Chapter 195: From the Least Expected Quarter (1/2)
”It looks like things have started.” The Prime Minister Faril Couthbotan sighed, as he watched the red dragon take off in the direction of the Tenundian lines.
As a man who'd spent the majority of his adult life working nonstop, it was a little strange to find himself with nothing to do. His many duties had largely fallen by the wayside. Once a Call to Arms was issued, the civilian apparatuses of state ground to a halt, and every available resource was poured into the war effort.
The primary source of the Prime Minister's power stemmed from his control of the kingdom's tax revenue, a power he made use of to subtly direct events in the cutthroat Almiran court. However, a Call to Arms placed that power in the hands of the military until such time as the country was rendered safe. Reluctant as he might have been, Emmanuel nevertheless wasted little time in making use of this new power.
Faril's loss of influence was a natural side effect, and although he retained nominal control as the de-facto regent, his authority was largely limited to ceremonial concerns. Frankly, he wouldn't be surprised if this marked the end of his career, not that he much minded. After nearly forty years striving to serve the people of his kingdom, he had little to show for it besides a broken marriage, an estranged son, and a front row seat to a crisis that threatened to consume his country in the flames of war.
Faril had grown old. A simple truth he could feel in his bones every time he got up in the morning. The slow and creeping decay that had gradually transformed the bright-eyed and energetic young clerk into the weary minister he'd become.
”Well, old friend, perhaps its time to lay down our burdens, and let the next generation take over.” He muttered gently as he looked over at the pale and drawn face of King Gregory II of Almrin. The monarch's strange mental ailment had left him little more than a skeleton under stretched, grey skin. His bloodshot eyes were staring vacantly at a point on the ceiling, as he continued to issue short, choppy gasps. Faril was a little disturbed to hear the rattle of fluid with each breath, a sure sign that infection had taken hold in the weakened man's lungs.
He remained in an almost vegetative state despite the efforts of the best healers the capital had to offer. Unfortunately, whatever harm had been done to the king's mind had so far been irreversible. If circumstances had been different, it might have been possible to request aid from the Druids, who had access to ancient and powerful healing magics. Alas, the underground civil war, followed almost immediately by the Tenundian invasion had made that near impossible.
Besides, events had already been set in motion. Even should the king recover, it would do little to alter the path the country now followed. The country already considered the king dead, as can be seen by the semi-abandoned state of the monarch's chambers. The only regular visitors were a resigned healer, a few gloomy servants, and Faril himself.
[Perhaps a quick death would be the best thing for him now.] The Prime Minister thought to himself, entertaining the idea that had been forming in his mind for a while now. However, he still didn't quite have the courage for it.
The monarch's gasping breaths suddenly started speeding up, taking on an agonal cadence that marked oncoming respiratory distress. Faril stood suddenly, mouth already half-open in a shout that would bring the royal healer, but the words died on his lips. Wasn't this exactly what he was hoping for?
He sat back down, and forced himself to listen as his oldest friend slowly choked on his own fluids. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain still as the king's breathing weakened and eventually stopped, leaving the room as silent as a grave.
For a time, Faril sat in shock, unable to believe what had happened, what he had done.
At least until the corpse suddenly sat up. A chill ran up Faril's spine as a pair of cold, lifeless eyes fixed upon him. A raspy, disgustingly wet voice issued from it's throat. ”It looks as if this mortal form has finally succumbed. Good, we have much to discuss.”
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Gareth drew another arrow from his quiver, cursing his ill luck. He'd been lying in wait for his dragon mounted prey ever since the battle started, and yet the mage had still managed to dodge his shot. While they still had other plans in the works, he had hoped to eliminate the threat quickly.
He had started lining up his next shot, which was a little difficult due to the moving nature of his target, when a nearby artillery commander gave the signal to spring the trap. While they'd already missed the best moment to launch their attack, but watching the net unfold, Gareth was sure they'd managed to catch the beast and its rider.
[Alright! Nice shot!]
His celebrations proved premature, as the mage simply lifted his hand, summoning a powerful windstorm, which pushed it higher into the air. At the same time, the dragon folded its wings and dived under the assault, narrowly avoiding the trailing edges of the net. It slammed into the ground with a thunderous, but controlled, impact, and Gareth quickly found himself face-to-face with an angry dragon.
Following his training, he strafed to his right, diving behind one of the disguised weapon platforms while firing in the general vicinity of the creature's head. A wave heat followed soon after, and he was forced to roll back to his feet and continue running, as the dragon's breath incinerated what was left of the wagon shaped device.
An experienced mage hunter, he knew his best bet of taking the creature down lay in finding its blind spots and exploiting them for devastating sneak attacks. His class, Expert Assassin, gave him access to several skills that facilitated and enhanced the act of taking an enemy unawares.
Unfortunately, it seemed both the rider and the mount were paying him special attention, since he'd barely managed to avoid the dragon's breath, when a series of wind blades came slashing down at him. Thankfully, his Magic Resistance skill gave him enough protection to survive the onslaught, albeit barely.
[Where is my back-up, damn it?!]
A cloud of dust formed around him as the wind blades impacted the ground. Gareth took the opportunity to beat a hasty retreat. Thankfully, it looked like another group had garnered the Dragonknight's attention.