198 Falmer
An eerie silence covered the capital of Luak as three city guards patrolled the streets, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. The citizens, seeing the guards approach, quickly lowered their eyes, their faces pale with fear. They trembled, avoiding any movement that might draw attention. It was as if they hoped to melt into the shadows, to disappear entirely.
The guards marched, stopping in front of a small wooden door. One of them pounded on it so hard the door shuddered, nearly breaking apart.
"Jason Morn!" one of the guards called, his voice echoing through the quiet streets. "You've been summoned to join the army in the North to fight the invaders. You are ordered to leave immediately."
No response came from inside. The guards exchanged annoyed glances before nodding to each other. With a swift kick, the door was forced open, the wood cracking and breaking into pieces. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om
A moment later, screams erupted from within the house, reverberating down the streets and alleys. "Let go of me, you bastards! You have already taken my father and brothers to the North! I can't leave my mother and sisters!"
The guards dragged a struggling teenager, no older than fifteen, out of the house. His face was bruised, the skin around his eyes swelling where they had struck him with the pommel of their swords. He thrashed against their grip, but they were much stronger than him. He was only a kid.
Falmer continued eating, but his long-time advisor, who had served the king for decades, could notice the subtle difference in the king's mannerism. The knife dug into the meat with more force than necessary as he continued to eat.
"What about the nobles?" - Falmer asked, trying to keep his tone neutral and hide his emotions - "Have any of the high houses joined the fight? Have they pursued the enemy?" The advisor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "The high nobles remain near the border villages, my king. They have sent commoners to fight in their stead. As for the lower-ranked houses, they have dispatched some of their distant kin, but most of them are barely trained."
The king's eyes darkened. In a flash of anger, he threw his plate across the room. It shattered against the wall, fragments flying all over the room as a thin cut appeared on his advisor's cheek.
"I told them to engage and end this quickly!" Falmer roared, his face reddening. "We don't know the strength of their forces, and we can't afford delays. They wiped out our entire army during the invasion, and that damn general Luther is with them. If he reaches the capital, it's my head on the line. It's my throne they will take."
He pointed a finger at his advisor. "Send a letter to every one of those nobles. Tell them if they don't bring me the heads of those Stahl soldiers, I'll put their heads on pikes myself. I don't care who they are." The king's fury flared up, and his hands clenched into fists as he paced. His mind flashed back to the mysterious mage who had promised him the lands of the North. The mage had sworn that all the Cold Iron mines and territories would fall into his grasp, and Falmer, tempted by the wealth and power, had believed him. He had sent thousands of soldiers north on that promise. But the mage had died, leaving him to face the consequences, and the loss of a valuable subordinate.
"All for nothing," Falmer muttered bitterly, his voice low and seething. "I want their heads, every last one of them!"