Chapter 230: Funneled

It was night near the Enorian city of Koltis. Viv hadn’t returned since her short visit more than ten years before as she was on her way north towards the Academy. Back then, the ancient fortified town had been a hotbed of smuggling and intrigue between the two rival factions of the civil war. Now, it had lost much of its luster. Some of the dilapidated roofs Viv could see over the distant walls and shallow fields spoke of broken fortunes. War was the bane of mankind, but war was also profitable. Peaceful unification had taken away most of the city’s income. The portal nearby had only helped a little.

 

This new poverty wasn’t reflected in the face of the man standing in front of her. He was tall, dark of skin and old, his beard gray and perfectly trimmed and a magnificent ceremonial robe cinching his athletic figure. The banker Zan was as sprightly as Viv remembered. It would be a mistake to think of him as just a businessman, however. Broad shoulders and scarred hands told a different tale: that of a retired Dark Blade.

 

Beware the assassin who retired from a lifetime of service.

 

Viv wasn’t afraid, however. A cadre of hadals accompanied her, led by Thirteen. It was like having her own private army of lethal bodyguards. She knew it would only last for the duration of the conflict but fuck was she going to miss this if she survived. Stopping near Zan and realizing she now towered over him, Viv crossed her arms. He was going to speak first. And he did.

 

“Your Imperial Majesty, welcome back to Koltis. Thank you so much for agreeing to see us. I have prepared a place to talk, if this is agreeable to you.”

 

“It is. Lead the way,” Viv said.

 

It wasn’t difficult to see her destination. A large, open tent stood over a nearby hill. Guards in black cloaks protected it. Although it was rude, Viv identified one of them.

 

[Veteran Lutenese Dark Blade: one who follows the path of assassination and sabotage. Expert infiltrator, expert close quarter fighter. Kark killer…]

 

Viv held a breath back. Those were the survivors of the defunct Red Tribe conflict, the kind of operatives who’d been sent to kill Marruk’s mom. Viv was grateful the stout woman wasn’t present: negotiations would have broken down immediately.

 

Viv returned her attention to the tent. Only the back was closed. The front was fully open. Thick rugs in warm colors covered the ground, well lit by large brasiers that emitted such a powerful heat that the snow had melted, uncovering the sleepy grass underneath. Two large cushions waited on either side of a low table attended by a thickly dressed northern woman pouring warm liquid in silver cups. As she put the second one down, a black figure appeared right next to her.

 

The guards drew. The woman jumped. Zan stopped. Viv merely kept walking while the figure patted her cushion with bandaged fingers. She had long gray hair emerging from her hood. An inquisitive mask hid her features.

 

“Peace,” Viv said, and the Dark Blades didn’t try to attack.

 

Thirteen finished her inspection, sniffed Viv’s cup, then turned back to her now showing a smiling mask. How they switched so fast, Viv still had no idea.

 

Then Thirteen was gone.

 

“I offered you my hospitality,” Zan said, voice a little tense. “I gave you my word. Was it not enough?”

 

“I trust you, but I don’t trust Oleander,” Viv replied. “He already called for a truce with Dean Tallit. The Maranorian envoy stabbed him when he asked for some time to consider the invader’s offer as they were still sitting. There are no more rules where they are concerned.”

 

Zan conceded that it wasn’t an insult with a brief nod, leading the Dark Blades to sheathe their weapons. Viv didn’t really give much of a shit but Zan was honorable and she had learnt not to burn bridges unless it was either necessary, or at least very funny.

 

“That is true.”

 

He didn’t try to deny who he was representing then, nor who they would support.

 

“Shall we sit?” he offered.

 

Viv did. She also sampled her drink which was an absolutely amazing cup of kawa. Seeing her put the cup down, Zan began while in the background, his attendant played a stringed instrument. It was a remarkably comfortable setting for a winter night open air talk.

 

“You must be wondering why I had the audacity to ask for your presence in this difficult time…”

 

“You are here on the Pure League’s behalf,” Viv said.

 

Zan pulled back slightly, eyes wide. Viv explained while the aroma of fresh kawa spread across the tent.

 

“You helped me escape Koltis which means I look upon you favorably, but the Manipeleso Bank and Exchange still holds strong ties with the Pure League. Your guards are Lutenese. The timing is also suspicious, with a vanguard leaving the northern city in the direction of Baran.”

 

“Yes, you are correct. I represent the Pure League in this endeavor, although I am not Lutenese myself. The prince asked me to contact you on their behalf to inform you of the following event.”

 

He sipped his kawa. The delay tickled Viv’s temper because this was not a discussion. He was conveying a plea. Reining her temper in was getting difficult recently.

 

Perhaps sensing her annoyance, Zan hurried on.

 

“The prince wishes to inform you he does not intend to act in an unfriendly manner. Unfortunately, die hard elements of the government force his hand or make him risk a civil war. He has no choice but to allow them to depart the city to join Maranor Kingdom’s army with minimal support, and he hopes you will remember this after your inevitable and much anticipated victory.”

 

Viv waited, not because she had a need to consider but just to watch Zan. As expected, the man started to sweat after five seconds of silence. He had skirted the truth when he’d said he wasn’t from Luten, because he clearly cared about the city as if he loved it.

 

“Am I to understand that the vanguard that left the city three days ago is the total sum of the force that will join my enemies?”

 

Zan’s concern turned to fear. Yes, Viv had a good information network. That tended to happen when the entire hadal race stopped trolling for five gods-damned minutes.

 

“That is correct, Your Majesty.”

 

“And cutting the flattering horse shit aside, am I to understand Luten expects no retaliation whatsoever should I win the war?”

 

This time, Zan didn’t reply immediately.

 

“I see you have not changed much,” he eventually forced out. “Still blunt.”

 

“You should be grateful that I’m saving both of us time.”

 

She took another sip of kawa but only because it was so good.

 

“In essence, yes,” Zan replied.

 

She put the cup down. It was sadly empty now.

 

“The thing is that Luten and the Pure League are part of the Paramese alliance. You have benefitted from this status for a long time now.”

 

“The Pure League remembers that the alliance failed to answer its call.”

 

“Because there was no existential threat. You tried to expand into kark territory and bled for it. Do not try to paint this as some beastling or Halurian invasion,” Viv replied, raising her voice.

 

Zan lowered his eyes. He let out a deep sigh. Viv wasn’t done.

 

“Your Pure League enjoyed the protection of the Paramese Alliance when I stuck to the limits of my casus belli instead of reaping your sons and blighting your fields for the next century. That was good protection, trust me. Now your prince is breaking his word by siding with the invader, going so far as to allow reinforcements instead of joining us on the field of battle as he promised he would. You lot are lucky the alliance doesn’t demand specific oaths from its sovereign members. Then should we bleed and sacrifice for a path to victory, he will remain free of consequence after failing the alliance. Is this what your prince had in mind, Zan Manipeleso?”

 

Viv allowed the tiniest amount of intimidation to seep through her words, just enough to remind him she had a shit list kept short by crossing names off of it, and there was still room at the bottom.

 

“The prince offers the location of the vanguard,” he said.

 

Now it was Viv’s turn to stop. The prince was just ready to sacrifice the life of his compatriots on the altar of peace. Interesting. Interesting but useless. And audacious.

 

“I already know the location of the vanguard, as I just mentioned. If I am ever inclined to kill your prince’s political opponent for free, in a way he can deny foreknowledge of, hmmm?”

 

To her surprise, Zan smiled. He leaned forward and refilled both of their cups.

 

“Well, I tried. My prince offers seven thousand Lutenese gold talents, two in coin, five in preserved food to be sent immediately, as well as the coordinates of the next Shadowland sea convoy. Over thirty fat transports laden with grain and meat. It will be lightly guarded by twelve warships.”

 

He took another sip while one of his servants refilled her cup.

 

“And not one thing more.”

 

“And in return?” Viv asked.

 

“Fifty years of peace. Independence for all members.”

 

“You get thirty and it’s contingent on you lot not starting another genocide. And remember, I’ll be watching… for a very long while.”

 

“Those terms are acceptable.”

 

Viv took her time to finish her second cup. Once she was done, she stood. A dozen hadals in mocking masks emerged from the darkness all around. The dark blades didn’t react this time, proof that they had good self-preservation instincts.

 

“We are in agreement. I will have an official treaty sent to your prince very soon — discreetly of course. Until then, I wish you a good night.”

 

***

 

The seven hundred men that made the Pure League contingent stopped. Not because anyone had given the order, nor because their path was blocked: the seaside road was still clear. It wasn’t the elements either. The wind whispered through naked branches from the forest on their right while to their left, the crash of the surf told them the Viziman Ocean waited right behind the nearby hill. It was a pleasant day to listen to the wind chase distant clouds, back home, a cup of something warm in hand. Instead, they had walked since dawn to join the kingdom of Maranor.

 

The councilman remembered his speech from the morning, and the fire that had animated him. They would punish the black witch for betraying mankind. Oleander would give them the steppes that belonged to them, the ones they’d bled for to the continent’s general indifference. Those cold pissers would get nothing. It was a great feeling of vindication, to be promised satisfaction after ten years of cleaning the graves of family members who had died. Only for the borders to remain much as they had been prior to the conflict.

 

The councilman had felt good about things. Now, he could only watch in dismay as dark figures emerged from the woods carrying the severed heads of his scouts.

 

To their credit, the sergeants gave sharp orders to form a line. The danger would come from the left. Men in heavy armor and massive swords appeared as he expected. He did his best not to be startled when cavalry trotted behind to close the way.

 

They were trapped. The uniforms were Harrakan so he knew how this was going to end. That was before an aura even icier than the winter rolled over him and his people. He tasted something in it, something he was intimately familiar with: old hatred.

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The black witch was here, hovering above them.

 

“What is the meaning of —”

 

“Enough.”

 

He quieted down.

 

“You and Oleander are the kind of people who always operate on the same deluded belief: that you will keep breaking rules and treaties with impunity, and that no one will make you pay for it. You were mistaken, and now, your men have two choices. The first is to surrender and return to Luten with an oath not to interfere with the war, and my solemn promise I will return at a later time to extract terms. The second is to die here.”

 

“You will not find us easy prey.”

 

That was the wrong thing to bluff about. An arctic wind rushed him, forcing him to bow his head. That bitch’s intimidation was monstrous.

 

“You’re not even prey; you’re victims. I have not come here to wage war. You are just an opportunistic mop up. Now, enough delay. The fate of your soldiers is in your hands. You should decide while I am being generous.”

 

He frowned.

 

“You said my men, but what about me?”

 

“I recognize you, councilor Shen. You were instrumental in the attempted genocide of the Red Tribe. You’re a dead man.”

 

“There are no laws protecting the kark,” he spat, “The Paramese Alliance—”

 

“You betrayed the alliance the moment you aligned yourself with the invader. I am not bound to listen to you, and even if I were, the time when you could slaughter them with impunity is long past. After this war is done, there will be… changes.”

 

The councilor smirked a last defiant gesture.

 

“You won’t win.”

 

“And you won’t be there to find out. Now, decide.”

 

Councilor Shen looked back to his troops.

 

“We give up. I’ll wait for you in the afterlife, Viviane of Harrak. Make it quick”

***

 

The placid ocean was littered with burning wrecks slowly sinking into the low waves. Snow fell in thick flakes, melding with the smoke in a thick gray curtain that blocked the view. It took a lot of effort for the captain of Efestar’s Redemption not to feel elation at this terrible sight.

 

He had won. His ship and her three sisters had ‘crossed the T’ of the food convoy, destroying the escort ships and sending the fat transport into disarray. Even now, the entire front of the formation had lowered the flags in surrender. Most of them hadn’t taken any hits.

 

Now he would go down in history as the first captain to lead a fleet since New Harrak had a fleet, and also the first one to lead them to victory! It was especially notable because Harrak’s naval history was… rather lackluster. As in, they’d gotten their afts kicked almost every time. But no more.

 

“Sir? The back of the enemy formation is scattering. Should we pursue?”

 

He shook his head.

 

“There are too many of them, and without an admiral, they will take weeks to reach land. Our objective is complete. We shall commandeer the transport to lead them to Frostway. We will sink those we cannot take.”

 

“Understood sir, and… well done.”

 

Well done indeed. This was Oleander’s last ditch at getting enough food to last until the harvest.

 

Now he and his men were going to starve.

 

***

 

Viv leaned against the balustrade overlooking the Plain of the Gods. Up high in the Palace, the view of the battlefield she’d picked was perfect. The Deadshield Woods could barely be seen in the distance more than fifty kilometers away, then there were the verdant fields on the side, freshly sowed, and the fallow ones in the middle where she expected the two armies to meet. Closer still were the low fortifications where the artillery groups would be hidden, and then the Plain of the Gods itself with its temples and healers. A large road then led up the sharp cliff towards Sinur’s Gate. Even outnumbered, the Harrakans would never get flanked or attacked in the rear unless enemies managed to fly up and drop down behind its walls. If that happened, she was already dead anyway.

 

She watched a train approach with a new shipment of supplies. It was still mostly food for now. The granaries had been opened to feed the increasingly massive alliance army.

 

She was starting to think they wouldn’t be that outnumbered after all.

 

“Your Imperial Majesty, a guest has arrived,” Birdtongue announced.

 

Viv smiled at the southerner. She’d been concerned when she had been forced to replace her as head of the administration by the much more experienced Bes, but the woman was taking it in stride. It had apparently been an overwhelming job. Now, Bes trained her as his protegee while he ruled over the administration with an iron fist hidden under a silk glove.

 

“I took the liberty of starting with Ediar of Reixa, seeing as you didn’t want his presence known.”

 

“You did well. Have you prepared what I asked?”

 

“Yes, milady.”

 

“Good. Show him in and stay. I want this one done quickly.”

 

“Understood.”

 

The tattooed woman brought back an old Enorian noble in full armor. He was not unlike Ban: too old to stand on a battlefield, too smart not to give his responsibilities to his heir, yet too stubborn to give up completely, so he still followed the warriors. His heir, Gedis, was still outside with his men. Reixa had been one of the very first Enorian cities to accept a teleporter, and they’d been much enriched by the cooperation. This had led to the awkward current predicament.

 

“Your Majesty, greetings,” the man said, face flush with emotions. “It is with a heavy heart that I must choose between two allegiances today. I remain an Enorian patriot, no matter what, so it is with great shame that I must disobey my rightful king to honor my greater allegiance to the kingdom and the Paramese Alliance that defends it! By allying with the invader, King Sangor shamed us all!” he spat.

 

Viv smiled at him.

 

“Would you like to sit?” she offered, pointing at the two chairs on the balcony.

 

He refused like she’d expected. His full armor wouldn’t allow it.

 

“I thank you for your hospitality, but I must decline.”

 

“And I must say I admire your resolve knowing what it would cost you. Now, you’re perhaps wondering why I had the hadals hide you and your men as you approached.”

 

“I assume it was to protect Reixa from retribution.”

 

“In fact, it is to protect you from retribution. Do you know why King Sangor sided with the enemy?”

 

“There are rumors that the Crown Prince has disappeared,” Lord Ediar grumbled.

 

“Precisely,” Viv replied. “So long as he’s a hostage, Sangor will not act just as he didn’t act long ago when Gil was held by the templars. I will only say that I am aware of the situation. Look, I will cut to the chase. Do you trust me as a woman of my word?”

 

“With every fiber of my being.”

 

That made Viv happy.

 

“Then please acknowledge my request. I need you to return to the Enorian army.”