3
Soldiers in golden armor surrounded the mansion of Count Jorah Pendleton. The glinting equipment that covered them from head to toe marked them out as subordinates of one of the Nine Divine Generals, who held a special position even within the Volakian Empire.
Each soldier carried a sword or spear, while others held an ax or bow, and they appeared to be a single indivisible unit—but that impression was mistaken. The troops with their golden armor felt no unity, not a shred of cohesion. In a unit where people measured each other’s humanity in terms of their chosen weapons, it was impossible to keep the peace.
So if there was something that unified them, it was nothing so intangible as esprit de corps. It was something more obvious, more concrete. Namely: power.
“The troops are in position, General Ralphone.”
“Mm, good. Everyone, fall back!”
The one receiving this report from one of the soldiers was a middle-aged man with a face covered in scars; he dipped his chin meaningfully. His huge, thoroughly muscled frame was covered in armor, every inch of him clad in golden plate. It seemed as if even his blood ran with a warrior’s pride, and in fact, he considered it an honor to give that impression.
Goz Ralphone was the man’s name, and he was one of the strongest people in the empire. He had been given the position of number One of the Nine Divine Generals, the apex of the Volakian hierarchy.
The troops surrounding the mansion, Goz not least among them, carried themselves soberly. And well they might, for they were there to arrest a traitor who plotted a rebellion against the empire. It could very easily turn into a battle, which was the whole reason troops had been sent. Even if it came to violence, though, it was not Count Pendleton’s personal army about which they had to be most concerned—but rather the person he appeared to be harboring in his home…
“ ” Goz closed his eyes briefly in a moment of genuine pity, but he swiftly shook his head, sweeping the feeling away. He straightened up to his full, imposing height and stepped forward from the line of his troops. He sucked in a deep breath and bellowed, “Count Jorah Pendleton! You’re under arrest on charges of treason!”
With that, gold-clad troops broke down the front door. The charges were already laid; they would not give Jorah time to make a rebuttal. They would take him with utmost speed, and then he would be handed over to someone whose job it was to hear his arguments.
“And so we strike!” It was Goz who bore this particular burden. The task had been entrusted to none other but him.
No sooner had the golden troops entered the home than a furious clash of swords resounded from within. Evidently, Count Pendleton had readied his household troops, and battle was joined.
“I’ve no intention of giving you much time,” Goz muttered, and then he picked up his own favored weapon, which had been waiting at his side. It was a manner of what was called a mace—a long, two-handed shaft with a large, round metal ball on the end. He hefted it easily, though it must have weighed over two hundred pounds; then in one great leap, he jumped over the heads of his soldiers, landing in front of them and lashing out with his weapon, the mace sweeping away the enemies who blocked his path.
“Stand down!” he cried. “We are here on His Excellency’s orders. Any who stand in our way will be considered traitors along with Count Jorah Pendleton!”
“ ”
His voice, loud enough to shake the air, sent fear through the count’s troops. Considering Jorah’s reputation, it seemed unlikely that his personal retinue was full of distinguished warriors. Certainly, one assumed, none who would be willing to wield their weapon against number One of the Nines Divine Generals, Goz Ralphone.
But then…
“Goodness. I never expected you to come personally, General Ralphone. Well, this is troubling…”
Footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs connecting the great hall just beyond the entranceway to the second floor, and then a slim figure appeared. Goz looked up and furrowed his bushy eyebrows. He knew that man—it was none other than the very person he had come for.
“Count Pendleton. How good of you to show yourself,” Goz said.
“I know how people see me, but I am still a noble of the Volakian Empire, even if not much of one. I wouldn’t wish people to say that I left my underlings to do all the work while I hid quivering behind them. Although…the part about quivering may be true.” Jorah gave a thin smile.
His appearance in the midst of the battle surprised Goz. As far as he had been aware, Jorah was known only for being soft and indecisive, a weak man who possessed no love for war. For him to show himself in the middle of the fight…
“You’ve had some change of heart, then? I would be most interested to know what has motivated this,” Goz said.
“With one of the Nine Divine Generals looming over me, I’m apt to tell you anything you want to know,” Jorah said. “I am…a weak man. I have to be constantly working myself up to face things.” He bit his lip, his voice trembling.
One of his soldiers knelt beside him and respectfully held up a sword. Jorah took it and drew it slowly from the scabbard. Was Jorah Pendleton an accomplished swordsman? Goz hadn’t heard anything of that nature. And so it proved: It was obvious to see he was an amateur. Some people only knew the basic stances, but Jorah appeared not to even know those.
“I must warn you that so long as you have a weapon in your hand, I will not hold back,” Goz said.
“Th-that’s fine. The moment I chose this path, I knew it would come to this… I’ve already said my farewells to my wife.”
“…Is that so? Then there is no further need for words.” Goz nodded firmly at Jorah, who looked straight at him. Then he made sure he had a firm grip on his mace, and he shouted, both to fire the passions of his own soldiers and to break the will of the enemy: “I am Goz Ralphone, of the Nine Divine Generals of the Empire of Volakia! By His Excellency’s command, I will root out any who would threaten the empire from within!”
“I am Jorah Pendleton, count of the Empire of Volakia, and for my wife’s sake, with this feeble arm, I shall resist you.”
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