Late Summer, 401 VC
Every depiction of the god Duma that Lukas had seen kept to one point of universal agreement: He was red.
There were many different interpretations of the god, and for most, His appearance was a function of how much favor He had been in among Zofians at the time of the piece's creation. Lukas' favorite was a mosaic in the priory near his father's manor, depicting the gods appointing Emperor Rigel and Queen Zofia to their positions as heads of state. Duma was elegant, crimson, and strong, the equal and opposite of graceful Mother Mila. Later depictions grew more hostile. By Lima IV's reign, Duma was a hideous monster, and in religious icons He was made up of twisted tentacles that reached and grasped down to tear at Zofia's border. But even the recent icons agreed on coloration: He was red.
The Duma that Lukas saw was different. The War Father was a rotted, slimy mass, with ill-colored greenish scales that dropped away and scraped off against the floor when He moved. Stench filled the massive chamber, leaving it with the aroma of a food compost. Duma moved only in pained, cumbersome wobbles; it reminded Lukas of his father, who in the last years of his life was so beset by jointache that he would trip and fall daily, refusing a cane. He shambled around the manor, then their house, then just his chambers, until he fell and struck his head on a cabinet, and never got up again. Lukas never expected to feel pity for a god, or have one remind him of a frail, prideful old man who preferred broken bones to the indignity of acknowledging he was past his prime.
But even a decaying god was the most fearsome foe Lukas had fought in his life. Duma threw himself about, stabbing about and crushing anyone too slow with His tentacles, or burning archers to dust with ocular beams. Only Alm and Lukas could get a scratch on His scales, even though they felt as soft as an overripe Zofian peach. Lukas felt like he was dying; every breath hurt, the Lance felt as heavy as a tree, and staying upright amidst patches of slimy rot was difficult enough without exhaustion weighing him down and flailing tentacles swinging at him from every direction. He let out one last cry, bringing Duma's attention to him, and he charged straight at the god's face. Duma stared him down, gathering power as Lukas closed, time slowing with every moment as Lukas stared into the red eyes, glowing and gaining strength, ready to incinerate him any second - when a small blue object flew over Lukas' head from behind, bonking into Duma with little force, but catching the god straight in the eye. He startled and tried to retreat, when a blue and green flash - Alm - passed Lukas and jumped on top of His head.
Duma tried to shake Alm, waving His head back and forth, until Lukas reached them and lunged with all his strength into the god's right leg. Lukas fell, all his strength spent, but Duma collapsed to the ground, lamed. Alm had held on the whole time, and now stood atop Duma's face. He lifted the Kingsfang in a half-swording grip - one hand on the blade, one on the handle - and thrust it down into Duma's third eye. The god screamed, and Alm pulled the sword free and struck down again, three more times into the eye, before striking down on the center of Duma's forehead. The god stopped struggling, then gave His last breath, but Alm kept up his assault. "DIE! DIE! DIE!-" he screamed, punching through Duma's skull with a crunch , his next blows throwing brain matter loose.
"Alm-" Lukas gasped, struggling for breath, "that's… that's enough."
Alm didn't seem to hear him, but his strikes grew weaker and slower, his voice quieter. "Die, die, die… die…" Alm left the sword embedded in Duma's brain, and stayed in place, on his knees slumped forward, silent. He tried to stand, then, but a whole chunk of scales came loose beneath his weight and tore free, Alm tumbling down off the other end of Duma's head with it. "Alm!" Lukas gasped. He felt like he couldn't move.
Knees. Get on your knees.
Lukas shifted on the ground, planting his knees down.
Get on one foot, and push yourself up.
Lukas' left was painful, broken or sprained, so he went with his right foot. He grabbed onto Duma's tattered wing, digging his fingers into the slimy skin, and pulled himself to his feet.
Find Alm.
Lukas leaned left against Duma's body, letting it hold his weight, as he shambled his way around. He kept his eyes low as he turned back to the rest of the party - there was nothing he could do for them. Duma's assault tore off limbs and heads, and left charred skeletons and crushed bodies. The rest of their force was either alive, and didn't need his help, dead, and beyond helping, or too badly wounded for him to be of assistance. Alm needed him.
Lukas turned back as he passed around Duma's skull. It had taken him a minute to move ten yards, and Alm was no longer lying down when Lukas saw him. He was sitting with his back against Duma, slouched forward with his head against his knees, shaking with sobs. Lukas limped over, then slid down next to him. Alm looked over to him, his eyes red and puffy with tears streaming down his cheeks, his nose bleeding out of both nostrils from the fall, slime in his hair. Lukas knew he should say something, but had no idea what.
'It is going to be alright,' was the first option, except Lukas couldn't think of a single manner in which he believed things would be 'alright.' 'You did the right thing' was true, but plainly obvious to all, and would provide zero consolation. Lukas defaulted into physical action. He put his arms around Alm, and pulled him in close. The embrace was cumbersome with both in plate armor, but nonetheless Alm slumped onto him, resting his forehead on Lukas' breastplate as he sobbed. Lukas clutched Alm tight, no clue what to say or do. He planted a kiss on the top of Alm's head, and ran his fingers through Alm's soft hair, smoothing it out.
Alm's breathing began to slow, growing more steady, and the sobs weakened. Lukas had no innate sense for knowing what to say to distressed people. Everything he did to try and help was an educated guess based on prior experience.
Sometimes he guessed right.
A day later
Faye returned from Alm's room sobbing and incoherent. Lukas had suspected she was a poor candidate to send for him, but had thought it was a poor idea to say. Lukas did not believe, but he had never been one to get between the faithful and their gods. More than a few looked to him as the next one to send, and as such he sortied to try and speak with Alm. The bedroom door was locked; Lukas thumped it a few times and called out Alm's name.
Who next? Tobin and Gray? Unlikely. Men don't bare their feelings to each other. Clair? Alm would see that to be a betrayal of Celica just as he did Faye. Clive? With Mathilda? Perhaps-
The door opened a crack, and Alm peered through at him, checked no-one else was with him, then opened the door the rest of the way. Alm's left sleeve was coated in blood, limp at his side, and he stared through Lukas with an empty expression. His bright green eyes, always fiery and alight, were dull and distant. He gave a faint gesture to come inside, and Lukas entered the emperor's bedroom.
It lacked a single depiction of Duma, little surprise to Lukas, instead being sparsely-decorated, with a few historical paintings and mosaics up on the walls. Alm leaned against the bloody table. "So why are you here?"
"Everyone wants to help you Alm. They know we are close, so I was sent to do it."
Alm gave one laugh. "If you're going to give me a talk about keeping my chin up and taking this in my stride, just leave and send Clive back to do it."
Were that the case, I could hardly disagree...
"No, Alm. I do not wish to tell you what to do, or how you should feel. What can I do to help you?"
Alm stared at him, trying to detect insincerity or a hidden agenda, then relented and looked away at the ground in front of him. "I… I can't sleep. Can you just stay for a bit?"
"Of course, Alm."
Alm took off his bloody shirt and kicked his boots free, then slumped down in bed. Lukas sat next to him, then lay down as well, and took Alm's hand in his. He squeezed it, and after a few seconds Alm squeezed back. Alm tossed and turned, but kept his fingers intertwined with Lukas'. After a few minutes Alm was shakily asleep.
Lukas considered sliding free and leaving Alm there; it was all Alm had asked for. Lukas knew that Rigelians saw all Zofians as harebrained pleasure-chasers, just as Zofians saw Rigelians as violent thugs. The conclusions certainly followed if generalizing from Zofian kings, who collected the best-looking women and men in their harems, and fucked and drugged their ways into early graves. He had little doubt there would be quiet insinuations of sodomy, after Alm rejected a pretty young woman but allowed Lukas to stay. But Lukas knew he needed to. The last thing Alm needed was being left by another person, even if just for a few hours.
And besides… Lukas had slept four hours in the previous two days, and the bed was soft. He held onto Alm's hand, and shut his eyes.
Winter, 401 VC
General Ezekiel approached Lukas with no prompting, a few days after the crowning of Albein II and Conrad VIII.
"You need to leave."
"I would appreciate an explanation as to why," Lukas responded.
"Emperor Albein is not king of Zofia. He has Rigelian advisers, and Rigelian interests. Being trailed by a foreigner is the last thing he needs. Do what is best for him."
Ezekiel fit well with the Rigelians, few of which were particularly verbose. He left as soon as he stopped speaking, affording Lukas no time for a response. He had, in fact, been on his way to meet Alm when the general fell upon him, and Lukas thought as he walked the rest of the way. Ezekiel wasn't the type to act rashly, and had surely spoken with the others remaining of Rudolf's Companions; Massena, Magnus, a few others. If they had agreed Lukas was to be pushed out, there was little he could do. Lukas did not fear for his life, but didn't want to cause strife in such difficult times, and by the time he reached Alm's room his mind was made up.
The bedroom was freezing. Alm was facing out a wide-open window, with wind blowing hard through it, bringing gusts of snow in to coat the windowsill and collect on his cloak. The white snow made a harsh contrast against his black clothes, the only color he had worn since Celica's death. He turned around when Lukas entered. From behind, Alm looked strong, immobile instead of shivering. But when Lukas saw his face he could tell just how far gone Alm was. He had always possessed a sort of shine in his eyes, and a confident, outgoing, perhaps brash eagerness. But that had been bled out of him. Lukas couldn't tell what would take its place.
"Hello, Alm."
"Lukas." Alm weakly shut the window. "The weather is… cold." Alm mumbled.
"So it is. I have read this sort of storm is typical around the border in this time of year." Lukas said.
"Oh."
When preparing to bring up something serious, Lukas usually found it useful to ease his way towards it, with a bit of small talk first. Now he saw no point.
"I believe it would be best for me to remain in Zofia when you return north."
Alm looked at him with an empty gaze. "Zeke kicked you out?"
"No," Lukas lied.
Alm is sharper than we give him credit for.
"Yes. But I understand."
They went to silence for a few seconds, then Lukas broke it. "What will you do when you march north again?"
"We're going to wipe out the Duma Faithful. I'm not going to let them hurt anyone, ever again. I'll kill every last one of them if I have to."
So that was what it took to make Alm say anything. It sounded poorly.
"Alm. Do you know why people follow you?"
"..."
"It is because you are kind. You value everyone, and every loss hurts you. You mustn't let it destroy you, but you mustn't lose track of it, either, or you will be lost."
"..."
"Don't lose yourself, Alm."
"I don't even know who I am, Lukas."
Winter, 402 VC
Steel plate armor was a wondrous thing.
Forsyth, after being beaten upon by a large number of axe-wielding barbarians for most of a minute, had injuries limited to merely two black eyes, a face that was more bruise than not, three missing teeth, and a large number of bruised ribs. He sported the biggest smile that Lukas could ever imagine, lying dazed in his bedding after the surgeons judged his injuries as non-life threatening. He was far down the list of those who needed magical healing, but with the battle casualties so low every wounded Rigelian was seen to by a pair or team of healers, who could extend their white magic to saving limbs, more than just lives. Forsyth would be seen sometime in the next few days.
The Arthegnii banner he had captured lay by his side, and he clutched over at it every few minutes, in the misguided fear that someone may find some way of stealing it.
"I heard… Alm fought Zekstriss. Killed him?" Forsyth got out, less coherent than usual due to the opiates, of which the surgeons also had aplenty.
"Yes, he did. In single combat, atop the wagon wall."
"Was it glorious?"
"Alm beat Zekstriss senseless, then tore his head off with his bare hands."
Forsyth's eyes opened as wide as they could go, but were still droopy. "Magnificent… I wish I had s-saw."
Hmm.
"What do you think of Alm? Particularly his actions as Emperor?"
"I would follow him anywhere... just like before."
"To the capital, to depose Conrad?"
Forsyth's eyes shot open. "Anywhere he would ask, I meant, he would never ask that. Alm knows what is right." Then, after a second, "He… did not give that order, right?"
"No," Lukas assured, "And I am confident he will not." Lukas considered airing his concerns, but refrained, not wishing to trouble him while he was so badly injured, or risk that Forsyth do or say something brash. Care was needed.
"I hope the pain doesn't trouble you overmuch, Forsyth, and that your recovery comes quickly. I should leave you time to rest."
"Thanks, Lukas," Forsyth said, putting a hand on his banner, before lying back down to sleep. He had passed out before Lukas exited the tent. There was much else they could have spoken of, much Lukas felt they should have spoken of. But there were some things the two had silently agreed to never discuss.
Outside, Lukas walked between a few of varying sizes until he reached the largest, at the center of the Zofian encampment. Clive sat inside cross-legged on the ground, staring sadly at the far corner, lost in thought. He got like that sometimes when hitting a setback, and it took his sister or Mathilda to break him out. But Clair was herself distraught and Mathilda not present, though Lukas suspected that had she been present she would've given Alm a good few cracks around the skull, and comforting Clive would've been unnecessary.
"Clive," Lukas said, as he entered.
"Lukas! Come sit," Clive said. Lukas sat across from him.
"How is Forsyth holding up?"
"Forsyth is well, though temporarily out of fighting shape. An Arthegnii's club could not break his body, nor his spirit. He is eager to be back in action once the healers see to him."
Clive grinned. "I'm glad to hear Forsyth is doing well once more. Sir Gray and Sir Tobin also fought well in the battle; I thought you may have wanted to know, as you recruited the two of them with Alm. The commoners enrolled in the Zofian knights have all been a success so far."
"Sir Mycen trained Alm's friends well. They all have much to be proud of."
With nothing to talk about except what they had been trying to avoid, Lukas and Clive went silent for a few seconds, the good mood dying away.
"What happened?" Clive asked. "How could this have happened?"
"I am surprised we didn't see it coming, Clive."
"These damned Rigelians… they drained everything good from him and made a monster. Is it the land? The culture, or people? It runs an export trade in horrors," Clive said.
"Perhaps, or perhaps not. But Clive, we musn't be over eager in attributing this to factors we had no connection to. In a year's time, Alm went from having never left Ram Village to being the Emperor of Rigel, killing his father, cousin, and love in one day. Then he lost Sir Mycen, then his remaining friends, when we returned to Zofia. Perhaps we should have foreseen what it would do to him. Alm was always eager for battle, and that's the only part of him that outlived Princess Celica."
Clive's frown deepened, and Lukas feared he had caused him to cry. Clive covered his face. "If… if only I was stronger, when the Deliverance needed leadership. If only I was captured, and Mathilda led. Or you, or Fernand. I thought it so easy to pass responsibility onto Alm, so convenient… so selfish. This mess is my own doing."
Lukas' stomach was uneasy, and he felt off in the way he always did around others in distress. He guessed at what to say. "Do not despair, Clive. This was the product of prophecy. It was always bound to turn out this way, regardless of your choices. You mustn't heap blame upon yourself for the work of the gods." Pushing blame toward impersonal, ambiguous forces, like prophecy or gods or chance, made one's responsibilities easier to bear, Lukas had always suspected.
Clive exhaled and uncovered his face, revealing his saddened expression and red eyes, but thankfully no tears. "Thank you, Lukas. It means much to hear from you. I couldn't manage this without you."
"That is kind of you to say, Clive."
"Sir Clive!" shouted one of their attendants. "General Ezekiel is here. He wishes to speak with you."
"Send him in," Clive grumbled. He ground his teeth.
Ezekiel entered, walking stiffly, and saw Clive and Lukas sitting on the floor. After a quick look around the tent, he sat down across from them. "Good day, Sir Clive, Sir Lukas."
"Good day," Clive muttered, less than sincere.
Ezekiel did not hesitate.
"You are correct about Albein. His behavior is erratic and fanatical, and has grown this way over the past year. I believe it worsened gradually, too slowly for any of us to notice at the time," he said, with surprising honesty. "Sir Lukas, I threatened you a year ago, to the effect of forcing you to remain in Zofia and away from Albein. That was a grave mistake."
Lukas' father told him not to hold his breath waiting for apologies, particularly not from a man, and more than that, not from a Rigelian. Lukas was content, and knew this was the best he would receive.
"Thank you, General Ezekiel" Lukas said. "I wish not to be overly-direct, but we will need some plan for how to accommodate for Alm's instabilities. The current state of affairs is untenable."
Ezekiel nodded. "That is what I came to speak of. In the short run, I had an idea for a way of nudging him towards reason. I mean no offense, Clive, but Albein seems to associate you with frailty, and myself with harshness. If we take up opposing positions, Lukas could step in, as his friend and suggest a reasonable compromise. It may not work perfectly, but if we are subtle enough it may push him in the right direction often enough, for the time being, at least."
Lukas had no doubt being called frail was yet another kick in the head for Clive, but the knight was eager enough for any solution and seemed not to care. "That sounds better than anything I've thought of," Clive admitted. "We should attempt it at the next council, on the more important issues. The question remains of what to do in the long run. If Alm's mental state doesn't recover, I doubt we can maintain this act forever."
"More contact with his old friends from the war, was my main thought. Sir Tobin and Sir Grey, as well as yourself, Lukas. Would you consider remaining in Rigel even after the campaign?"
"Of course. I am sure Sir Tobin and Sir Grey would agree as well."
"Good. There was one other. Clive, Albein often speaks favorably about your sister, Lady Clair. But I understood the two had a falling-out."
Clive's expression hardened a bit. "Alm's stunt got several of her colleagues killed, yes. But they were very… close, before."
"How close? Might they…"
"I am not hurling my sister into his bed to make him feel better about himself," Clive stated categorically.
"I didn't quite mean… Regardless, we aren't out to repeat that one," Zeke muttered.
"Repeat?" Clive asked.
Zeke sighed.
"After defeating the Faithful, the army was celebrating, and Magnus chanced upon a pretty whore girl. She had red hair and something of a resemblance to Princess Anthiese, so we thought it may help him come to terms… that was the first time he ever screamed at us. The whole scheme was harebrained. Even then, he will have to marry, and a Zofian noblewoman would certainly set the right tone of cooperation between the two regimes."
'Harebrained' seemed the right word to Lukas. The scene sounded bizarrely farcical, and all the more for it being the dour Rigelians making such fools of themselves.
"In the long run, perhaps ," Clive grumbled. "Nothing will happen without Clair's wishes, and she seems unlikely to warm to Alm anytime in the near future. Is that acceptable?"
"Yes, of course. I appreciate your cooperation in this. I sense our interests align more than we thought," Zeke said. "For now we ought to find Albein and plot our next move. The last I heard he headed to the inlet to bathe, for some odd reason. Should we send a runner to find him?"
"I can go," Lukas said. "I can take measure of his mood on the trip back. What will the first issue be?"
"The problem of captives," Zeke said.
"Magnificent," Lukas sighed.
At the waterfront, Lukas got a full look at the bridge's wreckage. The boat bridge had to have been something of a marvel, particularly considering the engineering skills most expected of the Arthegnii. Tethering ships together, stable enough to move large numbers of men and horses, was no mean feat. Lukas wondered what it looked like when it came apart. Pegasus knights came swooping down over the water, dropping pots of blasting powder to skip along the water's surface and detonate against the boats. It would've broken into segments first, then as those were dragged down the inlet they came apart, leaving their parts to be swept all the way to the northern sea, or wash up on the riverbanks. He thought of the panic the men must have felt, their bridge shuddering and breaking up, capsizing or sliding downriver, a panicked and futile struggle to the shore, then nothing but icy cold and sinking...
From his position, Lukas was upriver of the bridge remnant, its wreckage, and the beach killing grounds the Arthegnii were chased into the previous night. It left the water clean for drinking and cooking - which was the most common use, with men and women filling pots and canteens with fresh, ice-cold water - or bathing, for the truly mad. Which was just Alm.
A few armored knights stood at guard, around Alm's under-armor clothing, lying discarded on some rocks. The emperor himself was twenty yards out into the water, having quite a bit of fun swimming.
"Lukas! Fancy a dip?" Alm invited when they made eye contact.
On the one hand, the water was bound to be freezing. On the other, Lukas hadn't properly cleaned in weeks, nothing beyond washing his arms and face before a meal, or wiping down with a chilling wet cloth when he had the energy before sleep. Changing into clean clothes could help, but he was out of those, and he reeked like everyone else did after weeks marching. Lukas pulled at his collar and gave an experimental sniff, then immediately wished he hadn't.
His mind made up, Lukas stripped naked, throwing his clothes on the rocks, sprinting into the water before he could rethink the decision. The cold enveloped him, hitting him everywhere at once and driving the breath from his lungs, but he forced his head under, and dove forward to swim for a few seconds. He lacked a brush or soap but needed neither, and could instantly feel the filth begin to slough off him.
Alm laughed when Lukas surfaced, clapping him hard on the back with a hand that felt like a lump of bone slapping against his skin, and stung worse than any blow he took in the battle.
"Wh-what made you decide to bathe?" Lukas sputtered, his teeth chattering.
Alm shrugged. "I was dirty. Wanted to get clean."
They spent another half minute in the water, enough for Lukas to scrub most of the grime off his body and almost freeze to death. Then it was back out, towelling off, and back into the same dirty clothes as before.
Upon their return from the river, Alm turned back into Emperor Albein, and the highest Arthegnii chieftains were brought before him.
They hunched forwards, shameful, scared, and keeping their eyes on the ground. They wore the same clothes they had fought in, but were stripped of armor and anything that could be used as a weapon: knives, obviously, but also any brooches, cloak clasps, and belt buckles. Their clothes hung off them, giving them the energy of freezing beggars, not of the leaders of 50-man strong warbands that ravaged the Empire's countryside.
Alm slouched in Zekstriss' throne, around which some of the infantrymen had piled dozens of severed Arthegnii heads, such that it seemed the throne rose from a mound of them, and with captured weapons and standards piled on top. The seat elevated Alm, so that even sitting he was at head height to any man standing on the ground. Alm, like every man in the army, had long run out of clean clothes, but his all-black attire hid much of the dirt. Over his gambeson he wore a dark red cloak, with gold trim, which had been Emperor Rudolf's before passing into Alm's possession, which shimmered with his movement.
The chieftains stood before Alm, uncertain, until Magnus approached them from the side. "Kneel before the emperor!" All five of them fell to a knee in a second.
Alm sat still, appraising them. After a few seconds he said, "How should I have you killed?"
None weighed in.
"You invaded in the summer and winter. Each time, you murdered, looted, burned, and raped a path across the east. As emperor, my office is to 'Apply Rigel's laws, defend it from invaders, and serve Lord Duma in every capacity.' " He laughed. "Let's scratch that last one. Regardless, the application of Rigel's laws falls to me. Murder is punished by execution, looting by the loss of a hand, arson by the loss of a hand as well, and rape by castration. But in times of war, the emperor of Rigel gains full discretion over the punishment of invaders, so I can do whatever I think is fitting. So what do you think is right?" he asked again.
"I don't feel like cutting all your hands, cocks, and heads off. I think the best choice is to crucify every one of the two thousand and five hundred of you, and place you every few yards along the inlet beaches, so your brethren know what awaits them in Rigel. Would you consider that fair?"
It was not the Arthegnii that spoke.
"Emperor Albein! Stop this now, I beg of you. This is barbaric, and a perversion of justice regardless," said Clive, who stepped out in front of the prisoners to face up at Alm. "Your duty goes beyond thinking up the most painful punishment for evil men, Albein."
"That is easy for you to say, Zofian," cut in General Ezekiel. "A hard touch is needed, merely for Rigel to survive. Emperor Albein, I consider crucifixion too light a sentence. Replace it with burning, and scatter their ashes along the shores, for the same effect.
"Hmm…" Alm muttered.
"Emperor Albein, if I may," Lukas offered.
"Of course, Lukas."
"I believe killing these men is counterproductive, and placing skulls or ashes on the border will not dissuade another attack in the coming year. It is unnecessary; the greater part of their strength was killed on the beaches, and with Zekstriss dead their unity will be lost. The Arthegnii are more likely to go to war with each other than to return after the punishment you have already wrought upon them."
Lukas could imagine the gears spinning in Alm's head as he processed that, reason easing its way through a damaged mind. "Pray tell then, Lukas, what should be the fate of the prisoners?"
"You know the Arthegnii tribes have taken many thousands of slaves in the year's war. You could offer these men for the return of your people."
At the mention of the war's victims, the emperor's eyes opened wide. "Of course," he muttered, looking down, perhaps ashamed he hadn't thought of it. "Of course. You!" he shouted to the chieftains. "I will free each of you, with your arms and three men each. You will return to your tribes, and immediately escort all enslaved Rigelians back to the inlet. Once all my people are returned, I will ship your fighting men back to the Deadlands. Do you accept?"
"Yes, of course, your excellency!" the chiefs all said, or some close-enough variant. They were in no position to haggle.
"We are completing a census of the damaged lands. We will know exactly how many were taken," Ezekiel said. "Do not come up short."
The chiefs enthusiastically promised they wouldn't, and Magnus escorted them off, still under heavy guard. Lukas felt the tension ease, made quick eye contact with Clive and Ezekiel, and shared a faint nod with each. Their trial was a success; Alm could be manipulated, or as Lukas preferred to think of it, prodded, towards the right thing through the correct appeal to his better instincts. He couldn't help but smile a bit.
Hope is not lost. Rigel is the land of sorrows, but the peoples' suffering can be, for the time being, alleviated.
The next issue was a report passed along by Magnus. "There was a detachment of Arthegnii which fled the field together. They have been spotted moving along the road in the direction of Fear Mountain. Approximately thirty, mounted and armed."
Alm's fury had been restrained from the prisoners, but Lukas thought out his next words before he said them. "Order my guard to arm. I'll pursue them in person."
Lukas glimpsed at Zeke and Clive, coming to a rapid understanding; not worth fighting, Alm was in little danger, he could vent some anger, and his absence could give a chance to get affairs under control. They could afford not to disagree. "Alm, may I come along?" Lukas asked.
"Of course, Lukas. We've all heard of your famous patrolling aptitude," Alm said with a dark smirk. "General Ezekiel will hold the senior command while I am gone."
In one hour, Lukas and the emperor's guard were armed, mounted, and equipped for the pursuit, and they rode out with Alm at their head.
The isolation from the army gave them much more use for their mounts' speed, and they ranged far every day. Even with the harsh climate, corruption of much of the land, and the war, one couldn't ride far in Rigel without encountering men, so they passed at least one significant village or habitation every day. In most the people had hidden themselves and their possessions from the rampaging armies, and so they carried on until they came across the few villagers willing to remain in the open. Then they would quarter themselves in their houses, with Alm providing them with official documents exempting them from their yearly taxes for the value of the food and housing provided. The guard also behaved itself unusually well around the local women, which Lukas knew to be Alm's order.
Friendly locals meant abundant information. Villagers willingly guided them along the way, pointing out sites where the Arthegnii had camped and the direction they headed in. Their group was gaining on the barbarians, clearly, who had not diverted their course from Fear Mountain, possibly hoping it was a site of refuge, that they would find friendly faces, or at least somewhere to hold out. Lukas couldn't imagine what the barbarians thought, if anything. The last habitations ended hours before Fear Mountain came into sight, the lands going unclaimed due to the blighting and fear of Nuibaba, both of which remained over a year after her death. Unlike the nearby mountains, which were forested until the treeline, Fear Mountain was entirely bare, apart from a few dozen crooked, shriveled trees, with a zig-zagging path wide enough for a horse-drawn wagon. The Arthegnii had clearly taken the road, leaving dense horse tracks behind, but it was unclear if they had gone up and stayed, or turned and rode back down.
Alm and Lukas rode in front. Lukas tightly gripped Duma's Lance in his right hand, while Alm rode much more casually, the Kingsfang sheathed at his side. With every switchback Lukas expected to turn around into a hail of arrows and rocks, with Arthegnii bearing down on him, but each time he turned to just see another length of road. As they reached the peak, it flattened, with a large area of land enclosed by a gated ten-foot wall. Lukas lowered his lance, and Alm finally drew the Kingsfang, and they rode hard through the opened gate, ready for a fight.
A wide, snowy field awaited them. Lukas scanned all over, but there was nothing. No archers, no riders, no ambush. Just Nuibaba's Abode a few hundred yards off.
"Lukas," Alm said. "Found one."
Lukas rode around Alm fast, ready to strike a blow, when he realized it wouldn't be necessary. The Arthegnii rider was face down in the snow, almost covered over. An icicle was lodged in the side of his head, with some blood leaked out into the snow. Alm chuckled, looking back at the gate, which had a number of icicles hanging down from the metal frame. "Hit his head?" Alm joked.
It seemed unlikely to Lukas that the rider could strike the side of his head on an icicle hanging downward, hard enough to impale himself.
"There, look, another!" shouted Tobin, pointing out another fallen shape. Lukas rode over and prodded the man with the Lance. He didn't move, but he looked singed.
"This one was killed with a lightning spell. They must have been attacked by a mage," Lukas said. "Alm, with your leave, I would take a group of knights forward and investigate the manor. You mustn't risk yourself on such a minor affair."
Alm shut his visor. "I'll be fine, Lukas. Fan out and move up! Don't let him hit more than one of you at once."
Lukas didn't bother arguing, and followed Alm's order. They rode quickly, passing over fallen riders - some with their horses lying dead with them, some alone, their horses likely having run off - every dozen yards or so. When they reached the entrance there was a cluster of dead men and horses, where they dismounted. The doors were hanging open, being blown back and forth by the freezing wind. Lukas was off his horse first and ran through, hoping to draw attack from Alm. None came, but he couldn't banish the feeling they were being watched. Tobin came through after, nocking an arrow in his bow, with Grey, who clutched his jagged lightning blade. Alm was fourth, holding the Kingsfang over his shoulder.
All of the mansion's doors were open, so the wind blew through it and left it as cold as the outside; at the same time, every torch, candle, and fireplace was lit, leaving it bright and in patches warm, even in the winter evening. The main hallway was filled with bodies - men shot full of icicles, blown into the furniture and walls with wind magic, or cut to pieces by saggitae projectiles - so they crept through side rooms, for if whatever killed the Arthegnii was still there, its preferred plan was to kill them as they charged through the hall.
Lukas smelled fresh food made. Some roasted beef, and perhaps soup also. It made his stomach rumble, but confirmed that they weren't alone. He pointed to his nose, then towards the main hall, where the scent came from. Tobin, Grey, and Alm nodded. They crept forward another room, so that the main hall was next. They saw a dull purple light coming from it through the two doorways. Lukas took a deep breath, ready for their fight at last. Tobin and Grey crept towards the left door, ten feet away from the right-hand door that Lukas and Alm positioned themselves at. Lukas glanced through the door. There was a figure facing away from them at the other end of the room, a woman with purple hair.
"Witch," he mumbled, so the others could hear.
They nodded, and Alm raised a hand to count down.
Three .
Two.
One.
Lukas burst around the corner leading with the Lance, and immediately tripped over a dead Arthegnii as he rounded a table. The witch turned towards them, staring blankly.
"Take her down, Tobin!" Alm shouted.
The witch raised a hand at Tobin and cast something, illuminating his bowstring. It went stiff, and when Tobin pulled it back it snapped immediately, springing his bowstaff straight again and throwing it out of his hand. Grey shot a lightning bolt at her, which she caught effortlessly with a barrier, then shot the power back into the sword, turning it red with heat, making Grey squawk and throw it aside before it burned him. Alm jumped in front of the two with the Kingsfang drawn, pointed at the witch, and Lukas scrambled to his feet, getting back into a guard.
The witch just stared, and didn't warp, or prepare a counterattack. It was unlike anything Lukas had seen; witches always attacked relentlessly, until they or their target was killed.
"Alm," she said.
Alm raised a fist, and everyone stopped.
"How do you know my name?" he asked.
"The Kingsfang indicates your identity. Celica also spoke of you regularly."
"She.. who are you?" Alm demanded.
"My name is Sonya. I travelled with Celica on her journey."
"Prove it."
"Once she told me that when you were ten, you collaborated to move seven garter snakes into the boots of a friend, 'Tobin'."
"That was you ?" asked Tobin.
"Fine," Alm said, not responding to Tobin. "Stand down, everyone. Sonya, why are you here?"
"To discover a cure for the witch curse."
"Were you successful?"
She stared at Alm. Her eyes were black pits, and her skin had a bluish tinge. She was undeniably afflicted by it, but had far more will and personality than Lukas had ever seen in a witch.
"It would appear unlikely," Lukas offered.
"Why are you here?" Sonya asked.
"The Arthegnii. We defeated their horde outside Relastan Village. We pursued this band after they escaped the battle. You saw to them first, it seems," Alm replied.
"Yes. Men are foolish. Like them, you rode towards the clear danger, rather than away from it. Stupid. But our enemies are the same. I will leave with you tomorrow."
"Slow down," Alm said. "Why should we take you?"
"The Duma Faithful and Arthegnii are aligned, as always. You seek the destruction of both, while I seek that of the former, which will necessitate conflict with the latter. The cure for the witch curse does not lie here, and as such I will depart with you when you ride tomorrow. Together we may continue our fight. Was that enough, or would you prefer I use more words?"
How odd, to be getting attitude from a witch.
Alm's gaze was stern, but controlled, not wild and manic as he had become in the battle. He was in control, but clearly disappointed that there hadn't been much of a fight after so much riding. "Fine. You're with us," he said. Alm approached her and offered a hand to shake, which she stared at for a few seconds before turning back to her table, covered in books and scrolls.
"Eat. I made food."
Indeed, she had. A bowl of soup Lukas had knocked off the table was spreading slowly over the floor.
Nuibaba's Abode became very livable once it was paid some care.
It didn't take much; the bodies were dragged outside and downwind, then burned, the windows were shut, and the soup Lukas spilled was lazily covered in rags. Sonya seemed to have a habit of making too much food, then sweeping leftovers off the dining tables and leaving them to sit, but the building was kept below freezing for the time she had lived in it, which kept the discarded food from rotting too badly. Half an hours' work turned the desolate mountaintop dwelling into a cozy manse Lukas could picture escaping to for a few weeks in the winter.
After it was prepared, they had their first properly-cooked meal in weeks. Sonya was quite the chef, and had fine ingredients to work with, though after weeks of hardtack biscuits and salt beef almost anything else was a joy. With their clothes drying after a run through a mechanical washer, the men sat at the tables in their underclothes and robes from the manor, eating their fill of roasted meats, good breads, cheeses, and stew, helping themselves to the wine cellars as well. Alm was even acting more normally, friendly and joking with Tobin and Grey.
After eating and drinking himself to the bursting point, Lukas went to check on Sonya, who had stood nearly still at her table even as everyone else ate. He loaded a plate with food, and set it down in some empty space by her.
"Hello, Sonya."
"Why are you here?"
"To bring you some food. I'd thought you may wish to eat."
"No, that is incorrect."
"Are you not hungry?" Lukas asked.
"You did not come for that reason."
"Well," Lukas began. "Very well, then. I wished to speak with you."
"You may. Ask your questions." Sonya looked up from her notes and stared Lukas in the eye, expressionless. She was very tall for a woman, exactly his height. She was also the prettiest woman he had ever met, but the witch curse left her a terrifying figure. Lukas couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy as he spoke.
"You are a witch," Lukas began.
"Very clever."
"But you did not wish to be one. And were not one when we fought against Duma."
"Correct. And correct. I went in search of a cure to the witch curse after the war ended. My research brought me here. I attempted to test a ritual which could end the curse. It failed, most spectacularly. Now I am as I am now."
"Will you be… alright?"
Readings in literature do not prepare one well for the topics of magical rituals, do they?
"I am in excellent physical health, and few bodies are in as good shape as mine. My soul is destroyed, gone, or otherwise inaccessible. Conclude from that as you will."
Lukas had never before met a witch that bragged about having an attractive figure.
"Do you have emotions? Do you feel?"
"No. I experience touch and other physical sensations. I do not value any. I eat and engage in other activities to maintain my body."
"Why, then, if you feel no emotion?"
Sonya took a few seconds to answer that. After three or four seconds she made a stiff grab for some bread, tore a chunk off, and ate it. "Before the ritual I wished to find a cure to the witch curse to free the remaining women afflicted by it, and to see the destruction of the Duma Faithful. I have followed those goals since. I do not know why."
"If I may, why do you wish to see the Faithful destroyed?"
"That…" Sonya began, "That I will not tell you. I would not have before. But I wished to kill Jedah with my own hands, brutally. That desire drove me. I will still work to see it carried out."
Jedah must be a special man, to engender such a strong hatred of himself in everyone he meets.
"But, why?" Lukas demanded, feeling his voice rise. "You feel nothing. What will killing him, or causing him pain, bring you? What will anything bring you if you feel so little?"
Sonya stepped back from him a bit, and turned back to her books. "That is enough. I will not, can not, answer more, Lukas." Her voice was softer. Hurt, almost, if that were even possible.
Lukas clenched his fist, frustrated with himself for growing so forceful. He almost never grew frustrated or angry, and yet the few times he did he always managed to cause such problems. She had enough to deal with without him making demands of her.
"I am sorry, Sonya. That was wrong of me. Is there any way I may help you?"
"Bring more olives and cheese."
They departed for the capital the next day, well-rested, warm, and bathed after a luxurious night in the mansion's many bedrooms, rather than clinging to one another on the floor of a farmhouse. Sonya had claimed two horses from the Arthegnii, and rode along with their party. As soon as they departed she brought herself uninvited to the front, placing herself next to Lukas. It was a surprise to him, and meant he couldn't look backwards without Grey and Tobin raising eyebrows and making kissing faces. Sonya kept her gaze straight forward down the road, stiff and unflinching.
Eventually the two started making kissing noises, getting on Lukas' nerves before long. He was about to turn around when Sonya snapped around in one swift motion, staring Tobin dead in the eye for five minutes, then Grey. The two went silent in a second, and desperately avoided eye contact with the witch. Lukas suppressed a chuckle, because he didn't fancy a staredown much either.
They gradually passed from the east, with its mountains and forests, into the central Rigelian plains. They were highly productive, once, and were the empire's breadbasket in a better age. Farmers still worked much of the land, but they were far poorer than their cousins in Zofia, even after the droughts, and entire patches of land had grown fully infertile. Along the highway they passed the way stations of the imperial post system, where they received news of the army's progress. Relastan Village's walls were repaired of what damage the Arthegnii had dealt them in the siege, and General Ezekiel was leading the army back to the capital for their demobilization ceremonies, to welcome the men back from the war, and to march in triumph through the streets. They were a week away, so Alm decided they would await the army at a small lodge the imperial family owned, a few hours outside the city. Alm had another location in mind before they returned to the capital.
The imperial cemetery was located in one of the patches of blighted land too dead to grow anything in, with nothing but cracked earth and shriveled, twisted black trees that had been sucked dry of all moisture. Gated despite its massive size; it was located up on a plateau, leaving only two entrances, making its guard mostly ceremonial. In it were buried the dead of the imperial family, dating back all the way to Rigel I. They dismounted at the eastern gate, and Alm took a wooden box off one of the pack animals.
Tobin and Grey edged their way towards Alm. "Can we come?" Tobin asked.
"I'm just going with Lukas," Alm said. "I need some time alone. You can come see after."
That crushed both of them. Tobin acted like the denial was nothing out of the ordinary, but Grey walked back to the horses and slumped back against a dead tree, staring blankly at the dark midday sky.
Lukas couldn't help but think over that Alm regarded his company as having no bearing on whether he was alone. He did not count. He couldn't help think of a skillful toy he saw in the Rigelian capital during the war, a red wooden knight that swung a sword when a gear on his back was turned.
If the toy could speak, it may as well replace me. If it killed who they needed, and said the things I say when I try to understand, it would provide all the functions I do. It would be better, even, lacking an appetite for food, or an inexplicable temper that may flare up and cause problems.
So, then, that's all there is to me. I pretend to understand, and I fight.
Before long, Alm had led them to their destination, which Lukas could already tell from the second they arrived at the cemetery. The grave of Emperor Albein Alm Rudolf I was as austere as the man himself, lacking in any ornamentation. His profile was carved onto the stone, with his name, and the motto "RIGEL, UNCONQUERED." The gravestone was the same size and material as the hundreds of graves behind it, those of all the men who died fighting in Rudolf's wars against the Arthegnii, or at least those whose bodies could be returned to the capital. Rudolf's, with a few others, was at the head of the cluster; previous emperors of Rigel were all longer-lived, and had twice or three times as many soldiers killed fighting for them. At the present rate, the cemetery would have ample room for another two hundred years.
Alm approached his father's grave. He was silent, his handy shaky around the box. He steadied himself, and removed the lid, then upended it over the grave. Dozens of small metal objects - rings, brooch clasps, earrings, and all other sorts of jewelry taken from dead or captured Arthegnii chieftains - poured out, spilling all over the ground beneath Rudolf's tombstone. Alm gave a Rigelian salute, and Lukas copied it, before they moved to the next grave.
The other grave was that of Princess Celica.
Alm reached it, but sunk down to sit before it after a few seconds. "I… uh…" he mumbled, searching for words. "I should have brought flowers, right, Lukas?"
Lukas didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent.
"She always liked flowers…" Alm said.
"I wish we could have talked more," Alm said. "We would've… sorted it out, I would have made her listen. I should never have let her go. It would've been so easy. I just had to grab her and I would finally have had her again. I could've kept her safe, if I hadn't been so weak."
"You cannot know that," Lukas said. "It would have changed everything. We do not know how events would have played out. And she would have hated you for it."
"I would rather Celica live to hate me than this. She wouldn't have went to Mila's Temple, wouldn't have met Jedah, wouldn't have made me kill her. The prophecy held that the brand-bearers would bring about the end of the age of the gods. When I slayed Duma I did exactly that. Her entire pilgrimage was a fool's errand that ended with me hacking her to pieces. Now look how the world is! I kill one problem and another fills its place, and I can't trust anyone but you."
Then after a second, he said, "I know exactly what you three are doing."
Lukas' stomach twisted.
"Alm, you must try to control yourself," Lukas said. "Celica would never have approved of the course you are taking. You must change it before you lead us into disaster."
"There's no point."
Alm removed his left glove, revealing the brand, glowing in a deep red, dark like drying blood. Lukas grabbed Alm's hand, and it was hot to the touch, almost burning.
"What is this?" Lukas shouted.
Alm looked him in the eye, calm as he could be. "Duma is taking my mind. I don't know if it's His influence, or soul itself, but I feel the grip tightening with every day. All I think about is death and slaughter, and all I can do to resist is to direct it at whoever deserves it most. The song and dance you do with Clive and Zeke won't stop it."
"You can fight it, Alm. You must."
"Lukas…" Alm said, looking down. "It doesn't even matter. This is who I always was, deep down. Peel away my nice words, everything about liberation and justice, and what's left is that I wanted a war to fight from the beginning. To kill and conquer. That is all you need to know about Albein Alm Rudolf. It's all you need to know about humanity."
"That isn't true, Alm, and I know you don't believe it. You defeated Duma once, with us by your side. You will do it again. I believe in you, with all my being. You are stronger than Him," Lukas said, throwing empty assurances out at random.
"You… won't leave me?"
It's working?
"Never. I am your knight, your friend. For the rest of my life," Lukas said, more honestly.
Alm shut his eyes and grimaced. The brand's glow darkened, then faded out, slowly turning into just a mark on his hand.
"How…?" Alm asked. "So easy…"
It surprised Lukas just as much, but he forced himself to smile, as though he knew it all along. "Things will be alright, Alm. It will never be easy, of course. But with us by your side I know you will triumph," Lukas said, back to the lies.
Alm smiled, faintly, wiping at small tears forming in his eyes.
Lukas sat down by Alm. "When I die, I wish to be buried here. I promise to live my life at your side, as your knight and your friend. Such a resting place would reasonably follow."
Alm nodded. "Of course, Lukas. But not for some time," he chuckled.
Lukas felt wrong telling Alm to move on, to live and struggle despite the pains, as though it was so simple. Lukas knew it wasn't. The emptiness of his words bothered him, more than the manipulation at Relastan. Lukas had no clue why he kept living; what right did he have to meddle and prod at Alm's emotions to keep him going, with words he doubted himself? It would improve things, perhaps. Having a living emperor would keep a civil war at bay, and a functional one would keep the empire running, and those were desirable ends which would do the people of Rigel a great service. So Lukas could keep lying, confident in the justness of his cause...
Lukas was not confident. He felt no less empty.
They sat together for a few minutes, looking over Celica's empty grave. The whiteness of the gravestones stood out, even in the murky day. The landscape had an odd beauty to it, even amidst the devastation. The capital was dead ahead, beyond miles of plains. To its east were forests, while to the west were fields as far as Lukas could see. To maintain a city took immense manpower, most critically a constant flow of food just to keep the population alive. Somehow, even through the wars and corruption of the gods and land, the capital had endured. That was something, Lukas had to admit. Perhaps the human will wouldn't break so easy.
Alm had sat clutching his knees, but straightened up and turned. His eyes were red and puffy, but he managed a faint smile. "Let's head back. We can bring Gray and Tobin up here, give them some time."
Lukas nodded, when the city caught his attention.
Something, like a dark cloud, began growing in the city, spreading and rising, choking out the whole thing with darkness. Lukas watched it, at first confused, then disturbed, then alarmed. It kept spreading and gaining height, rising up high over the city, billowing out so that it was unmistakable. Alm saw his alarm and whipped around, staring wide-eyed at the city.
Two seconds later, the blast hit them.
KRA-KOMM , it sounded, almost deafening even miles away, and just as the sound left his ears Lukas was struck by a wall of wind, roaring louder than a dragon as it passed over them. The city was fully engulfed in black smoke and dust, both Alm and Lukas jumping to their feet in an instant to get a look.
"No…" Alm muttered. The smoke cloud spread and spread.
"No...no...no, no, no, no!" Alm screamed
Lukas grabbed Alm's branded hand, feeling the heat returning, the dark red light spreading. "Careful, be calm. You have to think-"
"Jedah," Alm hissed, shoving Lukas off with inhuman strength, bolting to the horses.
Notes:
Apologies to those who are big fans of Ezekiel. I've never played Marth's games, so my knowledge of his character is limited to SoV and the general stuff everyone knows about the Camus archetype. I think he's coming across as a bit of a jackass at this point, or at least extremely cynical, which is more due to my need for a character to fill the role than me thinking that's necessarily a 100% pure take of who Zeke is. I think it's at least a reasonable fit, but if you're a big fan of the character you probably know him better than me.
This chapter turned out pretty gay, in hindsight. Was considering renaming it "Patroclus" on the repost here, but I think "A fool's errand" still works; Jedah refers to the attempt to kill Duma in act 5 as one, so I left it.
