“Master Dodge,” said the King of the Arborland, “Remind me to be so cordial when the Mountain army makes ‘adjustments’ to the Waterside border. In the meantime, I see an opportunity for profit. If the ancient law is to be ignored, let us re-form our Joint Repository as a hall of games. Vellum will deal cards from the bottom, and the house will win every hand.”
He raised an eyebrow toward the Prince, but failed to win a hint of amusement.
“No one but yourself is making light of the law,” said the Mountainland King. “We of the Mountains have honored the Documents faithfully. In truth, we have been the most faithful of the kingdoms, in light of our disadvantages.
“For all their wisdom, the Dividers misjudged the soil of the Tympanic Range. They gave the Mountainlands an impressive footprint, but our land cannot be made to grow food. Our toil is greater than yours, and our harvest is miniscule. Hunger is a way of life for the children.
“So many times I have sought relief through diplomacy, and so many times you have rebuffed me. Since hardness is your one language of fluency, I have have called you to the table in your mother tongue.”
“Your Highness,” said the Arbor King, “If I had your soil, my wealth would be double, and the children of the Arborland would be twice as fat.”
Even Dodge raised his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry, but the goose will not cry at the fox’s tale,” he continued, “The Mountain Kingdom has 400,000 men, and you keep a standing army of 200,000. You conscript the farmers from their fields, and the corn goes to seed. Your masons are busy making towers of defense, but your silos leak, and the grain rots in them. Half a million stags are grazing the Tympanic foothills, and the would-be hunters are in my Orchard, guarding your illegal conquest.
“During the famines, your father managed to feed his people. Your Grandfather yielded a surplus every year, and his traders made a fortune selling produce. If your people have no food, the fault is in their capitol, not in their soil.
The King of the Mountainland, at ease until now, was suddenly burning. “Your Highness is again mistaken. I have 300,000 men in my standing army, and you shall feel them all breathing on your neck. I’ve come to you as a beggar, and you have filled my basket with insults.”
“You have come to me as a thief, and I shall see the spoils returned.”
The King of the Mountainlands rose to his feet. “I will not stay to hear such…”
“Your Majesty of the Arborland.”
Both kings were caught short by the manly voice, too insistent to be Vellum’s, too young for Dodge. The Mountainland Prince rose, claiming the voice as his own.
“Your Majesty of the Arborland,” he repeated, “If the Army of the Mountains were to make a full retreat, could you then be moved to aid us?”
“Your Majesty of the High Peaks,” said the Arbor King, his first use of the Prince’s honorific. “If the Army of the Mountains were to make a full retreat, the Kingdom of the Arborland would be busy rebuilding homes, and comforting the widows of our border guards. For your hungry people, my advice is to plough your fields, sow seed, and tend your crop all the way through to harvest.”
The King of the Mountainlands interjected, smiling again. “I beg you, Your Majesty, no lectures for my son. Once he sees our new Orchard, he’ll forget his fear of want. Reserve your speeches for your boys-at-arms. An army shall visit them tomorrow.
The delegation from the Arborlands had taken a muddy road, and stopped thereafter to wash the horses’s legs. They arrived gleaming, regal and late. The young King clenched his reigns when he saw the tent, arrayed in Mountain colors, violet and white.
A party of Mountain guards and messengers were grouped to the north of the tent. The Arborlanders approached from the south, and dismounted. Vellum, the Waterman, made a gesture of welcome, and bade the King enter when ready.
The day being fine, both tent flaps were fully open, and the arriving party could see everything within. The Mountainland King and Prince were already seated, both wearing slim smiles. (His Highness of Arborland wanted to hit them both in their self-satisfied faces.) Two empty chairs faced the Mountain royals across a low cherrywood table. The choice of wood was clearly intentional, and the King couldn’t decide whether to be honored or insulted. On the left side of the table were the customary silver goblets and decanter of wine. On the right, at easy reach of the King’s designated chair, was a pen and silver inkpot. At the center was a single parchment, already filled with tidy script. Once signature was visible at the bottom, and room was left for another below it.
Seeing no physical threat and an obvious paper one, the King saluted his general, then signaled with a nod that Dodge, his advisor, would be his second.
Earlier, while traveling, the King came up with several witty, condescending things to say in greeting. In the moment he sufficed with a curt “Your Highness.”
“Your Highness,” replied His Majesty.
Pleasantries done, the two Arbormen proceeded into the tent and seated themselves. Vellum, the Waterland mediator, entered behind them, and stood.
The King found his cushion to be the sort that promises comfort but delivers wisdom. He was immediately aware of his spine (among other parts), and thought to make use of it.
“I must thank Your Highness for your thoughtful concern,” he said. “I had been anticipating a tedious day of negotiation, and here I find you’ve done the work for both of us. May I read the outcome now, or must I suspend my excitement?”
“Our proposal is more than fair,” said the King of The Mountainland, succeding, nearly, to put on a helpful expression. “My troops will withdraw to the Shepherds’ Hills, which will become the new border. You retain fully two-thirds of the Orchard, while the Mountainland keeps just a slice of our appropriated territory. You withdraw the bulk of your army from the border, and agree to end your campaign of aggression.”
The Arborland King reddened impressively. To keep his tongue in check, he picked up the parchment and read it. Shortly he handed the document to Dodge, and turned his gaze on Vellum, who shifted nervously.
“Lord Vellum, you know the Documents of Division reasonably well. Isn’t that right?”
“Your Highness is correct. I do know them well.”
This was an understatement, of course. Counsellor Vellum was more than a Master of Laws, he was Executor of the Documents, the official head of the Joint Repository. His personal duty was to safeguard and study the Documents of Division, the collection of treaties, accords and proclamations that organized the Country into its three kingdoms.
“My copies of the Documents are only facsimilies,” said the King, “so perhaps I have missed some nuance of emphasis, but I understand the text to be thus: ‘From the Falls of the Old Mother west to Bear Falls, the Glacier river will form the border between the Kingdom of the Mountainland and the Kingdom of the Arborland. Along the border, the river must be free from obstruction or redirection. West from Bear Falls, a border line shall be surveyed from the Outlook Rock to the point of sunset at equinox. A continuous wall or marker shall be maintained along this median.’ Is that a fair approximation?”
“Your Highness quotes the Document accurately to word,” said Vellum.
“Is there any amendment, anywhere in the Documents that would set the border in some other place?”
“I know of none.”
“You see what must be done then, Vellum. The army of the Mountainlands is forty miles south of the legal border. They have, by surprise action and brutal force, occupied more than 600 square miles of farmland. These actions are expressly forbidden by the Documents of Division. The Kingdom of the Waterland is compelled to help us restore our territory.”
Vellum rubbed white hairs on the back of his neck. “Their Majesty of the Waterland send their high regards to Your Majesty of the Arborland, and to Your Majesty of the Mountainland.” He wet his lips. “They trust that your mutual endeavor to adjust the border will be of benefit to both your kingdoms, and they hope you will inform them of your final resolution, so their maps can be made current.”
Ok, I’m not that big a reader of fiction, especially fantasy fiction, but when your brain asks you to write a serial fantasy novel, are you going to say no? (Hint: I’ve been trying all day to say no, but there is the story, still bothering me).
Even better than just a serial novel, this will be a write-as-I-go story, which means I’ll have to put down the beginning of the story long before I know how it ends. So I’ll be writing by the seat of my pants. Should be fun! And probably not brilliant, but you get what you pay for.
After my November recording project, I’m undertaking a few things for the month of January. I’ll be working on some recordings, which I may or may not post here, and I’m committing myself to one short article per day.
I spent much of the day retrofitting the site, so this little announcement will have to count for today.