Valkyrie's Shadow

The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 4, Chapter 2

The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 4, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Summer Palace was a sprawling complex in the northwest of Rimun, occupying an area larger than the Royal Palace and Prime Estates of Hoburns combined. Starting from atop a cliff overlooking the western ocean where the palace itself was perched, its grounds ran along the coast to the sandy beaches a kilometre to the south.

Before the reign of Queen Calca, the Summer Palace was reserved for the exclusive use of the royal dynasty and its guests. Upon her ascension, however, the young Holy Queen opened the palace to the public. Both royals and the nobility alike protested the decision, but Calca was adamant, claiming that it would help bring the Holy Kingdom’s people together.

In a frenzy of the idealistic energy characteristic of her reign, Queen Calca had the palace’s expansive gardens and beaches transformed into parks for public recreation. The arcades were turned into markets while the auditoriums and galleries were converted into theatres and stages. The palace itself, thankfully, was still treated as private property.

While the changes were implemented, her naysayers bided their time, waiting for their chance to criticise the Holy Queen for her foolish idealism when her monstrously wasteful project inevitably failed…except it didn’t.

Citizens sailed in from all across the country during the quiet winter months and holy days, transforming the Summer Palace into a bustling centre of culture and commerce. Needless to say, the hundreds of thousands of people who visited it every year earned immense revenues for the Crown. Even Demihumans and Heteromorphs frequented the place and the gates of the palace were continually buried in gifts from subjects who wished to show their appreciation for the Queen’s kindness and progressive vision.

There were no gifts at the gate now, however: only flowers left by the citizens who still mourned the late Holy Queen’s passing.

That damned fool couldn’t even do the one thing he was supposed to.

Duke Denis Debonei brooded silently as he stared out at the distant city from a window of his palace office. The new Holy King’s duty, first and foremost, was to lead. He didn’t even have to rule – he had a cabinet staffed with capable ministers and the entire Royal Court to assist with that. Yet, whenever the people of the Holy Kingdom thought of their sovereign, it was the late Holy Queen who still stood at the forefront of their minds.

Caspond may as well have been a dried fish for all his subjects cared. Actually, his subjects would probably care more about the dried fish if what he heard about the royalist-controlled lands to the east was accurate.

The mountain of problems with their new sovereign should have been unacceptable to both the royal dynasty and the aristocratic establishment, but the ‘progressives’ of the nation saw the weakness of the Holy King as an opportunity to bring the change that they desired to the Holy Kingdom. Now, the country was suffering from a political and economic schism that divided its people into two camps with no hope for reconciliation in sight.

“Your Grace,” a footman approached him from the grand foyer, “a rider from the front gate just came in. The Faceless One and her entourage have arrived.”

“How large is the entourage?” Denis asked.

“Two carriages. One carrying Merchants, which we redirected to a guest house. An armed company of light cavalry running escort. The Faceless one has three attendants: a butler, a Maid, and a Bard.”

Denis asked no further questions, rising from his seat and tugging at the flaps of his coat. The footman bowed before returning to the foyer.

“The Faceless One, hm…” Count Vigo rose along with him, “It would be nice if we had an actual name, but I suppose that would ruin the mystique.”

“It’s preposterous that we’re meeting this fellow without even knowing that much.”

“A sign of the times, Your Grace. Times that should hopefully come to an end soon.”

Lord Vigo accompanied Denis as he made his way to the palace foyer. It was supposed to have been Marquis Bodipo accompanying him, but he had been called to lead the forces taking the Renclusa Valley. Denis could only think that it had been a purposely-timed move by the royalists to keep the highly capable Marquis from coordinating his followers from collaborating with the rest of the conservative faction.

In the foyer, various Noble guests of the palace were arriving to receive the new arrival. Most had looks that were more curious than anything else. To many, the Faceless One’s – or, rather, who they represented – rise to power was like a tale from the distant past when the original Nobles of the Holy Kingdom carved out their territories from the devastation and chaos left in the wake of the Demon Gods.

Through the glass of the doors, a dozen lightly-armed riders came ahead of a carriage that one might expect of a wealthy Merchant. Another set of riders dismounted to open the doors. An odd, masked figure of less-than-average height wearing a rugged rancher’s outfit stepped out. Denis frowned at the sight, but Count Vigo stirred in recognition.

“Neia Baraja,” he breathed.

“I don’t see how you can identify anyone when they’re wearing a domino mask, Lord Vigo. This isn’t a masquerade, for the gods’ sake.”

“It’s because she’s wearing a mask, Your Grace.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Back during the war,” Count Vigo replied, “she wore a mask more often than not. Not the same mask, mind you, but it’s hard to imagine her without one. The huge crowd gathered at the city’s northeastern gate should have said it all, but I somehow didn’t make the connection.

In that case, what does this mean for us?

Before her arrival, they treated the Faceless One as the representative of Los Ganaderos, a loose coalition of ranchers that occupied roughly a quarter of the north’s developed interior. Their faction already traded with them heavily and, aside from that, the ranchers could come in useful if violence broke out. Theirs would be a simple negotiation, as far as Denis was concerned.

Now, the Faceless One was the leader of a movement whose core philosophy could be summed up as ‘work harder, you idiots’. In the wake of the Demon Emperor’s invasion, when land and opportunity were plentiful, that philosophy had worked in their favour. Their resulting successes, of course, attracted even more followers.

To the Nobles who had come to aid in the north’s recovery efforts, the quaint group had proven to be an economic boon. With the arrival of the Faceless One, however, they had become a faction with real military power that also represented a not-insubstantial portion of the land’s total industrial activity. The Faceless One’s appearance in Rimun and the coming negotiations would be crucial in determining whether she and her followers would become useful allies or a new enemy.

As Denis waited at the head of the reception, a gust of wind stole the Faceless One’s wide-brimmed hat. To his shock, she tried to chase after it. The Bard, who was about the age of his granddaughter, stopped her and sent one of their escorts to retrieve the hat.

She was raised as a commoner, then. The Bard acts as a behavioural consultant. Anything that the Bard is capable of will be several orders of magnitude more adept than her employer.

The ‘butler’ and ‘Maid’ were clearly just for show, as were the carriage and escort. Denis adjusted his expectations downwards by several notches, then smiled as the Faceless One and her party approached.

“Welcome to the Summer Palace, Neia Baraja. I am Duke Denis Debonei. I hope you’ll forgive the state of the palace grounds: Jaldabaoth’s armies made extensive ‘use’ of the place.”

Many of the Demihumans occupying Rimun during the war preferred the green spaces of the Summer Palace and thus its grounds had become the site of all manner of horrific activities. It was to the degree that the Temples even insisted that every square metre of the premises be scoured for traces of negative energy and demonic influence in the aftermath of the city’s liberation.

The masked woman replied with a simple curtsey which looked quite strange with her pants and riding chaps.

“Thank you for your welcome, Your Grace. I commanded one of the regiments during the liberation of Rimun and we spent three days clearing the Summer Palace of Demihumans. It was heartbreaking to see Queen Calca’s legacy so defiled.”

Denis weighed the woman’s response. His apology was meant as bait, but he had not received any of the expected replies. Usually, there were two one would render following an apology like his. The first was a cordial one that helped the host save face while also giving the guest an appearance of grace. The second was for the guest to perceive the apology as a sign of the host’s weakness and go on the offensive.

Out of the two, the first response was by far the most common, as parties would usually spend time feeling out others’ positions before taking a decisive course of action. The second response was generally the realm of classless cretins, but it could also mean that the power balance was so wildly skewed that one was confident that they could brush off any consequences of their actions.

Neia Baraja’s response, however, had the feel of a talking point that just happened to conveniently line up with his apology. However, while it served as a way to deflect his probing attack, it also prematurely revealed a portion of the other party’s strategy.

She seeks to leverage her history as a war leader and an influential figure amongst the citizenry at a time when both qualities are undeniably attractive…so much for just negotiating supplies.

Denis maintained a cautiously neutral stance as he introduced the other Nobles, using their calculated exchanges to gauge Neia Baraja’s disposition and intent. The woman’s responses, however, were markedly plain and somewhat clumsy. He glanced at the other members of her party to see how they reacted, but spent most of his time watching the Bard, who hovered at Baraja’s shoulder not quite looking like a nervous mother at her daughter’s matchmaking session.

This girl is young, but she’s dangerous.

The Bard’s coaching was rigid and the result was awkward. Yet, what mattered was present and the morsel of information that Neia Baraja had offered kept the other Nobles on a predictable course of discussion. If the entire sequence was purposely calculated in advance, only a handful of the Nobles present were capable of contending with the Bard. It was better to focus their time and energy on Baraja…but that in itself had the makings of a ploy.

It took an hour to get through the entire group of noblemen and their families, at which point they proceeded to the great hall. No one had been able to pry any new information out of Baraja, so he decided her defence was at least strong enough that one had to land their attacks right on the mark to evoke a nonstandard response. Count Vigo was one of the men he thought could dislodge Baraja from her stubborn defence, but, in the end, he had little choice but to recall their shared wartime experience with the few minutes they had together.

As far as diplomatic tactics went, it was blunt, but effective. In whatever limited time she had, the Bard had trained her employer to reliably raise a wall against Nobles with decades of experience. As a long-term strategy, it was inflexible and prone to shattering at some point, yet he couldn’t think of a better way if he was in the same position.

With the introductions taken care of, Baraja’s attendants went to transfer her luggage to her state room while Baraja and her Bard, a foreign traveller who went by the name of Saye, joined Denis and the rest of the Nobles in the great hall for a late dinner. The Faceless One took her seat to Denis’ immediate right while Count Vigo was seated to his left. Baraja’s Bard went to seat herself at a chair on the floor, tuning her lute.

As the familiar tune of Winds of Rimun filled the hall, dinner’s first course – a light consommé rendered from the latest delivery of top-grade southern Lanca – Denis skipped over the usual assessments that Nobles tended to use on one another to probe his new guest about her long-term goals.

“Word of Iago Lousa’s passing reached us less than a day after the representative that you sent to arrange a meeting with us left,” he said. “Am I correct in assuming that the recent change in your relationship with the royalists means that you’ve come to secure a new source of supplies for your people?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Baraja nodded. “Would that be possible, Your Grace?”

“Industries in the south were never directly disrupted by the Demon Emperor’s invasion,” Denis said. “With the summer harvest in the south complete, our granaries are well-stocked. The challenge will lie in logistics, as transport is limited.”

“Mister Lousa made sure his dealings with both factions were equal in hopes that he would be seen as a neutral party. We’ll need to quadruple our shipments from your faction since the royalists took over Lloyds.”

Denis nodded in agreement. Draft animals were used to deliver cargo inland, meaning that a not-insubstantial portion of a wagon’s cargo capacity had to be set aside for feed. A horse pulled as much as it weighed and ate ten kilograms of feed per day, plus roughly the same amount in water. When one included the provisions for the wagon operators and the average escort per wagon, it took a huge bite out of how much cargo could be delivered.

If one assumed the average trip length from Rimun to the former holdings of Iago Lousa, only about half the cargo capacity of each wagon could be used for delivering goods. This accounted for extra supplies just in case of poor weather and road conditions, of course. Additionally, they needed twice as many animals, vehicles, and caravaneers to maintain the same throughput as before.

“Can something be done to recover Lloyds, instead?” Lord Vigo asked.

“Um…I’m not sure,” the Faceless One looked down at her soup. “I don’t know how the royalists took over in the first place.”

“The only metric that matters to the Crown are those blasted numbers of theirs,” Lord Vigo said. “For the good of the people, we weren’t willing to stoop to the depraved methods that the royalists were.”

“Depraved methods…”

Baraja’s lips turned down at the corners, though with her mask he couldn’t tell what sort of expression she wore. Was it truly necessary to wear such a thing if everyone was aware of her identity?

“From what I saw of Lloyds, my lord,” she said, “they’re setting things up just like they have in Hoburns.”

“You mean establishing those labour camps that rob the cities and towns of their livelihoods and the Crown of its revenues.”

The Faceless One nodded. Denis sighed internally. His people had spent weeks trying to figure out how to legally break the royalists’ hold on Hoburns, but there was simply no way for them to do so without resorting to the same tactics or breaking the law outright.

“The only legitimate way that we know of to return the cities under royalist control to their former state,” Denis said, “requires the return of the Royal Army.”

“And that the Crown even cares,” Lord Vigo said. “Caspond seems all too happy to see his power steadily eroded by the royalists. I sympathise with his…condition, but that very condition should have disqualified him for rule.”

“We had no say in the matter,” Denis’ voice grew dark. “He simply ‘ascended’ as if he thought he was in Re-Estize or the Empire. Without the approval of the royal dynasty and the Highlords of Roble, his rule should be illegitimate.”

It still confounded him as to how such a thing could be allowed to happen. At the urging of the royalists, the man had simply taken the throne and the rest of the country was so weakened by the war that they could do nothing about it. Now it was as if the country was a galleon being slowly crushed in the coils of a Sea Dragon.

“In that case,” Baraja said, “what does your faction plan on doing?”

“The only thing to do is consolidate power and wait for our candidate. Gods willing, Prince Filipe will arrive with the fleet before the end of summer. Once the Admiralty joins its strength to ours, our advantage over the royalists will be undeniable.”

“So the Prince will declare himself the Holy King.”

“The legitimate Holy King.”

“Um…but that means civil war, doesn’t it, Your Grace?”

“We’ll give the royalists the chance to back down first,” Denis said. “With the fleet on our side, the war for the throne will be won before it even begins. Our enemies will lose control of the seas and that will be that. They should understand this, as well.”

“And if they refuse to withdraw their support of King Caspond?”

“Then justice must be served.”

The Faceless One fell silent for several minutes. Denis and his other guests took the opportunity to turn their attention to dinner’s second course while she deliberated.

“I, too, desire justice for the Holy Kingdom,” Baraja said at long last. “But, um, I don’t see things the way that the aristocracy does. All I want is a place where my people can thrive and be happy.”

“Does the state of the west and its citizens not serve to demonstrate who truly has the interests of the people at heart?” Denis asked, “What you see cannot be fabricated, nor have we done anything to appease you in particular. With the threat of Demihuman incursions from the Abelion Hills permanently at an end, our country faces a bright and prosperous future. The unfortunate, mentally ill man on the throne and those who manipulate him must be removed for us to realise it.”

“I can agree on that point. But to prepare for the future…”

“Of course,” Denis nodded. “So long as you can arrange for transport of your supplies overland, we will arrange for them to be shipped.”

“Um, we brought some Merchants who can deal with your Merchants if that’s alright…”

“It’s good that you’ve come prepared. We’ll let them handle those matters while we move on to other topics of import.”

Dinner moved onto the main course, which consisted of buttered lobster with a hearty portion of crisp greens and garlic bread. The Bard changed her selection to a piece he had never heard before. The lyrics were unfamiliar in their construction. Human songs and poetry tended to centre around Human life and events. Very rarely were they about countries or regions of countries, though every country had at least one or two of those works. This song, however, was purely in praise of the raw, wild nature in and around the Azerlisia Mountains.

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with this song,” Denis said.

“It’s called Winter’s Crown,” Baraja said as she weaved back and forth in her seat with the melody. “Saye said that Humans first heard it in the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Humans first heard…

Did that mean the composer of the piece was a Demihuman or Heteromorph? Now that she mentioned it, the lyrics did bear similarities to the songs of the Holy Kingdom’s aquatic neighbours. At least supposedly. Humans were unable to speak aquatic languages and literature didn’t translate itself, so all he had to go by were crude translations that obviously fell short of the original works. The melody, however, was drastically different from even those pieces, sounding so primal that he thought he might be sucked into the pristine realm that the song exalted.

“Is it very popular in the Sorcerous Kingdom?” Count Vigo asked.

“Saye said that it’s popular in the regions around the Azerlisia Mountains,” Baraja answered. “Both in the Sorcerous Kingdom and the Baharuth Empire. She’s not sure whether it’s spread to Re-Estize yet.”

“Speaking of the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Denis said, “Have you maintained any of the connections that you’ve made there?”

“The only person from the Sorcerous Kingdom that I spent much time with was His Majesty the Sorcerer King, so…”

That’s already one hell of a connection, woman.

…or so he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. The Faceless One shifted in her seat as the Nobles at the table all levelled expectant looks at her.

“Um,” she licked her lips nervously, “His Majesty has already done so much that I don’t think it would be appropriate to ask for more.”

Commoners had a nonsensical sense of propriety and Baraja seemed about as common as common could get. If one never communicated their needs and desires, then chances were that those who could facilitate them would never know – especially if they were physically distant.

He and the members of his faction were as averse to the Undead as anyone, but political pressure from the Sorcerous Kingdom would likely spell the end of Caspond with a minimum of fuss. Was it possible to press the issue? A courier would take at least three weeks to reach E-Rantel and waiting for an audience could add considerably to that. By the time they received an answer, there was a high chance that Prince Felipe would already be back and Denis was fairly certain about how the fleet would react to any dealings with the Undead.

“I see,” he said. “In that case, we’ll see what solutions we can devise with the addition of your people’s assistance.”

If things took a dire turn, he could bring up the topic again. Their near-term goal remained the same, which was the consolidation of power to eventually employ against the royalists. The Faceless One’s influence and territorial control would serve to further strengthen their position and give their opponents a much larger strategic threat to consider.

Winter’s Crown transitioned into a wordless tune that bore a rhythm and chord progressions favoured by Baharuth’s martial aristocracy.

“Just to be clear, Your Grace,” Baraja said, “not all of my people are combatants or should be treated as such.”

It was an utterly odd statement to make. Every able-bodied adult in the Holy Kingdom had served in the army, so everyone could be fielded as a combatant.

“Do you mean to say that they won’t qualify as capable combatants due to the current situation in the north? If so, something can be arranged to remedy that.”

“Um…yes, and no. Your Grace is correct to say that we don’t have the means to equip and deploy them, but neither did we intend to use them as military assets in the first place.”

The other Nobles at the table showed no visible reaction to her statement, yet the mix of anger and disdain emanating from them was palpable. A man who wouldn’t fight for their land was no man at all.

“In that case,” Denis said, “what do you and your people intend to contribute to the cause?”

“Ah, it’s not that we won’t contribute soldiers if they’re needed. But we have people suited to those roles and undermining our industrial production won’t allow us to fight prolonged conflicts. We also have to consider what happens afterwards – crippling the north even further is something we’d all like to avoid if possible.”

It’s pragmatic, but…

A Merchant would have probably accepted the proposal after attempting to squeeze out as much profit as they could out of it. The pursuit of profit, however, was not the way of the aristocracy.

“What you say does appeal to a certain line of reasoning,” Denis said, “but, as anyone in the Holy Kingdom should know, prosperity without the strength to protect it will only be stolen. All things being equal, our people would consider it unjust if such an exemption is made for yours.”

“I agree,” Baraja replied, “but all things are not equal. My forces have all fought in the war and they are almost purely light cavalry. If necessary, I can have two thousand of them available. This should be more than what a Count is expected to contribute in terms of fighting strength, so considering us an equal partner should present no issues. Furthermore, my forces control the northwestern interior and the royalists are incapable of challenging us there. If things do come down to civil war, that will give your armies access to Lloyds and Hoburns without risking an amphibious landing and exposing your supply lines.”

Low murmurs rose from the seated Nobles. That she had professional troops not even a Count could offer for the war effort came as a surprise to all of them. For Denis’ part, he had a hunch that she would turn Los Ganaderos into an ad hoc militia, but he wasn’t sure whether she would be willing to commit them to a conflict.

“This regiment of light cavalry,” one of the Nobles halfway down the table said. “Could it be that you’re offering the men of Los Ganaderos?”

“That’s right, my lord,” Baraja nodded.

“Then you’ll forgive me for saying so, but there is too much at stake for us to simply take you at your word. Can you prove that they are as effective as you say?”

The music stopped. Denis calmly took a sip out of his wine glass. Since Baraja had offered cavalry, the challenge was inevitable to Nobles who considered cavalry the domain of the elite.

“Of course,” the Faceless One replied without hesitation. “Shall we decide on a time and a place?”