When Heroes Die

“Finding accord with the people of Procer is like attempting to negotiate with snakes, except the snakes are less likely to bite.”

– Callowan saying.

It had rained during the night.

This wasn’t surprising. We were in a bog, after all. That didn’t change what it did for morale. Everyone was in a foul mood. It didn’t help that the dreams of the ruined city plagued me each night. Usually I didn’t mind them, but right now I could kick a baby. Scouts had been sent out and were periodically reporting back.

“Are you sure I can’t come with I’ll be quiet I promise I just want to follow along.” Yvette babbled from down below.

“I’m sure. I’m sorry Yvette, but you’re going to have to stay behind,” I told her.

“But why I’m safe near you and then I can ask you more questions you still haven’t taught me anything and you promised.”

“When I get back, I’ll start teaching you.”

“Fine,” She huffed. Sulking, she turned and made her way back to the camp.

For once, my clothes were clean. What I was wearing was fancier than usual, a white riding dress with gold trim. No matter how little I might care for this man’s opinions, I’d do my best to make a good impression if it helped prevent the fight.

My mount trotted forward at a lazy pace before stopping beside Princess Mathilda.

I had considered flying over to the meeting point, but decided against it. It would be all too easy for an enterprising crossbowman to decide that I was hostile and try to put a bolt through me. It probably wouldn’t do much, but starting off with one side trying to kill the other wouldn’t be setting the right tone.

Biting my lip, I deliberated on whether I should ask Princess Mathilda about some of my ideas. I decided it would be the smart thing to do. She would have a better idea of the political consequences than I did.

“What would happen if I forced them to surrender?” I asked.

I hoped it wouldn’t come to that. In fact, that was the very last option I would reach towards.

“Depends on how you do it,” she answered offhandedly. “If you attack them under truce, it will cause a political nightmare for all of us.”

“I’m not doing that,” I replied. “After combat commences, I could overwhelm their willingness to fight. Throw some powerful emotion at them and force them to surrender.”

“I don’t think that would work,” she told me dubiously.

“Assume it does.”

“If it did work, then on a logistics level our problems depend on how badly they are incapacitated. If they are catatonic, we will have thousands of prisoners to care for. That will slow down our movement to a crawl and badly strain our supplies.”

That was bad, but I was willing to live with it if it saved people.

“And politically?”

“Hard to say,” she mused. “Prince Cordelia would be best suited to answer. She is the one with the head for politics. I imagine there would be no shortage of Princes baying for your blood down south, but they wouldn’t have much in the way of influence.”

That was less advice on the subject than I hoped for. It didn’t seem like she was giving the subject much thought, which was frustrating because it was important. I was trying to find a reason not to go ahead with it.

“Thanks for the advice.”

“You’re ready to ride out?”

“I am,” I confirmed.

Insects swarmed around me. Irritably, I blew them away once more. Filthy things, how had I ever let them crawl in my hair?

“Good luck then,” she told me firmly.

What went unsaid was that none of us had much hope of success.

I dug my knees into Sisyphus’s flank, giving him the signal to move. He had a dappled coat and a long mane. Despite how big the horse was, he had a placid temperament. He started to trot forward. It had taken the mounts a while to become used to walking towards shifting terrain, but eventually they stopped being spooked. Today, he didn’t need to worry about that at all.

I held a flag of truce upright in my right hand. Keeping it that way would be taxing, but without it, I was liable to be shot. The rhythmic clip-clop of hooves on the packed dirt I had shaped the day before helped to soothe my irritation. The buzzing of flies around me ran counter to that.

In an effort to distract myself, I was absently toying with my temporary aegis in my mind. It was a skin tight forcefield on both me and my mount. I didn’t expect to be shot under a flag of truce, but there was no reason not to play it safe.

Slowly, I made my way across my land bridge. I passed beneath dreary looking mangrove trees. Sadly, they were liable to die due to the modifications I had made to the environment. It was difficult to see further than twenty feet in any direction, the place was so overgrown.

It was a few hours later when I finally guided Sisyphus towards the rising slope of a large hill jutting out the other side of the swamp. There was a hive of activity taking place on it. Walls had been raised above, and people looked my way cautiously as I arrived.

“That way, chosen,” a voice called out from up ahead.

I was pointed towards a path on my left, trailing away from the Brussian camp. It made sense, I suspected that they didn’t want me to see whatever preparations they might have made. Following it, I carefully navigated my horse through unsteady terrain. I was tempted to flatten it out and make it easier to traverse, but I had a feeling that neither Prince Amaury nor his men would be happy with that arrangement. So I left the land be.

The ground started to even out. Coming up onto a small plateau, there were a few tents set out haphazardly. Despite the distance from their fortifications, I could tell that the place had an air of urgency to it. I could see conscripted peasants working with the fervour of those who knew the hour of their death drew close. Hastily constructed defences littered the hillside. With only the smallest of efforts on my part, all of them would topple over. Despite their terrain advantage, I suspected that these men expected to lose.

That didn’t surprise me. They certainly wouldn’t have predicted an assault through this part of the bog.

I was led towards what I could only call an impromptu stable. There weren’t many mounts nearby at all. Dismounting, I handed the reins of my horse to an attendant.

“So, you’re our heroic visitor from up north?” someone spoke from my right. I turned and came face to face with a tall youth. “Want to take a turn in the sheets with me? I could always do with a compassionate touch below,” he gestured towards his crotch.

The boy’s face was splotchy, and his eyes glossed over. At just a glance, I could tell that he was thoroughly drunk.

I stifled my revulsion.

“I’m not interested,” I replied. “I’m here to talk to Prince Amaury.”

“Father can wait, and I wasn’t asking. He dragged me along on this farce, I may as well take some satisfaction from it,” he laughed, staggering drunkenly inside my personal space. His breath reeked. “They say that you wouldn’t even hurt a fly. I’ve never had my way with a heroine before. There’s always a first time.”

He placed his hand on the surface of the forcefield covering my arm, then tried to pull me in for a kiss. I stiffened furiously, then shoved him back with my right hand.

It didn’t really matter how non-threatening the boy was, his attitude still nauseated me.

“How dare you lay your hands on me, wench?” he spat out. “You should feel honoured to serve me.” He tried to seize my wrists, but I pulled back. Unbalanced, he leaned against the flank of a horse. It whinnied, then kicked at him. He yelped and moved aside, narrowly missing evading the hoof.

Really?

As he came in to grab me once more, I knocked him away with the pole of the flag. He sputtered as he collided with the ground.

“I’ll make you regret that,” he hissed.

This was the son of Prince Amaury? My expectations were low enough without knowing that he had a rapist for an heir. Seizing him with chains of air, I pushed him back once more. His face turned an even angrier shade of red. The boy started to splutter. Filling his mouth was a makeshift gag, I forced him onto his knees. I wasn’t prepared to listen to another word he said.

“If I wasn’t under a flag of truce, you would probably be badly injured, if not dead,” I told him. “What makes you believe you have the right to anyone at all?”

Keep calm, Taylor.

I hoped this wasn’t a ploy by Prince Amaury to try to make me break the terms of the truce. The asshole had almost certainly been sent to take me to his father. It was possible Prince Amaury planned to put me in a position where I would attack his son and then claim that it was an unprovoked assault. Unfortunately, I couldn’t be sure. I had been warned that the princes were awful people, I just wasn’t expecting something like this.

I turned to the stable hand. The poor boy’s hazel eyes were opened widely. It looked like they were about to fall out. He was doing his best to hide behind my mount. I couldn’t blame the kid. If I were in his position, I would want to be almost anywhere else as well.

“Find someone else to lead me to his father,” I ordered.

Nodding jerkily, he bolted away.

It was not long until somebody else arrived. A figure clad in plate adorned with the symbol of Brus. A Kingfisher. He had his helmet off, and was trailed by two guards. It took but a moment for me to spot the similarities in the face of this fair haired man and my attempted rapist.

“So Nathanael,” the man said, his voice laced with distaste, “once more you overstep. Killing the sons of good merchants to escape from your debts is a grave enough fault, but attempting to lay your hands on one of heaven’s chosen is reaching far beyond the pale.”

Wait, he's done things like this before and just been let off?

“Confine him to his tent and see to it that he doesn’t wander astray. I will handle this incident more carefully after the battle concludes,” the man finished talking to one of his guards. He turned my way and spoke. The tone was commanding, even though he had no right, “walk with me chosen.”

By my reckoning, the altercation was far from resolved. I would make sure that something was done about Nathanael, because I certainly was not willing to allow him to escape unpunished.

Following in step beside Prince Amaury Goethal, the two of us made our way towards a larger tent. It was close, there weren’t many tents set out. There were more than I expected for this meeting.

Do I do it?

I decided not to, although it was really tempting. There was a plan of sorts which I had considered and then discarded. I was almost certain it would prevent the battle, but I didn’t like the potential consequences of the scheme. The idea was simple really, use persevere to fully capture the conversation that occurred within the tent, then broadcast it to everyone within a mile of me.

I had heard enough out of the mouth of Cordelia to convince me that doing so would probably be enough to cause a revolt. If this man was any worse than her, simply baiting him into saying the right words would result in one of his soldiers putting a bolt through his brain.

But no, I wouldn’t do that. I wasn’t trying to burn the existing system to the ground and start over, I was trying to reform it piece by piece.

Entering the tent, he moved towards a comfortable chair that had no place being on a military campaign. It was on the far end of a mostly empty desk, and another chair just like it was set near the entrance.

“Take a seat,” he ordered, as he proceeded to do so himself. Seeing no reason to negotiate while standing, I set my flag down then did as requested.

He reached over to a bottle of wine and uncorked it.

“Would you care to share a glass with me?” he asked, his lips curling up into the hint of a smile.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink.” As I started to talk, I felt something. It was almost imperceptible, tugging at the both of us, and guiding the flow of the conversation.

Prince Amaury raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. I think it was meant to look cheerful, but to me, it only looked forced.

“Such a shame. Wine would likely do wonders for your comportment.”

“It doesn’t agree with me,” I answered diplomatically.

He reached to a shelf behind him and pulled off a single wine glass, filling it. Holding it by the stem, he allowed it to breathe for a moment before finally taking a sip.

“Emissaries from Prince Mathilda Greensteel clarified that it is not within your means to offer concessions for the Lycaonese. In spite of this, they urged me to take heed of your words. Would you be so kind as to shed light on why they did so, before blades are bared.”

I suppressed a wince. I really should have asked for someone who could represent Cordelia to come with, but it had slipped my mind.

“It’s a matter of faith for me.” It wasn’t strictly true, but the explanation was good enough. “I’m not certain if I can solve this peacefully, but I need to at least try.”

“A pretty sentiment. Sentiment, however, does not warm a soldier’s belly at night. What concessions can you offer me? For if all you have to offer is nought, then no accommodation may be reached.”

I had spent some time discussing negotiation with Cordelia. Not enough time to become good at it, but enough time to learn a little more about what it was that I needed to do. The first step, rather obviously, was defining what it was that I wanted.

I wanted this to be resolved peacefully.

The next step was working out what the other person wanted. I didn’t know exactly what the Prince wanted, but it was easy to guess. He wanted power of some sort. Almost certainly political, because it wasn’t like he was short on physical wealth.

I had some experience with negotiating before, so this wasn’t entirely new to me. It was a skill you needed to de-escalate situations as a member of the Wards. But it wasn’t one I had been good at, so I was willing to follow Cordelia’s advice.

“What do you want to negotiate for peace?” I asked bluntly. “Depending on what it is, I might be able to do something.”

“Cordelia Hasenbach’s hand in marriage with Frederick would have proven sufficient motivation to consider the alliance, were you capable of offering it,” Prince Amaury mused.

Once again, I cursed myself for not asking for someone who could represent Cordelia to be present.

“I’m not able to offer anything on her part.”

“A shame. I tried to negotiate with the girl, but she was unwilling to grant me what I wished.”

If Cordelia’s marriage was as low as he was willing to go, I could see why she might be against it.

“I can only offer what I can do.”

“You would need to shed light on exactly what that is.”

“This.”

His wineglass currently rested on the desk. I turned it into steel. He eyed it contemplatively for a moment, then picked it up.

“You are chosen by Compassion?” he asked, his tone measured.

I turned the wineglass back.

“That’s right.”

“What is it that you strive to achieve?”

“I want to improve the lives of everyone. My plan is to start the process with social reforms. For example…” I continued to outline my goals briefly.

“Unless you were to wed into my household, I see no reason to bargain with you,” Prince Amaury stated bluntly.

I blinked. Such a frank refusal came as a surprise.

“Why is that?”

“It does not matter who claims the title of First Prince, you will offer your services regardless. Your faith demands this of you.”

So the man believed he could have his cake and eat it too.

“I’m not marrying anyone.”

“Then you have little else to offer.”

“I’m sure there’s something else you want. Work with me here.”

“You possess nothing which I cannot claim merely by waiting for the opposition to lose.”

“Why do you think I won’t fight?”

“I found it doubtful that one blessed with the virtue of compassion would dare take to the field.”

“I fought against the Warlock.”

Prince Amaury snorted theatrically. “You spared the lives of the peasantry at Liesse. There are no records of you ever having harmed another soul. I hold that it is because you will not.”

“Don’t throw away this chance. Negotiate. Please.”

“You are so assured of the victory of the Lycaonese?” he stated, amused.

“I wasn’t planning on involving myself in this fight, then I found out that you’re mostly fielding peasant levies.”

Before I met the man’s son, I was sitting on the fence. Now, I was committed. No matter what happened, this fight wasn’t going ahead.

“And what of it? It is their place to serve us Princes, nothing more or less.”

“They didn’t choose to be here. They are here because you are forcing them to be.”

“They are my sworn subjects. If I wish for them to die for me on the field of battle, then it is their duty to do so.”

“It is your responsibility to care for them. They aren’t objects you can just throw aside.”

“It is a pretty thing that you propose, but like all pretty things, it is a lie.” He placed his wineglass down on the desk. His eyes narrowed, then he spoke once more. “Do you know what divides the great from the small?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“Opportunity. Those marked for greatness seize it tightly, whilst those whose candle burns dull let it escape their grasp. And the peasants? Those on the fields? They were set on a path from the moment of their birth, cursed with little opportunity at all. From their first heartbeat, they were destined to serve.”

Keep calm.

It really would have been easy to cause a revolt. Sadly, the long term consequences of that would probably have been awful. It would count as breaking a truce, and wouldn’t reflect well on me in the future. Consequences, I really hated the word. Hated having to think about them.

Even if I doubted Cordelia would have any trouble replacing the man, I suspected it would weaken my relationship with her.

I leaned deeply into the support of my angelic companions. Their warmth comforted me, and helped me to retain my cool.

I’m not alone here.

“And what would you do if they rebelled? If all of them decided that they have had enough of your rule?”

“Should that come to pass, then I would surely perish,” he stated simply. “But it will not. For sheep do not bite their shepherd.”

“It would only take a large enough uprising to see you imprisoned, or a single bolt each to put you and your family in the grave.”

The man smiled grimly and raised his arms theatrically.

“And yet, no bolt shall find their way to my heart.”

… If I had gone ahead with the plan of starting a revolt, this would be the point where he had sealed his own fate in the story.

“What of heroes? Where do we fit into the story you tell yourself?”

“Heroes like you are those who see an opportunity and seize it. You are one of the few who can stare beyond the madness of words we use to fill the silence and catch a glimpse of the truth beneath. They do not fit into the games of men, they play in the game of gods.”

I paused for a moment and gathered my thoughts. It seemed less and less like I could achieve peace here. I had tried being diplomatic, it was time to try a different approach.

“Your son Nathanael, I want him punished.”

“His shall have his family name summarily stripped from him. Without it, he shall have no chance to take my place after I one day perish. He is a contemptible boy. With his opportunities stripped from him, he will find no place for himself playing the ebb and flow. That is punishment enough.”

“If you had a daughter and a peasant tried to rape her, what punishment would she face?” I asked, angrily.

“The peasant would be boiled in oil.”

That was a far worse punishment than I realistically expected here, but it still made my point.

“Then why do you think this is enough?”

“As contemptible as he is and even without his name, he is still kin to me. I will not see him dead on your whims or anyone else’s.”

“Stick him in prison then.”

“Doing so would besmirch my reputation.”

“All you are doing is shielding him from justice.”

“Brus is mine to rule, it is by my right alone that justice is to be determined.”

Calm, Taylor, remain calm.

It was harder than I liked. I reminded myself once more that reforming the Principate into something better was a marathon that would likely take me centuries of work, and I didn’t want to mess it up at the first step.

“You wanted to know why you should negotiate with the Lycaonese?” I asked, doing my level best to keep the tone of my voice steady. My fingernails dug into the palms of my hands. I was close to drawing blood.

“Indeed. As yet, you have made no compelling arguments.”

“Then let me tell you why,” I hissed between my teeth. “You aren’t fighting them, you’re fighting me.” Prince Amaury looked dubious at the statement. “I pulled their entire army through the swamp, across land that would otherwise have been unnavigable. If it comes to a fight, I’ll force your entire army to stop fighting. They won’t even be able to pick up their crossbows, let alone aim the bolts.”

“Claims with no substance,” he dismissed, shaking his head from side to side. “Those blessed by the heavens, as you are, do not have the will to raise a sword in a battle such as this one. The clash of Princes is in the domain of mortals, not the purview of Gods. No matter how you bluster, you will not bare your blade. My forces will give battle to the Lycaonese. Most will die, but it is an acceptable loss. The Lycaonese will be forced to retreat, or not have enough soldiers to face the oncoming tide up north.”

“If you don’t negotiate, you will die. It won’t be me. I will make your entire army stand down. Cordelia will force you to drink poison, and I will stand aside.” I stated bluntly.

“Even should you force a surrender, I doubt you would allow me to suffer such a demise.”

“I am more than fine with it. A Principality is its people. You are consigning Brus to die here, to suit your ambitions alone. I don’t care if you personally fight it out with Mathilda in single combat or something along those lines, but I won’t stand aside if you order your people to die.”

“I will take that wager, then. Opportunity, remember?”

Retaining my cool was harder than I expected.

Don’t fuck this up, Taylor.

Taking a moment to think before I responded, I focused my attention on Prince Amaury once more. The man before me had the self-satisfied smirk of someone who felt confident that he had scored a win.

Seems I had not hidden my emotions as well as I expected after all. Years later, and it still frustrated me how hard it was to hide my tells without a swarm to push them into.

“I’m giving you a chance to do the right thing,” I stated, doing my best to keep my voice neutral. “I'm not doing it because I think you deserve it, but because it means when this is all over, I don’t need to ask myself what if. So please, negotiate here. Find a peaceful solution.”

I would give him every chance to save his own skin. If he chose not to, then he had nobody but himself to blame.

“Once the Lycaonese have been sent scuttling back up north, Frederic will be married off to one of the soon-to-be First Prince Dagobert’s daughters. This war can only end one way.”

The conversation continued. Despite my efforts, I could not convince the man to budge. Eventually, I picked up the flag and stepped out of the tent.

Making my way to the impromptu stables, I climbed on Sisyphus before departing from the meeting place.

What would happen if I attacked now?

Despite meeting on neutral ground, I was still close enough to the Brussian camp to have the entire thing in range. If I waited until the fight went ahead, people might be injured. It would be more politically expedient, but would weigh more on my conscience. I knew there would likely be consequences for this. Ones that I didn’t know. But I would rather do what I believed to be right now, then gamble for a better outcome.

It was possible for me to only target the leaders, but there was no guarantee the soldiers would choose not to fight. There was also a benefit to acting on such a large scale. It was a statement. I was tired of people believing that just because I was restrained that I wasn’t willing to act.

If I didn’t take a stand once, then this pattern would keep repeating itself. I did not like having to resort to threats. There was no part of me that wanted to be a tyrant or a warlord. But even if I was not planning to fill that role, people needed to understand that I had teeth.

They were not negotiating with someone that they could walk over. They were negotiating with a mostly benevolent dragon.

And if they crossed the invisible line, the dragon would bite.

I did not want or expect them to just capitulate, but I expected them to at least make an effort to find compromise. I was willing to bend my neck a lot, but not all the way. The Princes should not reasonably expect me to give them whatever they desire with no cost to themselves.

I would bring my claws down here, once. In doing so, I hoped to ensure that I need not bring them down again.

I’ll deal with the consequences later myself.

I felt reassurance from the angels at my decision. Their approval counted for a lot. I wasn’t sure if I was making the correct choice, but it was the one I felt the most comfortable with.

Sisyphus continued to trot away. The moment I judged myself distant enough, I theatrically dropped the banner on the ground. I raised a golden domed barrier around me, then sent up a flared warning into the sky. It spelled out my intention to fight, writ large.

Bolts started to smash uselessly against my shield. They did nothing, it was like the tickling of ants on the hide of an elephant.

Which emotion do I want to use here?

Any emotion, when concentrated enough, would likely be debilitating. I could settle for grief, depression, or despair, but those all felt wrong to me. They weren’t who I was now, and they weren’t who I wanted to be.

Smiling, I settled on the one which seemed the most appropriate.

It was my memory of what I felt the first time I had stared at the Choir of Compassion. It wouldn’t be as concentrated as an actual angelic appearance. I could only achieve the palest of imitations. But something told me that even my facsimile would be strong enough to prevent a battle from occurring at all.

A ghost vanished from behind me.

I didn’t want this to be confused for the real thing, so I was deliberately implanting illusions into the manifestation. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I would be able to add anything visually complex. The strain of doing so in addition to everything else made it untenable, so I would have to settle for something small. Like a memory of the night sky.

Or not.

To my surprise, I felt the attention of the angels bearing down on me. I received a vague impression of admonishment from them. It only took a moment’s focus to realize what they were trying to show me.

… An excess of compassion would have deleterious effects. Paradoxically, it would not be compassionate. Those effects ranged from self harm to suicide. Either way, without using a measured approach, I wouldn’t like what occurred.

It unsettled me that I had missed something so obvious. I allowed the angels to guide the emotional component. I didn’t have the faintest hope of regulating the effect on a person by person basis, but they could. It felt like having my mother leaning over my shoulders, showing me what to do.

I watched for a moment. It was almost as if they used my perspective of what was an acceptable outcome to judge how to shape my working. Shouldn’t they be able to judge for themselves? It struck me as odd, but I put that thought to the side before turning my attention back towards the illusion. With their assistance, I could go fancy. So I set my goals just a little higher. This was meant to be a statement anyhow, so I may as well make it into one. A midnight black dome manifested around the encampment. Along the inner surface, some of my memories from clairvoyant played out.

Not the harsh or horrible memories. Nobody deserved those. The little moments that I had glimpsed at then pushed to the side, because I was otherwise too busy at the time. Auroras near the Arctic. Forests untouched by man. Some of the more awe-inspiring cities constructed on Bet. Breathtaking vistas that had only ever been witnessed by me and clairvoyant alone.

I wasn’t sure how long it would take the soldiers to fully recover, it had taken me weeks. Filtered as it was through my memories, this wasn’t anywhere near as strong. That didn’t matter when it was so overwhelming that for the next few days they would feel like they had come face to face with an echo of an Angelic Choir.

Shortly after returning to the Neustrians, Prince Amaury sent a written surrender. The orders to mount up and march were given. It took a single sighting of the Brussian camp for a solemn silence to descend. Almost every single person within the camp was in tears. None of them were willing or able to fight at all.

I had asked the Princes to try resolving the conflict peacefully. Maybe next time, they would actually listen to me.