Hol Saro, 9th of Fourthmoon 3045
Ren’i bowed as deeply as the breastplate allowed. He heard his Guards do the same behind him.
”Your majesty,” he greeted.
Ellerram waved her hand to signal that they were allowed to rise. The woman sitting the throne was different from the one who’d played tiaram with her nephew in the small hours of the night. There wasn’t a hint of exhaustion in her gaze. The red and gold makeup gave her the appearance of a mythical deity, one of the Eight: her skin had a metallic sheen to it, only framed by the tall collar of her black and gold suit. Underneath the hair ornaments and the crown with its embedded rubies she looked every inch the ruler, and Ren’i lowered his gaze respectfully.
”The declaration has been made,” he continued. ”We’ve sent word to other Kishan cities with the senate’s letter.”
”We heard you gave the speech yourself.”
”Yes, your majesty.”
”What is the atmosphere in the city after yesterday?”
The face of the asari child popped into Ren’i’s mind once more. ”Quite peaceful. I did not observe any particular restlessness or opposition.”
Fabric rustled as the empress rose and stepped down from the dais.
”Crown prince Ren’i, captain Hamr.” They both slammed a left fist against their chests to honour her. ”We have an important matter to disclose to the two of you. Vasaqin, if you please,” the empress spoke in ringing tones.
The Guards remained waiting as Ren’i and captain Hamr followed the empress to a side chamber, her bodyguards shutting the door behind them with a hollow clank. Vasaqin, the scarred and sour-looking personal servant and long-time captain of the empress’s bodyguards, was already waiting by the large table upon which there stood a world map depicting all of Melkem and small, wooden figurines. Wooden ships were clustered in front of Hol Saro, and over the city stood a single red figurine surrounded by several unpainted ones.
”The situation has escalated since two autumns ago, as the crown prince surely knows,” the empress said. Her hand halted above the navy. ”Liqaria is still weak following their loss. It will take years before they recover and their navy regains its former strength again.”
Ren’i remembered the transpired events as if recalling a bad dream. The tides of Merenos, the largest of Melkem’s moons, had roused the ocean waves against the Liqaris and torn hundreds of their ships to the bottom of the sea and a certain death. The seas had been thick with bodies and the pieces of broken vessels. The Kishan navy had waited for the storm to pass, and for Merenos to recede and calm the tides. It was the sole reason why they hadn’t faced the same fate as the Liqari navy – Kishans were not skilled enough seafarers to navigate such storms, and they had set out to meet the assault, knowing full well that they were already late.
”Our sourthern border is our only real weakness,” the empress continued and rapped her finger on the narrow peninsula that connected the two continents – Daqan in the north, Seiye in the south. ”Vasaqin can tell you the rest.”
Vasaqin gave a somber nod. Her left arm was tattooed to the fingernails as a sign of all the merits she’d earned in the service of the royal house over the course of more than a thousand years. One side of her head was nowadays shaved, and a court tattoo artist had carved her latest accomplishments on her scalp.
”The strength of their army poses a problem. The headcount of their infantry does not match ours, but we cannot pull our forces out of Hol Saro and leave the city defenseless.” Vasaqin arranged more soldiers on the map around the cities of Kara, Quvene, Trimaine and Meril-An. ”Our forces are split all over the continent after the rebellion, which has still not been wiped out entirely. The very thought of moving our legions to the south to prevent any Liqari forces from entering through the Cape of Mists is impossible in this situation—”
”What is this actually all about?” Ren’i interrupted, and the others turned to look at him. ”You’re spewing obvious facts that everyone in this room already knows. Spit it out if there’s something new.”
”The prince could do with a lesson in proper manners,” Vasaqin grunted in her own unpolished manner. She went around the table, boots clattering against the floor, and started placing figurines on the Liqarian border. ”All our contacts have confirmed the same thing. The Liqaris are gathering their forces to the city of Mori and the surrounding plains.”
”The Northern Liqarian border,” Ren’i repeated slowly. ”Any word on the headcount?”
”The main camp hosts thousands to our latest knowledge, perhaps fifteen thousand. More are coming every week.”
”Mobilisation. That means…”
”An infrantry assault, your highness.”
Ren’i stared at the narrow strip of no man’s land. The name was somewhat misleading. Yes, the place was almost always shrouded in mist, but the peninsula connecting the two continents was little more than a land bridge consisting of several tiny islands. It was long, narrow and difficult to cross even when the tide was low, and the tides tore pieces of it away every now and then, while new land rose from the seas. It altered the geography of the area constantly, and one could not rely even on the best maps in the world to provide much help in crossing it.
”Taking an entire army across the peninsula takes ages, even in the best of conditions. It’ll take them weeks, if not months,” Ren’i pondered out loud. ”How long have they been mobilising forces?”
Vasaqin shrugged. ”All winter long, it seems. Seiye’s summer is our winter, and the conditions around Mori won’t favour them for long. Autumn is coming, and they’re not stupid enough to attempt the crossing before spring.”
”That ought to give us time until autumn, perhaps even next winter,” Hamr said. ”Much is riding on the conditions and how quickly the ice in Northern Liqaria thaws.”
”And on when they choose to begin their march.” Ren’i furrowed his brows, thinking. ”Mori is a two weeks’ march from the land bridge, three if they decide to get to it during winter.”
”Why would they do that?”
”They might want to camp closer to the peninsula and wait for spring at the northern tip of the continent. Although,” Ren’i thought and scratched at his stubble with one hand, ”it would require self-sufficiency and well-planned logistics from them. There are some villages to the north of Mori, but that’s that for settlements. If they want to camp out that far, they’re going to need a lot more in the way of provisions.”
”It would slow them down even more,” Hamr said. ”No army moves any faster than its supply chain.”
”We can probably assume that they’ll be spending the winter in Mori and start advancing only come spring. That would mean we can plan our schedule around the date they set out. If they advance quickly and aren’t hindered by the tides, they’d reach our southern border in three or four weeks.”
”That’s a very optimistic estimate on their part, commander-in-chief,” the empress pointed out. ”They could take three full months if the conditions are challenging.”
”But we must prepare for the worst. Otherwise we’ll be badly out of position when they arrive, and your majesty knows that I do hate to be late for scheduled appointments.”
The empress huffed a muted laugh, and Ren’i was certain that she recalled her earlier scolding.
”If we get started immediately, we can gather our forces and get them ready to march in a couple of weeks. The legions of Hol Saro stand at the ready. We could pull half of our forces away from Kara and Nemerwatan and leave them to defend the capital—”
”Absolutely not,” Ellerram interrupted before he could finish the sentence. ”We are not taking the risk that the rebels chance another strike while the army is gone.”
”It’s the least complicated option, your majesty. Our southern legions alone aren’t enough to repel the assault.”
”No. Defending the north and Hol Saro is our priority number one.”
Captain Hamr and Ren’i glanced at each other, frowning.
”Then what would you suggest?” Ren’i asked. ”We can’t march to the south fast enough if we stay and wait for eye witness accounts to confirm the Liqaris are on their way, and I don’t have the time to stop and liberate every city that they’ve passed through at that point.”
”That is precisely why we wanted to speak with you. We are sending you to prevent this attack personally.”
Had Ren’i been holding something in his hands at that moment he would have likely dropped it. ”Excuse me?”
”You’ll have the necessary reinforcements with you, of course. The consuls of the fifth legion rank among the most experienced in the empire, and of them consuls Kha’ar and Vannuil have fought against the Liqari infantry before. The legion in question will be joining you.”
Ren’i frowned, trying to recall those in charge of the fifth legion. He had a vague mental image of consuls of an older era, professional soldiers who’d seen and done it all, and who so enjoyed looking down their noses at him just to pass the time. ”Just the fifth legion, you mean?”
”And your Guard of Honour, of course.”
”Five thousand soldiers aren’t enough to stop a military assault of this scale,” Ren’i protested.
The empress pushed the figurines towards the southern tip of Daqan. ”We were just getting to that. You’ll march through Meril-An straight to the south – the roads are in a good condition after the winter, according to our messengers, so you’ll be making good time. You’ll start a garrison on the plains.”
”In the Hytherlands, you mean?”
”The Hytherlands, yes. They are part of the empire, as you very well know.”
”Hardly. There’s nothing there but sand and wasteland. And akheris.”
”You are the commander-in-chief of our army, crown prince Ren’i. Act like it,” the empress snapped in tones that left no room for negotiation, and Ren’i shut his mouth, swallowing the rest of his complaints. ”The Hytherlands are akheri lands, but they still belong to the empire, even if our hold on the region has long been feeble. You will fix that particular mishap. The locals are a people well-suited for battle. Take the new imperial amendment with you and make soldiers out of them to repel the assault. The army strengthens its grasp on the south, the position of the Hytherlands improves, and you get the reinforcements you so desire at the same time.”
Ren’i stared at the empress as if she’d grown a second head on her shoulders. Finally he nodded and managed to find his voice again, though his tongue weighted like lead in his mouth. ”As your majesty desires.”
The empress’s lips stretched into a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ”They call you Ironfist. Prove that you’re worthy of the name.”
Ren’i bowed, though he felt like a dark, bottomless abyss had just opened beneath his feet, wanting to swallow him whole.
When he’d been younger, he’d imagined there was something exciting about strategy meetings, probably because he’d been a child and had felt a natural pull towards all things that occurred behind closed doors and among the chosen few. After starting his military career he’d dedicated years of work to advance into a position that would let him partake in the decision-making instead of just hearing about it from generals and consuls.
Despite the common misconception, members of the imperial family didn’t have it any easier in the military than anyone else, and he’d had to almost literally crawl his way up the proverbial staircase. It had demanded decades worth of blood, sweat, and, thought admitting it embarrassed him, tears, too. He’d done it alongside the same soldiers who now served him, working just as hard to earn his status as any of them. It had borne fruit. He knew their merits, just as they did his. Ren’i thought the trust alone was worth all the hardships and pain.
Now, as commander-in-chief, he’d spent most of his career in meetings, and had been forced to admit that the vexcitement surrounding them was largely exaggerated. Most wars were already won or lost in the meeting room. The fear his new status had instilled in him had vanished quickly, and a certain dullness had taken its place. You were faced with the same arguments, the same complaints, the same verbal arm wrestling regarding positions and schedules, and quite often among the same people, unless someone had gone and gotten themselves killed. Most meetings touched upon nothing but practical logistics, and there was no guarantee that any actual warfare would end up taking place as a result.
Ren’i admitted he’d fallen into his aunt’s trap with all the naivete of a little boy. Soldiers tended to lack flexibility in their thinking; he was prepared for surprises in the battlefield from the enemy, not his allies, and certainly not in the meeting room when his battalions hadn’t yet taken a single step outside the barracks. Ellerram knew that Ren’i’s position was strictly dependant on the army’s approval, and that all of his suggestions, especially the more radical ones, would need to go through the empress if he wanted them accepted. Ellerram also knew well that Ren’i wanted a chance to demonstrate his capacity as commander-in-chief and finally do something independently to show that he was worthy of the empress’s and the army’s trust.
The whole discussion about easing the citizens’ worries had been a ruse. Ellerram had decided, likely well in advance before the Spring Festival, to reshape the qualifications of military service to expand her ranks. No wonder the suggestion had found its way to the senate first thing next morning – she’d likely signed the papers ages ago and just waited for Ren’i to suggest the same thing himself. The manouver had given her free reign to use the very same amendment, bearing his own name, to justify sending him in the middle of fucking nowhere to fortify a borderzone where no sane person would ever willingly go.
Ren’i was professional enough to admit his defeat. Still, it didn’t mean that he had to be happy about it.
The door to the drawing room opened with a clang and Oerei walked in, lost in his thoughts and muttering something to himself. He seemed surprised upon realising that he wasn’t alone in his apartment. Ren’i waved at him from the sofa.
”Oh, hello. Have you been waiting long?” Oerei asked, glancing at the tray that had been brought on the side table by the sofa. There was fresh bread with sliced cheeses and cut meats on it. The sweet smell of hot chocolate emanating from the pot seemed to have permeated the whole room.
Ren’i shrugged. ”An hour at most. Lula said you were out and brought me something to nibble on.”
”Sorry. I wasn’t expecting…” Oerei paused to search for words, which was unusual. As a senator he tended to be quick-witted, and there usually weren’t many things that unsettled him. ”I don’t get visitors often. You should have asked Lula to send a word. I would’ve returned immediately.”
Ren’i smiled. He knew full well what his father had left unsaid; that Ren’i hardly ever visited him nowadays. Oerei was tactful where Ren’i wasn’t, probably because he wasted most of his time butting heads with the senate.
”I wasn’t bored,” Ren’i said and lifted the adventure novel in his hand, which he’d picked up from Oerei’s desk. ”Besides, I didn’t have anything important enough in mind that you needed to interrupt what you were doing.”
The front of Oerei’s tunic and the legs of his trousers had paint stains on them, and Ren’i guessed he’d been at his favourite past-time. The usual signs of exhaustion were missing from his face and shoulder line, which was rare. His white hair had been pulled into a messy bun and loose strands had escaped from it here and there. It made quite the difference to his usually well-groomed appearance.
Ren’i stretched and collapsed more comfortably on the cushions. He had just enough time to finish reading the chapter while Oerei was occupied in the other room – he tended to be a slow reader as the letters jumped back and forth, no matter how hard he concentrated on them. Oerei returned wearing a clean tunic (Ren’i decided not to mention there were still blue stains in his trousers) and bearing a second tray. Ren’i quirked his brows inquiringly.
”I made more hot chocolate,” Oerei said and placed the tray on the tea table.
”There are employees in the palace for that, dad.”
”Yeah, well, I like doing things myself sometimes.”
Ren’i’s gaze travelled around the room. The desk was covered in maps and scrolls. The working chair had apparently turned into a self: on a pile of papers and a valuable book with gilded covers stood an open paint palette and an array of brushes in different sizes, some of which had rolled on the floor to join the rainbow of stains. There were used mugs on every surface, small, large, and in every shape imaginable. There were stacks of books on the floor here and there, and anyone entering the room had to navigate between them to reach the furniture, which Ren’i had noted earlier. The contents of the bookshelves were in a state of gleeful chaos that made finding anything utterly unlikely. He’d spent a good long while looking for the next part in a series that both he and Oerei liked before giving up and admitting the task’s impossibility. The owner of the library clearly had no appreciation for such frivolities as alphabetical or author-based order. All tomes had been shoved on the shelves haphazardly, probably as soon as the owner had acquired them. There were binders and notebooks in the mix, with loose pages and handwritten notes bursting between them.
”I can tell,” Ren’i declared. ”Perhaps you should do a little less yourself and let Lula clean sometimes.”
”Oh, please. Lula would have a fit if I let them in the room.” Oerei poured Ren’i a new cup. ”You look tired.”
Ren’i put down the book on the nearest pile and got up just enough to be able to take his drink.
”Long day. Did you hear about the newest amendment?”
”I did. It caused some opposition in the senate, as you can probably guess, but I believe it’s a step in the right direction,” Oerei said and sipped from his cup. There was a note of fatherly pride in his voice as he went on, ”I heard the idea was yours.”
Ren’i’s only answer was a shrug and a noncommittal sound. To his relief Oerei didn’t push the subject and they were quiet for several minutes. The silence between them was comfortable in its familiarity. It was why Ren’i enjoyed the moments that he could spend with his father. They rarely had the time to see each other without some official reason, to just be father and son without duties or formalities, and just that was enough to make every occasion precious.
When he’d been little he’d learned early on that his father’s rooms were the final refuge from the hectic day-to-day of the palace. Imperial roles were taken off at the door with shoes, and when the door was closed no one bothered them, unless Hol Saro itself was on fire.
”Hey, dad,” Ren’i said after finishing his cup. ”I know you’ve got the latest book in the Tale of Karas somewhere in here, but I didn’t manage to find it.”
Oerei frowned. ”Oh, right. Might be somewhere in the library. You can certainly borrow it if you’d like.”
”Might be in the what now?”
”Oh, yeah, I don’t think I’ve shown you yet. Follow me.”
Oerei didn’t bother leaving his mug, just refilled it and brought it along. Ren’i followed him out of the drawing room and to the door waiting at the end of a corridor. They stepped into a large room with almost all of its stone walls covered by new bookshelves. They weren’t in any better order than the shelves in the drawing room, which told Ren’i that the sharp eyes of Lula, Oerei’s personal valet, hadn’t been in the room for a while.
”You do know there is an actual library in Hol Saro?” Ren’i pointed out when Oerei put down his cup on the ledge of a half-empty shelf and started searching. ”You don’t need to build your own.”
”Very funny.”
”I thought you’d appreciate it.”
Ren’i wandered between the shelves and left Oerei to his search. Despite its messiness the library was admittedly impressive. Oerei’s personal collection was comprehensive, and Ren’i knew that he’d purchased most of the books with his own money instead of using the state treasury to fund his hobby. As a child Ren’i had often accompanied his father on shopping trips, sometimes all the way to Kara.
He came to a halt in front of the library’s only wall that wasn’t covered with shelves. A huge mural, or at least that’s the name Ren’i gave it upon seeing it, took up the entire wall from floor to ceiling. The images had possibly been colourful once upon a time, but the paint had flaked off over the course of centuries, and now only the carvings were left. In the middle stood Quan’s tall figure with his eyes shut and arms spread; at his feet sprouted trees and plants, and his cloak seamlessly turned into the shapes of the Kishan map, the ornamental patterns of his cloak becoming the lines of rivers and lakes. Beneath were smaller figures depicting his offspring: Tiran, Kisha’er and Muqaros, the first rulers of Kisha after the passing of the gods.
”There we go, found it,” Oerei called out from the other side of the room. The walls had given his voice a hollow echo.
Ren’i placed his hand against Quan’s carved palm. The stone was cold against his skin. He heard footfalls coming closer.
”Ren’i?” Oerei said. ”I have the book.”
”War is coming,” Ren’i said without taking his eyes off Quan’s face. ”I have to leave for the Hytherlands. Auntie wants me to stop the Liqari forces on the desert.”
His words were followed by silence.
”When?” Oerei asked finally.
”I’m leaving in two weeks.”
Ren’i felt a warm hand grasping his shoulder.
”Are you afraid?”
”I guess not.” He sighed involuntarily. ”I don’t know.”
He gave his father a short summary of everything that had been discussed in the meeting. The whole time Oerei just listened carefully without interrupting him. The oppressive feeling in Ren’i’s chest grew heavier and heavier with each word, and in the end he didn’t know how to carry on.
”It’s a demanding mission, but I know you’ll be fine,” Oerei said when the silence had gone on for a while.
”It’s not that.” Ren’i sighed again. ”They’re Liqaris – Mitae’s people.”
”We can’t always choose our enemies. Even he couldn’t sway the military districts’ decision when they last attacked.”
”Still. It feels wrong.”
”I know,” Oerei said quietly. ”And I know that Ellerram feels the same, even if she can’t show it.”
Mitae, the empress’s deceased prince-consort, had left a gaping hole where his laughter and warmth should have been, and the past year hadn’t been enough to patch it. Without him, without Chuja and Nahere the palace was hollow in its emptiness. What was it like for Ellerram, sitting all evening long in the imperial couple’s shared apartment alone, accompanied only by silence? It was something Ren’i could not even fathom, and nothing anyone of them said could help her. The ruling empress was not meant to grieve in public; it posed too great a risk while hostile parties watched for any signs of weakness to strike.
Ren’i knew his aunt saw the same as he: that they had nothing but bad options left. ”I do understand what she’s thinking. This is our home. I’d do anything to protect it if I must, but…”
”Yes?”
He brought a hand to his throat and clutched the pendant hanging for the chain so tightly that it hurt. It was normally hidden underneath his clothes at all times; he only let it show in his father’s company.
A soldier went where his duty dictated, yet he still never found it easy to leave all he knew so far behind, all those things that made him ’him’. Still he knew that home was just an illusion: he didn’t belong in Hol Saro any more than he did anywhere else.
”When I return, I want to do it as a victor for once. I want everyone to know who I am and where I come from – that I’ve earned my place. A true Kishan heir, bringing honour to his country and people.”
”You’ve always been that.”
”Have I?” Ren’i asked, his voice breaking. He’d never put the fear into words. They felt sharp and dangerous on his tongue, as if any one of them could shatter his life into pieces. Perhaps they could, were anyone else but his father to ever hear them.
Oerei touched Ren’i’s cheek gently.
”Always,” Oerei said quietly. ”Don’t doubt that for a moment, even if this country isn’t ready to admit it yet. You’re my only son and I’m proud of you, no matter what happens.” He inhaled, then said, ”do promise me one thing before you go, though.”
”What?”
”That you’ll make it back in one piece.”
Ren’i felt a lump in his throat, but managed to nod. ”I promise.”
Oerei patted him on the cheek, then took a step back.
”Right. Yes, the book,” he said. He looked abashed from the sudden bout of intimacy and didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. ”You can just borrow it, you know. You’ll need something to help you pass the time on the road, anyway.”
Ren’i took the opportunity to dab his eyes dry when Oerei turned around.
He couldn’t remember when his father had last touched him in any manner whatsoever, and felt like a child once again, a child whose torn knees needed a gentle blow from his dad before the pain would go away. He pushed the thought firmly off his mind. The heir to the ruby throne of Kisha was untouchable, often even to his own family. Even Ruan combed his hair and did his makeup without ever letting skin touch skin.
They drank a few more cups of hot chocolate before Ren’i returned to his own rooms. After his departure Oerei spread a map of Kisha on his desk, sketched out the straightest route from Meril-An to the Hytherlands on it, and thought. Restless thoughts kept him up all the way until dawn’s light.