Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 10 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Convergence of Interests

San Dinalle, in the southwest of Faerzen, had recently become the nation’s new royal capital. The change had been unilaterally proposed and enacted by Anguis, but there had been no one left to resist. Most of Faerzen’s nobility had perished alongside the royal family in the war with the empire four years prior. The Faerzen Resistance—formerly led by Scáthach, the last of the royal line—had voiced its opposition, but now that its leader had thrown in her lot with the empire, many of its members had deserted and its influence had waned. Besides, with the old capital of Skye long reduced to rubble, the people had naturally fallen in behind Six Kingdoms’ proposal.

Newly risen to prominence on the backs of various political interests, San Dinalle had transformed into a bustling metropolis thanks to its proximity to both Esel—the gateway to Six Kingdoms—and the Grand Duchy of Draal. Faerzen’s west was so peaceful compared to its ravaged east that the two might as well have been different countries. As a result, the city had become a prime destination for Draali merchants and a desirable place to relocate. The population surged and the town rapidly transformed. In a few more years, many had said, it would become as great a city as had ever existed in Soleil.

Everything changed with the empire’s invasion. With the last princess of Faerzen to grant it casus belli, its forces had surged across the eastern border, driving a wave of refugees before it to San Dinalle. The Anguis officials, already struggling to manage the growing population and contain the associated rise in crime, found themselves thoroughly out of their depth. Even as they fought to restore order, Six Kingdoms’ forces fell to the empire’s advance, and by the time they had assembled a plan of action, the empire’s armies were knocking on the front gate.

The merchants had fled. Large swathes of the population had evacuated to nearby towns and villages. One by one, the surrounding cities had raised the white flag, and soon San Dinalle found itself much emptier—not quite deserted, but far quieter than its glory days. The only ones to remain were its original residents and soldiers from Greif, Esel, and Anguis. The air hung sullen, and the townsfolk’s faces were lined with worry. The joyous prosperity of several months prior seemed a distant dream.

Here and there, new evacuees traipsed toward the gates with their belongings in tow as if fleeing the oppressive gloom. They cried insults to soldiers of Anguis as they passed.

“We’d be living peaceful and happy if not for you bastards!”

“We put our faith in Six Kingdoms, and what do we have to show for it?! The empire’s wrath, that’s what!”

The soldiers said nothing outwardly, but they resented the townsfolk’s flightiness. In times of peace, the same people had greeted them happily, but now that they were at war, Six Kingdoms was at fault for everything. Still, it could have been worse. At least the soldiers weren’t dealing with riots.

They watched the evacuees leave in silence. Forcing these people to stay would only lead to unrest, and that was the last thing the soldiers needed when they had a city to defend. Besides, they were under strict orders from the governor of San Dinalle not to harm anyone leaving the town.

The governor’s mansion was located in the center of the city. It was a wooden building of modest size, surrounded by a fence that would be easy enough to climb. It had formerly housed members of Faerzen’s royal family, but they had perished in battle with the empire and the mansion had burned to the ground. San Dinalle’s new ruler, one Lucia Levia du Anguis, had overseen its reconstruction.

Lucia was in the mansion’s study. She stifled a yawn, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to stave off sleep. Stacks of untouched paperwork were piled high on her desk, but she did not look inclined to start attending to them.

Seleucus offered her a cup of tea. “Perhaps this will wake you up, my lady.”

“Indeed.”

She offered neither thanks nor appreciation, taking the cup as if she were entitled to it, but Seleucus was accustomed enough to her ways not to raise an eyebrow. He knew how to be the model subordinate.

Lucia raised the cup to her lips, but she stopped short of taking a sip, glancing sidelong at Seleucus. “Have you seen Nameless of late?”

“I’m afraid not. I daresay she is no longer in San Dinalle at all.”

“Hm.”

The álf had vanished following her battle with Hiro a month prior. Most likely, her Dharmic Blade’s Graal was at work, but even Lucia, who wielded a Dharmic Blade of her own, did not know exactly what power it possessed.

“One can only wonder what she’s planning.”

It was disconcerting for Nameless to be so quiet. Now there was no way to tell what she was up to. Only one thing was certain: no matter how far away she was in body, she would be watching.

“’Tis a pretty mess we’re in,” Lucia murmured. She stifled another yawn as she laid out pawns on the map. Contrary to her words, she did not seem the least bit concerned.

Seleucus smiled knowingly. “What do you intend?”

“What to choose? As of our last battle, we hold far more cards in hand. The only question now is when to play them.”

San Dinalle was now more or less under siege. The bulk of the imperial forces had regrouped with the third army and were in the process of reabsorbing it into their ranks. Once their armies had reorganized, they would march on the city. On Six Kingdoms’ side of the field, the only parties actively garrisoning San Dinalle were Anguis, Esel, and Greif. The other three kingdoms had withdrawn to Esel to watch the fighting unfold.

“So what happens now?” Seleucus asked. “I know we have been strengthening the city’s defenses over the past two years, but they will not hold off an army of that size.”

Lucia nodded. “Especially not now that Steissen has joined the fray.”

Even accounting for the first army’s devastating losses, the imperial forces still numbered more than a hundred thousand, and they had the two-thousand-strong Crow Legion in tow. Now, five thousand soldiers from Steissen had joined their ranks.

“And the Knights of the Golden Lion, the Knights of the Royal Black, and the Knights of the Rose all ride with them,” she continued. “Even Six Kingdoms would struggle to fend off such forces.”

“They have committed a great many men,” Seleucus mused. “One wonders if they left enough behind to defend their own lands.”

“I have heard speculation to that effect, ’tis true. How well-informed it is, I cannot say.”

Certainly, the empire had seemed to have concentrated its forces inadvisably. Almost all of its strength had ridden in the west, leaving the rest of its lands sparsely defended, which presented a chance to draw blood from a normally untouchable foe. An enterprising invader could certainly sack a few towns in the confusion. While the meager takings would put off anyone concerned with short-term self-interest, those who took a longer view would see an opportunity to change the board in interesting ways. Still, capitalizing on that chance would be no easy matter. Only a small number of nations would be capable.

“The north?” she mused. “No, Lebering is allied with the empire, at least on the face of it. Then the south? Just as unlikely. The empire beat Draal and Lichtein bloody not three years past. ’Tis doubtful they have the stomach to defy it again.”

“None seem particularly likely, do they?” Seleucus replied. “And the high consul of Steissen is fighting alongside the empire in Faerzen.”

“Then that would leave...the Vanir Triumvirate.”

“I believe it is unlikely they would act, my lady.”

“Why do you say that?”

“To reach the empire, they would have to pass through either Draal or the lands of the Free Folk. The imperials would catch wind of them before they got close.”

“Would they now? Draal and the Triumvirate have closer ties than one might think.” Lucia rapped the south of Draal with the back of her fist. “’Tis common knowledge that many in the south subscribe to faerie worship. Who can say what they would be willing to conceal?”

Regardless, Draal itself doubtless had little intention of attacking the empire. Handhaven von Draal had become grand duke following the death of his older brother, and on the occasions Lucia had met him, he had struck her as a timid, weak-willed man. His hesitant leadership was the reason Draal had yet to recover from his father’s passing. It was hard to believe he would have the nerve to take a gamble that could destroy his nation. Among his retainers, however, was one man who might—a man with bottomless ambition.

“Eguze von Martina, I believe his name was.”

“A general of Draal,” Seleucus supplied. “I understand he is commonly known as Grand Duke Handhaven’s right hand.”

That brought back Lucia’s memory. Von Martina had been on Handhaven’s shoulder at all times, accompanying him everywhere like a leech on his leg. Handhaven had scarcely spoken a word without looking to him for approval.

“Now I recall. I wonder what he intends?”

Word of his humiliation at Hiro’s hands had reached as far as Six Kingdoms. He might still hold enough of a grudge that anger would cloud his judgment. If the Vanir Triumvirate was willing to deliver judgment to the empire in his stead, he would no doubt be happy to let them.

“Well, little use puzzling over it. Fires on the other side of the continent are no business of ours.”

Lucia would not shed a tear to see the empire attacked. There was, however, another concern.

“That said, if the empire comes under attack, ’tis likely they will withdraw troops from Faerzen.”

She had brokered an alliance with Surtr in the hope of insuring against that possibility, but it remained to be seen how useful he would be.

“So long as they cause enough chaos in Esel first, I care not...but the Vanir Triumvirate’s involvement might pose a greater problem.”

That was her only real concern. The Vanir Triumvirate held a great deal of influence over Tigris, Vulpes, and Scorpius. If they moved at the wrong time, her plans would collapse in on themselves, and she would never seize control of Six Kingdoms.

“Fortunately, they seem content to wait.”

If the three kingdoms had received support from the Vanir Triumvirate, they would have sent soldiers to San Dinalle’s defense, but presently they were watching the fighting unfold from Esel. If the empire were to invade there, no doubt they would abandon what they disdained as a human kingdom and return to their homelands.

“’Twould be wise to consider what to do if that comes to pass.”

It was always prudent to prepare for any eventuality. Once her plan was made, she could simply file it away in her mind until some stroke of fortune decreed it could be used. Still, such matters could wait. First, she had to navigate the situation at hand.

“Now to weaken Greif and Esel a little. All is ready, I trust, Seleucus?”

“Perfectly, my lady. We are the only missing pieces.”

“Wonderful. Well, I daresay we have nothing more to gain from this land. Let the empire have San Dinalle.”

“As you command, my lady. I shall draw us a carriage.”

Lucia let out a bark of laughter. “How interesting the game grows!” She strode from the room, flicking open her fan to hide her face. “Finally, my time is nigh. The path to the High King’s throne is clear.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The history of the Vanaheim Theocracy, one of the three nations that made up the Vanir Triumvirate, spanned more than a thousand years. Its roots stretched back to the moment the fair-featured people of the western continent first made landfall on Soleil. These people, who would later be called álfar, had shared gifts of higher knowledge with the indigenous human population.

The humans transformed their lands with álfen learning, bringing water and greenery to dry earth. The álfar levied mysterious powers to save the humans from monsters and teach them how to fight. In time, the humans began to revere their benefactors as messengers of the gods. Tales of their bounties drew settlers from neighboring lands. Settlements became villages, villages became cities, the cities became a nation, and the nation became the Vanaheim Theocracy.

The neighbors of the newborn theocracy regarded it warily. It was not long before war broke out. The nation’s armies had grown strong under álfen leadership, however, and they repelled the would-be invaders. Endless retaliations dragged the fighting on. Soon, the Vanaheim Theocracy had become so vast that it covered the south of Soleil.

Its prosperity would not last, however. The age of the zlosta was coming. Even the strength of the álfar, revered as gods, could not save the people from the threat of the fiendkin, and the theocracy’s territories gradually shrank. The álfar banded together with the beastfolk, the humans, and the dwarves in what became known as the Fourfold Alliance, but disputes with the humans in the latter days of the war led to their exit from the pact. Even after the humans secured ultimate victory, relations between the two remained bitter.

The reign of the third emperor would turn the division into a decisive rift. The humans began to purge Soleil of the other races. Nations fell and former comrades’ blood was spilled. Grieving for what they saw, the Vanaheim Theocracy extended its aid to the oppressed, granting them lands of their own where they could be safe from persecution. These became the Knightdom of Nala and the Monastic Order of Kwasir, which would join hands with the Vanaheim Theocracy to resist the empire, together becoming the Vanir Triumvirate.

A thousand years had passed since those times, but álfar lived long lives and had long memories. Their resentment of the empire and its purges ran deep. The Vanaheim Theocracy had weathered many threats over the centuries, and it had survived many periods of strife. Although long past its glory days, it still exerted great influence over its neighbors and was justly considered one of the most powerful nations in Soleil.

Under the distinctive culture it had developed, the theocracy was ruled not by a monarch, but by a figure known as the Holy Emperor selected by the Faerie King. The capital of the nation was Vanr, and in its center stood the grand cathedral of Vana Vis, where adherents of faerie worship came every day to pray. Multiple artists had contributed to the construction and renovation of the historic structure. It watched over the town with solemn majesty.

Newcomers to Vanr often found themselves cowed by its gravitas, but the longer they stayed, the more welcoming they would find it. Its people were not especially outgoing, but perhaps because of the city’s tropical clime, they were cheerful in manner and cordial to outsiders. There were many sights to see, and people of all stripes could be found passing through. Crowds of merchants hawked a plethora of curiosities. Today, however, the city was particularly bustling. People packed the streets, all headed to the grand cathedral. Mass would be held in Vana Vis, providing the rare opportunity to see the Holy Emperor in public. The religious leader would only be visible for a few seconds, but they hoped for good fortune.

The Holy Emperor was in Galta Palace, a residence adjoining the cathedral. Clad in a white, gold-trimmed robe, the hooded figure was accompanied through the corridors by a retinue of álfar.

“There is news for you, Your Holiness,” one of the álfar said.

“Ah, Cardinal Snorri. Speak.”

“Word has come from the north. The Grantzian Empire is on the verge of retaking Faerzen.”

“I see.” The Holy Emperor nodded. “As we anticipated.”

Cardinal Snorri continued, his manner businesslike. “The rulers of Tigris, Vulpes, and Scorpius have written to us repeatedly for reinforcements. What would you have us do?”

“We have nothing to gain from aiding them but debt. Six Kingdoms’ life is a candle in the wind. Still, let them believe help is coming until they have served their purpose. People cannot live without hope.” The Holy Emperor’s mouth pressed into a solemn line. “They were never more than a lure in the first place. If affairs proceed as we have planned, you may ignore their letters.”

“As you command, Your Holiness. We have also received a report from the Free Folk. They say all is ready.”

“Tell them to wait a little longer. Allow the empire to carve deeper into the west. We have no shortage of time.” As the party turned into the hallway connecting Galta Palace to Vana Vis, the Holy Emperor stopped. “Ah, yes. I ought to ask. How fares the north?”

“It is quiet, Your Holiness. Albeit in the manner that comes before a storm.”

Cardinal Snorri’s answer seemed agreeable. The robed figure smiled beneath their hood and resumed walking. “They await their chance, just as we do.”

“The nations of Soleil feign disinterest in the ongoing conflict, but the moment the lion displays weakness, they will pounce. The balance of power will tip in an instant.”

“Then we must act with great care or history will leave us behind.”

Cardinal Snorri nodded in understanding. Turning, he pushed open the double doors that led to the balcony. Warm wind rushed into the hallway, carrying with it a thunderous cheer.

The Holy Emperor stepped forward. The courtyard was filled with people as far as the eye could see. They looked up to the balcony as one, shouting and waving. The Holy Emperor raised a hand and waved, smiling. The cheering only intensified.

Cardinal Snorri’s voice issued from behind. “I believe that is enough, Your Holiness.”

The Holy Emperor nodded. It was prudent to limit the length of these balcony appearances. Any longer and they would lose their luster. Restricting their presence to special occasions was how a leader won the people’s love and turned subjects into believers. Fervor spread as fast and unstoppably as a contagious disease, making its victims more ardent, more zealous, and more fanatical. When the people were sick, they called for medicine, and the Holy Emperor was a cooling draft. The religious leader’s magnetism held the Vanir Triumvirate together with iron bonds.

The Holy Emperor returned to the hallway. The door closed, and all at once, the heated passion of the crowd was gone. Outside, their cheering continued unabated, but the interior of the cathedral was cool. The cardinals bowed their heads as one.

“Thank you for accompanying us,” Cardinal Snorri said. “Please, return to your rest.”

With a final appreciative gesture, the Holy Emperor began to walk away. Unseen, the mouth beneath the hood twisted sourly.

Upon returning to Galta Palace, the Holy Emperor looked around to see if anyone was nearby. The palace was deserted.

“Believers in a false idol... What fools they are.” A scowl beneath the hood. “How my gorge rises to look at them.”

The Holy Emperor raised a hand, drawing it back as if pulling on something unseen. The air rang with the chime of bells. Space warped, swirling inward. A bell staff settled into their palm, clinking softly.

“But no more foolish than those who still cling to the old gods. So hatefully blind, they cannot even conceive of thinking for themselves.”

The Holy Emperor stopped before an ornately decorated door. Beyond lay a place that no one else was permitted to enter: the Great Baldachin where the Faerie King dwelled. Opening the door with a familiar hand, the white-and-gold figure walked in without hesitation.

“All must be purified. A mindless slaughter for the right to live.”

Shafts of light descended from the vaulted ceiling, falling on the bookshelves lining the walls, illuminating works of art gathered from all across Aletia. In the center of the chamber was an intricately carved wooden altar. Fresh water trickled in the trench around it. Yet the altar seemed amiss to anyone’s eyes. The statue atop it was headless, and the flowers at its feet were dead.

The Holy Emperor seemed to think nothing of it, advancing before the statue. “Chaos is precisely what the world needs, don’t you think?”

A sharp kick sent the bronze head on the ground rolling across the room with a clatter. It struck a bookcase and came to a stop.

“Tell me, Faerie King, how does it feel to see the world prepare to turn anew?” The Holy Emperor prodded the statue with the tip of the bell staff. “Who knows? Perhaps the age of the álfar you hoped for is finally upon us.”

There was no reply. Scowling in distaste, the Holy Emperor struck the bell staff against the floor and, with one last lingering chime, vanished into thin air.

＊＊＊＊＊

The twelfth day of the tenth month of Imperial Year 1026

Once the imperial army had finished reorganizing its forces, it renamed itself the Six Kingdoms Incursion Force. In effect, it had declared to all of Soleil that it intended to march on into Esel.

“How uncharacteristically bold of Lady Celia Estrella,” Ludurr murmured. A young man in the service of Beto von Muzuk, he looked too frail to have any place on the battlefield, but he carried himself with distinction. Although very pale, if not sickly pallid, he retained an aura of authority. The overall impression he left was a curious one, faintly unsettling but also undeniably charismatic.

He gazed at the chief strategist’s message, stroking his chin in what might have been admiration. “Or perhaps a sign that her heart is behind this cause.”

A nearby aide seemed to overhear. He laid down the reports he was compiling and turned to Ludurr. “Do you mean to say it was not before, sir?”

“She was not enthusiastic about the Faerzen campaign. Unsurprising, perhaps. She has matured impressively over the past three years, but it takes longer than that to harden one’s heart. The prospect of trampling her friend’s homeland underfoot no doubt gave her pause.”

Personally, Ludurr saw no reason to show mercy to a mortally wounded nation. If anything, putting it out of its misery was the kinder thing to do. Let the name of Faerzen vanish from the world. It would hardly be the first. History was littered with nations that had suffered the same fate, as numerous as the stars in the sky.

“So she is much like Emperor Greiheit, sir?” the aide asked tentatively.

Caught off guard, Ludurr burst out laughing. Few figures in imperial history had a more checkered past than Greiheit. Longstanding rumor held that he had secured the throne by slaying his own father and assassinating his brothers, and his reign had been marked by endless warfare and incessant expansion. He had executed the entire bloodlines of rulers who opposed him. Anyone who defied him was put to the sword, commonfolk or nobleborn. By all accounts, he had been the cruelest of despots. Yet even he had possessed another side.

“Ah, yes,” Ludurr said once his laughter had subsided. “Never did an emperor dote more on his children.”

In a sense, he had been the most naive kind of emperor. Even comparing them seemed absurd.

Ludurr rose from his chair and headed outside the tent. “He never hesitated to dirty his hands if it would bring about his heart’s desire. For that alone, I will praise him. But it was unwise to defy fate. If only he had accepted his lot with grace, he might have lived a little longer.”

Greiheit’s attempts had been admirable but futile. They had only led to tragedy, and much that had gone awry in the present could be traced back to his actions.

Ludurr stepped outside the tent, narrowing his eyes against the sun’s glare. At that moment, a cry went up from afar, and a loud bang shuddered through his body. The air itself seemed to shake. He turned to regard the city in the distance, from which a cloud of black smoke was now rising.

“They’re putting up less of a fight than anticipated,” he mused.

San Dinalle, the new royal capital of Faerzen, marked the final objective of the imperial campaign. It was now surrounded by the imperial forces and virtually helpless against their assault. Flaming arrows rained down on it without pause, as brutal and merciless as ants swarming a scrap of food.

“I had not expected the city to fall so easily. Not when it is the last line of defense before Six Kingdoms’ own soil.”

The imperial army was formidable, numbering over a hundred thousand, but even so, San Dinalle did not seem like it was going to last two days. The defenders were making such a poor showing, Ludurr was starting to suspect some kind of trap. Given the city’s size, the height of its walls, and the stockpiles of food it no doubt possessed, it should have been able to hunker down for months. Surely its defenders could have sent for reinforcements from their homelands to break the siege.

“I feel like a fool for being worried about this battle.”

The imperial command had held strategy meeting after strategy meeting in the preceding days, endlessly debating the best ways to minimize their losses. All those discussions seemed pointless now, as did the preparations they had made to storm the walls. As far as Ludurr was concerned, his time had been wasted, and he reserved the right to complain about it.

“Perhaps the sight of our numbers broke their morale?” he wondered aloud.

His thoughts were interrupted as a rider cantered up to him. The soldier wore light armor, and the bright-red flag on his back identified him as a messenger of the Crimson Princess.

“Word! I bear word for Lord von Ingunar!”

“I’m here.” Ludurr raised a hand. “What’s this about?”

The messenger skillfully brought his horse to a stop, dismounted, and dropped to one knee. “I bear a message from Lady Celia Estrella.”

“I’ll hear it.”

“Her Highness means to attack Esel. She will ride with twenty thousand men. You are ordered to consolidate control of San Dinalle in her absence.”

Lady Celia Estrella’s instructions were clear and concise. He was to wait there while she won herself glory. Refusal would embarrass not only him, but also his master, Beto. Compliance would deprive him of any further opportunities to distinguish himself, but it would improve Beto’s standing. Naturally, his only choice was the latter.

“Very good. Tell Her Highness that I will see it done.”

“Of course, my lord.”

The messenger moved to mount his horse again, but Ludurr stopped him. “Before you leave, may I ask something?”

“Anything, my lord.”

“The enemy seems to have put up a remarkably weak fight. Do you know why?”

“Six Kingdoms’ commanding officers have evacuated the city, my lord. The remaining soldiers are demoralized, and the chain of command is in disarray. They have just issued their surrender.”

“Oh? Their leaders fled?” Ludurr folded his arms and looked up at the sky, gazing at the clouds drifting by.

The messenger looked perplexed, but he continued without remark. “Just before our siege closed, it seems. They left a handful of officials in charge, but that was all.”

“How many soldiers remain to defend the city?”

“We estimate around twenty thousand, my lord.”

“So few? I’d have expected thirty thousand at least.”

“Reliable information is hard to come by at the moment, my lord. We expect to have a more accurate picture in the coming days.”

“Very good. Please give Her Highness my regards.”

“At once, my lord!” The messenger rode away, trailing a cloud of dust.

“Now, then. Who has painted us this pretty picture, I wonder...”

Cupping his chin in his hand, Ludurr turned and ducked back into his tent. His aides were inside, just as he had left them, compiling their reports. He brought his foot down with particular vigor to attract their attention. They laid down their pens and looked up at him.

“Lady Celia Estrella had left us in charge of San Dinalle,” he announced. “But do not let yourselves believe the fighting is done. Pockets of enemy resistance remain throughout Faerzen, and they will likely attempt to retake the city. Be on your guard.”

With a brisk acknowledgment, the aides returned to their duties. Ludurr threaded his way through them back to his chair. He sat back down with a sigh, brow furrowing.

“Her Highness has well and truly cut me loose, it would seem. Not that I mind, I suppose.”

Lady Celia Estrella’s decision had been a wise one. Certainly, she had no reason to trust him. He couldn’t help but feel it would have been wiser to keep him under close watch than leave him behind, but that was by the by.

“The pressing question now is...who exactly is conspiring with Six Kingdoms?”

San Dinalle was the final bulwark before Six Kingdoms’ own soil. By all rights, they ought to be defending it tooth and nail. There was only one reason they would relinquish it so easily: they had come to some agreement with the empire behind closed doors.

There were other reasons Ludurr had come to that conclusion. For one, everything was too conveniently timed. Events were proceeding as though both sides were working in concert. Six Kingdoms’ leadership escaping unharmed precisely before the imperial encirclement had snapped shut. The leaderless defenders being left with no choice but to surrender, allowing the empire to seize the city with minimal losses.

“No string of coincidences is that convenient.”

That said, it was hard to believe Liz had made contact with Six Kingdoms undetected. Ludurr had kept a close eye on her—or had others do it for him—ever since the imperial army had moved into Faerzen, but she had done nothing especially suspect.

At that moment, a shadow fell across his desk. A voice addressed him. “My lord? My lord, we are ready to enter the city.”

Ludurr looked up. A soldier stared back at him, looking faintly perplexed. For a moment, he wondered why the man seemed so hesitant, but a look around the tent revealed that his advisors were staring in similar concern. Apparently, he had been so deep in thought that he had not noticed them trying to get his attention.

He stood up in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “Very good. Bring me my horse.”

“At once, my lord.”

Ludurr followed the soldier out of the tent. For a moment he gazed at the black smoke still rising from San Dinalle. “Did Nameless plan even this, I wonder?”

With a heavy sigh, he squinted at the city. The rumble of a collapsing wall rang out, followed swiftly by echoing screams. Those who refused to surrender would hold out to the death—and, as ever, the commonfolk would be caught in the cross fire. As a soldier of the empire, the conqueror of Soleil, he had seen similar massacres play out many times. There was a lesson to be learned there, he thought. Someday, the empire would reckon with the same destruction it wreaked on others. Its nobles knew that well, and they were constantly searching for a way to survive. They schemed, betrayed, and sold their allegiances, smiling and shaking hands with their peers so as not to be left behind, yet readying blades in their other hands for the day blood would need to be spilled.

“Your horse, my lord,” a soldier said.

“Thank you.” Ludurr mounted his steed. “Well, then. Off we go on our tour of hell.”

He turned his horse about and fell in behind the soldiers leading the way. A snort escaped him as he gazed up at the sun-drenched sky.

“The way before you is dark, Your Highness. As obscure as the smoke that hangs over the city you have won. And those who wait for you on that path were once nigh unto gods. Underestimate them and they will swallow you whole.”

He clutched his chest with a pained grimace before turning to stare into the distance. Beyond lay Liz’s position.

“No matter how valiantly you struggle, you cannot change the future. The empire is destined to fall.”

At last, he turned his gaze south toward his own homeland.

“Soon, Lord Beto. Soon, the age of von Grantz will end, and the age of House Muzuk will begin.”

＊＊＊＊＊

Sunspear was the largest city in the southern territories. To its north lay the imperial capital, to the south the slaver nation of the Duchy of Lichtein and the melting pot that was the Republic of Steissen, to the west the third imperial city, and to the east Baldickgarten and the Eagle’s Roost. Its central location made it a waypoint for merchants traveling in all directions, and it did such roaring trade in foreign goods that it was often called an inland port. Thanks to that good fortune, it rivaled the imperial capital for prosperity.

Although most would have said Sunspear’s success was derived from trade, it was also the empire’s greatest producer of gold. As such, it attracted the wealthy and well-to-do, who ensured its affairs were well funded. The cityscape was constantly expanding and renovating. On top of that, the free-spirited and broad-minded character of its people meant there was little discrimination. It was not uncommon for travelers of other races to be so taken by its charms that they ended up settling there for good.

Sunspear was ruled by House Muzuk, one of the empire’s five great houses. They resided in the palace of Glitnir in the center of the city. So much gold had been used in the building’s construction that it was dubbed the Golden Hall, and while it arguably made for a symbol of the city’s prosperity, many called it gaudy and in poor taste. Nonetheless, Sunspear’s architecture did make use of a great deal of gold, so the palace complemented the surrounding buildings, one with the city rather than apart from it. Its appeal—or lack thereof—lay in the eye of the beholder.

It was certainly true that many came to Sunspear hoping to strike it rich. Such people invariably looked up to the city’s ruler, Beto Lueger von Muzuk. He had assumed leadership of House Muzuk at the young age of twenty-seven after the previous patriarch passed away from illness, and in the four years since, he had purged the city of corrupt nobles and actively attracted foreign merchants in an attempt to secure new trade routes. Sunspear had flourished under his rule. Despite his youth, he had proven something of a prodigy, and with such skilled retainers as Ludurr at his side, he now wielded influence in the empire second only to that of House Kelheit.

The day found Beto cooped up in his chambers, brow furrowed as he gazed at a scroll. The door opened and his wife, Selvia Sephone von Muzuk, entered.

“My,” she exclaimed. “Is that a letter from Ludurr?”

Her clothing was so sheer that her underwear showed through beneath, but between the tropical climes of the city and the way it complimented her figure, the effect was not obscene. If anything, it was closer to an artistic depiction of the human form.

Beto cleared his throat and nodded. “It is. He reports that the Faerzen campaign proceeds apace.”

“That’s a relief to hear.”

“May I ask what you are doing here? It’s rare for you to come to my quarters.”

“I only thought you might appreciate some refreshments. Is that so strange?” Selvia laid a tray on the desk. It was piled high with baked treats and a steaming cup of tea.

Beto picked up the cup, took a sip, and nodded in approval. He looked back at his wife. “So? Did you have some business with me?”

“Not as such, but the palace has gotten so dreadfully noisy. I thought here I might finally find some peace.” Selvia walked to the window and gazed out. The outskirts of the city were a sea of tents, but the banners flying above them did not belong to any of the southern houses. “I swear, nothing but eastern noble soldiers as far as the eye can see.”

With Ludurr leading so many soldiers east, House Kelheit had stepped in to reinforce the south with its private troops.

“Their concerns are a pretense, no doubt,” Beto said. “They’re here to keep an eye on us.”

He could have turned down the offer, but it had been wiser to accept. Chancellor Rosa no doubt shared his concerns. With unrest in the north, the empire could not afford for the south to fall. Nonetheless, once a stack of bricks had begun to topple, propping it up was difficult work.

“The bulk of the empire’s strength has ridden west,” he continued. “We will not be able to rely on it in a crisis. We will have to make do with what remains.”

The western territories were still recovering from their wounds of three years prior. They were in no position to send any soldiers. The central territories, too, had fallen into decline following the downfall of House Krone. Upon becoming chancellor, Rosa had weeded out corruption among the central nobles, confiscating their assets, seizing their lands, and stripping them of their ranks. Her policies had won great acclaim among the people and swollen her faction’s influence, but at the price of a weakened noble class.

“She barely gave the heartlands time to recover before launching this Faerzen campaign. Soldiers are not a limitless resource. Nothing is. It seems she has forgotten that.”

Selvia raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Never in history has the empire fought so many wars in such short order. Even Greiheit had his Fifth Spring. We are living in unprecedented times.”

“Concerning indeed,” Selvia said. “Do you know, I hear the most curious rumors. The commonfolk whisper that all of this can be traced back to Lichtein. Do you suppose they’re right?”

Beto found himself swallowing hard. Selvia looked down at him, her expression faintly frosty. As he met her lightless eyes, he gave a small sigh.

“Why do you say that?”

“A good friend of mine tells me that Hiro, Liz, and Stovell were all present when Lichtein first crossed the border.”

“I’ve heard as much. It did happen in my territories, after all. Lady Celia Estrella and Stovell were feuding over the throne at the time.”

That said, their contest had hardly been equal enough to call a feud. Stovell had possessed the backing of the largest faction at court, while Liz had been isolated with no support from anyone. Their brief clash had ended with Liz being banished to a backwater province.

“She was on her way to her uncle’s lands in Gurinda, I believe.”

Fearing that one of her rivals for the throne would try to waylay her on the road, Liz had taken a longer route to Gurinda, crossing Mount Himmel and passing through Baum. On the way, she and her forces had encountered an invading force from Lichtein and engaged them in combat.

“Stovell arrived after that, as I recall. He went to lend his aid, but by the time he got there, the fighting was done. I see nothing strange about that.”

“But why did Stovell go so far out of his way? He was on campaign with Emperor Greiheit in Faerzen, was he not? That’s a terribly long way to travel.”

“As I said, he rode to lend his aid—”

“But how did he know the south was in peril?” Selvia interrupted insistently.

“Margrave von Gurinda sent out messengers. He might have heard from one of them, or from the refugees. There are any number of ways he might have gotten the news.”

“So he returned from the campaign immediately after Liz was sent to Gurinda, just in time to receive this message, assembled the Fourth Legion in exceptionally short order, and rode directly to the battlefield? That is your understanding?”

Beto sighed, his brow furrowing. “What exactly are you getting at?”

“Nothing. It simply seems to me that events conspired very conveniently.”

“Are you suggesting that Stovell anticipated the current crisis?”

“Of course not. But one did hear the strangest rumors about him. Don’t you think it’s odd that he’s been missing for so long?”

“You are being absurd. Many nations have had a hand in creating the ongoing situation. It is not something one man could orchestrate alone. Anyone who could do that would not stop at Soleil. He would have the whole world in his grasp.” Beto gave his wife a forbidding look as if to say he would hear no more.

“You are correct, of course. I should not have mentioned it. Please forget I ever said anything.”

Seeing Selvia’s contrition made Beto embarrassed he had grown so heated. He eased himself down into his chair, his manner softening. “No, it’s quite all right. It was an enlightening conversation.” He cracked a smile. “Perhaps you would like to serve as my strategist one of these days.”

Selvia giggled, bringing the back of her hand to her mouth. “While that sounds delightful, I can hardly be charging around battlefields with a daughter to take care of.”

Beto let his shoulders slump exaggeratedly. “A shame, to be certain.” He finished the rest of his tea, which was now quite cold, and laid the cup back on his desk.

Selvia moved to tidy it away, but as she did, something caught her attention. “Oh?”

Beto looked up at her dubiously. “Is something the matter?”

“This is a map of the north. Are affairs up there truly so dire?”

On the desk were the documents that Beto had been poring over: a map of the west and a map of the north, with stacks of parchment around them.

“My spies tell me that House Brommel is rising to prominence at House Scharm’s expense. The previous head was nobody of note, but his son seems to be quite capable.”

Selvia leaned closer, laying a hand on Beto’s shoulder. “He sounds a lot like you.” Her tone seemed oddly heavy with implication.

Beto’s brow furrowed a little, but he suppressed his misgivings and nodded. “Perhaps he is. In circumstance, at least.”

“Well,” Selvia said, “I do believe I will excuse myself. I will be in the next room if you need me.”

She moved to retrieve her tray. Even after her hand lifted from his shoulder, its sensation remained, lingering like a heated object pressed against his skin. He rubbed his throat and gave a small cough, trying to dispel his unease.

“Hm... Perhaps...”

Selvia stopped just before the door, turning. “Perhaps what?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He cocked his head, thinking. “Our conversation just made me realize something.”

Selvia’s eyes glinted with a beguiling light as she raised a hand to her mouth. “Whatever do you mean?”

“There may be many interests in the game, but if they all wanted the same thing, manipulating them might not be so difficult after all.”

She raised a finger, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Indeed...if they all sought to destroy the empire. To make all one.” With that final remark, she left the room.

Beto stared for a long while at the closed door. At last, he shrugged, smiling ruefully. “She certainly has her finger on the pulse. And her wits are fearsomely sharp.” With a sigh, he turned his gaze to the wall, where the portrait of House Muzuk’s previous head hung. “Your blood must indeed run thick in her veins.”