A Promise Changed

General Imbuka read over the report slowly, taking in the details of the page one sentence at a time. The situation was devolving by the day, and every important piece of information he could gather mattered. If what this report claimed was true, it meant trouble for The King.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Bobagem said. “The young prince was seen conspiring with The Raven…”

“Have you seen any supplemental reports? Anything to corroborate these words?” Imbuka asked.

“No, no. In fact, I haven't heard a peep from Corvidrop since this letter arrived. Strange, no?” the jester said, giggling. Imbuka knew what he was inferring. Bobagem seemed mad, but he kept his spies in line. Information was his specialty, to know The King’s enemies before they even know it themselves. Out of all of Dilyniant’s servants, he was perhaps the only one that The General feared.

“Is this the purpose of The Sire’s summons?” Imbuka asked.

“See for yourself…” the jester said. He grinned just a little too wide as he opened the door to The Great Hall. The General stepped inside to find the hall mostly empty. The table had been pushed against the wall, with most of the chairs missing. Fitting, as no further advisor meetings had been called since the last. The General looked deeper into The Hall to find Dilyniant sitting on a throne, slumped against one armrest with a bored expression. Beside him stood a worried servant, holding a plate of pastries.

“Sire,” Imbuka said. The King took no notice of The General at first, reaching up to the plate and taking one of the desserts from it. He bit into it slowly, allowing the crumbs to fall and scatter across his outfit. He looked down in disgust, standing and wiping the crumbs away. With an upward swipe of his hand the plate was sent flying across The Hall, pastries and biscuits tumbling to the ground and sending scattered chunks across the immediate area.

“You bring me such treats, that dirty my regal attire?!” The King screamed. The servant buckled and hid his face in his hands, trembling. The distant clatter of the plate finally landing added a terrible echo to the altercation.

“You wish me to look a fool, wearing my meals like some wretch? Begone!” he yelled. The servant scurried away into a distant doorway, no doubt leading to the kitchen. The King turned his gaze to Imbuka.

“Traitors everywhere. You read the letter?” he began. Before Imbuka could respond, Dilyniant continued. “Corvidrop, that cur! I should have dispatched him with his father years ago. And the boy headed south? No doubt to Ubik-blahblah.”

“Ubukhazikhazi,” The General corrected.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” The King barked. “What if they march north? What if they ally with The Raven? Do they intend to take my southern lands?” The King babbled, shifting to muttering as he continued to swipe away crumbs that had long since fallen away.

“Whatever you need done, Sire, the army will accomplish,” The General offered. Wild eyes shifted to the man as Dilyniant stepped closer.

“I need more of your weapon, Imbuka. I need more blast powder. Smaller, and larger barrels! Portable blasting as well as siege weaponry,” he said.

“We are testing larger barrels Sire, but the blast ruptures them. We’d need a stronger material,” The General explained.

“Stronger, no no, bigger! I want a bigger one, the biggest! Able to cut down an entire regiment of men!” The King said.

“But, Sire… larger barrels are likely to rupture-” The General attempted to explain. Before long, The King had grabbed Imbuka’s armor at the collar, tugging the man closer to stare at his eyes.

“I said bigger, figure it out General,” he hissed, pushing Imbuka away. “Use Zachar’s little apprentices if you have to. You know of the great trees north of the castle?”

“Yes, Sire,” Imbuka responded.

“Send your troops in to find the tallest tree and cut it down. We can hollow it out and use it as the largest blast barrel this kingdom will ever see!” The King said with a clap of his hands.
The General thought over the absorb plan. They had plenty of mages chained up, it would be easy to convince them to reinforce the wood of a fallen tree.

“Very well, Sire, it will be done,” The General declared. He turned on his heel and began to march out of The Great Hall when The King’s voice called again.

“General?” Dilyniant asked. Imbuka turned and faced The King again. “Remember our bargain. Whatever happens, don’t let your mind get clouded if we must war with Ubukikhic…”

“Do not worry my King,” The General said. “I abandoned my brother long ago. If Ubukhazikhazi strikes, his throne too will be yours to rule over.”