The Pulver Chronicles – 42. Still Something Left To Save

Jackson Pulver barely paid attention as he was sent back to the Neha camp. It was only when he realized that his surroundings had changed completely in the blink of an eye that he got out of the trance he was in. It was night out, and the stars were barely visible through the cloudy sky. The camp was dark and quiet, except for Alizana’s tent, in which a candle was still lit, and from which Jackson could hear two people talk in whispers. He recognized the voices immediately, and headed to the tent. He lifted the curtain door. As he thought, Sathariel and Alizana were here, sitting around the table. Both the Demon and the Hellhound jumped on their feet as they saw him.

“Jackson?” Alizana said, hesitant. She stepped closer, staring into his eyes, then said again: “Jackson.”

Before he knew it, she had wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly against her chest, half-crushing his nose. Jackson returned the hug, burying his hands in her back’s fur. Her warmth felt like home. After a few seconds, Sathariel joined the hug, slamming himself against Jackson’s back.

“Ouch. Guys, I’m having trouble breathing,” the young man said.

It still took them a few minutes before they let go. Then came the barrage of questions. Where was he? Did he meet with Azazel? Did she break the curse? How did she do it? Why did she want to meet with you? What, she just wanted to talk? What about?

“We were so worried,” Alizana said. “You and that creature just… disappeared!”

“I have never witnessed such magic before,” Sathariel said. “I have heard that some magis could travel over long distances instantly, but…! Such feats must require a great amount of power. Meeting you must have been very important to the Archlady Azazel, that she would invest so much magic.”

They all sat down. Jackson was feeling very tired, physically and mentally, but, after two cups of eyelet milk, found the energy to answer all of their questions, and give them a summary of everything that had transpired in the Occultatum. He actually took his time, describing all he saw in that strange place -which was ultimately quite little. Eventually, it became obvious to Alizana that he was trying to avoid a difficult subject, and she pointed it out. Sighing wearily, Jackson succinctly explained that his situation vis-a-vis Byron might cause adverse effects. He tried to be vague about it, but of course Alizana immediately asked what kind of effects.

“I… Well, Azazel wasn’t sure,” Jackson said. “She said I was a unique case.”

“How bad can it become? Did she know this much, at least?”

The young man’s lips twisted into a smile that lacked any happiness, and, in a moment, all of the concern on Alizana’s face was washed away by a wave of chagrin.

“Jack…” she whispered.

“She said I could… Well, again, she wasn’t sure. But she said it is possible I could die. Or that Byron could die.”

Sathariel stared at him, mouth agape. He cleared his throat, and seconds later seemed to recover from his shock. Jackson knew he was just good at putting up a front. Job conditioning from being spymaster, maybe.

“When, um, I mean… how long will it take?” he asked.

“She didn’t know that either. She said, uh, it will be years before anything happens.”

Alizana placed a paw on his head, and leaned toward him until their forehead touched. “Oh, Jack…”

“It’s okay, Liz. Did you hear me? It will take years. Hey, maybe I’ll die in battle before.”

He meant that as a joke -admittedly, not a very good one-, but she did not find it the least bit amusing. Scratching his chin, he went for another cup, but the pitcher was empty.

“What about the Archmage?” Alizana asked. “Can’t she do anything? She knows of the Secret Arcanes. Surely she has some sort of spell that can undo this.”

“Err, in a way, she does.”

Jackson went on to explain the offer Azazel had made him, to send him back to his world. He quickly mentioned how it could help with his problem.

“Hell no,” Sathariel said. “You belong here, with us.”

Those simple words brought as much warmth to Jackson as Alizana’s furred body.

“I know. Don’t worry, buddy, I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt Alizana stiffening against him, and turned to look at her.

“But what will you do, then?” she asked, her voice wavering.

“I-” He licked his lip. “Like, I said, we have years to figure this out.”

“Jack, you’re lying.”

Jackson swore internally. He had completely forgotten about her uncanny sense of smell, or about the fact that he was well in smelling range. Letting out a small sigh, he said:

“Actually, Azazel said it might only be months before, um…” Seeing Sathariel and Alizana’s reactions, he immediately added: “But she wasn’t sure. She did say it could be years!”

“Even so, Jack, how much time does that leave you? One year? Two, maybe?”

Jackson made an evasive gesture.

“Is there really no other option?” Sathariel asked.

“She couldn’t think of one.”

“Well then, Jack, maybe…” The Demon gnawed on his lip. “Maybe you should consider it.”

“What?” Jackson blurted out, angry. “I thought you didn’t want to see me go back to my world!”

“What I don’t want is to watch you die!” Sathariel retorted, gritting his teeth. He seemed to realize what he had said a second later, and his front went back up. “And, Jack, you shouldn’t want that either,” he added with a sigh.

“I don’t! Of course I don’t. But I don’t fucking want to leave you guys either!”

“Then… I’ll come with you,” Sathariel said.

“What are you saying? You can’t come with me! This is your world, Seth. Your life is here.”

“My life is with you, Jack.” He dipped his head and exhaled. “I thought that was clear. Everything I have, I owe it to you.”

The young Demon’s mask of stoicism slipped again, just a little. Jackson sensed the blood rushing to his cheeks.

“You don’t owe it all to me,” he said.

“Yes, I do. Look, my decision is made. If you go, I go. And don’t you try to talk me out of it.”

“And so will I,” Alizana said.

“Wait, what?” Jackson said. “Hold on, you can’t do that. What about your people? You’re the chieftain of chieftains. You can’t just up and leave!”

“From what you told us, it seems that Azazel’s invitation was not just for you, but for every member of the Rebellion.”

“Come on, you’re not gonna uproot everyone just because of me!”

Alizana opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She looked away, her ears lowered. Jackson could tell what was going on in her mind; he could almost see the dilemma in her eyes.

“No, I can’t,” she said. “You’re right. I have a duty to them. They wish to stay here, in this place we have made our own, and I must remain with them. Even if it means…”

A heavy silence followed these words. The tent grew so quiet Jackson could clearly hear the forest’s nightly sounds: the wind brushing the trees, an owl hooting somewhere near camp, and the distinctive noise of small footsteps over dried leaves in the distance -probably a rabbit or something similarly small.

“Is that even possible?” Sathariel asked all of a sudden. “What Azazel said about bringing us all to your world, I mean. Like I said, opening a portal for one or two people from one point to another in the same world is already very demanding. But moving thousands of people to another world? I know she’s an Archmage, but can she do that?”

“Apparently,” Jackson said.

“I can’t even imagine where she intends to gather enough energy for such a feat. Maybe it’s best if I don’t.”

He sniffed, and the tent fell silent again, but only for a minute.

“What about us?” the young Demon said. “Would it be possible for us?”

“What would?” Alizana said.

“To travel to another world. That would involve a lot of preparation.”

“Are we really considering this?” She frowned.

“No, just…” Sathariel said defensively. “Before we can consider this, we have to decide whether that’s even possible in the first place. Let’s just imagine. Logistically speaking, can we move our people to a different world?”

Alizana sighed. Looking down at her claws, Jackson could tell she was making a deliberate effort not to scratch them.

“Well, I suppose… I suppose we could. We’ve already done that, after all, when we fled the Hexacracy. It was a long, messy, and complex process, but I believe we have learned from that. Our camps can be moved, and we have quite a few draft animals, as well as carts and wagons. Hmm. It would not be easy or fast, but… Yes, I think it’s doable. At least logistically, but to me, that’s not the main factor.”

“What would it be, then?”

“Motivating my sisters to move away. Many have taken a liking to this forest. And at any rate, it will be hard to drive them to go to another world. What if that other world does not want us either?”

“That’s a good point,” Sathariel said. “What do you think, Jack? Would we be welcome there?”

Jackson, who was only half-listening, raised his head. “Huh? Uh… Yeah, actually, probably. There’s already a lot of Humanoids in that world. We could tell people you guys are some kind of big-ass Werewolves from some remote country. That world’s big enough for this to be plausible. Most people are shit at geography anyway.”

“But there’s a lot of us,” Alizana said. “Surely that will be a problem.”

“Eh. My world has, like, almost six billion people on it. A couple thousand more? No one will even notice.”

Sathariel guffawed, incredulous. “Six billion? Jack, I know you dislike mathematics, but surely you know that’s way too much. I’m assuming you meant six million.”

“No, that’s the real number,” Jackson said. “I may be book dumb, but I know that much. Hell, just in my country, there was like two hundred and fifty million people.”

They went back and forth on that for a little while. Sathariel simply couldn’t conceive of such a number. Six billion people? But where did they all live? How could a world grow enough food to fill so many stomachs? Jackson thought for a moment of explaining that hunger was in fact a problem for many people in that world, but Sathariel quickly changed the subject. What about cars? he inquired. Surely, there couldn’t be enough cars for so many people. Jackson conceded that a lot of people didn’t have one, and some didn’t want one. But in the country he was from, at least, most people had one. Heck, some even had two or more!

Soon, the two friends became involved in another deep conversation about Earth. Sathariel once again showed fascination for that world, in all of its aspects -though cars and other motorized vehicles was clearly his favorite subject. Surprisingly, Alizana got into it as well, asking a few questions and offering her thoughts. Jackson thought she was trying to gauge whether this world would indeed be right for her people, and so tried to be as objective as he could, and not let his own opinion taint his explanations.

If nothing else, the conversation proved a nice distraction. Tiredness eventually got the better of them, and they went to sleep. The three of them had taken to sleeping under the same tent. During this particularly harsh winter, it made sense; the storage tent was often too cold for comfort. Plus, Jackson didn’t like that, with him sleeping with Alizana almost every night, Sathariel was left alone. Jackson had too much experience with being made to feel like a third wheel to want that for his best friend.

Over the course of the next few days, Jackson was brought up to speed on everything he had missed, especially about the battle of the Broken Teeth and its aftermath. Learning about Neasa’s actions was a hindrance to his mood. It didn’t help when, a little over a week after Jackson’s “return”, she made a significant achievement during a war council. Her staunchest ally Culli had put forward the suggestion of letting Neasa and her tribe -her reavers, as Sathariel now referred them to- plan and lead their own raids against the Hexacracy, without having to first submit them to the war council for approval. Alizana, Jackson, and Sathariel, who still vividly remember Polran Keep, vehemently opposed the motion, and energetically tried to convince the other war chiefs to shoot it down. Unfortunately, a majority of two votes approved Culli’s suggestion.

“This is just the start,” Alizana later said, shaking her head. 

“Yes. No doubt the two have other plans in mind to capitalize on Neasa’s popularity,” Sathariel said.

Jackson dared not ask if Neasa already enjoyed enough influence to make a move for Alizana’s position among the Hellhounds, but he was certain Alizana was wondering the very same thing. That might be the reason why, when Sathariel offered to have his spies keep an eye on Neasa’s activities in the Southern Marches, she said yes, in spite of her earlier objections to that. She was still very reluctant, and Jackson could see on her face that the decision weighed heavily on her. To her, this was crossing a line she had hoped to stay away from.

During that time, Jackson reconnected with his squire Koval. Thankfully, Byron had not neglected the boy or his training. Koval had suspected something was up with his mentor, though of course he had not realized the truth: that, for the last few days, he had been trained by a near-complete stranger with the appearance of Jackson. The latter chose not to clue him in, in part because it might well be too much of a secret for him to carry, and in part because Jackson didn’t want the kid to become scared of him. Koval had been raised in the faith of the Divine, and to dread all things related to the Forbidden Arcanes. And though he wasn’t particularly observant, Jackson knew that such teachings left their marks, especially on young minds.

One warm morning -warm for late winter, that was-, Jackson and Koval went horse riding around the Vertrisian Forest, as part of the latter’s training. Initially weary of those equine beasts, Koval had become, after months of getting familiarized with them, a competent rider, and even an eager one. He had grown fond of Rumpus, the brown-patched rouncey given to him by the Neha tribe, so called because she would loudly neigh and stomp her hooves over anything; despite this, the mare actually had a docile temperament towards her rider.

During that training, the boy appeared to be a little troubled and unfocused. Unusually quiet, as well. Normally, he bombarded Jackson with questions about everything. When did sir Jackson decide to become a knight, and why? Where did he learn how to fight with a sword? Should Koval get a better sword? How much did a castle-forged sword cost? How about a suit of armor? Had sir Jackson ever won a tourney? But that day, he was not very talkative; in fact, Jackson was the one who initiated most of their discussions. Yet, when asked, the kid insisted he was fine. Eventually, Jackson asked point-blank what was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Koval said, blurting out the words so quickly it took Jackson a moment to understand them.

“Sorry? What about?”

“About what I said. You know, before… before the battle. I’m sorry, sire, I shouldn’t have.”

Jackson smiled. With everything that had happened, he had forgotten about that.

“It’s okay, kid.”

“It is not, sire! I spoke brashly and disrespectfully. I understand now that you were trying to protect me. That battle was no place for me. I… I heard stories from the warriors. Tala showed me her scars.”

“Yeah,” Jackson muttered. He too had seen the wounds of her tribemate. While the unfortunate woman would survive them, it was not yet certain whether she would completely recover.

“You were right, sir Jackson,” Koval said. “Had I joined you there, I… I’m so sorry. I should have known my place. I am your squire; I must do as you say.”

“Whoa, err, no, kid,” Jackson said, befuddled. “It’s not… It’s not like that. Look, I told you many times: I’m not a noble. And even if I was, doesn’t mean you should just obey me. I mean, yeah, you should listen to me because I’m training you and all, but…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m not above you or anything. I’m not your lord and you’re not my serf.”

“But I am your squire, sir,” the boy said with some confusion.

“Yes, but…”

With a sigh, Jackson tried to explain himself again, but eventually decided to let it go. In the kid’s mind, Jackson was a knight -a semi-legendary one at that-, and he was just a peasant made into a squire. Koval had been raised in a society where status and birth spoke before anything else, and those ingrained values would not be removed in one conversation. Oh well, Jackson thought, like Byron said, education is repetition. I’ll try again later.

Winter came to a close several weeks after Byron’s visit to the Occultatum. Like the previous year, a survey was made to establish how the various camps in Vertrisia had fared through the season. Predictably, this winter had been harsher than the last one, thanks to Yerleg and his warrior-monks, and in spite of the Elven shamans’ best efforts. The particularly cold rains and winds, as well as the snow, had claimed the lives of dozens of people, mostly elderly or sickly Humans and Demons. Hellhounds and Orcs had fared better, but they too had had losses. As to the food, however, everyone had been better prepared this time around, and although some rationing had proved necessary for many tribes, no one had found themselves lacking.

Just like last year, a feast was held to celebrate the coming of the spring. Undeterred by the light rain, the people drank and ate and sang and danced throughout the day, celebrating with more intensity than the last time. The feast had been planned in advance this time, and in addition there was more food and more drink to celebrate with. Several big fires were lit in a wide clearing, and hundreds of people had come, bringing alcohol, musical instruments, and gifts. It wasn’t long before everyone was a little altered and a lot euphoric. The Hellhounds in particular appeared to enjoy themselves very much, with the notable exception of Alizana. While all the other chieftains were having fun among their tribemates, she was sitting on the ground under a tarp, a cup of mead in hand, looking like she was watching her sisters without really seeing them. Most worryingly to Jackson, the food on her plate was getting cold.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her, sitting by her side and leaning on her. She placed his head against his almost by rote. “Don’t feel like partying?”

“I do, but… I was thinking about last year’s spring feast.”

“That was pretty fun,” Jackson said. “I felt like I stayed drunk for two straight days.”

“Last time, the first song played was by musicians from the Kehlo tribe. I remember it well. They played it on drums and pipes, and two of their hunters danced to it.”

“Ah, yeah, I remember it too. It was pretty catchy. They’re gonna do it again this year?”

“The Kehlo tribe is no more,” Alizana said, her voice quivering.

Jackson turned to look at her face. A million emotions could be read in her eyes. He ran his hand in her hair, brushing one of her lupine ears.

“Most of them died at the Broken teeth,” she said. “Then, their chieftain died during the winter; a bear got the best of her during the hunt. The three members left decided to join the Kudru tribe. They lost both of their drummers, one of their pipers, and all of their hunters. I heard someone ask the remaining piper about the song; she said she couldn’t remember it well enough to play it again, let alone teach it to someone else.”

Her next words were barely audible: “The Kehlo tribe is gone. Its chieftain is gone. Its hunters are gone. Even their song is gone.”

She sniffed. Jackson rubbed her back.

“That’s the fourth tribe we’ve lost since the beginning of the war. We’ll carry their memories, as much as we can, but inevitably some of these memories will fade. And before we even arrived in the Southern Marches, several of our tribes had been lost in the Dusk Steppe, and during our exodus. We only remember a few of them. The Takli tribe, the Meno tribe, the Haro tribe…” She raised her cup to sip it, but just stared at its contents. “The Haro chieftain, Orro, was a good friend of mine. Yet now, I can barely remember her face. I can still picture their symbol: a red sun painted on the right cheek, under the eye.

“How many more are we going to lose, Jack? We are barely three years into a war that could last three years more, and we’ve already lost over a thousand of our own.”

“A thousand?” Jackson’s eyes grew wide. He knew they had had losses, but he hadn’t realized they were that high.

“I don’t have the actual number, but accounting for the battles, the raids, the accidents, and nature, we arrive at a thousand. More, if we include the Humans, the Orcs, the Demons, and the Elves.”

Holy crap, Jackson thought. He did some quick mental calculations. At the beginning of the war, they numbered almost three thousand people. Last year, after Baluq, they were down to twenty-nine hundred people -and that was the higher estimate. Then came the winter, and the battle of the Broken Teeth, and another winter. Yes, the thousand of casualties figure might be correct. 

Moreover, this begged the question of how much would remain next year. And the year after that. As Alizana had pointed out, the war was not over. Two Archdemons had died, but that still left four more, along with the bulk of their armies, which still outnumbered the Southern Alliance’s ten to one. Additionally, during their talk, the Emperor had impressed upon Jackson that both the Empire and the Hexacracy could still raise more troops.

Ah, right, and there was the Empire as well… The truce between the Imperials and the Hellhounds had held true. But, in spite of Jackson’s hopes and efforts, relations between them had not progressed beyond that of tolerance. In addition, some tensions at the border -disagreements on where exactly the border was, for starters, as well as matters pertaining to displaced people- had made things more complicated. Jackson’s latest attempt to warm relationships between the Alliance and the Empire was to offer a trading agreement which would encourage exchange between allied villages and Empire-aligned villages. The Southern peasantry could certainly use the extra money, he had figured, and Byron had agreed trade was a good way of bringing two countries closer. So far, no official answer had been received, although some villages had unofficially began trading.

Jackson chased these stressful thoughts away to focus on the now, and encouraged Alizana to do the same.

“Come on, Liz. It’s gonna be okay. We’ve been in bad situations before, and we’ve always pulled through.”

“Yes, it’s just… I hear people talking. Neasa is gathering more support among my sisters. They say I should be doing more, that I’m restraining them, that I’m making friends with our enemies, that I’m just waiting around as things get worse.”

“You’re doing everything you can,” Jackson said. “Don’t listen to them. Without you in charge, we wouldn’t have scored so many victories. Hell, without you, your people wouldn’t even be here. You basically said it yourself: if Neasa had been the chieftain back in the Dusk Steppe, you’d all be dead.”

“I know I shouldn’t listen to them, but I can’t help it. They’re my people. They’re my sisters. It… it gets to me.”

“I get that, but they’re still talking out of their asses. You’re doing a lot of good for them. And you deserve a break, tonight.”

It took two cups of mead, a scalp massage, and some reassurance, but eventually she was convinced to go mingle with the others. Later, as Sathariel invited her to dance, she was smiling again. Deciding that his work there was done, Jackson rewarded himself by getting very drunk.

Over the next few weeks, as spring unthawed the Southern Marches, activity picked up along the Southern Alliance. Not all the wounds from the Broken Teeth had healed yet, but all the same the Rebellion army had to get ready again for war. The trainers got busy, as did the horse trainers and the smiths.

Byron, who was supervising those efforts, was, as often, dissatisfied. There wasn’t enough equipment, there weren’t enough warriors, the training wasn’t going fast enough… He also complained about the new officers he was training to replace those lost at the Broken Teeth; five Sharpfangs and one Longclaw had been killed in action there. Jackson had heard that sort of complaint from him before, but this time it seemed that Byron was tetchier than usual, and less patient as well.

“They are not disciplined enough,” he told Jackson. “I mean, Hellhounds were never particularly good at that; I guess it’s just in their culture. But these new ones…” He grunted and pinched his nose. “I think they’ve been inspired by Neasa’s actions in the last battle. They all believe they just need guts and a strong attack to defeat any enemy. Bravery over smarts. They don’t seem to get that this kind of thinking is why we need new officers right now.”

At some point, one of the new Sharpfangs he was training proved -to him, at least- so hopeless and stubborn he lost patience and demoted her. While Jackson agreed she wasn’t the most competent, and her attitude could use some adjusting, he thought that Byron had been too quick to decide for demotion.

“Okay, so she sucks as an officer,” he said. “But that’s what training is for. I mean, look at the ones you trained before the siege of Atvello. At first, you thought they wouldn’t be good enough, and they did great; and their training had been shorter than it should have been, you said! Just give her another chance. If she fucks up this badly again, I’ll demote her myself.”

Eventually, and with due grumbling, Byron agreed to reverse his decision. The Sharpfang-in-training even apologized to him -though with evident reluctance. Thankfully for her future rank, she showed signs of betterment after this altercation.

As the weeks went by, Jackson continued to notice that something was truly different in Byron’s behavior. In addition to being more irritable and impatient than before, he was also less talkative. When he wasn’t working as either a trainer or a strategist, he could go entire days without uttering one word.

The reason for this change wasn’t hard to guess, at least to Jackson. Though he hadn’t talked about it with Byron, he was certain it had to do with the revelations Azazel had imparted to them. He had been placed before an impossible choice: either he and Jackson stayed in this world, and Jackson could die, or they moved back to Earth, and Byron would certainly die -again.

And it probably didn’t help that the decision would ultimately be Jackson’s, not his.

Sure, Byron had stated unequivocally that he would sacrifice his life for Jackson’s, but that didn’t mean he was completely untroubled about it. How could he be?

As said, Jackson had not tried to discuss it with Byron, in no small part because he himself was still trying to come to terms with it. In fact, he tried to not even think of it, having put it to the back of his mind after his return from the Occultatum. There was nothing he could do about that, so what good could it do to brood over it?

Outside the Vertrisian Forest, the war resumed almost as soon as the weather allowed it, much like the previous year. From what Sathariel’s spies reported, the progression of both the Imperial and the Hexacrat armies was slowing to a crawl. There were fewer open battles, and more sieges. One of them, taking place around a castle called the Steelfort, had been going on for almost a year at that point. The castle in question was of high strategic importance, located in one of the biggest marches in the South, and controlling two important trade roads, which was why the Empire very much wanted to retake it from the Hexacracy. Four attempts had been made by the latter to end the siege, but they had all been outmaneuvered by the Emperor, at one point causing the loss of nearly the entire army sent to reinforce the Steelfort.

The Empire was clearly gaining the upper hand in the conflict. The Hexacracy was no longer advancing, and had even begun falling back in certain parts of the Southern Marches. Their losses, combined with the Empire’s resolve and the Emperor’s strategic skills, was pushing the Archdemons more and more on the defensive. However, many seemed to believe that it was only a matter of time before Elyonn went back on the offensive.

As to the warrior-monks of the Order of Anjramaynya, they were now headed by a new Archpriest named Nickar. Little was known of him as of yet. For instance, it wasn’t clear how he had obtained his rank: internal election, chain of succession, internal power struggle? Also unclear was the question of whether he had the same degree of devoted loyalty to Elyonn as his predecessor. What was clear was that his efforts to refill the ranks of his Order after the losses of the last battle would not see any meaningful results before a long time. The warrior-monks’ prowess in combat was the result of years-long training and conditioning, meaning every casualty could not be easily replaced; the losses of priests was even more badly felt than that of their Archpriest. While there were hundreds of trainees in their temples dotting the Hexacracy, it would be months if not years before they could turn into full warrior-monks, especially since quite a few of them would eventually be weeded out by their training, if not killed outright -said training was said to be lethal in some cases.

In fact, some -mostly on the Empire’s side- claimed the Order might not truly recover from the blow dealt at the Broken Teeth. The war as a whole had cost them, particularly their side conflict with the Inquisition. As said, these casualties could not easily be replaced, and in some cases they had not been replaced at all. This, to some, meant the Order would have to reorganize itself, either by reducing their number of active members or by easing their training, less their numbers continued to dwindle to the point where there would not be enough priests to train their successors. The same people, however, claimed that the Order was too fanatically devoted to their traditions to ever reform, which they took to mean that the Order might well face extinction.

An optimistic scenario, Byron judged, but maybe not an impossible one. Either way, it didn’t matter: as he said, the Rebellion’s focus should now be Elyonn and his Gold and Crimson Legion. And focused on them was precisely what he did over the next couple of months. Once again, he spent days hunched over maps, combing spies’ and scouts’ reports, talking with Longclaws. Jackson knew what he was looking for: that opportunity Azazel had mentioned.

“What do you think it’ll look like?” Jackson asked.

“I don’t know, actually.” Byron said. “It could be anything. But either way, it doesn’t hurt to keep a close eye on the activities of Elyonn and his legionnaires, especially when the former has put a bounty on us.”

He spent the entirety of the month of seeds doing this. This capacity of his to remain focused on one task had always impressed Jackson, who knew he would have gotten bored after a day or two.

Then, one day, as he was conversing with one of the Elven scouts as he regularly did, he believed he had found what he was looking for.

“It’s happening,” he said after the scout was gone. “The Archcommander is going back on the offensive.”

“How do you know that?” Jackson said. He had been listening along to their conversation. “All the scout said was that the Legion has abandoned the siege of… that place, I forgot the name. That sounds like the opposite of going on the offensive.”

“The place is called Fort Vinera. And the reason Elyonn has abandoned the siege is that he will need both the troops and the supplies for something else. It fits everything else we learned. He’s been raising more troops back home, reducing the garrisons of several fortified places he captured in the Marches, and securing as much logistics as he could.”

“Ah, right, right.” Jackson remembered Byron mentioning those facts several times over the course of the past month. “So he’s planning something.”

“Oh yes. Something big.”

“Big like what? He’s gonna try for the Steelfort again?”

“Bigger. Based on how many troops he’s gathering, I’d say he’s planning a major offensive. Hmmm.” He held his chin between two fingers. “My best guess: he’s going to make a move on either Vertrisia or the Emperor, and try to remove them from the war in one battle.”

“That is big… You think he can?”

“I have no idea. He seems to think so, at least. To invest so many resources in one military operation, he has to be very confident this will pan out.”

“Azazel did tell us he was overconfident,” Jackson said.

“Maybe, but my guts tell me there’s more to it than that. He knows something. Or believes he knows something.”

“Something like what?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out.”

They met with Sathariel and relayed everything to him. The spymaster scratched his nape as he thought.

“A major offensive, eh… That would make sense, actually. I have reports from several camps that the generals are intensifying the training of their soldiers, and filling their armories at great expense.”

“Is there any way you can find out what’s going on?” Jackson said. “Like, can you spy on someone who’s tight with Elyonn?”

Sathariel’s eyes swiveled up, then smiled. “Yes, I think I can. One of my spies has found something dirty on captain Leikarr, who serves as an aide-de-camp to one of the Legion’s highest generals, General Dahrr, to whom he is a very close friend.”

“Something dirty, uh?”

“Hm-mm. You see, General Dahrr has had three children with his wife. The first two look very much like him: same skin color, same chin, same eyes. The third, however, is slightly paler, and has a rather pointy chin, as well as darker eyes.”

“Kinda like… the captain?” Jackson deduced with a wry smile.

“Why yes, as a matter of fact. General Dahrr doesn’t seem to have noticed, however. And it’s just a similarity anyway. It wouldn’t mean much if the captain didn’t also have a legitimate child, who just so happens to look very similar to the general’s third child.”

“Goddamn! Dahrr won’t like that.”

“Not at all. That is, if he were to find out. Anyway, if anyone can get the information we need, it’s Captain Leikarr. I’ll have my people contact him.”

In the meantime, some of his spies discreetly reported back on Neasa’s activities. It turned out the wayward chieftain had been busy as well, and proven to be almost as single-minded as Byron in the pursuit of her goals. Several more Hexacracy-aligned villages -or accused to be so- had received the visit of her tribe. A few of those villages managed to bribe the reavers into sparing them, but the others had known Neasa’s wrath. Many of their villagers were killed, their houses were torched, and their fields and granaries were looted. Members of her tribe would later claim they had only killed those who resisted, and spared the others, but many disputed that claim, including Jackson. The latter was particularly skeptical when the reavers he had met swore the children had been spared. Even if they had, what had happened to them? Had they just been abandoned, in the midst of their village’s burned ruins, orphaned at an early age? Jackson had wanted to send some spies or scouts to find them, and possibly to bring them back to Vertrisia. Unfortunately, both spies and scouts were already quite busy, and the few who found time to take care of that couldn’t find anything.

But Neasa had not stopped at attacking villages. As it turned out, she had a plan, and those villages were but the first step. After gaining the attention of local Hexacrat garrisons, she and her tribemates began setting ambushes for their soldiers as they left their forts to hunt the tribe. As repulsed as he was by her, Jackson had to admit she was a competent tactician. Those ambushes made good use of the terrain, and she seemed to have a keen understanding of the mind of Hexacrat officers, being able to predict when and how they would attack. True to her word, Neasa would kill any Hexacrat soldier or mercenary she or her reavers would get her hands on. The lucky ones would be killed in battle, and thus know a quick death. The unlucky ones would get captured. Jackson had preferred not to learn what would happen to them then, though he could certainly imagine. On occasion, one or two soldiers would be spared. They would be given the head of their officer, and ordered to bring it back to their lord as a message -or as a taunt.

Several of Sathariel’s spies had also reported that Neasa’s name was now known by several of the Hexacracy’s officers. At first, they spoke of her as a common thief, looting and pillaging her way through the Marches. When her nature became known, and once it was obvious her true aim was the Hexacracy and its army, they realized she was a lot more than that. She became associated with the Hellhound Rebellion, and the bounty on her head was tripled.

Others in the Southern Marches soon made the same association. Predictably, this proved harmful to the cause of the Southern Alliance. One village, learning of the atrocities caused by Neasa, immediately broke away from the Alliance and turned to the Empire instead; two more villages almost did the same, but were ultimately convinced by Jackson to stay -though he wasn’t sure for how long.

More worrying were the rumors that Neasa was ogling towards Empire-controlled territory as well. Those rumors stemmed from some things said by her tribemates, about how war with the Empire was inevitable, and how the Hellhounds should strike first if they expected to win. Neasa herself had made clear on multiple occasions that she held the Empire in low esteem, and that she was opposed to any attempt to establish diplomatic ties with it, voting against it every time they were submitted to the chiefs’ council. Byron suggested that this “striking first” idea was merely a pretext: what Neasa truly wanted was to sabotage any diplomatic efforts by provoking the Empire. War was what made Neasa powerful, he argued, what granted her more and more influence among her sistren. If peace were to be possible, she would lose all opportunities to rise among the Rebellion, and in addition, all the credit of that peace would go to her sister Alizana.

Although she didn’t believe Neasa to be this ambitious and machiavellian, Alizana was concerned her sister might unleash her reavers on the Empire and its people. She brought up the subject before the war council, and while taking care not to outright accuse her sister -which she believed would only serve to cause strife and division among the chieftains-, reiterated the importance of maintaining their truce with the Empire, arguing how difficult it would be for the Hellhounds to fight on two different fronts, against two armies that each greatly outnumbered them. She went for the pragmatic argument rather than reminding everyone of the signed treaty they had with the Empire, assuming Neasa and her allies at the council would care little for agreements made with foreigners.

While Neasa herself didn’t seem really moved by that argument, most of the chieftains on her side were. A proposal was made to forbid any acts of aggression against the Empire, and was acted -although with a narrow margin. Alizana knew the decision itself would not bother Neasa either, but the fact that several of her allies sided against her on this would likely inspire her to be more cautious.

That particular problem was believed to have been mitigated, but Alizana was not happy. Other issues had been raised through the council, some of which Neasa and her partisans blamed on her, sometimes through veiled words, sometimes openly. One of these issues was the fact that none of the villages recently invited to join the Southern Alliance had responded positively, meaning the Alliance had not grown in almost a year. To Neasa and the chieftains on her side, that was a sign that the Alliance had made its time, and the Hellhounds should now be focusing on themselves. The talks turned to screaming a few times, to insults several times, and to a fistfight once. By the time the council was over, Alizana was fuming.

“What happened to the times when we were united as a people, as a sistren?” she vented to Sathariel, Jackson, and Ardito, as the four were gathered in her tent. “It used to be that we were working together for the good of our people. And now, we are bickering over everything!”

“Well, we know what happened,” Sathariel said. “Rather, we know who happened.”

“I can’t blame it all on my sister. Neasa wasn’t the only one decrying my actions as chieftain of chieftains at that council.” She sniffed. “Did the others always feel that way about me? Did they only approve of me as their leader for lack of a better option?”

“Liz, no, come on. You know it’s not like that,” Jackson said. “Neasa’s just riling them up. Give them time to remember what you’ve done for them, and they’ll calm down.”

“He’s right,” Sathariel said. “It’s emotion that’s making them talk like that, not reason.”

“You’re right,” she sighed. “But it still sucks, like Jack would say.”

A small smile appeared on Jackson’s lips. Alizana had been borrowing a few of his expressions and colloquialisms ever since the two had become close, and sometimes even spoke them in English -broken, accented English, but English all the same. Sathariel occasionally did the same as well, though most of the vocabulary he borrowed consisted of technical terms pertaining to mechanics, especially cars, owing to the many talks he had with Jackson about his homeworld.

A fortnight later, one the villages on the Imperial border received a message. It was carried by a courier traveling under the cover of night, who said he was under orders to deliver it directly to Sir Jackson Pulver; he would not give it to anyone else. After some reticence, one of the Hellhounds garrisoned in the village -a member of the Mieto tribe- agreed to guide the courier to the Neha camp. Jackson greeted him and took the message, then the courier immediately left.

Aside from the usual decorum in the introduction, the Emperor’s message was quite short and to the point. Jackson and the forces of the Southern Alliance were politely asked to join the Imperial armies in a future campaign against Archcommander Elyonn and his forces. No details were disclosed, but the Emperor invited Jackson to meet with him again to discuss strategy in a month’s time at a place called Badel Fort; Jackson and Alizana were invited to bring an escort on the way there. Damian III stressed the importance of secrecy about the whole thing -“even among your people”, he wrote.

“He has a plan, clearly,” Alizana commented. “What do you think? Shall we meet with him?”

Jackson hummed. “Yeah, we should. I’d bet good money that’s the opportunity Azazel talked about. If there’s really a chance we can take Elyonn out of the equation, then we gotta take it. Plus, I’m really curious to find out what Damian’s got up his sleeve.”

“Maybe finding out what Elyonn is doing will give us a clue,” Sathariel suggested.

Some time later, Sathariel got an answer from Captain Leikarr. Byron’s deduction had been correct: Elyonn was indeed preparing a large-scale offensive, gathering no less than three armies by reducing garrisons and calling reinforcements from his fiefs in the Hexacracy. The strategy was ostensibly to attack the Empire in three locations. The first of them was, unsurprisingly, the Steelfort. The fact that the smallest of three armies would be sent there led Sathariel and Byron to believe that it was merely meant as a diversion to distract the bulk of the Imperial forces. The second was Atvello. Once again, a logical target, as it meant some of the Southern Alliance forces would have to be mobilized to defend the city and would not be able to be used elsewhere, yet the spymaster and the veteran agreed this was not Elyonn’s real objective. Indeed, they found the third location much more interesting: a valley called Badel Plains, located north of Vertrisia.

“What’s so interesting about that?” Jackson asked. “Far as I can tell, it’s just some empty place in the middle of nowhere. There’s not even a village there, just some old castle. Not even a big one.”

“Exactly,” Byron said. “So why is Elyonn sending the largest of his three armies, the one that includes the most veterans, to take it?”

“My contact asked captain Leikarr almost the same question,” Sathariel said after Jackson relayed what the veteran had said. “According to the general, the Archcommander Elyonn has given these orders out of nowhere. A complete change of his plans. He knows something, but he hasn’t told his generals what. All he said is that his fate as the Armilus will soon become true.”

“Well, that… doesn’t sound good,” Jackson said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Byron said. “But it does sound like it has something to do with the Emperor.”

“Ah, right, ‘cause he believes his fate is to kill the Emperor and all that.” He glanced at the Emperor’s letter. “And that’s where the Emperor will be. But how could Elyonn even know that? Shit, shouldn’t we tell Damian?”

“The Hexacracy has its own spy network.” The veteran frowned, then rubbed his chin. “As does the Empire. As to your other question, no, we shouldn’t. Odds are, the Emperor is already well aware of what Elyonn knows.”

Jackson relayed those words to Sathariel, who had a look of understanding.

“Okay, I’m clearly missing something here,” the young man said.

“I think what Byron is suggesting is that Elyonn’s spies believe they have found out some information that pertains to the Emperor, probably something concerning his whereabouts or his future plans,” Sathariel explained.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“I think he also suggests that this information was not so much found as it was… given.”

Jackson blinked. “Meaning… What? Elyonn got fed intel by the Empire?”

“We’ll soon find out,” Byron said.

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