Chapter Three: Long May He Reign

On the day of the execution the main market of Valtroy had been cleared to make room for the grisly spectacle. So large was the event that they had no room in the castle’s court for the thousands of people gathered, and so the execution of King Gregory had been moved to the main market, the largest open space available in the city. The city was still littered with rubble and debris and the past few days had been spent fixing roads and removing wreckage and other obstacles from the market.

All labor for the event was performed by Kgnaskan citizens, by order of the emperor, including the construction of the gallows that would ultimately kill their beloved king. The daunting tool of death, the preferred method of execution in Melcania, stood erect atop a wooden platform that had been set up near the back of the market, the dead man’s noose mocking the gathered crowd of Kgnaskans as it gently swayed in the wind.

Next to gallows, towards the back of the platform, sat Emperor Alric, upon a cushioned seat beneath a simple shaded sun covering. It was clear that the heat was irritating him, despite the efforts of the covering, yet he refused to show weakness in front of the sand dogs. He sat there, guarded by nearly a dozen royal guards standing ground behind him, drumming the arm of his seat while he waited for the condemned.

Alric looked out at the thousands of Kgnaskan citizens standing in the market space, their grim faces etched in stone. He knew they wanted nothing more than to charge the platform and tear him apart, him, the emperor that had killed their mothers, their fathers, their brothers, sisters, daughters, and sons. Alric smirked, he almost wanted to see that, to witness the crowd being slaughtered by the soldiers surrounding the venue as they tried to lay hold of even the faintest part of him, he probably would not even have to move from his seat.

The crowd began to stir, breaking Alric from his fantasies, the people making way for a procession that marched down the middle of the space. Over a hundred black armored soldiers escorting two chained and shackled prisoners, King Gregory and the Queen Rosaleen, to the gallows. All around the crowd cried out, lamenting their monarchs, some reaching out, trying to touch them. The soldiers kept the people back, hitting a few of the more persistent ones with their rifles.

The shackled pair looked like they had been through hell, worn and tired from sleeping on hard stone, covered in dirt and other filth from the dungeon floors, still wearing the same garments as they were the day they were shoved into their cells. It was clear that neither of them had eaten in their week long confinement.

Gregory could barely stand up, and he was having a hard time keeping pace with the others. Rosaleen wanted to help him, to hold up her king and be his strength, but she was not able to, kept apart by the soldiers escorting them. Gregory stumbled, falling onto the ground, and did not get back up. This caused commotion in the crowd, everyone calling out to their king, pushing against the soldiers, cursing the Melcanians and their emperor. The soldiers beat back the defiant throng, fracturing jaws, breaking ribs, as they struck the Kgnaskans with rifles and coshes.

“GREGORY!” Cried Rosaleen, desperately trying to get to his side, but the men holding her were unyielding, and she sobbed as she watched with tear filled eyes as the guards hosted Gregory to his feet and forced him forward. There was no mercy in their hearts.

“Come on now, we haven’t got all day. MOVE!” Barked one of the soldiers, Rosaleen could not tell which, all of their faces covered in black helmets. They continued at a stagnant pace, the shambling walk of a dying man, and finally made it to the platform, ten of the guards marching them up the steps while the remainder formed a circle around the base to keep back any would be heroes. Gregory and Rosaleen were brought in front of Alric and forced onto their knees, Alric smiling at them unpleasantly, enjoying every moment.

“Ah, there they are, the guests of honor!” Exclaimed Alric, just loud enough for the people on the stage, unconcerned with the standing, watching Kgnaskans surrounding them. “I was wondering when you two would get here, this heat does not agree with me.” He took a sip from a jeweled chalice on the table next to him before continuing. “Now we get to decide exactly how this is going to happen.” He said, gesturing at them with his hand. Gregory stayed silent, simply swaying back and forth, looking as though he might fall over again.

“You don’t have to do this, brother, please, you’ve punished him enough.” whispered Rosaleen, choking on tears. Alric’s smile faded, revealing his true self.

“I decide, when it is enough, I decide, when the debt is paid.” He set the chalice down sharply. “But seeing as I’m in a charitable mood, I’ll give you this one chance. If Gregory will bend, and accept Melcania as his master, accept me, as his emperor, I will let him walk off this stage.” Alric spoke slowly, deliberately, emphasizing every word. Rosaleen leaned forward, taking hold of his cloak.

“Thank you brother! Thank you, you have Hileen’s mercy.” She sobbed, wetting his clothes with her tears. He pulled his cloak back out of her hands, his face filled with disgust.

“And.” Rosaleen looked at him quizzically.

“And?”

“And you will return to Melcania, and never set foot in this gods forsaken land again.” Rosaleen looked over at her king, at the man she loved, new tears welling up as she realized that either way, whether he lived or died, she would never see him again. Still, she would choose life for him, for she could not bear the thought of losing him.

“Gregory, you must accept, you must bow to Melcania, to my brother, please, do so so you might live, I beg you, my king.” Gregory’s swaying slowed as he tried to gather his strength, looking at his queen, the woman he loved.

“I love you, you are my queen, now, forever and always.” He smiled grimly. Rosaleen sobbed as she understood his words.

“No, no, no, no no no. Please, no.” She cried. Gregory turned to Alric, standing taller than the emperor even now, a true king.

“I bent before, I will not bend again, if I am to die, so be it, I will not yield to a man like you.” He spoke calmly, with power, the strength of the gods, and even Alric could feel the weight in the old king’s words. Alric stood up, looking as though he might strike Gregory, then his eyes surveyed the crowd, suddenly not confident in the soldiers.

“Very well…” Alric gestured to the soldiers. “Take him! Put him on the gallows!” The men laid hold of Gregory, briskly lifting him to his feet, forcefully leading him to the noose. Alric turned to the crowd. “The king in his arrogance has chosen death, lay witness to the fate of those who oppose the will of the empire.” He declared in a loud voice. The people cried out, trying to save their king with their voices, pushing against the soldiers in futility. The dead man’s noose was roughly pulled around Gregory’s head and pulled tight. Rosaleen wept, shaking as she watched what they were doing to her husband. Alric leaned down behind her, speaking to her and only her.

“Look at the price of your betrayal, look upon this, and know what you have caused.” Then the lever was pulled, the king fell, and the nation was broken.

…

51st year of the 4th Recording of time, Month of Songs

4 months had passed since the conclusion of the second Melcanian Kgnaskan War and everything was finally settling down. Valtroy was still in ruins, but the fires had been put out, and much of the rubble had been cleared from the important areas. The bridges to the castle had been repaired, and the castle itself had been completely renovated. All signs of wartime had been erased from the structure, every bullet mark, every burned out room, every damaged and destroyed wall repaired, everything better and grander than it had been before the war, all complete with the colors and banners of Melcania.

The Empire had spared nothing to ensure that the castle was perfect, for tonight was the night of the grandest of celebrations. The nation of Kgnaska had been defeated, its land and resources now a part of the Melcanian Empire, and the castle was lit up as the sun in a royal ball that put to shame any that had come before it. Thousands had journeyed south in hopes to attend the extravagant event, but only the finest of the Melcanian upper class were allowed inside, the rest being held outside the gates by armed soldiers.

Hundreds were gathered inside the great hall of Valtroy’s keep, and more were pouring in by the minute, rapidly filling the place to capacity. Wealthy merchants, noblemen, and high ranking politicians, all here to enjoy an imperial party of the highest class. They feasted, danced, drank, and laughed, all in honor of their emperor, in honor of a great victory for Melcania. For now was a time of celebration, now was a time for profit, and all gathered were silly with merry at the prospect.

The hall was something to behold, lit with electric lights on strings, a marvel imported from Geargandi, and lined wall to wall with banquet tables filled with the most mouth watering and succulent foods that could be found, the entire hall drenched in the aroma of hams, pheasants, exotic fruits, and pastries of all kinds. In each of the four corners of the room a band played the high society songs popular throughout the empire, perfectly synchronized with the other bands so the entire room danced with music. Dozens of finely dressed servers squeezed through the growing crowd holding trays of wine and bite size delicacies, doing their best to keep everyone fat and drunk.

Many of the high class Melcanians in attendance were here not so much for the food or drink, nor for song or dance, but to further their societal standing; Hollow, disingenuous people, painted in bright colors, yet hiding selfish and ulterior motives. Every merchant wishing to be a lord, every lord longing to be a governor, all of them wanting a place higher than themselves.

But of all the corrupt, self serving, self gratifying individuals present, none were more outspoken, nor more repulsive, than Lord Gravis Bakker, a nobleman who only stopped talking to stuff yet another hors d’oeuvre down his gullet. The corpulent man whale was in the middle of entertaining a few of the other guests with some exaggerated story, laughing with a mouth full of raspberry tartlet, and a fist full of other delicacies he had pilfered off the passing server trays.

“I’m telling you, you should’ve seen the look on the man’s face. What, with me holding the deed to the farm, and him going to the penitentiary for trespassing.” Bakker laughed vociferously, spitting bits of raspberry, the others laughed insincerely, not really amused by the repugnant man but wishing to keep up appearance.

“However did you manage to get your hands on the deed?”, Lady Polisa delicately retrieved a glass of Bellemirran wine offered by one of the many servers. She sipped the fine vintage before continuing, savoring the fruity composition. “Oh, excuse me, as I was saying, it must have been difficult for a man of your considerable size to make the trip that far east, let alone fit through the door of a carriage.” Polisa smirked, taking another sip of wine, amused with herself. The others laughed, sipping from their own glasses, and the group forgot about Bakker and followed Lady Polisa to admire some hanging art across the hall.

Bakker’s face turned red, and he angrily shoved a smoked eel into his mouth, eyes following the smiling woman. Lady Polisa, Lady Polisa, Lady Polisa. Bakker added the name to his personal list of people who had slighted him, and then proceeded to waddle to the next group of party goers, just as clamorous and bothersome as before.

…

Emperor Alric sat in front of a lavish crystal mirror in a room of the castle that he had converted into his personal sleeping quarters whilst in Valtroy. All around him nearly half a dozen servants combed, plucked, filed, polished, and performed an untold number of other duties, quickly trying to ready the young emperor for the party. He was going out to meet the highest Melcanian society had to offer, aside from himself of course, and as their imperial leader he had to look perfect. Alric looked in the mirror, one of the servants puffing his face with makeup, and frowned.

“I detest these gatherings, they’re always immoderate, excessive, loud, and gods, the people.” He looked at his advisor, Petyr Corvus, in the mirror, not turning around. “I swear if I have to listen to one more bad joke, I’m going start cutting out tongues.” Alric huffed, rolling his eyes. Corvus merely chuckled.

Corvus was a peculiar man, exceedingly tall and exceedingly slender, with a thin, narrow face that could have belonged to a serpent. His chestnut hair was cut short enough that he had no need to fuss with it, and he barely showed any signs of age despite being much older than the emperor. He wore simple, yet elegant attire, in the colors of the empire, with the exception of a dark green sash around his waist, trimmed in silver, in honor of his home nation of Geargandi.

Corvus was a man of sharp eyes and even sharper tongue, able to spin fact and fable into gold to suit his needs and the needs of the empire. He was exceptionally intelligent, like a true Geargandian, and always knew the correct response to any given situation. As the chief advisor of the emperor, he was one of the few people Alric put any trust in, and he loved his position like a child with a new toy.

“My Emperor, with due respect, if you detest parties so much, why do you make it a point to throw them?” His mouth lifted in an amused half smile. Alric waved the servants away, a couple of them sneaking a last touch here and there before scurrying out of the room. They would have continued for another half hour if Alric had patience for them, but the young emperor could only be pestered for so long. Alric looked at himself in the mirror, going over the work the servants had done, not displeased, yet not seeming satisfied either.

“You’re a smart man, Corvus.” Alric kept his gaze on the mirror. Corvus raised an eyebrow, waiting for the emperor to continue. Alric’s eyes met his in the glass reflection. “Tell me, what is Melcania?” Corvus looked momentarily puzzled. What is Melcania? There could be a thousand viable answers to that question. He pondered what the emperor was getting at. Melcania controlled the most landmass in the world, Melcania was the epicenter for all international trade, Melcania had the largest military force, controlled the most lightning crystals, had the most mineral wealth. He puzzled a moment and then realized the obvious answer, the one thing all the other thousands of answers had in common.

“Why, my Emperor, Melcania is unexcelled, the grandest in all respects.” Alric smiled, content with the answer.

“Exactly.” He stood up, pulling on his cloak. “If we do not celebrate our victories, if we do not show the world time and time again that we are the most lucrative, the most lavish and unsurpassed, that we can throw a nation’s salary at a victor’s feast, then the world will forget who, we, are.” Alric turned to face Corvus, his cold eyes penetrating the man. Corvus gave a short, respectful bow, putting his arms out to the side, one of the few men undaunted by the emperor’s gaze.

“You truly are the wisest of us, my Emperor.”He stood straight again. “Now, as much as I do enjoy these lessons, your grace, we should be heading down to the feast, it would be a shame for your guests to come all this way to miss an audience with you.” Alric nodded, silently agreeing with the man. He placed his imperial crown upon his head, checking in the mirror to make sure it was on straight, and then proceeded out of the room, Corvus following closely behind.

…

The doors to the great hall opened, held by imperial guards. Four more guards entered, with Emperor Alric at their center. All at once the party went silent, all faces turned to see the emperor’s arrival. Even Gravis Bakker stopped stuffing his face long enough to watch Alric make his way majestically through their midst.

The young monarch was everything that the leader of the Grand Melcanian Empire should be, perfect, in every way. Dressed head to toe in the most lavish and regal imperial garments, boots made of the finest Tiriisian spider silk, a cloak, black as a moonless night and softer than Kendorian cotton, with his equally dark breeches and tunic embroidered with gold designed to look like stretching vines.

Atop his head rested the Imperial crown, a golden relic as old as the empire itself, worn by the first emperor, Emperor Aethelred, who stood at the walls of Anthos as they fell. The crown was elegantly designed, smooth and flowing, with no sharp curves or edges, and was accented with sapphires, but that was not the most impressive feature. There, sitting in the center of the jewelled headpiece, contained within a small ball of crystalled glass, was a lightning crystal, shining a brilliant blue that matched the emperor’s eyes.

Alric walked down the center of the room, the entire audience making way, clearing a path, everyone bowing as he passed them. Alric climbed the steps to the imperial throne, much grander than the king’s old seat, a grossly exorbitant thing of gold and black marble, designed with golden stone ravens, the fierce symbol of the empire. He turned to face the audience, his guards standing vigilant on either side of the base of the steps. He looked out over the hundreds in attendance, their faces full of respect and devotion, the corners of his mouth lifting in a half smile, it was good to be the emperor. Alric sat down upon the throne, laying his hands on the golden arms shaped as raven heads, and waited expectantly.

A young man with a prematurely balding head, stepped up to the base of the steps, turned towards the crowd, and declared in a loud voice.

“All hail his Majesty, High Emperor Alric, supreme imperial monarch of all Melcania and her holdings, Chosen of Solan, of Hileen, and of Galryn of the great deep, protector against injustice and impurity, Keeper of lightning, and true born of the Northlands. LONG MAY HE REIGN!” With one voice the crowd roared back.

“LONG MAY HE REIGN! LONG MAY HE REIGN! LONG MAY HE REIGN!”