Number One
Tarot VII - Chariot
The Fool is close to finishing what he set out to complete long ago, back when the Magician revealed those tools to him. But enemies are now standing in his way, devious human enemies, bad circumstances, even confusion in his own mind. There is no more forward momentum; he feels he is fighting just to stay where he is. Walking along the shore, watching the waves come in, he puzzles over how to defeat these great enemies and get things moving forward once again.
It is here that he comes across a charioteer, standing in his gold and silver chariot, his black and white steeds at rest. "You seem a victorious warrior," the Fool remarks. "Tell me, what is the best way to defeat an enemy?" The Charioteer nods out at the ocean. "Have you ever been swimming in the water, and been trapped in that tide which pulls you out to sea? If you try to swim forward, head-on, you go nowhere. You swim forward, the tide pulls you back and, if you tire yourself out, you drown. The only way to win without sapping all your energy is to swim parallel to shore, and come in slowly, diagonally. So, too, when fighting in a chariot. You win by coming up alongside that which you wish to defeat." The warrior nods to his beasts. "Your steeds keep the wheels turning, but it is your control and direction that brings victory. Dark and light, they must be made to draw in harmony, under your guidance."
The Fool is impressed and inspired. He thinks he now knows how to win his own war. He thanks the warrior, but before he leaves, the warrior stays the Fool, "One thing more," he says, "no victory can be won unless you have unwavering confidence in your cause. And remember this above all, victory is not merely the end. It is only the beginning."
Kaus Debonair gripped the reins of his mount tightly as it swooped across the blasted plains about El Rangen. He nearly considered it amusing that the red-scaled dragon, whom he named Meragaus, visibly showed more of a reaction to it than he did. Debonair did not think the dragon weak. He had his training and years of experience with such sights, whereas Meragaus had likely never before seen its own kind killed, or even injured. Not many beings could easily harm a dragon save for another dragon, of which the rebels had none. The creature crooned softly as it flew, perhaps more capable than Imperial tamers realized of grasping just what had occurred down there, and what was still happening in areas beyond his sight. Poor thing.
Against all his preparations and strategies, against his own desires, both armies had taken major losses from repeated attempts to reach and kill Destin of house Naught. The remains of this now littered the field, a panorama of tragedy that he forced himself not to look away from. If Meragaus could take it then so could he. Little things like that were how one kept a dragon's respect, something he would not have had to consider with any other animal. In fact most of the others would have looked on the sight below as a feast, hurrying to get some meat before the pack of crows took the good bits.
He wanted to believe it was made all the more senseless by the fact that Destin had apparently escaped his demise. A man wearing the rebel leader's special armour had been found dead, but closer inspection revealed that this was not the same as the young man he'd confronted before. An old trick, and not one he would have expected an inexperienced commander like Destin to use. He must have known, deep down, that he would lose.
That notion was at odds with his initial appraisal of the man, but the truth lay before him. It was always possible that for all his talk about preserving lives, Destin might allow his people to die to buy time for him to get to safety. Like the most loathsome of district governors he would sacrifice his entire loyal army to live another day. The very concept angered Debonair, made him pull Meragaus into turns tighter than was comfortable. Hearing a growl of complaint from below, he pulled to a stop just in time to pull even with one of his chief lieutenants, the valkyrie Rhea of house Luvalon, as dark-skinned and snow-haired as her stoic father.
"Report", he ordered calmly as if he'd braked near her completely on purpose.
Luvalon's daughter almost always looked glum, but in this case it was clear the sight of the field beneath them disgusted her as much as it did him. "We've completed the salvage, lord Debonair. Thirty and five valkyries dead or crippled including Liana, plus twenty more of various other types. All their mounts dead as well. The Eagle man division was hit particularly hard."
"The Wind Rider has lost none of his bite, I see", the general remarked sadly. He'd known the leader of their Eagle man division personally- a bird man of red wings and poor card-playing skills with the habit of eating his meals at odd moments. He would devoutly miss him. On the flip side, no one had reported any sign of Canopus Walf being brought down, despite sustained efforts by dragons and other Imperial flyers. Just like twenty-four years ago, the Hawk clan's leader was an absolute terror in the skies, and the loss of several of his comrades would only have the same affect on him as it did on Debonair. "Estimates of rebel casualties?"
"Sketchy", Rhea admitted grimly. "A dozen normal soldiers, archers and more than a dozen knights slain if you include the rebel leader's decoy. Three samurai, six wizards, and six clerics, along with most of the civilian volunteers. One Hawk man downed a hundred feet over a lake, and one Wyrm confirmed dead."
At least sixty still alive, he noted to himself in surprise, his cold veneer imploding. In the face of a professionally-trained army corps twice their size and more mobile, the rebels had regardless achieved a superior kill rate; nearly two-for-one. Killed Liana of house Fordrannon, a Captain who had never once tired or slacked in her training to become a Muse despite not being Einherjar. Incredible. Small wonder that the district governors had lost. But what was it that gave them such strength? How could such a heterogeneous army fight so well?
"No survivors?"
Rhea looked up, the ghost of a smile on her lips. "One, my lord. He was petrified by a cockatrice but not shattered like the rest. Namash kept everyone back, stopped them from shattering him too."
Beside him, Meragaus began to purr. Debonair studied the field for signs of shattered rocks and shuddered, remembering well the ugly result of the Cockatrice's petrifying stare combined with blunt-force weapons. Of course any petrified rebel whom was not saved by their comrades would either be smashed out of spite, or more preferably taken prisoner. "He may have just earned Liana's position", he said, glorying in the look of mock-horror Rhea adopted. Namash, a Doll Mage of infinite jest, commanded the recon division's spellcasters, and would not be respected at all by most valkyria or knights. "Take me to the prisoner."
Both took off, sweeping back over another stretch of wasted lives before the field began to clear up again. As it gave way to one of the number of camps the Imperial army had struck up for the night, Debonair's dragon and Rhea's cockatrice both settled to the ground.
The rebel prisoner was waiting for them, held fast by two valkyries and stripped of his knight's armour down to his briefs once the petrification had worn off. Curly brown hair and a soft visage made him look nearly androgynous, an accusation Debonair himself had faced many times. He felt a kinship of sorts to the knight. More often than not, such a man in an army would work harder than the rest to prove themselves masculine to their peers, and would more than likely make a stupid, suicidal move in their efforts to become 'a real man'.
"Greetings", Debonair started, trying to maintain some degree of courtesy. The rebel knight spat on his boots, and he paid it no mind even if Rhea and the others looked ready to murder. "You're lucky to be alive, you know. Good fortune for us all."
"I'll never tell you where they are", the knight grunted. "Imperial dog!"
"Rebel scum!", Rhea shot back in a rare moment of emotion, looking ready to strike him.
"That will do, Lady Luvalon", Debonair waved her away. The knight did not blanch at the mention of her famous surname, but Debonair's presence would be enough to cow him as he drew closer, laying one firm hand on the man's shoulder.
"I don't need you to talk to me", Debonair informed him matter-of-factly. "Really, now. Anyone with half a brain can guess where you rebels have fled to. I could launch another attack right now and destroy that Roshian Temple." He tightened his grip a notch, causing the man to cry out from the strain, if not the surprise of the fact that he knew their chosen hiding spot. "But first, I thought perhaps you might be willing to talk for me."
He could almost hear the knight's thin layer of bravado cracking as he nodded. As expected, this one wasn't one of Lancelot's hardened veterans who would die uselessly rather than help him. He had to be fresh, a part of the reserve of young adults Destin had rallied to his banner early on, then promoted from soldier to knight before they were ready. "You're from Sharom, are you?"
The young man shook his head. "J-Janneia. I joined up when they killed Lord S-S-Sirius."
Debonair smirked. "Good for them. Help us now, help us end this war, and I swear on the Goddess Freya's name that I'll ensure that no retribution will be exacted against your home district. Your friends will be spared. Your family will be spared. And I promise you'll not get another Werewolf as a governor. All of this will be, if you simply deliver a message for me when we send you back to the rebels."
The knight nodded, listening.
"Commit this to memory, then..."
"You have fought bravely", sir Reldin recited slowly, nervously. "Against impossible odds, and despite that still escaped with half your force intact. But you must know now that you cannot defeat a professional army of such size. Understand that I, 1st Deva Kaus Debonair, deliberately excluded myself from the previous battle. Your chiefs will confirm that such was a great kindness. What you faced was only the vanguard of things to come. Even if it were not, there is no way for you to breach the walls of Zenobia. You cannot win."
Seated backwards on a chair among the rest of the division chiefs, Destin inclined his head and motioned for the androgynous knight to continue. None of them dared speak.
"Now that you might better understand your situation, I offer you a final chance", Reldin continued. "Surrender yourself into my custody, and I swear on my honour that the rest of your people will not be attacked if they do not attack us. They may flee wherever they wish to and we shall not pursue. You have until lunchtime tomorrow to present yourself at the trade city of Filia. Come alone." Finishing, he slackened, then looked pleadingly at the rebel leader. "Sir. You can't. Don't give in to him, we can't trust those Highland bastards to keep their word-"
"Silence", Destin cut him off with surprising bite. "Thank you for delivering that message, sir Reldin, it must have been difficult for you to memorize. Are you injured?"
"No sir. All they did was take away my armour and weapons." Like Destin, Reldin now wore a simple cloth tunic common to Zenobian peasants. Though he had been returned bearing armour, it was Destin's red armour, given back to its owner as a show of good faith and appreciation of it's craftsmanship.
As Selec Fubuki had pointed out, it was about more than that though. An acknowledgement of Destin's use of a decoy and an expression of mild irritation over the use of such a tactic when all Kaus Debonair wanted was to slay one rebel and return to the Lodis staging area. An obvious giveaway that the Imperial army did indeed know that the rebels had removed themselves to the tenuous safety of a Roshian Temple far to the south of the capital, and it was only the general's sense of mercy that had stopped them from attacking there as well. A myriad of meanings, wrapped up in armour Destin had wanted to become his symbol.
"Put it in the armoury wagons", he commanded of Reldin, idly flicking one finger off the strong metal. "I'll retrieve it later. You'll be under Lans' division once we find you a new set of equipment."
"Yes sir."
Once the nervous knight had left them, an oppressive silence descended upon the room. Each of the division chiefs assembled there had things to talk about, but each held enough respect for their commander now that they would for him to break the ice.
Only he didn't. The rebel leader sat there, hunched over, drumming his fingers off the table. A minute passed, and Canopus could take no more. He coughed. "I investigated the capital after the battle, sir. As we feared, the slums are currently occupied by the Imperial ground forces we didn't see at the battle. I saw more than a hundred. Though Gilbert and my people can cross the walls, we'd be no match."
Destin said nothing. His eyes were shut.
"I must concur with sir Reldin", Gilbert said. "However honourable general Debonair may be, whoever is assigned to punish Zenobia for this rebellion will likely as not be another butcher like Sirius or Usar. I hear that Gares the Black Knight is in town, currently on Avalon not far from here, quelling the Order's convocation. If he is given the task, then we shall be lucky to have a country left afterwards. Debonair cannot protect us. He is too loyal to the Empress."
"What's the alternative?", Fubuki wondered aloud. "Hole up here until Kaus gets around to killing us all? We can't attack the slums. It's impossible without the help of someone on the inside, as the Empire learned when they took it. They have a place to recover and rebuild from that we cannot assail, and their army is still a great deal larger and more skilled than ours. A war of attrition will see all of us dead." Lowering his head so that the crest on his helmet matched eye level, he sighed. This was not what he had wanted. "My lord... I believe the best possible alternative is a retreat. Fall back to Valparin Peaks or the Pogrom Forest, let them chase us, stringing them out so we can whittle down their numbers."
"And how would that look to the people?", Lans prodded, angry at the mercenary's suggestion. "T'would look as though we'd given up on victory, sir Destin. The healthy stream of volunteers that saw us this far would drop to a mere trickle. Debonair is too smart to fall for such a ploy anyway."
"Sir Gilbert spoke of the Black Knight", Sister Yenda chipped in, usually silent at such meetings but today she seemed unusually somber. "I've just gotten word from Avalon- Grand Monk Forris has been caught by Gares. She is scheduled for execution tomorrow."
That prompted several creative curses from around the table, particularly from those who had known the Grand Monk as friend. "Which means", Blaine deduced, "that in a few days' time, Gares can come here and kill us all personally. Debonair won't be able to hold him back. Sorry boss, but it looks like it's now or never."
Eyes still shut, Destin stood. Warren Moon felt himself and several of the other chiefs holding their breath. Was this it? Had these various pressures finally pushed their leader too far?
"Before you say anything", he announced with one sharp eye towards Lans. "Yes, I did plan that decoy. From the moment I finished our initial meeting with the Deva, I could tell that he desired to kill me and only me, so as to prevent large-scale losses on either side. I knew that he had a plan to track the one wearing my armour from the air, and send the bulk of his forces straight for me."
Destin could feel the flush of antagonism from several in the room. Lans, at least, felt such a tactic to be cowardly and dishonourable. Coupled with sparing Deneb, Bors' death and the way he'd sent the knight captain away just before the main battle, he would not be surprised to see him holding a grudge for some time. He swore to the Twenty-Two that if they survived tomorrow he would find some way to make amends. Somehow...
"I was in Warren's division at the time, disguised as a wizard. I'm sorry for keeping this from all of you, but we know the Empire has at least one spy among us. Warren was the only one I could fully trust. The plan was to pounce on the enemy strike force from behind, but their diversionary attackers were too strong. We couldn't get through to Jennifer's group. If Bors hadn't broken rank-"
"Don't", Lans cut him off. "Don't you DARE besmirch his name, sir. He was the finest warrior I have ever commanded. If there is fault to be had, then it is yours."
He gave the captain a haunted look. He knew the feeling, knowing Bors had died at El Rangen. He'd felt much the same when he'd heard of Jennifer Argyle's death by a barrage of lightning, and that of Fasald, the man in his division who had volunteered to be his decoy. "I wasn't about to blame our defeat on a dead man, brother. I knew from the start that this army was- is- stronger than any enemy we'd faced before. I just didn't appreciate how much so until now."
"So what now?", Canopus asked impatiently. "Will you truly give yourself up at Filia tomorrow?"
His mind was made up, but still Destin hesitated to answer. "No. Sir Gilbert's logic is sound. Better a slim chance of victory than a surrender that will yield the same result. I know many people here who would rather die than lose."
"Well I'm not one of those", Blaine said flatly. "Stang. Sixty against two hundred and an Imperial Deva? No amount of Goth is worth dying for."
"And the game?", Destin called to the magi's turned back.
"The game is just about over. Much as I don't like it."
He stalked out the door and Gilbert rose to bring him back, but Destin raised one hand for him to stop. Sure enough, thirty seconds afterward the doll mage burst back through the exact same door, fuming. "All right, all right! Fine! We're still on, but I want double the pay, Destin! 4,000 Goth, every day!"
He nodded politely at the dramatics. "You shall have it. In any case, I haven't mentioned our latest addition yet." Walking to a different door, he opened it to reveal a rangy beast tamer none of the chiefs had seen before. Aside from his long golden hair and beard, he separated himself from Gilbert through a far more energetic and youthful disposition, a whip at his side but no skinning knife.
"Gentlemen, meet sir Lyon", Destin said, allowing the man to take his chair. "My division was resting up at Anberg when he approached me and offered to join us for a fee."
"Another mercenary lord", Lans noted dourly. Destin could tell he already disliked Lyon. "Wonderful. And what, pray tell, makes him so special?"
Destin began to speak, but a hearty laugh from Lyon cut him off. "Hah! What makes me so special? Have y'not heard of Lyon the Beast lord?"
The division chiefs slowly shook their heads.
Lyon chuckled warmly. "Oh, I'm only just the best Beast tamer in all the world! I've tamed beasties that could flatten this temple with one swipe. Which ain't to say I rely on 'em for everything- I fight like ten-thousand men!"
"He's certainly being paid like ten-thousand men", Warren quipped over the bearded man's antics. He'd peeked into the books and found a massive sum missing from the rebel war chest. "20,000 Goth. All in advance."
Blaine gave a ferocious sneeze, then a groan. "20,000? Man... I sold myself for cheap. Why so much? I didn't think you were this much of a sucker, boss. This guy's playing you like a harp."
"Hey!", Lyon shouted, rising from Destin's chair with weapon in hand. "You take that back, hoss! I'm worth every coin, you'll see!"
"Long story", Destin interrupted, trying to stop a fight from breaking out. "In any case, it's not just him. He comes with two Dragons. Green brood, but much older and better trained than the Imperial ones. More than that, the fee included a little rumour, something that just might be the key to our ultimate victory here..."
"What key?", Fubuki jeered, clearly unconvinced of the new chief's legitimacy. "The Black Diamond? A flying ship? A sword that turns everything into cheese so we can eat the wall?" He snorted. "If anyone needs me, I'll be practising on the roof."
Following his lead, the rest of the chiefs began to disperse, not exactly insolent but as unconvinced of their chances as they had been after Reldin's message. Lyon's efforts to befriend his fellow mercenaries fell on deaf ears until Gilbert led him away, but Lans yet remained behind, watching Destin as he paced and poked the fireplace's fuel.
"Sir Destin? There is something else I wished to speak with you about..."
Resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation as Blaine had done to him not so long ago, he picked his head up. "What is it now? Deneb again? My decoy? Bors?"
The last one stopped them both cold, and this time Lans was the first to recover, bowing in the hope that they might one day reconcile everything. "My deepest pardon, sir Destin. These problems can be resolved once we know there shall be a tomorrow for us. For now, I wished to introduce you to someone."
Surprised, he rose. "Who?"
Lans pointed. "Go over to that window, sir Destin. Open the drapes."
He frowned. Lans was the last person he would expect to play practical jokes. Reaching up to move the simple drapes, he immediately fell to the floor at the sight outside. A bright green light looked back, blinking before resolving itself into two of them.
As Lans helped him up, Destin stared, waiting for his initial fear to leave him. It wasn't a pair of emerald stars after all, but two eyes on a dark-coloured rock giant. A golem, and one larger and darker-shaded than most, moonlight shining off the angled rocks. Once it had withdrawn far enough for them to see the entire body, the golem extended one hand, opening it to reveal a bearded knight smiling within its palm.
"This is captain Ashe, sir Destin", Lans told him without a trace of humour. "A great hero to Zenobia, who shall help us undo the great wrongs committed in his name."
"Wha-?" he caught himself. Grinned. "You son of a worg. You found him. Sure is a big fellow. Who's the old man in his hand?"
Sir Ashe laughed.
General Debonair had not expected a messenger so late at night, particularly one arriving by a Dragon showing the telltale signs of taming by Imperial Dragon Master. This could only be an urgent message, and so he did not bother donning anything more presentable than a simple shirt and pants as he rushed from the barracks to meet the man.
As was commonplace in the Empire's spy networks, the man's tan hood, beard and manner suggested some background in wizardry, possibly the elevated rank of Mage. Letting the servants take his dragon to their stables, he extended a slender arm to Kaus. "Greetings from the Empress, general. The battle goes well, I hope?"
"Not as well as I had hoped", Kaus admitted as he followed the man to a close balcony where they might have some privacy. "My attempt to assassinate Destin of the rebellion failed, though we were able to trim down half their numbers. At the moment, we are hunkering down in preparation for their second attack." He did not wish to mention that he knew where the rebels were quartered for the night, nor the peace offer he'd sent them. Mercy is a weakness, the old adage went.
"A fine performance", the man acknowledged. "Just as one would expect from one of the 4 Deva. Sadly, I come with orders that may delay any further action against the rebellion for the moment."
Debonair stopped, feeling a harsh chill rising up his spine that had nothing to do with the night. "I was ordered to suppress the rebellion, wizard. That is our prime goal here."
"Mage, thank you", the messenger corrected him sharply. "But these orders do come down from the highest levels. Disobey them at your own peril, general."
He sighed. "I'm listening."
The mage was smug, devoid of the respect most Imperial soldiers showed the young Deva. "We've recently gotten word from Rashidi's spies that there is a survivor from Zenobia's royal echelons hiding among the prisoners at By'Roit. A nursemaid, one of the caretakers of Gran's sons and daughters."
Debonair shrugged. "What does this have to do with me?"
The mage remained impassive, delivering the edict without any sign of feeling. He would have to. "By edict of Empress Endora made twenty-four winters back, all those connected to the royal family of Zenobia are deemed enemies of the state. Since there was no sign of her before now, we had presumed her to be dead or fled, but now it turns out she's been here on our doorstep the whole time."
He suppressed a groan. He could see where this was going, and it stank of Rashidi's fine gloved hand. It was certainly possible that this mage was in fact one of the Sage's acolytes, cutting out the middle-woman, so to speak, but he dared not take that risk to find out. "And you want us to find this nursemaid?"
"Correct. Although..."
"Although?"
The man blinked, and Debonair felt the chill creep up behind his lungs. "The Empress understands your time constraints, and has thus expanded the order to one of containment. The same objective can be achieved in far less time than it would take to search the place."
Containment. Containment. A nice, convenient little euphemism for 'burn to the ground and kill anyone who tries to escape'. Trying to throw off the chill becoming a splitting headache, he turned around and gazed out in the gulag's direction, no longer able to put up with how calmly the messenger expressed such an order. "This is from Endora, is it? Not Rashidi?"
The man removed a slip of paper. "Must you behold the Imperial seal to be sure, general?"
"The Empress would know that this is tactically unsound", he said, cold as steel. "Not to mention unnecessary. The rebellion yet lives and she wants us to go destroy a city with no known connection to them?"
"That is correct, general", the mage said. "As you know, refusal of a direct order constitutes treason. I am certain you would not wish the prince to pay you a visit."
Again he had to hide his reaction, this time a shudder. Freyashalas. "What news of the Grand Monk's trial?"
"Huh? What do you mean by- ah." The mage raised his hood before joining Debonair at the balcony's edge. "You are behind the times, regrettably. Grand Monk Forris has been classified by the Supreme Overlord as an enemy combatant due to her presence at several of the Avalon skirmishes. Ergo, she shall not be granted a public trial."
Kaus' heart dropped away. He struggled to get moisture back into his throat. Show no hesitation. "But she is the head of the entire Roshian Order! You can't possibly be thinking of executing her."
"Did I say execution, general? That will be up to the prince to decide."
As good as a death sentence, he thought miserably. A fogging of the issue that fooled no one and would only exacerbate Zenobia's unrest. "...I understand. We shall head for By'Roit in the morning."
He knew his duty. Even if he didn't understand it.
The rebel leadership had to wait many hours after the sun rose for all their pieces to be in place. First there was the matter of organizing the new additions of Lyon, Ashe, Talos, and the two Green Dragons into the army, alongside a host of other volunteers from the rest of the liberated cities. As they soon discovered, the dark golem would not allow captain Ashe out of its sight, for it had not come to fight for the rebellion but to ensure the elderly captain's safety so that he might one day return to his prison to serve the rest of his sentence. When asked how exactly Lans had convinced the golem to accept such a stretch of its original function, he had simply chuckled and waved away any further enquiry. As such, a handful of knights that had survived the destruction of Bors' division were assigned to Ashe's command along with one Cleric.
Secondly there was the watchdog assignment. Rebel fliers would be assigned to track Kaus Debonair at all times, and ensure he was in no position to take command of the bulk of his army. To their mutual surprise, the Deva had in fact led the flying portion of his army off to the far east of the capital, leaving only the ground forces behind. Why not? That force still outnumbered the rebels and they had the advantage of an impregnable wall to hide behind. Destin thought perhaps the general had underestimated the rebels, but was he, in fact, overestimating them?
No one could say for sure. Thirdly, there was the tedious but nerve-wracking task of leading the ground divisions to Zenobia's own doorstep. Every half a minute he would raise his head and search the skies for sign of an attack, growing more and more tense the closer it got to the general's deadline. The Imperial army would be settling down for lunch about now, using the massive stash of harvest reportedly kept by Governor Darian to replenish their strength with a large, if not exactly luxurious, meal. Those few who still watched from the walls would be bored and hungry no matter how disciplined they were. After all, just how foolish would the rebellion have to be to assault the capital's impregnable walls?
All the same, he ordered the divisions controlled by Lans, Fubuki, Liat, Blaine and Ashe to hide in the forests gathered 'round the city to be safe. The sentries would only see a handful approaching, and too far away to be anything but a scouting party. Possibly another decoy and poorly-executed bait, if they recognized Destin's armour from his distance, which he had polished and donned in the forest so that no spy would notice the rebel leader moving from city to city.
Beside him, the newly-knighted Harrison Ordas seemed diminished by their losses. Like many of the younger rebels he had been sobered by the recent experience near El Rangen, and no longer looked forward to battle with the same glib enthusiasm that Destin himself had borne until Sharom. It was no longer a game to him, but a nightmarish struggle for survival. There had to be at least a few, Destin knew, that were reconsidering their allegiance now. How grateful would the Empire be to the one who delivered the charismatic rebel leader to them? Grateful enough to forgive the perpetrator? Grateful enough not to retaliate against their home district?
If the Gods willed it, today's events would make the younglings stop asking themselves those questions. "Ready, sir", sir Ordas intoned. "Shall we begin building siege equipment?"
But Destin shook his head. "There's no need for it. That worked at Castle Parcival, but against walls this strong, no wooden weapon shall suffice."
His lieutenant withdrew several paces. "But sir, why did we come all the way out here, then? It's impossible to climb the walls, and our fliers are all engaged elsewhere, or so I've heard."
Destin patted him hard on the back, causing his plate to ring. "Ever the rumour-monger eh, sir Ordas? I hear you got your fifth kill at the last battle. Congratulations. So indulge me, sir. Tell me what the men are thinking we're going to do."
His second looked puzzled at first, that looked out at the handful of sentries along the wall, who no doubt shared his confusion. "I had heard tales about Captain Ashe. They say he's mended his ways, and that he knows a secret passage through the walls. That it was how he helped the Empire get through twenty-four years ago."
"Plausible", his lord agreed. "But wrong. I actually talked to sir Ashe about that, but he assured me there's no such secret passage, and the other royal guard veterans confirmed it. The slums of Zenobia is a cul-de-sac; one way in, one way out unless you can fly. This is why I believe a large majority of the ground forces in this city will stay near the main gate in case of attack, and why it is that we will be striking from the opposite side."
"But my lord...", Harrison said in bare confusion. "The wall! Not one of us can get over the wall!"
Nodding his head discreetly, Destin bent over and withdrew something from his pouch. It was a fat glass jar, sealed with cork and wax. It was what lay within the glass however, that caused his comrade's eyes to go wide as grapes. "What...? What in the Twenty-Two are those?"
"They're called Termites, sir Ordas", Destin explained, watching as the innumerable swarm of black dots continued to roil about in their prison. "There's a thousand strange tales and mysteries in Zenobia, and now this one is going to help us. The story goes that they used to be endemic to Zenobia and Malano during the summer, capable of eating wood out at an astounding rate and leaving it rotten and fragile. As you can guess, King Gran considered this to be a serious problem, given how much of his kingdom was built out of wood."
"So he made a pact with the merchant's council of Malano. The two kingdom's best Mages and Sorcerers were commissioned to cast a scourging curse upon the land, and the Gods answered their prayer with a sudden outbreak of a new species of ant, the primary predator of termites. Within a month, every termite in Zenobia was eaten, and with their primary source of food extinct the ants died off to a more manageable level."
Ordas nodded, not quite grasping what the point of the story was but willing to play along. In fact any story was worth listening to, for him. "I've seen ants. Annoying little buggers, but it sounds like these 'termites' were far worse."
"Sir Ashe says they were a blight in his day", Destin confirmed. "But there was one man who did not approve of the idea of exterminating an entire species, just because we found them to be inconvenient. He bottled a colony of termites before they were killed, preserving them even while he went about his duties as a priest in the Order of Roshian. That is what you see before you now, delivered to us by an old friend of Lyon's."
Harrison then noticed that several of the other people in his division had gathered to hear the story after finishing their battle preparations. "It figures that a member of that Order would the be only one so soft-hearted. But I still don't understand, sir. How are these termites going to bring down stone walls?"
Instead of explaining, Destin shooed the crowd away. "Watch."
Stepping a fair distance away, he climbed a small grass hill, careful to stay well away from the forests on either side. First shaking the jar to stir up the insects within, he pointed the cork towards the fortress less than a mile from where he stood, and twisted.
The wax was very old and thus did not break right away. The moment it did however, he could feel the energetic stirring within the jar, desperate to push the large cork aside. As it fell away, he could feel his people sharing in his alarm- the termites poured from their prison in a never-ending stream that seemed impossible for so many to be held within the jar, flitting towards the mighty white walls of Zenobia.
This, Destin knew, would get him noticed. The sentries would see a billowing cloud of black specks rising from the plains, not unlike a flying division when observed from far away. A storm of tens of thousands that might seem to be some terrible plague from the ancient past when Zenobia was the domain of the Ogres. Sure enough, the termites had not even reached the wall before two mounted Cockatrices swooped from the castle out past the swarm to warn the general of what was happening.
They would never make it in time. Already, an unwholesome groaning sounded all along the walls. The entire mile-long city seemed to shake as if caught in an earthquake, and many of the sentries could be seen fleeing from it. As he withdrew, he could see every one of his people held transfixed by the sight and cringing at the sounds. One Imperial, a samurai in black and silver, was close enough to nearly be astride the first crack as it etched itself into a segment of wall as if by sorcery. Terrified beyond rationality, he leapt screaming from the wall, rolling as he hit the ground twenty-five feet below.
The huge crack did not seem to mind. Extending from bottom to top, it branched outwards along the wall like a tree, resulting in fissures shooting up clouds of white dust all along the battlements that became huge cracks of their own before long. Once the entire east side of the capital was covered in cracks crisscrossing every which way, the final downslide began. The entire setup from north to south seemed to slump, shooting off one last dust cloud before falling inwards upon itself like a bottle under some giant's foot.
Feeling a wave of hot dust wash over them all, Destin looked up. At some point the sky had darkened with what looked like the beginning of rain hanging over the capital. None of them felt drops, however. It simply hung there, shrouding the castle Governor Darian called home in thick shadow.
"Now!", he said to the sky, certain that Harrison and the rest were hanging on his every word. "It's time! FIGHT IT OUT!"
The slums, understandably, were in total chaos. Half the Imperial troops who had not been stationed on the wall immediately engaged themselves with helping their friends out of the rubble, and half again of those who remained were too panicked to think straight. Another division busied itself with recapturing a dragon whose stable had been destroyed by the collapsing wall, driving it into an equal frenzy.
It was into this chaos that the rebel divisions charged, each from a different angle as instructed by their leader. Lans' corps of veteran knights went around the main gate, which had somehow held itself together while the walls on both sides fell apart. Ashe and Talos struck from the southwest, running through the marketplace and slaying every Imperial with ponderous strength, the knight as lethargic as the golem who served him. On their western flank, Blaine and Liat's people, two formerly crippled divisions combined into a whole one, were cutting a swath through the main street. Fubuki, Warren and Destin's groups struck at the high concentration of Imperials at the stables where the flying beasts were kept, striking and smiting everything from valkyries to beast tamers to ninja.
However random and wanton the assault might have appeared to the Imperial troops, and even the downtrodden of the slums as they ran for cover against the storm, it was not without a goal in mind. Ten minutes after the attack had begun, the majority of the division leaders rallied at the most intact structure in the city- the castle itself.
For all its grandeur compared to the district fortresses, Castle Zenobia held no gate or drawbridge to bar their way. Why bother, why waste the resources, when the walls bordering the capital had been strong enough to repel any invasion in living memory? Few were left to oppose the divisions by the time they completed their rendezvous in the castle foyer, and fewer still dared challenge the collected leaders as they marched into the main hall in search of two things: the governor, and a path to the tower where the red and silver colours of the Imperial flag had flown for the better part of three decades.
Neither of these were waiting for them in the throne room, but a Wyrm instead flew through one of the castle's largest windows. Waving an arm out to prevent any misconceptions, Gilbert dismounted Mischa and surveyed the others in respect.
"I never would've believed it", he said, "had I not seen it with my own eyes. You brought down the walls of Zenobia. Not even the Empire ever managed that."
"I'll explain later", Destin said. "What news?"
That request shocked the beast man back to reality, and he blanched. "He's near, lad. Very near. He set off from By'Roit full speed the moment his messenger reached him. Canopus, Lyon, and the ghosts are all working together to harass his flying divisions, but I doubt even losing his dragon will stop Debonair from stopping you."
The rebel leader glanced around. Lans, Liat, Fubuki Talos and Ashe had all made it this far with him, leaving the rest of their people dedicated to keeping the ground forces off-balanced until they could finish what they came here to do. Regardless of how stunned they'd been at first, the dragons and the strangely-garbed 'Dragoners' brought in to handle them would still compose a formidable defence once they rallied. They couldn't win, but they'd certainly inflict great damage on the rebels before going down. To that end, Destin had taken a page from Kaus Debonair's book, and come to the castle with the finest warriors he could spare from the battle outside. "Strike down the Alpha Male", the old reasoning went, "and the pack will scatter".
"Get back to Canopus", he ordered Gilbert. "Buy us as much time as you can without risking your divisions."
Nodding, the beast tamer leaped back onto Mischa and headed skywards. The sounds of an airborne struggle began to reach the chief's ears, but it did not slow their pace as they ascended past the throne and up the castle's central staircase.
They found governor Darian on the outskirts of the second-floor mezzanine, four dead bodyguards and a short climb after. The stout man came out swinging from a blind alley with an axe, nearly striking Liat's back plating before Lans' gauntleted hand shot out and grabbed the pommel. The old knight glared pure murder at Darian across the shaft, prompting him to scramble away until his back struck stone.
"Have mercy!", the governor shrieked from his knees. "P-p-please! I only ever did as I was told to do. It's the Empire! They're all evil savages! Why, if I hadn't been here, watching over our people-"
"Save it, governor", Lans cut him off, speaking for all of them. "We all know where your true allegiance lies- with the highest bidder." Incensed, he pointed out over the spread of ruined buildings. "Watching over our people? You call turning the most prosperous city in the kingdom into THIS watching?"
Seeing his final ploy fail, Darian's manner dissolved into illegible whimpering that seemed to disgust Lans and Ashe even more. Taking only a moment to think it over, Destin stepped up beside his second-in-command. "You may kill him if you wish. I won't stop you."
"He has done more damage to our people than an Imperiallegion", Lans emphasized, still furious but not raising his blade all the way. "Done nothing but tax and extort and mistreat the people in his charge, in the name of currying favour with his vile masters. He is worse than Usar. I should toss you from this balcony now and let Talos step on your remains until naught is left."
Darian quivered, clearly terrified past the point of resisting and, Destin assumed, past the point of bowel control. Sniffing the air as if thinking the same way, Ashe closed one metal arm over Lans', forcibly lowering it. "Don't, lad. There's nothing you can do to him worse than what he's done to himself."
Seeing them together like that, Destin could not stop himself from smiling. For the entire rebel campaign, he could not find the means to express proper disapproval at his sworn brother's zealous hatred towards all who had betrayed the crown, nor any way to get him to let it go. Ashe knew how his old friend worked, and the rebellion was all the stronger for it. It seemed a small change. It would be gradual, not manifesting in obvious ways for quite some time. But Destin's heart beat easier knowing there was someone out there who understood Lans, who could keep him from doing anything they would later regret.
"I'll take him", Fubuki offered after a moment's pause. "At least he won't hug me."
Destin saw Lans scowl at that and was prepared to give the mercenary a rebuke in his defence until a new sound overrode anything he could have said. The din crashed along the halls, the familiar noise of an mortally-injured man magnified by a factor of one hundred. Following it to the edge of the mezzanine while trying not to cover his ears, he stared.
Talos was the one who had cried out, its pain not human but still unnerving to hear at such volume. Looking up at the sky, they could all make out the outline of a long blade driven into the golem's limestone head, as well as the formation of flying beasts who had made it possible for someone to replicate Liana of house Fordrannon's tactic.
"Debonair's fleet", Liat claimed grimly. The massive aerial legion the rebels had damaged but not defeated at El Rangen had returned. Inglesias and Halla had done their ghastly work well. Canopus had driven his own squadron into the fray more times than anyone could guess. Gilbert and Lyon had pushed their pets to the limits of their abilities, collectively cutting down multiple flyers... But now they were here, and they still had thirty more bodies left to throw into the fray.
Bellowing, Talos fell crashing to the ground, taking out a portion of the east wall as he did so. All rebel eyes, however, were drawn to the lone figure sprinting up the falling mass of dark rock towards the mezzanine as its body fell. The blade that had so wounded Talos was a long, wide flatpan of grey steel that shone with the fires around them. None of the chiefs had any doubt which of the Imperial survivors was coming for them now, and drew their weapons as one. Destin took a deep, deep breath, the governor now completely out of mind.
Kaus Debonair came spinning over the mezzanine's rail, hair singed into darkness but otherwise undamaged. Descending, he brought one plated knee into Fubuki's face mask, deflecting two well-aimed blows before pivoting, pushing the samurai aside so that he could strike at Destin's helmeted head. The others tried, but again Destin was reminded of why battle lines existed. Moreover, the general was moving around far too quickly for the others to attack without the risk of hitting their fellows. They would have to wait until they were able to get some distance apart, could get clear shots-
Debonair came out of a spin with blazing eyes locked onto Liat, who had led the firing of his own Iainuki and blasted a significant furrow into his armour. What initially appeared to be a crowd-clearing swipe released a large wave of the same crackling blue energy, taking Liat all the way into a tower wall where he did not move again. The Deva ducked a wild barrage from Fubuki before leaping clear of his four remaining opponents, landing closest to Lans while the others recovered enough to charge.
The old knight never had a chance. Kaus spun inside his descending slash, catching the follow-up on his wristguard before driving his other fist into the man's head. He flew back howling and clutching at his helmet, but doggedly hanging onto shield and sword until a precise saber hit to both made the pain too much to bear. Fubuki's own Iainuki seared into the metal on the general's back, making him cry out- the first noise Destin could recall hearing him make so far- but not fall, or even stagger. That Blade attack's a spirit technique too, he reminded himself hopefully. He shouldn't be able to use it too many times without draining his life force. Theoretically.
Fueled more by desperation than instinct, he flew at the general now, followed by a second Iainuki from Fubuki. The mercenary lord had perhaps realized that they got in each other's way too much to be effective when attacking all at once, preferring to use his powerful distance attack no matter how much vitality it cost him.
Not that the other method seemed that much better-off. Destin tried to slam the Mystic Mace into Debonair's chestplate only to have the long sword sever the iron ball from the pommel. He drove a plated knee into the general's ribs only to meet an uppercut that sent him stumbling back into Ashe as the world spun before his eyes. He caught another sweep on his sword, only to counterstrike at empty air, with his foe rolling away and digging his sword across Ashe's chest. Fatigued enough to snap back, the knight could not resist the general grabbing him by the neck to throw into a fourth Iainuki where he promptly collapsed into Fubuki's arms.
"So it is", he breathed, speaking to the fallen rebels for the first time since his arrival. The long sword glowed as prelude to another Blade technique. "Farewell, gentlemen."
"Brother", Destin called, not caring if the general heard. "Your sword. Now."
Lans was in no shape to fight or argue, simply passing his greatsword over to someone who was still standing. Destin sheathed it, keeping his own ready and discarding the useless stick that had once been the Mystic Mace.. "Fubuki, you too." Miracles of miracles, he gave up his backup katana without any back-talk. Destin dispassionately noted it had nine kill notches in it before trying it out in his left arm. Not the best fit, but something Debonair wouldn't be expecting.
"You cannot be serious", the Deva pointed out as if deriding a garish choice of cape. "No Zenobian living can defeat me."
"We shouldn't have to", Ashe's dusty voice came, surprising Destin and Debonair equally with its lack of the lethargy it usually carried around like iron chains. "Look around you, Kaus! The Empire's tyranny has ruined this kingdom. Empress Endora has become nothing but a despot. You intended to unite the lands of the south into a solid alliance, but we've never been worse off."
"An insolent puppy, whining for extra scraps", the general dismissed the calling of his more intimate name. "And you should not have come back, Valerin."
"True, Kaus" Ashe stood firm. "I shouldn't have had to. You and I both I'm too damned old to be fighting you like this. But I'd sooner meet a violent end here, than leave this world knowing the dark hands my homeland is in."
"Then let your Court of Swords be the judge."
He lunged. Both of Destin's swords rose but did not meet the general's longer blade. Instead he dropped back, ducking away from the slash and pressing against the chest with both boots before pushing off.
Debonair was going to fall from the mezzanine. He could see that now, and swept his blade down in what looked like a vain effort to make a temporary handhold. Not a good idea- Destin could simply bring his weapons down onto-
An explosion-like noise sounded and, much like the walls that had once protected it, the castle wall crumbled away from the fissure. Too close to escape, Destin saw Fubuki grabbing Ashe's body, preventing it from following him. Lans, however, had regained some of his old spark. He leapt down after the other two, stealing Ashe's blade with nary a word.
Despite the sorry shape the metal of his armour was in, despite the big knot of pure hurt swelling on his brow where Debonair's fist had caved in his helmet, Lans Hamilton had rarely felt more energetic. Perhaps it had something to do with the freefall he, Destin, and Debonair were currently in, fully subject to gravity's whims until they struck the patch of dirt rushing up below them.
It wouldn't be pleasant, this landing. His feet ached with premonition, but this was something he had to witness himself, even if he would be of little help with his injuries. Thinking about ex-captain Ashe, and just how much pain he must be in right now, helped to dilute them into a minor distraction. Old Ashe had known and fought the 4 Deva from the war twenty-four summers back, during his prime. He would understand better than anyone else just what Destin of house Naught was getting himself into fighting such a person alone, in case the opening seconds of fighting hadn't convinced him.
He had to be there. If today was the day that the proud and mighty Kaus Debonair finally fell, he wanted to see it happen with his own eyes. If it was instead Destin's day to finally have Twenty-Two fail him, then it would be up to Lans to decide the future of the rebellion, and of Zenobia. He would not be told by some scout later that his brother had died alone and friendless. Never.
Both the young men hit the dirt rolling below him, and from the opening blow Lans could tell even the Gods would have a time finding ways to keep their chosen one alive. Taking the general's first strike on both blades still knocked the rebel leader back several inches before he tightened up his stance as Lans had always taught him, making his crimson-armoured body much harder to knock off-balance.
On the other side, Debonair fought fast and loose, leaping about with a succession of jumping slashes, trying everything he knew to get around the two weapons blocking his path. Once it became apparent how difficult such a task would be, he sprung back a few yards and unleashed his spirit technique. As Destin dodged, Lans saw a Griffin stable behind him severed neatly all along the middle by the blue wave, faster and more deadly than all but the highest-grade magic.
Now it was Destin charging, taking the lead in trying to beat past the general's huge blade. Or was he? As Lans watched, his brother worked the katana and his own sword like the blades of a windmill, striking and smashing and cutting away at the general's long sword... but not its holder.
The riddle was solved a moment later, when Debonair came up with his knee crash again and Destin passed up an obvious chance to try and cut it. Some sparks flew up from the katana the next time it was parried, and Lans understood. He wasn't trying to maim Debonair, but merely break the general's weapon. This may have seemed like mercy, but was likely practicality- no weapon made by mortal hand was immune to the stresses of repeated blows, even if it might be days before he ever found the shatterpoint. And it was a far easier target than the Deva himself.
A dozen lightning strikes from both sides later, the katana sparked further, then shattered with the next hit. Without wasting time being shocked, Destin brought up Lans' own sword in its place, shorter and not as immediately lethal but infinitely more familiar. He continued to bang away at the general's weapon, not striking any sparks from it yet but already stoking a suspicion in Debonair's mind by the look on his ash-blackened face.
Once he'd figured it out, the Deva changed tactics, opting to use the knees and elbows of his armour as he had against Lans as much as he could, only using his sword as a shield. This bore fruit almost immediately, as a rising shot to the chest made Destin choke enough to make a grazing slash along his left side before he could scramble away.
Now Kalanbolg was spitting sparks as well. Lans feared that every weapon Destin held would break before Debonair's, but kept himself from any sound that would give away the position he'd snuck into behind the two, among one of the ruined buildings that surrounded them. This time, he did not even hesitate- Debonair's sword flew through empty air where the right-hand blade had been as Destin charged, raking over the back of his foe's armour. Like his left arm wound, both cuts bled freely, though the effect the realization of it had on the general was more noticeable than any blood.
A brief flicker of uncertainty, but it was enough. General Kaus Debonair had never been beaten in a real fight. Such status had wrought a small conceit in him that hid amongst the genuine humility he'd held since boyhood. Ever the youngest of his peers. Ever number one of four in the ranks of the legendary Deva, more than likely the weakest and thus the one with the most to prove. And now that conceit was threatened by people he believed- knew- to be inferior to him, like a dragon at risk of being killed by rats in a freak accident. Another flying Blade technique left a shining fissure of energy where Destin had rolled, and his own attacks became more frenzied, nicking the rebel's scalp and removing hair before Destin punched him back hard in the chest plate, breaking his knuckles but freeing himself just in time
Both men panted hard as they watched the other for sudden moves, oblivious to Lans' presence now for the series of injuries decorating their armour and skin, sweat coating their grim faces. Both of them looked to Lans as if they were on the verge of collapsing. Seconds flew by, and Lans swore he could hear his own heart beating in rhythm with theirs.
Then Debonair blinked and straightened up. Stopped panting. "...Fool." He shot off another wave of hazy blue. This one came on too fast and too well-aimed to dodge completely, cutting through the rebel's armour at the waist and making him cry out before falling face down. His attacker breathed out, sounding more relieved than anything, and raised his sword for the finisher.
Lans could not have stopped himself. Injuries twice as bad as these would not have halted the blood surging through him. He came flying out of his hiding spot, screaming as he slashed down with Ashe's weapon. The general saw it coming of course, but even he had not anticipated the sickening crack that rang out as his own weapon exploded into sparking fragments.
A breath of surprise was enough for the madman to gouge Debonair in the right shoulder, nearly beheading him with a running follow-up and forcing him away from Destin's body with each strike.
Debonair staggered back, eyes wide, no longer able to hide just how ragged his breaths had become. Lans stared at him in wonder, nearly forgetting the weapon in his hand. A normal human would be dead from the exhaustion, never mind the loss of so much blood. But could this be? Can we truly kill an Imperial Deva? An elite?
Glaring back, the 1st Deva seemed to read his thoughts. "Never."
Too late, he saw the red dragon swooping down near the rubble. He might get in a few more hits if he pursued, but not enough to kill the man. Debonair waved an exotic salute as he boarded his favourite dragon, making ready for a flight which would not require him to remain awake for long. Raising a cupped hand to his lips he sounded a simple three-pitch, six-note call, one that Lans had never heard before in his life. Whether by sorcery or some trick of acoustics, it echoed through the city into the farthest reaches of the burning slums.
Debonair looked down at Lans, the ghost of a smile on his face. His Highland accent did not seem as thick as before. "Tend to him, knight. He has fought beyond anything I would have dreamed a mere Zenobian capable of... Even if he is a fool. So I yield this victory to you, for now. It is true, what your captain said. The Empress... she has not been herself as of late."
Standing guard over Destin's body, Lans said nothing. He could think of no words.
"But" he warned with a nod to Destin's unconscious body. "Make no mistake, rebel. My duty to my homeland remains clear- I must find the source of the problem. After that, we'll resume our... personal dispute. We'll meet again, gentlemen."
With that, the dragon lifted off, casting wide wings to both sides as it flew from the ruined city.
Gaerth Endora was gone. The Black Queen had not seen him for two days, and that knowledge calmed her no matter how bitter it was.
Private aroma baths were a rare treat even among the Highland's upper crust. A bit of decadence her people liked to believe themselves beyond, preferring to wash in large steaming tubs meant for several at a time. But Endora could not deny how such a thing smooth the aches in her joints, stopped the frightening sense of the world sliding out from under her wherever she walked. It would not do for the Empress to stumble when walking among her people, nor to be seen talking to invisible dead people. Two days of careful optimism later, and she could at last say with confidence that her husband was gone, and would never appear before her again. She would once again cut a fine figure, for the years had not diminished her attractiveness a great deal.
Coming into her bedchamber in bathrobes, she saw a red and gold garbed Muse- a high ranking valkyrie- standing guard at the door that led out into the hallway. That in itself was not unusual, but the way the woman refused to look her Empress in the eye implied both news and bad news. Taking a moment to slick her hair back, she forced the Muse to look her in the eye, the old majesty coming back after so many months of feeling weak. It had been sorely missed.
"Something wrong, Wlenca?"
As one of the more taciturn guard captains here at castle Xanadu, Wlenca did not try to dodge the issue, presenting herself without a weapon. "Empress. I would have waited for you in the throne room, but my predecessor insisted this was too urgent to wait."
Endora managed a light chuckle, a jest to try and set the girl at ease. "Well, we thank you for not intruding during our bath. We might have had to punish you for it. What's the matter?"
Wlenca remained downcast. "It's... it's the rebellion, Empress. We've received word from Zenobia."
"Oh? What word? Did Kaus succeed with his plan, or did he have to kill them all?"
But the muse shook her head. "That's the problem. The message was delivered through Debonair's own fliers. There's... there's not many of them left, Empress."
Endora went very still, wringing her hands into knots out of a desire to do something with them. Her white irises burned. "How? How many...?"
"Less than thirty, Empress. Debonair is among them, but captain Rhea immediately demanded he be rushed to the hospital wing upon their arrival at Fort Allamoot."
"Thirty ?", she shouted, her serenity gone. "Out of over two hundred-"
"Rhea also said that Zenobia's capital was taken by the rebellion", Wlenca continued, desperate now to get the rest of the words out before her Empress became even more furious. "They did something to break down the city walls, leaving the ground troops with nowhere to run to except the ports to the north. They were intercepted and killed there."
"Over two hundred of our finest", Endora repeated bleakly as if she hadn't heard the last part. "Twenty divisions. Nearly an entire Legion. With a Deva leading them. And they lose to band of scarcely one hundred puny rebels. Tell me you're joking."
"I'm sorry, Empress..."
"Of all the incompetent-" Endora whispered after several tense seconds. Her hands fell away, lifeless. "Get out. Get out, get out, GET OUT!"
Wlenca obliged with all haste. Endora let herself drop, falling into the two-person bed, her rage momentarily departed.
"We were too lenient", Gaerth Endora's gentle voice licked her ears, and she dared not open her eyes. "We assumed the prospect of destruction by Lodis would get the fools to cooperate. Zenobia lives and dies for its pride. As do we all."
Endora felt her belly churn. "Then we must put a stop to it. No more foolish arrogance on our part. No more mercy. Burn them all. Strike down their leaders, and let their fates last forever as examples of those who defy us. Burn them. Kill them."
"Destin."
"Destiny's Child. The Chaos-Bringer.", the darkness agreed.
"Destin is at fault for all of this. Let the Chaos-Bringer be hounded out and slaughtered. Let him face betrayal and destruction at every turn."
"So we decree. He shall be public enemy number one. Free us, Empress."
Endora sat up in panic, not knowing who had spoken which words. Gaerth stood before her, pristine as he'd been on their wedding day. To his left, prince Gares as a little boy. To his right, Endora's younger sister. The sister who had drowned in a frigid lake ten winters back.
"Free us."
"I can't", she begged, holding her head in a vain hope that it would stop. "I can't! You're all dead! You're not real!"
"Then set us free! Give us life!"
This was too much. Breaking down on the floor, her tears soaked the carpet. "Please... please leave me alone! GET OUT! Get out of my head!"
They weren't listening. The shadows were all around her, laughing, mocking, crying, raging, exerting invisible pressures that made her want to scream and scream until she could feel no more. "Go away... please... God... go away."
The Black Queen howled in despair. Destin was to blame for this. That, she knew without ever having seen the lad in person. He would pay for all of this. Oh, how he would pay...
