The game expands.
*****
Interlude 6
Circumstances Have Changed
Berkena, Elspar
Tenereian-Occupied Territory
The buzz from the third mug of ale is beginning to take the edge off of Eustachia's nerves. It isn't the meeting, precisely, that she's worried about; despite it being a decade since this back channel was closed, there's almost a comforting element to this re-engagement, like putting on an old familiar glove. A familiar glove that has yet to appear, anyways, in the muted setting of the Brindled Mare late at night, the darkness compounded by her choice of table cloistered away in the dark corners of the tavern's mezzanine where she commands a decent line of sight over the rest of the tavern and its front door. An open window admits the cool autumn night breeze in...and serves as an emergency escape route where necessary.
There is enough of a moon in the sky that Eustachia can see the burned out husks of buildings at the very edge of town, the peppered craters across the landscape caused from trebuchets and magecraft, all the signs indicating that war passed through Berkena not too long ago across the difficult terrain, months and months of Tenereians and Caldrans fighting for every meter of land, that buffer guarding Halissen from siege.
It was difficult enough to get her counterpart to meet her in Berkena. Halissen was never possible, of course, not with the Tenereian armies besieging the city. And Eustachia isn't stupid enough to meet in Arnheim, not when she holds all the cards. In theory, the front has moved forward enough that Berkena and the surrounding borough is no longer a staging area for the Tenereian forces. But a token garrison has been left behind. Patrols are still searching for potential Caldran mercenary warbands trying to sneak past enemy lines. Eustachia wants to believe that the intelligence on Tenereian patrol schedules and routes won't be exploited. She wants to believe that this backdoor diplomacy will still be conducted in good faith after all this time.
But ten years is a long time. Circumstances have changed. And it isn't just the Caldrans she's worried about now. Times are changing, and tensions in Brycott are palpable. The political balance is changing after all these years, and the Black Faction is growing increasingly desperate to maintain their hold on the reins of power. The last thing Eustachia needs is for that political coalition of military women to catch wind of this secret meeting.
She seems to be in the clear thus far. Her moles in the armies have not raised any warnings. The streets are clear, and she's sure that the three remaining patrons in this tavern - quietly drunk at their own tables - aren't Black informants. The evening rain gives travelers an excuse to wear hooded cloaks that mask their features, driving prying eyes indoors. But every minute that passes - every minute past their flexible agreed-upon time - is another way that things may have gone wrong, could be going wrong.
Eustachia takes another swig of her ale. She's getting too old for this. By aseri and human reckoning, she looks to be in her fifties; at this point, she's closer to a century and a half. Most highborns of her age have already retired to comfortable positions, overseeing their families. Yet she's still out here, working to keep the Black Faction and their disastrous policies in check.
The electors are convening in a few months. If she can pull this off...maybe, just
maybe they'll put the Blues back in key positions of Conclave.
The creaking of an opening door downstairs catches Eustachia's attention, her gaze swiveling towards the ground floor. First to enter is a young blonde girl, seventeen or eighteen at the very most, looking a little wet from the weather outside. She's almost stunningly pretty, long matted bangs framing bright blue eyes and clinging to her face where it isn't tied into a ponytail; that wetness somehow makes her look all the more feminine and attractive.
But it's the person who follows her into the tavern that Eustachia has been waiting for with bated breath. She enters with a wet cloak, the hood of which is thrown back as its owner enters, revealing aged and weathered elven features beneath them. Eustachia heaves a sigh of relief as the cloaked woman looks up and they lock tired but familiar glances; after ten long years, they are here at last.
The blond girl leads the new elven woman up the steps to the shadowy mezzanine, and it is at the top of the flight of stairs that she bows her hand and extends an arm towards Eustachia's lonely table, politely whispering, "Here, milady."
The cloaked elf follows the direction of Charlotte's arm, impassively walking up towards Eustachia. The two lock glances for a moment, as if trying to recognize each other after ten years.
Finally, Eustachia Alrika Rancilberg rises from her seat, speaks: "You've gotten old."
The cloaked elf raises an eyebrow. "As have you," Katla Rayna Haebern replies dryly. "It
has been ten years."
"You look like you've aged more than that."
Katla's eye narrow at that, and Eustachia can detect a flash of anger as the Caldran highborn replies, "No thanks to you."
There is an awkward, tense moment between them. To the side, Charlotte looks nervous, her hand subconsciously tensing as if she's ready to draw the dagger hidden under her skirt.
But then Katla snickers, and then Eustachia laughs, and just like that, the tension in the air dissipates, the two elves locking arms in greeting as their other arms pat each other on the back. "It's good you made it." Eustachia murmurs.
"Your information on army movements was helpful," Katla notes as the two of them step apart and take their seats at Eustachia's table. "There weren't even any close calls."
"Good to hear," Eustachia nods with a thin smile. Then she turns her attention to Charlotte, who still has a relieved expression on her face, commands, "Stand watch outside. If anything is amiss, make a scene so we can hear you."
Charlotte bows deeply, murmuring in the gentle, sonorous voice of a singer, "Please keep this meeting brief, milady. The garrison seems agitated tonight."
"They're
always agitated," Eustachia snorts.
"That is true. But there's something different in the air tonight."
Eustachia makes a slightly concerned face. Even though she's still young and green, Charlotte is a prodigy at this craft, as close to a natural as anyone the viscountess has ever seen - the right skills, the right appearance, and the right
personality - and the younger elf's instincts have always been keen. It could be nothing...but it could be
everything, given what's at stake here. "We'll try not to take too long."
Charlotte nods, looking mildly relieved. "I will do my best to keep them off you." With that, the pretty elven girl bows out and makes her way back down the stairs and out of the tavern's front door.
Eustachia herself turns her attention to her Caldran counterpart. "A drink? This place makes some good ale."
"Yes, please."
Eustachia nods, calls over the railing and to the ground floor below, "Barmaid, another pint over here."
It's well and good that this back channel is being reopened. Just as there were many in both Tenereia and Caldrein who saw this border dispute as a way to settle old nationalist grudges, there were those on both sides who saw no profit from this. Formal diplomatic recognition or no, there were functioning bilateral relations between the two powers. Tenereian armies were recruiting Caldran mercenaries for other conflicts. Trade happened. And for those wary of encroaching Ornthalian influence in Caldrein - a superpower whose intentions may not be any more benign than Tenereia's - there was no need to breed further animosity amongst the Treiden people. It wasn't enough to stop the outbreak of war, of course; the people can't be trusted to make such decisions of state without shooting themselves in the knee. The last decade has merely been year after year of damage control.
Katla watches Charlotte push through the front door of the Bridled Mare, back into the rainy night, as she quips, "You've climbed the ranks high enough to get your own subordinate now, I see."
"Charlotte? Yeah, I've been grooming her over the last two years. She's a natural."
Katla raises an eyebrow inquisitively. "Is Charlotte even her real name?"
Eustachia shrugs. "It's real enough."
"She's very pretty."
"Diplomacy is easier to conduct when your counterpart's attention is focused on your tits," Eustachia admits, the tiniest hint that she allows herself to give this enemy diplomat. She isn't
supposed to, but there's something quite likeable about that plucky, forthright Caldran character, she supposes.
Katla snorts in amusement before falling quiet for a moment. Then she glances at the door downstairs again. "You're being even more cautious than I last remembered."
"Age breeds paranoia. Circumstances have changed since ten years ago." Heaving a deep sigh, Eustachia manages a warm smile as she asks, "How's the family?"
The Caldran elven highborn smiles thinly. "My eldest is at Halissen. I haven't heard from her in months, so either she's too busy with the siege, or she's dead."
"Ah," the Tenereian murmurs blankly, having the grace to at least sound a little embarrassed. It's difficult to feel genuinely sorry, given that the younger Haebern is one of those Caldran mercenaries that have harried Tenereian forces for so long. Eustachia tries anyways. "I'm sorry."
Shrugging, Katla asks, "And yours?"
"Quite well. My second just passed her civil service exam. She'll be working in the Brycott's revenue office as a scribe next month. We're all quite proud of her."
"Please send her my regards."
"I will, of course."
And for a few minutes, casual conversation is exchanged between them, the almost ritualistic inquiries about each other's lives. It is formulaic, a gesture born of courtesy, two enemy diplomats from powers in the midst of war. It is hard to deny the nature of all living beings, though; it is easy to conduct matters of state between friendly parties.
There is a pause in the conversation as footsteps come up the steps to the mezzanine, and the aseri barmaid arrives with their pints of ale. Eustachia waits for her to curtsy and flee back down to the bar on the ground floor before saying to Katla, "I confess, I'm a little surprised you're here. Surprised that you reached out, even."
"I was forbidden from further contact after Ainellen and Cherlith fell."
"Not unwise. Everyone was out for blood. Circumstances were..." Eustachia makes a face before coming up with a half-lie, "...less than ideal in Tenereia as well, at least at the time. We're seeing a bit of improvement."
Katla's eyes narrow as she echoes, "Just 'a bit'."
Eustachia shrugs. "You know how the people can get: Short-sighted, vindictive miscreants with no desire for decency, only tribalism." When Katla's response is merely a noncommittal grunt, Eustachia switches tracks: "I must say, some of my colleagues regarded your proposal to meet rather suspect."
"Deceit isn't in the Caldran character."
Eustachia elects not to poke holes in that excessively nationalist and universalist description, instead stating, "War changes many things. As you said, we thought you would never again be permitted to open this back channel with us."
Pursing her lips, Katla reaches beneath her cloak and produces a piece of parchment in her hands. She doesn't hand it to Eustachia, instead slowly spinning it in her hands a bit as she murmurs, "You're not the only one for whom circumstances have changed."
Doing her best not to look
too obviously interested in the parchment in Katla's hands, Eustachia asks with a strange sense of increase foreboding, "What circumstances?"
Katla does not immediately answer the question as she gives Eustachia a long, hard look, asks, "I need to know if your position has remained unchanged since ten years ago."
Eustachia puts on her best poker face as she answers: "It has. We have never wanted this war. You know what they say about giants: Clumsy, lumbering steps."
"A ten-year step, it seems."
"I can't change policy. I can only ask my masters to do so."
Eustachia does not look entirely convinced, but she persists, "And your masters still want peace?"
"Yes," Eustachia half-lies. "We're looking for an opening. Ending this war now...will not go over well with the people. Citizens crowd on the streets and call for reunification, whatever the means, by armed force is necessary. However else we view reunification, our leadership does not desire conflict." It's almost amazing how quickly Caldrans buy such claims at face value. "Trust and verify" is the most basic mantra where intelligence-gathering is concerned...although, of course, while Caldran mercenaries excel at such, the intensity of the Tenereian invasion - or at least the numbers of the Tenereian armies - have forced almost all of them back to the front.
"And with Ornthalia?" Katla asks in a tone of voice that somehow screams that this is the key issue at hand. The folded parchment spinning in her hand starts to spin faster.
It isn't hard to guess what's going on, but there's still a cold, sinking, dreadful feeling in the pit of Eustachia's stomach when she whispers, "Have they started promising more substantial aid?"
Katla finally hands the piece of parchment over to Eustachia, gravely murmuring, "You may wish to look for an opening harder."
Eustachia takes the piece of parchment, unfolds it, and begins quickly skimming across the words scribbled across it. And then reads it again, more slowly this time. Then one more time, taking in every word, even as that cold sinking feeling in her gut becomes even worse. There's a shortness of breath that she can't quite conceal at this point, and she curses herself for not being able to mask it, but this...
This is
serious.
"Have you seen this letter she's talking about?" Eustachia demands, tearing away her glare from the letter to her Caldran counterpart.
"I have not," admits Katla. "But I see no reason for Countess Cenoryn to lie about this."
"To galvanize Caldran morale," Eustachia rationalizes almost desperately. "To give them hope and make them fight harder. To encourage further reinforcements in Elspar. To offset her rivals in your Council." Anything - she wants to believe - would make more sense than this new development after ten long years of twidling their thumbs.
But Katla only smirks mirthlessly. "I attended Council this year. I can assure you that moral is not an issue, not exactly.
Pay is."
Eustachia can't help but remind herself that Katla - and indeed all of Caldrein - comes from a simpler time, from when diplomacy was the word between leaders as opposed to agreements between state institutions. It is almost surreal that a diplomat -
any professional diplomat - would so easily reveal her country's weakness to a foreign counterpart. But that is just it: Katla Rayna Haebern is no diplomat. She is merely a highborn temporarily vested with this power from Countess Celestia, just as any other highborn might have been selected. Katla is here for no other reason than because she was the one ten years ago who suggested diplomacy, who secretly met with Eustachia on the border, when the fighting was getting closer to Ainellen and Cherlith.
In the ten years since, Eustachia has worked with Tenereia's diplomatic service, fostered back channels with half a dozen other countries, some of which the Union is still at war with. It is clear that whatever Katla Alrika Haebern occupied herself with over the past ten years, diplomacy did not rank very high among them.
But chief among Eustachia's concerns now is not Katla's lack of diplomatic prowess or Caldrein's lack of institutionalism, but the letter in her hand. "Swear to me this is real," she demands at a whisper.
"I know of no subterfuge," Katla replies, and perhaps there
is something about that deceitless Caldran character, because Eustachia - having dabbled in espionage for decades, having handled so many double-dealing spies and diplomats, having nursed her sense of paranoia and distrust - almost instantly believes it. "What transpired between Countess Cenoryn and the Ornthalians is between them. I can only swear that all that I know and have told you is true, and that I do not think she is lying."
This is what Eustachia and the leaders at Conclave have always feared: Ornthalian interference. Not that the Imperial Republics didn't already have their own chips in the game, with limited logistical support and the occasional pieces of intelligence from local agents. But now, if this letter in her hand is to be believed, Countess Cenoryn of Elspar has managed to negotiate stronger Ornthalian support; Isakyria is promising her
armies to fight back against the Tenereians.
This is the worst-case scenario. Eustachia knows that Ornthalia's "armies" will almost certainly be a token force, especially since they're just as thinly stretched across the continent as Tenereia; one of the fun things about this cold war is just how thoroughly each side's logistics have been infiltrated by rival agents. But that token force may very well be enough. Already Tenereian forces led by General Sofia Fraul Clionn - the damned harpy - have spent ten years nearing eleven trying to conquer just one of Caldrein's five regions. Everyone knows that although the Tenereians are
winning, it is barely by a thread; the unhappy admission from even the Black Faction is that whereas the Tenereian Civil War, the Rose Revolution, and the century of unrest that came after it thoroughly weakened the Union's institutions and produced a mediocre military of numerous conscripts, the Caldrans took all the best traditions of the Tenereian Empire with them and spent the next few centuries sharpening that blade.
A "token" Ornthalian force would tip the scales the other way and undo everything the Union fought for over the past ten years. And although Eustachia doesn't want to believe it, the letter in his hand
does correspond with the grave news sent by the Speaker of Conclave's own little birds: Where Ornthalia previously supported the neighboring Ardya, Cedrania, and Olmand with capital, materiel, and training, the accursed Imperial Republics are now mixing their own people within the local armies and resistance. Of course, Tenereia has been doing the same in Ghirandris, Ostione, and Rhodell, but those conflicts have been
manageable, both strategically and politically.
Caldrein, though...Caldrein has been unmanageable from the very beginning. The Black Faction has simply been too blind to see it.
The electors are convening early next year, though. There will be a shakeup in Conclave, Eustachia and her allies have seen to that. But the issue of timing brings another question to her lips: "When was this sent?"
"Countess Celestia received this letter two months ago," answers Katla. "We can assume, then, that Countess Cenoryn received the original message during summertime, if not earlier."
Eustachia does the math in her head. Knowing Ornthalia strategic doctrines and logistical practices, their troops can reach Elspar in two years. If Ornthalia had already begun preparations well before they wrote to Countess Cenoryn, it could be as early as
next year. The thought alone is enough to drive that cold, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach into doing cartwheels.
When Eustachia doesn't immediately reply, Katla clears her throat and declares, "Countess Celestia does not want Ornthalian armies on Caldran soil. Nor does at least one other countess."
"On that we are agreed," Eustachia whispers truthfully. It isn't just about the war against
Caldrein. Irregulars are easy for Ornthalia to disavow, to claim that they're just Ornthalian volunteers or even local partisans, and that the armies of Ornthalia and Tenereia would never meet in open conflict. That the Imperial Republics are ready to send
armies to Caldrein, however, signifies that Caldrein is a theater of war where they're willing to risk this cold proxy war going hot. Or perhaps - an even more terrifying possibility - there has been a change in strategic thinking in Isakyria, and that the hawkish hardliners are now in charge. Eustachia knows that feeling all too well.
Katla, at the very least, is just good enough at her job to press, "They will be forced to accept Ornthalian aid if you do not stand down your armies."
"Standing down the armies is no easy feat, not when our soldiers are at the walls of Halissen. Even if I were to take your letter back to my masters with all haste, it may be some time before they can act. Halissen may already have fallen by then."
Katla is not so green - fortunately, Eustachia supposes - that she doesn't press on the point. "You'd best hurry, then. Should Halissen fall, resistance will almost certainly be galvanized, and our countesses less amenable to diplomacy."
Or the Caldrans will be dealt a great blow to their morale, Eustachia elects not to actually say. "Please inform Countess Celestia that I need more time. It'll take me at least three weeks to return to Brycott, if not longer." She could send a messenger pigeon, but that risked any such message being intercepted. Plus she is mostly fine if Halissen falls into Tenereian hands; again, she does not actually say that out loud. "Verifying what Countess Cenoryn has claimed, considering our options, coordinating with our armies...this will be no swift affair, no matter how hard I break my back. Halissen may have already fallen by then. You
must not let this become an excuse for the Ornthalians to interfere."
"I will relay your message to Countess Celestia. What she chooses to do with your request is her decision, not mine."
Eustachia grimaces; Katla doesn't seem to understand the importance of alacrity in this case, or Caldran stoicness and bluntness is at work again. "Your concern over this conflict must have been vindicated. Surely Countess Celestia values your input more highly now that she's sent you here?"
To her credit, Katla at least looks a little apologetic, but her expression still largely remains firm. "We are juggling many concerns. Your armies, the Ornthalians, Council...we cannot stake everything on the possibility that Brycott may
reconsider this war."
Caldran politics, for better or for worse, is fortunately less byzantine than Tenereian politics, but decision-making - Eustachia would never go as far as to call Caldran governance "policymaking" - between five countess with their vassals is still no small matter. Politics and diplomacy often doesn't catch up with circumstances as they develop on the ground. Eustachia's fear at this point is that even
if she presses her superiors in the Blue Faction as hard as she can, even if they move with all the speed they can muster, it may be
years before anything comes of it. And by that point, the war may have gotten worse. The Caldran Countesses may have closed ranks. Everything may go wrong.
But any chance for Eustachia to deliberate on this further, the sound of heavy boots on wooden planks and Charlotte's soft feminine voice raised to a shout. "Excuse me," says her protege, apparently pretending to be one of the barmaids here, "can I help you? Ma'am, please, we're clos...ah!"
Charlotte's last cry is punctuated with the sound of a door being slammed open, even as Eustachia looks down and sees two women of some height walking in, a human and an aseri. Both are clad in the armor of a Tenereian junior officer; the human walks with a confident, almost arrogant swagger, while the aseri seems more cautious in her gait. The two look around, seeing the ground floor empty of all but the bartender and the barmaid cleaning up on the ground floor, and it doesn't take long for the two of them to march up the staircase to the mezzanine. Upon seeing Eustachia, the human smirks in a self-satiisfied manner, marching right over, her aseri counterpart following at a respectful distance.
The human stops right at the table of the two elves, giving the tiniest of bows, and the tone in which the human speaks cannot be mistaken as anything but barely-veiled mockery: "Milady."
They are rapidly approaching the worst-case scenario. Behind the human, Eustachia can see Charlotte watch all of them intently. The aseri keeps an eye on her for a while, but the young elf's nakedly confused and anxious expression, coupled with the kind of body language of someone uncertain and ready to flee, eventually convinces the aseri lieutenant that this is but a helpless and curious barmaid, and returns her attention to the table. Eustachia, in the meantime, smiles thinly and remarks, "Two lieutenants scouring the taverns for me. May I ask what I owe for the
pleasure of your visit?" The emphasis on the word "pleasure" makes clear that she regards it as anything but.
"General Clionn heard that you were in town," says the human with a mocking approximation of courtesy. "This may be Tenereian territory, but it's still close to the frontlines, in recently-pacified territory. The general sent us back here to ensure your security."
Or keep eyes on me, Eustachia knows but elects not to say. She and Sofia Fraul Clionn don't know each other well
personally, but they have been movers and shakers on the opposite ends of Tenereia's political spectrum; of course the duchess of would never trust her presence here in Berkena. "Your thoughtfulness is appreciated," Eustachia smiles thinly. "You're also walking in on my drink."
The human lieutenant gives a smug little smile as she reaches down to pull out a chair from under Eustachia's table, as if preparing to sit down. The aseri lieutenant, looking a bit more cautious and uncertain, elects to remain where she is. "Well, I hope you won't mind my joining you," chimes the human. "The more, the merrier, yes?" She turns to the ground floor, calls out, "Barmaid, two pints over here."
But before anyone can move, Eustachia's ice cold voice snaps out. "
Lieutenant," she says with a barely-suppressed stormy expression, and the human lieutenant has the grace to freeze at that, putting a halt to her pulling out a chair. "You are addressing a
viscountess and advisor to the
Vice Foreign Minister."
The lieutenant stands a little straighter and her voice is a bit stiffer when she says, "Pardon me, milady, it was not my intention to treat you discourteously. But I have orders from General Clionn. Until Berkena is fully pacified, the War Ministry has authority here, and the general's orders take precedence over the Foreign Ministry. Especially since our patrol plans were recently stolen." Her eyes narrow. "We suspect Caldran spies, but would it be presumptuous of me to ask if you would know more about that?"
The army suspects, then.
Let them suspect all they want, Eustachia thinks quietly as she takes a long sip from her mug before replying. "I don't have agents
everywhere, lieutenant. I suspect you advise
Duchess Clionn to be more competent at operational security."
The intended slight hits its mark; it is the human's turn to attempt to conceal offense, that emotional frankness not helped by the fact that it is
genuine offense. "Your timing is simply very fortuitous, milady. May I ask what business has brought you to Elspar? It
is a long way from Brycott."
The impudence is both astounding and concerning. One might have thought that a lowly lieutenant - one from a common bloodline - would never have even dreamed of taking such a tone with a viscountess. But it's a sign of the political tensions in Tenereia, the polarized atmosphere, the demarcations of who is friend and who is foe, the civil war over who will have their people on Conclave; the lieutenant has picked a side, almost certainly with the backing of House Clionn. Eustachia is very much not on that side. But appearances still have to be respected. "The Foreign Ministry will not tolerate a mere
lieutenant questioning a
viscountess. What's your name? Both of you."
The aseri looks even more nervous than before, although that momentarily turned into a betrayed glare when the human declares, "Lieutenant Kaya Therasia, milady. And this is Lieutenant Leslie Tansel."
No doubt jumped-up freeholders hoping to curry the general's favor, knowing that they would not succeed with a viscomital such as House Rancilberg. This behavior would otherwise be unthinkable in Tenereia. "I'm certain my friends in the War Ministry will be very interested in hearing the conduct of their junior officers before a
viscountess,
Lieutenant Therasia and
Lieutenant Tansel." The viscountess turns her gaze lazily towards the latter. "Is your friend drunk on duty, or does she wish to be indefinitely confined within a very small prison cell?"
The aseri looks incredibly uncomfortable, fidgeting where she stands, unhappily replying, "We have our orders, milady."
"A hatchet job assigned to two junior officers," scoffs Eustachiam shaking her head. "Return and tell Duchess Clionn that if she has questions, she had best come to me
personally."
But Kaya merely sneers. "Her Excellency busy leading the war from the front, is a
duchess, and has no need to meet
personally with a lowly viscountess." She quickly puts a hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword before Eustachia can snap back, her retort lost amidst the shock of this lieutenant's brazneness. "You may report whatever you wish to whatever ministry
after we are done here. I am not here to debate the issue." She turns to glare at the Caldran at the table. "Who is she?"
The elf in question has thus far been trying to keep a low profile, watching with suppressed but increasing alarm over the development of events. To Eustachia's practiced eye, she doesn't look like she suspects treachery - that this is all a show that would allow Eustachia to take Katla prisoner - but that can easily change without warning. "I'm Katla," she introduces herself in a neutral voice. "I'm an...acquaintance."
"And what are you doing here in Berkena with Viscountess Rancilberg?"
"A drink. We haven't met in ten years."
"You're in a dangerous part of Tenereia, friend."
Alarmed, Eustachia covertly glances in the direction of her Caldran counterpart, and sees just in time the hardening of her eyes at hearing someone refer to occupied Elspar as "part of Tenereia". To her credit, however, her voice is level as she replies with the barest of barbs in her words, "For you, perhaps. The war has little interest in a nobody like myself. I used to come to the area often enough."
"Yeah?" Kaya gives as mocking little smile like she's just figured something out. "From which side of the border? Don't think I haven't noticed your Caldran accent or the weird way you just said 'nobody'."
Eustachia inwardly curses linguistic drift. Even in Tenereia, different provinces - even different townships - have different accents and words and even dialects; the same should be even more expected of a territory that has increasingly attempted to sever their ethnic, cultural, religious, and even
linguistic ties with Tenereia for four centuries. Lieutenant Kaya is tragically just barely well-educated enough to pick that out.
Still, it isn't an insurmountable barrier. "Which she shares with everyone from Berkena to Cherlith," Eustachia scowls, rolling her eyes. "We're in occupied territory, you dunce. Your
point?"
"My point," snaps Lieutenant Kaya, "is that I think General Clionn would like to have a word with you before you return to Brycott. Your visit here, the theft of our patrol plans, your
Caldran drinking buddy in Berkena, and something that strongly makes me think you have something to hide."
The air has gone very cold, if only through the sudden cold, quiet fury - genuine or not - coming from the elven viscountesses seated at the table. And when she speaks, it is not the hard, angry snapping of her barbed insults and threats early, but something sharper and chilling, enough that even Lieutenant Kaya once again looks hesitant as she involuntarily takes a half-step back. "Be
very careful, lieutenant," whispers Eustachia in a small whisper with something deadly masquerading as a smile. "You're making an accusation against a
viscountess. The judges will easily see you hung and your family exiled. Duchess Clionn wouldn't be able to help you; she'd pull the switch herself just to wash her hands of you."
For a moment, Lieutenant Kaya swallows, and Eustachia entertains herself with the idea that - if they're lucky - these lieutenants may just leave them alone and scurry back to the barracks with their tail in between their legs. No such luck, though, as Kaya speaks slowly in a much more even tone, her eyes hardening. "My apologies, milady. I make no such accusations. I am merely saying that I am duty-bound to bring you to General Clionn, where she will make any determinations. You will come with us.
Now." And when moments pass, and neither Eustachia or Katla make any moves to get up and follow, the human grimaces and pulls her sword a quarter of the way out of the scabbard to show that she's serious. "Leslie, go out and call for the guards."
Eustachia's brain goes into overdrive. She
cannot be brought to Sofia Fraul Clionn. With political jockeying in the coming elections - a highly contentious one after a decade of polarization, one that will make or break careers and
lives - the commander of the armies in Elspar would have her silenced based on suspicion alone. The letter tucked beneath her robes - the one that would spell her political undoing - would all but confirm it. And when it comes down to it, the former is a viscountess and the latter is a duchess; Sofia would probably be able to get away with it. Eustachia needs to return to Brycott,
now.
The small, pretty, unassuming, helpless blond-haired elf who has thus gone forgotten on the staircase over this period of time seems to think so too, because she suddenly soared up the mezzanine with barely a hint of a footstep, and by the time Lieutenant Kaya Therasia notices there's anything wrong, by the time she realizes she's made a mistake by dismissing that helpless little elven girl, there's a deep bloody gash in her throat from where the dagger in Charlotte's hand passed through.
The aseri lieutenant, unfortunately, has a better sense of hearing that the elves and human on the mezzanine, and even Charlotte's light-footed charge was
just loud enough for Leslie Tansel to turn around in alarm, and by the time Charlotte completes her spin in midair, her dagger goes through where Leslie's throat
used to be, the aseri having retreated backwards in shock and confusion and disbelief.
Kaya is still clutching her bleeding throat - her eyes confused and desperate - and sinking to the ground and gurgling in confusion when Charlotte lands onto the mezzanine and drops to a crouched position to recenter her weight and momentum, then jumps towards Leslie. The aseri is no slouch; her superior speed brings avoids the worst of Charlotte's attack, but her shock blunts her capacity to counter. An attempt to draw her sword is cut short by a dagger to the wrist. An attempt to create more space between the two leads to Leslie tripping on the heel of her boot and tumbling down on the mezzanine floorboards. And Charlotte is instantly on her, a knee pinned against the aseri's stomach, a dagger aimed for Leslie's chest.
Downstairs, the bartender and barmaid scream, taking cover.
Leslie catches Charlotte's wrists in time, stopping that dagger just centimeters from the gap in her chestplate that would lead to the heart. The two struggle desperately; Charlotte has the advantage of gravity, pinning her foe to the ground, but she's also maybe fifty-five kilograms dripping wet, and Leslie is no small woman. For just a moment, it seems like Leslie is pushing the tip of that dagger further and further away, that she's slowly overpowering Charlotte.
Except Eustachia has already left her seat, and the older and taller and heavier elf slams her body atop Charlotte's own. The added weight sinks the dagger into Leslie's chest, who gasps in pain and horror, her strength flickering for a moment. Then Eustachia slams her weight down again, and again, and that dagger has so fully found its way into Leslie's heart that she has stopped struggling, her eyes glazing over and losing focus as her breathing slowly stops.
Rolling off Charlotte, Eustachia spots the bartender and barmaid downstairs just in time for her to shout, "
Do not call for help!" To their credit, they freeze in place, looking up in fear at this Tenereian viscountess who has probably just killed two military officers. Eustachia doesn't care; as long as they're uninterrupted for the next few minutes, she can deal with whatever comes. Looking back tiredly at Charlotte, she notes, "Her arms can't hold your entire weight. Put your back into it next time."
"Yes, milady," Charlotte pants breathlessly, trying to slow her inhales and exhales as she rolls off the body beneath her, but she makes her way back onto her feet on shaky legs, wiping the crimson off her blade on her already bloodstained dress. To the side, Katla is staring at her in shock, as if the Caldran viscountess is slowly beginning to realize that this young elven girl is dangerous, that she may become a major player in the great game of nations in the years to come. But that's not what the young elf is paying attention to. Rather, she swiftly disrobes, removing the bloodstained dress until she's in nothing but her undergarments and boots. Once she does so, she turns to Eustachia and - in an almost breathless whisper - says, "Milady, we need to get you out of Brycott."
But Viscountess Rancilberg shakes her head: "No. Take Lady Haebern." She ignores the look of surprise Viscountess Haebern gives her. "Get her back across the frontlines."
"Milady, I mean no offense to either of you, but you are more important. The army is likely to have changed their patrol routes as part of a counterintelligence operation, now that the trap has been sprung. Your intelligence will not be accurate."
"Yes, but they aren't sure what to expect. I doubt the rank-and-file knows I'm here. I can bluff; I'm still a Tenereian viscountess. A Caldran highborn on this side of the front is much harder to explain, though."
Charlotte does not look happy with Eustachia's decision, but she at least seems to accept her reasoning as she quietly murmurs, "Yes, milady." With that, she makes her way swiftly down the stairs to where the bartender and barmaid are still cowering behind the counter, throwing her bloodied dress swiftly into the fireplace where it swiftly burns. Walking up to the barmaid - the one whose height is closest to her own - Charlotte commands, "Please undress and give me your clothes."
Eustachia turns her attention from her protege's attempt to re-disguise herself with the barmaid's own clothes - leaving instructions in the meantime to not remove the bodies and not mention who was here and pretend to be absolutely clueless - looking instead at Katla with an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I wish we had more time."
Whatever Katla has managed to glean from this entire episode, she is at least now presenting the very image of duty and understanding. "You have your mission," she nods, "as do I. We must all hope for the best."
Eustachia nods, even as Charlotte returns up the stairs, now in the barmaid's dress, dutifully waiting for her charge. "Go now," urges the Tenereian, gently pushing her in the direction of Charlotte. The two hold hands for a moment before Katla finally leaves, following Charlotte with her little "this way, please, Lady Haebern", the two of them swiftly making their way back down the stairs and out the tavern door into the rain.
Eustachia sighs with mixed relief and melancholy. She regrets it a little. Certainly not the killing of the two lieutenants; she didn't like them either way, and it was
necessary once the two started getting too suspicious. The news that she must bring back to her compatriots is far more important than the lives of two upstart lieutenants. No, Eustachia regrets the half-lies and the omissions and the ruthless exploitation of Katla's - and indeed Caldrein's - inability to gather intelligence on Tenereian politics. Whatever else their differences, Katla has always been a good, honest diplomat with a level head on her shoulders, having understood from the beginning how this war would hurt both sides. She has always dealt forthrightly, and Eustachia regrets that she can't do the same in return.
But that's the new costs of business. It's more than just herself and political factions now; this is how states - these developing political monsters - operate now. Caldrein - that regressive, reactionary, backwards province still yearning for the glory days of martial exploits and community - has always been behind the times, and it would be criminal not to exploit that. It's why Eustachia is convinced that Tenereia will absorb Caldrein sooner or later, certainly with no thanks to this stupid war; it's just the natural progression of history. One day - likely long after Eustachia is dead - they will be brought back into the fold.
But that is for another time. For now, Eustachia makes her exit out the window, preparing to navigate the rooftops of Berkena to where she has left her horse.
They're all going to have to recalibrate their strategies back in Brycott. The future of Tenereia depends on it.
*****
Next update will probably hit at least five digits, so will take some time to write.
