Vanian Year 1104

 

It was a rustling that awoke her in the middle of the night.

 

Opening a single eye, it took a long while for her sight to acclimate to the darkness. She saw her companions sleeping peacefully, as well as little Marie and her mother. However, it was when discretely glancing around for the source of the noise that she noticed Marcel digging through a haystack.

 

The very same haystack that Prince Julius and Sir Lucien had hid their armour under.

 

Marianne slowly pushed her hand into the haystack she was leaning against and grabbed the cold metal hilt of her short katzbalger and pulled it out, before climbing to her feet. Brushing off the straw sticking to her blade, she approached the slave, who was too focused on ferreting out the armour hidden away.

 

She pushed the tip of her sword into the back of the slave’s neck, the cold steel making him freeze in his place.

 

“Peace be with you,” Marianne murmured, “May you tell me your intentions?”

 

“M-My lady, please don’t wake the others up.”

 

She remained silent, pushing the tip of her katzbalger further in.

 

“My lady,” Marcel whispered desperately, “If you would let me explain- I mean no harm, I swear it! C-Can we speak away from here? I am duly unarmed, you may end me at any time!”

 

Marianne carefully relented, backing away and letting Marcel stand up. The slave led her to the barn door, both of them taking great care to walk with light steps so as to wake the others. It was at the opposite end of the barn did she finally demand answers.

 

“You have to leave tomorrow, my lady,” Marcel pleaded, “I am to don the wear of the prince and have the demons capture him. Once I am taken in, they will surely open the roads since the culprit has been caught.”

 

“So that was the distraction you planned,” Marianne lowered her sword, “Does your family know?”

 

“How could they?” the slave shook his head, “They would stop me if they knew.”

 

“You would condemn them to death, then,” Marianne muttered, “For without a man’s strength, how would they survive? And you, why are you so willing to give your life?”

 

“I am but a slave, my lady,” Marcel whispered, “My life is but one of an insect’s to the enormity of your cause. The demon’s will surely hide the death of their king, so you must be the one to bring the Demon King’s head to Vania, and announce his death. Once you do, the war will be over right? The demons will falter and retreat!”

 

Indeed, they should. It was the Demon King who united Gehenna and ordered the invasion in the first place - without his leadership, the Crescent Alliance should topple like a house of cards. The human realms would hail them heroes for ending the war - but would they really be heroes, having built their victory from the corpses of those that helped them?

 

Speak as she liked about Sir Lucien, but she was a noble too. Protecting her subjects was her duty - and in the face of a threat like demons, that was all humankind. Even slaves.

 

Marcel seemed to take her silence as a cue to continue, “My lady, believe me, I would rather give my life for this than continue living in chains knowing I could’ve ended the war even a little bit earlier.”

 

“...Then what about your family?” Marianne finally asked, “Do you truly have no plan for them?”

 

Marcel sighed despondently, shaking his head in defeat. Then, he peeked up at her, and seemed to find something in her eyes.

 

“My… My lady, if I may overstep my bounds…” he hesitantly said, “Could- could you bring my family back to Vania? My sister and I have never seen our homeland, but I would rest easy if Marie could see enough for the both of us. And… and my mother is a Reicher, like- like you! I’m sure she still has family there!”

 

It would do well on their conscience, yes… but it was paramount that they travelled swift and light - and bringing a mother and child along could jeopardise their chances. 

 

“Consider it done,” Marianne agreed, “I will fight to bring your family back home, so do not look back. May the divines be with you… Sir Marcel.”

 

“I am no knight, my lady.”

 

Marianne turned around, “Who are you to say what makes a knight?”

 

Walking back to the sleeping area, she could sense Marcel scuttering behind her to retrieve the last of Prince Julius’ armour. Just as Marianne was about to lie back down, she felt an odd lingering in the air. Glancing around, she saw Marcel lugging the prince’s effects away. But other than that, everyone seemed to be soundly asleep.

 

Seemed.

 

The prince was definitely out, for he was of a character that wouldn’t stand for what Marcel was doing. So was the saintess, and that left…

 

Marianne crouched over Miss Margareta, and lifted the mother’s hand above her face. Dropping the arm, Margareta’s hand limply fell on her own face. 

 

She then moved across to Sir Lucien, and repeated the same act - lifting his hand above his head - and the knight’s hand limply fell by the wayside, coming to rest by his thigh.

 

Sighing, Marianne returned to her place and lied down, staring blankly at the rafters above. 

 

“I had heard many stories of Caroline honour when I was a little girl,” she murmured, “I never wondered how much of it were to be true - but now, I do realise reality is never so kind. What a knight you are, willing to stop a man from killing many for a good cause, yet willing to let a man kill himself all the same.”

 

“You are young yet, my lady,” Sir Lucien spoke into the darkness, “Honour is a virtue, but even virtues are not kindred things. Honour for one is dishonour for another - and I find that stopping a man from taking his own fate into his hands is a most mean action.”

 

“Do your peers share your beliefs?” she asked, “Or are you simply consoling yourself?”

 

“You speak like a blade, my lady,” the knight chuckled lowly, “Flourish - graceful from afar. Pierce - yet as sharp as steel.”

 

“...”

 

“No,” he whispered, “But that’s why I’m sworn to none but myself.”

 

Such a strange manner of honour, but Marianne would not hold it against him. Sir Lucien has been her greatest friend on their journey, for he had taught her the way of swordsmanship as well as how to survive in the wild. So too, Marianne had seen him shed many a tear and hard stare when witnessing the horrors of war.

 

She took in a breath, the thick air sliding down her throat. But would Prince Julius see it the same way? 

 

No, he would not.

 

Indeed, for the next morning, the prince was a ball of grievous fury. Marianne had woken to shouts, and when she came to she realised that Julius had drawn his blade on Margareta and Marie.

 

“Where is he!?” the prince roared, “I should’ve never trusted you damn slaves!”

 

“Calm down, Julius,” Sir Lucien placated, “He must have his reasons!”

 

“Pardon!?” he screamed, “He’s a traitor!”

 

Hildegard looked on with wide eyes, not willing to be caught between the two men. As Julius turned his ire away from the slaves and towards Lucien, the saintess took the opportunity to reach the Margareta and Marie to drag them away. Seeing this, Marianne swiftly joined her, taking Marie’s hands and lifting her off the floor, before leading her to the barn door.

 

“Lady Maria, what do we do?” the saintess asked, “Did Mister Marcel really betray us?”

 

“No,” Marianne was about to explain, but sharply realised that Marie was looking up at her with wide eyes.

 

Glancing to the mother, she found Margareta to be forlorn - the woman closing her eyes in a vain attempt to stop tears from escaping. Heartbreakingly, Marianne knew that the mother had figured out what her son had done.

 

“L-Lady Maria?”

 

“...Mister Marcel had left to open up the roads just as he had promised,” she said, “We need to leave now, before the demons suspect anything.”

 

“Pardon…?”

 

Marianne shot her an imploring look, silently begging the Saintess to use her brain. Then, as if she had an epiphany, Hildegard flinched and looked away, biting her lip. Not a moment too soon, Sir Lucien and Prince Julius joined them. It was clear that the knight had explained what had happened, for the prince looked pained beyond belief, even unwilling to look at either Marie or her mother.

 

“Let’s go,” was all Julius said.

 

“M-May the divines be with you on your journey,” Margareta brought her daughter close, stepping back.

 

“What are you saying, mademoiselle?” Lucien smiled grimly, “We are taking you home.”

 

“P-Pardon?”

 

“Home?” Marie whispered, “But home is here…”

 

“Your homeland, young miss,” Marianne knelt down and met the girl’s eyes, “Your home across the sea. Your brother wanted to bring you there one day, but he won’t be able to make it - so he trusted us to do so. So you could return in his place.”

 

“Why… why can’t brother come?” the little girl asked, “What about Miss Erika and Mister Émilien and… and-!”

 

Marianne looked down and closed her eyes. Silence followed, and no one could answer the girl. Little Marie had seen nary half a dozen summers, how could they say anything? Would she even understand?

 

Saintess Hildegard pushed her out of the way and took her place, speaking to the girl.

 

“Your brother will join you in the future, mädchen,” the saintess’ voice was reassuring, “The divines watch over him, and so do they watch over Miss Erika and Mister Émilien and all the rest.”

 

“Really?”

 

“That’s right,” Hildegard smiled, “There is a long road ahead of us, all of us. And at the end of that road, you will meet everyone you ever knew and ever loved. Your brother will wait for you there.”

 

“O-Okay,” Marie nodded.

 

“Come,” the prince said softly, “Let’s go.”

 

They ran into the farmfields, cutting through the head-high wheat stalks in order to obscure themselves until they were safer in the countryside. Once they reached the very edge of the farm, they shrugged on their hoods and began walking down the road. Since Babel was located on the northern side of the River Hinnom, they had to find a river crossing.

 

Fortunately, there was a wooden bridge in the west only four days away by foot. Upon reaching the bridge, they waited until there was a lull in traffic before crossing under the cover in darkness. From there, they found a small town on the south side of the river, on the road - from which Julius and Lucien snuck into and managed to steal four horses.

 

Both Julius and Lucien took the strongest horses for themselves, leaving Maria and Hildegard to share one - for the saintess did not know how to ride well. As for the fourth horse, Margareta took it for herself, placing her daughter in front of her.

 

“I hail from southern Reichenau,” she explained as they rode, “From the border with Kazimierz. I know how to ride.”

 

“From Kazimierz!?” Sir Lucien exclaimed, “Mademoiselle, you are likely a better rider than all of us!”

 

“Kazimierz?” the saintess asked, “Where is that?”

 

“A Reicher who do not know the Kazimierzi?” the knight wondered, “Truly, a surprise.”

 

“I-I hail from Remscheid,” Hildegard blushed, “I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of the outside world until now.”

 

“The Kazimierzi are savage horselords from the central plains,” Marianne recalled what she knew from the stories, “They’re descendants of demons, having crossed the sea from Gehenna  centuries ago.”

 

“Conquered all of Vania from the backs of their horses,” Sir Lucien added, “Even now, there are no better equestrians in all of Vania.”

 

“T-They’re not so savage,” Margareta said, “After they settled down, they abandoned war for trade. Since their lands are between Reichenau and Victoria, the Kazimierzi have become the largest passage of trade between the Reichers and Victorians. I’ve visited Katowice once when I was a child, and have never seen a grander or richer city.”

 

“Truly?” Julius asked, “Even grander than Neuchatel?”

 

“Truly, Your Highness,” Margareta affirmed, “I daresay they are the richest people on the continent. Their markets flow with gold, jewels and precious stones from every corner of Vania. Even the commoners are lavished in silk and brocade, and their hilts are made of gold and gems.”

 

“Neuchatel is not so grand, Julius!” Sir Lucien laughed, “I daresay my own hometown in Elancourt is even more the sight!”

 

“I will have to see that for myself one day, good sir!”

 

“Pardon me…” Hildegard piped up, “I haven’t seen many cities, I admit, but I like to think Remscheid is also quite… quite spectacular.”

 

“Well, that’s a tad disingenuous, Lady Hilde,” the knight grinned, “Remscheid is the Holy City, after all.”

 

It took them seven days to reach Ophir at a hard ride’s pace. 

 

The city was clearly an economic hub of Gehenna, a rich river port at which all of the continent’s trade routes intersect. Simply riding through the city, Marianne could see the many demon races and cultures interweave together, creating vibrant diasporas and markets. There were the horned-heads hammering away at their steel wares, and the knife-eared and their wooden trades, and finally the plague-bearers carting vast amounts of grain and wheat. 

 

They took great care to stay out of the way of the plague-bearers, fearing the pestilence the demons carried in their deathly black skin. Marianne could also sight the tiled, curved roofs of the dragon-kin near the port, as well as hear the steady ringing of steel against steel from the stout-beards’ diaspora. However, since their path through the city did not coincide with the communities of those races, they could only watch them from afar.

 

Making their way across the city without getting caught was easy, in any case. All they had to do was act as if they belonged, and none batted an eye as their party rode through the streets towards the stone bridge crossing the river. 

 

However, there was still a chance that the Demon King’s death is known to the authorities of the city, and that they might’ve increased security on the bridge in response. Rounding the corner, Marianne held her breath as she stared in the direction of the bridge, gripping the reins tightly - if there were guards…

 

She breathed out, there weren’t. The steady flow of foot traffic and carts across the bridge remained smooth and unimpeded. Marcel’s sacrifice was worth it, in the end. 

 

With no need for the help of their connections in the city, their party swiftly joined the traffic crossing the river. For several painful minutes, they had to slowly make their way across in the queue, doing their very best to behave inconspicuously. 

 

Once they made it to the other end, they hastily left the main road as soon as possible, instead taking a beaten dirt track northbound towards a neighbouring town. Before reaching the town, however, they went off the trail entirely and began riding hard north. The most challenging obstacles were over, all they had to do now was trace their path by crossing the mountain range and returning to the port which they arrived in.

 

Twelve days later, they were stowed away on an immigrant ship bound for demon-held Vania. 

 

They had cleverly hidden themselves among the immigrants, who were mostly knife-eared. The knife-eared were very similar to humans in appearance, with only their long ears differentiating them, so it was quite simple to disguise themselves. For the females like Marianne, all they had to do was hide their ears using their hair. As for the men, since they hadn’t groomed themselves in quite a while, their hair was also quite messy and long.

 

Since all the immigrants were cramped in the dark and shadowy hull, no one paid attention to them, letting them get away with being silent. 

 

More worryingly to Marianne was the idea that the demons were sending settlers to Vania in the first place. It meant that the demon’s foothold on the continent was secure enough that they could begin assimilating their captured territories. Marianne hadn’t been home for three years, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Reichenau even existed anymore. What if the kingdom had fallen?

 

When they first left the continent, the Crescent Alliance had already overrun the neighbouring Kingdom of Bryneich, and their armies were already at Reichenau’s borders. Many things can happen in three years, and it was a terrifying possibility that they may return to find the Crescent Alliance’s banner flying above the towers of Neuchatel.

 

Since they couldn’t speak without giving themselves away, Marianne was forced to keep her thoughts stewing in her own mind. She counted two score sunsets from the portholes of the ship before a knife-eared who appeared to be the ship’s master shouted something in their tongue. Almost immediately, all the immigrants in the bowels of the ship rushed out the hatches onto the deck.

 

Left alone in the shared sleeping quarters, their party could finally speak for the first time in an age.

 

“Are we there yet?” little Marie was the first to whisper, her youthful mind making her more daring than most.

 

“Let’s see if that’s the case, demoiselle,” Sir Lucien ruffled the girl’s hair before standing up, “I will knock four times if we have arrived, and twice if we have not.”

 

The knight climbed up to the deck, and Marianne could see hints of his silver armour peeking through his cloak. It was then she realised that the man had been wearing his heavy plate for nearly an entire moon aboard the ship without respite, and her admiration for his perseverance rose some.

 

Nary a moment later, they heard four knocks on the wood. 

 

Marianne climbed up first, allowing Lucien to grab her hand and pull her onto the deck. Having been sitting down for most of the journey, she stumbled around on unstable sea legs before slowly gathering her bearings. 

 

Already, she could see the sky-piercing Mount Vanitas to the south, giving her a firm sense of direction. As the continent’s largest mountain by far, it is said Mount Vanitas could be seen from every corner of Vania. Weaving through the excited crowds of knife-eared, she reached the bannister and leaned over the side of the ship, finding the vessel to be sailing into the mouth of a large river.

 

Marianne was all but certain now; the ship was taking them to Morgannwyg, the capital of the former Kingdom of Bryneich, and that they were in Cath Bay. Indeed, she spied the fortress island of Cath Rock to the ship’s port side, its formidable walls casting a great shadow over the ship. Cath Rock once - and still does - guard the mouth of the Saol River, which Morgannwyg was built on further upstream.

 

However, flying atop the fortress were not the five-sided roses of Bryneich, but the antlered laurels of the knife-eared and the quartered shields of the Crescent Alliance.

 

Marianne breathed in the cool breeze, feeling salt and sea spray cling to her skin. Turning around, she saw Margareta staring up at Mount Vanitas with wide, tearful eyes - her hands holding tightly to the shoulders of her daughter. Marianne herself had missed the familiar constant that Mount Vanitas posed after three years; she couldn’t begin to imagine what two decades must've felt like.

 

Welcome home, she thought to herself.