The Foolhardies 40 All the King's Men

The wooden walls were curved and gave off the impression of expanding space. Arched windows appeared in intervals along the walls like entryways. The floors were half a dozen interconnected circular platforms of varying heights with the one at the end being the highest. It was maybe three or four feet off the ground. On this dais was an unadorned highback chair carved out of a tree stump. Behind this chair was a large round window that looked out into a city of wooden halls and trees surrounded by waterfalls on one side and a cliff wall on the other.

On the second circular platform from the dais was a round table. Around this table sat four individuals. Standing at attention behind them stood fairies of varying races who I assumed were their aids.

Darah strode into the hall and claimed the empty wooden seat at the three o'clock position of the table. Thors and I stood behind her—and while he looked the part of a bodyguard, I was a scrawny kid who felt like I didn't belong among the clan's top brass.

"You're late again," said the black-haired dwarf seated on the north side of the table.

"Not all of us live safely within the borders of clan territory, Grimthorn," Darah countered. "Some of us actually have to fight for a living."

Grimthorn, or I should say, Great General Bron Grimthorn, scowled at Darah. She responded to him with a mocking smile of her own.

The fairy sitting on the seat opposite Grimthorn laughed.
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"You're both still so petty," she said in a sing-song voice typical of female pixies.

Great General Lavinia Folkor tapped long, thin fingers on the wooden surface of the round table. Her eyes glanced over to the empty seat on the dais.

"That damn cripple is making us wait again," she laughed.

"I see you're as callous as ever, Lavinia," Darah said in a harsh tone.

Folkor's eyes—one red, the other violet—darted toward Darah and narrowed quickly as they looked upon her face. "It's always a pleasure to see you, Darah..."

The icy stare she sent Darah made her warm greeting rather hollow. For her part, Darah just sent the mocking smile she'd given Grimthorn to Folkor.

"Why is it that when we bring you four together you're always at each other's throats?" asked the gnome sitting between Darah and Grimthorn.

I knew who he was because I'd met him the first time Aura brought me to see her brother. He was Orryn Timbers, Chancellor of the Sun, and one of the two clan elders who visited Luca the night he was born.

"Four," Darah raised an eyebrow at him. "I only see three of us here."

All gazes traveled to the empty seat opposite Darah's, the one that belonged to the Marshal of the West.

"Great General Garm cannot make tonight's council meeting as he is busy in his campaign against the Sunspire Clan in the Westmarch," said the tall, green-skinned male sitting between the empty seat and Folkor. "He sends his greetings to his fellow Great Generals and his apologies to the current Patriarch."

My hands clenched into fists as I looked upon him.

Even seated, he was tall and bowed like a wizened grandfatherly figure. Yet the leanness of his form—despite being hidden behind the midnight blue robe of a Chancellor—betrayed any impression of fragility. The cruel looking face, with its emerald eyes darting from one general to the next, was a calculating one—as if he viewed the people around him like enemy chess pieces to be gobbled up.

Compared to Chancellor Orryn, Kairon, the Chancellor of the Moon, was a true wolf in sheep's clothing. He was also the elder responsible for acquiring new clan slaves through his methods of selection and abduction.

Enmity flowed out of me in waves that would have caught the attention of everyone at that table and those around them if Thors hadn't noticed it first and gripped hard on my shoulder to calm me.

Darah glanced back at me for only a moment before her gaze returned to the others.

"What else is new?" Darah asked Kairon. "I haven't seen him in a council meeting since he lost the succession."

"Perhaps he's just tired of looking at your arrogant face, Darah," Grimthorn growled.

Although he was smaller in stature, the Great General was unintimidated by Darah which was something I thought impossible. I just assumed Darah intimidated everyone.

To be honest, Great General Grimthorn in his full-plate armor dyed in the Trickster Pavilion's midnight blue colors was plenty intimidating himself. I wasn't entirely sure if it was the scowling face with his deep blue eyes, big button nose, and braided beard or the battle-ax leaning on the side of his chair that made him look bigger than his actual size.

"If this is how the night's going to go... I'd rather find a nice young fairy to romp with." Great General Folkor rose from her seat and combed through her long red locks with a hand. "Besides, it seems the cripple is too sick to see us..."

"We are gathered here tonight to discuss the incoming invasion of the Magesong Clan on our eastern border, Lavinia... So, please, kindly sit your ass back on the chair," Chancellor Orryn instructed. "And maybe show a little more respect to the clan Patriarch while you're at it."

Orryn waited for Folkor to sit before he glared at the rest of the participants around the table.

"The succession has been decided. Auranos Trickhaven is Patriarch of the Trickster Pavilion, Lord of Shärleden, and protector of the realm," he spoke with an authoritative voice that belied his small stature. "I trust you all remember this as each of you swore allegiance to him during the ceremony."

His glare didn't end with Folkor, although it stayed their longest. No, I noticed that his final glare was reserved for his fellow Chancellor who was looking back at him with something akin to mild contempt. It was the same look I'd give an annoying fly that buzzed around my head for too long.

"Well, where is he then?" the pixie shot back at Orryn. "If he's our glorious leader then why isn't he here?"

As if right on cue, it was then that we heard the soft coughing fit coming from the entryway to the side of the dais. When we all turned to look in that direction, we were greeted by the arrival of the clan Patriarch, his sister, and her bodyguard.

From what I knew of his story, at least the parts Aura was willing to share with me, Auranos Trickhaven was the lone survivor of an assassination attempt on his family. His father, two elder brothers, and elder sister were all dead—killed by the same deadly poison that disfigured his body. The other exception was Aura, but that was because she wasn't present during the attack—and I suspect this was around the time she was training to be a shieldmaiden.

Auranos didn't die from the deadly poison the way the rest of the Trickhavens did. However, he was far from what I'd call a healthy elf. In fact, he was the opposite of the beautiful elf maiden standing beside him, projecting vitality in a way her brother obviously wasn't.

Aura, or Aurana as she was known among the elders, wore a simple blue dress that hugged her form. It was an off-shoulder dress that flowed down past her ankles like a waterfall. Her face was as beautiful as I remember it. Except she wasn't smiling like she usually was when she was with us.

What shocked me most, however, was the long golden hair trailing behind her that ended in near-perfect curls. I would certainly need to find out how she pulled this trick.

Obviously, this was her attempt to keep others unaware that she was, in fact, the same shoulder-length, mask-wearing elf magician who fought alongside the Foolhardies. As if Edo's presence in the unit wasn't a dead giveaway already.

The hooded figure in his heavy blue robes in golden leaf designs limped to his wooden throne with the help of his sister guiding him along. After he sat on it, he gazed out at his guests through the slits of his full golden mask while his gloved hand still held onto Aura's as she took her place standing to the left of the throne.

Yes, he wasn't a healthy elf at all, and yet, the voice that projected out of the mask was strong and steady—exactly what I believed a leader's voice should sound like.

"I apologize for my tardiness, my friends... The poison still coursing through my veins sometimes takes its toll on me..." he said. Then he coughed. "Well, shall we get started on this council... Tell me, how shall we go to war?"

Chapter end