Chương 64: Chapter 52 - Interlude: Rulers

Calanthé sat on her throne, while Vissegerd and Eylembert stood in front of her. The rest of the room was empty. Eylembert was playing with his moustache, while the marshal stood at attention"Well, Eylembert. Report," The Queen spoke. The baron nodded, "Count Borivoj has unfortunately passed from a sudden bout of illness. Viscount Korvin of Dravka was killed by a spurned mistress. Baron Vistul of Brennik died of alcohol poisoning after overdrinking.

Baron Vladyslav of Wyrva suffered a hunting accident, as did Baron Zorav of Sarnak. Baron Rajnmar of Vorthog broke his neck after he fell while walking down the stairs. Unfortunately, Knight Boleslav of Strept has disappeared."

"Unfortunately?" Calanthé raised an eyebrow.

"He has actually disappeared. We haven't been able to find him," Eylembert explained. The Queen hummed, "Five out of six is not bad, Coodcoodak." Eylembert bowed. The marshal cleared his throat, "Your Majesty, I'd like to reiterate my protest." Calanthé leaned her cheek on her hand, "I thought you had a change of mind about Degurechaff?" Vissegerd frowned, "Her martial accomplishments are worthy of respect, but that changes little.

On her prompting, you have killed five blue-blooded Cintrans, with little to no other proof of their betrayal, and without even giving them a chance to explain themselves!"" We have, Marshal. We," Calanthé replied frostily.

"Her information was solid. Haxo corroborated her findings, and our own investigations yielded similar suspicions," Eylembert interjected. The marshal turned towards the flamboyant baron, "Haxo only saw what Degurechaff already had a chance to comb through. And do I even need to explain the issue with our intelligence network?" The Queen tapped her armrest twice, "You've made your point. In a better time, I would even agree.

Yet we cannot afford such uncertainty in our rear with a very real enemy approaching, while Degurechaff has largely proven herself. Need I remind you of Attre?" The two remained silent. While the outcome of Duke Baldemar's execution was neither ideal nor expected, it had largely worked in their favour. The cost Degurechaff would bear for her actions was hard to calculate, but reputation tended to be as important for sorcerers as it was for nobles.

What aristocrat would want to associate with someone whose hands were stained blue? On the other hand, as long as everyone thought that Degurechaff had acted on her orders, which was not necessarily wrong, her own image benefitted. A weaker-willed ruler may have shied away from such reputation, but Calanthé did not really mind.

"On that note, how are your preparations proceeding, Marshal?" Vissegerd looked the Queen in the eye for just a second longer than appropriate, before averting his eyes, "As expected. Duke von Hagenau has responded promptly, along with his bannermen. Already, over three thousand are camped outside our walls, with another two expected to gather at Baron Eylembert's fief. The Pride of Cintra, as well as other merchant ships, have been hired to help our own navy deliver a portion of our force to Attre.

Those might make it in time, if the enemy dallies. Attre, the best positioned for a swift response, is unfortunately a mess, so they won't be able to send much. With time, we could gather more as any nobles dragging their feet would run out of excuses, but stalling at this juncture would be ill-advised."

"Do you not believe that Degurechaff will hold, Marshal?" Calanthé asked.

"I believe she will," Vissegerd considered, "But while even the Nazairi won't be so foolish as to stretch their logistics through the pass until it is fully under their control, their raiding parties will still be able to penetrate. Degurechaff doesn't have the numbers to hold a half-finished fort and prevent incursions at the same time. There is also the matter of the construction."

"Construction?"

"There is no fortress in Marnadal," the Marshal explained, "Only a skeleton of one, if even that. The Nazairi know of it, and they know of Degurechaff and her tricks. I do not doubt her capability, but a siege and open warfare are very different things. We very well might arrive only to see rubble, the golden lion trampled."

"Or an unexpected victory, with your husband and the Crown taking much of the credit, thanks to your foresight, Your Majesty," Eylembert countered. Vissegerd scoffed, "Every general who thinks themselves the tiniest bit clever thinks of how they might defeat a superior force. Nine times out of ten, numbers, when significant enough, trump all. Just the thought of facing an enemy twice your size is enough to make most levies start planning desertion. I would not expect miracles this time, Your Majesty.

One sorceress, no matter how capable, cannot turn the tides of war." Calanthé tapped her armrest again, before addressing Eylembert with a sharp smile, "Taking credit, Baron? Surely, even a sorceress cannot outshine the brilliance of a royal mind?"

"Er," Eylembert floundered, the Queen's words taking him off guard. Calanthé snorted at her own joke, before her face turned serious again,"Coodcoodak, old friend. Prepare a plan for sending agents south. Degurechaff might be many things, but she was right about the intelligence agency. If Cintra is to not only survive these tumultuous times, but to prosper, we will need more eyes."

Severin Mordain, the King of Nazair, looked upon the tranquil surface of Lake Muredach with a bitter smile on his face, though internally, he felt mostly relief. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He had failed at averting the war, the bloodthirstiness and viciousness of this Degurechaff making it impossible to calm the tide that rose with Wenceslaus' death. In failure, Severin found clarity.

There was nothing left to it but to fight and win. First, the budding fortress in Marnadal would be seized - or what was left of it - then, they would crush the responding force. If all went well, they might be able to seize the Dukedom of Attre alongside it before they'd be forced to negotiate. If what he had heard of the Attre massacre held true, Severin doubted the duchy would be able to properly resist them.

With the Lion suitably muzzled, he could turn all of his attention to the south and prevent his kingdom from following the path of Metinna and Ebbing. He could be remembered as Nazair's savior, the avenger of Wenceslaus, a military genius. Someone clearing their throat brought the King back to the present. Turning around, he saw a man standing outside the circle of his guards. Severin raised an eyebrow, "You are with the Black Company, correct?" The man bowed, "Tawny Owl, at your service."

The King examined the commoner. Black uniform, short brown hair, brown eyes, young, but with a glint in his eye.

"Get on with it, then," he spoke a second later.

"The Council would like to discuss a matter of some importance with you," Tawny Owl responded without blinking. Severin rolled his eyes, "Brave of your leaders to ape the Brotherhood's nomenclature, if you even know what that word means. Very well, bring them here," he shooed with one hand. Well, as long as they could kill or at least keep the Cintran witch in check, they could call themselves the Better Brotherhood for all he cared.

"I am supposed to invite you to them, Your Majesty." The King stared at him. He briefly contemplated punishing the young man for his insolence before frowning. It'd be a waste of time, and the so-called Council would probably get pissy. If being a King taught him anything, it was how to wrangle idiots with egos much too large for their stations.

"There is a limit to how much disrespect I will tolerate, peasant."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I will inform the Council to come," the man responded, before taking his leave. For the next few minutes, Severin was left in peaceful silence, contemplating the falling moral standards of the youth. Eventually, Tawny Owl returned, with three sets of footsteps following him. As they arrived, Severin gestured for his guards to let them approach. Tawny Owl left quietly, while Severin stared at the three in silence, letting them stew.

The first one was a tall, thin man in his thirties, with spectacles and a black ponytail, dressed more like a scholar than a mercenary, though his waist was adorned with a rapier. The second was a vaguely feminine shape in a robe, with armour visible underneath. Their face was covered by an iron mask and hood, while their hands were hidden inside gloves. The third was a man past his prime, clean-shaven and bald, wearing a brigandine with a sheathed sword on his hip.

He looked less like a mage and more like a brigand, though Severin wasn't very interested in figuring what that meant, if anything. Their clothes were mostly black.

'At least they are consistent with the theme,' Severin thought. After letting them sweat for a minute or so, not that any of the three seemed to mind, Severin spoke, "Let us not stand on ceremony," he smiled, the hypocritical words flowing smoothly from his mouth, "I am King Severin Mordain, ruler of Nazair, as was my father, grandfather, et cetera." The et cetera did not extend much further.

The scholarly man stepped forward and bowed, "I am Gauthier Fitz-Morne, and these are my companions, Ironveil," he gestured to the woman, who didn't react, "and… Tim."

"Oh? Fitz-Morne? It is good to know that your leader is blue-blooded," Severin glanced at the other two, before swiftly proceeding to ignore them, his attention turned to Gauthier, "What did you wish to discuss with me?"

"Asylum, Your Majesty. All three of us have, let us say, unfortunate circumstances back south. The Black Company is our tribute to your Crown, and we would, naturally, protect and help our benefactor and his people."

"Why did you not include this in the contract?" Severin frowned. Something smelled here, but it didn't take a genius to understand why they approached him now. The Black Company was a significant force, and its departure would be immediately obvious to the regular soldiers, who'd start wondering why the mercenaries were running from what should by all accounts be an easy payday.

"Nilfgaard's hand stretches far, Your Majesty. It serves both our causes if our whereabouts and plans are not easily discernible," Fitz-Morne explained. Severin thought it over. It was not a minor ask, but it was also not significant enough to alienate the mercenaries with battle close at hand.

"If your Council learns some manners, then I do not see a problem with your little addendum." Ida Emean aep Sivney sat cross-legged in a sunny meadow, a blanket shielding her from the dirt. With closed eyes, she felt the sun on her skin, listening to the birds sing, as gentle wind caressed her like a lover. The rustling of grass alerted her to a guest. Opening her eyes, she saw a pair of legs dressed in a grey-green dress, dark gold hair flowing freely down to the knees.

Ida examined the golden hummingbirds sipping from embroidered flowers before she raised her head upwards, meeting a pair of inquisitive blue eyes.

"Enid," Ida greeted the arrival, "Sit," she patted the blanket.

"Ida," Enid an Gleanna, also known as Francesca Findabair, the Daisy of the Valleys, spoke, before sitting with a sigh, her dress creasing, "How is life in the Blue Mountains? Any gossip?"

"Still," Ida replied, tucking an unruly lock of red hair behind her ear. Enid waited for a beat, until it became clear that Ida would not say anything more, "Not so for me, Ida. Your little friend has been causing quite the stir."

"Oh?"

"A few months ago, she slaughtered a couple of thousand southerners, and Vilgefortz seized upon it immediately," Enid snickered, "Ah, seeing that smug smile freeze was a delight. Terranova was not happy either. You pick them well." Ida Emean's brows rose, "Truly?"

"Yes, I even sent her a gift as a thank you," Enid smiled sharply, "Though that is a mere appetizer, my friend. Shortly thereafter, she purged half the nobility in one of Cintra's duchies and now prepares to greet the full might of Nazair. I do believe your investment might fall through." Ida stayed silent for a moment, "What will be, will be. However, victory or loss, it is rather… incongruent."

"Incongruent? With her personality?" The Aen Saevherne shook her head, " Zireael. The swallow. A symbol of spring and freedom. That Zireael would spend her time leading men and destroying armies…" Enid twirled a lock of her hair, "I doubt the prophecy is exact."

"It is not," Ida agreed easily, "Yet, Enid, if you close your eyes and imagine a swallow, can you see a general?" Enid tilted her head, "No."

"And if she is not Zireael, then what exactly is she?"