Valkyrie's Shadow

Empire in Chains: Act 5, Chapter 10

Empire in Chains: Act 5, Chapter 10

Chapter 10

After exploring Count Kurze’s concerns and delving into the minute details of what he knew of events in the Empire, Ludmila retired to her room to ponder the Wyvernmark’s state of affairs. Though it may have been by the Sorcerer King’s command, she could only attribute the specifics of what was going on to the machinations of the Prime Minister of the Sorcerous Kingdom, Albedo.

To call them ‘machinations’ cast events in a sinister light, but she could find no more concise way to summarise everything. Lady Shalltear occasionally shared her thoughts on Lady Albedo’s character, and what Ludmila noted of the Prime Minister’s work suggested that everything her liege said about her was accurate.

If there was such a thing as a supreme bureaucrat, Lady Albedo would be that person. This, however, left certain hallmarks in her work that always suggested that she managed the Sorcerous Kingdom from behind a desk. Much like Nonna, her head administrative aide in Warden’s Vale…or rather than like Nonna, the Elder Liches of His Majesty’s Administration had been trained by Lady Albedo.

This led many of the Nobles of the Sorcerous Kingdom to eventually recognise which policies, missives and processes were wrought by their Prime Minister’s hand before needing to authenticate them. All things were qualified, quantified, verified, analysed and then subjected to various formulations to produce the desired ends in a manner previously inconceivable – and still mostly irreplicable – to the regional administrators.

That the realm achieved those desired ends, however, was contingent on the machinery of the nation operating as they did in Lady Albedo’s calculations, which they often did not. It was the task of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s nobility, guilds and the administration’s staff to ensure that the ‘specifications’ of that machinery were kept as up to date as possible so that the Royal Court could make the most effective domestic policy decisions possible.

Lady Shalltear once told her that a catastrophe would occur should Lady Albedo’s schemes one day fly apart, but the Prime Minister seemed abundantly aware that, even with a swarm of Elder Liches assisting with administrative processes, their information would always be imperfect and the plans that relied on that information were similarly so. Thus, Lady Albedo had come to accept that a certain amount of ‘wiggle room’ was required when dealing with things in practice. She did do her best to keep that wiggle minimal, however, but many members of the House of Lords wondered at what point that wiggle would no longer be considered a wiggle and what would happen when that happened.

And it had to happen, eventually. Whether the source of such a disturbance was foreign or domestic, the world had a way of inevitably shaking things up.

One such unacceptable wiggle seemed imminent in the Wyvernmark and, unfortunately for the Empire, they did not have the excellent cross-departmental processes as the Sorcerous Kingdom. Albedo’s ‘control’ over the Empire only went so far as influencing overarching legislation, broad policy decisions and specific requests that nudged the numbers painting her picture of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s client state in what she considered favourable directions. This was precisely what she had done to push the Wyvernmark into its present circumstances.

Still, Ludmila wasn’t certain that Lady Albedo would be particularly displeased with any result. Much like the operation in The Blister, the events precipitated in the Wyvernmark were something like an experimental scenario to be evaluated by the Sorcerous Kingdom’s agents. The Empire’s Court Council would report its top-down perspective to the Royal Court of the Sorcerous Kingdom, Ludmila was present as a liaison officer to observe the conduct of the military and the territorial administrators and it would be foolish to believe that others weren’t working unseen to collect data for a comprehensive assessment.

Of particular interest to Ludmila and likely everyone awaiting the results in the Sorcerous Kingdom was how the Empire planned to test the limits of the lease agreement for the Death-series servitors assigned to domestic security. The work with the Second Legion not only provided valuable insight on how the Undead could be integrated with a nation’s military to maximal effect, but also suggested how a nation might behave when they acquired Death-series servitors from the Sorcerous Kingdom. As with individuals regardless of wealth or strata, power had a way of revealing the character of a nation.

It was the Empire’s character that now weighed heavily on Ludmila as she prepared for her second assignment. As she had described to General Kabein and Commander Enz, that character was decidedly ‘Human’ – as far as the average Human of the region went – which meant that they imposed ‘Human order’ on their surroundings. Within their political constituencies, the problem was not that they did so, but the foundations upon which that order was built.

The true reason why Human nations in the region enjoyed security enough to prosper was not due to their own efforts, but because of the intervention of the Slane Theocracy. This intervention was usually subtle, consisting of unseen efforts at stymieing non-Human development before said non-Humans became a problem to nearby Human states. They would also deploy forces to eliminate targets that represented imminent existential threats to large Human populations.

As far as it seemed, the Empire was not aware of the efforts of the Theocracy’s Scriptures, so Ludmila could only assume that the Scriptures only collaborated with fellow members of the faith as they had with House Zahradnik. This ignorance led to the belief that the Empire was solely responsible for its envious position as the ‘top’ Human nation outside of the Slane Theocracy. While others had a hand in its development, the Empire was ultimately a nation built on false assumptions about the truth of the world. If put to the test by a truly advanced and powerful opponent without the protection of the Slane Theocracy – or now, the Sorcerous Kingdom – they would be found woefully wanting.

Because they believed themselves above all others, the world was theirs for the taking. Cooperation was an afterthought and the idea that the first truly advanced and powerful state that they encountered might mercilessly crush them for their blindness did not enter into their thoughts at all. Other races were simply savages and did not merit the same rights and considerations that Humans did and other Human nations were considered, quaint, backwards or weak. The Slane Theocracy was afforded the barest of grudging respect and even then imperial citizens rationalised the difference as an advantage enjoyed only because of their ‘head start’.

They did not understand how vast the void between themselves and other nations could be, which was especially ironic since the Sorcerous Kingdom was their suzerain. The Empire’s overlord did not count toward the imperial worldview; instead considered along the same lines as a force of nature or a powerful monster.

Ludmila’s observations and thoughts would be included in her report to the Royal Court but, for now, she had duties to carry out. They were accompanied by many lines that were still blurred or completely undefined, but she could at least begin with her immediate priorities. How things had played out thus far and continued to play out showed every indication that she was being used, but being used was not necessarily a bad thing. There was honour in service, and there was no greater honour than to serve her sovereign and her god.

Early the following morning, Ludmila brought her cavalry squad into Kurze, much to the dismay of its citizens. The Count insisted on accompanying them, followed by a half dozen of his footmen. Also present was the Captain of the company on garrison duty with a dozen of his men, as well as a gaggle of Priests and Acolytes from the town’s temple. They stayed well away from the Death-series servitors, trailing behind and following from the sides of the main avenue.

Ludmila walked alongside Baron Ward, leading their mounts at the head of the column of Undead and gauging the reactions of the citizenry. They emptied the thoroughfare well ahead of her passage, disappearing into side streets, alleys and storefronts. Men, women and children looked out fearfully from the shadows of the buildings and through cracks in the shuttered windows above at the column of darkly-armoured figures gleaming in the early morning light. It was a scene that she was all too familiar with.

“I wonder if it will always start like this,” Ludmila muttered.

“When does it stop being like this, my lady?” Baron Ward asked.

“That depends on the people,” she answered, “and it also depends on the local leaders. E-Rantel had hundreds of Death-series servitors and Elder Liches working in the city and even more powerful Undead besides. I first ‘got a handle on things’, as you put it, in that situation. Either way, the people will get used to it: the city of E-Rantel just needed a bit of a push.”

Lord Ward grunted, nodding his head slowly.

“It may be that this will work to Lord Kurze’s benefit, but the timing is still poor.”

“Many of the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Nobles are still easing their subjects into their new reality,” Ludmila said. “According to our Prime Minister, it will take the whole Duchy of E-Rantel another five years to fully acclimate. This is not just due to the Undead, however, but also from the integration of our Demihuman populations and the effect that the new administration and its policies have on internal politics. Considering this, it’s not a problem if you employ a similarly gradual approach with your civilians. What is immediately required by the Royal Court, however, is that the Undead security forces are positioned to respond to threats. Leaving them hidden in the middle of nowhere is unacceptable.”

“How did the Second Legion do it?”

“They fought a small war together with the Death-series servitors,” Ludmila smirked. “General Kabein said that earning the trust of the Imperial Army is the key to the integration of the leased security forces. The citizens trust the army, and the army can help to establish the new normal. Hopefully, we can skip the war part her–”

Ragged breathing and the sound of rapid steps drew Ludmila’s attention to the entrance of an alley they had just passed.

“YEEEEEAAART!!!”

A man dashed out into the morning light, longsword brandished. The steel blade descended in a savage arc, glancing off the vambrace of one of the Death Knights. Shouts and screams of panic rose from the spectators watching from their places of safety; many turned their faces away, unable to bear what would happen next. The entire Undead column turned their heads to regard the man, the crimson points of their eyes shining out from their helms and cowls and face wraps.

Another blow came in with the man’s return stroke as he shouted incoherently. The Imperial Knights around them had their hands on their weapons but seemed uncertain about what to do, remaining where they were dozens of metres away.

“Does that even hurt?” Ludmila asked.

The Death Knight looked over at her and shrugged. Ludmila used her ear clip, activating Life Essence. She eyed the aura superimposed over the Death Knight, but it was difficult to tell if it was changing at all. After thirty seconds of repeated blows, she thought that the Death Knight’s health had gone down by the barest amount. Ironically, the attacks were damaging the attacker more than his target.

“Well,” she said, “make sure he doesn’t damage himself on one of those spikes of yours.”

She examined the crazed man’s features as he continued to attack the Death Knight. Aside from his clearly disturbed expression, he had the build of a warrior under plain garb that might be found on any of the townsfolk. If compared to the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Adventurers, he would be an Iron-rank Fighter considering his use of basic Martial Arts.

A minute passed and the garrison Captain finally came up behind the column to pull the exhausted man away. His longsword clattered to the ground, its grip bloodied by the string of frenzied strikes.

“Eren!”

The Captain gave the man a shake. His only reply was a beleaguered wail.

“Are you familiar with this man, Captain?”

“He’s a retired Imperial Knight, my lady.”

“He looks far too young to be retired…”

“We were at Katze together,” the Captain said. “Some of the men…a lot of us still have nightmares; not all of us can just leave it behind…and some can’t escape what they saw there.”

Her eyes went from the Captain, who continued trying to soothe the traumatised man, to the Priests standing far away. They were supposed to minister to the sick, but it appeared that their personal fears held them at bay.

The man finally fell limply to the ground, moaning weakly as two Imperial Knights carried him off between them. Lord Kurze stood watching with a helpless look on his face.

Bitter feelings rose within Ludmila at the sight of the young nobleman. A year ago, she had been in a similar situation. Because she hadn’t harnessed her abilities yet, two men had died screaming silently in Bohdan’s home from the very same terror. Others had stolen her ship and the rest fled to the Theocracy, never to be heard from again.

Ludmila’s ignorance and errors always seemed to exact a shallow toll upon her, but the world around her always seemed to pay an even heavier price in her stead.

“I hope that the Count can make some progress with his subjects,” she said quietly.

“Yes, my lady,” Baron Ward agreed.

They resumed their procession down the street, leaving Kurze through its western gate. There, Ludmila left the ‘garrison’ troops – two Death Knights, two Death Warriors and two Death Priests – with the Captain. Despite the grim scene that had played out as they made their way through the town, it was probably a constructive experience for those who witnessed it. The citizens and soldiers saw that the Death-series servitors wouldn’t simply attack them even when attacked and the Death-series servitors were able to measure the strength – or perhaps the fragility – of those they were to defend.

With a long journey ahead of them, the aged nobleman led Ludmila and the Death Cavaliers west down the highway. Ludmila gave Kurze and the men watching their departure one last glance over her shoulder.

“There’s one thing I still haven’t figured out,” she said as she brought her Soul Eater alongside the Baron’s warhorse. “Count Kurze appears to have inherited early. What happened to his father?”

“Hunting accident,” Lord Ward replied. “You could say that his stupidity killed him. And his brothers.”

“That’s terrible,” Ludmila shook her head. “What could he have done to cause that accident? Was it a monster?”

“No,” the nobleman told her. “It wasn’t an accident – it was an ‘accident’.”

Ludmila stared at the Baron. The nobleman’s expression remained as calm as it always was.

“You’ll forgive me if I cannot understand the full meaning of what you’re saying, my lord.”

Lord Ward returned her look for a moment before his attention went back to the highway ahead.

“I’m sure that you believe that a vassal should be loyal to their liege and fulfil their contractual obligations; that to be chivalrous is to be an extension of their lord’s will.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then in a relationship between houses, is a house loyal to their lord, or their lord’s house?”

Ideally, a lord represented the interests of their house. Was he implying that the current Count Kurze’s father was not? For many – both aristocrats and commoners – the idea that one’s title was hereditary was an essential component of the contract between liege and vassal. If all went well, families would be proud to say that they enjoyed a long, fruitful relationship with one another. If not…

“What would have happened if Count Kurze’s father had lived?”

“Attainder, most likely.”

“And his uncles?”

“They would have pursued the matter of succession,” Lord Ward said. “Which would have included the removal of the young Lord Kurze. It was the old Count Kurze – his grandfather – that arranged for it.”

To preserve House Kurze, the heir of the house had been killed. To preserve the next heir, all potential pretenders had been killed. An entire generation was extinguished by the very man who had sired them. Assuming that it did in reality avert the fate of House Kurze, it was the correct course of action; far better than arbitrary acts of attainder.

“Does the current Count Kurze know about this?” Ludmila asked, “Who knows about the truth of the ‘accident’?”

“That Count Kurze’s father was a blithering incompetent was a well-known fact. I’m sure everyone assumes he was disposed of.”

“What of the consequences of murder?”

“Not that anyone would have pressed charges,” Lord Ward said, “but the fact that the Emperor chose to overlook what happened means that he tacitly approved. If the matter was pursued by someone for some reason, the Emperor would likely have issued a pardon. His Imperial Majesty is a hard man, but that doesn’t mean that he’s cruel, blind or stupid. Service to the Empire is service to the Empire, whatever the form it takes…and that’s why General Ray is allowed to do what he’s doing.”

In short, the ends justified the means. General Ray carried out the Sixth Legion’s expeditionary mandate through his roundabout efforts to minimise losses to the Imperial Army by baiting his opponents into a highly defensible position. The Fifth Legion carried out its defensive mandate by discouraging the Sixth Legion from pursuing a strategy that put its jurisdiction and citizens at risk.

Both army groups were serving the Empire; both were justified – by imperial law, at any rate – in what they were doing. Neither side would give ground and the Emperor was silent on the matter. The Emperor and his Court Council had left the verdict in the hands of the Sorcerous Kingdom, who had already left the answer to the Empire. In the end, the result would not be determined by the executives of either nation, but by the actors placed on a stage that had been prepared for them.

As Baron Ward had noted, Ludmila had arrived like clockwork – a catalyst to set events in motion.