Law Vyce is an interesting character; it's as if he suddenly loses all of the racial hatred he held in Chapter 1, except when it comes to Lodissians, where he gets downright vicious and threatens to mutilate Barbas and Martym.
That's all well and good, but I dislike the immediate drastic change Vyce goes through. I've expanded on his flaws and his internal conflicts and tried to make him a bit less "perfectly noble."
Flurry
That bloody bird hated him. Vyce Bozeck cringed as the loud thing sang just outside his window with its loud wail that was only just a rank above the seabirds and their cries in Golyat. Every morning, just before dawn, it would start its obnoxious chirps and wake him well before he was ready. He could put a pillow over his head or cover his ears with his arm in attempt to block out the sound, but all to no avail, the creature seemed intent on waking the world along with itself. It had not taken long for Vyce's sleep schedule to mold itself around the bird's; the Walister secretly thought Denam's pet birdman had squawked to it in order to get revenge for their previously hostile comments towards each other.
The Walister man slowly slid from his bed and resisted the urge to throw his pillow at the window. The sky was still dark and the torches on Phidoch's white chalk walls were still lit, but he could tell the sun would rise soon, with a light red and orange glow against the base of the horizon. The floor was cool on his feet as he walked through his dark room, only just bright enough to see without candles, torches, or tallow. Vyce decided it wasn't worth the effort to worry about light when the sun would rise in little more than a half-hour and instead walked, or rather dragged, himself over to his dresser, a plain thing that held more clothes than he had ever owned in his life previously. He pulled out a top and trousers at random, all were on similar color and style and he did not particularly care which he chose, and tossed them onto his unmade bed, then picked out some underpants and socks for himself. As he crossed the room, the Walister cursed as he stumbled over the ends of his night trousers and fell against the nearby wall with a loud crash and a pained grunt; the man dropped hard onto his knees and his elbow slid down the hard stone wall near him, raw and red. In a small fit of anger, Vyce sat down onto the floor, kicked his trousers off, and tossed them into the corner for the servants to deal with. They needed a wash anyway. After a moment, the tired man pushed himself up from his pathetic self-pity and rubbed his newly sore knee; he allowed himself a small limp for two or three steps as he continued his journey about the dark room. Vyce had never been fond of mornings; he left that to Denam with his absolutely intolerable efficiency in his consistent morning patterns and his alert disposition immediately after he awakened. While Vyce's mind was still slurred from the previous night's sleep, Denam would often cook, practice, or even argue with Catiua.
The Walister man, now more cautious, made his way to the guest chamber and sjakily poured himself a glass of water – not to drink, of course, and he walked back through his private quarters to his washroom; he paid little heed to the darkness around him in his sleep-weary state and moved with habitual purpose. He pulled the towel down from the side of the bathtub and placed it on the floor before he removed his night shirt and tossed it into the corner, with little interest in where it landed. Suitably prepared and dressed only in his underpants, the Walister kneeled on the towel, head over the tub, and poured some of the cold water from the glass over his face into his hair and eyes. He cringed at its temperature, but rubbed it around to clean himself, making sure to massage it deep into his scalp, where sweat most often appeared. The water served to waken him some and he cringed as it flowed across his nose and eyes. Vyce grasped around the side of the tub until he found the soap, a large bar that was mostly unused, that he ran over his skin to scrub, because he knew Catiua would have told him to do so. He dropped the soap back into the empty tub without care and lathered the slick substance over his skin and into his pours before he finished and poured rest of the glass over his face to clear off the slimy bubbles. The water dripped down onto his chest, but he did not particularly care as it served to wake him yet more as he brushed his damp bangs back out of his eyes with his fingers and used the nearby cloth to dry himself and his body. Vyce shook his head as he stood to get rid of the excess water and clear his mind, now slightly more alert, and walked back out into his main chambers; small bumps spread across his body from the chill of the water and the cool morning air. He spared a glance out the window; it had been less than ten minutes since the bird had woken him and the sun was still barely above the horizon. It would be a warm day, he could tell, for even with the light chill he was not cold – not that southern Valeria outside of Galgastan got truly cold often. Vyce was the resilient sort, his father had always been so drunk that he'd not had the chance to start a fire in the house every evening; Vyce learned to live through the cool winters with little more than his blanket. The small chill was almost welcome to him, a familiar, nostalgic old friend that hardened him into the man he grew up to be.
Vyce stripped off his underpants, the only clothes that remained on after his short bath, and replaced them with his new ones he took out of the wardrobe earlier. He did not particularly care that his trousers had a few wrinkles, or that his underpants did not match his socks; his clothes were efficient and suited him well in daily communication, but were also formal enough that he could appear professional if necessary. Fully dressed, Vyce walked rather clumsily over to his bedstand and rustled around inside the top drawer with only touch to guide him until he discovered his small brush, which he ran through his hair to push it out of his face, as his fingers were certainly not enough to suffice. It was all automatic, done without thought other than the concentration that kept him awake. He barely glanced at the mirror to see if he looked acceptable, but did so just because his inner Catiua would scold him in that haughty way of hers if he did not. His appearance in the mirror looked a bit more alert than his mind let on and his eyes were bright, posture confident. There would be no battles, so Vyce did not bother to call a servant in to assist with his armor, but he did tie his belt around his waist and slid his daggers into their sheaths. Perhaps 'twas a bit paranoid of him, but after he had spent so long in both hiding, after Golyat was attacked, and after he fled the Walister Resistance, he had quickly learned the importance of preparation for danger at any time. The blades on his belt had saved his life on more occasions than he could count; they were old friends he went nowhere without. Pleased with his appearance and the completion of everything he would consider his morning ritual, Vyce walked over to the rug near the door and slid his boots on and tied them, not bothering to make his bed or pick up his floor. He glanced once more through his chambers to see if he forgot something in his haze before, satisfied, he pulled the loud, un-oiled door open and entered the hall.
It was as if everyone in Phidoch awakened before him. Even though the sun had barely risen, servants and soldiers alike made their way through the halls, even in the less busy area that held the quarters of the higher ranked Resistance members, where Vyce made his temporary home. In truth, many of the captains Denam employed did have higher standards than the average soldier and the servants usually spent the early mornings rushing about through the private quarters as they served them, rather than down in the soldier's barracks where they should have been. Vyce did not want the pleasures of one of rank, it would feel hypocritical of him if he took them, and instead he would bathe and eat with the others instead of having the servants fill his water. Vyce smiled at all of the Walister men and women he passed, but kept his expression flat for all others, particularly Galgastani, as he made his way through the bustling halls, one goal on his mind: breaking his fast. Ever so often he would encounter a soldier who called out to him, usually very obviously Walister by their loud and boisterous natures; Vyce always spared time for those men, no matter how foul his mood. They were the backbone of his people - many of them had followed Vyce in the New Walister Alliance at one point. Where Denam's Walister Resistance members were usually higher born, Vyce's Alliance members were the basest of commons and slaves, the average man, no different than Vyce himself. He knew their plights, their desires, their wishes, so even if it was only a few words, such as a wish of good morning or a question on how they fared, to even a simple well wishes as he passed by, Vyce spent the time to speak to them, even in his drowsiest state. The actions, too, served to wake him and soon Vyce's fog slipped away, as did his earlier foul mood about being woken up early.
By the time the Walister man reached the Great Hall, many of the soldiers had already made their way outside to the practice fields and the sun had almost fully risen, a pale purple at the top of the sky was the only evidence of the night's presence. It would be hot later, far too warm to practice with ease, so they all had to get their work, or lessons if they were inexperienced, done early. The servants still scrambled about like the dockhands on Golyat's busy ports, and they called to each other like them as well, as they attempted to fulfill the orders given to them. Vyce ignored them all as he passed, but just as he ignored them, so did they ignore him; on multiple occasions he grunted as they bumped into him in their rush. 'Twas a normal morning in the Resistance, he could hardly expect otherwise. When he finally got clear of the disorder, Vyce took a sharp right into one of the side halls that led to the mess hall. He took no more than ten steps before one of his old friends rushed up to him, out of breath with sweat dripped down his face and darkened his hair, as if he had run about all of Phidoch. The man moved far too quickly for Vyce this early in the morning, but he seemed enthusiastic and Vyce could certainly not decline a conversation with him.
"Vyce! We've sought you for the last three days." The man gasped, but not from his sprint, rather, 'twas as if he had run about speaking his plight to whomever would listen. Vyce relaxed and leaned against the wall as he recognized his new companion and allowed his guard to lower slightly. He was a young Walister, no more than sixteen, who went by the name of Alan. Alan had once been a passionate and outspoken member of Vyce's New Walister Alliance and had looked up to Vyce like an elder brother. Vyce had never quite felt the same for him, but he respected his loyalty and devotion to his people. Vyce quickly glanced down the hall past the Walister; he was only some fifty paces from the mess hall entrance and cursed his bad luck, he could have gotten in and out before the crowds. Fortunately, the mess hall did not seem as busy as he expected given the time. Usually when he awoke there was a long line of soldiers that passed through the hall as they waited for their meals, but it seemed early enough that they had not yet risen for the day. As Vyce had nothing better to do, he nodded to his young colleague.
"You musn't have looked very hard. What is it?" Vyce questioned him as he pulled out his left dagger in attempt to amuse himself for what he knew to be another session of a mixture of Alan's gloating and constant attempts to curry his favor. To his surprise, the young Walister leaned close and looked around rapidly, in worry. Vyce's eyebrows drew together in a frown as he watched the younger seem to secure their location. Vyce did not like this one bit; he had nothing to hide, nor did he communicate with those who did. He quickly slid the dagger back into its sheath, for 'twas no time to mess around, it seemed.
"Surely you've heard." Alan finally whispered, his body well within Vyce's space, too close to be comfortable. Vyce knew what this was about before young Alan could even continue. The Walister people were upset; they believed that Denam favored the more numerous Galgastani troops for whatever absurd reason. Those more rational Walister, usually the older ones, who did not believe the nonsense still harbored doubts as to how Denam would deal with the Bakram and Walister relationship when the war ended. Those Walister were not wrong to doubt; Vyce, too, worried about his friend's future plans. There were times when he wondered if Denam had forgotten his Walister pride, of the very people he grew up with and fought for in the first place, and if, in his attempt to bring peace to the isles, he would sacrifice his original goal for the broader one. The commander's mind was so focused on the politics of Valeria as a whole that he missed the barest of stones that built up the country and the reason why he was given his position in the first place.
In truth, no matter how much he questioned his friend, Vyce could hardly blame him for his distraction. Denam's job was not one Vyce envied. Vyce had been leader of the Alliance for long enough to know that to lead did not simply mean to make powerful speeches and show a strong face to the public. It required a firm hand, along with a good grasp of strategy, patience, geography, politics, and management. The harsh reality of it was that Vyce lacked many of the credentials necessary for a good leader, as he would be the first to admit he was the type to shoot the arrow before he questioned the recipient. Though Vyce founded and recruited new members to the New Walister Alliance, he had left much of its governing up to his aides and Arycelle. In contrast, Denam often refused to allow any to do work for him and it showed; his friend was eaten away from at the inside. Even though he wore a strong face, all close to him knew that there were times he could barely stand or he held in his temper at a particularly nasty jibe from an antagonistic politician.
To help his friend subtly, without damaging the other man's pride or Vyce's own, Vyce dealt with the rebellious Walister as best he could. As many were former Alliance members, Vyce used his connections to keep peace and calm and support in the disgruntled Walister troops. It had been more difficult of late, with the harsh rumors that spread about like the fire in Golyat once had. Vyce had listened to the hearsay ever since the 'rebellion' started; he had even been supping with the other soldiers when the traitors first spoke up. He claimed to be some 'shadow,' but it had not been one Vyce had ever seen and Vyce knew many of Denam's shadows and whisperers, for he interacted with them on a daily basis. That night it had served the Walister captain better to pretend he was a simple soldier and remain quiet to play ignorant than openly ally with one side or the other, as it allowed him to speak with those who sought to oust or betray their commander. At first, his ploy had worked; many former-Alliance members had calmed and saw the madness the 'shadow' spoke, but the calm rationality not to last. Soon after, the rumors continued to make their way through the ranks and became more and more believable due to evidence presented by both common man and shadow alike; even those who once spoke in Denam's defense started to muster up courage and speak of 'atrocities' they had been forced to commit in his name, namely in Balmamusa and Coritanae. Those who once supported Denam entirely began to mistrust his intentions and, no matter what Vyce said, many of his former allies had left to reform the Alliance, even if they lacked the backing they once had. Though Vyce spoke to no one about it, and he had no intention to, the former Alliance members had sworn that if Vyce chose to rejoin them, he would be welcomed with open arms as their leader once again. 'Twas all quite a mess and, to make matters worse, Denam knew – or cared – very little about it. He had certainly not acknowledged that there was a problem, nor had he spoken to any of his captains or friends about it.
"I know what this is about." Vyce replied cautiously. Certainly, Alan would not be the first who had come to him about these issues. His companion was passionate, but also very easily swayed and influenced. If words had reached his ears, it likely meant that he, too, would leave the Resistance. If Vyce's calculations proved correct, about a third of the total former Walister Resistance and Alliance forces would have deserted and it was not even a scale after the 'shadows' had spoken.
"If you did, you wouldn't remain here –"
"I remain here because I am not a short-sighted fool." Vyce snapped as he cut off the child. "Listen well, Alan, I will only speak this once." Vyce dropped his tone low and dangerous, and made sure none could hear him. "If you plan to leave, do not expect a warm welcome back when you realize how futile your struggle is. I love the Walister; just as you I want what's best for our people, but what we need now, more than ever, is unity that an independent Walister cannot produce. It is you and your selfish kind who damn us, not Denam!"
In frustration, Vyce pushed the other Walister away from him into the wall and ignored his shocked grunt of pain. Vyce stormed quickly past the boy and the mess hall, and ignored any shocked gasps from those who saw his brash action. It had been inappropriate to act so, but Vyce was not Denam, he had never been one to give into what others felt "proper." Even still, he could not simply allow the Walister to speak up as they did; if they continued on their path, the Resistance would once again face civil war and they would be no closer to removing the Bakram and Lodissian control than when they had started. Vyce cursed the easily manipulated Alliance members and he cursed Denam for his refusal to take action against the dissenters. His features were dark, not annoyed, simply disgusted at what transpired and at how utterly blind the Walister were. Vyce understood their plight and their desire for a free, independent Walister state, but if Lodis or the Bakram won the war, they would have neither. Vyce did not agree with Denam's plans, even if he was often the one to assist in their creation, but he was not fool enough to think the Walister could stand on their own feet yet, as their numbers were too small. He was enraged that his people could be such fools to be manipulated by mere words. All who saw Vyce's angry expression, and he admitted there was enough people in the hall that more than a few would know of his foul mood, took a step away and turned away, as if they wanted to be anywhere near him. 'Twas fine with him, he did not want to be bothered, either. The Walister man made his way to the long line for orders and stood at the end; his aura was threatening and those directly in front of him, and the lone soldier who cautiously stood behind him, all shifted in their nervousness at his presence. Vyce ignored them as he seethed quietly.
The line moved quickly, for which the Walister was relieved. The cooks at Phidoch were familiar with such busy meals and, though the food was not the best of quality, each soldier always left with a full stomach, fully nourished with meats, grains, and vegetables. Vyce was not a particularly picky man and he ate every bit; it was certainly better food than he had grown up with. His father had cared little to cook for him, and Vyce's own cooking was mediocre at best. He cooked only because he must for survival; in truth as he had grown, Vyce had spent many of his meals with Denam and Catiua in the Pavel household. Their dinners were such strict affairs, much different from his father's lazy informality, and very proper, even if they were almost never quiet. The drunkard who sired him had not even bothered to teach his son manners, reading and writing, or history. In truth, Vyce owed Abuna Prancet a great debt, for he had been more of a father to him than his own. Though he would never admit it, he suffered alongside Denam at the loss of his second father.
"Vyce Bozeck?" Lost in his memories, Vyce was startled from his reverie by an unfamiliar voice who called his name. A soldier Vyce did not know stood in front of himand continually shifted his balance, as if he wanted something. Vyce grunted his response, and the man continued, a bit nervous. "The Commander requests your presence, Vyce." Vyce held back a sneer. No, there was no 'Sir' by his name, nor was there any formality in the soldier's words. Vyce was not like Denam or the Knights, not a man respected by all, one who was considered noble and loyal. He was simply another soldier in Denam's army, a simple man with some skill in weaponry, strong ideals, and was a decent speaker. Had it been only scales before, back when he and Denam joined the Resistance, Vyce might have been miffed that Denam got such preferential treatment, but Vyce was a different man now. He did not particularly care how they viewed him; he took pride in that he was not so distant and formal, that he was just as much a common Walister as those he shed blood for.
"I will comply with the Commander's 'request' later. As you can see, I am about to break my fast." Vyce motioned to the line with a casual annoyance, which had steadily moved forward as he had been distracted, both by his new guest and his thoughts. He heard annoyed grumbles from behind who obviously wanted him to move, so the Walister ignored the new soldier and stepped up to keep in time with the rest who wanted their meals. To Vyce's distaste, the soldier quickly followed.
"The Commander's request was. . .firm. He claims it is imperative that you are brought to him immediately." Vyce threw his hands up in annoyance. Bloody Denam! The back of his mind told him that something terrible must have occurred if Denam required Vyce speak with him in such a hasty manner, but the Walister had little patience in the morning and he was still angry from his encounter with the deserter Alan.
After a tense moment of silence, Vyce sighed, defeated by his rationality. An emergency was more important than his empty stomach and sour mood. "Can it not wait?" he tried once more, just in case he overthought the importance of the message.
"No." A flat response, as if he was nervous. Vyce nodded and stepped from the line, to the surprise of those around him. With no further consideration to the messenger, he roughly pushed his way through the crowd and ignored the shocked protests and curses. Vyce recognized a disaster when he saw one and if Denam needed him immediately, he was not fool enough to deny him. Vyce quickly lost the soldier who had summoned him as he made his way through the halls, now entirely alert, drowsiness and anger burned away instead replaced with a heart-pounding worry. Was it about Catiua? Had Lodis moved? Worse – had the Walister dissidents attacked? Vyce's anxiety only increased as he walked through the Great Hall. Only twenty minutes earlier the hall had bustled with soldiers of all types who had prepared to practice, but now it bustled with a variety of Galgastani who were armed to their teeth in both their armor and weapons, wizards with their staves and robes, Archers who desperately attempted to organize their arrows, and all looked as if in a panic as they tried to remain order as best they could, but with so many it only served to remain pandemonium. The Galgastani filed their way outside; whatever Denam's issue was, the summoning definitely had to do with it. Vyce would have jogged through the halls had they been emptier, instead he continued to forcefully push his way through the armor of the Resistance soldiers. He grunted at the force of the contact with the thick metal but ignored the pain; a few bruises never hurt anyone. When he was finally free of the chaos, he sprinted through the private quarters, much to the shock of the servants in his path. Denam's room was at the opposite end of the castle from the captain's quarters and it was a lone room at the end of the guest hall. It was much larger than the other rooms, but most of the space was taken up by its expansive meeting room, where Denam would call in captains and attendants for strategy sessions.
Vyce slowed as he reached the door, guarded by two high ranked Knights who often intimidated the newer recruits and servants. Vyce knew the men, good, loyal Walister who had served with Denam from their Order's founding. Vyce slowed once he reached the end of the hall and caught his breath and composed himself. The Knights knew Vyce well enough to know that he was permitted entry when he wished, as he was one of very few with that honor. Vyce nodded to the duo and knocked on the thick door with rapid taps. It was immediately apparent that he was expected that Denam answered with an abrupt call, almost sound with no words. Vyce pushed the heavy wooden door into Denam's private chambers open with a grunt and immediately looked around to get a grasp on the situation; the sunlight had finally made its way into the castle halls and it filled the room with a warm, golden glow. To Vyce's great surprise, the large meeting table at the center of the guest chamber was empty of captains, but from the way Vyce saw the disorderly chair positions, it had been filled earlier by some three or four people. On the table was Denam's large pile of parchments, not at all abnormal as his work was never parted from his side, and at the head of the table was Denam, who looked worse than Vyce had ever seen him. The commander appeared as if he had little to no sleep, with large dark circles and his hair was in utter disarray. He had not bothered to change out of his clothes he wore from the previous day, and, worse, he slumped in his chair as if the world was doomed and Denam had been the one to sign the parchment to end it himself. His friend barely looked up at him in acknowledgement he pressed his eyes closed firmly and spoke, odd accent of his and all.
"Coritanae has fallen." His words were flat and emotionless, but Vyce knew he only spoke in that manner as a form of self-defense. Denam did not wish for anyone to know how much he suffered, yet for all it was plain on his features – and Catiua always called Vyce the stubborn one!
Vyce held back his horror as best he could and walked over to the end of the table, near Denam. The chair was already pulled out, as if its previous occupant left in a rush; Vyce sat near his weary friend, if he remained standing he would have likely fallen from shock at the words he had spoken. The Walister captain cautiously pushed away Denam's parchments, which earned him no complaint; Denam most certainly must be exhausted if he did not bother to scold Vyce for disruption of his business. "What?" Vyce asked, not sure if he misheard – or, at the very least, he hoped he had heard Denam incorrectly.
"I sent for food. I know you've likely just woken and I've not supped either." Denam gave an awkward smile despite the oddness of the situation, to which Vyce returned, equally uncomfortable. Denam knew Vyce well; they had been friends long enough for both to know each other's habits. He appreciated Denam's thought, but he was more worried about his friend than he was himself. Coritnae be damned, Denam looked terrible on his own and decidedly unhealthy. More, at Denam's declaration Vyce's appetite had disappeared entirely. His heart beat rapidly in his chest from his earlier panicked jog, but now his tenseness almost made Vyce twitch in worried anticipation. Something horrible had happened.
"You cannot just say such things and refuse to elaborate." Vyce's tone was harsher than he intended, but it was out of panic and worry. Denam nodded and pushed himself up from his slumped position in the chair to a more alert, professional manner. "Is it a rebellion?"
"I suppose. Revolution might be the better term for it. As you're aware, Raveness and Juenan are members of a new politically dominant party in Galgastan. They watch over the young lord in Brigantys and, for a time, held the popularity of the people. Over the past week, all of the nobles who supported them" Denam looked directly into Vyce's eyes as he said this, as if to emphasize his point. "were found dead in the rooms."
"The nobles are only a sign of power; likely they did little other than sit on their chairs and eat whatever lard it is they feast upon all day long as others do the work for them." Vyce mused as Denam looked away. "Surely that's not all?" A few dead nobles did not mean the end of Coritanae.
"Vyce, now's not the time for your comments." Denam snapped offhandedly. He did not even bother to look back towards Vyce as he continued. "No, that's not all. I recently recalled some of my troops from Coritanae because I planned for an assault on Barnicia, as you're well aware. Soon after, an armed rebel group stormed the keep. They butchered all of the Resistance members who did not surrender, and killed many of the politicians and innocents. They now hold both the city and now move to take the young Lord from Brigantys. Coritanae is all but theirs, as they've the support of the people there. Worse, political dissent rises out all through Galgastan as new factions form." Denam spoke wearily, stiffly, as if he read from a book.
"You've sent troops to reclaim Coritanae, I suppose." Vyce would have been much happier if Denam just let Galgastan destroy itself. That would have been one less issue to resolve once peace came to Valeria, 'twould teach them some humility. Then, once they were in ashes, they would rise as equals to the Walister. In that case, Vyce would have no issue welcoming them with open arms. Denam nodded in response to Vyce's question, and before he could be questioned further on the situation, another knock sounded. As he did with Vyce, Denam called for entry with little more than a vocal grunt. At the acknowledgment of entry, a servant cautiously made her way into the meeting room, Vyce saw the trays in her arms, and curtsied as best she could without her hands to aid her. Denam and Vyce watched the servant with an instinctual caution as the woman tried her very best to pretend she did not notice the tension in the air and placed the food down before both Denam and Vyce. She had not brought any water, but he supposed Denam had some somewhere in his room if he needed it; 'twas not his place to complain, as Catiua would have said, for he was the guest. Vyce knew Denam would have a fit if he did not let him have the first bite, so Vyce simply sighed as the commander looked at his food with relative disinterest before he finally placed one of the fruits into his mouth without a word. The two continued their discussion as they ate, neither much cared for the taste, as their mind was on more important matters and the servant exited without a word.
"Ravness and Juenan requested the position and I was in no place to decline. I worry that if this trend continues we will lose all Galgastani support, as they will be forced into civil war; more, the whisperers in Galgastan speak similar rumors to those that were told here."
"So you know of the rumors." Vyce was surprised; he was almost certain Denam had not dealt with the slander that had circulated through the Resistance for the last three weeks. Vyce knew his friend had much on his mind and, when he chose to, could be remarkably closed-minded and short-sighted at times.
"Aye, I've known about them for a time. As soon as I learned I asked some of our friends try to dissuade their spread." So Vyce was not the only one who actively tried to stop them. In a way, it was a relief, but it was much like fighting back a hurricane with a wall of sand. It would only work for so long. "In truth, I think the efforts might have saved the support of many in Phidoch."
"So you think the whisperers work against you in Coritanae?" Vyce chose to change the subject before Denam led it in the direction he knew his friend wanted to. Vyce knew Denam well enough to know that he wished to ask if he could use his contacts in the former-Alliance members for information, but Vyce's answer was an absolute no. Vyce was loyal to the Walister just as much as he was to Denam, he would not betray those who put their trust in him. They were normal men, not objects to manipulate and bend to Denam's influential will. Even if the rumors were false – and, truly, they were ridiculous - the men still harbored doubt in the Resistance leadership. Until they came to terms with themselves, they would only be a hindrance to the Resistance and their cause.
"No, Vyce, I know it." Denam took a bite of his food and grimaced as if he forced it down. "'Tis the Dark Knights who plan this." So that was how he chose to play this game. Vyce frowned deeply; it seemed the distrust between them had not fully mended itself, if Denam would not speak of the issue. Vyce knew 'twas mostly his own fault, as he continually attacked Denam whenever he disagreed with his friend, but it still felt odd to have the distance Vyce had pushed between them only be forced further by Denam, who had always attempted to act as their peacekeeper. "Do not give me that look Vyce, this is not something I can openly discuss."
Vyce held back his snarl, but new his instinctive anger truly held back a loneliness he would never show. Friends, allies, they meant nothing if they could be tossed away so easily or were held at arm's length when it suited the commander. They may work together, they may respect and enjoy each other's company, but there was a deep gap between them that could only be filled with trust that neither were willing to give. Vyce was not the type of man to live and let live, Denam would hear about his dissatisfaction later, but he accepted that this 'twas not the time for squabbles. "So how do you know 'tis the Lodissians and not the natural order of the Galgastani people?" The Galgastani were barbaric and brutal and often did not hesitate to cut down their own - not that Vyce could call the Walister Resistance any different. They had long since abandoned the dream of the Walister people for a dream of a better future for everyone on Valeria - even if their methods had previously been. . .questionable.
Vyce ignored the sharp look Denam gave him in reprimand for his vocal distaste for the Galgastani. Denam was always 'unity, unity, friendship, love, peace' when he was always so blind that there were many who could not accept it, not after what happened between the Clans. There was too much hatred, pain, memories of death and despair for acceptance to occur quickly. Vyce wanted peace, but the thought of living alongside a Galgastani, in the same town as neighbors and friends, was still entirely foreign and he was not sure if he could accept it. Denam did not understand what Vyce felt, the hatred, the disgust, the baser fear; it had been all Vyce grew up with, while Denam was safely tucked away in his church with his family. Denam shook his head and leaned over his food bowl to pick through his pile of parchments. After a moment, when he found what he sought, he continued as if Vyce had said nothing. "When I received my last report, this was in it." Vyce picked up the parchment and before he could glance through it, Denam finished. "This came alongside the word from our whisperers of the situation, as if a purposeful mockery by the sender to tell us he knows who our shadows are. I've been toyed with for a scale or so now; Balxephon, my harasser, is the only one who would send such."
Vyce's eyes fell down onto the report that Denam had handed him. What does the Dark Knight Balxep- Vyce's thought stopped as he comprehended what he saw. On the parchment was a detailed list of Catiua's habits, meal times, a schedule that listed any travel and speaking plans, as well as her guards and training sessions. The report was detailed enough that only a whisperer of extremely high position in Loslorien's ranks would have written it. Or, if Denam believed correctly, it was sent to him purposely by one of their Commanders for a reason Vyce could not comprehend. All thoughts of Galgastan and Coritanae fell from Vyce's mind as he read this and he suddenly understood Denam's dilemma. If what was on this parchment was true, there was no need to assault Barnicia other than to prevent an attack from the rear when they approached Heim – if the Resistance even could take the northern castle at all with their split numbers. Vyce felt an excitement well within, but forced himself down into rationality before he thought up something foolish. If Denam said the Dark Knights sent it, it likely was not from one of his whisperers. While the parchment was useful in that it showed where Catiua's greatest influence was, and where Lodis planned to expand it in the future, the note could not be trusted and was most likely a trap.
"You plan something rash." Vyce murmured as he continued to glance over the times. Yes, he could save Catiua with this. He would have to pull some strings, and hire some shadows to learn if the information was true, but if the Dark Knight had not lied, they would not need a full army. After all, Denam had somehow won that witch Ozma to his side, no one knew how he accomplished that particular feat; he could possibly have turned more his way with whatever magic he wielded. Vyce amused himself at the image. If Catiua returned to the Resistance, Vyce knew Loslorien would be at a disadvantage, for they were the ones who recognized her in front of the entire country, they could not simply revoke their support and not look like fools – well, any more than they did after how much territory they had lost already.
"No more rash than what you plan." For the first time that day, both men met each other's eyes and chuckled. As expected, Denam and he both wanted to find some way to act upon what they had. For all of their disagreements, the two knew each other too well and and closer than anyone else on the islands. Denam looked down at his food, still barely half done, and rolled a berry along the edge of his plate, mood lightened. "This is a trap. You know it, I know it; the bloody Dark Knight sent it to us knowing we would know it." In annoyance, Denam stabbed the berry with his fork, its pinkish juices spilled out of the sides and over the small area it occupied. Vyce nodded and picked at his own berries, not his preferred fruit but he certainly did not complain. Both knew there was no choice, if the Galgastani were in civil war and Denam had sent a large force back to Coritanae and Brigantys, Vyce doubted they would have the numbers to take on the Lodissians and Bakram who resided at Barnicia. That doubt became fact when Vyce considered the distrust between Commander and Vyce's former-Alliance, and whoever else, members. The Resistance would need to work in shadows, with as few knowledgeable about their assault as possible. Only the most skilled members of their army would assist, perhaps a few score, a force that would be enough to easily match one of the detachments within Loslorien, but any more than that would get them killed. None could know of their movements and any more would make them easy to discover and report.
"We don't have the experience for an assault like this." Vyce finally spoke. Loslorien's specialty was small-scale assaults, if the shadows spoke truly. Denam and Vyce knew most about moderately-sized battles, though both had quickly learned about larger, more aggressive army battles as the tide had turned in the Resistance's favor. But small battles were a different matter entirely; it allowed less flexibility and diversity and each member of the force must be at their very best in skill and equipment. They had to work as a team and not question orders, else the entire force would fall, not just a small group. To make matters worse, Vyce knew he and Denam were not particularly skilled at espionage. It would be a dangerous undertaking to assault Barnicia on the Dark Knights' terms.
"You speak only what we both know." Denam spoke wearily. He did not bother to sigh, for his neutral tone and condition were exhausted enough to prove that 'twas not Coritanae that troubled him, but Catiua. To Vyce's surprise, Denam's eyes and manner hardened in almost an instant after his words, as if he had found some passion hidden away at the back of his mind. "We cannot sit about idly, else our forces will be destroyed from the inside out and we will barely be able to move a detachment let alone a force even remotely capable of taking Barnicia." Vyce almost saw the cogs work in Denam's head; he had a plan, likely a dangerous one and even more likely one that Vyce would disagree with. 'Twas because Vyce so often pointed out the flaws in Denam's strategies that the two often conferred together before battle. "No, we will not wait; to do so would be suicidal to our cause." Vyce clenched down as he waited for whatever Denam's absurd idea was. "We play Lodis' game against them."
That was all? Vyce was almost disappointed; he had expected an elaborate plan that would allow them to steal Catiua back. "Out with it." Vyce cut through the meat on his plate and plopped it into his mouth. He savored the taste; his time in poverty and hiding taught him to never take such fine foods for granted. Vyce swallowed forcefully when he saw Denam's dark look, in response; his smile chilled him to the bone.
"Tartaros will not expect us to swear loyalty to Catiua – Versalia." Vyce was glad he had swallowed his food, for he would have choked at Denam's self-satisfied words, as if he had all planned.
"And what? Throw down our arms?" Vyce snapped out, he could hardly believe what Denam said. He was as much as proposing to sell the Resistance – Valeria! - to Lodis. No – Vyce calmed himself, Denam had no love for Lodis, what he planned to do was force Catiua from hiding to return to the safety of the Resistance, even if it meant he must feign a temporary treaty until Brantyn agreed to put aside his power. He was sure there was more to it than that, but Vyce felt little need to consider it further. The plan disgusted him. He did not like to give Lodis what they wanted, even if only for show. "They will not believe your oath unless you submit and treat." If Denam opted to do that, no matter the reason, the Resistance truly would fall apart.
"Precisely." The look remained, as if Vyce played into Denam's hands with his angry words and shock. The Walister captain still did not understand his friend's intentions and whatever game he played disturbed him. Fortunately, he did not have to wait for the explanation. "You are right, of course, swearing loyalty is a terrible idea, from a strategic standpoint. Our troops will splinter and much of the Resistance will be broken - that is precisely why Lodis will not expect it." Denam chuckled, it was pleasant held the now-familiar somber look that Denam always retained, as if he hated what he had to do but had long accepted it as necessity. "You and I are well known for our disagreements, 'twas you who splintered the Resistance before."
"You wish for us to act as we do best?" Vyce was not sure if it amused him, shocked him, or horrified him. Denam certainly had a point, the Walister would follow him if they disliked the path Denam went and Vyce opted to lead the alliance - they had all but begged for it. On the other end, if Denam swore to Catiua, the droves of those who had first abandoned the Resistance to bow to her would seep back and fill the numbers the Galgastani troops had left. Vyce marveled at its brilliance; in the end, they would end up with more numbers than they started with. 'Twas a risky gamble and though it worked well in simple discussion, in practice Vyce assumed that many would leave the war entirely in anger. The rift caused would be irreparable and, though they worked towards the same goals, many would not follow Denam again, even if they learned the action was a ploy. Vyce mused on the latter; perhaps the situation was worse than he had realized. Denam had so much on his mind; he kept his problems to himself and rarely discussed such issues such as loyalty with anyone. Could the Alliance's distaste have spread farther than Vyce, or anyone, had realized? Was the Resistance truly so close to collapse that Denam, desperate to keep it afloat, would go against all of his morals, against everything he stood for? But – he had done the same in Balmamusa. His old friend continually did what was necessary, not what he wanted, or what he felt was right. To save the lives of everyone country, Vyce knew that Denam would swear his eternal loyalty to Lanselot Tartaros so long as it meant Lodis leave the country in peace forever. Then he would likely kill himself in his shame; neither Vyce nor Denam would allow it to come to that. Vyce finally sighed, there seemed to be no changing his friend's mind at times like these. All Vyce could do was pick apart the plans and find as many flaws as he could and make sure they never occurred.
"With those troops who've deserted, and the troops of my Alliance – nay, likely the entire Walister force – together, we can take Heim alongside the Resistance, which would hold the remaining of the Walister and Galgastani companies. We cannot forget the Bakram, either; many will support Catiua when they learn her army is on the march. The Alliance will 'take advantage of the skirmish between the Princesses and Regent' and take Heim for themselves." He finally acknowledged, voice quiet and doubtful; in order to distract himself, Vyce took a bite of the waffle on his plate. He closed his eyes and attempted to savor the flavor, but he got little from it in his disquiet.
Again Denam nodded, satisfied, as if Vyce finally understood. They would replace any lost troops with the Bakram who wished for Catiua's rule and the Bakram-Valerian Kingdom would collapse upon itself. Vyce's mind jarred to a halt; Denam's insanity had finally seeped into him. For an unbelievable moment, he had considered his friend's fool plan! "You're mad, Denam, truly mad! I won't allow you to do this." Denam only smiled at him with true amusement, which only perturbed Vyce further. This time the sacrifice was not the Walister, but Denam himself – well, and the Galgastani in their shattered kingdom. What Denam suggested would require the Resistance to withdraw from Coritanae entirely, unless that was what his friend had planned all along: to leave the Galgastani to take care of their own problems, free of Walister influence. "I am surprised that you would give up the Galagstani. Their troops make up a sizable portion of our forces." Vyce changed the subject in hopes to get Denam's mind off of his new plan.
"I do not abandon the Galgastani. Not all will leave, as most truly believe in the future we fight for and know the rebellion in Coritanae to be pointless. I expect many to remain allied with me, for they certainly will not go with you and the Walister." Denam spoke as if Vyce had agreed with his plans; the commander only did that when he knew he had won. "The Galgastani must sort their problems out themselves; if the Walister interfere, they will feel as if the Walister force their beliefs unto them and hatred between clans will only continue. Coritanae will not be a sacrifice, but a token of understanding, trust, and acceptance."
So Denam had not sent Ravness and Juenan there to keep peace after all, as he had first implied. Or perhaps he went as far as to tell the duo that peace was what he wanted them to uphold, but kept his true intentions hidden. Even his friends danced to his strings; Denam gave Catiua strict competition when it came to requiring control over the situation, but perhaps Catiua slightly edged him out in efficiency, for Denam would consider the tool's feelings on the subject. Vyce shook his head and he went back onto the previous subject. It seemed as if it could work, but he knew something would go wrong. There had to be something he overlooked, but under such pressure he could not properly analyze the situation. The back of Vyce's mind, irrational and angry, screamed that it could not work, twas absurd, and that there was too much risk, for human nature was fickle. The latter voice spoke loudest, but at the same time Vyce agreed with Denam in that the status quo would only destroy the Resistance. "I cannot agree to this; even if only for show, this is unacceptable." Vyce's mind worked fervently to come up to the answer to the question he knew Denam would next ask.
"Then you've a better idea?" His tone was so utterly Denam, so similar to the way he had always spoken to Vyce when they were children that, had the situation not been so tense, he would have laughed. It was a false curiosity and acceptance, but in truth his words held a condescending 'I don't believe you can' behind them. Was such intonation used by anyone but Denam or Catiua, Vyce would have been furious, instead he simply took a small amusement from it. Of course Vyce did not have a better idea - he had only just learned of the situation moments before! He spoke the first thought that came to mind.
"We kill Brantyn." As expected, the commander just stared flatly at him. Vyce's mind worked quickly as it could. Sneaking into Heim and killing Bthe Regent was out of the question, of course – Denam's flatter accent might make him a viable candidate, but Vyce would be called out as soon as they heard he was Walister. Unless they posed as refugees, the duo would be unable to reach Heim at all. No, they needed to ally the Bakram before they dealt with the Lodissians. "The shadows, and rumors, speak of a disagreement or split between Lodissian and Bakram." Even Vyce knew of the situation; word that the Dark Knights did not support Brantyn politically had gone around since Catiua was named Princess with Lodis's backing. They could not turn their back on Brantyn, of course, but they did not support him in their war effort against the Resistance, either. "So we move towards Barnicia. Brantyn will appreciate assistance in dealing with the foreigners, no doubt, and leave us be while we attack, but we may encounter some resistance getting there, for we intrude on their land."
"And you name me mad? 'Twill never work, we don't have the numbers and to attack Heim while the Dark Knights reside in Barnicia is only asking for an dagger in our flank -" Vyce cut Denam's outraged and shocked response off because he could continue.
"Be silent and listen. I heard to your insanity, you will hear to mine." Vyce did not quite know if he believed what he said, for he spoke the first thing that came to mind. As he thought on it, the image became clearer and more defined, as if it could work. "We will not take Barnicia, simply make it appear as if we do. No, we must beyond it, to the Boulder Sands. While our forces deal with the Bakram there, a small group will sneak into Barnicia and rescue Catiua. Lodis will then have no power on the isles and will be unwelcome; they will not be able to attack us in retaliation without inciting the wrath of their masters." Vyce hesitated for a moment; he was doing just what he always criticized Denam of: seeing Catiua as a tool. Even if this never came to pass, he made mental note to apologize to the woman. "Then, as you say, 'we play Lodis' game against them.' No doubt many in Heim are loyal to the Princess; we cause a political split within the Bakram, so that his supporters flock to our side. We will not even have to lift our sword, for as soon as we march on Heim, Brantyn's own people will slit his throat and open the gates for Catiua." Perhaps his imagination played tricks on him, but Vyce could have sworn that Denam looked ill for a half-second before his expression returned to its neutrality.
Was Denam less mannered, he likely would have tapped his silverware against his plate; their plans were similar enough in nature, both required Catiua's support, and both risked much on the nature of revolution and dissatisfaction with rule. Vyce's strategy was acceptable for one he thought up on a whim, but the Walister wondered if he underestimated the devotion and loyalty of the Bakram. The Bakram were almost as insane as the Galgastani, but theirs was more one who was drunk on power than one who believed themselves superior – more, they did not fight their own battles. The people of the Bakram-Valerian Kingdom were all well-fed and had no reason to revolt as they had pleasant, prosperous lives under Brantyn. Vyce could not expect such spoiled, selfish people – an entire clan of those who had never once known suffering - to risk their lives for the betterment of the country. The Bakram were not the same men the Walister were.
"There is too much risk." Denam spoke firmly, as he had already discarded Vyce's idea. Vyce did not disagree; the more he thought on it, the more he realized the Bakram would be of no help to their cause and that thre was little to stop the Dark Knights from attacking their flank as the Resistance took the Boulder Sands, with or without Catiua. The captain was more annoyed about Denam's tone, which was the one he used when he had already made up his mind and there was nothing Vyce could do to change it. He simply assumed Vyce would go along with his plan, just as everyone else went along with his will without question. In truth he was right and Vyce did not like that one bit. If Denam asked him to move, he would, because he respected his friend's skill enough to know he would not send him to his death. Denam was far more likely to be the one killed than he in this event, assassinated, most likely; Vyce did not wish to see him die when he had the power to stop it as well. Denam continued, oblivious to Vyce's worries. "You rely too heavily on chance. We'd have better luck killing Tartaros in a secret meeting of alliances." His tone was sarcastic, but both knew he was right. Vyce's eyes widened at the thought; a secret meeting would work beautifully, perhaps Denam's plan had some merit in that they could- Denam's words cut him off, as he understood where Vyce's thoughts were directed. "Not a chance; Tartaros will not come personally when I swear to Catiua. To kill him, we need him alone, without the personal guard he is always behind. Patience Vyce, our chance will come soon enough."
"There must be another way. Even if it is not true, you will be betraying our people – you will betray yourself. Most will never forgive you." It was an odd bout of sadness that Vyce felt for his friend. That the Walister splinted so sharply that Denam was on the verge of giving up sent hurt Vyce as well. His friend was one of the most stubborn men Vyce knew, the only one who could match Vyce himself; his friend's despair bit deeply into him. A rare bout of empathy from him, to be certain.
"I sent the missive out last night." Denam finally pushed his bowl away, food only half-eaten. He looked as if he wanted more, but lacked the motivation to lift the silverware to his mouth. He slumped down and put his head into his hands, propped up by his elbows on the table. It was no wonder Denam looked so terrible, he simply awaited for his notice of death to be signed.
"Y-You didn't." Vyce could hardly believe his ears and he slammed his fist on the table; the plates bounced and Denam's parchments moved around slightly at the force. "You go too far! We should at least discuss the plans with our companions!" Vyce resisted every urge he had to storm from the room, but stopped himself. It seemed he was the only sane one in the entire bloody army. He was the last one who could save the Resistance from itself.
"Mreuva agreed to the plan, as did Canopus, Ravness, Hobyrim, Gildas, Donnalto. . .I spoke to everyone I could on such short notice. I've known about Coritanae for three days now Vyce." Vyce sat back, struck into silence, and knew full well he felt betrayed that Denam had not asked or discussed a strategy with him as well. Perhaps because his friend knew he would never agree to such a plot that he did not bother to speak with him about it. The problem was not that their companions agreed to Denam's insanity, 'twas more that, and Vyce would bet a year's worth of Goth on it, Denam did not tell them the full extent of his plans. They trusted him, many without question, and even if the idea seemed strange at first glance, they knew Denam meant them no harm. He need not tell them everything, and they would simply fall into place behind him with a smile. Vyce, too, shared their sentiment, but he was not so blind to Denam's kind words and honorable façade. If none else would question him, Vyce knew he must. Even as he readied himself to demand answers and lash out in anger, Vyce felt himself deflate in despair.
"So-" Vyce breathed out before he fell silent. He told himself to be rational, but his anger, distress worry, and even relief at the thought that they could save Catiua soon filled him. It was too late, no matter what Vyce said, he could not save his friend from himself. The least he could do was minimize the losses. "You expect me to leave now?" He finally relented. It seemed Vyce's orders were already laid out whether he wanted to follow them or not. Denam pulled his strings, just as he did everyone else's. His friend was not the type to give orders that were unquestionable - Denam always wanted his friends to question him - but Vyce knew if he did not agree to whatever plan Denam had for him the war with Lodis and the Bakram would be lost. He cursed his friend for the predicament he had placed him in, and, more, he cursed his own stubbornness in that he could not just refuse and walk away. Denam should have awaited word on the situation in Galgastan before any rash moves were made!
"No. We must make a scene. It must be public, vocal, reported by Loslorien's whisperers. The best time would be after we publicly announce my new stance on the Princess." With a sigh, Denam pushed himself up from his chair. His stiff motions and prolonged stretch made it seem as if he had not risen for hours. Without another word, the commander gathered all of the parchments and tossed them with little care onto his chair he was just in, as if they were entirely pointless. Vyce remained in place and watched as his friend moved about, as if he was an old man, and into his private chambers. If Denam thought their conversation was over, Vyce would show him how quickly he was mistaken; he could not just dismiss him after words like that! Vyce was sure the situation wasn't nearly as bad as Denam claimed. It took all of his self-control to not stomp into Denam's quarters and demand answers.
Ten minutes later, when Vyce's patience reached it limit and his food was gone, Denam had still not returned. Perhaps he washed himself; his friend had some skill with Fire magic so likely the commander had lit the small fire underneath his tub to warm the water. Or, more likely, maybe he had fallen asleep – it didn't matter. Whatever the reason for his exit, Denam seemed to have no wish to return. In the commander's absence, Vyce's gaze continually fell onto the orders on the chair, as if his friend had left them there purposefully, for him to look at. You musn't do this. His rationality told him that he could lose Denam's trust if he ever learned of Vyce's actions, but his body moved without pause as he stood and walked the few steps over to Denam's abandoned chair. What troubled Vyce more than all else was his friend's seemingly brash plan. His friend had to have a reason for what he did; a few small rumors and an uprising at Coritanae would not call for such extreme measures such as to split the Resistance in two. Denam did not want to worry anyone, most like, and did not tell him of all of the problems they faced. Vyce closed his eyes and shook his head; he had been irrational to snap like he had in his anger. Denam did not mean to antagonize him; his actions were always of the best intentions, even if his method was questionable.
Vyce quietly glanced down at the parchments and picked up the first few. Perhaps he and Denam were not so different, if he was willing to go through his friend's private belongings, military secrets no less, for the betterment of them all. Most of the parchments were simple reports, such as movements, and were pointless. As he made his way through, he saw Denam's unique organization; though they appeared a mess, he had similar reports and orders atop one another, by category. It was not long until Vyce reached the more important missives. He continually spared glances towards Denam's private chambers, but the commander seemed to be busy with whatever his business was and had left Vyce to his own devices. Even still, Vyce was tense and his heart beat rapidly in fear he would get caught. The Walister looked down with shock at some of the reports: Xenobia had declined political assistance beyond neutrality despite their shared enemy of Lodis; he was furious Denam had appealed to them at all. He and Denam had discussed this particular issue land both wanted the country to earn its own freedom, without foreign intervention. Vyce wondered why Denam had gone back on his word, or perhaps he hoped to assist the Xenobians in the search for their blade, but wanted to assure he would obtain political backing from its return. Vyce clenched his jaw and continued to read the parchments. Former Alliance-members defected in droves, far more than Vyce realized, and had taken up residence primarily in Krysaro. Apparently they had great influence in the sea trade in Port Asyton and had closed the ports to any who would do business with the Walister Resistance. Vyce's eyes widened at the implication; no wonder Denam was in a panic about this, Port Asyton was imperative to trade in the south and the Alliance had moved fast with its political relations, dangerously so. They must have prepared for scales, even without Vyce's leadership. If the south was cut off from the sea, the war would all be lost; Vyce did not need to know their plans to see that Balmamusa would be next to fall. Another report spoke that the Castellan of Almorica had been assassinated; Vyce knew the man, a noble, worthless beyond the funds he donated to the Resistance. Not much of a loss beyond its political implications. What worried him more was the murderer: the Tigers of Burnham had taken credit. Denam's shadows spoke that the Tigers were on the move and their recruitment soared as they despised Denam and his methods. If Denam did nothing about them, it would not be Lodis who attacked their flank, but their own people, Walister and Galgastani alike.
The situation was bad, more dangerous than Vyce realized and worse than Denam would admit to anyone. The truth of the matter was that the Resistance fell apart not from the whispers of the Dark Knights, but from their own people. The problems, revolts, anger, they had had all accumulated to the point where none could be ignored any longer. Vyce did not to look any further, he saw the depths they had fallen, though if he had he would not have been surprised if there was yet more problems facing the Resistance, such as debt or supply issues, especially with Asyton blocked. It pained Vyce to admit, but it was partially his fault. He had been the one to start the Alliance, to call to arms all of those who wanted to fight for the Walister, but disagreed with Ronwey's methods. As Vyce looked at Denam's orders, he saw how sound his plan was; the Walister would follow him again, and Vyce could muster some semblance of control of the south while Denam worked on the North. Had Denam only not told him the truth originally, Vyce would not have been so irrational.
Though he now knew of the situation, the Walister looked through Denam's reports with one goal: Catiua. Catiua was the last item of importance that Denam knew about and would not speak to Vyce of. It did not take him long to find what he sought, a small pile near the bottom with very vague information, mostly rumors, but he noted that the largest report was actually written by Denam, not any shadow, as if he had tried to organize the information in his head. Vyce glanced over it quickly; Catiua had continually refused Denam's private missives. More importantly, all reports showed that Catiua was with Loslorien willingly. Denam told all who inquired that Catiua had been kidnapped, yet a small personal note that was marked as 'Possible' on the page said that Catiua likely was drawn to Tartaros for his promises of safety and protection. Vyce breathed inward quietly in shock; no matter what Denam publicly stated of Loslorien and Catiua's relations the report spoke a different tale. Vyce did not understand; he had heard Catiua and Denam had argued, but he had never imagined Denam had harmed her so deeply that she would walk away with the Lodissians with no fight at all. 'Twas almost as if Denam tried his hardest to believe that Catiua was stolen away, even if it meant he rejected the truth in front of him. Or perhaps Catiua had fallen prey to her own game, and had been manipulated by the foreigners. Vyce did not have enough information to make such a judgment.
The Walister man withdrew and put the reports back into the pile as best he could before he turned away, both in shock and disgust, anger and sadness, frustration and respect. Denam had it harder than they all realized, yet he spoke no complaints and never asked for help. But his respect quickly turned bitter; just what had the two argued of that had torn Catiua apart so deeply? The Walister man worried Catiua might never recover from such emotional trauma, especially after her excursion with the Dark Knights and whatever whispers they spoke to her. Vyce now understood why Denam was so troubled, but the true reasons awakened a subtle anger within him. The deceptions, the outright lies, Denam had become everything he once hated. Perhaps the commander saw his actions as 'just,' but Vyce could not accept them. Perhaps 'twas better they spent some time apart, Vyce did not know if he could tolerate his friend's foolishness. Vyce shook his head and turned away. He could not face Denam; he was angry, upset, distressed and, worse, he had to plan for the commander's reckless, suicidal stratagem. A new plan was his only chance to save his friend from his own madness, and to rescue Catiua from the manipulation of the Lodissians, he could not back out now. Perhaps he would speak to Alan again, and start to listen to his rumors with feigned agreement. He would need to make some show of loyalty to the Alliance after he had rejected Alan so violently earlier.
The Walister man turned away from the table, the reports, and Denam and walked out of the room, long past emotions such as anger and exhaustion and instead was in a state of a placid acceptance. He was not the type to follow orders blindly, but for his friends and for his people, he saw no choice. The two guards outside of Denam's chambers did not acknowledge his presence as he passed and Vyce preferred it that way, he did not want their artificial, forced respect that did not judge him by his abilities, but instead his position. As soon as the Walister was out of range, he slammed his fist against the wall in anger; he loathed the position he was put into and he cursed the Lodissians yet again for how they tore his friends and family apart.
The Wheel cursed all the survivors of Golyat.