The Last Banner

Chapter 23: Turmoil in court -back to main story



A low murmur rippled through the gathered soldiers and staff, their confidence bolstered by Hadrian's words. Alexander stepped closer, his imposing frame radiating barely restrained aggression. "Perhaps the Glimmerstone Kingdom should reconsider its approach. Thrace is not as weak as you seem to think."

Grishak's smile twisted into something sharper, more dangerous. "Weak? No, no. Thrace is impressive, truly. Your great metal bows, your spearmen, your... innovative leadership. But strength breeds envy. It paints a target on one's back. Tribute is not a punishment, Lord Hadrian. It is an investment in stability."

Leonidas leaned forward, his frailty momentarily masked by the weight of his authority. "Enough. Thrace will not be cowed by threats or coercion. You will leave now, emissary, and return to your king with this message: Thrace stands firm. If misfortune comes to our gates, we will meet it with steel."

Grishak's eyes glinted with something dark, his smirk returning as he bowed low, the gesture dripping with mockery. "As you wish, my lord. But do consider the cost of such defiance. Stability is a fragile thing, and once shattered, it is... difficult to repair."

He straightened, his gaze sweeping over the gathered soldiers and nobles before settling on Hadrian. "Lord Hadrian, a pleasure. I have no doubt we will meet again."

With that, Grishak turned sharply, his robe swirling behind him as he strode back to the grotesque carriage. The goblin guards followed, their spears tapping rhythmically against the cobblestones. The carriage doors creaked shut, and with a jarring lurch, it began its slow, deliberate journey out of the courtyard.

As the gates closed behind the goblin retinue, the gathered soldiers let out a collective exhale. The tension that had gripped the courtyard began to dissipate, but the unease lingered like a shadow.

Hadrian turned to Alexander, his voice low. "They're baiting us. Trying to provoke fear. But there's more to this than tribute."

Alexander nodded, his jaw clenched. "They're testing us. Seeing how far they can push before we push back."

Leonidas coughed violently, the sound breaking through the conversation. Both sons rushed to his side, steadying him as he waved them off weakly. "Prepare," the Duke rasped. "If they think we're weak, they'll strike. We cannot afford to wait for their next move."

Hadrian's expression hardened, his mind already racing. "We won't. But we'll strike on our terms—not theirs."

The grand hall fell silent as the goblin carriage rolled out of sight, its grotesque wheels screeching faintly against the cobblestones. Soldiers and servants dispersed slowly, murmurs rippling through the air like the distant echo of a storm. Duke Leonidas, pale and trembling, sank deeper into his high-backed chair, his breathing shallow but steady.

"They know more than they should," the Duke rasped, his voice weary but edged with resolve. "Your weapons, your training... they spoke of them too precisely."

Hadrian paced slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze flicking between his father and the distant courtyard. "They've been watching us," he said evenly. "Spies, perhaps. Or someone within the city selling scraps of information for coin."

Alexander leaned against a pillar, his armor gleaming faintly in the dimming light. "More likely spies," he said. "The goblins are too clever to rely on traitors alone. They'd want their own eyes and ears in Thrace."

Hadrian nodded. "Let them watch. Let them think they've uncovered everything. What they've seen won't prepare them for what's coming."

Leonidas coughed harshly, a wracking sound that made both his sons glance his way in concern. He waved them off weakly. "Do not dismiss them lightly, Hadrian. Arrogance is a dangerous enemy."

"It's not arrogance," Hadrian replied, his tone calm but firm. "It's calculation. They've seen the matchlocks and the spearmen, but they don't know how we'll use them. That assumption will be their undoing."

The Duke studied his son for a long moment, his sunken eyes filled with both pride and concern. Before he could respond, a quiet voice broke through the room, soft yet commanding.

"A bold sentiment, young lord. But boldness can often invite ruin if not tempered with wisdom."

All three turned to the sound, their gazes snapping to the far end of the hall. From the shadows, a figure emerged, her crimson and gold robes catching the faint glow of the hearth. Priestess Althea moved with measured grace, her ceremonial staff tapping lightly against the stone floor, the ever-burning flame at its tip casting flickering shadows across her striking features.

"Priestess Althea," Leonidas greeted her with a faint incline of his head, his voice rasping but respectful. "I had not expected you to join us."

Althea's piercing emerald eyes swept over the Duke, her expression softening just enough to appear compassionate. "I could not stay away, my lord, knowing such... visitors were gracing your hall. The Eternal Flame compels me to offer guidance in times of uncertainty."

Hadrian stiffened slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto hers. "Your timing is impeccable, Priestess."

"Isn't it?" Althea replied smoothly, her tone light but laced with meaning. Her eyes lingered on Hadrian for a moment, sharp and probing, before turning to the Duke. "The goblins are not known for their subtlety, but even so, their words carry weight. They have seen your strength, and they test its limits."

Leonidas nodded faintly. "They see what they wish to see. And they underestimate us because of it."

Althea tilted her head, her auburn hair glinting in the firelight. "Perhaps. But it is not merely what they see that troubles me. Their knowledge of your innovations... it is precise, targeted. One might almost think they have a... benefactor, whispering in their ear."

Hadrian's jaw tightened. "Benefactor?"

Althea's lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. "Oh, nothing certain, of course. But the Eternal Flame warns us of such possibilities. Shadows move where power gathers, and your actions have cast long shadows indeed, young lord."

The implication hung in the air, unspoken but clear. Hadrian held her gaze, unflinching. "If shadows are moving, Priestess, then perhaps it is time to light them up."

Althea chuckled softly, the sound delicate yet somehow unsettling. "An admirable sentiment, Lord Hadrian. Let us hope the light you seek does not blind you to what lies in the darkness."

"Enough," Leonidas rasped, his frail hand rising weakly to silence the exchange. "What matters now is preparation. The goblins will come again, and next time, they won't bring words. We must be ready."

Hadrian nodded, stepping closer to his father. "We will be, Father. And when they come, they'll find a Thrace they don't recognize."

Althea inclined her head gracefully. "May the Eternal Flame guide your strength, my lords. I will take my leave now, but rest assured, my prayers will remain with you."

As she turned to leave, her staff's flame flickered slightly, casting long shadows across the walls. Hadrian watched her go, his mind churning. Althea was always calculating, always watching, and her subtle warnings carried a weight he couldn't ignore.

Later, as the stars began to emerge in the night sky, Hadrian stood alone on the balcony. Below, soldiers drilled tirelessly, their movements precise and purposeful. Beyond them, the golden fields of Thrace stretched into the darkness, thriving under his vision.

He leaned against the railing, his thoughts racing. The goblins had spies, no doubt. They knew more than they should. But they still didn't understand the full extent of Thrace's strength—or its resolve. Let them come. They would learn the hard way what it meant to challenge the Last Banner.


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