Chapter 74: 73. The Coming Storm

Three days after the star showers, I found it hard to keep myself from tripping down the cobbles as I followed after Amelia’s wide gait. In my arms I held two sorely heavy books she had commanded me to study, and on my head Gideon sat lazily watching. Off the ridge to my left the city of Minua sprawled out before the mountains, upon which I could just barely make out the glow of signal fires in the dusk. Despite the late hour, the city was just as busy as it usually was, though the higher path we took was silent except for soldiers and the odd war merchants.

 

We strode through the mountain cliffs on the north side of the valley, upon which the makings of an army camp could be seen overlooking the city. Angular tents of greyish white and muted blue were organised in haphazard circles and cul de sacs like scores of dirt rinsed clouds in the sky, with the bright lamps and cooking fires between them comparable to streaks of lightning. The snow from last night’s storm had been gathered up and shovelled into thick piles 

 

It was almost a month into winter, and the mustering had finally begun.

 

I’d heard about it from the people assigned to me in the brief periods before I evaded them, that the Duke Belvan had sent out runners through the snow to officially sound the clarion call for campaign. I wasn’t exactly sure where all the other settlements of Minua were, what with the extensive mountain ranges and forests and all that, but groups had already started shuffling into the city in large trains of men and colg after only two days. Small groups, mostly, but even I’d been able to see that they built up to more than a couple hundred in total. Amelia had confirmed that it was likely they’d been preparing for such a summon for weeks now, especially after Andril had made his speech. In fact, their prompt arrival had even caused some issues with supplies and billeting and all that boring military stuff, which had made my good teacher Amelia very busy.

 

Unfortunately for me, she was also a bit of a multitasker.

 

Amelia gestured to a small group of five soldiers trudging ahead of us. 

 

“That device? Tell me who that belongs to. Region, too, if you can.” 

 

They all wore ratty cloaks of muted brown and white, and carried shield masks hanging on their hips. All were armed with silvery spears as they headed towards the tents ahead, and on the end of one hung a pennant with a symbol of a white feather upon a baby blue field. Each of them looked tired, sad, and more than a little drunk. Was that allowed for soldiers in Verol?

 

I focused in on the pennant, racking my brain for any match.

 

Hmm, a feather? A white one? That was… no idea, of course. If they’d come in so soon they were probably some baron’s or a knight’s men at arms, but why was I expected to know who? It seemed a little insane to know every last lord in the country.

 

“Fletcher perhaps?” I chuckled, finding the idea of sharing a last name with some otherworld noble amusing.

 

Amelia clicked her tongue.

 

“Saderil. A baron further up the valley. We went over the valley lords just yesterday.”

 

“And I remember them: the important ones at least. I can tell a Heldi from a Celd. What I don’t understand is why…” I trailed off as we passed the soldiers, only continuing once we left earshot. “Why it’s important at all. I’m not about to be commanding lords or… well doing anything important, right?”

 

We entered the camp proper, passing by a Minuan sentry with only a quick nod from Amelia. She was somehow known to all of Lord Belvan’s men-at-arms already, a feat I could only feel bad for the soldiers over.

 

The camp itself was small and only half constructed, with dozens of tents still laying in covered bundles in stacks. There seemed to be very few men of station roughing it out here as well. The nobles stayed in the town proper, which despite my best morals I couldn’t fault them for. I couldn’t feel it, but it was properly freezing today, and nobles didn’t have the luxury of the common soldiers of keeping themselves warm with fiery magic. If I looked closely I could even see the wispy embers of magic rolling off a few of them, which might go to explain why so many looked slightly tipsy. Such magic couldn’t be cheap to keep going for hours on end.

 

“Celdri.” Amelia corrected. “You stand to embarrass yourself. As you have before. Normally I wouldn’t care, but unfortunately Andril has staked your name to his, and such embarrassment transfers. And more tangentially, someone might ask you to run a message.”

 

I rolled my eyes in response, but she didn’t look back.

 

I had no doubt she was right, but did she really have to say it like that? Yes, perhaps I had made a bit of a mistake when I’d first come to court, but only because the Veroline had some strangely backwards rules about gender. Well, backwards for earth at least.

 

As we strode through the camp, a couple of the soldiers setting up tents and standing around noticed me and cried out, with shouts of ‘Demonbane!’ quickly becoming common as we went. I waved as I was taught, though I couldn’t help but grin when they chuckled at the sight of me. I certainly found it a little funny that someone as small and scrawny looking as Saphry was a demon slayer when I looked in the mirror every morning. Or rather, that I was a demon slayer. Saphry had very little to do with that, after all.

 

“Banner on those three tents.” Amelia said as we passed some particularly enthusiastic soldiers.

 

“You didn’t just take me to quiz me over flags, right?” I asked. “Because I’ll be real peeved if that’s the reason you woke me up on what I thought would be a free day.”

 

Amelia sighed.

 

“What kind of student are you? Did you backtalk your father all the time as well?”

 

“What? I've been going easy today! I even said ‘peeved’ instead of ‘pissed’!”

 

“And then you tore down even that defence by saying it anyway.” Amelia gestured towards the tents again. “The banner?”

 

I stole a glance as we passed it, catching only the rough image of a black rabbit on a green field. Or something that looked vaguely like a rabbit at least. For all I knew it could be a bear, a colg, or maybe even bad handwriting.

 

“I think that’s the banner of a town without a tailor.” I said honestly. “Is that supposed to be a colg?”

 

“No, that’s…” Amelia took another look at it and frowned. “Perhaps your first guess was correct.”

 

For the barest quarter of a second, I thought I could see something approaching the barest hint of an emotion halfway similar to amusement flash across her face, but it was gone before I could think of blinking.

 

Almost. Gideon thought. But not quite. It has to be a full smile.

 

I scowled as Amelia turned back. I was already four australs down, and at this point I almost had to assume Amelia knew about it and was just trying to spite me.

 

We kept walking for just a bit longer before stopping at a slightly more permanent tent than the others. It was great and hexagonal with supports raised up at regular intervals to a flat top. Half the fabric was dyed in a faded blue that’d obviously been there a for a few years, while the other half was kept white. Or at least as close to white as a camp could manage outside. Two guards flanked the flap with somewhat short silver spears, and they wore their falcon-like masks under their cloak hoods. Each had thick fur gloves with conjoined fingers and the glint of chianmail could be seen under their coats and cloaks. Unusually for the common soldiers I’d seen in camp, they each had a long two handed sword hung over their back in big scabbards.

 

I wonder how they draw those? And what’s the point of having a spear if your sword is just as long? 

 

They nodded in respect as we approached.

 

“Lady Allarv. Demonbane.”

 

Amelia nodded back and strode inside, and I did the same with a sheepish grin. I never would get used to that title, would I?

 

The inside was remarkably barran, with only a couple tables and some stacks of crates to decorate it. A simple wooden table with a map of Verol from Fanula to Erithine sat on one, while the other was covered in food and various drinks. It was somewhat crowded with a couple dozen people, many of them soldiers or aides. Several flitted around with books and charts, while yet others stood in the corners and talked. In the centre two more distinctive men sat around and talked. 

 

I could immediately tell that these two were the important ones from the way everyone moved around them, and by their dress. One of them was thin and gangly, with the characteristic white hair of a Summarkan, while the other was more portly with a thick brown beard. They both wore more expensive, yet still practical, coats and fur gauntlets, and though their cloaks were slightly frayed I could still see the silver thread at the end. Even the colours were less muted, with each wearing a deep midnight blue and bright white in their clothes.

 

They stood up as we approached, though the bearded man grew visibly more tired as they spotted Amelia. The white haired man grinned as he glanced towards me.

 

“Count Ephren. Baron Saderil.” Amelia said.

 

She curtsied, and I hurried to follow suit.

 

“Ah, Lady Allarv.” The thin man, Count Ephren said. “And Miss Astrian! Our demonbane!”

 

“Saviour of the realm.” Baron Saderil agreed.

 

“Ode of a new era! A note for the histories! Why, I’ve even caught one of my scholars noting you down as Danav in his letters!” 

 

“Would it not be Denav?” Saderil asked.

 

“Dasav would be more accurate.” Amelia said.

 

“Da… Ha! Sav indeed!” Ephren laughed again as he looked at me.

 

The baron raised an eyebrow.

 

“Surely you jest? I watched that myself, and I can say that she has definitely earned Enav. I’m sure the city would agree.”

 

“I don’t make the rules, Lord Saderil.” Amelia said. “She is just a girl, hardly Enav. The word has a specific meaning, you can’t just go and change them for your convenience.”

 

“Is that not the purpose of language?” Saderil said. “Why, I’d think that…”

 

They continued to talk for a while longer, discussing some language I couldn’t understand. Feeling a bit left out, I transferred Gideon from my head to my arms.

 

“[Computer], [English].” I whispered.

 

They’re speaking Lmeri. I don’t want to go into it, but they’re playing around with the differently gendered and quality modifiers of the phrase ‘Demon Conquerer’. Or demonbane, I guess. Danav would be the masuline version, Denav the feminine, and I’m pretty sure Lady Allarv’s insulting you by calling you a ‘short’ or ‘lesser’ fighter instead of a ‘conquerer’. I could be wrong though, because she’s technically more correct, I think, so it could be taken as a polite correction as well.

 

You are reading story Lmenli at novel35.com

“You think?”

 

How often do you think I’ve spoken Lmeri? By the Star, I’m a dragon, not a translator. He flicked his tail in irritation. And I seem to remember Saphry going through Lmeri lessons in Andorlin.

 

“If she had those memories, I don’t have them.” I whispered. 

 

At that point the count glanced towards me again and thankfully seemed to realise I didn’t understand.

 

“Ah, but we’ve been rude! Come, sit, have a cup of wine.” Ephren gestured down to the table before sitting down himself. “Highland, or coastal? I had a barral of the former brought with me from my stockpile when I came.”

 

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

 

Count Ephren smiled.

 

“The highland is said to have an earthy taste to it, as the berry’s it’s made from are planted high on Celrion’s Peak. The coastal comes from fruits that grow in the waters of the Arguin, and is said to taste somewhat sour. I prefer the highland myself, though if I recall correctly Lady Allarv favours the coastal.”

 

“Eh… highland then, I guess.” I said tentatively. 

 

What was the difference? I’d never really been a big drinker back on earth, being limited only to the occasional drink whenever someone offered it back on earth. I’d certainly never known anything about wine.

 

The rest of us sat down around the table, though I felt a little like a child at the adults table with how high the table was. 

 

“Now, can I trust that you have come in Duke Belvan’s steed?” Ephren said, suddenly growing more serious. “I have to say, I wish he would deal with his vassals more directly.”

 

I blinked as the realisation suddenly dawned on me. She wanted me to sit in on some boring political meeting? Really? An entire day of good Lmenli searching or magic practising was being wasted for this? [Fuck]! I should’ve run when she summoned me!

 

“He is quite busy with other matters.” Amelia said. “I assure you that I will be more than sufficient.”

 

“What matters could possibly be higher than his own sworn vassals?” Ephren asked. “It is not as if I ply him constantly with petty affairs, but the running of his own war. I simply wish to see it run smoothly. I don’t offend easily, but only being granted audience in the war councils is leaving me little choice.”

 

“Then I must apologise in his steed.” Amelia said. “For it is not his intention to snub you, but to deal with problems as best as possible. Surely someone of yet higher status than the duke will suffice?”

 

Ephren exchanged a tired look with Saderil. It was obvious this had been going on for quite a while now, even to me. But why would the Duke be so reluctant to deal with them? They certainly didn’t seem like the kind of asshole noble I’d want to actively avoid at least.

 

“Of course.” Ephren finally said. “Then I must regretfully offer several apologies for the delays, but after consulting with my barons I don’t think Cristil, Gorgia, or Halfrost will be able to supply any more stockmen before the end of next year. All besides good Saderil here have claimed the need of their levies for planting due to poor harvests this year. Normally I would think that they were just attempting to renege, but the highland villages have complained of much the same since before I left. With my household, the men-at-arms, Saderils, and the stockmen levy from my own holdings, I might only be able to offer five hundred to the campaign.”

 

“Have your barons no stockpiles?” Amelia asked. “Surely such a law was made for particularly this situation.”

 

“My barons seem to have accepted additional rents in lieu of the stockpile tax.” Ephren frowned. “Not entirely, of course, but enough that they don’t want to risk it. I’m inclined to agree with them too, for I would find it a poor breach of honour to leave good families to go hungry while their men go and fight the king.”

 

“Then you believe they are unwilling to rise against the senate?” Amelia asked.

 

“That plays some part, I’m sure.” Ephren agreed. “But again, this is not a new occurrence. The winter’s have gotten harsher and harsher every year.”

 

“And yet the rest of us manage.” Amelia said. “Might you just remind them that their oaths require…”

 

I slumped back into the chair as they continued, irritated at being brought along.

 

I could understand Andril wanting me to have some knowledge of politics, but was this really important? I couldn’t help but feel like Amelia had brought me along just to waste my time. 

 

“Ma’am, your wine.” 

 

I jumped slightly as the servant appeared beside me before taking the glass with a nod. As I sipped it, somehow I was reminded of Fredrick.

 

Ah, if only the others were here. Breale would probably die before this meeting ended, and Fredrick would somehow manage to be enthralled. And Auro? Well, she’d probably sit politely through the whole meeting and only complain after it was all over. 

 

“...I would of course offer them an allotment from my own stockpiles, but though I do uphold the full stockpile tax I can’t help but fear for the spring if my store were too…”

 

“...a duty for half the households to offer up one bowman and the others one spearman. They knew that before they offered that deal with…”

 

“I agree completely, but the law in Minua is permissive when it comes to these things. To think in the present, however, if we are to muster…”

 

I sat listening and sipping while Amelia and the nobles talked and brainstormed. They spoke of the barons’ hardships and of the valley’s poor harvests and Amelia would counter with talk of oaths and duty, which Ephren would agree to while adding a ‘but’ to the end. It sounded to me like they were just talking straight past each other for over half an hour, to be honest, but there was obviously something going on that I didn’t realise.

 

It took an additional hour and some simple agreements about food stores before we were finally getting up to leave, during which I had tasted either of the wines and then some. Count Ephren even gave me a bottle of each to take back, and I carried them on top of my books as we left the tent.

 

“What was your impression of that discussion?” Amelia asked once we’d retreated from earshot.

 

“Me? I don’t think I’m really-”

 

“As a test.” Amelia interrupted. “What do you think he was asking for.”

 

I thought for a moment, thinking that it was some sort of trick, but I couldn’t divine anything other than the obvious from it.

 

“He wanted to not force his vassals to produce the men?” I offered after a second.

 

She shook her head.

 

“Almost. He was asking for a stockpile subsidy from the ducal stores. A bribe.”

 

Wait, what? How the hell had that come across? I hadn’t heard him mention anything like that at all…

 

“Really? Are you… uh, sure?”

 

“He was being polite about it, of course.” Amelia nodded to the gate guard as we left the camp. “But regardless of how truthful the story about his barons was, he wanted me to offer him the full support of the Duke’s stockpile. A bribe.”

 

I thought back to the way he had talked, seeing that the subtext was more obvious in retrospect. He had been quite adamant on how poor the valley was having it, but wasn’t it a little strange I hadn’t heard anyone else talking about prices going up? Surely prices would be higher than normal if everyone had poor harvests. 

 

Something else popped out to me, however.

 

“But didn’t you give him the bribe then?” I asked, remembering the offer of aid she’d done at the end.

 

Amelia looked at me strangely.

 

“He wanted much more than I ended up giving, and I framed it as a favour too. And if that story about his barons was actually truthful, though I doubt it, this will ensure we get our troops sooner rather than later.”

 

“But he got his money.” I said. “And he should’ve made sure we got our troops anyway. Since we got nothing we shouldn’t have already gotten and he got what he did, doesn’t that mean we lost?”

 

She offered me another look.

 

“Lost? Oaths and politics aren’t a game where one always wins and the others are losers. Some might gain more, but everyone benefits from compromise.”

 

“That sounds like something a loser would say.”

 

“Is it losing if he is a part of our team?” Amelia said. “Presume instead that we would’ve gotten no troops at all if I hadn’t offered anything. Conditions cannot be helped sometimes, after all. In that case, we didn’t lose money for no additional gain, but purchased soldiers and favours for cheap where they wouldn’t have come before.”

 

She turned back to the path ahead, leaving the conversation like that. Having nothing else to do while we walked, I inspected the two bottles Count Ephren had given me. One was said to be the highland wine and the other the coastal, but they’d neglected to put any label saying which was which. Was the green bottle the highland? Or the brown?

 

I sighed and turned my head back to the path ahead. Really, both had tasted the same anyway.

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