Chapter 68: Volume 2 - CH 3.2

My third year with the Order.

‘Twas then that I was made one of its high commanders: Emilie Mernesse, newly appointed Dame Mareschal of the 5th.

The reasons were as simple as they were sudden: Bartt Tallien, my predecessor, and the under-mareschal both retired to their respective provinces to assume mastership of their estates. All whilst my deeds at the Battle of Erbelde were given no small recognition.

To great exaggeration in truth, for I very well knew that Rolf’s own merits towered by comparison. Even then, turned to those same merits were naught but blind eyes.

And though ‘tis certain that the 5th’s leaders come and go as quickly as the seasons pass, ‘twas something of a miracle, to be given the mareschal’s cape not more than three years into one’s stay at the Order.

But ‘twas no less exceptional for a swain to remain so three years into his own tenure. That’s right—Rolf was yet my swain, my housecleaner, my hostler, my armourer… my servant. All was as when he first enlisted.

Whilst for her part, Felicia was made brigadier at the same time. Her ascent, too, was no less astounding in its speed.

But as their stations differed more and more, so too did Felicia’s view of her brother muddy with disillusionment. Since the dawn of their lives, Rolf was ever the focus of his dear sister’s unquestioning admiration. Little wonder, then, as to why Felicia found it a Sisyphean task to accept her brother’s lot.

‘Twas heartwrenching, to look on as their sibling bond ailed like it did. Heartwrenching again, to be of no avail to them in the slightest. Even as mareschal. Even as their most intimate peer for all of their lives.

I very well did what I could to free Rolf from the yoke of swainhood. To be granted a knightly accolade was a surefire way, and ‘twas in my power as mareschal to nominate him for that exact honour. The Marquis Norden gathered such requests not less than twice a year—opportunities that I seized with great proaction.

Our foul fortune, then, that each and every time, Rolf’s was the lone nomination to bear no fruit. The Marquis seemed adamant in his scorn for the ungraced, and so by his cold heart was Rolf made to remain my swain.

Of course, status was but one avenue to afford him the respect that he deserved. As mareschal, I was vested with authority over human resources in the 5th. Thus was it always in the back of my mind to perhaps make Rolf a swain to another knight.

But in the end, ‘twas a fancy never acted upon. By that time, I’d grown somewhat adept at suppressing my more… unsightly feelings.

Those of… no longer wanting to see Rolf tend to my horse.

Of pitying my once-betrothed, whose hands, once destined for gallantry, seemed of late more acquainted with steed-reins than a sword grip.

Though perhaps the choice was long since lost. After all, no mareschal would be suffered were hers an authority exercised for her own interests. And ‘twas a fact that the Orders were fervent in their observance of hierarchies. To blatantly ignore the status quo and move personnel about as I pleased was to betray the expectations of my office.

Hence did I surrender the thought.

♰

Upon a day of that same year, I’d brought back a reconnaissance report to my chambers, and there, skimmed through its contents as per usual.

Our patrollers here at the 5th follow a certain protocol. Any region subject to their watch would be divided into a number of areas, and the hostiles discovered therein would be tallied—be they Nafílim, behemót, and the like. The results are next juxtaposed to past observations, and through some arithmetics, what we’d coined the “threat level” for the region would then be calculated and any notable trends recorded.

This was hardly fruitless ado, for it very well served to guide where we might more effectively allocate our resources. ‘Twas none other than Rolf himself who devised it all in the year prior, and I who brought it to Tallien’s desk when he was yet mareschal. Then, too, did I insist that ‘twas all of Rolf’s design, but Tallien’s were not ears receptive to praises for a man ungraced.

As for the report itself—upon one of its sections did my eyes linger. If the patrollers saw true and the calculations were sound, then ‘twas certain: over the last few moons, the threat levels at Mt. Godrika had been waning. And markedly so, at that.

A mountain, hiding in its bowels whole monoliths of silver ore. Or more a haunted lair, for whilst Londosius once called the place its own long ago, the mountain and the tunnels beneath it soon became the stamping grounds of the behemót. But as with all things, this, too, changed.

Behemót themselves are as varied of forms as they are fickle in their migrations. And like their more mundane counterparts, they are prone to interspecies conflict, whether for territory or sustenance. All this can culminate in rather sudden fluctuations in their disparate populations.

Possible, then, that the thinning of their numbers at Godrika was but a part of this temporary pattern. Possible again was the arisen prospect of cleaning them out altogether. Were we to strike while the iron is hot, Godrika would be ours again. And then, into the eager armouries of Londosius would go its mounds and mounds of silver.

I thought then—strongly, albeit naïvely—that this must needs be acted upon.

Inspired, thereafter did I summon the leaders of the 5th and broached to them a plan to recapture the Godrika Minery. The waning threats within the region, the opportunity newly unveiled—all was related to much detail. And once their ears had their fill of my vouching, the leaders’ enthusiasm was unanimous.

Untold prestige would be bestowed to the 5th, were we to succeed.

This, we all believed.

This, we were all taken with.

We were of the 5th, after all. For ’tis by Londosius’ own decree that the Orders are numbered as befits their strength, with the 1st being the most capable by far—to say nothing of its mareschal, in her own right a sword unmatched in all the kingdom itself.

And what of the 5th? The bottom of the barrel, to put it one way, where gathered the coddled issue of the aristocracy, there only to idle their days away till brighter prospects fell upon their laps.

And fall one did, to all of our laps: Godrika. Recapture its depths, and our wayward lot might attain distinction far greater than any of the other Orders’ ever had in the last few years. How fevered we were then, goaded by dreams of medals, decorations, and titles, as we worked to bring it all to fruition.

Almost a month of preparations followed, riddled with meetings with the leadership. We sent scouts to peer through Mt. Godrika with a fine-toothed comb, to reassess the behemót’s numbers to greater accuracy. Then did we rally the brigades, brief them on their duties, and establish a chain of command specific to the operation.

Forming the rest of the plans was a charge I was keen to shoulder alone. Whether it be devising the logistics, charting out our marching path, selecting the ideal location to erect our camp, all and much more I sleeplessly handled over those few weeks.

By the end of it, I was sapped and wearied. But the plans were, at last, complete—perfect, even—and drawn to my wholehearted satisfaction. How long had it been since I’d last felt such fulfilment?

I wasn’t alone in the effort. The leaders, too, were spent, but no less aglow with pride in their work and excitement for all that was to come.

♰

Again was I sat at my desk, thumbing through papers of a different purpose: the operation plans, full-writ to the tiniest detail. My magnum opus, one could say. Just looking upon it warmed my face to a smile. ‘Twas then that I broached to Rolf of it, who stood nearby, busied with cleaning.

“Rolf, we’ve drawn up plans for the next operation. Come and have a look, if you can?”

“Plans, my Lady?” Rolf turned to me, and then to the papers I held to him. “Classified materials—are you certain?”

“I am.”

His doubt was warranted. To willfully draw the eyes of a swain to the plans of an operation—upon the eve of its announcement, of all times—no doubt breached many protocols.

But I could scarce help myself. Dearly did I wish for Rolf to see it: the first set of plans drawn by my quill since assuming the post of mareschal. An operation produced from mountainous toil, to be executed on a scale hitherto unseen. And perhaps… I wanted to see the look of surprise on Rolf’s face once again. For ‘twas certain: I count in years since last I saw any brightness upon his mien.

The shuffling of paper. The quietude of his perusing gaze. In that eternal moment, my heart raced.

But when words most unexpected parted from his lips, I very well felt my own face turn to stone.

“My Lady,” he said at last, looking up from the papers. “I believe these plans are in need of some reassessments.”

“…Reassessments?” My heart stopped. “Where, exactly?”

“‘Where’, might not be the word. If I may be blunt, this operation’s actionability itself must needs be reexamined.”

“…What? How can you say that!?” The disbelief almost left me breathless. ‘Twas indeed blunt of him, to put it lightly. “Rolf, need I remind you of all that our kingdom stands to gain should we capture these mines?”

“We would gain much, true, but I believe that there loom losses greater again. Godrika offers us only silver, my Lady—nothing else.”

“I’m fully aware. But ‘tis the sheer bounty of the silver itself that is more the point, Rolf!”

“Silver is a resource most precious to our military pillars, my Lady, one that our kingdom forbids the export of. All that we extract from Godrika goes into meeting the demands of the war effort. Put simply, we stock our store of silver and our armies shall swell along with it.”

Rolf spoke right.

Were we to avail ourselves with all the silver Godrika had to offer, ‘twas very likely that not a single knight in any of the Orders would go unfitted with argent gear. But that was hardly a prospect to dread.

“Listen, Rolf. Suppose for a moment we capture Godrika, and put silver arms and armour into the hands of all of our officers. You must know just how tremendous of an advantage that avails us in our fight against the Nafílim?”

Such an obvious matter this was. That Rolf himself seemed dimmed to it sparked some irritation in me.

‘Twas by no means a swain’s office to consider things well beyond his grasp, and from them make decisions more sweeping than he can imagine. Yet that was hardly what I expected from him at the moment. I strove to much exhaustion to see this through. Could he not see that, at least?

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“Think of all the comrades-in-arms we can save!” I went on. “And our families! Our loved ones! But more than anything, it brings us so much closer to ending the Nafílim once and for all.”

“Nay, my Lady. Godrika only portends a greater need of gravestones for our comrades.”

“And why’s that!?”

“The battles we bear at present are plenty enough, yet Central seeks to stretch the lines of each of these battlefields all the more. The burdens upon them will weigh heavily and heavier still should we arm and sharpen ourselves further—burdens Central is overeager to heave upon us.”

“Burden? The only burden I see is the one upon your shoulders! Proof, Rolf! Have you any at all? That Central would be so insatiable!?”

“None, my Lady.”

“Then why speak against it so!?”

Before I knew it, my voice had grown hoarse.

How long ago was it that I began sharing in Felicia’s feelings? Of being frustrated with Rolf? With his plight? His conduct? Perhaps much further back than I’d like to admit. Only, the whole time, I was wont to blind myself from it.

A riling annoyance, once bottled up, but now ready to burst into the fore. This, I felt. And yet, there Rolf was, unmoved by it as he continued on.

“Furthermore, I cannot see the need to bring an end to all Nafílim.”

“Rolf…!?”

An utterance I wished were an illusion upon my ears.

Ours are days filled with battles. Ours: the good people of the good realm of Londosius.

And for what?

Peace for all of Man.

Surety for all our futures.

Both and more forever slips from our grasp, so long as the Nafílim are left unextinguished. ‘Tis grave folly to deny it.

Was it, then, that in the course of too many days of too much grief, and surrendering himself to meekness and servility, that Rolf began to look where the rest of us dared not?

“My Lady, it betrays reason to expect that we may ever bring about the extinction of any kind.”

“‘Tis precisely why we toil away in our duties, is it not!? That we might usher in some chance to an impossibility? Rolf, we have momentum in this war! Were we to stay the path at all costs, then surely the day would come! The day when the war is done at last—and the Nafílim along with it!”

“‘Tis naught but a path of pure carnage you would have us walk, my Lady.”

“You speak nonsense, Rolf!”

By now, I was forgetting myself. My head was aboil. For never could I have imagined that Rolf, of all people, would so spurn our reason to fight.

‘Tis true that he himself faced no meagre spurning. Yoná had denied him of his due. Of Her grace, of the odyl we all hold so dear. And its lacking was as a mark of sin upon his head, there to rouse groundless enmity from any lamb of Yoná that might spy it and know its meaning.

Still, ‘twouldn’t do for anyone, even for one as misfortuned as Rolf, to be derelict in this holy battle against the Wicked. What good does it do him, to be so cowed? To give up fighting in the name of our Deiva for want of Her love? He is born a kin of Man. And so must he fight for those he holds dear, for all his fellow Men, and for the world itself.

So simple and pure a truth this was. Yet, why couldn’t Rolf, in all of his wisdom, understand it?

“Moreover,” he spoke again, “I cannot abet the soundness of this operation, if it executes on grounds that the threat within the mines is thinned.”

“Threat? Threat, Rolf? ‘Twas none other than you who came up with the calculations for measuring such threats!”

Verily. ‘Twas his own counsel that birthed it. Ironic, then, that it played so vital a role in bringing to fruition an operation he so opposed.

“I believe the behemót may have vacated themselves rather too asudden. Why this came to be bears much needed consideration and scrutiny,” Rolf explained.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, as an example, a menace of a behemá may have made itself home in the mines, and by its ruthless nature, has been weeding out its weaker kin.”

“What’s this? A ‘menace of a behemá’, you say? Your fancies have taken a flight too far, Rolf!”

“Perhaps they have, my Lady. Perhaps there is no such specimen. But just as well, it simply may be that our scouts have not discovered it as of yet.”

Not a step would Rolf yield in this matter. That much was clear to me by then. And so did I take a deep breath, to soothe my quivering veins.

“Rolf,” I began anew, “I understand well that your place here may become all the more perilous should we avail our armouries with more silver. But I’m the mareschal of this Order now. Much injury and injustice it has done you, I know. Yet with me as its commander, I’ll make certain that you’ll not be ailed by such abuse any longer.”

With my eyes locked squarely upon Rolf, I delivered those very words.

With a wish that this sincerest thought of mine might be conveyed to him, I delivered the following.

“I am ever and always your ally, Rolf. But just as I would give my all for you, I need you to do the same for me—to think upon yourself, of what it means to be a knight, of why we fight with so much desperation. Won’t you do this for me?”

Were even our greenest knights to be donned with silver gear, no longer would Rolf know victory, not even in sword practice where he dominated so. This ill prospect hardly escaped me. But hardly again could I, mareschal to this Order, abort this operation, just to secure what precarious standing Rolf had in these halls.

‘I would give my all for you.’

With no frail will had I uttered those words. The operation must go on, but in return, ‘twas my full intent to do all I could to mitigate the abuses trained upon Rolf.

My most intimate resolve, one that Rolf seemingly disregarded with his next words.

“Even still, my Lady. I am opposed to this operation.”

A chill through the body.

A freezing of the blood.

A sapping of the humours. Felt then. Remembered, even now.

Thereafter did I take another deep breath, and with all emotion killed from my heart and timbre both, I spoke again.

“Rolf. This is what the Order itself has decided upon. Such strategic matters shall neither heed nor abide dissent from a mere swain.”

“…My apologies, Mareschal.”

Thus did Rolf return to his chores.

Thus did I lean back heavily into my chair.

A richly leathern chair, made to complement a grand desk of mahogany wood.

How frigid it felt against my skin, that leather.

And how distant I felt from Rolf. Though we were right in the same room. Though he was right beside me, doing his duty of housecleaning.

Oh, how I wanted to run away from it all.

But left with nowhere, I merely shut them from my sight.

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