Camille VII: The Strategist

“Your uncle is handling the offerings, right? I know you mentioned he was getting a bit cross about having to do all of it, this past week.” Annette swung her legs off of the edge of the wooden arena platform, casting a long shadow out over the water.

“He understood the importance of this. If we cannot stop Lumière, the very existence of the Temple of Levian is in severe jeopardy.” Reluctantly, Camille had to admit, but even Uncle Emile could not dispute her priorities. Without a female heir, there would be no sage to ascend to the position of High Priestess and renew the contract if Camille were to fail. The entire fabric of the spirit compact could collapse, and any hope of restoring Onès along with it. Perhaps even retaking Malin.

“We will.” Lucien, sitting to the other side of her from Annette, wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “No matter what it takes.”

Nodding in agreement, Annette gripped the edge of the platform. “I really wouldn’t worry about it anyway. Aurelian is a blowhard. His idea of a plan involves blasting you with light, and a secret plan means doing it again a second time. He’d be the stupidest person on the council if it weren’t for my cousin giving him such stiff competition.” She turned her head towards Camille. “But still, whatever I can do to help. What did you need, exactly?”

Camille bit her lip. “Do you remember High King Somet of Micheltaigne?”

Annette raised an eyebrow. “Is this another one of those guys your ancestors killed while conquering the continent? Because you have to admit that it’s not easy to keep track.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Far more recent than that. He was an accomplished sage, known to seek meaning in the clouds for answers, climbing to the highest peaks and fasting, that he might reach the right mental state for a vision quest.”

“Oh!” Lucien perked up. “This is the guy that went to war with the sea, right?”

“Wrong.” Camile rolled her eyes. “He saw a vision in the clouds of a Sunderé army massing near Serpichon, just south of the border between their nations. Wishing to counteract the surprise attack, he marshalled his forces and led an offensive down from the mountains, falling upon the army before they could mount a response.”

“So… good?” Furrowing his brows, Lucien removed his hand to scratch his chin. “Did you get anything like that from yours?”

“That’s what I’m worried about. Somet saw the army true, but it was the west that the Dominion had set its eyes upon, thinking Plagette’s newly won claims on the land at the south of the lake would be easily taken from them. By attacking, he instead united Sunderé and Plagette against him. Micheltaigne lost half of its territory in the ensuing war, all because its highest sage misinterpreted a true vision.”

“Wait, that’s what started the Winter War?” Annette blinked. “I thought that was because the Queen of the Exiles claimed her own territory and dared everyone else to call her on it.”

Lucien shook his head. “No, it was something about an island with a spirit forest that everyone wanted.”

Camille slammed her hand down against the platform. “That is not the point!” And also wrong.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

“I want to avoid making a similar mistake. Just because I’ve seen what I have, and know it true in some fashion or another, that does not make it a boon, not necessarily. I called you both because I was hoping you could help ensure that I interpret them correctly.”

Annette dipped her head. “Was there even anything relevant? Half the time it’s just junk, isn’t it?”

“I believe so.” Camille began to recount the visions, speaking them somehow making it feel more real than the loose, ethereal sprays of pulsing water in the ocean had been last night.

Some seemed obvious enough: the fox escaping the snare represented Lucien fleeing the Foxtrap to save the Empire; the serpent at the crest of the wave was like Camille, though the purple cloth was anyone’s guess; and Annette confirmed that Duke Fouchand had finalized the deal with Robin Verrou last night, making the skeletal man shaking his head most likely to be the pirate.

Of course, it was impossible to be sure, but it made a fair amount of sense.

All of the visions of the glass towers and dark stone seemed fully inscrutable, as did the monstrous cat swallowed by the purple cloak.

And Lumière’s lightning…

“It cannot possibly be that simple,” Camille insisted.

“Sun sage using a bolt of light as his secret attack? Practicing to make sure he hits you with it? Why not?” Annette shrugged. “I respect the paranoia, but you have to start somewhere.”

“I agree,” Lucien added. “It seems fully within his abilities, were he to go out of his way to master it, and would serve as a suitable trump card were it to catch you unawares.”

“But—”

Annette held up a finger. “Be smart about this. You called us here to ask for our advice, to make sure you didn’t second-guess yourself into a big mistake. So listen to what we’re saying.”

“It cannot be that simple.”

“Simple?” Lucien blinked. “An instant attack like that, honed and trained, is nothing simple at all. You need to find some way to evade it, or defeat him before he can even try.”

“Right…” It felt wrong. Lumiére was a moronic lout, but that didn’t mean he was incapable of being a serious threat too. Especially in a fight. Outmaneuvering him in the council chambers was easy enough, but even that had not come without consequences. And this…

She bit her lip. “Thank you, then. I need to figure something out.”

“I’ll see if Christine has any ideas. Armor to catch it, maybe, or something along those lines.” Lucien stood, then offered Camille his hand to help her do the same. “We’ll test things until we can be sure you’re safe. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you.”

Camille said her farewells and parted with them then, for it was time to return to the castle.

By now the sun had risen far enough to see numerous knights and warriors training on the beach, readying themselves for the mêlée. Even at this hour, the clusters were distinct and separate; Malins had swept into the firmest ground early, leaving Guerrons to glare silently at them from across the road, while Condillac men and women kept to themselves.

It will get even worse once the Plagetine contingent gets here. In all likelihood, it would be nearly impossible to win the support of both Condillac and Plagette; their grudges were too deep, their peace too recent and fragile. But not entirely; Camille would find a way.

The more splinters of the old Empire she could gather behind her, the better to oppose Avalon. All it would take were the right incentives.

The marigold wine had kept her awake through the night, as it was wont to do, replaying the visions in her mind over and over again that they would remain fixed there. But with the end of its effects, fatigue was beginning to set in, all the harder for how severely she had neglected her sleep.

When she returned to consciousness the sky was already dark.

I forgot to ask a servant to wake me at a timely hour.

Blinking herself awake, she rose from the bed.

As frustrating as missing an entire day was, she had not felt this rested in what felt like an eternity, and even after a bath and a change of clothes there was still sufficient time remaining to see the people she needed to.

Given her target, she had elected to wear darker colors, a shaded green dress that was nearly black, with a blue collar flaring out at her neck and giving it an accent of color. Evoking the image of a bird, hopefully.

Every bit helped to sell the right appearance, to accomplish the ultimate goal.

The wind picked up as she climbed the tower to Duke Clement’s quarters, rushing in even through the small arrow slits enough to chill, and nearly blowing out the sconced candles in the process.

“Lady Leclaire,” Duke Clement spoke coldly once she was shown into his chambers at the top of the tower. “You arrive under cover of night, when my Tiecelin has left to hunt. I take it you haven’t come to hear my poetry.”

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “And the timing is a matter of necessity. I wish to discuss something quite private with you.” Even if he refused, there was no real risk of him telling Magnifico or Avalon, not when there was no benefit to him. And if he did, well, Duke Fouchand would vouch for her against him.

He smiled. “You want to start another war, don’t you? To taste the blood of your enemies and end their suffering as you empower your spirit.”

“Reclaiming my homeland does have a bit to do with it.”

“Lady Debray isn’t with you?” he asked, ignoring what she had said.

“Not at the moment, no.” Camille blinked. That could be an avenue too. “However, I am sure I could arrange a meeting for the two of you.” Annette might even enjoy it, for all the laughing at him she could do. Hopefully.

“Excellent.” He smiled. “Then I suppose we can move to the business of death. It’s something of a preoccupation of mine.”

“I had not noticed, my lord Duke.”

“Call me Etienne, please. Any who share in the duty and privilege of sacrifice together ought to speak with our given names. Wouldn’t you agree?” He stepped up to the window, holding out his hand. The wind flared as his raven familiar alighted on his shoulder, turning its head to Camille and then back to the window. “Don’t take it personally. Tiecelin is slow to get to know people.”

“Of course.” What is wrong with you? “Sacrifice is not the only means, I am sure you know. War is another.”

“Ah war, the chance to prove one’s mettle, to settle worth while granting release to all those incapable of the task.” Etienne chuckled. “A worthy practice indeed, and such an excellent chance to gather sacrifices. But it does come with a cost.”

“No small one, either. But everything worthwhile has a price.”

His raven turned its head, a red eye glaring at Camille. “You know what fate befell Refuge when they rode to Lyrion’s defense. Their sacred forest burned to ash, their ancient kingdom demolished. Have you found a goal so worthy, to risk such annihilation?”

Camille nodded. “Liberating the continent from Avalon’s clutches. You obviously do not fear them either, else you would not have massed your fleet on the Sartaire.” So why are you making this so difficult?

“Their harbor was destroyed in a bombing, all ships in port reduced to splinters. The risk is greatly diminished.”

“Perhaps at the moment, but they will remember. You are still inviting their wrath down the line. Why not gain from it? Help us reconquer what was stolen, restore this continent to its rightful state.”

Etienne sighed. “Frankly, Camille, I respect what you are attempting to do. In time, I might be open to assisting with it, if my conditions were met. However”—he stepped closer, the raven flapping its wings behind him—“I do not wish to make such a momentous deal with a woman who may be dead within a week, especially with an emissary of Avalon in this very city..”

Ah, that was it. He was a young Duke, only recently ascended to his position; of course he would be tentative, hesitant. Taking half-measures like brandishing his navy without committing it, arriving in the city with one hundred swords to show might in the mêlée without gathering his army… This, I can work with.

“I completely understand, Etienne.” She dipped her head as she started to retreat to the door. “We will talk again when my duel has passed. Then you should have no cause for fear.”

Though it was less than ideal, it had still gone reasonably well. The young Duke was clearly open to the idea, and whatever his conditions were, they had not been considerable enough to bring up there and then.

Condillac and Guerron alone might be able to retake Malin and win more nations to their side, if fortune favored them, and suddenly the possibility felt more real than it had in years. At last, a chance to reclaim everything she had held dear. At last, revenge.

Duke Fouchand was already asleep when Camille went to see him next, so she tried again the next morning after working through much of the night.

Her sleep cycle would recover eventually, and until then there was pixie powder. Annette seemed to manage fine, in any case.

“Camille, good. I was hoping to talk with you anyway.” Duke Fouchand welcomed her into his chambers eagerly. “I know the lists for the tournament are open to everyone, but considering your duel with Aurelian, I thought it perhaps best that you be advanced through the early pool rounds without needing to fight through them yourself.”

“That will not be necessary.” The early “pool” matches, held in and around the tidepools by the beach, ensured that the prime contenders could be separated from the rest, whittling down the competitors to a number small enough that all who remained were skilled. They were a trivial concern for anyone trained at arms, but still represented an expenditure of energy to any sage participating in them. For that reason they tended to be held a few days in advance of the real bracket.

Upon seeing Fouchand’s expression, Camille continued. “Lucien has been training me with a sword extensively. I am sure I can get through the peasants with beaten plowshares for weapons without needing to expend my spirit energy. But thank you for the consideration.” If taking him up on the offer would not have also risked losing face in front of the very people to whom she needed to project strength, she might have accepted anyway.

“Ah, very good then. But why did you wish to see me?” He stroked his white beard contemplatively.

“I talked to Duke Clement last night. He seems open to—”

Fouchand held up a single finger. “Not here.” He gestured out to the large balcony, where the morning winds were blowing so hard that the poor potted plant positioned on the patio was beginning to be stripped of its leaves.

Camille followed him out, folding her arms at the cold. “I talked to Duke Clement!” she yelled, to be heard over the wind. If Fouchand was trying to avoid listeners, this seemed a rather backwards way to do it.

He sighed, then waved her closer, until she was whispering in his ear. “Etienne Clement seems open to an alliance against Malin. He has conditions, which he refused to mention yet, and he’s definitely skittish about all of it. But I’m positive we can convince him. Once I prove my strength in the duel, there will be no doubt left in his mind.”

Fouchand smiled at that, even as the wind blew what remained of his hair back off of his head. “Do not take it as a given,” he whispered back into her ear. “His fear is very real, and not without cause.”

“This again? Everyone calls you a coward for surrendering after the Foxtrap, but you told me you were waiting for the right time to strike. What better time is there than now? We have a potential ally right on the precipice, with swords of his own and a fleet already threatening Malin. There is only the issue of Lumière, and then—”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” The wind began to die down a bit, allowing him to speak at a more normal volume. “You young people always want to project strength, but there is value too in being underestimated. Magnifico is here, and he will report to the royal family that we are not belligerent. That, while Malins cry out for their homeland, Guerron is deaf to their ears. Why, none hate the Malins more than Aurelian Lumière, and he has a council seat with the Duke himself.”

“All of that is true, though.”

Fouchand smiled. “Is it?”

Camille’s eyes widened. “It was all on purpose.”

“Camille, my dear, why do you think I threw this festival in the first place? Warriors gathered from afar, with Avalon’s own eyes bearing witness to it so it can be above reproach. Condillac is hesitant, but that only makes our complacency more believable. I have spent enough time with Magnifico decrying the destruction of war, yearning only for friendship with Avalon. And with all of the socializing he does with Aurelian, he’s sure to see an even more polarized picture of things here.”

“And then when he’s gone, it can all come into place at once…” Camille looked up at the man. “That’s why you let Aurelian get away with setting up the duel.”

“I couldn’t be too public about that at the time, of course, and my anger at him was quite real.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “But he serves a valuable purpose, as a locus for the opposition. With him out of the way, any reluctant sentiment among the sun sages ought to be chastened, and the people of the city besides. Things have to be arranged to appear just right, as well you know.”

“I do…” She blinked. “Doesn’t all of that fall apart once Aurelian dies though?”

“Less than you might think. Magnifico has seen his challenge to you, knowing it has nothing to do with Avalon. Too, he will undoubtedly see the chaos at the Sun Temple after his death as yet more evidence of our inability to war. Such internal conflict already makes us look weak, no matter the result.” He coughed. “But it will be a favorable result. You have my every confidence.”

“I appreciate your trust in me, to see this through.”

“It is the absolute least I owe you, Camille.” He paused. “And when the offensive begins, I think you ought to lead the naval forces, storming from the coast.”

“Are you sure? Not about that, but… About all of this? Nothing’s been done yet that couldn’t be taken back, or halted.” She had to be sure. If he hesitated…

“There is not a single doubt in my mind.” He turned to meet her eyes. “I have no love for war, nor any eagerness for another. But Avalon is a scourge upon this land, imposing their injustice everywhere at cannonpoint. The time for complacency has passed. Now, we must be ready to strike.”