‘For the Queen can’t fathom how horrid victory can be, or the ugliness that lurks behind a prolonged peace. And that sometimes bravery and truth of cause is alas, not enough.’

  -

  Attributed to Lucius Alden, in Luciopolis.

  Circa spring of 196NC

  Taken from Lord Sirio Veturius’ voluminous ‘Fall of Heroes’

  Chapter IV*

  Lord Storm Nattas

  *(Unreleased chapter, Sirio’s original text)

  Prelude to ‘the Diamond Wedding’ as referred to in the addendum, also known as ‘Rhodium Rose & a day of bloody thorns’ in Lady Sandra Alden’s chapter XXXII, mentioned in Lucius Alden’s Chapter II in the prologue to ‘Order XX’, or ‘Nix movens semper liquescit’ that started the west campaign, and sort of retold in a secreted manner in Andrew Bakers small chapter IXXX, titled ‘a heap of heads’.

  Lucius Alden,

  ‘Bloody Tiger’,

  Lord Lucius Aldenus the Third,

  Praetor Maximus,

  Legatus ‘omnis Legionis’

  King Lucius III

  Trace it back and reveal the start

  -A father’s wishes…-

  Lord Cornelius Mortymer, Petty Baron of Stingray, a small riven town near Haggart River’s sources at the base of Gates Peaks and the northernmost edge of the high barony of Dokamna, where old Baron Osmund Frye ruled, was over forty years old. The moderately unhealthy-looking and pale man, appeared completely exhausted from his travels and the burdens of his job, eyes sunken and shadowed by dark circles probably due to many sleepless nights. Mortymer wore a fine leather coat over a simple tunic, as the petty baron was also a moderately affluent individual, despite his unassuming appearance, mostly thanks to his family’s lucrative hide trade. Haggart and Ostrich Rivers of course also hugged Dwarf Forest, where the mysterious El Dehur, one of the few known South Dwarves cities, was located.

  “Salutations, King Lucius,” Lord Mortymer greeted him upon entering the Castrum’s main commander’s building. He had first halted to salute the legionnaire sentry at the door, bringing a fist to his heart, and then Sir Valgus. His manservant, Robert Tar, entered after him, immediately saluted Lucius ignoring everyone else and then waited for the two men to take their seats inside the map room before coming to stand behind Lesia’s Master of Silence.

  “Lord Mortymer, welcome to Luciopolis,” Lucius said, returning the greeting and they both sipped from their small bronze goblets to respect traditions. “I understand Baron Vendor continued inside the city?”

  “It is my fault, your grace,” Mortymer replied, shifting on the chair to find a better position. “I asked to see the King posthaste, but instead of the royal villa, I was led inside a legion’s camp. Sometimes one must nod in response when uncertain on the topic and not offer empty words, lest he makes a fool of himself or a prisoner.”

  “We can visit the city on the morrow,” Lucius offered and Lord Mortymer nodded, not offering a reply, which brought a smile on the King’s lips and then they both relaxed on their respective seats. “So, I take it Vendor wasn’t too-boring during the journey?”

  “We took a carriage,” Mortymer replied. “Found the new road well-maintained, without holes or bumps and the overall ride tolerable, but alas, Lord Vendor stood almost as interesting to share a wagon with… as is watching a freshly painted wall slowly dry, your grace. But we did share a story of two from the war, if I’m to be completely honest and more diplomatic.”

  “The Lord Justice has his moments,” Lucius commented and again Mortymer nodded without expounding more. “I take it this isn’t a social visit, Lord Mortymer?”

  “I tried socializing a bit in Cartagen,” Mortymer said after breathing out. “First vacation in years and so I took my daughter with me. Liliana, eh… I had to leave her in the capital. She’s ten. You think the women will be fine, Robert?” Mortymer asked his manservant and the sober-faced Robert Tar answered unflappably.

  “Doubt it, sire.”

  Mortymer furrowed his brows troubled.

  “The capital is extremely safe, Baron,” Lucius assured him, but the man grimaced as if not entirely convinced. “You learned of the raid whilst there, I take it?”

  “Not to be the bringer of undue caution, but Cediorum is thought as protected as Cartaport, if not more,” Mortymer replied. “And aye, word reached me in the baths. Nothing more embarrassing than walking naked outside of the steam pools whilst everyone stares at your hairy arse with pity, already informed about the news.” Lord Mortymer grimaced, as Robert had cleared his throat in warning. “Apologies for the coarse language. I grew up in the provinces.”

  “We’re inside a military camp,” Lucius replied. “My ear is not easily offended.”

  “I’ll mind my manners just the same, your grace,” Lord Mortymer continued. “I take it, Lord Nattas is faring well?”

  “He stands worried as everyone else, and offers prayers to the victims and their families,” Lucius said, a little impatient to steer the Lesia official towards business, but mindful not to reveal anything while Mortymer tested the waters.

  “Somehow, I knew he’d land on his two feet sort of speak,” Mortymer jested. “Is your grace aware that Moon’s Haven has a steady stream of small ships mooring at its docks already? For a new wine merchant, old ole Nattas sure has a lot business.”

  “We both know the Zilan didn’t come from inside the gulf, Lord Mortymer,” Lucius retorted.

  “You need a fast spotter to direct a fleet during a misty night,” the Lesia official noted. “Usually a smaller ship, or a fishing boat.”

  “Which isn’t difficult to find, or easy to guard against,” Lucius grunted.

  “Nattas asked around and we did the same. I assumed it was under your instructions, but one never knows. Your grace also inquired about the raid,” Mortymer continued. “The damages inside the port were targeted, but not significant, it was the ships lost later in the day that made it more difficult to palate.”

  “I understand the Admiral’s son led the bank’s fleet?”

  “Every ship inside the port went after the Zilan,” Mortymer replied. “Exiting the gulf they followed the two transports, but were attacked from the stern by three large warships at least.”

  “What kind?”

  “Galleasses. Imperial,” Mortymer expounded. “But the transports were armed as well and turned around to get involved. The Bank lost three ships and one disabled, with the Zilan losing one of their transports. The navy managed to save very few from the waters due to bad weather.”

  “Any Zilan survivors?”

  “They scuttled their ship and went under with all hands, your grace,” Mortymer replied tensely.

  Lucius breathed out. “Is this what happened?”

  “Well, let’s say the navy caught the damaged ship whilst the others retreated,” Mortymer replied. “It wouldn’t be hard to imagine a scenario where the sailors weren’t in a forgiving mood, but unless ordered, I wouldn’t bother to investigate the crews report further. Captain Lennox was a well-respected officer.”

  “A good family. Send my condolences to his father and the Duke.”

  “Gratitude. I shall, King Lucius.”

  “I was told that your navy caught up with the retreating fleet beyond Turtle Isle initially,” Lucius continued, not wanting to make the official uncomfortable by pressing the issue. “Before forced to abandon the chase and turn back because the weather worsened.”

  “Your grace, is well-informed. I stand embarrassed for coming here to give personal report,” Mortymer attempted to jest, but Lucius cut him off.

  The man was lying about his reasons for the visit.

  “Where is South Eplas Trading Company’s forward base?” He asked intently.

  “About a day’s journey south of Turtle Isles,” Mortymer replied and moved on his seat. “But without favorable weather, it might take a week to reach it.”

  “Sailors can figure out weather patterns, and when to travel.”

  “Indeed they can, your grace,” Mortymer agreed and glanced at the still standing maps Trupo had used earlier. “The place is called Hissing Corals Cay. An old Imperial outpost. Abandoned.”

  “You have this knowledge from the Bank’s explorers?”

  “The information was available from archival sources, but Mclean’s people had also visited the island last year,” Mortymer revealed.

  “The outpost was fully rebuild?”

  “Not at the time, but soon after. The bank had an incident there,” Mortymer replied. “We weren’t made aware off until fairly recently.”

  ‘We’, as in the Lesia King was Mortymer’s meaning.

  Lucius pushed himself up and then walked near the stitched together maps Trupo had tried to create for them.

  “Your king advocated for a treaty to be signed with this so called Goras’ bank. We don’t control the Bank of Trust, Mclean is, but we went along with it,” Lucius said, using a coal stick to paint a number of reefs inside the ‘white sea’ depicting Abrakas Gullet waters, just under the Turtle Isles. “SETC attacked within the six kilometer mark, or was it three? Anyways, I understand the thrones stay out of this conflict, but is it binding when ports are attacked and our subjects are murdered in the middle of the night? You want my help to retaliate against the Imperials. Regia’s help. Is this not an invitation to fight with Goras?”

  “A nautical strike against the company’s assets doesn’t justify such a response nor is it expected from the Imperials, if we are under the Bank’s banner. Mclean has a plan,” Mortymer said. “It was my intention to raise the matter, your grace.”

  “I knew you wanted assistance,” Lucius replied. “Was prepared to offer some help within reason, but now I get the sense Lesia is speaking and not the Bank of Trust.”

  “The King doesn’t agree with the Marquise or Lady Diana Merck. They want to take over Hissing Corals Cay when the weather clears. But the isles have no value and stand isolated in the middle of a bottomless ocean, too-far from Lesia’s ports.”

  “They stand too-far from Regia’s ports also. Hmm. So the plan is to catch the Imperial ships there and return the favor,” Lucius added. “But if the weather clears the Zilan shall move first again with a head start, either to set another ambush or retreat into the big blue ocean, afore your ships reach these rocks.”

  “We need to commit four warships and the Bank has only one available to contribute,” Mortymer explained. “We can’t tie up the fleet so far south with no real gains.”

  “Because keeping the isles doesn’t stop the Zilan from returning yet again six months down the line, bypass them isles or head straight for the now less protected shores, even as far east as Armium,” Lucius expounded. “A raid there would be even more difficult to palate, especially since there has never been a raid on Armium. Ever.”

  “The King would like the Wine Barons war to be over,” Mortymer said.

  “What King wouldn’t?” Lucius taunted. “A strike against SETC near the Corrals Isles is naught but lashing out and holds just trifling strategic value. Occupying them, offers some incentive as it cuts off a potential route of approach, but Turtle Isles are the better position with an already established friendly port, more easily reinforced and reached without the fear of bad weather hanging over our heads to leave us stranded in the middle of nowhere!”

  “A joint effort could bring the Zilan to the negotiating table,” Mortymer suggested and stood up himself to approach. “If I may?”

  “Go ahead,” Lucius said and took a step back. Mortymer drew a line with the chalk and stopped just shy of the crudely depicted reefs under Goras. Half the landmasses there different on every map Trupo had brought, either missing or changed within the last couple of hundred years. “When you discover the road’s end, trace it back and it shall reveal its start,” Lucius noted and Mortymer nodded in agreement. “What is the distance?”

  “Nobody knows,” Mortymer replied. “But SETC wouldn’t have an outpost built, if it is further away from Hissing Corals Cay than Mussel. The Bank believes they may have occupied part of the Sinking Isles. They are somewhere around here,” Mortymer made a circle to the southeast of Mussel, deep inside the ocean, but kept everything in line with the Corals at Abrakas Gullet. “Easy to reach from Mussel or Goras and about the distance between Turtle Isles and Novesium, but impossible to reach traveling south from Aegium or Aldenport. At the very least too-risky let’s say. It is a little bizarre but it was SECT’s recent actions that have proved to us it is feasible to travel straight to the east or even preferable. Obviously, so is the opposite.”

  “The land of the Gish,” Lucius murmured and closed his eyes.

  “People have reached it, and Gish have done the same sporadically of course,” Mortymer said. “Have you ever encountered a real Gish, your grace?”

  “There is the moldy mummy of one inside the family tomb in Alden and the marble statue of another in the King’s Hall in Cartagen’s palace,” Lucius grunted. “Roderick thought the latter was the late king’s child at first, which made for a difficult conversation considering their true relation. In the flesh though, I haven’t seen one. I understand they are like dwarves.”

  “Not really, they aren’t. You can withstand an argument with a dwarf for a while and end it with a mild headache or a black eye, is a saying you’ll hear near Miloville or Stingray,” Mortymer said and Lucius furrowed his brows. “But if you speak with a Gish you’ll learn nothing and end up dead on a hay mattress.” The Lesia official grimaced seeing Lucius’ perturbed expression. “It’s an altered version of a much lewder saying my father used, your grace. Robert has told me to work on refining it some, in order to use it in arguments.”

  “It still needs more work, sire.” Robert Tar was heard commenting from the table. “What you just said made no sense.”

  “I didn’t ask for yer opinion Robert!” Mortymer snapped at the manservant.

  “I thought you just did, sire.”

  “Can the Gish defend themselves?” Lucius asked after clearing his throat.

  “I doubt it.”

  “Their numbers?”

  “The dwarves say the Gish are like rabbits with a much longer lifespan. Eventually they learned all the tricks in the book to survive, but at their hearts they are not really warriors. So their numbers don’t make any difference. The barbarians of the North were ten times more dangerous. Twenty. Hells, I shall double it again and still come up short.”

  “The last dwarf I talked to,” Lucius argued. “Defended his position for hours, even though he was clearly in the wrong, out of pure dogged stubbornness and a deep-rooted inability to move even an inch of ground back. I don’t trust this belief at all, but let’s entertain the possibility that SETC has indeed moved in the Sinking Isles and carved themselves a nice port there. Can they support it? How big are the Isles really? Are they valuable or able to fuel their trade and sustain a human population?”

  “Well, Mclean thinks they are the most valuable land still up for grabs after Wetull went out of the market.”

  “Too-close to Wetull for Mclean’s teeth,” Lucius retorted. “And we just established that there are a lot of Gish there.”

  “There are the size of a small continent,” Mortymer insisted. “And not a part of Wetull means that typically we can act within the treaty, which shall prevent this Garth from getting involved.”

  Lucius grimaced and then tapped the maps stand once with his open palm. The whole apparatus danced on its supports dangerously for a moment, but then came to a standstill. “So the plan is to surprise SETC at their starting base, perhaps where they repair their ships, am I reading between the lines correctly, Lord Mortymer? Is this Lesia’s suggestion? An attack across an uncharted ocean, without a clear target, on a fabled piece of land nobody has any real knowledge about? How many ships do you need from me?”

  “Half a dozen warships and ten transports would tip the balance and ensure total victory. Lesia can match that plus whatever Mclean can provide,” Mortymer replied readily, since Lesia always liked to crunch the numbers and account for every penny, bolt or sack of beans.

  Lucius knew only a massive blow would push SETC back or force them to rethink their criminal behavior, but wasn’t willing to commit on a distant front under Mclean’s leadership and with so many variables.

  Not when he had his mind on using Robert to maneuver Charles out of Canlita Sea. Put a controlled body of water between the kingdoms and narrow a potential front to a single road through the deserted plains.

  “Why would Regia undertake such a perilous task?” Lucius queried to see what Mortymer had in his mind, or what King Davenport really wanted. “Commit our fleet so far from our shores with a war close to our northwest borders?”

  “The war is close to an end,” Mortymer replied. “The Khan is finished. Kaltha has its own problems to deal with. Regia is secure, your grace.”

  Lesia isn’t? Lucius wondered and stood back.

  “We could take Lady Sandra off your hands,” Mortymer offered and Lucius raised his brows. “She won’t be receiving any meaningful marriage proposals given the rumors about her character.”

  Sandra seems fine with that Lucius thought.

  Which of course was a problem, he initially hoped would just go away with age.

  “The Levacum boy should have talked with me first!” Lucius grunted.

  “Sir Virgen was a young man that didn’t deserve his moniker in death, as he had a prior talk with Lady Magdalena Riveras, the girl’s mother, and received her blessing. While Virgen’s tragic fate might appear entertaining to some, this was still an insult to a good family we let slide.”

  “It isn’t entertaining. He just went too-far,” Lucius rustled and gestured dismissively, but the Lesia official continued. This is prearranged, the King thought.

  “So did the girl. It is common knowledge. Not to mention that Lady Sandra was seen by several witnesses flirting with officers inside the camp during the funeral. Apologies. Appeared to be flirting…” Mortymer had halted his argument upon seeing Lucius’ angry scowl growing. “Your grace, with all the respect, the girl is too-pretty to keep around and too-wild even before her woman years. The next offer might be well-beneath her station.”

  “What’s the offer?” Lucius asked through his teeth.

  “Sir Heracles of Levacum. Give this grieving family the satisfaction and save them from the ridicule. We can span a gossip of youthful misunderstanding around the younger brother wanting his older brother’s bride, and repair the still breathing son’s reputation whilst elevating Lady Sandra’s,” Mortymer suggested callously.

  A man infamous for working out even the worst of agreements, plucking positives out of a bucket of horse manure.

  Good grief. Shun the poor knight even in death, and shortly after exonerating him!

  Then again… Lucius sighed a little unsure.

  The Tall Knight of the Desert.

  “Sir Heracles must be over thirty now,” Lucius grunted harking back to his own days and memories as a young knight. “He killed Sir Berto all those years back, didn’t have the courage to face me in the next round! I rather marry Sandra to one of my cousins that stand closer to her age!”

  “Frances had asked Heracles to step down in order to protect his sister’s firstborn son and heir to Regia. Frances feared more noble blood could be spilt by Luthos’ hand… or whatever you want to call it. So the Lesia King acted preemptively to secure it didn’t happen, but the matter was kept from you, King Lucius,” Mortymer countered. “You grace, got a good win with that forfeit, and it shamed Ser Heracles forever. Let us mend the wounds fully by forgetting the past and the Davenport of Levacum shall do the same. Sir Heracles is as good a man as any, what happened back then, naught but an unfortunate accident.”

  It was almost petty by Lord Mortymer to bring it up.

  Lucius crossed both arms over his chest and perceived the Lesia official intently. “Say, we go forward with this with a guarantee no harm will come to Sandra, how is that offer worth of half a dozen warships? That’s a hefty dowry you’re asking for, Lord Mortymer.”

  “Does it worth four, your Grace? And the same number of transports?” Mortymer haggled with an undignified leer.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “If I have control of the newly formed Fleet,” Lucius countered, putting shame aside much as Nattas would have done. “Levacum shall also get a very nice villa in Aegium lest you forget.”

  “Alas, while I stand overcome with envy myself and the property might put a smile on Sir Heracles gloomy face, Admiral Lennox is the man King Frances wants to lead this affair. This is still a Lesia operation,” Mortymer argued.

  “The good Admiral might seek revenge over reason,” Lucius retorted. “I won’t place sailors in harm’s way under a grieving man, nor shall I accept one of Mclean’s clerks to dictate planning or control over naval assets for so long. D’Orsi’s fate is still fresh in mind!”

  “How long?”

  “Given the distances involved, this could take up to a year in order to discover where the Zilan outpost is located,” Lucius replied. “Provided we can follow them back and forth to learn the route they are using. Which means no attack on Hissing Corals Cay at all.”

  “The bride isn’t worth this much trouble, your grace. Apologies. Old Mclean won’t agree and he has the most information about the Sinking Isles. But,” Mortymer continued quickly, probably digging into his backup plans to keep the conversation alive. “The King would perhaps be more agreeable to the idea if he was to be given some more guarantees from his sister’s noble child.”

  Lesia wanted an alliance, Lucius realized. This was why Mortymer had come and not to find a way to deal with SETC. Not only. Lucius was mulling over an updated version of the Legion Accords that had dealt with the matters of the North for a while, as he also wanted to fully cement his eastern border. Plant a foot securely on the ground, in order to pivot towards more pressing and emerging danger.

  “What would Armium want for a more solid union?” Lucius asked and Mortymer breathed out relieved he didn’t have to raise the matter even more blatantly than he already had or appear too-desperate. Something else is brewing inside Lesia’s court.

  “What your father had offered all those years back, afore the unfortunate events almost tore us apart,” Mortymer said sadly. It was easy for the Lesia official to elicit sympathy given his worn-down state and face. “Another royal marriage.”

  Mortymer came straight to the meeting in order to appear thus in case he needed to sell it, Lucius realized. They had to scrape the bottom of the barrel for pretexts in order to keep the upper hand, but they just couldn’t. Ships are not easy to produce out of thin air. You either have them or not.

  “I’ve got two wives already and alas, stand much older than Sir Heracles,” Lucius grunted, thinking of Saskia, the Young. Saskia was close to twenty now of course and if she had her mother’s noxious character then the prospect was not appealing at all, even for a bachelor. At least Sandra stands pretty as a picture that occasionally talks back. Better this than a pretty princess that stands as spiteful as a rattlesnake's offspring. Even if he used young Ralph, the boy wouldn’t survive ten years near the queen’s daughter. “I also won’t marry my sons to an older though equally noble spouse, nor risk such a close familial union and chance my heirs’ children long term health.”

  Lucius knew just by watching Mortymer’s constipated face a counter-proposal was coming but he couldn’t stop him.

  And Mortymer indeed had one.

  “Of course and it is regrettable to hear it, since Lesia doesn’t see too-big a problem here, given that the Aldenus blood is very strong and so is that of the Davenius. So then, may I suggest, since we’ve already sent a bride in Regia, may all-gods rest her soul, is it time perhaps to receive one ourselves? It has a poetic ring to it your grace and the people shall accept it, even if the girl never rules by Colin’s side.”

  That would be Colin the IV, Frances youngest son.

  Lesia wants little Vacia in order to feel safe, Lucius thought pressing his mouth tightly. “How old is Colin now?” Or Mortymer was told not to return without a renewed and stronger treaty. The Master of Silence had found himself absent other candidates, when Lucius didn’t roll over immediately.

  “Almost ten summers and we can wait for an equal number of years,” Mortymer whispered clearing his throat and faking at embarrassment, given Vacia’s tender age. “Colin shall wait without any disagreements of course, which shall give his brother, Sir William, the time needed to produce a proper heir. Hopefully within the next eight years or much sooner god’s willing.”

  Hmm.

  The Charming Knight of Armium had already a reputation for celebrating hard his tourney victories, even against lesser opponents, and even his single defeat for that matter. An heir can indulge himself briefly but not for too-long or too-publicly so as to earn himself a moniker. Then it becomes an uncomfortable problem, as noble women look to marry away from their own problems and not add another by marrying a wayward fool for a husband.

  Sir William Davenport had an even more troubling character it appeared under the lavish veneer of manufactured glory Lesia had covered him with, perhaps to prop him up.

  Lucius had no idea what kind of man young Colin was. He was much more discreet than Queen Saskia’s twins, Ser William and Saskia, the Young, but one never knows.

  By the gods man! Stop it.

  The Davenport are for the most part a good family. You are judging children.

  These are my mother’s people.

  Fellow Lorians.

  The lost army’s fragmented remnants need to stand together.

  You need to ensure an end to future hostilities, the king urged himself in the voice of his late father. Regia wants this alliance as well and this chance may not come around again.

  “Twelve,” Lucius said clenching his jaw as this delay would bring Vacia’s age closer to his sister’s Silvie’s years during her engagement to Prince Kasper Eikenaar. He had hated his father for doing it, but as with Alistair back then, this wasn’t Lucius deciding here. ‘A father’s wishes stand below that of a King’s, even if they are the same man!’ the pale ghost of Alistair declared in a roaring voice, sitting on the stone throne of Alden. His father’s gaunt visage and figure clear in Lucius mind. “It is a lot of time to wait in order to consummate a marriage and it might not produce an offspring. What will happen to the treaty then?”

  “We can revisit the matter at that point after many years of good relations,” Mortymer agreed treading carefully. “A defensive pact, with a promise to discuss other matters respectfully. Your grace, isn’t planning to start another war other than this matter with SETC, I presume?”

  This conflict is on you, Lord Mortymer.

  “Only a seer can answer this query with any certainty, Lord Mortymer,” Lucius replied matter-of-factly. “I’m not one, but know that I shall always seek a peaceful resolution first.”

  “So say we all,” Mortymer agreed.

  “I’ll draft a letter for Frances,” Lucius said. “Will he agree on the terms? Vacia shall have her grandmother’s dowry.”

  “The King shall find them agreeable, your grace,” the spymaster replied.

  “Not everyone is in favor?” Lucius probed, as Colin was part a Lennox from his own mother’s side and while Lucius had mended things up hopefully with Lady Lila Lennox, the Queen of Lesia was another matter.

  Frances should do well to handle.

  “It is what it is, your grace,” Lord Mortymer rustled crooking his mouth. “Peace is costly for all.”

  But cheaper than war, was Lesia’s Master of Silence meaning.

  Lucius remained near Trupo’s maps to listen to Endariel’s quiet humming, shortly after Lord Mortymer retired to his city quarters. A Lesia merchant’s rented villa somewhere near the city’s center. The song pleasant, it lifted Lucius spirits and the King perceived it as an indication the sword agreed with his decision.

  “Never saw a man torn into more directions and managing to walk out without collapsing to his knees from the added weight,” Ramirus commented, approaching the thoughtful King.

  “We all are plagued by problems, Vibius,” Lucius said and sheathed the sword carefully, then reached for his helm. “I shall return to the royal villa for dinner.”

  “I’ll check on the birds and follow a little later, sir, if something comes up,” Ramirus replied. “What is Frances fearing?”

  “Are the Lords of Andalus pacified?” Lucius asked. “That would be my guess.”

  “They are not easy to break camp,” Ramirus answered. “Talks are held back and forth. It’s the second straight summer. People talked for years during the Bronze Age. Duke Luke Andal is there in his probably well—polished ancient-style full panoply. It’s not fully made out of gold, or any gold, but mostly bronze and a lot of brass is my guess, but people believe what they believe. Hence the ‘Gold Duke’ is noticeable in the camp, as is Sir Oscar, his firstborn. The ‘Lone Eye’. You’ve killed his brother Hector outside Storm’s Rest.”

  “I’m aware, Ramirus. Who else is present?”

  “Percival Borginas and Lady Bianca with her husband Prospero Grimani. He’s Lancelot Grimani’s brother. The man last served with the Band of Silver that was also lost with D’Orsi. Other known persons present are the Testa family and our friends the Caxaton, representing the other cities.”

  Andatelia while a faraway place, still stands closer to Armium than Goras will ever be.

  “I get the picture. I bet Frances wishes all those good troops back,” Lucius murmured. “Has the 2nd Legion moved?”

  “Not as long as our 3rd Legion boys are at Storm’s Rest or patrolling the capital’s roads sire.”

  Yeah. Lesia needed the treaty to negotiate properly with her slighted angry lords.

  Or they could try something similar to what Mortymer just pulled again, the king thought, and hope the Andals are willing to listen.

  “Young Sir William might soon find himself absent freedom to unwind after the tourneys,” Lucius commented wryly and Ramirus sucked on his teeth as if the King’s idea had merit. “I’m just guessing based on Lord Mortymer’s cryptic words.”

  “People have placed good coin on worse wagers, Praetor,” Ramirus said. “I didn’t expect him to bring two marriage proposals, despite our talk of a possible treaty. You handled it rather nicely, sire.”

  Lucius puffed out, not as certain as the intelligence officer. “You think this was good? It still hasn’t sunk in. By Tyeus Spear, this was a proper ambush, Vibius. Let’s hope I don’t regret it by the time I ride back to the villa.”

  Cyrus Falx, the second, brought a plate to the King an hour later. Lucius had returned to the quiet villa’s atrium in Luciopolis with Sir Sabinus and Sir Valgus. He tasted a couple of slices of chicken breasts and washed his mouth with honeyed wine in silence near the pool. Lord Vendor had brought several cases from Two Rivers Castle and one of them had found its way to the King’s kitchen.

  “The Queen has eaten dinner?” Lucius asked when he finished and the royal attendant approached to clear the table.

  “Earlier, your grace, but retired a while ago,” Cyrus replied. “Prince Roderick has retired to his bedroom also. The heir appeared somewhat tired from training in the arena. Slightly beaten up, I should add.”

  “Where is Logan?” Lucius queried with a grimace, as he wanted to spend more time with his son, instead of leaving Roderick’s weapons training to Logan.

  “I believe the Northman is on the tiled roof, your grace.”

  “What is he doing up there?”

  “Ah. From what I’ve managed to gather, Mister Logan believes the elevated part of the roof provides a better overview of the square and approaching streets,” Falx replied. “So he makes his bed there like a pelican. If I may offer words, sire. It is a much better place to sleep, than the atrocity they’ve built inside the royal gardens in Cartagen and keeps the mute barbarian out of the way. He’s an uncultured man that fears baths and water pools, sire, as much as baths fear him.”

  Whoa there, Cyrus.

  “Right,” Lucius murmured and breathed out. “How long before Faye wakes up?”

  “I don’t believe the Queen is asleep,” Cyrus replied whilst Lucius reached for a pack of vellums and a quill. “She never sleeps, when the King is missing.”

  “I was at the Legion camp and the waystation before that, not missing, Cyrus!” Lucius grunted and the servant bowed his head with respect.

  “Apologies, King Lucius. I should have used ‘away’ instead.”

  Lucius pursed his mouth. “I grew up with your father Cyrus and always held him at a high esteem,” he warned the younger Falx. “Also respected your officer uncle a lot. He died a hero. You are not at that point yet.”

  “I shall strive to improve then, your grace, whilst remaining alive,” Cyrus replied, his apology measured, despite a nervous tick appearing on his face.

  “Bring another light in here and then leave me,” Lucius retorted, his voice tired and turned his attention on the empty velum.

  Twenty minutes later, the letter and orders were finished. Not a minute too soon, as Lucius heard boots coming down the stairs from across the internal balcony overlooking the inner garden that was situated next to the open air atrium. The bedrooms and utility rooms were built around these two open spaces, with a second yard and high stone fence circling the property.

  Lucius pushed his chair back to watch Faye coming down the steps in her boots and Lorian undergarments. The Queen crossed the narrow tiled path through the small flower garden and approached the sitting King, who had turned the chair to face her. Faye stranded his half-open thighs with her legs like a saddle upon reaching him, then wrapped her arms around Lucius’ neck in order to kiss his lips fiercely.

  “That’s a welcoming present,” Lucius said hoarsely when Faye pulled away, her striking green eyes burning with passion.

  “I’ve put it on the scales,” Faye replied hoarsely, whilst Lucius’ raised palm rested on her breast, cupping it with ease. “Realized a kiss was better than a punch.”

  Or perhaps not.

  “What Queen punches her King?” Lucius queried half-jokingly.

  “This Queen; want to try it?”

  “I shall abstain. Let us trade blows another evening,” Lucius jested with a smile. “What troubles you, Red?”

  “Ahm. We expected you at the hippodrome to work on Roderick’s form as you promised,” Faye retorted angrily and Lucius shifted under her weight nervously. “That was yesterday. Then learned you were gone and shall return this morning,” Faye continued, looking into his eyes. “But you didn’t. Then came the afternoon and dinner,” the Queen got up, despite Lucius’ effort to keep her. “Then heard Falx retire the kitchen staff and realized you were here.”

  “I didn’t want to rouse you.”

  “You wanted time to write your letters,” Faye corrected him.

  “I wanted both things,” Lucius argued calmly. Antagonizing her was the wrong strategy. “Work robbed me of any sense of time, Red. I apologize,” Lucius said and tended his arm her way. “Come. Let us retire.”

  “The letter says Monica’s name,” Faye said crossing her arms over her half-visible through the thin material breasts.

  “I’m trying to keep both Queens happy,” Lucius said, then frowned. “Also inform her of current matters.”

  “How kingly,” Faye taunted. “You are lying to me.”

  Lucius pressed his lips together. “I haven't done that yet. Just skirted around the truth on some matters.”

  “Only a Lorian would describe lying in such honorable colors!”

  “Red. An opportunity arose,” he paused as Faye was shaking either with anger or pain. “What’s the matter? What happened?”

  “I don’t know. How about ye tell me?” Faye retorted, but before Lucius could figure out what had aggrieved her, other than his busy schedule, she told him. “If this half-breed seer is of no import, why spent time with her?” The Queen asked. “You provide her with a house, so she can see the King out of prying eyes and ears? Are we to have another wife join us? What does the fish-folk girl have that we don’t?”

  “You don’t actually believe… this isn’t what it appears to be,” Lucius replied with a sigh, seeing his words realized so soon after he uttered them was disturbing. “Who told you?”

  “Does it matter? There is no citizen around here that doesn’t know the King’s face. Each house has a bust of you and there are two big ole statues raised both by the north and south gates!” Faye bristled. “What are you doing, Alden?”

  “Leirda is a Zilan witch. It’s the truth,” Lucius revealed raising both hands to calm her down. “No woman shall ever replace you, Faye. Of any race. Good grief. Stop this nonsense. You must know this already, by the gods! You do. Where is this coming from?”

  “I’m human,” Faye replied hoarsely. “And your words are confusing, because they don’t match your actions. She’s unimportant, but then I learn she’s a Zilan witch of all things! You told me there is a way to help Robert without fighting Kaltha or Charles. Was it a lie too? Apologies. I meant not the whole fucking truth?”

  “Falx is awake. You don’t have to curse.”

  “How about I curse whenever I god-darn want?”

  “That is enough. You need to calm down.” Lucius warned and stood up from the chair. “There is a way. Let me work on it.”

  “What’s in the letter?” Faye probed, not appearing convinced. “Why write to Monica so late in the night and not on the morrow?”

  “Lesia came with a proposal.”

  “Lesia. This Mortymer creep that arrived today?”

  “Lord Mortymer is an esteemed diplomat and officer of the court,” Lucius reminded her and Faye scoffed the different labels aside. “King Frances wants to fully ally himself to Regia. It is a good thing. What I worked for.”

  “You have a treaty with Lesia already,” Faye retorted.

  “This encompasses more matters,” Lucius cleared his throat and stared at the finished letter on the table with a frown. “You remember Sir Virgen, the knight that committed suicide? Commonly known as ‘the Rejected’? Well, he was in reality a Davenport out of Levacum. A cadet house.”

  Faye bit her lower lip, keeping her eyes on him. “Monica holds them in high esteem,” she finally said puffing out. “They make diamonds?”

  “Sure, they do. Well, his brother stepped in and asked for Lady Sandra’s hand,” Lucius expounded. “A bit older in years, but a known knight from a good family.”

  “Isn’t it weird?” Faye asked. “Does Sandra even like this older brother more than the other? How old is he?” The Queen probed, but Lucius waved her worries off reassuringly.

  “He’s not that old, and actually helps us all to put this unfortunate incident behind,” he said with a grimace. “This was Vinicius business, it is his daughter, but he was absent at the time due to Duke Sula’s attack on Aegium, so Lady Magdalena tried to handle it making a mess of things. You don’t leave young people together when they are near their marriage age. They’ll either fight or fool around. It is equally troublesome.”

  “Ah. There come them big words. Sandra is still too-young. A narcissistic brat, but still…” Faye paused. “We did the same thing.”

  Lucius smacked his lips. “Extenuating circumstances. Not everyone can maneuver such unions.”

  “The fuck does that mean, Alden?” Faye cursed. “We did no maneuvering. I didn’t. Did you?”

  I never stopped, Red.

  “Faye,” Lucius rubbed his face tiredly. “I answered this already. Just… let’s retire.”

  “Finish yer thought, Alden,” Faye hissed.

  “Don’t do this. You are getting mad for no reason.”

  “Hit me wit the plaguing reason then. All these harmless truths ye leave out for my own good,” the Queen retorted narrowing her eyes. “What does the letter say?”

  Lucius puffed out. “I swear to all-gods sometimes you are resolutely unreasonable… Mortymer used the Levacum affair as a periphrastic bridge to bring another proposal. It is why he visited. To find a way to solidify a true alliance without raising eyebrows or making our neighbors nervous. He wants to marry Colin the fourth with little Vacia. I agreed. It is the best way. There it is then… Politics. The thing you hate the most.”

  “Haven’t heard anything to like still. Vacia is still a baby.”

  “I’m fully aware,” Lucius grunted. “I’m not selling her off, nor will she have to travel to darn Levacum immediately! Damn it. It’s an engagement. Colin won’t see my daughter for years nor will he touch her. When the time comes, I’ll have a talk with him so that we both get to know each other. He’s barely ten, Faye, just a boy.”

  Faye nodded and looked away. “Why do you need Lesia now?”

  “SETC raided Cediorum, they have an outpost south of Turtle Isles. They are practically here,” Lucius replied clenching his jaw. “Frances wants my help to push them back and restore normal trade. This way, my hands are freed in the mainland.”

  “Wouldn’t that provoke this Garth?” Faye asked.

  “Not if we work within the parameters of the three Banks agreement. Wetull has signed it,” Lucius said. “We can manipulate that and cripple the company’s Fleet. It needs planning, a bit of patience and resources, but it can be done.”

  “Why would he honor this agreement?” Faye queried, using an arm to keep him away when Lucius attempted to hug her. “This wyvern dude.”

  “Garth signed it after the D’Orsi debacle. He’s vulnerable and can’t cover everything,” Lucius explained with a grimace of frustration.

  “Or he bought himself time,” Faye argued.

  “I have thought of that,” Lucius said and took her arm in his. “Which is why we must take advantage of the situation, Red.”

  “This is why,” Faye said and stood back, pulling her trapped arm away from his. “Why you need Lesia. Is this that blind fool’s Antonius’ idea? Is this why you pivoted to Robert? My instinct was screaming that something was wrong! All those trips, staying with the army. Why you’ve become so restless these past couple of months. You promised me no more wars, Lucius!”

  “Faye,” Lucius warned. “You are letting your mind wander again—”

  “Does she know?” Faye snapped cutting him off. “You are about to drop the news to her with a blasted letter? She’s like a sick ghost wandering the palace’s walls and you’ll take her daughter away?”

  Lucius felt a migraine piercing the membranes of his skull. “I’ve seen a wyvern flying over Jelin,” he rustled hoarsely. “It was back at Krakenfort. Its shadow dancing over a whole darn cohort! A sign!”

  “Bullshit! That darn gladiator’s words got to you,” Faye hissed. “What was it? His praise of that accursed warlock, turned him into a worthy challenge?”

  “You are not listening to me.”

  “It’s you that has stopped listening. Of your other wife’s plight,” Faye reminded him. “The lucky noble lass that found a husband the proper Lorian way, stripping herself of everything she enjoyed, either good or bad,” she continued bitterly. “This was who I was talking about. Not about Regia or the fucking army! But of course, every time you turn silent and yer gaze wanders over a map, you dream of new plans. The next campaign. Zofia had warned me all those years back, because somehow she knew your Lorian soul. And she knew of you, the man. Foolish Iron Valley girl, you reached too-high, were her words. For this tiger ye can’t cage, she said, because he’s thirsty for the kind of gravitas few mortals dare dream of and at the day’s end, his heart belongs to Regia. Aye, she knew and it appears everyone else does here. This is Lucius, the crowds roared when we reached Cartagen, as it should have been obvious even to the most gullible, but it took me years to fully grasp what it meant.”

  “Don’t you trust me, Red?” Lucius asked wearily, after her tirade was over. “I won’t fight to lose or for the sake of it. But I can’t pretend all is fine, when it isn’t. If it comes… listen to me,” he insisted seeing her flustered face. “If it comes to that… we must be ready. Not for more gravitas, or out of guileless vanity. It is our sacred duty to my ancestors. Mine and yours, for we are forever joined in this. Regia is all of you and she is all of me, dear wife of mine. You claim to know me and I know you, freckles. Oh, so well. We’ll do what we must to protect our own.”

  “Listen to yourself! What duty? To fight a fucking wyvern?” Faye retorted sounding desperate. “Let someone else deal with it!” She screamed and then added intensely with an emphatic pause. “If it comes to that.”

  There is no one else, Red. A numb Lucius thought after she had marched away, her large strides and fiercely red long hair bathed in moonlight leading her through the small garden, towards the villa’s inner sanctum.

  “General,” Ramirus voice was heard after a while and Lucius turned to glance at the officer standing by the atrium’s pool. Lucius hadn’t heard the intelligence officer returning in the midst of his loud argument with the Queen.

  “The hour is late, Vibius,” Lucius said. “Everyone has retired.”

  “I stayed with the postal birds late,” Ramirus replied. A man that slept very few hours religiously for as long as the King had known him. “The Queen is upset.”

  “You are not married, Vibius,” Lucius noted calmly.

  “Haven’t had the time,” Ramirus confessed. “Or the inclination.”

  “See to find the time. A man isn’t whole unless he creates a family,” Lucius advised. “Find a good woman and you’ll be more than you were before. If the gods bless you with offspring then you’ll leave something behind.”

  “Aye, sire.”

  Lucius nodded and then gulped down, his mouth bitter. “Faye is upset, but is she right? Don’t answer that. I’ll tell you. In her mind we need to fortify our position, raise tall walls, and guard our borders with a strong enough force of brave warriors. But if we stay immobile, the enemy shall just dance around our raised fences and cut us off from our allies. We’ll become yet again an army stranded, without supplies and slowly we shall wither away. Yes?” Ramirus agreed with a nod. “We could also try to find common ground and look to appease instead of antagonizing. So in that she is right. It could work.”

  “Praetor, agreeing to Lesia’s proposal was the right decision,” Ramirus insisted.

  “I know, but she doesn’t, because Faye’s heart is pure,” Lucius replied. “And in that even when in the wrong, she stands much better than all of us, good Vibius. For the Queen can’t fathom how horrid victory can be, or the ugliness that lurks behind a prolonged peace. And that sometimes bravery and truth of cause is alas… not enough. I treasure this pure part of her. It is rare truly. Let us hope the all-gods are in our corner. In the corner of us… far more-sinister people.”

  “Indeed, sire,” Ramirus grimaced and stared at his clenched fist.

  “You ventured in here instead of your own quarters, Vibius,” Lucius jested with a faint smile. “Who is it from at this ungodly hour?”

  The missive, was the King’s meaning.

  “Lord Nattas,” Ramirus replied gruffly and expounded in the same manner. “He sent another.”

  “Trust Nattas to sleep with one eye open or not at all. What news does good ole Storm bring us?” Lucius mused, lifting his gaze to the two moons illuminating the night desert sky. “Has he discovered the missing SETC outpost?”

  “Nay, Praetor. But the Governor claims he may have a solid lead on the Assayer’s whereabouts,” Ramirus responded hoarsely. “The old one, not the boy. Aye, the murderous bastard.”

  The man who had constructed the ‘Deliverer’.

  Play your reed pipe fiercely, the wicked hag of the old children’s stories had urged the inebriated bard.

  Blow it once, blow it twice.

  Blow it thrice and bring the lord's walls down.

  “Where?” The suddenly lively King inquired.