Part XII: The Reckoning
Chapter 4: I Dreamed a Dream
Timeline: AO 301-302
Back in the winter that saw the beginning of AO 301 Hecla stood with her daughter Livy at the entrance of the great hall, watching as Hacktor led his army out of Rhokki Pass to continue The War of the Ghast. The echoes of their heavy boots faded as troops disappeared into the shadowed tunnels that would eventually lead them to The Drokka Byways and out into The World Above. The queen’s heart was heavy, not just with the burden of ruling in his absence, not just with the uncertainty of what awaited him in battle, but also as a wife and mother who was watching her beloved depart.
“May Rhokki guide your path, Hacktor,” she whispered, clutching Livy to her side. Although she was confident she would again be a worthy Queen Regent to protect the kingdom until the king returned, ,deep within her, a gnawing fear festered—a fear that this might be the last time she would see him alive.
The first year after Hacktor’s departure, AO 301, was filled with constant news from the frontlines. Hacktor’s messengers arrived regularly, bringing reports of his victories. Queen Hecla would regularly gather the council to read aloud the updates of her husband’s battles as she followed along with his success – starting in the Borderlands and Blackwood Forest near the Drokka’s western border and continuing with him into Gor. In public the queen displayed a bright admiration for her husband’s courage and strategic brilliance, yet in private Hecla knew that each victory brought with it the chilling reminder that war was an unpredictable beast, and even the strongest warriors could fall.
Her evenings were spent with Livy, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy for their daughter. But the little girl, wise beyond her years, could sense her mother’s anxiety. “Will Father be home soon?” Livy would ask, her innocent eyes filled with hope. Hecla would force a smile, brushing a stray lock of hair from Livy’s face.
“Yes, my love. He will be back before you know it,” Hecla would reply, though she had no way of knowing if her words held any truth.
By the time summer rolled around, the queen was eager to hear about the outcome of Hacktor’s campain and his plans for taking Antarez Ford – the largest city he’d yet try to attack. Trusting to the gods what her husband would earn another great victory, Hecla was even more grateful that this would surely be the end of the war for that year and then Hacktor would return home.
A messenger arrived from Antarez with news whilst the queen was in session with her council – Hecla’s hands trembled as she unrolled the parchment sent by the king – but as her eyes scanned the words, her breath caught in her throat.
“He’s not coming home.” She murmured, reading the note. “…staying in the field….pressing on….to Oz!” Her heart pounded with fear as Hecla dropped the message.
Lord Aric was quick to pick up the scroll. After a quick read he barked, “This is madness. To march on Oz with our forces already strained… it’s a suicide mission.”
The others nodded in grim agreement, the weight of the decision pulling at the already fragile morale of the council. The group continued to argue among themselves but Hecla didn’t hear a word they said. The meeting was adjourned and the queen fled to her room in distress.
Over the next week, as the queen remained sequestered, others in power took action. In the hidden chambers of Rhokki Pass, beneath layers of stone and secrecy, the Drokka elite plotted their next moves. Lord Aric, Chaney Busz, the Gaatz family, and other influential clans had already found a way to profit from the on-going war – secretly pillaged the kingdom’s wealth and diverting funds meant for the war effort into their own pockets without the queen ever knowing about it. They’d also secretly renewed old alliances with Marge and the Derkka Parliament, covertly supplying them with weapons and arms in exchange for a steady flow of gold and precious resources behind Hacktor’s back. In short the very conflict that caused economic disaster for the Drokka commoners had become a goldmine for these treacherous lords.
“But now a new opportunity has presented itself.” Lord Aric, the emerging power of the Rukstinz clan, leaned forward across the stone table, eyeing his partners in crime as they considered Hacktor’s surprise announcement to try to retake the lost kingdom of Oz.
The dim light of blackwood candles cast flickering shadows on the walls, and the air was thick with the scent of power and ambition as the group imagined what might happen to the king whose leadership they despised.
“He’s a fool,” Chaney Busz whispered with a cruel smile. “Marching to his death in Oz will clear the path for us. Let him throw himself into the abyss—we’ll be there to pick up the pieces.”
Fukbyl Gaatz nodded in agreement, his mind already spinning with plans to take advantage of the chaos. “Agenda 330 remains an opportunity. We’ve got a crop of Qzar ‘shrooms growing near Duzarez that could be ‘mistakenly’ released into the food system down there which would then lead to a controlled outbreak of Zarz – which we could then cure with my servant Duktyr Fowczi’s Quvid herbs. Just give me th–“
“Thank you. Not yet.” Lord Aric held up a hand.
Hylra, the only woman present, smirked as she glanced around the room. “Patience, gentlemen. Hecla may have the Nave priests on her side for now, but even they cannot protect her forever. When the time is right, we strike. And then, this kingdom will belong to us.”
Chaney Busz, ever the pragmatist, nodded in agreement. “The Queen knows we’re waiting for her to slip. The peasants grow restless, and our coffers are filled with the profits of war. We’ve made our fortunes working with Marge and the Derkka, but now we must bide our time until we are certain Hacktor is gone.”
Aric’s eyes narrowed, his mind already racing ahead to the future. “Indeed. But we must be cautious. The Queen is not without her own cunning. We’ll continue to squeeze the kingdom dry, and when the time is right, we’ll take what is ours.”
The conspirators shared a silent, knowing glance, each one already imagining the power they would soon wield.
Recovering from the initial shock of Hacktor’s surprising news, Hecla sought to maintain order and stability within the kingdom in spite of her own secret worries about her husband. From her throne, she tried to project the strength that the Drokka needed, but the truth was that the walls of her kingdom were crumbling from within. She was no fool; she knew that the elites conspired against her. But what she hadn’t foreseen was how deep their treachery ran.
Monty, the coinmaster, had been her closest advisor—or so she believed. She had relied on his counsel, thinking him loyal to the Derkillez name, but Monty was a master of deception. He played a dangerous game, serving as a double agent for the elites who sought to line their pockets at the kingdom’s expense. As Hecla struggled to hold the kingdom together, Monty had been quietly undermining her at every turn, his silver tongue spreading lies and half-truths that fueled the fires of dissent.
As the months went by the news from the front became sporadic, and eventually the messengers stopped coming. Hecla’s heart grew heavier with each passing day of silence, yet she vowed to continue believing in Hacktor’s star and the destiny the gods had promised him.
But then one day a bedraggled slave from the baggage train stumbled into Rhokki Pass, escorted by guards from the western gates and one look at his face cut Hecla to the core.
The grand chamber of Rhokki Pass was cold and dimly lit as the young man struggled to find words. The flickering torches casting long shadows on the stone walls as the queen leaned forward upon her throne, her fingers clenched tightly around the armrests as she gasped in anticipation, fearing the worst. “Speak, slave. What news do you bring from Oz? What of Hacktor?”
The servant’s clothes were torn, his face gaunt with exhaustion, and his eyes wild with the horrors he had witnessed. He was barely recognizable as Drokka, his spirit crushed by the ordeal he had endured. Falling to his knees between the guards his voiced quivered. “My Queen… I bring grave tidings. Kon-Herr Hacktor…he led us to victory at Razzyn, slaughtering the Derkka forces and driving them from the field. The army left quickly, forging ahead to Oz while we in the train followed behind as best we could. I was near the front of the supply train and I saw the king, ever bold, led part of the army into the ancient fortress, while the rest of us—” His voice faltered, and he swallowed hard, the memory of what came next almost too much to bear.
“Go on,” Hecla urged, her heart pounding in her chest.
The slave nodded, tears welling in his eyes. “Then came the landslide. A terrible rumbling from deep within the mountain… the earth shook, and suddenly the rocks, they… they fell, My Queen! An avalanche of stone, sealing the entrance to Oz, trapping Hacktor and those who followed him inside. Outside… it was chaos. Boulders the size of beasts rained down upon us, crushing soldiers, wagons, horses… there was no escape.”
The throne room was deathly silent as the slave struggled to continue. “Garrick… the Derkka warlord, he… he appeared with his forces, like demons in the night. They fell upon us as we struggled to dig out the entrance, slaughtering all who remained. I… I hid beneath the bodies of the dead, covered in their blood… it was the only way I survived.”
He glanced up at Hecla, his eyes pleading for mercy, for understanding. “I fled, My Queen. I ran as fast as I could, through the night and into the day, never stopping, never looking back. I have come to tell you… all those who were trapped inside… they must be dead! All dead!”
Hecla felt her blood run cold, her vision narrowing as the slave’s words sank in. The wealthy courtiers around her exchanged nervous glances, their expressions filled with shock and horror, but also a secret delight – for if the king was indeed dead that would mean opportunity for them.
Yet Hecla refused to believe it. “Everybody out!” She stood up on the throne, pointing to the doors. “Leave me!”
Hacktor can’t be dead. Hecla’s mind raged as the audience departed. Not him. Not Hacktor. This is not how our story is supposed to go!
The Apocrypha of Azazel 