Riding through Szekerya was almost like a holiday, I found myself thinking. East of the mountains the sun shone nearly every day, even this early in the spring, from clear skies that didn’t yet blaze with summer heat. Clear and mostly-levelled roads cut through the grasslands set a far easier route than anything we’d had this side of Kurnich, where we’d picked up Kaczmarek. That seemed an aeon ago now.

By night, far from roughing it, we stayed over at roadhouses dotting the landscape. Good Imperial coin was still readily accepted even if Szekerya had seceded, and we had that in abundance. As we grew closer to Wrislat the inns grew more crowded, but only with ordinarily travelling merchants. It was almost as though Immerland wasn’t burning on the other side of the mountains. Kaczmarek made some conversation with locals as we travelled—without once going for a knife, thank the Heavens—but they were mostly unconcerned. Torrea would fail in Immerland, they thought, or even if they conquered it they would be far from home and how could they invade through the one pass?

I harboured doubts, myself, but struggled to fault their reasoning. I’d likely have thought the same things if Szekerya had been attacked instead of Immerland. Instead I tried to relax a little in the air of peace while I could. It was pleasant not to be looking over my shoulder for enemies at every turn. And to be dry. Truly, one appreciated the small things better for deprivation.

About a day out of Wrislat, according to to the locals according to the jäger, the prince nudged his horse ahead to catch up with me.

“Schreiner,” he said seriously, “I’d like to ask you a favour.”

I glanced at him sidelong. “You don’t have to ask, your Highness. Just say the word. It’s an honour to serve, sir.”

“When we get to Wrislat, teach me to fight.”

“Are you sure, sir? There’s no shame in not being a soldier. Besides which, there are far better instructors than I.”

“My parents— the Queen and King Consort never wanted me to be a warlike leader.” His Highness stared into the distance, contemplative. “But I have a feeling I don’t have much choice, Schreiner. I’ve been little more than baggage on this whole journey. Even if I don’t have to fight, I think I had better know what my soldiers know.” He flashed a boyish grin suddenly. “And don’t talk yourself down. You fought off a wyvern and a full squad of dragoons. I hardly think there’s a better fighter in the Empire.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration, sir,” I protested, flushing. “And that and teaching aren’t the same besides.” I sobered up again. “But if you wish, sir, I’ll gladly help you as much as I can. It’s likely to be tedious and gruelling by turns,” I cautioned him. He just turned in the saddle to wave vaguely in the direction we’d come from.

“I should think I’ve had my mettle fairly tested already, Schreiner,” he said drily. “I’d be disappointed if it was easy, at this point.”

I chuckled. “As you say, sir. It’d be my privilege.”

“Thank you.”

We rode in silence for about a minute before he spoke again. “Do you know why Szekeryan wagons have curved sides?” He asked, simultaneously popping the serious mood like a bubble and completely baffling me.

“I… had never thought about it, your Highness,” was all I could offer in return. “Perhaps Magus Alemayehu might know? Or Kaczmarek?”

Strange as the boy’s questions were, I was glad he wasn’t thinking only about the war. Spending one’s childhood preparing for warfare wasn’t especially pleasant—I should know.

***

People liked to say that one could smell a big city before one saw it. I warranted that might be true back home in Immerland, but here on the gently rolling plains of Szekerya the city of Wrislat was visible from kilometres away. It would take a mighty stink indeed to reach further than the sight of the church spires and the craggy granite fortifications of the old castle.

Of course, the smell became more apparent as untended pasture gave way to tilled fields awaiting planting or the first shoots, fields gave way to scattered hovels, and hovels gave way to proper houses—all still spilling outside the walls, of course. Like nearly all cities, Wrislat had long since overflowed its original fortifications as the inexorable gravity of an urban centre drew in bored nobility, ambitious merchants, and naïve farmhands.

The slums outside the walls were the near-exclusive domain of the latter class, and I couldn’t help but feel rather out of place. In anticipation of arrival at the embassy, we had dressed to the nines—or, rather, the prince and the magus had dressed to the nines and the jäger and I had made it perhaps to the sixes.

I’d repaired my coat to the best of my ability, reattaching the left cuff and patching the hole over my right side, but it was still… distressed, to set it diplomatically. The constant rain had been only marginally successful at rinsing out the bloodstains, and even after I visited upon it the indignity of brushing it with a horse brush, the grey facings were more brown than silver. My breeches had a similar difficulty, although with some industry and the aid of a lump of wax I had at least restored my boots and buttons to a lustrous parade-ground shine. The remainder of the time had been spent combing out my plait for the first time in—I would rather not think how long. It had involved a great deal of cursing, several moments of abject confusion at what I found, and considerable mockery from the onlooking jäger.

Kaczmarek herself had somehow had little trouble fixing and re-darkening her hair, despite the fact that I was certain she’d taken no better care of hers than I had of mine. Otherwise her uniform had suffered a similar fate to mine. Her light tan jacket was now, well, most charitably called dark tan, and marbled all over with stitched-shut rents. She was also scowling like a thundercloud at every beggar or gaggle of children we passed, which did very little to help her resemblance to a particularly dissatisfied farmboy.

Our local nobility, of course, had actual formal dress. His Highness had on a deep blue riding coat with purple trim, which we had been carrying in one of the saddlebags since Nachberg. I privately considered that something of a waste of space, but it would have been rude and impolitic besides to voice that thought, so I kept my mouth shut. Magus Alemayehu was wearing the same wine-red with rich orange embroidery as he had when we first met, but a long coat rather than a waistcoat. Of course, that had been in his own baggage. His garb was peculiarly accented by heavy bracelets in dark bronze worn over the cuffs, which were cut high enough to expose his darkly gleaming wrists. Strange as it was, I had to concede he made an imposing figure.

The feeling of being out of place faded slowly as we drew nearer to and eventually passed the city walls. The tributaries of the main road ceased to be heavily trodden dirt and straw paths, giving way to regular cobblestone streets and alleys. The burble of ordinary people chattering was slowly overwhelmed by a mixture of the sounds of commerce and industry. Hawkers shouting about their wares—hot sausage for three pfennige, bolts of fine cloth for only kreutzers, fortunes told (or bought and sold, in some corners)—the scraping of planes and droning of saws, the ringing of hammers on steel and the sizzling hiss of hot metal being quenched—the grinding of carriage wheels and striking of horseshoes on paving—a cacophony of a thousand different sounds vying for attention, and the smell of smoke and humanity lying thickly over the top.

It had been a long time since I’d been in a city, and longer since I’d been in one not at war. I could almost let myself relax. The biggest danger here would be pickpockets, and successful thieves had a certain sense about them that let them discern when a target would not be healthy for them in the long term. Prince Franz seemed as curious as ever, his head on a swivel as we passed shops of all kinds, people of all sizes, buildings of every style. The Afamacian magus was as unflappable as ever, but Kaczmarek was more on edge than she’d been at the outskirts, her eyes flashing around from person to person like she expected someone to attack her. It was only when we pulled out of the commercial sector into the grander streets near the embassy, quieter and more sparsely populated, that she stopped looking like she was about to go for her flintlock.

When the crowds thinned out at a broad crossroads, Alemayehu reined in his horse and dismounted, only to bow deeply. “I think this is where we must part ways. It has been a privilege to travel with you, your Highness, soldiers. May the stars smile on you always.”

“The privilege has been ours, Magus,” the prince answered. “You’ve been a great help to us. We will miss you, and certainly I shall remember you fondly. May the Heavens guide your way until we meet again.”

I suppressed a grimace as I swung out of the saddle to bow in turn. “I most likely owe you my life, sir. I can’t offer anything but my gratitude, but you most certainly have it.”

Kaczmarek offered a characteristically flippant bow. “The way things are going, we’ll probably run into you again in a few hours. But you’ve definitely helped us out. Thanks. Sir,” she added belatedly.

The magus gave a rare broad smile. “I would be very happy if that did happen. But now I must go, and you must go too. Until we meet again.” Without further ado, he turned the other way across the crossroads and set off on his own.

“Really starts feeling like the end of the trip, huh?” Kaczmarek commented.

“We should be nearly there,” His Highness agreed. “Come on. I should dearly love a hot bath.”

He wasn’t wrong. Only a few hundred metres along the road the Imperial banner flew above a manor, beckoning us to our home away from home. As we drew up outside the Imperial embassy, the guards at the gate jumped to attention, suddenly recognising our uniforms.

“What’s a Mourner doing all the way out here?” One asked. “You look like you’ve been dragged through the hells backwards, man.”

By way of answer I shoved Munter aside with my shoulder to make way for His Highness to approach the door. “His Imperial Highness Prince Franz,” I announced, the effect only somewhat diminished by the fact that—well, I couldn’t deny I did look rather like I had been dragged backwards through the hells.

Nevertheless, the poor gefreiters dropped to one knee as if poleaxed. “H-how may I be of service, your Highness?”

“You may rise.” The prince waited a moment to let the flustered soldiers gather their wits before continuing. “We will need the horses stabled—Gefreiter Schreiner will likely wish to direct you in that—and to meet with the ambassador. If you would let us in…?” He gently prodded.

“Of course, yes, your Highness, sir!” The guard snapped a panicked salute before yanking open the gate, revealing a broad path through a well-tended garden, while his companion set off down it at a dash. We followed at a more leisurely pace.

“I rather expected something more… organised,” His Highness muttered as we walked.

I suppressed a chuckle. “Most of your visits have probably been scheduled in advance, sir. The poor souls can’t have been expecting the Prince of Immerland to show up unannounced.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded. He glanced around with a critical eye. “Still, it’s a little disappointing.”

The embassy was spared further criticism by the timely arrival of the majordomo at the door and a gaggle of grooms at the side. While the grooms took the horses, the majordomo—an aging, portly gentleman in a dark grey justacorps—awkwardly got to one knee. “Your Highness,” he greeted.

“Please, stand.” The prince looked almost ready to help the fellow up, as he struggled unsteadily with his coat.

“Welcome to Wrislat, your Highness,” the majordomo said, once he was properly on his feet again. “I must apologise profusely for the terribly lacking welcome. Please, come in.” He bowed low beside the door. The prince glanced back at me.

“You usually go with the horses, Schreiner—not this time?”

I shook my head. “If it’s no trouble, your Highness, I’d like to see my vow through directly.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Then let’s get on with it.”

Inside the embassy was a whirlwind of activity, servants hurrying back and forth with bundles of linen or trays or nothing but a look of urgency. One took the prince’s coat, and another scuttling servant had to be waved off from trying to take my uniform coat and Kaczmarek’s jacket. We were—very courteously—swept along with the bustle until His Highness was seated in a comfortable chair near a fire with a maid fussing over a tray of tea. The jäger and I exchanged an awkward glance and settled on standing behind the prince’s chair, flanking him. Once again, we were in a room where ordinarily the common guards would have been left outside, but the prince had brought us in.

“Where is the ambassador? Lord Kreisrette?” His Highness abruptly asked, after taking a single genteel sip of his tea as though it weren’t the first good brew he’d had in weeks.

The majordomo bowed and scraped again. “I’m afraid he is at the court today, your Highness. I’ve already had a pageboy sent to run for him. He’ll be returning post haste.”

The prince leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on his knee. “A pity. There are some things I’d hoped to clear up right away. How long will he be?”

“I couldn’t say, your Highness.” The majordomo rubbed his moustache nervously. “It is only a few minutes by carriage. Soon, I hope.”

“I see.” The prince sighed, uncharacteristically impatient. “The sooner the better.”