Flight
VARGO, LORDSHIP OF VARGO, KINGDOM OF OTHARN, HIGH KINGDOM OF PARMA
"What are your thoughts on allowing Lord Renart to replace his treasonous liege?"
Queen Lorelei was never a beast to beat around the bush, but this was the most sublime way to discuss an open usurpation - even for a beast such as Renart of Maupert.
Everyone knew that King Guillame was trying to break free from Parman control, despite Valnain being subordinate to another kingdom for even longer than Southsward. While he was slightly (with emphasis on the slightness) more capable of diplomacy than King Gideon (who has set nary a step past the gates of Floret), he was no King the Valnainers need.
A series of loose-pawed Parman kings had allowed Valnain to flourish, but King Guillame had to ruin everything by suddenly declaring war on Thordan of Parma, no doubt with the encouragement of Thordan's other enemies, chief of them Lord Canute of Doma.
The Doman otterlord's ability to produce coherent speech suddenly faltered, and he was only able to sputter out a few confused syllables. Despite him being an accomplished scholar and healer, and arguably the most powerful person on the entire blasted planet, he has absolutely no idea how to talk with any female. Renart would have to remedy that someday after he has got his crown. Perhaps a venture or two to a few courtesans would help.
"Er… yes. King Guillame has clearly overstepped his boundaries, but I would rather give the throne to somebeast trustworthy if it were left to me." He wiped a few drops of sweat off his muzzle. "Lord Maurice, if you get some sort of opportunity to obtain the Valnainer crown, what is it that you would do?"
"I would much rather ignore the opportunity, your lordship." Maurice was ever a humble beast, cautious and prudent, but also moved imaginary obstacles into his view. He and Renart were 'like night and day', some said, but Renart would think that 'like fox and otter' would be more suitable for them. After all, he was the only woodlander he could rely on - even though he would not do so on a whim.
The Royal Vicar sighed. "Well, you have a long history of not being trustworthy, Lord Renart."
The fox rose from his seat. "Well, what are you going to do about that? Sic your shadow fox on me? I have already outplayed him twice before, and I would not mind a third." Isangrim was a good spymaster, able to appear everywhere he wanted, but he is just a normal fox with normal abilities. He is basically almost as overrated as sliced bread.
His words extracted no reaction from Maurice, a surprised and innocuous glare from Lord Niels, and a venomous stare from Lady Lorelei. The last one was able to make him sit down again. In his first visit to King Thordan's court, he made the mistake of trying his usual flirting tactics on her like any noble maid. Well, a few bruises later, he began to understand that she was no innocent damsel at all.
"Well, I can guarantee your loyalty, young lord." At the not-so-tender age of six and thirty seasons, Renart may have been the youngest lord in the room, but he had the most experience in plotting and intrigue. Now, he was going to make all his investments worth it all.
"How so?"
"By allowing your wife, the Lady and future Queen Hermeline to spend the duration of the entire campaign as a guest in Vargo."
Now this was an offer I would take. Not having to surrender Percehaie, Malebranche and Rouvel would be expedient, and they would not mind leaving their mother behind for a campaign. But there is always something more to a Parman offer…
As if on cue, it was Lady Lorelei's turn to speak next - though without permission. But who cared? She could beat all three of them bloody, and order the deaths of all of their families, friends and everyone they knew, the destruction of their lordships, and having all trace of them wiped from history with the same tone one might expect to pick a specific kind of tea for lunch.
Besides, Renart needed her.
'We would like a light Parman garrison to be stationed in Maupert as well." The otterqueen said without batting an eye. "We cannot trust you just yet."
A garrison? In Maupert? That is some high-pawed trick. I cannot run from the Parmans if, and only if, I was forced to betray them. But then… there's the crown.
Truth be told, there was like some little voice in his head telling him to accept this offer, to allow this small setback for a gamble for the Valnainer crown. But at what cost? The voice seemed to speak louder and louder moment by moment - to the point where his mind was almost shut out fully and completely.
"No. Not now." Had he not drunk that night, he would have savoured the shocked look on Lorelei's face more. "Thank you for your hospitality, and for what sacrifices you plan to make for me. But I can win my crown for myself and by myself." The voices stopped.
Gesturing to Lord Maurice, the lord stepped out the door, with his personal items packed up for them by attentive Parman servants. They would leave fast. They would have to create their own army, and topple a king who cares not about their subjects, without counting on foreign help.
Had they stayed for a moment longer, they would have heard Lorelei Skyward sigh. Not one of resignation, but one of utmost relief.
RAEVSVAKT, LORDSHIP OF MERAHOLMER, DRAVANIA
"Your brother actually said that?"
Going back to a fully armed castle with a vermin in tow was awkward enough for Alfyn Stalwart, but he just had to reveal some things that should not be heard. Sharing gossip with him was indeed a bad idea.
"Yes, Egil." The otter did not know when he stopped referring to the weasel as simply 'vermin', but Egil did make a fine drinking and cavorting partner. Well, he did help rescue Thordan, so he deserves some reward. "Lorcan did indeed sing praises about his wife's ears. Really!"
"Couldn't he had chosen something else? His wife is one of the most beautiful ottermaids living, and he compliments her ears?"
"Correct." Alfyn could now see why Thordan Swalestrom was friends with the weasel. He was a playful beast, and always remained merry in the face of adversity. Alfyn was all the more amazed when he didn't speak as crudely as the vermin he saw at home - to the credit of his banker father.
"Well, I think we could agree that a lovely maid has more pleasing attributes than ears." Egil joked. "We know that by experience - trial and error, mayhaps?" Both beasts laughed as they passed through the castle gates, only to see another tall otter.
Lorcan Stalwart turned to face them, a solemn countenance etched on his face - one that had its roots in Thordan Swalestrom.
"Lord Sigurd is dead." Lorcan shook his head. "Godred Swalestrom has taken Hildrinn."
Egil swore while Alfyn stopped himself from doing the same. Alfyn has lost a brother-in-law the same moment his friend has lost a brother.
But there was more to come from Lorcan. "Gustav Strandsor wants Thordan in Kaldos. The Kingdom of the Dravanians has risen from the ashes, he said, and is now a realm reborn."
Lorcan had been the better scholar amongst the twins, but Alfyn knew what he considered to be the essential parts of Dravain history. Once a kingdom, the Southards, under their greatest king ever to live, had seen fit to conquer it in its entirety without taking the royal mantle, instead seeing fit to place it from a capable yet obedient scion of the Dravain ruling dynasty, who was very conveniently married to the Skipper of Floret's heiress. Three generations passed, each one having been more focused on Southsward than the last, until two Swalestroms lay dead on the field of battle, and brother fought against brother still.
Egil was the first to speak, as always. "So Lord Gustav's crowning Thordan?"
"It is too early to tell," mused Lorcan while pacing around the castle courtyard. "But this is very likely to be the case. Unless Erlend returns to Dravania."
The Skipper of Arnet shook his head. "I fear I could not accompany him across the Sound to Kaldos. King Garmund ordered me to target Doma in the meantime - we cannot risk anybeast stabbing us in the back -metaphorically or literally."
"Well your king does like meddling with plans, doesn't he?" Egil crossed his paws. "And where is Thordan anyway?"
"Packing." Lorcan shook his head. "He wanted to mourn, but he has to get to Kaldos before either Godred or his father surrounds the city."
His voice suddenly softened, as if a wind of doubt blew in his heart. "Can you protect him? You and the weasel?"
Alfyn found himself compelled to speak. "I will."
Egil followed suit. "I swear that I will never betray Thordan, and ward him from all harm."
"Very well." Alfyn's twin was trying to hold back tears now. "You two, do your duty. Fly towards Kaldos, and stay with him to the end. I can spare half of my troops for your use, brother. Use them well."
As Alfyn watched his brother finally break down in tears, he finally knew what it is to be ready for every single thing.
FLORET, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD
When Galen and him met for the first time after their first departure on the battlefield, Dirk was kindly asked to introduce himself to the leader of Sword himself, saying that the battle-hardened squirrel would have need of promising soldiers - and leaders in particular.
The squirrel's quarters were simply, being comprised of nothing more than a table, a few chairs and a bed between four wooden walls - just like a common soldier's barracks, with the sole distinction of being cleaner by a more-than-slight margin.
Dirk may had never complained about having the boring jobs, but even he had to be surprised when he saw the old squirrel in front of him. General Ralos was no living legend, but Dirk expected something more impressive than a decrepit old thing. But he was anything but feeble - a massive scythe on his wall should serve as a testament to his abilities.
It took little delay before the General himself showed his face. Scar after scar coursed through his face like rivers through the land, with one in particular arising from his right forehead and flowing down to his left chin. A soldier's wounds - wounds that Dirk was no stranger to.
But there was something more about all that. Like the squirrel knew something he did not.
"Ah, Dirk, was it?" Ralos smiled as he reached out his paw, which the otter promptly took. "I had heard about you before. You performed well at Macolt." The grey squirrel seemed to tremble with every step taken, due to him greying with age, instead of having natural grey fur like his Boreller cousins.
He continued, this time speaking even faster. "Forgive me. General Ralos Farin, at your service." Unlike otters, who had their last names easily read, and mice, who had theirs taken almost from random, the last name of a squirrel always corresponds to their birthplace, or, as time went on, that of a male ancestor. The squirrel, seemed to be born in some fortress-town near the Dravain border - a highly obscure place to look for a general.
General Ralos was a tactician of average caliber, and not a particularly good strategist, but he was absolutely unparalleled in the calculations of logistics. As the saying goes, an army fought on its stomach, and Farin knew this as well as any one of his subordinates would.
"Captain Dirk Tillwaters." Dirk had never took a liking to lords, (and Garrion Swalestrom in particular), but this one had the most peasant blood he had ever met. Though a descendent of Southard kings himself, Ralos was but a minor lordling in a wide world - enough for a relatively even conversation.
"So Lord Garrion sent you here." The squirrel never smiled, but a frown was not present either. "Or was that his father?"
"It was Lord Garrion, sir." Of all the beasts that could be counted as his superiors, this was the one who said the least and showed the least emotions. Dirk quickly decided that he liked him.
"And you led a flank at Macolt?"
"Yes." Honestly, it was mostly Galen's planning that led to the false squirrelking being routed, but a few improvisations from Dirk helped as well.
"Southsward needs more good captains like you." Ralos mumbled. "I'm getting older and older by the second, and Southsward needs me more and more."
"It is simply my duty to assist you."
"Very well." It took long enough for the squirrel to smile. "Do you know how to read?"
A few clouded memories of a time long ago crawled into Dirk's head like a snail, in which a mother dragged a son to a quill. "I can read well enough."
"Very well." Ralos sat down, and Dirk followed suit after a gesture from the squirrel. "We need to study what little knowledge our ancestors were able to pass down to us - especially about the sieges. They may not be glamorous, but sieges are how wars are won."
"Correct. A third voice made its way into the room, with a mole gliding in. Unlike the dirty uniform worn by Dirk or the cleaner one worn by his superior, the mole was clearly not prepared for combat of any sort, with his squeaky-clean long white robes.
"Dirk, was it? Dagbert, Castle Archivist of Floret. It is a pleasure to meet you."
The two shook paws.
BLESWYN, CROWNLANDS, KINGDOM OF SOUTHSWARD
"So you are going to hunt after a single captain who has no connection to any important figure, has authority over one beast, and can talk his way out of almost everything?"
Altayras Burelas had few moments in which he was not as hardened as the steel he carried, but with his eyes the size of oranges, staring at his crimson-clad brother in front of him (red hat included), this had to be one of them.
"He escaped abruptly, with some information he might have brought with him! We cannot allow him to run free!" Denebas fumed as he paced around the room the brothers were in. Of the Borellers, Altayras was usually the strong and silent one, while Denebas was less strong, though just as silent. However, Captain Bodvar Waycaster's escape seemed to shake Denebas more than his older sibling - mainly because the otter captain was his responsibility.
Borellers placed too much emphasis on honour, even for Trielians. The escape was a life-changing experience for Bodvar, but a normal warleader would just write this incident off as a mere footnote. But not Denebas.
The two brothers remained silent, both hesitant to speak the first word. Until Denebas broke the silence, of course.
"King Garmund has already given his permission. He would not like me to take too many beasts with him, so I will take about six"
Altayras sighed. "This is probably one of the few cases in which your mind cannot be changed, I take it?" Seeing his brother nod, the elder squirrel sighed.
"I ask one thing of you only, brother." The squirrel clad in jet-black armour stepped forward. "Do not throw away your life when there is no need to. Understand?"
"I understand, brother. I swear, with you as my liege, that I would never risk my life without permission, or attempt anything foolish that ends in my death."
"Thank you, Denebas. May your heart and mind guide you forth on your journey, and may your fortunes fly high."
No squirrel needed to hold in their tears - there were none shed, and none held.
BRISCA, FREE CITY OF BRISCA, VALERAN LEAGUE OF INDEPENDENT CITIES
Guido Aldabreschi had a plan. Guido of Brisca always had a plan.
The Ilsabarn mouse watched impassively as his guests took their seats. The Voleking of Valnain took the one closest to him. He carried himself proudly - too proudly perhaps. The vole in front of him took pride in everything, and observers reported that he was arrogant and overbearing. It took something to goad Renart of Maupert, a noted coward, into open revolt.
His royal (or rather, loyal, considering the ones who went rogue) vassals were back at home, attempting to ensure that everything worked while the king was away, conveniently ingnoring the fact that things actually worked better without him.
The other visitor never even once captured his attention. The otter was not as strong has his father had been, but strength had led Aldernan nowhere. His father being a guiless skeleton did not help matters. Raimon of Aldernan may have been the ninth of his name to reign over his Southwestern plains of the Parman Realm, but his power has been undercut from the beginning by his overlords. To be honest, Guido was not expecting any other nation to act so aggresively.
The leader of Aldernan bore the title of Captal, which Guido guessed was something similar to 'head', but more Aldernese. Valnainese, Aldernese, Garlean may have shared many similarities with Guido's native Ilsabarnese, being all descended from Oldspeak, but they have drifted away from each other centuries before.
"We are here to discuss our attempt to achieve independence from the High Kingdom of Parma." Guido of Brisca was never an eloquent beast, so he decided to introduce his points all too directly.
"And how might we do so?" The Captal's paws formed a steeple as he spoke. "Parma is ready." Pointing at Guido, he continued. "The last time all of our nations were in an Anti-Parman Alliance, yours was the only one to come out unscathed."
Quite surprisingly, King Guillame nodded in agreement. Nobles were all the same - an engima to the Free Cities, but not to Guido. "King Thordan's mercy saved us at the last moment, but merciful is a word no one would ever use to describe his daughter. If anyone related to her takes the throne, we are all doomed. We cannot postpone the election for long."
Guido nodded and smiled. Corrado Truetide was a noted battle commander, and has control over the Jayso Isles through his son. Erlend Swalestrom was a beast too focused on Trielian and Southard matters - he may have nearly been elected, but the chances of him actually accepting would be slim. Thordan Swalestrom may have been weak of will and has the capacity of starting some sort of negotiations, but this is unlikely, to say the least, with his mother whispering in his ear.
"And this is why I have a proposal to make, even after actions were done to make this proposal a reality. I apologise to you for sending the invitation before informing you two, but what are your thoughts about offering Godred Swalestrom the crown of Ilsabarn?"
A/N: Yet another chapter with 5 PoVs! I have a feeling this will soon become the norm… and Grey will be happier still! Hooray!
Now, on to review responses…
Sebias: What can a seer do if they want something hard enough? What can't a seer do if they want something hard enough? The Dravanians getting riled up made me grin like a madman while writing. And yes, I would not want to be a failed guard either. At least they ended up better than Thordan's jailers... I had to split the political intrigue segment from last chapter into two due to length concerns. Besides, who doesn't like a vermin point of view?
Grey: Like a well-stirred gravy indeed! About Dagbert, what better way is there to introduce a character than playing the audience and their perceptions? Dagbert and Isangrim fighting does seem like a good idea... Thordan won't die offscreen just yet, mind you. Though I like to give you little surprises now and then... The honeycomb part was interesting... I can imagine everyone's second favourite weasel saying that. Oh, and you must have confused Otharn and Valnain at the end of your review.
I picked this chapter title because all five PoV characters are going on their little journeys, flying towards their goals.
There is something in the last few paragraphs of the Renart segment I want you to pay a bit of attention to - especially if you had read Take Your Place. I can't exactly tell you now, but things will be clearer soon…
Chapter 21 (Intertwined) will be up on 28/29 August!