The Pulver Chronicles – 32. Bridges Left To Burn

As far as he could remember, Jackson had always wanted siblings. He had even pictured them: a big brother who would protect him and teach him all kinds of cool tricks, and a little sister he in turn would protect and teach how to get into all kinds of trouble. The former would have been called something cool like Sean or Dylan or Austin, and the latter would have a cute name like Sierra or Jessie or Maggie. The three of them would have been joined at the hip and gone on many adventures.

It never came to pass, unfortunately, even as Jackson navigated from one foster family to another. He remained an only child, and rather a lonely one at that. The closest thing he ever had to a sibling was Marcus, the son of Mr Dorsett’s brother. Initially, Jackson had been happy to have a cousin, but Marcus had soon made it crystal clear he didn’t consider him to be family. Jackson would eventually find out that it wasn’t against him: the kid was a jerk to everyone, even his actual family.

Things had changed after he came to this world. First, he had joined the Children of Nayros, who defined themselves as a family, albeit a family in which siblings keep many secrets from each other. Then, he had met Sathariel, a young man he had grown to think of as his closest friend, and lately as the brother he had always wanted. And he had met Alizana, who wanted a family of her own with him. So did he, he had decided.

Although, as it turned out, Alizana already had a family. She had never told anything about it to either Jackson or Sathariel, except to mention that her mother had passed away a long time ago, and that she didn’t know who her father was. It came as a surprise to both of the young men that she had a sister.

In fact, she used to have two sisters: Neasa, the firstborn of the litter, and Rasana, the youngest. All three siblings had been involved in the Hellhound Rebellion ever since its inception, and all three had been present at the battle of the Dusk Steppe. Alizana had objected as much as she could to the battle, sensing the incoming disaster. But Neasa, ever the firebrand, had insisted on fighting, and had managed to convince Rasana to join her. Unwilling to let her sisters fight alone, Alizana had reluctantly joined as well.

The battle had gone terribly. Both Neasa and Rasana had been in the front, fighting with all they had. Alizana, who had been cut from them by the enemy cavalry, was forced to watch as Rasana fell, skewered by several spears. Then, Neasa disappeared from her sight as she charged into the Hexacrat infantry, roaring with fury. Eventually, Alizana had been forced to flee the battlefield with what remained of the Neha tribe, unable to save any of her sisters, or even recover their bodies. She had then moved south, and had grieved for them both in silence ever since.

But, as it turned out, Neasa was very much alive. Jackson would have thought that this news would bring joy or relief to Alizana. Far from it, in actuality.

“She’s alive,” Alizana repeated, pacing in her hut. “Neasa is alive.”

Sathariel and Jackson were sitting around the table, enjoying their evening bowls of chicken stew.

“Alive and well, judging by how active she is,” Sathariel said. A look from her made him realize very clearly this wasn’t the time for joking.

It was true, though. She was active in the Southern Marches, leading another tribe and using the nom de guerre Sings-for-War, according to the spies’ reports.

“Alive,” she said. “All this time…”

She began wringing her paws.

“Err, how bad is she, exactly?” Jackson asked.

Alizana finally stopped in her tracks, her gaze distant.

“I’ve told you she was a firebrand,” she said.

“You did, yeah,” Jackson said. “Given her track record in the Southern Marches so far, I’m guessing that was an understatement.”

“It was. Neasa… loves violence. Every Hellhound likes fighting to a point, I think, but Neasa takes it to a whole new degree. We fight for our survival, for the protection of those we love, for good causes. She fights because she enjoys it. I’ve never seen her quite as thrilled as she is when she kills. It’s no wonder she chose to fight at the Dusk Steppe.

“And it’s not just the killing she enjoys. I remember when we were younger and our mother taught us how to hunt. Sometimes when she caught an animal’s trail, she wouldn’t kill him straight away. When it was a boar, a bear, or a wolf, oftentimes she would wound it, bad enough to hurt but not so bad that it couldn’t flee. Then, she would chase it until it passed out from the loss of blood. And after that…” She shook her head and moved on. “It was a game to her, to see how much she could bleed it, and for how long. She was so proud that time she made a wolf run in fear and pain for hours before killing it. Supposedly, that wolf had attacked her first, and killed two of our sheep.”

“Holy shit,” Sathariel said, a bit of stew dripping from his lips.

“Then, the Rebellion began, and Neasa discovered another thrill: killing people. I wasn’t surprised to find out that she turned out to be a natural warrior. Dozens of Hexacrat soldiers fell by her claws in every battle. The blood on her fur was like war paint to her. She was often praised for her bravery in combat; she would charge her enemies as if she had as little regard for her life as she had for theirs. Many of our tribemates admired her, her courage, her relentlessness. If anyone could crush the Archdemons, they said, it was her. In fact, when our old chieftain was killed, she was nighly elected to succeed her.”

Jackson imagined for a second someone like that heading the Hellhound Rebellion. A sobering thought indeed.

“And if the recent events are anything to go by, she hasn’t changed at all,” Alizana said. “Hell, she might have gotten worse, killing peasants like that.”

“She did more than kill them, actually,” Sathariel said. “According to the rumors, they… well, ate them.”

The next spoonful of stew tasted weird as it went down Jackson’s throat.

“I…” Alizana muttered. “I can hardly believe she would stoop so low.”

“Well, my men haven’t confirmed those rumors, so it’s possible they are untrue. They found some eaten corpses, but that could have been wild animals. Wolves or bears, judging by the bite marks.”

Alizana rubbed the bridge of her nose. Jackson could only guess at how she was feeling. He had brought up -had blurted it out, more like- the subject of cannibalism among Hellhounds to Alizana once, on the night the two of them had met. She had denied that Hellhounds ever ate people, clearly offended by that very suspicion. He had later explored the matter, this time taking great care not to ask any more stupid questions, and found out that the subject of eating sentient beings was at the core of a tense ongoing debate among the tribes. Indeed, it was rumored that this had been a practice among several of them back when they were living in the Hexacracy. Specifically, they -allegedly- had taken to eating their fallen enemies after battle as part of a tradition or rite. All accused tribes naturally denied the accusations, claiming that it was a rumor started by the Hexacracy, to convince their soldiers that Hellhounds were mere beasts.

As said, the matter was still debated, occasionally leading to some infighting. No matter the case, the consumption of any sentient being’s meat had been forbidden by Alizana ever since the first tribes had arrived in Vertrisia, with no argument from anyone.

Sathariel finished his stew, and hid a little burp behind his hand. Jackson noticed he had left some vegetables uneaten, and generously offered to take care of that for him.

“So what should we do about her?” Sathariel said.

“Well, we can’t let her rampage the countryside,” Jackson said. “As if the people in the Southern Marches didn’t have it bad enough!”

“Agreed,” Alizana said.

“That is true,” Sathariel said. “In addition, Hellhounds have barely started to gain the people’s trust. Letting her run loose could ruin that. The question is: how do we stop her?”

“We could try talking with her,” Alizana said, “but she’s never been the sort to listen to reason.”

“I guess we can invite her to join us,” Jackson said. “At least if she and her band live here in the Vertrisian Forest, we can keep an eye on her and her activities.”

She crossed her arms, her mouth slanted.

“What?” he said.

“I don’t know that I want her near my people,” she said after a second of hesitation. “Her and those following her.”

“Well, they are your people too,” Sathariel said. She shot him another look, and he hurriedly added: “I mean, that’s what some of the chieftains will be saying if we don’t invite Neasa, or if we ban her from joining us.”

“Plus, some of the Hellhounds following Neasa may not realize they have a choice,” Jackson said. “Maybe they follow her because they think her way is the only way to defeat the Hexacracy and earn their freedom. By getting them to join us, we could give them another option.”

Alizana sighed. “You both make some good points… unfortunately. All right, I’ll convene the chieftains to discuss this. I’ll suggest we extend an invitation for Neasa to join us in Vertrisia.”

That last sentence had twisted her lips like she had been made to eat dirt.

The rest of the day was dedicated to training. Byron had had the idea of putting the troops through regular drills to ensure they kept their edge. The foot soldiers mostly trained themselves, now that they had competent and experienced officers to do so, so Byron focused on training the cavalry. The Southern Alliance still had nothing resembling heavy cavalry, and there were no plans to train any due to a lack of qualified, capable riders, to say nothing of proper horses and adequate armor. Even the light cavalry they did have was limited in numbers. As such, special care was taken to ensure it was as effective as it could possibly be: in addition to the frequent training, experienced horse groomers were recruited to care for their mounts.

In the late afternoon, Jackson went back to Alizana’s hut for a different form of training. Alizana had long expressed her desire to learn how to read and write, and Jackson had offered to teach her -in part to keep busy through the long winter nights. This would prove to be more complicated than he thought: not only did Jackson have no experience of teaching, but he turned out he didn’t really understand written Imperial, even though he could read it. He and Byron reasoned that it was an effect of how he had learned the language, or rather, how he hadn’t learned it. According to Bonnie, he had absorbed the knowledge as he crossed through a portal (something the Elves called Laläethua), and knew it intuitively. As a consequence, he didn’t truly understand it. In order to teach it properly, he ironically had to actually learn it first. Thankfully, this was rather quick and easy: with the help of a mentor -a former Hexacrat officer-, he was up to speed in a month. Another difficulty was acquiring books; those were unsurprisingly uncommon in a world where only a small percent of the population was literate. He was eventually able to obtain a few through some traders from Atvello.

His lover did not take to reading quite as easily as he had. It was due in part to Jackson’s aforementioned lack of teaching experience, but also to the fact that Alizana was just not one for book learning. She much preferred learning by practice, a method which unfortunately Jackson didn’t know how to apply to literacy. Still, in spite of her difficulties and her frustrations, she persevered. After almost two months of effort, she knew her alphabet and could recognize several common words.

Most of the other Hellhounds were just not as interested in learning how to read and write. They didn’t see any point to it. The same went for many of the Humans, Orcs, and Demons living among them. Some did go as far as learning how to read and write their own names, but no further. The main exceptions were Sathariel and the members of his spying ring. In their line of work, knowing how to read was a necessity, as many military orders were communicated in writing rather than verbally. Thus, Sathariel joined Alizana for her lessons at the beginning of the spring, in order to be able not only to read, but to teach it to his spies in turn. The young Demon proved gifted and assiduous in his learning, and quickly got to the point where he could help Alizana.

Sathariel’s spying ring, while still in its infancy, was already getting some results. In addition to having been able to locate and identify Neasa’s band, they were slowly establishing a network of informants across the Southern Marches. Sathariel himself was working on turning an officer into a contact by means of blackmail; said officer, in charge of an army’s armory, was apparently creative in his inventory: some of the weapons and armors he was in charge of had a tendency to disappear -a probable result of miscalculations-, while his purse strangely filled itself with coin. The young Demon and newly-fledged spymaster was looking to find hard proof of those facts.

The chieftains’ council took place one sunny, if nippy day. The reactions to Alizana’s announcement concerning Neasa’s survival and recent activities were mixed. Quite a few shared Alizana’s worries, while some seemed to find said announcement to be good news. One chief didn’t react at all, as she didn’t know who Neasa was; she was rather young, and had gotten her position after the previous chief had died unexpectedly during one of the winter’s floods. A succinct explanation was given to her by Alizana, but its details were contested by two chieftains, mainly Culli:

“Neasa was one of our best fighters at the Dusk Steppe. It is thanks to her that we are alive today.”

“Really?” Aleo said with a little laugh. “How is that? She charged into the enemy’s ranks while she should have retreated.”

“It is because she engaged the enemy that we were able to retreat,” Culli said. “The Hexacrat armies were too focused on her to give chase.”

“Knowing her as I do, I doubt that was her strategy. I doubt she had any strategy at all! She just wanted to kill as many as she could.”

“It’s true,” Vanali, chief of the Tinili tribe, said. She was the oldest chief still alive, at nearly sixty-eight years old. Most of her fur was gray, and it was rumored that she was going blind. “I was there. Neasa attacked when she should have left alongside us. She could have prevented many deaths. But no. She had to have her fill of blood. How many of our youngest warriors followed her and died in battle because of her recklessness?”

“I won’t have her disrespected so!” Culli said. “She kept fighting our enemy because she’s no coward. Neasa is a brave warrior, and deserves respect.”

“Well, that brave warrior now eats Human flesh,” Yanu pointed out with a disdainful sniff. “How’s that for respect?”

The Nali tribe chief bared her fangs, her fur irking on the back of her neck. “Rumors! Stories told by frightened peasants, and exaggerated by Hexacrats! Neasa would never do such a thing.”

“Never!” another chieftain echoed.

“Well, she killed peasants, this we know for a fact now,” Aleo said. “Slaughtered them all, even. Men, women, and children.”

“This is war,” Culli retorted. “The Hexacracy is doing the same thing, and probably worse. Rape, slavery, necromancy… You don’t fight such people with restraint! What Neasa did was necessary.”

“It’s not the Hexacracy she’s fighting,” Alizana said, her jaw clenched.

“Good as! The food in their granaries would have fed the Archdemons and their armies. Their people would have joined their ranks.”

“You don’t know that,” Aleo said.

“I trust Neasa. Whatever faults she may have, she’s loyal to our people, and to our cause.”

“She’s right,” another chieftain said. “Neasa is no traitor!”

Aleo tutted.

“Anyway, she’s one of us,” the last chieftain -Tanli- said. “And she’s willing to fight against our enemy.”

“Well, she’s willing to fight, at least,” Yanu said with a roll of her eyes.

Following Byron’s advice, Jackson raised a hand and interrupted this dispute that could last hours and not lead to any conclusion. “All right, all right. We can settle this some other time. The question for today’s council is: should we invite Neasa and her folks to join us here in Vertrisia? All in favor, raise your hands.”

To the surprise of no one, Culli’s paw shot straight up. After a moment of hesitation, several others followed her example. Jackson counted them.

“Okay, that’s eighteen votes in favor. Now, all opposed?”

Alizana, Yanu, Aleo raised their paws, and so did several other chieftains. The rest abstained. Jackson sucked on his teeth; in his quality of strategist, he didn’t get a vote, as this wasn’t strictly speaking a matter of war.

“Seventeen votes against,” he said, his voice sounding like a groan. “Motion passes; we’ll send Neasa an invitation to join us.”

Reactions were once again mixed. To prevent further discord, Jackson adjourned the council. Everyone headed out, leaving him and Alizana alone. She crossed her arms, threw her head back, and took a deep breath.

“It’s done, then,” she said.

“Yeah. By a one vote margin.”

“Let’s hope we won’t regret that vote not going the other way. What does Byron think?”

“I think I’ll reserve my opinion for when I meet her,” Byron said. “She could be a threat. She could be useful.”

“How could she be useful?” Jackson asked. “She’s a loose cannon, and not a cool one.”

“As much as it kills me to admit it, Culli has a point: brutality has its place in a war.”

“Don’t tell me you approve of what she did.”

“I don’t, but…” He sighed. “Look, all wars have their share of atrocities. And they are not always just a consequence: oftentimes, they are part of a strategy. The looting, the killing, even the raping… It serves a purpose: to break the enemy’s morale, their will to fight.”

“I really don’t like where this is going,” Jackson said.

“It’s obvious the Hexacracy will stop at nothing to get the Southern Marches, and to defeat the Empire. If that means burning every plot of land and slaughtering every peasant on it, so be it.”

“All right, and how does Neasa fit into this?”

“Why do you think the peasants are and will be the targets of those atrocities?”

“Because they can’t defend themselves. That’s part of the reason we’ve founded the Southern Alliance.”

“Exactly,” Byron said. “Otherwise, they would be vulnerable. In order to avoid being targets, we need to show that we are not vulnerable, that we have teeth, and that we are willing to fight back.”

Jackson groaned. “That’s how you plan to use Neasa? To fight fire with fire? Pay evil unto evil?”

“If it works. If it keeps our people safe.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Byron. I get that pragmatism is your shtick, but we can keep our people safe without resorting to fucking cannibalism!”

By Alizana’s reaction, Jackson realized he had said that last part out loud. In fact, he had screamed the last word. She frowned and uncrossed her arms.

“I told you I don’t approve of what she does,” Byron said calmly. “But if we can find a way to instrumentalize her… lowest instincts, I believe she can be of use to the Southern Alliance.”

Jackson stared at him for a moment, exhaled, then conveyed the whole thing to Alizana.

“I…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I really need some sleep. This has been a long day. Let’s talk about this another time.”

“Agreed,” Jackson sighed.

And that was that. Alizana got busy over the next few days. Jackson suspected she was trying to push her sister out of her mind. As agreed by the chieftains’ council, a messenger was sent to where Neasa had last been seen. It was a Hellhound from the Kele tribe, accompanied by two other tribemates, one of Sathariel’s spies, and one Elf scout. The Kele tribe had been chosen because they had the most veteran warriors, and this was considered a dangerous assignment: they would head into enemy territory, and remain there for an unknown amount of time as they would look for Neasa.

One week after the council and the messenger’s departure, another council was held, this time for war chiefs. Those meetings were happening with increasing regularity, now that the war was back on. There were new faces around the table, as new war chiefs had been selected by the chieftains. It had been previously decided that war chiefs would only serve for a brief period of time, before being replaced. This served two purposes. First, it guaranteed that war chiefs didn’t become too powerful or too influential. Second, it offered every chieftain experience in war planning. Not every war chief had been replaced, however. Aleo, for instance, had kept her old charge, having been reelected with a very large majority. And she wasn’t the only one. Overall, about half of the assembly had been present at the previous council. Jackson’s charge as strategist had also been extended, but more as a formality.

For the first time, Sathariel had been invited to a war council. With that new spy ring of his, it only made sense. In fact, the first order of the day was to propose to officially elevate him to the rank of spymaster for the Southern Alliance. This new rank had been suggested by Sathariel himself, but mostly as a joke. Alizana, however, had taken it seriously and made the proposal to the war chiefs. It wasn’t hard to convince them of the advantages of having such a position, and the motion was agreed unanimously. 

The second order of the day was the “regular business”: planning and organizing raids and skirmishes. With the intelligence procured by Sathariel’s intel, this was made easier. While it wasn’t as precise as the one previously offered by the Elves -at least not yet-, it was given for free instead of traded for. Sathariel showed himself adept at using gathered fragments of information to create a big picture, and suggesting courses of actions based on that.

For the most part, those raids no longer aimed to capture resources required by the army. With the Southern Alliance’s and especially Atvello’s support, this had become unnecessary. Hindering the Hexacracy’s war effort was now the sole objective. Thanks to Sathariel’s spies, they knew the identity and location of several officers, as well as when and where they would travel. The idea was quickly brought up to target them, in order to better disrupt operations, and possibly even ransom them if they could be captured alive. The higher-ranked officers were considered to be too well protected and located too deep into enemy territory to be worth it, and the lower-ranked ones could more easily be replaced and would most likely not be ransomed, so the war chiefs decided to focus their efforts on middle-ranked officers -lieutenants and captains. Several of them were carefully selected, their locations marked on several maps, and war chiefs volunteered to take care of a few of them.

“This is a good start,” Kadja, one of the new war chiefs, said. “But we will have to make moves for the generals eventually.”

“We’ll try if we can,” Alizana said, “but right now we agreed it’s not convenient.”

“Why not? We managed to kill an Archdemon, haven’t we? We can do it again.”

“We got lucky that time. The perfect opportunity presented itself, and we took it.”

“Why not create another opportunity, then? Have we not also decided to be -what was that word you used?- pre-active?”

Jackson suppressed a chuckle. She was bristling with the energy and the confidence of a neophyte. Kadja’s experience, from what he had been told, came from serving as her predecessor’s understudy, as a Sharpfang during several raids, then as a Longclaw in the rearguard at Baluq. She had seen battle -well, one battle-, but this was the first time she saw war from a strategic angle. Some of the war chiefs around the table rolled their eyes or tutted, but Jackson was more understanding. It wasn’t that long ago, after all, that he was the same as her. Well, he was still energetic and confident, but he was no longer a neophyte. His own energy and confidence now sterned from his accomplishments on the battlefield -even though, granted, the lion’s share of the credit went to Byron.

“And how should we create this opportunity?” he asked, channeling his inner Byron, but with a little more kindness and a lot less snark.

“Well… Maybe…” she said, her bluster turning to fluster. “We could pretend to be vulnerable somewhere, and, uh, prepare for an attack.”

“Okay. And how are you going to make sure an Archdemon will lead the attack himself?”

“It’s… how it’s done, isn’t it? Alizana and you lead our armies. Namtar led his own army at Baluq.”

“Baluq was a special case,” Jackson said. “Namtar had a personal reason to be there. As to the other Archdemons, they wouldn’t go to battle themselves. That’s why they have all those officers, to do the fighting for them.”

“That’s cowardly,” Kadja said, scrunching her nose.

“Kinda, I guess. I mean, those guys are rulers, not fighters. It’s a very different set of skills.”

“Yeah,” Sathariel chuckled. “I really don’t see Bakasura on a battlefield. Maybe as a target, for the greenest archers to practice their aim.”

Bakasura… Jackson rummaged through his memory. That one was the… Archintendent of the… Copper Plains, right? Yeah, that’s it. The fat guy, who has that cuisine school on his territory. The one who’s eaten every kind of meat in the world, so the rumors say. Even, uh… Yeah, that one.

Ever since the battle of Baluq, Jackson had made it a point to learn all that he could about the remaining Archdemons, mostly by hanging out with the deserters from their armies. Unfortunately, little information was known to them, aside from what was publicly known, and most of that was gossip. Still, he had managed to retain their names, their titles -they each had a different one, for some reason-, the region of the Hexacracy they ruled, and some details about them.

“Well, then…” Kadja said. “We could attack them where they are.”

“Yeah? And where are they?” Jackson retorted.

She didn’t answer, so Jackson continued:

“I’ll tell you where they are: holed up in some big castle, or in a military fort, surrounded by their armies, far from the front lines. Hell, most of them are not even in the Marches. Why would they lead from the front when they have people to do that for them? No. Attacking a general is already dangerous, so imagine an Archdemon!…”

Kadja looked a bit taken aback, but she tried one last time: “Still, we should try. What better way is there to end the war early than to cut off the enemy’s head?”

“The war won’t end early, that’s the thing. Doesn’t matter the outcome, it’s gonna be years before it’s over.”

“A prolonged conflict will do us no good. We lose warriors at every engagement. How long can we go on like this?”

“As long as we must,” Alizana intervened. “Don’t forget the Hexacracy has just as much to lose in case of a protracted war.”

“That’s right,” Jackson said. “The longer this goes, the more the Empire can raise troops to send down south, and the more we can expand the Alliance.”

“Meanwhile,” Sathariel said, “some of the Marches that have joined the Hexacracy are beginning to question whether it can truly hold the Southern Marches.”

“I suppose…” Kadja said. Clearly wanting the last word, she added: “But we should keep on the lookout for an opportunity. If we can kill another Archdemon, especially this Elyonn…”

“We’ll pull all the stops and get right on it,” Jackson said. “I promise you.”

That promise didn’t mean much, as such an opportunity would probably not present itself before a long, long while -if ever. Jackson knew that. Still, it mollified Kadja and helped move the council along. He noticed a couple of the most veteran war chiefs shooting condescending looks at her. Apparently, the newbie amused them.

“Okay,” Jackson said, pushing the maps on the table aside. “That brings us to the third order: the Empire.”

“Do you suggest we wage war against them as well?” Buru said. She was another one of the new war chiefs.

“The opposite. I’m suggesting negotiating peace with them.”

Predictably, several of the war chiefs reacted skeptically or negatively. Including, unfortunately, Alizana.

“You remember my reservations about that, Jack,” the latter said. “I don’t know that the Empire is any better than the Hexacracy.”

“I get that, but it’s not really a question of whether they’re better. Shit, even if they are, that’s still a pretty low standard. It’s a question of not having to fight on two fronts. Facing one of the biggest military powers in Varda is already bad enough.”

“I suppose the Empire would have an interest in such an arrangement as well,” Aleo said.

“Exactly. I’ve talked to, uh, someone close to the Emperor a while ago, and we discussed the possibility of a truce between us and the Empire. Maybe even an alliance.”

“Unlikely,” Naele said. “The Emperor wants the Southern Marches for himself. We’d be competitors, not friends.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what he said too. And, yeah, maybe that’s impossible, but I still think there’s a chance. I mean, if the war goes on for too long, maybe the Emperor is gonna change his mind. This isn’t just about taking the Marches, it’s also about beating back the Hexacracy. In fact, I’d say that’s probably the Emperor’s priority.”

Several war chiefs were visibly in agreement with this reasoning, but even they didn’t seem completely convinced. The majority remained skeptical.

“Well, we can always start by negotiating a truce,” Sathariel said, conciliatory. “That costs us nothing, and could earn us a lot.”

“Maybe,” Alizana said. “How long would such a truce last, though? If the two of us managed to fight back the Hexacracy and end the war, would the Empire not turn its attention to us?”

Jackson glanced at Byron, remembering something he had said a while ago. The enemy of my enemy is my ally, not my friend. He had asked the veteran what that distinction meant, but had not received an answer. It appeared Alizana had just made said distinction clear: any agreement with the Eastern Empire might only be circumstantial. Fighting on the same side would not necessarily make them friends.

“This is something we will have to bear in mind for later,” Aleo said. “As of right now, I agree with Mad Jack. Better to focus on one enemy.”

“Agreed,” Buru said. “And the Hexacracy is clearly the biggest threat at the moment.”

“Then I guess the first step would be sending someone to negotiate with the Empire,” Jackson said.

“Yes, and I suppose it’d be better to send a Human,” Aleo said. “The Empire loves Humans.”

A few war chiefs chuckled.

“I was going to volunteer myself, actually,” Jackson said.

“I guess that makes sense. You said you know someone close to the Emperor. I’m assuming that wasn’t bluster?”

“No. But, uh, it’s kind of a long story.”

Aleo scratched the underneath of her chin with her index claw. “Well, do you trust that someone?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Then I suppose that’s fine. Let’s put the motion to a vote.”

“Right,” Alizana said. “All in favor of sending Jackson to negotiate a truce with the Eastern Empire?”

All but two paws raised in the air. These last two didn’t vote against the proposition either, choosing instead to abstain. One of them was Venri, new war chief of the Nali tribe. Jackson was relieved to see Alizana’s vote among those in favor.

“All right, motion passes,” he said. “That’s all we had on the order of the day. Does anyone have anything else to bring up?”

“I do,” Venri said. “We have received an answer from Neasa.”

Jackson did a double take. “You did?”

“Our hunters found this on one of their regular hunting grounds, placed in a hollow trunk marked by a cross.”

She retrieved something from a pouch on her belt, and placed it on the table. Everyone looked at it. It was a piece of wood, cut out in a roughly square shape. Two symbols were carved on it, evidently by a Hellhound’s claws. The one on the bottom consisted of two circles entwined, the other was a triangular shape with three lines across.

“What’s that?” Jackson asked.

“It’s a message,” Alizana said. “The sign on top means she’ll agree to meet with us. The sign on the bottom must be her tribe’s sign. This is a code we used to use in the early days of the Rebellion.”

“Why is she contacting us like that? Why not just send someone?”

“I suppose she’s being careful,” Venri said.

“Distrustful, more like,” Alizana muttered.

“Whatever the case,” Sathariel said, “I guess we’re expected to answer in the same way. Let’s tell her she’s welcome here.”

That motion was put to the vote as well, and quickly agreed.

 “Guess I should get packing,” Jackson said after the council adjourned and everyone left.

“Right now?” Alizana said.

“The sooner, the better, right?”

“I think it’d be better if you sent a letter ahead,” Sathariel said, “stating your intent to come as an emissary. How do you know you won’t be welcomed by spears and arrows otherwise?”

“Oh,yeah, fair enough.”

“You were just going to ride to the nearest Imperial encampment like that, hoping you’d immediately meet with the Emperor?” the young Demon said. “Or with whoever your contact is? Sometimes, I really can’t tell if you’re a genius or a madman, Jack.”

“Well, I guess I am both, and I am neither. All right, we’ll send a courier.”

“We could use one of my people,” Sathariel said. “I’m training them to travel long distances while avoiding detection. A Human, preferably.”

Bonnie, who went to visit the next day, volunteered to help Jackson with the letter. The difficult part was writing it, as Jackson realized he didn’t know anything about Imperial etiquette. For instance, how should he address the Emperor? “Dear Emperor”? No, of course not. It should be something more along the lines of “to the Emperor”. David had told him that the Emperor’s full title was Damian, the third of his name, of the house Steedian, by the Divine’s Will Emperor of the Narrians, the Hastadish, and the Leylen, protector of the Southern Marches. It must have made for one hell of a business card, Jackson thought. Still, that was how he decided to start the letter. Alizana insisted he omitted the very last part, though, the one about the Marches; after a moment of reflection, Jackson agreed. He introduced himself as “Mad Jack, strategist of the Southern Alliance”; a much shorter title, but clear enough. Alizana and Sathariel suggested he added something along the lines of “victor of the Battle of Baluq and defeater of the Archmaster Namtar”, but Bonnie said it would be better to leave that unsaid. There was a good chance the news had reached the Emperor’s ears anyway; Sathariel retorted that it could be confirmation.

“But I didn’t actually defeat the Archmaster,” Jackson intervened. “I didn’t even kill his son. I don’t want to brag about something I didn’t do, or steal someone’s thunder.”

“Why, thank you,” Bonnie said.

Eventually, they decided to drop the matter.

Jackson, Alizana, Bonnie, and Sathariel all spent the afternoon hunched over the piece of paper, each offering suggestions and criticisms as to the letter’s content. First, they discussed the writing style; after all, this wasn’t a letter to a random burgmeister, but a missive to the Emperor. Bonnie and Sathariel insisted on using a very formal language, with lots of adjectives and elaborate sentences like the nobles fancied. Jackson and Alizana were more keen on a direct language, going straight to the heart of the matter without belaboring the point. Since none of them were skilled writers, the second idea eventually won. 

Next, they discussed the content. This was a shorter discussion, thankfully. Jackson was quickly convinced to only write that he wished to meet with the Emperor to discuss a ceasefire agreement between the Eastern Empire and the Southern Alliance. It had been decided it would be better to keep it simple. No mention of the possibility of an alliance or a joint effort against the Hexacracy, not yet. While Jackson still insisted it was possible, he eventually agreed it would be better to start at a simple truce and watch how things would evolve.

One of Sathariel’s spies, a Human named Tarey, was selected for the job. The man seemed of standard height and build, but looking closer Jackson realized he was actually rather muscular. He opted to wear large, unflattering clothes to make him look average and unnoticeable. It was likely for the same reason that his elongated face was dirty, his pointy chin unshaved, and his brown hair poorly maintained. Overall, he looked like yet another impoverished refugee like the many who now roamed the Southern Marches. Tarey was one of Sathariel’s latest recruits, but as a former scout for the Hexacracy, already had quite a lot of experience with horse riding and sneaking. In addition, he spoke both Imperial and Hellian. Sathariel swore by his competence and his loyalty; Jackson suspected this wouldn’t be Tarey’s first assignment. The young man gave him a short speech about the job and its importance, as well as a few instructions:

“This letter must reach the Emperor. I doubt they’ll just let you approach him, especially when there’s a war going on, but you must make sure he gets his hands on it. I may have a way to do that. There’s a guy serving the Emperor; he used to be his squire, he’s probably been knighted by now. He goes by Gawain, and people say he’s the Emperor’s half-brother. He’s about my age, and he’s got black hair, blue eyes, and a mustache. Try to find him. If you do, tell him…”

Jackson sucked on his teeth. What would be a good way for Tarey to identify himself as Jackson’s emissary to David? Using his real name? No, Jackson couldn’t do that; what if someone overheard? Hmm. How about a memory only the two of them shared?

“Ask him if he remembers the beers at McBride’s, and if they were worth Duval’s telling-off.”

Yes, that would work. Precise enough to flicker a light in David’s brain, but too vague to mean anything to anyone else.

“He’ll know that I sent you. Do you want me to write this down?”

“I must ask a man named Gawain, black of hair, blue of eyes, a young adult, and ask him if he remembers the beers at McBride’s and if they were worth Duval’s telling-off,” Tarey recited without any hesitation.

“Right, good,” Jackson said. “You can trust him with the letter. He’ll deliver it to the Emperor.”

Tarey placed the letter, sealed with some wax, in a small leather haversack which he hid beneath his cape. He was then given a rouncey, and left camp the next day at dawn. And now I guess we cross our fingers, Jackson thought.

His anxiety over a response spiked several times over the next few weeks, as he learned of Imperial troop movements. While most of the Empire’s armies was currently at a strategic standstill as they besieged forts and castles in the northeast, a portion of it had made a breakthrough along the eastern coast. One army, led by one Duke Evrart Brannon if reports were to be believed, had secured a surprising victory, apparently helped by the Hexacracy’s loss of two armies at Baluq. This loss of men had led to the town of Belga to be poorly defended.

While Belga itself had little strategic value, its taking opened a way towards the port city Llorysport, the second biggest city in the Southern Marches after Atvello. It had been occupied following a sea invasion in the first months of the war. That city was fortified, and expected to be better defended than Belga, but it was also rather far from the bulk of the Hexacracy’s forces. A siege was very much conceivable, and so was the possibility that the city would surrender before reinforcements could reach it.

This was good news for the Empire, certainly. Not only would Llorysport help them secure the eastern coast, but securing its port would be a boon to the war the Empire led on the coastal seas. This was something Jackson and Byron had overlooked, focused as they were on their own battles, but the land war was only a portion of the Southern invasion. Another war was taking place at sea, fought over the Southern Marches’ ports and sea lanes. Byron quickly explained their importance to Jackson: given that sea travel was faster and sometimes safer than traveling on land, this meant troops and supplies could be brought quicker to the front. So far, the war at sea was an even match between the Empire and the Hexacracy, with both fleets having had their share of victories, but neither being able to get a clear advantage over the other.

Yes, taking Llorysport would obviously be good news for the Empire. For the Southern Alliance, however, this was more complicated. On one hand, not a single Hellhound would weep over the Hexacracy losing a strategic asset in their invasion. On the other hand, the Empire descending as far as Llorysport meant they would be right in the Southern Alliance’s backyard. In the absence of any formal diplomatic ties between them, this could be problematic. Moreover, the Southern Alliance was hoping to see Llorysport join them, and had been working towards that end since the beginning of spring. Byron had even begun working on plans to liberate the city from the Hexacrat occupier with the help of fifth columns. War chiefs suggested accelerating those efforts, but Byron was not keen on launching an attack on a fortified city with a half-prepared strategy, especially as the aforementioned fifth columns were, according to Sathariel and his spies, now more interested in joining the Eastern Empire rather than the Southern Alliance.

Overall, it was a messy situation, and bound to become messier still. Jackson and Alizana both believed a decision had to be made, but which one? As said, the war chiefs leaned towards taking the city as soon as possible, but Jackson agreed with Byron it might be reckless -this was possibly the first time in his life he leaned away from the reckless option. Furthermore, he worried that taking Llorysport might irritate the Empire, at a time where the Alliance was trying to make friends with them. Ultimately, Jackson requested they delay making that decision, which the war chiefs agreed to.

At the closing of the second month of spring, some good news came to the Neha camp, in the form of a delivery from Atvello. This wasn’t the usual shipment of military equipment, and money in the form of tradeable valuables, which had already been received several days ago. It was in fact a single crate, large enough to contain an adult Human, destined to Jackson. The young man opened it, and let out a “damn” under his breath.

It was the plate armor, promised by the Gilded Council after his victory at Baluq, custom-made for him by one of Atvello’s most renowned smiths, and forged using the armors of the fallen Archmaster and his son. Jackson had never liked armors -too bulky, and a lot uglier than what he had come to expect after watching a few medieval-themed movies-, but he had to admit, this one had style. According to Byron, who was looking too, it was full plate steel armor, the kind habitually reserved for dukes, princes, and knights who benefited from  especially wealthy patrons.

“In our world,” the veteran said, “that sort of armor appeared at the end of the Middle Ages, and was mostly used during the Renaissance. I didn’t think they could make it here. Maybe this world is more advanced in smithing and metallurgy than we were. Or maybe…”

His monologue was interrupted by Sathariel, who gave an impressed whistle as he peered into the crate as well. The young Demon bent down to get a closer look.

“I suppose it’s official now. You are our knight.” He slapped Jackson’s shoulder.

“Right, except I actually am chivalrous,” Jackson said.

Indeed, Jackson had learned quite a few things about historical knights, courtesy of one of Byron’s lectures. The picture the veteran had painted of them was anything but flattering. Unlike their fictional counterparts, real knights were professional warriors before they were anything else. They were paid to fight, to battle, and to kill. And kill, they did. As it turned out, all this talk of chivalry and virtue were mostly later inventions. Knights were often not held to any particular code, and would kill peasants just as gladly as they would kill soldiers, usually before torching their houses and lands. As Byron said, it was simply part of war. Jackson, who had often enjoyed knight stories when he was a kid, had been rather dismayed to learn all of that.

His hand brushed the breastplate. The armor was indeed a full suit, from helm to sabaton, from gauntlets to faulds. As said before, it was stylish, a lot more so than the one Jackson had been wearing in battle so far. Solid, polished steel, forged along a simple, clean, and efficient design. It looked quite tough, as well. Still, Jackson had some reservations. Such a suit of armor had to be heavy, probably heavier than his old suit.

“Try it on,” Byron said. “You’ll see.”

With some reluctance, he decided to do just that. The armor was brought inside Sathariel’s tent. Jackson noticed the crate also contained several pieces of clothing; an entire outfit, actually, made out of linen and padded. I’m gonna sweat like a pig wearing all of this, Jackson thought. He put it on anyway, having long since learned the importance of padded clothing under the armor. He had once forgotten it, and bruised two of his ribs as a result.

The tailor’s measurements had been accurate: the padded outfit fit him quite well. It wasn’t even tight around the joints. Even the cap was the right size for his head, although it flattened his hair, who by now reached his neck. The tissue was thick, and rougher than the dryadelle.

“Okay, what do we start with?” he asked Sathariel, looking at the many pieces of armor.

“The legs. I think it’ll be easier.”

Neither Jackson nor Sathariel had any experience with putting on a suit of plate armor. Thankfully, it was rather simple: place the metal parts around the calf and the thigh, then tie the leather things. Simple, but not easy. They had to try three times before they managed to make it fit right; they had tied it too loose the first two times, and too tight the third. Putting on the breastplate was basically the same thing, but harder still. Eventually, they agreed to ask Alizana for help: she would hold the piece in place while Sathariel would tie it.

“Are you doing okay so far?” the young Demon asked.

“It’s a little tight, but I’m fine. I just hope I won’t have to pee any time soon.”

Sathariel laughed, then showed him that the bottom part of his new armor had a part for his groin -a codpiece, as it was called- that could be removed in such cases. Jackson looked at it; it was held tight with two laces on the sides. I’d better not be in a hurry.

“Remember to take a piss before you put it on, I suppose.” Sathariel said.

“Or just soil yourself,” Alizana said. “You’re supposed to wear this in battle. Who’ll notice then?”

Jackson laughed too. “Won’t it rust the steel?”

“Well, it will rust anyway,” Sathariel said. “Regular maintenance is important. You’ll have to clean it, sand it, polish it, and oil it regularly. Oh, and we will have to make sure to store it somewhere dry; the storage tent should do.”

“Jesus. How often do I have to do that?”

“The oiling you’ll have to do every day. The polishing, every week; be sure to check for rust when you do. For the rest, just make sure to inspect it after every battle, to see if there is any dent to hammer out or any part to replace.”

“Every day? Goddamnit, knights do that kind of shit every day?”

“Well, no,” Sathariel said. “Knights have pages and squires to take care of that for them.”

“Well, maybe I should have some too. You know, since I’m a knight.”

That idea, originally thrown half-jokingly by Jackson, was actually picked up by Byron, who deemed it feasible -and even good. The veteran had, while training the Human and Demon troops, noticed several particularly skilled recruits. Combined with their young age, they could make good squires -one of them, at least. This would also be a good deal for them, as it would give them an opportunity to receive better training. After a short mental conversation, Byron and Jackson decided to choose one of them for the task.

“Hell yeah,” Jackson said. “Maybe we could raise an entire squad of knights. Or our very own order!”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, that’s only one future knight. And even if we manage to obtain enough suits of armour, there’s still the problem of the horses.”

This was true. Even with Atvello’s backing and the support of many villages in the Southern Marches, horses were in short supply. In fact, of the few that had been lost at Baluq, half had still not been replaced. It wasn’t just a question of training new ones, but also an issue of breeding. Proper war horses had to be bred from other war horses, a process that naturally took years. Alternatively, they could have been bought, but the war had caused a scarcity in that particular resource as well. All in all, Byron had yet to find a solution to that issue. For now, the Southern Alliance simply had to make do with fewer horsemen in battle.

Jackson took up to train with his armor as often as he could. He was pleasantly surprised by the fact that, despite its weight, the armor didn’t actually hinder his movements much. As Byron explained, those suits of armor were designed to distribute the weight evenly. While Jackson still much preferred his old dryadelle outfit, he came to not dislike wearing the armor that much. It was still a pain to put on, and nigh impossible to do so alone, so he couldn’t train with it every day -not that he wanted to.

And, he had to admit, it truly made him look like a proper knight. Ardito agreed, and claimed its very sight inspired him to write a new song.

It was during one of those training sessions that, two weeks after he received the armor, Jackson was interrupted by a hunter of the Tulu tribe. Neasa had once again contacted the Rebellion, this time through a messenger, to inform Alizana she was coming to meet with her.

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