Boons and Curses

Before him lay his doom.

Exasperated, Imperator Valatious collapsed into his chair. Beyond the hide walls of his tent, the evening air hung disquietingly still. He ran his weathered hands through a grease-stained mane of brown hair, uncut since the campaign began.

Valatious drank deeply from a silver flagon as he examined the velum map. Figurines representing the seventh and tenth legions lay toppled, as did the blocks representing the fortresses of Dialian and Karnor. Beside them lay block after block representing the seemingly endless Alliance horde, no more than a day’s march away.

After today’s defeat, the mass of dwarves, goblins, ogres, and all that had united against the empire would stream through the narrow valley beyond his tent. When they came tomorrow, nothing would stop them. His army was broken. He was broken. Valatious had been unable to light a fire for a fortnight after he first watched their dragons broil his men in their armor. An entire world united against him. only the elves refused to join the crusade against the Empire.

It was inevitable. The moment the Imperial pilgrims crossed the river, breaking a pact that had lasted for a millennium, Valatious knew their doom was sealed. Such was the hubris of the senate, those robed men who knew nothing of what lay beyond their borders and only dreamed of expanding them. Still, he did his duty and marched the legions forth. What else was he to do? He knew all too well the ravages of conquest, no matter the justification. His home would burn. His daughter would die a death she did not deserve, or worse. He did his duty as Imperator, and tomorrow, he would ride forth to lay his standard at the feet of their conquerors before returning to the senate to fall upon his sword. There was no escape. Before him lay the only fate worse than his coming death–dishonor, and Valatious’s dishonor would echo through the eras.

He refilled his goblet. His daughter Apolina would be coming to her fifteenth year soon. She was on the precipice of an engagement to the young heir Gaius Augustus. She would have sat by his side in rule, heights Valatious's line could only dreamed of a generation or two ago. Now…

Certainly, they would now live with the shame of his surname, an eternal badge of his own failure, but they would live full lives. They would grant him leave to say goodbye to Julia one last time–there were senators with hearts after all. What started as a marriage of political necessity had blossomed in these last thirteen years, but she would go on. She was strong.

His head grew heavy as the wine fueled his fatigue. Once more, he perused the map before him, seeking in vain another path. His gaze settled on the rendition of Minarath, the pumping heart of their great empire. Valatious was, first and foremost, a servant of the senate. When he mounted his horse at the legions’ head and marched through the Gates of Glory, the Imperator let himself believe, just for a moment, that he would return beneath them in triumph. Immortality would have been his. Instead, he would enter through the Slaves' Gate robed in the shame of his mother, of his father, of all those who bore his surname before. With his sacrifice, his dishonor, Minarath would carry on, but oh, how he wished he would have walked beneath those Gates of Glory.

A breeze blew across his feet.

“You look pathetic…for an Imperator.”

By instinct, Valatious’s hand went to his sword hilt. How could anyone have gotten passed his guards? The legions may be beaten down, but were they so broken as to let an assassin enter without challenge?

The figure dropped his emerald hood, and Valatious removed his hand. There was no sense in the struggle. If the figure before him wanted Valatious dead, he would be already.

“Pleasure Imperator,” Alithorian said, seating himself across from Valatious. His silver hair cascaded down his shoulders, and his high and pallid cheeks lifted a smile that would have frozen a rabid bear. Alithorian smiled, running his tongue across pristine white teeth. “I’m sorry for your men, quite the battering they took today…but what could one expect against such an enemy? Ah, but where are my manners? I see now you seethe. You mortals have such strange customs about manners and formality. When you don’t have to dwell on the fleeting nature of your lives, such things take on much less import.” Without a word from Valatious, Alithorian poured himself a flagon.

“Did you come only to mock me? For a steward of the Woods, you seem to have a taste for playing with your prey,” Valatious said. The sneer that crossed Alithorian’s face turned the Imperator’s blood cold. He yearned to draw his sword. The elf was legendary, but Valatious would only need to survive a short while before his guards came. Valatious’s hand was still on his hilt. Even if he fell, well, death by crossing blades with the Black Prince of the Elves would be preferred than what awaited him back in Minarath.

He paused. His hand stayed. If he struck and failed, there would be no one to deliver the surrender. His men would be massacred if the war continued as it did.

Alithorian finished his goblet and poured another. “Valatious, what pleasure I would have in cutting you down. I would give you three parries at most. Shall we put it to the test?” He smiled, and the reflection of the flames danced dangerously in the amber of the elf’s eyes. Rage gave way to curiosity.

“What is it you want, I’m tired,” Valatious said. It was no lie.

“Your surrender is to be declined.”

The words hit Valatious like a Warhammer. A monster, a savage, ruthless, carnivorous…all ways Valatious would describe the creature before him, but dishonest would never join that list.

Alithorian continued, “Yes, they will accept you, give you all the formalities your kind demands, but when the time comes, the assault will renew. You and your men are to be slaughtered. Minarath will burn under the breath of their dragons. Have you ever seen a pack of ogres unleashed amongst the innocent?” Alithorian gazed off into the distance as his voice trailed off, smiling as his imagination ran as wild as the pack of ogres.

“They would never…the dishonor would be too great.”

“Would it be? I wonder. What is a greater dishonor, breaking an oath to gain victory, or breaking an oath for a few zealots to carry a golden bull over a river? I’ll let you dwell on that as you grow old and gray, for I come with my own offer,” Alithorian drank as if he had made a comment on the weather.

Valatious liked his current position even less than the one on the velum map before him. If the elf was correct, a position Valatious was inclined to strongly believe, he did not even have the option to spare his men. His eyes flashed across the map. Their camp sat on a low hill overlooking the main crossing of the Haladash river with thick woods to either side. If he fortified the crossing, he may be able to hold, and allow the greater part of his remaining men to escape into the woods. Some may make it back. He would not be one of them.

The plan vanished from his mind as quickly as it came. There was no way expending their lives would buy the others enough time to reach Minarath. Even if they did, the city would burn. He imagined the waves of ogres overrunning the great double walls and ravaging a hopeless crowd, all of which seemed to bear the face of Apolina. How long then before their home, far on the southern coast, came under siege? No, his family would not be spared.

The look on his face must have betrayed his defeat because Alithorian continued, “My army happens to be encamped nearby. Fifty thousand of the greatest warriors in the world. Blades sharp and armor strong. Draw up your position on this side of the river, and once the battle is joined, perhaps I could be…persuaded to sally forth. My sword yearns to taste some dragon blood,” he licked his lips again, and Valatious fought to shudder against the elf’s perversions.

The Imperator’s senses settled as his apprehensions abated in the wake of the offer’s generosity. “And where would your strike fall?” Valatious asked, curious.

“Now, now, don’t be a glutton. I won’t so easily give up my position. But suffice to know I will strike north of the river. If your men hold the crossing, the day will be ours.”

“Ours?”

“Of course, I am not so low a creature to claim all the glory. This…horde before us is a dreadful thing. It behooves me to thin its ranks. Sure, now they are united against you, but once Minarath burns, they will not sheath their swords. I’ve seen enough of war to know this true.”

Valatious’s heart quickened. His escape was coming together. The numbers were still against them true, and the battle would be bloody, but they could hold. He knew Alithorian’s skills; the elf had never lost a battle after all. Combined, even if they could not gain total victory, the Alliance would be battered. In the face of such casualties, they would have to withdraw. If they withdrew, he knew the chances of them returning in force would be slim. Groups would splinter off, old rivalries and grievances would come to the fore, acquisitions of blame for the crusade's temporary failure would fuel infighting, and in that time, the Empire could muster its strength.

“You have a deal. I will prepare our defenses,” Valatious said, extending his hand.

Alithorian smiled his cold, dangerous smile, and Valatious's hand shook. The elf did not take it.

“Calm, my offer is not complete.”

Deep in his heart, Valatious knew the offer was too fortuitous. He lowered his hand and leaned in, “go on then.”

“What I’m offering will make you immortal. You will be the savior of the Empire, triumphs will be held in your name and the day of your birth will forever be one of celebration. Yet immortality can grow so…boring. I require something to stir my soul. Trotting these grounds year after year grows so tedious. I hear your daughter is something precious,” Alithorian spoke nonchalantly, but the words sent ice through Valatious’s veins. He held his demeanor despite all of his muscles straining to damn his sword and throw himself across the table at the elf. Alithorian continued, “She’ll keep us tied together long enough for this alliance to falter and give me the entertainment I’ve oh so longed for.”

He drank, and Valatious saw him for the serpent that he was. His fair hair and skin now seemed dark and shadowed, and Alithorian’s eyes were like slits as the wine ran down his cheek, red and luscious. How he wished this night had never transpired. The dishonorable death he had envisioned now seemed the righteous route. Apolina…he would never see her again. Valatious cast off his title and looked at the elf as a father. She would be nothing more than prey to him. He knew it in his heart.

The winds billowed the tent flap, and he caught a glimpse of the camp beyond. The Imperator gritted his teeth. This was the only hope of victory. If they failed, what would happen to those sons and daughters sheltered now behind walls across the empire? Was it righteous of them to bear the cost of his decision? Was it righteous for Apolina?

Alithorian set the goblet down and, smiling, extended his hand.

“Do we have an agreement?”

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A/N:

A bit of a return to the well. If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works: