by Ari Marmell
“Oh, I’ve no doubt. I… wasn’t speaking of his Highness.”
For that, the knight had no reply. The margravine had gotten a good look at his map, and it didn’t require a military scholar to recognize that the faction to have taken the most ground, by far, was Zirresca’s.
It was difficult to admit to himself, let alone to others, but Nycos knew Mariscal had good reason for worry. Given how swiftly he learned, and his ability to contextualize new information with the knowledge of centuries, he could become both Zirresca’s and Kortlaus’s superiors in every way that mattered within another year or two. Unfortunately, with the Marshal’s Trials now underway, he clearly wouldn’t have those years—and at the moment, Zirresca’s strategic and tactical acumen, where human forces were concerned, exceeded his own by every measure.
He still had a chance at becoming Orban Laszlan’s successor, but the odds were not in his favor.
“Do you suppose,” Mariscal asked after a few moments of relative quiet, “that the other emissaries have finally arrived?”
Nycos was absurdly grateful for the topic change. “I hope that’s what this is. We could just as easily return to news that Ktho Delios is on the march.”
“What a dreadful thought.” She paused, brow furrowing. “Would they do that in the dead of winter?”
“Probably not,” he admitted. “I just meant, until I hear that this news is not about some new catastrophe, I’m going to brace myself with the assumption that it is.”
Nor was he alone in that attitude. In point of fact, the bulk of the Kirresci court waited in anticipation of some disaster or another. They’d received no official word from the Quindacran government since Ambassador Guldoell had returned to Vidiir. No notification of her safe arrival, no acknowledgement of King Hasyan’s further missives, certainly nothing to suggest that either Guldoell, or any other emissary, would be returning to Talocsa. While a few nobles still held out hope, and the king was unwilling to take any precipitous actions, most in Oztyerva took that silence as tacit admission that the accusations of collusion held some weight.
Hasyan had called for an emergency assembly of envoys from the rest of the southern nations—every signatory to the mutual defense pact, and even Ythane as well. As of yet, however, few such emissaries had arrived—unless, as Mariscal theorized, the assembly to which they’d been summoned was meant to inform them otherwise.
That particular theory was dashed when Nycos and the others finally strode between the great doors of Hasyan’s throne room, after pausing only long enough to wash and change into clothes not drenched with the slurry of melted snow and caked road mud. Only two foreigners were present amidst the Kirresci knights and nobles: Ambassador Kidil, who had already been here in Talocsa; and Ambassador Razmos of Althlalen, who appeared as freshly changed out of traveling garb as the contestants themselves.
Nycos briefly caught Mariscal’s eye and frowned with new worry before taking his place among the other knights of his rank.
Hasyan spoke without preamble from the throne, surrounded by the usual group of counselors and advisors. “We are grateful to all of you for coming,” he said. Nycos found himself startled by how weary the king sounded. “And to those of you who were engaged in the Marshal’s Trials, we apologize for the interruption. Sadly, the urgency of the situation left us no other course.
“You have all, of course, heard tales and rumors of trouble along our borders, and those of our friends in Wenslir and Suunim. Creatures out of Gronch—creatures that,” he added with a faint shudder, “we now know with far too much certainty are more than mere ghost stories. Villages destroyed overnight. Travelers who failed to reach their destinations, though they walked the most well-trod and well-patrolled highways.”
He waited for the various mumbles of assent to fade. “Ambassador Kidil,” he said in an apparent change of direction, “do we understand correctly that you have found it difficult of late to communicate with Suunim? That many of your couriers have failed to complete the journey?”
The old man bowed his head sadly. “I fear you understand quite correctly, Your Majesty. I have begun to feel that I ought to be making the trek myself.”
“It’s well you did not, Aadesh.” The switch to an informal, friendlier form of address was not lost on Nycos. “You would likely have accomplished nothing but to join your lost couriers. Friends, it is our sad burden to inform you that we have finally received some more detailed reports, tales carried by fortunate survivors—and the situation is far more dire than we ever feared.”
“Because things were going so easily and peacefully up to now,” Zirresca, standing a few places down from Nycos, muttered under her breath.
“The villages that have been razed were not destroyed by any ogre. We have heard stories of… Of a great winged shape, scarcely visible against the stars or when it passed briefly before the face of a moon. Monstrous, wreathed in flame.”
He could have stopped there. The horrified silence that choked the throne room was evidence enough that everyone knew what he implied.
“After decades of freedom from their kind,” he pressed on, driving the point home, “we now face the distinct possibility of a second dragon in as many years.”
Vircingotirilux? Nycos had suspected her before, and it seemed near certainty now. That vile beast of a wyrm dwelt deep within Gronch, commanded the ogres of the wood as her minions, just as he himself had once ruled over the goblins, the wyverns, and other creatures of the Outermark Mountains.
And yet, as before, so much seemed… off. Random devastation and the deaths of whole communities, that indeed sounded like Vircingotirilux, but the subtleties of her earlier attack? The magics required to transform an ogre into a man? Those were beyond her. Nor could he imagine common cause between the ravening, lunatic wyrm and the highly disciplined military machine of Ktho Delios.
All signs to the contrary, could it be a different dragon entirely? Nycos could think of only a few with both the magic and cunning to orchestrate all they’d seen. None dwelt nearby, but it was conceivable that such a wyrm might turn its attentions to territories far beyond its own. And as rare as dragons were, Nycos couldn’t be positive he knew of all those living in southern Galadras. A particularly secretive wyrm might have kept itself concealed.
He wished they had a more precise physical description of the dragon, but it sounded as though a “winged shape in the night” was the best available. Still, he drew breath to ask, though he would need to phrase the question carefully so as not to give away that he knew more than he was letting on.
Someone else beat him to the punch, however, and with a far more sinister question. “Are we entirely certain,” Margrave Andarjin asked, as though the notion had just occurred to him, “that this is a ‘second’ dragon?”
It took a moment for the implications to sink in.
“Petty, my Lord,” Nycos snapped. “Have you grown so hopeless of ever having accomplishments of your own to tout that you’ve decided it’s easier to question everyone else’s?”
“There will be none of that!” King Hasyan shot to his feet. “We will have no squabbling among the court, and we will have no such accusations or insults thrown about!”
Teeth grinding like a millstone, Nycos bowed his head.
Then, to the surprise of all, Balmorra stepped forward to stand beside her liege. “Let me assuage the margrave’s, ah, concerns. And any others he might have raised. I may not see all, with my magics or in the stars, but I see enough. I can assure you, with no doubt, that whoever or whatever we face from the depths of the Ogre-Weald, it is not the dragon Tzavalantzaval.”
That was sufficient for most of those gathered, to judge by the murmurs that followed. Andarjin bowed his head to the old astrologer, then more deeply to the king. He should have also extended Nycos an apology, but apparently even he couldn’t take his insincerity that far.
For his own part, Nycos once again wondered and worried over just how much Balmorra knew.
Hasyan
sank slowly back into the depths of his throne. “Crown Marshal?”
Orban advanced to address the court. “This dragon, and the beasts of the Ogre-Weald, are a greater threat than we had expected to face. Suunim, Wenslir, and our own eastern provinces are effectively under siege. Trade, travel, and military maneuvers are hampered. This is why, among other consequences, Ambassador Kidil has received no messages from Suunim, and why Wenslir hasn’t sent an ambassador to discuss our current situation.” He scowled contemptuously. “It is also why Mahdresh has failed to do so, or so they say, despite sharing no borders with Gronch. Opportunists and cowards, the lot—”
“Manners, Marshal,” Hasyan interrupted, not unkindly. “And focus.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” He frowned, apparently irritated at himself. “My sincere apologies. My point is that we have a great deal of potential trouble ahead, and that’s just Gronch. Whether Ktho Delios is behind this or not, they’ll doubtless try to take advantage, and we still don’t know for certain where Quindacra stands…” He trailed off, abruptly sounding as tired as the king.
“For the foreseeable future, we’re going to need all our greatest military minds developing strategies and contingencies, and all our soldiers at station and prepared to march. As such, as much as I’d hoped to complete them before war is truly upon us, I am suspending the trials to determine my successor until the situation calms.”
Nycos abruptly felt as though every eye in the throne room was upon him, though he knew that Zirresca and Kortlaus feel equal scrutiny.
“I apologize to all three worthy candidates,” Orban said. “But I assure you that we’ll return to the matter as soon as his Majesty and I consider it viable. Who knows, perhaps the upcoming struggles will allow one of you the opportunity to perform feats so great, I won’t need the trials to make my choice.”
This was nothing but good news for Nycos. Any delay was an opportunity to improve his skills, to narrow the gap between himself and the obvious frontrunner. Others, however, were far less pleased. Zirresca’s whole face had gone red with fury and frustration, and Nycos heard Margrave Andarjin swallow once, hard. No doubt choking down a protest that he must have known would go over poorly.
Kortlaus, so far as Nycos could tell, was untroubled, equally content one way or the other, but then, Kortlaus had never seemed as emotionally engaged in his campaign as either Nycos or Zirresca were in theirs.
A few more moments of general discussion, and then his Majesty dismissed the bulk of the nobles and gentry—Andarjin managed not to storm out in a huff, but an abnormal stiffness in his gait implied he wanted to—while the royal advisors and military leaders moved to the council chambers for the first of what promised to be many tense strategy sessions.
It was on their way to that smaller room, passing through winding and heavily guarded halls, that Prince Elias dropped back to fall in beside Nycos. So preoccupied was the knight with questions of dragons and other hidden foes that it took him a moment to realize the heir apparent had asked him something.
“I’m deeply sorry, your Highness. My mind was elsewhere. Might you repeat that, please?”
“Oh, I was just requesting that you stay at my side during the discussion, in case I have any questions.”
“Of course, your Highness.” It was an aggravation Nycos didn’t need at the moment, but he’d agreed to advise the prince, and had done so on several matters of lesser import. It seemed inappropriate, and potentially damaging, to refuse now.
So, trying to think as an instructor, he continued, “You have a solid grasp of the situation thus far?”
Elias smiled, though somewhat self-mockingly. “I’m not a complete fool, Sir Nycolos.”
“I never thought you were,” Nycos lied. Then, just as the prince’s smile began to brighten, “So run through it for me, your Highness. I need to know what you know if I’m to advise you properly.”
In a tone not unlike a schoolboy reciting a lesson, the prince explained Quindacra’s importance to the treaty. Although that nation shared no border with Ktho Delios, it controlled a vast stretch of coastline. Should Quindacra grant them access to said beaches, the Deliant navy could easily sail about the cape of the continent and disgorge an army to come at Wenslir from the south and Kirresc from the southwest. Both nations would be required to split their forces, with potentially catastrophic results, and that assumed Quindacra merely allowed the enemy safe passage. If they were to actually join with the invaders…
“And of course,” Elias concluded, “the loss of their soldiers on the front lines would be a massive blow to our defenses, before even taking the rest into account. So, teacher, did I pass your test?”
“Yes, your Highness. But not well.”
The prince blinked his royal eyelids. “What did I miss?”
Give the young man credit. He sounded more curious than offended.
“Two points.” Nycos raised a hand, counting off fingers. “First, neither we nor Wenslir have any major cities near our shared border. It wouldn’t be difficult for Quindacra—or Ktho Delian forces moving through their territory—to cut off communication between Kirresc and Wenslir. Or, by extension, between us and Suunim.”
“Oof. You’re right.”
“Second, any Kirresci war effort against Ktho Delios might be crippled without Quindacran goods. Tools, weapons, raw materials.”
“But Quindacra doesn’t craft anything we can’t make for ourselves! And most of their materials aren’t as good!”
“True. But if Ktho Delios invades Kirresc, the first thing they’re going to do is try to take or destroy our resources. Lumber. Crops. Mines. Smiths and carpenters, if they reach any of our cities. Quindacra’s farther from Ktho Delios than we are, so they’d be able to maintain those industries longer than we might.”
Elias nodded slowly. “I hadn’t thought of any of that.”
“Think beyond the moment,” Nycos advised, though he wondered if there were any real point, if the prince could alter his thinking. “Don’t just envision the immediate threats. Try to think about where you might be a week, a month, a year from now.”
“I’ll try, Sir Nycolos. Thank you.”
At which point the conversation, and indeed the walk, ended at the door to the council chambers. While everyone else gathered, Nycos found himself once again chasing his own thoughts, and every single one of them eventually came back to the same roost.
Vircingotirilux.
Nothing he could come up with, no angle of approach, forced any of this to make sense. She had to be involved, and yet so much of what had happened was beyond her abilities, her maddened mind, or both. Did she know who he was? How? What was she planning? Who or what was she working with?
He had to know—for the sake of everyone around him, yes, but particularly for his own. And unfortunately, though he passed the hours of the council meeting in trying to envision another option, in the end he could come up with only one way to find out.
___
“He barely let me finish speaking before he told me it was insane and he wouldn’t even consider allowing it.”
“Good!” Mariscal poked Nycos in the arm, hard. “Because it is insane, and he shouldn’t even consider it!”
The two of them walked, side by side but not quite arm in arm, through what Nycos had come to think of “Mariscal’s garden.” The flowers he’d long ago arranged to bloom for her were dormant, slumbering beneath a confectioner’s dusting of sugary snow. The garden smelled only of winter, without a trace of the floral aromas of the past. Still, it held great meaning for the pair—although Nycos was sure that meaning was very different in her mind than it was in his—and they came here often to talk. Other than a handful of Mariscal’s ladies-in-waiting, who hung back far enough to grant the knight and the margravine a modicum of privacy, they were the only souls present.
“He then went on to call me insane,” Nycos complained.
Again she poked him, hard enough to suggest some genuine anger. �
��I’m not sure he’s wrong there, either.”
“You don’t believe I can do it, either, my Lady?”
Mariscal stopped, then dragged him to a halt and turned him to face her. “Nycos, you had an enchanted blade last time. One specifically crafted to slay dragons! And you still survived only through sheer luck! Donaris doesn’t smile so broadly twice on anyone!”
“It’s true, I no longer have Wyrmtaker.” Well, most of it, he added mentally as the old wound twinged. “But I learned much about dragons during that hunt, and Smim knows much as well. Between the two of us, we could come up with another means of hurting Vi—the beast.
“Besides,” he continued quickly, both to cover his slip of the tongue and forestall the argument he knew was coming, “the plan would be to try to kill the dragon only if a near-perfect opportunity presents itself. Otherwise, this is intelligence-gathering. Where does the dragon lair? Is Ktho Delios somehow in contact with it?” Who is she working with? Does she know who I am? How?!
“It’s madness,” Mariscal insisted. “Marshal Laszlan was right to refuse to hear anything more of it!”
Of course it was madness! For all his power, everything he could do to grant himself might and abilities far beyond human, Nycos was only a fraction of what he once had been. The thought of facing Vircingotirilux in his current state was utterly terrifying.
But what choice had he?
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you even think it, Nycolos!”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I can see it in your face. You’re thinking of going anyway!”
Damn it, I’m not even the Nycos she knew. How can she read me this way?!
“Mariscal…”
“No!” Snow puffed up in a small cloud where she actually stomped an angry foot. “Putting aside the danger, if you abandon your duties, leave against orders a second time? You’ll never be Crown Marshal. We won’t be… It won’t be good for any of us.”
“Even if I can learn something, or accomplish something, that would save the lives of Kirresci soldiers?” he demanded. “That would save us from having to divide our forces? Would that not make it worthwhile?”
