The Volian Conflict Part 1 Chapter 1

The Volian Conflict, Part 1, Chapter 1

Konza Backeeri rose with the sun, as was his custom. His wife lay
slumbering as he stretched his tall, lean body. He was covered in narrow, wiry muscle and a multitude of scars, most of which were remainders from his first ten years of military life, during the War of the Snakes. He sighed and opened his green eyes to peer out the window as he thought back.
He had begun his career as a pikeman. However, in his very first battle, his entire platoon was slaughtered by cavalry and archers. He threw down his broken spear and drew his dagger, and fought his way across the field to a platoon of swordsmen. After the battle, he remained with this infantry division, where he learned to use the sword and shield combination that dominated most combat scenarios. He gathered commendations and battlefield promotions until he was the youngest man in the history of the Volian military to command a platoon. Ten years later he went on to win that war as a general. He then went on to guard the Volian King and Queen, train hundreds of castle-born warriors, and raise four boys to manhood.
His life had been a rather successful campaign, but recent affairs were putting a strain on the man. The recently ascended monarch of the wealthy kingdom was a violent, drunken fool. King Torgul, the man was called. Backeeri sighed again as his thoughts turned to his nation’s leader. Torgul was rotund and hairy, and always stank of wine. The wine had aged the man, so his face was wrinkled and his beard had grey streaks in it, making him appear ten to twenty years older than he was. His long hair was still jet black, however.
It was true that Vol was a kingdom rich in coal and iron, and as such had trade agreements with all of their neighbors. Unfortunately, Torgul was holding court when he decreed that all of their neighbors must pay him a yearly tribute just to keep these trade agreements alive! Backeeri had tried to assist the king’s advisor in his pleas for reconsideration, but the man was too far into his cups to be reasoned with. The trade delegations had left that very hour, not staying the customary night in the king’s castle. This had been a fortnight previous.
Konza made his way to his dining room. His page stood near his chair and drew it back for him when he caught sight of the general approaching. The page was a younger man with bright eyes and a carefully sculpted goatee. Patrin Backlore, the man was called. Backeeri nodded his thanks as he sat, and the page ran off to seek the general’s breakfast. The eggs and coffee were delivered swiftly, and the general ate alone. When finished he arose and went down from his tower to train his body in the yard before any others appeared. He had worked up a fine sweat after an hour, and sought a bath. He dressed in military garb and leather armor. He went to the armory to dress in chainmail, with steel plated helm and pauldrons ornamented with the seal of his rank.
Upon exiting the armory, he spotted the queen seated on a bench, scanning her surroundings idly. Queen Lillya had been a great beauty in her youth, but her marriage had quite disillusioned her about life. She had borne the king an heir, and then been put aside almost without a thought. Since then she had spent her days thoughtfully moving about the castle in near silence like a ghost, her brown hair streaked with grey and her eyes haunted. Backeeri had only heard her talk to the child in the last few years. Her gaze fell upon him as he watched her, and he nodded and turned away.
Sighing again, he went to find his charge, the king. He appeared at the door to the royal apartments, and the abashed look of the guards there told him that today was beginning normally: the king still slept. He bowed to the pair, and then took up vigil beside them, feet shoulder length apart. After a bit, the trainees fell upon the courtyard with the men-at-arms to learn the arts of war. Backeeri hoped it would not be much longer before his king arose from his drunken stupor.
The royal apartments were on the second story of the large castle, and the door opened onto a walkway with a parapet, directly above the courtyard. Konza had a great view of the trainees, and amused himself by sketching lesson plans from their performance. He watched as the king’s son, Prince Torguen, fought off a boy six years his senior, but then stopped to help the boy up with an apologetic smile. Backeeri smiled to himself a moment, until it occurred to him that he had no such memories of the king. In fact, the only memory of Torgul that the general had of such an encounter was of a tantrum the king had thrown at being bruised by another boy. A boy that had only wanted to learn to fight. Backeeri shivered as he recalled the flogging that boy had endured. That boy had grown to be his very own page. Konza had asked for his service personally, and then trained Patrin in the early morning for four years.
Middday came and went, and the pupils and men-at-arms returned to the courtyard. Konza was growing bored. Not that it mattered, of course. It was his duty to remain there to wait for his king. The boys in the courtyard were practicing drills now. The general allowed his mind to wander, but all that came to him were bland musings about the weather and what would be for supper. Perhaps an hour later, the door to the royal apartments banged open and a nude serving girl came scrambling out, trying vainly to cover her large breasts. One of the other guards chuckled, until the king was beside them, squinting down at the yard.
“Your majesty.” Backeeri greeted the lecherous king with a cool nod.
“Ah, Backeeri. Been waiting long?” The king stretched.
“Not so long as some days, yet longer than others.”
“Hm.” The king grunted, and Konza wondered if the man had heard him. A quick glance caused him to believe that he had not, for he hadn’t even bothered to dress. The king elbowed the guard that had chuckled. “Did ya see the teats on that one?”
Suddenly, a crossbow thwumped and fired a quarrel from across the courtyard. Backeeri did not hesitate to push the king to the side. His eye found the attacker, and he darted down the catwalk. Rounding the intervening corners, he caught sight of the assassin again, just before they disappeared through a door. The general ran the last bit to the door, clinking as he kicked it in. The would-be assassin cowered, clutching his crossbow as Backeeri entered the dim hall and drew his sword.
“Drop it.” Backeeri commanded, putting his sword tip to the man’s throat.