Follow: Book 1 The Rose Tree Chronicles

Over four hundred years after the Holy War, three emperors had built their dominions on the west of the continent Noelle and expanded them across the oceans to the continents Platavan and Kartika. For fifteen years they had successfully held their alliance as the United Empires, but as those years passed, cracks had begun to splinter the façade. Upon grappling with their fifth collective political issue, they were unable to conclude the affair. Tensions simmered. Desperate to come to an accord, the emperors turned to their people, opening the matter to the will of the masses. Now, on Malla 23, 467, it was time to announce the result of the poll to the emperors themselves.

The meeting took place in a dark stone forum a few miles away from the coast in the heart of Helvetica, the capitol of the Noelle Empire. Second in size only to the imperial palace, the forum was supported by obsidian pillars and a black steel frame. Aside from the palace, it was the largest building in town.

Within its cavernous walls, silk-cushioned chairs inside gleamed beneath golden candelabras, but none were occupied. The room pulsed with life as eighty-four voices clashed in a relentless storm of bickering and debate. Representatives from every corner of the United Empires packed the chamber shoulder to shoulder, their presence making the space hotter than the warm spring suns outside. The scent of sweat clung to the stone walls. Light spilled through stained glass in fractured rainbows, casting furious colors across faces twisted in anger.

The three emperors debated amongst themselves at the front of the forum where the floor was raised, and two had drifted into alliance against the youngest. They were dressed in black, red, and dark purple robes. Large gold collars hung around their shoulders and connected on their right to the crests of their empires. Yet the appearance of maturity and professionalism didn’t appear to fit the mannerisms of the younger emperor.

The oldest of the three, Emperor Plake of the Noelle Empire, watched the room dissolve into noise and heat. Finally, he’d had enough. He seized a marble vase from the pedestal beside him and hurled it to the stone floor. Its shatter echoed like thunder through the hall, silencing the crowd in an instant. It wasn’t just a call for order. It was a crack in the mask, a release of fury long simmering beneath the surface.

“Will everyone silence themselves long enough to end this?” he demanded. “Sit down!”

All present took their seats silently. The emperors sat at separate ebony tables at the front of the room and a scribe, barely noticeable, stood by a column to take note of the votes.

“So,” Emperor Plake sighed when everyone seemed ready. “Let us end this once and for all and inscribe it on a tablet. What have we decided, Noelle?”

The representatives of each town in the Noelle Empire announced the votes of the residents for which they spoke, each word echoing around the steel columns that blocked the room in. After the last vote had been recorded, Emperor Plake peered down at his notes seeming disappointed in his people. He nodded to Emperor Mandingo of the Bonn Empire, who was next.

“Bonn,” Emperor Mandingo said, radiating a certain confidence in his subjects. “What have our towns decided?”

When Bonn’s votes finally ended, Emperor Mandingo was incredibly shocked and dissatisfied in his empire’s choice. His chubby face glowed red as he looked over his notes before turning to Emperor Mentir of the People’s Empire to continue.

“People,” said Emperor Mentir, the youngest of the three emperors.

He was clearly delighted with the direction in which the voting was headed, and he held his squared chin high. He could almost be mistaken as Emperor Plake’s son with the same long skull and angled body structure, except he had a darker complexion and blonde hair.

“I’m sure we’ve chosen the right alternative,” Mentir continued. “What’s our decision?”

At first, Emperors Plake and Mandingo sat draped in defeat, their shoulders sagging beneath the weight of the tally unfolding before them. They scribbled distracted notes and exchanged weary glances. But Emperor Mentir radiated smug certainty. He watched the proceedings with his chin lifted, a smile curling just shy of arrogance.

Then, the number shifted. It was subtle at first, a flicker in the count, a single town’s unexpected turn. But then another. And another. A tide gathering speed. Plake sat up straighter. Mandingo leaned forward, eyes narrowing in disbelief. In an instant, despair gave way to stunned relief, their faces breaking open with incredulous hope.

Mentir’s smile withered. He blinked once, as if the tally had betrayed him. The pride drained from his face, leaving behind something cold and calculating.

Emperor Mentir shot to his feet upon the conclusion of the votes, his chair almost falling over. “I’m going to over-rule my empire’s vote.”

“Mentir, you cannot do that,” replied Emperor Plake. “We have an accord.”

“I don’t care! I over-rule.”

“We are not even aware of the final result yet.” Emperor Mandingo turned to the scribe. “Cal, what is the verdict?”

“It appears the miracle workers are in business, sire,” answered Cal.

“There you have it,” said Emperor Plake. “The problem is settled.”

“This isn’t officially over yet,” Emperor Mentir insisted. He pointed at Cal. “I override my empire!”

The scribe looked at the other two emperors with concern, hoping they would save him from their raving rival.

“That is against our contract.” Emperor Mandingo stood and straightened his papers, his large body wiggling with his every movement.

“I over-rule the contract then!” Emperor Mentir asserted. “Either way, my empire’s votes will have no effect on this matter.”

“That is not possible,” Emperor Plake said, laughing slightly. All of the representatives shuffled out of the forum in case the argument turned violent. “And you do not have the kind of power in my empire to over-rule an accord which the three of us have formally recognized.”

“I over-rule you then!”

“That is enough!” Emperor Plake shot up from his chair. The walls increased the volume of his demand, emphasizing his insistence for silence. His voice even muffled the sound of his iron chair crashing against the stone floor. “You cannot over-rule me, in my empire!”

“You cannot over-rule us ourselves at all!” Emperor Mandingo leaned against his table. “Have you gone mad?”

“Of course I’m mad! At first this voting was headed exactly where it should have, then once we got to my empire, everything fell apart. Therefore I eradicate my empire’s vote.”

“According to our agreement, you must respect your subjects’ choice,” Mandingo reminded. “Now if we may, we will sign the bill, seal it, chisel it into stone and put it away with the other laws.”

Cal set a gold tray in front of Emperor Plake which held the bill, a quill and an ink well. Mandingo approached the table to await his turn to apply his own signature at the bottom of the parchment.

Mentir balled his fists with rage, but then sucked a long breath through his nose before he asked, “May I see our agreement, please?”

Mandingo narrowed his eyes at Mentir. “I do not think you should.”

“I just wish to make sure that what all you said is true, my memory has faded. Allow me to reread it.”

Emperor Plake stroked his short black beard and studied his ally with his dark, sunken eyes squinted. Red and gray rings surrounded his gaze, contrast with his ashy skin. Indeed, he looked ill. He finally nodded to Cal, giving him permission to bring out the stone tablet.

“I would not do it, Emperor,” Mandingo warned.

“Silence!” Mentir snapped.

Mandingo glared at him threateningly to make him watch his tone.

“Do not worry, Mandingo,” said Emperor Plake.

Cal returned quickly with the tablet and handed it to Emperor Plake, then he bowed and walked away. The emperor began to read the tablet out loud.

“We, the Emperors of the—”

“I would like to read it myself, please,” Mentir interrupted. “I’m perfectly literate.”

Emperor Plake hesitated, but began to hand over the tablet.

Mandingo stopped him. “What do you think you are doing, Emperor?”

“What can he do with a piece of stone, Mandingo?”

Without warning, Emperor Mentir lunged forward and tore the stone tablet from Plake’s hands. In a single, fluid motion, he slammed it to the floor. The crack rang out like a thunderclap. Emperors Plake and Mandingo watched agape as shards burst outward, skittering across the polished stone like sparks, while finer fragments dissolved into dust beneath their feet. Mentir glanced at them with a smirk that was sharp and unrepentant. This wasn’t simply defiance, it was a declaration. In that one, calculated act, he’d seized the moment. The pretense of impartiality had shattered along with the tablet. Mandingo’s face twisted into a snarl, fists clenched at his sides. But Plake didn’t flinch. He simply stared at Mentir, unmoved, his silence heavier than any outrage.

“In that case,” he began. He set his chair back on its legs and took his seat. “I over-rule my empire as well.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t,” Mentir replied proudly.

“Now, there is no proof of that, is there? And if you are over-ruling, why can I not?”

“Well then, I over-rule my empire as well,” Mandingo said with a smug grin, realizing Emperor Plake’s game. With both of them over-ruling their empires’ votes, the bill could still be made into law.

“You will not sign that bill,” Emperor Mentir threatened. “Neither of you will sign that bill.” Emperor Plake proceeded to dip his quill into the ink well and signed his name at the bottom of the scroll. “Don’t expect me to.”

“You do not have to.” Emperor Plake handed Mandingo the quill. “If you do not wish to, you may leave. You are dismissed.”

Mentir jabbed his finger at the scroll. “That law can’t be passed unless I sign as well.”

“It can.”

“No, it says so in our agreement.”

“Forgive me, but I do not recall making any such agreement. Do you, Mandingo?”

“I am afraid not,” Mandingo answered, playing along.

Mentir wouldn’t take anymore. He stormed up to his two rivals, ripped the bill from under their noses and held it above the flame of a candle before Emperors Plake and Mandingo had the chance to react.

Emperor Plake stood slowly after the bill had become ash and he stared deep into Mentir’s eyes.

“I do not believe what I am seeing,” Mandingo stated, mouth agape.

“You are asking to be removed from my empire in chains, Mentir,” growled Emperor Plake. “I will not be disrespected like this.”

Mentir stood his ground and lifted his chin to the emperor of Noelle. “And you are asking for a war, Plake.”

Emperor Mandingo crossed his arms. “I believe that has been your objective all along. I do not think you really care about this whole miracle worker business—you just want a war. Why?”

Emperor Mentir basked in an incredible feeling as though he ruled over them both. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

“Because, you two have no idea what you’re doing. Order is vanishing under our noses while miracle workers conduct their miracles with Southern Elf Magic, and you are blind to it. The death rate is at an all-time high, the population is depleting, and resources are disappearing. We need to keep the empires in one piece and in order to do so, we need to be strict and organized. Tighten the purse strings along with our grip on the people. Dispel of Elf Magic entirely. It’s the only way we can prevent things from falling apart. But you two want to give the people more power, it seems! Let everyone meddle with the Southern Arts! You are going to destroy the United Empires and it is my responsibility, as the only competent man in this room, to keep you from doing so.”

“I have had enough of this!” Mandingo said, completely disgusted with what he was hearing. “No one is denying the inherent dangers of Southern Elf Magic, but not all miracle workers are practitioners, and not all Elf Magic is southern. You are going against everything we agreed to when we formed the United Empires, Mentir. You want a war? I will fight. Even if it is just you and me!”

“It will not be just between the both of you,” Emperor Plake stated cooly. Mentir smirked. “You will be fighting against two empires, Mentir. I hope you are prepared. We will settle this your way.”

Emperor Mentir glowed. “Wonderful.”

Then he turned and made his way toward the grand double doors, their surfaces etched with swirling patterns of war and peace. His footsteps rang out against the stone, each one a sharp echo in the stunned, breathless silence.

“We shall be in touch!” were his final words before he left the other two emperors behind, the heavy doors thundering shut behind him like a final verdict. Mandingo turned to Plake, one brow arched in disbelief, searching for some reaction. But Plake said nothing. With a sharp exhale, he flung the quill onto the table where its tip snapped against the wood, a small, brittle sound in the wake of the emperor’s smoldering frustration.

⚜

Later that evening, Emperor Plake had Cal write an announcement on a scroll to be copied and posted all over his empire. It described what had transpired during the meeting in the forum, mentioned the Stone War that Emperor Mentir wished to fight, and that he required two able-bodied men from every household to arrive to a specific place at a specific time to serve in the military.

The announcement spread like wildfire. Every town square, every village outpost, every coastal settlement, all the way to the farthest island colonies across the sea, each one bore the imperial seal and the same chilling scroll. And for those who hadn’t seen it firsthand, word traveled fast. No one remained unaware. And everywhere, they stirred the same response: silence, then disbelief … then dread. Most citizens of the United Empires had never seen war. They had only heard of it in stories inherited by elders whose parents and grandparents had witnessed the horrors of the Holy Wars. But now, that uneasy past was rising again. A war was coming. Of that, there was no doubt. And they prayed the will of the saints was on their side.