Chapter 35 - Waning

With the season of spring waning coming to an end, and summer waxing mere days away, the people of Halcyon were looking forward to three days of celebrations as one season carried into the over.With the threat of war heavy in the air, as well as famine in the western reaches, Halcyon's citizens were is desperate need of celebration. Cities, towns, and villages of all sizes were preparing for festivals, fairs, and shows.

Of course, Lillyvale was no exception, and as with all the bars and taverns in town, the Old Crow was full of celebrating patrons. Most were men and women from the various plantations and ranches around Lillyvale, their wallets heavy with the bonuses that came at season's end. Beer, ale, whisky, and more flowed like water, and the dank old place was filled with raucous laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the odd chorus of cheers. It had been a hard spring, hot and dry, with little to actually celebrate, but the rain that now poured down outside gave fresh hope for a more productive summer..

In the centre of the room was a trio of dancing pelt slaves brought from one of the local brothels. The dancers were marked with sensuously curving lines of paint, their ears, ankles and wrists covered in tinkling bells. They danced beautifully, their hips swaying and arms waving, much to the appreciation of the cheering spectators. More brothel slaves milled about the crowd, halfheartedly flirting and offering their services, all under the careful eye of two guards standing near the front door.

But Thomas Comb barely even noticed the celebrations around him as he tapped his fingers on the table. Across from him sat Cald, who was nursing a bottle of whiskey. On his left sat Garvey and Sinclair, two more overseers from the Windhill ranch, and on his right sat Lee.

"It really is houndshit, the way you were fired," Lee said, taking another swig from the bottle of beer in his hand. "An' since you've been gone, Snyder has been making some of us pull double hours to make up for it."

"By 'some of us', you mean those of us who ain't willing to bend over and lick Snyder's boots." Garvey grumbled.

"Boy, you said it." Sinclair added, straightening his hat as he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Can't say I remember the last time I saw Sally or Waylon have to pull double shifts."

Garvey grunted as he shot back a glass of whisky. "That, and Sally's been bullying poor Lee over here."

"Don't worry about me, I can handle her," Lee grumbled.

"Ain't no one saying you can't lad," Cald grinned, tussling Lee's hair, much to the younger man's displeasure.

"Ain't no laughin' matter." Garvey batted Cald's hand away from Lee. "There's gonna be some real problems if this shit keeps up."

"Who else feels the way you gents do?" Comb asked, glancing around the table.

Sinclair gently twirled the end of the long beard hanging from his chin as he spoke. "Hard to say, what with Snyder keeping a watchful eye, but I'd guess that Jean and Kate are with us."

"That and Old Ray, figure he's 'bout sick to death of the Windhill brat too," Garvey added. "I 'spect the Allburn brothers might be with us too if the wind were blowing in the right direction."

"Ain't near enough." Cald shook his head. "Even with Windhill gone, there's too many who don't wanna risk their pay, let alone their necks."

Turning to spit on the floor in disgust, Garvey nodded. "Mhmmm, and others actually like the brat."

"But what if we had some... outside help?" Comb asked after a long moment's pause.

Lee took another drink. "Well that'd sort us, but who?"

Comb's lips cracked into a little smile. "What about this new Agent feller who's been on a tear in town recently? Betcha he would be just pleased as punch to bag a prize like Windhill."

All the others around the table paused to look at Comb.

"The Windhills and the Order 'ave been joined at the hip fer some time," Sinclair said, taking another drink from his bottle. "What makes you figure they'll turn?"

"This new Agent, Baskerville, he's just the type who'd jump at the chance for a big catch." Comb leaned back in his chair, his smile widening into a grin. "Think of it. We go to him, tell him that Windhill is a pelt sympathiser. He'll bite, I know it."

"It'll just seem like we're whining and complaining about one of ours getting his ass thrown to the road." Sinclair looked back and forth between Cald and Comb. "No offence boys."

"So what do we do?" Lee demanded, setting his bottle down hard. "This keeps up... the slaves will end up running the damn ranch. Lord's sake, some of them are getting awfully back-chatty."

"Tell me about it," Comb grumbled. "One of the fuckin' lapines, the one the tiger likes so much, she damn well waved at me as Sally was kicking Cald and I out the front gate."

"No kiddin," Cald shook his head. "Dammit, someone needs to teach these pelts a lesson."

"That lapine... was she the same one what was late getting back to the barn last season?" Lee asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah, think so." Sinclair nodded. "Then again, I can't barely tell the animals apart. 'Specially the lapines, they all look the damn same." Sinclair made a show of displaying his front teeth and waving his hands like ears.

"That sorta thing woulda gotten her strung up when the brat's father was in charge." Comb glanced at Lee, the slightest hint of a sneer on his face. "Thinkin' someone should teach her a lesson."

"Yeah..." Lee nodded, raising his bottle back to his lips. "Yeah... I think you might be right."

As the men drank, one of the pelts, a pale golden-yellow Lapine, approached, bells attached to her collar tinkering softly.

"Any of you gentlemen looking for some company?" She asked.

Swallowing the last of his drink, Comb looked up at the lapine. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I am."

There was a coldness to Comb's voice that instinctively made the girl step back, but before she could retreat, Comb's hand flashed out and grabbed hold of her wrist.

"No no," he growled, getting to his feet and pulling the lapine closer. "Don't you go runnin' now, we're gonna have some fun."

Glancing over at the bar, Comb called out. "Oi, Charlie, you got any rooms free?"

"Sure, but it's gonna cost you two larics fer the hour."

Comb tightened his grip on the lapine girl's wrist. "No worries, I'm good fer it."

Charlie shrugged. "Right then. Room four, top of the stairs, second door on yer right."

Cald leaned forward in his chair. "Eh Comb, whatcha doing, we're still talking 'ere."

"Ah let the man 'ave some fun." Garvey chuckled. He glanced up at the lapine. "Hoo boy did you pick the wrong table tonight though."

The lapine shivered as Comb pulled her close, the alcohol on his breath stinging her nose.

"You know, yeh remind me of someone, someone who did something real, real, rude. So I'm thinking all you lapines need to be taught a lesson 'bout where you belong."

As Comb started to drag the woman up the stairs, one of the guards at the door called out. "Oi, be gentle with the merchandise! You break it, you buy it."

"Don't worry yer head," Comb called back. "I ain't gonna break it."

"But I will tell you one thing," Comb growled, grabbing the lapine woman by the collar and dragging her the rest of the way up the stairs. "You ain't gonna enjoy this. Come morning, you are gonna be one sore piece of ass."

***

There had been little question in the minds of Lillyvale's citizens that the previous chief justice had been rather disinterested in his job. He had much preferred to spend his time drinking and carousing with pelt slaves in one of the local flesh taverns, rather than actually working. Of course, so long as the slaves stayed quiet, the bars stayed stocked and the river port was clear, it hadn't proved to be much of a problem.

Unlike his predecessor, Edmund Duke genuinely enjoyed his duties, and would often stay in his office late into the night. It pleased him greatly to overhear the odd comment shared amongst the populace about how his 'office light was always on'. After all, he'd signed up with the Lillyvale Order Chapter to serve the Lord, and his community, not use his authority for self-enrichment, or pleasure. He'd worked hard to prove those that had claimed he was too young, too inexperienced, wrong, and to not fall for the same kind of debauchery as the previous chief justice.

As he put the finishing touches on a letter, Duke let out a loud yawn and stretched. Between the construction foreman whining about a shortage of slave labour, the execution of two highway robbers, a riverboat running into the pier and nearly sinking, two burglaries, a missing child, hunting down a rabid hound, and the end-of-season festivities, it had been a longer day than most.

'Wonder what Dahlia has for supper this evening...' Duke pondered as he started putting away his writing supplies. He felt a pang of regret as he glanced at a picture on his desk that showed him and his wife standing in front of their house. They'd married young, just before Duke had joined the Order on his sixteenth birthday, and though his duties often kept him away long into the night, Dahlia was always happy to see him when he got home. Still, it had been a long time since he had enjoyed one of his wife's delicious meals fresh from the oven.

'I should really do something for her...' He thought to himself, picking up the picture and smiling at it. 'Hmmm... with my position, we can afford a slave now... Maybe tomorrow we can take some time and go to the market. With an extra pair of hands, we could start that family she's always talking about."

Duke's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking on his door.

Quickly he set the photo down and straightened his jacket. "Yes, what is it?"

"Chief, you have a visitor."

'At this time of night?'

"Who is it?"

"It's Miss Hathaway sir."

Immediately, Duke stiffened. "I see... Send her in."

The door opened and Mel stepped inside. She nodded at Duke. "Good evening, nephew."

"Aunt Mel." Duke nodded curtly. "What can I do fer you?"

Noting the sharpness in Duke's tone, Mel cleared her throat and reached up to remove her hat.

"Truth told Edmund... I feel I owe you an apology. "

Duke paused for a moment, before lowering himself down into his chair. "Please, sit and make yourself comfortable."

Lowering herself into one of the two leather chairs that sat in front of Duke's desk, Mel leaned forwards as she spoke.

"I was very sharp with you, and I... I haven't been myself the past little while." She sighed heavily, turning her hat around in her hands. "I've been dreaming about Rory a great deal, and it's left me... exhausted and rather cross. He would have been fourteen this year... and I keep thinking about all the things I'll never get to teach him."

"I can understand that," Duke nodded, his anger fading quickly as he noted the pained look on his aunt's face. His gaze was drawn to a shelf behind his desk, to a small wooden boat that Rory had made for him a few years before he died. Duke had been only a few years older than Rory, and had taken a great deal of pride in protecting his cousin and teaching him how to fight and fish.

"I suppose... I suppose I took out my frustration on you." Mel looked up, her eyes meeting Dukes. "And while I am still angry that my slave was so badly damaged because of your foreman's stupidity, that was no excuse to threaten you."

"No, no it wasn't."

For a moment Mel felt a sharp stab of anger, but with effort she forced it aside. "Please understand, Coryn is reliable, and with good help being so hard to find these days... Well I don't want to have to go training a new slave."

Duke cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in front of his face. "Don't go getting me wrong, I can understand why you were angry. But to allow a pelt to come between you and your family, such a thing is unacceptable."

Mel bristled a little, but said nothing, bowing her head.

"The pelts aren't our friends, they can't be. The moment we let them start to come between us is the moment they slit our throats."

"I understand all that."

"But you are dealing with some grief at the moment, an' that is something I truly do understand." Duke sighed and smiled a little. "And we are family. I... don't want to quarrel with you."

"Thank you Edmund."

Pulling open a drawer on the side of his desk, Duke reached inside and withdrew a small tin box.

"Here, you should have this back," he said, sliding the box across the top of his desk towards Mel.

Mel caught the box and opened it. Within was her Order pin.

"I didn't tell Agent Baskerville about your outburst." Duke got up from his chair and folded his hands behind his back. "And I didn't tell him about the rebels you let go."

Again, Mel bristled, but managed to smile at Duke and nod her head. "I appreciate that. It... won't happen again."

"I should hope not. Not that it matters, ain't seen hide nor hair of them for a time now, and not much of anything can survive out in the swamps for long." He gestured at the pin. "So, if I have your word that you will honour your position, then you can have that back."

Looking up at Duke, Mel got to her feet and reverently replaced the pin on the lapel of her jacket. "Thank you, Edmund. I'd like to take a little more time to get my head back in order." She smiled a little. "I might even take some time to get the old estate back up and running."

Duke's eyes lit up. "Of course! With war coming, there is likely to be a great deal more demand for hounds."

"It will also give us a chance to make the Hathaway name mean something again."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

"I'll head there as soon as I can then." Mel glanced down at the pin on her jacket. "I suppose that means I won't be as useful around town."

"Don't worry 'bout that, Baskerville and I can take care of Lillyvale just fine."

"That you can." Mel bowed her head. "Well, I better get home, a great deal to see to."

Oh, and one more thing-" Duke added as Mel turned to leave. "-I think it is best if you don't have anything to do with the rebel."

Mel paused. "Oh?"

"'Course I mean no offence, I just think that, what with yer previous outburst..."

"There's no reason to worry about me." Mel replied quickly, "I can handle myself."

"I know, but it did seem to trouble you, the way we were interrogating him." Duke got up from his chair and stepped around his desk, putting a hand on Mel's shoulder. "I can understand why, you know. He looks harmless enough, pathetic even. But the truth of the matter is, if he were given a chance, he would kill every one of us."

"I... understand."

"If it makes you feel better, think of him as a... necessary sacrifice. His death will show the rest of the pelts that humanity is both strong and determined, that we will punish those that stand against us. It will make them think twice before raising a hand in rebellion again. All told, it'll probably save lives in the end."

Mel took a deep breath and looked up at Duke. "You've grown up a lot Edmund. I'm very proud of you, you know that."

Duke smiled in return. "Thank you, Aunt Mel. I'm glad to have you back with us."

***

Mel knew she didn't have much time. The moment she left Duke's office, she immediately made her way towards the stairs leading to the lower levels of the Chapter House. It was late, and most of the other agents had already gone home for the night. Construction scaffolds and piles of building supplies cast ghostly shadows across the walls in the flickering lamplight as Mel moved towards a secured door at the rear end of the main entrance chamber.

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A single man sat on a chair guarding the stairway leading down into the cells. Mel did her best to keep her pace casual despite the thumping of her heart in her chest. As she drew near, Mel breathed a heavy sigh of relief, the guard was fast asleep, his hat pulled down over his eyes.

Slipping past the sleeping guard, Mel crept down the stairs into the dimly lit gloom of the dungeon. Only a single lantern lit the long, gloomy aisle, leaving the cells in darkness.

Only two of the cells were occupied, one by a trio of drunkards, all sleeping off a particularly rowdy night of drinking, and the other by the rebel.

Striding past the loudly snoring drunks, Mel made her way down to the cell at the end of the row.

At first Mel couldn't make anything out in the dark as she peered through the thick iron bars. After a few moments, she caught sight of a flicker of movement at the back of the cell, a dark figure lying curled up in a ball in one corner.

"Hey," Mel hissed quietly. "Hey, wake up."

Again the shadowy figure shifted. "R-Raid?"

"I don't have much time," Mel whispered, beckoning towards the door. "Come here, quickly."

"I don't know..." Came a whimpering reply. "Please... I don't know anything..."

"It's okay, I'm not here to hurt you." Mel gestured again, kneeling down on the floor as if beckoning a pet. "Come on, please. I'm here to get you out."

There was a subtle glint in the darkness from Trip's eyes as he raised his head again. "Y-you..."

"I'm here to get you out," Mel repeated. "Please, come here."

"B-but you..."

"I'm here to help you. Please, trust me."

Slowly, Trip rolled over and began to crawl haltingly toward Mel. As he entered the light, Mel let out an involuntary gasp. Trip's fur was mangey and stained with blood, large patches of it gone, burned off or simply fallen out, to reveal pale skin. Cuts and small wounds covered his body, and it looked as if someone had cut off half of his right ear. His cheeks were hollow, his ribs showing clearly through what remained of his fur. Mel had heard that Trip had stopped eating, and that to keep him alive, food was being forced down his throat. Judging by the myriad of cuts and bruises around his mouth, the rumour was true.

"By the Lord... you poor thing..."

Trip shrunk back a little, as if Mel's pity were a threat to strike him.

"No, no, it's okay... It's okay..."

Forcing aside her shock, Mel reached into her pocket and withdrew the piece of catalyst crystal that Emitt had given her.

"Hold out your hand."

Trip hesitantly obeyed, shivering as he did.

"This is a shield rune," Mel explained, pressing the rune into Trip's palm. "It will help us get you out."

"G-get me out?"

"Yes," Mel nodded. "When they finish the new gallows, we're going to set fire to them and the Chapter House. This rune will protect you from the fire so some friends of mine can pull you out after it is done."

Trip stared down at the rune in his hand, before looking back up at Mel. "Why?"

Slipping her hand between the bars, Mel gripped Trip's hand in hers. "Because you asked me for help."

Trip blinked exhaustively as he stared at Mel, his mind spinning. "B-but you... Y-you're... the one..."

"I know... and I'm sorry."

"Why now?"

"I have my reasons, and I'll explain them all to you later." As gently as she was able, Mel squeezed Trip's hand before releasing him. "I'm sorry, I don't have time to talk anymore."

"No, please," Trip grabbed hold of Mel's hand and held on desperately. "Please, don't leave me," he whimpered, "Please..."

Mel shuddered as memories of her own son gripping her hand as he lay dying threatened to overwhelm her. Forcing herself to breathe, Mel reached through the bars with her other hand and gripped Trip's cheek.

"Just hold on a little while longer," she whispered, stroking his fur. "I promise, you'll be free soon."

"That man... he said that they were going to interrogate me tomorrow..." Trip shivered hard. "Please... I can't..."

"I know sweetie, I know." Mel leaned closer to the bars. "Don't fight them, cooperate."

"But I... I don't know..."

"Make it seem like they've broken you." Mel took a deep breath, stroking Trip's cheek. "You're strong, hold on a little longer and everything will be alright."

"Wh-what should I tell them?"

"What they want to hear. Don't exaggerate, just tell them what they want to know. Tell them... tell them that there are only a few rebels left, that they would have run into the swamps... o-or that they linked up with some northern spies."

His breath shivering, Trip managed to nod. "I... I will." Reluctantly he released his grip on Mel's hand.

"Just keep that rune hidden." Mel stood, hastily brushing off her jacket. "This will all be over soon, I promise."

As Mel departed, Trip paused for a moment to look down at the rune in his hand. Gripping it tightly, he crawled back to the patch of filthy straw in the corner of his cell. He curled up into a ball, clutching the rune against his chest.

"Raid... I can still.... I can still..." Trip moaned as his eyes slid shut.

'I can still fight.'

***

Cardinal Aarin Dellward frowned as she flipped through a sheaf of papers marked with the Order seal.

The Cardinal was sat within her personal carriage as it rolled through the streets of Legacy city, flanked by heavily armed and armoured riders on war hounds. Instead of her usual uniform, the Cardinal was dressed in a set of rich crimson robes decorated with golden brocade.

Across from the Cardinal sat General Ray Fischer, a man with a narrow face and a well-trimmed and immaculately manicured moustache that curled out past his cheeks. Instead of the normally dark blue outfit of the Halcyon militia, the uniform he wore was a pale grey/green colour. That, and the pale brown spats on his boots and the buttoned field cap upon his head, marked him as a member of Halcyon's Plane Secundus Expeditionary Force.

"Utterly unacceptable." Cardinal Dellward snapped the folder shut and dropped it on the seat beside her. "Two thousand rifles isn't nearly enough."

General Fischer's moustache twitched as he raised an eyebrow. "Two thousand is all we have to spare, your holiness."

"As I said, unacceptable." Cardinal Dellward's voice was sharp, cutting through the air like the crack of a whip. "If the Chiropine are to fight off their enemies, they will need more. I gave the ambassador my assurances that her people would be armed."

The General resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Far be it from me to question the will of the Order, But perhaps you could have consulted with the Militia before you made such promises?"

Dellward's face hardened. "Your forces were to have armouries set up and producing weapons on plane secundus more than three years ago. Outfitting the Chiropine should be an easy task by now."

"We have experienced delays."

"So I've heard."

"We are under near constant attack by the pelts, and sabotage by the slaves." General Fischer replied, careful to keep his voice even. "Why just last season one of our refineries was destroyed by fire. And that's to say nothing of the demand for catalyst crystal syphoning off more and more of our resources."

"And yet here you are, back in Halcyon, away from your rightful post."

Despite his efforts to remain calm, Fischer bristled at the remark. "There were things to be seen to, your holiness, as you well know."

The carriage shuddered as it turned onto one of Legacy's main roads.

"The harvesting of catalyst crystal is the very highest priority, General." The Cardinal continued, folding her arms across her chest. "The entire purpose of your expeditionary force is to maintain the flow of slaves and crystal."

"I am aware of that, but-"

"Halcyon cannot survive without a steady supply of catalyst crystal." There was no trace of anger, but the icy venom in Dellward's tone was unmistakable. "The Bloodford mines are all but dry, and our prospecting efforts in Tillsonburg and Elliswatch have yielded little more than crumbs."

"But I was under the impression that Elliswatch was very promising." The moment the words left his mouth the general cursed himself for speaking so quickly. He shuddered to think of the consequences should the Cardinal learn of his family's investments in prospecting efforts in Tillsonburg and Elliswatch. After all, for the head of the Plane Secundus Expeditionary force to be connected to the search for catalyst crystal within Halcyon itself, would be quite the scandal.

Unknown to the General however, Cardinal Dellward was well aware of his family's investments, they simply did not interest her. "Then you are poorly informed, General. All efforts to locate a significant vein of catalyst crystal on this side of the gate have failed. Holding Plane Secundus is essential. We must maintain our positions there no matter the cost."

"Of course I agree, your holiness."

"And outfitting our allies is a vital part of that effort, an effort your blunders are putting in jeopardy. Simply put, general, you and your forces are failing."

"Blunders?! Failing?!" Fischer sputtered. "Madam, I am shocked at such an accusation!"

"If you cannot handle the pelts, then perhaps the Order should take over your position."

"Preposterous! The Prime Minister himself gave me command of Plane Secundus!"

"Indeed. Perhaps I will have a word with him about that once this ridiculous gala is concluded."

The General's face swiftly turned redder as his frustration grew. "Madam I must, in the strongest possible terms, protest this ludicrous impugning of both my character and the efforts of my division!"

Dellward was unconcerned by the general's bluster, though the two Seraphim sitting on either side of her ever so slightly shifted their hands towards their weapons.

Regaining some of his composure, General Fischer straightened his hat and jacket. "Besides, Graize would never allow the Order to take over operations on Plane Secundus. Why, they'd block off access to the gate!"

"Which they are going to do regardless."

"If you are referring to the threat of war, may I remind you that it is you and your 'Order' that are fanning that particular fire?"

"The Northern Federation is the enemy, General, and they will act against us."

"So you say."

Again the carriage swayed as it turned off the main road and onto a curved driveway. A long row of militia soldiers stood along the white gravel path, long rifles slung over their arms and ceremonial plates of armour upon their chests that glittered in the glow of dozens of flaming braziers.

Up ahead, illuminated by a number of large lights, was the capital building of Halcyon's government, Warletonwood Hall.

Like much of Legacy, Warletonwood Hall was built from pale ivory stone, with a number of great carved pillars decorating the front entrance. The whole structure was built in the shape of a pair of great eagle wings, with a large garden of red roses in the shape of a shield in the front. A bronze statue of the Lord was displayed proudly in the centre of the garden, her sword drawn and its point aimed into the sky.

A great many carriages were parked around the entrance of the hall, and the sounds of music drifting out through the set of large double doors. The summer gala was already in full swing, with a great number of guests in expensive and elegant attire making their way into the Hall. The occasional burst of light from a flash lamp lit up the front of the hall, all from a crowd of reporters that were grouped as close to the entrance as they could get.

As her carriage came to a stop, Dellward got to her feet and looked down at General Fischer. "I want five thousand rifles in the hands of our Chiropine allies by the end of the summer season, along with a suitable accompaniment of ammunition and small arms."

"Th-that's impossible!"

"And yet it is the command of the Lord's Holy Order, and therefore the Lord herself. If that number isn't met, I will see to it that someone more suitable is assigned to your post."

"You have no authority to command this!"

"And yet I do all the same, and you will obey, General."

Opening the door to the carriage, Cardinal Dellward stepped out. As the General made to follow her, she spun round and made a flurry of quick gestures. In an instant, the general found his way blocked by one of the seraphim.

"I say sir, move!"

The Seraphim merely stood, still as a statue.

"Driver, return the general to the military command bureau." Dellward's eyes narrowed as she glared up at the sputtering general. "He has a great deal of work to do, and this gala would be a poor use of his precious time."

"As you command your holiness."

With a snap of the reins, Dellward's carriage rolled away, leaving her and one of the Seraphim standing in the drive. As she began walking towards the entrance to the hall, the crowd of reporters erupted in a flurry of questions.

"Your holiness, do you have anything to say about the rumours that Graize is going to attack before the year is out?"

"High Cardinal Dellward a picture, please!"

"What do you have to say to the calls for the abolition of slavery from Skye and Varhost?"

"Is it true that you and the Prime Minister are at odds over military planning?"

"Your holiness, do you plan to speak to the ambassador from Graize this evening?"

Ignoring the calls, Dellward strode up to the main doors, her robes billowing out behind her.

"Bloody vultures," She snarled under her breath.

***

Within the main ballroom of Warletonwood Hall, the Summer Season gala was in full swing. Lords and ladies, industrialists and politicians, all mingled together, enjoying an array of exotic food and drink bourne around the room on golden trays. A band off to one side of the room played a delightfully uplifting tune.

The moment Cardinal Dellward entered the room, she was surrounded by other attendees, all looking to be the first to greet her.

"Cardinal Dellward, what a delight to see you."

"Cardinal, truly a privilege to have you here this evening."

"What an honour, your holiness, that you could join us."

With each greeting, Cardinal Dellward nodded and forced a gracious smile. To be here, at an event like this, when there was so much work to be done, it burned and itched in the back of her mind. And yet she did her best to appear as if she were enjoying the festivities, taking a glass of sparkling wine from a tray and making her way through the crowd.

"Aarin, what a pleasant surprise!"

At the sound of the booming voice, Cardinal Dellward paused for a moment and braced herself before turning around. "Ambassador Clay."

The man Cardinal Dellward had turned to face was the Graize ambassador, Girrard Clay. He was a tall, handsome-looking man, his masculine face framed by a neatly trimmed beard, and a head of slicked-back salt and pepper hair. His icy blue eyes were like those of a predator, darting across everything around him, cataloguing and analysing every last detail. Perhaps most striking of all was the double-breasted, royal blue coat that hung from his shoulders, its silver trim and buttons glinting like gemstones.

Clay's face split into a wide, grinning smile as he reached out and took Cardinal Dellward's hand in his, before lightly placing a kiss on her fingers. "It is, as ever, enchanting to see you again. How is your dear daughter?"

"She is well, thank you."

"I am glad to hear it." Clay shook his head as he released Dellward's hand. "I must say my dear, you grow more radiant each and every time I see you."

"So you say, each and every time you see me."

"And yet it is true."

"You're most kind, I'm sure."

"Well I must take advantage of the rare opportunities I have to see you. My letters and telegrams go unanswered, my requests for a meeting are always denied, and I have been told again and again that your schedule simply won't permit you to step away from your duties." A cocky little half smile danced across Clay's lips. "It's almost like you're trying to avoid me."

Cardinal Dellward sighed to herself. There had once been a time that the Ambassador's charming words and personality had distracted her. Indeed her very own daughter was proof of the Ambassador's seemingly endless charm. But those days were long gone now.

"With respect, Ambassador, I have matters I really must see to." She nodded respectfully. "Please, excuse me."

"Oh come now Aarin." Clay's smile widened as he stepped in front of Cardinal Dellward, cutting off her attempted retreat. "I know there is some bad blood between our nations at the moment, but surely we can be friends?"

"Friends? Perhaps when Graize ceases its efforts to close Halcyon off from the gate, then we can discuss our 'friendship'."

"Preposterous, Graize would never violate the Kanter Treaty, certainly not without cause."

"And what of your Chancellor calling for an end to our right to take slaves from Plane Secundus?"

Clay casually waved a hand. "Politics my dear, all naught but politics."

"You would know, as you are a politician yourself." Even as she spoke, Dellward cursed herself for being drawn into the conversation. But it was too late to back out now.

"True, very true, and who better than a politician to know just how incredibly dull politics really is." Clay's expression changed to one of condescending surety. "Come now Aarin, despite some minor squabbling, Graize and Halcyon are, as ever, the very greatest of friends."

"Friends do not provide arms to rebel groups." Cardinal Dellward shot back, ignoring the small crowd of curious eavesdroppers that had begun to drift closer.

Clay's cheek twitched almost imperceptibly. Dellward was not playing along as he had expected, and for a moment he felt a twinge of irritation.

"It is deeply troubling to all of us, my own government especially, that Federation weapons somehow found their way into the hands of rebels," Clay said after a moment. "And of course, you have our deepest apologies for any damage said weapons may have caused, but the actions of a few criminals can hardly be taken as an indication of where Graize herself stands."

"Criminals?" Dellward let out a sharp laugh. "Are you trying to suggest that these weapons were stolen from the Federation? That they were sold to rebels within Halcyon without Graizes's knowledge?"

"Of course." Clay's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he leaned closer. "Everyone knows what a mistake it would be to arm the pelts with... rifles."

The bard struck home, and Dellward's cheek twitched.

"So you deny the Federations involvement?"

"Categorically."

"Ah, Mister Clay, Miss Dellward, there you are," another voice rang out. The crowd swiftly parted as a man in a fine suit approached, followed closely by Marshal James Taunton. A small gaggle of reporters and photographers followed along behind the two men, keeping a respectable distance.

Immediately, Cardinal Dellward bowed. "Prime Minister."

Prime Minister Wilfrid Ellias Jackson the Third was a portly man, his face marked with deep lines, and a chin that wobbled as he walked. He wore a tailed suit of black velvet, with a bright crimson ribbon pinned to his chest to denote his station. A pair of impressive mutton chops ran down either side of his face, an old-fashioned look that the Prime Minister embraced wholeheartedly. In fact, if one were to ask Cardinal Dellward her impression of the Prime Minister, old fashioned would almost certainly be the words she chose, and likely the most charitable.

"A pleasure to see you, Cardinal." Jackson declared, reaching out and enthusiastically shaking Dellward's hand, turning to give a winning smile to the reporters that surged forward to snap a photo. "Marvellous to have you here, simply marvellous."

"The honour is mine, Prime Minister," she replied, forcing another smile. "As always, I appreciate the invitation."

"Yes, yes of course. Come, let's get another few photos." He gestured to the group of reporters and photographers. "Come on lads, something for the front page of tomorrow's paper, eh?"

The photographers hurried to comply, fumbling with their cameras and flash lamps. Cardinal Dellward couldn't help but notice that the cameras being used by the reporters from Graize seemed to be more advanced and compact.

After a barrage of flashes, Jackson grinned at the reporters. "Good, good! Now, if you all will excuse me for a few moments."

Turning to Dellward, he extended a hand towards a set of doors at the back of the room. "Could I trouble you for a moment of your time, your holiness?"

Despite his friendly tone, Dellward could hear something else buried within the Prime Minister's words. This was not a request.

"Of course sir." She nodded. Please, lead on"

***

The moment he closed the office door behind him, Prime Minister Jackson rounded on Dellward like an angry bull.

"What, in all ten layers of damnation, were you thinking?!"

"The ambassador approached me, sir." Delward replied simply, keeping her tone calm, even as the Prime Minister's face turned as red as a ripe tomato.

"And so you proceeded to... to... all but declare war on Graize!"

"With all due respect, Prime Minister, I did nothing of the sort."

"You accused Graize of supplying rebels with weapons!"

"Which they are doing."

"Oh nonsense! They'd have to get the weapons across The Vein without us noticing. It's smugglers, nothing more."

Dellward's eyes narrowed as the Prime Minister stormed past her towards his desk. "War is inevitable sir, I've been saying that for years."

Dropping into his chair, Prime Minister Jackson leaned over his desk and glared at Dellward. "Now you listen here, there will be no war, you understand? No war! Ambassador Clay was very, very clear, the Federation will absolutely not start a fight with Halcyon."

"And you believe him?"

Jackson's nose twitched in anger. "I believe that Graize knows full well how powerful Halcyon is, and that a war would be a disaster for both our peoples."

"We are the Lord's chosen people, we-"

"Don't give me religious nuttery! Unless the Lord plans to come back and fight some battles for us, she isn't a factor in this war you are so desperate to start!"

"Careful, Prime Minister." This time it was Dellward's voice that carried a deadly edge. "You are running dangerously close to a serious act of blasphemy."

Pausing to take a long, deep breath, Prime Minister Jackson nodded. "Yes... of course. Forgive me for that... outburst.

"I understand, sir."

"Now go back to your... Cathedral, and do something useful." Jackson demanded, getting back to his feet. "And remember what I said. No-"

"No war." Dellward interrupted, her voice heavy with disdain. "I understand."

"See that you do, Cardinal, lest you bring ruin down on our heads."

***

"They're going to attack."

Marshal Taunton raised an eyebrow as he glanced across the carriage at Cardinal Dellward.

"You're certain?"

"I'm certain. And it is going to be soon."

"Our information suggests that the Federation would never make the first move."

"Then our information is wrong." Dellward's eyes narrowed. "Somehow, Ambassador Clay knows about our plans to arm the Chiropine. If he knows about that, then it is likely he knows about our other plans regarding Plane Secundus."

Taunton's brow furrowed. "So, they'll close off the gate."

"Possibly."

"Possibly?"

Dellward glanced out the window at the distant glow of the lights of Warletonwood Hall. "Something about the way Ambassador Clay spoke... I don't think they will attack the gate, not at first."

"The only other target that would make sense then would be Second Hope."

Dellward nodded. "If they take Second Hope, they trap us on this side of The Vein.

"If they do that, they'll simply wait until our supply of catalyst crystal runs out, then they'll attack us with runic weapons." Taunton stroked his beard as he spoke. "I'll tell our troops to be on high alert."

"I asked you before if the Militia was ready for war. I hope you were telling me the truth, because I am certain we are all but out of time."

"When do you think they will make this move?"

Dellwards lips curled into a cold smile. "Ambassador Clay is no martyr. If we keep our eyes on him, he'll be our canary in the coal mine. The moment he makes a move to leave Halcyon, that's when Graize will attack."

"I'll see to it that he is watched, carefully."

"No," Dellward shook her head. "Focus on preparing our armies. The Seraphim can keep an eye on our canary."

"As you wish."

For a time, the only sound within the carriage was the rattling of the wheels on the road. Both Dellward and Taunton stared out the windows at the city beyond, their minds racing.

"May the Lord protect us," Marshal Taunton said quietly at last. "War with Graize... No, with the whole Federation..."

"Not a war Marshal, a Crusade." Dellwards eyes flashed with excited determination, her heart pounding in her chest. "The moment the Northern barbarians move against the Lord's Chosen people... the ninth crusade begins."

END OF CHAPTER 35