seymoure

The Art of Death

It has often been said that War is Hell.

The truth is that they share many qualities.

But the core falsehood is this: Those in Hell have, for whatever reason, earned the entrée to be there. There are no innocent bystanders in Hades. There are rules that restrain Perdition.

War is cavalier about who gets hurt and how they got there. Children who are sinless are swallowed by its slavering jaws. Wives and lovers are maimed by its claws.

War’s Reaper cares nothing for your politics, if you are in the way you will die.

And War will advance its ability to widen its swath of destruction faster than any human endeavor can evolve.

War is the father of Hell.

Borodin, Ruler for Life of the Kingdom of Shazaz, Mystic Overlord and Emperor of the Dying Islands, Monarch of the Traders of the Mountains and Valleys of the Wastes League, Fhall of the Holy Church of the Empire and Mayor of the Capital of the City of Terique, stood on the balcony overlooking the Grand Avenue of Heroes of the War of the Diamonds where the crowds stood expecting the upcoming military parade.

The Monarch’s Mystic Sword Torrenta was on a pillow behind him, nearly ignored. He only had such a bauble because Sinang, King of Carpath, had a Magical Sword named Backagon. It was the thing that Phrang brought with him when he fled Carpath before the howling mobs. It had been his key to a place in the military of Shazaz.

While Backagon seemed to have little magic in it, Borodin ‘s Blade only blazed in mystic flame when Twan-tang was the one who handed it to him. But today he didn’t even think of that. He didn’t need either sword. He was the King, who would he fight?

To the King’s left stood Supreme General Phrang. His predecessor in that role, General Italia, would lead the passing troops as they marched before their monarch.

At the last moment the Wizard had been dispatched to deal with a mammoth Saber-toothed Wolf that threatened one the myriad villages on the edge of the Wastes. It hadn’t killed anyone yet, but you don’t take chances with things like that. Those in the periphery need to know their Emperor will protect them. It was a way to insure the peasants supported the ruling face as a father and protector. It was a way to make sure no rebellions began on the fringes of the Kingdom.

Siang was almost giddy. In each hand he held onto the brightly polished new toys he had been given by his General. He had squires standing by ready to reload his cannonette, should his go off by accident as he waved them at the crowd. He had fired them immediately upon being handed the little weapons. Around the pinky finger of his left hand he wore a bandage to cover the burn he received from the fire emitted by that first shot. His hurt had been dwarfed by the death of Butha, the Royal Hound, whose head had exploded from the cannon ball.

He was being more careful as he waved these dangerous toys at the crowd. Of course, he didn’t know any of their names.

Some of them, at least, would die in the upcoming war.

Still the King was happy as a child who has discovered a new playground. He didn’t notice the unique difference between his two cannonettes and those in the belt of the smiling General who stood at his side.

“This is fun!” he told Phrang.

Phrang’s Second in Command, rallied his contingent of renegades who would soon use their multi-ball weapons to invade the Royal Box and seize the rule of Shazaz.

The Brotherhood of the Twisted Iron secreted themselves on the opposite side of the street, where they could be in full sight of the King when they acted on the Wizard’s plan.

The Trumpeters blasted their announcement that everything was about to begin.

They had no idea.