5 - Beyond the Fetters of War

17th Year, 7th Month, Autumn

From the dark forest was born the god of the eternal hunt, slave to an appetite as insatiable as the endless sky. From the abyssal depths emerged the god of darkness, who reigned over the limitless expanse as the one who silenced the light. And from Mara rose the goddess of the moon, who claimed the heavens as her domain and the sun as a sister scorned.

As the clock continued to turn, so too did the domains to rule find their rightful masters. All but those of chaos and creativity.

Whilst one of these concepts saw its throne abandoned, the other found too many upon it. To weave art, song, literature, and dance upon a single tapestry was but a fool’s errand, for there existed no single authority for any of the myriad reflections. It was precisely by ingesting the old masters’ skills and showing beauty in the violation of their standards that value was brought upon each piece.

By its very nature, the spirit of creativity could not be consolidated in one.

Only after a hundred hours, a hundred days, and a hundred eons of languish did it find its epiphany revealed.

To impose the concept upon just one was but an act of folly.

It, they, would become the divine collective of art and song.

They would become a mosaic and entreat upon the world an infinity of mastered expression.

Scriptures of the Savage Gods, Verse 14-3

___

Though supposedly mighty heroes of yore, the phantoms drew back in the face of my overzealous enthusiasm. For a hundred steps, their cowardice remained.

It was only as I crossed a pair of grand pillars that I found my next opponent.

A woman with a fuzzy white body and a pair of sparkling, translucent wings descended from the ceiling. Her two left hands held palettes, while the four on her right featured a set of delicate brushes. Their tips were already coated with paint.

I nearly struck her down there and then—forgebrushers, like bards and starseers, were especially difficult to deal with on account of their wide-ranging abilities—but having already embarrassed myself once, I ultimately stayed my hand. It didn’t help my conscience to know that she was fully on guard. Her compound eyes were simultaneously focused on my gaze, my joints, and my extremities; she was ready to react the moment I launched an attack.

“She is Gunnhildr Haraldsdóttir, the aspect of false life.” Vella began to speak once the two of us took our places. “She was the first to master the use of visual art in combat and the progenitor of the forgebrusher class. Once known as a terror upon the battlefield, she was a saviour whose illustrations could single-handedly turn the tide of war. But far more consequential than the change she brought to the battlefield was that which she carried beyond it. She defined a warrior’s compassion and brought purpose to battle beyond the glory often blindly sought. It was in her image that the ideal Kryddarian warlord was crafted, and from that, its Cadrian equivalent.”

Unlike the others I had fought, hers was a legend I knew. She was the first queen of Kryddar. Her most powerful ability was one that all forgebrushers attempted and failed to reproduce. It was an absolute power that allowed her to ignore the standard ruleset and bring whatever outcome it was that she happened to have in mind.

All it took was for her to paint a scene. And she had already begun.

Her hands started to dance through the air as soon as Vella closed her mouth. She practically threw her paints into the space in front of her.

It all came together at a blinding, impossible speed. She had already reproduced my lower body by the time I started to move. Neither my skeletal structure nor my muscular anatomy had escaped the perfect replication that came with the master’s eye. Nearly every hair was represented, and her brushes were soon to fill the rest.

Still, I was faster.

My shieldlance plunged through the illustration before she could complete it and severed two of her arms.

She moved the remaining four at a breakneck speed and threw together an illustration of her own body, intact and undamaged by my blade.

I could have stopped it. She wasn’t so fast that I couldn’t grab her by the wrists, but I waited for the moment that she completed her spell before driving a hoof straight through her lower abdomen. I ripped apart the skin, the flesh, and the organs within before hooking my hoofs on her spinal column. And then, with one swift motion, I lowered my foot and disconnected her backbone from the stem of her brain.

The world went white. Just as it had at the end of my previous encounters. But I was not so foolish as to fall for her trick. With a dozen sweeps of the blade, I chopped her body into a thousand tiny pieces and destroyed the illusion she had painted upon my mental canvas.

Only then was my world truly distorted. A castle sprang up around me, appearing hand in hand with a field of autumn leaves. With winter soon approaching, the world was dyed in red, orange, and brown. Many of the trees so close to the northern front were of an evergreen nature. They outnumbered their deciduous cousins by far, and yet, the grass was hidden beneath a blanket of colours. From my position atop the fortress’ walls, the field extended almost as far as the eye could see.

Something about the rolling hills took the weight out of my shoulders and put my mind at ease. It was a sensation that my present self felt more strongly than the me of the past. The added layer of nostalgia only served to tug at my chest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

The question came with a smack. Though, nominally, I felt the strike against my forehead, I was largely unbothered. It barely hurt. The violent scoundrel responsible for the assault and battery was but another mage whose arms were as noodly as the soggy slop we were always served for lunch.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I asked, as I fought back the urge to yawn. Though I had always known it as fact, I almost couldn’t believe how lazy I’d been in my earlier days. I almost wanted to take a lesson out of my younger self’s book and find a time to kick back in the present, but as the military’s supreme commander, I was given no such leisure.

“It looks like you’re shirking your duties.” Allegra, my commanding officer, crossed her tiny arms as she thumped one of her giant fuzzy feet against the stone-crafted wall.

“Me? Shirk duties? Never,” I said, with a bit of a grin. “You’re probably thinking of Ragnar.”

“You act like you two are any different.” She twisted her lips into a frown. It wasn’t the first time we had gone through the whole song and dance, and it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. I’m clearly watching for an enemy attack.” I almost couldn’t stop myself from laughing at my own joke, or rather, Allegra’s displeasure.

“You’re not even on guard duty today,” she said, with a huff. “You’re supposed to be helping out with the supplies.”

With one hand holding down her oversized hat, the bipedal rabbit pointed her staff at the courtyard. The men were hard at work, moving large, dusty crates from the storehouse to the castle. It was a long trek across the fortress’ grounds, and even just looking upon the labourers sufficed to drain my energy.

Realistically, it wasn’t all that much effort. The crates only looked as large as they did because of the cottontails who carried them. As a moose, I could have easily loaded a few dozen boxes onto my back and lazily walked my way from the source to the destination. I just didn’t want to go through the trouble, especially not when the grunt work served as little beyond a means of harassment.

“What the hell are we even moving again?”

“Decorations,” said the rabbit. “We’ve got some important guests coming in later today, and the colonel wants the base to look its best.”

“Oh, come on. I doubt it’s anyone that important anyway.”

“It’s supposed to be the Sthenian princess,” said Allegra.

“You have to be kidding me. Her again?” I said, with a groan. “This is a waste of time.”

“Stop complaining and get to work.” The commander lightly kicked me in the leg. “Either that, or I tell the kitchen not to make you any dinner.”

“I swear to Vella, Allegra, you better not. They’ve already got me on the verge of starving.”

“All I’m hearing is that you’d better get to work.”

“Fine.” Sighing, I scratched the back of my head and headed down towards the courtyard.

Though it certainly served as a factor, it was not strictly an overall unwillingness to work that fueled my lack of motivation. The colonel was certainly a sock-sniffing troglodyte who refused to recognize my achievements, and I had no intention of putting in any hours under his supervision, but so too did I despair at the futility that resulted from the princess’ track record. She was apparently quite sickly. She had already put off the visit thrice on account of poor health; I highly doubted that our work would pay off.

My mind had long wandered off by the time I reported for duty. It fled beyond the walls, across the field, and into the nearest city. I would have much rather skipped out on my duties and paid The Briar a visit, but the shop had temporarily shut its doors. Apparently, they were closing for a week to give the staff a well-deserved break.

It was a shame. I really could’ve gone for a bowl of the usual stew.

Of course, there was always the option of slipping out regardless and aimlessly wandering around the town, but my last such excursion had only ended in boredom. With my usual haunt closed, it wasn’t worth the disciplinary action sure to accompany my return.

Allowing my displeasure to show on my face would only lead to the same sort of punishment, so I kept my expression as neutral as possible whilst going about the busywork. To my younger self’s dismay, the neurologically-deficient major in charge of the “operation” was the diligent sort. He immediately assigned me to putting up banners as soon as I finished transporting the last of the boxes. He made all sorts of silly demands, often ordering me to re-adjust the hanging fabric until it was perfectly straight.

I wound up stuck with him until the princess’ arrival, and though it looked like he was expecting me to remain in attendance even thereafter, I snuck away to the mess hall before he could drag me to the gate. Heading out back, I grabbed some of the leftovers from dinner and filled my rumbling stomach.

The massive dining room was usually at least somewhat occupied at all times of day, but the princess’ arrival had left it strangely empty. I didn’t mind, however. I sat down at one of the tables and practically flopped on top of it. At the time, I didn’t care much for my public image. It had long been degraded, thanks to the butter-licking colonel, and it wouldn’t be restored until he was removed from his position.

I vacated the mess hall as soon as the crowd returned from greeting the princess. Shoving the rest of my sandwich down my throat, I lumbered my way toward the barracks. From what I caught of the other soldiers’ conversations, she had actually shown up for once, but that was about the extent of the attention that I could be bothered to pay.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

I was far too tired and bored to do anything but collapse in my bed. And in all likelihood, that was precisely what I would have done had I not spotted an out-of-place silhouette whilst wandering the fort’s grounds.

Cadria’s population was made up primarily of cottontails and centaurian variants. There were a few native elves and moths, and on the rare occasion, one could even spot a giant or catperson amidst the crowd. That, however, was effectively the extent of our nation’s diversity. We were far enough up north that most found our winters unbearable. With autumn already halfway through, most of the non-native merchants and tourists had long fled for warmer winds, hence my confusion upon spotting a figure with the legs of a snake.

There was a lamia—two lamias—standing within the fortress’ walls. They were just outside the Winter Pavillion, a small, fancy house built on the fortress’ grounds to house any guests too important to put in the barracks. Their presence alone did little to surprise me. Sthenia was the snake-people’s nation, and if their princess was visiting, then such a sight was only to be expected. What I had failed to anticipate, however, was that they would make use of the locals.

There was only one group of snake-people living in the Postumus march. They ran a restaurant in town and served traditional foods loosely hacked together with our local ingredients. I knew all six of the staff members courtesy of my frequent patronage, and though snakes and moose were said not to get along, most of us were on fairly good terms.

Though their faces were covered, and though they wore blades on their waists, their scales gave away their identities. The one with the pearl pink tail was Camellia, while Esmeralda sported the diamond-backed green.

I was almost tempted to walk away and pretend I saw nothing, but allowing my curiosity to get the better of me, I wandered over to the door that they were supposedly guarding and greeted the pair with a light wave.

“What are you two doing here?” I asked. “Was your princess really that short staffed?”

“None of your business,” said Camellia. She was the only lamia that still seemed to hate me. I wasn’t really sure what exactly I did to earn her ire, but she glared at me with the very same scowl that sat on her face whenever she caught me in the restaurant.

Long past the point of acknowledging her displeasure, I turned to the other makeshift guard.

“Hey Virillius. It’s a long story,” said Esmeralda. “Are you here to see Violet?”

“What the hell, Esmeralda!?” Camellia shouted in a whisper. “Why woul—”

“Violet’s here too?” I asked, cutting her off.

“She’s in the room,” said Esmeralda, with a wide grin.

“Why would she be in the room?” I furrowed my brow. “She’s not exactly the type you’d want serving a princess.”

The green-scaled lamia giggled. “Why don’t you head inside and find out for yourself?” Looping around behind me, she started pushing my back towards the door. I resisted, of course. Invading the princess’ personal space seemed like just about the worst possible idea. Unless, of course, I was trying to get myself put to death.

“Head inside!? What are you thinking!? We couldn’t possibly let him inside! The princess is still in there!” screamed Camellia. The other makeshift guard wedged herself in front of the door and spread her arms to mimic a shoddy barricade.

“Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He’s a brute! He’ll attack and defile her the moment he sees her!” shouted Camellia.

“Oh, come on. That’s just slander. What the hell do you take me for?” I asked, as I scanned our surroundings.

“Slander!? Have you already forgotten all o—” She stopped in the middle of her accusation when the door creaked open. Quickly composing herself, she readjusted the square glasses that sat on her face and returned to her post by the door.

My eyes widened as she moved out of the way and revealed the jewel behind her. The amethyst lamia was wrapped in a silken black dress that extended halfway down her tail. The fit was so perfect that I almost couldn’t imagine that it belonged to someone else; it accentuated everything from the shape of her hips and the curve of her tail to the obscenity of her prodigious chest. And it was only after directing my gaze to the inappropriate location that I realised her arms were crossed. She broke her people’s etiquette and annoyedly tapped her tail against the marble floor, in spite of the fact that she was in the presence of royalty.

“Virillius!” But while I expected her anger to be pointed at the idiot by the door, I found her pout directed in my direction. “Where were you?” she asked, with a huff. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”

“Uhhh, hey. I was busy.” I couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t know you were looking, or here, for that matter.”

“Really?” she narrowed her eyes skeptically.

“Really,” I said.

She spent a few seconds keeping her gaze firmly fixed on my own before turning around and retreating back into the suite. “Alright, I guess I’ll forgive you this time,” she said, with a sigh. “Come in.”

“Are you sure I should? What about the princess?” It would be Violet and her friends that got in trouble were my presence to offend her.

“Don’t worry about the princess,” said Esmeralda, with a snicker. “She’s very open minded.”

There was a loud crack as Camille gnashed her teeth. Her disagreement leaked through her gums, and frankly, I was more inclined to see from her perspective. It really didn’t seem like the best idea. The princess’ real guards would probably throw a fit whenever they found me, but it seemed that they were out. Deciding that I could escape through the back in the worst case—there was a sliding glass door on the other side of the living room—I followed in Violet’s non-existent footsteps and entered the decorative building.

The first thing I did was check for the princess. I was half expecting her to gasp in horror upon discovering that her temporary servant had invited a man into her quarters, but like her guards, she was missing in action. Violet and I were all alone.

“You sure this is okay?” I asked.

“It’s fine, you silly goat.”

“I’m a moose.”

“Sure.” Slithering over to one of the sofas, she propped herself up against an armrest and patted the spot beside her. Though I was still a little reluctant, I eventually walked over and joined her, but as evidenced by the frown that crossed her lips, I wasn’t quite bold enough to take the seat she wanted.

“Not going to comment on the dress?” She narrowed her eyes, as if appraising me before twisting her lips with a huff.

My first instinct was to dismiss the request for comment, no matter how adorable she was when she pouted. Back then, I was immature enough to tell the girl I liked the opposite of what I felt. But by some stroke of genius—not even in retrospect did I understand what it was that went through my head—I rose from my seat and, taking her tiny hands, stared right into her eyes.

“You shine like the moon on a cloudless night. The royal lustre of your scales captures my mind and begets only thoughts of your person. You are a single blossom amidst a desert of sod, a blade upon a hill of corpses, a nymph amidst a crowd of mortals. So lethal is your beauty that I find my breath held in my throat, unable to escape as my mind struggles to perceive anything beyond its very definition.” My cheeks turned a deep crimson. I almost wanted to die and crawl into a hole. It was the dumbest set of words that I had ever spoken, and I wanted nothing more than to forget that I had ever said them.

And yet, I was not the only one whose face was hot as fire. Sure, her blush came hand in hand with a violent fit of laughter, but it was there all the same.

“A blade upon a hill of corpses?” she echoed, with a stifled giggle. “That has to be the most barbaric compliment I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, shut up,” I turned my eyes away, my embarrassment only growing as she squeezed the tips of my fingers. “Stop complaining. You’re the one who was fishing for praise.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” she said, with another faint laugh. The amusement continued to sit on her face until she suddenly fixed her expression and straightened her back. Grabbing the sides of her dress, she performed a picture-perfect curtsy. “You have quite the silver tongue, Virillius Augustus. I daresay, never before have I found myself so flustered by a gentleman’s commentary.”

I breathed a sigh and sank into the sofa. I could feel a headache coming on, and much to my dismay, it affected my present self as much as it had the me of the past. “So? How long have you been a princess?”

“Since I was born,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

“Nope. I didn’t have the faintest idea,” I said. “Are you sure it’s okay for us to be alone? It doesn’t really seem good for your reputation.”

“And why is that?” she twisted her lips into a teasing smile before feigning a gasp and covering her lips with her hands. “Could it be that you are planning to assault me?”

“I’m not,” I said, dryly.

“Oh, what a shame. And here I was thinking that thing between your legs wasn’t entirely dysfunctional after all.” She stuck out her forked tongue, as she often did when she teased me.

I couldn’t deny that the adorable gesture tugged on my heartstrings, but I crossed my arms, closed my eyes, and took a breath. “Violet, be honest with me. Is Sthenia looking to invade Cadria?”

It almost felt like I had twisted a dagger into my chest, even though the suggestion was entirely my own.

She didn’t reply immediately. She eyed me for a solid few seconds before straightening up again and slowly opening her mouth.

“Yes and no.” Gesturing for me to follow, she slithered off the couch and across the room. Sliding open the balcony’s pale glass doors, she ventured out into the sunset, her beautiful scales glimmering beneath the madder light.

I followed her without a word, half because my breath was stolen, and half because I had no clue what I was meant to say.

For a while, we remained silent. We stood in the gentle fall breeze, watching the sun together as it sank its way beneath the fortress’ wall. Eventually, she turned to face me, her lavender hair shimmering beneath the evening light.

“What do you think of war?”

I frowned. “War is our way of life. We’re born to fight, to step onto the battlefield an—”

“I wasn’t asking for you to recite the usual spiel.” I took a breath before meeting her slit eyes, her piercing, serpentine gaze. “What do you think about it, personally?”

“It kind of sucks.” I hadn’t intended to say the words out loud. But somehow, they snuck their way through my lips. Even with my divine allegiance sworn the way it was. “I was told to find my purpose on the battlefield. But I’ve nearly been killed at least once every week for over almost two years, and I’ve got nothing. I still don’t understand why everyone’s so obsessed with dying a warrior’s death.”

Violet smiled. “Sthenia is gripped by the same fervour. Though we serve Krebb, we find ourselves infected by Vella’s frenzy. Our people seek it, crave it. But I hate it.” She placed her hands behind her back and turned back towards the rampart. “I don’t know where half my friends are buried. I don’t even know where my father drew his last. But my mother still relishes in her thirst for battle.”

My gut said that I ought to agree, that perhaps I could find my way to her heart if I could prove that I wasn’t just another brute. But not knowing what to say, I could only wait until she continued.

“It’s always been a dream of mine to do away with all the fighting. I’d rather an era of stability, a world where we don’t have to take up arms and rush to the border two or three times each month. But it doesn’t really matter what I do. Sthenia doesn’t have the ability to stand on its own.”

“I wouldn’t mind helping, if raw power is what you’re lacking,” I said, quietly. I almost wanted to laugh. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. I was practically offering to betray my country. Even though there was nothing between us.

“You?” Violet twisted her lips into a teasing grin. “What good would that do?”

“Hey, I’m stronger than I look,” I said. “And I’d say I look decently strong.”

She scanned me up and down. “They really need to start putting better mirrors in the barracks.”

“Oh, shut up.”

With another laugh, the lamia pressed her shoulder against my own and entrusted her weight to my body. “I might think about it, if you don’t mind blindly following orders.”

“How demanding.”

“Well, I am a princess. Being demanding is half the job.”

It was as I looked upon her teasing grin that I returned the present. My heart was still thumping, banging on my chest and begging to break free as the freshly slain Kryddarian collapsed.

Bit by bit, the phantom moth crumbled to dust, with the resulting particles reforming around my wrists as a pair of golden bands. Their effect was immediately apparent. Raw power flooded my mana veins. I could feel my magic circuits expanding beneath my skin, growing more resilient and efficient from the bangles’ touch alone.

“Though an icon of war, Gunnhildr Haraldsdóttir had always shared the sentiment of your beloved.” Vella’s voice echoed through the hall right as I finished adjusting to my enchanted armbands. “She wished for nothing but peace, and it was precisely her fervent desire that allowed her to draw out so much of her potential. In that sense, you are very much alike.”

The goddess’ eyes glinted in the temple’s artificial light as she looked upon me.

“I will not disparage you for seeking peace, for it is precisely its mundane presence that highlights the time for war. To engage in an infinite battle is but to find an infinite expanse of boredom. Each clash must come with a climax, and there is an unfortunate ceiling to which a scope might reach.” The goddess bit her lips. “One day, the stream of challengers must come to an end. We must fall back upon an era of tranquility and wait for the old rulers’ grips to weaken. Only then can the cycle, the rage and excitement, sprout anew. Peace is the inevitable outcome of war, and so too is it a part of my cycle.”

“I understand, Goddess.”

“I thought you would,” she said, with a smile. “Strive for peace, but do not be tempted by its embrace. It will do its utmost to lull you into a false sense of security, to prove your assumptions nothing but hubris. Seek it only as you summit the mountain and find that there are no more to challenge.”

“I will, Goddess.”

“Then come.”

Slowly nodding, I rose from my lowered stance, took a breath, and shook my mind free of unnecessary thoughts. I had all the time in the world to bask in nostalgia.

If I wanted to achieve Violet’s goal, if I wanted to become someone worthy of her hand, I would have to begin by completing the goddess’ assessment.