To
Lord Roberto de Flourent, Baron of Converging Streams,
In
the past year, something of tremendous importance to me came into your
possession.
It
is a test of the character of a man to see how he faces danger in the service
of honor. Only the bravest and noblest of men are willing to put his own life
at risk to protect another, particularly when his only reward is obedience to
his own values. Were I put to the test, I am not convinced that I am the sort
of man who would risk my life simply to keep my word.
On
the other hand, you appear to be just that sort of man. While I find that
commendable, I do not find that it rewards you properly for the risks you take.
Therefore, let me see if I may rectify that.
I
assume that even in the backwater that is northeastern Yuasa lands, you have
heard of the events following my wife’s surrender of her title of Duchess of
Touraine. Shortly after sending her resignation to the Royal Council in the
care of Kyan Touraine, she sent another message with His Grace Sone Yukashii to
Sone lands. This particular letter announced the engagement of our daughter
Victoria Skye to His Grace’s grandnephew Yuki Sone. Of course such a blessed
event called for a party at the Castle of the Sea, and the Sone contingent
numbered several regiments. For a while it seemed as though we might have some
uninvited guests, but His Grace Yukashii’s reputation as a host was sufficient
to encourage them to seek their fun elsewhere.
Shortly
thereafter, I found myself with a second blessing: the news that my wife was
once again with child. Unfortunately, grim necessity soon required that I leave
her side and head to the capital of Komaru, where I met with the Crown Prince
and the Royal Council. As fortune would have it, the end result of that meeting
is that I am now the Duke of Skye. I was pleased when that business concluded
itself and allowed me to return to my home and my loving wife’s side.
One
of the responsibilities of my new title is ensuring that my domains are properly
administrated. This, of course, requires the presence of loyal vassals.
Thankfully, my wife has already accepted the title of Countess of the Castle of
the Sea from me, and while the title is a mouthful, I am certain she will
fulfill her obligations with all of the flair I have come to expect from her.
While considering whom else I might grant land to, it came to me that my wife
and I know a trustworthy baron of a rather unremarkable patch of northern land.
I happen to hold a rather more substantial patch of farmland that contains a
pair of villages and an area of hilly vineyard. It includes a villa built just
after the Dream, which I am told is quite beautiful. The holding’s name is
Vincoeur, and if you wish, you could be its viscount.
My
messenger has been instructed to wait a week while you consider my offer. I do
hope that you will accept. Even if you choose not to, please do accept my plea
to visit us at Castle Skye. My wife will soon be unable to travel, and she and
I would both enjoy your company in the days leading up to her delivery.
Yours
truly,
Lucien
d’Aramis Skye,
Duke
of Skye
Dreaming
about ages long past, she awoke to screaming, and the scent of gunpowder in the
air.
Violaine
Yuasa’s first thought was that she was still dreaming, but that her fantasy had
turned into nightmare. She lifted her head from the face of the carved ash
desk, blinking violet eyes still clouded from slumber. It took her an instant
to realize she had fallen asleep while writing a letter to her sister, and in
that instant she heard a pistol crack and another shriek from outside. Her
blood froze in her veins, and she came fully awake.
Looking
out her window, she saw a scene that should have remained confined to
nightmare. She saw men with swords and pistols drop from the walls into the
courtyard of Winterfell, her home for a dozen years. As she watched, one of the
men fired his pistol into a running woman’s back. Violaine watched her fall,
and a mechanical corner of her mind recognized her: the groomsman’s wife, Aida
Beauchamp, mother of three. She loved to cook a stew of mountain tubers, goat’s
meat, and forest mushrooms. She had a fondness for chocolate. She was dying.
She was dead.
Violaine
opened the desk and drew her pistol from it. Cold as ice, she walked back to
the barred window, aimed, and brought the hammer down. The pistol flared, and
the murderer of Aida Beauchamp (her husband had served in Alessandro’s army,
and had lost his eye at Shiro Bridge; their eldest daughter was a stable girl who
loved the grey speckled pony best) died.
Through
the clouded moonlight, she saw the Yuasa river emblem flash on his breast.
Beside him, the other ranger pointed, and called out, “She’s the one we’re here
for! In the tower!” Violaine ducked away from the window as a volley of gunfire
shattered against the marbled exterior of Winterfell.
Long
before she finished reloading the pistol, she understood what had happened, why
her people were dying (the middle daughter was apprenticed in the village, and
should be safe; the youngest was in the nursery, which was burning). She walked
to the door of her study, and opened it. Outside her door, the guard (Mitsuo
Tanner, who was young, but skilled with a sword; he had proposed to the
chatelaine’s eldest granddaughter Rosalie, who loved roses, and wore one in her
hair; her father was stern but fair and had helped search for Violaine when she
had fallen from the tower, until she had been found by the miller’s son Henry,
who was now the guard at the front gate – stop, Violaine, stop remembering!)
clenched his pike and bowed to her. Tears in her eyes, she kissed him on his
cheek and sent him to his death.
In
the measure of time Mitsuo Tanner’s life bought her, Violaine Yuasa gathered
the books she needed to hide, put on her boots and velvet cloak, and started up
the stairs to the roof of the tower. Half a flight up, three of the rangers
kicked open the door beneath her. Without aiming, she fired her pistol back at
them. It missed, and she let it fall from her numb hand as she ran, her cloak
tangling in her hair tangling in the lace of her nightgown.
They
caught her on the tower, trapped her among the cold stone of the battlements.
She could see the blood on their swords, and imagined it as a litany of
histories etched in tiny crimson letters that she could nearly read. One of the
rangers extended his hand, his firm voice telling her that her surrender would
end the killings.
For
the second time in her life, Violaine Yuasa pledged herself to the mists of
Castle Winterfell. Her eyes tightly shut, she stepped through the embrasure and
into the cold winter sky.
Christof
Yuasa bowed deeply before the Duke of Alban. In a cool, strong voice, the
ranger captain spoke, “All of the cult leaders have been captured or killed,
Your Grace.”
Laurent
Yuasa, newest member of the Royal Council, finished reading the document and
sat back down beside Faust. From across the Council Hall, Patience Touraine’s
voice rose like an icy wind. “Do convey to His Grace Xavior my utter
fascination at his decision to bring this matter to my attention in such a
fashion. I am certain I can find a proper reward for his dedication to ensuring
the correct distribution of property.”
Before
either Yuasa had the chance to answer the elder stateswoman, a resounding bang
heralded the opening of the massive entryway doors. Across the hall, Council
members strained their necks or stood to identify the source of the
interruption, many muttering at the temerity of the invader. The muttering
ceased when Alessandro Komaru, bedecked in full regalia and with an escort of
sixteen Royal Guards, came to a halt in the middle of the hall. When the Crown
Prince stopped, Julien Bellatrix quickly hurried through the massed guards to
stand at his side. Julien wore the gold and white stole of a Numinous over a
black kimono, and looked like he had just been dragged out of bed.
Alessandro
pulled the sheathed Royal Sword from his sash and brought its end down on the
marble with a ringing clang. In the silence that followed, he spoke. “Nobles of
the Royal Council, I have received news from the front. You have heard that we
have repelled the invading serpent armies at great cost. The casualties at the
Battle of Spear are even higher.” He surveyed the Council Hall, his gaze as
sharp as his sword, before speaking again. “If we are to avenge the lives lost
at Spear, I need to know that I can count on the support of all of Komaru. I
need to know that every family stands behind this effort.” Speaking each word
like a lash, the Crown Prince said, “I request a formal show of hands to show
that the families of Komaru stand behind destroying the Aten threat. No
discussion. Show me your hands. Now.”
In
unison, the Minamet raised their hands at once, and the Komaru waited only an
instant before following. One of the few Yuasa remaining in the Council Hall
began to speak, but Alessandro spun to face him and froze the words on his
lips. Only one path lay before the river; the Yuasa raised their hands. Several
of the Sone smiled their cat-smiles, but their hands rose as well. Finally, the
Bellatrix and the Touraine grudgingly joined in, seeing the trap that was
refusal as worse than the trap that was acceptance.
The
Crown Prince let the nearly unanimous hands of the Royal Council remain in the
air for half a minute before smiling his own cat-smile. “Good.” He slipped a
folded report from his kimono sleeve, and though he unrolled it, he made no
pretense of needing to read the contents. “The combined army of Komaru,
Minamet, and allies that attacked the city of Spear broke against the
defenders. By the end of the battle, nearly every Komaran regiment on the field
had taken major casualties, and the dust storms of the Black Serpents still
swirled about the city.” He faced the Komaru, and then the Minamet. “To those
of my family and the Minamet, I send my regrets. I am certain that you have all
lost someone you care about today. For my part, I have lost my cousin Sadashi
Komaru. He was slain attempting to lead a final push through the priests’ lines.
After I am done here, I will be personally offering my condolences to his
widowed wife. It saddens me that the child she bears will never know her
father.” The death of the man third in line for the throne only deepened the
silence.
Then
Alessandro murmured, “But Spear is ours.”
He
allowed only an instant of gasps and sighs before his commanding presence
quieted the hall again. Holding the report before him, he commanded: “His Grace
Faust Yuasa, Duke of Alban. His Grace Theodore Bellatrix, Duke of Bellesol. Her
Grace Sidonie Sone, Duchess of O-Inari. Her Grace Patience Touraine, Duchess of
Onan. Please step forward.” He tilted his head over his shoulder to catch
Julien’s eye, “Please fill in for your father.”
The
three notables made their way down to the floor of the hall; none looked
pleased at having been singled out in this fashion. When they stood before him,
the Crown Prince took a breath, and then continued. “To these four worthy
individuals, I confer the title of Marshal. You are each to ensure that your
family contributes the fullness of its resources to concluding the offensive
against the Aten realm. You are each to consider this purpose to be your
greatest and most outstanding goal. You will succeed, because if you do not,
you will face my wrath. Please consider this your way of fulfilling your
promise to support the war effort in the east.”
Alessandro
folded the report back into his sleeve, and his posture shifted to a more
casual mode. “The truth of the matter is that, to varying degrees, I’m already
rather displeased with all of you. For too long, your families have treated
this war like someone else’s concern. Thousands of Komaru and Minamet lie dead
because you couldn’t be bothered to support them fully. Whether it’s the
preposterous war between the Sone and the Touraine, the relentless sandbagging
of the Bellatrix, or the Yuasa need to butcher a sixteenth of their own
numbers, your families have disappointed me.” Alessandro stopped, and looked
down at Violaine Yuasa’s seat. Last year, he had swatted its occupant’s hand
with his fan. Now, it lay empty.
Alessandro
sighed, tired, and returned his attention to his ducal captives. “Consider this
your chance to redeem yourself. You will be assigned the helpful assistance of
Yamato Komaru, who I think I can safely refer to as your Field Marshal. He will
ensure that you and your families contribute to this effort in an appropriate
fashion. Furthermore, I have already spoken with the Principal Light, who
assures me that Julien Bellatrix, Numinous of the White Branch, will be doing
his utmost to see that the Church drives this matter through to its victorious
conclusion. Alnarim has personally assured me that he will take the Field
Marshal’s observations of intransigence just as seriously as I will.”
Alessandro
bowed to the new Marshals, and then bowed again to the Royal Council. While the
Council searched for explanation, Alessandro turned and strode briskly towards
the entry, his Guard falling in instantly behind him.
At
the door, he lingered for a moment, calling back, “One last thing. The city of
Spear is in the hands of the Dawning Star.” Only his guards saw him swallow
before he added, “And Ciarra Lacroix.”
The
great doors slam shut behind him.
A
week after leaving Kiya Minamet’s tomb behind, Salomon Minamet’s body still
ached, and he could not entirely forget the taste of locust. Traveling with the
supply wagons had been uneventful, for the most part. Only a few stray bands of
raiders had menaced the munitions so necessary to the armies at Spear. Most of
the time, he simply sat in the front of a camel-pulled wagon, watching the sun
burn blisters into his skin.
He
last spoke to his companions on the raid shortly after slicing a line of black
blood into the Child of the Aten’s arm and fleeing the tomb with Kiya’s sword.
For a while, he worried that disobeying the count’s orders would bring a
reprimand, but so far none had come. Mostly, the others also seemed to spend
their hours worrying. The general, Melisande Sone, was still deathly sick, able
to do little more than swallow broth made from salted meat. Three days ago,
Salomon heard that the poison in her was the same that afflicted the Crown
Prince many years ago, and only the fact that Alessandro ordered his wife’s
physician to carry its antidote gave her any hope of surviving. The foremost of
those physicians, the marquess who had joined him in the tomb, was doing
scarcely better: for eight days, he had heard her coughing whenever he passed
her wagon, and had seen the sticky blackness left on the rags used to smother
her wracking spasms. The tired physicians had said she would grow no worse, but
had little hope of her recovery while she remained confined to a caravan wagon.
Three
days later, a Minamet courier passed the caravan from the west. The bone-weary
rider stopped long enough to tell the Princess Consort of the events of Battle
of Desert Rain, of how the horde of dead Touraine stood against the Children of
Aten time and time again, falling before their magic and fury only to rise
anew. Tersely, he told of the terrible toll in lives on both sides, concluded
by a triumphant declaration of Komaran victory. When asked about the fate of
the risen dead, he shrugged. “When the battle ended, they fell to the ground
where they stood. It got very damp, and then it rained. The funny thing was,
the rain was salty, like the ocean. Everything turned to horrible grey mud. We
think it was a curse; you’re lucky you weren’t there.”
After
four more days, the caravan heard from the front.
Salomon
spent his first day on the edge of Spear trying to get the story of what had
happened there. After every major battle he had fought in, he had faced the
same problem: the cut-and-thrust of the common soldier translated only poorly
into the eagle’s-eye view that mattered to the general and the historian. Over
a tented table, he learned of the death of Alessandro Komaru’s cousin Sadashi,
slain in a final charge against the serpent positions. He knew that in a year,
historians would think of it as a valiant sacrifice, but from the eyewitnesses,
Salomon recognized it for what it was: the desperate last action of a general
who saw his troops falling around him and could not bear to let them die alone.
Then, he asked how Spear had fallen.
The
battered Minamet veteran sitting across from him looked him in the eye. “You
haven’t heard? It’s because we also fought alongside the dead. Ciarra Lacroix
and her bloody personal cannons appeared out of this cursed desert and brought
Spear to its knees.”
Clarissa
Bey bowed before the Count of Minaval, her hair caught in a silken kerchief
stained with blood. Over one arm, she held a rifle. Over the other, she held
the white flag of truce beneath the rising sun banner of the Dawning Star. Most
visibly of all, she carried a smile broad enough to light the night sky.
Tohru
Komaru craned his neck to study the rifle, but Clarissa swept it behind the
flag. “Your Excellency,” she grinned and curtseyed to him. “We’re so glad we
could make it when we did. We would have come sooner, but it’s quite a walk. My
lady bids you greetings. She wants to tell you that she remembers meeting you
on the evening of Alessandro’s twenty-third birthday. She aimed to shake your
hand, but you kissed hers instead. She thought you were too much the courtier,
an opinion only strengthened when you attempted to kiss Mineko–”
Tohru
cleared his throat, “That’s enough,” and looked over at the Minamet duchess to
see her smirking.
Mineko
shifted her broken arm, and murmured, “Is that what you were trying to do, Your
Excellency? I had rather a different impression.” She turned serious, “Bey,
you’ve convinced us that you represent who you say you do, and we appreciate
your assistance in this battle. However, we wish to know what happens next.
Your mistress has, as you know, gone through great pains to avoid seeing us,
and to even greater pains to keep us clear of the heart of Spear. Why?”
Clarissa
gestured to the balcony. “Come see. It should be beginning now.”
The
generals had chosen the serpent temple as their base because of the balcony:
its broad vista laid out the entirety of Spear before them. At the heart, they
saw a glow of rose-colored light. As they watched, a swirl of twisting stone
rose from the center of the glow, reaching out a feathered arc across the city.
Tohru
breathed, “It’s a castle. Another one.”
Clarissa
nodded. “It is. Its name is Hope, and here on the edge of the world, we believe
it may have a chance to flourish.”
Mineko
watched Hope rise, and felt a pain in her chest. “Bey, about what happened–”
Clarissa
shook her head. “I’m the wrong person to say anything to. I came later. Just
watch.”
Within
an hour, the walls of Hope rose above the city of Spear, spreading like swan’s
wings into the sky.
When
it finished, Clarissa spoke, “Ciarra has come here to aid you, but it will be
at a price. She will hold Spear for you, but Hope is hers alone. You will
protect it as you strike into the Aten lands, but you will not seek to control
it, or her. Nor will you ask for more of our secrets than we wish to share. ‘We
have been abandoned by you once,’ she told me to say. She promises that she
will not allow it to happen again.”
The
Duchess of Inazuma and the Count of Minaval looked to each other, and then
nodded to the peasant general. “We agree.”
Clarissa
smiled once. “Good.” She bowed again, and moved to the open doorway to leave.
In the archway, she spun lithely on her toes. “Your Grace, I would have let him
kiss me,” she called over, and ran down the stairs like a giddy girl.
With
intense fascination, Mineko watched Tohru turn deeper and deeper shades of red.
In
the 217th year of Paraceln’s Age, the graves of Komaru have opened
and emptied. What was thought true is false, and what seemed dead may yet draw
breath. And yet, for every grave left empty, a grave has been filled: before
the tides of people rise and fall around the Castle of the Sea, the dead will
again rise to judge those left behind.