Varkas surveyed the camp below, veins bulging along the backs of his hands as he clenched the reins, before finally spurring his mount forward.
As he galloped across the slope, the makeshift camp came into stark relief.
The palisade thrown together along the basin’s rim was battered beyond recognition, hardly a timber left intact, and the sparse rows of tents were overflowing with wounded men. Everything pointed to a battle on a devastating scale.
He swung down from the saddle and strode toward the barricade.
The sentries, who had tracked their approach from afar, scrambled to drag the fence aside and open the way.
Stepping inside, Varkas cut straight to the point.
“Where is the Crown Prince?”
Instead of answering, the soldiers flanking the entrance froze, trading anxious looks.
Reading sheer dread in their silence, Varkas ground his teeth and headed straight for the central pavilion housing command.
Word that the main body of the coalition had arrived reached the Imperial Army, and knights began spilling out of the tents. Most were faces he knew.
Casting a frigid eye over his former subordinates, Varkas marched into the command tent. Inside, Kylias was struggling to sit up from a cot with an orderly’s help.
“I greet Your Grace.”
Face grim, Kylias sat on the edge of the mattress and offered a rigid salute.
Varkas looked down coldly at the knight’s heavily bandaged shoulder.
“Report.”
“We were… ambushed,” Kylias said, his jaw tightening.
“Half a day northeast of here lies the rebel stronghold. It is an impregnable fortress clinging to a sheer cliff halfway up the mountain. We swung around to the north to sever their water supply and cut their access road, hoping to draw them out. But it was a trap….”
“I did not ask for excuses.”
A muffled groan tore from Kylias’s throat.
Only then did Varkas realize his fist was buried in the man’s hair. At some point, the restraint keeping his violent impulses in check had frayed to nothing. All the effort he had spent suppressing what he was felt like an exercise in futility.
Yanking Kylias’s head back until the man’s face twisted in pain, Varkas hissed,
“Were you not ordered to hold the rear and wait? Give me a reason I can stomach for defying my command and launching such a reckless assault.”
“I could not… disobey the Crown Prince,” Kylias forced through clenched teeth.
“He is our future Emperor! The Roem Knights swore their allegiance to him…!”
“Loyalty is not running like a hound wherever your master points,” Varkas said, his voice flat and merciless.
“A true retainer stops his lord, even if he must sink his teeth into the man’s leg to keep him from marching into a slaughterhouse.”
“We do not believe His Highness was wrong!” Kylias glared up at him, eyes wide with defiance.
“So many loyal men fell to this northern rebellion. Men we fought beside for years! And to set the daughter of the very house responsible for their deaths beside him as Crown Princess? That strikes at the very order of the Empire. We stand by His Highness’s conviction that extending mercy to traitors who raised arms against the crown would only sow further ruin!”
Varkas stared at him without a flicker of emotion, until a cold, derisive smirk broke across his mouth.
“And where is this Crown Prince you believe in so blindly?”
The color drained from Kylias’s face, leaving it ash-gray.
He bit down on his swollen lip and dropped his gaze.
“…He was taken by Heimdal.”
A long, heavy silence fell over the tent.
Unable to endure the stillness, Kylias blurted, “Heimdal targeted His Highness from the start. He deliberately leaked the garrison’s location to draw us in, planning to seize the Crown Prince and cripple the Imperial Army.”
“So you served the heir to the throne up on a silver platter.”
Kylias parted his lips to protest, then shut them tight. Whatever he offered now would sound like nothing more than a pitiful excuse.
Varkas swept a cold gaze over the knight’s flushed face and shoved him aside, releasing him.
“As of this moment, I assume command of the Roem Knights and the elite imperial force. The instant the coalition mages finish treating the wounded, muster every man before Heimdal’s fortress.”
Kylias lurched to his feet in disbelief.
“Did you not hear me? I told you the Crown Prince is their prisoner! If we attack, His Highness’s life is forfeit! For now, we have to yield to Heimdal’s terms…!”
“The moment we yield, the Empire tears itself apart.”
The absolute finality in Varkas’s voice seemed to strike Kylias physically, his neck stiffening.
“He will demand autonomy for Balto and a ruinous war indemnity. Even if we negotiate a ransom, the crown’s authority will be dragged through the dirt. Heimdal will be hailed as the hero of the North, and Balto’s secession will become inevitable.”
“You cannot know that…!”
“Do you honestly believe the Northerners will bend the knee once they see even Bluestone turn its back on the throne?”
· · ·
“If Balto breaks away, the other lords will follow. Within years, the entire continent of Robiden will slip back into the era of ancient warring states, drowning in perpetual slaughter.”
Kylias’s skin had gone as pale as a corpse’s. Watching the terror seep into the man’s eyes, Varkas drove it home with cold precision.
“There will be no negotiations.”
“Are you saying… you mean to sacrifice the Crown Prince?”
Varkas offered no answer.
Kylias took a staggering step forward.
“This is not a decision Your Grace can make alone! At the very least, wait until word reaches His Imperial Majesty…!”
“His Majesty’s judgment will be no different. Given the choice between the survival of the Empire and his heir, the answer is already decided.”
Varkas pressed the blade deeper.
“Besides, His Majesty has another heir. A legitimate successor born to the throne remains in the Imperial Palace.”
Kylias stared at him, dumbstruck.
Leaving the frozen knight behind, Varkas strode out of the tent. Outside, a circle of knights stood stiffly around the entrance, having clearly caught every word of the shouting inside.
Varkas cast a slow look over the gathering and spoke in a low, level voice.
“Tomorrow, at first light, we march on Heimdal’s fortress. See that your men are ready.”
By the time the last sliver of sunlight vanished behind the mountain ridge, the main body of the Imperial Coalition marched into camp.
Filing out of the deep blue twilight, the soldiers immediately set to work reinforcing the battered stockade and preparing for the dawn advance. None of the commanders raised an objection to Varkas’s orders; they gathered in the command tent at once to draft their strategy.
END