“Because it’s all about sex my dear, dear brother. Sex, sex, sex. Forget politics, forget war, forget religion-sex is the true power in Aandor.” Valeria rested her head on Cal’s chest. “Who beds whom determines the fate of millions. And the current mess? That came of the most calculated pairing in history.” She gave his crotch a gentle squeeze.
“Vulgar girl,” said an older woman on the dais. At first Cal thought she was part of the crowd that was ignoring them, but she looked right at Valeria. She walked down the steps and approached them. They were back in Aandor court. The woman’s eyes were blue as an Alpine lake. She wore flowing green robes over a blue linen dress. The jewelry was sparse and tasteful. Her golden hair, tied in a bun, was wrapped in a gold and pearl net. Mina MacDonnell did not look like a mother of four.
Mother.
“Well, I’m out of here,” Valeria said. She gave Cal one last kiss. Tasting him on her lips, she said, “Good luck, bro. You’ll need it.”
“Vile creature,” Mina said.
Don’t be hard on her.
“And why not? My opinion of her is tainted by your thoughts. You think her a slut.”
She’s not. I was… too hard on her. She’s curious. Weren’t we all curious once?
“Time has softened you. Or maybe it’s the world you’ve lived in for more than a decade that is responsible. That’s good. No one likes a zealot, Cal. Although, that’s probably why you made captain so young. Even your most mature friends appeared undisciplined beside you.”
I wasn’t that uptight. Was I?
“Are you eating well? Where’s your girth?”
I work out, Mother… I’m quite healthy.
“Nonsense. There’s nothing like a roll around a man to help him through a lean winter. It’s a sign of success.”
What are you here to teach me, Mother?
“I was the daughter of landed gentry, Cal, and my father married me to James MacDonnell, a man twenty years my senior. At first I was devastated, for I loved another man. But I could not have asked for a finer husband in all the world. My children have titles, and you Cal, you are betrothed to one of the most powerful families in the kingdom.”
I’m not betrothed to the family, Mother. I’m pledged to a woman.
“A good woman.”
I know… but I’m already married to a good woman.
“Chryslantha’s dowry triples our family’s holdings, Cal. Your father might be considered for a political post. Some of the high nobility are looking to Valeria and Meghan for unions with their firstborn. Aandor’s world order has served our family well. You must accomplish your mission.”
I will, Mother-the minute I remember what it was.
“And you must remain true to who you are.”
I’m a loyal husband and a father.
“I know. And it frightens me.” Mina began to weep. She touched her son’s cheek. “You are my greatest pleasure, Cal. You inspire goodness as easily as lust and greed tempt the weak. If I were certain all my children would turn out as you, I’d have borne litters, five at a time, until the world were overrun with my offspring.”
“And I’d sire them,” said a voice to the side.
James MacDonnell took his place beside his wife. His thick white beard brought out the rose in his cheeks. He put his arm around Mina, drew her close to him and kissed her on the head. It was something he’d seen often, as natural as the course water takes to the sea. “She has seen only thirty and seven winters,” he said, “but her wisdom is beyond her years.”
Father.
“Aye.”
Mina’s color faded into a monochromatic red.
“Remember your duty,” she said as she disappeared.
I’ve missed you, Father.
The scene changed. They were in a strategy room filled with parchments and maps of a large continent. There were topography maps, demographic maps, and political maps with boundaries that changed from era to era.
“Remember your world?” James asked. “The city of Aandor, seat to the Kingdom of Aandor, a great center of commerce, art, knowledge, politics, and former throne of the Twelve Kingdoms.”
Vaguely.
“Once, it was a grand empire. Now, power is shared through a loose confederation. Peace between the fractured states rested on the lack of a true heir to the empire. No one man is descended from all the twelve kings who once ruled the continent prior to the empire; thus, no emperor. Many have striven to rectify this condition through alliances, purchase, war, kidnapping, rape-by any means necessary.”
Did something upset the balance?
“Our duke married well. Or not. It depends on the point of view. Failed assassinations and bed tricks prompted a more direct approach. We were ambushed by multiple armies: Farrenheil, Verakhoon…”
Aandor is strong.
“Our friends failed to come to our aid. They have their own ambitions to consider.”
So Valeria was right.
“In her own crude way.”
Are we just another faction? Where is the virtue in our struggle?
James MacDonnell fingered his beard and considered this question carefully before answering. “Although he does not have the blood of twelve kings, Duke Athelstan is a direct descendent of the last emperor and the kings of Aandor,” he said. “By rights, he could claim the throne, using Aandor’s power to dominate much of the continent. But we’ve been down that road already. The whole continent was at each other’s throat, my son. It almost destroyed our civilization. To keep the peace, Athelstan has honored the accord his grandsire agreed to seventy years earlier. The empire can only be unified by a man with the blood of twelve kings. If one of the other houses produces an emperor first, all titles of Aandor will be transferred to that child. Athelstan will lose his ancestral seat and his lands. To prevent counterclaims, he and his family would be jailed under dubious charges and executed. He does not deserve that fate.”
They say war is hell. Politics is worse.
“War results from a failure of politics. See for yourself.”
The scene shifted to a battle. Cal and his weary troops had their backs to a cliff. A larger force approached from the front. Cal was cut, bleeding. Cuts and welts covered his face and body. His armor was shattered, his clothing shredded, his shin burned and blackened by ash.
This was the battle at Gagarnoth.
“Aye. Outnumbered three to one by fresh troops. Your captain had been slain. You were the ranking officer. It breaks my heart to see you so.”
Warrior Cal clutched a fetish in his hands. It was a silk garter with pearls woven into the edges. A bow made of golden hair was tied to one end. Warrior Cal put the fetish to his nose and breathed deeply. His eyes lit from within. He rallied his men with a piercing cry and charged the approaching troops, who were caught off guard by their steel-curdling shrieks. In less than a minute, they were outnumbered only two to one, another minute one to one, then the remaining foes broke and ran leaving the Aandorans victorious over the disassembled corpses of their foes.
“Perhaps, if all the soldiers of Aandor possessed such a fetish, we would not be in this predicament today,” James said, smiling.
“And would the noble James MacDonnell have his future daughter bed the entire army for such an advantage…?” It was a woman’s voice, sweet as honeyed nectar.
As he laid eyes on her, Cal MacDonnell remembered the sound, smell, feel, and look of his betrothed, etched in his mind like that of a beloved spouse recently deceased. Except, she was not dead. Wavy tresses of spun gold, eyes green as a forest in spring, and a smile that could warm a troll’s heart, Chryslantha at seventeen was the most desired woman in all the realm; a girl by contemporary American standards, but in Aandor, primed to be the matriarch of a noble house. She wore a low-cut green velvet dress with gold and white fringe; the same dress she wore the last time Cal saw her.
“… For surely you know, Father, that the scent of that fetish is the scent of my maidenhood. A gift to my beloved before the eve of his battle.”