The Old Man of Brelkinski - Part 1

A short story about an old man in a world much different from when he was younger. He hopes to restore peace in the realm.

The morning sun rose above the plains of Brel, spreading pale yellow light over the encampments of the Brel and Kirkinsk armies. Each settlement sat atop two grassy hills, separated only by flat, empty plains. Men on both sides began to stir, tending fires, sharpening blades and breaking their fasts on stale bread and salted pork. Although they could see their adversaries no more than a couple of miles away, the knights and fighting men of both sides had not yet met their enemy on this battleground. The war however was nearing a decade in length. Dozens of castles sieged or destroyed, acres of farmland scorched, and countless men fallen to blade or arrow. Neither side seemed to have gained the upper-hand at any point during the war. Yet the hatred and fighting raged on as strong as ever before.

 

Within one of the largest sapphire blue tents of Brel, an old man stood calmly while a young squire hurriedly dressed him in armour and tabard. Not a word was exchanged between Mattais and the squire, not on this day. The night previous bore a full moon, seen clearly through a cloudless sky, signalling the second parlay between the leaders of Brel and Kirkinsk armies. Mattais would join his son and the other high lords of Brel and Kirkinsk in the valley below their camp. He knew the importance of the meeting at high noon. The right choice of words could end the war without spilling another drop of blood. The soil and rivers across the kingdom had already drunk in an ocean’s worth. On the other hand, one wrong move could ignite an inextinguishable wildfire.  

 

It made no sense to Mattais in the first place. The Northern Realm was once a peaceful kingdom, the kingdom of Brelkinski. Over time, different religious views developed in the west as prophets came from overseas bringing ancient tales of gods and their followers, great men who became immortalized that now lived amongst the stars. The religion spread east to the Snowcap Mountains, but no further. Tension developed slowly, resulting in a division of the unified kingdom into Brel in the east and Kirkinsk in the west. Soon after, Kirkinsk claimed ownership of the Snowcap hinterlands, east of the mountains, as sacred grounds to their god of war. Mattais’ reign as king of Brel ended only years before the Snowcap conflict, and his eldest son Elmahu, declared war on the encroaching Westerners. Though the area had no economic or strategic purpose, Elmahu could not stand to see his power and claim contested.

Mattais had fought hard to save unified Brelkinski, favoring a peaceful coexistence despite religious differences. The lords of the realm respected Mattais greatly, but the East desired to rule from an Eastern seat, while the religious Westerners believed only those who served their gods were permitted within their kingdom. Furthermore, if Mattais had still been king when the Kirkinsk prophets spread their influence into the Snowcap hinterlands, he would have endeavoured to reach a peaceful resolution; a rational and mutually beneficially agreement; allowing for the Kirkinsk king to purchase the disputed land would have been ideal.

 

“My valin,” the squire spoke, referring to Mattais’ title as former king, “King Elmahu will be waiting for you.” Mattais had been lost in thought and did not notice the squire had finished equipping his bronze breastplate and sword belt.

 

“Thank you Erik, you may go now.”

 

With that the boy vanished with the flap of the tent. Mattais picked up his helm, holding it under his arm as he strode out of the tent and into the brisk morning air. It was a cool fall day, frost crunched under his boots as he walked towards the command tent, only a few campsites away. Although the sun beamed down brightly enough to cause Mattais to squint, it gave little heat to the outside air. The breath of each man moving throughout the encampment could be seen rising from dry lips. Many of the knights passing by greeted Mattais in respectful tones as if addressing a superior. Although he had been king, his level of authority was now no more than that of an old knight. Mattais returned each reception with a wincing smile and a slow nod, as if his head weighed as much as a great stone castle; he was getting weary, something his son pointed out frequently. With a loving wife and three younger children hundreds of miles away, Mattais wanted nothing more than to return home and live out his last years peacefully surrounded by good food and family. However, he felt obligated to serve the realm he once ruled over, and ensure the safety and prosperity of all within, no matter the allegiance.

 

Upon entering the command tent, Mattais witnessed a group of four men flanking a tall, muscular, oil-black skinned man with a simple golden crown atop his head. The five men were clustered around a large wooden table with a great map spread out across the surface, held down by four brass horseshoes at each corner.

 

“Father,” the king said softly from his seat without taking his eyes off of the map below, “please join us. Lord Woldin has proposed an intriguing attack plan that would have made you proud a decade ago.”

 

Without reply, Mattais took a few steps over to the table, stopping opposite Elmahu. He gazed at the map, the weaving blue rivers, the dark green forests, and the small black towers that represented fortified enemy outposts. Lord Woldin opened his mouth as if to speak of the aforementioned attack plan, but Mattais was first to speak: “Any attack plan would invite many more battles and much more destruction to the realm and its people. Now is the time to negotiate a treaty. After two months of ceasefight, we must take the opportunity. It’s the best chance to restore peace and save many lives.”

 

The audience around Mattais, all younger men, laughed in reply. They were bloodthirsty, eager to be the hero and the feature of the next epic song or tale that would survive within the kingdom of Brel for centuries to come.

 

“We outnumber their forces. We are better equipped, better trained…” Elmahu said confidently, generating a wave of nods from the lords around the large wooden table. “We will take back the hinterlands once and for all, and we will not stop there. The riverlands to the south will fall quickly, the fortifications of Rockpoint and the River City are weak. Once they have fallen, supplies will be cut in half for the Kirkinsk army. It will be a matter of time before the entire realm belongs to the men of Brel.”

 

“Circumstances have not changed since the beginning of the war. Both sides have lost thousands. Farmland everywhere has been scorched. We can’t afford to continue this war my son.”

“Careful how you speak to me father. I am the king, I expect to be addressed so,” Elmahu said cooly, rising from the table emphatically. As he stood beside the other lords, Mattais recalled again how tall his son was, towering a half foot over the other great lords of Brel. “We will meet the lords of Kirkinsk at noon, and blood will be shed by nightfall.”

Author's Note

It is quite short, and its only part 1. I'm expecting 3 or 4 parts of equal length.

Reviews

[Susan McCaskill]

A good start, but watch the use of semi colons, and be careful with your sentences, because some of them are rather choppy. It has the bones of a good story; keep it up!

[fwvalidus]

Thanks for the review, I do believe this piece has some work to do. However I find my efforts now are concentrating on my Tegra 7 story as it seems to be where my mind is as a storyteller for the time being

[Susan McCaskill]

I hear you! It's hard when one has so many ideas, and has to choose which to focus on!