"Heroes can always be relied upon to act in the manner which they believe will achieve the most Good. This makes them eminently controllable. You need only create larger problems than yourself, then ensure the blame falls on somebody else."
– Dread Empress Malicia the First
Amadeus of the Green Stretch put down the letter, face expressionless.
Complications in the Principate were to be expected. It was only possible to string along the civil war for so long before one side or the other won. His plans accounted for that eventuality. The time that the civil war continued to buy Praes was being used to strengthen the Legions. Marshal Grem One-Eye had long since been tasked with fortifying the Red Flower Vales for the eventual confrontation with the Principate. In terms of skill, Grem was without a doubt the best military strategist on Calernia. He may have less experience than Klaus Papenheim, but the Lycaonese as a rule did not concern themselves with the politics of the lower Principate. They were too busy holding off the Chain of Hunger or the Kingdom of the Dead to bother with the happenings down south.
Which was why news of Constance's Scar came as such an unpleasant surprise.
Finding out that a two-mile wide city had materialized in the Principate and shortly thereafter been destroyed by the Gnomes had upended years of scheming on Malicia's part. In order to extend the conflict for as long as possible, they needed at least three major contenders. With only two major contenders, if one side ever weakened, the other could seize the opportunity and strike. With more crowns in play, each Prince would have to concern themselves with the actions of the others in the event that they tried to capitalize.
Princess Constance had been one of those three.
She had also been his preferred candidate as well. If she had seized control, her grasp on power would have been the most tenuous. None of the other Princes respected her. It was likely the Principate would devolve back into infighting shortly after, if she seized the reins. More importantly, she didn't have the hearts of her peasantry either. Her soldiers pillaged and burned fields, killing the common folk as they went.
In the aftermath of her demise, the principality Aisne had turned on itself. It had become a nest of political infighting so venomous it would make even the Praesi high lords proud. With the death of their leader coming so suddenly and unexpectedly, the knives had slid out, and anyone with even a hint of a claim had risen up at the opportunity.
Deft as she was, Malicia had adapted. She had extended offers of loans to Prince Amadis Milenan of Iserre through the Pravus Bank in support of his bid for the seat of First Prince. The man had accepted them, but Black had his concerns. Prince Amadis may be as proud as a peacock and arrogant to a fault, but he was still a shrewd manipulator. He had been deftly arranging events in the background inside the Principate. Playing off against all three of the forerunners in the race for the seat of First Prince. Prince Amadis was more dangerous than either of the others.
Plans needed to be recalibrated to take these events into account. A war that had once seemed decades on the horizon was now possibly looming close, the heat of its breath felt on the back of the neck. Most concerning of all, the rate at which heroes were showing up within Callow had just risen from one to two a year.
The parameters he had set could not reasonably account for intervention from the Gnomes. Whilst reading about events like the fall of Kerguel made for grim research in abstract, seeing the force that they could actually deploy made for a much more pointed lesson. Calernia was a backwater on the greater stage of Creation. That they had interfered in the Principate rather than Praes didn't make it much better.
Whilst the massacre of Princess Constance's forces was being correctly blamed on the Gnomes, the appearance of the city was not. Teleportation on such a scale was far beyond the ability of even the most talented Praesi practitioners. Wekesa claimed it was not the action of a sorcerer at all. The resulting Keter's Due from such an event would have left most of Bayeux a desolate wasteland.
This did not change the fact that in the eyes of the people on Calernia, the foremost experts on magic and thus the most likely culprits were the sorcerers from Praes. Blame would be placed squarely at their feet. The strategic advantage of having the ability to move objects or people on such a large scale would be considered unacceptable by all the other political entities on the continent. Claims that they did not have such an advantage would not be taken seriously. The word of the Dread Empire of Praes could not be trusted in the eyes of the heavens. That meant war was a certainty, and with possibly more than just the Principate. Praes needed to be prepared for the calling of a crusade.
The cogs in his head slowly started to turn. Forces would need to be redeployed. The First, Third and Tenth Legion were all garrisoned at the Vales, but with the threat of a Crusade looming there was no guarantee this would be enough to stem the tide. New Legions would need time to harden before they could be deployed, which meant that old Legions would need to be moved. Still, with the threat of an oncoming war, new Legions would need to be raised.
Something was amiss.
It was like a grain of sand had slipped between the cogs of the machine, and Black couldn't tell where it was. There were too many unknowns. Subtle investigations by the Eyes of the Empire into the events leading up to Constance's Scar had been unable to turn anything up. The city had just appeared in the Bayeux heartland, and nobody had been able to determine why.
There was another player who had entered the stage, and Black would find out who they were.
Amadeus of the Green Stretch stood on one of the balconies at the palace in Summerholm. His green eyes scanned the horizon, watching the sun set. The latest news from the Eyes of the Empire had flagged three travelling wizards as potential villains. They were fleeing the Principate after allegedly having raised undead.
Some of Scribe's helpers had been sent to Beaumarais to verify the story. After arriving, they had learned about the sorcerer named Roland leaving town to chase down a Praesi warlock. Careful investigation of the events rendered that explanation unlikely, and the one provided at the border fortress had been taken as the truth. It spoke to a level of shrewdness that amused Black, villains escaping persecution from the House of Light by spinning a heroic tale.
Background checks on the other two proved to be more interesting. Maxime Redflame was noted to be a formerly retired War Wizard who had served with several Fantassin companies before settling down after the death of his family. The man had a terrible reputation and was known as both a drunkard and troublemaker. A note was placed to keep watch on him more closely. The third figure was an enigma. Taylor, allegedly from off the continent, had no information to go on at all. It was as if she had appeared out of the void. That was cause for concern.
Out of the three, she was earmarked to be watched the closest. Someone with no visible background and no ties to anyone else was almost certainly Named. The others had an existing history. Connections to people they could possibly call friends. Taylor did not.
The group had been given a medium priority and left for monitoring by the Eyes. At first, they continued to exercise caution, keeping their heads down. After months of doing nothing but selling their services in an entirely legal manner, they were downgraded to a lower priority. They didn't ask questions about the Calamities or try to raise trouble at all. From all outward appearances, they were proper citizens of the Empire.
That made the most recent reports all the more unfortunate.
Up until just recently, they had remained within the rules of the Empire, just barely skirting the edges of them. There had been attempts to integrate other villains into the current structure of Praes before, but they always chose to overreach. One of the members of the eyes had reported some unusual activity in a nameless town out in the middle of nowhere. A scuffle with a painter, which indicated they might have higher ambitions.
She had been ordered to link up with other members of the Eyes near Hedges and find out more.
Black was reviewing the latest set of reforms he had planned for the guilds in Callow when Eudokia came in.
"There have been concerning developments near Hedges," she stated. Ink stained hands placed a letter on the desk beside him.
Reaching to his left, he picked up a bottle and silently poured a glass of wine, proffering it her way. Then, he picked up the letter and started to peruse its contents.
Complaints had come from senior members of the eyes in the region, requesting clarification as to why they were so understaffed. Upon further investigation, it appeared they had always been understaffed. The system he had set up in Callow did not allow for a discrepancy this large to occur, without something major as the cause.
The cogs in his mind began to turn, slowly grinding away at the problem. Hedges was near the location of one of Triumphant's Hell Eggs. More specifically, the one used to house a demon of absence. It would not normally be the first explanation he would reach towards, but in this case it seemed the most likely.
"I'll contact Wekesa and ask him to investigate the area for signs of demonic corruption."
"Should I prepare the Eyes for a purge?"
"Possibly."
An empty glass was placed down beside him, along with another letter. Silently, Eudokia lit another candle and placed it on the desk, then left soon afterwards.
Picking the letter up, it was pleasing to note that the potential villain that the eyes were investigating was continuing to keep her head down. The two men were no longer considered villain candidates as they both showed signs of physically ageing. Taylor, however, had been marked down as a certainty. Physically, she had remained the same since she had first entered the Empire.
The group had passed through Callow into the Duchy of Daoine and there had been no notable negative reports from them at any step of the way. Black maintained a much more hands-off approach with dealing with Daoine, but in this case that was unlikely to be a problem. This villain hadn't upset the Empire. What she were after was unclear and would take a much more careful line of investigation to determine, but right now she wasn't considered a threat.
There was a chance, however unlikely, that she may be able to be integrated into the Empire after all.
Wekesa's investigations into the events at Hedges had proved alarming. He had confirmed that the banner was no longer present, and that an encounter with the demon had taken place on site. The largest discrepancy was the presence of what at first glance appeared to be a magical imitation of the tabula rasa effect. It was as if someone had overlapped an extraordinarily close mimicry of creation on top of it, following similar but not entirely identical rules.
Wekesa's investigation was still ongoing to determine the exact source of the effect, but it was the other details surrounding the event which were occupying Amadeus's attention. The eyes had reported an Artist displaying unusual behaviour. The Artist was registered as having appeared intermittently at locations in the Empire separated by such vast distances that it was not physically possible for him to have travelled the intervening space in the time. Furthermore, whenever he left, there were strange deaths that occurred in the area soon afterwards.
Direct action would be taken the next time the Artist appeared. Loosing a demon within the confines of the Empire was not behaviour that would be tolerated.
Then there was the other isolated villain in the Empire. Taylor's name had not been determined yet, but the activities of her band had finally started to skirt the edges of the law. It was no surprise that a band of ambitious sorcerers containing a villainous Name began investigating lore on how to summon devils. It was still a disappointment.
Taylor was both paranoid and cautious, almost to a fault. It appeared she had an Aspect similar to Scribe's Fade, she would often disappear from tracking for extended periods of time before eventually resurfacing. At first, this had been a cause for concern, and he had considered taking action. To her misfortune, there was no way for her to obtain the information she appeared to be searching for without risking engaging actively with Eyes of the Empire. It had been simple enough to slip a tracking spell onto a purchased tome that completely bypassed her protections.
It was unfortunate, but Wekesa had informed Black that an eavesdropping spell would have proven too easy for the wizards to detect. Using an enchanted book to listen in on their conversations would have made observation substantially easier.
The engagements that her band were observed participating in were against foes that would have been dealt with by the Legions were they on site, never against individuals of value to the Empire. Furthermore, they remained outside Callow proper and inside Daoine instead. Were any issues to arise, Black would anonymously inform the Duchy about their problem. They would eagerly solve it themselves. For now, Taylor would remain under observation.
Matters within the Principate were proving to be more optimistic than Amadeus had initially expected. Despite his fears regarding Prince Amadis, another protracted draw had proceeded to develop. Malicia had proven her deftness once again, succeeding in tying up the Principate in war. Prince Dagobert of Lange had been trying to strong-arm the Lycaonese into supporting his bid for First Prince. Predictably, it was proving unsuccessful. He was currently engaged in a stalemate with Prince Fabian of Lyonis, and it seemed unlikely that progress would be made any time soon.
Prince Amadis was trying to talk them into pretending to sign an alliance with Dagobert and then backstab him on the field of battle. Princess Aenor of Aequitan decried both, arguing that they should remain out of the conflict and stay firm in upholding their duty up north. Piece by piece, the Principate was splintering. Hatreds were becoming more and more entrenched.
Less notably, two years on and the Principality of Aisne was still embroiled in internal conflicts. It amused Black to see them continue to connive, much like Praesi High Lords. The fact that Praes had nothing to do with it made the irony all the more sweet. If the situation there dragged on much longer, it may kill the idea of Aisne existing as a part of the Principate at all.
This had bought him more time to prepare. A fourteenth legion was in the process of being raised. When the news of Gnomish activity had reached the High Lords, politicking in Praes had, for about the span of a day, taken the back foot. Ater was quiet while they tried to decide how best to leverage the information, and news of the outcome proved to be enlightening. Spies within Wolof had informed him the Sahelians were trying to find a method to achieve a similar scale of teleportation ritual. This served to once again reinforce his belief that all of them needed to die. The Sahelians, of course, never knew to leave well enough alone. If a new kind of demon was discovered that wiped out half of Calernia, they would try to leash it instead of exterminate it.
That left one more outstanding problem. Cordelia Hasenbach. It had been over a year since she was first crowned Prince of Rhenia, and recently she had been trying to raise awareness about the Pravus Bank. The ongoing civil war was key to the Empire's strategy, allowing them to buy the necessary time to prepare before the inevitable Crusade. Malicia had been funding the civil war indirectly through Mercantis. The City of Bought and Sold allowed the trade of almost anything if you had the gold. Were it not for the ongoing investment of Praesi coin, the Princes of Procer would have long since ran out of the capital required to continue fielding more mercenaries in their bitter feud.
Assassin had tried to have her killed, but her cousin, Agnes Hasenbach had at some point come into an oracular Name. Her ability to see the shape of the future had rendered all attempts made thus far unsuccessful. Efforts were being made to learn the extent of the Augur's abilities. Sooner or later a weakness would be determined, and they would be able to strike. The only question that remained was whether it would be before or after she had succeeded in bringing the war to an end. Malicia was optimistic, Amadeus was not.
Taking into account his most pessimistic projections, Amadeus estimated he would need to agitate the Chain of Hunger within the next two to three years. It would serve to destabilize Rhenia and shift the focus of Cordelia Hasenbach away from the southern principalities, right as she would begin to involve herself with the civil war. Breaking her momentum at that pivotal moment would crush attempts to reunite the Principate for at least another year, buying Amadeus additional time to prepare.
If nothing were done, the cries of Rhenia would be the clarion call that brought the crusade to bear. Amadeus could feel the shape of it in his bones. It had been twelve years since the Conquest of Callow. How many more years would he have, he wondered, until the hours tolled for war.
Amadeus finished his final review of the up-and-coming soldiers for the fourteenth legion. Whilst the troops themselves were green, it seemed likely they would prove capable once hardened on the field. Unfortunately, it appeared there was a dearth of sufficiently talented officers to man the legion within the Empire itself. The daughter of Istrid of the Red Shields, Juniper, had potential, but she was also years away from being ready to take command. Efforts would have to be made to extend his search and possibly consider recruiting from Callowan stock. Integrating them into the Legions would further bind them to Praes, making it harder to untangle the two nations for any would be heroes down the line.
Making his way to one of the nearby offices, he sat down and started perusing the latest reports from the Eyes. His eyebrows rose. Reports from Daoine indicated that the villainous band led by Taylor had left the confines of Daoine and re-entered Callow proper. She had kept her head below the waterline for over two years now. Amadeus considered it likely that she would remain that way, but he wouldn't settle for possibilities, only certainties.
He would need to ask Wekesa to set an appropriate trap. Bait of some sort that would lure her out should she be inclined to overreach. It would be a pointed lesson, with a visit from Assassin at the end of it as a reminder of why she should continue to stay as she was.
Black viewed her avoiding the trap being the more likely outcome, in which case a more direct visit was in order. He had considered it unlikely that there were any other villains who were directly compatible with their rule, but it seemed that wasn't necessarily true.
"When deciding to accompany a hero on their journey, think carefully about which Role you wish to take. Princesses have happy endings, mentors, and childhood friends do not."
– A Stranger's Guide to Names in Calernia, Author Unknown
The wind travels over a wall, past armies of maddened rats. Plains of tall grass sway from side to side. Lone trees jut out, breaking up the otherwise featureless horizon. A rustle, a crack, the sound of twigs underfoot. The wind continues over mountains and between valleys. Past desolate landscapes, long since abandoned by man. At long last, the breeze reaches its destination, whispering softly among the fallen remnants of a once great race. Ruins, jutting out from otherwise an empty hill. Tall spires that glinted like silver in the moonlight, encased in a bed of stone.
The carcass of a once great civilization. Hundreds of mirrors spun around the silver spires, wonders of magic still functioning long past the empire's fall. Grand enchantments traced out in the shape of a city, an arcane working on such a scale that the sheer brilliance could not be truly grasped.
I watched my body walk forward slowly.
The place was a maze of reflections. Panes of glass, spiralling in dizzying patterns, decorating every street and thoroughfare. Then, I entered one of the buildings. It must have been important, since it looked to be located near the heart of the ruins. The interior was sparse, just a circular room with a raised platform in the middle.
Broken fragments littered the floor.
My body came to a stop.
An urge came to me. A desire to find all the fragments. Find them and piece them back together. I wanted to see this monument restored. I didn't know why or how, but in doing so, I sensed I would discover something significant. Something that I needed to know.
It was a quest.
The vision repeated. I watched it over and over again, the path burned into my mind. Time seemed to blend. All that mattered was the journey.
And then I woke up.
I was lying on something warm and fluffy. It was the most comfortable I had felt since leaving Earth. Whatever I was on, I just seemed to float. Vaguely, I heard the echo of footfalls on a wooden floor somewhere close.
I slowly opened my eyes.
And then everything that had happened crashed back into me. Max's death. Fighting the Warlock. Fleeing the Warlock. Being transported to Arcadia and killing the Artist. I didn't know where I was or if Roland was still alive. I didn't know how long it had been.
Memories of having control over my body stripped from me like layers from an onion surfaced. I had to shove down the instinctive panic it evoked.
Don't think about that right now.
Reaching up slowly, I felt the side of my cheeks. They were slick with tear-drops. It took me a moment to realize it, but I had touched my face using my previously missing hand.
Right, I had that again.
No, you can think about all of this later Taylor, first you need to find out what's going on.
I scanned the room. Aside from a few minor pieces of decoration, it was austere. Stone brick walls, a wooden floor and green curtains on the left. The bed itself was a proper four-poster bed with a fluffy duvet that was likely stuffed with down. Wherever I was, it was somewhere important.
Opposite the bed, there was a red haired girl dressed in a servant's livery. She was busy dusting down a porcelain vase that had been carefully balanced atop a dressing table.
"Where am I?" I asked, clearing my throat.
"Eeeep!" The girl exclaimed, jumping almost a foot off the ground. She dropped the feather duster as she did so. The vase teetered, before she caught it and carefully set it back.
What?…
"I'm so, so sorry I didn't mean to wake you please hold it against me Chosen I promise I was just cleaning the room," she turned my way, blue eyes meeting my own as she blabbered on.
This was…bizarre.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I admitted.
She gulped, then breathed in deeply. The girl took a moment to calm down, then bowed low.
"I apologize Chosen for disturbing your sleep, how may I assist you?"
Being bowed to while lying in bed was just one part of many that was making this entire conversation feel surreal. I had known in abstract that heroes known as heroes were revered in some parts of the world. Keeping as low-key as Roland, Max and I had, that hadn't entirely sunk in.
From what she had already said, I could infer that I was somewhere aligned with good. Probably the Principate, judging from both her language and accent. Considering she didn't talk like a stage performer, I'd guess I was either in one of the northern or southern principalities.
It also appeared that wherever I had woken up, they had somehow determined that I was a hero.
"Can you tell me where I am?" I repeated.
"You're in Rhenia, currently resting in one of the guest rooms on offer by her grace, Cordelia Hasenbach."
"The Prince of Rhenia?"
"That is correct. You've been sleeping here for a long time."
Great. I had managed to walk all the way from Liesse to Rhenia.
That was half the length of the continent.
I felt uneasy. I didn't know where Roland was, or if he was even still alive, or even how long I had been sleeping for. Right now, I needed time to properly collect myself.
Pull yourself together, Taylor. You're not fine, but you can cope.
"What year is it?"
"Right now, it is early Summer of the year eight hundred and four," the girl informed me. I could see the sweat trickling from her brow. I wasn't sure why she was so scared of me.
That meant two years had passed since my fight.
"Where is Roland?"
"I apologize, I do not know who that is."
"The Rogue sorcerer," I clarified. A sense of foreboding took me then.
Nervously, she repeated her denial.
"Have there been any letters left for me at all?"
A third negative. The girl was now visibly distressed.
For now, I would assume that Roland was still alive. There was nothing to substantiate that belief, but it felt…right. As if I would know if he were dead.
I had come to care for him deeply over the years.
Then the realization hit me. If he hadn't found me after two years, either he wasn't looking for me, he was in trouble in some way, or I was well hidden.
… I swear, if he's gone gallivanting off on adventures and just left me somewhere without even sparing the time to write me a note, I am going to be so angry at him when I find him.
I didn't know where he was, but I needed to find out. Unfortunately, with how much time had passed, he could be anywhere on the continent. Searching for him myself wouldn't be feasible, but there was nothing stopping me from asking people to help out.
"Why has Cordelia Hasenbach kept me here instead of sending me somewhere else?" I changed the topic.
She looked at me oddly for a moment, as if she expected me to know the answer myself.
"Your arrival was anticipated. Why wouldn't you be housed here?"
Expected how?
That was a…non explanation. And it set off alarm bells. I couldn't think of a good reason for why a Prince would expect me, or just decide to keep me around.
"Forgive me, but may I inform someone of a higher station that you are awake so that they may treat with you? They would be better served to answer your questions."
"Go on ahead," I saw no reason to deny her.
She made her exit swiftly, leaving the room.
Climbing out of bed, I looked over my clothing. I was dressed in lacy lavender nightclothes. The thought of someone undressing me without my permission unsettled me. I pushed the feeling aside. Considering I had been asleep for over a year, I acknowledged that it was a necessity for whoever took care of me.
Why they took care of me was an open question, but I expected to learn that soon.
I ran my hands through my hair. To my surprise, it was in much better condition than I expected. I wondered if it was due to my otherworldly nature, or something else.
I could feel the faint presence of seven ghosts hovering behind me. The price I had paid for burning through all of them was far higher than I wanted to pay again.
Time, that was the cost of using them.
As an imposition, it made sense. That didn't make it hurt any less. I didn't really fully understand what not ageing meant. I imagined that I would not until my first friend passed away because of old age, while I remained unchanged. Even if I lived forever, time with the people I cared about was the most valuable resource I had.
And I had just lost over a year of it.
Suffice to say, I wouldn't be consuming all seven ghosts again, except in the most severe of circumstances.
That didn't mean not using them at all, it just meant being more conservative with the number of ghosts I utilized.
Chilly air clung to my skin, and the cool of the wooden floor was uncomfortable underfoot as I searched for a change of clothes. To my annoyance, there wasn't one.
I don't want to meet people in pyjamas!
Unfortunately, there wasn't much in my room to transmute into something I could wear. I was tempted to go ahead with it regardless and damn the consequences, but decided against it. I could sit through a little indignity for now.
But there was nothing preventing me from pushing back the cold. A gentle aura of warmth exuded from my skin. It likely made the air cooler for everyone else, but unlike me, they had proper clothes.
With nothing else to do, I padded my way over to the curtains and pushed them aside. Unornamented windows were hidden behind them. I peered down at a fortress city. Steep walls and a tense atmosphere seemed to hang around the place. Even in what I guessed to be early pre-dawn, people were on high alert.
The dream came back to me and with it, a muted urge to mend the worlds' many faults. In my mind's eye, the shattered mosaic dangled. I turned away from it.
The dream came back to me. It was significant, I knew that. A story that was tied deeply to my Name. I didn't know why that was the case, but if I wanted to progress with my goals, then one day I would need to investigate.
I suspected the pull came from deep within the Chain of Hunger.
Despite having been given what seemed like a heroic quest, I did not consider it to be an urgent task. The challenge that I wanted to take on, wasn't one that I could do alone. I wasn't willing to rely entirely on a silver arrow to solve it.
I took a moment to look over Rhenia. The place was grim. Beset by Ratling raids during the Spring, it had fought a protracted defensive war for hundreds of years. It was hard to make out the figures below in the light, but even this early, the place was a hive of activity.
Right now, I had two immediate concerns. The first was figuring out my own circumstances. I needed to determine what Cordelia Hasenbach wanted. The second was starting to search for Roland.
Starting work on removing villains was a distant third.
In my mind, the first step for the third could include the second. If I wanted to change the world, I would need influence with the people who shaped it. Finding one person across an entire continent wasn't something I could expect to achieve alone, but it was something I could do with the backing of a Prince.
Convenient how it seemed that there was one of those nearby.
At least Cordelia didn't try to kiss me awake.
Calernia was the type of place where that story would actually work.
Now I just needed to work out how to earn her trust.
I heard the clip-clop of boots against hard stone coming from outside the door.
The door opened and admitted an armoured soldier, accompanied by a man in servant's livery.
"Good morning, Chosen," the servant greeted me, bowing subserviently. He looked utterly mortified at the tear tracks marring my face.
"Good morning," I replied.
"Her Highness, Cordelia Hasenbach wishes to know the correct manner of address when speaking with you."
… What?
"Just Chosen, or Taylor I guess. My Name is Aspirant, if she means that."
Dazed, I endured an extended series of courtesies from the nauseatingly obsequious man. I was given assurances that the person who woke me wouldn't be bothering me again. After informing him that she hadn't been a bother and that it was in fact a personal matter, he handed me a robe, then directed me to follow the manservant. I put it on and followed behind.
What were the chances I was housed in the highest room of the tallest tower as well?
Despite not really having the faintest idea where I was, I felt safe. I was in the Principate. Somehow they had discovered that I was a hero, and that was viewed positively here. There weren't any diabolists who would try to chain me down, and I doubted that other heroes or priests would try to kill me.
It didn't mean I was perfectly secure or that I could lower my guard entirely, but it was the safest I had been in a long time.
For once, I could let my hair down.
I was guided down a stairwell and into a dressing room a few corridors away. There, I was asked if I would need assistance in order to make myself presentable.
From his choice of words, I felt like I was being called some sort of country bumpkin. It wasn't said offensively, the man was servile to a fault, but that didn't stop it from feeling demeaning. Refusing the assistance, I pushed down the indignation that rose up at the implication and reminded myself that I wasn't an aristocrat.
Browsing what was on display, I found to my amusement that every item of clothing was marked with the emblem of a wolf. I had no intention of wearing the livery of the Lycaonese unless I was actually aligned with them. I did take a moment to clear my own face, before thinking over what I wanted to look like.
If my appearance mattered, then it followed that I was going to be meeting someone important. The trouble was, I didn't have the right context to interpret the meanings that would be implied from different choices of clothing. The only Proceran politics I knew was what I had learned through arguing with Roland and Max. Among the rest of Calernia, the place had a reputation for being a nest of snakes. I didn't want to start off on the wrong foot, or else the vipers would bite me.
If I wanted to play it safe, I needed to go with choices that were obvious.
What did I know about my host? They knew I was a hero, and they had been respectful of that. That meant that playing into heroism was a safe decision here. Heroes stereotypically wore whites and golds, right? I would go with that.
It was unlikely anything fit me properly, but I would just reshape whatever I settled on to fit regardless.
Looking through the available choices, I started to undress, then started to put on an elegant white princess dress. The flared hemline came down to my knees, and the dress itself was decorated with more than the bare minimum in the way of adornment. There was some golden lace ornamenting the sleeves and neckline.
… Fortunately, there weren't any crystal slippers here, I wasn't prepared to go that far. I'd just suffer with some matching gloves and boots that looked made from the pelt of some white rabbit instead. The fur tickled against my ankles as I put the boots on.
In combat, it would be completely impractical, but talking to a Prince would be an entirely different kind of fight.
Much like everything else, the dress featured the typical Lycaonese crest. Frowning, I considered the wolf. I hadn't actually thought up a symbol for myself. As far as I knew, heroes in Calernia didn't really have much in the way of awareness of their own image. In future, it was something I might need to decide on. For now, I simply had the symbol fade away. It may not be my dress, but if the person I was meeting wanted me to put on airs, then they would have to live with that.
Besides, I could always recreate the wolf later.
I examined myself in the mirror.
In spite of my scarring, the dress did look good on me. I had the appearance of the most stereotypical storybook heroine you could possibly imagine, but it was the angle I was trying to play.
Do I remove my imperfections?
I could do it. In fact, I knew it would be easy. My mind rebelled at the thought. I liked who I was, and my scars were proof of what I had been through.
I wasn't prepared to change myself that way just to impress a Prince.
It meant that I would probably be viewed as either a hard labourer or soldier. Someone who wasn't properly "refined," but that was fine. Being underestimated would not be a bad thing. Let them think that I was hopelessly out of my depth.
In some ways it was true, even if in others it was not.
So I would play into the naive heroine story. Hero's stories worked here, and the more you leaned into them, the more effectively they did work. If I was going to be acting up the heroine angle, I may as well lean into all the existing clichés.
I'm going to have to practice making sappy speeches about love and the power of teamwork, aren't I?
My heart sunk at the thought.
Once I was done changing, I was taken to a walled in garden. I didn't recognize most of the plants and flowers. Something told me that many of them were out of season and specifically cultivated here. The floral scent was overpowering.
In the middle of the room, a girl sat at a table. Short and slim, she wore a conservative blue dress and looked to be about seventeen to eighteen years of age. She was drinking tea out of a cup, and I noticed that hovering in the background were a series of bodyguards. At a guess, I assumed that she would be the Prince.
Who has tea outdoors at this hour?
"Her Most Serene Highness Cordelia Hasenbach, Prince of Rhenia," the functionary beside me whispered to me.
The moment I laid my eyes upon her, I could feel the tug from my Name. The urge to mend slowly began to well up within me. I wasn't entirely sure what I was supposed to fix here, but something about her was important, even if I didn't know what it was.
This meeting was almost certainly the start of another story.
Was it bad that my first thoughts upon seeing her was a pang of jealousy that her golden locks of hair were better taken care of than my hair was? She looked up my way, then raised an eyebrow at me. I didn't know the proper terms of address here, and there certainly would be correct ones. The people of Calernia cared deeply about their rulers.
But… did that actually matter?
I was a heroine, and evidently she knew that I was a heroine. If I was aware of how I was supposed to engage with her, I would have, purely because it would help make a good first impression. But I didn't, and I didn't want to offend her. I was more likely to offend by failing at an incorrect greeting than by just admitting ignorance entirely.
"Your most Serene Highness," I said, nodding my head slightly.
"A year and a day after all, just like the owls told her." Cordelia said under her breath.
… The what told who?
"Welcome to Rhenia, Chosen. I trust you have found our hospitality agreeable?"
There was too much I didn't know here. I had been brought here when I was more or less in the dark, and I didn't know any of the rules. How she found out I had a Name and what she wanted from me were both very important questions.
I didn't like admitting that I wanted help, but I had promised myself I would do so. If she wasn't willing to help me look for Roland, then I would go to the House of Light instead. I would be surprised if they wouldn't offer to assist a hero.
"It hasn't left anything to be desired so far, but I have been asleep for a long time. I also need help to look for someone, and I don't really know what you want with me." I finished bluntly.
"Do take a seat," she said in Chantant, inclining her head slightly towards the opposing chair.
To my amusement, the chair she pointed at had shorter legs. I sat. One of the servants poured me a cup of tea.
"It has been so long since I have had a good cup of tea." I couldn't help myself, I sighed in contentment.
"There has been some debate among the wise regarding your nature." Cordelia mused.
"My nature?" I couldn't help it, I tensed up as I spoke.
"When you first arrived, the local priests attempted to wake you but were met with little success. They were able to determine that you are under the auspices of Compassion, but little else."
"What happened next?" I asked woodenly.
I hadn't woken up caged in wards, so I wouldn't panic just yet. If Cordelia had hostile intentions for me, she wouldn't be sitting across from me at a table drinking tea. Obviously, she wasn't bothered by my origins for some reason.
"Rhenia's finest wizards were called upon next. The only additional inferences that were made, were to your otherworldly nature. Despite this, they were not able to determine what you actually are. Speculation ranged as far as claiming you are a member of a previously unknown Fae court, given the manner of your arrival." the Prince explained.
That meant they knew far more about me than I would have liked.
"What else did they discover?"
"There was some debate about whether you were more or less dangerous than a Fae Prince. They suggested containing you, but Agnes advised against it."
Whoever Agnes was, it sounded like I owed her. If I had woken up chained down by wards… I wasn't sure what I would have tried to do.
"Which brings us to the question of what manner of address is correct for one of your station," Cordelia finished.
Oh.
They thought I was an important figure in an otherworldly court of some kind. That… Probably explained the stark terror the poor servant had been struck by. It would be funny how much I had completely misread this entire situation, were it not for the fact that now I needed to decide what to make of it.
How do I answer this?
I could pretend to be somebody of significance, but then I'd actually have to act that way. I didn't believe for one moment I could pull that off for long. It was better for me to just remain sparse on details, but be truthful in what I do disclose.
"Where I come from, I'm nobody important."
I couldn't read her expression, but something told me she didn't believe me. It didn't really matter. Right now, I was more worried about Roland. If anyone knew something about him around here, it would be her.
"Have there been any letters for me from a man named Roland? He's also known as the Rogue Sorcerer."
"No attempts to communicate with you have made their way to Rhenia," she denied. "What is the last date that you can recall?"
That… wasn't good news. She could be lying to me, but I doubted it. If she had ill intentions for me, the year I had spent asleep was plenty of time to see them through.
I hoped Roland wasn't trapped somewhere.
Turning my attention back to her question, I considered what to say. I wasn't sure how much Cordelia knew. Being evasive would be playing it safe, but if I earned her enmity, I wasn't sure how much it would set back my long term goals. Best to give her the broad details of what happened, but not disclose too much about what I could actually do.
"It was sometime in the year thirteen-seventeen, and I was fighting with a villain called the Arcadian Artist in Liesse. Then the Warlock, the Princess of the High Noon and the Prince of Nightfall arrived. As I was making my escape, I was thrown into Arcadia. After killing the Artist, I walked for a long time. And now I have awoken here," I summarized.
"That confirms you are the fourth figure at the battle in Liesse," she mused.
"I was noticed?"
"Indeed. Your efforts to contain the conflict, direct the evacuation, and modulate the city's emotions made quite the impact. There is a substantial amount of goodwill for you in Callow, you know." Cordelia finished.
"Why?"
"Were it not for you, most of the people living in Liesse would be dead. Your warning was sufficient for many to evacuate. The city is in the process of being reconstructed as a result."
I knew I should feel happy about the people I saved, but all I could think of was the sheer scale of the tragedy that had occurred. How many people had died. How an entire city had basically been written off.
No, Taylor, focus on the positives here.
There weren't really any.
But… I would treat the people that escaped as a positive. I would focus on the fact that I was able to make a difference, because if I only looked at the negatives, I would drown myself in misery. It likely wasn't a healthy outlook, but in a world like Calernia, it was one I would need to maintain.
I turned my mind back to the conversation. I was about to ask why they would want to live in the aftermath of a disaster zone, when I realized what a stupid question it was. After Leviathan arrived, I hadn't left Brockton Bay. The residents of Liesse would have the same attachment to their homes.
"What's happened since then? I was in Arcadia, so I would have missed anything important."
It surprised me that she was doing as much as taking even a moment of time out of her day to talk to me. But I wouldn't pass up the opportunity.
"You have missed much, then. In the two years that have passed…"
She continued to talk, filling in the details that I had since missed. The Artist had visited Rhenia a few years past and left a portrait tainted with blood behind as a permanent exit. It was safely stored away in a long abandoned warehouse.
A hero called the Augur had informed Cordelia about my arrival, and people she trusted had been dispatched to collect me. The painting had since been burned and the entrance was gone.
My escape from Arcadia was frankly ridiculous. It was the kind of utterly implausible bullshit luck that only ever happens to heroes in stories. But just because it seemed silly to me, didn't mean I wasn't willing to rely on it as a last ditch plan.
The war in the Principate had continued. More and more people bled, and Aisne had almost fallen apart entirely. There had been two failed uprisings in Callow since the catastrophe in Liesse. All the Princes were calling for a crusade against Praes, but none of them were willing to put aside their own ambitions and allow someone else to lead.
One fact bothered me. I had been within Rhenia for a year. The Eyes of the Empire almost certainly knew I was here, and I'd be willing to bet the Warlock knew what I was. The fact that it hadn't been used in an attempt to slander me already only meant that they had deeper schemes afoot.
Calling me out as a demon was an easy way to see that I was killed.
"Not to be rude, but I would like to know what you want from me and if you can help me out," I asked bluntly.
"In the interest of being somewhat transparent, in a few days hence Rhenia will declare for the throne of First Prince. Having the support of a heroine would help tie the House of Light to my cause."
Her face was a mask and I couldn't read it at all, but it didn't really matter here.
I was certain there was more to it than what she had asked for. Surely there were better reasons to keep me around than the potential influence with the clergy? Her wizards had allegedly compared me to a Fae Prince, although I certainly didn't feel that strong. Maybe that was part of the motivation? Either way, I would find out what she wanted me for as the discussion dragged on.
"Have you asked other heroes before me for their support?"
There was no way that she wouldn't have.
"Others among the Chosen have all been approached. They have all abjured involving themselves in the squabbling of mortal affairs," she admitted.
"Why ask me then?"
"The Augur assured me that your assistance will prove pivotal in the coming years."
So she was approaching me on the words of an oracle, not only because I was her last option. I had also thrown away my world on the words of a prophet, so it shouldn't surprise me that someone else would do the same.
I wasn't sure how capable this Augur was, or how much trust I should put in their words. It was better for me to find out more before I warned Cordelia off them, I didn't want to give offence.
The question I found myself asking was why should I support her over anyone else? Actually, what I needed to know is why I should consider involving myself in the civil war at all. Before making a decision, I would need answers, and there were very few people better positioned to give me them than she was. They would likely be presented in a way to appeal to me, but unless she was offering to help me find my friend, there was no pressing reason to accept immediately.
"There is more you aren't saying," I began.
"And you believe that, without knowing the finer details, you cannot accept my offer?"
"Yes," I agreed.
She eyed me for a moment, saying nothing as she did.
"How much do you know about the civil war?" she asked eventually.
I shrugged, "About as much as anyone else who lives as a traveller on the road."
"Procer has been at war for itself now for fourteen years," she began. "It is a war that has become increasingly bitter with time. If the conflict continues for much longer, the Principate will splinter entirely and become a series of unconnected provinces."
"Are you certain of this?"
"Every Summer, the warring Princes field armies against each other. They do not give battle at each other homes directly. It would be considered uncouth. Instead, they burn fields and slaughter peasants, making a mockery of the oaths they claim to uphold. With each year, the hatred grows more entrenched, and soon it will reach a breaking point."
I wasn't aware of the specifics involved in funding a war. It wasn't like I had ever had to pay for one. For a brief period of time, though, I had tried to organize disaster relief in a city ravaged by Leviathan. It was a nightmare of a task. Ensuring that the right goods reached the right people was both costly and time-consuming. That was in a world with much better logistics networks. Which left me with a question I wanted to know the answer to.
"How can the Princes keep fighting like this, surely they can't afford to?"
"They are funded by Malicia through the Pravus bank in Mercantis."
"And the Princes know this?" I took another sip of tea, waiting for her to respond.
"They are aware of it." Cordelia was caustic in her delivery, "Their enmity for each other simply trumps their willingness to stop fighting."
So the Princes of Procer were willing to take money from their alleged enemy. The enemy that they were claiming they wanted to start a crusade against. Truly, Calernia never failed to surprise me. From the sounds of things, none of them were deserving of a position of leadership at all.
Cordelia was right. If the situation was not alleviated, the Principate probably wouldn't survive.
I wasn't entirely sure whether its existence was necessary for my goals or not. No matter what she told me, it was unlikely I would be coming to a decision on this any time soon.
"Does it matter if they are independent provinces or a unified polity?" I challenged.
She didn't look particularly pleased at the question.
"If this happens," she stressed, "it means that Levant will likely gobble up Orense and Segovia, and Tenerife will become one of the Free Cities. Then the Dread Empire will take Bayeux and Orne before a decade has passed."
I didn't know where she was going with this. So I kept quiet and waited for her to continue.
"If the Principate splinters, it means that the next time the Dead King rouses his armies and crosses the lakes, Rhenia will have nobody to come to us in support. It means that when the Chain of Hunger gathers might for an invasion, there is nobody to bolster our strength and push them back." She finished.
"So you feel a unified Principate is necessary to drive off the larger evils." I summarized.
If the only common thread between the different principalities was a need to band together against enemies, I didn't see why they couldn't simply maintain a defensive pact instead. They acted like completely different countries. Trying to bind them together in the current system clearly wasn't working.
Ideally, people would work together, but just forcing them together in an arrangement nobody agreed with wasn't the way to do that.
"It is," she affirmed. "I know that the Chosen often consider matters of state like this to be worthy of contempt. But if there isn't a unified Procer, the next time Evil rises up, Evil will win."
It was a pretty speech, but I wasn't convinced.
"And what makes you better than any of the others?"
"I am the only one not taking loans."
"If you don't have the deepest pockets, then how do you think you can win?" I pressed.
"The Augur is my cousin, she is a heroine with oracular abilities. She can sift through patterns and make sense of the future."
Well then.
I had known that there was a prophet involved in this somehow, but not just how closely Cordelia and the oracle were entwined. It changed things, but I wasn't sure if it was for the better. I finally understood where the tugging came from. It was obvious, really. It should have occurred to me much sooner.
"– Calamity did strike;
With the theft of the Owl"
Haunting words came back to me. Words spoken right before I had found the Artist. Clarity. It was like being dunked in a frozen lake.
The Bard had spoken those words. How she learned them, I did not know. I had more than a few questions for her if she was still alive. I wouldn't judge yet, maybe knowing stories was just a part of what made her a Bard. There was a chance it was just coincidence. I had relied on providence to guide me. If she was a hero, perhaps she was doing the same? It would explain why she helped me later on. It all depended on how those questions were answered, and it was a moot point if she was dead.
But ultimately, the meaning behind the song were more important than whom sung it.
At the back of my mind, the tune continued to play.
"And in destruction's wake;
Declared the beast most feared
A contest held by man;
That no animal cheered."
"They banded together;
And then called for a truce
Driving terror away;
But faith had been cut loose"
"For lo, the Owl hooted;
Soon the end, it doth come
At the hands of the man;
But keep hope, don't be glum"
I turned my attention away from the song.
Step by step, Creation had been walking me through my own narrative. From the painted dragon all the way to the kraken. It had a different spin on it and didn't hit all the same notes. Almost as if it were telling a heroine's version of my tale. Regardless, the truth remained the same.
I already knew how my story ended, and that terrified me.
"Is something the matter?" Cordelia asked.
"Has the Augur predicted the end of the world soon?"
Everyone called the people from Procer snakes. If Cordelia was to one day lead them, that would make her the biggest snake of them all. She would be Creation's stand in for Coil. Was I destined to kill her one day? How much could I trust her?
It seemed like she already wanted me to help her secure territory. I suppressed the urge to laugh.
"Is that something to be concerned about?" Cordelia replied. She looked surprised at the question. It was the first time her mask had broken.
That also meant the Augur was Creation's stand-in for Dinah Alcott. Should I ask if I could meet with the Augur for later? No, no need. If the girl was Cordelia's cousin, it was unlikely she was being mistreated. In the event that Cordelia and I worked together, sooner or later I would meet with her and I could judge then.
Learn more before you act, Taylor.
Creation's retelling of my story had not matched exactly. If I operated under the impression that I should expect the same chain of events, I would start making dangerous mistakes.
"This…sequence of events. I have seen one like it play out before. It ended badly. Really, really badly."
I thought about my story for one moment. About whether I should follow it deliberately to try to force change that way, then I dismissed the thought. No, I wasn't willing to walk the same path once more. Furthermore, forcing events of that magnitude to occur just for the weight of the narrative wouldn't be ethical at all.
That was the road a villain would walk. A hero would look for a better one.
"To date, she has not. Inquiries will be made on the subject," she said perfunctorily, as if she didn't expect it to matter. That didn't really surprise me. If someone who wasn't an oracle told me the world was about to end, I wouldn't believe them, either.
Get a grip, Taylor.
Shaking myself mentally, I shoved my internal panic aside. I had followed the words of a prophet once and lived to regret it. I wouldn't be following them again. While I was certain Creation had world ending threats, I suspected it wouldn't pull one out unless it were required.
Which meant that I needed to do my best to change the nature of the story.
The easiest way would be to just break off any relations with Cordelia. But…were there other options?
No, think it through.
Coil had been exceptional at what he did. If this was supposed to be his heroic counterpart, she would almost certainly be talented as well. But… just because Cordelia Hasenbach was able to fill the role of Coil, did not make her Coil. I shouldn't treat her like Coil. That would be unfair to her.
I would give her a chance to prove herself one way or the other.
Could I manipulate this story? Twist it into the shape I wanted. If there was any story I could deliberately interfere with, this would be the one. This story belonged to me. Now that I had identified it, I wondered what I could do with the different elements.
The Nine would likely come next, or something just like them. Whatever the local version of them was, I wasn't opposed to seeing them gone.
"To clarify, you want me to help you secure the Principate?" I brought the conversation back on track.
"That is essentially correct."
I didn't like the idea of fighting for a ruler. The idea of killing people didn't bother me. I had long since come to terms with that. But there was a difference between killing someone in self-defence or to make the world a better place, and killing people to work out who sat in a fancy chair.
With time, I had come to regret almost everything I had done when working for Coil.
This wasn't a fight for survival. It wasn't even a fight to determine what's right. It was purely about power and power alone.
For me, that was the biggest hole in Cordelia's speech. She had built her argument around her impressions of a hero, she had not built it around me. In most cases, a hero's first concern was fighting against the Dead King or the next crusade against Praes. Those were important, I acknowledged as much, but to me, they were only stepping stones. They weren't the battle I was trying to fight.
As it stood right now, if the Dead King were to disappear, there would always be another one. I wanted to make sure that he stayed gone.
I needed to know if Cordelia Hasenbach was the right person for grander tasks. Was she capable of helping me build the landscape of the future? I needed to know if she could help me come up with the right kinds of policies to prevent the birth of new villains. All she had done is tell me why she believed she is the least wrong person to rule the Principate.
The easiest way to find out was to simply ask her, and I intended to do so, after I had more time to think over everything else. I wanted time to process my own emotions before I gave this more thought.
But having the option to progress my own goals through manipulating my own story was tempting. I would need someone like her for my plans to work. Regulating stories meant shaping cultures. That meant I needed to be involved with the governing of the continent at some level. If I were to spend my time running an empire, I wouldn't have time for anything else.
I didn't want to run an empire, either.
That meant I would need to come to know whoever I wanted for the role exceedingly well, and that person could possibly be Cordelia. So it was important for me to determine whether she was the kind of person I could trust.
Fate seemed to think she was. After all, Rhenia was the furthest Principality I possibly could have ended up in.
If I did decide to work with her, it would be markedly different from my relationship with Coil. I didn't know if she truly understood what I could do, but I did know that I had a lot more to offer her than I had to offer Coil. Unlike Coil, Cordelia didn't have much leverage.
If there was to be a long term alliance here, it would be one that was far more equal.
And the kind of relationship I would need with someone like Cordelia would have to be based on trust and a tight friendship. It couldn't be based on anything else. I was trusting someone to help me build my dream. That wasn't the kind of role you delegated to someone you didn't consider a close friend.
"I have my own problems. If I were to assist you with the civil war, would you be able to help with mine?"
It was best to find out if there was any room to negotiate with her first, before I started considering the finer details. Ultimately, this wasn't even a big concession for her. I required someone with many connections to help me find Roland, but that could be anyone. I was certain the House of Light would help me out, even if she wouldn't.
If she wasn't willing to do this much, then it was best I abandoned any idea of working with her entirely.
"That depends on the nature of what you seek assistance with," Cordelia stated.
"Would you be able to help me find someone?" I asked. "There was another hero with me at the time of my fight. The Rogue Sorcerer. I want to know where he went."
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"What makes you certain that he is not dead."
"Part of my Name."
"It can be investigated," she acquiesced.
She seemed dubious at my explanation, but didn't try to contest it.
That was a start.
"For personal reasons, I need to journey deep into the Chain of Hunger. To do so, I will need support along the way." I continued to lay down my cards.
I suspected that I could journey there alone, but I wasn't willing to risk it. The cost of being wrong wasn't worth it when there was nothing stopping me from simply finding people to help me.
Cordelia grimaced, "We are already risking too much with the people we will be pulling from the defence of Rhenia. I cannot afford to help you with this."
"I don't need you to help me right now, or even any time soon. I can find others who are willing to assist me. I am simply explaining my position." I stated.
There was no harm in laying the groundwork for the journey in advance, even if I had no short term plans for setting out on the quest.
"After the civil war is brought to an end, I could possibly spare soldiers for an expedition," she offered.
There it was. She was willing to at least budge a little. Enough that I would consider entertaining her offer.
"Do you mind if I think this over? I would like some time to consider the matter first."
If I did decide to help her, my assistance would come with many strings attached. I would need to take time to define exactly what those strings were.
"This is acceptable. The guards are already aware that you have permission to enter and leave the fortress at your own discretion."
It went unsaid that there were areas I couldn't visit, but I that was to be expected.
"How will they identify me."
She gestured to an attendant behind her and muttered a few words. Moments later, they brought forward a lapel badge showing a wolf chewing on a rat.
"Put this on, it marks you as a guest."
"Thank you."
Taking the badge, I pinned it to my dress.
We passed a few more courtesies before I left the table. Whatever decision I made here, wouldn't be one made in haste. I would talk to the people around the keep and learn what I could about its ruler.
What kind of woman was Cordelia Hasenbach. Could I trust her to help me build the world I wanted?
This decision was pivotal, and was not one that I wished to regret.
A/N: Details on the ghosts.
Taylor is aware of how they work, but I cannot find a way to convincingly tell it in the story without it reading as "Taylor is explaining this to the reader for some reason." So here is an explanation, for people who want to know. The penalty for using a ghost is paid back after the next time she sleeps. Its paid in the form of spending a variable length of time unable to affect the world upon waking up. The length of time is as follows:
1 hour for 1 ghost.
1 bell (4 hours) for 2 ghosts.
1 day for 3 ghosts.
1 week for 4 ghosts.
1 month for 5 ghosts.
3 months (A season) for 6 ghosts.
1 year for 7 ghosts.
And if she refuses the call of sleep for too long after using all 7, she spends the entire time asleep.
"I spend plenty of time reflecting already, Warlock. My helmet is polished to a sheen."
―Dread Empress Sulphurous, the Technically Correct
Leaving my meeting with Cordelia, I made my way back to the dressing room and changed into something more drab. A part of me wanted to keep wearing the outfit, but it would clash with my current goals.
Finalizing my fashion changes, I slowly made my way out of the fortress.
I had three objectives for the day.
The first goal was to take time for myself to grieve.
In the past, I had always compartmentalized, shoved my emotions aside to deal with them later. In the time I had spent reflecting on the road, I had come to realize that it wasn't healthy. It wasn't good for me, and doing so pushed me into making decisions that were more and more rash.
So I would make the time to mourn, even if it cost me time somewhere else.
The second was to learn more about Cordelia Hasenbach. I'd talk to the residents of Rhenia and see what they thought of her. It was imperative that I learned what kind of person she was, before I chose one way or the other.
That was why I took the time to change my outfit. I had no idea how people would interpret, "girl walking around dressed like royalty," but the responses I would evoke would certainly be different to looking like I fit in with the working class.
My third goal was to start making inroads with the House of Light. I didn't know how much authority I had with them, if any, but they were the faction that I felt I would have the best chance of influencing.
After becoming lost in the fortress more than once, I asked a servant to guide me out. The place was like a maze on the inside. I made my way through the building onto the cobbled roads outside.
I looked around, taking in the city outside. The sun had not yet risen, and yet the residents were active, carrying out their duties by the light of lit torches.
Rhenia felt grim. As if it was perpetually teetering on a knife's edge, expecting to unbalance and fall one way or the other. The people had an air of weary anticipation about them. They walked firm of purpose, with shoulders hunched and fists balled. It was as if they had been conditioned to expect a fight around every corner.
Considering the Chain of Hunger loomed near, that wasn't entirely inaccurate.
I made my way towards the southern outskirts of the city. There was a small grove of trees that clung to the edge of life. Searching, I found an otherwise unremarkable boulder sitting all alone in their shadow.
It was perfect for what I wanted.
Concentrating, I began to change its shape. It took me a few minutes before I was satisfied. Not because the changes I was making were hard, but because it took me a while to make up my mind.
The finished product was a rectangular slab with an empty flask resting on its side atop it. The flask was made out of quartz and was fused into the stone, so it wasn't like anyone would be walking off with it. It was a cenotaph for Max. I didn't know how old he was. He never told us, and it didn't really matter.
Maxime Redflame.
He gave us purpose.
I could have made something elaborate, but I felt this suited him better.
"Hey, Max," I began softly. "When I first met you, I did everything I could to avoid you. You were rough, crass, drunk and generally unpleasant to be around. But you were also the only person who saw me as me."
I felt tears begin to well at the edges of my eyes. I did nothing to suppress them. Compassion draped itself gently around me, but I wasn't paying it much notice.
"You saw an aimless, depressed, lonely girl and tried to put life back into her. And you did it. It took you a long, long time, but you did it. Despite all your faults ― and there were many ― you were a good person. Someone I came to care about far more than I ever expected."
Sniffing, I took a moment to compose myself.
"I feel bad, because I wasn't able to help you overcome your own loss," I said, my voice hoarse. "When I arrived, I had no faith and no hope. Now, I definitely have hope and for you… I think I can find faith. Faith that the world can become better, because I didn't think I could. So I guess what I want to say is thank you, and that I promise I won't let you down."
The chatter of insects had died as I talked. The world was still, almost as if it was holding its breath.
"I already disappointed one dad, I don't want to disappoint another."
I felt better for having said it aloud. One of my regrets was never patching things up with my dad. Max wasn't him, but at least I didn't have that regret.
I sat there silently for over an hour, pondering if I should say anything else. I decided against it.
Eventually, I stood up. A sparrow landed on the lip of the flask as I turned and left.
The sun had risen by the time I arrived back at the fortress city. I started to slowly wander down the streets. I found myself gravitating first towards a shabby looking tavern on my left. Despite the time, I could hear the loud bickering of voices coming from inside. People really did drink at all hours, didn't they? Not that I should really expect otherwise, considering my own adventures with alcohol.
I repressed a shudder.
Approaching the door, I entered the building.
I spent a moment just appreciating what it was like to be able to walk into a building without asking for an invitation. It was striking how something so mundane could feel novel after all this time.
"Is something the matter, lass?" A kindly looking elderly lady asked me, the wrinkles on her face creasing as she did so.
My reverie was broken.
"No, I'm fine. Just needed a moment to reflect," I explained.
"Well, you just call if you have a problem, see?"
"I'll do that," I smiled her way, thankfully.
I took a moment to survey the room. Up near the bartender was a small group of what I guessed were travelling merchants. They were seated together and talking amiably.
Perfect.
If there was going to be anyone I could obtain an outside opinion on Cordelia from, it would be people who weren't locals. The opinions of the locals arguably mattered more, but I wanted to cast my net as wide as possible and not just settle for the first fish I caught.
I made my way over and sat down beside them.
"― so, as I was saying, the route between Callow and Bayeux is especially profitable right now," a blonde haired weasel of a man in his early thirties called out.
"That's only because caravans passing near Constance's Scar keep disappearing. It's not worth the extra risk," the dark haired girl sitting next to him replied.
"Excuse me," I butted in, "My name's Taylor. The three of you look like travellers on the road. I'm interested in a bit of gossip from outside Rhenia. Care to trade stories?"
They turned to look at me.
"The name's Jacqueline," the girl replied, turning her steel grey gaze my way. "You don't sound like you're from Rhenia either. What's a foreign girl like you doing up here?"
"It's a long story," I evaded.
"I'm sure it is," she sounded amused. "Shouldn't you know about the goings-on from outside, not being local yourself?"
"I've been stuck here for over a year. Hadn't had much in the way of outside news."
"Tough," the third figure said in a deep, earthy voice.
I turned his way. He was broad shouldered and tall. I felt small seated beside him. His brown eyes roamed over me, examining me closely. Although it wasn't in a way that felt offensive, his focus seemed to linger more on scars than anything else.
"How about this, Taylor. You help settle our little argument here, and we'll answer your questions," Jacqueline took a sip from a tankard as she finished speaking.
"Sure. What are you arguing about?"
"Money," she grinned. "Ever since the Gnomes bombed Princess Constance, travel in the region between Aisne and Bayeux has been dangerous. Entire convoys disappear during the night, and people claim to see strange visions out of the corners of their eyes. Anyone daring to haul goods through the area makes a killing for it, provided they live. I reckon we should give it a skip, but the other two are feeling more adventurous."
Faintly, I could feel the tugging of a story as they spoke. Surprisingly, it didn't seem to be a story involving me. I wasn't new to stories involving others rather than myself. It had been common enough when travelling with Roland.
This was the first time I had seen an unfolding story where I had no idea who any of the players involved were. It wasn't even involving the people I was talking to. It shouldn't have surprised me that it was possible to find an ongoing story without having any ties to it at all, but somehow it did.
"I'd leave it. Money isn't going to buy you your life back."
"See guys, I knew she'd be sensible," Jaqueline teeth showed as she smiled broadly. "Us girls need to stick together, right?"
"Sure."
"With scars like those, I'm surprised you're not eager for blood," the third figure said, his hazel eyes meeting my own.
I shrugged.
"I didn't fight because I li-."
"If you're here, you're paying. Either buy something or get out," a pot-bellied man interjected, glaring my way.
I…hadn't thought to carry any money with. This would be significantly less awkward if my trousers had any pockets. As it stood, I had no way to hide the act of transmutation. It wouldn't be much of an issue to go out and resolve the problem, but it was still annoying.
"I'll be back shortly, I don't have any money on me," I said, starting to stand up.
"No, stay. Rupert will cover for you. Won't you, Rupe?" Jacqueline turned towards the broad shouldered man, raising an eyebrow.
"Fine. Owner's an ass, but we'ren't. What'll you have?"
"Just some milk. I swore off anything stronger."
"Sounds like there's a story there," the woman stated.
The owner muttered something under his breath, before bringing me the drink in a mug. Taking a sip, I suppressed a grimace. The milk was sour.
"There is, but it's not one I want to talk about right now. To bring the conversation back to where we started, I'm curious what people outside Rhenia say about Cordelia Hasenbach."
"Wantin' ta gossip on the Prince? Well, can't say I blame you, but there ain't much ta tell. Folk on the road'll let you know that she's good at keeping the wheels greased. She's been runnin' the place from her thirteenth summer. She's done a good job of it as well. Folks are happy. If you want ta know about her politics, well… None of us pay much attention ta that sort of news." Rupert finished.
It wasn't as much as I wanted to know, but it was a start. I didn't expect to find out enough from only a single conversation anyway.
We talked a little longer before I eventually made to leave. I spent some time wandering around, talking to everyone I could. While I was able to learn little about her as a person, one detail had been firmly lodged in my mind. Much as I expected, Cordelia Hasenbach was an excellent administrator. In addition to that, her people liked her, despite the fact that she wasn't a warrior Prince.
Considering she ruled Rhenia, that was an achievement. Their people placed value in strength of arms, simply because come spring each year they needed to contest with the Ratling hordes. Earning their respect, despite not fighting on the front herself, spoke volumes about how capable she was.
Making my way purposefully down the streets of Rhenia, I soon found myself outside a chapel representing the local House of Light. Despite knowing the Gods were real, I had only ever set foot in one shortly after I first arrived.
Back when I asked someone to show me the Light.
I smiled fondly at the memory as I stepped through the door. There were rows of empty pews inside. The place was peaceful.
Nobody was in.
I supposed it wasn't the time for worship, but that was fine.
I felt a stronger connection to Compassion on the inside. It was almost as if they were right here with me, with just a paper thin wall between us as a divider. Something about them felt different after so long. It was hard to define, and at first I wasn't sure what it was exactly. I almost tripped and fell when I realized what it was.
It was an invitation.
I had known in abstract that simply swearing yourself to a Choir wouldn't be enough to become their chosen hero. If that was the case, then there would be far more heroes. Each Choir obviously had their own requirements for their favoured representatives. This was them implicitly stating that not only did I meet most of their requirements, they believed if I swore to follow all of them, I would be able to stick to the oath.
… And that even if I had not yet decided to follow them, they had chosen me. In a way, it was more meaningful, but also more scary. It was them placing their faith in me and not the other way around. It didn't change anything unless I actually went through with it, but it was an added complication. Now, I needed to worry about how what I did would reflect on the Choir, because people would assume that I represented them. They would also technically be correct.
I wouldn't be accepting the invitation, but it hadn't been revoked. It was still there, waiting for me in case I ever changed my mind. Unless I changed for the worse, or they found someone else, it would likely remain there for a long time.
Taking a seat on one of the benches to the right, I elected to wait. It was a wooden log that had been turned on its side and had barely been carved into the semblance of a seat at all. As far as chairs went, it wasn't the most comfortable. Subtly, I reshaped it. I wasn't sure if it counted as blasphemy to make the seating in the house of light less painful to sit on, but I doubted the Gods Above minded.
It felt like hours had passed before someone else showed up.
"Do you seek guidance with a matter of faith, my friend?" a woman's voice reverberated gently against the walls.
I almost responded by reflex that I wasn't religious, when I remembered to hold my tongue. It would be an easy way to start off on the wrong foot, and it was much easier to just avoid the topic entirely.
… Besides, it wasn't completely true. I didn't worship the Gods Above right now, but live long enough and one day I probably would. I wasn't opposed to the ideals presented by the Gods Above. It was their definition of guidance I found fault with.
I didn't disagree with the idea that people needed to be guided. In fact, I strongly agreed with it. Everyone needed assistance sometimes, me included. Without the help of Roland and Max, I probably wouldn't have come back to myself. I just didn't believe that guidance necessitated the removal of free will.
The type of world I was trying to make likely required the presence of Gods I was willing to worship, otherwise it would fall apart. It meant that I needed to convince them to change their minds. To persuade them to adopt a different definition of guidance, and to leave my vision of the world alone once I had put it in place. I knew it wasn't impossible to do that, even if it wouldn't be easy.
The definition of Good shifted on the subject of slavery, after all. It didn't really matter if it was a hero or a villain who did the shifting, because the truth remained the same. The definitions were allowed to drift.
I had no idea what it would take to convince them, it was more or less the final stage of achieving my dream. So long as I didn't find it morally reprehensible, I was willing to go through with it. Even if it was something absurd, like a thousand years of praying to the Gods Above in order to change their minds. Being the most persistent spam caller in Creation wouldn't be fun, but I'd suffer through it if that was the price.
Not aiming low at all, are you, Taylor?
"Not the type of problem you would usually be faced with," I replied wryly, turning her way.
She wore a simple robe and was about my height and age, with fair hair kept in a thick braid.
She sat beside me on the bench, folding her arms on her lap.
"Then I will strive to answer to the best of my abilities."
"I want to know who all the movers and shakers in the church are and what I'd need to do to contact them."
"Planning to involve yourself in politics?" The hint of a bemused smile graced her lips.
"Someday," I shrugged. "For now, I just want some idea of what the people at the top believe needs to happen for the world to change."
She looked over me carefully, her gaze hardening as she did so.
"I hope you are not trying to solve all the world's difficulties with swords. That way only leads to swords finding you in turn."
She sounded almost as if she was trying to fit a sermon into her speech. It was mildly amusing.
"No, I'm not. Some problems can be killed, but most of the ones that I am interested in solving can't be."
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"What is it exactly that you are trying to do."
"I come from a land far off. We had different customs and beliefs. On the whole, people's lives were much better than they are here. The Principate would be considered dysfunctional, never mind Praes." I stopped.
The sister's eyes widened.
"You are the Chosen I was called to look at. The one that was asleep," she stated, her entire demeanour shifting. It was fascinating to watch, as if she had transformed from one person to another.
I should have realized she would have seen me before.
"I am."
"What is the biggest difference about Calernia and your home?" she asked, sounding intrigued.
"The stories we had were different. What I want is to know who I should talk to about trying to kill Calernia's villain stories."
It was the simplest way to explain what I wanted.
I knew that what I was trying to do was impossible. In a much closer to the literal, than the figurative sense of the word. What I wanted was a world where there are no villains because people are happy with the existing state of affairs. A world where villain stories just won't work. If I had just one lifetime to do it, I'd aim lower. But that was the catch, wasn't it? I wasn't ageing, and eternity is a long, long time. I had plenty of time to figure this out.
It didn't mean I could act slowly, or spend forever on minute details. If I didn't make a big enough impact, the narrative would just undo itself. But it meant that every time I failed, I still had time to try again. Most people didn't have that luxury.
I definitely wasn't sure about all the right steps to reach my destination, but knew some right and some wrong ones. I wouldn't be happy with just controlling everyone and taking away their choices. Either with magic, or through tyrannical government oversight. I knew that to bring the world to where I wanted it to be would take many gradual, small changes. Stories are cultural. If I wanted to change them, I'd need to slowly shift entire cultures.
"For one chosen by Compassion, it surprises me that you would resort to violence," she chided.
I was about to tell her I wasn't sworn to Compassion when I felt a gentle nudge.
Right.
I was still representing them, even if I wasn't sworn to them.
"Killing stories doesn't mean killing people. It's about… preventing the circumstances that cause them to happen."
I wasn't opposed to violence where it was the only answer. You can't negotiate with a hurricane, and the same is true with many of the villains in Creation, or tragedies like the Chain of Hunger. Creatures there were compelled to keep eating all the time, and would resort to cannibalism if there wasn't another available source of food.
"You would take on all the world's ills then," she mused.
"Not even that. I spent the last two years in Callow," my gaze hardened. "The Black Knight is not a stupid man. He is approaching the same issue, but from the opposite side of the table. He builds orphanages so he can keep watch over the orphans. I bet that he kills any children that have heroic tendencies. He isn't trying to just kill heroes, he's trying to stop them from happening at all."
"So you would take the same approach then as the monster who burned down the Blessed Isles. Careful that you stray down that path, for using Evil to war against Evil does not result in Good."
"Copying his methods wouldn't work, Good and Evil's stories aren't the same," I agreed. "That doesn't mean that Good couldn't use different methods to achieve the same ends. We aren't trying to replicate the method, we're trying to replicate the Good version of the same outcome."
"The children of Compassion are ever the saddest of us. They see the world as it should be and not as it is. I hope that you live to see the world that you dream of," she replied diplomatically.
What went unsaid is that she believed I wouldn't.
"Thanks."
"The clergy in Salia have the kind of influence you need. I can draft a letter of introduction for you, and pass on your thoughts. But until the Principate stops warring with itself, it is unlikely you will be able to enact the kind of change that you seek."
It was disappointing, but also expected. It also gave me more incentive to try to find an acceptable solution to the civil war.
"I would appreciate it if you did so," I replied.
"Is there anything else you need help with?"
"I'm looking for a friend, another hero. The two of us were separated at Liesse. I want to know what happened to them."
That line of inquiry proved to be more promising. After I provided her with details on Roland, the two of us spoke for a little longer. Before I left, she asked if I would join her in prayer. I did. I wasn't sure if it was blasphemous or not, given that I didn't have faith. But after some thought, I decided I may as well get a head start on my thousand years of complaining. It didn't take much time out of my day, and if it actually paid off, it was worth the cost.
I spent another three days alternating between resting, composing my thoughts and talking to people before I was finally ready to speak to Cordelia Hasenbach once more.
In that time, I had begun to form an opinion on her as a leader. She was a far better ruler than I would ever be. I wasn't sure how far I was willing to support her until I understood her as a person, but I was not opposed to her being positioned as First Prince on the grounds of merit alone.
More importantly, I understood the role she filled. Not only was she younger than Coil, she was also younger than me.
Her opinions on what was right wouldn't be set in stone yet, and despite living in an arguably worse world, she had almost certainly had an easier life. It was wrong to call her sheltered but… I felt I could influence her view of the world. If I felt she wasn't a good enough person, I could be her moral compass.
Something is wrong with the world if I feel like I can be someone's moral compass.
There was a part of me that felt I should take the time to assess all the leaders in the Principate before I chose to side with one of them. It was the safe choice, the smart choice. Then there was the part of me that was squinting at the story I was in. The tale that strongly hinted at Cordelia.
I had decided to try to shape this story.
That meant extending some trust to Cordelia.
What little I had seen of her had shown me that Cordelia was an industrious girl and was never not in the process of doing something. Finding time for a meeting with her was difficult as a result. I hunted her down during her early morning walks on the city ramparts and matched my pace to hers.
"Have you come to a decision on the matter of the civil war?" She asked.
There was a light rain falling down from above. Barely a drizzle, but it still made it just a little harder for me to see. I could have pushed it away, but I chose not to.
Keeping in contact with little inconveniences like this were a way of reminding myself that I wanted to still be human at the end of my journey.
"Before I make up my mind, I want to know more about you. What do you want?"
She paused in her walking, then turned to me, examining me closely.
"You wish to understand my motives?"
"That's right." I looked over the ramparts at the mountains in the distance. "The speech you gave was compelling, and if you gave it to any other hero, you would have won them over. But that isn't what I care about. I care about building the future. What do you see the Principate looking like once you are in control? What do you believe in, and what do you want?"
She looked amused at the question. There were more than a few heartbeats of silence before she decided to respond.
"It is my desire for the people of the Principate to be safe. For our walls to be secure against the Evils to the north and the east. I want idiots like Prince Dagobert of Lange and Aenor of Aequitan to stop drowning Procer in blood. I do not wish to rule the Principate for my own sake. There is not a single individual among the other Princes prepared to do their duty to their people, and so I will."
Cordelia's voice was venomous by the time she finished speaking, I could hear the anger in what she said. It might be a mask, a carefully crafted lie to buy my allegiance. I didn't think that was the case. In my mind, it was the first declaration she had made that wasn't carefully hidden behind at least five layers of doublespeak.
More tellingly, I felt the faintest strings of a story tie themselves around her at her declaration.
"And what will you do once you are in charge?"
"The Principate will need to undergo several financial reforms in order to recover from the damage that has accrued over the past fourteen years. The influence of the Pravus Bank must be excised at the roots. I intend to found an order of sorcerers, in an effort to dismantle Praes's magical supremacy. With sufficient leverage, I intend to repeal the Right of Iron, in an effort to prevent farces like this as well as other historical follies from occurring again."
"The Right of Iron?"
I wasn't familiar with the term.
"It's the prerogative by which the princes of Procer can wage war as they wish. Were it revoked, princes would require some manner of justification in order to declare war."
I had not yet spent enough time with Cordelia to form a solid opinion on her, but I was gaining the impression that she was a reformist of sorts. She wanted change. I did not understand the finer details of the changes she wanted, but I grasped enough to know we at least had some common ground.
"I'm willing to hear your offer," I stated, "but my acceptance depends on what you want me to do."
Provided she didn't want me to go against my own principles, there was enough room here for us to negotiate. As time passed, I could pick her brain on the problems I wanted to be solved and see how she would handle them.
Even if it turned out she wasn't the person I needed, she was certainly smart enough to help turn my ideas into concrete plans.
Cordelia started walking again, I followed slowly behind her.
"You would be better positioned to answer that. Aside from the confrontation with the Warlock, nobody is entirely sure what you can do."
"What do you think I can do?"
"Admittedly, we do not have much to go on aside from hearsay from Liesse and the words of wizards. Klaus Papenheim has suggested treating you as an exceptionally skilled sorcerer."
After all this time, the stereotype that I was a wizard had failed to leave me. It was almost nostalgic.
The question was, how much did I want to say. I felt a gentle but insistent tugging from my name.
Trust people.
It…made sense to trust her. It was good to be cautious, paranoid even, but I would bet my enemies knew more about what I could do than I did. If I wanted to beat them, then I would need properly informed allies.
"Almost anything you can think of," I told her honestly.
She said nothing for a moment, but I got the sense she didn't quite believe what I said.
"I can reshape everything I've encountered so far into objects I am familiar enough with. I can't generate materials out of nothing and I can't make myself smarter, but I can do anything else. If I wanted to, I could probably end any monopolies on goods within Procer on my own. It would take me a while, but I could do it." I explained.
Cordelia didn't look like she believed it, but she didn't question what I said.
"Then the question becomes more about what you are willing to do. The priest that inspected you claimed that you have the touch of Compassion upon you. Does that mean that you are unwilling to kill?"
"Yes and no. I'm not going to kill anyone you want without proper justification, and I'm not willing to massacre entire armies. But if I come face to face with someone who needs to die, I'm not going to hesitate."
"Killing every last soldier to a man would not be an acceptable outcome were you to do it. Doing so would see me denounced as a tyrant, and that is not an acceptable form of rule."
While it was good to know she didn't want to just use me as a siege weapon, it didn't tell me exactly what she did want.
The sounds of soldiers going through morning drills below distracted me for a moment, leading to a lull in our talks.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"The specifics of this discussion should be tabled until later. I was scheduled to meet with my uncle after I had completed my rounds of the walls, and finished reading my letters. This discussion can be put off until then. Klaus Papenheim's advice on the matter will prove invaluable."
"Could you give me an example?"
"Would you be willing to assist the army in a supporting capacity?"
"So…logistics then?" I hazarded.
"Defensive workings such as the barriers you deployed over Liesse or even motivating allies and demotivating enemies would provide a significant military advantage. Until my position is solidified, it is my primary interest to see you involved with the army for now in some manner or another. Having you do so would help to court the attention of the House of Light in a similar capacity."
I felt like she still didn't quite grasp what I could do for her, but that was the smaller issue and I could correct it later. In all of this, I still didn't understand what she wanted out of that alliance.
"Why do you want their help?"
"Their assistance will be pivotal for restructuring the Principate in the years following the end of the war. It would also be of great benefit if you were prepared to negotiate with the clergy directly, once you have been properly schooled on the correct procedures."
That… was a non answer.
"What other duties do you want from me?"
"As mentioned before, it is my intention to found an order of wizards in the aftermath of the civil war. The assistance of someone such as yourself in establishing such a centre of learning would be invaluable."
Right… This misconception about my role as a wizard was actively unhelpful now.
"I'm not a sorcerer," I stated bluntly. "Think of me as being closer to one of the Fae, only aligned with Above. I have learned some magical theory, so I can teach it. But you would be better served by finding actual teachers for that."
I wondered how much I should trust her with. Being sealed in wards again scared me. But if I trusted Cordelia enough to allow that, and she proved worthy of the trust, we could perform controlled experiments.
Deliberately allow wizards that I trusted to seal me off, then see if I could find a way out.
The idea left me feeling uncomfortable.
But if I ever fought the Warlock again, I would need to prepare.
"It is expected that you are not a magical practitioner," her lips twitched upwards for a moment, before the mask went back down. "Every wizard who was permitted to examine you during your convalescence exhibited a great deal of interest in working alongside you. It is my wish to harness that interest."
That… was worded politely, but sounded to me like a veiled way of saying people wanted to examine me like some sort of exotic creature. I wasn't going to call her out about it, but the idea of being looked at under a microscope wasn't very appealing.
"I'll think about it."
"Then, for now, simply assistance with ending the civil war."
It made me uneasy how everything she planned involving me was intended to play out so far ahead. It meant that I couldn't put together a good picture of what she wanted with only the pieces I had. I had enough of an idea to know that we at least sat on the same side of the board, but that was about it. For now, my guess was that she wanted to pull together many factions and work on social reforms. I wasn't necessarily against anything she had proposed, so I was willing to consider her offer.
"I have three main goals at the moment. Short term, medium term, long term. In the short term, I want to find out what happened to my friend. In the medium term, I want help arranging a journey into the Chain of Hunger. The hardest goal is the long term one. I want to make the world a place with no villains. If you are willing to help with the first two, and at least make inroads on the third, then we can discuss terms. I don't expect the third problem to be solved immediately, but I want to at least see some progress made. I'm also not willing to go against my conscience. So long as you don't ask me to, we have room to negotiate."
"Then let us continue this discussion indoors later, with the added input of Klaus."
I followed behind her as she finished her walks, then waited while she perused her letters. Afterwards, we headed indoors. If I had known exactly what I was involving myself in when it came to scheming with Cordelia, I may have chosen to run away instead.
"Perspective is to view the world through tinted glass. Power is to call up a demon and make it that way."
– Dread Emperor Sorcerous
"So you're the girl that's throwing in her lot with us," a gruff voice said as someone entered the room.
I turned towards the polished wooden double door and took in the sight of our new arrival. It was an older man, with white hair and a hard face. His clothing was damp from the rain. Focusing, I cleaned and dried them. It wasn't much effort, and I imagined that Cordelia would not want her expensive chairs ruined by the man's damp rear.
"Undecided. It depends on what you want from me, Sir…" I raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Klaus Papenheim," he replied.
The clipping of his boots against the cold stone floor were the only sounds to reverberate throughout the room as he made his way to the third chair around the table we were seated at. They were arranged in a triangle, with Cordelia's back to the fireplace, mine to the windows and Klaus's to the door.
"I've explained what I want. I just don't know what you want in return."
"Repeat your requirements to us once more before we delve into the intricacies of your future contributions to the civil war," Cordelia asked.
A noise frown outside the window distracted me for a moment. Turning, I briefly saw a blonde haired figure through the misted window. She was wearing a blue dress, and wandering around the garden in the rain. I brought my attention back to the discussion.
"You want me to explain those again?" I confirmed.
"It is best that we confirm our purposes are aligned."
Fair enough.
"My first and second goals are to find the Rogue Sorcerer and travel into the Chain of Hunger."
"Investigation into the fate of the Rogue Sorcerer has already begun. The matter of the Chain of Hunger shall be tabled until after the civil war concludes."
As nice as the assurance was, I wouldn't just take it at face value. I had done that song and dance with Coil before and while it might be unfair to compare Cordelia with him, I would be a fool to make the same mistake twice.
"I want to be able to read the reports."
"They will be made available to you. You have yet to clarify the nature of your third request. You intend to prevent the formation of villains?"
"That's right."
"Explain the steps you would take to achieve this."
"I already told you what I wanted."
"What you have outlined is not a plan, it is a desired result."
"I'd need to spend time researching first. Build up a better idea of what I want."
"I wish for you to try regardless."
I frowned, "it's complicated. Do we need to cover it right now?"
"If you desire for my assistance, it is imperative that you provide me with a foundation to build upon."
I felt exasperated. She wanted me to provide some sort of plan for a goal that I had only just decided on. I was about to refuse again, when I felt innovate start to whisper to me, providing suggestions.
Start with the first step, Taylor.
The suggestions probably weren't good. The quality of suggestions offered was based on how much I already knew. It was still a starting point. Cordelia wanted some idea of what I wanted? Fine, I'd give voice to what innovate told me.
Biting my bottom lip, I took a moment to compose my thoughts. "Villains exist because people are unhappy. The same is true for heroes, but the reaction is different. For villains, what happens is they see the unfairness in the world, and they decide why not spread it out. For example, a poor man living next to the homes of the rich. He doesn't see any way to end his own suffering, so he asks himself, 'why should I suffer when they don't?'"
I paused for a moment.
"That doesn't explain weaselling fucks like High Viziers or Dukes."
"They are a minority."
A servant came in and placed a tray on the table before us. It contained a teapot and three cups, as well as biscuits on a plate. They poured, then set down the cups before each of us.
"This framework sheds no light on the process by which entire nations such as Praes come to champion Evil."
"I don't know enough to answer, but there must be motivation. There is something they need but don't have, so they try to take it by force. Over time, taking becomes a part of their culture. Eventually, it's idolized."
"Shed light on how you would proceed with resolving the underlying problems you perceive to exist."
"First, you need to take away motivation to do Evil. To start with, give people less reasons to be unhappy. Invest in social welfare projects, build schools and churches, ensure everyone is educated. Improve the justice system. I don't know the full scope of reforms required. If we can identify the problems and find the right people to deal with them, eventually we will succeed."
"Words won't turn back the tides of darkness, only hard steel can hold the north." Klaus stated.
"Killing villains won't fix anything," I bit back. "You've been doing that for thousands of years and look how well it's turned out."
"And what of those who stand proud with Below?"
Aside from priests, Calernia didn't really have an equivalent to psychologists. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure how to explain the concept briefly.
"Their teachers and parents can watch out for it and try to guide them."
"And should they fall in spite of guidance?"
"You create institutions. Something like a city guard, but with oversight on Named."
I picked up my cup and took a light sip. The tea was black, and the bitterness was refreshing. The vapour leaving the cup was pleasant against my skin. A stark contrast to the cold.
"It is your intent for those chosen by Above and Below to be subject to laws?"
"Everybody else is."
"What manner of laws do you believe they should follow?"
"The laws of the land they live in."
"What else would you change, while you're planning the impossible? You're the first of Compassion's kids I've had the fortune of meeting. You truly are an idealist." The words Klaus said were biting, but the tone was almost fond.
"… Terms of engagement."
"You mean like prisoner exchanges, or not attacking under truce? Soldiers already follow terms of engagement."
"Limits on what weapons are used. I've fought a demon before, they shouldn't be allowed. The same for devils. Any weapon that results in significant collateral damage or has long term consequences should be restricted."
It felt odd suggesting a ban that would remove me from conflict, but I knew what I could do. It was better that I not be allowed to fight, then other powers like me be unleashed on either side. They would be far less restrained.
Besides, there were plenty of ways I could contribute to a fight against Evil without killing people. The same wasn't true for other demons.
"Whilst the nations of Good would accede to those limitations, they have no power without the accordance of Evil polities." Cordelia stated.
I shrugged.
"Offer concessions elsewhere. Good probably has a weapon just as bad. If you ask me, being Good doesn't give you the right to commit atrocities. The ban can go both ways. If that doesn't work, offer favourable trade agreements."
"How would you ensure these terms are met? Without the consent of villains, the terms have no merit."
"I don't know. Maybe create a legal body that can serve as oversight and enforcement. Where I came from, we had one. Convince some heroes to join it. It would be difficult, but not impossible."
"Praes has no incentive to allow such a force to operate within their borders."
"I know."
"Exactly what would fall under this entity's purview? Would they encompass solely the Principate, or the entirety of Calernia?"
"Ideally, the whole continent. I'd start with a single nation, then expand outwards."
"Consider only the nations aligned with the Gods Above. The legal and the cultural expectations deviate substantially in Procer from Levant. Why would an organization with international authority would ever succeed in garnering approval?"
"Because it's in everyone's best interest?"
"Unless the enforcer has no teeth, the existence of such an entity threatens the sovereignty of every nation they are able to operate within."
"Liesse was not the worst disaster I have seen, just the most recent. Unless something changes, tragedies like it will keep happening. I don't know how to convince rulers to agree, but it is in everyone's best interest."
"It seems unlikely that these reforms will prevent new villains entirely. I suggest setting your sights on smaller, more manageable tasks rather than those which cannot be achieved," Cordelia added.
"These ideas won't remove villains. That isn't the point. It's a step in the right direction. We don't need to succeed in a single try. If we move what is considered acceptable further in one direction, then one day villains won't be tolerated anywhere at all."
Sure, the final step would likely involve divine intervention, but just because I felt it was needed at the end didn't mean we couldn't also help ourselves along the way.
"While your broader goal is laudable, if idealistic, those are ultimately international politics. Do you have similar lofty ideas for the Principate that you would care to expound upon?"
Grimacing, I leaned into innovate once more.
Right. Cordelia cares about the Principate.
"Does the Principate need to exist at all?"
"The Principate was founded on the flames of Dread Empress Triumphant's pyre. Should another like her arise, or should the Dead King cross our borders, it would take the combined might of the entirety of Procer to drive them off. Its existence is a cornerstone in the battle against Evil."
"Wouldn't a mutual defence pact achieve the same result?"
"The southernmost Principalities would have no strong motivation to sally forth to our defence, considering the distances involved. Furthermore, should the Principate splinter into a collection of individual polities, the rate of conflict would only escalate. So long as there is a chance for the princes to claim the position of First Prince, it is in their interest to participate in the defence of all Principalities."
"You really believe that the southern principalities would just abandon you to fight on your own?"
"The gulf between Rhenia and Aequitan is vast. Until the Dead King's armies are standing at their gates, they will view the conflicts against Evil as a remote concern."
"So you are saying that people in different Principalities don't really care about people in other Principalities, because they are unlikely to ever meet?" I clarified
"That is correct."
So the only reason the Principate functioned at all was greed. True, the countries on Earth had not been much better, but most of them didn't have the audacity to call themselves Good in the religious sense.
Establishing a functional democracy on Calernia would be hard, considering stories. I also wasn't sure if it would fix anything. Well, Cordelia wanted me to voice my ideas, why not suggest it?
"The system of governance in the Principate could change. Much like the First Prince, the other princes could also be elected by the citizens within their Principality. Four year terms only. The system could be designed to allow people from all walks of life to administer the principalities, not just those born into the life of a prince."
"The system of governance used in Callow has been met with failure ever since the events in Liesse. Since then, the Black Knight has taken a much more direct role in the administration of affairs."
I hadn't known or expected any of that. It came as an unpleasant surprise. But that wasn't what I was proposing.
"What I am suggesting only has superficial similarities."
"Why allow those not bred for statecraft to occupy the halls of power?"
What… did she want me to say here?
"The only difference between someone born into your family and someone born on the street is luck, not the will of the Gods." Klaus looked like he was about to interrupt me, I raised a hand and cut him off. "I've seen the Choir of Compassion and come a lot closer to seeing the Gods than most people ever will. They don't weigh in on decisions like that. That is decided by what you do, not who you were born as."
"Talent is distributed blind to titles and breeding," Cordelia agreed, "but your claim is also founded on falsehood. The circumstances of birth are not the only difference separating a peasant and a prince. Princes are well-educated, better connected, and have greater autonomy. This confluence of circumstances makes them better suited to rule. The life of a pauper may be tragic, but his poverty does not qualify him for the right to rule."
"The world doesn't need to be that way. In my homeland, anyone could lead. Most people were educated. What stops you from doing the same? Praes has an education system. Anyone can learn if they are willing to serve in the Legions. Why shouldn't the Principate do the same?"
"The system you propose remains founded on a lie. Those born into wealth are afforded greater opportunities, will breed better, will have access to advantages that those under them never will. Thus, they will remain the ones best suited to rule."
Is this really what she thinks?
I had walked into this discussion hoping this could possibly be a friendly relationship. If this was the way she thought, I doubted it would work. It was as if Cordelia didn't even realize how dismissive she was being to those under her when she spoke. Was this really my best choice for improving the lives of people in the Principate?
To my dismay, the subtle threads of the story strongly suggested it.
"Just because people will never be perfectly equal, doesn't mean we shouldn't try to bridge the gap. The system I am proposing is not perfect, but it is better."
"If both systems result in the same ruler being selected, then your efforts have born no fruit. Furthermore, the current system ensures a static selection of leaders within each Principality for extended periods of time. This allows for long term planning and stable governance. Introducing a democratic process to the governance of the individual Principalities would introduce the inefficiencies of those processes."
"You said you don't want to be a tyrant."
It's like she's deliberately trying to undercut everything I say.
"If you wish to alter the shape of Procer's politics, these are but a few of the questions you will need to answer."
"I know that," I replied, exasperated. "I also know that I'm not the person that should be answering them. It should be someone like you. It's why I am listening to your offer and not trying to do this on my own."
"You would trust someone else with shaping your dreams?"
"It's not about trusting others with my dreams. I'll still do my best to learn and find out what it takes. But even then, it's about… finding the right people. I don't think I am the right person to lead, but I can find them and point out the goal. If I can't find the right person to lead, then I will do it, but it isn't my first choice."
"You proposed that serfs should elect their own rulers. When a patient visits a healer, they have no say in how their injury is remedied, they trust the expertise of the priest. Explain why you believe that individuals who do not understand the highest offices of power should have any say in what occurs there."
"Why shouldn't they? Your decisions affect them. What gives you the right to decide how people live their lives without their say so?" I retorted.
There was a pause for a moment, before discussion resumed.
"For now, let us proceed under the assumption that your hypothetical model would work. How would you justify the cost of undergoing such large-scale societal reforms."
"You want to continue arguing about this?"
"If you wish for an agreement between us to be found, then it is imperative you outline what you wish to achieve."
I feel like I am being put through a school test that I didn't know I needed to prepare for.
"To start with, a civil war like the current one wouldn't happen."
"How did you reach that conclusion?"
"Their people wouldn't re-elect them if they did. Nobody is going to vote the person starting wars they don't want back into power."
I picked up one of the biscuits and took a bite. It was overly sweet, but now that I had started eating it, I was committed to finishing.
"The belief that reforming the system would prevent another civil war is false. It is predicated on the assumption that the elected ruler is incapable of convincing their subjects of the righteousness of war."
"That's true. But it's harder, there's extra steps."
"The certainty of power is an illusion. It is already necessary for the princes to have the approval of their subjects, for if they did not, then their rule would be overturned."
"That isn't true. The people in charge will kill them for speaking out, It's a large motivation to not step out of line. Give people a way to remove their leaders and they will use it"
"If the princes of each Principality are genuinely held in contempt by their subjects, their subjects would revolt. They are not, they are seen as cultural symbols of pride. Furthermore, it is not difficult to externalize any existing problems. It is easy for one to believe that individuals they have never met before are the cause of their woes, rather than those they are familiar with."
"The system worked where I came from. I don't believe you can just copy it across exactly as is, but that doesn't mean you can't take parts of it and make it work here."
"Even assuming that was true, how would you convince the other Princes to relinquish their hold on authority and accept these reforms?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "I was hoping you could find an answer to that."
"Regardless, I have heard enough," Cordelia declared. "Now that we have established what you want, we can focus our attention on the civil war. Afterwards, we can finalize terms."
While she didn't say it, I suspected that my third requirement wasn't an imposition at all for her. She planned to rule the Principate. Even if what I wanted was unrealistic in her mind, she almost certainly planned reforms of her own. She could consider both at the same time, even if she had no intention of implementing my own.
This relationship would almost certainly have to be transactional. I didn't think I would like Cordelia as a person, but I didn't need to, provided that I controlled what she wanted. I would trade what she wanted for her finding and implementing solutions to social problems, if that was what it took. It was unlikely she would have an issue with that, especially if I funded them.
I wouldn't be seeing a functional democracy any time soon, but that was fine. Right now, I wasn't aiming for one. I planned to start at the bottom and work my way up.
"As one sworn to Compassion, how much do you know about waging war?" Klaus began.
"Admittedly not much. I know small unit tactics, for an irregular group of soldiers."
"Prince Dagobert has an iron grip on many of the neighbouring Principalities. Ever since Princess Constance died, the pressure applied to him from the east has waned."
"Prince Dagobert demands we raise our armies and support his claim, or suffer brutal taxes under his reign. The tone of ongoing communications has become more pointed as the war progresses," Cordelia added.
"While the Lycaonese are the most veteran soldiers in the Principate, we have little time to capitalize on that. Parts of our forces are always tied up on the walls, and any we deploy must be pulled back come spring."
"Which means you want what?…"
"I want you to consign enemy generals to the grave and force their surrender."
"I take it there's no way to resolve the conflict through diplomacy?"
I doubted there was, otherwise it would have been done before. But there was no harm in asking.
"The conflict has dragged on for long enough that hatreds have become entrenched. The war will not end until only a single claimant remains."
"So you're saying that this is going to continue until the people in charge die."
"That is the shape of it. Are you willing to excise the rot?"
… I think he got the wrong impression from what I had said.
"I'm not killing everyone," I leaned back in my chair. The comforting press of the green satin against the back of my head almost felt strange after having spent so long in rougher quarters. "At least, not so long as I don't have proof they're all awful people."
Especially not after Cordelia's earlier argument. It hadn't done much to convince me she was any better than the other princes she complained about. I suspected that if she hadn't been born in Rhenia, she would not have cared about its problems at all.
"The Principate needs order. Sometimes hard choices must be made."
"I think you and I will disagree on what it means to make hard choices."
"Compassion's get are the best of us, but your goodness blinds you. Sometimes, someone has to order the torches thrown."
"Choosing to kill people to make the issue go away is easy. Not on your conscience, but in terms of knowing the outcome. It's final. It brings new complications of its own, but you know that the solution to that one problem is set in stone. Other answers are more messy and the outcomes are uncertain. Making a decision where you don't know if the answer will work is much harder. If killing is the only answer to a problem, then that's fine, but I have a lot of choices."
"So said the voice of one who has never held a blade."
"I've killed more than enough. Some I regret, others I don't. You're thinking about this as if you don't have other options here. There is nothing stopping me from imprisoning the claimants somewhere they could never escape from. It would take time to find them all, but I could do it. I could also compel them to fight each other in single combat until only one remained. Violence isn't the only choice I have."
Klaus started choking with laughter. He had been drinking while I was talking, and some of it went down the wrong way. He held the cup like a savage, with his hand under the base.
Cordelia and I both looked in on the man, unamused.
"Only the House of Light would tolerate those proposed solutions. All claimants would find those ideas to be abhorrent. Furthermore, you would be in effect declaring that you have the right to decide who rules the Principate."
I didn't respond. It wasn't as if those proposals had been serious. They were more an example of what I could do.
"None of them are doing their duty to the Principate," Klaus's voice had hardened. "It's a hard truth, but sometimes blades need to be drawn."
I reached onto the table and picked up another biscuit from beside the teapot. Nibbling on it, I composed my thoughts before deciding on how to respond.
"I know I'm an outsider here. That I have no right to tell you how to resolve this, but you're missing something important. If you want to plan involving me, then my opinion matters. You can't just treat me like a weapon and point me at your problems. I'm not willing to just kill on command."
Klaus muttered something under his breath about the folly of Compassion's heroes. I ignored it.
"Are the soldiers conscripts, or are they hired mercenaries?"
It mattered to me because it changed how I viewed the fighting. If the soldiers were there voluntarily, then it was their own decision to fight. As stupid as I thought that decision was, I wouldn't take it away from them.
So long as they didn't hurt innocents in the process of killing each other, I was fine with them fighting it out.
"That varies from prince to prince. Most of them are making heavy use of peasant levies, others are hiring foreign soldiers." Klaus responded.
"Won't there be consequences for that? The war's continued for so long. Surely this is unsustainable."
"Many years will need to be spent after the culmination of the war, restoring the Principate's economy," Cordelia interjected.
"I am not saying I won't consider killing people at all, only that it isn't going to be my first choice."
"How many lives must be spent before you choose to act?"
I should have just told them I wouldn't kill people at all. While it wouldn't have been entirely true, simply mentioning that it was an option meant that they were going to keep pushing me for it.
"Think of me like a dragon, only there is no hero here who is going to come save the enemy. If I was fighting, the only person who would matter is me. I think that this war is stupid, but people chose to fight, and I won't take that away from them. The moment I act, the fight ends. It's me saying that nobody else's opinion matters. I would only be a few steps removed from declaring myself queen. I don't want to do that."
I knew I was being a hypocrite. But I was not deeply attached towards any of the sides, and I wasn't going to kill because someone who I had only just met was asking me to. If they wanted me to fund their campaign in exchange for meeting my needs, I would do that. The people they would be paying were fine with killing others for money, even if I refused to.
"Your principles are noble, but won't safeguard our borders."
I was about to refuse once more, when I felt a nudge from the Choir. What they wanted did not make my life any easier.
Am I really going to agree to their request?
… Yes, yes I was. Because it was the right thing to do, even if it was unlikely to succeed. I didn't believe it would work, but I would at least try. If I didn't try, I was choosing to fail.
"I'll accompany an army of your choice, and I'll follow the chain of command outside of battle, although I won't involve myself in the fights. I'll support them in almost any way you like. But before battle, I want permission to attempt resolving the conflict through negotiation."
"That is both irregular and creates openings for enemy action."
"It is irregular," I agreed. "But I'll negotiate for it. It's a request from my Choir to find a peaceful resolution."
"For there to be an agreement, you need to compromise. Right now, you demand much but offer little."
"Start proposing ideas that don't involve killing people, and we can come to an agreement."
"Are you able to scry? Long distance communication would prove advantageous." Klaus asked.
I reached onto the table and carefully lifted the fragile porcelain cup. Bringing it to my lips, I inhaled the tea's fragrance before taking a small sip and placing it back down.
"I could, but it's risky and unreliable. It has a limited range as well. I would rather not."
"How about defensive emplacements. Strategically placed barriers, like the ones you used at Liesse, or raising and lowering enemy morale."
I had the sense that he didn't really understand what I could do very well. If that wasn't corrected, the conversation would go on for hours.
"What do you see me as? Where do I fit in?"
"A highly talented Praesi sorcerer. That would make you equivalent to some better dwarven siege artillery."
"My only reference for a highly talented Praesi sorcerer is the Warlock, and I have no idea what dwarven siege artillery can do," I admitted.
"Then why don't you explain what you can do?"
I shrugged, then tapped the tablecloth. As I did so, I turned it into aluminium foil.
Both of them paused and stared. Cordelia recovered composure first.
"I would appreciate it if you returned my tablecloth to its former status," she said drily.
I did so.
"How much can you do?" Klaus asked.
"When I said I can do almost anything, I meant it. It does depend on the complexity. The less complicated the outcome is, the easier it is for me to do. I can do large scale workings anywhere within a mile of me, although eventually I do become exhausted. You've been trying to fit me into an existing framework when it's not helpful. I could just make money out of dirt. There is no amount of money Praes can raise that I can't eventually beat. There is nothing stopping you from just bribing the opposition."
"Attempting to bribe the other princes is an act of folly. They would reinvest the capital into hiring more mercenaries, then turn them against us." Cordelia replied.
"How about funding your own campaign?"
"The proposal has merit, provided the material you create is not Proceran coinage."
"Why the distinction?"
"You are not the First Prince, you do not have the right to mint coins. Even if you were, there are laws in place determining how much currency may be minted by the First Prince. It is a minor distinction, but every action I undertake will be scrutinized in the aftermath of the civil war."
"I thought you would have complained about me devaluing currency."
"Debasing the value of Proceran coinage would cost capital far in excess of the price of winning the war. Irrespective of this, the impact of the added coin will only be felt in the later stages of the war."
"Why?"
"We have until before next Spring to win the war. The Ratling activity in the north has picked up in recent years, and we cannot afford for the walls to be caught unguarded. Setting aside the finer details, we have little time to strike. Spending coin will still take time." Klaus explained.
"Would any other goods prove useful?"
"There are some which would be of benefit. Although for now, it is wiser to adopt a more conservative approach."
"Is there a reason for that?"
Cordelia finished up her tea, and placed the empty cup down beside the pot.
"Blatant mass transmutation will indicate to every merchant in the Principate that the only value their wares hold is the value that you permit. Fear and hatred are the expected consequence of this, and that would make an alliance between us untenable. Furthermore, the utility of what you are capable of is constrained by the needs of Rhenia. Our people are sufficiently armed and armoured, war has long been our trade."
"Why wouldn't an alliance between us work if that happened? It's not you that poses the threat."
"For a long term period of stability to exist after the conclusion of the civil war, the prevailing claimant needs to achieve victory in a manner that is deemed acceptable by all princes. Were you to threaten the livelihood of everyone at all levels of society, it would be found intolerable."
"So aside from gold, which won't pay off for a while, what would you like me to do right now then?" I asked.
"You said you can make almost anything. Is that right?" Klaus interjected.
"That's right. So long as I know what I'm trying to make."
"Can you make roads?"
What?
Out of all the requests I had expected, that hadn't been one. From blowing up enemy armies to interfering with the economy, it was all more or less something I had already considered. Undertaking civic projects was not on the list of ideas I had.
"I could," I admitted. "How fast would depend on exactly what you want. If you just want me to smooth out land, I could probably do it all day. If you want me to turn dirt into a heavily decorated cobbled brick road, I'd tire myself fast."
"I don't need something fancy, just flat and traversable by cataphracts. The Principality of Brus is covered in swampland. Roads are forced to follow the terrain. Should you cut a direct route to the city through the deepest parts of the bog, the campaign would be accelerated. Furthermore, we can launch assaults from less defended regions."
"Floating them across on an island would be faster."
"Can both be done at once?"
"No."
"Roads have more long term utility."
"Wouldn't that have the same problem as if I mass-produced goods?" I asked.
"It does not," Cordelia replied. "Civil engineering in regions which are not currently easily navigable is several steps removed from directly interfering with the economy. It is not interfering with the livelihood of anyone important. Furthermore, it will likely cause a long term economic uplift by increasing the rate of transit between cities."
"There are people living along existing roads. Aren't their jobs threatened by this?"
"Should that prove to be the case, there is nothing preventing them from moving somewhere else."
"You aren't concerned about losing the fight?"
"There are not many enemies I would not trust the swords of the Lycaonese to prevail over. The southern princes aren't one of them. Time is the hole in our gorget, not our strength of arms."
"I can build roads. Is there anything else?"
The suggestions proposed from that point onwards became more palatable. From putting enemy soldiers to sleep – unfortunately, I wasn't sure I could do that to crowds safely – to trapping them in prisons. There were additional requests for transmutation as well. Better steel for weapons and armour. Requests for crossbows, which I did not know how to make but could learn. However, most of Klaus's attention remained focused on logistics.
The conversation dragged on for a long, long time. It was exhausting. On the whole, the meeting had been disappointing in some ways and promising in others. By the time we were done, the sun had set, and I had agreed to fund Cordelia's war chest, as well as provide her with some specific goods. She kept trying to coerce me into finalizing agreements that would only take place after the war concluded. Those, I put off. They could wait until later, and be traded for actual reforms.
Right now, I was bartering for time spent refining my ideas and the continued use of her information network. Maybe I was paying a little too much, but I wanted it to be obvious just how much I could do for her. I would be Good's drug dealer if that was the way to change the world and right now, Cordelia's first hit was cheap.
I still didn't know why she felt my assistance was necessary. She was a master at deflection whenever pressed on the subject.
Once the campaign truly began, I would be assisting Mathilda Siegenburg's forces. They would be leading the charge against Brus. I doubted I would be able to resolve the conflict peacefully, but I would at least try.
I wasn't sure how I felt about participating in a war for a country that I had no real allegiance to, but I did know one thing. There was no way for me to reasonably start making changes without choosing to align myself with an existing side, or making a side of my own.
A/N: The character's political views are not my own.
"Note: claims that people are stronger together have yet to be successfully proven. Attempts to stitch multiple soldiers into a single unit have failed to produce anything except a corpse."
– Extract from the journal of Dread Emperor Malignant II
Finishing my evening prayers, my heart sank as I prepared to leave my tent. We had just finished making camp, but I could already hear the familiar footsteps of somebody approaching from outside. The swamp was unbearably humid. Insects were everywhere, the food kept rotting, and it was impossible to keep anything clean.
It would have been nice if I could solve everything. Unfortunately, there was only so much of me to go around. Between roadworks, dealing with swamp monsters, weather, and decay, I had to prioritize. I spent most of my time each day reshaping terrain, so that cavalry could be safely marched across the deepest and most direct parts of the bog.
In addition to that, I needed to obscure both light and smoke from fires to help hide our position from any potential enemy scouts. It took a ghost a day to keep an entire army's movements hidden, and although I sorely wanted to use them for almost anything else, I understood the need.
I also wanted to try to do something about the weather. When I proposed the idea, I was gently informed that nobody wanted a repeat of Dread Empress Sinistra I.
They didn't appreciate me suggesting that it would only be a small wasteland at worst. I swear my humour went unappreciated sometimes.
The other problems were left to everybody else.
Doing nothing but that was dull and exhausting. It left me with little energy for anything else. Klaus had asked me if I was able to expand the watchtower network along the new road. I had given it a genuine try. It had only taken me a couple of failures before realizing that without much more time to work on it, creating wholesale buildings on demand was beyond me. Not if I didn't want them to collapse from all the other related architectural problems that I didn't immediately know how to solve.
It was a pity that we were working on such a tight schedule, else I probably could have figured it out.
Watchtowers weren't as good for communication as widespread use of scrying would be, but it would have been a good temporary measure. The system was already in use by the Lycaonese, so it didn't surprise me when I was asked if I could add to it.
Only one more day in the deeper part of this damn bog.
Once we were on drier land again, I'd be able to focus more on my own personal convenience.
We were fast approaching Brus. It had been a while since I had agreed to work with Cordelia Hasenbach. Ever since then, I had needed to grow accustomed to my sudden change in circumstances. In my opinion, heroes and villains that were publicly known in Calernia were revered far too much. They had been a part of Bet's culture, but without the religious connotations they had here. My interactions with people who weren't in a position of authority were off-putting. They treated me as if I was a holy relic rather than a person.
The only exception to that were the soldiers. It was difficult to figure out where I stood with them. Some seemed to view me with a low level of contempt. I wasn't sure what they had against me, but clearly there was something. Others viewed me with reverence, and a few with pity. Despite that, all were appreciative of my contributions to the campaign. Their feelings about me were a knot that would take me longer than I cared to untangle, so I just left it alone.
Which was how I ended up wet and mostly miserable with not much in the way of friends, just waiting for this journey to end.
Before we had set off, reports on the investigation of Roland's whereabouts had started to come in. Or rather, reports on where he wasn't. No news on his location had been found so far, although that didn't surprise me. There had only been time to start gathering information from the northernmost Principalities. Not knowing where he was had turned into a constant worry on the edge of my mind.
A shadow crossed my tent. I turned around as the covers were opened and came face to face with someone who was growing on me more than I cared to admit.
"Taylor, you're needed at command!" Yvette squeaked out, her puffed out rosy cheeks making her look like a chipmunk as she did.
Great.
Yvette had been assigned to me as an assistant by Cordelia. She was a kid. I guessed that she was maybe thirteen years old, with shoulder-length blonde hair and tanned skin. She came up just underneath my chest and wore a leather jerkin and trousers that were dyed an emerald green.
Doing my best to hide my foul mood, I climbed to my feet and made my way outside.
The air outside was thick enough that I could drink it. We were camped on one of the few bits of land that stuck out of the murky waters. Despite this, I still had to spend over half an hour making the place inhabitable.
The croaking of frogs and bird call drowned out all other noise. It made hearing Yvette difficult.
"Can I just say again that it's such an honour to be able to work with you and I won't let you down. I promise, I promise, I promise!" Her voice rose in pitch as she spoke. By the end of it, she was vibrating in place. She gave the same speech at least three times a day. I hadn't managed to curtail it.
She had a serious case of hero worship. I was concerned it might be terminal.
"So, what have you learned today?" I asked.
Anything to change the topic.
"You want to know how my reading is going? Oh, no! Oh, no. I'm so, so, sorry! I haven't continued from where I left off last time but I'll do my best to catch up the moment I can. Did I tell you about how I came to be in Rhenia? You see, we moved to Rhenia from Brabant two years ago, but then my family were killed in a Ratling raid. When they tried to kill me I panicked and set everything on fire and that's how I learned I had the gift and I am sorry am I talking too much?" She rattled out, bouncing around on the soles of her feet.
Yvette was a bit of an airhead, and her mind seemed to jump from topic to topic like a kitten playing with yarn. Despite that, she was a good kid. Although, the sheer joy she derived from being able to assist me was both flattering and uncomfortable.
The girl had the gift for sorcery. I suspected that she had been put in my care as an apprentice of sorts, which made everything more complicated. The people in charge knew that I wasn't actually a wizard, but that hadn't stopped them from assigning her to me.
All the actual wizards were allegedly too busy to care for her.
I was going to have to be careful that teaching her my second hand knowledge of magic didn't end up killing her.
It was made worse by the fact that I had no excuse to ignore the pull of the story. Creation was once again offering me someone to watch over. Only this time, if I didn't take her on, she would almost certainly be worse off. She was going to be following around someone, and it would be someone in the army. That didn't make for a good childhood at all.
She would be better off under my wing.
I had grudgingly accepted the Role, although I was looking for an out that didn't involve passing responsibility on to someone else. Did I count as alien enough to qualify as something like a fairy godmother or benevolent patron, rather than a mentor? Those were similar enough roles that I should be safe, but I would definitely be looking for other options.
"No, it's fine." I replied.
She reminded me of a younger, happier version of myself. A version of me before my mother died. I used to chatter like that as well, and I would do my best to ensure she kept that.
I continued to engage her in conversation as we made our way through the camp. The smell of horse manure was only barely discernible over the foetid stench of the swamp. It was like an extra special seasoning to add to the awful.
The camp was well organized, but it still sprawled over far more space than I would have expected before we departed. Despite knowing that moving an army would be a logistical nightmare, seeing it was another matter entirely.
Perhaps the worst part of being in the bog was how many people accrued incidental injuries. The need to heal them was a persistent scratch at the back of my mind. One that had been present ever since I had earned my Name. I wasn't compelled to stop and ask them if they wanted healing, but I ended up doing it anyway, simply to soothe the irritation before it started to mount.
Finally, we arrived at the command tent. Yvette hid herself behind me as we went inside, making an active effort to disappear into my shadow.
In the centre of the tent was a desk with maps strewn across it. I made my way in and stood at the base of the table. Mathilda Siegenburg noted my presence, then dismissed it just as quickly.
Officers were making their way inside. I guessed that most of them were in their late thirties or early forties. They all looked as morose as I felt. Princess Mathilda Siegenburg stood to the right, her attendants surrounding her. The varied list of officers spread themselves out on the other side, closest to the entrance. Lastly, there was a small island of empty space around me. I was the odd one out.
There was a low level of banter spread throughout the tent. People talked and passed jokes to each other. They were often dark. Despite that, the smiles that the jokes elicited told me that they were appreciated.
Waiting, I looked over the map. We were currently in a roughly peanut shaped basin, with small hills rising to either side of the waistline in the North and South. We had entered from the North. A pin had been placed somewhere below the midway point, marking our position.
As the last few officers wandered in, the noise died down and people began to play closer attention.
"Prince Amaury Goethal was spotted by scouts. He's leading a force towards the edge of the swamp over here," Mathilda pointed to a spot near the Southern hills. "We can expect to have to give battle sometime in the next two days. We have picket lines established, but it's unlikely they will launch an attack. It's in their best interest for us to just rot here."
None of them looked happy at that.
"How did they learn of our approach? This part of Brus is deserted."
Our force had been deliberately avoiding all enemy holdings and fortifications. Despite being deep in hostile territory, we hadn't yet fought even once. It was a planned strike directly at the capital through the unnavigable parts of the swamp. They had bargained for me to vanish the city walls on arrival, although that was all they had managed to get in terms of direct combat support. Klaus Papenheim was leading the charge against the Principality's actual defences, so the enemy soldiers should have been drawn away.
"It hasn't been determined yet. Either way, we have been caught with our pants down."
"What do we know? Numbers, Equipment, Experience?" One of the officers asked.
He was a short, surly man who had a bald pate and looked a bit like an ostrich. Unfortunately, I didn't know his name. I hadn't been around the soldiers for long and hadn't had time to learn their names. I wasn't sure I would be around them for long enough, considering I was technically here on a quest and not out of necessity. Everyone else referred to him as Baldy, though. He didn't seem to mind, so I just went with it.
"Around three thousand light infantry and another thousand crossbowmen. No cavalry. None of them look hardened. I'll bet they're all levies that have had weapons shoved in their hands and told to fight," Mathilda replied, then frowned, tapping the map thoughtfully. "He's tasked some of his camp followers with building fortifications."
"What kinds of fortifications?" Someone spoke up. I looked over their way.
It was Whiskers. He was a tall man that towered over me, with a long, thin moustache that stuck out like whiskers. Out of all the people in the tent, he was the one I had spoken to most. I wasn't sure what he did, exactly. I suspected he was some kind of engineer. Whenever I was needed for something, I was usually sent his way.
"Only shallow ditches and walls. There's no time for him to do more, but key positions have been cut off." She pointed to a number of spots on the map, indicating where she meant. "We will need to break our forces up into smaller units in order to give battle."
"Given the engagements Brus has been involved in this year, Prince Amaury must have scraped together every last soldier and peasant levy around. Prince Amaury may be in an alliance with Dagobert, but past conflicts with Cantal have mauled his forces," Reed mused.
Reed was a tall, spindly man. He was so skinny, he looked like he would be blown away in the wind. He stood hunched over the table. I could see him annotating a page with notes. Absently, he pushed a strand of long, black hair out of his eyes again. It had a tendency to do that.
"Why not circle around the encampment and march on Brus?" Another officer asked.
This one, I didn't know.
Mathilda objected, "The water is too deep there for us to cross without the Chosen's help. Help that has not been bargained for. Were we to try unassisted, they could just pin us down with bolts and laugh as we died."
Reed took a breath and asked, "Given the disposition of forces, would it not be wiser to pull out and engage elsewhere? Whilst the engagement will certainly resolve favourably, even untrained men with crossbows will inflict unnecessarily heavy casualties with the supporting structures."
Grimacing, Mathilda replied, "We can't. The path we cut through the swamp isn't easy to miss. If we do, Prince Amaury can use this as an opportunity to strike at Klaus from behind. We need to tie him down here."
"And hunkering down to prevent him from departing is not an option?"
"Our supplies will run out first," Baldy replied.
There were supposedly plenty of edible fish on the marsh, although none of us were skilled fishing.
"We will need to give battle then," another officer determined. "It's going to be ugly, though. No way about that."
I tried to follow the discussion that then unfolded, but I had never actually studied military strategy for entire armies. My knowledge was limited to Ward's tactics, and that didn't really apply here. Neither of my Graces were helping me. It wasn't like I was trying to innovate new approaches, only follow existing ones. I also didn't know enough about the Principate itself. So I stood there listening, and steadily became more and more lost.
"Should we expect intervention from Dagobert in his defence?" Reed asked.
"Not likely," Mathilda stated. "If anything, he will be busy trying to harry Klaus's supply line. His presence should not be expected on this field."
"At least there is that," someone muttered.
I cleared my throat.
Silence fell and everyone turned my way.
"I'll try talking with them, remember?"
"We know. Messengers will soon be dispatched to arrange for a meeting. They will know to expect you when you arrive. We're planning for when that eventually fails." Mathilda replied bitingly.
"Is the Chosen not able to do something, then?" one of the officers sneered my way.
It was Scarface. The Neustrians were very direct with their nicknames.
Out of everyone I had met, he was the most unpleasant. He had a long, jagged scar running down the left side of his face and an embroidered red patch over one eye. I had been told the injury had been caused by a Praesi sorcerer. He didn't have the highest opinion of wizards, and even though I wasn't one, I was close enough to count.
Everyone turned to me.
I thought it over. How much did I want to involve myself here outside existing agreements?
"If you decide you want to retreat, I'm willing to facilitate that." I stated.
Not that I expected they would. The Lycaonese did not usually retreat.
"You aren't going to do anything at all?" Mathilda pressed.
"This isn't my fight, it's yours."
"That's true." She looked sour as she said it, but at least she admitted as much. Turning her gaze back to the table, she started to put more pins in the map. Without additional context, I didn't know what they were supposed to represent. "How about deflecting crossbow bolts?"
"You mean some kind of barrier?"
"Indeed."
Was I willing to just stay out of this?
It really was the question, wasn't it. The more I offered, the more they would expect me to do.
Fuck it.
The enemies were allegedly mostly peasant levies. They weren't mercenaries. They certainly weren't professional soldiers like the Lycaonese. I didn't know how much they wanted to be here, but they definitely weren't the same as hired soldiers. It would probably be a slaughter if I didn't step in. I knew I shouldn't have followed an army. There was no way I was going to be able to sit aside and just let people kill each other.
"Do they have any sorcerers with them?"
"We don't know. The evidence points to them being stationed elsewhere. This looks to be a reactionary force put together at the last moment to contest our arrival, but there is no certainty."
It was exceedingly unlikely that there would be a sorcerer as capable as the Warlock on the other side. That didn't mean that I shouldn't be cautious. It only took making a mistake once for me to end up at the end of a leash.
"If it comes to a fight, I might be willing to help on one condition."
"Ask, and I'll judge."
"You need to promise not to execute anyone who surrenders."
"We had no intention of doing otherwise."
"Then depending on how the negotiations proceed, I'm willing to do something. I haven't decided what yet, but there will probably be plenty of prisoners."
I had suspected I was capable of forcing an army to surrender through sheer weight of emotions alone. Depending on the circumstances, it seemed like I would have the opportunity to test the theory. I hoped it didn't come to that. I'd spend some time thinking on the subject and see what other solutions I could come up with.
"If it comes to that, we will respect your wishes," Mathilda stated.
She sounded doubtful that I would be willing to do something that would sway the outcome of the fight. That was fair, I hadn't exactly given the impression that I would help in the fight either.
The others turned away from my interruption and continued on as if I had said nothing.
The meeting ended not long after. I wasn't certain on the finer details of our plan. My part in it, though, was understood. Making my way out, I followed behind Reed. Yvette bounced along me excitedly.
At that point, I was exhausted. Not physically or mentally, but emotionally. I understood that they didn't really relate to my perspective. This war was personal to them. Having an outsider dropped on them, who was given so much additional leeway, was obviously something they weren't happy about. They were appreciative of my help navigating through the swamp, but likely felt that I was an unwelcome burden otherwise.
"Do you have any commitments tonight, Taylor?" Reed asked.
"No," I answered. The nights I had all to myself.
"Mathilda's commanding staff have a traditional commune on the eve before engagements. Would you care to join?" he continued.
"I… uh, sure," I replied, taken by surprise.
The invitation was unexpected. While I was technically a part of the command staff, I didn't truly feel like a member. They all knew each other and had fought together before. I was the one who didn't fit in. Not only that, but my presence was making their lives more difficult.
I could have chosen to avoid the meeting, but I didn't know how much time I would be spending with these people. I had promised Max I'd try to better myself. A part of that meant making friends. I didn't know whether I could be friends with these people, but there was no harm in trying.
He pointed out a spot near the command tent and told me when to show up. Thanking him, I left.
Yvette and I retreated to my tent.
"Can you please please please teach me magic," she asked, staring up at me like a sad cat.
Gradually, the little goblin was wearing me down.
"I've told you before that it won't be safe," I admonished.
Pouting, she kicked at my desk. "I'll just have to figure out magic by myself then if you won't teach me since nobody is willing to teach me anyhow."
This is such a bad idea.
"I can only teach you the theory behind Jaquinite magic," I informed her.
"Is there something wrong with that?" her eyes narrowed like a vulture who knew that it had caught its prize.
"I spent some time in Callow. After seeing what Praesi wizards can do, I believe Trismegistan sorcery is better," I answered.
"Isn't that evil, though? I don't wanna be evil." She shook her head vigorously from side to side in denial.
"It isn't evil. Magic is just a tool. It isn't good or evil. It's what you do with it that counts. Diabolists use Tresmegistan sorcery to summon up demons and devils, but I have also seen it used for other things. When I fought the Warlock-"
"Can you tell me about the fight with the Warlock again? What does he look like? How did you get away? Why didn't you win? Is he coming after you? Will he attack here?" she rattled off.
I continued to entertain her questions for another half hour, before reaching my limit. Inventing a task for her to carry out, I finally had a moment to myself.
I had started keeping a journal again, after the loss of my last one. I hadn't bothered recording my life before Creation this time. Instead, I focused only on the time I had spent here. One of the details I had noticed, in retrospect, was how much I had changed. Having a window into the mind of my past self was precious, and I didn't want to give it away.
Eventually, I decided to follow up on the invitation.
Leaving my tent, I made my way to a pit fire with a loose gathering of people around it. The others took note of my arrival.
"Seems the Princess isn't too good to join us after all," Scarface growled.
The tangled knot of a story brushed against me.
I stiffened for a moment.
An officer I didn't recognize noticed. I looked down at her, and watched as her brown eyes slowly narrowed.
The threads were coming from her.
"That Princess comment got a reaction. Who're you related to?" She asked curiously, placing her dainty arms on her plate covered hips. There was a teasing undertone to it.
Great.
"You call yourself a Princess once, and suddenly it never leaves you," I muttered under my breath.
The corner of her lips tugged up into a smile, "That sounds like a story, care to share it?"
"No surprises there. Wasn't it obvious that the girl thinks she's too good for us?" Scarface interjected.
The woman swirled around aggressively, facing Scarface. Her ponytail of red hair bounced from side to side as she did so.
"Give it a rest, Scarface, S'not like she did anything to you," she snapped. Looking closer at her, I guessed she was in her mid-twenties.
He spat, "What's it to you, Songbird?"
Did I want to talk here?
The broader details of the fight with the Artist were already known. There was little about the other encounters that I wanted to keep silent. My personal nature and a few other considerations. I wasn't sure how much I could manipulate my story by talking about it, but there were good reasons to make the attempt.
I stopped and thought about it for a few more heartbeats. If I wanted to truly change the face of Creation's stories, I'd need to have experience shaping them. Opportunities like this, as small as they were, were still a chance to practice. The stakes right now were small. If I wanted to one day sell my dream to the Gods, then I would need to be convincing.
Treat this as a rehearsal, Taylor.
"It's not much of a story," I interjected. "There was this villain, the Arcadian Artist. The final confrontation you might have already heard of. It took place in Liesse. The first time I ran into him, I didn't even realize he was a villain. Before I knew it, I was trapped in one of his paintings. I escaped into Arcadia, where I ran into one of the Fae. I talked my way out of being killed by pretending to be a princess."
The tension drained out of them as I spoke.
"S'not much of a story when you tell it like that," She encouraged. "Be more specific, narrate for us. Go on, you're s'posed to be the hero here."
I looked around briefly. The others were observing with interest as well. Talking about my life after arriving was mostly harmless, and it seemed like a good way to break the ice. I doubted I'd be with this group long enough to make friends, but I could still be on good terms with them.
So I started to narrate.
Telling stories in Calernia was just another form of prayer. But if I wanted Creation to listen to me, then I'd need to be persuasive.
"Finding accord with the people of Procer is like attempting to negotiate with snakes, except the snakes are less likely to bite."
– Callowan saying.
It had rained during the night.
This wasn't surprising. We were in a bog, after all. That didn't change what it did for morale. Everyone was in a foul mood. It didn't help that the dreams of the ruined city plagued me each night. Usually I didn't mind them, but right now I could kick a baby. Scouts had been sent out and were periodically reporting back.
"Are you sure I can't come with I'll be quiet I promise I just want to follow along." Yvette babbled from down below.
"I'm sure. I'm sorry Yvette, but you're going to have to stay behind," I told her.
"But why I'm safe near you and then I can ask you more questions you still haven't taught me anything and you promised."
"When I get back, I'll start teaching you."
"Fine," She huffed. Sulking, she turned and made her way back to the camp.
For once, my clothes were clean. What I was wearing was fancier than usual, a white riding dress with gold trim. No matter how little I might care for this man's opinions, I'd do my best to make a good impression if it helped prevent the fight.
My mount trotted forward at a lazy pace before stopping beside Princess Mathilda.
I had considered flying over to the meeting point, but decided against it. It would be all too easy for an enterprising crossbowman to decide that I was hostile and try to put a bolt through me. It probably wouldn't do much, but starting off with one side trying to kill the other wouldn't be setting the right tone.
Biting my lip, I deliberated on whether I should ask Princess Mathilda about some of my ideas. I decided it would be the smart thing to do. She would have a better idea of the political consequences than I did.
"What would happen if I forced them to surrender?" I asked.
I hoped it wouldn't come to that. In fact, that was the very last option I would reach towards.
"Depends on how you do it," she answered offhandedly. "If you attack them under truce, it will cause a political nightmare for all of us."
"I'm not doing that," I replied. "After combat commences, I could overwhelm their willingness to fight. Throw some powerful emotion at them and force them to surrender."
"I don't think that would work," she told me dubiously.
"Assume it does."
"If it did work, then on a logistics level our problems depend on how badly they are incapacitated. If they are catatonic, we will have thousands of prisoners to care for. That will slow down our movement to a crawl and badly strain our supplies."
That was bad, but I was willing to live with it if it saved people.
"And politically?"
"Hard to say," she mused. "Prince Cordelia would be best suited to answer. She is the one with the head for politics. I imagine there would be no shortage of Princes baying for your blood down south, but they wouldn't have much in the way of influence."
That was less advice on the subject than I hoped for. It didn't seem like she was giving the subject much thought, which was frustrating because it was important. I was trying to find a reason not to go ahead with it.
"Thanks for the advice."
"You're ready to ride out?"
"I am," I confirmed.
Insects swarmed around me. Irritably, I blew them away once more. Filthy things, how had I ever let them crawl in my hair?
"Good luck then," she told me firmly.
What went unsaid was that none of us had much hope of success.
I dug my knees into Sisyphus's flank, giving him the signal to move. He had a dappled coat and a long mane. Despite how big the horse was, he had a placid temperament. He started to trot forward. It had taken the mounts a while to become used to walking towards shifting terrain, but eventually they stopped being spooked. Today, he didn't need to worry about that at all.
I held a flag of truce upright in my right hand. Keeping it that way would be taxing, but without it, I was liable to be shot. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the packed dirt I had shaped the day before helped to soothe my irritation. The buzzing of flies around me ran counter to that.
In an effort to distract myself, I was absently toying with my temporary aegis in my mind. It was a skin tight forcefield on both me and my mount. I didn't expect to be shot under a flag of truce, but there was no reason not to play it safe.
Slowly, I made my way across my land bridge. I passed beneath dreary looking mangrove trees. Sadly, they were liable to die due to the modifications I had made to the environment. It was difficult to see further than twenty feet in any direction, the place was so overgrown.
It was a few hours later when I finally guided Sisyphus towards the rising slope of a large hill jutting out the other side of the swamp. There was a hive of activity taking place on it. Walls had been raised above, and people looked my way cautiously as I arrived.
"That way, chosen," a voice called out from up ahead.
I was pointed towards a path on my left, trailing away from the Brussian camp. It made sense, I suspected that they didn't want me to see whatever preparations they might have made. Following it, I carefully navigated my horse through unsteady terrain. I was tempted to flatten it out and make it easier to traverse, but I had a feeling that neither Prince Amaury nor his men would be happy with that arrangement. So I left the land be.
The ground started to even out. Coming up onto a small plateau, there were a few tents set out haphazardly. Despite the distance from their fortifications, I could tell that the place had an air of urgency to it. I could see conscripted peasants working with the fervour of those who knew the hour of their death drew close. Hastily constructed defences littered the hillside. With only the smallest of efforts on my part, all of them would topple over. Despite their terrain advantage, I suspected that these men expected to lose.
That didn't surprise me. They certainly wouldn't have predicted an assault through this part of the bog.
I was led towards what I could only call an impromptu stable. There weren't many mounts nearby at all. Dismounting, I handed the reins of my horse to an attendant.
"So, you're our heroic visitor from up north?" someone spoke from my right. I turned and came face to face with a tall youth. "Want to take a turn in the sheets with me? I could always do with a compassionate touch below," he gestured towards his crotch.
The boy's face was splotchy, and his eyes glossed over. At just a glance, I could tell that he was thoroughly drunk.
I stifled my revulsion.
"I'm not interested," I replied. "I'm here to talk to Prince Amaury."
"Father can wait, and I wasn't asking. He dragged me along on this farce, I may as well take some satisfaction from it," he laughed, staggering drunkenly inside my personal space. His breath reeked. "They say that you wouldn't even hurt a fly. I've never had my way with a heroine before. There's always a first time."
He placed his hand on the surface of the forcefield covering my arm, then tried to pull me in for a kiss. I stiffened furiously, then shoved him back with my right hand.
It didn't really matter how non-threatening the boy was, his attitude still nauseated me.
"How dare you lay your hands on me, wench?" he spat out. "You should feel honoured to serve me." He tried to seize my wrists, but I pulled back. Unbalanced, he leaned against the flank of a horse. It whinnied, then kicked at him. He yelped and moved aside, narrowly missing evading the hoof.
Really?
As he came in to grab me once more, I knocked him away with the pole of the flag. He sputtered as he collided with the ground.
"I'll make you regret that," he hissed.
This was the son of Prince Amaury? My expectations were low enough without knowing that he had a rapist for an heir. Seizing him with chains of air, I pushed him back once more. His face turned an even angrier shade of red. The boy started to splutter. Filling his mouth was a makeshift gag, I forced him onto his knees. I wasn't prepared to listen to another word he said.
"If I wasn't under a flag of truce, you would probably be badly injured, if not dead," I told him. "What makes you believe you have the right to anyone at all?"
Keep calm, Taylor.
I hoped this wasn't a ploy by Prince Amaury to try to make me break the terms of the truce. The asshole had almost certainly been sent to take me to his father. It was possible Prince Amaury planned to put me in a position where I would attack his son and then claim that it was an unprovoked assault. Unfortunately, I couldn't be sure. I had been warned that the princes were awful people, I just wasn't expecting something like this.
I turned to the stable hand. The poor boy's hazel eyes were opened widely. It looked like they were about to fall out. He was doing his best to hide behind my mount. I couldn't blame the kid. If I were in his position, I would want to be almost anywhere else as well.
"Find someone else to lead me to his father," I ordered.
Nodding jerkily, he bolted away.
It was not long until somebody else arrived. A figure clad in plate adorned with the symbol of Brus. A Kingfisher. He had his helmet off, and was trailed by two guards. It took but a moment for me to spot the similarities in the face of this fair haired man and my attempted rapist.
"So Nathanael," the man said, his voice laced with distaste, "once more you overstep. Killing the sons of good merchants to escape from your debts is a grave enough fault, but attempting to lay your hands on one of heaven's chosen is reaching far beyond the pale."
Wait, he's done things like this before and just been let off?
"Confine him to his tent and see to it that he doesn't wander astray. I will handle this incident more carefully after the battle concludes," the man finished talking to one of his guards. He turned my way and spoke. The tone was commanding, even though he had no right, "walk with me chosen."
By my reckoning, the altercation was far from resolved. I would make sure that something was done about Nathanael, because I certainly was not willing to allow him to escape unpunished.
Following in step beside Prince Amaury Goethal, the two of us made our way towards a larger tent. It was close, there weren't many tents set out. There were more than I expected for this meeting.
Do I do it?
I decided not to, although it was really tempting. There was a plan of sorts which I had considered and then discarded. I was almost certain it would prevent the battle, but I didn't like the potential consequences of the scheme. The idea was simple really, use persevere to fully capture the conversation that occurred within the tent, then broadcast it to everyone within a mile of me.
I had heard enough out of the mouth of Cordelia to convince me that doing so would probably be enough to cause a revolt. If this man was any worse than her, simply baiting him into saying the right words would result in one of his soldiers putting a bolt through his brain.
But no, I wouldn't do that. I wasn't trying to burn the existing system to the ground and start over, I was trying to reform it piece by piece.
Entering the tent, he moved towards a comfortable chair that had no place being on a military campaign. It was on the far end of a mostly empty desk, and another chair just like it was set near the entrance.
"Take a seat," he ordered, as he proceeded to do so himself. Seeing no reason to negotiate while standing, I set my flag down then did as requested.
He reached over to a bottle of wine and uncorked it.
"Would you care to share a glass with me?" he asked, his lips curling up into the hint of a smile.
"No, thank you. I don't drink." As I started to talk, I felt something. It was almost imperceptible, tugging at the both of us, and guiding the flow of the conversation.
Prince Amaury raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. I think it was meant to look cheerful, but to me, it only looked forced.
"Such a shame. Wine would likely do wonders for your comportment."
"It doesn't agree with me," I answered diplomatically.
He reached to a shelf behind him and pulled off a single wine glass, filling it. Holding it by the stem, he allowed it to breathe for a moment before finally taking a sip.
"Emissaries from Prince Mathilda Greensteel clarified that it is not within your means to offer concessions for the Lycaonese. In spite of this, they urged me to take heed of your words. Would you be so kind as to shed light on why they did so, before blades are bared."
I suppressed a wince. I really should have asked for someone who could represent Cordelia to come with, but it had slipped my mind.
"It's a matter of faith for me." It wasn't strictly true, but the explanation was good enough. "I'm not certain if I can solve this peacefully, but I need to at least try."
"A pretty sentiment. Sentiment, however, does not warm a soldier's belly at night. What concessions can you offer me? For if all you have to offer is nought, then no accommodation may be reached."
I had spent some time discussing negotiation with Cordelia. Not enough time to become good at it, but enough time to learn a little more about what it was that I needed to do. The first step, rather obviously, was defining what it was that I wanted.
I wanted this to be resolved peacefully.
The next step was working out what the other person wanted. I didn't know exactly what the Prince wanted, but it was easy to guess. He wanted power of some sort. Almost certainly political, because it wasn't like he was short on physical wealth.
I had some experience with negotiating before, so this wasn't entirely new to me. It was a skill you needed to de-escalate situations as a member of the Wards. But it wasn't one I had been good at, so I was willing to follow Cordelia's advice.
"What do you want to negotiate for peace?" I asked bluntly. "Depending on what it is, I might be able to do something."
"Cordelia Hasenbach's hand in marriage with Frederick would have proven sufficient motivation to consider the alliance, were you capable of offering it," Prince Amaury mused.
Once again, I cursed myself for not asking for someone who could represent Cordelia to be present.
"I'm not able to offer anything on her part."
"A shame. I tried to negotiate with the girl, but she was unwilling to grant me what I wished."
If Cordelia's marriage was as low as he was willing to go, I could see why she might be against it.
"I can only offer what I can do."
"You would need to shed light on exactly what that is."
"This."
His wineglass currently rested on the desk. I turned it into steel. He eyed it contemplatively for a moment, then picked it up.
"You are chosen by Compassion?" he asked, his tone measured.
I turned the wineglass back.
"That's right."
"What is it that you strive to achieve?"
"I want to improve the lives of everyone. My plan is to start the process with social reforms. For example…" I continued to outline my goals briefly.
"Unless you were to wed into my household, I see no reason to bargain with you," Prince Amaury stated bluntly.
I blinked. Such a frank refusal came as a surprise.
"Why is that?"
"It does not matter who claims the title of First Prince, you will offer your services regardless. Your faith demands this of you."
So the man believed he could have his cake and eat it too.
"I'm not marrying anyone."
"Then you have little else to offer."
"I'm sure there's something else you want. Work with me here."
"You possess nothing which I cannot claim merely by waiting for the opposition to lose."
"Why do you think I won't fight?"
"I found it doubtful that one blessed with the virtue of compassion would dare take to the field."
"I fought against the Warlock."
Prince Amaury snorted theatrically. "You spared the lives of the peasantry at Liesse. There are no records of you ever having harmed another soul. I hold that it is because you will not."
"Don't throw away this chance. Negotiate. Please."
"You are so assured of the victory of the Lycaonese?" he stated, amused.
"I wasn't planning on involving myself in this fight, then I found out that you're mostly fielding peasant levies."
Before I met the man's son, I was sitting on the fence. Now, I was committed. No matter what happened, this fight wasn't going ahead.
"And what of it? It is their place to serve us Princes, nothing more or less."
"They didn't choose to be here. They are here because you are forcing them to be."
"They are my sworn subjects. If I wish for them to die for me on the field of battle, then it is their duty to do so."
"It is your responsibility to care for them. They aren't objects you can just throw aside."
"It is a pretty thing that you propose, but like all pretty things, it is a lie." He placed his wineglass down on the desk. His eyes narrowed, then he spoke once more. "Do you know what divides the great from the small?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
"Opportunity. Those marked for greatness seize it tightly, whilst those whose candle burns dull let it escape their grasp. And the peasants? Those on the fields? They were set on a path from the moment of their birth, cursed with little opportunity at all. From their first heartbeat, they were destined to serve."
Keep calm.
It really would have been easy to cause a revolt. Sadly, the long term consequences of that would probably have been awful. It would count as breaking a truce, and wouldn't reflect well on me in the future. Consequences, I really hated the word. Hated having to think about them.
Even if I doubted Cordelia would have any trouble replacing the man, I suspected it would weaken my relationship with her.
I leaned deeply into the support of my angelic companions. Their warmth comforted me, and helped me to retain my cool.
I'm not alone here.
"And what would you do if they rebelled? If all of them decided that they have had enough of your rule?"
"Should that come to pass, then I would surely perish," he stated simply. "But it will not. For sheep do not bite their shepherd."
"It would only take a large enough uprising to see you imprisoned, or a single bolt each to put you and your family in the grave."
The man smiled grimly and raised his arms theatrically.
"And yet, no bolt shall find their way to my heart."
… If I had gone ahead with the plan of starting a revolt, this would be the point where he had sealed his own fate in the story.
"What of heroes? Where do we fit into the story you tell yourself?"
"Heroes like you are those who see an opportunity and seize it. You are one of the few who can stare beyond the madness of words we use to fill the silence and catch a glimpse of the truth beneath. They do not fit into the games of men, they play in the game of gods."
I paused for a moment and gathered my thoughts. It seemed less and less like I could achieve peace here. I had tried being diplomatic, it was time to try a different approach.
"Your son Nathanael, I want him punished."
"His shall have his family name summarily stripped from him. Without it, he shall have no chance to take my place after I one day perish. He is a contemptible boy. With his opportunities stripped from him, he will find no place for himself playing the ebb and flow. That is punishment enough."
"If you had a daughter and a peasant tried to rape her, what punishment would she face?" I asked, angrily.
"The peasant would be boiled in oil."
That was a far worse punishment than I realistically expected here, but it still made my point.
"Then why do you think this is enough?"
"As contemptible as he is and even without his name, he is still kin to me. I will not see him dead on your whims or anyone else's."
"Stick him in prison then."
"Doing so would besmirch my reputation."
"All you are doing is shielding him from justice."
"Brus is mine to rule, it is by my right alone that justice is to be determined."
Calm, Taylor, remain calm.
It was harder than I liked. I reminded myself once more that reforming the Principate into something better was a marathon that would likely take me centuries of work, and I didn't want to mess it up at the first step.
"You wanted to know why you should negotiate with the Lycaonese?" I asked, doing my level best to keep the tone of my voice steady. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. I was close to drawing blood.
"Indeed. As yet, you have made no compelling arguments."
"Then let me tell you why," I hissed between my teeth. "You aren't fighting them, you're fighting me." Prince Amaury looked dubious at the statement. "I pulled their entire army through the swamp, across land that would otherwise have been unnavigable. If it comes to a fight, I'll force your entire army to stop fighting. They won't even be able to pick up their crossbows, let alone aim the bolts."
"Claims with no substance," he dismissed, shaking his head from side to side. "Those blessed by the heavens, as you are, do not have the will to raise a sword in a battle such as this one. The clash of Princes is in the domain of mortals, not the purview of Gods. No matter how you bluster, you will not bare your blade. My forces will give battle to the Lycaonese. Most will die, but it is an acceptable loss. The Lycaonese will be forced to retreat, or not have enough soldiers to face the oncoming tide up north."
"If you don't negotiate, you will die. It won't be me. I will make your entire army stand down. Cordelia will force you to drink poison, and I will stand aside." I stated bluntly.
"Even should you force a surrender, I doubt you would allow me to suffer such a demise."
"I am more than fine with it. A Principality is its people. You are consigning Brus to die here, to suit your ambitions alone. I don't care if you personally fight it out with Mathilda in single combat or something along those lines, but I won't stand aside if you order your people to die."
"I will take that wager, then. Opportunity, remember?"
Retaining my cool was harder than I expected.
Don't fuck this up, Taylor.
Taking a moment to think before I responded, I focused my attention on Prince Amaury once more. The man before me had the self-satisfied smirk of someone who felt confident that he had scored a win.
Seems I had not hidden my emotions as well as I expected after all. Years later, and it still frustrated me how hard it was to hide my tells without a swarm to push them into.
"I'm giving you a chance to do the right thing," I stated, doing my best to keep my voice neutral. "I'm not doing it because I think you deserve it, but because it means when this is all over, I don't need to ask myself what if. So please, negotiate here. Find a peaceful solution."
I would give him every chance to save his own skin. If he chose not to, then he had nobody but himself to blame.
"Once the Lycaonese have been sent scuttling back up north, Frederic will be married off to one of the soon-to-be First Prince Dagobert's daughters. This war can only end one way."
The conversation continued. Despite my efforts, I could not convince the man to budge. Eventually, I picked up the flag and stepped out of the tent.
Making my way to the impromptu stables, I climbed on Sisyphus before departing from the meeting place.
What would happen if I attacked now?
Despite meeting on neutral ground, I was still close enough to the Brussian camp to have the entire thing in range. If I waited until the fight went ahead, people might be injured. It would be more politically expedient, but would weigh more on my conscience. I knew there would likely be consequences for this. Ones that I didn't know. But I would rather do what I believed to be right now, then gamble for a better outcome.
It was possible for me to only target the leaders, but there was no guarantee the soldiers would choose not to fight. There was also a benefit to acting on such a large scale. It was a statement. I was tired of people believing that just because I was restrained that I wasn't willing to act.
If I didn't take a stand once, then this pattern would keep repeating itself. I did not like having to resort to threats. There was no part of me that wanted to be a tyrant or a warlord. But even if I was not planning to fill that role, people needed to understand that I had teeth.
They were not negotiating with someone that they could walk over. They were negotiating with a mostly benevolent dragon.
And if they crossed the invisible line, the dragon would bite.
I did not want or expect them to just capitulate, but I expected them to at least make an effort to find compromise. I was willing to bend my neck a lot, but not all the way. The Princes should not reasonably expect me to give them whatever they desire with no cost to themselves.
I would bring my claws down here, once. In doing so, I hoped to ensure that I need not bring them down again.
I'll deal with the consequences later myself.
I felt reassurance from the angels at my decision. Their approval counted for a lot. I wasn't sure if I was making the correct choice, but it was the one I felt the most comfortable with.
Sisyphus continued to trot away. The moment I judged myself distant enough, I theatrically dropped the banner on the ground. I raised a golden domed barrier around me, then sent up a flared warning into the sky. It spelled out my intention to fight, writ large.
Bolts started to smash uselessly against my shield. They did nothing, it was like the tickling of ants on the hide of an elephant.
Which emotion do I want to use here?
Any emotion, when concentrated enough, would likely be debilitating. I could settle for grief, depression, or despair, but those all felt wrong to me. They weren't who I was now, and they weren't who I wanted to be.
Smiling, I settled on the one which seemed the most appropriate.
It was my memory of what I felt the first time I had stared at the Choir of Compassion. It wouldn't be as concentrated as an actual angelic appearance. I could only achieve the palest of imitations. But something told me that even my facsimile would be strong enough to prevent a battle from occurring at all.
A ghost vanished from behind me.
I didn't want this to be confused for the real thing, so I was deliberately implanting illusions into the manifestation. Unfortunately, I didn't think I would be able to add anything visually complex. The strain of doing so in addition to everything else made it untenable, so I would have to settle for something small. Like a memory of the night sky.
Or not.
To my surprise, I felt the attention of the angels bearing down on me. I received a vague impression of admonishment from them. It only took a moment's focus to realize what they were trying to show me.
… An excess of compassion would have deleterious effects. Paradoxically, it would not be compassionate. Those effects ranged from self harm to suicide. Either way, without using a measured approach, I wouldn't like what occurred.
It unsettled me that I had missed something so obvious. I allowed the angels to guide the emotional component. I didn't have the faintest hope of regulating the effect on a person by person basis, but they could. It felt like having my mother leaning over my shoulders, showing me what to do.
I watched for a moment. It was almost as if they used my perspective of what was an acceptable outcome to judge how to shape my working. Shouldn't they be able to judge for themselves? It struck me as odd, but I put that thought to the side before turning my attention back towards the illusion. With their assistance, I could go fancy. So I set my goals just a little higher. This was meant to be a statement anyhow, so I may as well make it into one. A midnight black dome manifested around the encampment. Along the inner surface, some of my memories from clairvoyant played out.
Not the harsh or horrible memories. Nobody deserved those. The little moments that I had glimpsed at then pushed to the side, because I was otherwise too busy at the time. Auroras near the Arctic. Forests untouched by man. Some of the more awe-inspiring cities constructed on Bet. Breathtaking vistas that had only ever been witnessed by me and clairvoyant alone.
I wasn't sure how long it would take the soldiers to fully recover, it had taken me weeks. Filtered as it was through my memories, this wasn't anywhere near as strong. That didn't matter when it was so overwhelming that for the next few days they would feel like they had come face to face with an echo of an Angelic Choir.
Shortly after returning to the Neustrians, Prince Amaury sent a written surrender. The orders to mount up and march were given. It took a single sighting of the Brussian camp for a solemn silence to descend. Almost every single person within the camp was in tears. None of them were willing or able to fight at all.
I had asked the Princes to try resolving the conflict peacefully. Maybe next time, they would actually listen to me.
A/N: There will be actual military engagement chapters, this just won't be one of them.
"A great person may make their own enemies, but a greater person makes use of them."
– Dread Empress Malicia the First
Standing outside his place of employment, Lennox wrung his hands nervously. The narrow two-storey building loomed over him like an omen, blocking out the waxing light of the sun. It had been half a bell since the sun had risen, and his master had not yet shown up.
He knocked on the door once more, hoping for a response.
He was fortunate, for someone from a farmer's background. The local scribe, a well off elderly man rumoured to be well past his sixtieth summer, had lacked an apprentice. Not only were scribes rumoured to be paid well, they did not need to toil in the fields. Lennox had been a sickly child, youngest out of all his siblings, and struggled to toil under the sun.
Fearing for his own future, he had searched for an escape from his allotment in life.
It had taken much begging to wear down the misanthropic man's patience, but eventually his efforts had born fruit. The man had taken him on as an apprentice. As a master, he was overbearing and strict, but Lennox had persevered. He had to, for he could not stomach the alternative.
Quickly he had learned. Letters and Numbers, how to perform his sums. As he showed a deftness for the work, his master's attitude towards him had slowly thawed. The bond between them had grown and, gradually, he had been entrusted with greater responsibility.
To his surprise, Lennox had found himself almost pleased with the fate he had carved for himself. He earned a steady keep, more than enough to satisfy his family. He worked shorter hours and did not need to break his back under the sun. It seemed almost as if the gates of the future stood wide open and one day, he could move from apprentice to scribe.
If he were lucky, he might even come to serve under a benevolent lord or lady.
There was only one tear he wished he could stitch closed. His family hated him. He glimpsed it in the hardening of their gazes whenever he returned to the hearth. They suffered his presence due to the good fortune he brought with him, but it was not for who he was, but the coin he earned.
Many a night he spent trying to water the fields of familial bonds and hope the bruising would fade. To his dismay, time did naught but deepen it.
Pacing back and forth before the door, he eyed the flower beds guiltily. His master would be most wroth with him were he to ruin the flowers, but the shutters loomed above. Mustering up his resolve, he gingerly stepped over the petunias before peering through the shutters. There was no movement inside.
He waited two more hours before eventually returning to his family. Maybe his master was out for the day, and hadn't thought to inform him?
It took another week before the truth came to light. His master had finally succumbed to the passage of time. With his passing, the local lord had looked past their lands to hire a new scribe. Lennox had once more petitioned to serve as an apprentice, only this time his approach had been snubbed.
The new scribe had an apprentice of his own.
Worse, he was viewed by the apprentice as a looming threat. The girl had hired thugs to threaten him. When they moved to strike him, he had suffered the injustice in silence. Lennox abhorred violence and would not move to inflict it on others were he given the chance. The ruffians had beaten him and left him bruised in a dirty side alley. The message had been carved into his flesh. Were he to attempt to ply his trade, the well of his life would run out of ink.
He tried to protest the mistreatment, but his words had gone unheard.
Bitterly, he had returned to his brothers and sisters. It was certain the news would be ill received.
The night had grown darker than he feared.
Through no fault of his own, his family was most wroth with him. In light of his much diminished circumstances, his father's gambling debts were now baying at their doorstep. None of them had known of the coin he owed, but blood had been shed at the reveal. Much of the good fortune he had showered upon their home had been poured into that hungry abyss. His father had shed thrones like water, and now the tap had run dry.
It was then that moneylenders had arrived to collect.
Lennox found himself breaking his back in the fields once more. Work that he had long grown unaccustomed to, was expected of him once more. With each day, he grew more and more weary. His coughs had returned to him, and it seemed as if the ledger of his life was soon to close.
Then, when he had thought that no further ill fortune could haunt him, a much darker shadow had cast itself over his shoulders. Like a pall on a plague victim, the lord's recruiters had fallen upon him.
War, war, they declared.
And so, against the keening cry of his soul, he found himself marching to the fields of blood and steel.
Despite his misgivings against violence, he dared not protest the call to war. He sensed that were he to do so, his life would come to a close.
A seed of hatred had planted itself within him.
It mattered not that he was sickly, nor that his hands had never held a blade. Iron was shoved into his palms, and so iron he learned to wield. He moved from field to field in the service of Arsene, bearing witness to many a tragedy. Year after year, lives were reaped like grain at the harvest. From the borders of Aisne, to Cantel, to Iserre, to Orne he marched and fought, his soul spilling out of him as he laboured on.
Seasons passed, and with them, Lennox's hatred only grew. Hatred for the war, hatred for the Princes, hatred for the world, hatred for himself. It festered within him, spreading like ink spilled across a page. He came to fear that were he to keep fighting, then one day it would consume him. The abyss yawned before him, calling out. He knew, with but a step, all he would do was fall.
So he ran.
Deserting with two companions, they sought to find employment elsewhere. To their dismay, despite discarding any signs of their former allegiance, they still stood out in a crowd. It was the scars from blades having marked their flesh that identified them for what they were, deserters. Few would dare trade with them, and those that would were of ill repute.
None but those with dark intentions would offer them shelter, or the opportunity to ply their trade.
He offered to serve as a scribe, but found himself turned down.
With time, they grew more and more desperate.
It was then that the seed of hatred that had long been planted finally started to germinate. The abyss beckoned and so Lennox finally fell.
They took to banditry on the roadside. Never claiming more than what they required to live, but still enough to damn them. Lennox's heart had grown cold. The world had rejected him, so why should he not return the favour?
For a time they lived well enough. It was neither clean nor honest work, but it was purer of purpose than fighting under the command of the Prince. They fought not to empower a baseless ruler, but instead for the sole purpose of survival alone.
Until that fateful night on an otherwise empty road, when they set themselves upon two lone travellers. Two youths, a boy and a girl. Once, Lennox would have felt sorrow at their misfortune, but the voice of peace within him had long since been trampled out.
Events did not come to pass as the ledger of life demanded. An explosion of light, blinding. Disorientated, Lysander had perished with a blade rammed through the throat by the one-armed witch. Moments later, the witch struck out once more. Renault's life was claimed by the workings of an amateur sorcerer. Deciding to cut his losses, Lennox had high tailed it. Alone, he had taken to wandering north.
He found himself shaken. Perhaps under Princess Constance rather than Arsene, the madness would finally end? Crossing over to Aisne, he found work for a time as a hired guard. However, his reprieve was short-lived. Princess Constance was claimed by the disease that had come to ravage this land and with her passing, the final embers of his hope had guttered out.
For in the aftermath of her demise, the mania simply grew.
Slowly, it dawned on Lennox that until someone took a stand against the baseness of the Princes, the darkness would only propagate like seeds on the wind.
The heart of Aisne was the closest Lennox had been to the poison that had taken his land for some time.
It was a city where the wound had festered in full. The mask covering the rot that ruled over them had been cast aside, and the hallowed out visage of want stood starkly visible for all to see. The nobles schemed and backstabbed openly, as their kind were wont to do, and it was the people under them who bore the price.
The nobles never suffered the cost of their madness.
No, doing so would be uncouth.
For their place in the world was not under the tip of the quill, instead it was holding the stem.
It was too much. All of it was too much. For too long, the people had played the part of the victim. It could go on no longer. Lennox had reached the end of his rope. From a distance, he watched one of the arrogant youths that dared to claim they had the right to rule. The upstart brat brought down the heel of his boot metaphorically on the neck of one of the local tavern owners. The man had the audacity to offer tribute to one of the opposing lords.
It was nought that Lennox had not seen before, but the cup of hatred could only hold so much before the rest spilled over.
Drawing his blade once more, he planted it between the lordling's ribs and his attendants soon after. As the man let out his final breath, stained as it was with blood, Lennox found that his purpose had finally dawned upon him.
The hands that had writ the world had not cast it as fair. The lives of men were not given equal treatment, but there was nought which claimed that the cast of the world could not be changed.
Lennox would find the oil and light the torches, then cleanse the rot from Calernia. His task was not a small undertaking. Much work would be needed to burn out the corruption from root to stem. This did not deter him. For was it not taken as fact that all worthy callings were the works of ages?
And could there be a higher purpose than purging the filth that had seeded itself up top? When a farmer finds that the crop is rotten, it is not left so that the malaise may spread, but instead burned to the ground.
It was a monumental task, but one that Lennox had taken upon himself.
He would do unto the world as the world had done to him. He would give birth to the revolution, and see that all those who would claim to rule were cast down among the people they crushed underfoot. From petty tyrants, to kings, to the Gods themselves if need be. For only once others saw the world in the same light he did, could the task of shaping it fairly truly begin.
Lennox was the Revolutionary.
All that remained was for him to set off the spark that would ignite the flames.
Like all harvests, first he seeded his efforts in the soil. Lennox found the people best suited to fit his purpose and positioned them where they were called for. He may have spent many years plying his blade for Prince Arsene, but not all of that time had been spent learning the art of war. Before his hope had guttered out, he had bartered for time with engineers, scribes and quartermasters. Gradually, the lay of what he knew had expanded.
It would be hubris for him to claim to be an expert at any one task. Fortunately, it was not required for him to be. He could interpret the shape of each craft well enough to judge who would be better suited than himself to carry out the required roles.
And unearthing those he needed was not the challenge it could be, when Lennox could see what lay beneath their façade.
He delved the earth for those like him. The bitter, the downtrodden, the ones ground down by the heel of a lordling's boot. Once they had been found, he began to scribe his own words into them, fanning the embers of their anger into raging infernos.
Lennox took on anyone who had the spark, no matter the measure of their skill. Those with no talents were taught to fight, for with time any could wield a spear. Those who came with learned proficiencies he convinced to take on essential roles. Step by step, in the forgotten corners of Aisne, his army began to take shape.
A force unlike any other.
When their first strike came, their so-called lords were caught completely unaware. This came as no surprise, for how could their rulers tell them apart? They looked no different from the other peasants. Their members wore the same clothes and carried out the same tasks day by day. By all outward appearances, they lived ordinary lives.
So it went that the boot came down, indiscriminately striking out at all below.
And the Revolutionary smiled.
For it came to pass that with each of their brethren who were struck, four innocents were caught in the carnage. For each innocent that was struck from the ledger of life, one more family tied itself to his cause.
And so the revolution continued to grow.
He found those with a penchant for violence and stoked the embers of their fire. Those who would stand aside peacefully… Well, there was much to incite.
The guards came down on peasants, then the peasants came down on guards. Beatings were repaid by crucifixions, deaths with gradual torture. And as his movement gained momentum, the understanding slowly spread. It was then that in the minds of those like him that the realization finally blossomed. There was nothing special about those above, so why not cast them below.
Then one fateful day, the Revolutionary let himself into his quarters and came face to face with a faceless man seated beside his desk. He looked, and he looked, but no matter how he tried, he could not determine the mien of the man's visage. See helped him not at all, it was as if there was nought to glean. Frustrated, he focused on the figure's fingers instead.
"Lennox. Revolutionary," the man stated.
"Tell me, stranger, by what name would you have yourself be known as?" Lennox asked. Something about the man unsettled him, but Lennox tried to push it aside.
"Do you wish to live?"
"This residence is not your own. Answer my questions or perish, trespasser," Lennox demanded.
"You are a villain living in a heroes land. Your time grows short. Even now, the vultures circle."
With every word that passed through the stranger's lips, Lennox's unease grew.
"I ask once more, by what name should I call you?" Lennox repeated, licking his lips.
"I am the Assassin," the monster said.
Before he knew it, Lennox had drawn his blade. The creature remained unmoved.
"Sheath your blade," it said, it's tone flat. "I am not here to kill you."
"What is it that you wish from me, then?" Lennox asked, his legs wobbling. Slowly, he sat down on his bed. His blade remained unsheathed, pointed towards his foe.
"A hero will come to the city of Aisne. The Aspirant. It could be soon, it could be years."
"By what means do you glean the lay of fate?"
"When she comes, you will die. You aren't able to face her. She is a demon, calling herself a hero. Your weapons will not hurt her." The Assassin continued to talk, speaking as if Lennox was not even truly there.
"And what purpose would you have me undertake?"
"You are destined to fight her. Without help, you will die. The question is, how much help do you want?"
The Revolutionary made his departure from the city of Aisne. He could not judge the true measure of the Calamity's words, but he would heed them regardless.
Although, he had drawn a different conclusion than the one they wished him to learn. They were merely a different breed of snake, no different from the ones that ruled the in the lands he currently walked. He would not cast off the chains of one master merely to accept the chains of another. He did not know how many years his quest would take, but he would cast aside the net of time and see the Calamities all torn down, much like he would unseat the Princes.
The book of the future had not yet been written, but it was his hand that would wield the quill.
His Role was not one that required him to be there when the kingdom burned down, only when the first spark was struck. The stage was set for the house of cards to collapse.
The song of suffering called to him sweetly, and he had set his sights somewhere else.
The Aspirant and the Calamities could trade blows with each other over the ashes of the rotten corpse he had consigned to the pyre. No matter which way the wind blew, the fall of Aisne was writ in stone.
What had yet to be determined, was where the tread of his soles should take him to?
Wandering from Principality to Principality had potential to bear fruit, but Lennox doubted the wisdom of doing so. For if it were true that he was a hunted man, then better to escape the sights of the predator and begin somewhere else anew.
For he was not tied to any land or people, merely a desire to see it all burn down.
It came to him then. Mercantis, that was where he would plant the seeds of freedom.
The boot was hard on the neck of the people there, which made stoking the fires of rebellion all the easier.
"The priests claim that saving one soul is to save all of Creation. Too bad for them that I would rather be a spendthrift than a miser."
― Dread Empress Massacre I
Riding through the last segment of swamp towards the city of Brus took longer than I thought it would. We marched at a snail's pace in formation. Our prisoners were escorted in front of our procession. Out of all the Lycaonese forces, ours had taken the longest to arrive. This was despite having been ahead of the other Lycaonese armies. Managing over four thousand catatonic prisoners turned out to be the kind of logistical nightmare that nobody except me was expecting to have.
Yvette sat in front of me. It was uncomfortable, but I was willing to put up with it. The girl was not important enough to rate a mount of her own. I wasn't going to make her just walk around in the mud. Sisyphus would just have to cope.
"Look over there can you see those kingfishers sitting on the roof? And over there look at all those fish do you think we will need to eat fish again tonight I'm getting tired of fish." She leaned forward and pointed as she spoke.
My mount turned around and stared balefully at the two of us.
"Start telling me what I taught you."
"Do I have to there is so much to see I just want to talk about it."
"You wanted me to teach you magic."
"Symbolism is an important part of magic especially when doing more complex workings which is confusing because it depends on where you are for example yew trees mean life in northern Callow-"
"Death," I interrupted her. "They symbolize death. It's because of the Deoraithe. Their longbows are made from yew."
"Right they mean death," she mumbled under her breath.
"And why is it important?"
"Workings will be weaker or stronger or even possible to start with depending on symbolism for example you could probably use yew to enchant arrows so they are sharper or something like that or to curse someone with death from a distance I don't know can we talk about something else."
"Not just yet. You mentioned enchanting. Tell me about different materials."
"Using the right materials to achieve the right results also plays a vital role for example how lead has properties of grounding and cold iron weakens magic…"
I continued to listen with one ear as we made our way forwards. Every so often, I would prompt her with a question before continuing.
Messengers had been sent out in advance of our arrival. They had informed both the Prince of Rhenia and Klaus Papenheim about the aftermath of our fight. Having Prince Amaury's formal surrender had made the situation both easier and more complicated to manage.
Our procession was looked at fearfully. Marching like this was uncomfortable, but I understood the need for it. All the Northern Principalities had done the same. It was a statement. They were showing they were united in purpose. They were all working to put Cordelia Hasenbach in the seat of First Prince.
That didn't make it any less of a chore. We were all expected to wear uniforms. I was not an official part of the army. Sadly, my status as a mercenary didn't mean that there wasn't an official garb I was expected to wear. I had learned that only a few days after I had agreed to help Cordelia. One of her functionaries had delivered a set of elaborate dresses to me. The clothing came complete with frills and ruffles. It was also stamped with the Lycaonese Wolf. I swear they stuck the symbol on everything.
The dresses were impractical to fight in. I had raised the issue. That wasn't enough to escape from the responsibility of wearing them. I was told they were official court garb for a member of Cordelia's retinue.
There was nothing stopping me from protesting the issue further. I had decided not to since I was working alongside her. I would put up with the dresses, so long as she didn't expect me to wear them when I wasn't part of a major procession.
Sisyphus carried me on the right-hand side of the procession. I was positioned in a way so that I was not entirely a part of it. The reverent stares of some troops bored holes into my back. Somebody called out. It was a title. I focused on them. It was two people talking from the side of the procession. They weren't asking for me, only talking loudly to a friend. I turned away.
Sovereign of the Ardent Dreams.
That was what they were calling me. The title was concerning. There were a substantial number of story strings attached to it. I also wasn't entirely pleased with the title itself. It made me sound like some kind of prostitute. The title had caught on after the Brussians told the Neustrians what I had done. Seeing an entire army incapacitated due to religious bliss was apparently enough to convince them that I was Above's answer to the Warlock. They had gone ahead and given me a similarly ostentatious title to mirror his own.
I had tried to correct the soldier's assumptions. It didn't matter. The name had already caught on. It didn't help that news of my clash with the Sovereign of the Red Skies was well known. Even surviving an encounter with the Warlock was considered to be a win by many. I certainly didn't feel that way. I was reasonably sure that with sufficient time to prepare, the man would trounce me with next to no effort at all. He had plenty of time to come up with the perfect box to put me in now that he was aware of my existence.
That did nothing to dispel the high I was riding. The smile on my face had probably been there for a few days at this point. I hadn't bothered trying to suppress it. It was nice being appreciated for having done something simply good.
I was sure that the people in charge weren't happy about it, but the soldiers certainly were. None of them were looking forward to losing friends or family.
I'd even heard a mother from among the camp followers tell her kid not to worry because, "the Sovereign of the Ardent Dreams will chase away any nightmares."
My actual Name was less well known.
I was sure that there would be repercussions. There was almost certainly something I could have done better. That didn't make me feel any less happy about it. Being able to go to sleep after doing something momentous and not have to worry about nightmares felt so good.
I did my best to ignore the reverent looks and instead focused on the town we were passing through.
It was constructed in a shallow region of swampland. There were roads built on long sections of dry land. Most of the houses were made of wood and built on stilts that had been raised out of the bog. They were strewn between different islands. The islands were all connected by narrow bridges. I imagined from above that they looked like stars in the night sky. Groups of raised landmasses that had been clustered loosely into constellations.
There were patchwork walls that barely counted as a defence. Large blocks of limestone that were stacked haphazardly and then joined together with mortar served as a barrier into the region. There was nothing else built with the material nearby. It was likely to be imported from somewhere else. The makeshift wall blocked off parts of the swamp that were shallow enough to cross. The city's inhabitants hadn't bothered to wall off the deeper sections. It didn't surprise me. Those could only be entered by boat.
Armies of small fishing boats made their way out onto the swamp water. I had been told that fishing was a big industry here. My eyes roamed over the teeming fleets of boats. It certainly looked that way.
We kept moving closer towards the city of Brus. Our mounts crossed out of the swampland and onto solid ground.
The city finally became visible through the canopies of trees. Cordelia had long since taken it.
Prince Amaury truly had stripped away almost all the city's defenders to fight against us. Only the bare skeleton of a garrison had remained behind. Taking the place had been nothing more than a formality. This would have been true even without his surrender. If Cordelia's coalition had been forced into sieging the place, it would have fallen in a matter of hours.
There simply wasn't enough manpower around to defend it.
We made our way across two more islands and arrived at the mainland. Most of the army was pulled away by the arrival of Klaus. Those of us remaining headed towards the city itself. I had been directed towards the palace. It was an easy building to identify. It was one of the few buildings made almost entirely out of painted white stone.
I paused in my journey and took a moment to drink in the view.
The palace sprawled out and occupied an obscene amount of lateral space. It was contained within a walled off compound. There were rows of carefully maintained apple trees leading up to the gated entrance. Three stone towers reached up like fingers towards the sky.
Sisyphus started to move forward again after I dug in my knees. We arrived at the gate not long after. A servant let us in.
My boots hit the ground. I handed the reins of my mount to a stable attendant not long after. I took a moment to ask for directions. Without them, I was almost certain to end up lost. Leaving the stables, I made my way through extravagant doors into the palace itself.
Yvette followed behind. Eventually, she split off from me at what would apparently be our temporary quarters. I was led elsewhere.
Moving through corridors of the palace took some time. The structure was a maze of stairways and passages. They were decorated with extravagant tapestries and carpets. A servant guided the way. Not long after entering the building, I reached my destination. The door to the room we stopped at was shut. I could hear the murmuring of voices from inside. Opening it, I stepped in.
Seated in the parlour on a comfortable chair was Cordelia Hasenbach. She was hunched over a desk and appeared to be carefully sorting through one of many piles of letters. They were stacked neatly in rows. Each pile was weighted down. Shadowing Cordelia were two guards. She looked up as I entered.
"Please be seated. Our discussion will commence shortly."
There were two chairs on the opposite side of the desk. I sat on the one closer to the stained-glass window. On it was a depiction of chubby naked sexless sprites putting a crown on someone's head.
"They don't look like that," I muttered under my breath.
"You have observed the cherubim?"
"I have. They don't really look like anything. It's easier to describe them in terms of impressions." I smiled fondly. "They are like family to me. They are always there for you. If I was to describe them physically… I'd say they are like a sea of lights radiating warmth in an ocean of darkness."
Their perspective might have been completely inhuman, but that didn't really matter. Family members didn't need to all think the same thoughts, just be there for each other. They had chosen me, and I was happy to stick with them.
"I'm certain that many of the priests in the House of Light would find the very idea blasphemous."
"They would be wrong. The Choir of Compassion certainly doesn't mind. They would adopt everyone if they could get away with it."
Cordelia said nothing in response.
Despite it being just after noon, the light in the room was still dim. She kept leafing through letters, otherwise ignoring my presence. I squinted at them. It was difficult to see in such poor light. Now that I was closer, I could make out what they were. Most of them appeared to be accounts and bills of sale. As she read over them, she made annotations on another page.
The clanging of metal boots on stone disrupted my mental wandering. The door opened again. An unfairly handsome youth was escorted in by some of Cordelia's guards. Despite looking to be about fourteen to fifteen years old, it was obvious that with time he was only going to become more appealing to look at. He wore extravagant clothing. It was obvious to me that he was someone important.
He looked around wildly as he entered the room. His blue eyes roamed over me and dismissed me entirely. The expression on his face gave the impression that he felt he was taking a step onto the gallows.
Cordelia looked up again.
"Do you intend to have your Chosen force me to confront the Angels as well?" the boy said bitterly. He tossed his fair hair from side to side as he spoke.
He ignored me entirely. Clearly he didn't realize who I was.
"The Aspirant has already been castigated for her actions." Cordelia informed him. She didn't even look my way. Neither did she make any indication as to my identity.
That was news to me.
Why is she making me watch this?
I didn't know who this boy was. Despite being singled out, I felt that this drama didn't actually concern me at all.
"My uncle's defeat was foul. It was dealt to him by sorceries from afar. There was no honour in his loss. Would that he have faced your troops on the field of battle instead. Denouncing the Chosen does not undo this." the boy declared.
Wait, this kid was upset because I prevented a slaughter?
"And her actions were not sanctioned, neither by me nor by Princess Mathilda," Cordelia replied, turning over a page as she did so.
… That was only technically true. It would be more accurate to say that I hadn't asked for permission. If I had done so, I would likely have been told to go right ahead with my plan.
" Would you have her face high justice then?" the boy challenged.
"I invite you to petition the House of Light on the matter," Cordelia answered drily. "Do you believe they would stand idly by while the attempt is made to execute one of their own? Especially since no harm was done to any of your men."
Wait, what?
"And so justice goes unfulfilled." His tone was flat. The boy sounded as if he expected nothing else.
Cordelia changed the topic then.
"In other matters," she told him in a pleasant tone of voice, "Nathanael Goethal was fourteen thousand thrones in debt to the Pravus Bank. Your uncle's debts were even deeper."
The picture was starting to piece itself together. I didn't know who the boy was. Actually, maybe I did. Prince Amaury had mentioned a name. Frederick, wasn't it? It was likely the boy was his heir. The Prince had been made to drink poison after his defeat.
I didn't like killing one's enemies being an accepted part of the Proceran succession. In my mind, it encouraged the Princes to show no restraint. If they knew they were going to die, then why hold anything back? Despite that, I was willing to make an exception for Prince Amaury.
The man had actually earned his death.
I didn't know what had happened to Nathanael. It was likely that he had died as well. I had no proof of that other than suspicion alone. I expected him to be in this room with us. He wasn't. That was enough to convince me that he was probably dead.
"I owe no debts," the youth replied.
"You would owe one," Cordelia Hasenbach coolly corrected.
"I would not swear myself to the woman who orchestrated my uncle's defeat in such an unseemly fashion," the boy snapped back. His muscled arms clenched as spoke.
"You misunderstand me, Frederic Goethal," the Prince of Rhenia said. She brushed a strand of golden hair out of her eyes in the process.
"A crown is not a privilege," Cordelia Hasenbach calmly declared, "it is a duty. You will owe a debt to your people. A debt to Procer itself. See that it is paid back in full, Prince Frederic."
The two of them continued to verbally spar. I listened with one ear as they did so. Slowly, I was coming to understand what Cordelia was trying to show me. She had lost a potential ally here. It was likely he would have sided with her if I hadn't chosen to fight. The conversation was important, but most of it was lost on me. My attention started to drift.
I focused on the stacks of correspondence once more. My gaze eventually settled on two of them. The sheets on top of both were marked with my name.
Taylor – communications.
Taylor – politics.
The first pile was small. It would contain news from her informants about Roland's whereabouts. The second heap was huge. The top of the pile was just below eye level. It teetered on the edge of falling over and somehow remained standing upright. I expected that the stack contained Cordelia's efforts to uphold our agreement. The urge to reach over and grab them both came over me. I suppressed it. There was no need to hurry. I could read over it all later.
With some effort, I brought my focus back onto the discussion. It took a while longer before their argument concluded, but eventually Frederick was escorted out.
A servant brought in a pot of tea and two cups on a tray. It took some effort to make space for both on the desk. Somehow, they managed. They left after pouring both of us cups. Both of us picked up our cups and inhaled the fragrant aroma before taking a sip.
There was a moment of tranquillity in the room. It didn't last for long before conversation picked up again.
"I take it that the lesson I am attempting to impart has sunk in?" Cordelia asked.
"Yeah. He's upset because of what I did."
"That is not precisely the case. Prince Frederick has a strong seasoning of naïveté to his character. He truly believes in the duty of Princes and would find no fault with the purpose you strive for."
"Then why is he angry?"
"Prince Frederick also values the appearance of honour. Great fights between Princes on the field of battle play a part in that. For the outcome of the clash to have been determined at your hand instead has undermined that belief."
"There is nothing honourable about it. The idea is a lie."
"Nonetheless, it is what the boy has been taught."
"Then what should I have done?"
She paused for only a heartbeat. I still caught it.
"You should have found a solution that preserved the cultural expectations of the Princes of Procer. This situation can be salvaged, but I would have preferred an outcome where it need not be."
Don't let this sour your good mood today.
"How would I do that?" I challenged. She probably wanted me to allow the fight to go ahead.
"You once used duels as an example of something you would be capable of enforcing. You were fully capable of arranging for a duel between one Prince and the other. Once the fight began, you could subtly tip the scales in Prince Mathilda's favour. This would have achieved the desired outcome."
It amused me how careful she was being in how she worded what she said. She might not have proposed letting the fight go ahead, but there was no way she didn't think it. I didn't need her to agree with my views on politics. Expecting her to would be unreasonable. That didn't mean I needed to leave the situation as is. Perhaps I could help her understand where I was coming from?
"Can I show you something?"
She looked up from the papers before her, her eyes narrowing on me in thought.
"That depends on the nature of what you wish to demonstrate."
"I want to show you some of my memories. It will only be pictures, sounds, and smells, but it should be enough."
"Explain to me why I should entertain this request."
"Perspective."
"You will have to elaborate what you mean by that. You have a penchant for single word responses where you assume that much additional context is inferred by the interlocutor."
"We come from different places. They are different worlds. Knowing that isn't enough to understand. Let me show you the difference."
I hoped she didn't refuse. While I doubted she would come to share the same opinions as me, it would at least help properly contextualize our conversations. I was in her world, interacting with cultures, opinions, and beliefs formed in response to its rules. That didn't mean I had a good understanding of Calernia, but I had a better impression than having no impression at all.
"What do you hope to achieve in doing so?"
"To make working together easier. There are things neither of the two of us are ever going to agree on. Some you can probably guess, others we will work out. I want to give you a frame of reference. We keep talking past each other, instead of to each other. I'm trying to fix that."
"You have my permission to show me what you believe I need to see."
I started to manipulate the light in the parlour. Slowly, a scene from my memories coalesced. Thousands upon thousands of hexagons, spread across innumerable worlds. I filled in for the other senses next. The blasting of offensive powers. The smell of blood and smoke. It was impossible to truly capture the fight. This was especially true considering how many additional senses I had at the time. I was showing Cordelia at best an approximation of the conflict. But as a demonstration, it would have to do.
"This was what the end of my world looked like," I began. "I can't provide you with the true experience. Even if I could, I wouldn't. This is enough. If every person on Calernia died right now, it would be only a fraction of the scale of the tragedy you are watching. It wouldn't make the death of everyone here any less awful, but the comparison helps to contextualize."
Cordelia said nothing in response. She simply watched as the scene played out.
I started a new slideshow as the first came to a close. This time I panned through memories of places on Earth Bet. The sound of cars at rush hour, time spent flying on Atlas, walking on the Boardwalk with Lisa. Some select moments from my time in Chicago. Some of those memories had sadly grown hazy. Time really was the greatest devil of them all.
It hurt to think about. I could no longer remember what my mom really looked like. I knew that I probably looked like her. But knowing that wasn't the same as being able to see her or hear her voice.
How many thousands of people that I would come to love would I forget before my dreams were realised?
"This was what my home looked like before the end. There were ups and down to it. It definitely wasn't all perfect. We had Endbringers to worry about. You don't, but you have your own problems. Our heroes lost more often than we won. No matter what we did, it felt like we were incapable of stopping the eventual collapse."
I let the images fade away.
"I'm immortal. Old age is not going to kill me. I think you already know that, but I am not sure if you understand what that means. You talked about the benefits of long term planning for stable governance. I'm not planning for a single lifetime. I'm planning for forever. The question of what the world will look like in a thousand years isn't academic for me. I'm actually going to be there, and I want people's lives to be better. I want there to be no villains. The policies and ideas I talked about aren't new. They existed in my world. I don't expect them to work perfectly here, but that's okay because that isn't what I am trying to do. That's why I came to you for help. I need a way to achieve the same ends with acceptable means. So tell me, Cordelia, what kind of world do you want to make?"
"Are you the one responsible for Constance's Scar?" Cordelia asked, her voice taking on a hard edge.
Well, my first attempt at a heroic speech failed.
It hadn't occurred to me that the Gnomes would be the first detail she would take away from what I showed her.
"I arrived there. The Gnomes deciding to bomb it after I left had nothing to do with me."
"That is a convenient story."
"It's the truth. I doubt I'd be a hero if I killed a city."
I realised how wrong I was the moment the words left my mouth. There were numerous Calernian heroes who did hurt lots of people. My experience with heroism was vastly unrepresentative. Compared to many of the others I heard about, I was the nice hero.
"There are numerous cases of heroes having done just that."
"Think about what you know about me. Would I kill an army?"
She continued to examine my face.
"I will consider the subject of Constance's Scar further."
"Can I read those letters?" I asked, pointing at the piles.
"They were set aside for you to peruse."
I picked up both of the stacks and carefully moved them to my side of the table. Lifting the first page, I squinted.
Why is Cordelia reading in the dark anyhow?
Irritably, I created a ball of soft light overhead. My eyes roamed over the text. It took me a while to work my way through it all. Roland had been briefly spotted in the lands of Brus months past, before making his way further south. There wasn't more recent news on his whereabouts. I was positive about my chances of finding him despite that. With Cordelia's information network, it was only a matter of time until he was located.
I swear when I find him, I will find a way to make his life difficult.
It struck me that he hadn't kept in contact with his girlfriend. The one he had been planning to marry. I couldn't even remember her name properly. It had been a long time. Melisandre, wasn't it? When I found him, I'd drag him all the way back to her so she could give him a piece of her mind. He should know better than to just go off on an adventure without keeping in contact with his friends.
I put aside the correspondence and turned to the larger pile. To my surprise, part of what she had put together was a thorough examination of why Cordelia believed that democracy could not work. I hadn't asked that of her.
"Why did you work on this?" I waved it at her.
"If we are to work together in the long term, it is imperative that you understand why specific reforms are not feasible. Consider this added detail to be a gesture of goodwill."
I turned my attention back to what she had written.
It started with the obvious. Most of the peasants were uneducated. They wouldn't be able to make informed decisions. That would result in them voting in bad leaders. Her treatise moved on from there. It asserted that even if they were all educated, the logistics of organizing voting just wouldn't work.
"Wouldn't scrying make this possible?"
"Having wizards that can Scry would only alleviate the problem. You would still need to set up a system to both organize and count votes. Adding more chains of authority would sidestep the issue, but it would also introduce more points where the process could be interfered with."
I turned back to her written arguments. Other concerns were brought up as well. She considered the issue of individuals who by their very nature were more powerful than others. Wizards, Priests, Heroes, and Villains. I was dubious of those arguments. Neither Bellerophan nor the Principate itself could exist if they were as overblown as she made them out to be.
It stood out to me that it didn't seem like she truly understood how Names worked. I knew that I had only a half formed understanding. Being self-taught, I was sure to be making mistakes. Even that was more complete than what Cordelia appeared to know. The subject would be raised when I was done reading. It was important she understood how Names fit into the world, or somewhere down the line she would make a dangerous mistake.
I continued to skim through her arguments about democracy, then moved onto her proposed alternatives. One model she outlined employed a three-way joint rulership of the Principate between a Prince, a member of the clergy and a sorcerer. She didn't give the idea itself much credence, but it was still interesting to look at.
I had to suppress an urge to snort at a rant about the dangers of allowing priests near power. It had been neatly crossed out, but it still made her just a bit more relatable.
Cordelia's eventual conclusion was disappointing, but understandable. She felt that another system could not function without changing other factors within the Principate first.
Setting them aside, I moved onto her proposed ideas on how to improve the lives of the peasantry. There were lots of details. Projected costs, plans that both accounted for my presence and the absence of it. Unfortunately, the documents were mostly written in shorthand. They contained references to page numbers of books, and recommendations of specific advisors I should speak to.
"Can you explain this?" I asked, passing a page across to her.
"I would be surprised if you were capable of decoding what I wrote," Cordelia mused. She looked up from the leave and turned my way. "These proposals are still in the planning stages. Unlike the arguments I outlined for or against different systems of governance, I believe these can actually be implemented."
"And those ideas are?…"
"Many proposals relating to urban planning. Recommendations on where to locate centres of education. A detailed analysis of the costs and benefits of educating the peasantry. I concluded that the end result can be justified."
"You say that as if there are good reasons not to."
"Depending on your long term objectives, there are excellent reasons not to."
… In the interest of avoiding another argument, I left that statement alone. It seemed I would be getting what I wanted anyhow. There was no need to fight over it.
"Why do most of the plans not account for my presence?"
"I am not prepared to undertake civil reforms on this scale with a single point of failure. You are accounted for as an additional asset, not the underpinnings of my reign."
That was fair.
"Most of this is on Rhenia specifically. Not all of Procer."
"I would not have the authority to dictate the governance of other Principalities. This remains true even as First Prince. What I am capable of achieving is demonstrating the merit of the reforms within my own Principality, then organizing a vote for wide scale adoption of the reforms. This is not a guarantee that the vote would pass, merely proof that I will make the attempt. Furthermore, I do not have access to enough information to accurately assess the governance of other Principalities."
"You have a note about migration. What is it referring to?"
"There are some Principalities where the farmers migrate seasonally. The farmers will live and toil in the fields during the Spring and Summer. This changes during the Winter months. The manants will then migrate to the cities themselves and remain there until the turn of the season. The Principality of Salia is an example of where this occurs. The migratory nature of large parts of the peasantry is not significant for the early stages of planning. However, accounting for it is important once the later stages of adoption are reached."
That explained it. There would either need to be migratory teachers or seasonal teaching for this to work. I glossed over the list of costs and skipped to a section detailing the difficulty of finding enough teachers. Cordelia proposed rolling out an education system in stages. Start by offering specialized schooling in exchange for various duties performed. Once there was a high enough saturation of people educated on specific subjects, proper public school equivalents could slowly be opened.
There were annotations on everything. From what would be a proper syllabus, to the projected benefits of having more skilled workers, to the cost of proper teaching materials. Most of the ideas were nothing more than drafts. That didn't matter to me. This was still more than enough evidence that her side of the bargain was being held. Putting all of this together would not have been easy and looked to have involved the efforts of many people, not just Cordelia herself.
The notes on the syllabus fascinated me. There were comparisons between having many specialized trade schools and a more generalized education, listing the costs and benefits of each. It wasn't clear to me which way Cordelia was aiming, but the proposal for trade schools had much more detail filled in.
I hadn't even considered the idea that a public education didn't necessarily need to be a general education.
It hadn't really sunk in until I started reading through Cordelia's notes that just reforming a single part of a nation would be the work of a lifetime. Even though these proposals were still very clearly in the infant stages, there was enough paper for me to drown in.
I really am going to be working on this for thousands of years, aren't I?
I placed the notes on education beside another stack of papers and started looking at the other documentation that was present. There were a surprisingly large number of proposals relating solely to civics. The construction and maintenance of sewer systems in places that did not have them. Roadworks to encourage merchant traffic. Walls for security. Most of those suggestions seemed almost cursory. It was as if they had been pulled out of older books. Past ideas that had been considered good, but been dismissed as infeasible for one reason or another.
It made sense that there would have been existing plans that became possible simply because I had entered the stage.
Which brought me to the final set of propositions.
They all related to international relations. Almost all of them were marked in some way or another as being unworkable.
"Why won't any of these work?"
"There is no reliable method to regulate international warfare over long periods of time."
"Can you explain?"
"Consider the simplest example of two nations at war who are locked in a perpetual draw with each other. Should one side develop a new weapon capable of overpowering the other, they will deploy it to seize victory. This analysis becomes more complicated if you add in a third nation, however the truth remains the same. In the event that any of the groups acquires the power to enforce their victory through force of arms, they will do so."
"Couldn't they come to a peaceful resolution?"
"Whilst in some cases that is a possibility, in others there are either cultural or economic factors preventing such from occurring. If you consider the Kingdom of the Dead for example, even if it's ruler offered terms of peaceful coexistence there are no good nations on Calernia that would accept it."
"How about an organization. One composed of soldiers from every nation. Wouldn't that work? Then everyone would have a reason to listen."
"Creating a regulatory body to oversee the situation cannot function unless the organization is strong enough to enforce its principles. Under most circumstances, the nations of Calernia would never allow for an outside entity to operate within their borders with any degree of autonomy. In the event that a large enough tragedy were to occur, such an organization may form in the aftermath. However, it would remain inherently unstable. The regulator would only remain capable of functioning provided that it is in the interests of the members that comprise it. This would remain true during the lifetimes of those who initially establish it, but would drift with the passage of years. It is almost a certainty that the system would one day collapse."
I was about to turn back to the notes, when Cordelia spoke again. "Are you opposed to leading a crusade against Praes in the aftermath of the civil war?"
My brain ground to a halt. This was not a topic I expected to discuss.
"You're asking because you're planning one?" I asked.
"I have yet to decide one way or the other."
I mentally marked that as a lie, despite the fact that her face was a mask. Something told me she wanted this war badly. It took me a while to formulate a proper response. Making up my mind was about as hard as I thought.
"I don't know," I replied eventually. "There are advantages and disadvantages. I want the Calamities dead, but I'm not sure fighting them is worth the cost."
It was easy to tally up lives lost on one path and lives lost on another, then simply do the arithmetic. I didn't believe that was the right way to compare tragedies.
"Despite your role as a hero, you would consider leaving them in place?"
"They aren't just going to roll over and die," I replied bluntly. "It will be bloody and tens of thousands will die along the way. I don't know how that compares to just leaving them in charge. The Warlock might not have fixed the problem in Liesse, but he didn't cause it. Callow existed in a state of apathy before the Artist arrived."
There was no way I would allow myself in the same room as the Warlock again. Not unless I was fighting him.
"The Calamities are immortal, much like yourself. How many would perish unjustly should they remain in place?"
It struck me then. Something so obvious, that it surprised me that I missed it.
"They aren't like me. Their immortality comes from their Name. If they no longer fit their Name, they will lose it. I don't know what a Black Knight is supposed to do, but they aren't supposed to rule. If he keeps doing what he's doing for another two decades, he will no longer have a Name."
"If I understand what you are suggesting, you believe that you can merely outlast them?"
I was about to respond when I had an idea. It took only a moment before innovate advanced it. I didn't like the suggestions. They reminded me of a speech I had once given long ago in the aftermath of the Echidna fight. Weeping heavens, I'd said some stupid things. It was shortly after the reveal of Cauldron. I had told heroes not to break away from the Protectorate over it, despite my own unwillingness to trust them.
I would still share the idea even if I thought it was a bad one. Perhaps Cordelia could make something out of it. That didn't mean I shouldn't preface it with a big warning. It was important that she knew I was only brainstorming.
"There might be a better option. This is entirely hypothetical. I don't like it. I'm posing it anyway. Please don't implement the idea. I'm only suggesting it to see what you think."
"The degree to which you are warning me against whatever it is you are about to propose suggests that I am unlikely to approve of it," she stated drily.
"You could form an unofficial alliance with Dread Empress Malicia," I admitted. "It couldn't ever be done publicly. Agree not to set foot in Callow if she leaves the Principate alone. Then start trading different concessions. The Calamities clearly only tolerate certain kinds of names within their borders. Help remove the villains they dislike. Bargain for favours, or goods and services."
"Have you considered the current state of the Principate, and the part Dread Empress Malicia's played in orchestrating it?"
"That's part of why I said it's a bad idea."
"I would find myself unseated as First Prince were such an agreement ever to come to light. Furthermore, I fail to see the advantages of doing so."
"It's rewarding good behaviour. Nobody wants the Calamities around, but the other types of villains are even worse. The old stories will die with enough time because they no longer worked. We would just need to wait. The new stories would be less awful."
"What makes you believe they would honour such an agreement?"
"Nothing," I answered truthfully. "I don't even like the idea. It feels like letting Evil walk free and doing nothing about it. The only reason I proposed it is to see what you would think."
"So you are not opposed to standing at the forefront of a crusade?"
"I'm undecided. Give me time to think about it. It also depends on how much thought you put into the aftermath. How well will people be treated? What will you do about refugees? What weapons are you planning to use? All of those are important questions to me."
There was a lull in the conversation for a few hundred heartbeats. Eventually, it resumed.
"In other matters, news from Aisne suggests that their internal conflict has escalated even further. There is open conflict between the peasants and the Princes. The civil war cannot be concluded satisfactorily without a resolution to their internal conflict as well." She had picked up another letter in the process of her speech and had started reading over it.
That was a very roundabout way of asking me to go to Aisne.
With the request, came the pointed tug of a story.
"You want me to go on my own? Why aren't you stepping in?"
"The politics in Aisne are much more delicate than other Principalities. They have secluded themselves from the civil war at large and turned their attention entirely inwards. Involving myself in their troubles would likely prove deleterious to my broader goals."
"I can't promise this ends the way you like. I'm not just going to support a Prince or Princess unless they seem like the best option."
"You mistake my intent in making this request. Whilst I have my preferred candidate, the choice of who governs Aisne is largely irrelevant in the current political climate. What I consider far more imperative is that there is an individual able to make decisions at all. That is currently not the case in Aisne at this present moment in time."
That made me far more comfortable helping out.
"I can make my way to Aisne, although I will probably need support."
I wasn't about to just start ordering people around. If she expected me to resolve this amiably, I needed proper help.
Cordelia retrieved a document beside her and passed it to me. I looked down at it. I was directed to speak with Princess Mathilda about an outstanding situation involving me. Apparently, one of her attendants wished to resign her commission and formally join my staff. The description of their skills was somewhat vague, and mentally I catalogued it under communications. Princess Mathilda had approved the request.
How did this even come about? I don't have a staff.
"Why was this approved?"
"I imagine that in the aftermath of the fight, Princess Mathilda decided it would be wise to court your approval."
That made sense. It was more likely there wasn't a request at all. She probably saw how much I wanted to involve myself in politics and how bad I was at it. Deciding to foist someone with those talents onto me was a good way to influence my opinions while also putting me in her debt.
"I'm going to need to offer her something for this, won't I?"
"That would be the most prudent course of action."
"What will you be doing?"
"Klaus is organizing the soldiers for the march on the capital of Lange."
"You don't want me there?"
"Whilst your presence would be appreciated, there are too many currently ongoing conflicts within the Principate at present for us to resolve them without separating before Winter sets in."
Figuring all of this out was unnecessarily complicated.
"I'll talk to Princess Mathilda, then head to Aisne."
I hoped that the problem turned out to be something easy to fix, but I doubted it. My understanding of the situation there was that Aisne had turned itself into a microcosm of the Civil War. Family members all fighting with each other. They were trying to determine who should remain in charge. No matter what I ended up doing there, it wasn't going to be solved over the course of a day.
And if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that things could always get worse.
"Consider all players when caught in a story, not only the obvious ones. A blade unseen cuts twice as deep as a sword swung from the light."
– A Stranger's Guide to Names in Calernia, Author Unknown
I spent most of the trip towards Aisne focusing on only one task. Roadwork maintenance. Turning dirt roads into proper cobbled brick and expanding the size of them. It wasn't fun to do, but it was fulfilling. We moved much faster on the roads with such a small party. Fast enough that I couldn't keep up the work without the use of my Grace.
I had wanted to put time in and learn how to build watchtowers. Klaus Papenheim had dissuaded me from that course of action. The people in this part of the Principate didn't make use of them. My efforts would go unappreciated. It was a pity. Watchtowers would arguably be rendered obsolete the moment Procer developed proper scrying methods, but I suspected they had utility regardless. There were probably not enough wizards to go around the entire of Procer. Furthermore, scrying could fail. Either as a result of a wizard being unavailable at one of the two points of connection, or because of an over-abundance of desolation.
But building infrastructure that would go unused because nobody could staff it made no sense.
I had stopped what I was doing shortly before we reached Aisne itself.
As for my new travelling companion. Well… That turned out to be Songbird. I wasn't entirely certain what she did. That made me wary of her. She was charismatic and good at talking with people. I had some misgivings about her, but not enough to turn her away. That didn't mean I wouldn't be cautious. Despite no longer being formally a part of Princess Mathilda's retinue, she still had some degree of authority with the Neustrian information network. That meant she was trusted to act in Princess Mathilda's best interest despite being cut loose.
We would be making use of that resource when we arrived.
"Repeat that again, Yvette." I stated from the back of my mount.
"Well I was wondering if you would let me study what you do like if you change things and then I see if I can do the same with magic Jacquinite magic is good at copying miracles and this seems kind of the same right I mean you're not an Angel but you're the next best thing aren't you?"
She bobbed her head from side to side like some sort of excited rodent while talking. Between the harsh glare of the late afternoon sun and her movements, it made it difficult to keep track of the road ahead.
"Are you asking to dissect me?" Her request amused me.
"No, no, no goodness no I just wanted to see if I can do what you do I don't want to cut you up I promise I'm not like those wizards to the East I'll leave it alone if it bothers you."
It was far too easy to set her off.
"It's fine Yvie. We can see about setting up controlled experiments later."
"That sounds oh look there's Aisne on the horizon I wonder what the city is like we didn't stop here when we travelled north do you think the food tastes good oh look over there that cart looks like its about to break down."
"Y'sure you don't want to just walk into the palace and start telling people what to do?" Songbird rode up next to me on her mount. It was a dappled white and brown mare which looked just as dainty as she was.
"Absolutely. I don't want to make a mess of things before I find out what's going on."
"If you waste too much time thinking, the problem'll only get worse."
"I know. I want to be careful. There were rumours. Travelling merchants complained about a villain."
"I heard them as well. S'pose if the talk about the Revolutionary is true, then you're playing it smart."
"You don't think there are?"
She let out a dainty snort.
"There's always talk of new villains. Doesn't mean they're all true. 'Sides, what're they going to do to you? Talk you to death?"
"Can you find some books for me?"
I wasn't sure how much she could help me here. I expected she was better at finding different kinds of information. That wouldn't stop me from asking.
"S'pose I could, 'pending on what you want."
"Stories and historical records. About the crusades. I want to get some idea of what a crusade really is."
Cordelia's request had been bothering me for a while now. It made more sense for me to ask for advice on what they were than to keep chewing on it alone.
Hopefully I would be able to learn enough. I didn't want to give my seal of approval to a crusade without knowing exactly what one was. I had to know both sides of the story. What a crusade meant in terms of politics and what it meant in terms of the story. I wasn't willing to condemn thousands of people to die without doing my own due diligence on the subject.
"You worried about a crusade?"
"Not soon. I still want to know more about them."
"I can try," she grimaced. "S'pose when we arrive, I'll ask some people and see what they can dig up."
I let the conversation die there.
The trip itself had been beautiful. Golden plains of wheat and orchards spread out along the road as far as the eye could see. The fields were worked by farmers living in homesteads that littered the side of the road. The homesteads would apparently be abandoned during the winter. It didn't come as a surprise. Cordelia had mentioned Salia doing something similar. I was told the view was even better along Julienne's Highway. That wasn't the route we were taking. That road was well maintained enough that it didn't need any help from me.
People had looked on but not dared approach as I repaved the roads. It turned out that mass construction work on the scale I could do it was intimidating. We were stopped once or twice by guards patrolling the roads. It hadn't been difficult to convince them that our intentions were pure. That, or they didn't fancy their chances if it came to a fight.
I was betting on the latter, but chose to believe the former. I wanted to be more positive.
Aisne had looked majestic from a distance. A walled island of red brick buildings jutting out amidst a sea of gold. Some buildings rose several stories up into the sky, their sloped slate roofs looking like fingertips reaching for the clouds.
Which made the reality all the more tragic.
Muttered whispers about the state of Aisne caused my stomach to clench. It was more road weary travellers passing us by. They were leaving rather than arriving. Most of them wore more extravagant clothing. Merchants and nobles, by the looks of things. People that could afford to move.
Arriving in Aisne was like walking into a room filled to the brim with gunpowder on a dry, sunny day. Even the slightest hint of fire would set the place ablaze.
I had veiled the three of us in a perception field. It was a temporary measure. Announcing my arrival was an option. I might have been met with fanfare if I had done it as well. Although after seeing the state of the place, I doubted it. Regardless, I considered that to be unwise.
By entering quietly, it was possible for me to assess the situation before settling on what to do. People likely knew that I was here. That was okay. I wasn't trying to prevent them from knowing I was in the city. I was only trying to stop them from knowing exactly where I was. It allowed me to make my mind up about how I wanted to resolve this without every royal asshole shoving their polished posterior in front of my face and asking for a kiss.
If I was any other hero, I'd bet they wouldn't even want me to walk on the same street as them. When it was blatantly obvious how much I could do for them though… It was easier to just avoid attention in the first place.
Yvette, Songbird and I passed through the city gates onto an open avenue. Large pines stood to attention on either side as we rode towards a fountain up ahead. Taking a right, we made our way along a dirty paved road towards a nearby stable. After freeing ourselves of our two horses, we started making our way to a place called the Fated Connections. Apparently it was an establishment frequented by people like Songbird. I didn't know where it was, but she did.
Fear hung in the air. It was cloying, inescapable. There were guards on the corner of every important thoroughfare. They loomed over anyone who dared show their head, alert and watchful. The guard's hands never left their weapons, and they twitched at the slightest hint of movement.
The streets were all but deserted. It was unnerving being the only ones visible on the road. A light breeze whispered gently through the path ahead of us. It was the only voice we could hear.
The rumours we heard before arriving described a nightmare.
It was alleged that nobody would risk going outside if they didn't need to. Aisne had been embroiled in a local squabble for years now. Princess Clotilde was the supposed heir to be. She hadn't managed to take charge. There had been infighting within the family. She had been warring with the others for control over the place. Then, only weeks ago, she had disappeared from the public eye and one of her brothers by the name of Quentin had seized control of over half of the guard.
It was likely that she was dead.
There were other members of the family embroiled in the conflict. Lesser players, but still making their voices heard.
In addition, a new sort of conflict had started to appear. It had been continuing for a few months now and was brutal in its execution. Armed resistance of a different kind. There were no soldiers in this force. It seemed to be some sort of civilian movement. They hadn't even declared for a ruler. Instead, signs of their actions could be seen through how they acted.
Two members of the nobility had been killed, their corpses left as bloody eagles in their homes. Three granaries had been burned down. Guards had been caught and crucified. Nobody knew what the supposed villain actually looked like. They only knew that the villain went by the Name of the Revolutionary.
And then, there were the messages on the walls. Pictures of a crown stomped under a boot. Beneath them, writing.
All becomes dust.
I wasn't sure who the writing was aimed at. It certainly wasn't the peasantry. I hadn't seen the darker signs yet. I didn't expect that to last.
"You sure this is the right way?"
We were stepping off the main road into a side alley on our left. The place didn't look entirely safe. The space between buildings was so narrow that at best two skinny people could scrape through side by side. It felt like walking between the gaps in rotten teeth.
"Yeah I want to know that as well I don't like the look of this place everything is so grim and you can't see the sky properly with all those clothes hanging between-." Yvette cut off, her emerald eyes trailing after something.
It took me a moment to work out what it was. A shaggy grey cat with white paws. The animal was darting across the narrow alleyway up ahead. I suspected it was after a rat. Following its movements was hard. It kept moving from shadow to shadow. It didn't help that the light of the sun was slowly petering out as the day drew to a close.
"No, Yvie."
"What?" she asked, puzzled. "Can you check it to see if it's injured my mother always used to say we should take better care of cats than peasants because they protect granaries from pests and the cats ran away if you didn't care for them but peasants always came back this part of the city isn't the nicest so the cat probably needs a little help."
Leave it, Taylor. Now is not the time.
Yvette didn't say things like that often. She was usually sweet. Fortunately, she was still young and there was time for me to teach her better.
"Sure. I thought you wanted a pet."
Yvette flicked a strand of golden hair and pouted at me. "I'm not stupid we travel all the time on the road and even if we can afford it it would be a lot of work and it would get in the way of my studies and I certainly wouldn't be able to summarize documents for you while caring for one."
She paused for a moment and inhaled, then continued.
"Why do you have so many books on politics anyhow it's not like you're going to rule over anything Faith in Crowns was boring to read and On Rule was even worse they were both written by stuffy old people who use long words to sound clever."
Ideally, I would have the time to read over them fully myself. Unfortunately, I didn't. Trusting in summarized text wasn't ideal, but I did have to prioritize.
"I have them because I want to know more about the Principate."
I took a moment to stop the cat with a bundle of air. It yowled at me as I did so. After bringing it over and checking it for injuries, I released it back onto the street.
"S'pose this path does look a little dangerous. Not to worry, it's a shortcut. I promise." Songbird butted in. She chuckled with mirth as she spoke.
We started to make our way towards our destination. Aisne took on an entirely different atmosphere in the back alleys. People moved around furtively in the shadows. Everyone carried weapons and eyed each other mistrustfully as they moved. Despite not being abandoned, the atmosphere was no less hostile.
We were skirting through one of the poorer sections of the city. I had my doubts about the safety of this shortcut. Not for my sake, but for the other two. I chose to trust Songbird. If I wanted to truly put my hand on the pulse of the city, then I needed to take the risk. I couldn't afford to be blind. That didn't mean I hadn't quietly added a layer of protection to the both of them.
The roofs here were flat topped and only a single story high. The walls were unwashed and everything stank like a fish market.
Then, I came to a stop. Before me was a sight so gruesome that it forced me to look around. There was nobody else in sight.
I turned back to the scene.
It was the corpse of a girl who looked only a few summers younger than me. She had been stripped naked. Her innards had been spilled all over the ground. It didn't end there. Her hands had been nailed to the walls and ribs splayed out like open fingers. The look of pure agony on the corpse's face suggested that it had been done to her while she was still alive. I felt bile rise up at the back of my throat. I averted my eyes. Beside her, there was text on the walls.
"Look away, Yvie."
I stopped to examine the writing. Sloppy, broad crimson strokes of text that had been painted in the girl's blood. It looked like it had been copied from somewhere else. The calligraphy lacked confidence.
I suspected the person who wrote them couldn't properly read or write.
It reminded me of the Nine again. It was horrid and needlessly cruel. Even if the nobles did deserve to die, they didn't deserve something like this. I felt the angels tightening their embrace in response. I stepped in close then touched it. The lettering was still wet.
Must have been done recently.
"What do you think it means?" I asked Songbird. It took effort to keep my emotions out of my voice.
"I dunno," she glibly replied. "Don't think it matters."
"It does." I denied, "If there really is a villain inside Aisne and this is their work, then it must be a part of their story."
She snorted, but drew in closer, eying it more critically.
"I'd guess it's some sort of revolutionary claptrap. Woe is me, everyone dies, so why dontcha rise up and stab the people in charge," Songbird emoted, raising the back of her gauntleted dainty hand to her forehead theatrically. "Bet she was dying to join up."
I swear I've been saddled with two kids rather than only one.
"Wrong time," I told her flatly.
Usually I enjoyed a bit of dark humour. It didn't seem appropriate while we were standing over the corpse.
"S'never the wrong time," she replied, unashamedly. "Y'should see the jokes people tell when some stupid fuck tries to kill a lord and gets boiled alive in oil."
I breathed in slowly, then said nothing in response. If she ended up attached to me in the long term, I'd definitely talk to her about this. I doubted I would be able to change her mind. That didn't mean I wouldn't try. It didn't matter if this was the world we lived in. There were limits to what was acceptable.
Songbird alternated between several personalities. She frequently acted like a melodramatic teenager that never grew up. However, it was not the only face she wore. Less frequently, she took on a more serious façade. There were others as well, although I hadn't seen enough of them to form a proper impression. I didn't know which one was really her. Probably none of them. She seemed like the kind of person who wore many masks and never showed her true face.
I turned back to the poor girl's corpse. Whoever she was, she deserved a better ending. I walked beside her, then gently closed her eyes. I took a moment to say a brief prayer, then turned the corpse into white smoke.
"Y'really praying for her?" Songbird sounded incredulous at the idea.
"Why not?"
"She probably did something real shit. Nobody nice dies this way."
"It's possible," I admitted. "But she could just be a victim. We don't know. Praying only takes a moment of my time, and well…" I trailed off.
There was some equivalent to heaven in this world. I didn't know if the soul of the corpse deserved to go there or not. I wasn't the one judging. All I knew was that praying definitely served a practical purpose here, and it didn't cost me anything to do it.
I wouldn't have the time on a battlefield. But in moments like this… It was the least I could do.
"M'travelling with a fucking saint," she muttered. "You always do the right thing?"
"No. I did a lot of wrong things. Realized I hated it. I'm trying to do the right thing now. Praying costs me nothing. If I had to choose between this and something important, that's when it truly has meaning."
Yvette remained quiet during our dialogue. For a moment, I thought she was bothered by the corpse. I turned her way to comfort her. Dressed in green, she was standing still and staring off into the distance. I followed her eyes and saw she was watching a flock of birds on the rooftop.
Right…
It was like every person I'd met in northern Procer was a walking tragedy. They were broken so badly, they couldn't even see where the pieces fit together any more. I knew I was the odd one out but… Becoming so used to tragedy that you were inured to it wasn't something to be proud of. I'd been there before, and I didn't want to go back there.
I wished Roland was around again. He added a bit of normal to my otherwise not so normal life.
The three of us kept moving.
The maze of narrow passages was confusing. I didn't have the faintest clue how Songbird was navigating the place. Apparently there was a route out of these dilapidated buildings into the wealthier part of the city. I was dubious.
"Anyhow. We're almost there. Just a few more turns-" Songbird was interrupted by a wail.
It sounded like it came from a nearby alley. If I took the state of the city into consideration, it was likely someone was being hurt.
Jerking into motion, I sprinted around the corner and ran head first into a wiry man who was missing one eye.
Both of us tumbled to the ground.
"Sorry, sorry. I didn't see you," the figure stammered out quickly in a squeaky voice as they climbed to their feet.
"I wasn't paying attention either…" I trailed off.
The person had climbed to their feet and left before I had finished talking.
Odd.
Songbird leaned down. Her jerkin rustled as she did so. She reached towards the ground and picked something up. She examined it for a moment, then her eyes narrowed.
"Seems we're up for a spot of trouble," Songbird sang, turning my way. Her voice was laced with a hint of mischief, and sparks twinkled in her eyes.
I had spent enough time with her on the road by now to know that meant something was about to go wrong. Normally it meant something small. I didn't think that would be the case now.
Great.
"What did you find?"
She raised her hand my way and showed me what she had picked up. It was a letter sealed with wax. A symbol was painted on it near the top. It looked to have been done in a hurry. Despite how rough the work was, I could still make out what it was. The traced outline of a white crown under the heel of a black boot.
The sign of the rebellion.
It could have meant nothing. It might have only been a coincidence. I doubted it. I had suspected from the moment I stepped into the city that I would be stepping into a story. There would be no coincidences if this was a running narrative. That made this letter our first clue. The person we had stumbled into would be a member of this villain's movement. Probably someone important as well. And there was a villain involved here. I had no evidence to support that, but I was still certain of it.
I opened it.
"Wait Taylor don't do that it's going to-" the entire thing immediately went up in smoke.
As the letter combusted, I realized that it had been laced with a spell. I hadn't even bothered to check.
"S'funny how you managed to burn our first clue," Songbird chortled.
"Shut up," I mumbled irritably in response.
I guess they have a wizard helping them.
Arms pistoning from side to side, I started running again.
Panning my gaze around, I looked for the man we had bumped into. I spotted a mother holding a child that was wailing in her arms as we went.
That explains the noise.
The others followed behind as I ran. I turned another corner. The streets suddenly opened out in the distance. There was a wide open circular space at the far end of the alleyway. A crowd was congregating within it.
It was difficult to make out what they were looking at. The street we were in was narrow and the walls of the nearby buildings occluded the view of the late afternoon sun. Clothes lines hung overhead between rooftops. Everything was steeped in darkness.
I squinted, then closed in some more. Most of the crowd was shorter than me, but not short enough to see over. Eventually, I found an elevated place to look from. I was standing on the front step of a run-down building. It was some way away from the rest of the crowd. We hadn't left the refuge of our alleyway, but we were still close enough to see.
I started scanning the crowd, hoping to find our crook. It was probably hopeless. That didn't stop me from making the effort.
In the middle of the crowd there was an open space with only a few people within. It was a troupe of street performers that were putting on some kind of show. A temporary stage had been built in the middle of the dusty road. To one side, one of the members had cut holes into a cloth suspended from some poles and placed a lantern behind it. The flickering light of the lantern cast eerie shadows. The figure behind the sheet moved his hands one way and another near the flame, constructing a shadowy scene with their hands.
Three more actors pantomimed fighting the shadows. Considering the fact that putting on an act like this depended a great deal on the environmental circumstances, it was well done. I didn't have the right cultural background to understand what they were displaying. The audience clearly did. They were riveted.
I frowned.
If this was a story, then what kind of story was it? There was an extremist underground resistance movement fighting against the lawful authority. We had just stumbled into one of their members who had been in a hurry to reach somewhere. Following, we had ended up in front of a crowd featuring some kind of stage performance. Was this a part of it? Possibly. If it was a part of the narrative then…
Now was the time for the dramatic reveal. There would be some kind of attack or declaration made here.
"Tell me if either of you notice anything odd," I stated.
Neither of them spoke. It didn't matter. I could sense their agreement.
I started to look around. The problem was that I wasn't convinced that the lawful authority didn't deserve to die. I didn't necessarily disagree with the movement itself. Their methods were the issue. And not just the bloody executions. I suspected that the rebels were deliberately inviting attacks onto innocents.
They were approaching this with the mindset that other people were expendable. All that mattered was achieving success. Follow that line of philosophy far enough, and you ended up in the same place I had been in the past. It was also exactly the same line of thought espoused by the nobility.
I felt Yvette tugging on my arm. I looked down at her. Wordlessly, she pointed towards the troupe member managing the shadows. I didn't see what she was pointing at. It struck me a moment later.
Magic. There was something enchanted behind the shaded cloth. It didn't take me long to work out what I thought it was. I assessed the working to be non-threatening. This presented a teaching opportunity.
"Without raising your voice, tell me what you think that does."
Yvette frowned, biting her bottom lip. Her nose scrunched up for a moment, then she sneezed.
Glaring like an upset rabbit, she began to talk. "Well looking at the components used it's hard to tell it feels like something is missing the line work is a mess you keep complaining about mine but if that's a finished spell then why can't I be more messy?"
"Just because this wizard is bad at magic doesn't mean you can be," I replied. Her pout almost elicited a laugh. "You forgot to answer the question."
Max would have castigated me for attempting whatever it was they were trying to do. That didn't change the fact that whoever this group was, they had magic. This had the potential to become ugly.
"I think it's an illusion of some kind the lantern is used as a catalyst to fuel the effect it won't do anything big until the flame is snuffed out but where are most of the components it seems like half the items required are missing."
"I think it's set up to be cast remotely," I explained. "The components are missing because the wizard isn't here. He or she is somewhere else. Probably somewhere over there," I pointed to a building with a good view of the scene in the distance. "Did you notice anything else?"
Biting her lip, her eyes darted back and forth. "Well I don't think there is any High Arcana what does High Arcana look like anyhow you've mentioned it a few times but never shown it to me otherwise I can't see anything else should I try sabotaging the spell?"
"Don't do anything yet," I declared. "And you're right, there isn't any. I haven't shown you any because I can't. I don't know enough to teach about it. It's also very dangerous. I wouldn't show you any even if I could until we're sure you have the basics sorted. We don't know if you can use it at all. Not everyone can. If there was any in use here, we would have a much bigger problem."
High Arcana was much higher order than regular magic. Allegedly, only a few sorcerers could even read it without forgetting what they saw. We had only seen it once or twice while in Callow. Half formed images in books about summoning creatures better left alone. I was a part of the lucky few. That didn't make it any easier for me to understand. Parsing it was a nightmare, since it was almost entirely symbolic and personalized. It was just that I could if I wanted to.
Roland and Max had both sulked for over a week and called me the biggest waste of a sorcerer when they had found out. They speculated my nature was preventing me from being able to perform any magic. It was likely true. I wasn't about to complain about it. If I had to choose between being able to perform sorcery and being able to rewrite reality as I wished, then I would always choose the latter.
That didn't stop me from learning whatever I could about magic in case one day it became relevant.
"S'pose I should mention that trouble just arrived?" Songbird butted in. She pointed past the crowd. I followed the direction of her finger.
A city guard patrol was approaching in the distance.
There was a moment of tenseness as the guards and the crowd seemed to assess each other.
The person making the shadows snuffed out the lantern light.
The illusion started to take hold. I debated whether I should intervene. The effect didn't look hostile. I decided against stepping in. I knew enough to judge this spell wouldn't hurt anyone. Seeing what the villain was trying to do in a low stakes environment would give me a better idea of how he fought.
The shadows all around us began to writhe, grasping towards the troupe. They looked like the hands of corpses if you didn't try to make out the details. Bloody hands that were crawling forward on their fingertips. The moment you focused on them, it became obvious that it wasn't real.
"This spell is really messy there's so much waste and the illusion isn't that believable I mean look at the fingers they smudge together a bit and the crawling is kind of blending into the ground whoever taught this wizard didn't do a good job maybe you should teach them Taylor."
"I think one student is enough for now."
If I could actually perform sorcery, I was certain I could do better. But it didn't matter if you weren't paying attention to detail. I took a look around the crowd. They were enraptured. There were understated mutterings. People sounded angry and afraid. They started to back away.
The hands started to climb on top of each other as they drew together. Gradually, they reshaped into a face that looked over the crowd.
"All becomes dust," it hissed.
The face dissolved into shadows. A new image was formed from the remaining gloom. It was an image of a crown. There was a boot hovering above it. The tenebrous heel came down and the crown shattered. The shadows faded away.
The illusion was awful. I could certainly do a much better approximation of the same effect. But I was willing to admit that this villain did have an understanding of spectacle.
The citizens and the guards assessed each other for a tense moment. I subtly dosed everyone with calmness in order to hopefully prevent the situation from escalating. Perhaps we could resolve this peacefully.
"By the order of the rightful ruler of Aisne Prince Quentin, informal gatherings such as these are a sign of sedition and are punishable by death. Bare your blades, men." A whiney voice called out from the patrol. It was a man wearing an elaborate uniform. Probably a noble of some kind.
Fuck.
It was at that moment I realized what was going to happen if I didn't step in. The guards were going to attack the crowd. It didn't matter if they were calm. This was calculated, deliberate. I wasn't about to allow a fight like this to occur. It would be bloody and nobody would be happy with the aftermath. I started to reach out.
I considered using an emotional attack, but decided against it. For them to be truly effective, they also had to be debilitating for extended periods of time. I would have to stick around for another patrol to show up if I did. There was a chance someone would wander past and take advantage of their vulnerable state if I didn't wait. I didn't want to have to explain my attack against the current "lawful" authority to anyone. It would complicate everything.
The guards drew their short swords while I deliberated. What else could I do? Disarming them might halt the fight. So I heated the handles of their weapons. The wood caught fire. I couldn't see it, but I knew that the metal beneath had turned white.
Yelping, the guards dropped the blades.
Serves you right.
I turned back to the burgeoning conflict. The patrol seemed determined to continue with the attack despite having been disarmed. Members of the crowd had drawn weapons of their own. They were angry, shouting wildly. Even after I had tried to calm them, they were appraising the guards like lambs for the slaughter.
How do I stop this?
I could try to talk them down. I doubted it would work. Without outright controlling them, the hatred was just too deep.
For a moment, I considered co-opting this movement's symbology. Using shadows to trick everyone into thinking this was the work of the rebellion. Put on a scary enough show, and I could just frighten everyone away. I decided against it. Doing so might see me mistaken for them, and I didn't like the way that they fought.
It wasn't just that.
Image mattered. More than it did on Earth Bet. If I played into the wrong stories, they might actually come back to bite me later. I was a heroine and would appear like one. Using dark colours and themes was the first step to falling for every hero in a traditional story. I was committing to doing the opposite.
What represents me?
I was about doing better. Making the right decisions and not the wrong ones, then helping other people do the same. Redemption. I didn't have a catchy phrase like this rebellion clearly did, but I could come up with a symbol.
… There was no way I was ever going to be able to hide in a crowd this way without influencing their perception of me.
An illusory wall of incandescent light fell between the civilians and the now disarmed guards. It blocked off the alley the patrol was in. The effect was blinding, almost impossible to look at. An image was emblazoned in the middle of either side.
A round badge with a silver ring encircling it.
Inside the circle was the image of a golden staircase leading up into puffy white clouds. A silver handrail adorned the right-hand side of the staircase. There was nothing on the left. At the bottom was a field of blood and fire.
Unfortunately, it made it difficult for me to assess the conflict as well. I needed a bird's eye view. I surrounded myself in a mostly transparent sphere with an opaque base, then levitated it up into the air. It was easier than trying to fly myself. It took some nimble manoeuvring to pass between clothes lines without disrupting them. I managed. Eventually, I had a good look over the battlefield.
I looked down.
Both the civilians and the guards stopped and gawked. Many shaded their eyes and flinched. They were so distracted by the scene that none of them had bothered to look up. A dule of doves coed softly and started flying off from the roof of one of the buildings. The moment of stillness broke.
The crowd charged towards the wall of light. It looked as if they were planning to attack the guards. Were they actually insane? They might have numbers, but that didn't count for much against proper armour. Even with the advantage of weapons, it still wasn't worth the cost.
I hardened my construct. They beat against it for a few heartbeats angrily before realizing that their efforts were futile.
Utter madness.
Once the situation set in, the crowd started to make their escape. It was a disorganized mess. People running and pushing against each other. Grimacing, I hit them with another dose of calmness. The last hadn't been especially strong. It didn't take much longer for the crowd to make themselves scarce.
The guards were mulling around on the opposite side of my barrier. Their weapons were still strewn on the floor. I was tempted to melt them down to slag.
No, don't do that.
It would be satisfying. They would need to explain to their superiors what happened to their equipment on their own. But it would put me on bad terms with the nobility from the outset. This could still be explained away.
I lowered myself back to the ground.
"S'pose that was fun to watch," Songbird sang.
"It wasn't fun to do."
"Y'should have just blissed 'em all."
"I was tempted to."
"Y'really shit at this keeping your head low thing."
"I can be," I replied, frustrated. "I'm just not willing to just stand aside."
"Well, you pretty much announced you're here."
"It's going to complicate everything."
"Plan one takes an arrow through the heart," Songbird mimed the action of an arrow striking her theatrically.
"Think you can lie our way out of this?"
"S'pose I could. What do you want me to say?"
"Convince them we only just arrived. I saw they were in danger and moved to help."
"Can do. Drop the barrier for me, will you?"
I allowed the wall of light and my sphere to disappear. Then the three of us moved towards the guards.
"Salutations," Songbird spread her arms wide. "The three of us couldn't help but notice y'were in a spot of trouble. Hope you don't mind us helping out?"
The leader turned our way. The surface of his armour had been painted over with red ornamentation. It stood out and was impractical.
"Good day to you," the man said. He looked at Songbird quizzically. "Would you care to-"
"Y'see, skinny over here is all cosied up with the Angels," she pointed my way. "Crowd looked like they were about to gut you. Bleeding heart that she is, she couldn't have that."
The man turned his attention to me.
"The aegis that held off the agitators was formed by your hand?"
"Yes."
"Then you have my thanks. Would that you had restrained them, then they could have faced justice."
"Taylor here is a gentle soul. She wouldn't hurt anyone. Sworn to Compassion, y'know." Songbird grinned my way as she spoke.
I swear I am going to make her pay for this.
"Would it trouble you to soothe the burns on our hands? Some foul miscreant from among the rebel's flock set our blades alight."
"Sure," I replied.
I wasn't happy about healing them, but now that Songbird had started talking, I had an act to sell.
Killing everyone and putting myself in charge would be so much easier than this.
It took only a little while longer of Songbird shmoozing the patrol before they chose to depart. It was amusing watching them gingerly hold their blades by the wrong ends. The remains of the handles were still far too hot.
It was only then I realized something important.
The street actors were gone.
I had been so focused on resolving the conflict that I hadn't even seen them escape.
"Did either of you see where the actors went?" I asked hopefully.
"No I was too busy watching what you were doing I think I can make illusions like that if I try but not as quickly actually maybe if I-"
"They slipped away with the crowd." Songbird interjected.
"Well, let's check that building."
The building itself was deserted. Our footprints were the first to disturb the dust. It seemed that my guess had been off. It was frustrating. This was an opportunity to find out more about the villain. An opportunity that it seemed we had lost.
I sighed, "We should continue on then."
Songbird grinned. Then, she leaned in close, placing a hand on my shoulder. "This way," she whispered, winking at me, and started to walk away.
The two of us followed behind. She went down another alley to our left that was shrouded behind a grey cloth. A couple of turns later, and we were back on the main road. We came face to face with an opulent four-storey building that purported to be a rest house. It had white walls and stone tables set out around the tiled front porch. Each floor had balconies extending outwards, with green and gold banners draped from beneath.
The soft, lilting notes of a harp could be heard from inside.
"Come on in," Songbird said cheerfully. She set her palm on the oak door handle and proceeded to throw open the double doors. Her ill-fitting leather tunic swayed from side to side as she sauntered in.
Except for the owner, the place was almost entirely empty. It was jarring. Especially considering how well maintained the building was. There were a bunch of empty tables with chairs placed on top of them, legs facing towards the ceiling. The shutters were open, and the place was well lit.
On the right-hand side, there was a stage with a musician in a lavender dress on it. She was playing the harp.
Were it not for the tension out on the streets, I would call the Fated Connections welcoming.
The civil war had clearly hit the place hard.
Songbird had immediately made her way towards the proprietor. She was a short elderly lady who looked to be in her late sixties, with a face shrivelled like a prune.
"Back again, Song? Didn't I tell you not to darken my door for another year?" The proprietor's voice was shrill.
"Don'tcha know it," Songbird said jovially, seizing her in a hug.
"Get off me, you unruly barbarian. Your jerkin is all dirty and carries the stench of a horse," the old lady groused.
"Awww, I know you love me," Songbird teased, finally letting her go.
"They with you?" The woman pointed at us accusingly. Her voice sounded as if it was a crime.
"You bet," beamed Songbird.
The woman's face soured at that and her shoulders seemed to slump. "Fine, all of you come on in, but don't track any mud in here, you hear me!" she declared.
"How do you manage? This place is huge." I asked.
"Lots of people used to work here," she grumbled. "Then those shits started fighting. Still have a few helpers. Why, looking for work?"
"No, I'm fine."
She went back to polishing a table, ignoring us.
Shutting the door behind us, we followed behind Songbird. She led us up a varnished wooden staircase on the left-hand side of the room. Songbird moved directly towards a table on a balcony once we had finished ascending to the second floor. We all pulled down the chairs and sat.
"Is it safe to talk?" I whispered to Songbird.
"S'fine, Maude is one of Big M's people." Then she bellowed, "Isn't that right, Aunt Maude?"
"You're a pest, Song!" Maude shouted back from down below.
I decided not to question those two's relationship. It seemed wiser than the alternative.
"Aisne looks even worse than I expected."
"You really made a mess. Everyone prob'ly knows where you are."
"I messed up," I admitted. "We'll work with what we have."
"S'now that we're here, what's the plan?"
"You're allowed to make use of Princess Mathilda's spies, right?"
"Hands," she interrupted.
"What?" I inquired, befuddled.
"They're called Hands, not spies."
"What's the difference?" I was genuinely curious. Was it just a meaningless distinction, or did they serve some other function?
"We're not doing anything shady under the table. Whoever is in charge of this dump would usually know we're here. The situation being what it is right now, we're making a bit of an exception. The Hands are a quiet way for Mathilda to gab with the other Princes, all unofficial. We do look into stuff, but if the person up top here tells us to back off, we leave things alone," she explained.
That did sound more like diplomatic ambassadors than spies.
"Hands, then," I corrected. "Aisne looks even worse than we were told. It seems there is a villain trying to stage a full on rebellion. We need to find out more about them. I also need you to look into the nobility. Anyone who can claim the title of Prince. I want to know everything about them."
"Got it," she said cheerfully. "We're looking into the boot and the Princes. What next?"
I took a moment to compose my thoughts. I remembered the question I had asked myself before. If this was a story, what kind of story was it? The Principate had been locked in a state of civil war for years. There was no clear winner. A villain rises up. Unhappy with how events are playing out, they stage a rebellion. What do they want to do? I wasn't sure, but I doubted that they planned for a peaceful resolution at the end of it.
Either they want to put themselves in charge, or burn it all to the ground.
The former was an acceptable outcome if they were more reasonable than every other Calernian villain I had met. But that would be asking too much of them. Painting the walls with people's intestines was not something a reasonable revolutionary did. A villain wanting to set themselves up as in charge needed order. At the end of the story, something would need to remain for them to be able to call it a win. They couldn't just tear everything down because you couldn't rule over ruins.
"The villain's called the Revolutionary, right?"
"S'right," Songbird replied, tapping her fingernails on the table.
All becomes dust.
I didn't think the villain wanted to take over. Everything we had seen so far pointed towards burning everything to the ground.
Their win condition was to make people so angry that it became impossible to restore order. Kill the reasonable people and then fan the flames between everyone else.
"We need to do a few things. First: I want you to arrange a talk for me with some people at the bottom levels of authority. Not the peasants, the ones directly above. Still low enough in the hierarchy that they know what people want."
"You're planning to have them pass on a message?"
"Yeah. It's the best way to talk to the people being hurt."
"I'll see what I can do. S'not gonna be easy though. I don't exactly have that kind of authority. We'll need to grease the wheels."
"Fine," I allowed. "Second: I want you to find out who people would tolerate leading," I declared. "Not the extremists. The voices of reason."
"Why's that?" Songbird asked.
"Because if they aren't already dead, then the Revolutionary will kill them."
"And third?"
I frowned. "Haven't thought of one yet."
"You're not trying to kill the villain?"
"I have to find the villain first. Someone who fights like this… Finding them won't be easy. It's easier to try denying them their objectives. Keep the reasonable people alive. Remove the extremists from power. Then force the Revolutionary to come to us."
"How 'bout your books?"
"I almost forgot. If you have the time, please look into them."
"Y'know you're going to have to deal with the nobles?"
"I know. They're probably going to send me invites anyhow. I'll talk to them."
She hummed to herself for a moment. "Don't think your plan's gonna work."
"Why's that?"
If she had any advice, I'd take it.
"People don't gab if they don't want to gab. You want them to negotiate, but that isn't happening. Both sides want blood. They don't need to talk for blood."
"I need to give them a reason to negotiate?"
"S'right."
"How can I fix that?"
"Give them a bigger threat to worry about. Something they hate more than each other."
"I'm not doing that."
"Doesn't need to be a real threat. They just need to think it is."
"Like what?"
"Fake an attack from Praes. You're scary enough. Make an illusion of the Warlock."
"Tell me something that doesn't involve threatening people," I stated, exasperated. "I know how to do that. I'm trying not to."
"S'pose if you killed the right people, the problem would go away. Not gonna be easy."
We've graduated from threats to murder.
"Any ideas that involve negotiating?"
"Nothing that I think you'll like."
"Tell me anyway."
Conversation continued for a while. I thought about what Songbird said. We passed a few more suggestions back and forth. I didn't like them.
I stared out over the city, watching the sun finally set. The Revolutionary had me worried. More worried than facing the Warlock. The Warlock was an enemy I could face. I knew what to prepare for, even if the thought of fighting him was daunting. This…
The Revolutionary wasn't an enemy who fought with swords and spells. If I tried to prepare for some major confrontation against them, I would be setting myself up to lose. Actually, I wasn't fighting against people at all. The peasants were being mistreated. They deserved better. It was just the answer they came to was wrong. I needed a way to convince them that there was a better way to get what they wanted. I had to persuade them that tearing down everything wouldn't fix anything in the long term.
It bothered me. I wasn't fighting against people. I was fighting against an idea.
"—For the spider would learn;
In the lands it now strode
That the fox was the king;
And this was its abode—"
— Extract from The Spider that Swallowed the Sun, 28th stanza. Author unknown.
The scorching heat radiated down upon the rooftops and rendered the interior of the scriptorium stifling. The day was only dawning, and already it bore down upon him like the press of a quill against parchment.
Percival the master scribe continued his labour. He leaned over the desk carefully and gazed through a magnifying glass. The work was delicate. Percival was most fortunate, for his calling paid him generously. He was rewarded both in material and spiritual coin.
His current labour was one that demanded his undivided attention. One of the richer lords had tasked him with transcribing the intricate engravings off of an older manuscript into a new book.
Percival took a break from his task for a moment. Climbing off the rickety stool that he sat upon, he stepped back and stretched. The day was truly sweltering. Absently, Percival reached up and wiped the sweat off his brow with a wrinkled hand. His gaze wandered out the open doorway. On most days it would be closed to the elements. He made an exception when the golden tyrant above ruled supreme. His efforts had been rewarded with a breeze today. The streets beyond the interstice were deserted. This was not an unexpected state of affairs. It was doubtful that anyone desired to be up and around in these quarters in the heat. This was twice true due to the feuding lords.
Percival turned around and opened the door behind him. He took a moment to glance over the shoulders of his many apprentices as he proceeded towards the far exit. The room was absent of any noise save the echoing of his sandals on the floor and the rise and the trailing of quills on parchment. Once outside, he made his way towards a well, where he took a moment to wash his hands and face.
Relieved, he padded his way back to the front of the shop.
A dainty woman was peeking through the open doorway.
Her appearance was so unusual that Percival was unable to hide his immediate reaction to it. He stared at her.
The woman was carrying a satchel under her right arm and was leaning that way as if she could barely manage the weight. Despite that, she vibrated like ink in the well during an earth tremor. The loud clanking of metal came from within the bag as she moved.
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "S'pose you're not closed after all."
"Do you require my assistance?" he asked her. The reaction had been engrained over the years and by now was almost automatic.
"That'd be great. Y'see, I need lotsa copies of something made fast. By the end of the day, preferably."
Percival inspected her appearance once more. She wore an ill-fitting leather jerkin and leggings. A red ponytail jutted out to one side, partially concealed by a wide brimmed floppy hat. The girl did not look well off. He doubted she could afford his rates.
"Are you certain you are at the correct establishment, miss…"
"Songbird," she replied glibly. "S'pose I don't look like I belong here. S'fine."
The name disturbed the dust on the back shelves of his mind. He could not place a finger on why.
She sauntered inside. For a moment, Percival was concerned that she would unbalance and knock over one of the many important documents. His worries were clearly misplaced. Songbird was far more careful than her initial appearance suggested. She made her way past valuable books and manuscripts without even disturbing the dust. Even so, it was evident to Percival that she was struggling under the load she bore. Groaning with effort, she heaved the bag onto the counter top. He could almost hear the wood creak under the strain as she did so. Her right hand reached inside the satchel and withdrew an object. She set the object down beside the bag.
Percival could feel his eyebrows climb as he took in what he saw.
An entire gold bar sat and glimmered beside his transcription.
"Have care for an old man. Revealing such a vast sum with no warning was nearly enough to sever the thread of my years."
A glimmer of mischief sparkled in her eyes briefly before it winked out.
"Now, y'see, this shit here's heavy. I don't want to be carrying it back to my mistress. If I could've trusted someone else to carry it, I would've sent them here myself. Think y'can take her commission?"
"Perhaps I misjudged," Percival informed her diplomatically. It was hard to maintain a measured cadence. It was evident to him that there was a fortune of gold stowed away in the bag. That could be determined by the strain she was under while lifting it. "Would you care to inform me as to the identity of your mistress and what it is she wishes to have transcribed."
"Invitations," Songbird replied. She spread her arms theatrically and grinned at him.
"Invitations." Percival repeated woodenly. "Invitations for what?"
What manner of eccentric lord spends such a fortune on invitations?
"She's hosting a fancy event in three days," Songbird stated animatedly. "Needs letters sent to all the lords and ladies in Aisne. Not just the big shitters like Quentin and Verrill, also the small shitters. 'Specially the small shitters."
The city is consumed by feuding and the nobles hold balls.
"I require both the identity of your mistress and an example of her regalia."
"S'fine," her right hand descended into the bag once more. Songbird rustled around for a moment. Percival knew that surely naked avarice must grace his visage as he heard the clinking of metal from within. Finally, Songbird withdrew a metallic badge and gently held it out towards him. Percival's wrinkled fingers reached out and he seized the object. Despite being small enough to fit within the palm of his hands, it was heavy. He brought it up to eye level and examined it critically.
The outside of the crest had been traced in pure silver. The interior contained the embossed image of a golden staircase with a silver handrail on the right. The path ascended towards the heavens. The lower portion of the staircase was steeped in darker imagery. A battlefield of carnage. He assessed the image critically. It was overly symbolic. The type of pretentious ornamentation that he had come to expect from the church.
"Would you care to shed light on the nature of this livery?"
Songbird looked towards the floor and muttered a few words under her breath. They were inaudible to him. Raising her head once more, she looked up and met his gaze.
"My boss is a hero. She's not a noble, but she wants to gab with them."
Creation must surely be suffering a curse when even the chosen indulge in this madness.
Percival's eyebrows rose.
"I do not recall any of those chosen by above possessing such extreme material wealth."
Songbird snorted. "She's a bit of an exception. Anyhow, can you do it?"
"That depends on the exact nature of your inquiry. For now, I am satisfied that you can afford my services."
"Invites distributed to every royal fuck and important functionary currently in Aisne. I know not all of them are here. Sent out by the end of the day."
"It is within my ability to arrange," he admitted. His workers would likely break their quills under the strain of it. "The fee for arranging the production and distribution of missives addressed to every present lord without sufficient notice will not come cheaply. I take it this is not beyond your mistress's means?"
"Definitely not."
He was uncertain how the woman had learned about him, but there was no use pretending he was unable to meet her demands. It was unlikely she had darkened his door by chance. Even more so given the nature of her mistress.
"Would you care to provide me with the relevant details?"
"Fated Connections," Songbird replied glibly.
His eyebrows rose. That was not a noble's estate. It was an expensive establishment, but still one that would be looked down on.
"Are you certain that your mistress is spending her coins wisely? This does not seem like the most prudent course of action. It is unlikely that any of the nobility will make the effort to attend."
"Oh they will," she said, smiling. "M'sure of that. The letters are from the Aspirant."
Hearing that Name explained her sense of certainty. There were rumours whispered in dark corners concerning the Aspirant. It was alleged that she was coveted among the nobility. She would be courted, he was sure of it. If only for her ability to aid with construction work.
"Does your mistress wish to have appropriate gifts attached to each missive?"
"Prob'ly."
"Are there any other particulars you would like included in this commission?"
"Here," Songbird reached into the bag one last time and withdrew a crumpled sheet. She extended it towards him. He seized the parchment gingerly and smoothed out the wrinkles before examining the surface. It only took a glance for him to determine that he held a rough draft of the invitation's contents. The draft provided many pertinent details. Both the time of the event and the location, as well as the intention to discuss a peaceful resolution to the ongoing conflict in the Aisne. A note was made that letters to any officials who ruled directly over farmers should be granted special consideration.
Percival performed the mental calculations. It would be necessary to obtain a list of the present lords in the city. Determining appropriate gifts for each noble lord would be the harder task. Neither were beyond his means. The true challenge would be completing the commission before the last light of the sun faded away. His apprentices would be hard at work transcribing copies of the invitation and acquiring the correct gifts.
"This task will not be cheap," he warned.
"Course it won't. Taylor can afford it. It's time and people she needs. S'why she's paying you and not trying to arrange this herself. She could prob'ly make the invites if she cared to. It's getting them to people that's the problem."
Percival found himself doubting the chosen was capable of fulfilling his role, but chose not to offend the eccentric servant. Silence was often wiser.
"If you are certain that you wish for this task to be undertaken."
"Definitely."
"Then let us ink out the finer details before we finalize our agreement."
The rhythmic sound of hooves against the cobbled path ceased. Lord Mallory felt the carriage draw to a halt. The lids of his eyes opened. The dying light of the waning sun warmed his old bones from his right. He winced as the rays pierced his eyes. He turned his gaze to the left in order to escape the light. His carriage had at last arrived beside the entrance to his summer estate.
One of his servants helped him descend from his carriage. He dismissed the man, who proceeded to draw the carriage away. Mallory's frequent discussions with Verrill had proven successful. While Quentin had seized the guard in an iron grip and Garson had his grubby hands buried within the treasury, Verrill had taken the reins of the peasantry.
They merely needed to position the Shatranj pieces correctly and all would fall into place. It would not take much effort to shepherd the attention of the peasant rebellion towards their opponents. The scheme had already borne fruit.
Mallory had organized the bribery of the more zealous guards under Quentin's command. It had been as simple as taking taxes from the peasants to convince the guards to attack the peasantry. They were directed towards parts of the peasantry who he knew harboured deep resentment from those above. It was to his advantage that he understood the people that he ruled. Verrill would allow the resentment to build before he spoke out against Quentin. It would be hard for the man to deny that the supposed actions of his guardsmen were unchivalrous.
Stoke the fires of anger in the peasantry far enough, and they would see his purpose fulfilled. The end of Quentin's yarn would slowly become unravelled. It would be easy to cultivate the right image in the aftermath. He would merely need to offer some meagre concessions in conciliation. Once the anger of the peasants was sated, Verill would be crowned as Prince of Aisne.
As the fortunes of one man rose, Lord Mallory would rise with him.
Cane in hand, he hobbled down the paved path past neatly trimmed rose bushes and slowly approached the doorway to his residence. His joints creaked with every step. The red-brick three-storey building pierced the sky above him triumphantly. A glorious testament to the achievements of his family in years past.
A feeling of unease pulled at the edge of his mind as he approached. He was unable to determine the shape of it. Lord Mallory seized the doorknob, opened the door, and hobbled his way inside. The wooden floors creaked underfoot. Thump, thump, thump. He strode on three legs down the hallway, past the tapestries heralding his family's proud history. He ignored the library and his personal study on the right and left, respectively. The events of such a fruitful day called for a celebratory drink. Mallory made his way into the parlour as a result.
Fury seized him when his eyes settled upon what waited within.
A dagger had been plunged through the surface of his over a century old dining table. It was irreplaceable. Straining his eyes, he examined the scene closer. The dagger was not the only oddity. The blade passed through several parchments, pinning them to the table's surface.
An epiphany came to him then. The source of his unease.
He had seen neither hide nor hair of his family. His servants were likewise indisposed.
The grasping claws of the peasantry climbed their way up his spine.
Mallory made his way closer towards the table. He moved almost as if under a spell. His back creaked as he bent over to examine the contents of the parchment. It was detailed documentation providing proof of his attempt to manipulate the rebellion. It explained the part he played in Verrill's schemes and proved his guilt without a doubt.
He felt the edge of a blade press against his throat.
"Good evening, Lord Mallory," a woman's voice said from behind him. The tone was measured, calculated. "You and I are going to have a talk."
He started to crane his neck in order to catch sight of his assailant. The dagger dug in deeper. His heart clenched in fear.
"None of that," the voice commanded sharply.
A hand pressed itself against the base of Mallory's back. It began to guide him firmly towards one of the chairs.
"Sit down," the voice said neutrally.
Mallory did as ordered. The situation could be salvaged. His assailant had yet to cut the thread of his life loose. It was evident that there was room for him to bargain. He sunk into the velvet upholstered seating. The fireplace flickered ominously across from him.
The woman walked around him languidly. His eyes were downcast and all they saw was the dress of black and white servant's livery. The knife remained pressed to his neck at all times as she moved. She sat on the table before him. Seizing his head, she tilted it to face her brown eyes. He knew who she was.
"You know who I am."
"Songbird," he stated, keeping his voice measured.
The woman was known to be one of Princess Mathilda's senior ambassadors. Curiously, she was not often observed involving herself in politics. Unlike the others, she was rumoured to have a darker past. The woman had a reputation for being a tier of loose ends. Whether it was true was left as a matter of debate. There was little evidence one way or the other.
Songbird had been stationed in Aisne not even a year past. That was before the rebellion had truly gained momentum. He was surprised that she was present once more, considering that she had been recalled.
"That's right."
"What do you want?"
"In three days time, my new boss will be hosting an event," she said in a hard tone. "Do you know who she is?"
"I don't," he kept his voice measured as he replied. He started to lean back in an attempt to make some room between himself and the dagger's edge.
Songbird's face remained flat. The blade dug deeper into his throat. He winced.
"Let me weave a story for you," she began conversationally. The cadence of her voice was completely at odds with the expression on her face. It was uncanny to watch. "Some time in the recent past, I found myself out in the swamp near Brus. It was an entirely unpleasant affair. One day, I was sharing a meal with some of my compatriots when this girl who looked like she carried the weight of the world wandered over to the fire. Benevolent soul that I am, I made the attempt to cheer her up. With just a few words, I started to learn more about her. What I learned inspired me to ask a few questions. That was when I discovered she was a hero. Can you guess who she was?"
"You had encountered the Aspirant," Lord Mallory replied.
"Well, it seems you can be right about something at least. Now, can you guess what happened next?"
"She brought Prince Amaury's army to a halt."
"So the news did reach down this far south then," she mused. "That makes this discussion easier. Right. She stopped an army. Now, here's the part you're missing."
Songbird paused for a moment. The only sound in the building was the crackling from the logs in the fire.
"The look on her face when she came back to the rest of us? Irritation and disappointment." Songbird explained. "She was not tired or exhausted. It was like a mother who had looked at a baby doing something she disapproved of and had gently reached out to stop it. Now, do you know what's scary about that?"
"Why don't you tell me?" Mallory replied irritably. Could the woman not come to her point instead of narrating? It was evident to him that she did not mean to sever his thread. Once accord had been reached, he could settle in and enjoy a drink by the fire.
The blade against his throat dug in deeper. He felt blood start to run. Mallory paled.
"It's scary because something happened to the girl in the past. She doesn't talk about what that event is. Whatever it was, was so utterly terrifying that it scared her into trying to be a hero. Because I'm certain that she thinks that she was a villain before. Every now and again, I like to remind her to be a saint. Just in case she forgets. See, I don't know what it takes to scare a girl who can dismiss an army at a thought into being good. What I do know is that I don't want to see what happens when she stops trying."
"Why are you bringing all of this to my attention?" Lord Mallory croaked.
"I realized then that somebody has to support her. She needs someone in her corner no matter what, making sure that she doesn't snap. Whether that's a friend, or a lover or simply a shoulder to cry on, I decided I would be that person. It's taken a while of poking and prodding to work out her sore points. I don't know her perfectly yet, but I'm making progress. You know what I decided she requires?" Songbird's voice hardened for a moment.
"It is evident from your narration that she requires a bard," Mallory stated drily.
"That too," Songbird agreed. "But it wasn't what I decided on. She requires a friend willing to get their hands dirty for her. A person prepared to threaten to burn your life to the ground if you don't behave, and then follow that through to the end."
She tapped the documents on the table meaningfully.
"See, if she finds out you did this, she'll kill you herself," Songbird hissed. "Then she will hate herself for it. She will tell herself that maybe if she searched, there was a better answer to be found. It's kind of a consequence of who she is. Imagine what it's like when you can do almost anything. She feels she holds all the answers, and it's on her if she's not smart enough to determine the correct one."
Songbird leaned in close. Mallory could feel her breath tickle against his moustache.
"I'm not about to see the best hope we have against the threats in the north fall tumbling into the hells because a few ambitious Alamans lords decide to push her too far. This is how this is going to work. You're going to attend her little party and listen to everything she says. If you don't do that, your entire family is going to die."
Songbird paused speaking for a moment.
A stillness fell over the room.
Mallory dared not speak.
"The only reason I'm letting you live is that Taylor needs people who can prevent the principality from burning to the ground. Unfortunately for her, you're one of them. So you're going to listen to everything she says. Don't even think about being creative in your interpretation of her words. Then you're going to attempt to solve all the problems she raises, in a manner she would approve of. And if you think to talk about this, well… Remember. What she doesn't know doesn't hurt her, but what she does know definitely hurts you. Do you understand what I mean?"
"Your message has been received."
"I'm glad that we could resolve this amicably. Now I only have a few more individuals like you to converse with before the day draws to a close."
