Chapter 21

When he saw the red flare shooting up into the sky, King Franz knew that the very worst had come to pass. It was the signal he and his son had agreed upon to let their allied forces know that the guards had been subdued and the gates to the city had been opened. That it had gone off far earlier than planned meant only one thing: they had been discovered, and they needed to move now.

Despite the urgency of the situation, King Franz did not immediately move. He continued to stare at the red flare as it rose higher and higher into the sky, before finally bursting into a crimson flower. At the same time, it felt like everything in his belly sank deeper and deeper, falling through his feet and straight to the core of the earth.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit! King Franz ground his teeth together. Anger and despair congealed into a confused mess inside of him. He had told his son, told him, that it was too dangerous sending him into the city with only a handful of guards, but no. His son refused to listen to him. "If the plan is to succeed," Nagel had said, "then it is imperative that Albrecht remains unaware until the very last second. If we do not at least send a member of the prince's family as a representative, he will surely grow suspicious."

King Franz had seen the wisdom of his son's words, though even then he did not like it. Still, he decided to trust his son and let him carry the burden.

And what a fool I am for doing so.

Gritting his teeth, King Franz tore himself away from the signal and turned to his general. "Send word to the other kings," King Franz said. "It's time to go."

Soon, the beating of drums, the pounding of hooves and feet, and the creaking of wheels filled the air. It was something King Franz had grown used to over his long years of life, but it still struck him just how loud an army could be when on the move. It was a fact of life that Nagel, in all likelihood, would never get to learn.

From the rear of his army, King Franz cast a distant eye out towards the still far-off walls of Vindobona. A poisonous whisper in the back of his mind asked, "Was it really worth it? To lose your eldest son so that you may gain a crown?" But King Franz shook his head and drove such thoughts away.

It was never about the crown. Although he had used promises of sovereignty to gain allies, he had never personally cared about becoming king or emperor or whatever else. All he had ever wanted was for his people to thrive and be happy, and for his son to rule over a rich, prosperous land. But Albrecht, greedy Albrecht, abused his power as emperor and split the empire in two even before they decided to rebel. For upon being elected emperor, Albrecht imposed taxes on those who had refused to vote for him, while his supporters were either untaxed or had to bear a tax so meager that it was near nothing at all. And those that were forced to suffer his greed? At the time there was nothing they could do about it. They were still divided then, and had no choice but to pay obediently.

Well, King Franz could no longer accomplish half of what he had wanted, but the other half still remained. Knowing the ruthlessness of Albrecht, there was no doubt Nagel was already dead. In that case, using his sacrifice, King Franz would achieve independence and lead his people to prosperity.

And in this coming battle, he would also personally drive a sword straight through Albrecht's heart. This he swore.

Henrietta stood on the roof of the highest tower of Emperor Albrecht's palace. Her knuckles were white against the battlement, as she gripped the stone so hard that she was sure it might have shattered underneath her. Far off in the distance, beyond the outermost walls of the city, the combined Germanian-Tristanian force marched out of the gates. From this far away, they reminded Henrietta of sand spilling out of a broken hourglass. They paled in comparison to the massive force that approached them like the rising tide of the ocean.

A number of other nobles and even a few princes stood on the tower with her. They spoke in whispers with each other. Fear was palpable in the air. No one knew what the outcome of this battle would be, and more than a few were undoubtedly making plans for escape. Mazarin conjured up a farseeing spell for Henrietta, causing the moisture in the air to concentrate into a lens the size of her head in front of her.

Emperor Albrecht was leading the troops from the rear. A wise move, Henrietta thought. She had always been taught that there was a certain value in a general that led from the front, as it helped bolster the morale of the troops and facilitated the easy relaying of his orders. But in this coming battle, all would be lost the moment the emperor fell.

Henrietta grimaced. The enemy was moving almost exactly as Alex had said they would. Their forces spread wide across the field, moving to encircle their troops and wash over the city itself. Sir Marrok brought the Tristanian mage-knights to the fore, and as one every water mage cast the same simple dot-level spell. It was not a star-class spell, but through sheer force of numbers they blanketed the entire battlefield in an impenetrable cloud of mist.

For a moment then Henrietta allowed herself to feel a little hopeful. Seeing once more the proof of an army of mages' power made her think that not only was this battle not so lost, but perhaps they might even hold the advantage. But the Germanians, for all they lacked in mages, did not lack in experience fighting mages.

They did not move as one, for the rebels were not so united as to accomplish that. Yet every rebel king and general came to the same conclusion independently, and as soon as the mist formed, horns and drums boomed across the battlefield and the entire army pulled back from the mist.

The airships came sailing in then. Their cannons opened up from the hidden ports on their bellies, giving the ships the resemblance of an upside down porcupine. Those gunmetal quills unleashed thunder, and salvo after salvo of hot iron and gunpowder screamed downwards.

Henrietta's heart leaped to her throat. Nothing could survive such an onslaught. But as the mist cleared, Henrietta saw that there was nothing at all on the ground.

Sir Marrok's instincts were praiseworthy. He could not have possibly seen the ships through the mist, yet he had still predicted their coming. The entire Tristanian contingent had taken to earth – literally. It was only when the cannons quieted that the mages emerged from the ground, like plants sprouting from the dirt.

But Henrietta's relief was short lived. Sir Marrok did the unthinkable. Outnumbered as they were, still he dared to split the knights into four. Those specializing in the element of earth remained in the center. They raised up huge golems and sent them crashing forward through the hail of gunfire. Those of the element of wind took to the sky. Theirs was the most important job, for they needed to stop the airships before they could unleash a second fusillade of cannon fire. The third and fourth groups were a mixed group of fire and water. They broke off to the flanks in order to aid the imperialists, who struggled to push back the far more numerous rebel troops.

With blasts of fire and water, blades of wind and constructs of earth, the Tristanians fought. Though their numbers were few, their sheer presence turned them into the center of a storm. The rebels swarmed them from every side, knowing that if they could just cast these brave men low, then the battle would be all but won. And though the knights fought valiantly, slowly but surely they were falling. In the end, even the greatest of mages could be defeated through simple math.

In the sky, there too the battle was turning for the worse. A mage's power was unquestionable, but the dragon riders they faced were much swifter than they were. Wind blades and lightning bolts were evaded with equal ease, and for every one dragon that was felled, two mages dropped from the sky. There were some who managed to make it to the ships, where they were immediately set upon by the crew. Most were forced to turn back.

Strangely, however, Sir Marrok did not appear at all concerned. Even as the tide of battle turned against them, his was the very face of confidence. He stood at the center of the battlefield with only one other mage at his side. Henrietta recognized him as Sir Marrok's brother-in-law, though she could not quite remember his name. Anthony or Antoine, maybe. Henrietta's eyes widened as she realized what the pair were doing: they were preparing a true star-class spell, and the very air around them seemed to rumble with power.

As one they lifted their wands into the air, and a bolt of lightning so massive as to dwarf anything Henrietta had ever seen before tore its way through the sky. The thunder of its passing was simply deafening. Even from here Henrietta was forced to cover her ears and winced; she could only imagine what it must have been like for those standing closer to the mages. Henrietta reckoned it must have been almost as bad as the wooden airships unfortunate enough to be in the Sir Marrok and his brother's sight. Indeed, as the thunderclap forced a brief lull to the war, white-hot claws tore apart the ships' hulls like so much cloth.

Here it was, the power that humanity had conceived to do battle against the elves. Briefly, Henrietta couldn't help but to wonder just how dreadful the elves truly were if not even something like this was enough to vanquish them. But that thought passed as quickly as it came, for events continued to unravel before her very eyes.

Commandeered ships of every shape and size, each loaded with combustibles, rose up from within the walls of Vindobona. Some were merchant ships. Some belonged to the nobles of the city. Some were the emperor's very own pleasure ships. Each and every single one of them sailed through the air towards the enemy fleet.

Their intent was surely obvious. Even those few ships that had once carried artillery no longer did. Everything that could be removed, was removed. Speed was the only consideration, and the flame was the only weapon they needed.

The rebel ships fired again, but this time horizontally rather than vertically. Many fire ships were destroyed before they could reach the enemy, mercifully crashing to the ground outside the walls. But many more managed to reach their targets by rising up past the angle of fire and then dropping down on them from above. Against such size and weight, the rebel dragon riders could do nothing to protect their ships. Nor could their smaller ships do anything to stop such suicide attacks short of ramming into them to force them to angle away.

Despite this, the flow of battle did not change. There was some panic, yes, but the line of ships stretched so far that the fire could not spread as much as they had hoped. Nor could Sir Marrok and Antoine strike them all down with thunder and lightning. And now with most of their hidden tricks exhausted, the battle had devolved into a simple game of attrition.

Emperor Albrecht sensed this, and promptly sounded the call for retreat. As they pulled back, hundreds of earth mages worked in tandem to rip open a huge crevice between the city and the rebel army. Even if they had mages of their own, it would take time for the rebels to create a bridge large enough to bring their army back to bear, or to circle around it entirely. For now, the allied forces could focus all of their attention on the airships looming up ahead.

By now the vanguard of their reinforcements had arrived. Soldiers mounted on the backs of small dragons and wyverns had come flying in from the west. Together with the Tristanian mage-knights, they once more assailed the enemy fleet. But though the battle had begun not long ago, the fighting had been strenuous and the allied dragon riders had flown here without rest, at top speed. They were all exhausted. The rebel fleet, on the other hand, despite their losses was still full of energy, and they fought back viciously. Men and beast alike dropped from the air like flies, and the airships continued to plow forward inexorably.

A rain of flame and iron was unleashed upon the city. The citizens had already been evacuated inside the inner walls, but the sight of Vindobona quickly going up in flames was still disheartening. And as the city burned, Henrietta couldn't help but to turn away from the sight of it all. Regret filled her mouth, a bile the crawled up from the pit of her stomach. These were not her people, yet her heart went out to them nevertheless. Even should they somehow survive this war, how many years would it take for them to recover and rebuild? And her knights... her brave knights... how many wives and children would grieve for fathers lost on foreign soil? For a war they had never asked for or wanted? Doubt crept into her heart.

Had her decision to stay really been the correct one?

Henrietta could not bear it any longer. She fled from the rooftop, down the stairs and halls, and ran and ran and ran, to where she did not know. All she wanted now was to get away from all of this, until she finally collapsed to the floor. But it was not the shortness of breath or her burning muscles that made her fall; it was the weight of the crown on her head, crushing her underneath its iron heel.

She did not know how long she knelt there, her head bowed, but the sound of war had become a distant thing to her. There must have been a great many people looking for her, but it was only when she felt that certain warmness in her chest and surety in her mind that she knew someone had finally found her.

"You must think me a great fool," she said softly, a voice barely higher than a whisper. "Had I listened to you, all of this might have been avoided."

For a moment Alex did not speak. He loomed over her silently. Henrietta could not bring herself to look up into his eyes. What would she find there? Anger? Blame? Or the reflection of her own guilt and shame?

"There was a chance," he finally said, not unkindly. "I underestimated your knights. You could have won."

"But we didn't, and now we must all pay the price." Henrietta looked up, and her cheeks were wet with tears. What she found there was neither anger nor blame nor guilt nor shame. There was only an honest sympathy. Somehow that made her feel so much worse. "All I ever wanted was for the peace and happiness of my people," she said. "Even if I had to swallow my regrets, cast aside my own dreams, I was prepared for it all. But I have accomplished nothing here save to throw away the lives of all the loyal knights who fought on my command. I should have judged the odds better. I should have sought some other way to secure Tristain from Reconquista. Or else I should have have come up with a better plan than this, one that could have saved both my knights and the people of this city. That I could not is because I am inept. I should have... I should have never been born the princess." Her head drooped. "I am unfit to rule."

Alex crouched down in front of her. Slowly, awkwardly, he reached out and brushed the tears away from her face. Despite everything, Henrietta couldn't help but to smile when she saw the discomfort on his face. It was clear that this was something he had never done before, nor something he was particularly keen on doing ever again. Yet he did so regardless.

"You're not still angry?" she asked.

"No," Alex replied. Henrietta stared at him until he finally sighed and rolled his eyes at her. "A little, yes. You were stupid. Headstrong. Stubborn..."

"Those two are the same thing," Henrietta interjected.

"... but you're wrong if you think you're unfit to rule," Alex continued, pushing past her words.

"What do you mean?" Henrietta asked, her eyes growing wide.

Alex tried to withdraw his hand from her face, but Henrietta quickly reached up and grabbed hold of it, keeping it there pressed against her cheek. Alex sighed, but did not fight it.

"I told you before how I was made, didn't I?" he said. "A government experiment made to create a weapon to target people they didn't like. If you ask me, it's monsters like them who shouldn't be rulers. You're different. You're not like them. You're kind, maybe too much so. There will be people who will try to take advantage of that quality of yours until the day you die. But you know what? I think the world would be a hell of a lot better place if there were more people like you in charge. People who care about others. People who try to do what's right by everyone, not just for themselves. Someone not like Albrecht or those rebels... or me." Alex glanced away, the look in his eyes almost wistful. "I think I'd want to see a world like that one day."

"As would I," Henrietta said.

"Mm," Alex grunted. "You mind letting go of my hand now?"

"No." Henrietta giggled. "I think not."

Rolling his eyes, Alex pried his hand free from Henrietta's grasp, and she let out a little angry noise of displeasure. Then she sighed, and looked out a nearby window.

"With that said, it seems increasingly unlikely that I will be able share that view with you."

"I can still get you away from here," Alex said. "It's not too late."

"You would have me abandon my knights, after I sent them into war? You would have me abandon them to their deaths just so that I may yet live to see another day?" Henrietta shook her head. "If I did that, then I would no longer be that person you believe me to be."

"But you would be alive. That's the most important thing."

"Alive in every way but the one that matters," Henrietta replied. "It would kill my soul, Alex. I would be forced to live with the shame of being a coward. Worse, a selfish coward. The kind that would gladly sell out her most loyal and faithful friends or even her own family just for a few more hours of breath."

"Then don't run. Decide right here and now that you're going to stay and fight, no matter what happens. That way, when I take you back to Tristain, you can blame it all on me."

Before Henrietta could react, Alex scooped her up by the waist, holding her bodily in the air underneath his arm. Henrietta did not resist, knowing how futile it would be to try to match him in a contest of of physical might. Instead, she simply said, "If you do this to me, Alex, then I think I will hate you."

Alex froze for a bare instant. His jaws clenched together so tightly that Henrietta could see the muscles spasm there. His eyes narrowed, and a guttural growl rose up from his throat.

"I know."

Then he continued walking.

"I'm sorry," Henrietta said. "That wasn't fair. But neither is what you are doing now."

"So sue me."

"I doubt you would respect a summons to court."

"I wouldn't."

"How truly unfair. By the way, Alex?"

"What?"

"We have passed by many windows already. If you intend on leaving the palace, why have you not gone through any of them?"

"Draws too much attention," Alex answered gruffly. "Don't want to deal with people chasing after us."

"Is that truly it?" Henrietta pressed him. "Or perhaps you are waiting for me to say something that will change your mind?"

"Yeah, right," Alex snorted. "If you really think you can, then go ahead and try."

"Very well," Henrietta said. "I do not believe you wish to be hated, not by me or anyone else. I believe you are a better man than you believe yourself to be. A true monster would not be able to recognize the immorality of his own actions. He would not be able to look upon all that he has done and feel regret or sorrow."

"I tore Manhattan apart just so I could punish the people I thought were responsible for turning me into what I am," Alex snarled. "I killed hundreds of people, thousands, with my own two hands, and I'm responsible for the deaths of millions more."

"And yet you still want to see a better world than that," Henrietta said. "Halkeginia... is not perfect, as you can clearly see. And I do not know if it will ever become that better world you spoke of... but there will never be a chance for such a world to come to be if you continue to act in this way."

Alex stopped again, and this time he did not move.

"That was just a fantasy," Alex said dismissively. "As long as there are good people, there will always be monsters waiting to prey on them."

"Perhaps, but it is a wonderful dream nonetheless. One well worth fighting for."

"Fight all you want. But to do that, you need to get out of here alive first."

"What is it that you want, Alex?" Henrietta said. "You say that you want a fantasy to be real, yet you refuse to fight for it. You care for me, I believe, yet you would have me become someone I do not wish to be. What is it that you want? Tell me true. Tell me all. And if I am convinced of your reasons, then I swear to you now I will go back to Tristain without a fight."

Alex stopped at last. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. His thoughts were troubled, Henrietta could plainly see, and when his mouth opened, his words were slow and deliberate.

"There's something I've been thinking about, ever since I woke up here," he said. "No, maybe it was even before that. I'm not human, not anymore. Or maybe I never was. But I can still think like humans do. I can still feel as humans do. And maybe all that's just the memories I stole from everyone I consumed, but however I got them, they're still mine now. So tell me, Henrietta. Where does someone – something – like me fit in? Where is it that I belong?"

"Alex, you've had the answer to that since the moment I summoned you. Have you forgotten?" Henrietta smiled up at him. "You are my familiar and my friend. And so long as I live, you shall always have a place at my side."

Alex mulled over her words in silence. Then, at last, he set her down on her feet. Henrietta rubbed her stomach, where all her weight had been pressing into Alex's arm. "Oh, much better."

"Fine," Alex said, sighing. "You win. I won't force you to go back home. So just promise me one thing."

"What is it?"

Alex turned his head towards the direction of the battle, and narrowed his eyes. They were closer now. The song of war could once more be clearly heard through the halls.

"Whatever happens now," he said, "you won't change how you think about me."

Henrieta nodded, and said, "I promise."

The battle wasn't going as well as King Franz had hoped. Although it was only temporary, the fact that those damnable Tristanian mages had managed to halt the advance of their allied kings' ground forces was troubling. King Franz worried over whether they could circumvent the crevice before imperial reinforcements arrived. The chasm was vast, stretching on for miles in a straight line before the gates of Vindobona. Should they fail, it would destroy any chance they had of bringing this war to a swift conclusion, or at least any chance of doing so without incurring heavy casualties on their side.

Perhaps I should be glad that our air fleet, at least, remains unhindered. King Franz looked up to the sky. The underside of their ships were like great wooden clouds, so many that they smothered the blue, and the roar of their cannons was the song of thunder. With every salvo they unleashed, men were blown away from the walls of Vindobona, and their own artillery, emplaced upon the battlements, simply could not shoot high enough to retaliate.

Yet no matter how overwhelming their fleet was, ultimately they needed men in the city in order to capture it. "Send word to the other kings," King Franz ordered his aide, who stood beside him dutifully. "We must discuss how to proceed."

"At once, Your Majesty." The aide sprinted away, disappearing into the sea of bodies that surrounded them. King Franz retired to his command tent to await the other kings, sitting at his place at a perfectly round table carved from polished red oak.

When they at last arrived and were all seated with him, King Franz stood up and began to speak.

"My fellow kings," he said. "We have precious little time to waste, so I shall state it simply: we need a way to cross that crevice, and we must have it now."

"A bridge," King Wilhelm answered promptly. "There is no other way to get our armies across quickly enough."

"And where do you propose we get the wood we need for that?" King Horst scoffed. "The nearest forest is leagues away. It would be faster to just go around the crevice than waste time sending men to gather timber."

"Damn those mages," King Jurgen swore. "If only we had as many such mages of our own, we could have simply created a bridge of earth and stone."

"We must look to what we do have, not what we do not," King Franz advised him.

"And if you cannot do that, then at least have the dignity to keep such fantasies to yourself," King Horst said derisively. "Jurgen the Dreamer. Brimir save us."

"What solution have you to offer, then?" King Jurgen shot back.

"The ships." King Horst folded his hands on the table and glared back at the other king. "There is no other way. We must land the ships and use them to ferry our troops across the crevice."

"Ha!" King Jurgen slapped the table and laughed mockingly. "It would be better to send men to the forest, in that case. How long do you think it will take for our ships to carry our men back and forth, back and forth? How willing are you to risk putting them within range of the enemy cannons when they land?"

The exchange became more heated. King Horst, his face flushed a bright tomato red, stood up and began pointing fingers and insults at King Jurgen. Jurgen, not wanting to be outdone, stood up as well and shouted back at him. Tensions were flaring, and it seemed soon that both would draw their sword and wand at any moment.

"My fellow kings," King Otto boomed suddenly. His voice was so deep and loud that it was not unlike standing next to a loud, large drum. His voice reached deep into your bones, making you shake. "Kings! Yes, you are both kings, as am I. Such behavior as this befits only small children. I ask you, for the sake of dignity, to sit down and hear my words."

King Horst and King Jurgen both looked at King Otto, then glanced around the table and saw that everyone was staring at them. Faces flushing again, this time from embarrassment rather than anger, they silently sat down. King Otto smiled genially at them both.

"If I may say, Your Majesties," King Otto said, "I believe you are all blind to the obvious solution."

"Pray, enlighten us then," King Franz said.

"We must have lumber to construct a bridge, yet the forest is too far? To use our ships to carry our men is too slow and dangerous?" King Otto smiled. "Why, I say we already have all the lumber we need. Great piles of them hang over our heads as we speak, do they not?"

"Our ships?" King Franz said. A murmur went around the table. King Franz was not the only one whose brow furrowed in consternation. To construct a bridge of sufficient size by means of this plan, they would need to either scuttle a great many of their smaller warships or a few of their great man-of-wars. Either one was a bitter pill to swallow, as their fleet was a symbol of a king's strength, and of immense expense besides. Yet once he moved past that initial feeling of revulsion, King Franz could begin to see the genius that lay behind King Otto's proposal. There was only one problem. "Whose ships shall we use?"

The kings looked at each other.

"King Horst," King Jurgen said, a sly smile crossing his lips. "You possess the greatest number of ships. Will you not rise up to the task so that we may vanquish our hated foe?"

"You slimy weasel," King Horst snapped. "If we do this, then we must all contribute to the cause. I propose we each give up at least five man-of-wars or twenty other ships."

"Preposterous!" King Wilhelm shouted. "There is no need to give up that many of our ships. You would attempt to weaken us now, on the eve of our victory for your own selfish ends?"

"If I am selfish, than what are you for demanding I take the burden alone?" King Wilhelm retorted.

"KINGS," King Otto boomed again. "You did not let me finish. As I proposed the plan, it will be my ships that we use for this task. In return," King Otto smiled, "you will all surrender half of Vindobona's wealth to me."

"Half!" King Horst seethed. "It is too much."

"It is well and good," King Otto replied. "I shall need at least that much to cover the costs."

"I agree," King Franz said, cutting off the others before they could protest any further. "Now is not the time for bickering. We must take Vindobona before the imperial army arrives. King Otto is graciously offering to surrender his own ships to facilitate our passage. We ought not begrudge him the appropriate price for it, for are we gathered here to fight for our freedom or for the meager wealth of a single city?"

"A single city of an empire's wealth," King Horst muttered. "Oh, very well. King Otto will have the right to pluck the choicest fruits, as he pleases. Aye."

"Aye," King Jurgen said grudgingly.

"Aye," said the other kings.

"Then let us not waste any more time here," King Franz declared. "We move at once."

Mere minutes later, King Franz stood outside on a small hillock, overlooking the clearing they had made to dismantle the rows of ships that now sat anchored on the ground. While the rest of the fleet provided covering fire, their engineers set to work constructing a series of five separate bridges, each one wide enough to allow five wagons to drive abreast across it.

Soon, my son. King Franz gripped the pommel of his sword, sheathed at his hip, while his other hand tightened into a fist around his wand. Sparks of electricity danced at its tip. Soon the emperor will pay for his crimes, as will your treacherous little brother. And then our people will be free.

If there was one other regret King Franz had besides the death of his eldest son, it was his failure to kill Princess Henrietta. Bringing her head to Reconquista would have been the coin and the mortar to solidify an alliance with the rising power of the era – an alliance that would have secured his kingdom's future. For King Franz knew that once their rebellion was won, what would follow would be an age of chaos. At first there would be peace, as each king took their time to lick their wounds. Then they would begin to look to their neighbors for land and treasure. This was why he had been more than happy to acquiesce to King Otto's demands. Half the wealth of Vindobona would be more than enough to rebuild his fleet three times over, and no other king would be pleased with that. King Otto had painted a target on his own back, writ in gold.

Unfortunately, that plan had failed. He would need to come up with another to secure his kingdom's future. But that was a problem for another time; for now he needed to focus on the battle ahead. And if there was one other concern he had for this battle now, it was that someone else might kill Albrecht before he could. King Franz considered this dilemma for a moment. Although he wanted to be the one who personally drove a sword through that man's heart, the notion that the great emperor of Germania might perish at the end of a commoner's spear was... well, it was rather appealing in its own right. He decided then that he would make whosoever laid the killing blow on the emperor a great lord of his realm, regardless of birth or station.

King Franz swept his eyes across the horizon of the battlefield. As his eyes moved past the gates, he thought he saw something dark and small flit past the edge of his vision. He waved his hand, thinking at first it to be nothing more than a fly or a gnat that had come too close. But then there was a great crashing noise, and the harsh bellow of a horn split the air in warning.

King Franz's head snapped back to the side. One of the bridges had collapsed, sinking into the crevice. An accident? No. King Franz motioned for an aide to bring him a telescope. Peering through the glass, he saw a man climb out of the chasm, covered in bits of wood and splinters. He shook himself off, like a dog shedding water, and then his hands and arms changed, becoming a thick solid mass of blackened flesh, if indeed flesh was what it still was. His fists were enormous, more akin to the heads of sledgehammers than anything else. And when that man... creature jumped, for a moment King Franz thought it was flying.

The creature landed on the next closest bridge, its fists smashing through the wooden skeleton with untold ease. Within seconds it had demolished its critical support beams, causing it to collapse entirely. That was the source of the crashing noise from before, King Franz realized dimly. At the same time, he found his mouth opening, seemingly of its own accord, to roar, "Stop that thing!"

The message was relayed via drums to his captains and commanders. The great host of the allied kings began converging upon this single creature, who seemed almost indifferent to the fact that it was about to be surrounded. But once the soldiers came to a certain distance, the creature suddenly whirled, its arm, now a bladed tentacle, sweeping aside the men like chaff before the scythe. Bile rose up in King Franz's throat, as the ground around the creature became a sea of blood, almost every man within it having been bisected at the waist.

The creature moved on, destroying the next bridge, and the next, and then the last. Any man that approached was cut down immediately, and when they attempted to shoot the creature from a range, its entire body became girded in a black armor, not unlike an insect's shell, and their musket balls seemed to do little more than bounce off of it.

"Order the men to pull back," King Franz shouted. "Bring the ships around. Use the cannons on it!"

The drummer nodded. Boom-boom-bo-bo-boom, his drums went, a rhythm that was soon echoed by other drummers so that its message could be effectively relayed across the battlefield.

The creature was diving further into the army now. It cut down one man after another, but more than that it did not simply leave the corpses behind to rot. No, it devoured them. Tendrils grew from its body to suck in the soldiers' corpses, absorbing them into its own flesh. And though the sight horrified King Franz, there was a small part of him that was gladdened for it. It was slowing its own pace down just so it could feed. And now the ships had turned around and had their cannons aimed straight down at it.

As one, the ships fired. So many cannonballs fired down that, more than the dull thud of iron meeting earth, there was the metallic clang of cannonballs piling up on the ground. A cloud of dust enveloped that part of the battlefield, and King Franz squinted his eyes to try to make out the shapes inside.

An eerie silence befell the battlefield. It was as if not a single soul dared to move or even breathe as they waited for the dust to settle. Then, for a brief instant, there was this horrible squelching noise, like slabs of wet meat being slapped down on a cutting board, and then black tentacles tore the dust cloud apart.

The tentacles shot out in every direction, each one as thick as a spear. They ripped apart everything they touched, shredding bodies and armor and weapons alike. And they went upwards as well, reaching for the ships far above. Most remained out of the tentacles' reaches, but the ones that had descended to better aim for the creature were well within its range. The tentacles stabbed through the hulls, coiled up and around their masts, and when the creature retracted all of its extra appendages, it dragged the ships down with them.

The great wooden beasts descended, uttering one last dying groan. The crash must have triggered the stores of gunpowder inside, for they were soon set ablaze. The growing crackling noise of burning wood became the only sound they could hear, as once more silence held sway over the battlefield.

King Franz slowly looked around. The world was so red that he could barely even begin to count how many had died. There must have been at least a thousand. Maybe two or even three. Only those who remained furthest away from the creature had survived. The coppery smell of blood was so thick that more than one such survivor keeled over and vomited.

Then a horn sounded, and another and another. Drums echoed as well. The sound of retreat. But few men heeded them; most had already turned and began running away. There was no order, only a rout. No, not a rout. For a rout implied that this had been a battle between humans. What this was, was the panicked fleeing of a prey before its predator.

Someone seized King Franz by the arm, causing him to jump, but it was only his aide.

"Sire," he said. "We must leave, quickly."

King Franz blinked at him for a moment, but then regained control of himself and nodded. "Quickly," he agreed. "Order a full retreat."

"It's coming after us!" someone cried out. King Franz looked to find that the creature was already tearing its way through his army, making a beeline towards...

King Franz's eyes widened.

… towards him.

"What does it want from me?" King Franz cried out. The creature was even ignoring the other kings and their armies, though several had been closer to it. "Men! To me!"

But what few who had the wherewithal to obey could not stop what an entire army had failed to hold back. The creature was here, throwing aside the guards with a contemptuous swing of its arms. It grabbed King Franz by the throat and brought his face close to its, glaring deep into the king's eyes. In its eyes was nothing but hate.

"So the emperor still possessed such a weapon in his arsenal," King Franz said. To say that he was calm would have been incorrect. He was numb. Every part of him had lost feeling. Even when he spoke it was as if someone else was moving his mouth for him. The only thing he was truly aware of were his own short, shallow breaths and that death was upon him.

The creature growled, deep and guttural. "I'm not his weapon."

"You're a monster."

The creature's hand tightened. "I am," it replied, before driving its steely claws straight through his chest.

King Franz gasped as hot pain blossomed across his chest, before the creature pulled its claws out and a coldness took over instead. King Franz clutched his open wounds, wobbling about unsteadily on his feet. He stumbled back a few steps and looked from his body to the creature, who stared back at him coldly. And then, in some distant part of King Franz's dying mind, a memory was drudged up to the surface. It was a small thing, a byline he had until now forgotten. A single sentence in a weekly report sent to him by his spies in Tristain, informing him of the princess's excursion to the Academy of Tristain. Her summoning of a familiar. A familiar the spy described as most strange and terrible. And then realization struck him.

"You..." King Franz lifted his arm to point accusingly at the creature. Gods, since when had his arm been so heavy? "You're her familiar."

And then he fell, and spoke no more.

Author's Notes:

Can anyone explain to me why someone would leave a review in Spanish on a fic written in English? I'm pretty confident I've never once indicated that I know how to speak or read Spanish, and if you're reading this fic, then surely you must be able to understand English. I'm just so confused by this. :S