Tuesday Excerpt, "Revenge"

Mandrean returned the salute. Then he noticed an absence.

“Where is General Gramlick?”

The youngest of the commanders stepped forward and spoke.

“He begs your forgiveness, My lord, but he has taken quite ill and

has sent me in his stead.”

“What is the matter with him?” the emperor asked in a somber

tone.

“His leg, Sire. As you know, it has been deteriorating for some

time. The physician was forced to remove it completely today.

Even with the procedure, however, his condition continues to

worsen.”

If it had been anyone else, Mandrean would not have accepted

any excuse for missing such an important meeting. Gramlick,

however, was a special case.

Mandrean was grief-stricken in his manner. His bravado had

fled. He retreated into his throne and gestured for a servant to

come over. Quietly, the emperor ordered the servant to fetch his

master’s personal physician and send him to aid with the general.

After the servant departed, it was quiet for a moment in the hall.

The great man knew that he dare not show his weaker side and

buried his emotions for the time being.

“And who might you be that the great Gramlick would send

you in his stead?” Mandrean inquired.

“I am General Tathbar, my lord. I am his number two…his

second.”

“I am familiar with the concept of a number two, Tathbar. You

are insolent as I recall, but Gramlick must see something in you.

So go ahead, give me the report for the Western province.”

Tathbar swallowed hard and spoke at first with a high-pitched

voice. “Economically, there have been two years in a row of poor

harvests. With the Empire counting so heavily on this region for

food as well as taxes, there has been a deficit in food production

and money.

“The farmers are being hurt and desperately need help in

subsidies. What’s more, areas of marginal soil, which were farmed

every other year, have been pressed into service. The result is soil

depletion and low yields. Our analysts estimate that those lands

need to lie fallow for a minimum of two years with subsides paid

to the farmers to assure the land is left to regenerate.”

Though the statement was dry, Mandrean managed to sift

through it and find the implications. “So you’re suggesting that I

should pay more money to the farmers who are producing less so

that they don’t have to work as hard?”

Tathbar held up one palm and said, “I think you fail to see the

bigger picture here, Sire…”

Mandrean began to rage. “I fail nothing. You tell those lazy

peasants that they not only need their normal contribution this

season but must also pay what they were short from last year.

Their excuses will not be tolerated.”

“With all due respect, My Lord, no order can increase harvests.

They produce all they can, but they can only reap what the land

grows. The price of flour is rising and looks to go higher. Only

drastic action will avoid starvation and migration to the territory.”

Economics were, in large part, lost on Mandrean. He had no

skill or interest in the field. His rationalizations on the subject were

often crude and harsh. Even with that being the case, he was

prudent enough to seek council.

“What sort of action do you suggest?” the emperor inquired as

thoughts of peasant rebellions flashed through his mind.

Tathbar knew his answer would not be liked by his master and

stuttered as he gave it. “Well…we have found…a large grain

reserve in the region that could be dispersed to alleviate the

situation. Prices would stabilize and the relatively higher prices

would enable tax payments and field rotation by the farmers.”

Mandrean listened to what sounded like the perfect solution and

smiled until his skeptical side began to ponder. “And what is this

reserve you speak of?”

Tathbar paused and then responded quickly, “The stores the

Legions have amassed over the last few years for the invasion of

Romadon.”

“Out of the question,” Mandrean fired. “Our forces will need

those supplies for the prolonged offensive.”

“My lord, there is no way to invade any time soon. In the last

two years, our legions have been depleted by nearly two divisions.

We are in no condition to attack anyone. The grain disbursement

would only make use of resources being unused. In two years we

could be in a position to attack but not now.”

Mandrean was seething. “Two years? What kind of general do

you fashion yourself? And why have you allowed my armies to

erode? Gramlick would never allow this.”

“Sire, we have been hit hard by desertions. Morale is poor, and

it is due in large part to the terrible defeat in the Valley of Broken

Soldiers. We lost over a division there from my province alone.”

“Valley of Broken Soldiers? That area is called Trader’s Alley.”

“The men, Sire. They renamed it after our defeat at the hands of

Linvin Grithinshield.”

Mandrean jumped to his feet. His anger blocked the pain it

caused. “Guards.” Four guards surrounded the general and began

to whip him. The once crisp uniform was quickly torn apart and

soaked in blood. He covered his face, but there was no salvation

for the rest of his body.