Fernan III: The Mountain
“Thank you for visiting me, Sire Montaigne. I fear my hearth has been wanting for company, of late.” Dom Mesnil’s legs were covered under a blanket, his missing foot hidden from normal sight, but his aura showed it clear for Fernan to see. “I have nothing to offer, and so few seek me out. What use is a knight that cannot sit ahorse? Even walking is a challenge.”
“Happy to do it.” Fernan noticed that the fire in the knight’s hearth had gone out, so he lit it again with a wave of his hand. “We aren’t in the exact same situation, but I do understand a bit of what you’re going through.”
“How’s that?” Mesnil sat forward. “You’re a sage, a knight, a savior and favorite of the Fox-King twice over. Don’t condescend to me, Sire Montaigne. I have heard enough of that.”
Seeing past the rising fire in his eyes, Fernan fixed his gaze on Mesnil. “My eyes were burned from my head, with only magic to fill the hole that was left. That was my introduction to the spirits. Still, I cannot read. Color is lost to me, and so much of the beauty and detail in the world.”
The knight’s head slumped guiltily. “I had thought that was just a result of your pact.”
“Other way around.” Fernan sighed. “Sire Dominique, never again will I see the trees fill with life in spring, nor witness the true smile on my mother’s face. I was a scout for my village, and that was torn from me forever.”
“I see…” Mesnil coughed. “Uh, apologies for the turn of phrase.”
“When I say I understand, I’m not just pulling it from the clouds. I’m still here, as are you. I… adjusted, even though it was painful at first. Nothing is stopping you from doing the same.” Fernan patted him on the shoulder. “You survived the battle. Do not live as if you didn’t.”
“Easy to say, harder to do.” But he nodded. “Still, you have the right of it, Sire Montaigne.”
“Fernan.”
Mesnil glowed bright orange, lit up in an instant. “Then you must call me Dom, Fernan, as my friends do.”
“I will.”
“And… if you see my brother, please tell him that he does not need to stay on my account. Accompanying the Fox-King to the capital is a great honor, and I would not see him miss out on my behalf.”
“Of course,” Fernan said, though he had little intent to do it. Marching in a parade is hardly a greater priority than being there for family. If Miro knows that, I’m hardly going to persuade him otherwise. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. The Fox-King—”
“No need to explain, Fernan. Though I do hope to see you again soon.”
“Of course,” Fernan assured him, trying not to look too hurried as he scrambled out the door.
In truth, he was already running a bit late for the council meeting, but he could fly to make up the difference if he really had to. Ever since Gézarde had become the sun, the slightest expenditure of energy conjured a massive gout of flame, and so long as it could be managed, using magic was far more efficient than it ever had been before.
Mara had wanted to test that out in practice, one final spar with Florette before she had to go, and Fernan was not surprised to find that they’d run late as well. Nor was he shocked to see the streaks of glass stretching across the beach, marking where Mara had spat flame hot enough to melt the sand.
Florette’s crazy if she’s letting Mara do that in a duel with her, but I guess it’s very Florette not to care.
“Fernan!” Mara called out, a ring of green flame accompanying her words. “You have to try this! It’s amazing.”
“Maybe later.” His eyes searched for Florette, to no avail. “You didn’t kill her, right? I would hope you wouldn’t be so cheery if you did.”
As if sprouting from thin air, Florette appeared in front of him, latent traces of darkness clinging to her aura. “Alas, you aren’t so lucky. Just testing something with the Cloak of Nocturne with Mara before I leave. A success, by the way.”
“Great.” No need to get into that. “The Fox-King wants you gone by midday. Have you said all your goodbyes?”
“All but one.” She leaned in and gave Fernan a quick hug, over almost as soon as it started. “Are you going to be ok here without me?”
“Me? How are you going to fare without me to stop you from taunting a dark spirit or stealing from kings?”
Her aura lit up, the last traces of darkness dissipating into the air. “I’ll do those things, obviously. I’ve almost died so many times by this point, I figure I must be immortal, like Pantera the Undying.”
Fernan laughed. “Please do not test that theory. Any more than you already have, I mean.”
“No promises.” He could read the smile from the glow of her face. “Listen, where I’m going, it will be dangerous to write to you. I’m not saying I won’t, because I don’t know, but it’s a risk. I’ll do my best.”
“Where are you going? I thought Maxime was trying to get you into Condorcet, or the Realm of the Exiles. They don’t have messengers there?”
“It’s more complicated than that… I’d explain, but no one can know about it without risking the whole thing.”
“And you don’t trust me to keep the secret?” Fernan’s eyes narrowed to a pinprick of flame. “After everything, really?”
Florette took a deep breath, then sighed. “Look, Fernan, you’re a good guy. A great friend, to put up with all the shit I’ve dragged you into. You’re solid, like a mountain. Predictable. But the decisions you’ve made… It’s like you’ve forgotten who you are.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Going to Laura and Flammare during the White Night? You almost undid everything we were fighting for.”
“To save your life!”
“I didn’t need saving, unlike you.”
“That’s cold.”
Florette rubbed her face. “Look, I don’t want to part on bad terms. I’ll try to get word out as soon as I can, with as much detail as I can justify risking. But you can’t… You need to…” She looked up towards the sky, as if the clouds might complete her statement for her. “Remember when we got into that big fight after Camille recruited you?”
“Constantly. ‘Make your own decisions’, you said, and I’ve done my best to do it ever since.”
“You… Really?”
Fernan nodded. “I don’t want you to think I’ve never listened to you. I just have my own approach.”
“That’s fine. Do things your way, but do them for the right reasons. Sometimes I think you’ve forgotten who you are, where you came from. You’ll only ever be another peasant to them, and their favor will last exactly as long as you’re useful to them. Then you’ll be discarded just like I was.”
“I haven’t exactly kicked up the same amount of trouble you did.”
“Fernan, it doesn’t matter.” She didn’t say aloud that Fernan had been just as involved in killing Flammare, but the fact still helped her point. “If you aren’t ready, you’ll be caught totally off-guard when the time comes. And then where will the Montaignards be? The people of the mountains look to you as their alderman, Fernan. All the more so once I’m gone. You have to protect them, and I don’t mean from Hiverriens.”
“Are you talking about those pistols?”
“In part. Look, I’m planning to give the Fox-King five of them and say it’s all we have. That’s the smallest amount that’ll be believable, given how people talk about the White Night, and it still leaves us almost two dozen in case we need them.”
“In case of what?”
“In case we need them,” she repeated, “to protect us from tyranny. To support the people, if and when the aristocracy proves that they are unworthy to lead us.”
“If and when? Come on. You spent too much time talking to Maxime.”
“‘If’ for you, ‘when’ for me. And Maxime has a point. Lucien Renart was happy to let you die in the White Night, even after all you’ve done for him. Do you imagine he’d feel any different if you ever inconvenience him in another way? If fucking Camille just tells him to because she doesn’t like you.”
“Camille and I get along fine.”
“Now, sure. We got along fine in Malin when fighting Avalon was in our sights. That doesn’t make us friends now, and it certainly doesn’t mean she’d hesitate to burn me. Did you even bother to ask her for help with my exile?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“I did… And she said the same thing as Lucien.” Fernan sighed. “Lying about this still isn’t the way to go. What do you think happens when the Fox-King finds out we deliberately disobeyed a direct order and kept hold of the same advanced weaponry that almost killed his fiancée. Will the villagers be safe then? Will a few pistols let us make a stand against the entire Imperial Army?”
“Well, you’ll have a better shot than if you’d given them up.” She stepped closer, gazing into his flaming eyes without flinching. “Fernan, I’m leaving. I don’t really get to make the decision. Mara knows where they’re stashed, so if you want to hand them all over to Renart, I can’t stop you. I’m asking you to keep them, as a friend, and as a piece of advice. Sometimes just being solid isn’t enough.”
Fernan bit back a counterpoint. It’s not worth it, and I don’t want to part on bad terms either. “I’ll consider it.”
“Do that.”
He leaned in and hugged her again, careful not to set her hair on fire with his eyes. “I’ll miss you. Stay safe.”
From the contact, it was easy to feel her laughter. “For you, I’ll try. I’ll miss you, too.”
≋
In the end, Fernan was late to the meeting. Lamante had caught him on his way and asked him and Florette to go to Torpierre to scare the spirits into compliance with Gézarde’s choice. That had required Fernan to stop and explain Florette’s exile and how he was needed in Guerron, and the face stealer had simply frowned with borrowed lips and ominously said she would see him again soon.
Lucien Renart was in the middle of a conversation with Annette and Miro Mesnil when Fernan arrived, and didn’t fully hide the disdain in his voice for Fernan’s tardiness, but at least Fernan was not the only one. Camille’s uncle, too, was late, even later than Fernan, and the Fox-King hadn’t wanted to start without him, so it seemed that Fernan hadn’t missed much.
Though he hadn’t made a great impression, either.
“My apologies, Lucien, I had a spiritual matter to attend to,” Emile Leclaire said as he took his seat.
“I’m sorry too,” Fernan added.
“He was with me,” Emile lied, covering for him for some reason. “They’re to choose a new hearth spirit in Torpierre, and it seemed only sensible to send a representative to ensure that they choose right.”
“Tauroneo is Flammare’s designee, is he not?” Renart’s voice carried through the room as Mesnil fell silent. “Why should we interfere?”
“For protection,” Emile said. “The White Night showed us the importance of having spirits on side, and the dangers should they stray. Tauroneo is no friend to humanity, while Gézarde’s choice, Fala, bears no ill will that I know of.”
“Then we shall hope the spirits choose him.”
“Or we could take steps to ensure it. The girl, Florette, I’m told she’s been exiled?”
“For good cause! We cannot be seen to support the killing of spirits, let alone deceiving them to do it. She won’t come to harm, I’ve given her time to leave, but if the world saw the Fox-King forgive such an act, no spirit could ever trust any of us again.”
“Still, she could go unofficially, without any writ from you. Simply delay her official exile until business has concluded in Torpierre.”
“So she can crash another convocation and attack another spirit before receiving any official rebuke for the last time? They would all see that as me endorsing it, or at least allowing it through negligence. Neither keeps humanity on the spirits' good side.”
“There are spirits who would appreciate the change.”
“And more spirits, imbued with greater power, who would not. No, Emile, I’m sorry, but as I already explained to Fernan, this isn’t feasible. No.”
Emile bit his lip. “As you wish, Your Majesty. I will consider the matter closed.”
I’m surprised that he even cared enough to try. He’d been far less disturbed at Levian’s turn than his niece, and Flammare’s seat was a lesser one by comparison. Camille hadn’t seemed to care much either, so it wasn’t a secret Leclaire thing either, as far as Fernan could tell.
Fernan held his tongue, since asking “Why do you care?” seemed like a poor way to talk to someone that had just backed him up. Even if I really want to know why it matters to you.
Duchess Annette was the first one called upon to report, and jumped in without any preamble. “The Bureaus have collected their materials for transport, including the more sensitive documents my grandfather purchased. For the moment, I’m keeping land archives from earlier than twenty years ago here in what will become satellite offices, and eventually we can make copies for Malin to keep the backup. Staff from the Bureau of Land will largely be relocating to Malin with us, though those who stay will merge with the Bureau of the Sea under Félix’s supervision. For our part, we can be ready to move by the end of the week.”
Who’s Félix?
“Excellent work, Annette.” Renart nodded to her. “Miro, can the same be said for our soldiers? How soon will we be ready to march?”
“Casualties aside, they’ve had plenty of time to recover from the White Night. And we should be able to keep them supplied through the pass easily enough now that the snow’s melted. But I would like to once again renew my objection to your dismissal of the peasant levy. Lady Leclaire will need as many to defend her as possible, and a good share of your knights are already staying to guard the prisoner.”
Levy? No one was levied for service for the White Night.
“Miro, we’ve been over this. They were volunteers. If they want to go home now, that is their right.”
“By technicality! That was only because of Lord Leclaire’s bargain with Glaciel, nothing more.”
“And yet it is enough. I gave my word that none were obligated to follow.”
“Not to mention the logistical nightmare of herding a thousand peasants across the Sartaire to Malin,” Annette added. “It’s going to be hard enough getting us over as it is.”
“That too,” Renart said.
“Mind you, if Sire Miro wants to supervise all of that himself he can lead the peasants behind us, he’s welcome to it. Doesn’t that sound like a fun time, Mesnil?”
“I take your point, my lady.”
Good. If they really wanted to drag people from their homes just to make Camille feel safer, Fernan wasn’t sure what he’d do, exactly.
Not just go along with it, though. “Sire Miro, you might send people to the north end to recruit volunteers. Many of the mountain villagers are young and eager to see the world.” Gaspard will go in a heartbeat, as would the Florette of yesteryear. “Not everyone who served in the White Night wants to return to their work.”
“Young like you?” Mesil exhaled through his nose. “Well, that’s not a bad idea, Montaigne. Perhaps you can accompany me, to better convince them? Your Majesty, a score of household knights would help clarify their position as well.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Lucien Renart placed his palm on the table. “You can have five knights, Miro. As long as you make clear that you’re seeking volunteers for service. Stick to White Night veterans; we don’t want to remove too many farmers on the eve of harvest season.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Miro swallowed. “Um, if I might be permitted to ask, will the King of Avalon be accompanying us?”
“This transition needs to be as smooth as possible. We will not be taking unnecessary risks. Once everything is set up in Malin, we can move King Harold to more comfortable lodging there.”
“But if Avalon attacks Malin before word can reach him in Guerron, we risk losing the city with no way to follow up on our threats.”
“That is why we will be relocating him as early as it is safe to do so. If Camille were here, she could recount a hundred times a ransom went wrong when the captive was in transit. Death, escape, and if I recall correctly, the Fox-Queen managed to lead a mutiny once when she was captured by pirates.”
Lady Annette laughed. “Sounds absolutely perfect to throw onto the pile while we’re moving the entire Imperial government.”
“Exactly. This is a delicate process. But by the end, everything will come together.” Renart clasped his hands together. “In a month’s time, I will be in Malin once more. I will rebuild the castle of my ancestors and the great shrine to the fox spirit, Renart. We shall send delegates to the Sunderé Dominion and Rhan Confederation with explicit entreaties to alliance, and renew our offer to Condillac, Plagette, the Arboreum, and the Rhanoir. Now that Camille has proven Avalon can be beaten, they must see the value in banding together against the threat.”
“Yeah, it’s the smart thing to do, so you just know they’ll get right to it,” the Duchess muttered. “What about Camille?”
Renart’s aura lit up so brightly that Fernan momentarily worried he’d been set on fire. “We didn’t want to get married until we could do it in the place of our birth. Now, there’s no reason to wait. My people shall have their Empress, the second greatest Fox-Queen in history, and together we will beat back the Avaline scourge from this continent and send them fleeing back across the water to where they belong. Our wedding shall be the greatest in history, a festival of festivals, a marvel in itself, with all of my people welcomed to witness their liberation.”
“So I guess I’ll need to vet Malin to handle thousands of visitors and prepare it for this massive festival.” The Duchess sighed. “Thank you for telling me about this so far in advance, Lucien.”
“You’ll manage. You always do. And Camille and I will do everything we can to help.” The Fox-King turned to Fernan. “Now, you’ve had some time to coax the weapons out of your people. Will you be able to honor the deadline and see them returned here by the end of the day?”
“Uh…” Now I have to decide to honor the truth, or back up Florette and the Montaignards… But if the lie is caught, I’ll be harming them far worse than giving up some weapons. “I have all of them gathered up, so—”
“Wait,” Leclaire cut in. “Before we continue, I feel I must say something. For my part, I will not be going with you right away. As much as I would like to see Camille as soon as possible, there is too much that must be done before I leave. You may expect my arrival by the time of the wedding.”
“If that’s what you want.” Renart sounded puzzled, but he didn’t press Leclaire. “I wouldn’t mind another person I trust in Guerron a bit longer. Though hopefully Annette’s representative will be up to speed quickly enough.”
“This Félix?” Fernan asked. “I’m surprised I’ve never heard of him before.”
“Not Félix.” Duchess Annette shook her head. “He was a mid level functionary in the Bureau of the Sea. I’m leaving him to run the satellite offices in Guerron. No, Lucien’s talking about the man who will stand as Lord of Guerron and rule in my name while I’m away in the capital.” She exhaled through her nose. “We had to throw him a bone after everything he did for us. ‘Loyalty can’t go unrewarded’, as Lucien is so fond of saying. Luckily there will be a river and a mountain range between us for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m sorry?”
“No, I’m sorry. But he was willing to work with you before, and this shouldn’t be any different.”
“Who—”
The door slammed open, and Guy Valvert rushed inside. “At last, I have returned, and with good tidings from the hale and healthy in Dorseille, survivors of the darkness. You need weep no longer, for I am back!” He grabbed the chair next to Fernan and sat down with a thud. “Why is the peasant boy still here? We only needed him for the trial.”
“It’s good to see you too, Guy.” Fernan felt his head tilt back towards the ceiling, catching a glimpse of a guilty flush in the Duchess’s aura before he did.
“Oh, speaking of which, Fernan. Any issues collecting the pistols?”
“None.” Fernan shook his head, making his choice. “I’ll get all five to you by the end of the day.”