Chapter Eleven: An Unhappy Regent
Tranith Argan: Book 2
All of Tranith Argan is rejoicing! Not only did they repel the invasion from Shanaar, their newly discovered king was leading the forces. Even elves reported to him!
Wait, did I say all of Tranith Argan is rejoicing? Well, maybe not all…
Anarth sat on the throne and brooded. His beard and whiskers, long since turned white, flowed down from his face. His face held the wrinkles of age with grace, making him seem full of experience and wisdom. His garment, the official garment that all regents wore, looked old and worn. The once gaily colored red of the robe was faded and the white sash hung limply over his shoulder. His advisors had suggested several times that new garments be made, but Anarth resisted. The old robe was comfortable, and that was enough for him. He had no need to impress with new clothes. Was he not regent of Tranith Argan, and was that not enough?
The throne room had the same air of neglect. It clearly had been impressive at one time, and by sheer scale it still was an amazing sight for the uninitiated, but it had seen better days. A huge ceiling curved upward over the large room, so that on approaching the throne the room seemed to expand. Anyone approaching the old kings, or today the regents, felt smaller and smaller as they walked toward the throne. At the very center of the room sat the throne, under the highest point of the ceiling. There was very little else of note in the room; it was always sparsely furnished. The sheer emptiness of the great hall furthered humbled the visitor. His steps along the marble floor would echo in his ears as the ceiling fell away from him, until finally he stood before the tall throne. By this point the visitor would be emotionally prepared to do whatever the monarch asked.
Lacking a king, the regent served in the name of the king, but that wasn’t quite as compelling in the eyes of the people. In the days of the kings, there were battles to be fought and land to be won and defended. The regents, historically, felt hesitant to usurp the role of king and initiate wars, so they started out being more defensive by nature. As the centuries wore on, and the regents dared to take on more tasks, the inertia of the past took over and few regents bothered to expand the kingdom. Since there were fewer important matters to consider, over time the regents had become experts in considering matters of lesser importance. As if to certify their significance, many regents had kept their servants busy with matters that sounded vital to the interests of the kingdom, but really were just a matter of indulging the whims of the men on the throne.
Anarth, as a young man, had viewed his ascension to the throne as an honor. To hold the kingdom together until the king returned was a worthy endeavor. At least, that is what he told himself, for such was the tradition of the regency – to keep the kingdom running until the king’s return. That is all it was now: a tradition. Regents and advisors talked about the king constantly, but with no meaning behind the words. ‘When the king rules again’, was a phrase used by the people to indicate something desired but never realized. ‘If the king wills’, was an empty phrase used only by hopeless dreamers.
As Anarth had aged through the decades, the same lethargy that had sapped his predecessors of hope had descended upon him. Instead of looking forward, he began to look backward toward long distant glory: At how things had been done, and were currently being done, not at how they should be done if the king were to return. Which was an absurd concept! How could a king ever return when the entire royal line had long since been destroyed. Would a king appear out of thin air?
This thinking had been encouraged by his advisors and servants. Why look to a king that would never appear when there were pressing matters of state to attend to now? They would present these matters, these duties, to Anarth, and thus his time was spent happily caring for the duties of a king that was long gone and would never return. His chief advisor, Canar, a man who had faithfully served him for more than twelve years, agreed that this was the proper duty of a regent. Canar had come to Tranith Argan as a young man of promise from the duchy of Irular Istan long ago. He had unusual wisdom for one so young, and it had not been long before he had been pressed into service of the regent. He had served his master well, giving good counsel for all matters or problems that had arisen.
Ah, but this latest problem, this was big, the biggest of all. Canar had been the most adamant of all his servants that no king would appear, that it was up to the regent to use the power of a king for good. ‘Sire,’ he would whisper to Anarth, ‘this talk of a king saps the people of their strength, for they yearn for a dream and waste their future. They need you to lead them onward, not into the past.’ Anarth agreed with his faithful advisor, for his wisdom was deemed great, and his words worthy to heed.
Now it was all rushing in upon his head after all. Anarth thought back to that day, several weeks ago, when that meddling fool of a guardian appeared in the throne room with that elf lord. A king, they spoke of. A king in the flesh, not in the past. What could this mean, he had wondered? Genealogy charts were produced and a lineage explained. Ravesfel was firm on the matter, this was a true king come back as if from a dream, but actually from very real families. Anarth’s feelings were a mixture of ancient hope dredged up from the depths of his youth and current loathing for the idea of surrendering power. Wasn’t he busy with matters of state? What would become of his initiatives if he were shunted aside? It was a disturbing image, the revered regent cast away to live out his days among the rabble.
Canar, o faithful Canar, font of wisdom, had saved the day. Canar had cast doubt on Ravesfel’s words, pointing out that they had only the old man’s word that this boy (he insisted on calling him a boy at all times) was really who he said he was. Who is to say these genealogy notes were authentic? Could not Ravesfel be using the threat of the elves’ strength in order to force the noble regent from power? Is this why he appeared before the king with the elf lord? Why else would Llarand be there, for what business was it of elves? Might not Ravesfel be trying to install a young puppet in order to control the powers of Argan for himself? Is this not what that aged schemer wanted all along, and now was seizing the moment?
Yes, that is what was happening, the regent had told himself. Canar was deep with wisdom for seeing through this attempt. The more he thought about it, the more certain he became. Ravesfel had been jealous of his power, Anarth convinced himself. Anarth had seen it written on the old man’s face, on many occasions, when the guardian had refused to honor the regent with the praise Anarth felt he deserved. Now he was even attempting to remove him from office, to trivialize his efforts, to blacken his name among the people. He, Anarth, regent of Tranith Argan!
Canar had been rewarded for his swift and shrewd thinking, and Ravesfel and Llarand imprisoned for their cunning plot. Anarth had refused to listen to any appeals from them, for Canar had warned him that the words of a guardian dripped with treachery, and the words of an elf lord were bewitching. Deep in the dungeon they had stayed for weeks, but the damage had been done. The word had already spread throughout the city that a king lived. The people could talk about nothing else, for they were a stupid people who unthinkingly longed for a monarch. Why, did they not already have one in him? Anarth despised these peasants for their ignorant ways. Did they not appreciate him, and his efforts? Why would they throw him away just because some beggar had been plucked by the guardian into playing the king?
He tried to silence the rumors, and forbade any mention of it in his presence. However, when he asked Canar privately for news of the realm, and particularly if the people had forgotten about this pretender to the throne, he was always disappointed. Not only was the news still on people's lips, it was spreading even wider. Delegations arrived constantly, from Delendor, from Irular Istan, from the coastal sections. Even, it was rumored, the dwarves were sending representatives to learn the truth of these rumors. It ate away at Anarth, and he brooded daily on his throne.
Then news of the invasion had taken everyone’s attention, and Anarth was almost happy to be besieged. It was a call for action, and swift leadership, and he would show the people who was the real leader of Tranith Argan. He felt indignation at Vélakk, daring to attack his throne like this. When this invasion failed (and it would fail), there would have to be an answer from him. Yes, such aggression would be punished, he thought. In his high spirits he even released Ravesfel and Llarand and had them brought to him under guard, to let the conspirators stand by his side and watch his triumph.
At first the siege was as standoff. Vélakk’s forces could not overwhelm the city’s defenses, but the forces caused damage nonetheless. Reports from the outer wall indicated that the catapults were taking a toll, and that they might have to fall back to the second wall if relief didn’t come soon. Ravesfel counseled an attacking position, not just defensive, though Anarth viewed his words with scorn. Always Canar had advised holding back, not leaving the city exposed by opening the gates and having the enemy overwhelm their army. Anarth had followed Canar’s words, though with some reluctance. He wanted to show his people his strength, not the waiting stance of a dotard. Still, Canar had been right so far, and the outer wall had held. Besides, he resisted any suggestion Ravesfel made, even if that suggestion matched his own thoughts.
Then came the news of another army appearing, one of elves. This was strange tidings to the regent’s ears. However, nothing was stranger than when two of his advisors had burst into the throne room and, ignoring the royal edict, spoke of a king leading this army of elves. The people had new hope with this news, they told the regent, and against his express orders the army had opened the gates and overwhelmed the enemy. The day was theirs!
Thinking this good news, the advisors had spoken exultingly. But it was not good news to Anarth. The enemy was defeated? It would have happened in any case, for who can defeat Argan, he snapped back. He was deeply irritated, for not only were his orders countermanded, they were defied in the way he had originally wanted to go. He had wanted to show his people his leadership, but Canar had counseled patience. Now it was this pretender to the throne who was getting the credit, and this burned in Anarth’s heart as he sat brooding on this throne.
A knock boomed on the door to the throne room. Anarth didn’t even look up, but ignored the sound. Somewhat hesitatingly, the doors creaked open as the doorkeepers looked in to see if the regent was safe and well. Seeing this, Anarth looked up and roared, “Who dares to interrupt the regent of Tranith Argan? I gave no permission for visitors!”
“Yet visitors you shall have,” cried a voice from behind the servants, “for this room does not belong to you any more, o regent.”
Anarth began to shake with anger at this impudence, for the voice was Ravesfel’s, and he felt the conspirator was being too bold even for him.
Another voice came up from behind: Canar’s voice. Instead of sounding his usual calm, confident self, his voice was angry and frustrated, as if he were continuing an argument he was losing badly.
“Halt, I say! None may pass those doors without leave!”
Ravesfel, without breaking stride or turning around to face Canar, said with much sarcasm, “And who gives you leave to make such orders? The king, perhaps?”
Anarth’s anger turned to bitter curiosity as he saw the people walking in behind Ravesfel. There was Llarand again, and he recognized Dalonír from a long ago visit. Canar he saw on the other side of the door, hesitating. The other two he did not recognize, but his heart knew even before Ravesfel introduced them.
“Anarth, regent of Tranith Argan, as you like to remind us constantly, I present to you the rightful heir of the throne. Here are the heirs of the kings of Argan, the last remaining members of the once great royal family. Felanar and Kara, son and daughter of Renular of Delendor, son of Lanarth, son of Poranan. All the way back to Al-Supir the Indecisive, O regent.”
He paused as Felanar and Kara strode further into the room, between the guardian and the Findára. They stopped five feet from the throne as Ravesfel continued, “Here is your king. Your duties have been fulfilled.”
The servants at the door bowed low at hearing this. Anarth saw their movement in the background, and it ground deeply into his heart. Were they taken in by these impostors too? He glowered at Felanar, but said nothing. For all his indignation, and for all the strength of Canar’s words, Anarth knew his position was hopeless at present. The people had accepted this man as the king, and if he resisted opinion would turn sharply against him. Furthermore, who was to say Canar wasn’t wrong? Anarth didn’t believe this boy could be king, but there would be time enough to prove that point later. Yes, an unmasking would occur, and he, Anarth, would reclaim his rightful place. For now, diplomacy was called for. Let them see that he could control his feelings even in the face of rank insubordination. Let them see a real leader. Still, his pride didn’t quite let go, even at this moment.
“Would you throw away an old man, one who has served his people well? Out onto the streets am I to go?” He looked bitterly at Ravesfel as his lips quivered. His eyes were old, but the anger burned bright within them. Ravesfel stared back with anger of his own, but when he spoke his voice was controlled and soft.
“That is up to the king to decide, not me. Spare me your wrath, for if anyone has cause for anger, it is Llarand and I. Not to the streets did you send us.”
Anarth’s stare moved from Ravesfel to Llarand, who merely stared impassively back, and then slowly toward Felanar. This young boy is no more qualified to be king than my servants are, he thought. Look at him, he is the puppet of that guardian. Anarth glanced over at Canar, who was standing at the threshold of the room. Canar bowed his head at the regent’s glance, and that pleased Anarth.
Raising his aged body off the throne, Anarth got to his feet slowly. With great dignity, he walked down the seven steps of the throne and stood before the young man. After an awkward pause, during which the young man stared steadily into the regent’s eyes (such impudence!), the old regent stiffly bowed before him and stepped to the side. He gestured toward the throne and, with a sign from Ravesfel to continue, Felanar somewhat hesitatingly walked up the steps, turned, and sat on his rightful throne.
Kara looked on with wonder, as her brother seem transformed before her eyes into a monarch of power and strength. She had never been prouder of her older brother than she was this moment. Throughout the day, he had accepted the mantle of leadership, first with elves and now with the royal court of men. She beamed at Felanar and felt deep satisfaction.
Felanar, for his part, felt a mixture of fear, excitement and queasiness. He literally looked down on everyone else in the room from the high throne, and he felt extremely alone at that moment. The look Anarth had given him hadn’t escaped his notice, and Ravesfel had briefly whispered something about his own experience with Llarand. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to the old regent. Yet perceiving that the moment called for something to be said, and seeing all eyes upon him, he looked steadily at Anarth and addressed him in as even a voice as he could manage.
“Do not worry about your place, o great regent. The kingdom of Argan owes you a debt that can never be repaid. For decades, you served the people faithfully, and kept the throne ready for the day a king reappeared. You protected this city from attack and proved yourself a worthy leader. You shall be rewarded well for your faithful service, and great honor will be bestowed upon you all the days of your life.”
Nothing could have surprised Anarth more than these words, and in spite of himself he felt his heart soften slightly toward this young man. An impostor he may be, but a well-spoken one he was, and wise. Ravesfel nodded at Felanar as if to say ‘Well done’, and approached the throne.
“Your majesty,” he said, “the throne is yours. However, the people deserve to know you more fully, and your genealogy explained to them. A ceremony would be most fitting, for a king has returned to us this day. We have no parallel in our history, for never before was there a gap of kings, let alone one this long. It would be good, I think, to have an official ceremony where Anarth can present you with the crown that rests in the ancient vault. May I suggest that we make preparations for all this?”
“You may,” said Felanar.
“Good, I will see to it that it is done. May I also suggest that we meet privately with Anarth and the members of his court, and in detail explain the history of your family that lay hidden for so long? There is much to discuss in the way of a transition of power, as well.”
“It is called for, Ravesfel, and is the least we can do. I must seem a dream to some, or even an impostor from the outer villages.” He did not look at Anarth as he said this, but he sensed the old regent react to these words.
“It shall be done, my lord,” said Ravesfel.
“In the meantime,” continued Felanar, “we have the matter of the battle to discuss. I want to receive reports from the captains of the troops and know what is our military status. I understand we have prisoners of war, and we must discuss what shall be done with them. I would like to meet with our military leaders within the hour.”
“I will give your orders, my lord,” said Ravesfel as he walked to the door and spoke with the messengers of the court. Two of them took the orders and quickly ran to find the captains.
“Finally, I wish to be alone with my sister and our Findáran allies for a few minutes. The Findára fought alongside us this day, and Tranith Argan owes them a great debt. Oh, and find Bren – bring him to me as well. Anarth, please join us when the captains arrive. We will need your experience in these matters.”
Felanar motioned for the rest to go, and the servants and Anarth walked out of the room and the doors were closed with an echoing thud. The only ones left in the room were Ravesfel, Llarand, Dalonír and Kara. Felanar let out a sigh of relief and slumped in his throne. Kara and Dalonír laughed, while the others smiled at the sight of the young, inexperienced ruler. Felanar looked over at Ravesfel.
“Was this wise, do you think, to just barge into here like this?”
Ravesfel nodded at the young ruler. “It was the wisest course to take, I am sure. It is rushed, I know, but if we had chosen the slow route we would have given our enemies time to plot. Llarand and I tried the diplomatic approach with Anarth, and his advisors caused us to be detained for our labors.”
“Indeed, Felanar,” said Llarand, “I see that your court is full of intrigues, as if often the case with men. I agree with Ravesfel, that to act swiftly is the better course. There will be time enough to explain our actions. Better to operate from a position of strength, than one of supplication.”
Felanar was thoughtful as this was said. Kara, who had been listening intently, now spoke up.
“I understand your reasoning, Ravesfel. I see the point you make, Llarand. Nevertheless, I still feel this was too sudden. Trouble will come of this, for I do not think people in power like giving it up, least of all to strangers.”
Ravesfel nodded at Kara. “My lady, events have moved swiftly indeed. More swiftly than I would have had them, if you will recall. If we err today in our actions, then we err. The alternative was to engage in a battle of intrigue, and even I am not sure of the loyalties of each member of the royal household. I have my suspicions, but little sure knowledge, for the enemies of our lord are many and full of craft. We faced danger whichever way we turned, so I agree with Llarand that to operate from the throne is better than to operate from its outskirts.”
“I defer to your wisdom, Ravesfel,” said Kara, “but keep my words close to your heart, for Felanar is not safe yet. I can feel it.”
“Tell me what happened during your trip here, Ravesfel,” said Felanar. “When Tassair brought news of you and Llarand, he said you were in good health. Yet just before you were whispering to me of imprisonment at the hand of Anarth and now you speak openly of being sent away by the regent. What was the meaning of this?”
“Imprisoned?” cried Kara. “And yet you called for Anarth to be honored, Felanar. What does this mean, Ravesfel?”
“It means my words of palace intrigue were well timed,” responded Ravesfel. “You may recall that I hesitated to bring you to Tranith Argan until the time was right, for I feared there would be forces against you. You needed wisdom to deal with treacherous servants – yes, Kara, treacherous I say, and treacherous I mean. As I said just now, not all the regent’s servants and advisors have Felanar’s interests at heart. Not all, I think, have even the regent’s interest at heart either, but that is an even deeper matter, and one that must be dealt with.”
“This is why,” said Llarand, “it was felt that our best course of action was to rouse the people first. Let them know directly that a king lived and was returning to claim the throne. With a popular uproar in the land, there would be a limit on the intrigue that could be successfully carried out. The people would revolt against any action taken against their king, even if their familiar regent defended it. Therefore, we needed to create a swelling of support, and we succeeded. News of the king spread wildly, and even preceded us into Argan. By the time Ravesfel and I arrived at the city gates, the soldiers guarding the walls could talk of nothing else.”
“That is what saved the day,” continued Ravesfel, “for the regent himself was poisoned by that smooth Canar. He convinced the regent that we were plotting against him, that you, Felanar, were a fake.”
Felanar stirred on the throne and felt uncomfortable at this news of treachery among the palace staff.
“That is why we were imprisoned,” said Ravesfel, “for Canar convinced Anarth to do so. Only the coming of war got us released. And only because Anarth felt like gloating over us, I fear. His mind has been twisted by the words of his servants, and I fear we will have yet more trouble from them before everything is finished.”
“Then have I done wrong by calling for Anarth to be honored?” asked Felanar. Had his first action as king been a foolish one, done from ignorance? “I did not know the full details of this treachery, Ravesfel.”
“Put your mind at ease, for you did right, Felanar. The very best thing you can do with Anarth is to flatter his selfish heart. Make him feel important, for that is what he has been his whole life. We may even make an ally out of him if we play him skillfully. Let us turn a weakness into a strength by the use of wisdom.” He paused, and then said softly, “And he is not an evil man, for all his weaknesses.”
Felanar shook his head slowly and said, “Never was there a king more in need of counsel from the guardian of Argan. I will lean on you much in the days ahead.”
“It would be a refreshing change,” said the guardian quietly.
“How does it feel, brother?” asked Kara with a smile. “Is the throne comfortable?”
Felanar shook his head ruefully. “No, it is not comfortable in the least, for I feel like a country fool playing a part. I could barely keep my heart in my chest as I addressed Anarth.”
“Then you did a good job disguising it,” said Ravesfel kindly, “for you appeared every bit the wise ruler that you will be. You spoke well with the regent. It will be a good thing to find a use for Anarth before his life comes to an end. We have much to talk about in that area. However, for now, relax among friends, and know that you have done splendidly so far. Even better than I had hoped.”
“Thank you, Ravesfel, my faithful friend. I thank you for the training you arranged, and for all the wise words you imparted to me.
With a knock on the door, Bren was announced and he happily walked into the room. He was greeted warmly by all.
“Here, at least,” said Kara, smiling broadly, “is one advisor whom we can trust.”
Bren blushed and said nothing, but it was clear he was pleased, both by Kara’s words, and by the sight of Felanar on the throne. He bowed toward Kara and Felanar.
The old friends spoke among themselves for a few minutes, until another knock echoed into the room. The captains of the army were announced, and four men, still dressed for war, walked in.
As the private discussion in the throne room was held, Anarth made his way across the stone floor toward his private quarters. Canar followed him anxiously. As the regent closed the strong wooden door, and walked over to his bed to sit down, Canar hesitated, not knowing what to say to his master. Anarth saw this and commented sardonically, “Finally at a loss for words, are we?”
“My lord, I did not know this would happen, but the guards practically fell at his feet! There was no imparting any sense to them, for all they could think was that this impostor was their king. I tried to tell them, but they would not listen to me.”
“Nor will they listen,” Anarth said. “This is what they dream of, and who can compete with a dream? Tell me truthfully, what do you make of this genealogy that old fool sputters?”
Canar answered this question cautiously. “As you requested, I checked the old records last week and I see no evidence that supports Ravesfel’s claims.”
“So he is an impostor!” cried Anarth angrily, as his fists came crashing down on the bed. “All we have to do is show this lack of evidence, and the throne will be mine again.”
“It may require more effort than that, my lord. Proving a claim false through lack of evidence is not an easy task. Ravesfel speaks of names of Delendor. I did not find any records that match this, but it does not prove that such records do not exist.”
“What? What do you mean? How can records exists outside of the archives? Who would have records that we lack?”
“This I do not know, my lord, but it would be a small thing to steal a scroll that would not be missed. Who looks through these old genealogies any more, least of all one of Delendor where no king is expected?”
Anarth stared at Canar. “Who would steal? Speak up, what do you know of this?”
Canar backed away slightly and raised his palms in answer. “I know of no such theft, my lord. All I am saying is that the agents of our enemies may even be within these walls, and perhaps, only perhaps, one of them may have committed such a theft. Ravesfel, for instance, is often seen among the archives, as I have been told.” His voice trailed off.
Anarth looked angrily at Canar when he heard this, for it confirmed his own suspicions.
“How can we prove this, Canar? There must be a way to defeat this conspiracy? Are there none yet loyal to me?”
Ignoring the implied insult, Canar answered, “If Ravesfel, just to give a name as an example, had stolen such a scroll, he would have destroyed it by now. How can you prove theft when the object stolen is destroyed, and no one was even aware the object existed in the first place? If we make accusations, they would be denied and it would be our word against theirs.”
“What good is that?” growled Anarth. “These people want to follow this fool of a Low Man – did you hear his accent? – and if we make accusations without proof we will appear to be the bitter losers. What use are you to me, Canar, if you cannot think of a way out of this?”
“Ah, but I have thought of a way, my lord,” replied Canar soothingly. “The people want to believe he is their king come back to life. No amount of reasoning will suffice to change their minds, for they are not using reason in the first place. Emotion has carried them away. Therefore, let us use their emotion to accomplish our aims. You, my lord, should support this faker as king. Yes, I know it is distasteful, but hear me out. As I say, support him. Praise him. Let the people see that you, of all persons, put the most trust in this king. It will cause the people to look upon you with kindness and good will, for it will seem to them that you support their most ardent desire.
“Here is the key, though: Support him as king, and yet more than that, as a great military leader. Did he not save our very city?” Anarth stirred uneasily at this, but said nothing. “The people cry out in the streets that their king is a defender of Argan! Use this emotion, my lord. Praise his military skills. Suggest that now, with the armies of Vélakk defeated, and with a king returned to Argan, now is the time to go to Shanaar and crush the enemy.”
“What?” cried Anarth. “But this is what I planned, after we saved the city. Would you prevent me from all the glory, Canar? It’s bad enough that I had to sit back while this young lion got the credit for saving the city. Am I now to sit back while he achieves the ultimate glory?”
Canar spoke with quiet earnest. “My lord, if you support him as king, you are hardly in a position to tell him what he cannot do. But that is the very point I make. You can support him while secretly maneuvering him into doing what you want. Yes, I know you wish the glory of defeating Vélakk. Think you this an easy task? Think you Vélakk’s armies can be destroyed in a day? I tell you that whoever leads the armies to Shanaar will not see Argan again.”
“What makes you think this?” asked Anarth sharply. “His armies were defeated swiftly today, were they not?”
“Indeed they were, my lord, which is all the more reason I am convinced that it would be folly to go to Shanaar. Have you ever known of our enemy’s soldiers giving up so easily? Are they not rather prone to killing themselves rather than surrender and face Vélakk’s wrath? Did you not wonder that it should prove so easy to defeat his armies? What makes you think he extended even the power of one hand against us?”
“What are you saying, that Vélakk held back the bulk of his army?” asked Anarth, confused.
“Isn’t it obvious? In the thousand years of conflict between our peoples, when have we had such an easy victory?”
“It was easy because of these unexpected elf reinforcements,” said Anarth.
“Unexpected? Perhaps not, my lord. Consider, is it likely that we were the only ones who heard this news of a king? Would it not be so that Vélakk may have heard of it too? Moreover, would it not be the case that he would create a plan to trap this inexperienced king? That would explain why this invading army was not as big as we expected it to be. It would explain the surrender of the soldiers, rather than bringing about their own death at their defeat.”
“Are you suggesting that Vélakk wanted his army to lose?” asked Anarth.
“Win or lose, either way it would suit Vélakk’s plans. In the unlikely event that his troops succeeded, all the better for him. But even a loss would make sense, my lord, and therein lies our escape. Listen to what I have perceived. Praise this lad as if he were a king and a great military leader. Win the gratitude of the people as you do so, as you appear to be a regent in whom there is no jealousy. A wise ruler you will appear, and you will put the boy at ease – and his guardian. Then suggest, nay urge this boy onward! This attack on the city must not stand! It must be answered, and swiftly, before Vélakk has time to rebuild his forces. Now is the moment to act and defeat our enemy once and for all. There will never be a better time, and the sooner we act, the surer our victory.”
“I thought you said he would not be victorious. Doesn’t this play right into Vélakk’s plans?” asked Anarth.
“Either way we win, my lord. If what I think is likely occurs, the boy dies in battle and you remain regent. In the process, however, Vélakk’s forces are further wounded, and he becomes even weaker. It will be some time before he dares to strike against us again. You will bring the people together and reign over a period of peace until the end of your days. Your people will love you.”
“I think I begin to understand,” said the regent. “Vélakk is trying to draw this young impostor to his death in Shanaar.”
“Precisely, my lord.”
“And what if he wins? What if he defeats Vélakk?” asked Anarth.
“Not very likely, my lord. For one thing, he will not lead all our forces. Say that you need troops to remain to defend the city, in case our enemy tries trickery and attacks us with a counter thrust in response to an invading army. Say that the elves should help again – they have no love for Vélakk, and he threatens them as well. Let them die in place of our brave soldiers.
“Yet even if the boy, with the help of the elves, manages to defeat the enemy after all, you can still come out victorious. With you taking charge of the city in his absence, you will be seen as a hero along with the boy. You will be the wise voice of reason and defender of our great land, and he will do the dirty work. The end result will be the defeat of Vélakk, and the reclamation of Shanaar. Truly an epic conclusion to your long reign. And the people will love you even more.”
Anarth thought about these ideas carefully, and they seemed to him to contain wisdom. It would be the course that would appear to be loyal, and yet the end result would almost certainly please him. He liked the idea of the people giving him adulation, regardless of the outcome.
As he was considering this, a messenger arrived saying that Felanar wished them to join the captains in the throne room. Anarth and Canar shot a knowing glance at each other and returned.