As Tehlmar Esmae studied the view outside the window, he found himself pondering religion, something he rarely thought about. There were only a few large religions in Scyria. Outside of the Ubrans, who worshiped their Emperor as a living god, most of the rest of the humans followed a spiritualistic form of religion known as Iacism. Iacism had no organized structure and was instead mainly based on respecting and revering the spirits of dead family and friends with the belief that they would watch over and protect the living. Tehlmar had always found these beliefs strange. If the spirits of the dead were truly protecting the living, they were doing a remarkably bad job at it.
Stragma and Otharia, on the other hand, followed a much more centralized structure with their religions, each society worshiping a single named entity. The Stragmans, of course, worshiped a giant tree they called “Ruresni”, and by extension the entire forest. Now that he’d seen the impossibly-large thing with his own eyes, he had to admit it was quite an impressive tree, one that made you reconsider your own significance in relation to the rest of the world.
Tehlmar was unclear on if the Otharians still worshiped their god Othar or not after the whole coup thing. He’d been too busy with other matters to really bother to find out and the prince training he’d undergone had, like so many things in Drayhadan society, focused entirely on matters within the nation while ignoring everything happening on the outside. For now he assumed that, officially or unofficially, they still believed in their savior god Othar.
Drayhadans liked to use Stragma and Otharia as a prime example of the folly of non-elves, pointing to their icons of worship with ridicule. After all, they said, what sort of fools would worship a tree or a simple human who just happened to be more powerful than usual?
Perhaps it was because he’d lived for so long outside of the Drayhadan bubble, but Tehlmar couldn’t help but find this attitude to be hypocritical. Drayhadan couldn’t say much better about Drayhadal’s deity Muiqir, God of the Elves. Nobody alive had ever seen Muiqir. In fact, nobody save Drakannon, the founder of Drayhadal himself, had ever even claimed to have seen or spoken with him. Drayhadans simply accepted the word of their founder as gospel.
According to Drakannon, Muiqir had commanded him to save the elven race by gathering every elf together and forming a haven for them away from all the evils of the barbarians. That, perhaps, was all the elves needed to justify their worship. Even though Drakannon had died thousands of years ago and Muiqir had never been seen again, the God’s teachings were still fundamental to Drayhadan society.
Perhaps no teaching of Muiqir’s had a more profound impact on Drayhadan society than “Yours is the world to make as you see fit. Claim it, tame it, mold it.” The elves of Drayhadal had taken those instructions to the extreme. Whereas Stragman society stressed working in harmony with nature, Drayhadans believed in making nature their bitch.
One of the best examples of this philosophy was Casmyae, the current capital of Drayhadal and his current location. Most of the city was built on Lake Remna, the largest lake in the country. Where other people would have built their city on the lake shore, the Casm had instead built the city literally on top of the water.
Casmyae stood as a monumental feat of both engineering and overindulgence, a tribute to what could be accomplished when given centuries. In various areas, over thousands of years, the lake bed had been raised up until the water was no deeper than halfway up a man’s shin. There entire “fields” of aquatic plants grew, some providing nutritious crops while others were cultivated simply for their beauty. The Casm family’s aquatic flower gardens were said to be the most beautiful places in the country during the spring and summer seasons.
Elsewhere, the lake had been deepened to hold all the extra displaced water. Here, thousands of fish swam about in great schools, serving as an important source of protein in the local cuisine. There were even elaborate dam systems created to maintain the water level at the exact desired level regardless of season and rainfall. Large, thick stone pillars rose from the shallow water, joining together in large arches to support the multi-layered stone houses and walkways that made up the city.
There was a hubris to all this that, after decades elsewhere, Tehlmar was unable to overlook. Was this behavior a result of Muiqir’s commandments, he wondered, or were Muiqir’s commandments a creation to justify this behavior? He wasn’t sure anymore. The funny thing was that if he’d been thinking such thoughts even just a year ago he would have fallen squarely on the side that the teachings were a justification. He’d always been a skeptic since childhood and the Masked Battalion had trained him to be even more distrustful. Exposure to other belief systems had only solidified his already-existing disbelief. Then Zrukhora had happened.
There was one other “religion” that had so far gone unmentioned because it wasn’t really a religion as much as it was folklore and legend, fairy tales passed down from generation to generation to scare children into behaving. They told of a race of beings referred to in these stories only as the “old gods”, giant, powerful, wicked things that brought only chaos and death from the skies to all. He’d never believed the tales, of course, even after finding out that other societies had surprisingly similar fables of their own.
Zrukhora had changed that. Arlette had scoffed at him when he’d told her his conclusion, but that hadn’t altered his conviction. There was little doubt in his mind that the thing that had killed so many of his friends and wiped out an entire city in its rage could only be one of these “gods”. And if those old tales could be real... why couldn’t Muiqir?
Tehlmar shook his head. This was why he hated sitting around: it left him time to think, and nothing good ever came of that. Right now, he sat in a room overlooking a courtyard garden in the Casm’s widespread palace. He’d been waiting for a while—judging by the passage of the sun, three hours at least—which was a bad sign. The four ruling clans of Drayhadal had never liked each other, but treating a high-ranking member of a rival clan so disrespectfully was absolutely unheard of. It was a slap to the face of the entire clan. Small-scale wars had been started for less.
The fact that the Casm thought that they could disrespect the future head of a competing clan worried him. He’d been working on the assumption that his position, combined with his unique experience, would allow him to open the eyes of his more cloistered peers. Perhaps he’d been naive.
The door to the waiting room opened, a portly male servant standing in the doorway. “Prince Fatoro Casm will see you now,” he said.
Tehlmar’s face hardened but he said nothing as he followed the servant deeper into the palace. Things were looking worse and worse by the moment. A prince’s power and influence were largely determined by seniority. Prince Fatoro was the seventh prince of the Casm clan, a position of middling standing. By having the Seventh Prince meet him instead of the Clan Head or one of the six princes above Fatoro, the Casm were disrespecting him even further.
Prince Fatoro was waiting for him in an ornate chamber about twenty paces wide and long, a gallery of some sort. There were no chairs or tables in this room, only a series of paintings and sculptures arranged along the walls. The man stood on the shorter side, about half a head shorter than Tehlmar, with long, aqua hair that fell all the way down to his waist, where Tehlmar could see a rather pronounced paunch.
Beside the prince stood another man dressed in an advisor’s robe somewhat similar to the one Artiermius would wear, but more ostentatious with golden tassels hanging from various parts of the outfit. Four large guards stood at attention in the four corners of the room. He noticed that they were watching him warily like he was some sort of wild beast in their midst who might pounce without warning. Tehlmar didn’t know why they thought that of him. His reputation back in Esmaeyae wasn’t that bad, was it?
“Ah Prince Tehlmar Esmae, in the flesh!” the middle-aged Casm said with a wide, welcoming smile as the servant and Tehlmar entered the room. “I must apologize for the delay, some very serious matters came up that required the clan’s full attention.”
Tehlmar held back a snort. Serious matters? What crap. They’d just wanted to make him wait. He knew better than to say that out loud, of course. Instead, he gave a slight bow and said, “I thank you for seeing me. I have need to discuss some urgent business with your clan.”
“Of course, of course. Anything which would prompt an unannounced visit from the future head of the Esmae clan must be very important. What matter concerns you? Tariffs? This year’s upcoming planting season?”
“We must talk about the Ubrans.”
Prince Fatoro’s smile faded. “The Ubrans? You came all the way here to talk about barbarians?”
“They are dangerous and need to be stopped now before Crirada falls.”
The Casm prince glanced at his advisor, who responded, “Crirada is the capital of the Republic of Eterium, my Prince.”
“And why do we care about what happens there?” the prince asked.
“Once Crirada falls, the Ubran Empire will sweep across the rest of the continent,” Tehlmar replied, a mixture of alarm and anger growing in his chest. He couldn’t fathom how somebody in the ruling clan could be so unconcerned with what was happening just north of them. “Once they have taken the rest, they will come for us.”
“Pish posh,” Fatoro replied, waving Tehlmar’s concerns away like a bad smell. “Perhaps you are unaware due to your long absence, but the Ubrans signed a non-aggression pact with us. We won’t have to worry about them.”
“That treaty means nothing to them. They will break it as soon as it becomes convenient for them. We must ally with the other remaining nations while we still can and push the Ubrans back to Obura.”
“Ally with a bunch of mudeaters?” the prince scoffed. “Are you out of your mind?”
“We cannot defeat the Ubran Empire without aid.”
“We have held off the savages while outnumbered ten-to-one through countless invasions. Between the martial superiority of the Drayhadan people and the mountains on our northern border, the Ubrans will pose no problem for us.”
Tehlmar’s hands balled into fists, his ire rising fast. Just how stupid could this man be? Perhaps if he tried another tack... “Prince Fatoro, thousands of lives are being lost every day! We can stop this madness now and save hundreds of thousands of people!”
“Hmph!” he snorted derisively. “I see that the rumors are true, your years away have twisted you from the truth. The barbarians are nothing more than garoph-fucking, cave-dwelling trash. We will let them fight, because the more they wipe themselves out, the better this world will be. That is-”
Tehlmar’s fist shot out before he even knew what was happening, catching the Casm prince squarely in the mouth and dropping him to the floor mid-sentence. The entire room just stood still for a moment, as everybody, including Tehlmar, was stunned at what had just happened.
“AAAAHHH!” Prince Fatoro cried from his seat on the floor, holding his hand over his blood-covered mouth. Tehlmar thought he saw several teeth missing in the short glimpses he got through the gaps in the Casm prince’s fingers. “Guards! Get him!”
The four guards were already in motion, flying at top speed towards him. Tehlmar ducked one, then another, but the third guard managed to get him with a shoulder and knock him off balance, and the fourth was then able to drag him to the ground. Things only got worse for him after that.
Hours later, Tehlmar dragged himself onto the shore of Lake Remna and laid still as the water gently lapped up around him and receded over and over. He’d fucked up royally this time. Striking a fellow prince? A member of the ruling clan, at that, in his own home? Only an idiot would do such a thing.
Well, he was officially an idiot, it seemed. Tehlmar had met a lot of different people during his time away from Drayhadal, some bad, but many decent people. Some, he’d even deigned to call friends. The way Prince Fatoro had spoken about them like they were animals had sparked something inside of him and he’d lashed out almost out of reflex, his body obeying his heart over his head.
The end result had not been pretty for Tehlmar. Prince Fatoro had been absolutely incensed and had had him soundly beaten for several hours by the guards, with the Casm prince throwing in few kicks to the head of his own. Tehlmar’s face was severely swollen and bruised, with black eyes on both sides making it hard to see. He was fairly sure he had several broken ribs as well. Finally, the guards had thrown him out of the palace, but not onto dry land. No, they’d dumped him in the lake and left him to fend for himself.
The bodily damage would heal soon enough, he knew—by the time he returned to Esmaeyae he’d be as good as new—but the real damage had been dealt to his mission. Prince Fatoro had declared with great pleasure that he would personally make sure that the Drayhadans would never join in the war. The rest of the Casm, who had the most power in this matter for the next few decades, would definitely side with their Seventh Prince now even if they hadn’t already agreed. To add insult to injury, the Casm were surely going to press the matter in court in order to extract a large series of concessions from the Esmae.
He’d fucked up.
Tehlmar let out a defeated sigh. It was time for him to face the fact that he just wasn’t cut out for this political crap. He didn’t have the skills nor the temperament to accomplish his goals. But knew somebody who did. Somebody who knew how to play the intrigue game at its finest. Unfortunately, it was the same somebody he’d been avoiding at all costs.
----------------------------------------
“Brother, it’s so delightful to see you,” Pyria purred. “I was beginning to think you’d been avoiding me.”
“That’s because every time I see you it takes everything I have not to kill you where you stand, dear sister,” Tehlmar shot back.
The elven princess sat on a plush sofa inside her private chambers, a cup of dark blue liquid in her hand. Tehlmar stood behind her, a cloud of animosity emanating from him. Yet his anger appeared to have little effect on Pyria, who seemed unbothered by her brother’s unannounced presence. As he stared at her, the urge to just grab her neck with both hands and squeeze until Pyria had breathed her last grew stronger with every passing moment. It would be so easy.
No. He hadn’t snuck into Esmaeyae, past the guards in the palace, and all the way into her rooms undetected to kill her... this time at least. That didn’t make staying his hand easy. One look at her smug, unconcerned face was enough to almost send him up the wall.
“Oh come now, brother, surely you’re not still angry about that matter?” she asked, swirling the drink about in the cup without a care in the world. “It was so very long ago now! Besides, it was necessary to save the clan.”
Tehlmar's breath caught in his chest as Pyria's words brought a new swell of anger rushing up inside of him. “Is that how you justify it to yourself? To save the clan? Is that what lets you sleep at night?”
“Oh please, Tehlmar, look at yourself. You’re a drunken, violent fool who gambles away everything he has at the earliest opportunity. If I hadn’t stepped in, the clan would be in ruins by now.”
Tehlmar couldn’t believe his ears as his already roaring hate doubled inside him. His nails dug into his palms so hard that they drew blood, and a moment later Pyria found herself staring at a crimson blade hovering just a finger’s width from her forehead and pointing directly at her skull.
“Everything I am is because of what you did to me,” he hissed.
“Is it?” Pyria asked, glancing at the red knife with more annoyance than fear. “You were a terrible child. All you ever did was run about and play and misbehave. You refused to take your lessons seriously and fought with all your instructors constantly. Anyone with half a brain would have been able to see what you would turn into. I simply was the only one with the determination to do what had to be done.”
“Bullshit! You just wanted power!”
“Both can be true. Now if you simply came to complain about events decades old, I suggest you be on your way before I alert the guards and have you thrown in the dungeon. I have no more time to deal with you. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused with the Casm? My days have been long and messy thanks to your foolishness.” She took a sip of the beverage and let out a small satisfied sigh. “Rennelberry wine truly is the best way to wind down a long day...”
Tehlmar laughed scornfully. This bitch thought she could just talk her way out of this? “I’m not going anywhere. After all this time apart, we have so much more to catch up on besides old grudges. Like new grudges.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Pyria scoffed, then winced slightly as the vermilion blade fell down to her soft, unprotected neck and jabbed itself just deep enough for his solidified blood to draw hers, but her face reverted to that infuriating calmness an instant later.
“Don’t lie. After all you’d done to me, I still risked my cover and my safety to warn you about the invasion. Without me, the Stragmans would have burned this entire territory to the ground. And yet you still locked me in your little prison and after I pulled every favor I had here to get myself out and away from this country, suddenly I was captured by bounty hunters after crossing into Eterium. Nobody should have known where I was going to be, especially not anyone outside of Drayhadal, yet it was like they were prepared and waiting for me. It was almost like somebody had tipped them off. Tell me, Pyria, how did they know where I was? Hmmm? How did they know?”
“Surely you can’t believe that I would be able to take notice of such trivial things.” She took another sip of wine.
“You would take notice of somebody outside of the family requisitioning a royal transport, especially with that kind of route. You’re vile, Pyria, but you’re not stupid. You knew immediately what was going on. After everything you put me through, I still saved your ass and instead of thanking me, you tried to have me killed. Getting me out of the picture once wasn’t enough. You wanted to make it permanent.”
“Oh... I see...” Pyria muttered. She turned her head slowly so as not to deepen the wound from the knife still poking into her neck and met his furious glare with a look of wry amusement and self-satisfaction. “This all makes sense now. Father and Artiermius have been perplexed for days about your sudden change in behavior. I must admit, even I wasn’t sure to make of it, declaring that you’d decided on a suitable partner after refusing every possibility presented to you and then gallivanting off to Casmyae on your fool’s errand. But I can’t help but notice how you keep referring to only yourself, as if you purposely didn’t want to mention the man, two women, and child you took with you from the prison. It’s like you’re afraid I would learn of them.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
She was trying to get to him, he knew, poking and prodding at him for a reaction. Yet for some reason, he felt himself losing control. Keeping control of your body and reactions was one of the most important and fundamental parts of being a spy. He’d been in crises hundreds of times before and always managed to keep his cool, but for some reason now his body wouldn’t listen to him. His heart was pounding in his ears, his breath heavy, his hands trembling. Pyria’s smile widened as she saw this.
“Declaring you’d chosen who to court. A sudden drive to rescue the rest of Nocend from the Ubrans...” She chuckled knowingly. “To think that my dear brother is actually in love with a barbarian. Oh, this is rich. Was that why you struck Prince Fatoro? What did he say? Did he call them savages? Mudeaters? Pests?”
“Enough!” Tehlmar growled.
“It’s the older one, isn’t it? Oh, if only I had known of her before, I would have-”
Tehlmar was upon her before she could even finish her sentence. The blade of solid blood poking her throat morphed into a thick band that wrapped around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air. He yanked the tendril of blood that connected the band to his hand, pulling her roughly onto her back. She grabbed at her throat, trying to free herself. Another knife formed in his other hand, and he immediately stabbed it deep into his sister’s right thigh. Her mouth opened in a silent shriek and she writhed as he twisted the blade inside her.
“When I was young, I lived for revenge,” he said softly, the tinge of insanity in his voice matching the wildness in his eyes. “It was the only thing that got me through the days when I was a child, the only reason I got back up whenever they left me bleeding on the floor, the only thing that kept me from killing myself. I would lie in bed, just imagining Bargos’s face as he bled out on the carpet in front of my feet. When I graduated from training and found out that he’d been dead for years, I didn’t know what to do with myself. All that hatred and rage that had built up inside me didn’t just go away. It’s just burned away at my insides, decade after decade. But now, suddenly I can have my revenge again. Finally, I can make you pay for your crimes.”
Pyria gasped as he suddenly loosened the band around her neck, her lungs working overtime as she panted and coughed. A moment later the panic in her eyes had faded somewhat and she looked back up at him to find herself surrounded by enough blade to arm a legion, each pointed her way.
“Seventy-seven years I have waited for this moment. Go ahead, sister. Plead for your life. Beg for it. Tell me why I should spare your miserable existence.”
“Fuck! You!” she spat. “You’re not going to kill me and we both know it!”
“Wrong answer.” Tehlmar ripped the blade out of her right thigh and plunged it into her left one while the band constricted again to silence her screams. She trembled and shook as tears streamed down the sides of her face. But for some reason, her face didn’t have the same agony as before. After a moment, he realized that the woman was doing more than screaming in pain. She was laughing, as best one could at least when unable to breathe. His scowl deepened and he relaxed the band. “Something funny?” he snarled.
“Go ahead,” she hissed out between an assorted combination of laughs and coughs. “Kill me. Take my life and get your revenge, and then watch as your ‘precious one’ dies in Crirada as you’re powerless to stop it! What are you waiting for? Kill the one person who can help you save her! Do it, coward! Do it!”
Tehlmar’s reached out with both hands and lifted her roughly up towards his face, staring deeply into her defiant eyes.
“Listen to me, and listen well, Pyria,” he said, his voice suddenly disturbingly calm, yet carrying an underlying fury that threatened to explode out at any moment. “I swear on my life that if she dies I will not just kill you, I will fucking erase you. I won’t stop at your death, I’ll undo every single thing you’ve ever prided yourself on. Every accomplishment, every relationship, your beloved clan, all of it will go up in flames!”
“So scary!” she taunted back, her cocky eyes mocking him. “Threaten me all you want, Tehlmar. We both know that the real reason you’re here is that you need my help. You can’t save the woman you love without me, after all. No, you need me.”
Tehlmar grit his teeth in silence. He didn’t know what to do. Everything was falling apart. She was right—infuriatingly so.
“What’s wrong, brother? Why so quiet all of a sudden? Is it my turn to make you beg?” She smiled a sickeningly sweet smile. “No, an Esmae should never beg, and I am magnanimous in victory. I will give you my assistance.”
Tehlmar was so stunned that he accidentally released his grip on her, sending her falling back onto the couch with a small cry.
“Believe it or not, I actually agree with you, and because the fact that you love a human changes everything about our little relationship," she continued. "If you had simply the manners to ask, I would have gladly offered my help. Now back off.”
“You... what?!”
“Off!”
Tehlmar backed away and pulled his blood back into his body. Pyria leveraged herself up onto her elbows and winced as she pushed herself up to lean against the sofa’s cushioned side.
“Get me three handkerchiefs from the third drawer,” she said, nodding towards a dresser across the room because her hands were busy applying pressure to her wounded legs. Tehlmar hesitated, thrown off by how quickly she’d taken charge of the dynamic between them, and she sent a harsh glare his way. “Do you want my help or not?”
Tehlmar fetched the large handkerchiefs from the drawer and handed them to her.
“This is why you’ll never make it here on your own. You only know how to negotiate with a knife, you troglodyte,” she grumbled as she tied one around each of her legs and her neck, using them as makeshift bandages to contain the bleeding. “Alright. First things first, if you ever even point a blade in my direction again, all cooperation is off. Got it? You got your little satisfaction, your petty revenge. No more.”
“What did you mean when you said you agreed with me?” Tehlmar asked, returning to the previous subject rather than acknowledge what she’d just said.
“I meant that the Ubrans need to be stopped now, before they turn their eyes on Drayhadal. I am not a simpleton, Tehlmar. While the others might be too blinded by their own little worlds, I can see the inevitable conclusion we are heading towards. Maybe the Empire will head for Kutrad first, or Otharia, but their gaze will turn on us eventually and we alone will not be strong enough to stop them. Our only hope lies with working alongside the other Nocend powers while there are any left to work with.”
“Then why didn’t you do anything?”
“You think I didn’t try? Those old bastards cling to their centuries-old treaty as if it protects us better than the finest armor in the world. It’s ‘tradition’ they say, like they say for everything. Let us face facts, Tehlmar: though I may be one of the most powerful people in Drayhadal, my arguments fall on deaf ears because I am a woman. Meanwhile, your arguments fall flat because you carry the stigma of your time elsewhere. Neither of us is enough to change the course of the country. At least, neither of us individually. Together, however, with our combined resources, we can save this land, and save that person in the process.”
Tehlmar’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. She’d agreed to help him far too easily for his comfort. “After all that you’ve put me through, why should I trust you now?”
“Because I will need your help just as much as you need mine if we want to succeed in this endeavor, and because I think you’ll find that we will, in fact, each get what we desire through this arrangement. Believe it or not, I don’t always just try to solve every one of my problems by killing people. In fact, I jumped at the chance to send you to the Masked Battalion precisely because it meant I wouldn’t have to kill you to get the power I needed to accomplish my goals. As much as it pains me to say it, you are my only brother. I may not like you, Tehlmar, or even have much respect for you, but that does not mean that I hate you and it does not mean that I want you dead if there is an acceptable alternative. If you truly care enough about that woman to try to send an entire country to war, and if you’re willing to follow through on it, then you are no longer a threat to me.”
Her words didn’t convince Tehlmar, but then again, nothing she could say would truly change the roiling loathing and distrust for her that resided deep inside his heart. Still, he needed her, so he shoved his suspicion down inside tried to act like she’d convinced him. “So how can we convince the elders to take us to war?”
“There is no way for us to convince them with our clout and resources,” Pyria stated. “Since they cannot be swayed, they must be replaced.”
“A coup?” Tehlmar hissed in alarm, his eyes going wide and a trace of fear entering his voice for a moment as he looked about in panic for anybody who might have heard. “Don’t say that out loud, you’ll get us executed! Are you insane?! We wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“I am quite sane, thank you, and I believe that our chances are far greater than you might imagine. With your connections to a certain order, the impossible becomes possible.”
Tehlmar blanched. “You don’t know what you’re saying! The Battalion lives and dies by its founding rules, and staying out of internal affairs is the most important one! Just suggesting that might get me killed!”
“They might be more susceptible to persuasion than you believe, brother. Nobody in the country understands the peril that we face like they do. I receive their reports, and it is impossible to miss how the urgency of their warnings has escalated exponentially since the Ubrans invaded. I believe that somebody like you, both a noble and a Mask, would be able to make them see reason. We aren’t talking about wiping out the clans, after all. All we need is a few untimely deaths and a few people in the right spots replaced, just enough to turn the wheel towards war. With their talents and my planning, success would be possible, nay, likely.”
“And you’d, of course, be in prime position to capitalize on these untimely deaths and people being replaced.”
“Of course. You’d benefit as well. With a pull of the proper strings, I’d be able to get you appointed as the leader of the expedition, allowing you to personally swoop in and save the day. I’m sure your beloved would find such a dashing figure hard to resist. Ubrus is defeated, Drayhadal remains safe, you get the girl of your dreams.”
“Treason. You want to commit treason.”
“I prefer to think of it as a form of extreme but necessary patriotism. If there were a less-radical solution I would have suggested it.”
Tehlmar put his head in his hands, a headache coming on hard. This wasn’t what he’d expected going into this. What she was proposing sounded insane, but... it could work. Between his sister’s political skills and the Masked Battalion’s capabilities, there was a chance that it could work. He wasn’t fond of the idea, but he couldn’t deny that she’d laid out the only path to success he’d found so far, and he didn’t have much time left to keep looking.
“And what about me? What would I be doing during this time? Or do you just need me to convince the Masked Battalion?”
Pyria’s lips drew into an amused half-smile. “There’s one other crucial matter that would need to be dealt with or mobilizing our full strength won’t be possible, and you’re the perfect man for the task. You’re just not going to like it.”
“What is it?”
She told him, and Tehlmar’s headache instantly became three times worse.
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Tehlmar threw himself to the right to avoid a crimson spear that threatened to skewer him while blocking the swing of a spiked whip with a hurriedly-constructed shield. The spear slammed deep into the tree that had been behind him, embedding itself with a loud “THOCK!” before losing its cohesion and becoming a large ball of blood.
“To think that you would fall so far as to advocate the abandonment of the Founding Charter,” the leader of the Masked Battalion, Prime Mask Gemenar, snarled as he drew the blood back towards him and shaped it into what a large hammer. “First you ignore the recall order, and now this? You have fallen far, Mask Tehlmar. Far enough that I cannot overlook your transgression regardless of your lineage.”
This was going about as well as Tehlmar had expected. That was why when he’d contacted the Battalion and arranged his meeting with the Prime Mask, he’d insisted that they meet in a small wood a good distance from any towns and that the Prime Mask come alone. As far as Tehlmar could tell, the Prime Mask had honored his conditions, leaving the two of them to battle it out in privacy.
“It’s the only way we have left!” Tehlmar shot back, forming a sword and slashing at his former mentor’s face. “What do your people tell you, Gemenar? How much longer until Crirada falls and we lose our window for victory?”
“They hold better than expected, but their numbers dwindle. They will fall in less than a season unless something unforeseen happens.” The blood formed into a mace and bashed against Tehlmar’s shield, buckling it slightly and pushing him back a step.
“That’s why we have to move now! You know as well as I that we cannot defeat the Ubrans on our own. If we fail to act now there is no going back!”
“That is not for us to decide. We must stick to our duty as the eyes and hands of the nation. To overstep our bounds would invalidate what we are! To abandon our duty is to leave the clans blind!” Prime Mask Gemenar swung the spiked whip again, but this time the whip split into over a dozen smaller strands that snaked their way around Tehlmar’s shield and dove in towards his flesh. Tehlmar cursed inside his mind. Gemenar was more than double his age and had over a century more experience with blood shaping than he did. The man was able to create more simultaneous objects than Tehlmar could counter, leaving Tehlmar at a large disadvantage.
Tehlmar rolled to his right, barely avoiding all but two of the deadly spikes. Those two pierced into the muscle of this lower leg, and his sword flashed out, severing the other man’s blood. The two spikes and the tendrils that connected them lost their form and splashed down onto the ground. “You are as blind to what goes on inside our borders as they are to events outside them! The clans and their elders that you revere so greatly don’t care what’s happening in the outside world. All they care about are their own petty squabbles and their tiny grievances! Your reports go disregarded, your pleas for action sit unread! Nobody is paying attention, Gemenar, and it will be our doom!”
“Lies!” the other man growled as he blocked Tehlmar’s sword thrust. “The Masked Battalion has always been an honored and respected institution!”
“Really? Do people scoff at honored institutions? I watched Prince Fatoro Casm burn an unread report right before my very eyes to demonstrate to me just how little the ruling family cares about the threat!” Tehlmar lied, swiping his sword towards the Prime Mask’s face to distract him while he did so. “I tried to stand up for us and they beat me nearly senseless! Your words mean nothing to them! You mean nothing to them!”
“Even if what you say is true, we must never cross that line! To do so would undermine the very foundation of this country! The nation would be in chaos! There would be no going back for us!”
Tehlmar pulled more blood out of his body and into his right hand, forming it around the sword into his hand to create a large lance. He leapt forward and thrust it at his old teacher, who remolded his mace into a wide, thin shield to block the attack. “You’re right!” Tehlmar replied as suddenly the lance grew a long, thin ridge that spiraled up and around the lance.
“What?!” Prime Mask Gemenar cried as the lance began to spin and dig into at the older man’s shield.
“You’re right! There will be no going back,” Tehlmar said as he pressed the lance forward as hard as he could. The lance ground against the shield, chipping away bits of blood from both of them and slowly digging itself deeper. “But if we do not, Drayhadal falls and there will be nothing left to go back to!”
With a resounding snap, the shield snapped and the Prime Mask stumbled back. Tehlmar quickly kicked his leg forward, sending a shower of dead and rotting leaves and sticks into the air between them. With the debris blocked the view between them, Tehlmar went as low as he could and charged forward, shaping his blood into a sheet above him for protection. While his opponent had more experience in blood shaping, Tehlmar had far more experience in actual battle. The old man hadn’t been expecting the move, his weapons held high, and Tehlmar was able to bring him to the ground. A moment of tussling later, Tehlmar was atop his former teacher, a blade to the elder’s throat.
“It’s time to make a choice, Gemenar,” Tehlmar panted. The two of them were already exhausted from the fight, the lack of blood in their body wearing them down quickly. “Join us and the Masked Battalion likely dies. Don’t, and Drayhadal itself assuredly does.”
The old man stared at the blade, then up at Tehlmar for a long moment as the winter wind rustled the forest around them. “We truly have fallen, if we must cut off our own arm to save the rest of us...” he lamented.
Tehlmar held back a sigh of relief and stood up, pulling Gemenar up afterwards. “I’m glad that you made the right decision,” he said. “Now, what about the other Masks? How will you get them to fall in line?”
“I won’t. There are only a few Masks that I trust enough to follow me into this travesty. Less than twenty. I’ll need a few days to convince them.” He glared at Tehlmar. “You’re forcing me to kill my own subordinates if they don’t agree, you realize.”
“Then choose well,” Tehlmar replied. “We don’t need an army, just enough people to tip the balance in the pro-war faction’s favor.”
“Very well. I will contact you later once I have organized this little treasonous debacle.”
“Liaise with Princess Pyria from this point onward. She’s the one who can tell you who to target and help with all the detailed planning. I won’t be here after tomorrow anyway, and likely won’t be back for a good while.”
“Where would you need to go that would be more important than here?”
Tehlmar sighed a deep, forlorn sigh.
“Stragma.”