Chapter 192: Interlude: Civil War V

Nicholas of Cernlia, third king of that name and Duke of Heathland, Duke of Silver Waters and Lord of the Eastern Expanse, was not a patient man. He knew that failing, acknowledged it in private, but unfortunately, handling it was harder than he liked.

He had a great deal to be impatient about, nowadays. He had been having rather a bad day. A bad year, in truth. Still, when he saw his courtier, yet another fawning fool trying for honors he had not earned, flinch back after being upbraided, he chided himself for losing hold of his temper, even as he knew it would happen again.

A king must be measured in word and deed, and only give offense when there is greater advantage to be had, his father had always told him. Of course, his father had also liked to beat him when he gave offense, when he was too meek, or sometimes - rather intemperately, really - just for the fun of it, he suspected. As a consequence, his old man’s words of wisdom often rang hollow to him.

“Your Majesty?” Zephyr called from further down the hall, an edge of impatience in his tone.

The king suppressed another spurt of anger and hurried along to join the Thaumaturge. He could not afford to upset the man today, he reminded himself, even if he was a churlish prick at the best of times.

“Zephyr,” he greeted him as he reached the mage, not bothering to offer any gesture of greeting. “I hope this is worth it.”

“Getting doubts about the plan, my king?” Zephyr asked, and Nicholas suspected he saw a mocking glint in his eyes.

He was relatively certain the prick was angling for a position as official court mage. That did not seem to stop him from being unpleasant. Unfortunately, he was quite useful. On the battlefield, even if he kept getting his tamed wyverns shot out from under him recently, as well as outside it.

“If I had, we would be having a different conversation,” he replied curtly. “What was it you wanted to tell me, Zephyr?”

They were currently standing in the back of the small, half-broken-down mansion his army was encamped around at present. No one else was nearby, his bodyguards had seen to it. Still, he would rather not hold an extended conversation here.

“It’s about the Nerlians, of course,” Zephyr began.

Nicholas’ jaw clenched. That was indeed unsurprising, as their allies had been a giant pain in his neck almost from the beginning, but especially in the last few days. He should probably remind the other man, and himself, that said allies had come to help him wage war with no expectation of gain for themselves, but hells to that. He had helped his dunce of an in-law with that foolish war against the elves, the least he was owed was to hold out for this strife threatening his own crown. That bastard cousin of his would not hesitate to take advantage of any openings he left, gods curse him. He should have had him killed after he took the throne, and his entire misbegotten line with him. Then they wouldn’t have this trouble now.

"Have they caused further delays?” he asked, focusing on the here and now.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Derrek Zephyr replied seriously. “It’s nothing we cannot handle, my king, but we will need to delay our departure. Several minor setbacks have piled up. I believe it might be best to wait until night falls, in fact.”

The king ground his teeth. “Won’t that make it harder for you?” he asked after a moment, forcefully keeping his tone calm.

“It will be manageable,” Zephyr replied, although the way his expression hardened made it clear he was none too pleased. He likely would face more difficulty than he had expected. “I think the increase in secrecy will be worth it at this point.”

He nodded, glancing out of a nearby window. Nightfall was only some hours away, anyhow. “Ride the Nerlian mages as hard as you must,” he ordered his mage. “Use my name if you need to, and requisition whatever materials or guards you might require.”

Zephyr bowed his head. “As you say, Your Majesty. I will get it done.”

That most likely meant he should soothe some ruffled feathers, the king considered as the mage walked away. He would speak to his wife and set her to maintaining relations with her Nerlian countrymen. At least taking the lady along had some use, for all that she would be worse than useless for any other task, much less if blades were required. She had not even managed to provide an heir for him, or he would have something else to use as a bridge.

Well, at least two of his bastards were distinguishing themselves in this war. If her womb remained barren and relations with Nerlia worsened, he might yet legitimize one of them. It would be very impolitic currently, of course. But considering that leaving the line of succession unclear invited disasters like Lyns’ little tantrum, he needed to do something.

As always, Queen Rosalie received him with exquisite courtesy. Neither of them particularly liked the other, he suspected, but at least she had never given him reason to complain about her conduct. She took his ‘request’ to speak to her family’s men well and left after exchanging equally polite goodbyes, leaving him behind in the living quarters assigned to the royal couple. He would have preferred separate quarters, in truth, but a demonstration of unity and close ties seemed useful. He sent for a glass of wine and attended to some correspondence while waiting, the work going slowly as he often caught himself following distractions.

Finally, he was called upon by an attendant. After making sure his appearance was in order, he left to see to his camp.

The army had seen better days, he had to admit, and it was apparent from even a casual look. They had managed to contain the sickness that had spread among his soldiers, but the ragged edges were still there. It did not help that many of the more professional troops had been killed, compared to levies, since he had ordered his lords to raise fresh ones. The center of the camp was orderly and calm, but the order did decline as one went outward. Of course, it was also currently in a state of some disarray, so he supposed that would make it look worse.

Derrek Zephyr found him quickly. The man had a knack for that, to the point where the king had sometimes wondered if he was using some magic for it.

“Your Majesty,” the mage bowed, looking almost perfunctory, but then he always did. “We are preparing and should be ready soon.”

King Nicholas nodded. “Have there been any further problems?” he asked.

In answer, Zephyr gave an explanation he struggled to follow. It had far too many technical terms, he thought with a scowl. Mages always found it necessary to dress up their importance in flowery words and elegant metaphors, if they bothered to explain their arcane workings to the ungifted.

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He balled his hands into fists, then unclenched them. He had hoped, once, he would be able to take a mage Class, like his father and quite a few of his ancestors. Unfortunately, the best option had been King. Which is still very useful, he told himself, a familiar refrain. What do I care if some call it less prestigious than some rare, oh-so-special Class? As if I did not have the talent for another. It genuinely helps me rule, which is more than many fools with combat Classes can say.

“Zephyr,” he interrupted the Thaumaturge briskly. “Get to the point. Are you ready to enact the plan or not?”

Zephyr stopped and a frown whisked across his face. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, sounding disgruntled at being cut off. “I am ready, although I must warn you that there is some chance for complications. I do not believe we have true cause to worry, however.”

The king huffed. Mages always warned of ‘possible complications’. “Then we should get to it,” he ordered.

They walked through the center of the camp, his bodyguards keeping the surrounding soldiers and officers away from him. He examined them with a critical eye. They had decided to maintain the pretense as long as feasible, which unfortunately included leaving some resources behind. Still, many huts were already empty, tents being packed up or likewise emptied. Soldiers assembled in the growing darkness, only the sparse light of torches showing their faces. The torches themselves were not moved from where they would usually be at nightfall, of course.

After a few minutes, they reached the prepared grounds for the ritual. He paused and inspected it as well, although he knew he would only see the surface trappings of what truly went on here. Cernlian and Nerlian mages stood and whispered together, while others busied themselves with the ritual components or directing groups of soldiers.

“Everything is in order,” Zephyr stated, sounding satisfied.

The king nodded slowly, frowning as he looked at the prepared grounds. They had drawn a circle of melted gold around where the mages would stand, a hideous expense even if his coffers weren’t nearing empty. It had better be worth it, he thought.

Ritual magic was often overlooked, he had been told, because of its inherent demands and finicky nature. It was not that the System did not empower it as it did other magic; only that it did not do so as much as it did Spells. If one could simply learn Spells with the System’s help, why seek out something as risky as this instead? Consequently, there were very few ritual specialists to be had. Zephyr, fortunately, was apparently quite a bit more skilled at it than any of his potential rivals in Cernlia. And Nerlia had always been more inclined towards it than his own realm.

Now, it appeared as if the days of arguing mages, which might have escalated into outright brawls more than once, and growing restlessness among everyone else were finally paying off.

“Your Majesty,” someone greeted him. “A great undertaking.”

He turned and smiled as he saw Lord Louis approaching, the Nerlian dignitary representing his king in this war. He was a cousin of his wife, in fact, so the king was required to treat him with all due courtesy. “Indeed it is, Milord,” he agreed. “A splendid showing of what our people may accomplish by working together.”

“That will truly be shown once we put the fear into our enemies,” the Nerlian replied with a smile that showed a flash of teeth. He had always been rather enthusiastic about their cause, if not to say belligerent.

“I am looking forward to that,” the king replied, his smile becoming somewhat more genuine, as he glanced at the lords assembling around them.

There were less than he would have liked, in some ways. He would have preferred to have more of them close by, where he could keep an eye on them.

King Nicholas had known that pushing that damned cousin of his the way he had might lead to the outbreak of war. It would be something of a lie to say he had not expected the possibility he would start rebelling, in fact. It would have allowed the king to destroy him out in the open. But what he had not expected was the number or caliber of noblemen, his own sworn vassals, who had flocked to the marquis’ side. Even before those damned monsterbloods - Hivekind, apparently, of all the absurdities - who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere had chosen to throw in with him, things had grown beyond his control. Not so far it couldn’t be salvaged, of course, but the price was higher than he might have thought at the start. A cost that might mark his realm for years and decades to come. Peasants took time to recoup their numbers.

Now he looked at them and could not help but wonder which might turn traitor next. He was still their king, and his strength was still stronger than they could take on, yet he knew it was not beyond reach. Heathland and Silver Waters were not particularly large, as duchies went. That was why his family had always endeavored to keep them concentrated in one hand. Except for that time when his first namesake had been forced to hand the latter to his younger son, but everyone who mattered knew it had truly been the much-revered governor behind the move, trying to limit the crown’s power. And now Lyns was shamelessly bribing the newest Cern to gild his own claim, spitting on what their ancestor had accomplished.

Maybe his line isn’t the only one in need of a purge once this is all over, he reflected in the back of his mind. Something to consider, perhaps. For now, it was time to start what would hopefully be the first step in crushing his enemy.

Once everyone who would be watching had assembled and the preparations were truly complete, the mages gathered in the middle of the marked circle. Zephyr had timed it well, he saw, as the last light of the sun was just beginning to vanish beyond the horizon.

Light gathered in the circle, first lighting up the ground, then spreading as brighter lines along the gold laid out, making it glow with power. A moment later, the color shifted to a deep red, and he breathed in sharply as he felt an almost palpable tingle, a faint sense of power hanging in the air like a charge on a stormy night.

Then the light spread out into a larger circle, glowing quickly until it reached the planned diameter ten times larger than the internal circle. This one, he knew, had been carefully crafted out of copper and then hidden under the earth, to prevent it being seen.

He tore his eyes away from the center of the ritual to look at the soldiers standing in ranks beyond. They shifted and more than a few clutched their weapons. Beyond them, the light continued to spread, until it reached the outer circle - corresponding roughly to the limits of the camp.

A red light began to shine, too far away from the center he stood near to see the exact phenomenon, but he did not need to. He knew it marked the true boundary. Anything between the middle and outer circle would be subject to the boon granted by the ritual. Only those who had no need for it, such as himself and the lords who would ride on horses or in carriages, and certain selected veteran soldiers, would be excluded.

The rest, the remainder of his gathered army, were slowly dyed in a red light, giving the ranks of soldiers a sinister appearance. They would now be benefitting from the ritual’s effect, able to march rapidly and tirelessly beyond what they were otherwise capable of. It was not as large an effect as a proper Haste Spell, he had been told.

Of course, unlike such a Spell, the ritual’s strengthening would last for days, not mere minutes. It meant he currently had the fastest army on the continent. King Nicholas found himself smiling as he gazed at the ranks of his troops. Several of the mages in the central circle appeared to collapse from exhaustion, but he paid them no mind.

He had what he required.

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