Warlords

Warlords is the second part of Ca'ler Garan's story. A part of The Heirs of Zyainor Volume Two.

## Synopsis

Ca'ler Garan Bloodclaw, tells the second part of his story.

## Story

When I was a child, my father taught me how to play chess. He explained the roles of the different figures to me and how they moved. It seemed easy enough to understand but I quickly realized that it was harder to master than it seemed. His first lesson was that in order to win a game, you would have to take risks. Playing it safe only allowed your opponent to move freely, endangering your position even more. I also learned a lesson that I haven't forgotten up to this day: If you want to win, you have to make sacrifices, sometimes even drastic ones. I look up from my chessboard, watching the soldiers prepare. Our operation behind the borders of Kerrel is highly classified, only my father and his closest advisors know about it - and my presence in Kerrel. The old fool Dorten has been defying Zyainor for far too long. Not anymore, I was here to make sure of that. I look back at the chessboard. My side is strong and ready to attack. The pawns are disposable and while I will not waste them, I will not hesitate to throw them into certain doom to save the more powerful figures, especially when it brings me closer to victory. My father would do the same, I am sure. My father. A smile crosses my lips, yet it stays extremely short as I recall a visit I had not too long ago.

There was a man, a wealthy noble of Kerrel, who met with me in the capital during my stay there. I am always on the move, my father agreed that I would visit the military commanders of Zyainor to take a look at their tactical knowledge and skills. It serves both sides as I can learn from those of them who are skilled tacticians and find out if anyone is lacking in competence - then I can either have these people replaced or their skills improved, I am not going to waste a potentially skilled tactician simply for being a beginner. This noble of Kerrel who was visiting me, talked with me about the Second Voidwar. He told me that while he had not participated himself, his father and mother had bled and died for humanity. He also talked with me about my father. It didn't take me long to figure out he was actually an agent of the old fool of Kerrel - or, as he called himself, a "messenger". Personally, I call him a fat wannabe-spy with honeyed words - probably his words weren't the only thing he filled with honey. He said that I was trained to one day claim my father's place. He said that I was much like him and that I will rule just like him when my time has come. He said that my sister was too chaotic and my brother too uncaring. He said that my father had failed and that I could succeed where he failed. He said that he knew that my father hadn't taken care of his children. He failed to comprehend who he was talking about. When he told me that King Dorten would gladly support me if I took my father's place, I stopped laughing at his foolish words. That fat fool suggested that I should secretly take my father's throne for myself. After all, he said, my father would have done the same if he was in my place: He claimed that my father would also assume control when he'd find the current ruler incompetent. After all, the fate of humanity depended on it and the end justified the means.
I had his ugly fat ass burned by the black dragons after having him impaled alive, screaming for mercy. His burned remains were fed to the direwolves of Zyainor so that his wealth at least gave them a good meal as it obviously made him grow fat and stupid - unless he was the latter before already, that is.

My father's throne belongs to my father and my father alone. His enemies are foolish to believe that anyone could take his place. They are foolish enough to believe that he could be dethorned or even die. Gardon Bloodclaw, Ca'laer of Zyainor, will never die. His legacy will always remain. I wouldn't take his place, never, unless he himself would ask me to do so - and if he never does and rules forever, I'll be fine all the same. Even I, his firstborn son, could not fill his shoes. A good son knows his place. I will gladly lead my father's armies in his name against his enemies and conquer all who threaten his rule.
As a child, I never understood why father spent so little time with us. Apart from the few times we spent time together like when he taught me how to play chess, he was always busy, either locked in his chambers or outside, dealing with matters in the realm. Mother was very busy too, but she has spent more time with us than him. For a time, I wondered if he hated or at the very least disliked his children. As I was growing up, however, I began to understand. the realm was strong, yet depended on its ruler to keep it together. In its beginnings, most of its infrastructure that makes it as strong as it is now, had still to be built from scratch after all the wars that had ruined the lands. The work of my father alone is the reason why Zyainor could become powerful. He was doing what he had to ensure that we, his children, and the entirety of humanity was safe from the eternal threat of our arch nemesis in the east. His closest advisor trained me in the arts of war, in unveiling the wonders of magic, in the martial arts, in studying the history of the known world and in learning the most efficient tactics. I quickly came to the same conclusion as father: What good is nobility and saving lives if the war is lost? What purpose does morale serve other than holding us back when we could achieve so much more? I do not fight to be remembered as a hero, I fight because I have to.
Kerrel and Rengar are still resisting the might of Zyainor. Rengar's resistance is slowly falling apart while Kerrel still dares to defy us. It is a rathole of inefficiency and fear of change while Rengar is just pathetic. My father's patience is running low and so is mine.

The old fool Dorten should have died decades ago anyway, it is time that others took his place - and my father has told me that he already knows who could take the place of the old fool - as High Lord of Kerrel in the name of Zyainor. My thoughts are interrupted by a female voice. "I apologize for interrupting your thoughts, but everyone is ready and waiting for your orders, Ca'ler Garan." the officier says, saluting respectfully. I look in her direction. "Very good, Commander Tornet. Tell them to get moving. It is time for us to begin." I say. She salutes again and leaves. When I first met her, she was a captain serving under Commander Haraz. He was now a general and had made her his successor. They both work directly under my command now, just like all of the other soldiers whose lives I have saved by sacrificing others. It is always better to lose a few soldiers rather than all. Because the end really does justify the means. I stand up and let the soldiers pack my chessboard and other things while going to my horse. I am going to take care of that old fool Dorten and his daughter. Kerrel will be part of Zyainor, for the sake of both nations. Rengar too will either join Zyainor freely or face its wrath. The realms of humanity will be united under one banner. So is the will of Garan, Ca'ler of Zyainor, son of Ca'laer Gardon and Ca'lea Vail Bloodclaw and future High Lord of Kerrel.