Dark Crusade - Chapter 1 (Voran)

Voran

         “This is intolerable!” King Voran spluttered. “I did not spend my life conquering this kingdom for it to fall apart a scant year later!” He slouched back on his throne, a huge chair of gold and purple velvet. “Someone explain to me why these lords of mine cannot keep the peace!”
         The small group of men seated at the table before the throne looked nervously at each other, then down at the table. None seemed to have an answer. Of all of them, only a hatchet-faced, grey-haired man seated at the far end of the table from the king would meet his gaze.
         “It’s a simple answer, Your Majesty,” he said. “This land has known nothing but war for hundreds of years. The men don’t know anything else. They’re useless in the fields, and the only trade they know is the sword.” His voice was unpleasant, slightly nasal and ingratiating.
         Voran glared at the Grand Priest of Yanus. “Do you have a solution, Your Grace,” he demanded through clenched teeth. “Or do you simply wish to grind my face in the length of time it’s taken to bring peace to this kingdom?”
         “I’ve already taken as any men into the Church Swords as I may, under the terms of our agreement with the crown.” He shook his head. “But even they have nothing to occupy themselves but training. We’ve already converted every soul on this continent. The men are bored, Voran. When there is nothing to keep them occupied, they will raid their neighbors.” He shrugged. “Either you must provide them with someone new to conquer, or teach them all a trade.”
         “Teach every man a trade? Are you mad? The treasury can’t bear that kind of expense!” The king slouched back in his throne a moment, then sat up and rubbed his chin. “Someone new to conquer, eh?” he mused. What about that continent to the southeast? Venmar, is it? No matter. Someone tell me more about this continent, could we conquer it?”
         The doors to the room burst open and Voran looked up to see his son, Prince Lucas stride through, still in full armor, though he carried his helm.
“My apologies, father,” he called as he made his way to the table. “I was detained at Wildwood. Lord Venner insisted on granting those ruffians a trial before I sent their heads back to Lord Ravin. He seated himself at the table and looked up at his father. “What were we discussing?”
         “We were discussing the rash of feuds that has broken out between the Lords of the realm, my prince.” The Grand Priest answered. “Your father has speculated that perhaps conquering the continent of Venmar might give the lords something better to do than fight amongst themselves.”
         “Venmar? Why on Yanus’ earth would we want that?” Lucas demanded.
         “If you’d paid heed to any of those tutors I sent across the world for, you might know,” Voran grunted.
         “It’s the continent to the southeast, my prince,” The grand priest interjected. “There used to be quite a history of raiding between our kingdom and theirs. It is the reason that King Breton built the wall and Greenwatch.
         “Oh yes, now I recall. Bunch of desert-roaming buggers, isn’t it? Busy carrying off our women and children and such? Again, why should we want such a place? Is you thirst for empire that great, father?” He looked mockingly at his sire, who glared back at him, but didn’t reply.
         “There is a vast desert, my prince, but beyond it, the land is quite lush, I’m told. Those pincer crabs that your dear mother loves so much come from there. At any rate, the influence of the church is weak, almost non-existent there. There are a few who follow Him, but most of the people hold to the Old Way.”
         Voran considered trying to take control of the meeting back from that damnable priest, but decided against it. The old fool was working up to something, better to let him get it out in the open now. He took a drink from the horn at his elbow and continued to glare at his council.
         “The Old Way?” Lord Pyce, the Lord of the Exchequer leaned forward as he spoke, looking down the table at the Grand Priest. His score of chins jiggled as his moved, and his fingers, fatter than sausages, were restless, drumming on the table.
         “Yes, the Old way, my Lord. It’s all about worshipping trees, and reincarnation, with not a hint of morals to be found.” He looked slyly at the Lords seated at the table. “Did you know that even their highborn women don’t save themselves for marriage?”
         There was a collective gasp of shock from the assembled Lords.
         The Grand Priest nodded his head. “It’s true, it’s true,” he said. “They lie with anyone they like. Some even continue to do it after they’re wed. And that’s not even the worst of it. The men down there lie with men, and the women with other women!”
         “Monstrous!” Lord Pyce exclaimed.
         Voran looked hard at the Grand Priest. He knew manipulation when he saw it, and the wizened speaker for Yanus was manipulating for all he was worth. Voran hoped one of the Lords seated at the table would lop his head off in a moment of anger at the source of these rumors.
         “I find myself undisturbed about what they do in bed in Venmar, Your Grace,” Voran said bluntly. “I want to conquer it, not buy it. You seem to know more about this continent than anyone else here, tell me about its king. Tell me of its army. Tell me about something of value besides crabs.”
         “Well, Your Majesty,” the Grand Priest said, clearing his throat nervously. “That hasn’t really been my area of study. I’m a priest, not a merchant. However, I have had several agents in place observing the kingdom, and I will instruct them to tell us more about the nobility of the kingdom.”
         “I’ve heard all I can take, Your Majesty.” Lord Pyce said, rising to his feet. “The state of the kingdom or what it produces aside, it is clear to me that these people must be taken under the guidance and protection of this kingdom and the Church of Yanus!”
         Heads nodded all around the table.
         You pious ass. Voran thought. Religion will be the end of us all.
         “Very well,” King Voran got to his feet. “My Lords, return to your holdfasts, and rally your men. The Grand Priest here will be leading a Holy Crusade to Venmar. He will provide you with details of where to muster, and transportation and such.”
         The Grand Priest blanched. “I will?”
         “Yes, Your Grace. Clearly, the religious issues have overshadowed everything else about this continent. So this must be a Holy Crusade, not simply a conquest. Lord Pyce is correct; it is our solemn duty as sons of Yanus to show those poor buggers the way. Therefore, you will have the command, and although the resources of the kingdom are at your disposal, you’ll need to get the men there somehow. They won’t sail across the world for nothing, you know.” He smiled smugly at the older man.
         The Grand Priest glared at Voran. “My Lords, would you excuse me so that I might work out an arrangement with the King on how best to accomplish this campaign? I’ll contact you through your Mavens when we’ve got it all straight.” It was clearly not a request and everyone but Prince Lucas filed out of the room.
         “You can’t seriously mean to make the Church pay for this war, Voran. These are your subjects, why must I pay them to fight?”
         “You were the one that so expertly stirred up my council with your hints about Venmar’s sexual morality.” He pointed towards the doors that the Lords had exited through. “Half of them now want to go down there and get some lusty young wench in their bedroll. The other half is truly incensed at it, and will want to exterminate the population. They’ll do some of your work for you.
         “Not everyone fights for money, Your Grace, some will go for religious reasons, some to tumble the young daughter, hell, some would go for the young son of a southern Lord. The rest you’ll have to pay with something.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “You orchestrated this, now it’s your problem.”
         “The church does not have that kind of gold, Voran.” The Grand Priest stated emphatically.
         Voran waved the issue away. “So don’t give them gold, tell them that Yanus will forgive their sins in exchange for the souls of Venmar. Make something up. You’re a priest, lying should be second nature to you.”
         The Grand Priest glared at him. “You would have me alter the sacred doctrines of Yanus, teachings that we have held since time immemorial, simply to persuade these men to fight your war?”
         “My war?” Voran said, his eyebrows rising sharply. “You manipulated this entire council into declaring war on Venmar. You must have some reason for it, Your Grace.”
         “It is my duty to see all men prepared for their meeting with Yanus! The old man shot back. “I need no other reason!”
         “Either you will lead this Crusade, or you will explain to my council of Lords that it’s not really necessary to conquer Venmar.” Voran said, glaring down at the cleric.
“What did you mean when you said that the resources of the kingdom were at my disposal?”
         “Ships, Your Grace. The Crown owns a great many ships, and I would be only too willing to loan them to you to transport your men to Venmar.” He resumed his seat and leaned back against his padded throne.
         The Grand Priest had risen to his feet and was now pacing the room before the throne. “I’ve no idea how to conduct a military campaign, Voran.” He threw up his hands. “Where do I even start?”
         “I’ll assign you some military advisors, Your Grace.” He turned to his son. “Lucas, you’ll advise the Grand Priest as to how to conduct an extended military campaign.”
         Lucas blinked, the amusement that had been growing on his face suddenly gone. “I will? But father, my duties here-“
         “Will be assigned to your brother. Most of this raiding will end with the soldiers abroad anyway. As the Royal Marshal, you’ll be his grace’s right arm. See that he gets all the help he needs.” He stood, slapping the arms of his throne as he rose. “Now, I believe you two have some details to cover before your Great Crusade begins, so I’ll leave you in peace.”
         The closeness of his private audience chamber was a welcome relief after the echoing vastness of the throne room. It was here that he saw his councilors privately, and did the actually grit of ruling the kingdom.
         A large window overlooked the main road of the city. Farmers with ox-drawn carts trundled their way down the road, heading for the market square. Dimly, voices could be heard from the square, vendors hawking their wares to the citizens of the city.
         Voran stood and watched the tide of people, up and down the street. A never ending flow. In a small, quiet corner of his mind, one he did his best to ignore, he felt a moment of regret for the cities like this in Venmar that he would soon be sending soldiers into. So many lives would be changed forever. Families would be torn apart, children orphaned, and if the Grand Priest had his way, gods would be abandoned.
         He’d never really taken his religion seriously. On high ceremonial days he wore his robe of un-dyed roughspun with the rest of the city, and mouthed along with the singing, but he didn’t truly believe in his heart. Gods were all well and good, but they never seemed to do much of anything. And something that didn’t do anything wasn’t worth having anyway.
         He shook off his musing and firmly told his conscience to be silent. He would bring peace to his kingdom, whatever the cost. He seated himself at his worktable. Drafts of laws and other miscellaneous papers covered the surface, and he shuffled through them for a moment.
         “Steward!” he shouted.
         A portly, balding man dressed in the royal livery entered and bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
         “Bring me Sir Adam.”
         “At once, Sire.” He bowed again and left.
         Voran was looking over a draft of a new tax proposed on the sale of cloth, and fighting to keep his mind from wandering when a knock came at the door. “Enter,” he called, laying the paper down.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             
         Sir Adam Whitby entered the room and came to a position of attention before the king. He was an ugly man, totally unsuited for life at court. A large mole decorated his left cheek, and there always seemed to be a new hair growing from it, or at least it seemed that way to Voran.
         “Sir, Adam, The Grand Priest is preparing for an extended crusade to conquer Venmar. I shall require two things of you. First, any men of the city guard who wish to go should be released from duty. Make certain they know that they are forfeiting their place with the guard. I’ll not have them clamoring about lost jobs when they return.”
         “Of course, Sire. I assume that we will be recruiting fresh men to replace those who leave?”
         “Correct, sir. Secondly, I wanted to request that you go to Venmar.”
         The big knight frowned. “I have no desire to see Venmar, Sire.”
         Voran nodded and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. “I do not doubt it, Sir Adam, but I feel that your expertise as a commander will be invaluable.” He sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair. “The Grand Priest is in command, with my son advising him. I believe that you will be able to prevent some of Lucas’ more savage atrocities.
         Sir Adam nodded, still frowning. “I understand Sire, and of course if you order it, I will go. What will become of me when I return? You will have to name a new Guard Commander in my absence.”
         “If you return alive from Venmar, you’ll not have to worry about working again, Sir Adam,” Voran said. “I will provide you with men and gold sufficient to build you a keep, and lands to build on. I will also raise you to a Lord, should the conquest of Venmar be to my liking.”
         “You are most generous, Sire,” Sir Adam said, nodding to himself.  “I will do as you ask.”
         “Make no mistake, Sir, the Grand Priest and Royal Marshal are responsible for this crusade, but I am pinning my hopes upon you. Temper Lucas’s brutality. Ethann will never be strong enough to bring a conquered kingdom to heel. Lucas will inherit Venmar, but if he slaughters women and children as he has done here, he will never hold the kingdom.”
         “I will do my best, Sire.” Sir Adam bowed, then exited to make his announcements to the men of the city guard.
         “I only hope that your best is enough,” Voran said to himself after the knight was gone.