Chapter 291: Enemies of a Different Measure

Magister Vasilisa watched the man beside her pour a drink into her cup. Cups, rather—the bartender filled multiple tankards, each and all just beside Vasilisa’s wrist. Her eyes jumped between the brown alcohol and their party of three, sitting adjacent from her and waiting expectantly.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Vasilisa questioned.

“Alcohol does nothing for me,” Argrave said vaguely while the two beside him shook their head.

The drink finished pouring, and she handed a set of gold coins to the man. He tried to refuse her, but she insisted until he took it.

“Just, uh… feels a bit…” her blue eyes jumped between them, then she shrugged and tipped the tankard back. “Whatever. You don’t want it, that’s your business. But what’s my business…”

She snapped. Though no matrix formed, she’d cast a spell, and a ward enclosed them. Casting spells without matrixes—that was one facet of Vasilisa’s A-rank advancement. None of the other customers in this tavern in Quadreign seemed to react to the spell, perhaps well-used to Vasilisa being here.

“What’s my business is what in the hell you’re speaking of when you talk about taking down Magister Ivan,” she said, sipping at her drink slightly. “You might not get things, being from where you are… but me, my sister’s territory? They’ve become nothing before what Margrave Ivan owns, Silvaden. We’re dust before a castle. Maybe they call you ‘Smiler’ for your endless optimism, but I see things clear, and they’re clearly impossibly bleak.”

Argrave mulled over her words for a bit while the Magister let the silence hang, drinking deeply from her cup. She’d very nearly finished the first from what Argrave saw.

“Do you know how I discovered you were in Relize?” Argrave questioned. “I was speaking to a northerner… something mundane, I think it was about furs that were commonly traded to Relize… we wanted to avoid some competition, you see.” Argrave leaned in, entwining his hands. “This woman, she was a little old. Still robust and firm, though, like a great deal of the people we saw on the way here. And she started talking about the good days beneath the reign of the queens of Quadreign.”

Vasilisa stared at Argrave as he spoke, so wrapped up in his fabricated story she couldn’t think of anything to interject.

“She spoke of your traditions here,” Argrave continued, locking eyes with her. “How your women ruled, because only those that create life can justly preside over it. She told me how the flames of Quadreign once flowed through this city, giving warmth even in the winters of this northern valley. She spoke of the queen’s mageguard—chosen from birth among loyal vassals, tempered by the flame, and holding two ideals at heart.” Argrave raised his hand, counting as he listed them. “Protect the queen… and protect her people. And this woman spoke of how they died to the last against the forces of Vasquer.”

Vasilisa blinked quickly then looked off to the side, obviously hiding tears. She grabbed a new flagon and drank it all, then set it down quietly. “What does it matter?” she questioned, her voice hoarse. “My mother was the last queen. My sister has a brain tumor, and though it can be cured, all those capable of such a feat would wring us of our last coins. We have an obligation to the people—if my sister is cured, we couldn’t afford to feed them. All of the queen’s guard died, as you said. Those you would have us fight against possess all of what we once owned.”

Quiet set in as the Magister opened her heart up. Anneliese leaned in, almost a mirror of Vasilisa’s emotions, and said, “The people live, and the people remember. And even if you disbelieve that claim… no one succeeds if they content themselves with defeat.”

“You seek the flame both for the people of this city and your sister,” Argrave said. “I think that’s clear.”

The Magister looked back. “Yes. And?”

“People that honor their obligations are few and far between,” Argrave nodded. “I greatly respect that.”

“Respect my ass,” she shook her head and fixed her blonde hair behind her ear. “I don’t do what I do for respect.”

Galamon chuckled, and Argrave briefly turned his head at the unexpected noise. Before long he turned back, continuing, “…but honor can blind you to a lot of opportunities you have at your disposal,” he said, pushing past her comment.

“That’s not a bad thing. I’d rather die than do something against my principles. If that’s what you’re suggesting…” the Magister’s eyes focused on him.

“Of course not,” Argrave leaned back in the chair. “Fact of the matter is, though… people like Magister Ivan will piss on your honor. They’ll exploit your integrity, and the only thing they’ll feel is disdain… disdain that you’re so gullible, so easy to use and abuse. He thinks you’re lesser than him.”

Her jaw clenched tight, and she took a slow drink of alcohol once again.

“Silvaden does not try and offend,” Anneliese quickly soothed. “This is merely to raise a point, Magister Vasilisa.”

Her words did unwind the tense Magister a bit, and so Argrave continued, “And the worst part of all this? After his betrayal… after he let Quadreign fall to Vasquer, after he stole the Flame of the Tenebrous Star from your house… what do people view him as? Not a traitor, not a thief, not a callous usurper… but rather, they view him as Margrave Ivan. They view him as a man not to be trifled with. He’s just the winner.”

Vasilisa’s jaw tightened once again… but her eyes dipped downwards from Argrave’s, growing distant and introspective.

“Sanora…” Argrave put his hand on Anneliese’s shoulder. “She’s right. If you content yourself with defeat before you try… I don’t need to spell out the results, I should think.”

Vasilisa laughed exasperatedly and threw her head back, slouching against her chair. “And what can we do? Four of us? You, maybe A-rank. Her, verging on A-rank, and him…” she threw up her hands in Galamon’s direction. “Ivan can match us person for person, spell rank for spell rank, and still have a territory’s worth of people at his disposal left over.”

Argrave took his hand off Anneliese’s shoulder and set it on the table. “I don’t think that northern woman I spoke to was particularly unique. I don’t think the people, low or small, have genuine affection for Margrave Ivan. His power comes from the throne of Vasquer, not the people. And the throne… it’s clearly in no state to protest. Perhaps that king in Relize is justified in what he does.”

“Hah,” Vasilisa leaned back in, tracing her finger around the rim of her third cup. “Argrave and his coalition of merchant princes playing at war?”

Argrave smiled broadly. “Even still, that man was able to get swords in people’s hands. So far as I know, he was not even in the line of succession for the throne. And you? House Quadreign, reputed rulers, heralds of the good days of Quadreign? That cause has much more legitimacy than his, I should think.”

Vasilisa took a deep breath and sighed, eyes wide in reluctant realization as she acknowledged that his point had some merit. “I wouldn’t… know where to begin,” she admitted.

Argrave nodded. “People with honor generally don’t. But… as it so happens… I’ve gotten a fair bit of experience in this sort of thing. I can’t say I’ve made no mistakes, but I’ve learned as much from each one.” He clasped his hands together. “If you agree, we could leave Quadreign by the morrow, head to wherever this Ivan might be. From there, I’d be able to figure out where we might begin.”

Vasilisa looked at Argrave and his two companions in turn. Then, she took another drink. “My mother taught me to be careful about how I answer strangely forward men when I’ve been drinking. Give me the night to decide.”

Argrave nodded and gathered his coat as he prepared to stand. “If you want my cards laid out plainly, I have a vested interest in getting the Flame of the Tenebrous Star returned to you quickly. I can’t really afford to wait a year. And… your sister… can she? Well, never mind,” he shook his head. “I’ve made my pitch. The decision is yours.”

#####

“…bandit forces were grouped up and herded by our armies. Upon this scourge being driven into core territories, much infighting broke out until they largely consolidated. In light of this, Count Pomten surrendered his fortress to our army and allowed us to suppress what remained in tandem with his forces, lest his land be turned into scorched earth. In other words, the soldiers are off to a stellar start,” Elenore summarized, wearing a black dress and a golden blindfold over her missing eyes. “We have a base of operations that serves as a foothold into the north, a cooperative ally, and a good example of what surrendering can bring to Argrave’s would-be enemies. I suspect we’ll be largely unimpeded until we reach this place… Castle Cookpot, located in a valley.”

Leopold nodded while looking over the map of Vasquer. “You say stellar start… I say that all the patricians are breathing down my neck, wanting to speak to Argrave.”

Durran stepped in, presently armored in his wyvern scale. “Any matters they have, Princess Elenore can handle,” he reminded the patrician.

“You think I haven’t said as much?” Leopold shook his head. “Where is he? Why can I no longer speak to him? Is he even in Relize anymore?”

“He spoke to you before he went into hiding,” Elenore reminded him. “After Traugott—"

“Yes, yes, he was nearly killed, and he’s at risk. So were those soldiers,” Leopold planted his finger upon the recently captured fort on the map. “Nearly each and every patrician has a stake in this war, yet the head of our operations isn’t open to communication.” The old man shook his head. “I feel for His Majesty, I do. But… it makes one wonder, simply put. Indeed, certain people wonder why some of their men have died. Why… and for whom,” he finished.

Leopold stared at Elenore as she stood passively, his gaze unflinching on her golden blindfold.

Finally, the patrician looked away. “I’ve said what I wanted to say… and now I have an appointment with my wife,” Leopld scoffed the word ‘appointment.’ “The woman is quite demanding. I’ll be off. But all said, I don’t think this matter is going away.”

The leader of Relize walked to the door, opening it and leaving swiftly. Once it was shut, Durran clicked his tongue.

“Happy marriage,” he noted.

“’It’ll all work out,’ you said,” Elenore turned her head towards him, removing the golden blindfold around her head and ruffling her hair. “Do you still have that optimism after that conversation?”

“Optimism? I’m the wrong person to say that to. I just trust you can handle things, no matter what,” Durran said plainly, eyes fixed on her eyeless sockets.

“Well…” Elenore crossed her arms then hurriedly turned her head away. “The patricians wonder why they fight? I think we can give them ‘why.’ I think it’s well past time that our investors received some returns.”

Durran leaned on the table. “Yeah? How so? Planning to put some of that influence you have to good use?”

“No,” Elenore shook her head, turning back around. “There’s money in war. A gruesome trade, but there’s a reason Felipe grew so wealthy.” She came to sit on the table just beside Durran. “I’ve never had a position like this where I could so directly influence matters. It leads to new opportunities. None can complain if they’re well-compensated for their losses under the name of the king… certainly not Relizeans.”

Durran lifted his head up from the map and turned to her, face a foot away from hers. “Well… one detail’s missing. The money’s from the king… and his regent.”

Elenore grew still for a moment, and the only noise in the room was faint breathing. Then, her hand clenched around the golden blindfold she held, and she stood and stepped away.

“Can’t forget your role in this,” Durran continued. “People have to come to respect your position as regent. You have to show your hand. It’ll make the future easier.”

“…you’re right, yes,” Elenore admitted. “To that end… I need to increase my presence in Relize. There’s someone I want you to check out… details can come later, but I know you’re reliable and can take care of it. After you do, we can start bringing things to heel, maximizing the war effort in our favor.”