Chapter 13

Today, practice is not in the training yard but in the front yard of the castle and all of its compounded edifices, far from inquisitive eyes. A goulash of scents twirls above the glade. The malachite-green fields ever-span into the bright sheen of dawn. 

A bo staff in each of our hands.

The staff has metallic stripes and are thicker in the middle and taper to the ends, allowing maintenance of a tighter grip for better manoeuvrability. The best grip is with both hands, dividing the staff into equal thirds. This grip also provides the power behind the thrusts and sweeps, as the front hand guides the weapon while the back hand generates the appropriate force.

He attacks without warning with a cross strike. I block on reflex.

I gape at him. "No lesson, guidance, or technique check? Just a blatant attack?"

The Primus twirls the staff with expert elegance and brings it down to his side, only for it to reach his shoulders. "And why would I waste my time when you've already been mentored in such skills? Close quarters combat and swordsmanship. Though you hide it well."

A nervous laugh sputters out of my mouth. "Trained in sword skill? The only thing I have been trained to do is threshing grain with a flail," I say to hint at his former words.

He regards me with eyes of frosted intrigue, an eerie light polishing those black orbs.

"Why would I conceal such skill? Even if, why'd you squander your moments to train one already armed with combative prowess?"

"I said you were knowledgeable about such skills. I never said you were good at them."

My pride takes the bait. "Respectfully, these past moons, I have been playing the role of a fool." I lift the staff to execute a flawless front spin that transverses all around my body without breaking eye contact. Concluding by stomping its foot on the ground. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Your arrogance will be your undoing."

"And you underestimate me." I drag my gaze down to my feet, eyeing myself down pointedly. "It will hurt no less when I thwart you in this form."

Dark humour flashes in his eyes, his face etched in stubborn stoicism.

"Then come to me," he instructs, a casual one hand grip on the staff. "Prove me wrong."

I lunge with an overhead assault. He knocks my attempt with effortless ease. I break the crick in my neck, and I ramp up the intensity tenfold, attacking with a combination of forward thrusts and uppercuts which he deflects like I'm a child poking him with a stick. He returns my verve with not even half the effort. Malice sparks in his eyes.

He lunges with an advanced coalition of spinning and attacks. I defend by blocking, high, left, right and in every direction thought possible. He keeps on coming, exploiting the unnatural speed and vigour that drives me several steps back. In a supersonic second, he performs a downward swipe—I do a grounded block—he counters sharply to flip the staff from my hands. He whips around like a cyclone—his leg swoops up to latch onto me with a reverse hook, plunging me to the ground with a flourish. His boot stamps on my stomach in final victory. His hulking heft applies instant gut-crushing pressure.

He tilts forward—I gasp—a choked rasp.

"And what is it you are capable of?" The deep baritone of his voice bellows derision. "Other than failure?"

***

I creep into the scarlet-hued chamber, ruby mosaic work flecked upon the vaulted ceiling in continuous patterns. The combination of strict geometry, careful layouts with calligraphy that encapsulates a sense of culture, heritage and history.

"Marshalling troops would only act as deliberate provocation!"

"A just response to a warlike advance by commandeering disputed lands. They seek to whittle us down to nothing, prodding at our defences to coerce a military confrontation."

"We cannot let our enemies dictate our actions. Escalating our conflict into a war is exactly what they want."

Aristocracy occupies the lengthy table, and the High King presides over the head. His intricately woven tunic is infused with a silky red like satin, enveloping his body like a crimson sea. My prominent solitude draws his attention, and he flicks up his fingers, summoning a begrudging silence.

He extends his hand out to me. The crowd of nobles split apart to gawk at my advent.

"Hera Aurora, please, join us."

My presence ushers in a furore of scornful mutterings.

Nevertheless, I obey my King and I slot myself into the slim gap. My eyes peruse over the expansive map—a detailed map that has a data frame. Ones I've seen in Malachi's bureau more times than I care to count. The legend serves as the decoder for the symbology in the data frame, descriptions detailing any colour schemes, symbology or categorization. With a scale that explains the relationship of the data frame extent to the charted world.

There are moving ships floating upon the map to represent real-time sea-bound ships and airborne vessels. Including miniature representation of army fortifications, garrisons and outposts. Not only Urium's military expansion but also factoring in gathered intelligence of enemy positions both on sea and on land.

"Hera Aurora is here, since you all know that her father's, Domus Valwa's ingenuity, is a great asset to the Decuria," he says with familiar formality. Solemn yet favourable. "I wanted to see if she possesses even a glimmer of her father's wisdom. I wish to lend her counsel. Does anyone object?"

A question equipped with a challenge; a challenge that goes unopposed.

"We are in a tenuous predicament that grows precarious unabatingly," the King informs. "Allahad, an enemy from the south, has had a lust for our lands since the time of old. With Urium fractured, they believe they can satiate that thirst; they cannot. The military strength of the Avangard alone is unassailable, but that is a fact I do not wish for them to test. Urium doesn't need another war, not when my ambitions are to unite all the races under one sovereign. A momentous unification that will secure global amity."

All races? Even Beyond Urium? I never knew the King nurtured such perilous aspirations.

"And yet your ambitions have strayed to acquisitions," one of his advisors says, discharging words with hasty hostility, earning the mute shock of the others. "Forgive my frankness, Lord King, but the reason Allahad has become uneasy is that of your incursions south; it presents an impression that you seek to challenge their interests."

"You speak too plainly, Boldageer," another chides. "You forget that their head of state is a king in his own right and wields power like a king. Urium cannot be thrusted into battle because you lack control over your own faculties."

He dismisses him with a flippant wave of his hand, spluttering indignantly at his reproach. "Should we not slough away futile fragility when approaching austere matters?"

A gust of fury sweeps King Urus up to his feet, exerting his authority wordlessly. The quiet power move rebukes Boldageer into stunned soundlessness. Humbled like a centipede with his head bowed, chin tucking into his neck. Boldageer's blatancy desecrates the tenor of the assembly, forgetting whose company he speaks in.

 The King goes rigid with anger, the length only straining the taut silence. Content with his show of submission, he reclaims his vacated seat with a sigh that severs the tension. He signals for them to resume their debate.

"Conversation and negotiations are the currency of peace. Should we not engage in the pursuit of process by brokering an alliance?" an idealistic one suggests. "It worked with Nivalis as volatile as they are. Trade agreements that have preserved the fragile amity. A custom of peacekeeping cheaply bought under the guise of mutual economic prosperity."

"Better than swarming foreign lands like locusts to consume their valuables."

The King's lips thin into a terse line, his forbearance waning. "What I do is for my realm and the riches I have plundered, territories abounding in resources will feed our armies, pay our soldiers and advance Urium's development. No regime can ever reign bloodlessly."

A new voice contributes, saying, "For cycles, they have refused to forge an alliance, but they have yet to break the flaccid peace. If we offer up negotiations, necessary for peacetime, we may appear weak. What can be done to discourage any hostile confrontations but still won't be translated as provocation?"

My mind links ideas into a lucid strategy. Malachi's maritime movements has equipped me with reliable intelligence on geo-political matters since trade routes and most kinds of commerce impacted his business dealings directly.

"The south-east border acts as the boundary between Urium's territories and theirs," I say, making brazen eye contact with the King. "Why not establish a stronger military presence? Have a bastion erected with a battalion of Vanguard soldiers to parade across the edge as a show of strength: a lingering threat that can be justified as you wanting to secure your borderlands. Since Allahad refuses peace talks, you must respond with strength. It'll convey that you're decisive and assertive, that no matter their intentions; Urium is ready."

The one that chided Boldageer agrees with me. "And perhaps that is what they truly want to gauge; the state of the realm, probing to see what reaction they get. The winds of the world carry the rumour of our splintered kingdom."

The idealistic one speaks again, "Not to mention the terror factions that have launched an uprising across the lands that staggers on the cusp of a full-scale revolution. Pockets of rebellions festering in the corners of Urium, inspiring sedition and insurgents alike."

Boldageer rediscovers his audacity. "Which is why all militaristic resources should be diverted in stemming the rising tide of insurrection. And abandon alien acquisition altogether to quell internal strife."

The doors sweep open suddenly, heralding a presence that commands esteem. The Primus marches inside, uniformed in his full burgundy regalia with a gilt necklace that coils around the thick column of his neck, matching the serpentine shape of the bangles snaking around his forearm. The gold-plated edgings of his long coat are ornamental shoulder pieces, all of these embellishments are decoration used as insignia of his prime rank. A strong squadron of his own follows at his rear, backed by a force of stalwart loyalty.

"Ah, the sword of Urium has arrived." A smile thrives on the King's face. "All of you, leave me." His eyes grip me. "All except you."

The Primus enthrones himself at the other end of the table. "I have delicate matters to discuss. For your ears only."

"Of course," he says quickly. He meets my gaze, almost ruefully. "Aurora, if you will excuse us."

I respond with a deep bow of my head.

"We may reunite this eventide if you so desire. You are the only one within these walls with the gall to try to best me."

I break into a smile. "Hopefully this time it'll be my shrewdness that'll guarantee my victory, instead of gall alone."

The King flashes a cheeky smile. "We shall see about that."

My eyes leap to the Primus, and he impales with a look of death. A glower skewering into me, it nearly rents my soul from this world, twisting my insides and stripping the air from my lungs. I nearly wilt from the sear, my eyes dropping to the ground as I make a brisk departure.