Page 21 of Destiny of a King

Lord Marshal Broccan arrived first, broad-shouldered and solid as the fortress itself. Lord Cormac followed close behind, greeting Edwin, who carried a leather ledger tucked beneath one arm. Lord Garran entered next, his sea-blue cloak still damp from the ride from the merchant quarter. Ronan, Cadmus’s chosen representative from Venngraith, nodded to the others but wasted no time on conversation. Elder Mairi arrived last, her calm presence drawing respectful bows from every member before she quietly took her seat.

Only Tavish remained standing.

The chamber doors opened once more.

King Dravic entered, and the room fell silent.

His gaze moved slowly over the six members of the King’s Council before settling briefly on Tavish.

“Be seated,” Tavish said.

No one spoke as the scrape of wooden chairs broke the silence.

Dravic remained standing.

“Along with your monthly reports, I want an accounting of Scotara’s readiness for war.”

The request drew no surprise. If anything, it seemed expected.

Lord Marshal Broccan was the first to rise.

“Our warriors continue their training through the winter, my king. The armories remain well supplied, and the blacksmiths work steadily. We can answer a call to arms, though I would welcome more recruits before spring planting begins.”

Dravic nodded once. “You believe war inevitable?”

Broccan did not hesitate.

“I do. Rumors of Warlord Tharne’s spy reaching Scotara’s shores have spread far beyond Caerith. Men speak of little else.”

Lord Garran leaned forward. “The rumors grow with every merchant ship that docks. Whether true or not matters little.” He paused briefly. “Trade from Drogath has all but ceased, though that surprises no one. More curious are the whispers coming from the east. Merchants speak of trouble brewing on the Isle of Morra Mist, though no one can tell me what troubles Queen Eudora’s kingdom. I have heard no reliable word, only whispers.”

Dravic gave a slight nod. “Then until whispers become truth, our concern remains Scotara.”

Lord Cormac rose next. “While Lord Garran hears whispers from beyond our shores, I hear them from within Scotara. The regional lords tell me the same fear spreads from village to village.”

“And what question is that?” Dravic asked.

“If magic joins Warlord Tharne…” Cormac paused briefly. “…how does Scotara hope to stand against it?”

A silence settled over the chamber.

It was Elder Mairi who finally broke it.

“The same question is asked throughout Leighfeld. Healers hear many worries while tending to the sick. Parents fear for their children. Farmers fear abandoning their fields. Some wonder if Driochmor itself will side with Tharne.”

Ronan’s chair scraped softly across the stone as he stood.

“Fear has always painted Driochmor darker than truth.”

Several eyes turned toward him.

“The Hunters have guarded its borders for generations,” Ronan continued. “Magic alone is not the enemy. It is the one who wields it that determines whether it serves darkness or light.”

Broccan folded his arms. “A comforting thought, if true.”

“It is true,” Ronan answered evenly. “Though whether those within Driochmor can keep Warlord Tharne from corrupting others… that I cannot say.”

Edwin, who had remained quietly listening until now, finally spoke. “Whatever the outcome, war will drain the treasury. Supplies, horses, weapons, provisions for villages should they fall… all must be accounted for. A kingdom does not survive on courage alone.”