Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) (49 page)

“She has the borders being watched,” Brutus told him.  “No Samarian is allowed to enter or leave.  They have permission to fire and kill those who are caught trying to escape, or imprison them back in Mizra.  Trust me when I say I don’t have any desire to return there.”

“This war isn’t over, despite what Evangeline wants us to believe.  The people of Samaria may be peaceful, but they are not submissive,” Talan declared.  “I know Samaria is forever changed, but we can’t sit around an watch it fall further and further into decay.

Brutus nodded solemnly.  “Samaria has been changed, ever since King Edgar died,” he replied.  “We are the only ones left, and we are imprisoned by our own Queen in our own lands.  Trust me when I say it’s crucial that we stick together.  The time will come for us to fight, again, for our freedom.”

As soon as Brutus said that, the slow beat of a drum coming from the inside of the hall announced the beginning of the marriage ceremony.  The two paused their conversation with the intent to resume it at a later time, then ducked into the room and quickly melted into the crowd.

The officiant was chanting away the marriage vows while Evangeline and Olger stood facing each other.  The Queen’s face was emotionless underneath her royal crown.  The whole ceremony was painful to watch, and Talan and Brutus passed several looks of anger between one another.  The tension in the air between the Nomans and Samarians was unmistakable, and Talan thought the room would erupt into a bloody brawl at any second, but it didn’t.

“And let the union of this man and this woman be forever blessed under light of the Creator.”  The spirit man chanted and clucked his tongue as the drums rolled low and deep. “I now pronounce this marriage as complete and unbreakable.  By both Noman and Samarian law.” 

Olger grabbed Evangeline’s hand and brought it to his lips.  His raccoon painted eyes were bright with victory, as if this marriage had been secured by his own clever antics.  Evangeline gave him a small smile then returned the favor with a kiss to his own hand before locking her fingers with his.  They both turned around, and the Queen led Olger to his throne where he sat down triumphantly.  She turned around and spoke to the crowd.

“Now comes the time to celebrate. Together, the two great nations of Samaria and Nomanestan shall converge and become one.”  Evangeline stopped and scanned the room.  She had her arms outstretched and then brought them together, palms touching and fingers interlaced; a sign of unity and peace.

“Because of these actions, Samaria is now a larger, wealthier, and more powerful nation. Our borders stretch for hundreds of miles along this great Realm of ours.  No longer shall we hunger for food.  No longer shall we hunger for commerce.  And no longer shall the Sovereign Alliance force their political agenda on our prospering nation!  Tonight we rejoice at the opportunity this new alliance will bring!  Tonight is a new beginning!”

A round of hooting came forth from the right side of the room where the Noman party was clustered.  They stomped their feet and shouted into the air to show their support.  The Samarian attendees were a bit taken back at first, but soon they joined the outcries of support with a clap of their hands and a few whistles.  Evangeline spoke above the rambunctious crowd.

“And now the time has come to crown the new King of Samaria, my husband Olger Guttensen.” 

The crowd immediately quieted down as the pageboy walked over to the King to present his crown.  It was solid gold with teardrop shaped tips.  Inlaid in the crown were alternating blue and diamond gems.  It had been King Edgar’s crown, and every Samarian knew it.  Evangeline grabbed the crown gently off of the pillow, and the boy stepped back behind the throne.  She lifted it with both hands above her face, and it shone like a gilded sunset in the flickering candlelight.

Evangeline, in all her doggedness and beauty, stood before Olger who was seated on his throne. He lowered his head so Evangeline could place Edgar’s crown gently on top.  When she was done, Olger lifted his head and looked over the crowd with proud, triumphant eyes.  Evangeline took a seat next to him, and a maidservant brought the Queen her slender scepter that she held with poise.

“Hail, King Olger!  Hail, Queen Evangeline!”  It was Alvard who began to chant.  It took a while to catch on because Samarians were passing around looks that were full of conflicting emotion.  But one by one they chimed in, and soon the whole room was full of praise filled voices, exalting their monarchs.  Every knee was bent to the floor as the room bowed to their King and Queen.  As the worship subsided, Olger spoke from his throne.

“I am excited for the future this union will bring our countries,” Olger addressed the crowd.  He spoke deeply and slowly, ensuring that his hard Noman accent didn’t muddle his message.  “Evangeline’s father, Edgar, spent several years of his reign trying to make peace between our two lands.  I am proud to say that Evangeline and I have succeeded in those efforts.  Now, we must look to the future.  Combine the resources and manpower of both countries in order to create a united front against those who try and oppose us.”  His eyes trickled over to Talan and Brutus when he said this, as if he suspected their silent rebellion against the Queen’s most recent decision.

“Thank you, Olger,” Evangeline piped in.  “But enough of political speech!  Let us relax, mingle, and enjoy a merry night of new friendships and alliances.” 

Several servants had appeared along the walls of the Great Hall, carrying crystal serving trays with
hors d'oeuvre
s arranged in aesthetically pleasing designs.  They weaved in and out of people as the musicians began to play a jovial tune.  The edgy mood of the room seemed to have lifted somewhat at the introduction of the music and food, but Talan didn’t buy it.  He looked over at Brutus.  “I think we should go.  This whole erroneous affair is making me nauseous.” 

“I agree,” Brutus replied.  “We’ve shown our faces.  There is nothing else left to do here.”

But as the two advisors turned to go, Alvard had come up behind them and stood blocking their path out of the Hall.  His face was covered in a tangle of thick beard, but his head was bald and chafed. 

“King Olger wishes to see you,” Alvard rasped looking directly at Brutus and ignoring Talan.  “Immediately.” 

Knowing it would be unwise to refuse the Noman commander, Brutus nodded his head towards Talan.  “I’ll talk to you later,” he told him, then followed Alvard across the Great Hall and over to the pair of golden thrones where King Olger and Queen Evangeline sat.  A serving boy was presenting chocolate covered berries to the monarchs, but they motioned him away like he was an annoying fly buzzing around their heads.  Brutus arrived before them, saluted his monarchs and bowed.

“Hail, King Olger.  Hail, Queen Evangeline.” Brutus said with as much fake enthusiasm as he could.

“General Bludworth,” Olger greeted him with cold eyes.  “I hardly recognized you without your plate armor.  Come closer and have a seat.  I think it’s time you and I had a chat.”

The same boy who had delivered Olger’s crown had reappeared with a small stool and placed it next to Olger’s throne. The seat was several inches lower than Olger’s throne, and Brutus felt like an unruly school child being forced to sit next to the teacher in front of the whole class. 

The General watched as Olger drank sloppily from a silver chalice filled with wine, taking long gulps whereas the drink was supposed to be sipped.  When he lowered the glass, wine droplets clung the hairs of his coarse beard and dribbled down the side of his mouth.  Brutus began to get impatient waiting for the King to speak first, and finally he did.

“I’m sure you’ve been wondering,” Olger began, “what purpose my troops play now that our countries are united.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Brutus confessed.  “In only a few weeks the number of soldiers occupying Samaria had quadrupled.  Tensions are high, culture shock is rampant, and our value systems are clashing.  It will take a lot of time and effort to teach our men how to work together.”

“And that is why the Samarian army will never be as good as mine,” Olger interrupted him.  “You’re too soft, General.  Men need to be ruled with an iron fist!  Use fear to force them into submission!  It’s the only way to produce results.”  He took another swig from his wine chalice.

“That is not how I choose to command my army.  That is not how
any
Samarian General rules our army, My King,” Brutus explained.  “The morals that motivate the Samarian Guard to fight and defend our land are discipline, teamwork, and mutual respect.  That’s in addition to our unyielding loyalty to her Majesty, Queen Evangeline.  I’m afraid that fear and intimidation tactics will not work on the Samarian Guard.  It may show false positives in the beginning, but I believe that eventually the Samarian army will resent being forced to defend something they don’t believe in in the first place.”

Olger just smiled, his teeth stained red with the wine.  “All that nonsensical rubbish is why you are being demoted from your rank as General.  Starting from this moment on, you no longer control Samaria’s army.” 

The news hit Brutus like a blow to the stomach, and he felt his jaw drop.  Olger kept talking, but the advisor barely heard him through his shock.

  “Face it, Brutus.  You don’t have a stern enough disposition to command Samaria’s newly integrated troops.  You hardly have the audacity to lead the pathetic group that currently defends your fortress walls.”  Olger reached up and toyed with the beads braided into his beard as he continued.

  “Noman soldiers are strong-willed, hot headed, and at times unpredictable.  This new Samaria will be large and powerful, and so shall its army.  In order to build up the Guard to where it needs to be, we need a commander who can discipline and train these men into unbreakable soldiers.  And based on the weak group of boys tossing about swords that I saw at the canyon, that man is not you.”  He beamed at Brutus from atop his golden throne. 

“Who?  Who is replacing me in my role?” Brutus asked, dreading the answer.

“Replacing you as General and advisor to the Queen will be my current commander, Alvard.”

Brutus’s mind was racing.  He looked over to Evangeline, and her head was slightly tilted, as if she was purposely listening in on their conversation, but her face remained straightforward so that Brutus could only see the woman’s profile against the candlelight.

“Is what he says true, My Queen,” Brutus demanded heatedly, but Evangeline ignored him.  “I have led the Samarian Guard for almost a decade!  I trained under your father’s most trusted commander when I was nothing but a lad, and I have led Samaria into battle on numerous occasions.  Is my loyalty and genuine duty to my country to be so hastily tossed aside?”

Brutus was trying to stay calm, but he couldn’t hide the anger in his voice.  He wanted to go over and knock every single tooth out of Olger’s head and finish what he started at the canyon.  Unfortunately, that was no longer an option. 

“Answer me!” he yelled at the Queen, causing a wave of silence to permeate the room of partygoers

Evangeline finally looked at him.

              “Your efforts and commitment to the Guard are recognized and commended, Master Bludworth,” Evangeline said coolly to him.  “But as for your loyalty?  Well, that is questionable.  Remember that it is by the grace of your Queen that you are standing before me today and not still chained up inside a cell underneath Mizra.  Now, you heard what the King said.  As of this moment, you are no longer ranked as the Samarian General but demoted to a Captain in the newly integrated army.  Do you understand all I’ve said?”

Brutus was trembling in anger, but before he could even think of a retort to throw at his monarchs, a loud commotion at the end of the Hall tore away his attention.  A half dozen Samarian Guards had burst into the wedding celebration, fully clothed in battle dress with spears and swords gripped tightly in their hands.  One of the men had collided with a serving wench, and her crystal serving tray had fallen to the ground and exploded into a thousand pieces.

Evangeline shot up from her seat, grasping the gold armrests of her throne for support.  “What is all of this?” she demanded from her Guards.  “How dare you barge in here and interrupt my wedding!”

“My Queen!” one of the Guards quickly interrupted, his face lines creased with worry.  “There are mobs of people marching through the streets of Alumhy.  They are demanding Olger’s immediate abdication of the Samarian throne!  Soon they’ll reach the gates of Mizra, and we don’t know what they plan to do!”

“What people?” Evangeline asked stupidly.

“Samarians, My Queen.  They are protesting!” 

Evangeline’s face quickly went as ashen as her wedding dress, as if she really thought that the people of Samaria would just accept the Noman occupation of their country with welcoming arms.  Ever since Arvil Pennington had arrived with Leonardo Santini and exposed what kind of Queen Evangeline really was, their trust in her faltered. 

Brutus’s heart suddenly swelled with hope; they were going to fight back.  Her people had experienced too much violence throughout their history, including the most recent war with Nomanestan. The citizens were going to display their discontent with the Queen in the most diplomatic way possible, by protesting in the streets. 

With the Queen and King’s attention temporarily preoccupied, Brutus turned around and rushed over to the balcony where a group of wedding attendees had already thrown back the curtains and were gathered outside looking at the tumultuous city below.  Protestors swarmed through the streets of Alumhy like a horde of black locusts.  They marched with a confident stride carrying torches and glass lanterns that lite up the darkened city.  Others flew mock Noman banners with the growling bear crossed out in red paint by a large X.  Their faces were twisted into expressions of hatred towards the Queen and the violent, enemy people she’d allowed to invade their beloved lands.