Bringing the Dawn
Chapter Ten
Riders of Karlsland
"Charge your horses across the fields
Together we ride into destiny
Have no fear of death when it's your time
Oden will bring us home when we die
The enemies are in disarray ride them down as they run
Send them to their violent graves, don't spare anyone
Dead and wounded lie all around see the pain in their eyes
Over the field an eerie sound, as we hear the raven's cry."
-Cry of the Black Birds by Amon Amarth
31
"Hartmann, get up!" Came the usual irritated voice of Gertrud Barkhorn. She was a figure who was not as intimidating as she thought. Plain height, build, and physique along with very unremarkable dark brown hair that hung freely down to her shoulders made her blend into crowds. Her attire was much grander than her bland and forgettable face and amber eyes. Gertrud Barkhorn wore a red tabard with the black cross of Karlsland embroidered upon it. Beneath it was a shirt of shining and well-kept mail that nearly reached her knees. Her arms and legs were protected by polished steel gauntlets and greaves. On her back were two crossed and sheathed swords; great broad ones that could split cattle in two with a good swing. One sword bore the golden image of a roaring lion on the pommel; the other two crossed swords.
Before her was Erica Hartmann, her younger lieutenant who did not adhere to the strict military doctrine as Barkhorn did. Hartmann was only a year younger, but a prodigy as a witch and warrior. More than once had a sortie ended with Hartmann's kills far outnumbering Barkhorn's whether they were Dark Ones or Blackguards. She was of small size for her age, with a soft face and short blonde hair worn in a bob haircut.
The younger witch groaned and sat up from the sunny patch of grass she had been dozing in. It wasn't far from where their horses were tethered, as Erica didn't like to be far from her mare: Bobbi. Around them was a war camp built up on a hill that loomed over the floodplains of the upper Rhine. The camp was bustling with activity and it didn't take long for her to catch on that something was up.
"Honestly, we had warning three days ago that Gallians were riding this way and you think you can just laze about!" Barkhorn's rant was met with rolled eyes and an expression that told her that Erica didn't have a care in the world.
"Three days, Trudie," Hartmann yawned as she got to her feet. She wavered a bit and looked about, "So I guess they found their way here? I was hoping they'd get the point after the first time we mopped them all up... and the sssecond... or the third..."
Barkhorn squinted and caught the slurring in her lieutenant's speech, "Hartmann! Are you drunk right now!?"
"Workin' on it. Almost, boss," she answered and reached down to grab a bottle from the grass. She took a big gulp and smiled, "Don't worry. It's wine! All the best warriors ride to battle on wine!"
"No they don't!" Barkhorn shot back and stomped towards the post where their horses were. "Get suited up for battle. We're not going to even try to parley this time. The moment they ford that river, they're dead."
Erica skipped after her in a carefree manner, "I keep wonderin' why they're so active all of a sudden. It used to be we'd see maybe one fight every couple of months, usually with Dark Ones. Now every horse in Gallia is being given someone to ride it and being sent over to Karlsland. They're not razing anything, or trying to take land though. Isn't that weird?"
"Positively quizzical," Barkhorn answered, untethering her prized steed: Sleipnir. Gray and black, Sleipnir was what Barkhorn considered to be the fastest, strongest, and most loyal horse in all of Karlsland. So for far, she had never seen any to rival him although Hartmann's Bobbi could keep up just fine most of the time.
"You don't really think about it, do you?" Erica asked with crossed arms and a concerned face.
"No, and neither does the enemy. They do what they're told, and that's usually to hit us. We just hit back a lot harder."
"Yeah, that's true," the younger witch sighed as she untied Bobbi's reins as well. The mare whinnied happily and nuzzled against Hartmann. She chuckled and gave the horse's head a gentle hug. "Still, it all feels like part of something bigger. Maybe they're looking for something?"
"I heard something like that," Barkhorn said as she mounted Sleipnir. The proud horse seemed to glare disdainfully at Bobbi and Hartmann like their exchange of affection was a silly thing. "Mostly about some witch up near Denmark and her little crew. Why Neuroin or his generals would care about some girl out in the middle of nowhere is beyond me. All I know is that one of them is the pupil of Minna's friend."
"Mio Sakamoto?" Hartmann asked.
Barkhorn nodded, "Yeah, that one. Probably doesn't mean anything and besides, what could that group do that would have all these guys searching for them?"
Hartmann mounted as well, "I don't know then. It was just something I was wondering, I guess. Or..." she smiled a mischievous smile, "maybe you're just afraid those witches are stealing all the glory. Does Trudie want Neuroin's personal attention too?"
"N-No!" She awkwardly blurted out, "I do not, b-because it would only bring danger to me and those I love."
"Speaking of which," Erica leaned forward, resting her arms in Bobbi's mane, "when we got a handle on the Rhine, are you going to go back to and visit her?"
Barkhorn spurred Sleipnir towards the floodplains down the hill. She trotted off a few meters before answering over her shoulder, "Maybe when we get a handle on Neuroin himself. I'm fighting for Karlsland right now, there's no time for vacations."
"Do what you want," Erica shrugged.
"Meet me down here when you're geared up!"
Gertrud needed only one thing before she was ready for battle. She took a quick stop at her tent. It was small, no different than the rest with only the most Spartan of accommodations. A bed, a chest of drawers for her armor and clothes, and a weapon rack. From the rack she grabbed her favored riding weapon. It was a gift from Minna years ago, a weapon from Fuso that her friend Mio Sakamoto had brought from her homeland. The story behind it was long and confusing, and nobody was sure where it came from or where it was forged. It was a naginata, a Fuson polearm with a long, golden, curved blade at the end of a shaft. The weapon itself was about seven feet long, and awkward to use on horseback for anyone else.
Nearly every witch had a unique magic to them, and Barkhorn's was strength. The mighty and awkward weapon was a light as a feather to her. She called it Gungnir, as it had once been in the possession of a one-eyed warrior.
The rest of her cavalry were forming the line at the floodplains. The enemy had been spotted ready to cross this easy fording, and they were going to turn the river red with them. She rode ahead of the army of two-hundred as she always would, preparing to lead the charge beside Hartmann (who seemed to be taking her time). She thought about what Hartmann had asked her, if she would take a leave to visit her younger sister.
"So, what're we looking at this fine day?" Hartmann asked as she rode up beside her captain.
"Hundred," she answered, eyes focused west where they would be riding from. "That's what the scout says, but I'm hoping it's an odd number. Remember when we both went 24-24 last time?"
"Now you're starting to sound like Marseille," Erica chuckled.
Barkhorn was offended. Hanna-Justina Marseille was an old rival who Barkhorn had trained formally with years back, after the knights had taken her in. She had always been wildly competitive, to the point of trying to race the two of them between buildings or see who could eat faster.
"This is just for fun!" Trude exclaimed. "You've been drinking anyhow, so you'll be sure to lose."
"I don't think so," Erica found the wineskin at her belt and took a drink before offering it to her captain. "No inhibitions!"
Barkhorn pushed the wineskin back and shook her head, "I'll take my inhibitions thank you. As a leader, I need a collected and calm head that isn't all muddled with some drink. Tsk, wine, why would I ever want the stuff?"
"You're getting awfully defensive, Trudie," Hartmann said.
Across the Rhine, the forms of men on horseback appeared from the trees at the edge of the floodplains on the other side. Behind the two witches, the line had been formed. Two-hundred strong. Some of the most skilled warriors in Karlsland. "Are you sure you don't really want to indulge yourself for once?"
"Absolutely not!"
"I think you do~" she continued to get a rise out of her captain.
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
"Do not!"
"Do too!"
"Why are we having this argument, the enemy is going to be on us in minutes!" Barkhorn shouted at her.
"This isn't an argument, this is just contradiction," Erica said.
"What are you talking about, yes it is!" Trude said back, becoming continually flustered.
"There it is, you just contradicted me! An argument is not the same as contradiction," Erica argued.
"It can be," Barkhorn contradicted back.
"No it can't. An argument is a collective series of statements to establish a definite proposition. It isn't just contradiction!"
"But in an argument two people take up contradictory positions so..." Gertrud stopped herself and blurted out, "Why are we having this argument-"
"Contradiction," Erica interjected.
"- when the enemy is right there. Come on, Hartmann, let's lead the charge. Winner makes the loser dinner."
"You really are like Marseille!"
Barkhorn shouted, "Kia!" and snapped Sleipnir's reins to spur him into a thunderous charge. They were going to meet at the fording where the river was shallow, and as always the two were leading the charge where they would break the front lines and more often than not kill the enemy morale within seconds. Riding forth towards them was some knight of Neuroin, dressed in dark armor that was much heavier than the standard brigandine that the rank and file wore. Sleipnir and Bobbi charged forward, and the two riders moved in a fast figure eight pattern. They wove between one another with well-rehearsed ease. It was just a show, to tell the enemy that they were very skilled riders.
Hartmann broke from their zig-zagging formation as the enemy leader and Barkhorn flew forth at one another like jousters. With a mighty heave, Barkhorn sent her great weapon flying through the air at her enemy. The golden blade stuck him square in the chest and he was thrown off his horse. She trampled past him and swiftly retrieved her polearm, swinging it once more to decapitate the next rider after.
Hooves splashed over the waters of the ford and the deafening roar of two-hundred horsemen spread out as they charged forth to join the witches. The enemy was already scattered with their leader killed instantly and the realization that they had unwittingly ridden into an overwhelmingly large force. Over and over again, Gungnir claimed life after life as the golden blade cut down rider and horse over the ford.
Hartmann fought with a longsword with a cross decorated into the pommel. It glowed with an unknown gold light as she wielded it expertly atop her horse. It swung in a flurry, finding every enemy's exposed weak point and deflecting any spear or sword that came her way. With her free hand, she conjured up her own magic: A spell whose name she called, "Sturm!". A blast of twisting air came forth, throwing over a dozen men off their horses. It was a spell of air manipulation, with a variety of uses that she and Barkhorn had found over many battles. Their personal favorite was using it to fling Trude high into the air to strike down sharp-shooters.
"Waidmanns heil!" Barkhorn shouted to Erica as they passed one another in the fray.
"Waidmanns heil!" She called back, laughing. "What're you at!?"
"Twenty-two!" Barkhorn answered, and threw Gungnir to strike down a rider with a spear making a charge for her lieutenant. She rode over and retrieved the weapon and said, "Twenty-three now."
"Same," Erica said. The battle was nearly won already. Together they had demolished nearly half of the unprepared and fledgling force. These men were not trained warriors, merely given horses and weapons and told to ride forth. Against Barkhorn and Hartmann's force, it was a slaughter. They had seen a few horses tripping over corpses and sending their armored riders face first into knee-deep water and mud where they had trouble getting to their feet again.
Three Gallians were trying to escape on foot across the floodplains on the other side of the ford. Barkhorn pointed at them and said, "Spare at least one. You said you were wondering what they were up to, right?"
"I thought you said you didn't take prisoners," Erica replied as the two thundered off after them.
"No, I don't," she answered, grimly. "I do like to send my enemies messages though. Maybe I'll send this guy back with a few bruises and cuts and a warning to anyone else trying to pass this river."
"Yeah, yeah," Hartmann huffed, and sliced down one of the three retreating men. "Twenty-four..."
"Twenty-four!" Barkhorn shouted as she skewered another. She dismounted while Sleipnir was still running, and landed in the long grass with a roll. The retreating Gallian redoubled his efforts to sprint away, but Barkhorn easily caught him by his collar. Grabbing him in a rough headlock, she dragged him towards the river with Sleipnir and Hartmann following behind. The armored Karlslandians rode over to meet them.
"The battle's won!" One enthusiastically cried.
"You were amazing out there, Captain!" One of the few women in their army laughed. "You too lieutenant, your form was excellent! They were shitting their pants when they saw you rushing across the plain moving like that!"
Hartmann cheerfully replied, "You all did great too. I say tonight is going to be a good night, with lots of songs and drinks and-"
She was interrupted by a splash as Barkhorn threw the man into the water, holding his head down below the surface. She waited a few moments as he thrashed and splashed before pulling him up again. "Why were you sent!?" the knight demanded.
The Gallian coughed and sputtered, choking water. Terrified, he muttered, "T-Take... t-this ford."
"Oh, you liar," Barkhorn growled and shoved his head beneath the water, shouting, "Neuroin would not send a force of fifty green men against us!"
She pulled him out, and he coughed and choked more. They had to wait a moment before he could finally speak. In a desperate, panicked voice he sobbed out, "I can't tell you! They'd torture and kill my whole family if-"
He was cut off as Barkhorn bent his arm behind his back to the point where a single tug would dislocate it. The man cried out in pain and thrashed about as Barkhorn wore a simple expression of impatience. She lowered his head with her other hand towards the water again, making him flinch. "They're not going to know what we learned. You fell in battle on the plains, we thought you were dead and you escaped with your wounds back to Gallia, got that!?"
Nodding frantically, he babbled out, "Yes! Yes! That's... that's what happened! I-"
He cried out again as Barkhorn bent his arm a little further and shouted, "So start talking before I change my mind!"
"I'll talk! I'll talk just let go of my arm!"
"I'll let go if you talk."
He needed a moment to catch his breath and regain his composure before he was able to speak, "Perrine Clostermann! W-We're told to hunt her and kill her. She's a witch and-"
"Bullshit," Barkhorn spat, tugging at his arm again to make him howl in pain. "Why would Neuroin send you all after witches!? Why not Dark Ones!?"
"I don't know!" The Gallian wailed. "S-Something about... about being hard to find... Karlsland is big, and there's not enough of them! I swear that's all I know!"
"Why is Neuroin so interested in one witch and her companions? Tell me!"
"T-They killed General Siilasvuo! T-There's rumors... rumors that they're planning to gather a force of witches, maybe to retake Gallia or overthrow Neuroin, I don't know! Your name was-"
"What about my name!?" Barkhorn demanded, and once again dunked his head beneath the river. She held it down longer this time, watching him flail with his one free arm as bubbles rippled against the surface. Finally, she pulled him up and gave him a short while to be able to speak again.
"He... they... I don't know, the ones in charge... t-think you're going to join Clostermann," he finally answered.
With one sharp yank, Barkhorn dislocated his arm and let go of him. He screamed in pain and flailed about in the river as she stood up and addressed the others, "That's it. It's about me, and by proxy Hartmann. Mystery solved then, and the sortie is over. Come on everyone, back to camp!"
After watching their captain brutalize that man, the excitement was dampened to a certain agree. They rode off with minds still intent on merriment that night. Barkhorn remounted Sleipnir, and slowly trotted through the ford back towards the floodplain with Erica not far behind.
"That was pretty scary, Trudie," she commented with a touch of concern in her voice. "I haven't seen you like that for a while."
Trude shrugged, spurring her horse a little quicker. "I wasn't in the mood to pussyfoot around with this guy. You got the answers you wanted, right?"
"Yeah, but I didn't want to start breaking arms," Erica huffed. "But isn't that a little weird of me to think? Beating on some poor guy is bad, but we killed twenty-four each. War is strange, Trudie."
"For once, I agree with you," Barkhorn sighed. "I guess I saw this guy and thought, this man is aligned with the same monsters that hounded Chris and I back then... and I just kind of lost myself. I don't regret though because anyone who works with Neuroin willingly is scum."
"Yeah, hard to argue with that," Erica nodded.
The evening eventually came; a boisterous evening with lots of drinking, song and dancing. Barkhorn was resting in her tent on her Spartan bed wearing her tabard and tights, and nothing else. The slightly muted sounds of her soldiers enjoying themselves was welcome. She liked to run a strict show, but still enjoyed seeing smiles around. Erica Hartmann had a lot of them to go around, and it was times like these: moments in the evenings after a battle that she fully appreciated it. They didn't see eye to eye on how business should be conducted out of battle, but Hartmann was still Barkhorn's best friend in the world.
She wondered how her sister was doing far away where it was safe with their family. Chris had been through so much, more than any little child should have. At the same time, she had been so young, and Trude wondered just how much of it she remembered. Chris had still been a toddler when Trude had left to become a knight and her sister had been passed back to their parents. They only saw each other about once a year now, and not for very long. Gertrud secretly feared she was going to grow to be a stranger to her little sister, a simple name to her. It may be a name that would invoke pride and appreciation, but it would still just be a name. She wanted to be more to Chris than just a name, but she couldn't leave her duty here either.
Barkhorn tried not to focus on it too much, instead trying to lose herself in a book. The one good thing about a military life on the road meant she could find things that were not easy to come by. She had translated copies of Baltland and Suomish myths and poems. They were absolutely fascinating and fun to read. It was sweet relief to be able to read something that wasn't just the same old scriptures from the Bible. A closely guarded secret of hers, her faith in God was absolutely minimal. Prayer after prayer met with silence and nothing eventually weathered her trust. She trusted Sleipnir, her weapons: Gungnir, Bladecatcher and Lionsclicer; and Hartmann. That was all she needed.
Trude had almost fallen asleep when Hartmann's voice disturbed her from her rest, "Trudie, one of our scouts is back. They have news."
"Oh, good!" Barkhorn sat up and quickly dressed to something more presentable. She was ready within a minute, and hurried out, following Hartmann's lead to where a rugged and worn looking scout was tending to his exhausted horse.
"Captain," he saluted. With long, messy hair and need of a shave, he wasn't exactly the finest example of Karlsland beauty.
"You look familiar, but I don't think we've met..." Barkhorn commented. She didn't have time to get to know every single subordinate, especially when they numbered in the hundreds. "What's your name?"
"Major, ma'am, Major Wilder."
"Major?" She blinked in surprise. "What's a major-"
"No, no, my first name is Major," he gave a frustrated sigh and leaned against his horse. "Common mistake, I know and it's just the sweetest bit of irony I ended up joining the military, isn't it?"
"Your first name is Major?" Barkhorn stared in disbelief. "How come I've never met you, who are you?"
"Just transferred from this army," Major Wilder explained. "See, I'm from Britannia but was serving in the Fuso navy under this woman Kuroi, but she went crazy and-"
"Never mind, I don't care about any of that. What do you have to report?"
"Oh right, my report," he cleared his throat and began. "Okay, so I was supposed to be scouting northwest past the Rhine but was reading my compass wrong and ended up on the eastern side. I meant to ford across again when I could, but the only ford had a nasty colony of bees guarding it so I had to find another route. Sure enough, that route has a bunch of Gallians storming through, so, using my stealth and guile I tailed them. They got into a fight with a group of witches and now the entire Northern Plain is on fire after one girl shot lighting from her fingers. I rode south as soon as I could, avoiding the wildfire and all. I kept watch on their group a little bit, and I can say for sure they're heading our way."
"Good work, I guess?" Barkhorn turned around and decided someone else would dismiss this man for her. Hartmann was at her side, as always, and when they were a short distance away Barkhorn murmured, "So what exactly was just conveyed to me? I somehow lost track of what he was saying between the bees and lightning bolts."
"That our Perrine is coming our way, I think," Erica answered. "What do you say, Trudie? Should we move north and meet her?"
Barkhorn crossed her arms and thought on it for a moment, "Yeah, it's probably for the best. Something's going on here, and I don't want us being the last to know. Plus, it's always good to keep in touch with allies, right?"
32
"I don't know, I just don't think we should wander the city past dark," A young voice protested to her four friends. They were walking down a cobbled street of Paris with the sunset bathing them in a brilliant orange glow. "Let's go back to your house, Eva. I hate being out this late."
"Late? Mio, it's hardly past supper!" Evangelyne Bellerose exclaimed and took her friend's hand. Mio Sakamoto's cheeks flushed red at her touch and was practically dragging her feet. "Come on, Mio, I don't know what it's like in Fuso but here girls can go out at night and have fun!"
Mio looked to her other friends to gauge their reactions. Jun seemed lost in her own little world, but Minna smiled back to her and said, "Maybe Eva is right, Mio. It's your birthday, you should celebrate a little bit. This is the day you're not a teenager anymore!"
"I suppose you're right," she muttered shyly, her eyes going from Minna back to Evangelyne. Evangelyne was as beautiful as Gallians came. Long flowing locks of slightly curled golden hair, piercing blue eyes behind glasses, and a slim body made her very easy to look at. Mio could hardly stop herself most of the time. When she smiled, it made Mio's heart flutter and her mind freeze up.
"This though," Evangelyne put her hand on Sakamoto's waist, where her sheathed sword was, "has got to go. This is Gallia, Mio! Nothing is going to attack us here, so stop carrying this thing around. I swear it's the reason why none of the men here are ever interested in us."
"Fitting as I'm not interested in them either," Mio huffed, and looked towards Minna for support.
"I have a fiancé," Minna reminded.
"What about you, Jun?" Evangelyne asked the other Fuson girl.
She snapped out her daze and blinked in confusion for a moment, "Oh, wait, what? Oh, no, it's not a bad idea for one of us to be armed. I don't know if it needs to be a sword..."
Evangelyne groaned, "Come on, we're in Paris! We can relax for once, don't you get it? Come on Mio, wind down and let loose for once! Let's go find Lucretia, I bet she'll want to have some fun with us!"
Mio Sakamoto woke up in her bed, knowing how that dream would have ended. She never relaxed, never stopped worrying, never cut loose or did any of those things that Evangelyne wanted. No matter how badly she wanted to be that friend Evangelyne treasured the most, she couldn't go against the way she was raised. Discipline, calm and clear thinking were what she had been built upon, and they clashed with the free spirit of Evangelyne Bellerose (and later Clostermann). It was when they were doing something important that Sakamoto and Evangelyne had really gotten along. Their minds worked well together, the thrill of battle and adventure called them both and when duty called they were like sisters. Back then the Dark Ones were a small threat, and Neuroin's name had been a blurry thing in the backdrop. Then, seemingly without warning, he had come out of nowhere with an army fit to conquer Gallia.
It was the first time in many years she had dreamed, or even let herself think of Evangelyne. Any brief recollection she always pushed out of her head, because it was just too much to bear. Her heart had been broken twice by this woman. Once with betrayal and then with her death. It was strange how easily she had been able to forget about her, even when the living reminder was there before her for eleven years. Perrine looked so much like her, save having her father's eyes.
The dream had opened up wounds Sakamoto had long thought closed over. She felt the sting of grief again, and a longing to see her old friend again and hear her laughter. It was gone forever though, and now she was in the 'service' of her murderer.
She stood up from her bed and thought hard about herself, and what she was doing. Her room was a dull, dark thing with simply a bed, chest of drawers, and mirror on wall. Against the chest with her clothes was her sword, Reppumaru in its red sheath. The blade had once belonged to her father before being passed to her, and was some fifty years old. Recently, she hadn't been able to maintain it as well as she would have liked. It was slightly dulled, flecked with rust, and warped in a few places from decades of use. Inside her chest of drawers were several sets of clothes, reworn over and over during the months she had been there. Three white robes, and a set of black clothes at the bottom. The white robes were a sign of protest, a way to speak out that she had not given entirely into the black around her. Those who wore the black found the gesture amusing.
Sakamoto didn't know what drove her hand that morning, but for the first time she dressed in black. A long dark coat with a belt at the waist, high boots, and black cloak made her match the female officers that served under Neuroin. There were very few others. Gazing upon herself in the mirror, she felt like she was fit more for a funeral than anything else. Normally she wore her hair tied back tightly in a warrior's ponytail, but now it was worn freely. There was something else too that was new. A spark in her eyes that hadn't been there before. It was a spark of life, of emotion that had been gone over the course of dead days over many months. Something about a brief memory in a dream - a fleeting scene from another life - had woken her up from a sleepy daze.
Boots clicking on that black substance everything around her was made from, Sakamoto easily found the one she 'served'. It was in the morning he usually stood at a balcony watching the east. That spark inside her begged for a confrontation with him. It could mean pain and punishment, but she wanted to put a voice to her anger.
"Black suits you better," Neuroin said without turning around to look at her.
"As I've been told," she replied in the same neutral voice she almost always used. "Although, your opinion is biased."
Sakamoto stood beside him, watching the eastern horizon and wondering just what he was thinking about standing here every morning. It was the direction of Karlsland, and she wondered if his thoughts were there. Gallia was firmly held, but she didn't believe he could muster the force to ever take Karlsland now. The people had rallied, their armies were strong and poised at every border. It was unlikely he would be able to muster any assault in their direction for some time if that was what he wanted.
"I wonder," the witch spoke up; her tone was subtly condescending, "I wonder many things as the wise often do. Have you ever known human pain? Not the pain of a wound in battle, but the searing pain of a gash in your heart as someone dear to you is ripped away. You had to have. You've spoken of it before, in passing. You said it could bring the dead back to life if it was fed enough. Just why would you care about something like that otherwise?"
"You're perceptive," Neuroin answered, a pale hand resting against his chest. Sakamoto knew what it was: a concealed, glowing red jewel worn as a necklace. She knew what that jewel did, and what Neuroin claimed it could do. "I've seen it in my dreams, and they have never misguided me. Fed and satiated with your kind's magic, it grows and we share the fruits of its power. I know once it is fully fed, it could bring anyone killed to life with just a thought. Can you imagine that? All the dead humanity mourns that have fallen in my conquests could be returned. How would they view me then?"
"As their rightful ruler, my lord," Sakamoto answered, humoring him. "Yet, I wonder just how much it will demand before you can accomplish such a feat. If I may be so bold, just how much of this conquest was orchestrated by you alone? The little trinket gave you the power to bring armies, weapons, and the material to build great monuments from nothing. People would have flocked to you as king, so why were you sent down the warpath? How many witches did you kill over the centuries before you could muster together a force to take Gallia? How many witches will it take killing to hold it?"
"My answers are my own," there was no trace of emotion in his voice, but he did not seem pleased at her probing. "You're gazing upon a very small part of a grand plan. Witches are but a small sacrifice for the greater good. What you would consider a tyrannical rule of Gallia is merely a bump in what will be something much greater. Can you see a world with a leader who can reign through the centuries; conjure an army and walls to protect his subjects; and bring the very dead back to life?"
"Yes, that would be an ideal kingdom," Sakamoto nodded, straight faced, "were the ruler benevolent."
"As I said, the current state of things are merely a bump."
She nodded once more, and said, "That still does not answer my question. Have you felt human pain?"
Sakamoto was surprised when he gave something of an honest answer, as she expected him to simply deflect the question.
"Perhaps, long ago," he said, taking a moment to think back. "It was long ago that was I a mere man. Two whole centuries ago before I could work magic like a witch or those foolish wizards. I had a wife then, a witch, who was the first sacrifice."
"I hope it was worth it," Sakamoto's voice was bitter and spiteful. "I imagine the pain of losing someone you love, and knowing you orchestrated their death would be unbearable."
"It is not, for I know it shall be undone. For the witch you grieve, her return may be a reward for your service."
Sakamoto nodded, although she didn't believe it. Not for a second did she believe Evangelyne could be brought back from the grave, nor did she want that. The dead were meant to stay dead, no matter how painful their passing was. Sakamoto believed the little jewel worn around his neck had driven him to some sort of insanity. In demanded death, destruction, and for its host to clumsily rule with a tyrannical fist. Sakamoto had never seen any capacity to heal, rebuild, or show any sort of mercy or compassion. At best, it could emulate and copy the magic from witches nearby.
The gesture Neuroin presented there was almost kind, but Sakamoto knew there was no real goodness backing it. Presenting the idea that Evangelyne could somehow be brought back from the dead was just a way for him to try and gain more of her loyalty. For now, she had other more pressing worries on her mind. That horrible Jaeger Kunze was on the war path, and the witches she had organized were going against him. Not only was he a notoriously skilled warrior, but his vices were disgusting beyond words. Sakamoto knew nothing about the Alexsandra that was journeying with them, but wished dearly that Perrine and her companions could protect her.
To Be Continued...
(Author's Note/Long Commentary With Songs No One Will Listen To- A few things here about music actually. Lots of stuff ended up being inspiration for me for this part of the story, and I decided I share some. For the whole Riders of Karlsland thing, I wanted to write that after listening to the song Sons of Riddermark by Battlelore and subsequently reading the second book in the Lord of the Rings series. I think it's pretty obvious, but I couldn't resist writing things this way after listening to that song and just picturing those two riding off to battle with a small cavalry battalion behind them.
For characters, a bit of Barkhorn's personality in this was also inspired by Any Means Necessary by Hammerfall; a band whose name was not used as a weapon in this story since it's too close to Gloryhammer. It's a cheesy slice of power metal, but a lot of fun. Barkhorn's not the heartless hairy-chested badass like the subject of the song, but as the story goes on you'll see more of the 'do anything to win' side of her which is more detrimental to her than anyone else.
For Hartmann, it's another Battlelore song from an earlier album: Swordmaster. Fits near word for fucking word.
And both of them combined, their theme song obvious is Waidmanns Heil by Rammstein, a song that could literally be played over any fight scene with those two in it and it would be fucking awesome.