Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 1

6th Day, Middle Fire Month, 1 CE

“You were ordered to apply pressure on Lousa,” Antonio said. “Not turn him into a martyr!”

“Neither I nor any of my associates had a hand in that, Sir,” Eduardo replied.

From his seat behind the desk of his office, Antonio Cohen fixed his son in place with the cold fury of his glare. Something that shouldn’t have happened had happened, and the damage was incalculable.

“It wasn’t me,” Antonio sneered. “So say they all. Do you believe that such a flimsy defence will survive for even a second in court?”

“No, Sir. But what more can we say? None of our men or our allies were anywhere close to Lousa’s location.”

“The only thing that our enemies require to act is a motive. They will formulate favourable conjectures and exploit any rumour. Addressing the issue with Iago Lousa was not simply confronting him on the matter, but exercising control over the entire situation surrounding him.”

“Which we were in the process of preparing for,” Eduardo said. “The net had barely left our hands when Lousa’s labour camp went up in flames! I know of no man alive that could have ‘exercised control’ in a situation where the blow against us was set to land a half step into our operation.”

An angry sigh escaped Antonio’s nostrils. He should have never indulged his son’s martial pursuits. The boy had even travelled to the Empire several times to learn what he could about their armed forces. While his drive for martial excellence admittedly made him a highly-skilled Commander and a powerful combatant, his imbalanced focus left him lacking in other fields.

“Your ‘operation’ doesn’t just end if your target happens to die,” Antonio told him. “Even if you perceive the situation to be a failure, the consequences of that failure must be mitigated through the means that you have at your disposal. You allowed word to spread of the incident when you were in the ideal position to stop it.”

The one chance that they had to prevent catastrophe had slipped through their fingers. Now, they were at the mercy of a storm of speculation and intrigue.

“It was hardly an ideal position, Sir. We didn’t have the men to do as you say.”

“Are you saying that the ten thousand men between all of the participating houses were somehow insufficient to corral a ragtag band of cowherds?”

“I’m saying that those ten thousand men were incapable of operating in the fashion required to cordon off that labour camp. If you had acted on my recommendation to–”

“Oh, you’re bringing that up now?”

“Yes, I am. We have long had the means to raise a true, professional army. Because we lacked the will to carry out what was necessary, all I had to work with was a mob of amateurish ‘armsmen’. This battle was ours to lose and we lost it years ago because of that very same complacent attitude!”

Antonio rose from his seat, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You and everyone involved in this mess are to return to their places in the east. Our enemies will seize any chance to build up their new momentum, and we’ll not so easily offer any to them. Your mother will want to see you before you leave.”

Antonio went to pour himself a drink while Eduardo walked out of the solar. Several moments after the door closed, Sir Torres moved from where he was standing near the balcony.

“He’s right, you know.”

“Of course he is,” Antonio said. “He has too much self-respect to lash out with insubstantial arguments like some useless layabout. Eduardo has the makings of an excellent heir – especially with that fool Caspond on the throne – but the boy’s weaknesses are far too glaring. Speaking of glaring, I’m surprised you lost to a cowherd from the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m not sure that it was a cowherd, my lord. Those ranchers are effectively light cavalry, but my opponent faced me on foot.”

“A Mercenary? An Adventurer?”

“Or a Worker.”

He considered what that might mean. The need for security was understandable and Lousa may have hired a small army to defend his holdings. If true, it made the claim that he had been assassinated in his own home even more unbelievable.

“What do you make of this ‘Faceless One’ now leading Lousa’s leavings? I hear that most of the leadership that surrounded Lousa was killed along with him.”

“Are you suggesting that a third party had planned this all along?”

“It’s all too convenient,” Antonio said. “I somehow doubt it was Debonei’s doing, however. A petty interest looking to seize power in the chaos is the more likely culprit.”

“What will we do about it?”

Antonio snorted at the Knight’s question. Though strong and reliable, he was a bit of a simpleton.

“This isn’t some game played for entertainment, Torres. There are countless pieces on the board and even a Noble house can only move a few. Most people have little to no control at all…including this ‘Faceless One’. No matter who this person is, they have no choice but to cling to Debonei for survival. Events have played into our enemies’ hands without them needing to lift a finger.”

He drained his glass and returned to his desk to draw up new orders for his vassals. Preparations had to be made for the storm that was sure to come.

* * *

“I don’t want to do this…”

“Then don’t.”

Neia’s helpless whimper filled the cabin of the carriage as it conveyed them west to the city of Rimun. It was a popular place to visit for the people of the Holy Kingdom and she had even been there on holiday once with her parents, but the reason they were going now had little to do with leisure. If anything, she had no choice but to go.

“You could’ve done this on your own,” Neia said.

“As if an eleven-year-old girl would be taken seriously,” Saye rolled her eyes.

“And a fifteen-year-old woman is any better?”

“A little bit,” the Bard replied. “But the important part is that you’re the Faceless One.”

“I still don’t know how that became so important.”

“It’s popular!”

“It’s scary!” Neia cried, “You know, I had a dream the other day where I woke up and went to wash my face. When I looked at my reflection in the water, my face was gone.”

It was as if the dream was telling her that Neia Baraja was going to disappear, replaced by whatever people saw her as. She didn’t like the look that her eyes gave her, but she also didn’t want to lose them. The rest of her face was perfectly fine, too.

“That’s neat,” Saye said. “I should use that for a story.”

“Don’t use me for a story!”

“Too late.”

“Uuuuu…”

Neia whimpered again, looking out the window as their carriage rumbled along. The sea had already come into view, meaning that they were just a few hours away from their destination.

“I should just let the Merchants we brought with us do the talking.”

“They’ll do their part,” Saye said, “but the Nobles won’t settle for less than the Faceless One for the main negotiations.”

Neia’s purpose in Rimun was to negotiate a trade agreement with the Nobles. It turned out that cutting ties with the group that delivered half of her people’s supplies made said supplies dwindle away at an alarming rate. Frustratingly, their quest for justice had to be put on hold until they could find food and other necessities.

From the outset, their options were to raid or find new people to trade with. Raiding, of course, was out of the question. They weren’t savages, after all. At first, their problems were alleviated by the other ranchers Neia had rallied to her cause. The death of Iago Lousa had shaken them all, and their desire for protection against the royalists made joining hands with her people a matter of course.

Since everyone in the north was surviving on credit until they could deliver their produce to market, however, their assistance only slowed the drain on Neia's supplies. In the end, they had to turn to the Nobles for help. Not the royalists, of course, but their enemies, the so-called ‘conservatives’ who actually used to be the royalists. Life was already confusing enough for her, but the world insisted on making it even more so.

I hope they’ll help. Asking for supplies to feed a small army out of nowhere is normally an impossible request.

“Ah!” Saye scowled, “You’re doing it again!”

“Doing what?”

“Thinking about stupid things. ‘I hope they’re nice’ or something like that. I can see the daisy sprouting out of your head.”

Neia’s hand went up to touch her perpetual cowlick.

“H-Humans don’t sprout flowers! And what’s wrong with hoping that people will be nice?”

“You’re going there to negotiate as a potential player in their camp,” Saye told her, “not beg for alms. You can’t afford to fail: you have to do everything in your power to secure this deal. Your best chance to do that is convincing the conservatives that they need you and what your people have to offer. Going into talks as if you’re a vagrant will put you in the worst position possible.”

They had reviewed this all already, of course. Her best chance of landing a deal with the conservatives was to present her people as a ‘faction’ that could aid them in their struggle against the royalists. Still, there were things that worried her.

“What…what if the Nobles propose an alliance?” Neia asked.

“Then I guess you’ll have to drop your pants and bend over. Weren’t you worried about being single, anyway?”

“Ugh…”

Almost no one married for love, so it was unreasonable to think that she might be an exception. Still, Neia had nursed some unlikely hopes in her heart since her parents had managed to make it happen.

“It’s a small price to pay to keep tens of thousands of people from starving,” Saye said. “Since you’re a commoner, you’ll be marrying up, as well.”

“But my lord husband probably won’t let me ride around the countryside rallying more followers.”

“The conservatives need more power so he probably wouldn’t mind so long as you don’t put yourself in harm’s way. Leaders shouldn’t be doing that anyway unless they’re super strong.”

Neia’s long sigh filled their cabin. She had to use every means at her disposal, including the fact that she was a woman. If an alliance with the Nobles was proposed, then the strength of her following would be something like her dowry.

They arrived at Rimun’s eastern gate just before the sun touched the sea. The gatehouse had been fixed up since she last saw it near the end of the war, but it wasn’t the newly reconstructed fortifications that captured her attention. A cheer went up as she opened the door of the carriage, not quite believing what she saw.

Thousands of people crowded the sides of the highway and even the city walls, smiling and raising their hands and voices in welcome. Neia’s eyes widened as two familiar figures stepped out from the crowd to approach her.

“Mister Moro!” She smiled, “Mrs Diaz! You were both in Rimun?”

“Indeed, Miss Baraja,” Bertrand Moro and Angelina Diaz lowered their heads. “We received word that you would be visiting Rimun. I hope you don’t mind the modest reception we’ve arranged.”

Her head turned as her gaze went over the jubilant crowd. Statistically speaking, at least one in one hundred citizens in the northern Holy Kingdom were members of the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps by the end of the war. They started popping up like Bunnia once Neia started rallying people to rectify the injustice that had fallen upon the north, but what she saw around her was far beyond her expectations.

“I’m overwhelmed,” Neia wiped a tear from her cheek, “but gathering this many people must have been expensive…”

Mister Moro frowned slightly.

“…expensive, Miss Baraja?”

“Prices for everything have been high since the end of the war, haven’t they?”

“That’s true, but I believe that the Nobles have done an admirable job of managing the recovery. Combined with your teachings, I dare say that your followers are doing well for themselves.”

What…?

Now that he mentioned it, she realised that the city of refugee tents raised in the shadow of Rimun’s walls was gone. There was no sign of any labour camps, either. Everywhere she looked, the people seemed energetic, healthy, and well-fed.

“Shall we go and see the people, Miss Baraja?” Mister Moro asked.

“As much as I’d like to,” Neia replied, “I don’t want to keep the Nobles waiting…”

“You should spend some time with the people,” Saye told her.

“Eh? Why?”

“Our position has drastically changed,” the Bard told her. “The Nobles will have agents out in the city. We need to give them time to digest the fact that you have so much popular support. If you rush into a negotiation right now, they might see it as a sign of aggression.”

“I-Is that so? Well, if you insist…”

“Who is this young lady?” Mister Moro asked.

“Ah, this is Saye,” Neia answered. “She’s a Bard that I met while I was working for Mister Lousa. She’s been helpful in various ways…is there a problem with her suggestion?”

“No. On the contrary, her analysis of the situation and the appropriate plan of action is surprisingly astute for one of her young age.”

While not an aristocratic house, Mister Moro’s family had made a name for themselves by producing men who served as capable stewards for some of the north’s notable houses. Bertrand Moro had served as one before the war as well, so Neia was relieved to know that he agreed with Saye’s suggestion.

While Neia had a ‘following’, she never really thought about its implications beyond her desire to see the Sorcerer King’s wisdom embraced throughout the country. Saye was far more aware than she was about diplomacy and politics, and, since the death of Mister Lousa, Neia had relied heavily on the Bard for her knowledge and expertise in those fields. Things went mostly according to plan aside from their attempt at contacting the conservatives in Lloyds – which was closer to them than Rimun – only to find that the royalists had taken control over the city.

“Is it possible to hire a better carriage?” Saye asked, “This was the best we could find for the journey.”

“Of course,” Mister Moro said.

“Is that necessary?” Neia asked.

“It’s not necessary,” Saye answered, “but it will help. We’ll be staying at the Summer Palace and parking our beat-up old carriage beside all the fancy Noble ones won’t do us any favours.”

Neia’s steps came to an abrupt halt.

“Wait, we’re staying at the Summer Palace?”

“Of course,” the Bard told her. “We’re going to negotiate with the conservative faction. Since they’re hosting us, they’re obliged to show us the hospitality appropriate to a faction representative. Doing so raises their prestige and there’s an expectation that we reciprocate their hospitality by helping to elevate that prestige even further.”

“You make it sound as if Nobles just go in circles puffing each other up,” Neia said.

“That’s what ignorant city people would say. There’s a point to it, though.”

“Indeed,” Mister Moro nodded. “It’s a form of ritualised advertising if one puts it in Merchant terms. Additionally, the ideas and information that Nobles convey go beyond mere monetary matters. Also, while many from the city may consider those rituals an extravagance, they forget that the cost to host guests in rural areas is quite cheap.”

“But we’re in a city,” Neia noted.

“Indeed, if this were Hoburns, the costs involved would be prohibitive. Rimun, however, is a port.”

Blah.

It was a reminder of something she didn’t want to be reminded of. The transportation costs involved in carting something like grain from Rimun could be just as much as the price of the grain itself.

The ranchlands were in the north’s interior and usually imported supplies from the south through the northern port city of Lloyds, which was now under the control of the royalists. Due to Lloyds’ placement on the northern coast, using a fishing village or town as an alternative port was also out of the question. The position of the kingswood made every road pass through Lloyd’s sphere of influence on their way to the interior. She did not doubt that excessive tolls and taxes would be extracted from their caravans using some characteristically twisted legal interpretation if they tried to bring in goods through lands that were under royalist control.

Neia spent the next hour walking through the city streets and greeting her followers. It was more awkward than she had expected, as everyone remembered something about her but she was lucky if she could remember a handful of them. Once she was done, Mister Moro brought them to his modest apartment in the city’s common area. There, they sat around his dining table while the former butler provided a briefing on the status of the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps.

“I must apologise in advance for my lack of complete information,” Mister Moro said. “The situation of our members in the east is unknown and attempts to contact them have failed to elicit a response. We also attempted to contact you, Miss Baraja, but I’m not sure if you received our letters.”

“Ah…that’s probably because I don’t live in Hoburns any longer,” Neia said. “Sorry about that. The conditions in the east are terrible in general. The city folk can barely afford to feed themselves and the countryside is trapped in the iron fist of the royalists. I was shocked to see how well Rimun was doing compared to Hoburns.”

The former butler nodded gravely at her account.

“The Nobles here assert that what you said is the case,” he said, “but we found those accounts so absurd that we assumed that anyone circulating the information was either fooled or paid to propagate a narrative that served to support the conservatives’ position.”

“Did you hear about Iago Lousa?” Saye asked.

"I heard that he was granted the title of ‘The Black…’"

“Oh. Uh...he’s dead now. The royalists had him and all of his closest subordinates assassinated in his own home.”

Neia stared down glumly at the table. She still wanted to believe that his death had just been a bad dream, but it was very much a part of the waking nightmare that so many citizens of the north now lived.

“…I don’t know what to say,” Mister Moro said. “Surely, an atrocity of this magnitude has not gone unanswered.”

Neia shook her head.

“As I mentioned, the royalists have complete control. Any investigation conducted will of course place the blame on something else. I can’t help but wonder if all of those ‘accidents’ just after the war were something similar.”

“If that’s true,” Mister Moro said, “then something has taken root in the Holy Kingdom that wasn’t there before.”

“Do you believe that the conservatives can be trusted?” Neia asked, “After what happened with the royalists, I find it hard to trust any Noble these days.”

“The only thing we were suspicious of were those rumours. The Nobles here otherwise act as anyone would expect from the southern aristocracy. No one’s mentioned anything amiss and I doubt we would miss it with how many of us there are.”

“Out of curiosity,” Neia said, “how many people are in the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps now?”

“In Rimun prefecture, roughly two hundred thousand.”

“Two–!”

“Most are in the villages,” Mister Moro said. “Only around two thousand are in the city itself. Those numbers include women and children, of course.”

That was still a lot of people. It seemed that the Sorcerer King’s wisdom was being embraced where the people weren’t being oppressed so severely that securing the next meal occupied every waking thought.

“Are the Temples giving you any trouble?”

“No,” Mister Moro shrugged. “It isn’t as if we’re a competing religion.”

“I see. That’s good.”

Saye’s eyes went between Neia, Mister Moro, and Mrs Diaz.

“If you’re not a religion,” she asked, “then what are you?”

“The Temples consider us a moral philosophy,” Neia said. “You know, like that one those monks you sometimes see from the other parts of the continent practice. Buddhism.”

“What’s the difference between a religion and a ‘moral philosophy’?”

“In a religion, people worship a divine being. Moral philosophies are usually a framework for how one conducts their lives. For example, Buddhists venerate a Buddha for their wisdom and endeavour to follow their teachings, but they don’t worship that Buddha as a god. Similarly, we venerate the Sorcerer King for his wisdom and also strive to follow His Majesty’s teachings. I suppose you could call us disciples of His Majesty the Sorcerer King.”

“I see…is there anything else?”

“Hmm…if you’re looking for something provable that distinguishes a moral philosophy from a religion, ‘priests’ of a moral philosophy aren’t divine casters. Instead, they’re spiritual casters. Their power doesn’t come from belief in a god, but adherence to the way of life that they follow.”

“Does that mean the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps has ‘priests’ like Buddhism does?”

“To be honest, I hadn’t thought about that at all.”

Neia’s followers didn’t stop worshipping the Four Great Gods – nor did anyone expect them to – so it wasn’t as if they lacked temple services like healing and spiritual consultation. Buddhism had been ‘officially’ syncretised by the Temples since many spells cast by Buddhist monks invoked the power of elemental gods, though she was pretty sure that Buddhists didn’t care what the Temples thought about them. Neia’s followers were even easier to accept, as they were already part of the Temples’ congregation. They just happened to have a different approach to life.

“Well,” Saye said, “maybe you should. Later. It’s getting late.”

She twisted in her seat to look out the nearest window. Mister Moro’s home was on the third floor of a shophouse overlooking the western ocean and Neia discovered that only the barest traces of twilight were left on the horizon.

“I hope it’s not too late,” Neia said. “Does what we know now change anything I have to say?”

“You have a lot more support behind you now,” Saye said, “but the basic objectives are still the same. For the same reason, the Nobles will probably be trying to figure out how to use you and your people for their own ends.”

“…I have zero confidence in being able to just feel my way through this.”

She had spent every moment of her trip that wasn’t sleeping or speaking to people preparing for the meeting. Saye had even tortured her by not letting her eat until the Bard was satisfied with her progress. Those preparations were made with what they had before arriving in Rimun in mind, however. Learning about the state of the Sorcerer King Rescue Corps probably changed a lot of things.

Saye was right about meeting their basic objectives, though. As long as Neia could make sure her people didn’t starve, she would count it as a win.

“Just don’t do that thing where you look like a Goblin with constipation,” Saye said.

Did she do something like that?

“As for the rest,” the Bard looked over at Mister Moro and Mrs Diaz, “would you two like to come as attendants? The welcome at the gate was impressive, but she needs to keep the right type of people around her to maintain the appearance of importance.”

“Of course,” Mister Moro nodded.

Mrs Diaz went running off to find her festival dress at home. Neia and Saye went outside while Mister Moro changed, finding a fancy carriage on the street waiting for them. Saye looked at it for a long moment before dragging a dozen men from their escorting company to a boutique and buying each of them a new set of clothes.

It was two hours past sunset when they were finally ready to go. Mister Moro and Mrs Diaz joined Neia and Saye in the carriage, conducting a last-minute review as they made their way to the Summer Palace.

“Do you know who is present at the palace?” Saye asked, “All we know is that the conservatives helping to administer the north are based there.”

“In addition to them,” Mister Moro replied, “Duke Debonei has moved his court to the Summer Palace.”

“The Duke?!” Neia’s stomach started to churn.

“Well, it is his palace. And it’s summer.”

“Oh. I knew that.”

Shortly after the war, Duke Debonei purchased the Summer Palace from the Crown. Practically speaking, it was to help finance the north’s recovery. Officially, it was stated that the Duke would restore the ruined palace and maintain the cultural legacy of the royal dynasty. Rumour on the street, however, suggested that Duke Debonei had always wanted the Summer Palace for himself. Additionally, it was said that he was jealous of Queen Calca’s success in transforming the complex into a well-known national icon and sought to prove himself superior to her by taking over its management.

For Neia’s part, her brain just stopped working at the part where someone had enough money to buy a whole palace. Now, she was helplessly hurtling towards her meeting with that unfathomable existence.

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