of the Vanguard. Sir Vicar will ride with them to the East. Kill this woman, and regain control of Oaksguard's export and import. We must see that Oaksguard is governed by one who is capable of the task. After the city is regained, Lord Gessel will be relieved of his duty, and Sir Vicar will appoint one of his generals as Lord of Oaksguard," King Wullmont declared in disappointment. The king feared that his troubles were not only with Esternlund and the warring ways of Miriela would return between its own kingdoms, as it had been for years before. "We cannot tolerate revolution. And we will make an example of this Oaksguard woman, for all of The Realm to see."
"I will begin to ready the men tonight, Your Grace." Vicar Alaine stood from his chair, bowed before the King and exited the High Council meeting.
"I can speak with the Overseers of the Grounds, we will hold all export to Oaksguard, until Morione has been dealt with. If the Vanguard cannot reclaim these losses, Your Grace, we may need to barter with this Morione woman. There's no telling what she's done with the resources she's taken," Lord Siln said.
Each trade route, each caravan, every stick, stone, arrow, and sword moved from Ferenor to Highland, Highland to Cranst, it all was monitored by Thomas Siln. Kline trusted his discretion and valued his opinions about the export. None knew it better than he did. But negotiating with a treasonous peasant was never an option.
King Wullmont paused, took a deep breath and turned to look at Lord Siln. "We will not negotiate with those who revolt against The Realm, Thomas. My throne shows no mercy for those who deny it. The Vanguard will reclaim our lost export, and drag Morione through the streets of every Mirielan kingdom. If we kill her, then the revolution ends. Attack the tree at its trunk, and the roots will surely die."