Chapter Text
The water babbling down the walls echoed across the audience chamber, drowning out hurried footsteps along its mirrored marble floor. With long strides she moved to stand beside her silver-haired comrade at the far end, already knelt before the dais. Falling into alignment, she lowered one knee onto the embroidered carmine runner, palm resting atop the other as her head turned down in fealty. It was a motion so practiced in her work it was second-nature.
“Your Majesty…”
From several steps above, the royal magistrate came forward, sharp features tightening as he spoke down his nose, “Welcome, Commanders. Thank you for your hasty arrival. Now lift your faces and listen well as Her Majesty wishes to speak on the report of a matter most urgent."
The women obeyed, rising to their feet while focusing on the queen’s firm, yet gentle, voice as it carried across the hall.
“The battlefront at Arias has been relentless, yet our people have endured. Tell me, however, are you certain of the veracity of this latest report?”
Nel held a breath as dread laced the words of her compatriot. “It is regrettably correct, Your Majesty. As we speak, Glyphian forces have established an encampment half a day’s march beyond Arias’ walls. A war council is set to convene there with the full force of all three brigades shortly to follow.”
“Then it is as we feared.”
Despite the monarch’s words, her voice remained as placid as her face. “They know our numbers are battleweary and are organizing a breakthrough assault with the full might of their combined forces.” A pause hung in the air before she continued. “For all their valor, neither the Crimson Blades nor the Secret Legion could hope to fend off such an attack, and if Arias should fall, then so too shall all of Aquaria.”
The unasked question hung in the air.
Nel grimaced with clenching fists, cutting in before the magistrate could. “Your Majesty, please. Allow me to lead a small unit to infiltrate the camp. We’ll raze their reserves and cut off supply lines before their reinforcements arrive. It’ll slow their advance and buy us a few more weeks to finish the Arrow.”
Clair looked at her sharply with a dreadful worry marring her lips though she addressed the queen. “Unfortunately, Your Majesty, since receiving this intel, our informant has been compromised and…executed under the Dragon Brigade captain’s order. We know little more than that the Black Brigade will be on patrol duty during the council. With our intel so limited, along with the presence of all three captains, I have no doubt security will be tight, perhaps even impenetrable. It very well might even be a trap…”
“Be that as it may, we have no other choice,” Nel answered resolutely.
Despite the queen’s facade of impassivity, tension sloped her shoulders taut at the implication. “Then it is decided. Your unit will assist in transporting supplies and runological weaponry to Arias en route to the encampment.” Holy, Living Eyes, ever imposing beneath the sun emblazoned upon her throne, shifted to Clair. “Chain Legion reinforcements will arrive in Arias posthaste.”
“Understood, Your Majesty!” Both chanted in unison, slamming an arm across their chests with a fist to their hearts as they took a synchronous bow.
“The fate of Aquaris rests firmly with you,” she smiled weakly. “May the grace of Apris guide you.”
—
The ride through the night from Aquios to Arias had been one of contemplative quiet, with only the churning of hooves and wheels as she considered the precipice upon which her nation now rested.
Over the course of all her missions, despite the implicit understanding always being there, never before had the queen openly told her that the fate of the nation rested on her shoulders. It should’ve filled her with pride to hear, yet it only left an acrid taste in her mouth.
For years they staved off sieges and ambushes in this war with innumerable casualties and duplicity when available, however Aquaria was always meant to be a nation of peace and prosperity. As much as she wished otherwise, that could only ever go so far in the face of battlehardened and starving Glyphian forces cornering them against the wall.
Would this mission truly turn the tide or simply delay the inevitable?
She uprooted the thought with a prayer to Apris. She couldn’t afford to let her faith in queen and country waver. Not now.
With the last of the supply wagons unhitched at the stable on the eastern wall with the rising sun, the Crimson Blades retired to the mansion base’s conference room to gather ‘round a map of Granah Hills.
As grave Legion faces gathered at the table, all turned to Clair, she began. “Our reconnaissance teams from this morning indicate a wide berth of perimeter's been established around the camp. As expected, the Black Brigade has an airtight patrol on it with outposts stationed here, here, and here.”
She laid little hand-carved wooden soldiers to mark the spots. “However, until the remaining forces arrive, the camp remains mostly unoccupied, save for what we estimate to be a quarter of the Black Brigade’s forces, and a handful of dragon riders and cavalrymen already stationed in these quadrants.” Her finger tapped the parchment.
“If those factions are already there, then that means-” the pixie-haired blonde started, looking around in the hopes of being corrected.
“That the captains are already there,” Nel confirmed from under her scarf, tired eyes, and crossed arms.
“Exactly,” Clair’s knuckles bled white as she gripped the edge of the table to ground herself before continuing. “They arrived with squadrons yesterday, which means the rest of their troops aren’t far behind. That’s why you strike tonight.”
“Fewer soldiers, still busy pitching tents, means a more lax defense,” Farleen pondered aloud.
The Crimson Blade commander gave a nod, “It’s your best advantage, but with less bustle for you to disappear into, they may be more liable to taking notice so, even still, stay to the shadows.” She leaned over the table with palms planted to emphasize the severity of the warning.
“They’ve created a chokepoint north of camp, but if you take the long way around it,” her finger trailed a hooked path around the perimeter that strayed into bandit territory around the caverns, “and have you approach from the west, we can smuggle the three of you in with a decoy caravan under the pretense of delivering supplies from Kirlsa. It’ll give you the most direct access to the supply yard. Once you’re in, you know what to do. Most importantly, find and take out the quartermaster and all his records; without either, the entire supply distribution falls apart and they’ll be scrambling for weeks.”
“The fire’ll make a good distraction for escape,” Tynave postulated.
“It sounds easy enough,” Farleen flashed a toothy grin, like a light in darkness.
Clair turned to her, face solemn. “Don’t underestimate them. You’re not giving drunk city guards the runaround. You’ll be infiltrating the enemy at its heart, dealing with the Black Brigade,” she paused, adding quieter now, “Albel the Wicked’s Black Brigade.”
A collective shudder passed through the room.
Nel had clashed with the other two divisions enough to predict the rhythm of their advances, knew their battle formations and even the weaknesses where their armor would fail beneath her blade. But the Black Brigade was different.
Rarely seen lest they chose to be, they held the far reaches of the rugged coastal mountains, far from Apris’ reach, where Airyglyph sent its criminals and undesirables. There, men vanished into stone and snow and those that reemerged did so as hardened weapons, repurposed into the most elite, destructive force on the continent; all at the hand of Albel the Wicked.
If they’d been called to the front, then Airyglyph was no longer testing its strength.
It was moving to end the war.
“We don’t know what awaits behind enemy lines, but understand that our numbers are dwindling.” She hesitated before steeling herself to continue, “If you’re caught, there’s no rendezvous point. No extraction. No one is coming to save you. And if you fail…”
Her gaze moved across each of them in turn, “Then Aquaria will follow. So no hesitation and no improvisation. Any questions?”
No one spoke.
The Secret Legion members flushed beneath her scrutiny, but their silence held and that weight lingered in the back of Nel’s mind, like a storm cresting on the horizon. Clair had softened the truth of the situation, but Nel understood what this was.
Everything they’d built, that their fathers had bled and died for, every bit of it balanced on the edge of this night.
The roundtable dispersed and she remained a while longer, exhaustion heaving on her eyelids before turning toward the door.
Just beyond it stood the water feature of the goddess Irisa.
Pausing in front of it for a moment, she watched as lamplight trembled across the cascade of water over the sculpted marble. Then, she folded her hands and bowed her head.
“Parted from your sisters, as you are, watch over mine as we go into the dark this night,” she murmured quietly. “Let the Queen’s will be done, and Aquaria endure.”
Irisa’s stone face was serene, eyes lifted and hands grasping fresh, Palmira flowers in her marble hand. Nel let herself draw a single breath then straightened as the prayer fell silent into the trickle of the fountain, a single petal with it.
When she turned back to the corridor, the clatter of boots and the hushed tones of Farleen and Tynave overshadowed the goddess’ tranquil streams. Already armed and with cloaks fastened tight, excitement bubbled beneath discipline.
“Currying favor with the goddess?” Farleen asked, falsetto voice lilting.
Nel gave her a steady look. “We’ll need all the protection we can get before walking into the dragon’s den.”
Tynave smirked, though her grip on her knuckles was tighter than usual. “Then let’s hope she favors Aquaria tonight.”
Falling instep beside their commander as they left the mansion, their figures cut through the cool Arias morning. Beyond the western gate, a single wagon waited in shadow with its canvas marked with the crest of Kirlsa. The lums shifted, braying impatiently in their traces.
Nel climbed onto the driver’s bench, gloved hands steady on the reins. Farleen settled beside her, keeping low, while Tynave ducked under the canvas, arranging the crates for coverage.
She nearly lamented how respite would need to happen in short shifts along the way and, for reasons she couldn’t quite explain, sleep no longer felt like something she would easily find again.
With a snap, the wagon rolled forward into the dark, its wheels crunching softly over stone and earth toward enemy territory.
—
Suits of armor drilled, even under moonlight. Their shouts were sharp and their movements tight as the clatter of steel rang out vast across the camp. Not far off, supply wagons stood in neat rows with canvas pulled taut over crates of grain and salted meats. The bitter smell of smoke and wrought iron carried on the wind; the unmistakable scent of discipline sharpened into brutality.
Knights stalled to watch as a dark figure atop a mount rode in from the western path between the tents, banners snapping overhead held by the retinue marching behind, with the mayor of Kirlsa and the second-in-command of the Black Brigade at either side.
He came to a halt, surveying the barren darkness before him prior to dismounting with a thunderous laugh that carried across the burgeoning settlement.
“So this is how Aquaria readies itself for us?” he bellowed, spreading his arms wide with a forward step. “Pathetic. With defenses like this, we’ll hardly need reinforcements.” Then, an afterthought came, “We could even take them tonight with only a fraction of our battalions.”
The Count of Kirlsa slowly dismounted his steed from several paces behind, surveying the men at ease around the central bonfire as he did. “Perhaps,” he said mildly, “but even starving dogs bite when cornered. It would be foolish to underestimate them.”
From the shadows of the nearest tent, a claw glinted in the firelight as it parted the flaps and a sinewy man emerged with apathy tinging his voice, “You waste words on cowards, old man. Let the scum try their little tricks. I’ll cut them down before they cross the border.”
Vox’s grin widened into an ugly sneer against the crackling light. “Big words for a boy resting on his father’s laurels.”
The air snapped taut.
Albel’s eyes narrowed as his hand moved to flex around the hilt of his sword.
Woltar, aware of the hazard, stepped forward before blood could spill. “Enough,” he spoke softly, but with iron beneath it. “We came to assess battle readiness, not quarrel amongst ourselves.”
“Tch.” Albel’s head snapped away with a harsh grunt that flecked a mist into the frigid air.
His second-in-command, having come down from his lum, hovered by Vox’s shoulder. “Even still,” he murmured, “Duke Vox isn’t wrong. A siege under cover of night would put us well ahead of schedule.”
Albel’s gaze cut to his lieutenant like a blade as the threat came lazily, “Careful, worm. You seem to forget that a tongue can be torn out as easily as a throat.”
Satisfied seeing the broad-shouldered man stiffen and relent, his eyes slid back to Vox. “If you insist on being so reckless with men’s lives, then send your own. Mine stay where they’re stationed.”
With his good cheer suddenly soured by trivialities, Vox didn’t deign to respond, fully aware that there were too few dragon riders at hand to accomplish the feat. Frustrated, he turned to bellow to the men-at-arms nearby, “Tighten patrols! I won’t have Aquarian rats spoiling our victory march.”
Warming his tired bones by the fire, Woltar’s brows furrowed and his eyes glinted as he looked toward the star-darkened expanse beyond the perimeter. “If the spy was forthcoming in what she knew, they will come. Foolish as it would be.”
Albel’s smirk sharpened as he settled onto a log closer to the flames, eyes following Woltar’s. “Then let them. I’d almost welcome it.”