Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 8 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Word on the Wind

Thrynheim, in Jötunheim Province

Dawn had not long since broken, and the morning mist still lay thick in the ground. Ranks upon ranks of soldiers stood before Thrynheim’s gate. They had been summoned by the Jötunheimite senators from the surrounding lands in anticipation of a decisive battle with the Nidavellirites. They comprised a motley collection of races and carried a variety of weaponry, but they were united by their hope for a better future for Steissen as they waited, grim-faced, for the order to march.

More than a few of their number had personally experienced the cruelty of the elites. Some wanted revenge for murdered kin, others desired to cast the shackles of oppression from their homeland, and yet others hoped the conflict would help them make their way in the world. They were an eclectic group, but while their fervor may have been untempered, their ferocity more than made up the difference.

A little way from the Jötunheimite forces, the imperial troops also stood in ranks. They numbered five thousand in total: two thousand Knights of the Rose, the Fourth Legion’s elite troops, and three thousand riders borrowed from House Muzuk. Liz rode at their head, with Tris beside her. Cerberus scratched her ear with a rear paw on the ground nearby.

A man approached on horseback. “Lady Celia Estrella, I apologize for keeping you waiting. My name is Brutus.” He offered a bow in imperial fashion.

Brutus had been recommended by Beto von Muzuk. He was slender of limb and noble of feature, but something about him set Liz ill at ease.

“Do you have a noble rank?” she asked.

“I do not, Your Highness.” He answered without a moment’s hesitation, and his face did not so much as twitch. He did not seem to be lying.

Liz still could not shake her misgivings. “Any siblings?”

“I have neither siblings nor parents, Your Highness. I lost them to bandits two years ago, along with our house and all of our fields.” A vengeful flame lit in his eyes that set Liz’s hairs on end, almost as though it were aimed at her. “Lord von Muzuk took me in when I had nothing left. I am overjoyed to have the chance to repay his kindness!”

Brutus clenched the hilt of his sword, his breathing growing ragged. He seemed to be suppressing a great deal of emotion.

Liz realized that she must have made him relive some unpleasant memories. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”

“Please, think nothing of it, Your Highness. In any case, Lord von Muzuk has commanded me to serve as your guide and offer you what assistance I can. I have been apprised of the details. Would you mind if I accompanied you?”

“Of course not. Beto told me you would be coming. You may join the ranks.”

“At once, Your Highness. I am yours to command.”

At that moment, a shout interrupted them. “I carry a message from Lady Skadi! Where might I find Lady Celia Estrella?!”

Liz raised a hand. “Here.”

The messenger came up to her. “We mean to march forthwith. Are you ready to depart?”

“We are. Tell Lady Skadi that she can leave whenever she likes.”

“As you command!” The messenger turned his horse about and returned to Skadi’s ranks in a cloud of dust.

“Tris!” Liz called.

“You’ve need of me, Your Highness?”

“We’re leaving. Make sure the men are ready. Now that we’ve gotten involved in this war, we can’t afford defeat. It would embarrass the empire.”

“Morale’s in good shape, Your Highness. No overconfidence, but a healthy dose of tension. Soon the whole continent will see the empire’s strength!”

The Grantzian Empire had been quiet for two years. This conflict was a prime opportunity to show the rest of Soleil that it was still a force to be reckoned with. After three heirs to the throne had fallen in battle, its neighbors had sensed that its foundations were in jeopardy, and the news that the emperor had taken ill—while less compromising than the truth—had set their eyes gleaming with ambition. Even now, they schemed to lay claim to its lands. One of the few things stopping them was the uncertainty caused by the string of incidents that had plagued it. Liz would need to score a victory for the Jötunheimites to keep them in check, not to mention foil Beto’s schemes to claim the chancellorship. Resolve flared in her crimson eyes.

At that moment, a horn blew, higher in pitch than the imperial style. A battle cry rose from the Jötunheimite troops. Their voices rang loud enough to pierce the clouds, and the explosion of their fervor split the air with shuddering force.

Liz breathed deep as she listened to the distant roar, calming her nerves. In the corner of her eye, the Jötunheimite forces began to move. She whipped Lævateinn from its sheath and held it high.

“All units, march!”

She set off. The imperial soldiers fell in behind her, not a hair out of place. They were more restrained than the Jötunheimite troops, but they burned with battle fervor in the early morning stillness. From here, they would march on the stronghold of the Nidavellirites, the famously impenetrable city of Galza.

Liz turned to Tris, who rode alongside her. “Are you nervous? It’s been a while since your last time on a battlefield.”

“That it has, Your Highness.” He scratched the back of his head bashfully. “But truth be told, I feel as ready as a man half my age.”

She looked at him with concern. Now that battle was on the horizon, he seemed a little too eager to get back into the fray, but there was no point warning him to exercise caution. She had known him long enough to realize that would do no good.

“Just don’t get carried away, or you’ll steal all the younger soldiers’ glory.”

“I don’t know about that, Your Highness. It’s been a while since I took to the field.” Tris’s voice was somber, and he had a faraway look in his eyes. “I couldn’t be there for the fight against Six Kingdoms. I’d like to make a better account of myself this time around.”

Two years prior, he had begun to lose his spark. Now he was a shadow of the man he had been in his prime. The reason was simple: he was growing old. Where once he had been able to fight off a band of trained soldiers with ease, now he struggled to keep pace with Liz on a sprint. He trained alone when he found time—she had seen it—but there was no hiding that his strength was failing. With every passing day, he grew a little weaker.

She could only imagine how frustrating it must be. When she had told him she would be joining this venture, he had seized on the opportunity, insisting that she take him in any capacity, even if that meant being confined to the rearguard. It had only been on the day of her departure that she had finally relented. With any luck, this campaign would restore his confidence, although she had her doubts. Their enemies were mostly dwarves—difficult opponents for a human at the best of times, let alone one feeling the ravages of age.

Tris smiled wryly. He seemed to have guessed what she was thinking. “These old bones need no special favors, Your Highness. Treat me as you would any other soldier. I know I’m good for little else. A man who never made it past third tribune doesn’t have the rank or the knowledge to serve in command.”

Tris’s status did not match his rank. He was only a third tribune and a platoon commander, and yet he now served as aide to the emperor’s heir apparent. Battalion and brigade commanders had no idea how to engage with him. It was impossible to use him as an officer, and he could no longer fight by Liz’s side on account of his age, but he was also too selfless to care about advancing his own station.

“Rest assured, I won’t beg for a place on the vanguard. I’ll serve wherever I’m needed.” He drew his sword from its sheath. Most likely, he had never missed a day maintaining it. The blade was clear of nicks or blemishes, and it showered the land with light as it caught the sun. “I am yours to command, Your Highness.”

Liz had no wish to watch him ail, but neither could she stop the march of time. Nobody could, save perhaps the gods.

“I know.”

She returned her gaze to the fore as Tris nodded in reply. The sun beat down fiercely in the clear blue sky, oblivious to the turmoil in her heart.

＊＊＊＊＊

The twentieth day of the sixth month of Imperial Year 1026

Galza, in Nidavellir Province

As ever, the city was quiet. Less typically, the palace was in an uproar. Pale-faced residents rushed between the rooms before fleeing with bulging trunks in tow. Servants raced down the corridors with cloth bundles in hand, their duties forgotten. Carriages swarmed the front of the palace, swallowing up portions of the waiting crowd before departing in a chorus of whinnies.

Amid all the chaos and shouting, Hiro shook himself free of drowsiness. His room was filled with dust.

“Morning already...”

He gave a wide yawn. The bed beneath him was in pieces. Through bleary eyes, he gazed at the birds resting their wings outside the window. They looked so peaceful, he couldn’t help but smile until a loud crash sounded from outside and they all took flight.

“What’s going on?”

He wasn’t referring to the bed, but rather the disturbance in the palace. His eyes found the woman standing by the wall, looking utterly unconcerned with what was going on around her. Her empty left sleeve hung uselessly, and her face was, as ever, indifferent.

“I couldn’t say,” Luka replied. “I was so preoccupied by you, I didn’t have a thought to spare for anything else.”

If her cheeks had reddened, he might have mistaken her words for a confession of love, but her eyes were lightless and her expression was fixed. As if that wasn’t enough, her voice dripped with murderous intent. No, there was no mistaking this for anything other than what it was.

“Really? Not at all? When the place is this loud?”

“Not in the slightest.”

This was going nowhere. Hiro found himself with nothing to do but close his mouth. A curious silence fell between them, not quite anything, not even awkwardness.

All at once, a clamor sounded from the corridor. Hearing the clatter of armor, Luka assumed a battle stance, but Hiro waved his hand, signaling for her to stand down. The door burst open.

“Ah! My ancestral ally, my unwavering comrade in arms! My apologies for all this commotion. No doubt you must be terribly concerned.”

Utgard entered with his typical theatricality. Unlike the last time they had met, he was dressed for battle, clad in shining golden armor with a jewel-encrusted sword at his belt. Behind him were two soldiers wearing similarly gaudy plate armor, alongside Thorkil, the dwarf who had escorted Hiro to the palace.

Golden armor, hm? I doubt he’ll put it to use, but at least it’ll make him an easier target.

Standing out wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for a commander. A visible presence on the front line would inspire the troops. Still, it was hard to imagine Utgard fighting; he looked like he had hardly ever held a sword.

“Will you be taking the vanguard, Lord Utgard?” Hiro asked.

The dwarf flinched in surprise. “Me? Surely you jest, Lord Surtr. No, I shall await news of our victory on the back lines. Unlike the humans and beastfolk, I see no honor in fighting at the front.”

In that case, Hiro thought, he should have put on armor drab enough for a funeral and hidden in the heart of the army. It won’t help morale if he’s keeping himself out of the fighting.

Pointing that out would only draw the dwarf’s ire, however. Hiro looked at him coldly, as he might regard a shyster, but otherwise said nothing.

“I say,” Utgard continued, “whatever happened to your chambers? Don’t tell me you have been set upon by ruffians?” He cast a leery eye over the wreckage of the room.

“No, nothing like that. We had an argument, that’s all. I’d appreciate it if you could see about getting me a new bed, though.” The lie fell so easily from Hiro’s lips, it didn’t even register in his inflection.

Utgard glanced at Luka and burst out laughing. “Ha ha ha! She’s a fiery one, I see! Never you mind. I shall have the servants attend to it.”

He didn’t seem to doubt Hiro’s claim for a second. Admittedly, dwarves weren’t known for caring much about the little things, but in this case, it seemed more like he was too preoccupied with other concerns to be observant. As his laughter died down, he regarded Hiro afresh.

“Lord Surtr, it appears the Jötunheimites have begun to march.” A hint of urgency had appeared in his eyes. “We, of course, will ride out to meet them.”

Hiro listened quietly. It was widely known that Utgard had bought himself wealth and influence with the first emperor’s name, but what was worse, he believed he had done it all through his own power. The sad golden shape standing before Hiro now was proof enough of that, which meant it was not hard to predict what he would say next.

“What say you, Lord Surtr? I would have you join me, if you’re willing.”

He hoped to proclaim to the whole of Soleil that Baum stood with him, all while using Hiro to divide the Jötunheimites. If it would have profited Baum, Hiro might even have gone along with it, but siding with the Nidavellirites would only lower the nation’s standing for no gain. After a moment’s thought, he shook his head.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to refrain. I only have five hundred men to my name, and I doubt your troops would be willing to listen to me.”

That was a convincing enough reason. Utgard lowered his eyes as he sank into thought. His face was covered in shadow, but his desire for Lord Surtr’s aid was palpable.

“I’ve come prepared to negotiate trade, not to help you fight a war,” Hiro said. “Besides, with my paltry escort, I’d only be a burden to the valiant dwarves of Nidavellir. I will remain here and await news of your victory.”

He made a point of flattering Utgard, silently begging him to find something else to do. Perhaps some god had been listening, because the dwarf nodded with evident delight.

“Then wait here you must. We shall trounce these fools bloody and return covered in glory. However...” He laid a sorrowful hand to his forehead. “As we are now in a time of war, I fear I cannot permit you to wander as you please. With my most profuse apologies, I must insist that you be supervised for as long as you remain in the palace.”

“Of course. That’s only fair.”

“Then this good fellow will watch over you.” Utgard gestured to Thorkil.

As before, Thorkil shot Hiro an insolent glare, but he otherwise remained outwardly composed as he bowed to Utgard. “I shall endeavor to ensure your safety,” he said, turning back to Hiro and lowering his head.

“Much appreciated,” Hiro replied before turning his attention back to Utgard. “I notice the palace seems busy today. May I ask what’s going on?”

“A war has begun, Lord Surtr. The riffraff must be chased from the palace so that worthier sorts might shelter behind its walls. It is nothing for you to concern yourself with.” Offering a reassuring wave, the dwarf turned around. “Now, I fear I must excuse myself. It is almost time for the war council.” With that, he and his escort left the room as hurriedly as they had arrived.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the expression fell away from Hiro’s face. “At least he’s not just picking elites, I suppose, but chasing the servants out of the palace to make room for the powerful? And he calls himself a leader.” He pushed his mask back into place, like he was closing a lid on his anger. As he did, he sensed somebody behind him and turned around. “Well? What did you learn?”

Huginn knelt before him, hands upraised. A report rested in her palms. “It’s all here, Your Lordship. I expect you’ll not be surprised.”

Hiro took the scroll and skimmed through it, then smirked. “Interesting.” He looked down at Huginn, who was awaiting further orders. “Good work. Tell your men they have my thanks.”

“Yes, Your Lordship!” A grin spread across Huginn’s face.

He tousled her hair, then set a hand to his chin and pondered his next move. The order came quickly. “Huginn, find Garda in the camp outside the walls. Tell him it’s time to set our plans in motion.”

“At once, Your Lordship.”

“We’re racing against time now. Relay the same message to Muninn.”

“As you command!” With a crisp reply, Huginn leaped from the window.

Once she was gone, Luka finally broke her silence. “Whatever was in that report, you don’t seem happy about it.”

“Don’t I?”

“You might fool her, but not me. What did it say?”

“Something very interesting...and very welcome.” Hiro smiled, but it fell far short of his eyes.

＊＊＊＊＊

The twenty-sixth day of the sixth month of Imperial Year 1026

The sky was clear from horizon to horizon, with not a cloud in sight. Rainfall seemed a distant dream. Zephyrs swirled across the land, carrying birds on the wing.

In the years to come, the region called Loch would go down as the site of a decisive fork in Steissen’s history. For now, however, it was a nameless place of sparse trees and little else, and the battle was anybody’s to claim.

Across the landscape, plumes of dust rose skyward. They were collected into two camps, east and west, vying to outdo one another in dyeing the sky dirt-brown.

“We’ve picked a good spot,” Liz said. She held her hair down with a hand to keep the wind from snatching it as she surveyed the battlefield from atop a small hill.

Beside her, Tris frowned. “We’ve a good view, right enough. But there are a few more blind spots than I’d like.”

The woodland on the field was sparse, but extensive enough that there were several spots that could not be seen from the hill.

“We’ll have to send out scouts to search the area,” Liz sighed.

Tris grinned. “We should count ourselves lucky we’ve a clear line of sight to our allies.”

The Jötunheimite forces had set up one sel ahead and a little to the right. The Nidavellirites seemed to be ready for battle too; war cries issued from the hill three sel away that marked the heart of their camp. The bulk of their forces, however, lay downhill from the summit, and these were far less rowdy. Their ranks still seemed orderly, but morale was low.

“It looks like the soldiers aren’t feeling quite as positive about this battle as their commanders,” Liz observed. “Do you suppose their families are being held prisoner? Is that how the Nidavellirites have formed this army?”

“Seems likely, aye. But you mustn’t let pity stay your hand, Your Highness. You can’t free their families unless you win this war.”

“I suppose you’re right. And they’ll fight hard for their loved ones, even if they don’t care for the war itself. We can’t let ourselves get careless.”

The pair ducked into a simple tent, barely four canvas walls surrounding a patch of grass. Her aides and brigade commanders stood along either side of a long table. She returned their bows and moved to stand behind the empty seat at the head of the table, where she swept her gaze over the assembled men.

“Is anybody here hungry for glory?”

Several of the fiercer-looking officers straightened up. They were regarding the coming battle seriously, but she sensed no recklessness among them, only a healthy desire to acquit themselves.

“Good. Then we’ll begin.” Liz glanced over her shoulder, where Tris was waiting. “Tris, if you would lead the discussion.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” He stepped forward and tapped the map on the table with his commander’s baton. “Allow me to explain how matters lie. According to our allies, the Jötunheimites, the Nidavellirite forces number thirty thousand—twenty on the front lines, ten behind in their encampment. Many of them are dwarves, so their forces skew toward heavy infantry. We can expect them to employ formations that make use of that.”

Tris laid out a pawn representing the Nidavellirite army, followed by another corresponding to the Jötunheimite army.

“Our Jötunheimite allies have twenty thousand men, and they’ll be committing them all. They have a large number of cavalry, so they’ll be looking to strike fast and hard.”

The final pawn represented the imperial army. Tris moved it eastward as he spoke.

“Now comes our part in all of this. The Jötunheimites want us to skirt the field and raze the encampment. Once we’re done, we’ll charge into the fray and strike the main force from behind.”

“So the Jötunheimites will be one pincer and we’ll be the other,” Liz summarized.

“Exactly, Your Highness. It seems they mean to give us the starring role. No doubt they hope to start our relationship off on good footing.”

Liz nodded as she traced the map with her finger. “I just have one concern. Maybe this goes without saying, but we don’t know this land as well as our enemy does. If they took advantage of that to ambush us, we’d be in real trouble.”

If the Nidavellirites were also trying to skirt the battlefield and attack the Jötunheimite core, odds were high that they would run into the imperial forces. There was also the possibility that they might leave men lying in wait in the woodland. In that case, the imperial forces would be better off taking the initiative and rooting them out.

“Before we do anything else, we need to send out scouts,” Liz continued. “If they do turn up enemy forces, we can rout them on our way to the enemy camp.”

“Perhaps the Jötunheimites could send us somebody who knows the land,” one of the aides suggested.

Liz nodded in agreement. “We should put together a unit to keep watch over our camp as well. We need to keep our surroundings secure.”

As she pondered whom to place in charge, Brutus—Beto’s handpicked aide—stepped forward. “Might you entrust me with that, Your Highness?” he asked. “Surely we cannot bother our allies for a pathfinder. I know these lands well enough. I believe I would be well suited to the role.”

Liz didn’t yet have a full grasp of his abilities, but it was undeniable that he knew more about Steissen’s geography than anybody else in the tent. That said, she sensed something dangerous in him. Given that he was an agent of Beto, it was difficult to trust him with such an important role...but then again, if not him, then who?

She thought for a while. At last, she made a decision, but before she could speak, Tris stepped forward.

“I’ll lead the unit, Your Highness. I’ve known more battlefields than anyone here.” With a pointed glance at Brutus, the old soldier looked down at the map. “I’ve a good idea of where an enemy might be hiding, but I’ll need a second-in-command to be sure of success. May I borrow Lord Brutus?”

He flashed Liz a meaningful grin. She suddenly got the sense that he had seen through all of her concerns.

“Of course. Take him and a hundred men.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Tris seemed delighted to be of use to her at last; he sounded more enthusiastic than he had in months. He turned to Brutus and held out a hand. “I’ll be glad of your assistance, my lord.”

“Have no fear,” Brutus said, accepting a handshake. “I have lived in these lands for a long time. I know of paths that cannot be found on any map.”

“You two will be in charge of our perimeter,” Liz said. “If you see anything suspicious, send up a smoke signal at once.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” they replied, falling to one knee with their heads bowed.

Liz gave an approving nod, then assigned one of the other aides to form the unit with all haste before turning back to the pair. “Now then, you two had better see to your preparations.”

“At once, Your Highness,” they replied. As one, they dashed from the tent.

Liz turned to the commander of the Fourth Legion. “Are the Knights of the Rose ready to fight?”

“They await your command, Your Highness.”

“Then we’ll send all two thousand and another thousand cavalry to take the Nidavellirite camp. The remaining seventeen hundred riders will stay here to defend our core.”

Liz spent the rest of the meeting giving instructions to her aides and offering encouragement to her officers. She would not take the vanguard in this battle. She would command from the back lines. Had Aura been present, she would have put herself in the thick of the fighting, but Liz’s force did not have enough military tribunes to leave the core in their care.

“This meeting is now adjourned. All officers may return to their posts. We advance as soon as the Jötunheimites start to move.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The other attendees flew into motion. All at once, the tent was in chaos.

Liz settled back into her chair, unbothered by the uproar. “Sitting on the back lines and waiting isn’t as easy as it seems,” she mused to herself.

This was a battle to save Steissen, not the empire. Her troops were only here in hopes of using it to benefit their own power struggles. As unpleasant as the prospect was, if things turned sour, they had the luxury of pretending it had never happened.

“I owe Skadi a thank-you.”

The chieftain of the beastfolk could not be ignorant of Liz’s goals in being here, and yet she had still honored the imperial troops with a vital role in the battle. She could have let them rot on the back lines, but she was too honorable—or perhaps too generous—for that.

“But she’s ambitious too.”

Most imperials were ignorant of Steissen’s terrain, but they could not fight alongside the Jötunheimite troops either. Two armies that had never trained together could not hope to coordinate their movements.

“So she split us off to use separately.”

Time would tell whether the beastwoman was being bold or careless in giving the imperials such an important role. Either way, it was touching for Liz to be trusted so implicitly by somebody she had known for less than two weeks.

“I won’t let her down. Still...”

Being on foreign turf made her unusually uneasy. That was why she had decided to maintain her position in the core. She looked back at the map on the table.

“While we’re looking for ways to move unnoticed, I’m sure the enemy is doing the same.”

The Nidavellirite forces were well-equipped but poorly trained, and their morale was low after having been conscripted. By contrast, the Jötunheimite army was motivated and keen, and although they too were lacking in training after having been assembled at such short notice, every soldier was a good fighter. Spirits were high. Liz’s aides had been confident that the Jötunheimites would prevail, but the battlefield was an unforgiving place; legendary heroes had been defeated by lowly peasants. There was no way to know for certain until the battle was fought. Such was the nature of war.

“Don’t let your guard down, Skadi. I wish you success.”

At that very moment, a loud horn blared outside.

＊＊＊＊＊

The horn’s stately note echoed in Skadi’s ears as she sat atop her horse. Twenty thousand soldiers stood at her back; seasoned warriors all, their bodies sculpted iron with not an ounce of excess fat. They carried a motley collection of arms. Some could have been mistaken for bandits; others were stripped to the waist as if they were preparing to bathe. Skadi herself was no exception. Her light armor left plenty of skin on display, a blatant taunt directed at the enemy. If her foes did catch her, she would not escape unscathed.

In a word, the Jötunheimite troops were restless. If the imperials were stillness, they were motion. Perhaps that was why they seemed so unconcerned about the coming conflict. Their ranks were virtually nonexistent; some were even sitting on the ground, grinning. They looked more prepared for a banquet than a battle. The imperials with their rules and their codes would have fainted to see the chaos.

At that moment, a cheer went up. Skadi had turned to address her troops. Her face bore no hint of reproach at their lack of discipline, only a broad grin.

“It’s a fine day today,” she bellowed. “I can see each and every one of your faces.”

She narrowed her eyes against the sun’s glare as she looked around. Shrill cries arose from her soldiers, and she raised a hand in answer.

“No mistakes today, my brothers and sisters. We dedicate this victory to our rightful ruler: Lord Surtr, the Black-Winged Lord!”

The humans worshipped the Spirit King. The álfar worshipped the Faerie King. And of the five deities known as the Five Lords of Heaven, the beastfolk pledged their allegiance to the Black-Winged Lord.

“Say, chief,” one of her advisors said, “didn’t Baum just get a new king who calls himself the Black-Winged Lord?”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Now that you mention it... Well, no business of ours who calls themselves what.”

“It ain’t right. A human naming themselves after our god of war? Makes you wanna laugh.”

His outrage was so comical that Skadi burst out laughing. “Hah! Like we’re any different. Who gave us the right to call him our god? The name’s anyone’s to take as they like. It’s none of our business.”

One thousand years ago, a legendary black dragon had laid waste to the continent with overwhelming might. Its wings had split the heavens, its roar had shattered mountains, and its claws had rent the land asunder. Some were so stricken by the power of the Black-Winged Lord that they had begun to worship it as a god. They were the Twelve Tribes, the forefathers of the beastfolk, and even after their lonely and terrible deity fell at a hero’s hands, their devotion had continued to the present day.

“Unusual for us beastfolk, that,” Skadi mused. “We’re quick to warm, quicker to cool, easily bored, and soon disillusioned. But that we held on to.”

The old faith was of little use in modern times, but it was in their blood.

“’Course, the real question is why our great forefathers sided with the humans after their Lord bit the dust. And for a long while. They were the best of friends right up until the third emperor’s purges.”

That, too, had been out of character for the famously changeable beastfolk.

The events of a thousand years ago were lost to time, but now the beastfolk had joined hands with a human once more—and with the sixth princess of the Grantzian Empire, no less. The prospect lit a fire in Skadi’s heart.

Her aide, however, had a sour look on his face. He seemed less impressed. “If we follow in their footsteps,” he said, “we’ll end up chased back to the eastern isles.”

Skadi took his objection at face value. “No doubt. No one’s to say if the Twelve Tribes are even still around. We’ve gotta make sure there’s a place for ’em in Soleil if they ever do come back.”

As they conversed, a messenger rode up to Skadi. “Word from the imperials, chief. They say they’re ready when we are.”

She turned to the aide. “And how ready are we?”

The man raised his arms as if to tell her to see for herself. “We’re bored of waiting, that’s for sure. Waiting on your word, chief.”

Skadi gave a satisfied nod and turned back to her soldiers with bright eyes. “Make your offerings to our lord, and you’ll leave no regrets!”

The laid-back air that had hung over the ranks vanished in an instant. It was as though time had stopped. Those who had been laughing with their comrades now stared at Skadi with rapt attention, their mouths hanging open.

“Dedicate this victory to our lord in the heavens, and he’ll show our enemies true despair!”

The soldiers rose, grips tightening on their weapons. Ferocity glinted in their eyes. The fire smoldering in their bellies had risen high, and now its searing heat rivaled the sun.

“Justice to those who stand against us! Mercy to those who bend the knee! Death to those who offer us a fair fight!”

Nobody was sitting now. The soldiers’ faces had turned stern. All at once, they were standing in perfect ranks.

“And if any still breathe, ask them this...”

Nobody moved so much as a muscle. The wind ruffled their hair, but they didn’t even blink. All of their eyes were trained on their chieftain.

Skadi looked over them imperiously as she spoke her closing words. “‘What do you know of despair?’”

With that, she turned her horse about and flung her arm out to the side. “Today we’ll show ’em what it truly means! Charge!”

She surged forward. A moment later, horns blared from all around. Skadi cast a single glance at the imperial encampment.

“Don’t let me down, princess.”

She returned her attention to the fore to see that the Nidavellirite troops were on the move. Heavy infantry took the vanguard of the first cohort, forming a shield wall that bristled with spears. A host of archers waited behind. They were like a shark with open jaws, waiting for the Jötunheimite cavalry to spit itself on their spears so they could bite down with crushing force.

“Just the kind of crude defense a dwarf would think of. Seems I was right that morale is low.”

She sensed no battle fervor from the enemy, only the fear of death. As the Jötunheimite troops bore down on them like a wave, she almost felt a little sorry for them. They weren’t living up to their race’s reputation for hardiness.

“Well, if you’re giving us an opening...it’d be a shame not to use it!”

As she came within thirty rue—ninety meters—of the enemy lines, she hurled her handaxe with all her might. It crashed into the front rank and raised a cloud of dust. She stood up on the back of her horse and spread her hands wide. “Let’s settle the hunters from the prey!”

Bladed claws appeared on the backs of her hands, clear like gemstones, glinting sharply in the sun. They formed a trail of light to lead her soldiers’ way. As she bore down on the enemy vanguard, she leaped from her horse. The Nidavellirite soldiers looked up in astonishment as she soared clean over the wall of steel on the front line.

“Feel the bite of a ruler’s paws!”

She twisted in midair, sending herself into a spin. The blades tore a Nidavellirite soldier’s face to shreds as she plunged into their midst. As she landed, she launched into a run, swiping left and right.

“Ha ha ha! Nothing like the stench of blood to get the heart pumping!”

She surged ahead with astonishing speed, gore spraying around her. No blade could touch her. Some soldiers thrust their spears out desperately, betting on instinct, only to find themselves cut down instead when her claws rent their armor like butter. Faced with an enemy they could not touch, watching their comrades torn open, terror began to spread.

Screams rose from somewhere behind Skadi. The Jötunheimite troops had plowed into the front line.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! Give me more! More! Just try to stop me!”

She set about massacring her enemy with the fury of a beast butchering its prey. The Nidavellirite troops shattered like clay before her. They descended into confusion, panic, dismay. While they marshaled their courage and raised their weapons, spurring themselves on as best they could with fierce battle cries, they only succeeded in delighting their opponent.

“Good! Good! That’s more like it!” Skadi wiped the blood from her face with the back of her hand and licked it away. Her eyes glowed with unrestrained glee as she grasped a soldier by the head. “Now this is what livin’s all about!”

“What are you— Agh!”

She pushed her claws through his eye sockets, sending brain matter spraying through the back of his skull. His body twitched and spasmed like a fish washed up on the shore.

She snorted. “Then again, maybe I could do with more of a challenge.”

As she basked in the sensation, she looked around in search of new prey.

“She’s... She’s a madwoman!” someone shouted.

“Now that ain’t nice. You got a woman this fine standin’ right in front of you, and that’s all you can say?” She let the body slip to the ground and tilted her head back over her shoulder. “Care to tell me what that’s about?”

An arctic chill ran through the Nidavellirite ranks. The offending soldier turned and fled, but he wasn’t fast enough. In an instant, Skadi bounded in front of him and landed a brutal kick to his abdomen.

“Agh!”

“Heh. Didn’t hear me right, eh?” Skadi grasped the terrified man by the head and lifted him off the ground. Her lips curved into a lascivious smile. “Let me tell you something about we beastwomen. We’re ladies by day and wild by night. In peacetime we’re kittens, and in war...we’re tigers.”

“You... You filthy animal!”

“You’re damn right I am.”

Skadi closed her fist on the man’s head with astonishing force. Blood sprayed over her as his skull shattered, but she didn’t so much as blink. Her chest heaved with heated breaths that vanished into the clamor of the battlefield.

“Fighting gets our blood up, see. We get so excited that we can’t control ourselves. Ain’t just the beastfolk feel that way, ’course, but we got it special. It comes out easier.”

She strode across the battlefield unimpeded. Nothing could stand in her way. A single swing of her arm piled up countless corpses.

“We’re all a hair’s breadth away from death here. Might as well enjoy it while you can!” The flame of battle raged inside her, sending the enemy cowering. “Now, tell me, are any of you man enough to get the better of me?”

The Nidavellirite troops began to back away, but at last, the Jötunheimite front came up from behind them, battle cries rising and blood spraying.

“Don’t you bastards lay a finger on our chief!” came a shout. A tremendous force sent the nearby soldiers flying. Skadi’s guards struck with the force of an avalanche, making short work of them.

One of them approached on horseback, breathing heavily. “You’re too far out, chief! Spare a thought for us poor sods who gotta catch up!”

Skadi snorted at the aide. “Ain’t my fault if you’re too slow. Can’t catch up to me when I run?” She kicked a Nidavellirite soldier into the air and slashed him from shoulder to hip. “Hmph. Hardly got any fight left in ’em. I swear their fathers looked stronger.”

She strode forward, feet splashing in the gore that was already beginning to form an artificial swamp.

“It ain’t them, chief. You’re too strong.”

“Well, maybe. Anyway, let’s keep it up. At this rate, we’ll punch right through ’em.”

She flicked the blood from her claws and set off in search of her next target.

＊＊＊＊＊

Silence hung over the Nidavellirite camp. The Jötunheimite forces had punched through the vanguard within minutes of the start of battle and driven deep into the second cohort, which even now was on the verge of rout. Utgard watched the field for a while from the top of the hill, smirking, before turning around and returning to his tent. A grave silence had fallen over his retainers, but he flashed them a grin as he entered.

“Hah! These beastfolk certainly are a spirited lot, aren’t they? Positively unbeatable on the field.”

One of his generals shot him a reproachful look. “With respect, my lord, this is no laughing matter.”

Utgard tittered. “To see the brave General Golmo looking so haggard! Whatever is the matter?”

Golmo’s fist thumped on the table. “Our army is on the verge of defeat, my lord.”

Utgard only shrugged as he took his seat. “Is it the loss of men that worries you? We can always conscript more. If they run out, Lichtein has a vast supply of slaves. We will have no shortage of soldiers.”

“Do you understand why our army is in such a sorry state?” General Golmo’s face was growing redder by the second.

“Their own weakness, I don’t doubt. It shames me that I must call such laggards my countrymen. I ought to have killed them all when I had the chance.” Utgard chuckled to himself as he bit into a piece of fruit.

“Do you think that is the reason?! It is the way you privilege the elites! The way you abuse your fellow dwarves as you would other races!”

Utgard pointedly ignored the outburst. The general’s face deepened to purple, and his hand went to his sword.

One of the other retainers hurriedly restrained him. “Peace, Golmo! If we turn on each other now, our defeat will be assured!”

Golmo sat back down, biting his lip so hard that blood ran down his chin.

Shooting him a smirk, Utgard rested his elbow on the table and turned his attention to the map. “That said, we would be in a terrible mess if we lost our army, but never fear. I’m sure you’re all full of ideas to turn the tide. What would you propose?”

General Golmo shook his head, as if to dispel his anger, and laid a hand on the map. “We cannot fight if we have no men, my lord. As such, we must—”

“Very well! Retreat it is.”

There was a collective intake of breath from the aides. Golmo was so taken aback, it didn’t even occur to him to be furious.

“Frankly, I never wanted to fight this ridiculous battle in the first place. I agreed to it because you promised me victory, but if that’s no longer in the cards, there’s nothing to be done.” Utgard gave a derisive sniff. “We shall fall back and take refuge in Galza.”

General Golmo’s shoulders trembled as he tried to hold back his rage. “That may work against a foreign invader, my lord, but these are people of Steissen. They will be familiar with the city’s construction. Besides, our walls have little meaning to the beastfolk.”

“So they will be able to shoot a few arrows at us. What of it?”

“As I say, they are children of Steissen. They have access to our siege technology. If they were to turn those weapons on us, we would not have the strength to hold out. That is why we chose to fight outside the city in the first place.”

Oppression and conscription had driven off many of the commonfolk. Utgard had frittered away most of the gold he could have used to buy loyalty, and successive days and nights of banquets had left the city’s food stores woefully depleted. Besides, even if the Nidavellirite army managed to flee the field, they didn’t have the morale to hold out against a siege. Down that path awaited a slow death by starvation.

“What’s more,” Golmo continued, “I do not trust Lichtein. If we fall back now, we may buy our safety for a time, but it will mean leaving the Jötunheimites and the duchy to pick the province clean.”

“Well, then, we surely cannot retreat. I trust you have a plan of some sort?” Utgard stared at the map with an air of vague bemusement. It was not clear whether he understood what he was looking at.

Golmo heaved an exhausted sigh. “I do, my lord. Although if the coward’s way is more appealing to you...”

“Yes, yes, I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t glare at me so. Now come on, out with it.”

“The main body of our force is beyond saving. They would be best used to keep the enemy occupied while we circle around and attack their back line.” Golmo moved several pawns across the map, speaking slowly and clearly to be certain Utgard understood. “However, the Jötunheimites will no doubt try to encircle us at the same time. So some of the soldiers we have sent through the woods—these here, on the right—must fall back and support the main force.”

“Why the ones on the right and not the left? And why the main force? Should we not bring them back here to defend our encampment?”

“With regard to your first question, the imperial troops lie to our left-hand side and the beastfolk have no appreciation for subterfuge, so we need not fear an attack from the right. And we will send them to bolster the main force so that it will hold out longer.”

“You mean to sacrifice them to buy time?”

“Precisely. Given the circumstances, it would be best if they did not survive this battle.”

They had coerced the soldiers into serving by taking their families hostage. None of them had any will to fight. More to the point, it would be inconvenient if they lived long enough to discover that their loved ones were no longer in Steissen.

“As you may recall,” Golmo continued, “you sold their families off to the slavers. If they returned alive, there would be riots.”

“Hah! Of course, of course. That gold went to good use outfitting our army.” Utgard clapped his hands in delight. General Golmo pulled a sour face, but Utgard didn’t notice; he kept laughing, clutching his belly. “Their families would only have been a burden. At least this way, it might save their lives. Our soldiers should have no cause to complain, don’t you agree?”

Utgard looked to his retainers for approval. Elite-born to a man, they didn’t hesitate to nod in agreement. Raucous laughter filled the tent.

At last, Utgard looked to Golmo, tears of mirth in his eyes. “Anyway, let us return to the matter at hand. What do you mean to do in the event—the very unlikely event, of course—that the enemy does approach from the right flank?”

Golmo gave a dismissive shrug. “War is always a gamble, my lord. Many battles are swayed by luck. But we may persuade fortune to favor us.”

“Oh?” Utgard’s eyes gleamed like a child listening to a bedtime folktale. “And how do you mean to accomplish this miraculous feat?”

“We have five thousand elites in reserve. We will split them in two. They will encircle the battle on both sides, striking at the imperial camp on the left and the Jötunheimite camp on the right. Those who go right will make no attempt to conceal themselves. Those who go left will move cautiously so as not to attract attention.”

“And what if those on the left encounter the enemy?”

“They will not. For that, I have a plan.” General Golmo’s eyes gleamed with cunning, his mouth pursing into a line as he stared at the map. So intense was his expression that even Utgard stiffened.

＊＊＊＊＊

The melee had whipped up a fierce cloud of dust. Every intake of breath drew scouring sand into Skadi’s already-dry throat. Blood arced through the air from who knew where. A scream rang loud, and a head came rolling across the ground. A dismembered arm splattered beneath her feet as she collided with the enemy and laid them to waste.

“There’s a foul smell in the air.”

She looked around, letting her arms hang low. The clashing of steel had grown fiercer now. Screams rang through the air, and bloodcurdling death cries shook her eardrums. Yet beneath the tang of iron was another scent, a wrongness that she could not quite identify.

“Something ain’t right, that’s for certain.”

She shook her head, sending sweat spraying, and took a seat atop a corpse with a sigh. Seeing her let down her defenses, her guard fell upon the enemy with renewed fury.

“Tired already, chief?” her aide asked.

“Me? You must be dreaming.” She looked around, yawning, and cocked her head. “No, there’s a stink in the air. And I don’t like it.”

“I smell...blood, sweat, and tears, chief. Maybe that’s it?”

A cloying tang suffused the air. The ground was so densely carpeted with corpses that there was barely anywhere to stand. Some bore tear-tracks on their cheeks that spoke of dying thoughts of family; some had expired with their faces twisted in agony; some stared hatefully back at the living with unblinking eyes. Yet nobody paid them any mind. Armored boots crushed them into mulch as the combatants pressed ever forward, desperate not to join their number. A stifling warmth settled over the battlefield, fueled by the two armies’ ambitions and the clashing of their wills.

“No, it ain’t that. It’s fouler.”

Skadi’s instincts cried out in warning. She peered around, trying to work out why, but there were only clashing soldiers as far as the eye could see. The sky above was a cloudless blue, as tranquil as she was uneasy.

“Has there been any word from the camp?”

“Nothing, chief. Haven’t seen any smoke signals, though, so everything’s probably in order.”

“Maybe it’s the imperials, then... No, that ain’t it. But then, what?”

She stood up and ran a hand through her hair, narrowing her eyes in thought. A full helmet lay by her foot. She picked it up and cocked her head. Blood spilled from it as though from an open faucet, soaking into the earth, but she barely blinked as gore covered her arm.

“Aye, now I get it.” She cast a glance at the northern sky, eyes filling with realization, before turning to her aide. “Have we got any reserves left back at camp?”

“No, chief,” the man replied mid-combat. “We had fewer numbers, so we brought everything we had.”

“Then I’d better go myself.” Skadi whistled, and her trusty mount came cantering through the press. “You’re in charge while I’m gone. Oh, and send word to the rearguard. Tell ’em I want two hundred men following me as fast as they can manage.”

The aide blinked. “Chief?”

Skadi didn’t answer. She licked her lips as her mouth pulled into a grin. “I got some tunnel-moles to hunt.”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she took off sprinting. Her mount changed speed to match her. In seconds, the beast was by her side.

“There you are.” She grinned. “I owe you one once this is all over.”

She leaped onto the horse’s back and settled into the saddle. Together, they sped through the enemy lines. Her troops seemed startled by their commander’s sudden change of direction, but so were the Nidavellirite troops, and their spears were slow to raise. Their half-hearted efforts could not hope to stop her.

“Out of my way!”

A swipe of her claws carved open the Nidavellirite lines. She burst out from their right flank and plunged into the woodland ahead. Her horse wove between the tree trunks, never slowing.

“There’re my men.” She couldn’t see her allies, but she could sense them following. Her aide had done as she’d requested. “Now, let’s see what’s at the root of this stink.”

The thunder of hoofbeats sent birds flapping skyward, and her fury sent animals fleeing from the undergrowth. The trees grew gradually thinner until a light appeared ahead. She was almost out of the woodland.

Her grin grew wider as she stood up in the saddle. “My name is Skadi Bestla Mikhail!” she cried as she cleared the trees. “And I’m here to kill some tunnel-moles!”

She leaped from her horse’s back—straight toward a small army of pony-mounted dwarves regarding her with astonishment.

“What in the— Agh!”

In the blink of an eye, the first fell prey to her claws.

“I see a little plume of smoke in the air, and what do you know? Here’s fire. Just goes to show you should listen to your gut. A full pack of elites—talk about luck!”

The riderless pony cantered across in front of Skadi and sped out of sight. The rest of the soldiers only stared, stunned by their comrade’s sudden death.

“Leavin’ the rest of your army to die while you sneak around the back lines, eh? That’s the elites for you. Only good for fighting women and children. Shame you got more than you bargained for.”

Skadi licked the blood from her claws. The dwarves backed away, faces frozen in terror.

“I-It’s a woman!” one cried.

Skadi bridled. “Got a problem with that?”

The dwarves gulped and reached for their swords. They encircled her, lowering into fighting stances as they raised their weapons.

Skadi, for her part, did not so much as raise her guard. The ghost of a smile flickered across her face. With her claws plunged into the earth, she looked vulnerable, but the Nidavellirites hesitated to attack. She looked over them with exasperation, spreading her arms wide.

“Shame. That was your best chance.”

“You would mock—”

Whatever the dwarf had been going to say next, he never managed it.

“Charge! Protect our chief!”

A host of cavalry poured out of the woodland, striking the elites in the flank.

“Force them back! Heavies to the— Augh!”

The dwarves’ advantage evaporated in the blink of an eye. Before they knew it, the abyss of death yawned before them. The uncommon strength of the beastfolk crumpled their shields and sent their stocky forms flying. Hooves pounded the earth, whipping up a cloud of dust. Screams mingled with battle cries. The grisly noise of tearing flesh rose into the air, only just audible over the whinnying of horses.

“Hold until reinforcements come!” Skadi roared above the melee.

Her troops had the element of surprise on their side, but the battle was anybody’s to claim. They were up against Nidavellirite elites. Dwarves were not the most agile fighters, but they were just as strong of arm as the beastfolk, if not more so.

“Let ’em get away and I’ll have your guts for garters!”

As time dragged on, reinforcements would filter in from the battlefield—her aide was nervous enough about her well-being that he would commit as many men as he was able—but odds were high that the enemy would try to break away before them.

“Guess we’ll just have to do what damage we can.” She cut down a dwarf emerging from the dust and sprang high into the air. “Come on, you bastards. Let’s dance!”

＊＊＊＊＊

Far from the field, all was still. The northern sky was mottled brown and churned by harsh winds, but the southern was calm, home to a gentle breeze that set the leaves rustling. Small animals slept peacefully in the undergrowth and birds trilled in the trees. Distantly came the laughter of a babbling brook.

“Nothing amiss here,” Tris murmured. He guided his horse quietly onward, sweeping his gaze from side to side. Occasionally, he breathed a deep sigh—always preceded by a glance to the north.

“Is something amiss, sir?”

“Hm?” Tris turned to see a young soldier looking at him with concern. Fifteen riders followed behind him, all members of the scouting party. He had sent the other eighty-five to investigate locations he suspected enemy troops might be hiding.

“No, no. Nothing to worry about.” He shook his head, but the forlorn expression did not leave his face.

The young soldier looked north, guessing what was on his mind. “It seems they’re fighting hard,” he said.

Tris had been trying not to acknowledge that very fact. The emotions he had sealed away inside his heart began to push their way free.

“So it does,” he said, casting an envious gaze at the dust cloud in the distance. “How many men do you suppose have died since we started talking? One hundred? Two?”

The fighting was no doubt growing fierce. The heavy wind smeared the northern sky with dust. Not so long ago, he would have been there, in the thick of the battle, fighting by Liz’s side. Now, however, that was no place for an old man. He grimaced.

“More young lives will be lost, and these old bones will live on.”

“You’re still young yet, sir,” the soldier said. “You might not be on the front, but you’re still on the field.”

“The front, eh? Is that where you’d rather be?”

“Someday, maybe. But scouting is fine work in its own right. There’s plenty to learn.”

“Aye, but it won’t earn you many promotions. Don’t you want to work your way up? Make your way in the world?”

“I do. Someday, I’ll be a high general. Or that’s my dream, at any rate.”

Tris found himself smiling affectionately. It was always a pleasure to see the young so driven. He might have said something similar himself, many years ago. He still remembered how much it had pained him to realize his dream would never come true.

“Take the vanguard, then. And make sure you survive it. Long as you can manage that, you’ll make high general in no time.”

“Is it really that easy, sir?”

“Aye, it’s that easy. Do you know who the strong are, lad? They’re whoever’s left standing when everything’s over. Ranks won’t do you any good if you’re dead.”

“I-If you say so, sir.” The soldier nodded meekly, a little taken aback by Tris’s sudden intensity.

“Or maybe you’ll be a third-class tribune for life.” Tris grinned sheepishly. He looked around, realizing they were straying a little far from the main force. “Our job’s done here, I’d wager. One last spot to check, then we can regroup with the rest and head back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tris waved the rest of the unit over to join them. He glanced between the map and the surrounding terrain, keeping himself on track as they rode toward their destination.

“There’s no word from the other units, sir. I fear they may have been ambushed.”

“Might be, aye. Then again...” Tris peered ahead, narrowing his eyes. A curious plume of dust rose from behind a patch of woodland, too large for a herd of animals. He strained his ears. The faint clashing of steel drifted on the wind.

The location matched one of the spots they had earmarked as suspect. He folded the map away and dismounted, hanging his reins on a nearby tree. The rest of the unit watched him apprehensively, but he seemed unperturbed as he approached the young soldier.

“There’s no telling what’s waiting. Here, lad, let me on your horse.”

The soldier looked taken aback. “If you insist, sir, but why?”

“An old man’s intuition. Something smells off.”

“Off in what— Whoa!”

The soldier pitched forward as Tris heaved himself up onto the horse’s back. The man might have been getting on in years, but he had never missed a day of training and was built like a bear. There was little space for the both of them; if anything, it was a testament to the horse’s training that it did not balk under the weight.

“Like as not, it’s just my nerves playing tricks on me, but better safe than sorry.”

“Right then, sir. Let’s go.”

The young soldier drove his heels into the horse’s flanks, and the beast set off. The rest of the unit followed along behind. With no reins to steer, Tris gazed up at the sky. The imperial encampment in the distance caught his eye, and he nodded.

“We gave Brutus the lion’s share of the men,” the soldier said. “Ought we not to have kept more for ourselves?”

“A man who knows the lay of the land will make better use of them than an old soldier trusting his gut.”

That was a lie. The real reason was that Tris did not trust Brutus. Liz seemed wary of the man as well, although vague suspicions alone were not a good enough reason to exclude him from operations—that kind of abuse of authority would invite needless discord into the ranks. As a compromise, Tris had proposed using the scouting expedition to keep him under a watchful eye. He couldn’t shadow the man personally with soldiers to command, but assigning him a large complement of men was the next best thing; word would come quickly if he did anything suspicious.

“I’m probably jumping at shadows,” Tris muttered. “I hope I am, at any rate.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“That’s nothing for you to worry about, lad!” Tris clapped the man on the back, knocking the air from his lungs.

The soldier turned around, face pained from the blow. “Wh-What was that for?” he spluttered.

“Just making sure you’re keeping your eyes peeled. We’re here.” Tris brought the horse to a stop, dismounted, and looked up at the trees. “You five, keep watch. The rest of you, with me.”

With that, he stepped into the woods, ten men in tow.

“After me, and try to be quiet.”

He sensed the men nodding behind him but kept his eyes forward. The woods were sparse enough that he could see light on the other side, but the trees were tall and blocked the sun, rendering the air dank and humid. There were no signs of life in the foliage. Any creatures that lived here must have felt the tension in the air and fled.

“Could cut this bloody air with a knife.”

Tris took a deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his cheek. He wiped it with a sleeve before it could drip from his chin.

They made their way through the undergrowth until the trees began to clear. As they saw what lay ahead, they hurriedly shrank back into the cover of the wood.

“What in the blazes?”

More than two thousand horsemen were marching past not thirty rue from where they stood. Judging by their direction, they were heading straight for the imperial encampment.

“That’s trouble,” the young soldier said. “Curse these woods. We should have spotted them sooner.”

“Aye,” Tris replied. “We’ve got to let Her Highness know.”

The enemy was clearly trying to sneak up on the imperial core. The encampment needed to be warned, but a smoke signal might not do the job—not only would it be obscured by the trees, the fierce wind might disperse it before it could be seen. More to the point, if the enemy noticed, Tris and his men would be slaughtered before they could convey their message.

“Nothing for it but to fall back and—”

Before he could finish his sentence, blood sprayed from the head of the man next to him. As crimson splattered over him, he realized what was happening and dived sideways.

“Scatter! We’re under attack!”

Several arrows rained down on the spot where he had been standing. He hit the ground, rolled, and forced himself to his feet, drawing his sword as he rose. His eyes widened as he took in the sight before him. A pervasive unease swept over him, setting his hairs on end.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered. There stood Brutus, grinning with unhinged glee. Suddenly, agony speared through him. The inconceivable pain drew his eyes to his side, and the cause: a naked blade driven deep into his flank, dripping blood. “Ngh!”

“Aha... Ha ha ha ha ha!” Brutus stepped closer, pressing into Tris’s chest as he drove the longsword in deeper.

Tris gripped the man’s shoulders with trembling hands, fighting back the urge to throw up. “Brutus... What is the meaning of this?”

“Do you recall House Nikkel? The poor noble family that took the blame for the empire’s failures in Lichtein?”

A face flashed through Tris’s mind: General von Kilo, the man who had been known as von Loeing’s shadow. His reckless forced marches and failure to heed Liz’s counsel had seen him stripped of command by Hiro under the emperor’s decree. It had been discovered that he had been ordering his soldiers to pillage, and he had ill-advisedly attempted to field captured slaves in battle, resulting in not only the destruction of his unit but his own ignoble death. Responsibility for his failures had fallen on his house, House Nikkel. After losing their land to pay extensive reparations and suffering commonfolk riots incited by other houses, they had forfeited their noble rank, lost all their assets, and collapsed in disgrace.

“You were one of them,” Tris said.

“That’s right. And all this time, I’ve been waiting for the chance to have my revenge!” Brutus glared back with bloodshot eyes. “If it wasn’t for her... If it wasn’t for Lady Celia Estrella, my house would still be standing!”

He stepped closer, shunting Tris back. Blood poured from the old soldier’s side with every step. Brutus’s nostrils flared like a beast as he tried to drive the blade clean through Tris’s flank. Blood dripped from his sword hand as his nails broke the skin, but in his fury, he didn’t seem to notice the pain.

“She took all the credit and let us take all of the blame for my father’s misdeeds! How is that just?!”

“If it wasn’t fair, why did you not appeal it?”

“Chancellor Graeci didn’t let me! Time after time, I asked for an audience, but no, he was always engaged with more pressing business!”

“That’s hardly Her Highness’s fault.”

“She’s a royal! She could have done something if she’d cared!”

Brutus yanked his sword free, sending blood spraying from Tris’s side. Crimson droplets dyed the forest floor a gory red.

“Guh!”

Tris’s head tilted back as his body teetered. He managed to keep hold of consciousness, but he fell to one knee as the strength left his legs. He glared up at Brutus, face pale, one hand clapped to the wound in his side.

“What did you do with the others?”

“They were getting in the way, so I had my friends here take care of them.”

Brutus spread his arms wide. Three dozen figures stood behind him, short of stature and broad-chested. They were built almost like children, but any who confused the two would quickly regret their mistake. They were dwarves, and despite their appearance, they were far stronger and tougher than normal humans.

“If you were hoping to keep me constrained, I have to say you were naive. Perhaps you were expecting me to be working as Beto’s agent?”

“So that’s where all those riders came from. You led them here.”

Tris looked around as he spoke. Four imperial soldiers were lying still on the ground, blood oozing from the arrows that had pierced their vitals. The surviving six had drawn their blades and were staring the dwarves down fearlessly. None of them were unharmed, Tris included. It would be a great challenge to break free from the ambush. But if they did not find a way to, the force advancing past the wood would fall upon an unsuspecting imperial core.

“No doubt you thought Beto sent me to waylay you, but no. Working with Nidavellir offered me a far better chance of having my revenge.” Brutus forced Tris’s chin up with the tip of his bloodstained blade. His eyes glinted with glee. “Rest assured, once I have cut your wrinkled head from your shoulders, I will be certain to deliver it to Lady Celia Estrella. I cannot wait to see what she makes of the death of one of her oldest allies.”

Tris’s patience gave way. Eyes wide with fury, he withdrew his hand from his side and grasped his sword.

“As if I’d let a cur like you take my head!”

He drew his blade and swung, but the pain of his wound dulled its edge. It slowed enough for Brutus to catch it with ease. Sparks showered.

“Give up, old man,” Brutus said smugly. “Struggling will only make this harder.”

Tris glared back as their blades grated together. “Hear me, you layabouts!” he cried. “Break through their lines and take the message to Her Highness! It doesn’t matter who does it! Tell her there are two thousand men headed her way!”

Brutus snorted. “Foolishness. Kill them all!”

A storm of clashing steel erupted behind him. The dwarves had engaged. Valiant cries met furious bellows and raced together through the trees. Yet a numerical advantage was not an easy thing to overcome. The imperial soldiers might have been well trained, but they were few against many, and they quickly found themselves on the back foot. That was even less of a surprise given that they were humans against dwarves.

“Yield, you senile old fool!” Brutus shouted. With the dwarves on his side, he was free to face Tris in single combat, and since the old soldier was wounded, all the odds were in his favor. Yet he still found himself hard-pressed.

“I’ll not be bested so easily!” Tris snarled.

Steel clashed against steel. Tris’s bladework had grown sharper. A slash lifted Brutus’s feet from the ground and sent him flying back. A flicker of disbelief crossed the man’s face.

“By what sorcery...?” He launched a kick at Tris’s wounded side, but the old soldier batted it away, knocking him off-balance.

“I’ll let no man insult Her Highness. And I’ll hear no more from you!” Tris swung with all his might, his face beet-red with rage.

“Give up, I said! What can one old man—”

Brutus’s death came with little fanfare. The fierce stroke split his longsword in half and clove his head from his shoulders. The head bounced across the ground, lips still fixed in a victorious grin.

“Wait for me in the afterlife, boy. I’ve still more to teach.”

Tris wiped the sweat from his forehead and turned his attention to the dwarves. The corpses of two soldiers lay at their feet, both a picture of agony. Nearby, the remaining four men still held out, but they were clearly on their last legs. Defeat was only a matter of time.

“Out of my way, little men. I’ve a message for Her Highness.”

Tris surged into the fray, his wound forgotten. His body moved almost as easily as it had in his prime. The dwarves were taken aback by his speed, but they raised their weapons and moved to stop him.

“He’s a dead man walking, but there’s nothing so dangerous as a wounded beast,” one cautioned. “Keep him surrounded. Finish him slowly but surely.”

Tris scowled. He had been hoping they might let their guard down against a wounded man, but even with their greater numbers, they were unexpectedly levelheaded.

“Raaagh!”

With a bestial roar, he raised his sword and charged. His blows bounced away, blocked or deflected, but he kept swinging, undeterred. He made no attempt to lock blades and overpower his foes. He was surrounded; if he stayed in one place for too long, somebody would run a sword through his back and that would be the end of him.

“Out of my way!”

His blade bit deep into a dwarf’s neck. An axe slipped from the dying man’s grip, and Tris picked it up and hurled it. The curved blade shattered another dwarf’s skull, sending brain matter flying in all directions. The circle began to collapse before his bearish might.

Tris took the chance to dash to the surviving imperial soldiers. “Are you hurt?”

“Still alive and ready to fight.” The young soldier grinned, although his chest was heaving. “I’m not planning on dying here, sir. I’m going to be a high general someday.”

Tris couldn’t help but smile. “If you can talk to your commander like that, there must be life in you yet.”

They set their backs together and raised their weapons, keeping the dwarves at bay.

“How’s that wound faring, sir?”

Tris’s face was pale, but he grinned nonetheless. “Well enough. You should be worrying about how we get out of this mess.”

There were still twenty-three dwarves left standing—too many for five men to defeat by themselves, and they all knew it. It was a situation that even the young soldier would struggle to make light of.

“You know what has to be done, I trust,” Tris continued. He didn’t need to explain further. Behind him, the others nodded. He expelled a short breath, wrapped an arm around the young soldier’s neck, and whispered into his ear, “You’re the youngest and spryest man here. Run and warn the camp. We’ll open the way.”

The horses they had left outside the woods had most likely already been slaughtered. None of the sentries had come in response to the uproar; it was not difficult to guess what had happened to them. But the distance to the camp was too great to cover on foot. A wounded man would pass out before he got halfway, whether or not he was being pursued.

“Take my horse, lad. I trust you remember where I left it.”

“Did you expect this to happen, sir?”

“Like I said, just a gut feeling that I’d hoped would come to nothing. Of all the times I could’ve been right... I daresay I’ve gone and cursed us all.”

“That’s not true! You can’t talk about yourself like that, sir. If it wasn’t for you, we never would have discovered what they were planning.”

“Sorry about this, lad.” Tris drew away. “Don’t get yourself killed, now. Not before you get word to Her Highness, at any rate.”

He could sense the soldier’s lingering glance, but he didn’t turn to look, casting his gaze over the imperial corpses on the ground before addressing the other survivors.

“Forgive me for taking you with me to the grave.”

They said nothing. There was nothing to be said. But they nodded resolutely, their fighting spirit serving as well as any answer.

“Forgive me,” he said again. It was perhaps the truest apology he had ever spoken. Then he drew a deep breath and shouted at the top of his lungs, “We’ll drink together in Valhalla!”

He bounded toward the enemy. His face was already as pale as a corpse, but his body radiated strength, infusing him with vitality.

“Wha—” one of the dwarves cried out in surprise.

Tris lopped off his head before he could finish, not slowing for an instant. All at once, it was utter mayhem as a brutal melee broke out. The imperial charge sent the enemy reeling, and the circle fell apart. Tris drew as much attention to himself as he could, hoping to buy the young soldier a chance to escape.

“Go, lad! Warn Her Highness!”

“Yes, sir!” The man sprinted away, eyes straight ahead as he hurtled through the trees. Not once did he look back.

“He’s getting awa—”

The dwarves tried to follow, but Tris’s bearish bulk repositioned to block them, forcing them to abandon their pursuit. The old soldier moved with surprising dexterity, ensuring that the fleeing soldier was kept well covered.

“The boy’s not running away. He’s got a mission to fulfill.”

Tris spread his arms wide, forcing his opponents back. His entire bearing emanated determination not to let them pass. Dwarves were slow; if the young soldier managed to escape the fighting, he would make it back to the camp with little incident.

“Stupid old fool,” one of the dwarves spat.

“On those stumpy little legs, you couldn’t catch him anyway.”

Of all the five peoples of Aletia, dwarves were the most prideful. They went red with rage. “Don’t be so full of yourself, human!”

“Tunnel-moles like you should stay underground where you belong!”

The clash of steel rang loud. Tris deflected his opponent’s blade rather than catching it, then stepped in, grabbed the dwarf’s shoulder, and delivered a fierce headbutt. He followed up with a sideways slash that sent one arm flying before ramming his sword through his foe’s portly belly. He left the blade where it was, snatched the axe from the dwarf’s hand, and fell upon the next.

Forgive me, Your Highness, he thought. It seems I won’t be able to walk with you to the end.

Still, he smiled despite his regrets. His ailing body had found a way to serve her once more, and that was enough.

I might not be there beside you, but I’ll be watching over you. Always.

He fought with a demonic snarl. A dwarven axe sank into his arm, but he kept pressing forward even as the blade bit deeper and his arm spun free.

“I’m not done yet, you curs!”

He did not stop, even as the other imperial soldiers fell around him. A spearpoint took out his eye, a blade laid open his flank, but he refused to fall.

“Killed in an unlucky encounter out on patrol, eh?”

No doubt some would mock his death in the days to come. He would be cut down in a place where the sun did not shine.

“No glorious end on the battlefield, to be sure, but a fitting final act for an old man past his prime.”

So he fought on, never slowing, never stopping. Pride swelled in his breast, raising him above the fear of death.

“If this is where I fall, then so be it!”

The pain had dulled now. His senses were fading. It was a wonder that he was even still alive. Yet he fought as though possessed, gritting his teeth as he swung his sword with all his might. Every second he stood was another second bought for the young man carrying his message. Even as the last of his comrades fell, Tris pushed on. The dwarves swarmed him like ants around a dying cicada.

“Where’s this strength coming from?” one of them cried.

“I’m not done... Still...not done...”

He braced his back against a tree, swinging his blade weakly. His hair had grown disheveled and impeded his vision, but life remained in the eyes beneath.

“Come on, you cowards. I’m not dead yet!”

His guts spilled from the gash in his side, and his once-clipped goatee was torn and bloody, but he still possessed the power to intimidate. The dwarves hung back, unwilling to attack.

“We shouldn’t take chances with a monster like him,” one of them said. “Keep your distance. We’ll finish him with arrows.”

The dwarves raised their bows. A dozen or more arrows pointed at Tris from point-blank range.

“Kill him!”

As the order fell, Tris beheld a strange sight.

“Eh?”

All the noise and desperation of the battlefield had vanished, leaving only white.

“Is that you, whelp? What are you doing here?”

A black mantle billowed in the world of white. The boy turned to face him, and...and...

And reality came crashing back. A hail of arrows loomed over him. A smile spread across his face.

“Hah. I see, I see.”

It was said what when men died, their lives flashed before their eyes. This must have been something similar. A miraculous meeting on the brink of death with a boy who was not there.

“Well then, whelp. Hiro. Seeing as you’re here...”

Only one task remained: to entrust him with everything left undone.

“Her Highness is in your hands now! Don’t you dare let her down!”

＊＊＊＊＊

“Hm?”

A gust of wind blew through the room. Hiro looked up from the map.

“Sorry, Your Lordship. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Hiro turned toward the voice. Huginn was perched on the ledge of the open window, pale-faced and frozen stiff, mortified by the idea that she might have disturbed his concentration.

“Don’t worry about it. I was just thinking it was time for a break, anyway.” He flashed her a smile as she alighted on the floorboards, before standing up from his chair. “You’re soaked. Is it raining out there?”

“Yes, Your Lordship, but not for long, I don’t think. It’s just a passing shower.” She brushed the water from her arms.

Hiro looked around the room, searching for something he could use to dry her off, but there was no need. Luka approached with a hand towel and wordlessly set about wiping Huginn’s hair.

“I can do it myself, Miss Luka! You really don’t gotta—”

“I want to. Now sit still and let me work.”

Hiro laid his hand on the window, smiling fondly at their exchange. “Rain always puts me in a strange mood,” he murmured. Something stirred in his chest as drops splattered onto his cheeks, carried by a gentle wind. “A little nostalgic, a little sad. And it brings back bad memories.”

The distinctive scent of sorrow filled the air, flooding his chest with grim resolve.

“Liz is probably fighting right now...”

High in the western sky, white clouds streamed across the blue. They looked so calm and peaceful that nobody would ever imagine a battle was being fought beneath them.

“Don’t worry, Your Lordship. She’ll be fine, I’m sure. I bet she’s slicing her way through the enemy as we speak, with Tris at her side yelling, ‘Come back, Your Highness!’”

“No doubt.” The sight was easy to picture. Hiro found himself smiling.

Huginn continued, evidently pleased to have cheered him up. “He’s a strong one, that old man. I’d wager he could punt a dwarf a full five rue.”

The conversation seemed to attract Luka’s attention. “I knew that red-haired brat was strong, but him? Truly?”

“You bet he is! There’s even more muscle on him than my oaf of a brother. I’ve sparred with him more times than I can name, but I could count the fights where I’ve beaten him on one hand. He taught Miss Liz most of what she knows! He’s no slouch!”

“Indeed.” Luka nodded to herself, a little taken aback by Huginn’s intensity. “I shall have to fight him myself someday.”

“They’ll be fine,” Hiro said, as much to himself as to the others. He tore his eyes from the rain and shut the window before turning to Huginn, who was wrapping the hand towel around her neck. “So? Have you managed to find anything?”

At once, the air stretched taut. Huginn fell to one knee and bowed her head. “Yes, Your Lordship. It’s as we suspected. Most of the hostages have been sold off to Lichtein.”

“There really is no limit to how low they’ll stoop, is there?” Hiro sat down on the bed with visible disgust. “Tell Garda there’s no need to wait. He can go as soon as he sees the opportunity.”

“Got it, Your Lordship. What about Utgard’s treasures?”

Utgard had his own vault separate from the palace treasury, hidden in an underground room accessible from his chambers. He had concealed a great deal of gold and jewelry there—imports from other nations, gifts from merchants, and doubtless illicit takings from those who had resisted his rule.

“As we planned. We’ll use it for ourselves.”

The existence of the vault was a secret known only to Utgard and his closest confidants. Hiro and his allies would never have found out about it if not for a stroke of luck. One of Huginn’s subordinates had sighted Thorkil taking advantage of Utgard’s absence to sneak out some of the wealth for himself.

“Thanks to the greed of others, we won’t want for coin for a good long while.”

Huginn nodded. “I’ll get it out tonight, Your Lordship. Shouldn’t be so hard to sneak in.”

Satisfied that their conversation was done, Hiro returned his attention to the map.

Luka leaned over beside him, head cocked, features expressionless. “What’s the use in poring over what’s happening past the horizon? You worry needlessly, nothing more.”

“Call it cabin fever. When I’m all cooped up, I need to occupy my mind somehow or I get anxious.”

He glanced out of the window once more, but the rain had ceased.