Valkyria Rising

Prologue

"This is what happens when you spend too much time with the common rabble," said the Marquis, Maurits von Borg, with no small measure of disdain. "I knew this would happen. All that time they spent among those filthy elves." The very thought of being so close to the pointy-eared filth made him shiver in disgust. He would have a bath drawn as soon as he returned to his estate.

"Quite right," agreed Lord Alexander Drayfus, Imperial Ambassador to Gallia. He had a calm, cultured voice and spoke in measured tones; confident and collected, Drayfus was what many would consider the consummate diplomat. "Both the Archduke and Archduchess Randgriz were known for having big hearts for their people, and perhaps that is why their hearts now cease to beat. Such a shame to have their good intentions end in painful death. The people will surely miss such loving and honorable leaders."

Borg scoffed, but said nothing more on the matter as both men watched the Royal Funeral Procession as it slowly made its way along the wide main street that cut straight through the city. The main thoroughfare that ran from the main city gates to the gates of Castle Randgriz itself, which was at the heart of the city, was packed with people, most all dressed in black. The steady beating of drums marked each passing step with ranks of Royal Guardsmen flanking and escorting the decorated coffins as they marched in sharp synchronization.

It was an almost perfect day to match the mood of the country. Dark clouds hung overhead, threatening a deluge all day, and yet nary a drop loosed so far. The wind was gusting stronger with each passing hour, though it was far more noticeable from where they were situated.

The two noblemen were observing the procession from one of the rooms high up in one of the numerous castle towers. Both stood by the lone window of the room, a narrow opening built into the thick stone walls. The room itself was bare, save for some wooden crates covered in cobwebs in one corner and the unlit torch attached to the wall next to the door. It was not what one would call a comfortable room, and in fact both men found it quite unpleasant, but it gave them privacy to speak freely away from prying eyes and ears.

Turning away from the window and pacing around the mostly empty room, Borg stopped to study the ambassador.

Tall and fit for his age, with silver-gray shoulder-length hair and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache that framed a chiseled face, he looked almost regal in a certain light. Technically he was related to the Imperial Royal Family, but distantly so and therefore had practically no claim to the Imperial throne. Borg thought it a pity. It would have been such a convenience to have a friend in the Royal Family, like in the old days, but those 'friends' had long since abandoned him after Gallia declared independence from the Empire.

The visits and invitations from the Borg family's Imperial friends came fewer and farther between, until they stopped altogether. And ever since then the fortunes and powers of the House of Borg have declined. A fact that was not lost on Maurits von Borg, who was lucky enough to be alive in his family's better days. But that was all going to change soon. The Borg family was going to return to its former glory, and perhaps even more, if everything goes to plan and the ambassador holds up his end of the bargain. The thought of it made Borg smile and he wondered what those former friends would say once he returned to the Imperial court.

"So you're quite certain of this, Drayfus? Our spies haven't heard about any intent to reclaim Gallia for the Empire," Borg said, looking expectantly at the ambassador. "It would seem the war with the Federation is the only thing on the Emperor's mind these days."

Drayfus kept staring out the window, still watching the procession with his arms tucked behind his back. "I will admit that there has been no official discussion as of yet, so your spies are correct on that account. However, I'm beyond certain that it is in the minds of a few very influential people within the Royal Court. With the war against the Federation going surprisingly better than even our best estimates, and the front having been speedily pushed farther west, it is only a matter of time before those people talk about returning Gallia to the fold."

Borg frowned. That wasn't quite what he wanted to hear. "How much time, Drayfus? My timetable to be of any significant use to you is not indefinite. The princess will be crowned eventually, I can only delay that so long, and when that happens-"

"Relax, Borg." Drayfus finally turned to look at the Marquis, his gaze steady as a small grin crept onto his lips. "The more victories we have on the front and the farther west we push, the harder it is to ignore Gallia. And you know how it is at court. Very few things happen instantly unless the Emperor wills it."

Borg sighed and nodded. "I suppose you're right. I've heard that the Federation is on the defensive and have lost two entire battalions already." In fact, what Borg had heard was that the Imperial Army was pushing the Federation back so quickly that they were stretching their supply lines very thin, and they have had to forcibly slow their advance recently in order for them to maintain adequate supply lines, lest their armies be overextended. This lull has allowed the Federation to regroup and reinforce their armies, which has in turn made the fighting harder and fiercer than it was to begin with. Gaining more ground was going to be more difficult.

"Three," Drayfus corrected him, his grin turning into a proud smile. Practically every Imperial held their military in the highest regard.

"The Federation will surely negotiate for peace after such heavy losses," said Borg. Three battalions - that was at least fifteen thousand soldiers! That was nearly a third of Gallia's standing army, and yet only a small portion of both the Empire's and the Federation's full forces. While Borg had his own selfish reasons to make a deal with the Empire, he also understood that if a fight was inevitable, it was better to be on the winning side. And he saw no reason why Gallia could prevail against the Empire this time around.

Drayfus let out a snort and shook his head. "No, they won't. The Federation may be slow to act, but they are not fools. And they certainly have more of an appetite for war than most people think. We managed to catch them off-guard with our sudden offensive before the winter, with the vast majority of their troops still on the way to the front. They have many more soldiers to bring to bear, however, and they will fight all the harder to try to reclaim the lands that they've already lost. The war has only begun, my friend, but rest assured that the Empire will win in the end."

"Which is why we're here," Borg replied pointedly. "The Empire will rule Gallia once more. That is something you and I can agree on, but it won't happen without a fight. And it will be a hard fight, even for the Empire,," Drayfus seemed to bristle at this, subtle enough that most would not have noticed, but Borg was paying particular attention to the man.

"Especially with the greater war going on with the Federation, the Gallian people, and the princess herself, will not simply give away Gallia's independence easily. Nor will the nobility. Gallia's fighting spirit, and the Empire fighting on multiple fronts, is what gained us independence all those years ago after all. However, as previously mentioned, once I am pronounced Regent, I can hasten the return of Gallia to Imperial control... assuming I am rewarded appropriately for my assistance, of course."

Drayfus looked out the window at the procession as it crept closer to the castle gates, his expression very serious. He thought it fitting that Gallia was in mourning. "While I have the utmost confidence in the Imperial Military to recapture Gallia by force," he began, pausing for effect, "It would be wildly irresponsible of me to ignore any significant aid that may help expedite the process while minimizing Imperial casualties and expenses."

There was a silence that fell between them, interrupted only by the distant beating of the procession drums.

"So we have an agreement then?" Borg ventured, hands clasped in front of him.

Drayfus gave a firm nod. "The Empire will come, Borg, and you and your house will have your resurgence... if you help deliver us Gallia. Of that, I can assure you."

Satisfied, Borg made for the door. "As wonderful as this has been, I'm sure my absence has already been noted by some so I must hastily return to the official viewing."

"Marquis?" the ambassador called as the Marquis was halfway out the door, momentarily halting him in place. "If you fail to do your part, there will be no reward once this is all over, regardless of our current talks. The Emperor will not want to reward a man who was all talk and no action, even if your loyalties do lie with the Empire."

Borg didn't respond as he shut the door firmly behind him, the sound echoing across the stones.

Outside, the first few raindrops began to fall.