Adlersthron, Capital of Nanon

  The vast main hall of Hohenburg Castle stood silent, as if holding a vigil for its master. The scent of incense mingled with the sharp tang of preservatives. In the hall’s center an ornate casket of dark oak lay open.

  A young woman knelt beside it, all alone.

  Tears threatened to return to Laira’s eyes as she looked at her father’s peaceful face. Her fingers brushed a lock of his full head of hair. It was all white, making him look old beyond his years; one of the costs of bearing immense responsibilities. Responsibilities that he could have absconded, like so many other nobles. But her father had been a better man. He gave everything he could for the good of the realm. The proof was still ringing in her ears.

  A procession of thousands, unlike anything Laira had ever seen, had accompanied him to the castle gates. Their wailing had reverberated throughout the city, making her ears hurt. They poured out in such numbers that even the broad avenues of the capital choked with bodies.

  Her gaze flickered to the north, where a ribbon of stone gleamed faintly; his last great work. The aqueduct was a massive undertaking, but it provided clean water to the poor and rich alike. The city hadn’t had a single outbreak of blue death in the last twelve years, ever since it had been finished. Older men and women, who still remembered losing loved ones to the pestilence, had wept openly like children upon seeing the body of their beloved King.

  Despite being his own daughter, Laira couldn’t do even that. Not in front of the schemers and dolts, who already whispered that she wasn’t fit to rule.

  Her hand lingered on the rim of the casket. If only I could have your advice, father.

  Only silence answered her.

  The bells tolled until her teeth began to ache.

  The priests’ chants blurred into a river of words she floated through, without comprehension. She went through the motions; spoke when she was meant to, listened to rehearsed words of condolence and responded appropriately with the grace of a marionette. Under the calm surface, her thoughts circled endlessly.

  She had bid her father farewell with a heavy heart, but he should not have come to any harm. The Sindhus had sent a contingent of their own guards as escorts, but they could not be the culprits. Even they wouldn’t be dumb enough to attack while they were themselves threatened by a bigger fish, would they?

  They had called it an ambush by unknown men, but she would find the culprits’ identity, if it was the last thing she did. As the day wore on, her grief turned to rage, simmering and bubbling underneath the surface.

  Sindhu was almost twice their size in area, but almost four times in population. Any ill-planned action would doom Nanon, but Laira just wanted to rage, rage, rage.

  “Ow! That hurts!” Reshma screamed, and Laira came back to her senses. Shaking off sleep, she noticed she had been squeezing the only true family left to her with all her might.

  “Sorry, dearest,” she muttered.

  “It’s okay,” Reshma whispered. “You’re meeting Sindhu’s ambassador later today. Please don’t let your anger out on him like that.”

  “I won’t,” Laira said, as she got up to start the day. She would ensure Nanon endured.

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  As Laira faced the weight of inheritance, far away, another leader faced the weight of command, not in marble halls, but in the stench of death.

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  Bog Watch, Chadom

  The foul smells of emptied bowels, blood and burnt flesh threatened to overpower even the stink of the Bog. The desolate terrain was covered in bodies, thankfully not those of our men. Buried underneath them, injured men and horses shrieked with pain.

  While the soldiers cheered our victory, my mind swung between guilt from being the one whose one mistake might have doomed us all and relief over an overwhelming success.

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  I let the men roar until they tired of it. They had deserved it.

  “Well done, men! I know everyone is tired, but our work is not finished yet. We need to look after our wounded, then the enemies’, and then deal with the dead bodies.”

  “Look after the enemy? You mean kill them?” a soldier asked.

  “No. I mean give them medical treatment.”

  “Why?”

  “It is the right thing to do.”

  “They wouldn’t have done it for us!” he shouted angrily.

  “No. They wouldn’t have. Are you saying we are no better than these fools?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Good. We help the wounded because that is what good people do. Remember, most of these men are just poor sods forced to come here and attack us. They had no personal quarrel with us.”

  Tired as we were, we began the solemn job of separating the wounded enemy soldiers from the dead.

  Theo and many others became nauseous as we approached the enemy soldiers, dead or moaning and crying. Those who could walk had already run away. Many were badly burnt. Some were buried under boulders, only the pressure keeping them alive.

  I felt a wave of revulsion come over me. Our bows and trebuchets were just improvements of what already existed in this world, but the weapons I was planning to introduce next would be far more devastating.

  And yet, I could not stop, as that would mean our deaths.

  I had one of Matilda’s apprentices brought over to tell us which of the wounded were beyond their help. The answer turned out to be “most of them.” Now came the grim task of giving them mercy.

  A rough hand landed on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this,” Lothar whispered.

  “I do. I gave the order to attack them. It is my responsibility.”

  He nodded in understanding and withdrew.

  I drew my dagger and knelt by the side of a young man, barely more than a boy. Legs buried under a boulder, he was wailing for his mother. He reminded me of the little girl who had screamed likewise. I hope she is alive.

  I stabbed the dagger deep into his heart, and watched life fade away from his eyes. My hand did not shake, but my stomach did. I had killed my first man.

  Then I killed another, and another. Each fatal stab felt like I was hurting myself.

  Minutes later, I sat to rest and drink, while the soldiers separated the wounded that could be saved from the dead, who were being stripped of their equipment. Not that there was much to take; most of the enemy were peasants. Poor young men forced into attacking us.

  If I could change one thing about this world, I would abolish that disgusting practice. So many people lost sons, husbands and fathers for no good reason. The bloody “nobles” couldn’t even fight their own battles themselves.

  Lothar approached me, with unsure steps.

  “Done with the tally?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Almost three hundred Nanoans dead.”

  “What about ours?” I asked, fearing the answer.

  “Four.” A faint smile came upon him. “All died to enemy archers, before they were silenced. The Frogmen proved their worth.”

  “Our wounded?”

  “A dozen or so, but none beyond help. They should recover.”

  I only nodded in response. He sat next to me in silence.

  We had won, but the pall of our uncertain future hung over us all. Not too far away, Old Matilda was screeching at her apprentices. The diminutive woman had quickly adapted to boiling bandages and using honey and pine oil as antiseptics. Not as pigheaded as she looked.

  A man screamed as her apprentices sawed off his leg, setting my teeth on edge.

  “Jack,” Lothar whispered, “these weren’t just Nanoans, but Nobarans. Your people.”

  My eyes widened at that. Jack would’ve been devastated at having to kill his own people.

  “How many of the ‘enemy’ wounded will make it?”

  “Matilda says two dozen or so. All commoners.”

  “No knights or squires?”

  He grimaced. “The soldiers were very zealous in using the goedendags on them.”

  “You can thank Baron Mondgrove for that.”

  “The one who had boulders rolled over fleeing refugees? You don’t have to worry. He’s among the dead.”

  I clutched my head as I feared a headache coming. We had made a lot of enemies.

  “What of your father’s body?” Lothar asked.

  “What of it? He gets buried like the rest.”

  “The noblemen’s and knights’ families might want the bodies back.”

  “Then bury them in a separate grave.”

  Was Jack supposed to perform some special religious service for his father’s body? I didn’t remember and couldn’t be bothered to figure it out at the moment. The idiot had his scroll. He could’ve just left.

  The soldiers and reservists worked until sundown to dig mass graves for the hundreds of dead. I joined them. We were too tired to go back to Cradle, so they sent wagons full of food and supplies to us.

  “Commander,” Lothar tried to get my attention. “A moment of your time?”

  I gave my shovel to a soldier, shook the soil off my clothes and climbed out of the mass grave. “What is it?”

  He moved aside to reveal a face that melted my worries away. I hugged Aprilia despite my filthy clothes and hands. She didn’t seem to care either.

  “Why did you come? I thought you hated the place?” I asked.

  “I do. This place took my little brother away. I won’t let it take you as well.”

  We spent the night there, and took the bodies of our fallen four back to Cradle the next morning.

  Thousands surrounded the procession of wagons. The bodies were prepared and buried according to Cha tradition. I promoted each soldier posthumously and promised to support their families.

  “Say some words for them.” Lothar nudged me at the end of the ceremony.

  “Do I need to?”

  “Yes!” he glared at me.

  I nodded, gathered myself, and addressed our entire, tiny nation.

  “These four brave souls are the first martyrs of the Republic of Chadom. I might have declared its founding a few months ago, but they and their peers have fortified its foundation, with their blood as the cement.

  They have proven that we are a free people, who will not bow to others’ whims. In recognition of their sacrifice, we will remember this day every year as Victory Day. The day we showed the world that Chadom will not grovel, will not give up, will persist and last as long as even a single Cha is alive. For a free Chadom!”

  I raised my fist in the air, which was answered by every soldier and most civilians.

  After the ceremony, Lothar took me aside. “Don't blame yourself for what happened. I don't think the Count came with hundreds of soldiers just to talk.”

  “We will never know if he would have attacked us without seeing my face. So here we are, in conflict with a kingdom which has a population almost a thousand times larger than ours. Do you regret supporting me now?” I asked him.

  “No,” he replied emphatically. “Where would we be without your help? As you said at that very first meeting, we would have been easy pickings for anyone with some muscle. Yes, our soldiers are resolute and brave, but it’s not enough.

  Your weapons are the reason why only four of us are dead, instead of forty or four hundred. Don’t let your mind bury itself in the pit of misery. You have people to protect and cherish. Think about them,” he said, pointing to Aprilia, who was patiently standing close by.

  I nodded to him in understanding.

  “So dust yourself off, drink some of our new grape wine, go sleep in the embrace of your woman and then get back to work,” he ordered.

  “Yes, Sir,” I said in a mocking tone, saluted him and did just that. Chadom would not endure otherwise.

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