1

The town of Firras, named after the sierra by which it nestled, was a lot like Grelden by the origin story. Both settlements had started out as army encampments, and had over time evolved into proper towns by the grace of their favorable positioning along a major highway. But where centuries of peace had made the memory of Grelden’s militaristic past all but fade, Firras remained primarily an army stronghold to this very day.

It would’ve been a big mistake to assume the pass unguarded despite the lack of obvious walls and gates. It was chiefly smugglers, tax-evaders, human traffickers, and runaway criminals the border patrols typically had to watch out for, with a force to match, but times had changed. The garrison had been ordered to assume the highest state of alertness since early summer. Two additional regiments of men had been sent in, and work was busily underway to embolden the town’s fortifications. Vast, cubic hills of cut stone had been piled outside on the fields, to be spent on widening and elevating the perimeter wall. Half the borough had become surrounded by construction scaffolds, through which the faint lights of the residential houses gleamed in the rainy night.

Virtually everything had gone wrong with the Imperials’ plans for this part. The Kingdom’s rangers knew the mountains like the back of their hand and had spotted the Tratovian scouts very early in the day, without giving away their own positions. They had sent word to the garrison, who wasted no time readying the reception.

The white banners, light equipment, and recalling the scouts were the main reasons why the guests weren’t preemptively ambushed and apprehended. Yet, even when dressed in symbols of peace, it wasn’t easy to believe a force of armed knights came with honorable intentions. Certainly, their mission would’ve been stopped there—if not for her majesty’s presence. Yuliana hadn’t been only excessively optimistic in thinking her name would carry them through—although, not even the lady herself likely realized the full weight of her importance. The Knight Princess of Langoria was a true celebrity in her homeland, and there were none on this side of the Firras who didn’t know who she was. With her in charge, the situation wouldn’t escalate in violence, although a great deal of explaining was due.

The company was allowed to proceed and were escorted into the town and away from the rain. Under a close watch, naturally, but as guests in name rather than prisoners of war. As intended. Despite the lack of refinement in the execution, they had achieved their goal and established communications—half the victory, albeit also half only.

Some time after, the leaders of the two parties gathered in the garrison’s fortified main building, behind the closed doors of the commander’s office. As late as the timing was, the urgent nature of the case didn’t allow them to wait till morning.

Representing the Lagnorians were the previously named Colonel Foulton, the commander of the garrison, and a few other local officers. In addition to the Empress and the Prince, present were also Miragrave, General Monterey, Margitte, select other officers, the bard, and also Millanueve—as the bodyguard least challenged in terms of diplomacy. Having escorted her father, the Baron of Ludegwert, on many diplomatic occasions since early childhood, she knew better than to inject her personal thoughts into the conversation. She sat in the back and tried very hard to appear completely invisible.

No one would tell her, but Millanueve’s presence also served a more psychological purpose; no one looking at the Barony’s maiden knight could possibly think she was knowingly part of any sinister plot, and the sight of her alone did small but vital work at smoothing the tensions.

The company set their chairs in a loose circle about a wide, brightly burning hearth, lamb furs on to keep warm in the cold, damp night. The barracks had nothing like a central heating system, but worldly comfort was the last thing on anyone’s mind.

After establishing the basic facts, no one spoke for quite some time.

No one wants to fight, her majesty had claimed before, but it was an affair too complex to be solved by simply declaring, “let’s make peace!” There were many factors and perspectives to be considered, advantages and disadvantages, and the crew sat silenced by the solemn responsibility on them while long shadows danced on the walls and the ceiling about them.

Warming her hands on a fresh cup of tea, Yuliana glanced again at the Colonel seated to her left.

Foulton was in his early fifties, a man tall and thin, but also tough, hardened by the long years of service, tempered by fire and ice alike. His short, silvery hair, and narrow, creased face gave him a rather caesarean air, but he was not a noble; a soldier for all of his life. He had previously served as a training officer in the capital’s special forces, which was what connected him to Yuliana. But through their past dealings as a cadet and an instructor, she also knew him to be a man of stark opinions, paranoid by trade, and at times rather crude in conduct. Whenever the Colonel made up his mind about something, it was the truth, the only absolute truth that mattered, and it was borderline impossible to make him see alternatives. In this sense, he was a true man of his country, but it was also why she considered this reunion an unlucky event.

“Is General Harris not here?” Yuliana asked the officer.

“No,” Foulton replied with a slight shake of his head, as if stirred from deep reflection. “Henry was—discharged. Back in the spring. They put me in his place.”

“Discharged?” she repeated with a frown.

“Yes,” he confirmed, his stare in the fire. “For letting you go. For the loss of Baron Eisley and his squad. His majesty was furious when he heard. Someone had to take the fall, and Henry got the short end of the stick. He is a persona non grata in the city now. I hear he retired somewhere in Veldun. There’s his family home, or something of the like. Retirement in name, house arrest in practice. Don’t know much else, didn’t ask. I’d be surprised if he didn’t off himself one of these days. The man was loyal to the bone and he didn’t take the turn too well.”

“Even though I told father where I was going and why…” Yuliana bent her gaze down to the floor in regret. “He should’ve known better than to blame others for it.”

“Good Lord, what did you think was going to happen?” the Colonel turned to her and retorted. “Your father loves you, Yuliana. You were his everything. The man straight up lost his marbles when you took off—whatever devil possessed you to do that, anyway? I never would’ve thought you’d be capable of something so stupid, not in a million years.”

“It was not love my father felt for me,” she answered, evading his stare. “I had my reasons. But that’s not what we’re here for tonight.”

Yuliana proceeded to share the story of what happened after her departure from Langoria, keeping to the main points; how she was seized on the Emperor’s orders in the Principality and escorted on to Bhastifal; how she had, at the end of a rather bizarre series of events, been elected to replace the deceased Emperor, to safeguard the future and stability of the realm. How she had, together with her friends, worked to undo various sources of conflict throughout the realm.

The summary brought her, at last, to this rainy fort on the eve of war.

It was an extraordinary account, to say the least, and Colonel Foulton visibly struggled to digest some of the twists in it. The Imperial officers attested to the truthfulness of the tale, but not even repeated assurances by the various witnesses could fully make him a believer. He wouldn’t outright say it, but it was probably easier to think the Imperials had fed the story to her for the sake of some hidden agenda.

“If there is one thing you can take from this tale as true,” the Marshal of Tratovia told the Langorian, “it’s that now is quite possibly the worst conceivable time in history for any of us to go to war. A truce is all we seek, whatever the cost. Vows of eternal friendship will not be required.”

“Colonel,” Yuliana ended her narrative in a more personal plea. “Will you take me to see my father? Help make peace with him before it’s too late?”

Foulton leaned on his knees, twisted his face in internal conflict, his gaze in the hearth. And he shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

The man answered with unease, as though loath to reveal such things in the Imperials’ presence.

“The King is…He’s not himself. You need to understand this. Things have changed since you left. His majesty suffers none to oppose him now. He sees enemies everywhere—good folk are jailed and put to death for the flimsiest reasons. And he blames it all on the Empire, fears them like the plague. I don’t love Tratovians either, never did, and I’m not going to lie about it. But this is something else. Only last week, his majesty had eight hundred lambs on a field by the city butchered and burned, thinking Imperial wizards had possessed them to spy on him. It’s madness, Yuliana. The border is closed. The King has ordered us to not let in anyone unless we can be sure of their loyalties. Which means technically no one. If I took you and your new friends to Walhollem now—we’re not talking about simply falling out of grace now, I could lose my godsdamned head, and so could all who go with us. I can’t ask my men to risk a traitor’s death and public disgrace, not even for you.”

“Please,” Yuliana said nevertheless, and looked the man straight in the eye. “There will be war. If we do nothing. Perhaps the most destructive war this realm has ever seen. This isn’t about which country waves its flag when it’s all over. Many, many people, most of them completely innocent, will die and suffer in vain, because of the man I call my father. I have to do this. I have to face him. Before all we swore to protect is gone.”

“On behalf of my own people as well,” the Prince added,“I ask that you lend us your aid, Colonel. We in Luctretz have little love for Tratovia—not more than you do—yet you leave us precious little choice if you mean to ride in arms against us. The Principality will ally with the Black Banner. Is this truly where you turn your back on your brothers, who have walked hand in hand with you through the centuries and who hold naught but good faith for your land?”

Everyone watched and waited for Foulton’s response with bated breath.

The man shook his head again with a weary sigh, joined his fingers in front of his face, weighed his unfavorable options. But whatever he personally felt about the situation, he couldn’t deny the values governing his nation now were not the ones he had taken an oath to uphold. If there was anyone under the sun who could change the mad King’s mind, it would have to be his daughter, the one who had offset him in the first place…Surely.

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“By the Lord!” Foulton finally exhaled in frustration and sat back. “I’ll take you. I don’t know if this is providence, or only a bad joke, but I’ll see you to Walhollem. But don’t blame me, whatever happens there! It’s out of my hands!”

“Thank you.” Yuliana said. “That is enough.”

In a voice a level firmer, Foulton looked at the Tratovians and added, “Make me regret this and there’ll be nowhere on this earth you can run to.”

To this, they said nothing.

2

It poured through the whole night. Under a nominal watch, the Imperial company took shelter in the two larger inns in the town, while their horses and carriages were left in the garrison’s shelter. Thanks to the forced suspension of tourism, the local lodges had an abundance of room. At the time the leaders were away in their conference, the troops had late supper and began then to quietly maintain their gear, alert and ready, too restless to sleep before learning the outcome of the negotiations.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, General Monterey’s adjutant went around informing the force that they had reached an agreement with the locals, alongside a temporary truce. The cavalcade would stay at the Firras for a day, and then depart for the capital.

Upon the good news, fatigue was quickly shed and the mood turned almost merry. The troops made themselves at home and soon virtually every available inch of the tavern building was occupied by uniform clothes and pieces of armor hung up to dry on improvised clotheslines. Stoves and boilers burned red through the night. As soon as they were done with the menial chores, the men dug out coins and began to order ale, and the ground floor lounge was filled in no time like on the busiest nights of midsummer.

The local management wasn’t too sure what to make of these nightly customers, but neither were they too sorry for the sudden income. The Langorian guardsmen adopted a hands-off approach, concerned with the Tratovians’ allegedly volatile temperament, and kept a generous distance. Breaking the truce over any minor argument would’ve been too wretched.

“It’s like the big battle’s already canceled…” Izumi observed.

Unneeded and without a real reason to keep awake, she planned to retire for a few hours of sleep before daybreak. But on the way upstairs after her supper, she happened to hear the melodic clatter of dice on a tabletop and stopped short.

At a small table towards the entrance, the two knights who had come with the Prince of Luctretz were playing a game by themselves.

Without thinking, Izumi changed direction.

“What do my old eyes see!?” she went over to the pair and exclaimed. “Is someone playing games in my presence? Would you happen to have a spot open for big sis?”

“Sure, sure,” the knight called Jude nodded. “It’s just dice, nothing special. Have a seat, if you like.”

“Oh wow, it’s been too long,” Izumi dragged a free chair under her behind and joined in without further encouragement. “Any special rules I should know? Do you bet money? What’s the score?”

“Nope, we’re just killing time,” Jude explained. “Whoever guesses closest to the sum wins. We don’t usually play for money, but if you’ve got the coin to spare…”

“Why, do I ever?” Izumi replied. “It’s not life without stakes!”

“A woman of culture, I see.”

“I don’t have any money on me,” the knight called Kingsley interjected.

“I can get you a loan,” her partner offered with a smirk, “in exchange for a cut of the earnings.”

“I’ll be caught dead before I borrow a copper from you,” she retorted with a scowl.

“Then I’ll give you some!” Izumi told her. “Not a loan but a gift—for your pretty eyes!”

The woman suavely passed two coins of silver to Kingsley over the table, causing the knight to freeze in surprise.

“Why, strike me dead and shiver my timbers, we have a player at the table,” Jude remarked. “Let’s start easy to welcome our new friend: no numbers, just odds or evens. The starting bet is twenty copper; that’s one fourth of a strata by the current exchange rate. Sound fair enough for you, milady?”

“Sure, I’m game!”

Jude deftly picked up the three cubes of ivory, and tossed them into his steely drinking cup. He covered the top with his palm, shook the cup with brisk motions up and down, and plopped it upside down on the table and stopped there. “Place your bets.”

“Okay. I’ll go odds.” Izumi said and put one strata on the table, since she had no copper.

“Odds it is. How about it, partner, you with the lady or the house?”

“You’re the lowest of the low,” Kingsley replied with a weary sigh, and put one of the coins Izumi had given her onto the table. “It’s even.”

“We shall see, we shall see! What do the fortunes say? Who do the Divines favor?”

Jude lifted the cup to show the dice. One had three dots up, one had five, the third had two.

“It’s even,” he said, giving Izumi a sympathetic glance. “Tough luck, friend.”

“Luck was never on my side,” the champion shrugged. “But don’t worry, I’ll win this in the end.”

“At least you’re not short on confidence,” the youth said as he swept the game items back into the cup. “That’s great. I like confident women.”

“Let me know if you meet any,” Izumi replied. “But you guys sure seem laid back, even though there might be a war coming. Have you seen a lot of that before?”

“’Finally some action’—that’s what I’m thinking,” Jude answered with a smirk. “I’ve been stuck with guard duty for most of my young life, and talk about a waste of time.”

“I can’t bring myself to believe in a war,” Kingsley told Izumi, offering a more balanced opinion. “It’s only so much provocation and politics. Our countries have always been close. My grandparents from my mother’s side live in Langoria as well. I don’t know what the King intends, but I cannot imagine being afraid in what I consider my second homeland.”

“I see,” Izumi said. “Would be nice if everyone stayed friends, huh?”

“I pray for that every day.”

“Will you go see your grandparents on this trip?”

“I doubt I can. They live further in the west from here. They have a little retirement home by the mountains. Bought it with their life savings. It is a beautiful place.”

“Ah. Now that’s a proper retirement plan. You should definitely take some time off and go say hi. Maybe on the way back? I’m sure his highness could give you a few days of paid leave, if you asked? Or, I can ask for you?”

“No, I couldn’t…” Kingsley looked away with a bashful face and her pale face turned a little red. “For such a personal reason…”

“Why, what’s wrong with personal reasons? Everyone’s got some. You should think about your own happiness and not only duty.”

“—Hey, less flirting more gambling,” Jude interjected.

“Relax kid, I won’t steal your partner,” Izumi said.

“Haha. Come on, I’m not a kid, I’m nineteen.”

“Geez, not another one…”

The game went on. On the next turn, Izumi bet on odds again. And again. And again. And again. And again. Going by mathematical probabilities, she ought to have won half the time. Yet, she didn’t even once. The sum was even every time. After losing three full strata, she switched her bet to even too. But the next result was odds. Then it was odds again, for another strata. Always siding with the house, Kingsley split the earnings with Jude and the pair was well on their way to riches, it seemed.

——“I hope you realize you are being deceived.”

Izumi felt a hand on her shoulder and saw Carmelia stand behind her. The sorceress had covered her head with a shawl to not draw too much attention to her features, but her tall, dark figure nevertheless stood out like the Grim Reaper. Yet, whether by means of some illusory magecraft or simply thanks to the late timing, the others around in the lounge didn’t seem to notice at all.

“Well, of course I did,” Izumi answered. “But I can’t seem to figure out the trick. It’s some kind of magic, isn’t it? I don’t see the boy doing any fancy moves, and the cup is from the tavern, so it must be the game items themselves, right? An enchantment that manipulates the dice.”

“Yes,” the sorceress nodded. “The formula is unusually clever. It accounts not only for the orientation of the individual item, but all three of them together, along with a primitive voice activation mechanic. If the total sum of the sides facing up is different from what the owner says, the objects will keep on turning until the condition is met. Which object is moved is randomized, so that anyone suspecting foul play cannot identify which of the cubes is tampered with. But the spell cannot process arithmetic or complex variables. The mage who crafted the dice set all two hundred and sixteen possible combinations manually. Asking for any changes to the rules of the game could have spared you from continuously losing.”

“...How did you do that?” Jude asked Carmelia, looking genuinely startled. “Not even I know how these things work! They were confiscated from some dungeon bum a few years back.”

“A secret,” the cirelo only answered, expressionless as always. Was that a joke?

“Geez! And here I was beginning to think we’d found an endless fountain of silver!”

“Come on, I’m not endlessly stupid,” Izumi said. “Rule one of gambling: don’t stake any more than you’re okay with losing. But dang, I so wanted to figure out the trick on my own! But this stuff is impossible for a non-magician to prove, isn’t it?”

“Magic can only be analyzed with magic,” Carmelia replied.

“Anyway, can’t say I’m too surprised at getting swindled. Since you’re that guy’s retainers, does that mean you two are undercover pirates too?”

“Oh-ho, not me!” Jude denied with a grin. “But my Dad was. Guess it goes in the family.”

“And young Miss here too?”

“I have nothing to do with the confederates,” Kingsley quickly denied. “My parents are royal guards in the fourth generation. I follow his highness because it’s my duty.”

“Don’t be fooled!” the young man interjected. “Laine doesn’t mind extra pocket change either. Royal guard’s pay is not what you’d think it is, really.”

Kingsley answered him with a glare as sharp as a blade.

“Hey, I’m not whiteknighting, don’t get me wrong,” Izumi said and got up. “It’s cool. Thanks for the fun and games, but I doubt my bestie’s here just to save my wallet, so I should go. See you guys later.”

The summoned champion followed after Carmelia to the doorway. But before they went out to the rainy street, Kingsley stood from the table and hurried after the champion. She caught up with them at the door, took Izumi’s hand by the wrist, and put the two silver coins on her palm.

“I hate cheating,” the knight murmured, quickly turned, and hurried away, up the staircase in the back of the lounge.

“My, my.” Izumi sighed as she watched her go. “And I told her it was a gift.”