I had thought that I would be relieved, or possibly sad to see the mirrored waters of the Arguin again, but it was instead fear that accompanied me through the last mile of Minua.

 

The harbour town of Hargin was a chaotic place, filled with dozens of warehouses and hundreds of low buildings. Even in the deep winter workers bustled around in thick cloaks and coats as they sledded crates across the snow and frozen stones, and neither did the shops close for our passing. The rooftops were high and peaked, and though the houses could hold no candle to that fantastical architecture of Minua and the capital they still captured a certain homely charm. It was the only proper town I’d seen thus far that wasn’t built on the mountainside, but instead on the Arguin’s frozen shores. As well, it sat upon the largest plain I’d seen in Elys as well, continuing far to the west until it hit the Great River of Norni, and to the north until it met the main mountain range of Minua. We’d passed countless little hamlets and frozen farms on the way here, each one filled with the brave homesteaders who’d decided to shirk the traditional cradles of humanity to settle upon fertile land.

 

Still, like all settlements on the plateau the mountains cast an eternal shadow on the people. Those peaks of Celrion’s Grasp raised like splintered shards to the far north and the near east. The colossal slopes of Mount Grenal rose from the eastern reaches of the city to pierce the clouds so far above. It didn’t look entirely natural to me, but as if someone had grabbed a hill and pulled it from the earth like they were modelling clay in the form of an artist’s mountain. It filled the horizon like some grand wall, and though it was not as large as the Everstar’s Peak or even that of Minua’s interior giants, I found the comparison from the flat plains of Hargin to it’s vast soaring heights to be one that consistently stole my breath like a practised thief.

 

I rode half saddle on a smaller colg as we moved through the door, directly behind those beasts that carried Andril and Amelia. A huge formation of mounted men followed behind us, though not as many as there were men of foot. Most carried spears on their shoulders and small sack backpacks to carry rations, but all had the cloaks and masks of Minuan make. 

 

Mothers, grandparents, and children watched from doorways as we marched to our ships at the far end of town, but none of them shared my apprehension. Instead, there was an air of celebration as people cheerfully watched us go, and the men strutted around like we were simply on parade. It must’ve looked awfully impressive to the townspeople, most of whom had probably never seen such a huge armed force in their lives, and hopefully wouldn’t again. It even infected the soldiers who cheered right back, bragged, and made hurried marriage proposals to blushing maidens on the lantern-lit street corners. Sparks of magic flew about the air like firecrackers as soldiers and civilians alike cheered and cast, and they were only slightly reduced whenever a noble officer came to quiet the more rowdy ones. 

 

All of it had me asking myself: Did they really know what they were in for?

 

It’s no use frowning at them. Gideon thought from my shoulder. We’d have to start killing people to get them to hate an army like this.

 

“With how it’s coming, that might not take too long.” I muttered. 

 

After we’d learned that Captain Gelarin had been miraculously not destroyed, but instead blockaded in the port of Sinel, I had sat in as the Lords of Minua had heard what had happened from the soldier who’d delivered the news. The story the beleaguered fellow had told had been nothing short of astounding.

 

According to him, they had just passed Cice by accident when they had bumped into an enemy fleet from Ostip sailing up to besiege the duchy, an encounter that had been mired in boundless confusion and panic. Captain Gelarin, upon learning how many enemy ships they were actually fighting, had taken his remaining ships and broken free of the battle with an intent to rush to alert Minua, but they had been too slow and were cut off. Then, finding the coming battle to be a hopeless affair out in the open and without the mists to hide their numbers, Gelarin had sailed east to Sinel, the same Summarkan port town Corto had mentioned. Apparently the town lay on the tip of a peninsula jutting out from Minua, and was only accessible by barge in the winter. Then, after a few furious battles in the small cliffside harbour, the Ostipers had decided to just blockade the city and block the sea routes to Minua so that news of the event wouldn’t reach us while they waited for Gelarin to starve.

 

This normally wouldn’t have been an issue, of course, if it had been any other time of the year. But during the winter the number of ships able to punch through the winter ice of the Arguin were few in number, and the Ostiper fleet was apparently large enough to carry an army to besiege the great fortresses in Minua. By the soldier’s account, the only reason they didn’t leave a token force to hold the Captain in and move on was Gelarin’s daring raids in the dead of night that forced the Ostipers to keep a huge force on hand.

 

Even worse, Sinel was small and exceptionally isolated, even by Veroline standards, and normally only received visitors over the lake. There had been no overland path or road over the mountain, and they had no way of receiving supplies without having it being sailed over or by walking along the coast where the ships could fire at them. Without those options, the people of Sinel and Gelarin’s men were doomed to starve once the stockpile ran dry, and that was reported to only take a matter of weeks. And so, with this ticking clock over their heads, several soldiers had volunteered to climb over the mountain to get news to Minua of their plight, and over the course of the last few weeks our lone soldier had made it all the way to the Minuan capital.

 

It was a story that left me with a decent amount of questions, along with Andril and the rest of the lords. After all, a huge force of reportedly dozens of full warships was unlikely to be able to stay long on the water themselves, so how were they feeding themselves? Were they just eating the cost of shipping from Ostip? Were they raiding the surrounding towns? Why hadn’t any news of that come to Minua? The soldier had boasted of Captain Gelarin’s daring raids to keep the main force in place, but how did the Ostipers even know that Sinel couldn’t be supplied overland? If they assumed that it could, then the blockade would just be one large and meaningless waste of time and supplies. And the longer they stayed on the water blockading a Summarkan port, the longer Summark and Minua had time to respond. The situation didn’t make a ton of sense to me, any more than it did to the other lords. With all that, and the suspicion that it might even be a trap, the lords had decided to sleep on the news, and I had waited in my rooms with the rest of my friends to debate and worry.

 

But indeed, complaints from Hargin had begun to come in just the next day with tales of limited traffic in the south, with many of the ships that could break through the ice even being turned back to the Minuan coast. The council had grudgingly put forth what marines they could and sent them south to man Minua’s navy and relieve the Captain, and I had gone with them. Not entirely of my own wishes, of course, but Andril had wanted a ‘test run’ so to speak and I had little reason to refuse.

 

If we push them away at Sinel, Hargin will likely be spared the worst of it. Gideon thought. The Royal Duchy has no ships to speak of, and if the Ostiper force is as large as told it will in all likelihood be the only one they have. Not to mention the boon of destroying the army before it can land.

 

I waved idly as some civilians called out to me with cries of ‘Demonbane!’. The news had seemingly spread like wildfire in the last month, and I could see some people waving streamers of white and blue with a Veroline character representing my name scribbled upon it. Andril clearly didn’t waste an opportunity to propagandise.

 

“Which makes me much more confused as to why they haven’t landed yet.” I said. “I’ve said it a dozen times now, but they had the advantage while we were unaware. And resupplying by ship must be a nightmare of logistics.”

 

I was no logistician, of course, but I couldn’t imagine having to rely upon ships breaking through the ice of a debatably neutral country to make it. And though I was sure they made up for some of it by raiding or local purchases, keeping an army like the one the soldier had described on the waves felt ludicrous.

 

They might feel they need every spare man for the sieges. Gideon offered. Or maybe they seek to capture the port towns first to starve Minua’s trade. From what I can recall, most inter-veroline conflicts did not involve actual assaults on the major cities, but prolonged sieges or raiding of the countryside to draw out foes.

 

“And they could’ve wreaked so much havoc in the countryside while we weren’t aware.” I countered. “Why, I would bet a few itchia off my height that this is some convoluted trap we’re about to sail into.”

 

I fear the same, of course. It’s not too hard to believe. But we can’t leave Captain Gelarin to starve, either.

 

“Fair enough.” I sighed. “But I’m still not gonna be happy about it. Drowning is not the way I imagined this ending.”

 

We trotted for a while longer, weaving our way through the coastal town to the docks. The joy and boasting of the soldiers seemed to morph into an excited anticipation as we beheld those great vessels interred within, and even I felt an awe at their mighty masts and squarish hulls.

 

They were not much like the old ships I had seen pictures of back on earth with their countless gun windows and huge square sails. Instead the ships floated so low in the water that only a couple feet separated the top deck from the lake, and the sails were cut in a huge array of triangles with the device of Minua weaved into them. The hull was made of solid whitewood, and it reminded me of a box of cards that was bent slightly in the centre. The front end had a silver banded ram at the tip, one that I was told was enchanted with fiery magics to better work against ice and enemy ships alike, even if, with the better advances in battle magic, that latter strategy wasn’t often used anymore. Lines of dim runes were carved on each plank, which made each ship almost sparkle in the sun, and the effect to me seemed quite magical. Even with that, however, they seemed small, way too small in the shadows of the soaring mountains that surrounded the lake.

 

The lake itself was as beautiful as the last times I’d seen it, a grand reflection of the clouded skies above. There were no mists about the lake today, for this morning counted itself among that rare group of clear dawns, and I could see for kilometres out. Far off, I could see the whitish tips of the eastern Pale Mountains, though the rest faded into the horizon. It seemed everywhere I looked was another range, another smattering of clouds, or endless water that appeared to flow to the ends of the world. 

 

Nor was there as much ice as I was led to believe, either. Yes, the coast was artificially extended out a few dozens of metres, but out in the middle of the lake I could only see the occasional floe floating through the gentle lapping waves. It might be a bit of work for an earthen team to break the ships out of harbour, but from the way the denizens of Hargin skated over the ice with their glowing magicks I was under no illusions the same would be true here.

 

After a hurried conversation with the captains, Andril and his party, of which I was included, set up on a small nearby hill  to watch as the soldiers boarded. I broke out the rations I’d been given to chew on as I watched the people skate around on the ice, and Gideon and I were sitting on an overhang absently munching on squares of white cheese and thinking about cloud fish delicacies when Andril came up to us.

 

“Outstanding, aren’t they? Made almost entirely as a matter of prestige on account of the Duke’s grandfather. Duke Belvan hadn’t expected they’d ever be used.”

 

I tore my gaze away from the ice-skating couple I’d been watching and nodded, not feeling any point in correcting him about what I was thinking. No harm in letting him think I was a thinker.

 

“They were close to being mothballed.” Andril chuckled to himself. “Just our luck they weren’t.”

 

I suppose the Duke probably thought there’d be no need to carry a navy when Summark existed. After all, if the enemy was sailing freely on the Arguin already, wouldn’t that mean that at least one of the major duchies had already completely capitulated? Though I also didn’t see any point in his telling me this.

 

“I’d say it’s more Gelarin’s luck.” I said after swallowing. “I don’t feel very lucky to be boarding them, myself.”

 

“It’s an honourable thing, war.” He said distantly, and then after a moment added: “But I agree. I’m not quite versed in naval combat myself. It’s not the locale I would’ve chosen for my first battle.”

 

Ah, how lucky we were.

 

“And, eh, are you leading us?” I asked.

 

“Star help me, no. I will only stand at the helm so that our enemy can not call me a coward.” Andril gripped his sheathed sword tighter.

 

I glanced at him, but he continued to stare out at the ships. His face was utterly unreadable, his posture perfect as a prince’s should. Even now he extruded a noble air that reminded me of the King’s own, of a natural charisma that seeked to chase away the image of a raging bull I had built up of him. He certainly didn’t look like a coward to me, but a proud general surveying his troops.

 

But from more careful study, I could see the cracks in that armour. His grip was white knuckled around his sword, his expression too calm. His right foot gently tapped against the grass, and I could see the faintest twitch in his ears.

 

Was… was the prince scared? And why did that thought make me feel better? Shouldn’t such a revelation terrify me? Was it just the vulnerability that made me relate? 

 

I suppose it meant I wasn’t alone in my apprehension.

 

“Andril, about the war…” I began carefully.

 

“I know.” He didn’t break his gaze. “I’ve been told what you’ve been studying. Minua can’t hope to defeat the senate’s forces by itself, let alone the rest of Verol.”

 

[Fuck], it was actually more demoralising to hear him out and say it, wasn’t it? 

 

“Then why are you so against reaching out to Fangpeak?” I asked. “They don’t have much, but shouldn’t we be looking for anything we can get? Maybe if Fanula switched to you as well we’d even-”

 

“What do you think about Burgunde?” Andril turned to look down at me, studying my reaction.

 

I blinked at him, caught off guard by the change in topics.

 

“Eh, what?”

 

“About their republic, Saphry. Their own senate.” 

 

Was this a trick question? And why ask that now? It was certainly an abrupt way to dodge my question, if that’s what it is.

 

‘That’s a complicated question.” I lied. “I can’t say I’ve studied it too much, of course, so I’m not the best person to ask.”

 

There was exactly a zero percent chance I was going to tell Prince goddamn Andril to his face that monarchies were cringe and communist. Because, contrary to Gideon’s belief, I was not a complete dumbass. I could joke with Hosi and the others about it, but that was entirely different to singing its praises in front of the crown prince himself.

 

“Fair enough.” Andril said, clearly taking the hint. “But know that they have a senate as well. The very same body that advises what passes for a king in the north. Only that instead of being made up of the lesser nobility like ours, it is the common man who is able to extort and lie to the most of his fellows that leads. And, perhaps, a small number of the remaining nobles who somehow survived in that land.”

 

I stayed silent, sensing that he was about to start ranting about something strange. Gideon laid his head down as well,  but kept an ear perked.

 

“It is much the same story that almost happened down here.” He continued. “The nobility rose up for their long forgotten ‘ancient’ privileges, taking advantage of the king’s kindness to make unreasonable demands that they knew couldn’t be answered. They warred and plundered and forsook their oaths and bonds of fellowship for want of stockpile rights and aspirations of rulership. Years they raged, and eventually the burghers and towns had enough of it and raised up themselves in service. ‘For King and country!’, I heard they cried, but in the end it was the country they favoured. They seized their own privileges in place of the nobility they put down, and met in their caucuses and senates so much that they ignored the very man they claimed to rule them. All of that so that they can call each of themselves a king or an emperor whose estates end at the walls of their own starless kitchens. And as reward, Burgunde has known only strife and conflict in the years since, with the dragons they used to revere, with their brothers who hold old allegiances, and with our very own Star who has so far deigned to spare them annihilation.”

 

“And Father saw the same happening here. When the rebellion raged for the third year, he received offers of aid from the towns and cities, offers to throw out their troublesome lords and their armies in favour of their own. I wasn’t alive, but I have heard that my father had never been so quick to make compromise, and had never seen black hearted traitors so happy to agree to one. And thus our own pitching senate was made.”

 

Andril looked at me again, this time a hint of resolve in his eyes. 

 

“So that’s why I neglect asking for Fangpeak’s aid. That’s why the other nobility has been so reluctant to send too much support to either side. I fear that too much sent away now might herald a repeat of Doux Burgund’s fall. And though geography separates them, Fangpeak lies closest to the flame of temptation. If I am to dismantle the senate, I must do so without also dismantling the rest of the country, else we might yet fall to the Gryphon’s schemes. And as defender of the people of Verol, that cannot come to pass. I swear on it by the Star and his stewards.”

 

He fell silent again as I digested that. The main gist I’d already known, but I hadn’t been aware of some of the finer details. The fact that Doux-Burgund still technically had a king and a nobility was news to me, as I had been of the mind that the peasants had simply executed them all. That certainly painted them less the violent revolutionaries I’d assumed but instead something entirely more moderate. People in Elys truly were dutiful subjects of their kings if even that had been preserved in some form. 

 

I was also definitely going to rib Hosi about it the next time I saw her.

 

But the more important part was Andril’s fears about the common people rising up here as well, and the rebellion that birthed those fears. The threat seemed overblown, to me. I’d never met a peasant who’d indicated anything other than… 

 

I blinked as a revelation hit me.

 

Actually, have I really spoken to any peasants? Luis, Roland, Hosi, Marcolo, and people at the academy were the only ones that came to mind, but all of them were either attached to nobility, foreign-born, or of high social class. And other than Luis, Roland, Hosi, and Marcolo, I couldn’t honestly claim I was friends with any of them. I might’ve spoken to a shopkeeper or salesman every once and a while, but I’d definitely never had political talks with one. I had no idea if Andril’s fears were actually credible or not.

 

Somehow, that irritated me. It was mostly an artefact of Saphry’s previous life, I knew, but I couldn’t help but feel like I’d already turned into one of those stereotypical lords who couldn’t deign to grace the common folk with her acquaintance. I’d need to fix that.

 

Far in front of us, the people of Hargin continued to dance on the ice. Some of the soldiers had broken from their groups and joined them, and even a select few had enough skill to augment their spirals and circling with flashes of fiery magic to the cheers of those watching. The lines feeding into the boats had been heavily diminished as well, and I could see sailors and dockworkers hacking at the ice behind the ships with pickaxes and bursts of fire.

 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t fear the common people so much.” I finally said.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

Andril’s questioning gaze felt heavy on my head as I searched for the right words. The marching boots of a thousand soldiers seemed to echo louder in my ears, and I found I couldn’t quite force myself to look at the prince.

 

“They believe in the Star just as much as you do, I’d wager.” I said carefully. “And they believe in their King. I don’t think they would forsake you quite as fast as you might think they would. And is there any point in defending their lives if they can’t be trusted to use them?”

 

I waited for a moment for his anger to reveal itself, but it never came. Instead I looked up to find him staring at me strangely.

 

“I don’t fear my people.” He said at length. “And I would trust them as the Star does its children.”

 

“Eh, of course!” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to-”

 

“But thank you.” Andril turned away and began walking to the others. “We should be off, the men are almost boarded.”

 

He seemed to me to be deep in thought as he walked away, though that could’ve been my imagination. 

 

“I’ll be right after!” I shouted after him.

 

I wouldn’t meddle too much in the affairs of states here. Gideon warned from beside me. These things have a way of going places you can’t forsee.

 

I laughed gently. 

 

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

 

And I plopped the last piece of cheese into my mouth.