Fernan VIII: The Raider

“You did well to come to me for help.” A circle of blue fire curled around the eyes of Camille’s ethereal image, rippling in the wind above the cliffside. “Fighting outside enemies is a key to building legitimacy, both for yourself and your preferred candidate. You’ll never have the leverage to deal with internal politics without establishing your own bona fides first.”

“Some way to do it,” Fernan muttered, once again silencing the part of himself that wished that Lady Leclaire’s advice lacked merit, if only so he could ignore her and her arrogance. “On some level, I do get that spirits work that way, it’s a value they hold… but must we?”

Camille shrugged. “It depends on what we want. Every sovereign on this continent depends on vassals to some extent or another, and since the Fox Queen’s death, their personal strength is far outweighed by that of their vassals combined. Even King Romain, trying to rally an Imperial Army to stand in our defense, only fielded perhaps a fifth of the forces arrayed against Avalon in the Foxtrap. The rest were composed of vassals, underlings, minions. However inferior they might be in individual stature and, collectively, they were crucial, and the smart ones knew it. There’s power there, Fernan. My mother would never have had the leverage to arrange my betrothal to Lucien had she not proved herself on the field of battle.”

And here I thought that underlings who moved above their station were executed for it.

“It’s a balance, as all things must be,” she added, as if reading his mind. “Saving Annette helped you, without a doubt, but that debt, in truth, is personal. It matters most to three people, and significantly less to anyone else whom it did not benefit. It earned you enmity with the Sun Temple if anything, I’d wager.”

“I still get along with the people I—”

“I don’t doubt it, but personal friendship will only go so far. Aurelian was to be the rising tide lifting their boats, and instead he was an anchor around their necks. Laura Bougitte, especially, has probably got your name carved into the knife she’s readying for your back.” The illusory Camille bit her lip, flames curling and twisting on themselves. “Though our association isn’t helping there, either. That goes back years, probably Aurelian filling her head with that same shit he peddled to the commoners. My apologies for any inconvenience that might cause you with Flammare. When all is said and done, he’ll still most likely be the next sun spirit, and I can personally attest to the difficulties posed by being on the wrong side of one.”

Fernan breathed in and out slowly, feeling the warmth fill his body in the snowy darkness. “It must have been horrible. Florette said that just standing next to one of those pistols sends a shriek through your ear that never fully leaves.”

“That’s right…” Camille frowned. “But I made it through. I survived, entirely because I could call on the kind of cachet I’m advising you to build now. The last thing I’d want to see is the same thing happening to Annette or Lucien… or you, just because we were too insignificant to even consider. Humanity doesn’t even have a seat at the table of the spirits, and so we sages must build, maintain, and exercise our influence where we can.”

“You survived a chest wound by calling on influence?”

Camille blinked. “I suppose there’s no harm in explaining it. I called Levian to me, bleeding away in those depths, and we made an arrangement. It may sound strange, but some spirits have domains that extend far enough to heal, if only incidentally. Flesh is largely water, and Levian’s command over that is without peer. Had I not served him so faithfully for years, advancing his interests and mine, my death would have been certain.”

“I’m sorry it came to that.” He reached out a hand in support, only for it to pass through the flames making up her arm. “I really don’t want to do this. But if Flammare has his way, humanity will freeze, and then an entire nation of people will be burned and killed. His ‘solution’ for Glaciel is unacceptable.”

“Absolutely,” Camille agreed, luckily. A part of me was worried she’d be fine with that as long as it helped her. “Flammare has no experience with the crown. An overmighty vassal, extending himself too far and too fast because he feels he has waited so long. Levian said that Flammare spent every third sentence at the meeting after Khali was sealed calling for Glaciel to be destroyed, and now he has the power to make his wishes manifest. To be the heir for millenia, I can scarcely imagine the anticipation, but in this and other things, he’s doubtless been planning for centuries if not more, perhaps since before humanity even arrived on the earth spirit.”

“Great.”

Camille smiled. “It is great, Fernan. His plans failed to take us into account, and he is fixed with them. Now we get to prove him wrong.”

“Easy to say. But can we, without endangering everyone’s lives? Glaciel could take it as a pretext to attack the city again.”

“Everyone’s lives are already in danger. Now it falls to us to make the hard choice of the smaller risk over the greater, allowing one danger to prevent another.” Camille clicked her tongue, fire popping around her mouth. “And the pretext gets her nowhere. We humans cannot break our word without the potential consequence of eroding trust we’ve earned and devaluing all future dealings, but unless we swear something before a spirit, it can be done. Do it well enough and you can even avoid negative consequences. A spirit, however, is trapped by their explicit words, no matter the intention of them. Now we get to take advantage of that.”

Just hear what she has to say, and you can take the good and leave the bad. “How?”

“Where to begin…” The fire in Camille’s eyes condensed in their center, so blue and bright it looked more like a gemstone than a flame. “Well, for a start, an affair like this is ultimately all about presentation.”

≋

The Fox-King’s aura was immaculate, shimmering out beyond his long red hair, above his cold, metal crown. “Thanks to the peerless efforts of Lord Leclaire, uncle to my betrothed, an accord with Queen Glaciel has been reached.” He paused, allowing the gaze of hundreds to wash over him. “For a time. Once the sun returns to the sky, our reprieve is at an end, and all with wisdom know we shall have to contend with her full strength, growing even now as the world slips further into ice and darkness. Should she prevail at the convocation of the spirits, our world is doomed. Should she fail, her spite and anger are sure to be directed to us. She promised me as much on the day I dueled her.”

No she didn’t, and you never dueled her personally, either. At least Fernan wasn’t being asked to corroborate the lie, but it still felt disappointing that the Fox-King would resort to this. It wasn’t as if there weren’t plenty of true reasons to do this, like the way they attacked the geckos and any who defended them, or Flammare’s promise to murder thousands of people.

Lucien’s face brightened, probably a smile, though the aura flared with too much intensity to tell. “I mean to make her answer for those words, and her attack on our fair city. Tomorrow, when Flammare first rises, I ride for her castle. I officially renounce my protection from Glaciel, and withdraw myself from its bindings, on the Winter Queen and myself.”

He raised his arms, as if daring the distant spirit to strike him down. A silent moment passed as the crowd watched him stand there unharmed, until it seemed to sink in that an attack was not forthcoming. Almost as one, the swirling vortex of warmth from the crowd subsided, the tension receding.

Fernan caught sight of Florette poking around the outskirts, her aura recognizable even at a relative distance. And she’s got others with her too, probably more of our people from the mountains. He’d warned against trying to steal from anyone, with things being as desperate as they were, and she had agreed, if indignantly, so hopefully she wasn’t getting into too much trouble.

Though really, it would be naive to think so.

The crowd began to murmur again as Camille’s uncle stepped forward, facing Lucien with a nod of his head. “My word is my bond, Your Grace. It is my deal with Glaciel that keeps the humans of this city free from her wrath, however temporarily. I could no more break my promise than wave my arms and fly away. I must remain behind, and for the good of all.”

Lucien placed his hand on Leclaire’s shoulder. “You serve us all best by showing that the Empire of the Fox is just and true. I fight today against a threat to the entire world, and in your own way, so do you.”

As Leclaire receded back to the rest of them on the balcony, Lucien continued his speech.

“In fact, I would not ask any of my subjects to abandon their protection from her wrath, nor permit anyone to call them cowards for staying to protect our city and the innocents within. Guerron needs those who stay behind just as much as it needs Glaciel stopped.” His aura burned bright orange and red, radiating out over the crowd below. “And yet…” Performatively, hand over his eyes, he peered out over his subjects. “Are there any among who would join me, and put an end to Queen Glaciel’s terror?”

The great sea of orange and yellow cheered for blood, a great roar filling the air so thoroughly it would surely echo through the mountains for days.

We’re not the ones breaking the peace, have to remember that. They’ve been hunting Mara and her siblings for weeks, and doing the same to Florette, for that matter.

“I am your loyal servant, Your Grace.” The king’s master of arms bowed at the waist towards Lucien, aura condensed and strong, but still. “I, Sire Christine de Monflanquin, withdraw from this agreement, and renounce my immunity.”

Florette probably never intended to set that precedent, and yet it's saving her idea now. “I, Sire Fernan Montaigne, sage of Gézarde, Flame Under the Mountain, renounce my protection.” Glaciel will definitely take what I’m planning as an attack, regardless. The last thing I need is that being used as a pretext to attack the city.”

He was the first of the sages of light to speak, but others followed after them, those few Fernan had managed to convince to risk Flammare’s ire while also opening themselves to Glaciel.

“I, Yves de Lougratte, sage of Phoenicia, do hereby renounce my protection.” Yves, Fernan was watching closely. He’d been friendly enough at the temple, and even under Lord Lumière’s reign, but he had been the sun sage’s man from the beginning. But now Lumière was dead and the Fox-King ruled in his own name, apparently a preferable choice to remaining one light sage of many under Flammare. His reasons were far from selfless, but they were pointing him the right way in this instance.

“I, Charles des Agnettes, sage of Fala, withdraw from all protection.” Fernan barely knew Charles, honestly, but a few words about how his patron spirit had been treated had been all that it took to win him over. He’d hoped Fala himself might participate, but the poor spirit could barely hold himself together after what Flammare had done to him, let alone fight.

The knights followed one by one, most of whom Fernan was only hearing the names of for the first time. On and on it went, until every person on the stage save Leclaire had pledged their sword to the cause.

Once the ceremony was done, Lucien’s personal guard were ready at the pass back to the city, each verifying the recruits’ words with their own ears, lest any break the deal instead of withdrawing from it.

In only two minutes, they were almost totally overwhelmed by people at arms presenting themselves to join the fight, lines stretching all the way back to the castle.

“Christine, get more people out there, would you? The last thing we need is anyone getting crushed to death.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

All about presentation, apparently.

≋

“Are we really doing this?” Fernan dug his hands through the sand on the beach, finer than any riverbed silt back home.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” Florette said, lying down next to him. “Even if Guerron can make it through three more months without a sun, the rest of the world is fucked. That asshole Flammare doesn’t just get to win because he said mean things about a bigger prick without ever actually backing it up.”

“It feels wrong to be the first to break a peace.”

“What peace?” Mara hissed. “Twelve of my siblings are dead already. As long as Gézarde remains here, we need to, too.”

“They started it,” Florette agreed. “And, more to the point, they’re an existential threat to humanity. You can’t get tangled up on procedure with something like that.”

“When do you ever?”

She shrugged. “You got me. But I am trying to be better about this, think everything through for once. I… I can’t keep making the kind of mistakes I have. I have a plan here, I tried to think through every possibility, but I can never really know… Neither can you, however cautious you play it.”

“I know.”

“The Fox-King’s jumping at the opportunity. I think part of him never wanted that peace deal in the first place. He’s a man of action.”

“He jumped into a fight the moment Camille lost her duel, which got him imprisoned and let Lord Lumière take over the city. A man of action, sure, but that doesn’t make him wise. Don’t make his foolishness be permission for your own.”

Florette’s aura darkened at that, though she didn’t respond.

“You talked to Eleanor, right?” Mara asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, Mom’s gathering everyone who can fit into that cavern you found, just in case. I’m going to ask Lucien to order the whole city to stay inside, too. The last thing we need is more people getting hurt by those javelins, if they turn them on the city.”

“Didn’t Camille say that they couldn’t, though? That’s part of the deal.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want to bet their lives on that.”

“Of course, yeah.” She drummed her fingers against her leg, jiggling the sword hanging from her belt. It still feels so wrong. They’d grown up together, she’d been a peer, and now she was a killer. “But if this goes well, we get everything we want. Discredit Flammare and neutralize Glaciel.”

“Or kill her!” Mara added. “It could be our best chance to make sure she can’t hurt anyone else.”

“If this goes well…” Fernan sighed. “You know, I was talking to Camille. Half a year ago, she was in the exact same position. One fight away from solving all her immediate problems, building influence and legitimacy for the trials ahead. It was the perfect opportunity, and all she had to do was win.”

≋

Flammare was hours late to the sky, the first break of his pattern since Laura had first convinced him to help. Whether he was expressing his disapproval or, more worryingly, up to something else, was impossible to say.

All that could be done now was press the attack.

Atop the wall, warm braziers cast their glow down at Glaciel’s castle, taller now than it had been before, its base seemingly wider across too.

“She’s been drawing on the water below to build her castle’s strength up. As long as it has water to draw on, it can just keep expanding,” the Fox-King noted grimly. “What I wouldn’t give to have Camille here.”

It was hard not to agree, staring down another fight on that treacherous ice perched over the sea. If the castle could be separated from the water, it wouldn’t be able to restore itself, and by extension, eventually, neither would Glaciel. That was the hope, anyway, but it matched what they’d seen the first time they’d fought her, and Camille and her uncle had both concurred.

“It’s not the source of all her power, but it’s what she brought here to make her claim. It stands to reason that without it, she at minimum would lack the confidence to continue her scheme. Perhaps she’ll even die for it.”

“We can only hope,” Florette muttered, then turned to the Fox-King. “Shall I, then?”

Lucien stroked his beardless chin, looking slightly silly in the doing. “Christine, are we ready?”

“Your generals await your order to sound the attack, Your Grace.”

“Then do it,” he ordered Florette. “We’ll see how quickly they respond, but keep going even if they target you.”

Inspiring stuff.

“We’re all going to be counting on you down there,” he continued. “Honestly, hearing that idea was half the reason I even thought this would be viable. My archers will do their best to target the javelin throwers, but in this light it’s practically a lottery. Fernan, if you would cover her?”

“Of course.” He’d made his reticence to targeting Glaciel’s children clear, and Lucien had eventually relented. Having other sages of light with fewer compunctions about it certainly helped matters there, though it did little to help Fernan’s conscience, given that he had been the one to convince them. Every person Yves and Charles burn alive is on me, too. And yet they needed all the help they could get.

Mara and the geckos, too, had few compunctions here today, but they’d at least been attacked first. They weren’t breaking any kind of honor by perching, hidden, on the outer walls, ready to descend and burn.

If they failed this morning, Flammare’s passive inaction would doom huge swaths of the world to cold starvation, and thousands more to a fiery death.

And even if we prevail, I’ll still be responsible for inflicting burning agony on the people down there now.

Florette took her place at the top of one gigantic drum of sand, gathered from the beach and lifted to the wall at apparently considerable expense, if the Crown’s payment was indication. Beside her, others ascended as well, until all ten were in position on top of their respective silos.

The Fox-King nodded, and they all tipped forward in unison, spilling their load down the wall and towards the castle below. The ramparts had been outfitted with a sloped surface under the pour area, sending the torrent out at an angle rather than straight down. Every granule was one more bit of traction, an opportunity for even those untrained in such combat to traverse the ice.

It wouldn’t reach the center of the castle, but a start was a start.

It only took moments for a light to appear at the top of the central tower, a cold blue that bit into the night air.

Fernan braced himself for a rain of nearly-invisible spears, but it never came.

Something in the tower was changing, given the way the light shifted in and out of visibility, even splitting into two by the look of things, but—

“Queen Glaciel,” the Fox-King called out at what Fernan realized was probably her face, formed from the tower’s ice. “I’ve withdrawn myself from your deal, as have all assembled here before me. Those within the city walls remain bound by its conditions, and will bring you no harm so long as they are. Just as was agreed upon.”

The two blue flames were cut off from the top and the bottom, Glaciel’s eyes no doubt narrowing. “It seems you’ve slipped your bonds, Fox-King. Perhaps you are a true successor to Marie after all.” A deeper chill filled the air, carried by the wind. “But her life has ended, and so will yours.”

Lucien nodded, then turned back to face the forces under his command. Sages of light, knights of the realm, geckos of the mountain, soldiers of households and fortune, and even regular people, all ready to defend the world from darkness. “Attack!”