Book 6: Chapter 19 |
“HE’S HERE, YOUR LORDSHIP,” said Gunnar.
“Send him in,” I said as I stood up from my chair and enjoyed a quick stretch.
I had spent almost the entire day at my desk, taking care of the paperwork that followed me even out on campaign.
Ever since the day we left the “Fox Den,” I had been keeping a journal, in which I was keeping diligent track of everything that happened on our journey. I also jotted down all my thoughts and ideas there. I was writing in Mamoru Yamada’s language, which he had taught me when I was a kid. Considering the fact that my teacher was one of a very small group of people who spoke a very unique language, and that it was written in a hieroglyphic script utterly unlike anything known in this world, deciphering it would have been a very tall order indeed.
While waiting for my guest, who for some reason was coming to see me in the middle of the night, I stretched out my stiff neck and simultaneously sent some clots of energy coursing through my energy channels, which had grown noticeably larger as of late.
In the distance, I could hear the sounds of the army camp growing steadily louder as the soldiers prepared to lie down for the night outside the walls of Gondreville. Despite the fact that I had been offered the best houses in the city for my own personal quarters, I preferred to stay outside the city in my wagon.
First of all, my house on wheels was a lot more comfortable than the residences I was being offered anyway; second, while Gondreville was much cleaner than Bresmont had been, it nevertheless looked like a gigantic landfill after the assault. The red cloaks did their very best to throw up decent barricades and barriers on the streets using whatever junk they could lay their hands on. Furthermore, we were already preparing the city to fend off a new attack, so the accumulated boards, barrels, old furniture, and stones of various types and sizes were still piling up. True, the people of Gondreville were no longer working purely because of fear — they were working for their own sakes. Because a very powerful enemy was moving toward the city.
Samuel Kroner and Gaston Laforte were wrong in their assumption that we would have to chase the Gray Reaper all over the territory of my Margraviate. Albert di Lanzi wasn’t planning to go anywhere. Apparently, he had a much more interesting plan.
After the council that we held during the holiday, our scouts spent a good ten days keeping us informed of the whereabouts and movements of the Gray Reaper and his army. It turned out that the “Scarlets” had slowed down quite a bit, but were still headed toward Gondreville after all.
Although to be honest, that wasn’t really too surprising. Those two had conceived an immediate dislike of one another on the very first day they met. My presumption was that the ill will had its roots in the distant past. Shadow gifted, who filled the ranks of the mages’ guilds, had never been friends to the true gifted. Sure, they may not have supported the terror that the fanatic knights had organized against the true gifted, but they didn’t do anything to stop it either. And considering the fact that all strykers (as well as other types of Shadow mages) used to actually be distributed to the knightly orders by the guilds, it wasn’t hard to see where the hostility might have originated.
My thoughts were interrupted by the tent flap opening to reveal Henri de Latour’s imposing figure. His big, gray-streaked black beard was braided in several places, each braid being tipped with a little cylinder that was clearly made of pure silver.
A representative of the Gondreville city council had come along with him. To be honest, I don’t know why it took them so long. I had been expecting this conversation to happen a lot earlier. After all, Baron de Bacri had announced right at the start (on his own behalf as well as that of the headmen of the mountain clans whose men he was commanding) that he was planning on fighting alongside us to the end, at least as long as our fight was against the “Scarlets.” His men couldn’t have been more motivated to slaughter the fanatical knights. At least one man out of every five seemed to have a personal score to settle both with the Atalians and with the Order.
By the way, they weren’t big fans of the Vestonians either. We had Prince Heinrich and his raids to thank for that. And that was why Baron de Bacri stipulated a condition on which his continued service would depend: he would remain an ally of the Vestonians only so long as I remained in overall command. In other words, if Viscount de Leval, who was making a slow but steady recovery, should ever decide to reclaim command of our force, he would find the mountain men unwilling to follow his orders.
To be fair, I should point out that Pierre wasn’t in any particular hurry to assert his claim to the command of the army. His wound seemed to have made him a lot more quiet. And it wasn’t a physical problem. I knew for sure that his brain hadn’t been damaged. It was something psychological. I think it was a combination of the serious wound and the serious trap into which his father had almost certainly fallen.
At first, Pierre was eager to rush off in pursuit of his vassals and go help his father, but I dissuaded him from such a rash (or maybe more accurately, suicidal) course of action. I had help in this from Lada, who was tending to the Viscount every day. She would change his bandages and make him drink my healing potions. He, in turn, would look up at her with lamb’s eyes and do whatever she said... Long story short, Pierre de Leval was under control, at least for the time being.
“Your Lordship, I thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” said Chevalier de Latour with a slight bow.
His intelligent brown eyes were slightly widened with surprise. He was obviously impressed with my little house on wheels, which I had temporarily converted into a tent.
“I’m always happy to welcome friends, Chevalier,” I said with a smile as I gestured toward a small table, on which a tray with snacks and refreshments had been prepared. “Wine? Or perhaps you’d prefer brandy?”
“Brandy,” replied Chevalier de Latour as he settled into an armchair.
The ever-diligent Gunnar followed hot on the chevalier’s heels, quickly filling up our glasses and leaving the tent at my nod.
“A toast,” I said, raising the glass with its small pool of amber-colored liquid. “To the health and prosperity of Gondreville!”
“An excellent toast,” Chevalier de Latour smiled before draining his glass.
I followed suit and poured us another round of brandy. For the next few minutes, we followed custom and discussed a variety of topics that would appear vacuous and unimportant to the untrained observer.
I want to mention here that as someone who came from another world where the tempo of life was exponentially faster than it was in this one, this kind of thing really used to annoy me. Later, however (and not without some hints from Bertrand), I began to realize that all these preliminaries before serious conversations played a very important role, whose most important function was to help the parties get an idea of who they were talking to before they entered into the heart of the matter.
The etiquette of the elite...
Behavior that was in any way unseemly would lead to a negative impression, which would later come to have an influence on one’s overall reputation. The highest noble families comprised a special caste in society that would never, ever do business of any kind with a brute who didn’t understand the finer points of etiquette.
Finally, when all the preliminary requirements had been met, Chevalier de Latour moved on to the real reason for his visit.
“Your Lordship, you are no doubt aware of the reason I’ve come to talk to you today,” he said; without a pause, he continued: “I want to state first and foremost that I’ll be speaking on behalf of the Gondreville city council, which has nominated me its emissary.”
They’re taking no chances, I thought. But I could understand their position. They were responsible for almost 5,000 lives. The situation was a little easier for the mountain men. They could simply up sticks and disappear into their mountains at any time. And whoever wanted to try to find them... Well, I suppose they were welcome to try. But the city? It was right there. It wasn’t going anywhere.
“In other words,” I said with a wry smile. “Everything you’ll be telling me on behalf of the city leadership is unofficial in nature.”
“I’m the man who walks at the head of the column as it treads through marshy ground, poking a stick into the muck and showing the others the road,” the chevalier shrugged.
“Well, I hope you don’t drown in the attempt,” I chuckled.
“Alas, such is sometimes the fate of those who walk in front,” Henri smiled in reply. “But I chose this course willingly. Gondreville is my home. My ancestor was one of those who appealed to the ancestor of our King for a license to build walls around his city. He and his comrades eventually got what they wanted, although the Dukes de Brialy, the former masters of these lands, tried their best to prevent it. After all, a city ringed with fortress walls can’t simply be intimidated into compliance. And it certainly can’t be forced to cough up taxes. Our ancestors took a risk, and in the end it paid off with the sweetest prize of them all. They did it so well, in fact, that the Dukes de Brialy who came after eventually had to swallow their pride and agree to negotiate with the city council. After all, we can not only pay taxes, but also shelter the Duke and his family and army behind our high walls. Something that Gondreville has demonstrated many times over the last few centuries.”
Hm, I thought... This is an interesting turn of events. I wonder what this has to do with me?
“I can only envy the wisdom and far-sightedness of your ancestors,” I said.
“Exactly,” Henri de Latour nodded. “The walls they built have been through a lot. I’ll tell you something else, too — they’ve survived several changes of heart by the descendants of the King who allowed their construction in the first place, not to mention the local Dukes and their ambitions. The Bergonian royal house was extinguished, the house de Brialy died out, but Gondreville is still standing. And it could stand for several centuries more. But alas, this land has recently seen the arrival of people who play by different rules. These days, allegedly at the will of their little god, they exterminate the true gifted. Tomorrow, they’ll be coming for our gods and our temples. Anyone who proves unwilling to convert to their faith will be brought in for sacrifice. They will hammer their sigils to our main gates and give a new name to this city. Gondreville will cease to exist. After all, this city is first and foremost a group of people, not a ring of walls...”
Sure, I thought... Except that nothing seemed to prevent that group of people living side by side with a garrison of “Scarlets” and keeping the Gray Reaper supplied with provisions until we showed up.
Chevalier de Latour continued:
“And these people are prepared to fight for their home to the last drop of blood! But alas, the fight is not an even one. We won’t be able to win it without allies.”
“Bergonia has an ally,” I said as I took a little sip from my glass. “Vestonia.”
Henri swirled the brandy in his glass a few times as he stared pensively down into the crystalline-brown liquid. Then he looked up again. His eyes were riveted on mine. His expression was full of profound sadness.
“Bergonia?” He repeated. There were notes of irony and disappointment in his voice. “Is there such a country anymore? The royal house has been destroyed. All its direct heirs are dead. Heh... As far as I understand, you yourself had a hand in the death of one of the King’s closest relatives.”
Noticing the change in my expression, the chevalier raised a hand slightly.
“I know that was a fair fight... And I’ll say this as well: I knew the Count de Mornay personally, and I considered him an insufferably arrogant scumbag. Nevertheless, the fact remains... The Kings of Vestonia and Atalia are trying to divide this land between them. Despite the fact that the former is practically a walking corpse, while the latter is a puppet in the hands of the grand master of an order of fanatical murderers.”
He took a sip from his glass and continued:
“Your country will descend into chaos the moment Carl III dies. His sons will mobilize their supporters among the wealthy and influential and start a battle for the throne. And I haven’t even mentioned the Atalians yet. It’s not hard to guess where the Golden Lion will lead his legions once he’s dealt with the Marshal de Clairmont.”
“You’re very well-informed,” I laughed.
“No more so that your legionaries,” Henri replied with a chuckle. “Walk up to any campfire during lunch or dinner and you’ll hear all about what’s happening in the outside world.”
He was right, of course — none of what he was telling me was a secret anymore.
“And what are our valiant legionaries talking about these days?” I asked as I topped off our glasses.
Chevalier de Latour smiled happily.
“You, for the most part. And they’re not just talking — they’re singing.”
I rubbed the bridge of my nose in silence. Chevalier de Latour immediately dropped his smile, leaned in a little bit, and then continued in a much more serious tone:
“You know what it all reminds me of, hearing their talk and their songs?”
“What?” I raised an eyebrow.
“A ship,” replied Henri confidently.
“A ship?” I repeated.
“Yes — a ship,” he nodded. “A small but very sturdy ship, one that’s been through several storms with only minimal loss. All thanks to its captain, who despite his youth is as capable as any grizzled old sea dog in the world. Hm... Although in this case, perhaps a fox is a more accurate comparison. A cunning, experienced fox who can smell a trick coming a mile away. One who the Goddess of Fortune seems to smile on...”
Without breaking eye contact, Henri leaned back into his chair and continued:
“Your people believe in you, Your Lordship. They trust that you’ll get them through whatever storm might come up, even if it’s a hurricane. But that’s not all. They also associate you with their own wellbeing. I mean, the sharing of spoils after two battles has made a cardinal difference for many of them already. If things continue at this rate, even the most pathetic shirker in the “Last Chances” will come back a rich man. Do you know that your people are not only no longer afraid of the “Scarlets,” but are actually impatient to meet them in the field? They’re already adding up the spoils they’ll be taking from the red cloaks in their minds.”
“It would be quite rash indeed to think of the Gray Reaper and his people as easy spoils,” I replied. “You should instruct your commanders to explain things to their subordinates a little more frankly. My intuition is telling me that Alberto di Lanzi definitely has something unpleasant in store for us.”
“Might it be, Your Lordship, that YOUR understanding of the situation is a little flawed?” Chevalier de Latour asked wryly. “It doesn’t look like Master di Lanzi is intending to retreat. Is that not proof that the spy you found failed to get word to his master in time? You said yourself that you intercepted his message.”
“Impossible,” I shook my head. “Master di Lanzi is clearly aware that Cesare lost this city. He’s decided to bring three cohorts against a city that’s defended by almost 4,500 soldiers, and I don’t think he’s the type of overconfident idiot who might do that without good reason to believe he can succeed.”
“Maybe he’s trying to lure you out by slowing down?” Henri asked.
“No,” I shook my head. “All his actions seem to indicate that he’s waiting for something... We’ll find out very soon, whatever the case. That’s why I’ve been insisting on thorough preparations for a long siege from the very beginning.”
Of course, I wasn’t about to tell him that I had sent Vaira and Ignia toward the Gray Foothills ten days before. It was there, according to Cesare di Nobile, that a 7,000-strong force was positioned to block the remnants of the Bergonian army and the Vestonian legion. Five of the cohorts in that force were red cloaks.
Cesare didn’t seem to know if Master di Lanzi had a direct line of communication to the commander of those cohorts, but it seemed a very safe bet to assume that he did. Add the reasonable assumption that the Gray Reaper was slowing down because he wanted to wait for reinforcements from the Gray Foothills, and the whole mosaic fell into place. I just had to wait for my assistants to return.
If the Efirel had gone out on her own, she could have taken care of everything much more quickly, but I wasn’t going to risk sending her out alone. I knew I would feel a lot better knowing the fayret was with her. The fire fairy had grown quite a bit stronger in recent weeks, although her development had previously been slower than that of her sisters.
“You think the Gray Reaper with his thousand men will be able to defeat a force four times his size?” Henri asked, his tone suggesting disbelief.
“I don’t believe in fortune-telling with toad skins or anything of the kind — I can’t predict the future,” I replied. “But I know very well that a thousand red cloaks is a force that should never be underestimated. A situation like this means that we have to make every soldier count. You just mentioned the Golden Lion... You know where I think he’s going to bring his legions once he’s done with Marshal de Clairmont? Before heading for Vestonia, Ricardo di Lorenzo is going to march them along the old Imperial track. He’s going to kick the Vestonians and Bergonians out of the Gray Foothills, then he’s definitely going to stop in Gondreville and my Margraviate. I’m sure that you and those who have authorized you to conduct these negotiations are already guessing the same thing.”
“We are indeed,” said Chevalier de Latour drily. “That’s exactly why I’m here right now.”
“I suppose that the city fathers and mothers have some sort of proposal for me?” I asked; then, with a laugh, I added: “Or are you really just feeling your way forward through the swamp, as you mentioned earlier?”
“The latter, most likely,” Henri answered with a smile, before adding: “The city council is interested in your opinion regarding a particular question...”
“You have my full attention.”
“We’d like to know how you’d feel about Gondreville someday being part of your duchy? No, your ears aren’t deceiving you, Your Lordship. Sooner or later, all Margraviates always turn into duchies, and yours will be no exception. I’d like to add that we haven’t seen someone like you in these parts for a very long time... We have every reason to expect that you’ll succeed in establishing your own duchy...”
To be honest, the question was unexpected and completely ill-timed. According to my plan, I would first have to take control of my new lands and entrench myself in them, so as to be able to launch expeditions into the Shadow, while also figuring out why the hell the “Scarlets” were so interested in my Margraviate. In other words, I would need time to take care of business without sticking my neck out too much. Acquiring new territory was emphatically not part of that stage of the plan.
“As soon as my banners rise above Gondreville’s city hall, and I announce that you’re under my protection, I’ll find that I’ve thereby made enemies of at least ten influential noble houses in Mainland,” I said calmly. “Why would I need such a headache?”
Henri de Latour obviously expected a very different answer, and he hesitated for a moment, but quickly regained his composure.
“You really think you haven’t made powerful enemies already by defeating the Marquis di Spinola and taking Gondreville by storm?” He asked. “Besides, your banners are already hanging from our walls.”
“That’s different,” I objected. “They’re hanging next to the banners of the Third Legion — His Majesty’s Third Legion, the man who ordered me here in the first place. You’re basically asking me to forsake my King’s banner. I repeat: why would I need such a headache?”
“Land, taxes...” Henri de Latour started to list off the benefits, but I stopped him.
“I’m not interested in that.”
For the time being, at least... But of course I didn’t say that out loud.
“Why not?” He was surprised.
And I could understand why. He had just offered me a whole city, with a population of 5,000 people, and received a flat refusal. Anyone else in my place probably would have been jumping for joy.
“Because you’re asking me to bite off more than I can chew,” I said.
I wasn’t big enough to carry that burden yet. I knew I would get swamped by all their decisions and problems involved and have to completely neglect my own affairs. Besides, I would be sticking my neck out very, very far indeed.
“Well...” Henri frowned. “I’ll inform the council.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help each other as good neighbors should,” I smiled. Chevalier de Latour seemed to cheer up considerably. “Let the elders know that I’ll do everything in my power to get these horrible fanatics off your lands forever. We won’t leave you in the lurch, my friend.”
After I spoke, the shadow lifted a little bit from Henri’s face. I could understand his anxiety, and that of the rest of the city’s leaders. For the time being, the citizens of the town were just happy to be free from the red cloaks, but the leadership needed to start thinking about the future. It seemed that the prospect of having to face off against the “Scarlets” on their own — and particularly against Alberto di Lanzi — was terrifying. For the first time in a long time, a worthy opponent had appeared, one who wasn’t afraid to challenge the Gray Reaper.
After Chevalier de Latour left, I sat in my chair for a little while and thought about what had transpired. Eventually, however, a sudden feeling tore me out of my contemplations; it was the familiar feeling I always got when one of my fairies was nearby.
Vaira and Ignia were back...