My Remont, Legosia, left Sanasira without even telling me. I wished to see him off, but he’s been acting strange as of late. Perhaps he too needs rest if he’s to continue. Just a bit more, brother, and I’ll see to it that you’re given the rewards for your labour.

-From The Last King of Elneshe’s 6th Note

Dolish hated attending another party. But what the Armon wills, he would do. They were in a different stronghold this time, made by Bladeborn hands for His Sharpness. Dolish stood to the side with his honour guard, the retinue of soldiers enjoying themselves in merriment.

“Sir, are you well?” Jerre asked. He was a quiet sort, but even he noticed that Dolish wasn’t being the talkative type.

“Yes, quite. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve barely had a drink or something to eat. A General shouldn’t be a statue of a man.”

A statue? I wasn’t that distracted, was I? Though Dolish tried to recall how long he’d spent in the middle of the party, he could not. He’d gotten lost in the sights and sounds, of the ministers and military personnel intermingling with each other. On one end of the hall sat the son of the Armon, Merin, while on the other end, Yennel was talking up a storm of his latest battle.

“The losses aren’t getting to you, are they, Venastian? We’ll fight off those Phasgorian punks whenever they come at us next!” Borne told him with a raised cup. The rest of his honour guard toasted him and Dolish went staring into his cup.

“No. No, they aren’t. I’m just… tired, Borne,” he told the man.

“Are you sure you don’t want time back home, sir? It would do you well,” Raisha added. She stood with perfect posture, more like one of the guards at the entrance than a party-goer.

“You can relax, Raisha. I won’t be so strict as to deny you the night,” Dolish told her, and her posture immediately relaxed.

“And no. I can’t. Not until this is over.”

Borne grunted. “I thought you were finally loosening up. Should be glad, it’s one of the signs of the end times, or so I hear.”

That got Dolish’s attention.

“What are the others?” Dolish asked Borne.

“There’s lots. Afterburners with a seventh jet. Wives and Husbands turning out to be Devourers. Shrimp curry without any shrimp,” Borne explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He took a chug of his glass of wine and set it down, trying to snatch another as a waiter went by.

The waiter shot him a dirty look after glancing at the collection he’d gathered of other glasses. He moved the tray of drinks away from Borne before scoffing.

“Lousy waiters who won’t serve a fifth glass,” Borne added.

“Ignore him, sir. He’s had too much to drink as is,” Bark, his twin said.

“I’ll do just that,” Dolish said, peeling himself away from his guard and starting to walk around the party. He saw a table for younger folk set on the side of the wall, plated with foods that would be suitable for them. Minister Fersh, a portly man, was sitting beside his son and cutting up his food into smaller bites.

The minister had a smile on his face that vanished as soon as he raised his head and saw Dolish.

“Ah, General Venastian, how can I help you?” Fersh asked the man.

“Hello there, minister. And to you as well, son,” Dolish said to them. His son, Fezashi if Dolish remembered correctly, tried to do a military salute. It was an awkward approximation, but Dolish still gave one back to amuse the kid. He smiled widely afterwards.

“You’re a strong Commander, aren’t you, sir?” Fezashi asked as respectfully as he could. Dolish scratched at the sides of his whitening temples.

“A strong hallowmancer can’t be separated too far from a weak one, son, so I wouldn’t say so,” Dolish explained.

“What do you mean?” Fezashi asked. The minister looked awkward in the middle of their conversation, shifting around in his seat. Dolish kneeled down to face the boy.

“Well, I could be bested by an Afterburner who send me into the air. A Devourer could tailor their body to counter my exact moves. And a Planar could just as well send me through a portal away from him.”

Dolish pulled out a small marble from his pockets. It was a memento of his son that he kept with himself. Vartel would have some flourish to show the boy, wouldn’t he? Perhaps something like…

Dolish put the marble on his pointer finger and activated his powers. The world around him slowed as he did, letting him position the marble on his tip. It never fell over, even as Dolish moved the finger around the boy’s head.

“Balance, that’s what it’s about. A rounded team of soldiers can take on a Bladeborn, if they’re prepared. You need to respect the power, but not let the pride of it burn you,” Dolish explained to the boy. He cut his powers off and pocketed the marble as Fezashi’s eyes widened.

“Respect the power…” he muttered to himself.

“General Venastian, may I speak with you?” Fersh asked abruptly. Dolish rose up from the ground and dusted off his knees out of habit.

“Eat your food, Fez. Bladeborn don’t leave crumbs, do they?”

“No, they don’t!” Fezashi replied, getting to work shovelling the food into his mouth while Fersh pulled Dolish aside.

“Again, I ask. What is it that you’re here for, General?” Fersh asked in a quiet voice. Dolish smirked.

“How long have you been on the frontlines, Minister?” Dolish asked.

“Almost as long as any soldier here,” Fersh replied with a hint of a sneer.

“And you wish to return, don’t you?”

“No! Not as long as the Armon wishes me to be here,” Fersh replied, acting as if Dolish had spoken of treason.

“I don’t wish to go against His Sharpness either, Minister. But tell me this, why did you then bring your boy here?” Dolish asked.

“What does Fezashi have to do with this?”

“You brought a boy to a battlefield.”

“Does this look like any war camp you’ve seen, Dolish?” Fersh asked.

“No, but that doesn’t mean there are no risks here. What if someone were to kidnap him, what if Afterburners started to ambush us? Would your son really be safe here?”

“No…” Fersh admitted, glancing back at the table where Fezashi sat.

“Did you miss him that much?” Dolish asked.

“Yes, I did. Don’t you miss your family, General?” Fersh asked in turn. Dolish hadn’t expected the turn, so he was left momentarily shocked.

“More with each passing day. But that’s why I want you on my side. You know better than anyone how long our Bladeborn and soldiers have spent on the frontlines. You know how much we’re losing by staying out here,” Dolish proclaimed. Fersh seemed to grow smaller, his head turning away from the General as he tried not to meet his eyes.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Maybe, Dolish, maybe. But I’m in no position to be going against the Armon,” Fersh told him, turning back towards his son and leaving Dolish more than annoyed. Formless fool. But even his annoyance faded, swallowed up by the fatigue he felt. He barely noticed when someone poked him in the shoulder.

Dolish turned around to see a young woman in a dark green dress. She had a rounded face and polite smile that Dolish recognized.

“Ah, Mrs, Feranz, my apologies,” Dolish said, instinctively saluting the woman even as she waved it away. Vartel would have condemned that level of unawareness.

“I’ve some work to do, General. Could you take care of Merin for me for a bit? He’s had too much to drink,” Isarde asked him.

“I will,” Dolish answered, thankful for the opportunity. Isarde left soon after and Dolish trudged through the halls looking for Merin Feranz. He passed by other Generals and soldiers on his way, giving them a salute or a wave where he couldn’t.

Despite the status of the man, he found Merin somewhere he wouldn’t have expected. Sat at the corner of the room, a bunch of cups around him and his head on the table. Dolish felt awkward approaching the son of the Armon so casually, but the boy made no move to raise his head or acknowledge him.

Dolish walked next to him and coughed loudly, which roused Merin from his slumber. He lifted his head off of the table and blinked before turning to the General.

“Venastian,” he noted.

“General Feranc,” Dolish began to salute but Merin patted his hands back down.

“Enough of that. Come on, sit beside me,” Merin said. He groaned as he adjusted himself, rubbing his entire face as if to freshen up.

“Perhaps you should go wash out the sleep?” Dolish advised in as polite of a tone as he could manage.

“Yeah, I should. But propriety is more my father’s game,” he chuckled as he moved the glasses on his table away. He raised a hand and a server started coming over almost immediately.

“Another round, if you would,” Merin said with a raised hand, but Dolish grabbed it.

“You’re in no condition to drink anymore, General,” Dolish told him. Merin scrutinized him with a look that reminded Dolish of His Sharpness, but it faded away into another chuckle.

“Oh, you’re right. No drinks then, just clean up the table, would you?” Merin ordered the servant, who began to take away each glass on his tray.

“Where’s Isarde anyway?” Merin asked.

“She said she had work to do, so she left me to look after you,” Dolish told him. Merin nodded.

“Ah, always the busy one. Well then, tell me, how’s the effort going on your side?”

“The war?”

“Yes, one of one.”

“Well. I’ve had to switch out many of the troops from Latren, but we’ve got many more in reserve. If all goes well, we might even be able to make it past winter with minimal losses,” Dolish droned on to General Feranz, Merin as he would’ve liked to be called himself. Though the boy was a General, it wasn’t due to the age or experience that it came with. Dolish would never think him undeserving of the title, however, since he was the son of the Armon, after all.

“Of course you would do well, Venastian.”

“Pardon?” Dolish asked.

“You’re too humble for your own good. Many envy your prowess on and off the battlefield, I hope you know. So many…” Merin chuckled again, but it was a rueful one.

“I… try my best for Ravenishtan. I think that’s what any one of us can hope for.”

“You try better than most, and that’s what matters. It’s what got you your position. Mine? A birthright,” Merin said, as if it was a horrible thing to have.

“You’re the son of the Armon, General Feranz. No one would hate you for being inexperienced in your role,” Dolish consoled.

“But they should!” Merin said, slamming a hand down onto the table softly. “Inexperience isn’t an excuse on the battlefield, Dolish. Not when I’ve got so many lives on my mind.”

“You’ll learn with time, General Feranz. It’s how every soldier improves.”

“Time isn’t something we have. You said so yourself. We won’t last long the way we’re going,” Merin muttered.

“Then learn from someone else. Someone who does know how to do your job,” Dolish told him strictly. He let in a bit of his genuine emotion, but that seemed to get through to the boy.

“Yes… yes, that might work. General Venastian?” Merin asked.

“Yes?”

“Would you take me with you to your next battle?”

Dolish was left speechless again. Twice in one night, he barely knew how to answer. And because of that, he chose the first thing that came to his mind.

“Surely, you’ve been trained by other Generals, haven’t you?” Dolish asked. Merin chuckled at the mention.

“They were. But none like you. You could teach me faster, better than they could. I haven’t the time to learn how to be a better leader, and I don’t have the powers that you do, General Venastian, so this is my compromise.”

“But why me?” Dolish asked.

“Simple. You’re in the thick of it, General. Perhaps in addition to some learning, I can see what my father finds so justifiable about this whole affair that he’s kept us for so long.

So, I ask again. Will you let me accompany you on the battlefield?” Merin asked him.

“…Yes,” Dolish agreed, a tightening in his throat. He’d have to make sure the weight pressed on him didn’t crush him, that the Armon’s son was absolutely safe.

“Good to have that settled. Anything you wanted to ask of me, Dolish, in return for my favour?” Merin questioned. And surprisingly, something did come to mind. The entire atmosphere of the party reminded him of the night Yennel had gone out with that book.

“You’ve got a library in this keep. How much do you know of the books that you have here?”

Merin’s eye quirked up and he scratched his chin.

“Not much. I don’t go there very often. We’ve got texts from all over the country. Novels, poetry, history books and science, some dating back far before the creation of Ravenishtan even.”

Before Ravenishtan? Perhaps to the time of Elneshe? Dolish wondered.

“Was that it?” Merin asked.

“Yes, yes, that will be all.”

“Well then, I should start looking for Isarde, I think. Thank you for your time, General,” Merin said, standing up from his seat and patting down his clothing. He took a stride in a random direction and took off, leaving the General sat by himself.

Thinking’s going to do me no good until I ask Yennel, Dolish thought to himself as he too stood up. He went into the thick of the party and met with other generals. As it turned out, Yennel had not been seen for a while, which got Dolish more interested. He would’ve assumed Yennel would mingle and make himself a known presence, so what was he hiding for?

Dolish also tried to get the others to join him, but only half-hearted agreements and vague answers greeted him. Since that had proved fruitless, Dolish moved to the thing foremost on his mind. He excused himself from the party, from his honour guard, and went into the halls once more.

He asked the servants around for where the library was, twisting around the keep until he came to it. No indication of it hung outside, but Dolish went towards it anyway, opening the door to someone he didn’t expect.

Yennel stood near a bookshelf, tome in his hand. A surprised look left his face a second after it had appeared, and he smiled towards the General. He placed the book back into the shelf and stepped off of the small stool he was on.

“General Venastian,” Yennel saluted, and so Dolish felt the need to reply in kind. Yennel dusted himself off and approached the General casually.

“I was just leaving, if you don’t mind,” Yennel said.

“What’re you doing in here, Lieutenant General?” Dolish asked, trying to keep his voice unassuming.

“Just a bit of reading,” Yennel said, cocking his head towards the shelf. “But I’m sure that doesn’t interest you,” he added as he swept past Dolish.

“Wait! Lieutenant, I-“

“Apologies, General! I’ve got to meet with His Sharpness soon!” Yennel called out from the hall, vanishing around the corner. Dolish stood in the doorway, looking around for anyone else in the library before moving inside.

He took to the shelf Yennel had climbed out of and grabbed the book that was on it. There was no name on the brown tome that he picked up, only on the inside written in the Ravenishtani tongue.

Compiled Historical Vignettes of Elneshe.

Is Yennel the bookish type? Dolish considered. But the man had never been shown to be. The entire camp may have raved about the Lieutenant General, but they always talked about his charisma, his voice. And never did he mention a love for books? It stunk of suspicion to Dolish.

Dolish took the book and placed it on the table, opening it up to any random page that he could see. Then he took a seat and began to read as the party continued down below him.

We have the testimony of several scouts, Afterburners and not, to tell us that the Elneshi people preferred high spires that rose up into the sky.

Some of these spires yet stand, and included in the following pages are some compiled sketches of their designs. The Elneshi designed the peaks to be accessible by Planar and Afterburner both.

Dolish didn’t find anything of note in that passage. Yes, it was similar to what the Ravenishtani did, but that just meant they were smart enough to figure out that you needed to accommodate your Bladeborn.

They allegedly had a Monarchy, one run by a head of the kingdom. Though the military played a large part in its rule as well.

Dolish scoffed. What an antiquated system. Ravenishtan had never been founded on such weak bases. The Armon would be decided by whoever the previous Armon had raised to replace him. He could not pick his own kin, for that would be picking favourites. Dolish took pride in that fact, that the man he followed wasn’t appointed by his birth, but by the effort he put in and the effort of those before him.

When the lights grew dimmer, he brought over some bewllan crystals to his table to study further. Dolish didn’t realize the time passing until a servant came in to check on him and was surprised by his presence.

“Could I bring you anything, sir?” the man asked him. Dolish blinked, having not realized how long he’d kept them open. A good cup of tea can keep you awake for a long time, the words of his cousin Vartel rang in his ears.

“Just some tea would be good. Can you tell His Sharpness that I will be staying the night?” Dolish asked him. The servant nodded hastily and went away, closing the door a bit too loudly.

He’d spend the entire night there; the Armon graciously providing him a room and stay both. Under the dim blue light of bewllan, with rain tapping against the keep every so often. With the book held out in front of him, Dolish searched for answers. Because that’s all he could do now.