King Ra’Gren sat upon his throne seething. His bulking muscles clenched, unclenched and then clenched again. His normally almond-skinned face was a deep crimson and his thick white brows were split by a throbbing vein on his forehead. His hair and goatee beard were long, wavy, and white as snow. The golden spiked crown atop his head was heavy with gemstones. Diamonds, rubies, and sapphires all sparkled with the light of the dozen torches that lined each long wall of his crudely opulent, high-ceilinged throne room. Like the crown, the throne was made of solid gold, but it was hard to see. It was draped with the furs of several different wildcats. Black and red striped tigren fur, and the bright yellow spotted hide of a rare marshland saber cat, was prominently visible underneath the well-built king.
To any of the few subjects who were standing in his hall, he could’ve passed for forty years of age, but he was nearer to sixty. A half dozen golden chains hanging around his neck, and the size of the jewels dangling from some of them, kept the eye from noticing the wrinkles on his weathered face. He wore a white, sleeveless shin-length robe fastened at the waist with a golden chain, and leather sandals that laced up to some point higher than the hem of his robe. In his clenched right hand he held an ancient iron trident, oiled and black; it was the only thing near the man that didn’t appear to be worth its weight in wealth. Being that it was the generational symbol of his house, it was probably worth more than all of the precious jewelry he wore combined. The rumor mongers said that at least a hundred men had felt its three not-so-sharp tines inside their bodies since Ra’Gren ascended the throne. Ra’Gren knew the truth: ten times that many had died by his trident in private.
Before him lay an old wooden chest. It was a gift from King Jarrek, the third of its kind to arrive in a handful of days. Inside the chest were the heads of three of Ra’Gren’s overlords, bringing the total to seven. The message that came with the chest was the same as the others: ‘Release all the citizens of Wildermont from their bonds of slavery or heads are going to fall.’
The group of six concerned overlords who carried the chest into the room was standing nervously behind it. They were obviously worried that the Red Wolf would come for them next.
“Who were they?” Ra’Gren asked.
“Overlord Ra’Estes of Kahndan, and two of his six underlords, Ta’Ligad and Am’Estal, I believe.” Overlord Ta’Ken bowed, and added a “Your Majesty,” for good measure. “Kahndan is rather close to O’Dakahn Your Highness. Some of us are starting to worry. Already Overlord Pa’Perryn of Oktin, and his brother Pa’Pallyn have been shortened. And as you know, just last week the overlord of Lokahna was killed as well.”
“Do I need you to advise me, Ta’Ken?” King Ra’Gren snapped. “I asked you whose heads are in the box, not for a list of the dead, or where they’re from. The towns these dead men were from all sit along the Kahna River. They all border Valleya. Obviously King Jarrek survived the fall of Wildermont and thinks he can scare us into freeing his people.” Ra’Gren took a deep angry breath.
“Odava will be next, if the pattern holds,” the King growled. “Bring me the witness to this absurdity, the one who was there when these heads came off.”
Ta’Ken motioned at the door. The guarding soldiers opened it and an old crooked-boned man in drooping shackles limped in. He was followed by one of Overlord Ra’Estes’ surviving underlords.
Ta’Ken hadn’t wanted to become the spokesman for his peers, but since his stronghold lay at the northeastern most outskirts of O’Dakahn, the duty had fallen on him. As the slave and the underlord eased by him to stand before the King, Ta’Ken winced at the sight of the slave’s lumpy, misshapen forearm. It looked like the bone was about to burst through his skin. A long ill-sewn cut ran the length of the hump. The underlord kicked the slave behind the leg, causing him to fall to his knees. Then, he too bowed before King Ra’Gren.
“You are?” the King asked the underlord, ignoring the slave completely.
As per custom the underlord resumed standing, but kept his head bowed as he spoke. “Your Highness, I am Underlord Pa’Tally. I was the first to find the bodies of my overlord and the others.”
“When was this?”
“Early yesterday morning, Highness. I rode here as fast as I could.”
“Describe what you found.”
“Kahndan Keep was empty,” Pa’Tally answered. “Fourteen guards were dead, all of them killed by dagger or sword, save for the gateman. He took a crossbow bolt to the neck. Overlord Ra’Estes was sprawled atop his harem bed naked and headless. The others were found in their night clothes in the guest quarters in similar poses.”
Ta’Ken dropped his eyes when the King glanced his way. He was relieved when Ra’Gren continued questioning the underlord.
“What of his possessions?”
“The slaves are all gone, but his horses and sheep are still there. His jewels and other valuables were left in place as well.”
“How many slaves?”
“Seventy-eight women, and sixteen men.”
“For Wildermont!” the witness screamed as he lunged up at the King. In his hand he now held a blood-drenched dagger. Its tip found the skin over Ra’Gren’s heart, but only nicked the flesh before Overlord Ta’Ken saw two of the three tines of the King’s trident burst out of the slave’s back on either side of his spine. The third tine missed the flesh due to the slave’s emaciated condition. The sparsely filled room exploded into an uproar and several soldiers stormed out of the shadows and gained the King’s side.
With a sudden lurch the slave came over backwards as the King kicked the body off of his weapon with a sandaled foot.
“He had the dagger sewn into his skin!” Ta’Ken exclaimed when he saw the gaping slash on the slave’s forearm. Ta’Ken was aghast. He looked at the King with wide eyes and repeated, “It was sewn into his skin.”
“Silence!” Ra’Gren roared. The quiet that followed was absolute until the slave moaned miserably. Ra’Gren stood and strode down the three steps of the throne dais and slammed the butt of his old iron weapon through the slave’s skull with a crunch. Then he turned and threw it as if it were a spear back up toward the throne. It stuck deeply into the soldier nearest the King’s seat, the heavy tines piercing through plate armor as if it were as thin as papyrus.
“Captain Em’Dep is relieved of duty,” Ra’Gren snarled at the second commander of his personal guard. “Em’Tally, you are to take command. If an enemy’s blade ever gets that close to my heart again I will kill you all and sell your children to the fargin skeeks.”
Another silence followed in which two offended zard merchants sitting in the back of the chamber rose and eased toward the door. The only other movement was King Ra’Gren reclaiming his trident and then resuming his position on the throne.
No sooner did he get himself situated than a fierce looking young man stepped up, forcing his way through the shocked group of overlords to take a knee before the King.
“What is it?” the King asked harshly. He had a look on his face that could freeze lava.
Ta’Ken took an unconscious step away from the newcomer, knowing that a single ill-spoken word could end any one of them. To his surprise, the man now rising before the King had a look of disgust on his face.
“I want the honor of bringing you King Jarrek’s head.” The man nearly spat the words. “Pa’Perryn, Ra’Estes, and these…” he gestured at the group of overlords standing behind him like cornered goats in a pen. “…these pitiful men have no spine,” he continued. He flexed his ample arms and chest. “An overlord should be proud and strong. He should be able to defend himself from kingdomless men.”
Ta’Ken managed to look the man in the eyes even though he could feel his cheeks burning. The others were looking elsewhere.
“I have men that are capable, and it would be my honor to remind these overlords of what they seem to have forgotten.”
Ra’Gren didn’t seem very impressed with the young man. “What do you want in return for bringing me Jarrek’s head?”
“Your Highness, three of your river towns are without leadership now. To be called overlord of any of them would please me.” The man looked up at the King with a slightly defiant look on his face. “Though I will gladly bring you Jarrek’s head just to remind these so-called overlords how to be men.”
“You’ve got iron balls, man,” the King said with a dry laugh. “But, if you think my lords are not capable, then take a moment to imagine what kind of price they can afford to put on your head. Though these cowering stalks lack muscle, they fill my coffers with coin. Year in and year out they do. If you think you can do that, then by the gods fetch me Jarrek’s head and take your pick of river holds.” The King eyed the overlords standing behind the braggart. “This one has offended you, no? If Jarrek’s head is not in my lap before long, I assure you that this man’s contempt will be punished publicly. Until that time he is to be given your full cooperation.” Ra’Gren sighed and looked down at the man’s now uncertain expression. “What is your name?”
“Krenson Rhone, Your Highness.” he answered cautiously.
“Jarrek should strike Odava soon. Go there. See if you can’t keep Pa’Stryn’s head attached to his shoulders. You have put yourself in a position that should keep you properly motivated. Either you will succeed and rise, or you’ll fail and die.”
The King pointed at the body on the floor. “Ta’Ken will make sure your group is properly outfitted. Take this wretch with you as you go.”
Dismissing Krenson Rhone as if he were no longer there, King Ra’Gren turned to his overlords. “How many slaves was it?”
“Seventy-eight women and sixteen men,” Overlord Pa’Tally answered with a nervous glance at the body being dragged away from his feet.
The King stared blankly at the crimson smear left on the floor, scratching his beard as he thought about the situation. After few moments he sighed again. “Lord Pa’Tally, you are appointed as acting overlord of Kahndan. Do not get comfortable, and try not to lose your head.” Turning away from the men, the King took a goblet from a tray that a trembling slave had been holding throughout the ordeal. After a long sip of wine he asked, “Lord Ta’Ken, what is it you suggest we do about King Jarrek? You all have plenty of coin. Hire someone to hunt him down, or get rid of your slaves if you’re afraid of his wrath. I’ve sent Krenson Rhone to dispatch the nuisance.” Ra’Gren laughed then, his mirth was full of irony. “If you do not think that is enough answer to the problem, then do what you will.”
Later, while Krenson Rhone was riding as swiftly as his horse would carry himto Odava, Lord Ta’Ken was debating with the other overlords, and a few of the more prosperous slave traders, about which mercenary company to hire. The debate ended with them all agreeing to put a bounty on the King of Wildermont. Fifty thousand golden fangs would be paid to who ever brought in Jarrek’s head. It was enough coin to build a castle and retire knowing that for generations your descendants would live well. Ta’Ken imagined that it would only be a matter of days before he could give his king a chest that held a head he wanted to see. He thought the irony of paying for the assassination with Wildermont minted coin was a statement unto itself.
Krenson Rhone, tired and weary from his two day ride, came to the gates of Odava’s keep with high expectations, and even higher hopes. It didn’t seem to bother him that no one asked who he was as he entered. The men there greeted him pleasantly and escorted him to the overlord’s dining hall. It came as a great shock to Krenson that Lord Pa’Stryn’s headless body sat at the head of the table.
King Jarrek promptly stepped out of the darkness with a malicious snarl showing beneath his red-wolf skull helmet. He chuckled just before he hacked off Krenson’s sword hand. After gathering as much information as he could, Jarrek took his head too. He put the body with Pa’Stryn’s men’s corpses in the cellar. By dawn the keep was empty save for the carrion. The hundred and thirty-five slaves that had been held there were escorted into Valleya and freed. Then, Jarrek and a few of his men delivered their fourth chest to King Ra’Gren.
Ta’Ken just happened to be at court the day the fourth chest arrived. He was in the middle of telling the King about his consortium’s generous bounty. Ta’Ken almost laughed when Krenson Rhone’s head was pulled from the chest. His amusement ended when Lord Pa’Stryn’s came out next. In fact, he was appalled. Knowing that his own keep was now the closest to the Valleyan border and the farthest from O’Dakahn, he decided to up the bounty to a hundred thousand golden fangs.
The whole situation was getting out of hand. O’Dakahn was the profitable seaport cesspool city it had always been, but the other cities of Dakahn were getting edgy. The good folk, the merchants and crafters, the barrel makers and farmers, and especially the river men, were starting to wonder if they were truly protected by the lords they paid their tariffs to. Even the gambling and prostitution rings were losing custom. Ta’Ken had no intentions of losing his slaves to the Red Wolf. He hired a dozen bodyguards and two dozen more men to fortify his keep. Then he left O’Dakahn to go protect his home.
If Ta’Ken could have seen the look on King Ra’Gren’s face three days later when he pulled the tenth head King Jarrek sent him from the chest, he would have been mortified.
That day Ra’Gren began to fear. Holding Ta’Ken’s severed head in his lap, and hearing the state of disarray his kingdom was descending into, he decided to make a statement that even King Jarrek and his vigilantes could not ignore. It would be a statement that would put an end to all of it.
He summoned the main slave traders in the kingdom to his throne room and personally purchased from them a hundred of the youngest and most innocent Wildermont slaves available. The next day, in the vast trading square near O’Dakahn’s shipping center, King Ra’Gren had his hundred Wildermont innocents form a line. Every day, thousands upon thousands of people gathered there to hawk and trade their wares, but they were all cleared back for the spectacle. One by one Ra’Gren had his new slaves beheaded. After the last terrified little girl’s body collapsed at his blood-spattered feet, Ra’Gren had the hundred heads piled into a wagon and then staked a Wildermont flag in the mound.
“Leave this in the square as a reminder,” he ordered, as he and his retinue rode back toward the castle. “Anyone who tries to move it will join them.”