Prologue: Exodus (Part 5)

There was no music; no accompanying majestic celebration suiting the magnitude of the victory won that day. Silently the Guard marched through the streets of the New City, headed into the Middle to reach their final destination, the Palace overlooking the city. Even the cheers of the people lining the street to see the martial spectacle were muted, subdued as if they felt that joy was not the main emotion needed here.

No observer on the ground would have seen the doors to the main building of the palace flung open, the royal family rushing out to welcome the returning king. No one would have seen the army arranging itself into neat blocks of a hundred within the small parade ground before the palace, their leader passing through the crowds with his bannerman. It was a sight reserved for only the Guard—the king dismounting, walking slowly up the steps to the portal, then suddenly rushing to pick up his queen, standing there with tears of relief in her eyes, their embrace tight and filled with a month’s longing, worry and sorrow dissolving into the morning like the mists from the fields beyond the walls.

“It has been a long time, jewel of my heart. Many were the days when I missed your smile and your kind words. Now I see it again, and it is as if a heavy cloth were lifted from my heart. I feel lighter and more joyful now. Let me introduce you to someone. There is a decision I have made.” Jodias turned to the Guard assembled expectantly.

“Guards! From among you, I have singled out one who has shown himself worthy of much praise and reward. This man saved my life at Falcorea Field, when the battle was all around us, and the might of his arms was proven to be far beyond all that we have known so far. Before you all today, my beloved Guard, I will honour him. Talamioros, dismount and come forward.”

Talamioros did as told, coming up the steps to stand three levels below the King, as befitted his status as an ordinary Guard. With a murmured word from the King he moved to stand beside Jodias. A ripple passed through the ranks of Guards of surprise and approval. Talamioros’ reputation was great among the Guards, even before the battle. Jodias put a hand on Talamioros’ shoulder, the youth standing only half a head shorter than the king.

“Let it be known today that a king’s gratitude knows no bounds, and neither does his largesse where he sees it deserved. Today, for his fighting skills, for his honourable conduct, vouched for by the Guard, and for his saving of my life on the battlefield without regard for his own, I name him Prince Talamioros and adopt him as my son. From this day on he will command the Guard directly and will be responsible for the safety of us his parents. Guards, you are dismissed. Return to your barracks and homes, but I will have need of you shortly.” So saying, he turned away from them and entered the Palace, and it seemed as he did so that a cloud passed over his face. Talamioros turned and followed, leaving the banner in the hands of a Guardsman who saluted smartly, then turned away to rejoin his unit in the march back down the slopes of the plateau. The portals of the palace slammed shut with a resonance that left the air ringing.

As they passed through the palace corridors, Jodias’ entourage increased in number as officials came to walk alongside him. Turning to his seneschal, Tyrenoia, he commanded, ‘Send out riders to all the remaining cities and towns. Let them carry the message that after the harvest this year they are to assemble before Mirynium with all their belongings. Tell them to spread this news to every village and hamlet: we are leaving Erennia for the south. Command them to be ready, and let every man who can bear arms do so. They will be equipped when they arrive here at Mirynium. Go quickly, we have work to do.”

The seneschal shot a startled glance at his king, then hurried off quickly to do his bidding. He knew better than to question his king, especially when none of the King’s decisions hd ever been wrong. Riders would be sent out, speeding along the roads and across country like arrows, to cover the twenty leagues from the capital to the furthest limits of the kingdom’s border in two days flat. Talamioros frowned as he walked behind the king and queen, troubled by the decision the king had made, seemingly on a whim.

“My king—“ he began, but was cut off by a reproachful finger from Jodias, a wry grin suddenly appearing across his face.

“Now, Talamioros, my son, you must call me father. Titles are not needed between us.”
Bryseini broke in, her queenly words cutting through Jodias’ obviously faked lack of worry.

“Don’t cut him off, Jodias. You owe us an explanation. It is no small decision, assembling the entire nation to travel south. We will abandon this our beautiful city?”

Jodias muttered, “Yes, even Mirynium must be forgotten. We must go south. Where are my advisors?”

“In the throne room.”

“Ah. Then we shall go there with all speed. I must speak with them, even though my decision is already made.”

The throne room of the palace was a grand affair, well-lighted with lamp sconces along every wall with reflecting mirrors throwing the light into the middle of the hall. Some thirty paces long by twenty paces wide, it was hung all over with tapestries and well-floored with rugs and carpets of intricate design and weave. At the far end stood the Crescent Throne, a grand chair of iron and gold towering above the ordinary man. To its right a smaller facsimile stood, for Queen Bryseini. Along the sides seats were placed at regular intervals for those who were called to council with the king. These seats now were occupied by the king’s advisors, twenty in number, all high nobles raised from the common people. They rose as Jodias entered the room, then sat as he took his seat. Talamioros remained standing on Jodias’ left, left hand casually placed on his sword hilt ready to draw in an instant on the first sign of danger to his king and now father.

“I have adopted Talamioros here as my son and appointed him commander of the Royal Guard. I now present him to you.” There was polite applause as Talamioros stepped forward and bowed.

“And now on to something of great import for our kingdom. I wish to inform you that I have sent out messengers to the rest of the kingdom to assemble before Mirynium in autumn to make a journey to the far south.” As expected, a murmuring arose, shocked and sharp. The air took on a tinge of fear and tension.

“But why, your majesty? Are the Ismaransi that mighty a foe? We have won victory after victory!” Kolpitha, a middle-aged duke who had never seen battle, rose to speak. He was fat and obnoxious, but he had important trade contacts that could be, and were, useful. However, if Jodias had had a chance he would certainly have executed that oaf, who always opposed his military policies made necessary by the Ismaransi.

“And how many more victories can we win? Ninety thousand were engaged in battle at Falcorea Fields a week ago. Of these only seventy thousand can return, only sixty thousand of these on their own two feet. Does the Ismaransi not seem mighty enough, then, when they can send in ever bigger armies against us despite defeats every single spring they cross our borders? Only five years ago they were sending fifty-thousand man armies that the Guard alone could defeat. Now they have sent in a million. We counted; did you know that at the end of Falcorea Field more than seven hundred thousand dead barbarians lay on the field for the crows? It was slaughter on both sides. I gave some thought to the matter as we made our way back to Mirynium. If they somehow manage to send in another army like such, we cannot hold them back for long. Our population is now only a half-million. Even if we took all the able-bodied men to fight, they would be at best somewhat more than a hundred thousand in strength. With this last gasp of our strength we must make our way south to empty lands far from the Ismaransi.”

“Why do we fear the Ismaransi? Our army is strong enough that we can stand against them for many years yet. If they have taken the lives of so many of our men, have we not taken many, many times more of theirs? We can hold them off for a long time yet!” Kolpitha again. Jodias resisted a nagging urge to walk down to the duke and give him a punch between the eyes.

“Alright. Even if we can resist them for a few more years—so what? Look around you. Graethia, Comyntha, Geroe, Cralos, Maris, Morcu Savad, Argut, Birynes, Rondyr, Reonia, Mngora, all these kingdoms have fallen. The Thirty Five Kingdoms has become but the Twenty Four. Erennia is now the northernmost kingdom not yet conquered, a bulge into Ismaransi territory. They will concentrate all their efforts on us. And even if we defeat every army they send against us, what then? We have the strongest army among the Kingdoms. What use is our strength if the other kingdoms around us fall to the barbarians and we are surrounded? Can we hope to survive then? And what if, after many years of war, the Ismaransi adopt our phalanx? Or start using archers? Can we then stand against them?”

Kolpitha sat down, seriously pondering what Jodias had said. At least something had been drummed into his thick skull for once.

“I need you my advisors now to organise the exodus. We must plan out every single thing we must do from now till mid-autumn. Let us discuss.”