The Drunken Night and the Quaking Earth
In the meantime, two of the strongest men in the Drake Kingdom sat alone, each enveloped in his own private depression and liquor.
In his research, Prime Minister Thomas White sat at a table covered with scrolls and nearly empty jars of old wine. His once-nimble hands shook slightly as he filled his glass again, his grey hair glowing in the warm orange flicker of the candles. His flushed face wore a profound, exhausted sadness.
I never thought," he croaked, voice laced with incredulity, "that one day I would be fired from my job—and by His Majesty himself! I have worked loyally, heart and soul, and never once wavered in loyalty.". But now, for a woman, he is ready to sacrifice not only the state. but me too." He gave a splintered laugh that was followed by a sigh. "Ah. my heart hurts more than words can say.
In the adjacent chamber, Grand General Eldric Bennett—wide-shouldered, bald, his eyes still piercing with age—sat sipping his own wine. With the Prime Minister's complaint, he sighed out his nose and shook his head lazily.
It can only be said," he answered gravely, "that His Majesty is still young—impulsive, not sensible. Passion blinds even the wisest of men for an instant. But he's not a fool. With time, he'll see our motives. We mustn't credit his youth with folly."
Thomas smiled with hard, bitter sweetness. "Let's hope you're right. Talk no more. Drink, old friend. Let wine drown the bitterness.
Eldric lifted his jar in assent. "Yes—to drink! One drunken session to disperse a thousand cares!"
Their laughter—half joy, half despair—filled the empty room.
The door slid open at that moment, and Walton, the imperial eunuch, entered with a smile that could outshine lamplight. His black hair was well-combed, his face deferential but wise.
"Eunuch Walton?" Eldric blinked in surprise. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be seeing to His Majesty inside the palace walls?"
Walton folded his hands and bent his body slightly. "His Majesty sent me, General."
The two men shared a confused glance.
"Sent you?" Thomas parroted, furrowed brows. "For what?"
Walton smiled quietly and placed the wine jar he'd brought in on the table. "His Majesty invited me to have a drink with the Prime Minister."
Eldric blinked, perplexed. "That's all? No deeper meaning to it?"
"Tsk, great lummox," Thomas replied with a sudden burst of laughter, his preceding sadness dissolving, "can't you hear it? If His Majesty sends wine to drink with an old minister like me, what else could it imply? He's proffering an apology.
Eldric smiled. "Ah, so that's it! Hah! I'm slow today. It appears His Majesty still has feelings for you, Thomas. He realizes he did you wrong and dispatched Walton to make amends. You can now rest easy."
Walton nodded vigorously. "That is indeed His Majesty's will. But you know how it goes—some things cannot be said too plainly in court.
Thomas sat back, the edges of his mouth curving upwards with subdued pleasure. "So His Majesty still keeps me in mind. Good. Then I had no need to be anxious. I only lament the way it turned out. In court that day, I spoke too bitterly. His Majesty, young and proud, could not retreat. That is how this disaster happened. I should have acted differently.
Eldric lifted his cup. "Aye. The approach will have to be different. The throne is new, but it's the throne. Let him make his own decisions. You've served long enough, my friend—get some rest. Sooner or later, he'll summon you again."
Thomas smiled weakly. "You're right. Then… let's toast to that."
"Drink!" echoed Eldric.
So the three men—General, Prime Minister, and Eunuch—raised their cups under the warm light of candles, laughter and good wine smoothing years of loyalty, remorse, and unspoken intuition. The night drew long, their hearts lighter as the stars whirred softly overhead.
________________________________________
Far in the distance, meanwhile, beyond the palace, the Ironforge Kingdom swirled with anticipation.
The trade pact had finally been honored—the bargained supplies arriving at the capital of the Drake Kingdom. As coordinated, the Drake workers and soldiers at the Red Rock Iron Mine retreated in impeccable formation.
Moments later, a massive Ironforge force of two hundred thousand troops marched in to take their place. Walls of soldiers dressed in black armor lined the valley, their banners whipping like tempest clouds.
Leading at their head was the Crown Prince of Ironforge, his eyes ablaze as he rode over the long-sought-after iron mine that now belonged to them.
His own lips formed a smile full of ambition. "With this mine in our possession," he stated, his voice ringing out among the ranks, "our Ironforge Kingdom shall arise with unstopable force. We will hammer our fate in steel—and someday, the Drake Kingdom shall fall before our iron hooves!"
There was a deafening chorus that rang from the soldiers. "Your Highness tells the truth!"
"Excavate it immediately!" the Crown Prince commanded, waving his arm aloft.
"Yes, Your Highness!"
Instantly, the army chugged along like a finely tuned machine. Miners and workers poured into the caverns, torches in hand, sending mad shadows dancing over the rough walls. Clang went the pickaxes in rhythm through the valley—metal on stone, a hymn of greed and victory.
But soon, that rhythm ceased.
The earth itself trembled beneath their feet.
At first, it was a weak vibration, easily confused with wind. Then—
Boom.
A low, grinding rumble shook the mountains.
Rumble… Rumble…
The earth creaked. The mine walls shuddered. Soldiers staggered, bellowing in dismay. The flags on top shook furiously as pebbles and dust poured down from the cliffs.
The Crown Prince's victorious smile froze on his face.
"What—what's going on?" he snarled.
No one knew.
The formerly celebratory mine now creaked like a monster waking from sleep.
And deep beneath the ground of the Red Rock Iron Mine, something ancient was moving.