Not even a fortnight had passed since the funeral and Laira’s coronation, yet courtiers began buzzing around her like flies around honey. Bedecked with silks and smiles, each one had a list of eligible noblemen whose bloodlines they claimed to be very thick. Not as thick as Laira assumed their coin purses must be. Each conversation began and ended with the same message: Your Majesty must marry, for the good of the realm.
She somehow kept herself in check, with only her confidante Reshma for company.
No husband to propagate the line, no response from the men looking for her father’s killers and no communication with Nogal. Nothing was going well. Her thoughts were circling around when Reshma came in with a pep in her step. She placed a piece of parchment in front of her.
“Read this.”
“What is it? If it’s another petition for marriage, I’ll have you flogged.”
A smile came upon her. “Tempting, but not now. It’s a very interesting report,” the tease replied, before relenting to Laira’s reproachful gaze. “Count Zock of Nobart is dead. Went to the Treacherous Bog with a force of six hundred, but not even half of them came back, babbling about fire raining from the sky, magician archers and invisible shades. All nobles dead.”
“Not a particularly funny jest.”
“It’s not. The report is from one of Oberstein’s men.”
That got her attention. “Curious.”
She had worked with Oberstein the last two years to cultivate a network of innkeepers, merchants, and courtesans who kept the realm’s pulse. Still, the report was hard to believe, so she asked the Master Procurer to have some other men question the survivors.
Oberstein came to her with the report a few weeks later. The picture they gathered was horrific, and almost a copy of the last one.
While the bald man with thin spidery fingers sat in front of her, still as a statue, she perused the second report. Her eyebrows climbed with every line; by the last paragraph Laira felt a cold, precise weight settle in her gut.
“Is this really true?” she asked the Master Procurer.
He nodded. The man didn’t utter a single word more than necessary.
“Let me summarize; the Count led hundreds of men into the Treacherous Bog and then attacked a force securely entrenched in the forest beyond, while his men were still on the Bog.”
She cradled her head in her hands. Even she, with no military experience, could tell that he was at a serious disadvantage. She might not have cared about what happened to some random idiot Count, but Nobart was a border county, which apparently neighbored a powerful martial people.
Laira leaned back, fingers drumming against the armrest. “Do we know anything about this force?”
“No, Your Majesty. There isn’t supposed to be any settlement beyond the Bog. There was an expedition decades ago, which found no one living there. There were rumors of a fairly successful band of brigands having a hideout there, but they would never stand against a gathered host that big.”
“Now someone lives there, and not just some band of brigands. The report says half of the force died, and no highborn survivors?”
“I find that hard to believe as well, but I trust the report. It’s from reliable men.”
Laira fell silent. The thought of a new force: disciplined, entrenched, and armed with such weapons, made the hairs rise on her neck.
“What do you know of this Count Zock? I don’t remember ever meeting the man.”
“Boorish. What you would call a typical noble.”
“Stupid and arrogant?”
He nodded in response.
“It says there is a succession crisis in Nobart County?”
“His oldest son died years ago of sickness. The second son, Viscount Jack Nobart is presumed dead. You recall the Cha exodus that happened half a year ago?”
“Yes.” That soured her already bad mood. Religious zealots were difficult to deal with, especially when the high ranking clergy tried to shield them as if they were some mischievous children, and not murderous fanatics.
“Apparently the young Viscount helped the Cha refugees pass through Nobart half a year ago, against the wishes of his father, and died in the process. They were headed towards the Treacherous Bog.”
Laira cocked an eyebrow at that. “Apparently?”
“No body was found.”
“How many Cha ran away that way?”
“Almost five thousand.”
Her eyes widened at the number. That was almost half a small county. “You think it’s the Cha and the Viscount that defeated the Count?”
“I would have guessed that, if not for the fatalities. I don’t see how some refugees could inflict that level of damage on such a large force. Out of the Count’s force of six hundred, there were more than a dozen knights, almost eighty men-at-arms and that many archers. Not an insignificant force.”
Laira sighed and took some time to compose herself. The more she thought, the less sense it made.
“What do you make of the survivors’ accounts? These are the same claims as before!”
“It’s quite baffling, Your Majesty.” The expressionless man showed a fair bit of emotion, which was a lot, coming from him.
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“The only reason the first report was made was because one of my more capable men was there at the right time. Thanks to your patronage,” he bowed slightly, “he had enough funds to go from one inn to another. He came across the same stories every time, and so did the second team.”
Laira’s eyes flickered to the report. “Enemy archers firing an arrow every heartbeat without retrieving any from a quiver. Men shot from directions from which they couldn't see anyone. Fire raining from the sky?”
“The last one is probably just trebuchets; dried bog peat burns easily. The second could be hidden archers. It’s the first — arrows loosed without quivers — that makes no sense. My man first thought it was just babbling of cowards, but when dozens make the same claim, it is difficult to dismiss.”
“Sorcery?”
“Who can say, but if there truly exists a force capable of breaking a trained host so thoroughly, we must tread very carefully.”
Whatever it was, Laira wanted such power. With the threat of Zoran Empire looming over Nanon, she would pay anything for it. How to approach this party? She could not appear too genial, as they had killed a Count of hers, whatever his faults, but threatening such a competent force would also be stupid, especially without knowing anything about them. She made a decision.
“Send a letter inviting them for a discussion.”
As Oberstein bowed and withdrew, Laira rose and crossed to the window. From the high tower of Hohenburg Castle, the western sky was a blur of gray and gold.
Her reflection stared back at her in the glass: young, crowned, alone, and already entangled in something beyond her grasp.
“Fire from the sky,” she whispered. “Or something worse.”
The candle guttered. The ink dried. And far beyond the Bog, someone else stirred before dawn.
──────── ??? ────────
Cradle, Chadom
I woke with a start. Looking at the window, it was still dark outside.
“What is it?” Aprilia croaked.
“Nothing.”
“Come here.”
She pulled me to her bosom with surprising strength, and I let her. Comforted by her warm embrace, I tried to go back to sleep, but my guilt wouldn’t let me.
Zock and his retainers had been buried in separate graves. Some of those men were Jack’s friends, but I hadn’t had the courage to even look them in the face, even in death. Lothar had taken care of the business on my behalf.
I pretended to sleep for an hour, then snuck out of our house, spear in hand. I found Lothar already practicing with his goedendag in our secluded practice clearing.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
I just shook my head.
He lifted his spear. “Let’s practice. It will help.”
The exhaustion did indeed help.
“So, what are we going to do now?” he asked, covered in sweat.
“Build forts.”
“No new weaponry?”
“My improvements with these weapons have come to an end. The next stage will require ingredients that won’t be ready for months.”
“Cheer up. We’ll survive.”
“I hope so.”
“What do you think is happening in Nobart, with the Count and his men dead?”
“Turmoil. The next in line after me was my cousin.” I racked my brains for the name. “Gunter. Not a very bright lad if I remember correctly.”
“Great.” He made a displeased face.
“Why do you care?”
“Because we will be dealing with them.”
“Yeah.”
While people would dismiss those men’s tales of our fantastical weapons at first, when hundreds repeat the same story, someone would come to verify their words. We had to avoid hostilities with Nanon without bending over backwards or losing our technological edge. How though?
Later that day, as we approached Bog Watch, the terrain looked even more disgusting than usual; pockmarked with craters from hurled boulders and blackened from the burning peat. The sour stink of the Bog though was a welcome relief, overpowering the sharper reek of death and burnt flesh.
Out of the twenty-seven captured prisoners of war, nineteen had only mild bruises and scrapes. Their eyes were glued to the floor of the bunker they were housed in. They looked well enough to work.
“Once your injured comrades are well enough to travel, we will escort you back to Nobart.”
“We’re just simple peasants, milord. Our families can’t pay much in ransom.”
“I don’t need it. All I ask is that you don’t cause us any trouble while you are here. If we find you trying to steal or sabotage our weapons or running away, you will be dealt with like an enemy. Work honestly and you will be fed and sheltered like the rest of the soldiers.”
Many nodded in response.
“The men won’t like that you are feeding the prisoners the same food as them.” Theo whispered.
“I want to use them as labor while they are here. That requires energy.”
“Still, many of the boys lost family cuz of the exodus.”
“Because of the zealots. Not every peasant is one. It’s the platoon commanders’ job to ensure the men don’t cause any trouble.”
Lothar nodded in response. “I’ll make sure they do, but is it wise to just let these men roam around freely?”
“Of course not. They will be under constant watch and they will be wearing these,” I lifted a set of leg manacles from the box that had just been delivered.
“Difficult to sneak and run when you can’t spread your legs wider than your shoulders.”
“Still, they’ll see the trebuchets.”
“Let them. They’re not that easy to copy. That’s the trouble with these,” I pointed at his bow magazine. “They are easy to copy. Even these,” I pointed at a soldier’s crossbow, “aren’t that difficult if someone gets their hands on one and has enough steel.”
“But they don’t have enough steel.”
“I’m not going to rely on a factor like that. Give me a few months and their successors will be next to impossible to copy for Nanon or Sindhu.”
“Not Zoran?”
I grimaced at that. “If the refugees’ tales of weapons that can bring down castle walls is true, the Zoranians might already possess such knowledge.”
“Don’t look so sad. We haven’t even dealt with Nanon, and you’re already thinking about tussling with Zoran.”
“Sorry. Bad habit.”
We decided to build three fortifications at Bog Watch: a tall lighthouse to keep an eye on any sea traffic and two Insulae style fortresses around the trebuchets. If there was going to be a constant military presence there, the soldiers might as well have some accommodations better than covered holes in the ground.
A few days later, we held an awards ceremony for the soldiers. I addressed the hard-eyed men, standing straight and proud, bedecked in their new uniforms. The five platoon commanders were also wearing the cuirasses taken from enemy knights.
“You began as refugees, kicked out from your homes. You went through a grueling journey and established a new home. Then you learned how to fight. I’m sure you have realized by now that skills are only useful once tempered in the heat of experience. You all have been tested and found worthy. Each one of you can proudly call yourself the shield of Chadom.”
I pinned a tiny steel shield, the medal of “Veteran of the Battle of Bog Watch,” to their chests.
I had been pushing the craftsmen hard with arming every soldier, building trebuchets and fortifications. Each of them also got a “Builder of Chadom” medal. Incentives were necessary, as I needed them well-motivated.
Back in my house, I stared at the wooden box that housed the source of our troubles. The document incriminating Lord Ox of spying on the royal court of Nanon. If we could get it to the King somehow, we would be the ones who helped uncover Zock’s treachery and the heroes who killed a traitor, instead of foreigners who killed a ranking noble.
How to approach him though? If it was easy, I would have done it when we covertly visited Nanon. Unfortunately, my memories of Jack's past were quite spotty, or I would have sent a message to someone he would have known at court.
Our boat builders were still figuring out how to build boats large enough to hold a dozen men, or we would have snuck into the capital.
My dilemma about contacting the Nanoan royal family solved itself when we got the shock of our lives. The royal messenger from Nanon arrived some days later, bearing a letter for us from the Queen herself.
“The Queen?” I asked the messenger quizzically. “The King remarried?”
“The new Queen, my lord. Laira Nanon.”
“The Princess?” my voice rose an octave. “The King married his own daughter?” I asked, scandalized.
“No, you dol- No, my lord. The King was killed by some thrice damned villains while he was visiting the Sindhu Kingdom, along with the noble Prince.”
My face paled at that. The King was dead, quite likely due to the information Zock gave to his foreign friends. Now if I show her the document, will she be thankful to us for killing the traitor or angry for not revealing his treachery earlier?
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