Chapter 78

  Hands on the deck

  "The Golden Horde... We have spent the last few weeks trying to understand what it's composed of, how many soldiers it has at its disposal, and what its current military capabilities are."

  "We have intercepted numerous convoys, but we're talking about an extremely complex cycle of troop movements... If we gather all the information collected, we haven't captured even a tenth of the total. And as we speak, the Golden King will surely have organized numerous other expeditions. If we exclude the Diarchy, the flying city is completely surrounded. At least fifteen of the city-states in the Masakar Desert are under his direct control. The region, indirectly, answers to this mysterious commander."

  "The war with the Diarchy, the war with my father, plus the disaster in the Draconic Kingdom. The ordinary—and extraordinary—operations in the region. The Theocracy is using more resources than is sustainable in the long term. Aeneas, this time we aren't talking about a simple danger. Are you aware of that?"

  The young Captain of the Black Scripture looked up, letting the indifference that usually crossed his gaze be replaced by a more significant worry.

  "Lady... Queen…"

  "Dare to call me that and I'll make you regret it…" Antilene stopped him before he could express such an obscene display of respect.

  "Zesshi…"

  "...Zetsumei. Zesshi Zetsumei is a title. I am no longer part of the Black."

  "Do you want to continue lying to me?"

  Since when had the arrogant youth transformed into a man? For Antilene, a heartbeat had passed since his baptism, and now the brat stood more than a shoulder taller than her, leaning over the chair to reach her height.

  "Fine. Just for this once, I will return to being the Extra Seat."

  Aeneas showed no reaction, other than a bothersome arching of his lips—the shadow of a smug smile. The half-elf didn't find it that irritating, no matter how much common sense told her otherwise.

  "Now, to return to the initial point. The further we go with simple harassing maneuvers, the more we play into the Golden King's hands... By now, we've formed a fairly accurate idea of his army. If we exclude the Scriptures, the Theocracy—support from the Diarchy or not—cannot win in an open field. I have never seen such an amalgam of races working together with such coordination."

  It wasn't just a figure of speech. During small skirmishes, trolls positioned themselves at the front to defend the weaker races, using their regeneration factor to dampen the impact of collisions, while more insidious races attempted to bypass obstacles. This was just one of the numerous examples they had analyzed in the field.

  Flying races specialized in harassment, casters specialized in creating advantageous terrain for plant-based heteromorphs, goblins being hurled like projectiles by sand giants.

  "Not even the army of Argland achieves such results... It isn't simple coordination... To be ready to sacrifice oneself for one's comrades with such zeal. Well, it's just like the army of Slaine. Variegated and insidious."

  But with one fundamental difference. Humans could find a common path to justify their fanaticism. What did a werewolf have in common with a vampire? An orc with a spriggan? Sure, common goals and all that. But that crap only mattered to a certain point. It was impossible for them to overcome their primordial instincts.

  "In any case, the simple militias aren't the problem. Not for us."

  A Godkin, equipped with the panoplies of the Gods, was invincible to normal beings, numbers or no numbers. Coordination, zeal, fanaticism, or anything else. But, obviously, only if they deployed conveniently in one place.

  "Let's drop the trifles," Antilene sighed, pouring herself a cup of coffee. They had been awake for over forty-eight hours now, without managing to achieve any result. "We will have to ask the other Scriptures for help anyway. Surely the Golden King has his own spy apparatus, and Oracle cannot keep such a vast area under constant surveillance."

  "Some members of the Windflower are already here in the Diarchy."

  "In that case, we will also have to ask for the support of the Sunlight and Holocaust Scriptures too. Four Great Spirits and Astrologer were already part of the old teams, and they should resume their former positions as captains, even if only temporarily."

  From a purely formal standpoint, the Theocracy had not entered into a war with the Golden Horde. As a supporter of the Diarchy, it could intervene in the capacity of a protector should the Golden King decide to expand northward before setting his sights on the flying city.

  Even though the Cardinals had arranged for secret operations, taking to the open field and enlisting the help of the generals and the Grand Marshal—while tactically advantageous—could prove counterproductive without a direct act of aggression against them.

  Ilio Oriculus had guaranteed the silence—and even the cooperation—of Argland. But even if one could trust the word of a dragon, and that was already a big if in itself, it remained to be seen how extensive his influence truly was over the nations founded by the Platinum Dragon Lord.

  "I still don't understand our enemy's plans. Is the intent truly to lay siege to Eryuentiu?"

  Aeneas scratched his chin, continuing to study the maps spread before them. By now, the young captain must have memorized every contour of the terrain. Fine business that was—most of it was desert!

  "The walls of the lower city are imposing, perhaps among the most massive and thickest in the world," Antilene sank into her chair, finding that rough seat actually comfortable. No seducer was as skillful as exhaustion; even wood against one's backside feels pleasant. "But would that really be a problem for the army we're studying? For rows of casters who can create siege engines out of thin air? For troops that can fly directly over the fortifications? To say nothing of the logistical support... surely a great nation is backing our adversary. Probably more than one. This is large-scale warfare, bigger than we can imagine. And yet... and yet, I don't think their objective is a direct attack. They are simply showing off their feathers."

  "Their feathers?"

  "A courtship tactic," Antilene explained, putting on the know-it-all air, Rufus' courtesy. "Some birds display their colorful backsides to make themselves attractive to potential partners. The Golden King is doing the same. His armies are his feathers, and his technique of seduction is intimidation. He is asking to be let in with the backing of the great families who rule the lower city."

  "Do you really believe the seven great families will bend so easily?"

  "Your princess friend should be the one to tell us that," Antilene looked out the window, blinded by the first light of dawn. If it weren't so much effort, she would have rushed over to close the shutters. "Shaimaaa El-Aziz, right? We've been in her city for days, and she still hasn't shown her face. You didn't happen to break her heart, did you?"

  Aeneas blushed, the boy once again taking the place of the man. And to think that someone so accustomed to shedding blood shouldn't turn red quite so easily.

  Setting aside that naive politeness, he stammered, without sounding too convinced. "We haven't been on particularly cordial terms since the last time I was here. But I assure you, I haven't entertained any inappropriate relations with her."

  How old was Aeneas at this point? Twenty-one? Twenty-two? His education had imparted the art of war to him, but as for the art of love... Not that Antilene was much of an expert herself.

  If his childhood had been stripped away from him, she deserved some of the credit. A medal of honor for her cruelty. A necessary cruelty, nonetheless.

  "What about the betrothed?"

  "Lady Francesca and I saw each other only a couple of times before this trip. We maintain a strict correspondence, however."

  "And yet you already call her by her name. Lady Francesca…" A name that sounded melodious, rolling off the tongue with sweetness. Antilene liked it, and Aeneas clearly enjoyed repeating it much more.

  "She is the one who asked me to skip the formalities," the Captain of the Black Scripture had raised his defenses, forgetting who it was that had taught him every move.

  'Good grief. He doesn't want to be humiliated only on the training ground.' To each their own pleasure.

  "If you say so... In any case, I didn't expect to find this place so calm after our visit." Antilene thought back to the streets she had walked days before, and the relative calm that attempted to hide an increasingly stressed tension.

  Each step, a journey into the unknown. The way she savored that freedom had not been missed to her. Yet, behind the deep, familiar odors, the convincing smiles and the cheerful chatting of these people, the city of Tel-Hoorusan still concealed its mysteries to her.

  "Unofficially, this is nothing more than a visit from the Elven Kingdom and its new Queen."

  "Don't remind me... I beg of you."

  A plea like any other, fated to remain as much unlistened. Of course, fame arrived with a very inconvenient set of side effects. And the advantages, too, slipped away without much hesitation.

  Much better to be a shadow. At least, in the darkness, solitude was less bothersome.

  Speak of the devil, and the underworld opens its gates. A knock came at the door, and without much ceremony, two elves made their way into the room.

  "Sister," Agravaine wore a simple outfit of brown leather, her hands free save for a small flask. "Fix your posture. A queen does not sit that way."

  For not even a minute together, and already demanding. Sisters more akin than each would have liked to admit.

  "Where is a queen? I don't see any queen. I just see myself," Antilene huffed at the reprimand, sprawled halfway between the two armrests of the chair. The half-elf scratched her chin with the index finger, a strong sensation of disgust tickling her palate. "News?" Not that she expected anything different from the last ten times she had posed that question to her siblings.

  Logen, walking beside Agravaine, set his bow down a few steps away, poured himself a glass of white wine, and savored it quickly, pouring one for the others as well. Aeneas declined, as did Antilene. Agravaine, instead, accepted.

  "The roads are secure... at least in the Talafest Diarchy, we haven't yet found any sign that the Horde's spies have reached either of the two cities."

  "Does that mean there aren't any?"

  "It means we haven't investigated enough... But the territory to cover between the two of us is too vast. They could already be here, for all we know. And besides, even the Masakar Desert is not without its turmoil. The various raiders, scattered demi-human tribes, and the sand giants are in an uproar. The khumat's king who lives in the far east is moving towards the Golden King's main camp. Such agitation hasn't been seen in this area for a very long time, and there are far too many lead actors."

  "Aeneas and I were just talking about that. We'll have to ask for support from the other Scriptures before there are too many variables to keep track of." With a graceful leap, Antilene landed just a few steps from her brother. Their hands brushed—just long enough to reassure themselves that they were truly there. "You've analyzed the information we shared. What's your take?"

  Comparing opinions could lead to an unexpected result. The Scriptures, however flexible in their reasoning, were still limited by a human-centric perspective. Would Logen and Agravaine provide an unexpected spark of ingenuity, or would they simply confirm what Antilene and Aeneas already knew?

  Her sister was the first to answer, almost like she was reading her mind. Not that she could for real, couldn't she? "The elite troops they call 'Dragonslayers' are roughly comparable to those you humans define as heroes. At best, cross-referencing the testimonies of the prisoners you brought us, it's reasonable to expect at least a hundred of them. For you, it's not a major problem. Especially if you have this boy backing you up."

  Feeling called upon, Aeneas found it necessary to intervene. "In any case, we certainly can't let ourselves be caught off guard. We don't know what kind or how many magic items they might have at their disposal. Power isn't everything."

  "Of course," Agravaine agreed with him. The elf sighed, placing a hand on Antilene's shoulder, heavy with apprehension. "Then there are the Four Heavenly Kings. They're a more interesting case. That sharp horn you brought us didn't exactly describe them as auxiliaries of the Horde, but more like external elements."

  "Perhaps they are partners of the Golden King," Antilene hypothesized. "Exceptional individuals brought together by a common goal."

  In the Eternal City, there was wealth enough to go around, even if it were divided. This could provide a convincing explanation for the Golden Horde's seemingly infinite resources: each player hoped to use the other and squeeze them to gain something from this entire ordeal. In the best-case scenario, it could be a weakness to exploit. If things went smoothly, at least.

  When did they ever?

  "They could be like our father. Existences that defy the natural order. Something more than hero or monster," the scar over Logen's eye began to throb, almost imperceptibly. To the two sisters, it was now evident that behind the face that let nothing slip, there was something more, akin to turmoil. "Four—no, five, counting the Golden King—beings on the level of our father. Antilene…" He weighed carefully how to proceed, because he didn't want—couldn't—allow himself to gamble. "In such a situation, could you win?"

  The battle between Antilene and Decem Hougan had left its marks. For the people of Evasha, it was now a myth that had carved legend into their traditions. To the Cardinals of the Theocracy, it had been the confirmation of their doctrine, the victory of faith over sin. For Logen and Agravaine, and for all their brothers and sisters, the end of their never-ending nightmare.

  For Antilene? The first battle that had pushed her to the limit, and the affirmation of her sacrifices. The Eternal King had fallen, leaving space for an even more fearsome being. Having forged a crown from the mistakes of the beings who had generated her, the half-elf thought she had finally found freedom.

  "No. Five adversaries of our father's caliber would be too much even for me," she stated, voicing what everyone had left hanging, feeling strangely light following that admission. "I mean, it's impossible to be certain without more details, but if we have to lean toward worst-case scenarios, we absolutely cannot close our eyes to such an evident truth."

  "I can't imagine you losing," Aeneas said, forcing himself to be confident. He had to be, Antilene judged, because she was his rock, his support. Who had placed that weight upon her? "Antilene, you cannot lose."

  His simple words met the consensus of the other siblings. Agravaine spoke, following that same logic that refused to accept a very concrete possibility. "The one who defeated the Eternal King…"

  "The Eternal King wasn't eternal forever," the half-elf shot back, forcing her sister to look her straight in the eye. "Just as he tasted the flavor of defeat, the same will happen to me one day. It's almost a relief... It makes our race toward the flying city even more desperate. Fortunately, I have the two of you."

  "Do you intend to use us to appeal to the guardians of Eryuentiu?" Logen asked. He had grasped his sister's plan without any frills, yet he still didn't seem convinced.

  "You too are the children of our father. The blood of the Eight ripples through your veins as much as mine... Obviously, considering the dangers and traps that might await us, in addition to our enemies, it is always better to have a second or third ace up one's sleeve. On that note, didn't you bring Ruri with you?"

  "Our young sister is overseeing the education of our other siblings…" Agravaine's voice grew heavy. "Antilene, you don't intend to bring them to war as well?"

  Their father had followed the philosophy of learning on the field. Rise, or die. A senseless cruelty imposed on his own offspring. The madness of the late Elven King did not belong to the half-elf as well. "No, nothing like that. Let the children be children, for now. I don't intend to snatch their childhood away just for my ambition. Not for such reasons. Not if I can avoid it."

  Except for Ruri, there remained roughly fifty descendants of Decem Hougan. Most of them, however, were only infants. Their great potential was held back by the absurd longevity of their race.

  From a military and pragmatic point of view, this was a problematic factor. Part of Antilene, however, felt a certain relief. Their childhood would not be torn away by cold reasons of state.

  Was that her doing too? Among so many things, perhaps she had achieved something to be proud of.

  "Antilene, if Evasha were to be in danger, someone would have to rush to save it." Agravaine showed her respect, giving voice to something that had been tormenting her since they arrived in the Diarchy. The woman was devoted to her, but she was also devoted to her homeland. Could a love so great be split in two and still remain enough?

  "I won't ask for your service at that moment, sister. If there are problems, you and Logen will be teleported back to Crescent Lake as soon as possible."

  "And you?"

  And her?

  "I must finish my task. Before I am a queen, I am one of the Black."

  "That's not what I was insinuating. You aren't a queen, or a Scripture. You are my sister."

  "So what?"

  "It's okay to run away, if you want. No one is asking you to fight. No one is asking you to put your life in danger, once again."

  'No one is asking me to fight.' Those words resonated powerfully in Antilene's mind. She recognized the apprehension in them, and the care directed toward her.

  It was all true, and for that very reason, she had to flee from that reality before it became too close.

  "It will be alright," she said, placing her hand on her sister's shoulder, realizing just how tense she was. The contact didn't bridge the chasm between them, but it made it feel narrower, in a certain way. "I don't fight because someone asked me to. If I had run away, our father would still be alive. And you…"

  At that, Agravaine, Logen, and Aeneas all fell silent, their stillness louder than a thousand words spoken with fervor.

  For her sister, fighting was a duty, not a necessity. For her brother, it was the opposite. For the Captain of the Black Scripture, it was both.

  And for Antilene? She wondered about this as she scanned the small room in which they were confined. The faint scent of yellowed paper tickled her nostrils, and an insistent bittersweet taste still lingered on her lips.

  "It's fine, Agravaine. Antilene has made her choice, and it's up to us to support her. We have a debt to repay."

  "You don't owe me anything."

  "Then we'll do it simply because we want to."

  Logen slung his quiver back over his shoulder and opened the door for his sister. Agravaine followed him with an uncertain step.

  "I'll see you shortly," Antilene bid them farewell.

  Agravaine paused, entire speeches trapped on the tip of her tongue. How much did she want to say at that moment? Antilene had only a vague idea. "Take care of yourself," she said at last, when the words became too heavy to bear. "This is my request."

  The plea did not go unheard. Antilene saw the two elves out, leaving her alone once more with Aeneas.

  The Captain of the Black Scripture toyed with his fingers, he too unsure of when to speak.

  "Your siblings are quite capable... They could be part of the Scriptures."

  "Yes," Antilene agreed. "They could. But the Scriptures are only human."

  "Will they be for much longer?"

  When evening fell and she was left alone, Antilene allowed herself a walk to soothe her nerves. The Diarchy was much like the Union in its hodgepodge of races lacking internal coherence, though it featured, unlike the latter, a marked human prevalence.

  There was surely a plausible explanation for this, though it eluded her for the moment. It wasn't that her curiosity was exhausted or that her desire to learn something new was buried under layers of fatigue, but with a waning moon shining with an intense glow in the night sky, it felt like a waste to lose herself in shallow lucubrations.

  Without anyone to engage with in a proper back-and-forth, Antilene enjoyed the long-awaited peace after hours —days— spent debating war. The shadows in the streets danced, drawing —under the half-elf's intrigued gaze— representations of a grief not yet withered: that of a country that had first known the weight of defeat and must now endure the threat of annihilation.

  And yet, perhaps many of those passersby now ignoring her would have preferred the yoke of the Golden King over that of the Theocracy.

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  'And even if they did?' Those were not matters that concerned her. Whatever pity might sprout in that desert was nothing more than a flower without roots.

  "Let me help you."

  Just as Antilene was questioning the necessity of anything even vaguely resembling altruism —almost as if her thoughts had been translated into material reality— she noticed a young woman helping an elderly lady carry a jar full of water into her home.

  That exquisitely ordinary action should not, in theory, have elicited any reaction. The girl, whose face was covered by a purple cloth that left only her bright, attentive eyes exposed despite the late hour, gracefully exited the dwelling immediately after entering, with the old woman's thanks accompanying her departure.

  Antilene, who had never seen the girl before but nonetheless understood well who she was, decided to follow her, taking care not to be noticed.

  At that point, the same scene repeated over and over again.

  Every time she encountered someone in need of help —even for the smallest thing— the girl would stop to offer a hand.

  Within an hour, the two of them had traversed most of the city without stopping for even a moment. Late at night, both Antilene and the girl were walking along a secluded street, where a handful of orphans had gathered to tell stories and play among themselves.

  The girl joined them, sharing distant legends about imperfect heroes and tragic deeds. The children —a ragtag bunch of various human and demi-human races alike— listened intently under the watchful eyes of their guardians.

  And so, following the flow of her words, those poor souls were able to gather dry twigs that were—in the flight of their imaginations—enchanted swords and peerless spears, turning their games into something more than simple amusement: the fostering of hope for something greater.

  If it had been up to the Theocracy, most of them would have been exterminated. And Antilene shared that sentiment. Raising urchins into heroes could lead them to turn their vengeance against them one day, not too far in the future.

  When she was finished, the girl wandered for a little longer, stopping in an almost deserted square at the base of the central fountain to touch the warm flowing water with her hand.

  Antilene approached. "A princess playing at being a saint."

  Shaimaaa did not lift her veil, but her expression sharpened, turning partly frightened, partly curious. "You are the elf queen who accompanies our common friend: the charming captain. Have you seen me before?"

  "No, but our common friend, as you call him, had informed me of your habit of going down into the poor part of the city."

  "Do you not approve, perhaps?"

  "We are at war, even if not formally. You should be safe, or at least under escort. The people here love you, and you know the area like no one else."

  "You were there, weren't you?"

  "You noticed me?"

  "Not specifically. But you dogs of the Theocracy always have a leash ready for my neck…" Shaimaaa touched the very neck she had pointed to, almost as if the spikes were piercing her skin. "You have already locked me in a cage. Do you want to forbid me to do this, too?"

  It would have been optimal and reasonable, but something suggested to Antilene that this was not what Shaimaaa wanted to hear.

  "No, that is not my intention. I was just curious, that's all."

  "Curious about what?"

  "About why you do all this. Why do you go so far out of your way for your subjects, helping them with every little thing? Don't misunderstand, I understand love for one's people, and being ready to make sacrifices for them. But this seems exaggerated to me."

  Shaimaaa moved her veil aside, showing dry lips that were reinvigorated with a sip of water. "Some might believe I do it for them, but I do it mostly for myself," her voice was warm and deep, yet still furrowed with sadness. "I love these lands. I love the people who inhabit them. I want to know everything about them, and I want them to know they are never alone, even if the night is dark and cold. Life is never easy, no matter with what blessing you are born. I am selfish, but I would like everyone to be able to feel at peace. To know there will always be a friend, even when they least expect it."

  Antilene weighed those words and their sweetness. The square was almost deserted, but there were still some passersby. Mostly guards fighting against sleep, or youngsters taking advantage of the darkness to exchange promises of eternal love.

  "Calling yourself selfish for something so altruistic... Don't you think you're being a little hypocritical? No, actually. Perhaps even stupid. A two-bit little saint."

  Shaimaaa wasn't too angry at the insult. "I suppose you're right," in fact, she laughed in such a refreshing way that the half-elf couldn't help but be a little taken aback. "In the end, we do what makes us feel good about ourselves. You come from the Theocracy, like the young captain, and you fight for those who despise you just for what you are. Don't you find that a little hypocritical too?"

  "Like you, I also don't want to see the people I care about suffering or unhappy."

  "But to do this, you might be called upon to trample others who threaten their happiness. In any case, we always have to make a choice. Becoming conscious of our failings doesn't make us more righteous. Just more aware."

  "Yes, this is a contradiction we all have to struggle with…" In her travels, Antilene had understood that everyone had something they cared about.

  Beings like her father, who despised everything that wasn't themselves, existed. But there also existed many others who rooted their efforts in reasons that, from their point of view, were understandable and even justifiable.

  The Theocracy was from the same mold. The cruelty it inflicted was both a gift for some and a scourge for others. Absolute justice was based on compromises.

  "I don't mean to sound disrespectful, but now I know why you followed me," Shaimaaa, well-covered by her veil, dropped all pretense. "You want to be sure that I don't betray your cause against the common enemy."

  "Will you?"

  "The temptation is strong... The Diarchy has always professed coexistence, in stark contrast to the ideals that Slaine champions. Why shouldn't I support the Golden Horde in some way, even if I run the risk of making you an enemy?"

  "Because they will lose. And I will win."

  "Is that reason enough?"

  "It has to be for you."

  In the end, it all came down to this, didn't it? Victory or defeat. Even if the most terrible misdeeds were committed, they would be justified later on, as long as the necessary results were achieved.

  Shaimaaa, however, was not entirely convinced. Almost as if she could read the falsehood Antilene was pushing deep within herself, she stood up to tower before her. "If that were a convincing argument, it would be all too easy, don't you think? We follow the strongest because they are the strongest, and to hell with ideals."

  "Ideals don't save you when someone plants a blade in your chest."

  "You don't really believe that either."

  No, she didn't. But simply because there were very few blades that could penetrate Antilene's chest. She had that luxury. But the others? As a strong person, could she judge the weak for their shortcomings? Shouldn't she, instead, have tried to walk in their shoes and understand what justified not only their best parts but also their most vile misdeeds?

  The instinct for survival was common to all, even the half-elf.

  "I'm just trying to be your friend."

  "I doubt you can understand what that word means. To be friends, it takes more than understanding."

  "What is it, then?"

  Illuminated by starlight, the princess's dark skin shone intensely. "That is for you to discover."

  "Everyone speaks in riddles, but no one makes things clear."

  A mocking laugh was the only answer to her complaints. "Otherwise, where would the fun be?"

  Shrugging, Shaimaaa approached Antilene, who had remained standing in her spot, and held out her hand. The half-elf returned the grip, finding it firmer than she had expected. "Can I count on your help, then?"

  "For the moment, as long as I can obtain benefits for myself, too. Who knows, we might even become friends, just as you wish."

  "That seems very unlikely now."

  "But impossible? I wouldn't say so."

  After all, Antilene Heran Fouche was the woman who made the impossible possible. With renewed vigor, she hoped that tomorrow would not be as exhausting as today.

  Aeneas had spent the last few days in an uncertain state. Since seeing Shaimaaa again, a resurgence of old feelings that he had believed buried in a forgotten part of himself had left him quite bewildered.

  Writing awkward love letters to his fiancée, Francesca, had not alleviated that strange sense of unease that left him stunned and looking foolish whenever he met with the Diarchy princess.

  Shaimaaa, who was simply reading a book while seated in a comfortable armchair in her room, occasionally cast a curious glance at him, just to make sure he was still there.

  "Don't you have anything better to do than protect me as if I were a brat incapable of looking after herself?"

  Eventually, she decided to speak to him, without much ceremony. It was like going back in time.

  Aeneas rubbed his shoulder, not out of true fatigue. Cracking his neck, he roused himself from a warmth that had made him fall into a disorienting lethargy. "I'm waiting for some reports from my men. In the last few days, the Golden King has been quiet. Soon we will be able to head to the flying city as official emissaries, and we must be ready for any obstacle that might appear on our path."

  Time Turbulence and One-Man Army were busy plotting a safe route by comparing the various information obtained from the recent skirmishes with the Golden Horde, while Divine Chant, Divine Chain, and Heaven and Earth coordinated the work with the other Scriptures.

  Aeneas, as commander-in-chief of the Black Scripture, had the task of directing all those operations, and because of this, he had been busy from morning until night with a varied series of duties, more or less pleasant.

  "And I assume I have a fundamental role in your plan, don't I?"

  "The Theocracy has no real diplomatic relations with the flying city. You are our trailblazer. Your father was a respected ruler in the region, and the echoes of his benevolence still persist. Obviously, if you don't feel up to it, we could also ask the young cyclops prince…"

  "No need to put Hamza in all this mess. His tutor, Khaldun, would never allow it anyway. And besides, he is still a child. Don't worry, a change of air will do me good. And anyway, I have never crossed the threshold of Eryuentiuu... Is the city as beautiful as they say?"

  It wasn't the beauty that interested him, Aeneas reflected. But different points of view did not meet on the same horizon.

  "Of indescribable beauty."

  At that point, Shaimaaa closed the book she was reading with unexpected good humor. "Indescribable... Even the legends in these stories use that word. Indescribable, followed by numerous descriptions. Incandescent like the sun, shining like the moon, of alabaster white and brighter than the gold guarded by dragons. Do you see what I'm getting at, my dear captain?"

  Aeneas approached her, his mind still filled with battle plans and unwritten letters. The image of Francesca, whom he hadn't seen in weeks, flickered in front of him more intensely. "A critique of literary tropes, perhaps?"

  Shaimaaa sighed, disappointed. Since when had someone been disappointed in him? "No, I mean something more than that. In the time we haven't seen each other, your wit hasn't become any sharper."

  If anyone else had dared to speak that way to one who carried the blood of the Gods in his veins, then it would have been a misdeed, blasphemy, a crime, and an outrage. For Aeneas, it was just a pleasant return to a more serene atmosphere, free of titles.

  "Your observational skills, on the other hand, remain the same."

  "Self-mockery? Or did you just commit the unspeakable crime of cracking a joke?"

  Aeneas didn't find it particularly fruitful to continue with that banter. Without causing the slightest disturbance, nothing more than a shadow against the walls, he tried to be sincere instead.

  "I missed you, Shaimaaa. I just want you to know."

  Shaimaaa, who in all likelihood had expected everything except that... mimed an expression of pure dismay. "Scandalous. A forbidden love. Should I be flattered? But I feel nothing of the sort for you. You're just a somewhat foolish friend. Sometimes I hate you, I despise you. Sometimes, more rarely, I even like you. When you aren't slaughtering my people, at least."

  An old habit that dies hard. On that point, their opinions remained deplorably irreconcilable.

  "I promise you it won't happen again."

  "Don't make promises you can't keep, my dear captain. It's... rude."

  The captain of the Black Scripture accepted the criticism. "One of my subordinates once defined me as rigid. You consider me little more than a stuffed mannequin. I believe that was a compliment."

  "I applaud her spirit of observation. She must be a lovely woman indeed."

  Clementine knew how to make herself loved, without a shadow of a doubt. Only, that pleasant first impression disappeared the very instant you knew her for longer than a second.

  Embarrassed, Aeneas scratched his cheek. Had he not been perhaps a bit too self-conceited? "Lovely only to the extent that a woman can be."

  "Don't tell me you know anything about women."

  "More than you might think possible. I have a fiancée, to tell the truth."

  "Now that is news! You could almost make me believe—mind you, it's just an impression dictated by surprise—that you are human too."

  What did he expect from the princess? Envy, perhaps? Aeneas couldn't give a name to that love with the missing ending. It was so splendid and true, at least to him, that he was deceived by it.

  "It's nothing extraordinary. A necessity dictated by state requirements."

  "Would you perhaps like to shatter all my beautiful fantasies, and make me believe that you are nothing but a skilled politician who treats love like empty promises and false agreements? You are the strongest man in the world, and yet you cannot do a simple thing like yearn? Poor girl, I weep for her. Would you like me to be as this poor maiden? An afterthought in your story?"

  Aeneas thought of Francesca while Shaimaaa smiled at him, almost as if she were proud of his arranged marriage. The remorse he felt in not seeing her show something more contemptible carved an abyss into his heart.

  "No. On the contrary, she is wonderful. Kind-hearted, beautiful, and gifted with an intellect brimmed with curiosity. I am... lucky."

  "What is her name?"

  "Huh?"

  "I asked you what your beloved's name is."

  "Francesca."

  "Francesca. Francesca is a beautiful name indeed."

  "Yeah. It really is a beautiful name."

  "And so you're lucky."

  "I'm lucky."

  There wasn't much to share between them. The two of them were nothing more than strangers, brought together by circumstances beyond their control.

  Aeneas paced around the room with nothing else to do, enjoying that rare idleness. Especially since there was so much to be done, contemplating nothing had a strangely calming effect on his mental faculties.

  Shaimaaa, meanwhile, had gotten up to open the door. He hadn't even noticed the knock, so caught up was he in that strange feeling of peace. Remembering to sharpen his senses, for danger hides in the unexpected, he stopped the princess before she could open it.

  "Don't you have a maid for these tasks?"

  Aeneas vaguely remembered a demi-human woman with feline features.

  "You remember dear Slimi? Surprises never come alone. Anyway, I gave her the day off, to spend it with her family. Come on. You don't really believe an assassin would knock on the door, do you?"

  "It could be a well-mannered assassin."

  Letting out a nervous giggle, Shaimaaa's hand approached the handle, and Aeneas twitched before even realizing it.

  A hooded figure wielding a thin knife burst from the doorway—a lightning bolt of metal that zigzagged toward the neck of the unsuspecting woman, who would have expected anything but that.

  Aeneas intercepted the tip of the blade between his fingers. He squeezed, and it shattered, scattering into a thousand fragments on the floor.

  Looking ahead, focusing on the attacker, the Black Scripture captain posed his question.

  "Who are you?"

  The figure's build was slender, its clothes a puddle of black that absorbed every color. The corridor from which it emerged was immersed in darkness. The assailant tilted its head, perhaps surprised that its weapon had been neutralized with such ease, emitting a sound similar to an ancient and forgotten voice.

  "We are the Black Hand."

  Widening his eyes, Aeneas realized it wasn't a hooded person. The assailant wore a mask of the same shade as its clothes, with only two slits acting as eyes, and two deep white lines starting from the forehead down to the chin.

  The captain of the Black Scripture, once he had ascertained that Shaimaaa was alright—she was decidedly shaken by the event, but fortunately unharmed—lunged to grab the presence.

  Indeed, although Aeneas's hand closed rapidly around the neck of the Black Hand, the sensation was akin to trying to grab a cluster of shadows. His palm, however, tightened ferociously, and while the sensation was less like solid matter and more like holding an elusive liquid that didn't even need to struggle to slip away, he managed to lift him off the ground.

  No struggling, no attempt to escape. The Black Hand had accepted its fate with unusual resignation, remaining completely motionless as its legs left the safety of the floor.

  Aeneas was aware he had to be careful. An assassin capable of sneaking in this far would be capable of escaping at the slightest carelessness.

  "Captain, are you alright?"

  "Don't come any closer!"

  Aeneas, though grateful for Shaimaaa's concern, had to ensure she remained safe. No one could know if other enemies were hidden somewhere, and without support, putting everything under control was dire.

  "Lovely."

  The Black Hand roused itself from its indifference. The mask flexed and, as strange as it seemed, the fabric formed a sort of sneer. The creepy and sardonic smile taunted with indifference.

  "If you intended to attempt the princess's life, you miscalculated. You are my prisoner now."

  "On the contrary. He only wanted to put you to the test."

  "He?"

  "The Golden King. He is waiting for you, descendant of gods. Yes, he waits for who will inherit this wrecked world. Just like him."

  It didn't take much intuition to venture that this was an emissary of the enemy. Yet, there was something daunting about it—something that set off every one of Aeneas's senses. That unpleasant feeling of walking blindly upon the opponent's palm while he amused himself with every attempt to cast light into the darkness.

  "How does he know who I am?"

  "He doesn't know. But he intends to. He likes you. He loves you. The Golden King has been watching you ever since you prevailed against that sword saint. Don't worry…" The voice's inflexion calmed and the distant echo now jingled as austere speech. "He is a friend."

  Evidently, they had been surveilling him since his clash with Brain. It wasn't so much this that surprised him, but rather that they had waited so long to contact him—and in such a theatrical manner, at that.

  'Friend?' Aeneas thought.

  "So you're nothing more than a lackey?"

  The assassin raised its arm, making Aeneas flinch. He sensed no hostility, which was a sufficient omen that something was not right. Expecting a reaction that never came, his senses strained to the limit. Even his grip grew firmer, as much as that being—it could be defined in no other way—continued to slip away.

  "Four. I am four."

  Contrary to every warning of danger, the Black Hand did nothing more than hold up four fingers, almost like a child wanting to impress his listener with knowledge that was trivial yet extraordinary to him.

  "You'll have plenty of time to explain to me what that means."

  "No, I have not. Two weeks. Halfway between Bashazar and Tasalonnica is the Golden King's current camp. Be there, descendant. As I said, he is waiting."

  "Wait…"

  Before he could realize what was happening, the Black Hand made an unnatural gesture with its neck, tilting it to the right; its bones hardened, and Aeneas's grip suddenly found itself squeezing something hard and thick. There was a crack, and the being fell as a human body falls.

  "What? He... he killed himself?" Aeneas found himself face to face with a corpse, intent on analyzing both the remains and the surroundings to give even a remotely logical answer to what had just happened.

  "There is something unsettling about all of this."

  The priority was establishing whether Shaimaaa was safe. A couple voices, drawn by the commotion of the last few moments, were heading toward them at least. Enough to take a relaxing breath and assert the situation calmly.

  Aeneas took the princess in his arms in a clumsy fashion, ignoring her protests. If any other assassins had slipped in by taking advantage of the altercation, he had to be ready.

  The contact made them both flinch.

  "I'm sorry…"

  "Do what you must."

  First, Aeneas inspected the shattered blade with the free arm. The hilt was of good quality, but among the remains, there was nothing that would suggest it was anything exceptional. Even among the metal fragments, there seemed to be no trace of poison or enchantment. Shaimaaa, who hadn't even been grazed, showed no unusual symptoms.

  "Do you notice anything strange? In your body, I mean... Unusual breathing? Temperature higher or lower than usual?"

  "Just a great fright. Don't worry, I'm fine. What about you?"

  That apprehension made him feel worse than anything else. In any case, setting his well-being aside, Aeneas promised himself he would seek a medical consultation for Shaimaaa from Divine Chant and other members of the Scriptures. Just as a precaution. Symptoms could manifest later down the line, and better to be safe than sorry.

  It was time to inspect the corpse, but just as he was about to lean down, he was stopped by two familiar faces.

  "Captain... Is everything alright?"

  The second and thirteenth seats of the Black Scripture stepped forward. Though accustomed to keeping their nerves steady in every unpleasant situation, they struggled on this occasion not to show a certain unease.

  Saturn—Time Turbulence—had his boyish face lined with disgust as he saw the Black Hand lying on the ground, almost as if its eternal sleep could be mistaken for nothing more than a deep rest. "So there was one here too, then."

  He adjusted the monocle perched over his right eye, which was actually a powerful magical item dating back to the time of the Gods.

  "What do you mean by 'one here too'?" Aeneas asked.

  The other member of the Black Scripture, Gaius, replied by lowering his voice. Even though he wore his typical mask that distinguished him as Heaven and Earth, the Assassin of the Gods, his labored breathing betrayed his discomfort and exhaustion. "We intercepted others, all dressed the same way. I dealt with one myself... He had managed to sneak into General Bulgari's room. Two others tried to establish contact with the Extra Seat."

  "Is she alright?"

  A superfluous question, which was nonetheless taken with no less seriousness by the other two.

  "Yes. It takes much more than that to shake her," Saturn said, though still letting a weariness discomfort leak through. "Rather, she tried to capture at least one alive for interrogation... But I see that the one you faced also snapped his own neck."

  "Fanatics ready for anything, then."

  This was nothing new for the Theocracy, but Aeneas, reading the skepticism on his companions' expressions, realized they found that theory far-fetched.

  "Perhaps... Or there is something more."

  Saturn knelt down and, with the utmost care and precision, unmasked the Black Hand.

  "An harssaf…" Shaimaaa was the first to recognize the assailant's race. If Aeneas remembered correctly, harssaf were demi-humans with reddish skin covered in poisonous spines, accustomed to the treacherous regions of the Masakar Desert.

  "Just as we suspected…" Gaius crossed his arms, thoughtful. "Is he like the others too?"

  Saturn felt the chest and then the legs of the corpse, nodding his head. "Same thing. Captain, feel it yourself and tell us if you notice anything strange."

  Aeneas didn't need to be told twice and brought his palm close. The ribcage—or whatever was beneath the black garments covering it—was completely shattered, to the point where it was impossible to find any structure in those jumbled bones.

  "Move to the legs, now."

  Aeneas felt the lower part, and once again he could only perceive something similar to bone. Driven by a desire to go deeper, he pulled the trousers off the corpse and realized that hardly a single scrap of flesh remained attached.

  "It's the same with the other three," Gaius explained calmly. "Furthermore, they weren't harssaf... One was a hobgoblin, the second a catfolk, and the last was even human. All corpses patched together haphazardly, which shouldn't have been able to move, no matter what."

  "Necromancy?"

  "Necromancy uses corpses as catalysts for new creatures. These were more like puppets... Puppets moved by shadows that turned them into ruthless assassins. They were roughly on the skill level of the Ijinaya elite, as you likely observed yourself."

  Heaven and Earth's judgment on that particular point was accurate. Aeneas couldn't wrap his head around the whole affair. "A talent, perchance?"

  "Or some other ability we are unaware of," Saturn pointed to his monocle. "There are residues of magical traces on every corpse, but I can't see beyond that. Captain... Did you get an invitation too?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Saturn and Gaius looked at each other for a moment before answering in unison. "Perhaps it's better if you speak with her."

  After leaving Shaimaaa in the care of his companions, and after ensuring there were no other intruders in the palace, Aeneas headed to the roof, where she was waiting for him.

  Only a few hours had passed since their last encounter, yet a lump formed in his throat every time he found himself near Antilene, almost as if he were perpetually estranged, unable to behave genuinely.

  Once, the primary sensation that gripped him instantly upon meeting the Extra Seat was fear. The memory of their first meeting—which assailed him with overbearing force and a total lack of tact just by catching a glimpse of that slender figure—was a bitter pill that went straight down his throat, leaving him in a state of bewilderment and helplessness.

  So much for the First Seat. So much for the Black Scripture.

  "Ah, you're here, at least. I was waiting for you, you know?" Her reproachful tone almost sounded amused.

  By now, part of that decay that infected Aeneas, starting from his chest, had partially disappeared, though not entirely.

  Antilene was looking at the stars, a child perpetually in love with the very idea of love. That was how he saw her. The night's soft embrace framed her like a painting, tightening the black and white edges within its gentle darkness.

  'Let's go look at the stars' was a romantic phrase. A classic. Or perhaps not. Poetry and its nuances eluded him. Shaimaaa. Francesca. Antilene. All these women mingled in a chaotic mess.

  "I wanted to make sure there weren't any more problems. The enemies might still be among us."

  Antilene turned her face toward him. She was eating an apple—a simple apple. Bits of the pulp were still stuck to her lips. She actually looked funny, a bit clumsy, when she behaved in such a mundane way.

  No one else had to try so hard to appear normal. Or perhaps everyone did, himself included, and she, with all her talents, lacked exactly that.

  "Did you receive the invitation as well?"

  It was clear that the Black Hand had extended that meeting proposal to her too. Antilene was stronger than Aeneas. More special. If the Golden King was interested in negotiating, it was perfectly normal to reach out to her as well.

  Normal, yes. It was normal.

  "Yes. What do you think? I want to hear your opinion."

  "It's clearly a trap."

  Even if their enemy harbored the slightest ambition of swaying them to his side, he wouldn't be so foolish as to skip the necessary precautions in case of dissent. They both knew it.

  From that perspective, the invitation itself was a test, used to gauge what kind of people they were.

  "You think so? Well, you're probably right." Antilene rotated the core of the consumed apple in her hand, trying to suppress a yawn. Was it already time to rest? "In any case, you should go."

  "Me?" Aeneas was left perplexed.

  "Yes, you. Obviously, I'll come too. But you should be the one to present yourself before him. I will stay in the wings, just in case."

  "It could be dangerous."

  "Oh, very. But we have no choice. We know almost nothing about our enemy, while he has a very precise idea of who we are. At least the broader strokes. We have to take the risk if we want to close the gap."

  "There are better ways."

  "But none as fast."

  "So we really are going to war…"

  Until now, there had been skirmishes, plans, reports to study. It was the preparatory phase which, however important and fundamental, could harbor a specific delusion. It was easy to believe, however absurdly, that the continuation would never arrive. Henceforth, things were changing.

  Antilene slowly approached him. Each time, it left Aeneas uneasy to see how young she still looked. It was in line with members of her race. If anything, perhaps her personal history had left marks of maturity, weariness, and age that a girl her years shouldn't have had.

  So many centuries of pain shouldn't rest in such a small person. The Theocracy, a state, could endure carrying deep scars for so long. But the memories of a cruel past, even when shared, could still be unbearable.

  Why couldn't she just forget everything?

  "We've been at war since the beginning... since before you were even born, dummy." Antilene bumped her fist against his, seeking camaraderie. "I don't want to be the one to remind you that."

  She, too, knew loneliness. Aeneas had always considered her pure adamantite, inflexible. Now, she looked almost as fragile as crystal. An impression, of course.

  Antilene was the guardian of mankind.

  "We'll have to leave the Diarchy as soon as possible."

  "Yes, the Scriptures will soon be proselytizing in Masakar as well. We need to think about how to take your princess with us. We need more people who know these areas."

  "She's not my princess," Aeneas huffed, drawing an amused reaction from his companion.

  "Oh, would you prefer she be something else? Polygamy is permitted among our people, but it's frowned upon almost everywhere else. You shouldn't be greedy; there's already someone waiting for you at home. That alone is more than many could hope for."

  Aeneas decided to ignore that last part. His feelings were already complex enough without the help of outside insinuations.

  "What should I do when I'm in the audience with the Golden King?"

  "I trust you. I know you'll do the right thing."

  Too much trust, truly. What had he done to deserve it? Aeneas looked up at the sky. The stars really were magnificent. They could almost make him think the world was a beautiful place, and that it was worth fighting for.