“Never before has there been a sitting leader who openly commits crimes against his own people. He will never accept anything other than complete class domination.” The hall, sparsely lit by torches, was as dark as a maze, almost as ominous and troubling as the upheaval occurring behind the closed doors.

Steinar had that look about him, as if he too was sour about the whole affair. He started pacing. “You shouldn’t speak ill of the commander. He wouldn’t hesitant to make a writ of arrest against you and the other sorcerers, considering he’s already made statements against all warlock-kind.”

High Sorcerer Pelicroix fidgeted with his talisman, “Only because the sorcerer’s council will never agree with his ridiculous position on science and magic. He refutes even the most fundamental elements of logic. Our allies would think us fools, if we had any left.”

“Be cautious, Pelicroix. His banner lords will always listen and obey, whether it be truth or fiction. If the commander wanted a community or castle to be under siege, even if only to spread the plague, then it will be done.”

“Isn’t it true that he had ties to the Thieves’ guild of Corrow Valley? His history is a mystery to the members of the chamber.” The sorcerer stopped short and turned with haggard eyes, when commotion broke out in the chambers through the massive oak doors.

“See,” said the broad-chested Steinar, “they hear you. Does the presence of the commander frighten you so?” The old warlord grabbed both folds of his bear fur and casually tugged it down over his shoulders.

Pelicroix remained silent and considered the battle of Delroid. There the commander’s supporters were shown for who they really were, rapists and torturers. The grandmother of the Duchess of Delroid was thrown from the highest tower and her eyes gouged out, while the Duchess herself was kidnapped and never heard from again. “He does not frighten me. I tell you this, he frightens none of us. He himself is the coward.” After a bout of nervous laughter, he reproached, “I thought fat men were supposed to be jolly.”

The commander’s banner hung in tatters on the adjacent wall, the torch licked flames at the turtle sigil emblazoned within. “Some would say the turtle is an appropriate moniker. Hard-shelled, stubborn, slow, defensible–“

“Dumb and fat.” Pelicroix waved his hand, “Imagine if he were toppled onto his back, little claws squirming and writhing. The shell wouldn’t do much good.”

The old warlord grimaced, his sword dangled, long enough to touch the floor, “What are the alternatives? The Racoon? The Raven? The Lizard? Are any of these better than a warlord who knows how to get things done?”

“The Gray Wolf has the most supporters, compared to the commander. The contenders at least have the decency to not put the traveling Esperians in cages. It still gives me chills to think of–“

“Bah,” interrupted Steinar, “Inferior races deserve inferior treatment. The Pope has always sided with the Tortoise. The Gray Wolf is more of myth than man. What kind of man runs and hides castle-to-castle like a coward? Soon the commander will decree that his properties be seized and his banner lords disbanded, with agreement from the Church of course.”

The sorcerer’s eyes became wide, “Only because he spreads lies that only his banner lords believe. He is attempting to sow division amongst the ranks to hide from his past. Lest we remember the battle of Havencroft, where the plague had already consumed hundreds of lives. Your loving lord counted the heads of the infected, lining them up in the streets, and created tallies. Valkath, as he was known then, ordered troops to kill anyone infected with the plague. The lines teetered on pandemonium when the townsmen refused to let their families be slaughtered. Valkath believed in a herd immunity and changed the tally of infected in Havencroft to zero. This he counted as another victory and spread false information about the Wolf, accusing him of causing the death toll. Criticizing others for our own follies is a human weakness.”

A stormfront seem to hit Steinar’s face, “The Wolf is not much better. From what I hear he is old and frail, and a foreigner to boot.”

“More divisive talk. I should have expected as much. But your words do not sway me, for they are empty and fear-ridden. You should know to expect defeat. We have taken the Red Coast of Caledonia and our delegates grow by the day.”

“We?” Questioned Steinar furiously, “So you are with the Wolf then?”

Pelicroix shook his hands, begging for reason, “He may be in there now corrupting the court with lies. He claims Delroid is not on fire even though its plain to see from miles away. The people are busy fighting a plague, they are distracted and disheartened. They are pliable. They will take what is given to them.”

“We shall see.” Rebutted Steinar, “This is not a competition anymore, when they decide the next commander and the doors open.”

Pelicroix approached the doors. “No. We shall see now.” A glow from his wrinkled hands created a whirlwind of energy and sent a force through the bolted lock. Wood exploded inward revealing the court chamber. The court elders sat around a semi-circle in their high chairs and delicate robes. They sat up and turned to the intruder.

The commander, suited in full plate, stood and pointed with an iron fist, “Warlock! You trespass on this council!”

Pelicroix felt Steinar approach and stepped forward into the center of the domed room. “You’ve denied the truth for too long. You’ve stolen and spoiled the integrity of this council. The people have sided against you.”

The commander puffed out his chest and his face boiled red, “Lies! The blue banners of the Gray Wolf have spread nothing but lies!”

Pelicroix threw up his arms when the commander stepped down to approach the chambers circular center. A wave of vapor appeared, culminating in a cloud, taking the shape of a wolf. “There are two sides to this nation. We argue and say one side is blue and one side is red, other banners now flowing red with blood. This is not a fight of blue versus red. This is a fight against good and evil. It has been since our nation’s birth. We will not allow tyranny to survive. We will not allow them to own slaves. We will not allow them to segregate our schools based on the color of our skin. We will not allow them to assassinate our leaders if they do not share our opinions. We will not allow them to massacre our children in schools. We will not allow them to suppress our right to nominate a new leader. These men want violence and carry anger in their hearts. These men make death threats against us, put our children in cages, and deny us freedoms that we hold evident.” The vapors swelled and forced the commander back. “Good will always prevail. Evil will always be overcome. These evil peoples are not acting kindly or godly. They have ill intentions, and they will be held accountable.”

The commander laughed with a bellow, his jowls twitched. The elders glanced back and forth between the Gray Wolf and Tortoise, seemingly ensnared in a deadlock. “You will obey and get out of my sight!” Said the leader near the throne.

“You were my friend once, Valkath. We could have achieved so much more together than apart. But you chose the path of evil, disguised behind a red banner. What a cruel and strange world you wish this to be. We only wish to live in peace and not harm others.”

One of the elders spoke up in a frail voice. “We wish to achieve good as well.”

“Lies!” Said the commander again. “Steinar, kill this usurper.”

The barbarian warlord approached with caution and stood at the sorcerer’s side. Another elder shouted in approval which drove Valkath to draw his sword. He was about to impale the closest elder when a force of magic energy propelled the commander to his knees.

The rush of vapors came in waves, Pelicroix fingers were surrounded with blue luminescence. Valkath was overcome with each wave, grinding his teeth with the abrasive attacks.

He spoke in defiance, “Let the council speak and declare their rightful penance. Let them speak without fear of reprisal. Let them decide with truth, justice, and unity.”

Each of the elders stood to oppose the commander in another wave, a wave of empathetic enthusiasm. Pelicroix was struggling to keep the wind spell active and made a motion in the air, a symbol appearing. The symbol broadened into a cage that collapsed around Valkath, who did not take the imprisonment kindly.

“The warlock tribes of the Wolf will eat your children, sully this land with foreigners, and cancel the season of holiday!” Choked Valkath.

An elder with a white beard spoke, “Nay, these are absurd notions. I don’t think we’ll have any more of you.”

With a twisting of arms the sorcerer pressed the cage tighter, the commander grew more red. As the moments passed the sorcerer became tired and the elders took their place at his side, one by one. They stood together, they stood defiant to an unearthly, ungodly ruler. “United we stand.” He spoke one final incantation, “E pluribus unum.”