Overtaken

Originally sent to subscribers in March, 2023. Sign up for the newsletter now to receive exclusive stories months in advance.

           Garmand stepped down from the plank onto the soft sands of Aluntra and inhaled the familiar scent of roseberry pine mingling with the salt water. The sun beat down on him, warming the green season air and Garmand’s muscles, which had grown stiff after many days at sea. He frowned and grunted out loud before being forced to shield his face from a spray of sand being kicked up by the hooves of his horse, Hup, who was happily trotting around the beach after the week spent at sea. Despite his sour mood, a laugh escaped Garmand’s throat as he jumped onto Hup’s back and galloped across the beach, just as he had countless times before. He turned Hup to face the castle rising from the top of the cliff in the distance. After three long years away, he was home.

           Though he was old by horse standards, Hup’s legs were still as strong as any Garmand had ever seen, and they carried him across the sand in a blur, almost gliding along the top of the shifting ground as they streaked toward Cir, the capital of Aluntra and Garmand’s childhood home. Garmand stole a look over his shoulder, granting him a glimpse of the crew packing the last of his belongings into the wagon. He almost felt guilty leaving them behind, but he was so eager to be home. If nothing else, he needed to ask why his reception party hadn’t been awaiting his arrival. That would alleviated much of the physical labor his crew was undergoing.

           After spending three years of nomadic traveling around the nation of Yotrijan, the sight of Cir was enough to fill him with wonder. The castle, marking the home of the monarch of the country, had never looked so large. In fact, as a child, it had felt like a prison, ever shrinking as he grew and trapping him in one place. That had been one of the things that had helped make his decision to leave. But now, upon his return, he realized just how grand of a spectacle the castle, and in face the entire city, was. An entire Yotri clan outpost could fit inside of just one of the castle’s dozen ballrooms. Waedok would be beside himself searching through all of the hiding spots in such a space.

           Garmand guided Hup toward the hidden path which cut through the cliffs bordering Cir, eventually leading him to the concealed entrance to the castle. Strangely, the path was abandoned, clear of guards or traveling nobles. He could remember coming home in the wee hours of the morning, back from nights exploring the countryside with his less disciplined friends, and passing people traveling in both directions. In fact, he couldn’t think of a single time he had taken this route and not met someone along the way. He muttered something to himself about changing times and pushed Hup faster.

           Near the entrance to the greeting hall, Garmand jumped from Hup’s back, skidding to a stop as Hup instinctively veered toward the gate to the stables. Garmand pulled a hood over his head to avoid any unwanted conversations with stablehands and quickly dipped through the hidden door to tie Hup to the feeding post. After a brief nuzzle, he thanked Hup for his service and ducked back into the caverns. He checked his reflection in a pool of water. He straightened his uniform, which had grown snug since he last wore it, and flicked his long hair to the side, where he used a piece of twine to tie it into a long braid.

           Satisfied with his appearance for his grand return, he pushed open the door to the greeting hall and emerged into a hidden corner, concealed by the long tapestries hanging from the wall which depicted the most famous Overtakings in the history of Aluntra. He hoped to soon add his own story to one of those banners.

           He swept the tapestry aside with a flourish and marched into the center of the grand hall. No one seemed to notice. The guards barely gave him a second look. The servants continued their cleaning and various duties. The nobles didn’t even look his direction.

           Annoyed, Garmand whistled to the nearest servant. “You there, alert my father as to my presence. The time has come for his Overtaking.”

           “But sir, your fa—”

           “Do not question me, boy. I demand to speak with the King.”

           “I’ll tell him once I finish my current assignment.”

           Garmand lunged forward and wrenched the boy into the air by his collar. “Now.” He didn’t have his weapons yet, as they were still being carted from the ship, but he didn’t need them against an untrained servant boy. His physical strength was more than enough. The boy nodded as he weakly slapped against Garmand’s rock-solid arm. When he dropped to the ground, the boy darted off in the direction of the royal chambers.

           Garmand noticed dozens of people staring at him with looks of disgust, as if they had never seen a servant be treated as they deserved. The boy was lucky Garmand hadn’t banished him to the pits for such an offense. Asking him to wait? That boy should be grateful to live a life of luxury here in the castle. If Garmand caught him showing that kind of disrespect to a noble again, he wouldn’t hesitate to have him sent to work in the salt pits of Vohgan.

           With a grunt, Garmand stalked off in the same direction as the boy, determined to meet his father on his own terms. He pushed through a pair of large double doors and into the main dining hall, which was even larger and more ornate than he remembered. He marched forward, his anger growing with each step.

           “Aim!”

           The voice rang out as Garmand reached the center of the room, freezing him mid-step. Dozens of archers appeared from every corner of the room, all with their bows drawn and trained on him. “What is this madness?” Garmand called. “Where is my father?”

           “Father is dead,” a familiar voice said.

           Garmand wheeled around to face the doors he had just entered through. Standing before him was his brother, though he looked much older than the last time they had spoken. “Firal,” he said. “What do you mean? Was there an Overtaking? What happened? Who is the current king? I want to challenge him to a contest.”

           “Are you sure? Even knowing nothing about your opponent?” Firal asked with a raised brow.

           “I have trained for three years, without rest, for this moment,” Garmand said. “I will not be denied my opportunity to Overtake the king, whoever he may be.”

           “If you insist, I accept your challenge.”

           “You accept? Impossible.”

           “I am the king,” Firal said. “And, as your king, I accept your challenge.”

           “But, how?” Garmand asked in stunned disbelief. “How could you be king? Does this mean you killed our father?”

           “Indeed,” Firal said. “I challenged him not long after you left for Yotrijan. The Overtaking came in surprisingly easy fashion. I’m still shocked you never defeated him.”

           “Father was one of the greatest warriors this nation has ever known, and you could never even best me in a wrestling match,” Garmand barked. “How could you possibly have defeated him? What trickery did you use? How did the court stand for your cheating ways?”

           “I did not cheat,” Firal said, his voice as calm as ever. “I simply had the better strategy. Not every Overtaking is about physical strength, Big Brother, or even fighting skill, actually. Sure, strategic moves like my own may not get me on the tapestries, and I may not be sung about in the ballads for centuries to come, but my methods are effective. We grew up studying our father. Rather than trying to copy him, as you did, I took my own approach, one that would counter all of his moves. It’s unfortunate you never learned to be anything other than a cheap imitation, a mockery.”

           “I’ll show you what I’ve become,” Garmand howled. “A contest. Tomorrow. At dusk.”

           “Very well, Big Brother,” Firal said. “As much as it will pain me to take my only living relative from this world, I can see you will not falter. I will accept your challenge. We will see how much you have learned in the faraway lands.” He clapped his hands once. The archers lowered their arrows on command, though they still kept the strings pulled taut. “Now, you may stay in your own room in our guest quarters.”

           “Where are the servants to carry my things? I would like a meal of steamed octopus stew tonight, and I’ll need a servant to test it for tampering. Oh, and at least a few more to relieve my stress.” Garmand stood with his arms out to his sides, waiting for the servants to come and remove his ceremonial garb.

           Firal stifled a laugh from the doorway. “I forget how long you’ve been gone, Big Brother. I think you’ll find things have changed around here.”

           “Changed how?”

           “Just put your arms down. You look like a fool,” Firal’s eyes shifted beyond Garmand, to the doors opposite him. “Ryelle, would you mind showing our guest to his quarters for me?”

           “Of course, my king.”

           Garmand spun on his heel to face Ryelle, the love of his life who he left behind to chase his dream. “Ryelle?”

           “Follow me,” she said without meeting his eyes.

           He hurried to catch up to her, but she made a point to stay just out of reach of his long arms, always a few steps ahead of him. “Ryelle, wait up.”

           “It’s just up here, around this corner.”

           “I know where the guest rooms are,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m not being taken to my old room, but it’s fine. I just want you to talk to me.”

           “I have nothing to say to you,” she said. “I am only doing what was asked of me by my king.”

           “Will you extend me that same courtesy when I become king?”

           “And what makes you think you will win?”

           “Have I ever lost to Firal before?”

           “As the king stated, much has changed since you left.” Ryelle stopped and finally turned to face him, opening the door to his room. “Here. Bye.”

           “Wait.” Garmand grabbed ahold of Ryelle’s wrist, holding her in place. The feel of her skin was enough to catch his breath, even if she did tense beneath his touch. “Stay.”

           She looked him directly in the eyes and spoke slowly, with more force than he knew her to possess. “Unhand me, foolish boy, before you get yourself in a mess.”

           Shocked by her tone, Garmand acquiesced, releasing his hold on her arm. A chill ran through his fingers as the warmth of her skin left his own. He stepped into the room with hands raised in obedience. “Please, Ryelle, stay for a moment.”

           “For what purpose?”

           “You’re right, I have been gone a long time,” he said. “We have a lot to discuss.”

           “Do we?” she said. “I have little to say to you.”

           “Well, then, let me speak.” He looked at her as he never had before, as he should have all along. “Or, at least, let me talk to you, and ask you questions, and hear about your life.”

           She sighed and looked at the ground.

           “One hour,” Garmand said. “And, after that hour, you can leave if you want. But please, talk with me.”

           She ran her fingers through her hair, a habit she had picked up as a child, and nodded once. She followed Garmand into the room, where he immediately stripped off his heavy overcoat and dropped it to the floor. He motioned for her to sit on the bed, while he took a seat in the wooden chair along the left wall.

           Ryelle looked at him and spoke softly. “Start talking.”

#

           She stayed longer than an hour. Much longer. They talked all throughout the day, about the time they had spent together and the time they had spent apart. Garmand taught Ryelle the customs of the different clans in Yotrijan and she told him about how his brother had taken over Aluntra. She wasn’t wrong. He really had changed a lot in his brief time as king.

           For starters, servants weren’t treated as lesser citizens anymore. Apparently, that was the first thing Firal had changed upon his Overtaking. The servants, who had always been accepted to be a lower status than the nobles, were given equal rights, wages, and privileges within Cir. It was totally against everything their ancestors had built. On top of that, the noble class, including family of the king, was no longer given special treatment. Everyone, from the richest merchant to the poorest immigrant arriving in the docks, was expected to be treated as equals, including when it came to the laws of Aluntra. It had been a tough few months, with many deaths and uprisings, but Firal had been surprisingly deft and brutal in his ruling, eliminating all threats until everyone began to accept his new way of ruling. If Ryelle’s information was accurate, it would seem there was less crime, disease, and death than ever before. The people were, in general, happy.

           Still, no matter what she or anyone else told him, Garmand couldn’t accept this as the natural order of the world. For as long as he had been alive, and for all of the history he had learned, things had never been done this way. The people may have accepted it for the time being, but it had only been three years, a short amount of time when compared to the generations of rulers which had come before his brother. At the end of the talk, when Ryelle had gone off to get them food from the kitchens, Garmand was more convinced than ever that he needed to Overtake the king and win the crown for himself.

           Ryelle returned carrying two bowls of the stew Garmand had requested along with a platter of breads, cheeses, and meats. The smell of the soup sent a wave of saliva to his mouth. He hadn’t tasted Aluntran stew in three years. He was going to enjoy this.

           She set the food down on the small table and took her place across from him. He glanced up to meet her eyes as she struck a match and lit the candle in the center of the table. Their gazes lingered on one another until Garmand cleared his throat and picked up his spoon. “So, tell me about my brother’s victories. How many challengers has he had?”

           “Since the Overtaking of your father, two.”

           “Only two?”

           “As I said, the people are happy.”

           “Still, most kings have two challengers within their first month of rule,” Garmand said between bites of bread. “To have just two in three years, it’s absurd. He’s sure to be out of practice. This will be easy.”

           “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ryelle said. “Each challenge has been a decisive victory for Firal. Even against your father, the match was never in question. That one lasted two full days, and no one believed Firal would lose after the first exchange. Since then, he has defeated the other challengers in a matter of moments. He’s smart, Garmand. And ruthless. He has always known you would return. It wouldn’t surprise me if he has been planning for this challenge since the day you left.”

           “Even if he has, I’ve changed,” Garmand said. “The training I did in Yotrijan morphed me into a completely different person, changed from the man who left you three years ago. If he’s going to go into this challenge with a plan, then I’m going to have one, too. Will you help me, Ryelle, as you have so many times before?”

           “I will.” Ryelle held up a finger to stop Garmand’s response. “On one condition. You have to assure me you’ll keep at least some of the changes Firal has implemented. He really has done some good things for this city and this nation, Garmand. Just promise me that you won’t immediately go back to the way things were before, without even taking the time to evaluate the effects of those changes.”

           Garmand took a moment to stare into his bowl of stew without seeing it, instead looking deep within himself. “I promise.”

           The smile that spread across Ryelle’s face showed that she believed him. He didn’t know if he believed himself yet, but that smile was enough to make him want to believe it. He returned the smile and replaced the dirty dinnerware with a scroll of paper from his pack.

           “Let’s get started.”

#

           Garmand walked onto the challenge field with sweaty palms and a cramp developing in his jaw from clenching all morning. He had never been nervous for any fight not against his father, but this was as stressful as any battle he had ever had. In order to win and Overtake the throne from Firal, Garmand would have to kill his own brother. Killing a family member for the crown was something he always knew would be his destiny, but he had always assumed it would be his father finally relinquishing the crown after a long reign. He wasn’t sure if it would be better to beat his brother in a fair fight or defeat his father and never learn if the former king had let him win. Perhaps this way would give him the confidence to rule with authority, always trusting in his own decisions.

           He had a solid formula for victory, one he and Ryelle had spent much of the night perfecting, but Firal had taken three years, if not even longer, to come up with a plan of his own. Garmand could see the toll the strategizing was taking on Ryelle. She clearly held strong, positive feelings for Firal’s rule, but her connection to Garmand couldn’t be denied. Much to Garmand’s pleasure, she planned until she couldn’t hold her eyes open anymore, eventually falling asleep on his bed while he sorted the finishing touches of the strategy. By the time he crept into the bed beside her, he was too tired to enjoy the warm feeling of her body against his before drifting off to sleep.

           Firal emerged onto the battlefield a moment later, a dagger tucked under his arm as he pulled thin leather gloves over his hands. Compared to Garmand, he looked liked the seasoned warrior, as calm and collected as he had always been. No one could have guessed this was only the fourth official bout of his life. He strolled into his starting square a mere thirty yards from Garmand and eyed his brother. Garmand stared back, though the sweat dripping into his eyes caused him to blink first. He quickly swiped a forearm across his brow and turned toward the councilmen, who would announce the start of the contest.

           Garmand didn’t pay attention as Grand Council Houson addressed the crowd of nobles and servants who had gathered for the occasion. Instead, he allowed his mind to wander as he scanned the crowd. It was amazing how quickly the city of Cir could mobilize when it was time for a potential Overtaking. They hadn’t seen a contest in nearly a year. Surely they were itching for some action. He would be sure to give it to them.

           The Holy Singers of Cir gave a lengthy and extravagant rendition of “The Rise of Modiltra,” during which Garmand had to continuously move back and forth in his square to keep his muscles loose. The last thing he needed was a cramp. As he peered across the sandy stage at Firal, he had a sneaking suspicion his brother had arranged for this very scenario. Relying on his mind more than his body, Firal could have easily ordered an extended performance to give himself the upper hand.

           Garmand shook his head. He couldn’t afford to build his brother up so high in his own mind. He had defeated their father, true, but he was still the same kid Garmand had bested his entire childhood. It didn’t matter what advantages Firal had given himself, Garmand wouldn’t allow him to win.

           As the song finally came to an end, and a hush fell over the coliseum crowd, Garmand and Firal stood facing one another, their weapons sheathed and their arms crossed before them. Grand Council Houson stepped to the center of the field and looked to each of them in turn. “King Firal, ready?” Firal nodded once. “Challenger Garmand, ready?” Garmand returned the gesture. Houson shuffled through the sand to the side, took his place behind a barrier, and raised his hand above his head.

           “Ready.” He dropped his hand. “Begin!”

           No one moved. No one spoke. The entire arena was silent.

           “I see you’ve learned some restraint, Big Brother,” Firal called.

           “You expected me to come running in, yes?” Garmand replied. “I told you, my training changed me.”

           “I assumed as much.” Firal relaxed his shoulders slightly. “Thank you for playing into my strategy.”

           “Strategy?”

           “It’s simple, Big Brother.” Firal blinked a slow blink, stepped to the side, and raised his hands, just like he always did when he was about to say something overly academic and condescending. “You see—”

           Garmand sprinted across the short distance between them, covering the space in just over three seconds. Firal drew his short dagger, using the flat part of the blade to deflect Garmand’s fist. But Garmand didn’t stop there. He pushed hard against Firal, using his strength to push the king backwards. As Firal’s front foot left the ground, Garmand used his opposite hand to draw the sword at his side and swing horizontally, aiming for his brother’s abdomen. Firal stopped pushing, using Garmand’s strength to force him back into a roll. The blade connected with Firal’s thigh, sending a spray of blood into the air as the breath hissed from his lungs.

           A gasp escaped from the crowd, followed by a chorus of jeers and boos. Could they really be rooting for Firal? Garmand blocked out the noise, as Waedok had taught him, and focused on his target.

           Garmand stepped forward slowly, confident in his early lead but cautiously looking for any trick Firal may try to pull. “I had a plan, too, Firal,” he said. “I figured you would expect me to use the methods I learned in Yotrijan, so I went back to my old ways. You’ve never been good at handling brute strength.”

           “I see that,” Firal grunted. “You’ve miscalculated, however. Remember, I beat Father. Even hobbled as I am, I can still execute well enough to defeat the shammed version.”

           “You take that ba—”

           Firal twisted and launched a handful of sand toward Garmand, blinding and choking him in one move. Garmand rubbed furiously at his face, spitting on the ground and coughing to clear his throat. He lunged forward, but by the time he could see, he caught only a glimpse of Firal bolting through the gate leading to the exit of the coliseum. He smiled slightly to himself.

           Ryelle had told him of Firal’s victory over his father, during which he had used a similar strategy. In all of the centuries of Overtakings, there had never been anything written to prevent either party from leaving the starting arena. The only real rules were that the battle ended when the challenger was defeated or the king was dead, and that the contestants could not receive assistance from anyone during the course of the contest. Otherwise, Overtakings had occurred thanks to poisoned blades, fires, and even a trained lion being released into the arena. So, when Garmand had devised his strategy, he had hoped to bait Firal into trying something similar to his own Overtaking.

           Garmand turned and ran in the opposite direction. With that kind of gash in Firal’s leg, he wouldn’t be moving very quickly, giving Garmand just enough time to beat him to the underground exit leading from the arena. He jumped up onto the hill behind the exit, awaiting his brother’s emergence. He tried to listen for the shuffling of footsteps below, but the thundering roar of the crowd rushing out of the stands to follow the fight was deafening. He would have to keep his muscles coiled and ready to spring as soon as Firal came into view. That would be the only way to get the jump on his smaller, quicker brother.

           A shadow appeared overtop of Garmand, blocking out the sun as the sharp tip of a metal blade dug into the back of his neck. “Did you really think I would allow you to best me in a contest of wits?”

           Garmand raised his hands above his head and slowly turned to face his brother, the sword Firal had picked up at some point still touching his neck. “How did you find me?”

           “I knew you would go to Ryelle to ask how I defeated our father,” he said. “And I knew you would get some idea about how you could outsmart me, as if I would use the same method twice. I’m not an imbecile. Do remember, it was I who arranged the meeting of you and dear Master Waedok, wasn’t it? It would have been foolish of me not to study his methods and theories. Even without the master himself, the books written of his teachings were enough to give me a solid guess as to what you might plan. From there, it was just me weighing the odds of which path you might take. Clearly, I chose correctly.”

           “They’re over here!”

           The crowd poured into the small clearing around the exit of the tunnel. Children were hoisted onto shoulders, men fought over who could climb the trees first, and onlookers shoved past one another toward the front of the group, all clamoring for a view as their king claimed his victory.

           “I almost had you, you know?” Garmand said from the ground. “Next time, I will.”

           “And why do you believe there with be another opportunity?”

           “I will challenge you again as soon as the waiting period has expired,” Garmand said. “And then, I will claim my victory.”

           “About that, something that Ryelle probably didn’t tell you, a change has been made,” Firal said. “A king no longer has to show mercy to his challengers. If a king is to be expected to risk his life during a potential Overtaking, why should he have to spare the loser of the contest? And you, dear brother, will be the first to fall under this new procedure. I suspect that will deter many future challengers, not that I’ve had many as it is. It is nice to be loved.”

           Garmand didn’t speak. He simply allowed his head to fall back into the soft grass, vulnerable. Firal chuckled and raised an arm to silence the crowd. “I, Firal Alun, do hereby claim victory and, under the new laws of Aluntra, sentence this challenger to death.”

           A roar erupted from the crowd as Garmand closed his eyes.

           “Anything you’d like to say, Brother?” Firal asked.

           “No. Do it.”

           “Very well.”

           Firal turned to face the crowd and raised the sword above his head. Garmand reacted in an instant. His hand closed around the dagger hidden in the grass behind his head. He rolled to the side and flicked his wrist. The dagger arced upward as Firal’s neck erupted in a shower of blood. The king sputtered and coughed as more blood seeped from his wound. He swung meekly at Garmand, who grabbed onto the blade with his bare hand and wrenched it from Firal’s grip. With a mighty roar, Garmand thrust the blade forward, impaling Firal through the chest. With a shudder and a final, wheezing breath, Firal fell limp.

           “Rest well, Little Brother,” Garmand whispered. “You have been Overtaken.”

#

           Ryelle and Garmand walked arm-in-arm toward his new office. With the Overtaking confirmed, he had been sworn to the throne on the spot. A feast to honor his rule was scheduled to commence in half an hour.

           “I had information on the late king’s ruling brought to your office,” she said. “I really believe we can work together to further improve on the rules of this nation. We can build it into something truly great, for all its citizens.”

           “Yes, I believe this nation can be great, as well.”

           Ryelle pushed opened the door to his office, allowing him a look at the ornate decoration and lavish designs. He thanked her and put his arm around her waist, pulling him into the office with him as the door fell closed. “What are you doing?” she asked through a laugh. “We have to get you ready for your feast.”

           “I’ll be ready.” He moved his hand up Ryelle’s body, hovering over her neck before continuing to her face. He clasped his hand over her mouth and squeezed hard. “Rest well, Ryelle.” He slipped a dagger, the same one he thrown at Firal, in between her ribs, piercing her lung. He held his hand over her mouth as her eyes slowly lost focus and she fell, heavy in his arms. He kissed her once on the cheek and lay her down on the floor.

           Garmand donned a robe in the style his father had worn to countless meetings and dinners and sauntered through the halls in the direction of the grand courtyard. He entered to applause from the guests who had already gathered, though he could sense the hesitancy in their actions. They really did love his brother. Well, they would learn to love him, as well.

           Before sitting down, he raised his arm to silence the crowd. “I have not yet had the opportunity to acquaint myself with the trusted few among my brother, the late King Firal’s, company. Who was the Master of Servants?”

           “King Garmand, if I may?” Grand Council Houson whispered. “We no longer have a Master of Servants. Your brother devised a system to promote servants to managers, who regulated their pay and schedules.”

           “Very well. Bring them to me.”

           It took several minutes for the two dozen managers to gather for their king, during which time Garmand stood in his place, watching the crowd. Once they had bowed before him, he silenced the onlookers once again. “I was not greeted when arriving in port, even after three years away. Why was this? I sent word announcing my arrival several times along my journey. Am I to believe each of those letters was lost?”

           The managers all glanced back and forth between one another, no one willing to be the first to speak. At last, the one at the end of the group raised his hand. “You see, King Garmand, we were told we don’t do that anymore. Since King Firal made the changes, the serving staff was tasked with focusing on the upkeep of the castle and the city.”

           “I see.” Garmand paced back and forth in front of the managers. When he reached the middle of his third rotation, he turned on his heel and drew the dagger tucked on his hip. In one motion, he sliced through the throats of three of the managers. The crowd gasped in unison, with several screams of horror piercing Garmand’s ears. He handed the dagger to the one who had answered his question. “You’re the Master of Servants. The rest of them have been demoted to servants, and they have disrespected your king. Kill them all. And don’t lose my blade. I want it returned to me tonight.”

           King Garmand returned to his place at the Council’s table and turned to address the crowd as a whole, leaving the newly appointed Master of Servants to finish his task. “Listen up!” he shouted. “My brother made a few changes during his reign, and I’m going to do the same. For starters, I am your king, and I will be treated as such. Anyone who disrespects me will be treated as a traitor to this nation, for which they will be executed without trial. You will be informed of the remaining changes in the coming days. Are there any questions?”

           High Council Houson shuffled toward Garmand and hissed into his ear. “You can’t be serious. The people will riot.”

           “Oh, I think they’ll fall in line.” Garmand reached forward and pulled the massive fork from the center of the roasted calling bird sitting on his table. He turned and pushed the fork into the side of Houson’s head, killing him instantly. The former High Council crumpled to the ground at Garmand’s feet. He motioned to a guard to remove the body and calmly took his seat at the table. “Anyone else?” he called.

           No one spoke. Satisfied, Garmand used a smaller fork and knife to slice a portion of the calling bird onto his plate. He scooped a piece of bird into his mouth along with a heaping spoonful of corn and fishnut sauce. Sitting back to chew the delicious slurry, he surveyed the crowd. They were uneasy, as to be expected from such a weakened society. They would come around, though. And, if they didn’t, he would get rid of them. Just like he had gotten rid of his brother. Just like he had gotten rid of Ryelle, who had wanted him to continue to ruin his country. Just like he had gotten rid of Houson. And just like he had gotten rid of Master Waedok when the old man had tried to tell him he wasn’t ready to return to Aluntra and rule.

           He would mold this nation to his liking, making them stronger than ever before. And he would be the strongest among them, like he was raised to be. He would best all challengers and raise dozens of children, choosing his successor from the strongest of them. This was the beginning a new era for Aluntra.

           Garmand would not be Overtaken.

End.