Richard of Aragon was doing his best not to spend the morning surly. His knees hurt, his back felt like small pins had been driven into it, and his chest ached. He had been a general before he was a baron. He was the tactical mind behind the Dragon’s emperor’s victories against the dragon horde. Where the dragon emperor had led, had struck, had done what could not be done, Richard planned each step. The history books would remember him as a quiet noble who befriended the dragon emperor when he was a young man, long before anyone believed he would take the throne. Richard grew up alongside the dragon emperor, adventuring with him, traveling, fighting, and growing a bond that transcended mere friendship. When the war with the dragons came so many great commanders and warriors died that winning the war was left to those that survived. From those ashes came most glorious Valhelm Grimm, later Valhelm the first, the Dragon Emperor. At his side through it all was Richard of Aragon.

  After the war he had no taste for government. The horrors he saw, and the battles he led eventually caught up with him and he fell into despair and drunkenness. He didn’t adjust well to peace, and quiet life as a married noble. His children offered him little solace, and the drink conveniently drowned his sorrows. The history books would forget this footnote, as the twenty years of Richard the drunk didn’t have the same ring as Richard the General, the mace of Aragon, butcher of the high elves, hammer to the dragons, and the Lion of Aragon. Eventually he withdrew from his dissolute state and with the help of his friend and liege he lived among the monks of the Allfather until he was right with the world around him. His twilight years were spent as a Baron in title, but his eldest son Valhelm Aragon the first ruled in his stead. His second child, Elise followed her father into the legion, but not as a commander, but an artificer; and while publicly the family frowned upon her activities, he enjoyed them. Her free spirit and independence was beautiful to him, and he found her to be the most interesting of his progeny. What he had lost in their youth to his own battles, he had found in his twilight years.

  He sat in the west receiving room of Imperial Hall, wearing finery he hadn’t put on in months. For appearance’s sake he wore his raiment of a baron, fully knowing that his friend wouldn’t care if he had come dressed in a sack. He looked around the room, its walls still fresh and clean from its construction some forty years before. The imperial palace had been all but leveled during the dragon war, and Imperial Hall was originally built as a temporary residence while it was repaired after the war. The dragon emperor favored its utilitarian appearance and had gotten used to spending time in it rather than the palace. Richard didn’t favor the building, it was too new, clean, and lacked a soul.

  It had been seven months since he had seen the dragon emperor, last at the wedding of a Grimm cousin to a Holstamp Tomas scion. After the formalities of the event, and the emperor retired for the evening Richard was summoned to his chambers. There they sat and reminisced past dawn, the dragon emperor drinking common soldiers’ wine, and Richard drinking water. He had been sober for twelve years, something he was prouder of than his victories in the dragon war and he believed something the dragon emperor was more proud of than most of his conquests. At times they had bitter arguments that went to blows when they were youths, and even men, but their bond was unquestionable. Both would willingly die for the other.

  Richard stood and smoothed his starched tunic down over his growing belly. He was old now, far from the shape that he had been when he sat saddle ready to fight dragons in open field. His beard was short trimmed, grey, his hair long gone and his face wrinkled and tired. Years of hard living as a soldier, and harder living as a drunk made him look older than the seventy plus years he had walked the land. His back was hunched and his knees both locked up on wet days. His body was a latticework of scars, magical healing, and scars on top again. He had refused the magical healing that would extend his life, welcoming the day that wouldn’t be far off that he would meet the Allfather. He was finally content in life, his demons long buried and conquered.

  The dragon emperor did not enter rooms, as rooms shrunk to accommodate his presence. He was tall, not awkwardly so, but enough to be commanding. He looked to be in his fifties, the magic’s of the empire slowing the toil of age about him. His skin was smooth, his hair short and black. His eyes were piercing, a combination of both compassion, and bare steel when he wished. He walked like a warrior, back straight, hands flexing as he moved. His chin was his most prominent feature, jutting forward with a small, trimmed goatee at the bottom. He wore a simple tunic of purple trimmed in gold, with black trousers tucked into high leather boots. A broad rapier hung on his belt in a simple sheath, the common sheath of an imperial sergeant. His signet ring sat massive on his left hand, a wedding band of silver on his right. His presence was near otherworldly, remarked upon by any who first met him. Richard had long ago become accustomed to it, but in absences from it, it was magnified upon seeing the man again. An energy of doing, action, hung about him. He had long ago mastered a simple nod, a look, a glance that gave commandment more clearly than most generals could convey with ordered words. In contrast to Richard’s paunch, he remained trim and fit. Those who did not know him would assume he practiced combat daily with his bodyguards, but Richard was aware he hadn’t raised a sword in over twenty years. Every morning he awoke and spent twenty minutes in the same routine his father had taught him as a boy.

  He saw Richard and it came, the smile that bards had written legion about. A simple curve of his lips, folding of the corners of his eyes that made whoever it was directed to feel as if they were the sole owner of his undivided attention. It was both disarming and heartening and Richard had spent years watching the man use it to disarm the most powerful nobles, generals, and enemies. It was this smile that had defeated the dragons, stolen the imperial throne, ordered the execution of his own brother, and later ordered the execution of his own son. It was this smile that carried the weight of the civilized world, kept the ogres and the high elves at bay, and commanded the conquering of the south. It was this smile that had told Richard to finally dry up or do the honorable thing and take his own life. It was this smile that long ago convinced Richard to fully trust his life to this man.

  “Brother.” the Dragon emperor embraced Richard.

  “Your grace.”

  “Richard, it’s only us.”

  Richard smiled. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “I can make it a command.” The dragon emperor smiled broadly.

  Richard chuckled and waited for his liege to sit. The dragon emperor sat across from him, the spring still in his step. Richard eased himself onto the sofa, his old bones creaking.

  “How’ve you been?”

  “Fair. Knees hurt. Back hurts. Elbows hurt.”

  “Still sober?” No accusation in his voice, the question came with a touch of genuine concern.

  “Aye. Not a drop, nor call for a drop.”

  “But still the want?”

  “Ever, present, but in the background. That’ll never go away, but my will is strong.”

  “It is indeed. I remain proud.”

  Richard looked away for a moment and then back. The dragon emperor had a habit of invoking emotion whenever he spoke, and Richard was not immune to his charm.

  “Elsa?”

  The dragon emperor smiled, the genuine smile of a proud father. “Well. She says her and Carthus may yet have another.”

  Richard chuckled. “Three grandchildren, whatever shall you do.”

  “Perhaps at some point enjoy some respite.”

  “Do you think of Arbetus?” Richard pained to ask, but it was appropriate. Years before the dragon emperor had asked him to do such when they met in private, just as Richard had asked him to inquire about his sobriety.

  The dragon emperor squinted his eyes for a moment and then replied. “An occasional dream. Daily I think of him, what I could have done differently.”

  “Valhelm, you know you did as you could.”

  Valhelm sighed. “I did, but it doesn’t excuse him, or for that matter, me.”

  “You did what you must. He would have been a tyrant.”

  Valhelm nodded, clicked his tongue against his teeth and said “He would have. He was still my son.”

  “One you loved enough to give peace to.”

  “Perhaps. I still think I am a monster for ordering it. Doesn’t matter the reasoning.”

  “He was a murderer. You had no choice.”

  “No, I didn’t. He didn’t leave me one. No matter how many times I wish I had the powerful to go back and change the past, he didn’t leave me one.”

  They sat quietly for a moment and Richard studied his face. He didn’t betray any sense of foreboding. He knew the inner turmoil the man felt over the death of his son, no less ordered by him. The heir had put his father in an inexcusable place; irrefutably he had killed another in a rage. The heir was fit prone, violent, and wholly unlike his father. Where Valhelm, the dragon emperor used violence as a tool, when necessary, Arbetus his heir used it on whim, to fit his fancy. Valhelm had no choice.

  “Thank you, Richard.” Valhelm said, a pang of guilt for hiding the truth of the matter that Richard would never know.

  “It pains me to ask, every time.” Richard sighed.

  “I know. But no one else will.”

  Silence hung between them again for a moment, but neither felt awkward about it. They had spent their formative years together, fought wars together, been thru the darkest times together. They understood the beauty of silence, unfilled by absent words.

  “I hear my namesake is doing well this year.”

  Richard nodded. “Aye. I’m fit to just soon abdicate the title and give it to him. He’s ruled in my stead many years now. Neo, baron doesn’t fit him anymore. I’m ready to hang it up.”

  “Prudent. But if it was altogether prudent, you’d have done it years ago. Why now?”

  Richard shrugged. “Time, I suppose? I don’t know, has been weighing on me lately.”

  “Age is catching up.” Valhelm chuckled.

  “It is. Stairs are harder. Belts are getting bigger. Mind isn’t as fast as it used to be.”

  “Neither of us were supposed to live this long.”

  Richard nodded. “No, we weren’t. And some of us have been using the mages quite frequently.”

  Valhelm touched his smooth cheek. “I do look a bit fresh, don’t I?”

  Richard chuckled. “Same as you did in the saddle, maybe a bit rougher then.”

  “The law says I can use them to extend past double a normal man’s life.”

  “You could always change the law; you are the emperor.”

  Valhelm laughed and shook his head. “I’ve enough detractors, don’t need to add undying liege lord to the list of curses.”

  “Empire probably couldn’t stand you that long anyway.”

  “No, probably not.”

  “He’s a good lad. He’ll keep the barony prosperous. But still dull as a board. Taking a fancy with some Holstamp Tomas lass, I forget whose granddaughter she is. About as sharp as he is. Perfect match”

  “Oh. Richard of Aragon’s son to wed a Holstamp Tomas?” Valhelm chuckled. “Will you be giving a gift at the wedding, or a series of curses?”

  Richard shook his head. “Couldn’t have picked a worse house if he tried. I realize you have to keep the peace, but I still can’t stand the sons of bitches.”

  “I keep the peace, for the empire, and for Elsa. She married the only one of them I’ve ever met that I liked.”

  Richard nodded. “One out of a thousand for sure. They are a dour, pithy house.”

  Valhelm laughed. “The pinnacle of old blood nobility modernized a bit. Strong voices in our senate.”

  “Never really cared for them.” Richard said dourly.

  “I know. Elise?”

  Richard smiled broadly. Valhelm chuckled. The general didn’t need to say a thing about her wellbeing, for he could not contain his pride.

  “Still getting anger over the south?” Richard asked.

  Valhelm waved his hands. “When do I not? The hardline houses are angry with the timeline. The moderate houses think we’ve sunk too much into the war. My opponents say it’s a boondoggle, a war solely to sate my own ego.”

  “The opponents will never understand. This generation needs fighting men, you don’t get that from training. You get that from war. But truth be told, it’s not even a war. A conflict.”

  Valhelm nodded. “No, we don’t. The high elves have long since rebuilt after the dragons. The Anoram fleets are stronger than they ever have been. The ogres grow more consolidated daily. We’re too old to fight again. Our sons and daughters had no taste for fighting, not truly. They saw the horrors of war from the sideboards. Our grandchildren need the experience.”

  “I know. It was my plan to send the legions south.”

  Valhelm nodded solemnly, remembering the evening that Richard had brought it up. He thought it foolish, but by dawn he was convinced.

  “And you were right. Twenty years ago, we weren’t in a place to take on the high elves, nor the ogres. Not really. They weren’t either, but both of them want our land, our resources. The peace with the high elves remains uneasy, ever will be. The ogres hate everything. You were beyond right in knowing we needed to rebuild a true fighting force, but it’s taken far too long.”

  “Series of poor generals, and a generation that as you said, had no taste for fighting.”

  Valhelm waved his comment away. “Which only exacerbates the problem. Forty years plus since the dragons burned our cities. We’re finally at a point we have a respectable levy, respectable weapon masters, the Society of Magic is finally to the point where they are somewhat near the pre, war numbers; but we remain at the mercy of competent generals. Nathias remains our best, and it took years to filter him out from the pretenders.”

  Richard nodded; he knew the leadership void all too well. The dragon war had left so many dead that rebuilding was almost the demise of the empire.

  “How is Lanius? I haven’t seen him in ages.”

  Valhelm shrugged. “Well. Focused on our border with the ogres and keeping the pirating in the north at bay.”

  “Too split to be able to guide the south.”

  Valhelm nodded. “Only one man. High General in name, but running a staff fit for a vice general. Field General’s in command of the south. Lanius does what he can, but he and I know his attentions must be focused on the border. We become lax, and the ogres come. We’re not quite at a level I feel comfortable staving off an invasion. Add to that the constant threat of Anoram and Iron Kingdom pirates on our coast, and he’s a busy man.”

  “I don’t envy him.”

  “No one does. At least it’s recognized he’s fit for the command.”

  Richard rose his eyebrows. “No guff from the houses?”

  Valhelm shook his head. “Not substantial. They know he’s competent, proven; one of the few proven. They know he offers solid leadership on the border.”

  “But the south?”

  Valhelm sighed. “Remains a thorn.”

  “Never could have predicted it would take this long.”

  Valhelm chuckled wryly. “No, or that I’d have gone through this many generals in the last two decades.”

  “How much noise are the Holstamp Tomas making? Less now that one of theirs is in charge?

  “Carthus keeps his house quiet, but at some point, they will break ranks. They follow him, he’s charismatic, smart, and has a good heart.”

  Richard shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I agree your son in law is a fine man, but I don’t put faith into the rest of his family to remain so positive towards you. The old Holstamp Tomas realize that when Carthus’s children come of age they’ll have half the throne. They’ll bid and wait, and Carthus is a good man. He’ll keep the rest in line, but the old guard, they know they’ve got a claim when the children come of age.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “Perhaps. It’s another decade before Byron or Palia come of age.”

  “Any inkling on which will be heir?” Richard asked the question that remained the primary topic at noble salons across the empire.

  Valhelm shook his head and sighed. “To early to tell. Obviously Palia is the elder, but Byron is male. Tradition will want him.”

  “There has been plenty of empresses.”

  “If so, then why didn’t I choose Elsa? That’s the question that will be asked.”

  Richard sighed. “Because she’s a soft heart. Because she isn’t a leader.”

  Valhelm nodded. “I know, but it doesn’t mean the question won’t be asked.”

  “She’s a wonderful women. One to be proud of, but she wasn’t then, and never will be fit to lead the empire. Let them ask, and that’s the answer. She knows it, and she has no issue with it. It’s noble to recognize that birthright doesn’t equate to ability.”

  Valhelm smiled and chuckled. “The histories would disagree.”

  “And what of it? Your reign has been a break from tradition. Hell, technically you’re a usurper to begin with. Never mind that almost everyone in the line was dead anyway, in dragon’s bellies. What does it matter if the question is asked? If Veronica is the right one, then so be it.”

  “As I said, I don’t know, and it’s far too early to tell. Byron is nine winters old, Palia ten. They’re both starting to get their personalities.”

  “Both still squiring?”

  Valhelm nodded. “Of course. Proper foundation of a knight is essential, even if they never lift a sword.”

  “Either seem warriorish?”

  Valhelm shook his head. “Not especially. Byron is mildly skilled with his arms, and Palia athletic. I’ve no inkling to say if either will be a warrior.”

  “They’d get it honest if they were.”

  “True.” Valhelm shifted in his seat, his body positioned to make his points more effectively. Whenever he got involved in a conversation is became his habit to use his hands to highlight his arguments. “Byron is intellectual. Favors his studies. Elsa tells me he spends hours a day in the gardens, drawing plants, dissecting animals, reading old high elven. Not a mean bone in his body, polite to his servants, mannerly, even keel. Palia is much the same, scholarly, but more attuned to those around her. Enjoys the salon more than the study.”

  “Good. We paid enough that our grandchildren should at least know some peace.”

  “I don’t know if either of them will be a great leader, but I watch and wait. I want to see into who they develop. I want them both to be great, strengths paired they can rely on. They won’t have the same bond I have.”

  “No, they won’t. No direct cousins, only each other. You had five brothers, a sister, and one surly Aragonian.”

  Valhelm continued, as if he was speaking more to himself than Richard. “If they can stay strong together, then it won’t really matter who rules, not truly. If they can rely on each other, then I think they’ll be fine.”

  “You want for them what you had, and Elsa and Arbetus did not.”

  Valhelm shifted again, focusing back on Richard. “I do.”

  Richard shrugged. “Sounds like Elsa is doing a fine job then. She’s a good woman.”

  Valhelm smiled, looked away for a moment, and smiled more broadly.

  “What more of your daughter? Still spirited and making you grey? I saw you smile, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  Richard shook his head and smiled. “Yes. Why I’m here today.”

  “Trouble from the front.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement inviting further comment.

  Richard sighed and tapped his hand on his knee. “Yes. Dire words from her.”

  “Concerned about Ward Holstamp Tomas the third.”

  Richard nodded. “From what Elise tells me, he reminds me of Hannibal.”

  The emperor’s face went dark. Richard knew the name would drive the serious nature of his concern home. The name Hannibal was rarely spoken around the dragon emperor, and for good reason.

  “Go on. I have a sneaking suspicion you’re going to tell me our leadership pool is worse than I thought.”

  “Reckless. Means to march on Reeva.”

  Valhelm’s face was impassive. Richard sensed that he already knew that.

  “She worries he is putting the men in harm’s way for personal glory. That he makes poor decisions, stemming from his want for legacy, and the pain of his son betraying him.”

  “Dylan has been south for a few weeks now.”

  Richard nodded. “So, she mentioned. What’s his plan? What’s he to do if he finds something unacceptable?”

  Valhelm leaned back in the chair. “Report back to me, wait for further orders.”

  “I assume he’s done that.”

  Valhelm nodded. “I’m concerned, as he is. It’s a touchy situation though. I’ve gone through too many generals in the south. Our assets down there are thin. Ward is in charge, but past that not a lot of wise men. The battle magus in charge now is above board, Johan Ruhl.”

  Richard shook his head. “Haven’t heard the name.”

  “Comes recommended from the society of magic. Up and coming magus not far from higher rank.”

  “That’s good at least.”

  Valhelm sighed. “A bright spot amid many darker shades. So many generals now.”

  “Not your fault they weren’t up to par.”

  “But it is. Ultimately it lands at the throne.”

  “Why not just send Nathias south? Do it right?”

  “Politically? I can’t cause the Holstamp Tomas to lose that much face. Sacking Ward will move the quiet opposition out to the front, even Carthus won’t be able to silence them. Logistically? Nathias has his hands full on the border.”

  Richard snorted. “You’re worried that you’ll lose hold on your grandchildren?”

  “I’m worried that the Holstamp Tomas will push to have them take the throne, begin the talk of abdication. I’ve reigned for over a long time, and I’m not getting any older. They’ll say I don’t mean to ever step down.”

  “You’ll abdicate when you feel it’s ready.”

  “Indeed, but I don’t want to be in a position they use my grandchildren as leverage.”

  Richard nodded, seeing the possibilities. “You’re worried it pushes to civil war.”

  “Perhaps. I don’t think it will go that far, but that’s not a threat I can take lightly. Sacking Ward will exacerbate that threat. Sacking Ward isn’t really an option.”

  “I see. I don’t think it will be that drastic if you’ve good reason. The Holstamp Tomas aren’t that stupid.”

  Valhelm shrugged. “No, but they are ambitious. Carthus is a fine prince, but many in his house are not good men. Their neopatriarch Janus is a plotter. I’m not sure to what level, but he’s shrewd and twists to his advantage where Carthus is more conciliatory. You said it earlier, dour, and pithy; they’re looking for a reason to sway Carthus. They’ll use Ward’s sacking as fuel to an ever growing want to see one of their own, even half, on the throne.”

  “I disagree, they’re not that foolish.”

  Valhelm inclined an eyebrow. “Don’t think so? They have all the arrows they need to fill that quiver. The dragon war was a generation ago. Our grandchildren see it as a memory. This generation sees me as an emperor who remains young, stays on the throne and fights a drawn, out campaign far to the south.”

  “You underestimate their love for you.”

  “Love? This generation sees the war in the south dragging on. They hear the stories of fighting dragons, but they also hear how I came to power. How I took the throne when Alexander the tenth died in battle. How it was not my place by right, but by might that I took it.”

  “We had no other choice.”

  “No, we didn’t. That doesn’t mean they understand. They see that I took the throne. That I killed my own brother, my own son. That here, I remain.”

  Richard scowled. “You didn’t have any choice with your brother. Damn him.”

  Valhelm looked away for a moment then returned his eyes to Richard. “Yes. That doesn’t mean they understand. Brother slayer, son slayer, usurper, dragon emperor.”

  Richard shrugged. “You didn’t have a choice.”

  Valhelm slammed his hand down on the table before him. Richard knew it was coming. It had probably been three decades since he lost his cool in front of anyone outside of closed doors. Here, with Richard he was safe to be the man he was long ago.

  “It doesn’t matter! I killed him. It will never what he did! It will never matter that he spent our men’s lives like common coin! What matters is that I killed him, and now, today if I give them any purchase… they’ll use that as proof I’m a tyrant.”

  Richard let his voice go low and smooth. “But you’re not. Sacking Ward if he is a piss, poor general won’t lead to a civil war. It might be hard, might cause more vocal opposition, but it won’t lead to a civil war.”

  Valhelm stood and began pacing. “I disagree. I think it’s a lynchpin. I think he’s loved enough by his troops, and far enough away from the senate that no one will believe him to be a monster. Instead, they’ll just see another failed leader at best, or at worst their emperor flexing his political muscle.”

  “You worry if you sack him, he returns then he becomes the vocal opposition.”

  “Yes, to some small extent.”

  “And because he’s had some success, it will be credible.”

  Valhelm nodded.

  “But if you allow him to march on Reeva, then you’re risking the entire campaign.”

  “Yes, among other things.”

  “Then order him to a different course?” Richard knew he wouldn’t, but it was worth a shot.

  Valhelm looked at Richard and shook his head. “You know that won’t work. I can’t manage him from the throne. I do that, and I don’t have to worry about his minor vocal opposition. The other houses will speak for him. No one likes it when an emperor intercedes in war, that is, unless we’re truly over a barrel.”

  “Well, you, could.”

  “No. Then he becomes an even more vocal opponent, and rightly so the military will wonder why I didn’t leave him to do his job. Add to that, if I order him off his course my son in law will be forced to take his side, and I don’t need that relationship injured.”

  “But marching on Reeva is folly. Aside from the politicking, it’s a death sentence for a lot of men.”

  “It is. Politicking aside, that’s my primary concern.”

  “I know. What’s Dylan say?”

  “Dylan reports he’s dug in as well. No hope of Dylan persuading him.”

  Richard chuckled. “That’d be the first person he’d not be able to sway.”

  Valhelm smiled. “He won’t give up, but says the man is hell bent on his course of action.”

  “Any leverage from his men?”

  Valhelm shrugged his shoulders. “Mostly hardline, uncreative officers that are either new, or have been in the south so long they’re entrenched. Never mind the general surviving his assassination, it’s made him a figure of honor for his men.”

  “His own son.”

  “Yes, his own son. Now a traitor. Only increases Ward’s credibility. With credibility comes loyalty, with loyalty comes an affirmative, enthusiastic yes when he orders them march on Reeva.”

  Richard rubbed his chin, thought a moment, and then continued. “So, you can’t sack him. You can’t order him off his present course. So that leaves convincing him otherwise.” Richard knew where the conversation was going. He knew before he walked into the room.

  “Easier said than done.”

  “Elise says that Commander Marcus Ross is a good one.”

  Valhelm nodded. “His name is known to me. Common man, noble aspiration, good head on his shoulders, a worker. Nathias knows of him, mentioned he might one day be fit for a title.”

  “Do you think he is a lever?”

  Valhelm shrugged. “Loyal to Ward, all reports say. But I’m not sure that loyalty is deep, only a subordinate to a commanders. Dylan says he might be malleable.”

  “But to what end? Don’t see a way of convincing Ward of his folly, and you can’t have him come home to be a thorn in your side.”

  “Thorn in my side is a small concern. I’ve had more vocal, better opponents.”

  Richard nodded. “I know. Just rehashing. Keeping the logic fresh. My mind is getting slower these days. The root of the problem is that his foolish bravado is going to get men killed needlessly.”

  “All signs seem to indicate that.”

  Valhelm looked out the window and sighed. Richard knew where the conversation was going. It wasn’t the first time in their history together. In his old age, he hoped it was his last, but knew it wouldn’t be Valhelm’s.

  “He needs to die.” Richard said bluntly.

  “Is my logic wrong? Am I missing an out?” Valhelm asked, bowing his head against the window.

  Richard leaned back on the sofa and rubbed his brow. “No. It’s correct.”

  “Another one on the pile.”

  “No one ever said being emperor would be easy.”

  Valhelm lowered his head

  “Sorry.” Richard sighed. “That was a pithy axiom.”

  Valhelm wryly snickered. “It was.”

  “For the betterment of our nation, you know it falls to you to make these choices. That better?”

  “Trust me, I know. And no, it wasn’t.”

  Richard stood, walked to Valhelm, and put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you do. That’s why when Alexander fell, and everyone looked around sheepishly, their eyes settled on you. Mine included.”

  Valhelm stood quiet a moment, turned to Richard, and smiled sadly. “Alright then. Best way to do it?”

  Richard rubbed his chin, turned, and began pacing. “His attendants are loyal I’d imagine.”

  “Bodyguards and officer of the watch are Holstamp Tomas. They’ve become extra vigilant since his son almost killed him.”

  Richard nodded. “Then someone close, outside of that circle, and if possible, it has to be in battle.”

  “Outside of battle isn’t an option.”

  “The Commander?”

  Valhelm nodded. “I don’t see any other way, but I don’t see how.”

  “He has access, we have to trust he can find a way.”

  “It’s dirty business. But that’s what it is, isn’t it? We begin with altruism, and end in base bloodshed.”

  Richard sighed. “Oversimplification. You’re not in a reasonable position. If it was simple, then you could just remove him. That’s not possible for the reason’s you’ve stated. They are the reasons of a liege, dully vetted. If it was simple, then you could command him off his course. Again, that’s not possible. Logic then dictates the course in front of you now.”

  Valhelm stared out of the window for a moment, took in a deep breath and exhaled. “I tire of logic ending in the inevitability of death.”

  “You’re becoming melancholic, which isn’t a good shade, nor disposition for you. It’s never fit your character.”

  “Hannibal. Arbetus. Now another. Why the binary choice? Live, die. He’s not done anything to warrant execution. No crime. Just overzealous plans in war.”

  “You’re not executing him.”

  “I know, I’m murdering him.”

  Richard sighed. “You’re not murdering him. You’re removing him for the good of the state.”

  “It’s the same thing, with a different name.”

  “No, it’s not. This isn’t some ethics lecture. You’re in a position that you either remove him, order him off, or kill him. The first two choices aren’t viable, for the greater good and peace of the empire. The third is ugly, but necessary. You wouldn’t be in this position if he didn’t force your hand.”

  Richard walked to the table and picked up the decanter of spirits. He looked at it for a moment, smiled to himself that temptation wasn’t present, poured a glass for Valhelm and walked it to the man.

  “Melancholy. It’s a binary choice here, as it was with Arbetus and Hannibal. Because strong personalities mixed with unshakable drive met something they couldn’t push past.”

  “The good of the empire.”

  “Correct. That’s your unenviable role. To adjudicate between what is best for the empire, and what is not. Unfortunately, this can often end in the demise of those not best for the empire. Arbetus made his choice when as your heir, our next ruler he got mad at a man and broke his neck. Hannibal made his choice when as your general, he led a coup against you to take the throne. Ward made his choice when he ordered his men to Reeva to facilitate his own glory. He’s not interested in winning the war. He’s interested in becoming some goddamn hero, at the expense of imperial men and women.”

  Valhelm took a drink and let the spirit burn on his tongue for a moment. “Arbiter of life and death.”

  “Melancholy again. Of course, you are, and to drive the point home, you chose it. No one forced your hand to take the crown. When we all sheepishly looked at you when Alexander fell, you could have said no. You could have passed it rightfully to Julius. We all knew he would be a horrible leader, but it was his by right. You could have said no. But you didn’t. Can’t belabor it now.”

  “An old man isn’t allowed a bit of introspection?” Valhelm smiled slightly, shaking his head.

  “You’d have to buy into aging first. I’m old, my body shows it. You decided to let magic hide that. So yes, I imagine by sheer years you can be introspective, but in practically, your grace, you’ve many years left to reign.”

  “I could be cliché and say I’m ready to step down, live the quiet life. Join you in retirement.”

  Richard shook his head and set the decanter down. Old habits die hard and he hadn’t realized he still held it. “You could, but you’d be lying.”

  “I would.”

  “No better a man, have I known to sit the throne.”

  “I disagree.”

  “No, you don’t, you just won’t say it. It’s not modesty, and it’s not legacy, you’ve cared for neither as long as I’ve known you. It’s ok to admit you’re a great leader, if not the very best the empire has ever produced.”

  Valhelm chuckled and set the half, finished glass down. “I disagree. And I think history will not remember me as kindly as you Richard.”

  Richard shrugged. “I think they will. Your detractors will speak about your brother, your son, and the rest of the driven, ideologically unsound men you had to destroy. The intellectuals will remember your works, your rebuilding, and your policies on free worship of the gods, of education for the common man. The warriors will remember you as the dragon slayer. They’ll all be drowned out though by the common man. Even the saltiest noble, rival house will be drowned out by the common man. He will remember you as all those things, the dragon slayer, the rebuilder, the thinker, the leader who remembered them and didn’t make it policy to squander their lives.”

  Valhelm turned to Richard and furrowed his brow. “Optimistic. I think the histories will be far less favorable, but I yield to the fact that you are correct, I don’t really care about my legacy. I’m here. I’m on the throne. I make the best of what we have.”

  “And that’s why I’m right.”

  Valhelm sighed. “Back to the matter at hand.”

  Richard sat back down on the sofa, rubbing his knees. “Aye. So, Commander Ross, he’s to do the deed.”

  “Unless it’s changed in the last few moments that does seem to be the most logical course.”

  “Indeed. If he doesn’t bite, then he’ll tell the general. Then you’ll have a shit storm.”

  Valhelm nodded. “Then how to get word? Trusted source?”

  Richard knew where he was going with the question and sighed.

  “I’ll send communication to her when we are done.”

  “Thank you, Richard.”

  The old man turned and shook his head. “I’ll leave the details to her. You’ll back it?”

  “Aye. I’ve no other choice.”

  “No, you don’t.”