And avoid the ferals of Tatanka’s Cursed Grove.
Ben stepped forward. The old man dipped his fingers into the bowl of blood and wiped them across Ben’s face. His top finger ran over Ben’s empty eye socket with a vicious sting. “Pec hiti jamo kohs vaoxi cua,” the Ork said. “Let the spirits guide you.” He stepped to the side.
Before Draka could raise her bow, Ben shot into the dark city. In less than a second, he was gone, and a gust of wind blew out the ceremonial torches behind him.
19
Rose
Between Freztad and Vänalleato
She wore her crown on the road. Alejandra had told Rose it would boost morale for the people marching alongside them to war. It gave them something tangible to fight for. “And there are far worse things to fight for than a beautiful young queen,” she said. Rose smiled, though she wasn’t fooled by the flattery. It had gotten quite old really, considering no one could talk to her without trying to win her favor.
Everyone, except for Trinity.
“I’ve had a life of groveling and kissing the dirt people walk on. I like you and all, but I’m not going back to that.”
It was nice to still have someone who spoke to her like a real person. They rode side by side atop two seasoned mares. Trinity sat atop a bay with a magnificent mane of braided black ropes. Rose’s mount was chestnut brown covered with splotches of white that looked like freshly spilled milk. It was a nice steed, but it was no Sleipnir. The pale draft horse had been missing since Ben’s journey north. No one had seen him since the fall of Jordysc. He’s probably long gone.
A ride to Vänalleato usually took less than a week if by road at a good pace. They were going by road, but this was anything but a good pace. Traveling with a party over a thousand strong on the thin and uneven roads made for a long trip. Some were mounted or drawn by carriages; many more were not. There simply weren’t enough horses in the entire Alliance to carry that many people. And foot-soldiers tire a lot sooner than horses. The train had to stop constantly for some incident or another. Someone tripped and sprained their ankle. Another forgot supplies at the last campsite, and a small group had to run back to retrieve it. Not to mention how long it took for everyone to cook, eat, relieve themselves, set up and tear down their tents, and then dress for the next day’s march. Though it was exhausting, it left an adequate amount of time for her to meet with the other leaders. She met with them later that night.
“We need to do something about these roads,” Joshua complained. He was the only non-Freztadian present in the tent. They were supposed to have a meeting with all the military officers tonight, and it seemed everyone else was running late.
“How do you propose we pay for something like that?” Zechariah asked.
“We don’t need to pay for it,” Kristos responded curtly. “This is a war; we tell the builders its part of their contribution!”
“That’s how you lose people’s support,” Zechariah said with a frustrated groan. “And lose a war. War is expensive, believe it or not. People will suffer. They’ll go hungry, despite all the new crops we have. They’ll fear for their lives every night when they go to bed. They’ll go to sleep not knowing if they’ll ever see loved ones again. Why would miserable people work for free, especially when they’re already overworked making supplies for said war? Armor, weapons, clothing, tools, tents; shall I go on?”
Kristos’s face reddened and looked like steam would burst through his head any minute. “Are people really so ungrateful? Soldiers will die to protect them, ensuring they can keep their livelihood. Hell, the other settlements shouldn’t get to complain since they’re getting all the Vault seeds for free.”
“That’s because they have every right to those seeds,” Rose cut in. “If we start denying people access to food based on what they can and can’t afford then we’ll become worse than Ænæria’s current regime.”
“Exactly. Even they feed their people,” Zechariah said.
“I wouldn’t call the seeds free,” Joshua added. “We’re going to war with a country we never used to have issue with. This whole conflict started because of these seeds.”
“I thought it was because Ben killed Julius,” Kristos said.
“Ben didn’t kill him,” Rose corrected.
“Joshua’s right,” Zechariah said. “Randolph is probably ecstatic about Julius’s death. He’s king now because of it.”
“Wasn’t that Rivers guy supposed to be king?” Joshua asked.
“It’s tricky,” Rose said. “Julius wanted to start an empire, with Ænæria just being one of many kingdoms. Rivers would’ve been King of Ænæria under this proposition, but after he died, it never came to fruition. Besides, he died of a bad lung that he got in Svaldway.”
Joshua snorted. “Seems a little coincidental.”
“How so?” Zechariah asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? Randolph had Rivers killed and covered it up as an illness. He wouldn’t want any competition during his rise to power.”
Zechariah looked skeptical. “I don’t know about that. He wasn’t highly ranked, and he never struck me as all that intelligent.”
Rose shook her head. “I’d always wondered how he ended up being king instead of another legate. The line of succession in Ænæria was never very clear. In the kingdoms, prior to the formation of Ænæria, the line of succession went first by blood. Usually, that meant the firstborn would rule once they reached an appropriate age—sixteen in most kingdoms. And it was almost always the male heir. If the firstborn was a female it didn’t count unless there weren’t any male siblings. Even then things got difficult. A king’s brother or uncle could throw their name into the mix, usually leading to civil war. If there were no heirs through bloodline, the line of succession was transferred to the highest-ranking military official.”
“Then you have a solid claim,” Kristos said. “You’re Julius’s only child, his last living relative.”
“It’s not that simple. Like I said, that was before they were united as a single kingdom. My fath—” Rose stopped herself, slipping into the way she spoke when was a prisoner. “Julius,” she corrected, “thought far into the future with many matters, but succession was never one of them. I don’t think he ever thought he would die so soon. He probably planned to marry me off to someone to gain more land with the intent of naming a son with my hypothetical husband as his heir. He never talked to me about being his successor, though. I wasn’t privy to many of his plans. I was treated like a princess, in that no one was allowed alone with me, and I was treated to the same luxuries as the king, but no one ever thought of me as being a future queen.”
“If they didn’t see you as the heir, and he’d set the precedent of naming a legate as his predecessor when announcing his imperial plans, then how did it jump from Rivers to Randolph?”
“After Rivers, it would’ve been Fenwin,” Zechariah started. “But he was already dead. Randolph was next highest ranked.”
“How do you know all that?” Joshua asked.
“I was an Ænærian prisoner, too. Just like Rose.”
“And Neith and Yeong,” Kristos added.
“I’d forgotten about them,” Joshua said. “Where are they now?”
“Still being held prisoner somewhere in Ænæria,” Kristos said through his teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, Rose noticed him clench his fists.
“How come you got rescued and they didn’t?”
There was a look of pain on Zechariah’s face when Joshua asked. He’d had to explain himself to nearly everyone in Freztad after being brought back home. “I’m not really sure. I guess Julius wanted Rose with someone she trusted.”
That had been the reasoning Julius had used when Randolph first brought her and the others to Ænæria. As soon as they arrived in Ignistad, Julius had ordered Neith and Yeong to be arrested and Zechariah to journey with them to Bacchuso. Julius had stated Rose should be with someone she trusted, but even early on, she could taste a lie in that. Zech
ariah hardly ever guarded her, and when he did, he was with a group of Rhion too. They mostly shared time together at meals, and he’d been almost entirely silent throughout each of them. After a whole moon had passed, Rose figured Zechariah was there to deter Rose from acting out or trying to escape. It had been quite clear early on that Ænærians had no trouble executing prisoners.
An icy chill brushed against her skin. She shuddered thinking about the wastelanders who Randolph hanged from crosses on their way to Ignistad. That had made her afraid of Xander well before discovering he was actually her father. She did not like thinking of those times.
Days later, they finally arrived at their destination, though as Kristos and Joshua had aptly pointed out, the roads were in dire need of repair, and the remainder of their journey had been slow and rough.
If there were any place Rose could call a second home, it was Vänalleato. She’d spent more time here during her childhood than any of the other settlements. Freztad and Vänalleato’s histories were intertwined, spanning nearly a century. Before Mathias founded Freztad, he’d traveled the wastes with his wife and friends. He’d made many connections along the way, and some say it was his stay in Vänalleato that brought him to finally settle down along the Gjoll, just south of the town looking over the lake. The road between Freztad and Vänalleato was the oldest of the traveled paths within the borders of the Penteric Alliance, and Mathias’s descendants would traverse it often. Rose had carried on that tradition with her mother and Ben when she was six years old—after the last trace of the plague had finally been eradicated. Vänalleato had been hit hard, too, though not nearly as bad as Freztad. The town’s hunter flies seemed to protect them well enough, as did their elevation above the lake. Blood bugs thrived on stagnant water, which was abundant in Freztad due to the puddles formed from the overflowing banks of the Gjoll.
Her first stay in Vänalleato had been a somber affair. Lydia traveled to all the settlements in the Penteric Alliance to pay her respects. She had been wise to bring Rose and Ben along with her. All the other children in Freztad died from the plague, and there was sure to be resentment. Better they were under watchful eyes. Rose hadn’t understood at the time, despite signs being all around her. After all, there were plenty of kids roaming around the streets of the little scattered town. It had been like that in the other settlements, too. Mashariq was practically built on the water, and Rose thought they should’ve been hit the hardest. It was not so, and as she got older, she realized the plague mostly traveled near the Gjoll. Mashariq’s waters connected to the Gjoll—but only over such a great distance and through narrow streams. Sydgilbyn had been hit the hardest after Freztad and Vänalleato, as they were also along the Gjoll. Talamdor hardly suffered at all, though many travelers returned with the sickness.
Subsequent journeys to Vänalleato had been more vivacious. Rose had traveled with her mother at least once each year for the town’s Day of the Ascendants festival. It was the most important of Vänalleatian holidays, taking place at the end of the first week of the Bear Moon, when the first chills of winter began to nip and bite. The festival celebrated all the deaths throughout the year and the transition of their spirits to commune with the Ascendants in the afterlife. It had started with a ceremony said by the Grand Elder, which was always rather gloomy for Rose’s taste—much more Ben’s style. Afterward, when the sun had set, there was a feast and the town was brightened by the candles lit outside each house—one candle for each loved one who had ever passed. Her mother explained that as the originator of the Penteric Alliance, she was expected to partake in the cultures of their allies. Vänalleato had always been Freztad’s most trusted friend, and it was a continued gesture of good faith to attend something so important to them. Her mother would attend similar celebrations with the other settlements, but few were held so close to its people’s hearts. No matter what else Lydia had going on, she always made a point to rearrange her plans at the end of the year to revolve around her trip to Vänalleato for the Ascendants Festival. And when she asked Rose to go in her stead three years ago, Rose started to realize how seriously ill her mother was growing.
A small party of sentinels had escorted the thirteen-year-old Rose to Vänalleato for the festival. She insisted they return home where they were needed more because Rose knew she would be in Vänalleato for more than just a few days. Instead, she ended up staying for over a week, until a message arrived from Freztad that her mother was worried sick. The town itself just seemed to open itself up to her. She hadn’t been dragged along by her mother as in years past, and the Vänalleatians noticed. They must’ve seen a young girl who wanted to continue showing the same respect as her mother. It was a first impression that helped her gain her reputation as a leader. The locals showed her around the town, and she had the pleasure of seeing parts of it she never would’ve seen had she simply been visiting for the festival. The Elders took her to their temple and taught her about their beliefs, imparting the wisdom of the Ascendants upon her. She’d made it a point to return each year thereafter.
Vänalleato wasn’t a big enough town to house the entire army. Tents and fires were erected at the base of the hill where the road slithered to the front gates. Vänalleato possessed less land within their walls than Freztad, despite having a larger population. Freztad was used to having guests, and the village had an abundance of inns and spare rooms. Vänalleato used everything it had.
Rose and the other leaders, as well as the lieutenants, were given refuge in the Elders’ District. The Elders didn’t mind sharing their space. Rose felt wrong taking an entire room to herself when nearly everyone else had to continue sleeping on the hard ground after such a long ride. There would only be more ahead. Despite her resistance, it was insisted upon that she take up quarters within the walls where she would be safe. Anyone could sneak into a camp at night and kill her. It was much harder to get into Vänalleato’s walls, especially given how well guarded they were against outsiders.
Their last days on the road had been spent refining their battle strategies. Each day Rose had been given progress reports, as requested.
They would only stay in Vänalleato for a few days to recuperate from the march and make final plans before marching to Plutonua. The meeting was set for midafternoon, in the cathedral located at the center of the Elders’ District, tricky though it was to arrange. The Grand Elder pleaded with them to find a different location. “This is the refuge of the Ascendants! It is not a place to make plans for war!”
Jarl Geon towered over the kyphotic Grand Elder and growled the word “move.” The cathedral was theirs until the meeting was over.
The great building was crafted of gray stone with marbled floors and alabaster pillars. The cathedral’s hexagonal interior drew its attention to the center where all the pews faced. A long wooden table was carried into the center hall and chairs were placed around it. Rose sat at one head, and Isaac, the Vänalleatian Vänaguard captain, took his place at the other. Alejandra, the Alliance leaders, and the seconds-in-command filled in the seats between. Kristos sat at Rose’s right hand. Alejandra sat with Bjorn, who had recently returned from Svaldway on the same flight that flew Ben to Mashariq. Joshua sat next to his father, the jarl. Rose did not recognize the newcomers sitting by Thalia and Morgiana. They must’ve been with the forces traveling from their settlements. Rose recognized the man next to Isaac—another of the Vänaguard, named Sylvio. He was a dark-skinned man with a stubbly beard, and he was very quiet. The rest of the officers filled in the cathedral benches. It was a full house, and it was very hot.
Sweat formed at Rose’s brow, and she adjusted her crown to keep it from digging into her ears. “Welcome, everyone. I’d first like to thank Vänalleato for hosting us this afternoon. I’m sure we’ll be here well into the evening, so please, get as comfortable as you can. We’ll break at dusk for dinner and reconvene an hour thereafter.” Start with the pleasantries and get them into a good mood. No need to make a long day any longer. “How was the
journey here?” she asked the new faces from Talamdor and Mashariq.
“Weather was fair; storms held up enough to keep the rivers from flooding,” the man from Mashariq said stalely. Evidently, he didn’t want to waste time with small talk either.
“Sir, could I have your name? It wouldn’t do for me to go the entire meeting without knowing what to call you. I’d find it rather embarrassing.”
He stammered and looked into his lap before answering, “Yes, erm, apologies, my lady—I mean, Your Majesty. My name is Kamir. I am the admiral of Mashariq’s navy.”
“A pleasure,” Rose replied with a smile. She looked to the man by Morgiana’s side. He was a stark contrast compared to the clean-shaven, copper-skinned admiral. He was wide with a pale complexion, auburn beard, and a balding head. He didn’t return Rose’s smile.
“Gordon,” he muttered. “Our trip was fine. Long.”
Rose could tell this man wanted to be anyone but here. Isn’t that what we’d all prefer, though?
Bjorn spoke up next. “I’ve come mainly to provide an update on our forces in Bacchuso. Legate Longinus and his reinforcement took down our last garrison.” Scattered curses filled the room. The war hardly even started, and they’d already lost a major battle. “Grim news, I know. From what I’ve heard, they took no prisoners. Few escaped. The remaining Baccusan guild members fled to Svaldway. We still have a strong grip there. They’ve not broken us.
Rose liked his spirit. He didn’t concede to adversity. We’ll need more like him if we ever hope to succeed.
“Why Svaldway?” Isaac asked. “Wouldn’t they be more useful on the mainland where the actual war is occurring?”
“It’s a mistake to assume the war is only occurring here,” Alejandra said. “We have reports of a fleet and single airship going far beyond the Shimmering Sea to new lands.”
The Heir of Ænæria Page 23
