The Unmentioned

The War Within – Part 1 – Suffocation (Gaisa)

“Foolish girl, now I must cook another kettle of soup! Her Highness doesn’t like spices in it,” cried out the kitchen matron as she stood leering over me.

I apologized meekly and dropped to the stone floor, using my hands to gather the spilt bits of herbs together. I had been a little careless with my work and had accidentally knocked an open jar of fhiklam off of its shelf, scattering the contents into a nearby cooking pot and onto the floor.

“No, no, no, you have no time for cleaning it up now! The soldiers will be eating their morning meals within the hour, and you have yet to awaken any of them! Git! Out with you, and see if you can drag those half-drunken fools out of their misery,” she continued, setting to work finding a way to empty the spoiled kettle. I simply nodded and rose to my feet, dashing out into the hallway that lead to the main room of the palace.

Upon reaching it, I took a quick glance around and noticed several other maids going about dusting and polishing the humongous piles of armor and weapons strewn about. Ever since the violent civil movements started in our country, there were endless orders for fresh supplies sent to the palace from every corner of the king’s territory, from the young men who were charged with keeping the peace as best they could. Luckily, I was one of the few girls assigned to kitchen duties while these others worked hard each day to keep the rest of the entire place in order. My job was relatively easy, even if it did entail dealing with some of the foul-mouthed boys who were working as guards at the palace.

It was them that I now sought, turning a corner into a long hall with seemingly endless lines of doors, each leading into a room with four beds and four sleeping young men. I walked as quickly as I could down the right side, giving three rapid taps on each door to let them know that the occasion was to be breakfast. Loud groans accompanied by the sound of heavy feet being dropped on the floor emanated from most of them; those that refused to rise were to be punished for their laziness later, with hard labor guaranteed to work all of that defiance out of them.

As I neared the end of the hallway, one of the doors opened prior to my knocks and an unshaven, youthful face peered out at me as I came closer. His eyes were set in a sleepy stare in my direction, and he gave a wide frown as I passed.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to change these sheets yesterday?” he grumbled.

“I will change the sheets when you learn to keep your undergarments cleaner, sir,” I said very curtly, placing emphasis on the last bit of my statement. That was perhaps the worst part of being a maid: doing the laundry for some of the sweaty pigs who lived with us.

The fellow made no further comment, slamming the door shut as I turned around at the end of the hall, making my way back up the other side, performing my task again in a mirror fashion.

At last, I came to the final door, perhaps the only one leading into an inviting room. The royal crest, which depicted two dragons encircling each other in midair, was carved delicately into the fine pine wood of the door. A bit of sunlight from the window that I knew to be across the room crept out from the crack underneath it, warming my bare feet as I pressed an ear to it, to listen. I heard nothing inside, save for the fleeting sound of a gentle sigh.

This was the room of Lord Peter Satyrmeth, a paladin of Mystra who garnered much attention from the king and queen for his loyalty, the princess for his pleasant smile, and the soldiers for his skill with the blade. He had lived at the palace for at least as long as I had, and was about twenty-one years of age, my elder by almost five years. He was a very gallant and cheerful figure when in the company of those he trusted, but was otherwise given to moods of brooding and discontent. Many of us younger girls swooned over him at first, when we had arrived at the palace to work, but he showed little or no interest in anything more than speaking to us. Sometime later we had discovered that he was the orphan son of the former royal commander and his wife, one of the most beautiful attendants the king and queen had yet to acquire. When he was still in their care, he was often called by his real name, Petrik, but since he had become the adopted charge of the royals it was changed to Peter. We never did learn what happened to his parents, but he was welcomed into his new family with a tender embrace. The princess especially showed great interest in him, and was nearly the same age as he; while I did not learn the truth for certain until after the events of the impending war, I had often heard rumors that he was courting her. Strangely enough, the rumors turned out to be false and in fact quite the opposite; she had attempted to court him, and he had refuted her entirely. Being but a kitchen maid, I never dared to inquire as to why he did so, considering that he had everything to gain by the affiliation, but it was a mystery that always kept me guessing.

Knocking softly on the door, I spoke up as quietly as I could, so that he could hear me but would not be too greatly disturbed.

“Peter? Are you awake?” I asked, trying the doorknob. It was unlocked, so I cracked the door open just wide enough to give me room to squeeze inside.

The silhouette of a man could be seen at the window, with his back turned to the door and me. I waited patiently, trying to decide if he was listening at all or lost in his thoughts, as he often found occasion to be.

“Ah, good morning, Gaisa. The boys did not give you too much trouble today, did they?” he greeted me, kindly.

“O-Oh, nay, Peter, they were for the most part well-behaved. Breakfast is being served soon, if you would like to join us in the dining hall,” I replied shyly. I would never address anyone else in the palace of a higher rank than me by their first name, but Peter had told me long ago that he preferred to dispense of titles and formalities.

“Oh, alright. I shall be along shortly. Do me a favor and have my sword taken into town and the blade sharpened, then give it to one of the lieutenants,” he said in his usual level tone.

“Will you not be needing it today on your patrols, Peter?” I wondered.

He turned and gave me a gleaming smile, walking briskly over to an old chest at the foot of his bed and flipping open the lid. He lowered his hands into the trunk and removed a large blade, still at home in its scabbard, the hilt wrapped several times in a milky white cloth.

“Nay, not anymore. I will be using this weapon, instead,” he answered, seeming oddly engrossed in his study of the sword he held.

“Ah, very well then. I will do as you have asked before the day is out. I must be on my way now,” I said in parting, turning to remove myself from the room. Just as I had reached the door again, I heard the sound of ringing steel bounce off of the walls around me as Peter drew the weapon he had taken from the chest free from its prison.

“Gaisa, on second thought, you might want to postpone breakfast for the time being,” he said very suddenly.

I turned and saw that he had moved back to the window. Confused, I strode back over towards him, coming to stand just between him and the foot of the bed.

“But why, Peter?” I asked, perplexed.

He made a simple gesture to the window, and spoke with a grim voice.

“It would seem we have some unexpected guests.”

I gasped and trembled in terror, realizing at last what he was talking about: there were people, spread out before us on the ground below the palace’s great heights; a living, breathing carpet of steel, flames, and flashes of light. We had been challenged before by large numbers of unhappy citizens storming the gates, but never had I seen so many of them at one time; there was no end to them in view, and judging from the fact that this was true to either side as well, I feared there could be just as many of them on every side of the palace. We were being suffocated, and I knew that the number of able-bodied men and women at the palace would be naught but a tiny boat before a tidal wave when compared to what I saw now.

I glanced at Peter, still shaking like a leaf, and sought out his eyes. His gaze was set upon the mass of disorder below with an icy determination. When he spoke, his tone was just as cold.

“Go, quickly, inform the runners. I believe I may know what they want.”

Without another word, he turned and fled from the room, his periwinkle cape flapping violently behind him as the amount of magical energy he was preparing grew substantially.

I got one last glimpse of the scene outside, and then turned and began to run as fast as I could for the runners’ chambers. As I removed myself from Peter’s room however, I could feel a sudden tremor shake the palace, and cried out in surprise as bookshelves and other furniture collapsed to the floor, their contents spilling out everywhere. I hopped over some broken shards of glass from a mirror and sped up my duty as much as I could manage.

“Dear Mystra, what has he done?” I thought in disbelief, as another tremor shook the palace.