Aleks Kotov
patreon
Vol 6, Chapter 20
🕑 Added 2025-08-26 17:03:06 +0000 UTCIn the lamplight he seemed even paler, his face utterly bloodless. His robes were torn. The First had always been ascetic in his dress, but never to the point of looking like a beggar.
"Perhaps some tea?"
"No need," he replied, barely parting his lips. "I see you're not surprised that I called you brother."
"I suspected as much. I'm more surprised by your visit… I suppose you want to ask for asylum?" I suggested.
After all, formally, he was now the main problem for the legitimacy of the new king. That would explain his appearance — worn out from fleeing the Third Prince.
"No. I won't take much of your time, just a few questions. First question: do you still serve Dastan?"
I raised my gaze. Even asked in a completely neutral tone, the question carried threat.
"Still?"
"I know for certain that you were his apprentice. Answer me."
"I don't like your tone," I said, lowering my voice and placing my hand on my holster.
Tension thickened in the air. I felt he was ready to act too. Suddenly a fluffy tail struck against my leg.
"Just say 'no' and that's it. Why make it so complicated?" Mira crossed her arms.
"You think he'll believe me?" I turned to her, keeping the Prince in the corner of my eye.
"Weren't you the one who said you had no time to waste?"
"Alright… alright. Go make us some tea." I raised my hand and addressed the Prince. "I do not serve him and I never will. Satisfied?"
The Prince licked his lips, as if tasting the answer.
"I believe you. Now, the second question…"
"No. This is a conversation, not an interrogation. My turn… How did you get here? Bribed the garrison at the fortress?"
"No, I simply passed through the mountains."
"The mountains?"
"Yes. From the side of the Theocracy," he confirmed calmly.
Formally, our lands did border them, but in reality…
These places were called wild for good reason. For many miles, monsters outnumbered men. Marshland, mountains, barren soil. If our side of the border was at least conditionally safe, the other… scarcely even a handful of villages could exist there.
These lands belonged to monsters.
"So, you went through mountains, swamps, and hordes of creatures instead of taking the long road?"
"I was in a hurry. Now allow me to ask the second question."
"Go ahead."
"Did you kill the Second Prince?"
"No. And more than that, it wasn't the Commonwealth. He was killed at the order of the Third Prince."
He remained silent for nearly a minute.
"Not entirely true. Some blame lies with you as well."
"Stefan was a grown man. It isn't my fault he was weak to women." I shrugged.
"You know I'm right… but I won't accuse you. For now."
"Oh, many thanks. I wouldn't have survived the guilt," I said with irony.
"Perhaps you wouldn't have. Third question: what do you know of Dastan's plans?"
"Which ones? What he'll eat for breakfast and who he'll execute for lunch? Or perhaps how he plans to strip me of my title and lands?"
"Seems you know nothing. Very well. And the last question…"
"Stop. What plans are we talking about? He wants to aid the First Duke?"
"Petty squabbles. Forget them. His plans are not your concern. I'll handle them myself." He waved his hand, as if brushing away an imaginary speck of dust from the table.
But that wasn't enough for me. I hate being teased with plans I know nothing about.
"Does this have something to do with chimerology and labs like this one?"
"I won't answer," he said, averting his unblinking gaze slightly. That looked like a 'yes.'
But I didn't have time to think it over. Or rather, I wasn't given the chance. The Prince fixed his hungry gaze on my chest and spoke slowly.
"I see upon your soul the divine mark of one of the old gods. And you are bound by contract to a demon, but do not hope that fulfilling it will free you. You are tied together."
"He doesn't control me," I assured him, noting that Astarot had remained silent this entire time.
"I see. But if you die, your soul will fall into the Abyss. That is predetermined."
"Yeah? Wonderful."
For the first time, a vivid emotion crossed the Prince's impassive face: astonishment.
"You don't seem to understand, brother. It is a terrible place, promising eternal torment."
"Nevertheless, it's still an afterlife. I'm at peace, because now I know I won't dissolve into nothingness. Besides, even if it's hell itself, it can be escaped. My unusually silent horned friend is proof enough of that."
"That is… foolish. To prolong suffering instead of merging into the void with all others!" The brother shuddered visibly.
"My choice is not to surrender."
The Prince shook his head reproachfully.
"You've simply never truly suffered. Believe me, when it's too late, you'll change your mind. But for now… I suppose there's no point in asking if you want me to erase the mark?"
"Would I lose my power?"
"Almost all of it."
"Then I refuse. If I had to summon sculptors every time I needed a change to a project, work would grind to a halt. For now, they can only replicate."
"As you wish. Sooner or later, we all become One. It would be a pity if by then the Abyss had twisted you."
The Prince rose from his chair and headed for the exit.
"And that's all? What about the last question?"
"It no longer matters. Farewell. I will not wish luck either to you or to the First Duke. However much I might want to—this conflict can no longer be stopped. All I can do is pray that it ends as soon as possible, rather than becoming a years-long mire, endlessly swallowing thousands of lives."
"Well, thanks for that, at least. I thought you, being a lover of piety, would be rooting for the Duke."
"My sympathies lie with him, but in politics one cannot be guided by sympathies. Noblesse oblige… But I shall pray that fewer people die."
"We all want that. Maybe you'd like a bite before you leave? You look pale."
"Right now only blood will satisfy me… the blood of my father's killer," he hissed through clenched teeth.
Very sharp teeth.
Suppressing a moment of weakness, he gave a short bow and stepped out the door. As soon as it shut behind him, Mira returned to the room. Instead of teacups, a revolver was in her hand.
"You say you've lived with me for so long, yet you still can't tell tea from a revolver," I joked, and she pulled a serious face.
"Since you sent me away, I decided to be ready and cover your back. I don't like that guy. He smells wrong. More beast than man."
"Perhaps…" I agreed, remembering the fangs. But he hadn't had them before, had he? At least not that I'd noticed at our last meeting… Never mind.
Kissing the girl, I was about to return to work, but… the Prince's words about a drawn-out war gnawed at me. Ideally, everything should end quickly. Killing the Duke when he launched his attack would be enough to stop the war. But considering the dragon, that might prove far from simple, and we could only hope for luck. Defensive lines were rising, covering the miles from the river to the goblin forest. Powder stocks were growing, enough for the first stage. By autumn's mud season, the rail line would be close enough to ensure supply. Overall, I was confident in our defenses—give us another half year and these hills would be a Maginot Line. But if the Duke realized that battering his head against them was useless, he would surely try to go through the forest. We had to be ready.
"Tell Falcon to be prepared for flight at dawn... And do bring the tea, after all."
***
The dried peat left an oily stain on my hand. The sharp smell that had pursued me since landing in this village struck my nose with renewed force. The Peatlands lived up to their name.
A small hamlet amid marshland, far from major roads. Sickly-looking villagers. Primitive oil-distillation stills. Wooden barrels of finished product and of the raw material I had come for.
Though poverty ruled here, this little village brought its lord more profit than a dozen wealthy, large ones. While peat was also sold as fuel, the real income came from the sooty distillation stills.
Kerosene, or lamp fluid as the locals called it, was bought mostly by fire mages. It was more than just a commodity—flasks of it were considered a strategic resource. Fire crystals for the poor. And selling an entire barrel could bring immense profit, for this substance was paid in gold.
"Load the finished product and send it to the front. They'll know what to do with it there. As for me… I need raw samples." I handed the village elder a pouch of gold, which he accepted with a deep bow.
A large trough, filled more with water than oil, still inspired optimism. Even so, there was clearly something worth extracting here. A pity the locals simply burned all the waste, seeing no value in it.
"And also expect workers to arrive this week. Prepare space to build housing for them."
"My lord, very little earth-oil comes to the surface. Our village is more than sufficient to process all of it."
"There will soon be much more," I promised, scooping some oil into a flask before returning to Falcon.
Laura snorted and shifted from foot to foot, the wooden planks creaking under her great weight. Marshy ground did not suit such large beasts, and the smells clearly displeased her as well. Falcon stood nearby, fidgeting with something in his hand. He looked rather embarrassed.
"A letter has come for you, my lord," he said, holding out a tightly rolled parchment.
"And who brought it to such a backwater?"
Falcon guiltily pointed to several black feathers lying beside the griffon.
"A courier raven, but Laura was hungry."
Snorting irritably, I unrolled the narrow scroll, and thoughts of the griffon's gluttony immediately faded.
"Six a.m. Central junction. The Duke's forces are only a few hours away."
I quickly looked up. The sun stood at its zenith—noon.
"We change course. Cellulose will have to wait for another time."
"As you command."
*****************************************************
◆ Border of Marquis Short's Lands, First Duke's POV. ◆
He sent no envoys. Made no demands. Why should he? The dead have no need of them.
Instead he watched the less-than-orderly ranks of knights riding past him along the road. The Duke wanted each knight to see his dragon up close. Not only from the desire to boast of so rare and costly a creature, but also to lift morale. Who could stand against a dragon?
He had been standing on a small rise for several hours. Most of the knights had already crossed the barony's border, but the infantry… endless masses of ragged men were only just approaching. They trudged along slowly, eager for the promised spoils.
Perhaps something would be left for them, though all the villages the cavalry had passed through were half-empty. Not critical, but troublesome.
The rustle of wings. One of the flying knights landed beside his lord. Even his griffon bowed its head before the dragon.
"Speak," the First permitted.
"Your Grace, the vanguard has encountered fortifications and…"
"Have them go around."
"My lord, they cannot be bypassed. They stretch beyond the horizon. What are your orders?"
Without dignifying his subordinate with an answer, the Duke rose into the air himself. Trenches. Stakes and wooden chevaux-de-frise. The hills were girded with many low but thick walls of gray stone—clearly the work of an earth mage. Some structures rose higher than the rest, but overall the fortifications looked squat and sturdy.
Charging cavalry uphill was already unpleasant, but here the ground was so torn up that only chimeras could attempt it. Worst of all, the line of defenses stretched as far as the eye could see. The knight had been right—there was no going around them. But on the other hand—there was no need.
The line was clearly unfinished. Soldiers kept digging, and in the rear fresh log frames for barracks or storehouses were visible. Break through, and just a few kilometers ahead the hills would give way to open plains where cavalry could shine.
Flying several times along the defenses, he even found the most convenient spot between two hills. But it was dug in even more than the rest—the enemy also understood its vulnerability and had reinforced it as best they could. Gray slabs lay across the pass. The hills on either side were thickly covered with something lacy and metallic.
That was not alarming, unlike the large spheres hanging in the air. Beneath each floated a basket holding three or four men. Strange, but without doubt they saw the battlefield from their height nearly as well as he did himself. Looking closer, the Duke noticed the men in the baskets sometimes waved flags to those below.
Knights gathered below, awaiting the signal. Opposite them, obeying the signals from the balloons, more and more enemy troops assembled. They swarmed in the trenches like ants, filling the ditches with their bodies.
For several minutes the Duke considered whether to order his knights to dismount. But the growing numbers of foes made him cautious.
Descending to his troops, he ordered tents set up. So be it—let him lose a day, better to wait for the infantry and the priests. Who knew what magical surprises might lurk in those unassuming trenches? Let the rabble test them with their own flesh, clear the chevaux-de-frise and fill the trenches with enemy bodies, and only then would the cavalry advance.
The baggage train was drawn into a semicircle, forming a wooden wall against enemy sorties. Servants ran about the camp, seeking nearby streams to water the horses. Poles were driven in, fine cloth spread, tents for knights and pavilions for nobles and their heirs raised. Cooks began their work; the smell of roast meat and wine spread through the air. Several griffons flew back toward the Duchy to urge the infantry along. The attack was planned for tomorrow after noon, so the sun would be in the defenders' eyes. But if those laggards kept crawling as they were, they would only arrive by tomorrow night!
The dragon was lazily devouring a horse, resting after the flight. The First Duke spread out a map and ordered his servants to mark the fortifications on it. Squires polished their lords' armor and brushed the horses. Everything proceeded as usual, without undue fuss. Be it a siege or preparation for a pitched battle, the Duke would not change his habits. Especially since, by all appearances, most of the enemy's forces were already here. Foolish, of course—were he in their place, he would have preferred to hold the surrounding castles rather than build such pitiful defenses. Even now, realizing the attack was not coming yet, the enemy soldiers kept digging. Well then, let them bury themselves like moles, it would do them no good.
The war council went smoothly. The barons fully supported the plan not to storm the fortifications ahead of the infantry, more concerned with the division of lands than with military matters. The Duke rewarded his most loyal generously and promised new territories with sweeping gestures. After that, it would have been a sin not to throw a feast in honor of the coming victory! Barrels of wine were cracked open with battle-axes. Cupbearers set no limits for the nobles. Drinking before battle was foolish, but… if the rabble were to do all the work, why not? Besides, hangovers could always be banished by priests.
The day passed in a blink. Torches flared in the camp, but the celebration continued. Sentries stood on the baggage carts, staring into the dark. Somewhere in the distance, their counterpart in the opposite camp lowered a spyglass from his eye. From the balloon overhead, the First Duke's camp lay open like a palm.
The First had made no great mistakes in its placement. The camp was far enough away that even a ballista or trebuchet could not reach it. Horses and chimeras were kept in the rear, while the knights were shielded by wagons filled with servants, ready to raise the alarm at the first sign of a raid. Patrols circled the camp, again drawn from servants and squires. They were clearly visible thanks to their torches, yet numerous enough that a lone saboteur could hardly hope to slip through. A good camp. Even if the servants pitched the tents haphazardly.
There were only two things that would have troubled the Duke, had he known of them. First—his enormous pavilion made a very conspicuous target.
And second... cannons reach much farther than trebuchets.
In the still of the night, the first explosion thundered.
Comments
Runaway_Cactuar
Oops~
Johan Timmers
Tftc
LunarEcho
Let it rain lead!
LOLZMAN
Ha reminds me of the time when the British were sieging a castle somewhere in the Caribbean, but it was so poorly done that they had placed their camp right behind their cannons, such that when the defenders shot at the cannons, if they missed, they went right into the tents.
