Chapter 47: Beneath the Lion’s Sun

Chapter 47: Beneath the Lion’s Sun

The two suns were just beginning to set behind the mountains, the red moon rising to take its place. At a point in the vast ridge, two mountains converged to form a narrow valley. Uneven rolling hills occupied one side of the mountains, covered with infrequent patches of dormant grass. If one went through the valley, moving beyond the mountains, one could see an unending expanse of black sand marred by a single half-buried stone road leading straight out from the valley.

In the middle of the valley, a manmade wall of smooth taupe stone stood tall, the two towers on each side partially merging with the mountains. A great many knights walked atop the walls, wearing white plate mail with a golden lion on the breastplate. In the center of the wall, a statue of a lion looked out across the black desert. Its jaws were open as though roaring. A glistening orange sphere shone from within its mouth, clenched by its fangs. Sparks of magic occasionally surged along the wall, each originating from the sphere in the lion’s mouth.

The two mountains that formed the valley had been carved away near the summit to form two keeps. The rough, uneven terrain had been chipped down in way of square rooms with simple windows. These rooms, too, shone with enchantments, and the windows offered a view of both the desert and the hills before the mountains. Opposite this keep and across the valley, the entire peak had been sheared away, revealing a vast field of open stone contained within a small wall.

The man-made plateau on the peak was marked by claw marks and scratches. Elsewhere it was filled with bones, many of them so old the sun had bleached them white. Others were more freshly eaten. None of them were human bones; cow, pig, or sheep comprised the majority.

The creator of these bone piles rested in the center of the mountaintop with its tail coiled around its body. The wyvern was a great beast, a dark red that made it look like the dragons of old. It was noticeably muscular on both its wings and its legs. It feasted on a sheared sheep—one of many resting beside its maw. Someone sat beside it on a stone chair carved from the landscape.

Margrave Reinhardt ran his hands across his wyvern’s head as it dug into its food. Even now, he wore his white plate mail armor. His long red hair fell past his shoulders and ended where the cloak of the same color began. His gaze was distant as he watched the beast eat, clearly lost in thought.

The wyvern lifted its head from its food, shifting its body to attention. The Margrave was drawn from his haze, and he followed his mount’s gaze. In the distance, a man with dark green hair moved up the stairs in the corner of the room and started to move to the Margrave with long, hurried strides. The Margrave soothed the wyvern, and it resumed eating.

“Margrave Reinhardt,” the man greeted from a distance. He was a young man with a handsome, earnest face. He slowed his steps, the wyvern clearly making him cautious. “I have more news.”

“Speak, then, Baron Julio.” the Margrave directed.

Julio reached into his shirt and pulled free a stack of letters. “More responses have arrived. Not a single southern noble has decided to support Vasquer. The majority of them have remained neutral, but the Duke of Birall declared he would be gathering his forces in support. I’m sure that, once word of that spreads, the southwestern nobles will fall in line,” Julio said excitedly.

The Margrave nodded. “It’s as you say. The majority will wait for the result of the first major battle to make a decision. Being neutral alone is a great boon.” Reinhardt gazed at his aide. “And the Duke of Monticci?”

“Regarding that…” Baron Julio rubbed his hands together. “The young lord Elias has returned. He says that he brought news from Mateth.”

The Margrave narrowed his eyes, turning back to the wyvern briefly. “I see.”

“He went to visit his sister in the temple,” Julio proceeded slowly. “He wishes to see you when he can.”

“Send him up when you return,” Reinhardt directed, voice low. “What else?”

Julio gathered himself. “The knights are already all assembled. Many of the mages of the Order of the Gray Owl residing in Parbon have decided to support, but the Order itself remains neutral—partly because Master Castro is away and has yet to respond. The Duke of Elbraille has not responded. By extension, his vassal Count Delbraun of Jast also remains neutral.”

“I flew with Master Castro once,” Reinhardt said, reminiscing. “For as old as he is, a terrific flier. He uses magic to bond with the beast, though. An enchanted whistle. Never was fond of that. Impersonal.” The Margrave shook his head. “The Order won’t take a side. The individual mages are what’s important. You can use all the funds of House Parbon at your disposal to recruit them—they may decide who wins the war.”

“Certainly,” Julio nodded enthusiastically. “As you instructed, we have sent out advance notice of the levy. Public opinion is high—Vasquer is not well-liked, and after what occurred at Dirracha, people are doubly ready to take arms in defense of the Margravate.”

The Margrave seemed disquieted by this. “Relying on levy… I don’t like it. But Vasquer undoubtedly will, and we will likely lose if we do not.” He scratched his chin where red stubble poked out. “With winter soon to come, any significant military activity will be impossible. We can only gather our forces and focus on preparing supplies to endure. True war will begin with spring. The harvests this year were good, but…”

“Margrave, if I may suggest something…” Julio began, and seeing the Margrave not respond, he continued. “Considering our enemy is Vasquer, we should prepare for sabotage—watch the comings and goings of refugees carefully, protect the granaries, be mindful of the rivers. That should be our knights’ focus as we build our strength for spring.”

The Margrave looked at his hands and nodded. “You are right. I have been warring with the southern tribes for years, meeting them at the Lionsun Wall. They lack fear, but they do not stoop to treachery. This will be a different kind of war.”

Emboldened, Julio continued. “If we conscript the militiamen, too, our forces will be further bolstered. I can—”

“You’re overreaching,” Reinhardt cut Julio off, turning back to his wyvern. “Take the militiamen, leave the villages defenseless? Bandits mostly form from deserted soldiers. War is the time when they are most present. I should leave the people without a method to defend themselves?” Reinhardt fixed his ruby eyes on Julio. “You’ve been good as my aide, Julio, but do not forget that this war began to overthrow a tyrant. Go now. Send Elias to me,” he waved his hand.

Baron Julio bowed, but his fists clenched tightly at his side. “Yes, Margrave. At once.”

The Baron walked away, and the wyvern tossed aside the corpse of the sheep, retrieving another.

“Redden…” the Margrave said lightly. After hearing its name, the wyvern’s eyes came to attention and it moved its head in front of the Margrave. He scratched beneath its chin, and some huffs of air came out from its nose. “I might be leading my whole family to its death. Hundreds of thousands of people could die because of this war.”

The wyvern stared passively, ignorant of the words.

“Bruno might already be dead because of what I did.” The Margrave lowered his hand from the wyvern. “Am I… ignoble?”

But Redden did not answer. Seeing no more scratches would come, it returned to its food. A few moments of quiet passed, and then the wyvern lifted its head once more. It let out quiet a growl, and then shot past Reinhardt. The Margrave lifted his head to see the beast striding towards his son. Elias met it with open arms, briefly holding back Redden’s head like meeting a bull’s charge.

Reinhardt stood, following close behind as the play between Redden and Elias continued. Eventually Elias fell to his back, exhausted, and Reinhardt came to stand over him. He offered a hand to his son, and Elias took it, rising to his feet.

Reinhardt watched as his son caught his breath. The wyvern moved back to its food, claws echoing across the plateau as they scratched the stone. The dusk light was fading.

Reinhardt spoke first. “I had been considering how I might punish you this whole time. I thought back to my own childhood, my father…”

Elias waited quietly.

“I was just as stubborn as you were when I was young. I thought I was always right. I still do, in some things.” Reinhardt reached a hand up and put it on Elias’ shoulder. “As time passed, I realized I was glad you had not come to Dirracha. You could not have guaranteed your own safety as I could. And further… I was not relying on you to do anything.”

Elias blinked, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxing. “Father… I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’re a good boy,” Reinhardt said sincerely. “Nonetheless, you are my son and heir. I am prone to whimsy, as most of our ancestors have. We of Parbon trust our instincts—our gut.” The Margrave pounded his fist against his chest where his heart was. “But as my heir, I must teach you responsibility. You have a responsibility to ensure the protection of the people beneath you. Flights of fancy can lead to their death.”

“I understand that, father.” Elias nodded. “I… wanted to find Argrave. That was what my gut told me to do. Having done that, I’m glad I did.”

Reinhardt took his hand off his son’s shoulder. “Just let me speak,” Reinhardt directed. “What you need isn’t punishment. You need responsibility. You need to realize that, as the heir to House Parbon, you wield enormous influence with corresponding consequence.”

“Mateth is—” Elias tried to speak.

“I’ve been deliberating how, exactly, I might show that to you,” Reinhardt continued. “As a spellcaster, you walk a very different path from your forefathers. We have all been knights. With the war coming, and spellcasters being a very important variable on the field of battle, I’ve decided to send you to Jast as an envoy to recruit mages to House Parbon. Theirs is the city of magic, and—”

“Mateth can’t join the civil war because they’re going to be invaded,” Elias finally said, cutting past his father’s lecture. “The snow elves—Veidimen, they call themselves— have been planning to invade Mateth for some months. They may already be attacking it by this point.”

The Margrave stood with his mouth open for a time, expression confused.

“That was Argrave’s aim the whole time. I don’t know if he was doing the bidding of the royal family, or merely acting independently, but I’ve come to think he’s not an inherently malicious person. Regardless, he’s helping Duke Enrico prepare defenses.”

“The snow elves?” The Margrave asked incredulously. “The bulky, pale-skinned elves?”

“Yes,” Elias confirmed.

The Margrave looked back, and then grabbed his son’s shoulders, pulling him towards the stairs. “I would hear what you have to say before we continue this talk of Jast. Let’s go somewhere else.”