Page 11 of The Last Knight

Gunther wanted to shake his head at the male’s statement, but instead he lowered to sit.

Finally, Indros deemed it time to sit. Servants brought forth trays piled with food and tankards of ale as Indros continued to study both Gunther and the surroundings. “You have not changed anything. It is all as it was or should be.”

Obviously, the male was doing his best to antagonize him. If nothing else, decades as a slave had stripped him of everything, including his ability to be affected by insults. “It is not a priority. What about you? Was that the first thing you saw to upon becoming ruler? Redecoration?”

By the flare of the male’s nostrils, the barb hit home.

Gunther motioned for the generals to join them on one side of the table, whilst Indros’ men sat opposite them.

“I wish to speak to you about a matter Meliot and I had been discussing before his…untimely death.” Indros said, lifting the tankard to his mouth and drinking.

Gunther did the same, then placed his tankard down. He spoke in a calm but steady voice. “Any agreements made between you and Meliot are no longer valid.”

“It is an agreement between realms; will you not stand by it?” Indros pretended indignation.

“We can discuss it at a later date. As you have stated, I am human and therefore have a lot to learn.”

“We were to join forces, fight against Esland and overthrow Sterling. Already my forces are near their northern border,” Indros continued speaking as if Gunther had not said anything. “Surely you are aware of the riches within that realm.”

Sterling had not mentioned the threat from the Yorians. In all possibility because the trust between them stood on shaky ground since Gunther’s ascension to rule an enemy realm. The Eslandians were a formidable force. With huge war beasts called Aurocks and a fleet of dragons, they were pretty much invincible.

“The Yorian Realm is the largest. What difference would it make to invade Esland? Not to mention that my realm stands between yours and Esland. Which means, any attempts to oversee that realm would mean having to traverse through mine.”

Indros gave him a patronizing look, as if explaining to a child. “Meliot understood the need for our realms to protect themselves from Eslandian invasion. Sterling is power hungry. My sources have told me he has his sights set on your realm.”

It was a lie. Sterling had no interest in a realm with no redeeming qualities. Not only was the land barren, but no creatures other than Torants could ever thrive there.

Gunther kept those facts to himself and said instead, “Anyone who wars against Esland, must be thoroughly prepared. Their warriors have never been beaten in any war. A worthy opponent would have to have beasts powerful enough to battle against Aurocks, which have hides of impenetrable scales and are bred for war. Those foolish enough to attack Esland would lose a huge portion of their army to the dragons’ fiery assaults, leaving their realm vulnerable to other invasions. An excellent opportunity to be overtaken, I will say.”

Gunther flickered a look toward his Torant guards as he finished, noting Indros’ face hardened to stone.

Apparently, Indros had not expected Gunther to know anything about Esland. Foolish thing to come into a discussion about war without knowing your opponent’s strengths. It was certain, the Yori planned to take advantage of a supposed invasion and somehow unseat Gunther from his throne. Not entirely horrible, except for the fact that Gunther would never allow anyone to enslave him again.

When the male continued to be silent, Gunther lifted a tankard to his lips and took a long drink. “As I said, the conversation can wait. I have much to learn. If you are intent on our joining forces, for whatever purposes, I cannot foresee it. Personally, if I were to choose a champion in a match between a Torant and an Eslander, I would choose the latter as victor.” Although his guards stiffened, they kept silent.

Indros’ eyes narrowed on him and Gunther felt the intrusion, the shuffling through his mind. He almost laughed at the rudimentary attempt to not only read his thoughts but also seek a way to control him.

Lifting his gaze, he shot fiery energy pulses back at the male, who squeezed his eyes shut and gripped his head, gasping until finally able to block the onslaught. Indros was left panting, beads of sweat trailing down his temples.

The Yori glared at him, nostrils flared, lips twisted into a snarl. “You are a fool if you do not see that the joining of our realms will create an unstoppable force. I will become the greatest ruler, with or without your help. I am giving you the opportunity to share the largest kingdom, but you are a fool,” Indros gritted out as he stood.

His generals exchanged looks, seeming to get satisfaction from what the Yori stated.

Gunther stood as well, following the male who stalked toward the doorway. When he let out a breath, the Indros turned to look at him with a questioning look.

Assuring a pleasant tone, Gunther spoke. “I may be a fool, but I know that if our realms ever become one, there will only be room for one ruler, which, of course means one of us would have to die.”

Indros’ upper lip curled into a sneer. “There is no reason for it to come to that. We are both reasonable…er, rulers.”

When Gunther didn’t reply, they continued on toward the opening, side by side, guards in front and behind them. It was ironic to Gunther that his men held no loyalty to him and that he could be attacked at any moment from either a Torant or a Yorian. The only thing that kept him alive was the fact that Torants barely tolerated the Yorians. Having battled against each other, their truce was a tenuous one.

It was late when the skies were dark outside, not that it made much different in his realm. Gunther placed his elbows on the tabletop and rubbed his eyes.

Reading through Meliot’s notes for two days now and questioning the scribe who’d attended most of Meliot’s meetings with others, had clarified a few things. Meliot had been cruel beyond belief, and the warlock hated Indros. It seemed he’d only agreed to a truce to keep from war with the one realm that surrounded two of the Dark Realm’s borders.

The scribe, a human male, sat at a small desk that was placed unobtrusively next to a doorway that led to a study. The man, who’d been in service to Meliot for decades, had been a well-known philosopher and writer during his lifetime in the other realm. He was called Philippe, born in 1700s in Marseilles, France. The man maintained a strong French accent but was fluent in several languages.

Unlike other humans who had been captured and kept captive in the Dark Realm, Phillippe seemed content with his life. In a way, Gunther understood.