"He's busy at the moment," the voice replied. "Tell him it's urgent," Bashir said impatiently. The voice sighed behind the door, and a latch was drawn back as the door opened, revealing a large man with a full beard that had scraps of food still stuck in it from breakfast. The man was at least a head taller than Bashir, possibly weighing twice as much. His light colored tunic had a few stains on it, and it was clear that this man cared little for his appearance.
"What is it, then?" the large man asked, irritated that someone had interrupted his peaceful morning. "I know you have a raven cage here, and I want to send a message. In addition, I would like to pay to stable my horse in one of your stalls," Bashir produced a handful of gold coins, making the man a bit more amiable than before.
"It's a shame you both look and smell like a dead horse," the man glinted, hoping he could get more from his uninvited guest. Bashir sighed and immediately pulled the cloth that covered his face. "Y-Your Majesty," the large man blanched. "Shhh! No one is supposed to know I'm here, so keep your fucking voice down," Bashir rushed to put a hand to the man's filthy mouth.
With a silent nod, the man agreed.
"In any other situation, I might have had your head for such disrespect," Bashir said threateningly. "I'm sorry, Your Ma-... sir," the man said, clearing his throat. Bashir had to stop him from bowing again. "Stop calling me that and fetch me parchment, a quill, and ink. Move!" he hissed. "I-I always leave a stack of parchment there by the cage, but I'll fetch the quill," the man said, and ran off to get it before he made his visitor even more disgruntled.
He returned a few moments later with a stained goose feather and a small inkwell, and handed the contents to Bashir. "Here you are," the man said. "Finally," Bashir sighed, quickly grabbing the items from the man's hands, and began writing.
Prepare to march on Coltend Castle. King Truls has murdered my son, and I will have revenge. King Bashir Ibn'Escea, he wrote on the parchment.
He signed the message with wax and used his ring to imprint his signet. He folded it up and stuck it into the small leather pouch that would latch onto the raven's chest. "The Harutian Palace," he whispered, holding the raven close to his mouth. The raven cawed in response to the command before he threw it into the air and watched it as it headed toward his home.
"What was that for, if I may ask?" the man shifted uncomfortably. "War," Bashir replied with a malicious smirk on his face. The man's eyes opened wide. "I thought the council taking place was to be of peace," the man said in a half-questioning voice. "What is your name?" Bashir asked. "Ahkmed Al'Talik," the man replied.
"Well, Ahkmed, if you allow me to hide here in your home, not that you have much else of a choice, I will tell you why I will have war," Bashir stated. "You can have my room. I'll take the guest room," Ahkmed nodded, gesturing for Bashir to follow him up the stairs and to the disaster that awaited him.
Bottles, plates, bowls, and other items lay across the floor. They looked as if they had been there for the past few days, and the whole room reeked of spilled wine and rotting food. The once-beautiful, handmade carpets on the floor had intricate geometric designs, which would have been a wonder to look at in their original states and not covered in filth.
This is the best he has to offer? It might be better than the guest room if the man offered me to take it, Bashir wrinkled his nose.
"It will have to do," he said with a sigh. "Forgive me, sir, but I have not quite been myself these past few months," Ahkmed said gloomily. Bashir turned to face the man and saw that something was troubling him. "What would drive a man to live in these conditions?" he asked, noting the man's solemn expression, which began to well with tears.
"It's my wife, my lord," he choked. "She became increasingly ill, and no physician could figure out the problem. That started about six months back, and she died of a fever about a week ago," he sniffled, trying to hold back a flood of tears.
Shit, Bashir thought, realizing he'd accidentally been rude to the man.
"I… I have not yet recovered from her loss. She was everything to me. She fed me, clothed me when needed, and helped me set up everything I own. She was my lover and my best friend all in one. In her eyes, there wasn't a circumstance in the whole world that would tear us apart. I-I wasn't always a rich man, but I married into her family for more than just that. She was nothing short of an angel, and now with her loss…" he couldn't finish his sentence.
Bashir sighed through his nostrils and put a hand on Ahkmed's shoulder in solidarity. "I'm so sorry, my friend. Not just for your loss, but for the way I treated you," he shook his head. "It's alright, sir, you didn't know; there's no way you could have," Ahkmed sniffled again, wiping some snot on the back of his sleeve.
"I'm no angel, but had I known, I would have acted differently," Bashir said, his guilt nearly overwhelming him. Ahkmed suddenly fell to the ground in an uncontrollable fit of tears.
"I will see to it that your establishment wants for nothing once I return to the palace," he said comfortingly. "Y-you would do that for me?" Ahkmed asked, tears streaming down his prominent cheeks and into his thick beard. Bashir nodded and consoled the crying man for a while.
A few moments later, Ahkmed's crying had stopped, and he picked himself up off the floor. "I'll get this cleaned up for you. It's the very least I could do," he said, beginning to stack a handful of dirty bowls. Seeing this, Bashir started to grab a few of the bottles off the floor. "Wh-what are you doing? This is my mess, and my responsibility, sir," Ahkmed said, trying to stop him.
"And as your king, I must help my people, so I will help you clean up, anyway, and you will not say another word about it," Bashir said firmly. The man smiled, wiping away more tears that threatened to fall, as they began picking up the old bowls of food and empty bottles off the floor.
Meanwhile, the raven flew as fast as its wings would carry it towards the palace, making it to its destination by nightfall. One of the guardsmen who stood watch at the palace's raven cage room heard the incoming bird cawing a short way away. He turned to watch the carrier land and pant heavily on the roost provided for it. He walked over to the perch and saw the pouch on its chest, unlacing its bindings and removing the contents.
His eyes widened as he noticed the king's seal on the letter and immediately rushed down the tower stairs to bring it to his captain.
The palace was a beautiful place, with intricate tapestries and carvings so beautiful that they could easily be identified as the works of a master artisan. The nearly seamless stone floor was beige and cool to the touch, and each one had a pattern painted on it. The perfectly aligned pillars and walls supporting the palace made for excellent ventilation in the summer and insulation in the winter.
The guardsman sprinted down the staircase from the raven tower, through the vast halls to his destination, arriving there without being short of breath. "Sir," he said much more loudly than he had intended before rendering a proper greeting. "What is it?" the Harutian captain replied, relatively annoyed to be bothered at that hour of the night.
He was covered in a two-layer tunic that was slightly open at the neck. It protected slashing, but very little against stabbing movements, but lightweight armor came at that cost. His beige and brown sashes were wrapped around his waist, tying the large scimitar to the right side of his body. He had one red sash tied around his right arm, showing his rank.
"We've received a message from His Majesty," the guardsman said. "Give it here," the captain's eyes widened as he reached for the letter. The guardsman handed the small parchment to him, and he read its contents. After a few heartbeats, his eyes flared with a fiery anger. "Our king wants a war. Ready the men, we ride at dawn for Coltend and honor," he said, looking at the other two men he had been holding council with before being interrupted.
"But, sir, King Bashir has ridden there for a peace council. I don't understand why we would ride there in full gear ready for war," the guard cocked his head, causing the captain to fume. "The reason for that is that the king of Coltend has murdered Prince Bashaa," he snapped. "It's written here, and in the unmistakable hand of King Bashir," he brought the parchment over, tapping it firmly to ensure the guard looked at it.
"Read it yourself, and if you don't believe our king, then you have no place in our ranks. Would you want to stay put and suffer the consequences once he arrives, or would you rather obey the orders as you have been taught to do?" the captain growled. The man knew the consequences of disobeying a direct order, especially from the highest command. "Of course, sir," the guard rendered a crisp salute.
"We ride for the Rhydian Pass, and Coltend at dawn. For our King, our country, and our honor as warriors," the captain said sternly. He pulled a scroll from the shelf behind him and read it over to ensure it was the correct order before stamping the blue wax with the ring on his finger.
His insignia clearly showed in its imprint. He waited for it to dry completely and handed it over to one of the other men in the room. "You know what to do," he said. The guard saluted and proceeded out of the room.
The order was given out, and all the men were assembled by dawn. Horses had been fed, and swords sharpened. Three thousand men left the Harutian capital of Escea, riding for honor.
And to war.