The Last Red Shoulder

Chapter 2: The New Wyvern General

15th Pegasus, 703

Personal Notebook of Zedal Gustav

DAMNATION what a boring ceremony. Did Vyrleena have to wait through all that ridiculous pomp and ceremony when she got this job? If she really died at Aquleia I suppose she doesn't have anything to worry about, now. In any case, what happened afterwards was really the important thing. I'd best record the orders I received…

Zedal Gustav had any number of reasons to be full of himself, but he didn't let his new position get to his head. He knew that it was only the failure of his predecessor, Lady Vyrleena, which allowed him to take the title of Wyvern General, and he was also quite aware that if he failed as she had, he would lose everything—including his life—as well.

Of course, that ridiculous ceremony which had wasted literally all day did little to ground him. Pointlessly lining up an entire brigade of Wyvern Knights and their mounts, a foppish herald standing before King Arbain to read off a list of accomplishments everyone already knew, the King himself giving a perfunctory speech even he didn't much care about, followed by a "feast" in which Gustav had to pretend not to be bored by a seemingly endless succession of nobles sucking up to him…definitely not his idea of time well spent.

Thankfully, though, it had ended. And now, marching up to the royal council chamber where he knew his King would be waiting, Zedal could actually do something useful.

As was common for Bernese architecture, neither the door nor the stairway leading up to it was particularly ostentatious; simple stone and wood all the way. It quite suited Zedal's sensitivities, for his sturdy, six-foot frame was clad in the ceremonial riding armor he had not yet taken off. That armor, despite its name, was far more functional than decorative; only the gilding on its pauldrons indicated it did not ordinarily see battle. He wore neither helmet nor crown, and thus brushed a few stray locks of his shoulder-length purple hair away from his face before entering the room.

Seated at the large wooden table in front of him were three men—other than him, the most powerful in Bern. First was King Arbain himself. He was middle-aged, but looked and was quite strong; his purple eyes rested under short pale blond hair and over a goatee of the same color, neither of which had begun to grey. Next to him were seated the other Wyvern Generals. A man in Sage's vestment sat to the King's left. Lord Olaf Landskrom pursed his lips in a way which made him seem amused at his new colleague as he twisted a lock of his long teal hair in his fingers. To Arbain's right sat Wyvern General Gilbert Kynes, his silver eyes, hair, and beard making him look much older than he actually was. He regarded Zedal's entry with the same bored, impassive expression he seemed to give to everything.

Arbain, however, was more than pleased to see his new man. "Sit down, Gustav," he motioned to the chair at the far side of the table, "there's no time for pleasantries. We've much to discuss."

"Yes, my lord." Zedal obediently did as his liege commanded. "I did not expect this promotion, but I shall do my best to live up to the gift I've been given. I have already been briefed on what happened to Vyrleena and the…weapon she was supposed to have brought to the siege of Aquleia. It didn't arrive, the Rebels failed, and she died in battle, apparently.

"If she'd met with success, perhaps our greatest rival on the continent would have collapsed, leaving Bern as the sole power on Elibe. Alas, it didn't happen, and it seems the Rebels will almost certainly lose now that their blitzkrieg has failed—they simply don't have the money to continue with the war. So what would you have us do in response, my king? Stand by and wait, and watch as Etruria crushes the rebels and restores the world to the order it has known since the Scouring?"

"Not quite," replied Olaf. "There may yet be a chance for Bern to achieve dominion over the land, even if Etruria remains standing. You know of how long we've eyed the Western Isles, yes?"

"Of course. Barely a man in Bern doesn't know of someone who was sent to the West. Unfortunately, it takes our ships nearly six months to reach them while the Etrurians can sail there in less than six weeks. It's a disgrace to see their fool king waving his islands in our faces, but it seems an indignity we'll have to bear."

"Not necessarily. With the war wreaking havoc across the mainland, Etruria has had no time to tend to its settlements on the Western Isles, and the Rebels have cut them off from Royalist reinforcements. The people themselves are rising up against the Etrurians, who will not be able to last forever. The Rebels' defeat is perhaps inevitable, but it will certainly take Galahad more than six months to crush all resistance…"

"So you're saying we can seize control of the islands in that time." Zedal finished his thoughts for him.

"Indeed," rumbled Gilbert. "Vyrleena was aware her strategem would not likely meet with success, and that rebels would probably fail as well. Therefore, Olaf and I have been crafting a backup plan. Even in its weakened state, we cannot attack Etruria directly—the Eliminean church would not allow it. Besides, it's not as if the Rebels are our allies. We're using them purely out of expedience; we know very well that the anti-monarchists would just as soon string us up as their King. But conquering the Isles while Etruria cannot contest them would give us a significant amount of leverage over them. The resources those islands are reputed to contain would be enough to nearly double our revenues, which would likely be enough to bribe Lycia out of its irksome neutrality between us and Etruria and win them entirely to our side. It may take a long time, but with the Western Isles as a support, we will be able to grind Etruria underneath us eventually."

"And I will be tasked with the subjugation of those isles."

"I give you one hundred ships and ten thousand men," said Arbain. "They are called the Goldwyrm Army. The fleet is already being massed on our western coast. You will use them to subjugate the island of Caledonia, bring its people to alliance with Bern by guile or force, and use the island as a stepping stone for the conquest of Fibernia."

Zedal said nothing for a moment, letting it sink in. Then he nodded. "I accept this quest, my liege. But as the newest Wyvern General, may I be permitted to ask something of you?"

"You may."

"Why did you choose me for this task?"

Arbain, along with the other two Generals, chuckled. "I've reviewed your combat records, Gustav," said the King. "Your skill with the lance and your talents on wyvernback are second only to Vyrleena's. More than that, you are absolutely incorruptible. For some time, my servant, Gilbert and Olaf have kept spies around you for every hour of every day. You could not so much as take a meal without being watched, and every interaction you've had with another human being was recorded.

"In all the time we have watched you, we have noted not a single dishonest word, nor a single treacherous deed. There may be other members of our military with more experience as commanders, or more skill with politics, but if we are to entrust anyone with such a large force on an errand so far from his Fatherland, we must make absolutely certain he will not betray us, and take the Isles for himself rather than Bern. We are that certain of you."

Gustav said nothing—to call the king's words a compliment would be a gross understatement, and he was quite frankly awed into silence.

"You understand the gravity of what we ask of you?"

Another moment of silence. Then he answered.

"I do, my liege. And I swear I shall not fail you."

Arbain smiled, and the other two Generals nodded. "Then take to your quarters and rest. On the morrow you and your escort will fly out to the western coast. It will take a few days of hard riding on wyvernback, and you will need all your strength for what lies ahead."

"As you command."

Zedal stood up, bowed, and turned, leaving his lord and his colleagues behind him as he exited the council chamber, stepped down the stairs, and made his way to his own quarters. There was not the slightest hesitation in his steps as he moved.

But for all his courage, despite the steadfast loyalty his king had rightfully praised, there was more than a few unvoiced doubts floating inside his head.

The Western Isles were not a happy place now. They had never been a happy place. Since the time of Durbans, and likely even before, the Isles had known nothing but endless strife. Its inhabitants had fought off every foreign army which had tried to invade, and when those had fled, had gone back to fighting each other. There was an old saying—almost like a folk tale- known all across Elibe which described it quite well:

The Phoenix rests upon Mount Helius in the Western Isles, and there's no place in the world more fitting a home for the bird than that. The Phoenix flies across Elibe high in the skies for one hundred years, then returns to its nest on Helius to die. It burns itself out with a mighty scream, but from its ashes rises a tiny chick, who will grow to become another Phoenix in one hundred years, when it will die…and be reborn again. True or not, it's a good symbol for the Isles. Death is the only thing its people know—they die fighting invaders, or they die fighting each other, and this endless bloodshed does nothing but sharpen them, culling the weak and allowing the strong to prosper. Just as the Phoenix births itself from the ashes of its forebear, the people of the Isles rise from the corpses of their parents, forever tougher and crueler than the generation that preceded them.

The words of that story, told to him by an old soothsayer he'd met on his way to the capital, stayed with Zedal as he opened the door to his room, sat at his desk, and began to record his orders in his personal journal. He was not at all discouraged or dissuaded; whatever lay in wait for him in the Isles would never convince him to abandon his duty.

But the soothsayer's warnings would not leave his mind, and no matter how much he tried to banish it, he could not help but wonder if the Goldwyrm Army would end up as the next sea of corpses to nourish the children of the Western Isles.

::Linear Notes::

This chapter takes place about a week after the big battle for Aquleia in Wayward Son, chapter 25. The Phoenix makes a cameo in the future chapter of WS ;)