Exert from The History of the Velucan Empire
Hobb watched the convoy of King’s men fill into his castle. From the rainy dark battlements of his vantage point he could only count the lanterns trickling through the gates like fire bugs on a spring evening. There were hundreds of them, closer to three than two, all here to escort the King. The procession lasted for the good part of an hour before the last of the lights entered through the main gate. When the chill of the rain finally took its toll, he made his way to the Great Hall of Grundwalder to receive his lord.
It didn’t take long for the God-Emperor-King to take to the warmth of hall, and Hobb made sure strong-spiced rum was brought out as well as some warm cider. The King entered through the large oak doors as if he made the ascent every day of his life. Strutting in, he paused only to rid himself of his large blue dyed cloak gilded and embroidered with sigil of his kingdom, and then he rushed over to embrace his host. He looks just like his father. Hobb thought. And would have said as much too, but his King was squeezing him too tight.
“You’ve grown old and fat, Hobb.” The King announced, laughing. Robert gave his host a good shake before stepping back to admire him. “At your service, my Lord.” Hobb said. Robert shook off the courtesy with his hand. “I see you have roused the castle for my coming?” Hobb let a smile out at that, “I guess that’s one way to put it Robert.”
It had been only months since Hobb had seen his king last, close to a year maybe, but he looked more invigorated this time, another trait he received from his father. The King was a stout young man, thick-chested with strong arms. He was a good foot taller than Hobb, and his long brown hair nestled underneath his golden crown was at his shoulders. Hobb did best him in one area though, his beard which was a pathetic patch of brown fuzz compared to the Lord of Grundwalder’s. Trebor had the same shit beards as well.
Hobb turned towards the feasting table, “Come my King, we have much to talk about.”
As the servant poured the ale for both of them, Hobb unrolled the map sitting on the table. The lands of Calradia were set before him, much of it now under the rule of his King. From the far west of Halmar, to the northland of Uxxhal, the Velucan Empire was the largest realm the world had ever seen. Hobb took a moment to breathe in the sight, his entire life’s work put to ink. I built this Empire, me and Trebor. And now me and his only son. Who can blame the son for wanting to be like his father? Hobb could see Robert eying the map as well, see the young king’s greed through is red-brown eyes. Part of Hobb envied his King, not because of his position, he never inspired to be king, but for his youth and ambition. Although Hobb was still not an old man, yet to turn forty, his lust for conquest had left him long ago.
”I want to march on them tomorrow Hobb, I will not wait any longer for this war.” Robert finished his cup in one swig. ”I understand your fervor my Lord, but these things take time. The Hounds are still settling into their new lands to the west, and the Murder Boners are late to respond to your call to arms.” Robert slammed his cup down. “The Hounds are always slow and when have the Murder Boners done anything for us in war!!!” Hobb took a sip of his ale to cover up his displeasure. “Robert these Occitan are not the same as Remnant; we will need the entire Empire for this war.”
Robert stood up and paced the room. He waited a long time before saying anything. Finally he turned back to the table. “Tristran has the Vanguard readied in Almerra Castle, with a great number of Hounds ready to march south right now. We have Lord Syls in command of Jammeyed Castle, and under his command the reserve need to crush these little cunts.” Robert pointed at the map, “I will not let this gap between my Empire stay any longer Hobb, the time to march is now.”
Hobb knew he wouldn’t talk his king out of this one, especially after the steward had counseled him first. The only possible good to come of this war, is that maybe this one will finally kill Tristran. The steward who hasn’t stayed in Veluca for twenty years. If truth be told Hobb has never been able to like the man despite their great success together. He handled all the trade for the Empire while the steward does the military; the King signs the declaration of wars, and the duo of Hobb and Tristran fund and managed them.
Robert sat back down in his chair, cleary frustrated that his host hadn’t replied to his tantrum yet. He is right, the time for this is now, for better or worse.
“I can’t stop you from doing this Robert, and I can’t deny that the time is right.” Hobb paused long enough to finish his own cup of ale. “You need to stay here Robert, your place is in your Empire, in Veluca to be exact.” Robert laughed at that and stood up again. “You expect me to sit back and whore my way through this war in Veluca? You mistake me for a bastard of my father’s seed, Hobb? I should remove you of your duties and give them to Pulse for that talk, you have gone mad.”
“You are the only heir to the throne mind you, a wife-less son-less heir to the largest throne in all of Calradia. Surrounded by enemies and bastard brothers too many to count from your father, your place is here Robert.”
“You have grown to a women, a whiny old whore scared of everything eh Hobb? I won’t stay here while my men die for me. You fought along my father’s side through every village and castle alike, raiding, raping, and plundering your way to glory. You have other duties now, but the king’s duties stay the same, to ride to war with his men. Robert waited a long moment and smiled. “Besides Hobb, there will be plenty of whores awaiting me in the desert. I hear Weyyah Castle has the finest brothel in all the land.”
Hobb leaned back and stared at his King. “How many thousands of men must die for your cock Robert? It’s all a game to you now, but y-“
Robert’s laughter made Hobb stop, the same laugh that Trebor gave so often, and he was sure Trebor’s father did before him. The laughter of kings.
Robert stopped laughing to drained his second cup of ale. “All men pray for the chance to die on the battlefield, to die for their King, their Emperor, and their God. And for every good soldier that perishes in my wars, my cock will produce ten more.”