"Let nobody think Stalin might reconquer Germany from the Urals! It is as if I were installed in Slovakia, and could set out from there to reconquer the Reich!"
Adolf Hitler
…
…
"It's over! Long live Tristania!"
Guiche de Gramont heard the shouts and chants of praises throughout the camp. He had seen it, as well as everyone else in the army. The Gallian air fleet had appeared over the skies of Albion and at first his comrades in the Guard as well as the rest of the army became upon apprehensive at the sight of so many ships. Even as soldiers rushed to prepare their weapons should the worst arrived, men whispered to one another in panic and concern about how they could survive an attack from both Gallia and Albion.
But the Gallian ships had surprised everyone. Instead of allying with Albion, they had bombarded and attacked the Albion forces. As he continued to walk, Guiche could hear the din of battle from the location of the enemy camp. No matter the result, everyone knew at that moment that the war was over. Even if Gallia lost, Albion would be too weak to defeat their army, and Tristanian could just march in and mop up the remaining forces and crush Cromwell. Gallia was the deciding force; Albion could no more than stand against Tristain and Gallia than Tristain could stand against Gallia and Albion.
Discipline had consequently broken down in the Tristanian army due to the celebrations. Men, regardless of their social status or origin, hugged one another and cheered for victory, for their homes, and even to their captain. Even if Napoleon hadn't actually led them to victory, he had kept them alive. He had saved many lives that night in Saxe-Gotha through his organized retreat and had averted total disaster. Now all of the soldiers could return home to a peaceful land while hailed as victorious warriors. Besides, their leader remained popular among the troops. He connected to them in a way that none of their commanders had even done before and was popular. The Tristanian soldiers weren't willing to follow him to the ends of the earth or break the rules of reality to fight with him now, but he remained well-liked. And so the celebration and cheers of the victorious army continued.
But for Guiche there was nothing to celebrate. Nothing at all.
So as his comrades celebrated, he slipped away from the Tristanian camp and began to walk…somewhere. Guiche possessed no plan to go somewhere in particular. He just put one foot in front of the other and stared doggedly at the landscape in front of him. It had been the first time he had noticed how beautiful it was. The terrain consisted of rolling, lush hills and beautiful grass that appeared as if it was a scene from a painting and not a battlefield. Guiche remembered reading about a Germanian thinker who had proclaimed that one should contemplate art as a way to escape from the sufferings of this world. Perhaps he could calm himself and avoid those thoughts by observing nature.
"Huh?"
He had walked a fair distance away from the encampment, but Guiche saw a pair of figures talking to one another at the top of a hill. Both of them had their backs to him, but Guiche recognized one of them instantly. No one ever mentioned it in front of Napoleon, but everyone made fun of him behind his back for that hat he wore seemingly at all times. Guiche had no idea where he found that monstrosity, nor did he desire to know. Yet while he could identify Napoleon from two hundred yards because of that thing, Guiche didn't know who the other person was. He also wore a black hat, though it was circular and slouched over his head. A white travelling cloak covered his shirt and also prevented Guiche from seeing any uniform and identification.
Guiche decided to approach the pair. The two continued to stand there talking as he got closer, though he couldn't hear anything they said. But when he was about thirty feet away, the other man bowed towards Napoleon and mounted the nearby horse. He passed Guiche as he rode off, and the boy noticed that an emblem of crossed wands rested on the front of his shirt. That was…
Realizing who that figure likely had been, Guiche dashed up the rest of the way to Napoleon. The commander's back was towards Guiche. After the messenger departed, he had pulled a small military telescope from under his coat and was looking towards the battlefield. This particular hill was a bit taller than the others nearby and thus made for a strong vantage point, Guiche realized. He could actually see the battle between the Albion and Gallian forces to some degree. Yet while he wondered about how Napoleon had discovered such a useful location, he also thought about the first man, the person who had worn the symbol of Gallia.
"That man was from Gallia, sir?"
"Yes," Napoleon responded while still holding the telescope. "A messenger. King Joseph Gaul desires to talk with me. I'll be heading to his flagship the Bucentaure shortly."
"Alone?"
Napoleon shrugged.
"He said I could bring bodyguards, but there's no point. Gallia is strong, and they brought a lot of soldiers. They're destroying the Albion forces with little effort. They could destroy us with only a little more. There's no reason to bring a bodyguard when they could kill me anyways."
Guiche didn't respond. While he didn't like the idea of his superior officer going alone, an instinct within him said that it was probably better not to object. Instead, the two continued to look out on the battlefield. But out here on that hill, Guiche realized that was the wrong word. The Albion forces were running pell-mell from the battlefield. Only the Tristanian forces whom had been possessed continued to fight, but they were outnumbered and outgunned. They were slaughtered en masse with magic spells and gunfire.
"This is a slaughter, a massacre. This isn't war." Guiche breathed.
Napoleon nodded. He closed the telescope and finally turned towards Guiche. The young boy saw how tense he looked.
"It's absolutely disgusting," Napoleon observed. "I had hoped to save our men who had been possessed by Albion's foul magic. But it looks like I won't get the chance given Gallia's ferocity."
"What? But that's not right. Sir, you need to stop them!"
"I had the messenger ask King Joseph to stop fighting before we talk, but I doubt that will actually occur. He has no reason to stop."
He grumbled a little bit , and then turned towards Guiche. The young boy instantly turned his eyes away, but Napoleon continued to look at him for a few seconds more.
"You're upset that I selected your older brother to be one of my lieutenants, aren't you?"
Guiche jumped at those words. He had heard about it, about how Napoleon seemed to be able to understand people by looking at it. But to see and experience it first-hand was different.
"H-how, that's not true!"
The words came out with a little more force than he expected. But Guiche couldn't help but avoid the fact that he had left the encampment because of the smoldering resentment in his heart. He had of course, performed his duty as a soldier and noble of Tristain. But that was only the duty of a Gramont. He had performed no deeds of glory and had earned no treasures or tales of victories. Over the course of this war, a war where Tristain had fought for its very survival, he had done absolutely nothing. He had trained with the Guard and had made some friends. Martin had particularly warmed up to Guiche after their battle. But while he had marched from the Academy to Rosais to Albion, he had never fought in a battle. And now his oldest brother, the person he had been chasing his whole life, had been made one of the main lieutenants of the Tristain Army. It was intolerable.
Guiche lapsed into silence out of embarrassment. As Napoleon took notice, he sighed and scratched his chin.
"There's no need to be so impatient, Guiche. You are young. There will be more wars, and you can obtain your honor and glory there."
"What-!"
Those outrageous words made Guiche lose his composure. He threw his arms about wildly.
"Tristain hasn't been in a war for about three hundred years before this, Captain Bonaparte! There won't be another one in my lifetime! This was my one shot at honor and glory, my one chance to show that I'm the equal to my brothers! Now it's gone, and Robert will go home as a lieutenant, noticed and loved by everyone in my family while I'll return to being a laughingstock!"
"You're wrong. Guiche de Gramont, things are beginning to change in this land. Forever. There will be more wars, more times when you can finally enter the battlefield. This little conflict with Albion will not be the greatest moment of your life."
Napoleon stepped off the hill and began to walk away from it and towards Guiche. He stopped in front of the boy, and then clapped his hands on Guiche's shoulders.
"You will have your moments. I chose to work with Louise because I believed her to be special. I believe the same with you. If you continue to wait for your chance with absolute certainty, Guiche, I promise you it will come. It will then up to you to seize it."
Guiche hesitated as he pondered what to say to those strong words. But then Napoleon interjected again.
"In fact, I believe I have a perfect opportunity for you. Your familiar is a mole, correct?"
…
Twenty minutes later, Napoleon arrived at a hill near the Gallian ships on horseback. The messenger had not actually told him the location of the Bucentaure. Instead, Napoleon had received a letter of identification and had been asked to wait here for a courtier who would take him to the flagship of the Gallian fleet.
The courtier arrived fifteen minutes later. It was not the same person, but he wore the same uniform and hat like the previous messenger. The courtier rode up to Napoleon and stopped, though he did not dismount.
"Greetings, Captain Napoleon Bonaparte. I am a servant of the great King Joseph Gaul. I have been instructed to show you the fullest extent of our hospitality."
"Of course," Napoleon said. "I assume you are here to escort me to the Bucentaure?"
The courtier shook his head.
"In due time. But my Majesty wishes to expound upon the greatness of our history and our culture first. He has instructed me to give you a short tour of our ships."
Napoleon inwardly groaned. He hated this about monarchs. How they always, always had to do the pompous stuff before they received anyone. But he had no choice.
"Very well. Lead the way."
The courtier nodded and rode towards the fleet. Napoleon followed him, but the courtier stopped shortly afterwards in front of the nearest ship. He pointed at it.
"This is the Rouen, one of the prides of our navy. It was constructed in…"
It took only a short amount of time for Napoleon to remember that "short" is a vague, meaningless term. King Joseph Gaul had apparently instructed the courtier to give a detailed history on every single ship that had flown to Gallia. The courtier mentioned how many guns each ship had, when it was constructed, and all sorts of details about the ship, no matter how large or small it was. And Gallia had sent over a hundred ships to Albion.
Two hours later, the courtier and Napoleon at last arrived at the final ship, the Bucentaure. Both of them wore serene expressions, but Napoleon was irritated to say the least. The headache which he had endured ever since Louise's departure had not helped during this pointless riding.
"Please, Captain Napoleon." The courtier said.
The flagship was not capable of landing on the terrain of landing on normal ground, but as Napoleon approached the ship and identified himself, a rope ladder was flung down. Napoleon dismounted from his horse and walked towards the ladder.
"Thank you for listening so kindly, Captain Napoleon. I hope you have a productive chat with His Majesty."
As the courtier gave his farewells, Napoleon idly wondered whether he could just draw his sword and impale the man. But instead, he climbed up the ladder and finally threw himself onto the deck. Sailors and workers milled about on the ship, but Napoleon saw that two people stood in front of him. The first figure, a large, imposing blue-haired man wearing a mantle, bent down and helped him up while the second person, a dark-haired woman, stood back and watched.
"How do you do, how do you do?" the man asked. "I am King Joseph Gaul. You're Captain Napoleon Bonaparte, the leader of this great Tristanian army, right?"
He had been the first person in this land to pronounce his name incorrectly, Napoleon observed. For some reason, Joseph gave a special emphasis to the "na" syllable in his last name. For now, Napoleon ignored it and nodded.
"Ah, that's good, that's good!" Joseph happily cried. "It's a pleasure meeting you! Not that I exactly know what we're going to talk about. But Sheffield here decided that it was good to meet with the commander of the Albion forces, especially in light of Your Majesty's death."
The words tumbled out of Joseph's mouth as he pushed the dark woman forward to introduce her, but then in an instant he covered his mouth with his hand. But it was too late. Napoleon had focused on dusting himself off while Joseph prattled, but he sharply looked up upon hearing the words of the Gallian king.
"Did Albion kill Henrietta?"
The woman frowned at Napoleon's statement but Joseph seemed to give it no mind. Instead, he walked forward and wrapped Napoleon up in a giant hug. The Emperor gave an initial struggle in response, though it was no use. Joseph was a huge man, at least a foot taller than Napoleon and clearly far stronger, and Napoleon was a bit weary after the long tour.
"I'm sorry, Bonaparte! I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have said it right here. Perhaps this isn't a good time to talk and you need time to mourn?"
"No," Napoleon responded without hesitating. "This is the best time to talk for me."
"Well", said Joseph as he disengaged himself. "That is splendid! Or, not so splendid given the circumstances. Perhaps "good" would be a better word? No, that doesn't really work…"
The Gallian King then abruptly ignored Napoleon and began to talk to himself about which adjective suited the atmosphere the best. The sailors who watched their king gave snorts of laughter. Napoleon in the meantime glanced at Sheffield. The woman shrugged her shoulder and began to tap Joseph on the back.
But then for some reason, the ever-present headache which had assailed Napoleon since Louise's departure sharpened in intensity. He was forced to take a step back from the pain, even as Sheffield had managed to snap Joseph out of his reverie by suggesting "melancholy."
"Oh, oh, yes, that is a good word! Hey, Bonaparte, are you all right?"
The pain seemingly only lasted a second before it subsided. Napoleon managed to right himself up quickly enough to avoid great suspicion. Now was not the time to deal with it.
"I'm fine. Is there a place where you would like to talk?"
"Yes, this ship contains a cabin just for me. Splendid, isn't it! I'm glad you brought no bodyguards. That's always the best way to form trust between people! But I'll have to bring Sheffield along, because she'll help me with all the little things. So, shall we go?"
Napoleon looked around first. He glanced at the sails, and then at the sailors, and then at Sheffield. Finally, his gaze lingered on Joseph's face for a bit longer, and then he nodded.
The three of them thus descended into the ship towards his cabin. It was a long walk, partly because of the size of the Bucentaure, partly because King Joseph kept getting lost in his own ship. After six dead ends, many sighs, and even more suggestions from Sheffield, they finally arrived.
"It's a bit crowded, Bonaparte, but it'll do just fine. Allow me to let you in!"
Joseph opened the door and the three walked in. Napoleon wrinkled his nose in irritation. Joseph's cabin was a crowded, disorganized room filled with junk. Numerous chess sets lay about the room, and a board located on what appeared to be Joseph's desk had a game in progress. However, the board was oddly arranged. The chess pieces were not facing the back and front of the desk, but rather the sides, as if the person sitting behind the desk had been playing with himself.
A table rested by the door with two chairs on opposite sides. Napoleon and Joseph sat down while Sheffield leaned against the wall. A decanter filled with red liquid and a pair of glasses also lay on the table, and Joseph eagerly picked up it up and poured the drink into both glasses
"Some of the best wine in Gallia. You should visit our fair country someday, Bonaparte. There will be plenty of time for sightseeing and travelling with the war over."
He pushed one glass over to Napoleon while he drained the other one. Napoleon looked at the liquid, but he did not pick up the glass, which caused Joseph to laugh loudly.
"Oh, come on, Bonaparte, it's not poison! We're all friends here! Now, why don't we have a chat and-"
"Before we begin anything, I have a request. I didn't feel like mentioning it in front of your sailors."
Joseph nodded and stroked his beard.
"Of course, of course, Bonaparte! We should try to make you comfortable before we have a pleasant talk! What is it?"
Napoleon tossed his head in Sheffield's direction.
"Tell her to leave. Now."
Sheffield stiffened a bit at those words, but the Gallian King gave a chuckle and raised his arms helplessly.
"I do want to make you comfortable, Bonaparte, but that's not fair. I can't do that. I don't even know what we would talk about if Sheffield wasn't around. She's the one who knows all the official stuff better than I do and-"
"Oh, stop it."
For the first time since he had met Joseph, irritation crept into Napoleon's voice. He leaned back into his chair and picked up the glass.
"You may be able to fool your courtiers like that, King Joseph Gaul. You may be able to fool those sailors up on the deck. But don't think you can act like the buffoon in front of me and I'll buy it. If you continue to do so, then I'm going to leave, because I will not be some puppet you can mess around with by acting like a buffoon and giving me a pointless tour of your fleet. Quit playing around already."
Having finished his statement, Napoleon drained his glass. Joseph said nothing. He looked away from Napoleon and seemed to stare down at the ground. But then the Emperor heard a small chuckle from Sheffield.
"Those are some nice tattoos you have on your left hand, Bonaparte."
Napoleon looked down at his hand, where the Gandalfr runes remained.
"You're familiar with them?"
Sheffield leered at Napoleon, and then moved one hand to her forehead. It was covered by thick, dark hair which she brushed aside to reveal a set of runes. They were inscribed into her forehead like the runes on Napoleon's left hand, and he could see that while they looked similar, the runes were not exactly the same.
"My master told you that my name was Sheffield, but I'll introduce myself properly for you. I am Myozunitonirun, the Mind of God, a Void familiar to King Joseph Gaul and the greatest and most powerful of them all. To meet another Void familiar, namely Gandalfr, the Left Hand of God? That is a great honor."
She continued to leer at Napoleon. But then her smile dropped upon watching his reaction. Napoleon simply stared blankly at her for several seconds. Then he slowly began to smile. The smile turned into a snort, and then the snort gave away to complete laughter. He continued to lose his restraint by the second and eventually doubled over as the room filled with the base, hysterical sound of unrestrained laughing.
"Hey, King Joseph Gaul." Napoleon gasped out. "Your servant may be important to running your court, but I didn't think we needed a court jester for something this important!"
"What?"
Sheffield shrieked in fury. The runes on the forehead began to glow as she faced Napoleon.
"Do you doubt my power, Gandalfr? Compared to you, I am the superior familiar! Do you wish to continue to mock me and face my wrath?"
"Oh, sure," Napoleon replied. "Go ahead. Show me how much strength you possess and how great those scratches on your head are, servant."
He slowly emphasized the final word. Something about the way he said it made Sheffield stop, though her runes continued to glow.
"Yes, I am a servant. So are you! Our past incarnations were servants of Brimir himself. That is true power! Do you not recognize the great power that you possess, Gandalfr?
Napoleon's only response was to redouble his laughter. It became so loud and intense that for a second he fell out of his chair, though he caught and righted himself. His voice still broke with bouts of laughter.
"Power? This?" Napoleon said as he held up his left hand. "This isn't power, Myo-however you call it. Power is authority, to rule, and to control. Using a sword well isn't power, commanding the person who uses that sword is. And I accomplished that without Gandalfr. I am more than Captain Bonaparte. Before my partner summoned me, I was the Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte and the supreme ruler of a country far greater than any on Helgekinia. I fought armies which outnumbered me five to one and survived; I conquered all the relevant parts of the world! And I'm supposed to be intimidated by some woman, a servant, who is content to serve others despite the fact that she proclaims herself to be powerful? I have never heard of a better joke!"
"What a ridiculous statement!" spat Sheffield. "I am a servant, a proud one to my great Master. You're just disappointed because you know that your master is weak, and that's how you justify it."
"My partner is skilled and capable. But that person does not possess my capabilities nor does he necessarily share my desires. If he requests something from me, then perhaps I will do it. But we work together for our own interests, nothing more!"
Napoleon continued to laugh some more as he now rested his head on the table out of amusement. Eventually, he calmed down as the laughter turned into small chuckles. Sheffield opened her mouth several times as if she wanted to say something, but she never did. Instead, she brushed her hair back to where it was and contemptuously stared at Napoleon. But then a deep gruff, voice spoke up.
"You meant 'if she requests something from me', did you not?"
It did not need to be said from where that statement came from, as Napoleon looked at King Joseph Gaul. But instead of the happy grin, Joseph wore a arrogant smile as he poured himself another glass of wine. The fanciful, whimsical king who spent his time fiddling over silly words had disappeared and the true, unhidden personality of the King of Gallia had emerged.
"You may be no one's servant, Napoleon Bonaparte, but it's touching to see you attempt to protect your master's identity through such a manner. But it accomplished nothing, as I already know the identity of your master. I knew that Louise Francoise le Blanc de la Valliere was a Void mage the minute she destroyed the village of Tarbes. I didn't know that she had summoned a familiar, much less Gandalfr. Still, it is truly interesting to see the Gandalfr familiar, the Shield of God, in command of the Tristanian forces in Albion."
"It was an accidental slip of the tongue." Napoleon coolly responded. "And thank you, King Joseph. I'm glad to see that you knew how to pronounce my name correctly after all."
Joseph chuckled in response, before turning to Sheffield.
"I no longer have a reason for you to be here. Leave us."
"B-but Master, this man is dangerous. He is the Gandalfr familiar. He could kill you before I could intervene to protect you. Then what would I do?"
"He won't do that," Joseph responded. "This is not a conversation between a commanding officer and me; this is a discussion between kings. He is a king, any member of royalty can tell that from his demeanor."
After hesitating, Sheffield nodded. She quickly bent down on one knee before Joseph before she stood up and laugh, though she threw a final dirty glance at Napoleon. As the door closed Joseph turned to him.
"I did tell Sheffield that you won't kill me because we are kings, but given what you said to her, I must say that I think I know what really happened on that night in Saxe-Gotha."
Napoleon gave a thin smile as he leaned back into his chair.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. And even if I did, you don't have any proof. There is none. But yes, you're right. I have no reason to kill you."
"Very well." Joseph said. "And you're right about the fact that I have no proof. I don't think there ever will be anyone other than myself who will be capable of figuring out what you did – I wouldn't be able to were it not for some letters I received from Cromwell which explained the situation from his perspective. I had already destroyed them to hide the fact of our cooperation from spies, and even then I don't know the details. Perhaps I could have saved them to blackmail you, but what's done is done."
He smiled again and drained his cup before he continued.
"At any rate, I didn't ask you here to talk about that, or even Gandalfr and Myozunitonirun – Sheffield just broke in like that, probably to intimidate you. There is something much more important that I'm interested in, which is the future of Helgekinia."
"I'm guessing then that you came here to make the commander of the Albion army a proposition."
Joseph shrugged in response.
"I attacked Albion because I hadn't anticipated Cromwell doing as well as he did and that had the potential to become a real problem. But things have changed, especially since the commander is quite a different person and played a different role in the war than I had known or expected. This is especially so because while Princess Henrietta is dead, the Prince of Wales was only captured by Albion and is still alive. Both Tristain and Albion are going to undergo a lot of change in this timeframe, and even if you were not Gandalfr, as the temporary commander of this army, you will be an important person in your country. I intend to manage this change in a… beneficial direction.
"So," Napoleon said, "What are you proposing?"
Joseph smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.
"I'll have my forces leave Albion. I'll declare that I intervened purely because you managed to convince me through letters of the necessity of your cause. I'll even forge evidence to do so. And Tristain can do what you like with the country.
In return, Albion possesses two magical artifacts of great value which belong to their Royal Family. One is the Founder's Music Box. The other is the Water Ruby. In return for my help, I want both of them."
Napoleon pondered his words.
"What are those magical artifacts and why do you want them?"
Joseph shrugged.
"I have my reasons, and I don't feel like discussing them with you."
Napoleon inwardly grumbled. He cursed himself for not knowing what they did.
"If Wales is still alive, why are you talking to me and not to him?"
"Asking you to do it kills two birds with one stone. If I asked and persuaded Wales, I'd resolve my interests with Albion, but not Tristain. Besides, I have to keep up my reputation as the Incompetent King which I couldn't do if I pried those from Wales. "
Joseph leaned forward and poured himself yet another glass. He held it aloft as he examined Napoleon.
"I can negotiate with you about what aid I can give you, but I want those two things. That isn't negotiable. So, what do you intend to do, Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte?"
…
"Help me, Father! Help me!"
On a raised platform in the middle of a village, a boy screamed and pleaded. His terrified cries drowned out the sound of a nearby priest who read from a book. But there was nothing he could do. His arms were tied behind him, and his head was fastened in a sort of wooden stock which locked around his neck. All he could do was to helplessly flail his body about and beg for his life.
For the boy was the son of the Count of Noyon. Three weeks ago, he had imbibed several bottles of his father's finest whiskey and thus set out on a drunken rampage in Valliere territory. Now, in the same village which had borne the brunt of his destruction, a burly man who wore a black hood stood behind him, his giant axe gleaming in the morning sun.
"Shut up, you stinking murderer! Burn in hell with your magic!"
A tomato flew through the air and impacted Noyon's son in the face. He coughed and spluttered only to be outdone by the sound of jeers and laughter. The villagers had thronged about in the village square. Executions always served as a good source of entertainment, and the fact that the criminal had destroyed many of their homes and property only served to exacerbate their anger. Were it not out of fear of the retribution that their Lady Karin would enact for breaking her justice, they would have stormed the platform and torn him limb for limb. And as everyone knew, Karin was watching the execution.
It's not like she was in the village square with the rest of the peasants. Miles upon miles away in her castle, she sat at her throne. But a crystal ball rested on a table which had been set next to her chair, showing the anguished expression on the boy's face. Karin derived no pleasure from watching him. But this was justice, and she had to watch the roots of the law that she meted out. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. From Karin's viewpoint, the cleanliness and order of her justice served as a clear sign of its beauty.
The priest continued to pray, the boy continued to plead, and the crowd continued the jeer while the executioner stood by his victim in a stony silence. But back in Karin's castle, Jerome once again wheeled in the tea cart. Karin noted that besides the usual pot of tea and cups, there also rested a book and a large white envelope."
"I see that Siesta has been making good progress."
The butler nodded as he prepared the tea.
"This is the first book she has finished. Apparently it is about farming techniques and improving agriculture. Siesta told me that she's discovered all sorts of ways to improve farming. For example, apparently if you plant crops closer to one another, they'll help each other to grow."
"I see," Karin observed. "That is interesting. I will read it later. What about the letter?"
The butler finished pouring the tea. He handed the cup as well as the letter and book to Karin.
"I received it from a messenger not fifteen minutes ago. He said it was urgent, so I thought to prepare you a cup while you read it."
Karin nodded in thanks. She pulled out her wand and used it to slit the envelope open, and then began to read. Jerome watched her eyes scan further down the page, and became satisfied that his master was content. He thus took a few steps back and began to wheel the tea cart out of the room.
SMASH.
Not a word was uttered. Karin didn't need to. Before she was a member of the Valliere family, she had been Karin of the Heavy Wind. She was the greatest wind mage in the history of Helgekinia, a legend who could battle entire armies and fire dragons by herself and with the spell which had become her namesake. A normal mage would have not been able to blow a massive hole in the thick stone walls of the Great Hall by just pointing their wand and casting a spell without a word. But Karin was not a normal mage. Even as Jerome had served under Her Ladyship for so many years, he gaped at its power. The tea cart had been torn in half by the spell, and if he had taken five more steps, he would have been caught in its radius and likely killed.
The butler without a word looked up at his master. Karin's right arm was outstretched as it still held the wand which had destroyed the hall in her anger, but her left hand gripped the paper. For her to lose control in such a way…
"What has happened, My Lady?"
Jerome slowly spoke those words, concerned about setting off Karin even more. But she just remained as she was for a few seconds more before she lowered the letter. Her face had turned pale white from shock.
"It's an account of the war I received. Apparently, it is over. Gallia finished off the Albion forces. But…"
"But?"
Karin hesitated a few moments longer. Her arms trembled as she looked at the letter.
"Her Majesty is dead."
The butler gaped. For a few, long minutes, the two just stood there, thinking about the implications. Jerome finally asked another question.
"What about your daughter, Louise? Is she-"
"Oh, she's dead."
The butler's eyes widened in shock.
"Are you serious?"
"The letter doesn't actually say whether Louise died, but she was on the battlefield," Karin responded. "So she's dead. Either she died attempting to protect Her Majesty from whatever killed her…
Or she didn't, and is still alive. And in that case, I'll kill her myself for failing at her duty."
"B-but Your Ladyship…"
"Are you disagreeing with me, Jerome? With the Rule of Steel?"
Jerome instantly remained silent. He knew better than anyone else that however rare they were, his master could exert incredible power in her rages. Glancing at him one more time, Karin rose from her throne.
"I will be retreating to my bedchambers. I am not to be disturbed for any reason, Jerome. If anyone knocks on my door for the rest of the day, I will answer them with the Heavy Wind. Take to care to thank Siesta for me."
"I would note that she has been far busier these days." Said Jerome. "She's been sending less time at the graves of her children and she has spent times talking with the villagers. I think she will manage to improve and recover from her loss. I will be happy to see that."
"I agree," Karin noted. "Still, keep a close eye on her. If Her Majesty is dead, then I'll definitely need those books ready as soon as possible."
Jerome bowed in response and remained in the Great Hall. Karin walked through the stony halls and past the paintings of Valliere ancestors. It was only when she reached the safety of her room and closed the door that she began to weep. While she did so, she realized that she had instinctively taken her crystal ball with her from the throne room. The prayers had finished, and the executioner at this moment raised his axe. And in the confines of her room, no one heard Karin whisper two words.
"I'm sorry."
…
Sheffield grumbled as she made her way up to the main deck. How dare that lowly commander mock her? She should have killed him right there and saved her master so much trouble. Master Joseph only needed the Void mage, Louise, for his plans after all. What became of the Gandalfr familiar was not his concern, and so they should have killed him and removed the protection to Louise.
And what arrogant words! She didn't serve Joseph just because she was a servant; she had reasons to do so! But for a familiar to not bother protecting or thinking about its master was ridiculous! She couldn't help but feel sorry for Louise, not that that would keep her from doing her duty.
She opened the door to the deck and stormed to the bow with a huff. She looked down below the ship, towards Albion. It was a beautiful country and its terrain was truly the complete opposite of her old home in Rub al Khali. But her home didn't matter. All that was important was fulfilling Joseph's desires and making herself useful. Then perhaps one day, he could understand her feelings.
"Oi, oi, oi. Joseph didn't throw you out of his deck now, did he?"
And hearing that voice definitely did not improve Sheffield's mood as she turned away from the battlefield.
"That's none of your business. You look just as beautiful as the last time I met you, Wardes."
Wardes smiled and bent on one knee, but then he glanced to his right.
"Show the proper decorum, Menvil."
The fire mage glared at Wardes before he shrugged his shoudlers.
"So, you're telling me Gallia's the country that really hired me, not Albion? Pretty disgusting to skulk like that."
"No," responded Sheffield. "Gallia didn't hire you. I hired you."
"What's the difference?" said Menvil. "I've heard the story from the sailors. You're King Joseph's secretary, but you're always rutting after him and-"
"YOU!"
Sheffield flung something at Menvil. He dodged it easily and pulled out his wand as the object flew past him.
"What? You're denying it? Now isn't that precious, Wardes? It's just like a little schoolgirl who accidentally runs into the guy he likes. What an adorable stor-"
Menvil then felt something coming from behind him. He instinctively ducked and saw the object that Sheffield had thrown rush past him again. Now that he had a second chance to look at it, he realized what it was.
"An alviss. A little magic doll which can work autonomously. That's quite an interesting toy you have there, Sheffield."
"I have a few more of these, White Flame." Sheffield spat. "Would you like to see them?"
Menvil fiercely grinned in response. But before either of them could make a move, Wardes strode in between them with his one arm raised in the sky.
"I wouldn't have a problem with you two killing each other, but this is King Joseph Gaul's ship. The two of you can find a better place to resolve your differences than aboard the most important Gallian ship."
Sheffield and Menvil glowered at each other, and then at Wardes. But they knew he was right. Menvil put away his wand, and the alviss retreated underneath Sheffield's clothes. Wardes sighed in relief, and then turned to Sheffield.
"So, does King Joseph have any further missions he wants us to do after our supervision of Cromwell?"
"Yes," admitted Sheffield. "There is one, a big one. But before you do that, the two of you are going to have to go back to Albion. There's something His Majesty needs you to do. One of our assets has gone missing, and that could affect our future plans."
Menvil rolled his eyes.
"Assets? Quit acting so spooky and mysterious, Sheffield. If you want us to get something or someone, tell us who it is and I'll go after it. Okay?"
"Fine. Fouquet has gone missing."
Wardes looked at Sheffield in confusion.
"You gave her an impossible mission on that night when I broke her out. You ordered her to kill Princess Henrietta. Why does it matter that she's gone missing?"
"Fouquet knows too much. About me, about Joseph, about how we work. I had hoped to eliminate her by giving her such a mission. But she hasn't reported in ever since we told her to return after Henrietta's death. That's a problem, and I want you to find her."
Sheffield looked back towards the bow and down at the continent below her.
"She was in Albion in the last reports, waiting for her chance to strike. Head there and find her as soon as possible. I don't care whether she's dead or alive."
…
"Are you serious?"
Julio Chesare gasped out the words which everyone wanted to say. The sun was now red as it began to set. Napoleon sat on a chair in his tent, his expression of total dejectment.
"Yes. Gallia has no reason to lie about this. Her Majesty is dead. She died in the attack on Saxe-Gotha."
His lieutenants stood in front of him, utterly stunned by the news which he had uttered. He had returned from the Gallian ship about an hour ago and had gone straight to his tent before he had summoned them. All of the lieutenants had so many questions to ask, but they said nothing.
"Inform the men as soon as possible. They have the right to know. But we don't have time to mourn yet."
"Don't have time?" Stewart said. "We have plenty of time! The war is over! We should take some time to mourn Her Majesty as soon as possible."
Napoleon shook his head.
"It won't be proper to mourn until we head home to Tristain. Until then, we're still an army. We'll head north to Londinium, both to rescue the Prince of Wales and to retrieve her body. Then we'll leave and hold a proper funeral for her.
In the meantime, inform the soldiers. But try to keep them calm. I don't want them rampaging and destroying Londinium out of anger when we arrive."
His words made sense, and as much as the generals hated it, they agreed.
"There isn't much to say afterwards", Napoleon continued. "This war is basically over, and we'll have peace again. It'll be up to us to continue to create a better future for Tristain with Her Majesty gone. Now, does anyone have anything further to report?"
He didn't expect anything. There was so much to do, but he had figured that his lieutenant would be too shocked by the news to do anything. Even he had been somewhat surprised to hear of her death, especially since he knew Henrietta was a capable mage. But then Stewart cleared his throat.
"Captain, I do have something to report about the elven girl and the orphanage."
Napoleon looked over at him in acknowledgment.
"I trust the men are safe then?"
"Well yes. The men are fine. It appears that there really was an orphanage there, and we gave them food and made sure they were well-treated. The elven girl was delighted.
But…"
"But?" Napoleon said.
Stewart seemed awfully hesitant. He seemed to chew over his words for a few moments before he spoke.
"One of our men went poking in her house. And he discovered that Fouqet, the legendary thief and murderer, in one of the beds."
"What?"
Two people spoke up. Napoleon and Robert de Gramont looked at one another, and the latter turned to Napoleon.
"You understand, sir? The elf was hiding a criminal! That proves that she can't be trusted and-"
Napoleon simply raised his left hand in Gramont's direction, who immediately understood the gesture as a way of asking for silence. He turned back towards Stewart.
"Did you manage to capture her?"
Stewart nodded.
"She was asleep and away from her wand. It wasn't particularly difficult and apparently she surrendered without a fuss. They left the orphanage and have brought her back to the camp."
Napoleon mulled over Stewart's words as he pondered about what to do. He thought of Louise, who he had not seen for quite some time after he had sent her off. She had panicked and cried helplessly when she had returned that day and heard what that thief had done to her classmates. It had been pitiful to watch. But eventually he came to a decision.
"Bring her before me as soon as you can, Stewart. I would like to speak for her. Are there any further things to discuss?"
Robert de Gramont looked like there were many things he wanted to discuss, but he held his tongue. The other four lieutenants did not say anything, and so with a gesture Napoleon dismissed them. They filed out of the tent, leaving Napoleon alone with only his thoughts and a headache that just wouldn't go away.