“Oh, Carag’s shit!” Raea exclaimed, covering her nose with both hands. “I assume you smell that,” she said to Cian

  The old warrior nodded. “I was wondering when you would pick up on it.”

  Raea’s eyes narrowed, studying the Varathian’s casual body language even as her and presumably his nose was being assaulted by a most terrible stench. “Are you sure you’re smelling it?” she asked through her hand. “It smells like a dead cat that’s been stuck in an alleyway for a week.”

  “Perk of being a Varathian,” Cian answered. “We can adjust our senses so that they’re sharper when we need them to be, duller when we don’t.”

  “Lucky you,” Raea replied before leaning out of the covered wagon they were riding in. “Where is it coming from?” she asked.

  “We should be hitting the marshes soon,” Cian commented. “I’m guessing that we’ll see by then.”

  Raea looked down the road, pinching her nostrils shut to ward off the worsening stench. The caravan was traveling along a path made of stone, built on an artificial hill that rose above the surrounding terrain. Up in the distance Raea could see patches of water and mud dotting the wetlands before them.

  “Pretty sure we’ve crossed the border into the Commonwealth by this point,” Cian commented. “Or at least where the border used to be. King Marcus will be redrawing it by the time he’s done.”

  “What’s the Commonwealth like?” Raea asked.

  “It’s not really worth mentioning,” Cian replied. “This region isn’t a single country, really.”

  “What do you mean?” Raea followed up.

  “Unlike Olica or Damar, the Commonwealth doesn’t have a single ruler,” Cian explained. “The twenty highest ranking nobles in the nation form a council called the Diet. Every three years they get together and pick one of their own to become the Prince of the Commonwealth, who rules until the next vote three years later.”

  “Sounds different,” Raea commented. “Seems like it would avoid succession crises.”

  “It does avoid that, if nothing else,” Cian responded. “But because the Prince has to rely on the members of the Diet to stay in power, they tend to give them a lot of leeway. So the Commonwealth ends up acting more like 20 tiny, loosely connected kingdoms.”

  “So what happens when another kingdom like Damar attacks them?” Raea asked.

  “I think you’re going to see soon enough,” Cian replied.

  Raea glanced back at the Varathian, expecting something more to be said. But the old warrior chose to keep his silence, so Raea returned her attention to the road ahead. When she did she saw a banner in the distance, staked into the wet ground.

  “Whose sigil is that?” she asked.

  “Describe it,” Cian responded, not bothering to move from his seat.

  “Um,” Raea began, squinting at the banner as the caravan approached it. “Looks like a blue eagle on a white background,” she said as they got closer to the object.

  “Seems we’ve reached the site of a battle,” Cian commented. “That’s the sigil of the King of Damar, left as a sign of his victory.”

  If victory smelled like this, Raea wanted no part of it, still covering her nose to ward off the stench. Then she saw a glint of steel from the water. Leaning a little further out of the wagon, Raea saw where it came from: the head of a pike, breaking the water’s murky surface. It was the first of many such signs.

  Not just pikes, but swords, crossbow bolts, and discarded helmets poked out from beneath the surface. Then Raea saw a gauntleted hand, reaching out from under the water, clawing for solid land. Closer inspection revealed broken armor, laying just out of sight. The dead bodies they had failed to protect were water logged and ripe.

  “Oh Carag,” Raea commented, forgetting the smell for a moment. Her hand left her nose, pointing out at the water and counting the bodies she could see. “There must be dozens of them. No, hundreds.”

  “This was the site of a battle,” Cian said. “No doubt there are thousands, maybe even tens of thousands.”

  Just as Raea was starting to come to the grips with the amount of death before her, the smell hit her all over again, the stench of waterlogged dead bodies a thousand times over. The shock hit her so hard that she lost her breakfast, vomiting off the side of the wagon.

  “That bad, huh,” Cian commented as the girl pulled herself back inside the vehicle.

  “Oh, Carag,” Raea said again, wiping her mouth with the back of a gloved hand. “Is that what war is like?”

  “The aftermath, sure,” Cian answered. “Sit tight and try not to throw up again, I think we’ll reach our destination soon.”

  ***

  Raea sat in the wagon, her head between her knees as she tried to ignore the smells about her. It had been several hours since they had come across the battlefield in the marshes, and it had not been a pleasant experience for her.

  “We’re almost there,” the driver called out from the front of the wagon.

  “Almost where?” Raea asked, not looking up past her legs.

  Cian got up from his seat and climbed up to the front of the wagon. “I thought that might have been Marcus’ goal.”

  Raea willed herself up despite her incessant nausea and joined the Varathian. “You mean that?” she asked, pointing in the distance. Before them was the edge of the marshes, with the road curving around the large lake that sat between them and a castle.

  “If I’m not mistaken, that castle is the seat of the Prince of the Commonwealth before the current one,” Cian commented. “His last term just ended, so I wonder if that was part of the King’s thinking.”

  “What’s with all those though?” Raea asked, pointing at groups of tents scattered around the castle

  “That’s Damar’s army,” the wagon driver replied. “This here is a siege.”

  “Oh, I remember talking about sieges with Briana, but I didn’t realize they’d look like this,” Raea responded.

  Between the tents and the castle were a series of trenches ringing the fortress on three sides, with only the lake left untouched. The castle’s keep sat on a hill overlooking the lake, with the walls surrounding it and then extending down the slope to the shore.

  There was an iron gate in the wall, a grate that allowed water to flow through. As the caravan took the road curving south around the lake, a great creaking sound could be heard as the gate was ratcheted up. A small boat sailed out from inside the castle, moving swiftly across the water’s surface as it turned north out of the gate.

  From the lake’s shore, near one of the siege camps, a group of ballista tracked the moving ship before firing a salvo of bolts. The giant crossbows were accurate, but the ship made for an elusive target, with its speed and small size. Two of the bolts impacted the hull, crashing through the wood above the water line. Despite the damage, however, the ship kept going.

  The vessel was quick enough that by the time the ballistas were loaded again it was out of range. Soon the ship was but a little dot in the distance, heading for the lake’s northern shore.

  “Hm, that would pose a problem for Marcus,” Cian commented.

  “What do you mean?” Raea asked.

  Cian pointed at the encampments around the castle. “The whole point of a siege is to surround the fortress and cut off their supplies. Eventually they run out of food or water and are forced to surrender. But if that ship is able to resupply the castle, then this siege is going to be long indeed.”

  “Then why do it?” Raea asked. “Shouldn’t King Marcus be worried that another army is going to come and stop him?”

  “That seems like a question for the man himself,” Cian commented.

  The caravan continued on its route along the lake’s southern shore. Raea kept her eye out on the water, hoping to see the ship’s progress. Unfortunately for her, however, the lake was large and on the far northern shores the vessel was a tiny dot.

  As the road curved back around the lake and towards the castle, the caravan came up to a stand of tents clustered around the path, acting as a sort of checkpoint. The wagons and their escort came to a stop as soldiers of the King’s army came out to meet them.

  Out of one of the tents came one especially large man, with dark hair and an intense glower about his face. He was shorter than Cian by about three inches, which meant that he still towered over everyone else around him. He was more broad shouldered and stocky compared to Cian, however, which made the sword hanging from his hip seem oddly small.

  “Did you have any problems?” the large man asked the commander of the escort.

  “Nothing, Sir, the package is secure,” the soldier answered. “Though we do have a couple of extra passengers.”

  “Passengers?” the large man echoed.

  Grinning, Cian stood and leapt out of the wagon. “Hermann!” he exclaimed, arms raised in the air.

  The other Varathian turned to his compatriot. “Cian,” he responded, his expression stoic. “I’m surprised to see you here, you don’t normally travel through these parts.”

  “Yeah, the money is usually better down south and out west,” Cian replied. “But circumstances are a little different at the moment.”

  “What do you mean?” Hermann asked.

  Cian turned back to the wagon. “Come on out, girl.”

  With slow, unsure movements, Raea pulled herself out of the wagon and leapt down to the ground. She stood before the two Varathians, dressed in a miniature version of their arms and armor.

  Hermann studied Raea for a brief moment, and now that she was up close she could see that his eyes were black. Not a dark brown, but a true black, making his pupils seem unnaturally large.

  “So you’ve found yourself another broken wing,” Hermann commented, turning to Cian.

  Raea glanced at Cian to see his reaction, which was a lazy shrug. “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “A discussion for another time,” Cian said. “More importantly, what is King Marcus doing invading the Commonwealth?”

  “You’d have to ask him the particulars of his reasoning,” Hermann replied. “As far as I’m concerned, he wants to take Castle Fairview and the surrounding lands and I’m here to make sure he succeeds.”

  “That’s right, that’s the name of this castle, it was escaping me for a moment,” Cian said. “But I’d imagine the siege isn’t progressing quickly, it looks like the defenders can resupply by boat.”

  Hermann nodded. “That’s right. Their ships are too small to keep the castle fully stocked by themselves, but they can bring enough in to draw this out for years. If we had a larger army we could surround the whole lake, but I’m afraid we don’t have the manpower for that.”

  Raea looked up at the two Varathians towering over her, her attention bouncing back and forth between them as they talked. “Can’t you just destroy the boats?” she spoke up.

  “We’ve tried that,” Hermann answered. “But their ships are too quick and nimble, and the crews are skilled. We’ve had no luck with either attacks from shore or with attempts to board.”

  “Hm, I wonder why Marcus chose to try to take this castle then,” Cian commented. “He normally goes for easier targets.”

  “You travelled with the answer to that,” Hermann replied.

  “Ah, did we?” Cian asked. “Color me curious then.”

  Hermann nodded before leaning around Cian. “Captain,” he called out to the escort commander. “Take the package directly to the King’s tent. He wants it for a demonstration as soon as possible.”

  “Understood, Sir,” the soldier responded.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Hermann glanced at Cian for a moment before turning away. “Follow me,” he ordered.

  Cian did follow, Raea doing the same. They walked between large groupings of tents, put up in straight rows forming neat squares of canvas shelters. Soldiers were about, some wearing armor and moving supplies about the encampment, but most were in normal clothes, sitting around and whiling the time away with their fellows.

  “Is this how a siege normally goes?” Raea asked.

  “More or less,” Cian answered. “Mostly it’s just sitting around until one side or the other gives up.”  “Oh.” Raea replied. “That sounds…incredibly boring.”

  “I’d agree with that, I’ve always preferred the heat of a straight up fight.” Cian commented.

  “And that’s why I always say that no one should hire you as a military advisor,” Hermann commented from the head of the group. “You’ve always been one to prioritize drama and excitement over practicality.”

  Cian smiled in response. “That’s why I’ve always liked you, Hermann. Unlike the other younger Varathians, you’ve never felt the need to suck up to me.”

  “Other than the Rector, you mean,” Hermann replied.

  Cian’s smile faded. “Yeah, him too.”

  “Who?” Raea asked.

  “Another time,” Cian deflected.

  Raea stared at the Varathian, wondering why he was so hesitant. She was distracted from that, however, by the group’s arrival at a large tent, one that could fit half a dozen of the smaller ones within it and still have room to spare. Aside from its immense size, however, it wasn’t appreciably different from any other tent in the encampment.

  Just outside the tent there was a man, his hands and feet bound to two poles on either side. Clearly there against his will, he looked defeated, head hanging down on his chest.

  “He looks vaguely familiar,” Cian commented as they passed.

  “You’ve probably seen him during past trips to the capital,” Hermann replied. “That man was Damar’s Royal Treasurer until recently.”

  Cian nodded as recognition came to him. “Ah, I gather that he did something that made the King none too happy.”

  “You can say that,” Hermann said. “Come on inside,” he added, holding open the entrance to the tent.

  Inside, Raea and Cian went. The interior of the tent brought Empress Marie’s throne room to Raea’s mind, but instead of grand ceilings, throngs of courtiers in bright colors, and a great marble throne, there was a simple wooden chair flanked by half a dozen grim looking men in armor while the canvas roof of the tent hung scarcely eight feet off the ground.

  The men around the chair looked up at the new arrivals, pausing whatever conversation they had been having. Seated in the chair was a man with a long, thin face and cheekbones so high and prominent that they made the rest of his face seem hollow by comparison. He wordlessly appraised the new arrivals, his eyes moving over each with a piercing gaze. His silence carried such intensity that Raea found herself waiting for this man to speak without even meaning to.

  “Wasn’t expecting one of your friends to show up, Hermann,” the man finally commented.

  “Neither was I,” the Varathian replied. “They came with the package.”

  “Did they now?” the man asked, standing up from his chair. “Doesn’t matter, we have other matters to attend to.”

  “Quite right,” Hermann replied. “I’ve already arranged for the package to be delivered here.”

  “Good,” the man said. “Come then, it is time that we witness the dawn of a new age in warfare.” With that the man walked briskly out of the tent, stepping past Cian, Hermann, and Raea without a word or even a glance to further acknowledge them. The other men exchanged looks amongst themselves before following.

  “Um, who was that?” Raea asked.

  “That was Marcus von Hohen, King of Damar,” Cian answered.

  “Really?!” Raea exclaimed. “He didn’t look like a king. No crown, no fancy clothes, no golden armor.”

  “Well, right now he’s a general out on campaign, I’m sure he doesn’t find much use for fine nonsense like that,” Cian commented. “Come, I want to see what this new age is about.” The Varathian stepped out of the tent, leaving Raea to follow.

  Walking back outside, King Marcus was standing a short distance away from the bound former treasurer, next to something that was covered by a sheet of white cloth. The other men who had been present in the tent were standing off to the side, a sense of tension as they watched.

  “You all will recognize Baron Rudolf, until recently the Royal Treasurer,” the King stated, staring at the bound man. “Some of you may have heard that he was embezzling funds from the Crown, and you may be wondering why someone who has committed such a crime against the Kingdom would be allowed to live the many weeks since his crimes were discovered.”

  The other people present were focused on King Marcus and nothing else, Raea noticed. The other men from the tent, whom Raea now assumed to be nobles in the King’s service, nearby and passing soldiers, everyone seemed to be stopping to lend their ears to Marcus the Great. It reminded Raea of how Empress Marie was able to command the room at her court, though it differed in one major respect. Marie concerned herself with keeping the nobility happy while the commoner was of little concern to her. Here Raea could see a nervous energy about the few nobles in attendance, while the common soldier looked upon King Marcus with respect and admiration.

  With little flourish or flair, the king pulled away the sheet, revealing what appeared to be a small bronze barrel laid down on its side and mounted on a pair of wheels.

  “What is that?” Raea asked aloud.

  “Good question,” Cian replied.

  King Marcus walked a small circle around this strange object, letting the audience have a moment to take it in before he began speaking.

  “Some of you may have heard of a black powder from the far east that explodes upon being ignited,” he said. “Some of the more well off among you may even have used what they call fireworks, mixing this powder with other materials to create bursts of color and light in the sky. An empty novelty act.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Raea commented to Cian.

  “It’s something that tends to be a distraction for wealthy nobles more than anything else,” the Varathian responded.

  “However, history shows that this powder has had military applications in the past,” King Marcus continued. “Long ago, before the Immortal Empire unified the eastern continent, this powder was used to fire arrows with greater speed and numbers than a hundred men could with bows.” He gestured to the iron barrel. “The master blacksmiths at the Royal Armory have taken those principles and applied them to a new weapon that will revolutionize siege warfare. It has been dubbed the cannon.”

  The nobles from the tent murmured amongst themselves, a clear sense of uncertainty about them, while the soldiers, whose numbers grew by the moment, watched in anticipation.

  “Count Maximillian, step forward,” King Marcus called out. One of the nobles came out from among the group. Raea had the feeling that he didn’t belong with the rest of the group, like there was something he had experienced in life that separated him from other noblemen. Something in his body language said that he felt the same.

  “Come closer,” the King commanded, and the Count obeyed, walking closer until he stood next to the cannon alongside King Marcus.

  “Have you adapted to life in the Riverland Marches?” the King asked.

  “I-I think so, ya Grace,” Count Maximillian answered. Raea could tell from the man’s accent that he had not received a nobleman’s education, instead speaking like a commoner.

  “You should have more confidence in yourself,” King Marcus responded. “I raised you up to the nobility because of your fine service to me in past campaigns, and my tax collectors have been telling me many things about the Marches since you took over.”

  “They have?” the Count asked, clearly uncertain what to make of the King’s comments.

  “Yes, they tell me that the county is doing well under your stewardship,” King Marcus replied. “Banditry has been repressed, trade with our western neighbors is conducted smoothly, and the people are happy and prosperous, with scant few attempts to avoid paying dues to the Crown.”

  “Yes, milord,” the Count responded. “I find common folk like it when they feel that the nobility is protecting them.”

  “Hm, an interesting perspective, and not one without merit,” King Marcus commented. “However, to get to my point, I wish to reward your fine service.”

  Count Maximilian stared at the King, wide eyed. “What do ya mean, ya Grace?”

  Marcus gestured to the former treasurer. “There is an open position at my court, with the rights, privileges, salary, and responsibilities that entails. You shall have a single shot with the cannon. If you can hit the previous Royal Treasurer with it, then the position is yours.”

  The Count looked at the cannon, then at the bound prisoner and back again. With slow, deliberate steps he walked over to the new weapon and began inspecting it.

  “Aim it just like a ballista, then light the fuse,” King Marcus instructed. “I’m sure you know that every good soldier should keep flint and steel on his person.”

  “Yes, ya Grace,” Count Maximilian replied, producing those items from a set of pouches at his waist. He walked around to the closed end of the cannon, leaning over it and gazing down past where its open end pointed. After a couple of experimental grabs he found a pair of handles and started shifting the barrel, moving it subtly to better aim it at his target. While the Count obviously had never fired this weapon before, it seemed to Raea that Maximilian had experience with siege weapons from before he was ennobled.

  Satisfied with the targeting, the Count brought the flint and steel to the fuse and sparked it. He stepped back as the wick caught alight. King Marcus uttered not a single word as he brought his fingers to his ears.

  A sense of anticipation filled the air as the fuse burned down. Then there was a loud bang, causing everyone to flinch back and reflexively cover their ears, even though it was too late for that to do anything.

  “Ah,” Cian grunted, holding a finger gingerly to his ear.

  Raea looked up to see the Varathian doing this. “I thought you could deaden your senses.”

  “Caught me by surprise,” Cian admitted before turning to the unperturbed Hermann. “I assume you were expecting that.”

  “Yes,” the other Varathian confirmed. “Though I wasn’t expecting that,” he added, nodding to where the prisoner had been bound.

  He was still bound, or rather his arms hung by iron manacles while his feet laid on the ground, leading to a path of ruined guts and flesh scattered for some distance beyond.

  “What happened?” Raea asked.

  “That’s what happens when a stone the size of your head hits a person at high speed,” Hermann answered.

  “The size of my head?” Raea echoed.

  “Yes,” Hermann confirmed.

  Raea’s attention returned to Count Maximilian, who had fallen to the ground from shock.

  “Well done,” King Marcus said, standing over the Count. “May your time as Royal Treasurer bring prosperity to the kingdom.”

  Count Maximillian hesitated for a moment before kneeling before King Marcus and bowing his head. “Thank ya, ya Grace. I promise to serve ya till the end of my days.”

  “See that you do,” Marcus replied before turning to address the crowd. “It is through innovation and the elevation of the most worthy among us that we advance,” he said. “With the power of our new weapon we shall break the venerable walls of Castle Fairview and end this siege in record time!”

  The common soldiers applauded their king, their clapping ringing throughout the camp. The nobles looked on, showing little emotion.

  “Now, return to your duties,” King Marcus continued. “For the sake of our kingdom.”

  The common soldiers who had gathered around for the demonstration all saluted their ruler and commander before dispersing. The nobles stood in a small group, whispering amongst themselves as they regarded the recently promoted Maximillian and the new cannon.

  Marcus walked through the scene, unperturbed by anything happening around him. He approached the tent and the pair of Varathians and Raea that were still standing in front of its entrance.

  “How long are you planning on staying here?” the monarch asked Cian.

  “Not long,” Cian answered. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow at the latest.”

  “Very well,” King Marcus replied. “Hermann, your friends may stay in the royal tent until they leave.”

  “Understood,” Hermann responded.

  King Marcus nodded at his retainer before giving the same gesture to Cian and Raea. Then he slipped inside the tent.

  Hermann turned to the pair of travelers. “Go on in, I’ll have a couple of cots set up for you.” he said, holding the entrance open. “I still have to inspect the siege lines, so don’t do anything stupid before I get back.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Cian assured his compatriot before stepping inside the tent.

  Raea gave the cannon one last look before following suit.

  ***

  Some hours later Raea was laying down on the cot that had been provided to her, running her thumb along the edge of her sword. She glanced over to where Cian was laying on his cot.

  “Hey,” she called out, searching for a response.

  “Yes?” Cian asked.

  “What do you think of King Marcus?” Raea questioned.

  Cian was silent for a moment as he thought about it. “Seems like a good ruler, but isn’t much use to me. With Hermann around there’s little he’d hire me for.”

  “So you prefer Empress Marie?” Raea asked.

  “In that sense, sure,” Cian answered. “Though I get the feeling that you’re trying to get to something deeper than that.”

  Raea paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts before commenting further. “He reminds me of Marie, in some ways,” she said. “But he doesn’t in others.”

  “I can see that, I would say that they’re the two best rulers on the continent at the moment,” Cian responded. “But I didn’t bring you out here to meet him. I was more interested in how you’d respond to Hermann.”

  Raea shrugged, finding herself too ambivalent to come up with a substantial response. “It’s kind of annoying to have a younger you around,” she finally said.

  “Hmph,” Cian snorted. “Very funny.”

  At that moment Hermann walked into the room.

  “Hey look, the younger me,” Cian commented.

  “The what now?” Hermann asked.

  “It’s nothing,” Cian replied. “Done with whatever tasks you had?”

  “For today,” Hermann answered as he walked to the bed on the far side of the room. He paused briefly to study Raea before sitting. “She’s definitely one of the more unusual broken wings you’ve found over the years.”

  “What does that even mean?” Raea asked.

  “Ugh, I never should have told you that story,” Cian said to Hermann. “It’s nothing, just a name he has for recruits I bring in,” he added, turning to Raea.

  “Why?” Raea questioned.

  “Cian told me a story once,” Hermann began, reaching down and taking off his boots as he talked. “About a vision he had when he underwent the Transfiguration. What was it, Cian? You took a bird with a broken wing to Artimax and it became a phoenix, right?”

  “Yes,” Cian answered.

  Raea considered this for a moment before coming to one question. “What’s the Transfiguration?”

  Hermann shot her a confused look before shifting his gaze to Cian. “You haven’t told her?” he asked.

  “Never came up,” Cian replied.

  “And yet you saw fit to give her that hollow facsimile of our arms,” Hermann commented.

  “Hey!” Raea exclaimed, sitting up in her cot.

  “That armor will be useless to you if you make it through the Transfiguration,” Hermann said, cutting off the young girl. “Assuming you do, you’ll be far stronger, faster, and larger than before. Any training and equipment you get will be meaningless unless it can take advantage of that.”

  “I…” Raea began before finding herself with nothing to say in response.

  “Ugh,” Hermann sighed. “You’re normally not one to get attached, Cian, but when it comes to your broken wings you get oddly sentimental.”

  “You’re not near old enough to be so heartless already, Hermann,” Cian responded. “Young people need nurturing.”

  “And that’s hardly the job of a Varathian,” Hermann countered.

  Cian sighed, shaking his head before resuming the conversation. “Agree to disagree. But while we’re here, you think you can get my broken wing an audience with the King? She’s taken an interest in him.”

  “Hey, don’t make it sound weird,” Raea interjected.

  Hermann ignored the girl’s protestations as he mulled over the request. “Probably. Marcus likes to talk about his ideas and philosophies with new people. If there’s no pressing issues for him to deal with, he’ll likely be willing.”

  “Hm, maybe we’ll hang around long enough to see if that happens,” Cian replied.

  “Do what you will, just shut up and let me get to sleep,” Hermann responded before putting out the lamp that had been providing the room with light.

  Raea laid down herself, wondering what questions she would ask of a king.