"In war the simplest maneuvers are the best"
Napoleon Bonaparte
...
…
"They're over there, huh…" Guiche de Gramont muttered.
The youngest son of the Gramont family sat on top of a hill. Far into the distance to the south, he could see the Gramont-Walloon camp. While he could barely see the tents and banners from so far away, there was something he could easily see: the Gramont ships floating above the camp, notably their flagship Honor. Its sister ship, the Duty, was right next to it. On one of the largest sails of both ships, Guiche could see a brown sword pointing down painted on top. It was the sign of his family.
Honor and Duty. That was the Gramont motto, their way. To prize their honor above all else. After what had happened on that terrible night in the Academy, back when he had been imprisoned and nearly suffocated by the evil thief Fouquet, he had reevaluated himself, and what it meant to be a Gramont. He had recommitted himself to honor, to be a great man like his brothers…
Only to be exiled, to suffer the greatest dishonor of all, for something he had done in the name of reaffirming said honor. He did not regret his actions. He did not blame anyone for what had happened, whether it was his father, General Bonaparte, or perhaps the bickering Vallieres and Guldenhorfs for starting this civil war. As far as Guiche was concerned, this was Brimir's will, and he had to accept it – though it did not mean that had to like it.
Maybe someday, his father would forgive him? Maybe someday, he could be a Gramont again? Things had been so much simpler he had been back at the Academy, when he believed that good would always triumph over evil. But who was good and who was evil anymore?
"Oh, hey there, Guiche! So this is where you've been moping around these days?"
Cartier Martin lurched over to Guiche, a wineskin in one hand and another soldier wearing Bonaparte's blue and white uniform accompanying him. Plopping down on the ground, he threw an arm around Guiche before taking a pull from the wineskin.
"So, you looking out at your daddy's men? That's some nice ships he's got over there." Martin said. "Course, Albion had some even nicer ships too, and that didn't help them at all, did it, Charles?"
"I wouldn't know." The new soldier shrugged. "I told you already, Martin. I lived in Tristania during the fight against Albion. But times were hard enough then, and they'll be even harder now. Way I see it, when General Bonaparte called for soldiers, might as well as get some work which will get me a steady meal."
"There's a lot more than food you can get if you play your cards right." Martin grinned. "Much more valuable things. And same to you, kid!"
He slapped Guiche on the back, but Guiche just looked out at the ships. Martin looked over at Guiche, and sighed.
"Hey, I know it's hard, kid. But don't forget – you're not the only who's gotten kicked out of one of the great families."
"You're talking about Louise?" Guiche asked.
"Louise? Of course not! I'm talking about me! Just like you're the fourth son of Marshal Gramont, I'm the fourth son of Duke Walloon! Of course, one of my brother's actually adopted, and one of them's dead, and I don't even know what Albert is doing these days, but the point is that I used to be the son of Duke Walloon, before that prude kicked me out for enjoying myself. It sucked, sure, but I don't regret it at all looking back – the Duke and I never got along."
"Hold on a minute." Guiche asked. "Are you serious? The Gramonts and Walloons have always been great friends, but I don't remember you nor have I heard of you."
"You think the Duke of Walloon wants to talk about me?" Martin shrugged. "I do remember you. You were barely a small child the last time I saw you when I was still part of the family. Got kicked out shortly afterwards, and been plying my trade ever since."
He drank again and lay down on the grass.
"Oh, don't get me wrong Guiche, there's bad days. Two years ago, it was hard to find work anywhere, I was just stuck guarding some weak lord's cattle. Something a guard dog could do, and I'm a wind mage! But these days, things have been great. And the freedom to do what you like, drink what you like, plunder what you like. I'll probably settle down soon, but for now I wouldn't trade what I've done for anything in the world."
"Is that so?" A curt, feminine voice cut in. "Weren't you just telling me a few hours ago that you would give up your ways for a quick kiss on the cheek from me?"
Matilda walked over, staring at the three soldiers. Her breathing was slightly heavy, but she still appeared as composed as ever.
"You finished training with Louise?" Guiche asked.
"In a manner of speaking." Matilda lightly responded. "I might have flung her on her back a little too hard at one point. She's having difficulty moving, so I thought we might as well stop for the day."
"Oh, my sweet Matilda!" Martin cried. "I was only jesting with my comrades here, I truly meant none of it! The finest roses wilt in comparison to you, and no lady in the land could possibly compare with your eternal beauty! Oh, the lengths I would go, the challenges I would accomplish, in order that my words should reach your heart and nestle there for all eter-"
BLAM.
Rolling her eyes, Matilda conjured up the arms of one of her earth golems, which promptly backhanded Martin.
"Declined."
Guiche and Charles looked over at Martin, who had been buried in the earth by the golem's blow, and just shrugged.
"So, how is Louise progressing, Matilda?" He asked. "You're still having her fight with that knife?"
"Stiletto. She sometimes seems to think that she's wielding one of your swords, Guiche, but her instincts are improving. She is capable of beating me if I have no weapon at all, so now it's just knife-fighting practice."
Matilda sat down alongside Guiche, then looked over at Martin.
"By the way, you lecherous idiot, I do have something I would like to ask you. And do try to answer it without your awful poetry, would you?"
"If my precious Matilda insists, I must obey." Martin declared, extricating himself all the while. "But please, take this instead."
He reached behind his back and pulled out another wineskin, tossing it to Matilda. Charles stiffened.
"Hey, Martin, weren't we going to bet for that-"
"Louise seems to have a high opinion of the Walloon family." Matilda interrupted. "According to her, your father is a pious man who donates a great deal to the Church."
"Oh, that's horsedung." Martin snorted. "Father only turned to the Church because no one else would accept him. The reality is that two generations ago, the Walloons were nobodies. They owned a bunch of useless mountains that no one cared about. But then one day, they struck a massive silver mine. It's still working today, the richest in Helgekinia. My grandfather used that silver to buy up land and titles, so much so that he joined the ranks of the Great Families."
"But since they're so new, the other nobles have looked down on them?"
"Correct, Guiche." Martin shrugged. "Most nobles have less power than the Walloons, but that still doesn't stop them from repeatedly insulting them for their bloodline. So, the Walloons turned to the Church. They were more than happy to take our money. It's also why my father likes yours so much, Guiche – old Marshal Gramont is far too clever to care about things like who you were descended from."
He tilted the wineskin back, and grinned back at Matilda.
"Well, I told you about the Walloons. Now how about something in return? A kiss on the cheek, or on the mouth, or perhaps somewhere else? Don't worry, I'm told that I-"
BLAM.
This time, Matilda summoned a full earth golem, which slammed Martin face down into the ground.
"Declined."
…
…
"So, General Bonaparte, what is the plan?"
Louise looked over at Napoleon, her back still aching. It had been a few days since her partner had received the "honor" of fighting against Guiche's father. He had spent his time thinking in his tent, and every now and then riding amongst the troops and talking with them, especially with the Duke of Guldenhorf's men. Today they were back in the main tent, planning out their future strategy. All of the nobles who had soldiers were here, along with a few retainers. Beatrice was there, and the blonde girl pointedly refused to look at Louise or Napoleon. Captain Stewart stood behind Napoleon, his hands rolling one cigarette after another. A few of the nobles quite clearly wrinkled their noses at the smell of tobacco leaves, but none of them said anything and Stewart paid them no mind. At least he wasn't lighting them, Louise thought to herself.
Napoleon pointed at a giant map of Tristain.
"I've sent scouts south, east, and west to check on the Gramont movements." Napoleon said. "Only the southern scouts that I sent directly to Gramont's camp have returned as of now, but they've already confirmed the important thing. Gramont is waiting to the south, southeast to be specific, for additional reinforcements."
"That seems logical." Count Noyon observed. "But still, General Bonaparte, I would like to ask a question. I heard that when you sent out the scouts, you only sent out our horsemen, and didn't bother with the griffin and dragon knights. Why was that?"
"The griffin and dragon knights are more valuable." Napoleon smoothly responded. "I was already confident that Gramont would stay to the south. If I had sent the knights out, they would have been seen, and a skirmish would have broken out. I was not interested in attacking at that point."
"Hm. I see."
A few of the nobles nodded in acknowledgment, but Louise fought the urge to roll her eyes.
You liar, she thought. You plain forgot to send out the dragon and griffin knights. I was there when you realized your mistake.
But she said nothing. What was done was done, after all.
"Deed scouts see Gramont?" Kundera asked, his voice as accented as normal. "Or Robert, his son?"
"It appears not. But they saw the Gramont soldiers. They didn't have time to count all of them of course, but they saw a large number of soldiers in the camp. I believe that is good enough."
"So, Gramont is to the southeast." Guldenhorf said. "It would be difficult for him to outflank us. We would notice him if he marched around our right flank, and there's woods that would impede his progress if he marched around our left. We would also be able to see his ships moving if he attempted such a maneuver."
"But it'll be difficult for us to outflank him." Richemont pointed out. "Gramont would be between us and Tristania if he managed to get around us. It would be difficult for him to take the city, but there are a series of hills just south of Tristania which would make a strong defensive location that could threaten our supplies. If we try to outflank Guldenhorf, he could very well just march forward, and then we might be trapped between him and his upcoming reinforcements."
"We could escape into east, in Walloon's territory, were he to do that." Guldenhorf observed.
"It would still be a major advantage for him." Bonaparte said. "If Gramont could outflank us, he should. But he's waiting back for reinforcements to the southeast, and has missed his chance. He is no doubt playing for time, waiting for the Vallieres to finish calling their soldiers."
"That is true." Kundera observed. "So do we attack immediately?"
"In a sense." Bonaparte stated. "Gramont is about a little more than a two days' march from here, but we can get our ships to Gramont's camp much faster, in about a day or so. We have more ships than Gramont. We can send them against his ships, destroy them, and then have the ships harass Gramont's men and any defensive structures they have until we arrive. At that point, we just plain attack them. No fine tactics, just a straight up brawl. We have more men, and they'll be in better shape for the battle. We defeat Gramont's forces before his reinforcements can arrive."
"It makes sense." The Count of Burgundy said. "With a force as large as ours, the simplest strategies are the best. Who'll be sent to command the ships?"
"Isn't that obvious?" Guldenhorf declared. "Those ships are all mine, and I have no intention of handing them over. I'll set off on my flagship Thunder, and clear the way for the rest of you to mop up."
A few of the nobles glowered at Guldenhorf's bold declaration, but Bonaparte only smiled.
"Well, that is quite noble of you, Duke Guldenhorf. Such an assignment may be very dangerous. But you cannot sail south on the Thunder and at the time supervise your soldiers who remain here. Who will handle them when you are gone?"
The Duke seemed entirely nonplussed by that question.
"What are you talking about? Beatrice, of course."
"…"
No one said anything at first. Than finally…
"What?" Napoleon asked.
"What?" The Duke of Richemont blurted.
"Wat." Count Kundera said.
"WHHHHHAAAATTTTTT?!" Beatrice shrieked.
The Duke looked over at his daughter.
"What is it? You are my heir, are you not? You're always talking about how you shouldn't be wasting your time with being a lady, do you not?"
"W-well, yes…" Beatrice stammered. "But I wanted to see a battle first, and see everyone fighting. T-to command-"
"It is your duty as my heir, Beatrice. Besides, you will just need to supervise the men as they march south for a few days. I doubt anything important will happen, and the other nobles can assist you. Even you, General Bonaparte. I CAN trust you for that much?"
He glared over at Bonaparte, who shrugged.
"Very well, Duke Guldenhorf. I wish you the best of luck."
Guldenhorf nodded. He turned to kiss Beatrice on the cheek and strode out of the tent without a word. Before anyone could say anything, Beatrice sat down on her father's chair.
"Very well, very well." She said. "Now, when are we going to be moving out, Count Burgundy?"
"Immediately, perhaps?" Burgundy said, looking at Napoleon.
"No." Napoleon shook his hand. "I'd prefer to wait until tomorrow to prepare, and then we will march. If I am correct, you are all drawing supplies from your own separate territories, are we not?"
"Well, yes." One lord said.
"That needs to change. I would recommend that we send our supplies through Tristania, as a common avenue for them to be distributed as necessary. How many guns do we have? How many pikes? How many swords? How much hay do we have, as well as cows and goats for the dragons and griffins? How much bread do we have, what kind, what is its condition? How many water mages? How many mages? How many-"
"Oh, come on, General Bonaparte!" Beatrice cried. "Are you a general or a bookkeeper?"
"In war, Lady Beatrice, there is frequently no difference. Once everything is ready, we will march south on Guld – er, Gramont's men, and defeat the enemy army."
…
…
"And have the rest of the books stowed. Anna, please make sure that they are sorted in the proper order."
A maid bowed, and Jerome, the butler of the Valliere estate, was left alone in the kitchen. There was plenty to do. Her Majesty had always made sure that this estate was clean, but with the comings and goings these days, everything had to be completely spotless. Nobles showed up every now and then, pledging their loyalty to the Valliere cause. With Her Majesty gone to meet Wardes as well as the issues of both Eleanor and Cattleya, Jerome observed that these days he was basically running the estate.
It could not have happened at a worse time. At the moment when the Valliere family needed every bit of strength to bring peace to Tristain, the Vallieres were weaker than ever. Her Majesty's husband had died, two of the children were in poor health, and the third had been disowned. Lady Valliere would have to handle everything by herself. She could, of course, if she was around – she was an absolute titan of humanity, capable of working and fighting for days and days with nothing more than a few hours' meditation and rest. But she was away.
Still, things were a little calmer for the moment. No noble was scheduled to come for a while, and Cattleya at least seemed healthier these days. Jerome had just given the order for some of the final cleaning that had to be done for the day, and hopefully he could start planning for tonight's meal. Nothing much. Just some watercress soup with…
~ring ring~
The servant's bell was sounding. From the display, Jerome saw that it was coming from Lady Eleanor's room. A slight surprise, he thought to himself. At any rate, there was no one else in the kitchen to send up, and if it was from Lady Eleanor's room, it was likely highly important. Jerome went up there himself.
Eleanor sat upright in her bed, a book in one hand. Jerome bowed as he entered the room.
"Is there anything you desire, my lady?"
Eleanor said nothing for a long moment, just staring at the bowed form of the old butler. Then she closed her one good eye and lifted a scarred arm.
"Jerome, help me up."
Jerome raised his head up.
"My lady." He said. "There is a wheelchair over there. If you desire to go somewhere-"
"Help. Me. Up." Eleanor repeated.
Jerome nodded. He walked over to the side of the bed and bent down his head. Eleanor slung an arm around his neck, and with not a little assistance from Jerome, stood up from the bed. Slowly but surely, the pair walked to the end of the bed.
"Where is it that you desire to go, my lady?"
"To the study." Eleanor declared, her strong voice contrasting with her body. "I have spent enough time in this bed. It is time I did my part preparing the Vallieres for the war."
"My lady," Jerome admonished. "It would be best for you to wait until you're better. I know you're worried about your sister, but she has been feeling better as of late and has been working. If you would just rest-"
"I'm the oldest sister." Eleanor coolly stated. "And Cattleya is barely healthier than I am, if she is at all. It's unfair for her to be working while I rest."
Jerome sighed. Even better than Her Majesty, he knew how stubborn Eleanor could be when she had made up her mind.
"Very well." He said. "Let us go."
It was slow going as they made their way down the hall. Eleanor's steps were firmer than they had been in the past, but she still stumbled now and then. Fortunately, the Valliere study was not far from her bedroom. The door was locked, but Jerome opened it with his master key.
Eleanor looked around the room. It was plainly decorated, in the style which both her mother and her father had liked. A single, large desk occupied the window. It was overrun with papers, along with an unlit candle, some wax, and quills to write with.
"Has Cattleya ever asked for your help when she works?" Eleanor asked.
"At first." Jerome answered. "She was unused to handling the paperwork initially. But she seems to have grown more confident in the last few days, so she's been in here alone. There's been a few people she's sent out to deliver messages and the like, but no one else."
"So if she was to collapse from her illness, no one would be there to notice? From now on, you will send servants to check on her every hour. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lady."
Eleanor nodded, and then tilted her head towards the desk. Jerome understood the gesture, and helped Eleanor sit down in front of the desk. He glanced at the door.
"Will you wanting to be alone, My Lady? You have had some experience managing the Valliere affairs in the past."
"After just telling you about how I don't want you to leave Cattleya alone?" Eleanor laughed. "I guess I would like you to go make me a cup of tea. But after that, I should like you to stand by and help from time to time."
Jerome bowed and left for the kitchens. As he waited for the water to boil, he couldn't help but worry about Eleanor. Would she even still be sitting on that chair, or would she have given out from the effort and be slumped onto the floor? Nevertheless, he patiently waited as the tea brewed, and brought the cup back to the study.
Eleanor was perfectly fine when he returned. But her expression was clearly puzzled as she shuffled from one sheet of papers to the next. She did not even notice when Jerome set down the cup next to her only on the desk, and he was forced to quietly cough to announce his presence.
"Oh. Thank you, Jerome. But could you tell me something?"
"Of course, my Lady."
"Exactly when did you stop helping Cattleya? It can't have been that long ago. Mother has been gone for less than a week."
"Two days ago." Jerome answered. "Is something the matter?"
Eleanor did not answer at first, and instead went back through the papers, going over them one by one. Then she sighed and shook her head.
"That idiot." She finally mumbled. "She's been up to date on dealing with the affairs of the estate, and with some of the standard things which Mother has to handle now that she's Queen. But she hasn't done any work at calling the men out onto the field to fight for the family for the last two days. There's a few captains, minor lords and such who have inquired about what to do. She hasn't answered them at all. If this goes on, some of them might think that the Vallieres were ignoring them, and would be insulted."
"She must have had greater problems handling it with her illness than she had shown to me." Jerome said. "My humblest apologies, Lady Eleanor. I should have paid better attention to Cattleya's health."
"What's done is done." Eleanor shrugged. "Though I've changed my mind. I will not just have a servant checking in on Cattleya every hour. There will be one with her at all times, especially when she is working here."
Jerome nodded. For a while, the two of them worked together on ensuring that the Vallieres would be ready. Requisitioning supplies, giving out orders, stamping letters and the like, the time went smoothly and calmly. But after the two of them had finished writing a letter to yet another mercenary captain, the door to the study opened.
"E-eleanor!"
Cattelya squeaked in surprise as she entered, her face as white as a sheet. Eleanor looked up and over at her sister, and then shook her head.
"I'm disappointed in you, sister." She said.
Cattleya's mouth wavered for several moments, and her eyes shifted from Eleanor to Jerome and back again. Her face was so pale, and her legs staggered so badly that Jerome thought that she would faint upon seeing her sister. Finally after a moment, she righted herself and smiled beautifully.
"I'm sorry you had to find out like this, Eleanor." She said. "I really didn't want things to end up like this, but I guess that's just how it is."
"Why, Cattleya?" Eleanor asked. "Why did you try so hard to, you know…"
She waved a hand over the papers on the desk. Cattleya shook her head.
"I thought that it would be obvious, sister. It was because of-"
"Because of your health, right?"
"Huh?"
Cattleya blinked, but Eleanor continued on.
"I know you're doing your best, Cattleya, but you shouldn't try to do all the paperwork on your own. That's why you're behind on the paperwork, right?"
"Y-Yes." Cattleya admitted. "Yes, I'm sorry, sister. But I've been feeling better the last few days, so I thought I could-"
"Well, the three of us are going to have to work together." Eleanor said. "You, me, and Jerome here. Perhaps the three of us combined can work as well as our mother by herself. Okay, Cattleya?"
Cattleya looked down at the ground, and then raised her head and nodded. She was smiling, but Jerome noted how Cattleya's eyes watered.
"Of course." She finally whispered. "Sorry, sister. I hope you can forgive me."
"Of course I do. And there's no need to cry about it." Eleanor said. "Jerome, get another chair. And tell one of the servants to make us some supper. Cattleya and I can eat while we work. Goodness knows there's enough to do."
…
…
Louise looked around the tent, and grumbled to herself.
Are you a general or a bookkeeper?
Napoleon had brushed off Beatrice's complaint, and had in fact laughed it off when the two of them as well as Captain Stewart returned to their tent. But even though this was not Louise's first war, she was surprised by how much time Napoleon had spent with figures and numbers. When he was not meeting and talking with the soldiers, asking what they needed, he was going over supplies. She had caught him repeatedly grumbling about the dragon and griffin riders, even though men who were wealthy enough to own a dragon generally handled the upkeep of their mounts by themselves. It appeared that while horses existed, those creatures did not exist in the world he had come from.
But that was not all that annoyed her. Right now, sprawled out on a bearskin, slept Napoleon. Louise looked down at him, her hands on her hips, and then kicked him in the ribs a few times.
"Hey, Bonaparte. It's been two hours."
Napoleon's eyes opened in a flash. He got right up from the bearskin without even a yawn, his blue and white uniform stained with dirt here and there.
"Good morning, Louise." He nodded. "I trust you're ready? You certainly appear so."
"I'm more worried about you." Louise snapped. "Are you sure you are ready? You've been working without a rest for the past two days, and then you just sleep on that filthy thing for a few hours? It'll be bad if you collapse on the battlefield."
"We are just marching today, there's nothing to worry about. What about you, Louise? Are you ready for the march?"
Louise bent down and pattered her left ankle. Her knife was strapped down there, her wand was in her hand, and both of their bags and horses were outside the tent.
"Let's go." She said. "Matilda is waiting for us as well."
The two of them left the tent. Matilda bowed to both of them, and then each of them mounted a horse.
"Are the troops ready, Matilda?" Napoleon asked.
"It appears that the final preparations are underway." Matilda said. "I assume everything will be ready to go shortly. Captain Stewart is waiting for you at the parade ground, and in addition-"
Matilda's remarks were cut off by the sound of galloping hooves. Three more horses bore down on the group. Beatrice was on one mount, the Duke of Richemont on the other, but Louise did not recognize the third. He wore a uniform which identified him as one of Richemont's men, but it was torn in several places and the man's face was heavily bandaged.
"General Bonaparte!" The man cried as he rode up to Bonaparte. "It's a disaster, it's a disaster! I…I.."
"Hold on, soldier." Napoleon said. "What is going on? You're one of the scouts, right?"
"Yes, General." The man nodded. "I was sent east on a reconnaissance mission, towards the woods in that direction. We spotted nothing at first, and everything was fine. But then as we returned, we were surrounded by the enemy!"
Napoleon's eyes narrowed.
"That forest is close to the southern border of Walloon territory." Napoleon noted. "Did the Duke send additional reinforcements? How many men? What direction did they march in?"
The cavalryman shook his head.
"No, General." He said. "They weren't Walloon men. It's the entire Gramont army! All of them, it must have been. They're east of us right now, and I believe they're heading north towards Tristania!"
"They're east of us? In the woods?" Beatrice sputtered. "That's impossible! Our scouts to the south reported that the Gramont army was there just yesterday! Those woods are about a three days' march from their position, there's no way they could have gotten there that quickly!
"I'm reporting what I saw!" The scout declared. "I swear, in the name of Brimir and my own life that it's true! That it's-"
"Did you see General Gramont?" Bonaparte cut in. "Or Robert de Gramont?"
"No, sir. We were surrounded, and had to do all we could to survive. Many of my comrades fell. But I can declare that it was 10,000 soldiers at least, and more like 15,000. I am telling you, the Gramont is currently east of us, and they're heading north as we speak!"
"T-this is nonsense!" Beatrice cried. "There's no way it can be done! There's no way! It has to be a trap! Marshal Gramont sent a small detachment to march around us, that's what it has to be!"
"That is not true, my lady!" The scout said. "It was no small detachment, it was thousands upon thousands of-"
"Oh, BE QUIET! I'm telling you, there is no way it can be done, there is no way-"
"No."
The Duke of Richemont quietly spoke. His expression remained calm, but Louise noted how tightly his right hand clenched the reins of his horse.
"For most armies, it would be impossible. But not for Marshal Gramont. He would be able to get around our entire army without us noticing."
"What are you talking about?" Napoleon calmly asked.
The Duke ignored Bonaparte and turned toward his scout.
"Order the men to march north. Double-time. We need to head for the hills between our location and Tristania as soon as possible!"
The scout nodded and rode off. Napoleon rode closer to the Duke.
"So what are you talking about? How did Gramont get around us?"
The Duke raised an eyebrow.
"Isn't it obvious to someone with as much military experience as yourself? The Duke hasn't been southeast of us for a while now. In fact, it's possible he was never there to begin with. You see, General Bonaparte…"
…
…
"Gently, gently lads."
Marshal Gramont grumbled a bit as his litter was set down. He could no longer ride at his age, and thus had to be carried around on long marches. While he would admit that sitting in a litter was more comfortable than riding, especially since he no longer needed to wear armor, to be carried like a child was still deeply humiliating. He idly mused what he would give up to be young again, but he threw the thought aside. Even if his years would soon come to an end, he had no regrets. It was time for the younger generations to carve a better future.
Robert was right there on his horse. He dismounted, and helped his father out of the litter and into his wheelchair.
"Are you all right, Father?" He asked. "Your color is better now, but you're still breathing too heavily for my liking."
"It's been four days since I used that spell." The Marshal said. "I'm fine now, Robert. I'm fine."
"You should have relied on us more, Father. You have three sons, we're almost as good with that spell as you are. When you collapsed afterwards, Vincent nearly burst into tears."
"The three of you worked your magic as well and did your best. But I know that spell better than you do. More importantly, did it succeed in distracting the Alliance?
Robert burst into a grin. Standing behind the wheelchair, he pushed his father to the edge of a hill. In the distance, they could see the Sun and Lightning of Guldenhorf marching slowly on them.
"They're too late." Robert laughed. "I was worried when we ran into those scouts in the woods, but it was too late! We're between them and Tristania, between them and their supply lines! And on top of these hills, we're in a strong defensive position! We've won, Father, we've won!"
"It's far too early to proclaim victory, Robert." The Marshal admonished.
"But it is as you noted, Father. The Alliance is in trouble no matter what they do. If they choose to wait, then we buy even more time, they run out of supplies, the Vallieres finish mobilizing, and we've won the war. We also have reinforcements coming in from the south, to support the Guldenhorf ships attacking our ships in the south! If Guldenhorf tries attacking either us, or the arriving reinforcements, then the group he does not attack will move out and hit them from behind! Not to mention, while the southern reinforcements may have all the Gramont ships, we're on top of a series of hills to help defend us, and our dragon and griffin knights can attack the Guldenhorf ships if they try to wheel around."
"True." The Marshal mused. "So what do you think the Guldenhorfs and General Bonaparte will do? What would you do if you were in their situation, Robert?"
Robert thought about this for a moment, then nodded.
"I'd attack the southern army. They may have the air ships, but Guldenhorf still has more of them than they do. And they're being led by Jean, who lacks the military background that you and I have. I would attempt to finish them off quickly before we got word of the attack, and then turn around and finish us off."
"A sound analysis." The Marshal observed. "That's what I would do, too. After the initial fortifications here are built, we should prepare to march quickly on a moment's notice if Bonaparte and Guldenhorf attack the southern force. They won't survive if they're attacked by both sides at once, especially with the reinforcements."
The two Gramonts looked out at the marching Guldenhorf army in the distance. It slowed down after a while, and then finally stopped.
"They're about a three hours' march away from us." Robert observed.
"True." The Marshal. "A bit closer than I would like, but they're still too far away to launch a surprise attack. They will probably wait for the day."
Robert nodded.
"Shall I go and give the order for the soldiers to build fortifications?"
The Marshal did not respond. He looked out on the Guldenhorf army, a finger on his face. Robert shuffled his feet for a bit, but then quickly bowed and prepared to head out.
"Wait."
The Marshal suddenly cut him off with a word, and Robert turned around.
"What is it, Father?"
"Robert, there is something I would like to ask. Something I have yet to talk to you about."
"I promise to answer truthfully." Robert said.
The Marshal looked over at his son.
"What happened that night in Saxe-Gotha? The night Her Majesty Henrietta died?"
Robert drew back a bit at that question. He lowered his head, but did not respond.
"I'm not blaming you for anything, Robert." Gramont said. "I have no doubt that you fought bravely and did your duty, and because of that, I've never questioned you about it. No doubt it is a night you would like to forget, after all. But did anything strange happen on that night? Or right before it?"
"Why are you asking now then?" Robert stared down at the ground.
The Marshal looked away from Robert and stared right back at the Guldenhorf camp.
"Because there is something odd about that night." He said "And there is someone that I want to save."
The Marshal said nothing more. Robert's eyes moved up, and he looked directly at his father, clearly hesitating. But before he began to speak, he was interrupted.
"Forget it, son." Gramont said. "It's nothing. I'm sorry I asked. You don't need to say anything. Now, get the orders for the fortifications to be built."
Robert nodded, and took off in the direction of the soldiers. Gramont watched him leave, and then turned his face back in the direction of the Guldenhorf army. He reached into his robes and pulled out a white king piece.
"I call check, General Bonaparte." He muttered to himself. "Her Majesty may not like my next move, but I know that it is the right thing to do."
…
…
"So, it's confirmed, then?"
Napoleon sat in his tent. Louise, Matilda, Captain Stewart, and Martin were all with him, as well as a messenger. The messenger shrank with fear before Bonaparte's flat, dead eyes.
"Y-yes, General Bonaparte. You can see it for yourself. The Gramont army is on top of a series of hills in between our army and Tristania. If they are allowed to stay up there, they can cut off our supply lines, and even threaten Tristania itself. I doubt they'll attack the capital itself, but-"
"I asked for facts. Not your useless opinions."
"My apologies, General."
Napoleon closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead for a moment. But he said absolutely nothing for several moments. The messenger fidgeted for a moment, and then opened his mouth.
"General, perhaps it would be for the best if we-"
"Get out."
Napoleon's voice was so soft, that the messenger craned his head slightly forward.
"Pardon me sir, but-"
"GET OUT! ALL OF YOU, GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Everyone in the tent jumped in shock, and then they all filed out of the tent. Louise was the last one to leave, but Napoleon then pointed a finger at her.
"You. Stay."
Louise turned back around, and sat down on another chair. She stared at Napoleon, her expression somewhat wary, before she spoke.
"You know, I know Duke Richemont explained to you what Gramont did. But I didn't manage to hear it. So what did he mean by Gramont pulling the impossible? He said that Gramont was never there to begin with? But we sent scouts there and…"
"You knew Guiche in the Academy, right?"
"Y-yes." Louise asked. "What about it?"
"Guiche is skilled with making bronze Valkyries, metal creatures which do his bidding." Napoleon observed. "The Gramonts are a family of earth mages, but by and large, that is their speciality. They can create golems, Valkyries, creatures of metal and earth to do their bidding. And at the highest levels, Marshal Gramont and his older sons can create golems which looks just like a human from a distance.
"Wait." Louise gasped. "You mean that-"
"None of our scouts ever managed to actually enter the Gramont camp." Napoleon said. "They saw what they thought were human soldiers patrolling the camp, doing their usual business and so on, but they were really human-like golems created by the Gramonts. Had they watched the camp long enough, or gotten close enough to the camp, the scouts would have noticed the difference. But they didn't because they worried about being captured by Gramont scouts.
So when they reported back, they said that they had seen the Gramont soldiers to the southeast. But they didn't. At that time Gramont was already marching to the east and north, around our left flank and towards Tristania. He even left his ships behind in order to complete the deception."
"Do you know what he's going to do next?"
"I don't."
Louise could not help but slightly smile at those words.
"I think that may be the first time I've heard you say that." She said. "Wouldn't he march directly on Tristania?"
"Tristania would not be easy to take." Napoleon said. "The size of the city, as well as the garrison that I left there, would mean that Gramont would need to commit nearly his entire army to seize the city. While he would certainly succeed, that would leave him wide open for a counterattack from behind from us. And that's not even the real problem."
"What is?"
"Gramont could have destroyed us." Napoleon said. "He had marched around our left flank completely without our side knowing of it, all while we were completely preoccupied with the planned march to the south. He could have taken us by surprise and thrashed us. It's what I would have done, and if Gramont was clever enough to sneak past us, he should be clever enough to see the opportunity. But instead, he marched north, and is currently encamped north of us without attacking. Why did he not attack?"
He stood up and paced the tent for a moment, muttering to himself all the while.
"What about the ships?" Louise then asked. "All of Guldenhorf's ships are to the south, as well as the Gramont ships. What is going to happen there?"
"I want Guldenhorf to stay there. He can keep a watch on the Gramont ships and any additional reinforcements from the south. I've sent a dragon knight to tell him of what's happened. Whether Guldenhorf listens or not is another matter."
He grumbled, and sat back down in his chair.
"It was my mistake." Napoleon admitted at last. "And because of it, the initiative lies with Gramont. Well, let us see what he does with it, and I will determine my next response."