Interlude A1.VII
The Crown Coalition
10 years ago…
Tragusa, Uruth Region
The sun felt like it was trying to cook Vaast alive, its angry rays stabbing at him through the thin clouds hanging over the city of Ragusium. He squirmed in his fancy doublet, trying to tug at the tight collar without his mother noticing. The thing felt like he was wearing a torture device, and sweat made his back stick to the heavy cloth, increasing his discomfort. He missed Broceliande’s cool, shady forests, where he could run around without anyone shushing him. But instead, he was here, standing still, feeling like a mouse caught in a trap, while his mother kept giving him that look. Behave yourself, those eyes said.
Vaast glanced over at the queen’s daughter, who stood a few paces away with her nurse. She was staring off into space, her little face scrunched up like she’d eaten something sour. Probably thought she was better than everyone, but Vaast knew better. She was just a brat with too many ribbons in her hair, and he was glad she wasn’t close enough to hear him sigh. She was younger than him, but not by much—she was probably no older than six or seven. She had this way of looking at him like she was about to tattle to her mother about something. As if being a princess made her so special.
He shifted again, glancing up at his father. He was talking quietly with the other Assembly members, all serious faces and low voices. They’d traveled here with Queen Ermetrude and her escort—her whole procession winding down from Broceliande like a long, colorful snake. Vaast knew they were supposed to be here to end the war with Olendar, but it was hard to care about things like treaties and peace when his shoes were pinching his toes. His father said it was important, though, and that Vaast needed to be on his best behavior. But no one told him how hard that would be in a place as hot and sticky as Uruth.
Everything here felt strange. The city of Ragusium, or Tragusa as the locals called it, was big and loud, with buildings that seemed to pile on top of each other. It was nice, sure, but it wasn’t like home. The grand building they were staying in might have impressed some, but to Vaast, it felt cramped compared to their hunting lodge up north, where the rooms were wide and open, with windows that let in the scent of pine and earth. Here, the air was thick and heavy, smelling of spices and sweat. Even the people were different. The Olenish had dark skin and hair that gleamed in the sunlight, their broad shoulders and stern faces making them look like warriors from one of his bedtime stories. The towered over his father and the other members of the Assembly. To Vaast, the Uruthians didn’t look much different from the Olenish, though their brown skin was a couple shades lighter than the Olenish and they had light colored eyes, like Vaast and his family. They were supposed to be part of Broceliande, or so his father said. But they seemed more like the Olenish to him, and that made everything confusing.
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Vaast was about to ask his mother how much longer they had to wait when a sound, deep and rumbling, rolled over the square. The crowd’s murmurs fell silent, heads turning toward the approaching thunder. Vaast’s heart skipped a beat as the noise grew louder, clearer, until he could make out the rhythm of drums and the clinking of metal. And then, they appeared.
The garuda were huge, towering creatures with feathers as bright as jewels, their talons clicking against the stone streets as they marched. Vaast’s eyes widened as he took them in—red, green, blue, and yellow feathers all shimmering under the sunlight, covered in plates of armor that looked too heavy for any bird to wear. But the garuda moved like it was nothing, their riders sitting tall and proud on their backs. The soldiers looked like knights from a storybook, their armor shining, their helmets adorned with plumes that fluttered in the breeze. They carried banners high, the crimson flags snapping in the wind, each one marked with golden crowns, swords, and a wreath. Vaast had never seen anything like it. The Crown Coalition Forces had arrived in Ragusium.
At the front of the procession rode a man who seemed to command the very air around him. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, his hair such a light blond that it was nearly white, and his eyes were the lightest green Vaast had ever seen. They reminded him of the ice that covered the ponds back home during the winter freeze, cold and sharp. The man’s beard was trimmed neatly, and his expression was so stern, Vaast felt a shiver run down his spine. His mother leaned down, whispering, “That is Davin Astares.” Vaast’s throat went dry. This man was a leader of the Crown Coalition Forces. Vaast heard many stories of the Forces, whispered in the dark by the fireside late at night; stories about battles fought against the monsters from beyond the Green Sea. He’d always thought those tales were just that—stories—but seeing these men, especially Davin Astares, they looked even more powerful than Vaast could have imagined.
As the garuda passed, the crowd erupted in cheers, a roar that made the stones under Vaast’s feet tremble. He felt his breath catch, his heart pounding in his chest. Davin Astares seemed larger than life, like a hero from the legends his nurse maid used to tell him about, the ones who slayed dragons and saved kingdoms. And here he was, leading soldiers who fought real monsters, not the kind that hid under beds but the ones that could tear a man apart.
For a moment, Vaast forgot all about the heat, the itch of his collar, and the bratty princess. All he could do was stare, wide-eyed, as the men who kept the tide of monsters at bay rode past him, knowing deep down that this was something he’d never forget.