The Pulver Chronicles – 46. Amidst A Crashing World

“Geez, by the face you’re making, you’d think we lost.”

Byron, sitting on a stump on the outskirts of the clearing, looked up at Jackson, who was sitting on the ground before him, working on carving something on a bullet casing. He had picked up that casing on the battlefield shortly after Duke Evrart’s death. It was apparently one of the bullets fired at him by the former noble, who had thankfully missed its target. Jackson had decided to keep it as a memento. With a knife, he was etching the words “not this one” on its side. His work done, he blew on it, then placed it in his pocket.

All over the clearing, Hellhounds, Demons, and Humans were celebrating the victory against the Empire, over a week ago. The cold temperatures brought by the night didn’t so much as hinder their euphoria, or their energy. On the other side of the treeline, Jackson heard some noises, mostly covered by the music and the singing, and smirked; evidently, some couples were also celebrating the victory in their own way. Speaking of couples, Jackson looked back at Sathariel and Alizana. The former had worked the guts to ask the latter to dance -with a little booze and a lot of push from Jackson, but still-, and was currently trying not to make too big a fool of himself in spite of his lack of experience and the presence of alcohol in his blood.

“Come on,” Jackson told Byron, patting his shoulder. “How about I let you take over, and you down a couple of pints, huh? Instead of sitting there, looking all gloomy.”

“I’d say you’ve already drunk enough for the two of us.”

Jackson smiled without shame.

“But seriously, what’s up?” he said. “You do realize we won, right?”

“Did we?” Byron said.

“Well, I mean… The Imperials ran away. The Emperor himself retreated. I’d say that’s a victory, yeah.”

Byron just stared at him.

“What, you don’t think so?” Jackson said.

“What were our objectives in this battle?”

“Oh, good, we’re back to doing that thing again.” The young man rolled his eyes. “Uh… Our objective was to kick the Empire’s ass before their armies made it to Vertrisia.”

“That was the first objective, yes. We had another one.”

Jackson sighed. “Seriously, dude, I’m too drunk for this shit. Just tell me.”

“Our other objective was to destroy the armies they sent, killing or capturing as many Imperial soldiers as possible in one battle. The idea was to make it difficult for the Empire to field another army anytime soon, and to cause an impact on their morale. That way, they would ideally sue for peace, and we’d be able to negotiate from a better position.”

“Well, we sure killed a lot of them,” Jackson said, his voice wavering as he remembered.

“A little over a thousand, by our estimates. More than half of them managed to escape, perhaps two thirds.”

“That’s still a lot.”

“Not by the Empire’s standards. They will recover from that loss quickly. Much quicker than we will, that’s for sure.” He sighed. “I underestimated the Emperor. I didn’t think he would call the retreat so soon, but it looks like he doesn’t let his pride get in the way of reason.”

Jackson finished his cup. “All right, so it wasn’t the victory we were hoping for. That just means we’ll have to fight them again. I mean, we knew going in that it wouldn’t be easy.”

A darkness filled the veteran’s eyes. Jackson recognized it: it was the same one that haunted Byron’s gaze whenever he thought of Sakha. He brushed his lips with two fingers, an old habit from back in the days where he smoked, and said:

“Jackson, how long do you think we can keep on doing this?”

The young man opened his mouth, closed it, then made an evasive gesture with his hand.

“I guess… I mean, as long as it takes, right? We’ve been at war for four years already, so…”

“Exactly. Four years of war, and each of them has cost us. If we have to go to battle within the next few months, do you know how many warriors we’ll be able to field? A thousand. Maybe eleven hundred.”

Jackson’s throat felt very tight all of a sudden. Only a thousand? The last battle -which Ardito had named the Battle of Evrart’s Rest, to “honor” the fallen Duke- had been costly, true. The Imperials had put up quite a fight. But he hadn’t realized the Alliance’s losses ranked in the hundreds.

“We’ve had a little under a hundred dead,” Byron said. “And some two hundred wounded. For the latter, the wounds will take time to heal -expect for those who won’t heal at all. We started this war with more than three thousand warriors, but over the last four years, every battle and every skirmish has bled our ranks.”

“Right, but we’ve also had new recruits in that time. Some Hellhounds have become adults. And what about those deserters Sathariel hired?”

“There hasn’t been enough new adults to compensate for the losses. Not even close. And as for the deserters, we haven’t hired a single one in over a year now; and with the Hexacracy out of the picture, that well has dried up.”

Jackson bit his lip. “I guess we’ll have to hire more mercenaries to compensate.”

“There’s only so many mercenaries out there, and anyway where will you find the money to hire more? Atvello has refused to expand our budget the last time we’ve met.”

That was true. Jackson -or rather, Byron- had met with the Gilded Council once more some six months ago, before the events of Heartion, to discuss the course of the war, and the financing of the Southern Alliance. That conversation had not gone as well as the first. Now that the Hexacracy had abandoned its conquest of the Southern Marches and removed its troops, the Prince Merchants were confident the war would soon be over. As such, they didn’t see fit to grant the Alliance more funds. In fact, Byron had had to talk them out of cutting their monetary help to the Alliance.

And now that the possibility of peace between the Southern Alliance and the Eastern Empire was gone, Byron had suggested the city might well change his mind about the side they had chosen. Jackson didn’t want to believe that, but unfortunately it made sense: when he had approached the Gilded Council, he had only offered them an alliance against the Hexacracy. War with the Empire was never in the cards.

Jackson put another cup of mead to his lips, hoping to wash away these thoughts, only to find out the cup was empty.

“We’ll find a way,” he said with confidence. “We’ve been in shitty situations many times before, and we’ve always found a way out. Atvello, Baluq, the Broken Teeth… The odds were almost never on our side, but that didn’t stop us.”

“This isn’t about winning a battle, Jack,” Byron sighed. “This is about winning a war. This could go on for at least a few more years. Again, how long do you think we can do this?”

Jackson crouched down in the grass. “Yeah, okay, so we’ve had losses, and we’re far from our full potential. The Empire had losses too. More than we did, actually.”

“There’s a difference: they can recruit more troops.”

Jackson was about to answer, when he saw Alizana walking towards him, her gait slightly swaying as it did when she had consumed too much alcohol. She only rarely drank to the point of intoxication, but these last few days, she had gotten drunk often -almost every evening, in fact. She drank herself to stupidity, sometimes even into a coma. While Jackson himself was hardly teetotal, he had found this change of behavior concerning. But of course, he knew what had brought it on.

After the battle of Evrart’s Rest, Alizana had recovered the body of her fallen sister Neasa, and buried it herself in a separate ceremony. Very few had shown up for said ceremony, only a few members of Neasa’s tribe, as well as Jackson and Sathariel -and the latter two hadn’t come for the sake of Neasa. Mikkon hadn’t shown up; in fact, he was nowhere to be found. Sathariel figured he had left the forest entirely, probably to go to a Human settlement. 

The whole ceremony had been very quiet; no one had spoken a word while the fallen Hellhound’s body disappeared in the dirt, neither her tribemates nor her sister. In fact, Alizana had been quiet in the days following the burial as well, her lips only loosening under the effects of alcohol.

And Neasa hadn’t been the only casualty of that battle. She hadn’t even been the only person known to Jackson to die. Tragically, Durnin, the old mercenary, the most veteran member of the Children of Nayros, had fallen at Evrart’s Rest. The bullet shot by the Duke had damaged his heart and pierced his lung, and in the confusion of the battle neither Enita nor any healer had been able to reach him in time. The damage to his organs combined with the blood loss had killed him within minutes. 

After the battle, the Children of Nayros had decided to bury him on the field; Argyro had fashioned a tombstone out of a rock for him, and had placed one of her silver bracelets on top of it. Every one of the Children had then given a little speech, telling the fallen Durnin what he had meant to them. Enita had broken down in silent tears in the middle of hers, and had not been able to finish it. Jackson, as for himself, couldn’t remember what he had said, only that he didn’t feel like it was enough. Right after the ceremony, the Children of Nayros had headed back to Atvello.

“We need to think,” Marrmad had said.

Sighing at the memories, Jackson stood up, and went to hold Alizana’s paw.

“You look like you’re having a good time,” he said. “Did Seth finally work up the guts to make a move on you?”

“No. I did,” she said, her voice swaying as much as her gait. “This morning, in fact. And later this afternoon. He’s already passed out from the drink, so I’m going to drink with you now.”

Something about her made Jackson feel queasy. She was smiling -in a very un-Alizana-like way-, but the smile did not reach her eyes. He could see in her gaze the gloom that had haunted them ever since she had lost her sister.

“Come on, it’s your turn,” she said out of the blue, pushing her cup of beer in Jackson’s hands. “You drink. And then, we fuck.”

She clumsily tried to undo Jackson’s pants, but her claws kept missing the buttons. Eventually, she got impatient and just ripped one off.

“Okay, okay,” Jackson said, dropping the cup and grabbing her paws. “How about you drink some water now? Or maybe go back to our hut and catch some sleep? It’s getting pretty late.”

“Nooo, I don’t want to sleep,” she said, her speech increasingly slurred. “I want to drink, and fuck, and drink, and dance…”

Alizana was stumbling now, so much so she had to grab onto Jackson to avoid falling. Guess the booze is kicking in. Christ, she must have inhaled gallons of it to get this drunk. He gently pushed away her paws, and led her away from the feast and back to the Neha camp, to get her some water. Normally, he would have had no qualms at all accepting her advances, but in these circumstances it would have felt too much like taking advantage of her. Alizana tried to get more beer on the way, even grabbing a cup from the hands of a passing Human. Jackson did his best to stop her alcohol intake. Her strength made that quite difficult, though thankfully her coordination was greatly altered to the point that she eventually gave up on drinking, and also on standing as she all but fell down on the grass. Jackson tried to get her up, but she appeared to have decided to stay there, laying on her side, one arm under her head and her knees raised at stomach level in a fetal position.

“You gonna sleep here?” Jackson said after unsuccessfully trying to drag her.

“Don’t want to sleep,” she mumbled. “No sleep. Dream when I sleep. Don’t want that. No sleep!”

“You don’t want to dream?”

She shook her head. Jackson eventually managed to make her stand up again, and to get her back to her hut, though he almost had to drag her. Before she entered, she started heaving. Jackson just had time to turn her head away from the hut’s walls before she vomited. He led her in, and laid her down on her coat, as gently as he could in spite of her weight.

“Stay with me,” she said, grabbing his sleeve. Her words were a little less slurred now, but her eyes were still unfocused.

“Yeah, of course.”

He got down beside her, spooning her to make sure she stayed on her side, in case she vomited again.

“Why don’t you want to dream, Liz?” he asked her softly.

“B’cause I see her.”

Alizana shot him a glance over her shoulder, and Jackson’s heart nearly broke. Never had he seen so much sadness in her. Tears were welling up in her eyes, and her mouth was twisted as she obviously struggled not to cry.

“I see her, Jack,” she said. “I see her whenever I close my eyes. Every night. And not just her. I see Rasana too. I see Tayna. I see them all. Every one of my sisters. How many? Do you know how many we’ve lost? How many more? I used to keep count, but now I can’t. I can’t, Jack…”

Jackson hugged her tighter, bringing her closer against him. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

Truth was, the face of David often appeared to him when he slept, as well. As did Lawrence’s face. As did Tayna’s. As did several others. Durnin’s face would probably start appearing to him as well, soon enough. The faces sometimes even appeared to him when he was awake. Just a few days ago, he had confused a Human from the Tulu tribe for David, all because he had the same brown hair.

Despite her attempts to stay awake, Alizana soon passed out, finally overwhelmed by the alcohol. Jackson must have fallen asleep soon after, as when he next opened his days, the sun was out, and Alizana was sitting on the cot, her arms around her knees, her tail down and curled around her hip. He sat up next to her, and she passed him some of the nuts she was snacking on for breakfast. She was no longer drunk, and her sadness had turned into some distant melancholy.

“Do you want to talk about…?” Jackson said.

She sighed, and looked at one of the holes in the ceiling. “I do, but… I just don’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to say for Neasa when I buried her. She was my sister, but all too often I felt like she was my enemy. She was cruel, she was sadistic, she was bloodthirsty. She opposed me so many times, and she did… so many terrible things. I felt… I felt like she had forgotten I was her sister. Yet, in the end, she gave her life for mine. She jumped that bastard when he was going to shoot me.”

“Well… I don’t mean to disrespect the dead, but are you sure that’s what she was doing?” Jackson gently said. “Could be she just recognized the Duke and thought he’d make a good trophy.”

Honestly, that would fit her personality more, he almost added, but that felt like too much.

“Maybe so.” Alizana sighed. “I suppose we’ll never know. Only she knew what she was thinking. But I choose to believe that she wanted to protect me. I choose to believe that, in the end, she remembered I was her sister.”

Jackson didn’t know what to say to that. Sathariel entered the hut, looking quite hungover: he was moving slowly, his head bowed, his eyes barely opened. He gave Alizana a big smile, but it died when he saw her expression. Without a word, he sat by her and hugged her as well. The three of them stayed like this for a while until Alizana wordlessly stood up and left to go tend to the Neha camp.

In the days following the feast, things seemed to go back to normal in the Vertrisian Forest. However, travelling between the camps, Jackson couldn’t help but notice how the casualties suffered by the Hellhounds had left a mark on their society. This was especially apparent to him when he went to assist with the dismantling of a camp: the tribe that formerly occupied it -the Basa tribe- had gone to join another tribe after most of its members had died. Among the people working on deconstructing the now-vacant huts was the former tribe chieftain, Kasra. Jackson had been told that both of her daughters were among those lost at the battle of Evrart’s Rest. This, some said, was what had convinced her to give up and join the Buru tribe, along with her four surviving tribemates.

How many had they lost? That question had occupied Jackson’s mind ever since Alizana had asked it. Eventually, he decided to find the answer. During his travels between camps, he looked for the steles commemorating the casualties of war. There were quite a few of them, by then, all covered in names and surrounded by the offerings regularly left by their loved ones. Those offerings usually consisted of hunting trophies: horns, fangs, pelts… Some, mostly the Humans, offered flowers, or small works of art carved in stone or in wood. Several Demons even offered gemstones, mostly black onyx and bloodstone, which were commonly found in the woods near the mountains. Counting the names on the many steles was just part of the calculation, as those only accounted for the deaths in battles or in skirmishes. Jackson also asked Sathariel to go by the tribes to establish a list of those who had died of natural causes or in accidents.

When the tally was done, Jackson immediately felt the need to do a recount. He knew the number was likely to be high, but he had underestimated just how. Between the war, the hunting accidents, the cold, the diseases, and other causes, the Hellhound Rebellion had lost over twelve hundred of its people since the start of the war. And those were just the deaths. Another hundred or so had been reported missing, and over twice that number had suffered wounds that would likely cripple them for the rest of their lives. All in all, the Hellhound population had declined by almost half since they had arrived in the Southern Marches.

Jackson briefly considered hiding those facts from Alizana, to avoid adding to her pain. But of course, he couldn’t resolve himself to lie to the woman he loved. Additionally, Sathariel pointed out that she was likely to find out by herself anyway. Still, they opted to wait a couple of days before telling her.

Alizana showed no surprise nor dismay when she finally heard the total. In fact, she barely reacted at all. At first, Jackson thought it was as if she had expected it to be this bad, and had steeled herself for it. But observing her more attentively, he decided that “steeled” was not the right word. She seemed more… numb. In fact, something in her eyes reminded him of Byron, especially when he spoke of Sakha.

“Thank you for telling me,” she only said.

Several days after that, Alizana started doing better. She had notably stopped drinking quite as much, and no longer stayed in her hut for much of the morning, nursing a hangover. Jackson was glad to see that, though he still sometimes worried she was only putting on a brave front -something she had long since learned how to do as a chieftain.

The next chieftains’ council, organized in the Maja camp, brought in some important development. And, as often, “important” meant “bad”. Sathariel broke out the news straight away, like ripping off a Band-Aid:

“We have learned that Laluon and its lands have joined the Eastern Empire.”

He marked a pause while the chieftains reacted, then went on: “My people have informed me that the former mayor was dismissed by a vote. The new village chief has immediately organized another vote to decide whether Laluon should stay with the Southern Alliance or join the Empire. The latter won -by quite a margin, I’m told.”

Jackson wasn’t very surprised to hear that. He knew from his visit to Laluon that the town had its Empire sympathizers, and several reports coming from Sathariel’s spies had later confirmed it.

“We must try and convince them to change their minds,” chieftain Nari of the Rini tribe said.

“We’ve already tried,” Sathariel said. “Laluon has refused entry to every one of our emissaries, myself included. They have made it very clear they want nothing to do with us.”

“But why?” Tanli, chieftain of the Nakli tribe, said. “Why this sudden change of heart?”

“It wasn’t quite sudden. Quite a few inhabitants had ties with the Empire already, and the Empire has likely given them some support. And… Well… The events of Heartion have likely been a factor in their decision.”

Several chiefs sighed, tutted, or groaned. So did Jackson.

“Again with this!” Culli said. “This massacre was the result of Duke Evrart’s schemes, we know that now!”

Do we? Jackson thought. He still wasn’t sure where he stood on Heartion. Neasa and her tribe still looked good for it, he believed. As for that piece of armor found by one of Sathariel’s people, it wasn’t much proof. The Emperor had said as much when shown, and although he had kept quiet about it, Jackson had agreed with him. Sure, the whole thing could have been what Byron called a false flag operation, led by the former Duke Evrart Brannon to incriminate the Hellhounds and manufacture a casus belli against them. But it was just as possible that Neasa was indeed guilty of the massacre, and the Duke had simply turned this attack into an opportunity to serve his agenda.

Unfortunately, with both suspects dead, it was almost certain the true culprit would never be known. As Byron had said, truth was the first casualty of war. At least whoever really did it has paid for it in the last battle, Jackson thought. It wasn’t much reassurance, but it was something. By the way, how convenient that Culli has no problem calling it a massacre, now that it’s looking like Neasa wasn’t responsible, he thought. She only ever called it “whatever happened in Heartion” before.

“So there’s nothing we can do about Laluon?” he asked out loud.

“Unfortunately, it seems that way,” Sathariel sighed.

“Then, we should focus on the other towns in the Southern Alliance,” Buru said. “Make sure Laluon is not the first of a series of defections.”

“Sathariel’s people are already working on that,” Jackson said.

“That’s right,” the spymaster said. “My people are doing everything they can to fight against the pro-Empire factions in the towns and villages, to support the pro-Alliance factions, to identify any Imperial spies, and to try to spread doubt about Heartion.”

“But of course, the Imperials are doing the same thing,” Cleo said.

“Yes, they are. And, as Laluon can attest, they are getting results.”

“We need to find ways to stop them from getting more results, then,” Jackson said. “Any ideas?”

The assembly remained silent for a little. Then, one of the chieftains suggested providing more warriors to the towns’ garrisons. The idea didn’t go far, as others pointed out that there were simply no more warriors to allocate. And whatever few warriors they could provide, the Empire could provide many more. Everyone fell silent again for a long moment. This turned into one of the slowest councils Jackson had ever been part of. Tense silence dominated a good portion of it, and in the end, Jackson felt it hadn’t gone anywhere. A few more ideas were suggested, most of them without much confidence, and almost all of them ended up being shot down.

The simple fact was, as Sathariel said at some point after the council was over, the Southern Alliance couldn’t do much against the Eastern Empire. Or more accurately, the Eastern Empire could always do more. A lot more. Initially, Jackson wasn’t sure what his best friend meant by that, but he soon understood as more news came from the Southern Marches over the following months.

Indeed, Laluon was but the first of the Empire’s successes. A few more villages and one town ended up joining the Eastern Empire as well. Different factors had affected their decision. One village had been the repeated target of bandits; once again, the Hellhounds no longer had the manpower to protect them effectively. The town which had switched sides had done so much in the same way as Laluon: a change of leadership, leading to a change of allegiances. Sathariel said he would try to effect another change of leadership to undo that, but wasn’t confident he could. 

Another village had been brought to the Imperial side through the simplest and most prosaic of means: money. The village in question -called Earnestburg- was in dire straits following a meager harvest and the loss of much of its cattle due to an epidemic, and the Empire had proposed to refill its coffers. To their credit, the Earnestburgians had not immediately accepted, they had first approached the Alliance’s leaders to give them a chance to make their own offer. Unfortunately, the Empire’s offer was simply a lot more money than the Alliance could spend.

In the meantime, the actual war between the Alliance and the Empire stalled, its activity having seen a sharp decline after the battle of Evrart’s Rest. Barring a few skirmishes here and there, no actual military action took place: no battles, no sieges, no ambushes. The Empire was still officially at war with the Southern Alliance, but not one of its armies moved outside of the Imperial borders. According to Byron, this was not a good thing. The lack of any serious military action did not mean the Empire remained completely inactive: it only meant that the war would be fought on a different kind of battlefield. Evidently, Damian III had learned from the Archdemons’ and the Duke’s mistakes, and decided that the best way to avoid any massive loss of soldiers like had happened at Baluq (or had almost happened at Evrart’s Rest) was to avoid engaging with the Hellhound army completely. And if the Empire took no initiatives against the Alliance, this meant the Alliance had no opportunities to exploit in order to inflict important damage to the Imperial war capabilities or to its morale.

Creating such opportunities wasn’t a possibility either. The fact was, the Hellhounds’ own military capabilities had been considerably reduced, and not just because of their losses. One of the biggest problems was the firearms. Or rather, their ammunition. Jackson knew the quantity of bullets left was getting low, but he had underestimated just how low. After Evrart’s Rest, there was just enough to load two rifles and one pistol (Jackson’s), with no additional clip. With no possibility of making or finding more, this meant the riflemen’s unit had to be disbanded. And without it, one of the main factors of the Hellhound’s military might was gone.

All of this meant that Byron’s strategy wasn’t working.

Damian III’s strategy, however, was clearly showing its merits, and continued to do so over the months after Evrart’s Rest. Little by little, the Empire was gaining ground over the Alliance in the Southern Marches. On top of that, virtually every marquess had bent the knee to the Emperor before the year was over. Oftentimes, that loyalty had been bought; not just in gold, but also often in land: the marquesses who had chosen to serve the Archdemons had been deposed, their fiefs confiscated and redistributed to more loyal lords.

Alizana, Sathariel, Jackson, and the rest of the Alliance leadership fought tooth and nail, trying to win back every place swayed by the Empire, but it quickly appeared this was a game they were simply not equipped to win. As said, the Empire could always do more: they could offer more money, more land, more protection… The Eastern Empire had a robust and diversified economy, one that hadn’t been hindered much by the war. By comparison, the Southern Alliance’s economy was mostly agrarian -with some trade courtesy of Atvello- and has suffered considerably from the Hexacrat invasion. Speaking of the latter, the Alliance tried to score points by helping with the post-war reconstruction, rebuilding homes, reseeding fields, and resettling villages. This was a considerable effort, and unfortunately it was also one at which the Empire proved to be better equipped: in addition to having once again more money to invest, they had skilled workers and architects, as well as a lot of construction material owing to the several quarries in the neighboring region of Narria.

Jackson, who was growing more frustrated every time he learned that another Allied town had chosen the Empire, once asked Sathariel why the Imperial nobles, who not so long ago all wanted war against the Hellhounds, now seemed perfectly fine with this course of action, which was costing the Empire and its lords more money than a good old conquest. According to Sathariel, they were not perfectly fine with it, but the last person who had openly advocated military action over this strategy of “peaceful conquest”, and rallied much of the nobility to his views, had died in battle, along with hundreds of his men and knights.

Still, Jackson tried to remain confident. Most of the Southern Alliance was still backing them. Moreover, they still had their most important allies: Atvello, Tinaun, and the Vertrisian Elves. The food, the supplies, and the money they brought were enough for the Hellhounds to be self-sufficient, even if they should lose the rest of the Alliance.

Training and teaching Koval proved a welcomed distraction with all of this going on. Showing him how to ride a horse, how to swing a sword, and how to forage for food not only kept his mind busy on other, less stressful things, but allowed him to strengthen his bond with his squire. In fact, Jackson had grown to think of Koval as a younger brother. The boy seemed to be always filled with energy and questions. Many of those questions pertained to Jackson’s acts and achievements -real or rumored-, but he had also started to ask quite a few about knights. Specifically, he was interested -obsessed, one would say- about what it meant to be a knight. Jackson did his best to answer them, but, as he stressed numerous times, he himself wasn’t one.

All through this same year, Jackson and Alizana received several messages from the Emperor, renewing his offer of vassalage. Those messages were short and to the point, as always. Damian III did not make mention of the current situation or underline how things were clearly not going well for the Alliance in order to make his point. Maybe he didn’t want to twist the knife, or maybe he believed it was obvious enough. 

The first couple of times, Jackson opted to simply ignore these messages. He still had no intention of accepting this offer. As time went on, however, doubt began creeping in his mind, chipping away at his conviction. One day in the late summer, as he stared at one of those letters, standing at the edge of camp, Alizana told him:

“This is not a solution. If you take his offer, if you become his vassal, then your fate will be tethered to his will. For better and for worse. Is that what you want?”

“You know it’s not,” Jackson said. “But maybe… I don’t know, maybe that’d be best. I mean, not for me, but for us.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” she said vehemently. “Servitude in all of its forms is only ever good for the masters, never for the servants. And believing otherwise only serves the tyrants.”

“Damian’s not a tyrant. He’s…”

“Yes, I know what you’re going to say.” Alizana sighed. “It doesn’t matter how honorable he is. Vassalage would still make us his servants, and force us to live by his law. And people can change. If we become his vassals, and his rule takes a turn for the worse, what recourse will you have? And what of his successors?”

Alizana and he had had that conversation several times ever since Damian III had first made this offer. Jackson knew and understood his lover’s arguments quite well. In fact, he agreed with them: vassalage was in many ways not a valid option. It would solve some problems, no doubt, but cause several others. Moreover, it would mean that the course of Jackson’s life would not rest solely in his own hands. Alizana was right, this wasn’t an option. The Hellhounds would never agree anyway, and it was a safe bet they would never change their minds about it.

He looked at the letter one last time before discarding it. No, vassalage was not an option. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a mistake by rejecting it. He went to Ardito, and requested a few songs to help forget.

“Ah, a dilemma indeed!” the bard said after Jackson confided what had just transpired. “But it’s no surprise you would choose not to submit. You wouldn’t be a hero otherwise, no, no! Let me sing you of Darren Goat-Foot, who chose to stand when all of his enemies demanded he knelt…”

The song ended with Darren fighting against overwhelming odds, and dying on the battlefield, though with “his soul unbowed”. Not exactly what Jackson needed to lift his spirits…

A few days after this, Sathariel approached Jackson as the latter was packing his horse Florid, preparing for a journey to a distant tribe. The young Demon seemed agitated and angry -not a common look for him. He was holding a small message in his hand, the kind carried by ravens.

“I just got news from our people in Atvello,” Sathariel said.

“From the long face, I take it it ain’t good news.”

“No. One of my spies has found out the Gilded Council has been in talks with dignitaries of the Eastern Empire.”

“What?” Jackson nearly dropped the food he was packing on his horse’s satchels.

“Apparently, they have been exchanging letters. My spy has recognised the Imperial seal on them. She doesn’t know how long that has been going on, but she suspects it has been at least a few weeks.”

“Letters? What do they say?”

“She hasn’t found a way to intercept any of them without raising suspicion, but I think we can take a good guess.”

Yeah, we can, he thought. Them too? For fuck’s sake…

“I hope I’m wrong about this, Jack,” Sathariel said. “Losing Atvello would be disastrous for us, even if it means they’ll remain a free city and not join the Eastern Empire. Their coin means a great deal to the Southern Alliance. But then, I don’t see why else they would be in talks with the Empire.

“Especially without telling us about it,” Jackson said saltily. With a grunt, he closed the satchels and double-checked his saddle. “Fuck it, I’m going there.”

“What? Where?”

“To Atvello, of course. I’d love to hear what the Prince Merchants are gonna say about this.”

“I don’t know that it’s such a good idea, Jack.”

“If I had a dollar every time I heard that, we wouldn’t need Atvello’s money.”

The young Demon did not insist any further, and instead got hold of his own horse to accompany him. Jackson knew Sathariel was only coming with him in order to try and rein him in if he lost his mind before the Gilded Council, but he was glad for the company all the same. They left the Vertrisian Forest and headed straight to the west, travelling through hills and plains. The first days of the journey, Sathariel asked Jackson what he was going to do when he would face the Council. From the way he asked, it was evident he knew his friend had no plan, which Jackson confirmed, stating that he would “figure it out” in time. The two friends had to take a detour during the second half of their journey in order to avoid the county of Piet -formerly the march of Piet-, whose lord was now an Imperial count. While, as said, there hadn’t been any real hostilities between Imperials and Allies, the two remained officially at war, and it was wise to remain cautious. As they passed by the count’s small castle, they noticed the Imperial standard flying on top of one of the towers. Jackson sighed. This was becoming a common sight in the Southern Marches.

When the walls of Atvello appeared in the distance, Jackson’s heart did not become lighter like it used to. There was no joy, no feeling like he was coming home, not even a small sting of nostalgia. He and Sathariel passed through the Matron’s Gate, left their horses at the stables, and walked straight to the Goldfoam district. Jackson was out of breath by the time he had crossed said district, and had to take a knee before going further. Damn ribs. I used to be able to cross that city without breaking a sweat. That thought made him feel like an old man, and he dismissed it.

There were four guards posted before on the path to the Seacrest Castle’s courtyard. When they spotted Jackson approaching, they immediately moved to block his path with their spears, much to his shock.

“I have business with the Gilded Council,” Jackson said. “Let me through.”

He regretted sounding as commanding as he did, but evidently he was more frustrated than he realized.

“Access to the castle is restricted,” one of the guards said, who seemed to be the others’ superior.

“I am Mad Jack; the Prince Merchants know of me. Go talk to Sir Nechido or Lady Henney, they’ll tell you.”

“We have already spoken to them,” the guard retorted. “You are not allowed on the Castle’s ground.”

What the fuck? Jackson’s hands balled into fists, which made his scar itch again. I’m not allowed here?

“Did they tell you who I am?” he said through clenched teeth. “I saved this city. I broke the siege when the Hexacrats came for it. I’m the reason the Gilded Council is still alive.”

“We have our orders, sir,” the guard simply said.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself down, Jackson tried again: “All I want is to talk to the Council. Please go tell them I ask for an audience. It’s the least they owe me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but that won’t be possible.”

There was a hint of fear in the guard’s voice, and Jackson noticed then he had placed his hand on the handle of his sword. Sathariel put a hand on his forearm, a look of worry on his face.

“Let’s just go, Jack.”

Jackson exhaled in frustration, and turned on his heels. He went back through the Goldfoam district, and stopped to sit at a well, muttering under his breath.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he said to Sathariel as the latter when to sit next to him. “So this is how it ends? I saved this city. I saved the fucking Prince Merchants. I saved those bastards, and now they won’t even give me time of the day? They won’t even meet with me? I can’t fucking believe it.”

“I’m sorry,” Sathariel said.

“Fuck.” Jackson slapped the edge of the well. “I guess it’s on me for thinking we were actually allies. Really, they were just on our side until they got a better offer. How much money do you think the Empire gave them?”

“I don’t think they actually gave the Council any money. They probably threatened to reduce their trade with Atvello by preventing any of their subjects in the Southern Marches from buying or selling to the city.”

“Yeah? Maybe we should stop trading with them, then.”

“That… won’t be possible. The peasants in our Alliance need to sell their harvest. They need to buy the equipment and the materials they can’t make. And we have no other trading hub than Atvello. Such an embargo might only make the Eastern Empire suffer a bit, but it would cripple the Southern Alliance.”

Jackson dropped his head and sighed. He knew that wasn’t possible, he was simply blowing steam. God, I’m so tired of all this shit, he thought, rubbing his eyes.

“So… what happens now?” he asked.

“I think Atvello will remain a free city, and not truly join the Eastern Empire,” Sathariel said. “Not that it means much for us. Without Atvello’s coin, we’ll need to cut down on many of our expenses. I think we should start with the mercenaries. We’re not doing much fighting right now anyway.”

The mercenaries… Jackson got off the well, then put on his hood as he felt a few raindrops cashing on his forehead.

“Should we head home now?” Sathariel said. “I’d rather not sleep here tonight.”

“Yeah. Just one thing I’d like to do before that.”

He headed northwest to the Silky Star borough, walking a bit faster as rain began pouring in earnest. The Hazy Narrian was standing there as it always had, smelling of vondo as it always had. Jackson went around, still followed by Sathariel, and went down to the headquarters of the Children of Nayros, for what he realized was the first time in a long while. The headquarters were also exactly the same as they ever were, down to the knife marks on the table and the tears in the curtain separating the training room. Yet, somehow, the moment Jackson entered the main room, he found the atmosphere was completely different; it was as if he had never entered that room before. Habitually, during the day, one would find the Children of Nayros around the table, playing cards and talking happily, or in the training room sparring. But that day, the place was very quiet. And empty, save for Marrmad sitting at the table, jolting something down on a piece of paper. He was fully dressed, complete with his old frock coat and a new hat, as if he was about to leave.

“Hey, Marrmad. Where’s everyone else?” Jackson said.

“Hello, Greenleaf,” Marrmad said, looking up. The small smile on his face looked strangely tight, and did not extend to his eyes. Jackson immediately knew something was wrong. “I’m afraid… the Children of Nayros have decided to part ways.”

“Part ways? You mean…”

“With the war essentially over, and the South back in the Empire, it only made sense. Work will become scarce for us mercenaries. Enita shipped off to C’fa a few days ago; it was time to move on, she said. As for Argyro, she left the Marches and went… I don’t know quite where she’s going, actually. She hasn’t explained why she left either, but I think the Eastern Empire now being so close to Atvello had something to do with it. And here I am, the last member of the Children of Nayros. I have some coin left to afford the rent of this place -and my own subsistence- for the next few months. Beyond that, I am not sure yet. Maybe new hires will come to me, or maybe… Well, maybe this is the end of our merry little band.”

Something heavy clogged Jackson’s throat. Marrmad gave a short chuckle.

“Oh, do not shed tears over this, Gree- Jackson. This is not the end of the story, merely the end of a chapter. Hmmm. Maybe I’ll find some work as counsel to one of the Prince Merchants… That’ll be good money for sure.”

“Is it because of Durnin?” Jackson asked.

The Goblin sighed. “I will not lie, losing our elder brother was… Ah, it contributed to our decision to go our own ways. But this was bound to happen anyway. We were different people, coming from different places, and inevitably headed for different horizons. Honestly, I’m surprised we stuck together for so long.”

Marrmad finished writing, then folded the paper and slid it inside his pocket, his lips still curved in a sad smile. He then stood up, and adjusted his hat.

“Well, Jackson, I must away; I have some business in town. I do not know whether our paths will cross again, but if they don’t, please know that it was a pleasure working with you. Ah!” He chuckled again, but this time there was some life to it. “I still remember the first time we met. You seemed so lost, back then, and it looked like you barely knew which way to hold your sword. A green leaf that had just fallen from its branch. Look at you now. Sir Mad Jack, bold and proud.”

The Goblin shook his head. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Anyway… Good luck on your journey, Jackson, wherever it may lead you. Do put out the candles before you leave. And good day to you, sir,” he said to Sathariel, who nodded back.

Moments later, Marrmad was gone. Jackson leaned over the table, gazing at the lit candle at the center of it. Well, this hasn’t gone like I thought it would. When Sathariel had told him it would be necessary to let go of the mercenaries, he had thought to meet with the Children of Nayros to discuss a way to keep them on the payroll. Instead…

“I’m really sorry, Jack,” Sathariel said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s just get out of this fucking town,” Jackson said.

A couple of hours later, the two of them were on their way back home. This time, as the city, its walls, and its port disappeared behind the hills, Jackson did not give them one last look over his shoulder. Even as the thought came to his mind that it might be the last time he saw Atvello, Jackson felt no pinch in his stomach, no knot in his heart, not even the slightest dryness in his mouth. Like Marrmad had said, a chapter had ended.

Winter came late that year, but when it came, it did so abruptly. Temperatures dropped overnight, and within weeks reached freezing temperatures. Some parts north of Vertrisia even experienced freezing fog, something that hadn’t happened in over a decade. It was going to be a rough winter without a doubt. And, as several chieftains pointed out during a council, it couldn’t have come at a more inappropriate time. With the losses of quite a few allies, the food supply was getting low, so much so that they soon decided to ration it, out of fear that their reserves would run out before the next harvest.

Rationing the food intake of Hellhounds turned out to be exactly as demanding and difficult a task as Jackson feared it would be. The average Hellhound ate about twice as much as the average Human, and while the effects of malnutrition on their metabolism were lesser, their impact on their mood was greater. Throughout the cold season, mood swings became common. There were days where Jackson felt like everyone was tetchy, or frustrated, or both. A few fights broke out, sometimes between people of different tribes, sometimes inside a single tribe. Luckily, there were no altercations between Hellhounds and people of Allied villages; things were already tense enough as they were.

Jackson was especially glad that there were no issues between the Hellhounds and the Vertrisian Elves. Relations between the two peoples had grown cold over the course of the previous year, possibly even before. Jackson wasn’t sure what happened, or why; all this time, his focus had been somewhere else. As he came to think of it, meetings between the two peoples had been increasingly sporadic, to the point that the Elves had remained completely unseen through the winter. Jackson hadn’t even met with Bonnie in months. Equally concerning was the fact that trade between Hellhounds and Elves had begun to decline as well. Jackson was worried, especially as he remembered his last conversation with Bonnie, and asked Sathariel to find out what was going on.

“You want me to spy on them?” Sathariel asked.

“No, just… Find out what they’re up to. Figure out why we’re not on speaking terms anymore. Like, is it something we said?”

“That sounds like spying. Why don’t you go meet with them and ask them?”

The truth was, Jackson already had a theory about what was going on on the Elves’ side of the Vertrisian Forest. And he was worried that, if his theory was correct, he would react badly. But Sathariel was right, it was the simplest solution.

The harsh winter was not without a silver lining: the reduced territory meant the Hellhounds could more effectively defend their allies. Several groups of raiders and bandits, out to loot any food they could find, were successfully defeated, which helped prove that the Southern Alliance could still effectively protect their own. This likely contributed to the fact that not a single ally defected to the Empire during the cold season. In addition, Jackson made a point, as the temperature rose in the last month of winter, to visit the Allied towns and villages, in an effort to maintain their relationships.

The celebration on the first day of spring was notably subdued, compared to the previous years. The scarcity of food and alcohol was the main factor, of course, but the limited attendance was another. With about half of the Alliance having changed sides, Jackson had expected as much. What he didn’t expect was to see a group of Elves show up; he had a nagging feeling none would come. These Elves were some of those who had fought alongside the Rebellion during several of their most important engagements. Jackson recognized a few faces, though he knew only one of their names: Nuelna, an archer who was some sort of high-ranked warrior among his people. He was easily recognizable by the scar over his busted nose, his scarred right ear with a bone earring, and his long, shaggy blond hair shaved on the sides. As he came to greet them, he noticed from their accoutrements, their jewelry, and their facial paintings that all of them came from the same tribe. Another thing Jackson noticed was that none of them seemed in any mood to party. He greeted them, and offered them something to drink. Nuelna took a single sip, evidently out of politeness, then asked to speak to Jackson and Alizana in private.

“How can we help you?” Alizana asked after being pulled aside and introduced to the Elves.

“Chieftain Alizana, we came to ask for asylum among your people,” Nuelna said, his voice hoarse as if he couldn’t believe what he was asking.

“Asylum? What’s going on?” Jackson said.

Nuelna took a deep breath, and replied: “We are no longer welcome among our people.”

“Have you guys been made outc-?”

Jackson bit his tongue before he could finish this question. In the culture of the Vertrisian Elves, being an outcast was considered one of the harshest punishments, as it meant the person would never see his loved ones, his family, or his birthland ever again, and furthermore would be treated with nothing but contempt or even hostility should they meet another Vertrisian Elf. As such, the word “outcast” was rarely spoken, and even in written form was often obfuscated in the way one would censor a curse word. To bluntly ask if someone had been made an outcast was very inappropriate.

“I mean…” he said.

“No, we have not,” Nuelna retorted sharply. With a sigh, he added: “Though the effect is much the same. Recently, a decision was made by our tribe’s chief and our clan’s elder. A decision we strongly disagree with, to the point where we can not live with it without abandoning our principles. As such, it was decided that it would be better for us to leave. We agreed.”

Kinda sounds like being an outcast, Jackson thought, except you still get to wear your tribe’s stuff, and you can walk away with your pride intact. Naturally, he didn’t say that out loud.

“What was that decision?” Alizana asked.

Nuelna’s look became shifty. “I’m afraid part of the agreement was that we wouldn’t speak of that. You’ll understand I must keep to my word.”

Goddamnit. “It was a decision about us, wasn’t it?” Jackson said.

The Elf did not respond. Jackson was about to repeat his question, but Alizana raised her paw.

“Of course, we will grant you asylum among us,” she said. “Would you please join us for our festivities, now? We don’t have any Elven alcohols left, but there is some mead.”

“Thank you, chieftain,” Nuelna said with audible relief. 

He gestured to his fellows, who went to mingle with the rest of the people. As he passed by Jackson, he cleared his throat, and said:

“As to your questions, you will find out soon.”

Jackson did not like that answer. He mulled it over throughout the whole evening, and it kept him awake through a part of the night. The next morning, he went to Sathariel, and told him what had happened the previous day.

“Shit, that does sound bad,” the young Demon said. “I haven’t gotten any reports on what’s going on in their side of the forest yet.”

“Well, you can call your guys back anyway,” Jackson said.

He began pacing around in Sathariel’s hut.

Sathariel bit his lip. “You’re going to confront them, aren’t you? You’re going to march to the nearest Elven tribe and demand answers. Jack, I’m begging you, don’t-”

“No. No, I’m not gonna do that.” Jackson pinched his nose. “It didn’t help at Atvello, I doubt it’s gonna make much of a difference here.”

“My goodness, Jackson, you’re learning,” Byron said. Jackson mentally flipped him the bird.

“Please send a courier to Bonnie,” he said. “Ask her to meet with me.”

“I can do that,” Sathariel said. “Do you really think she’ll answer?”

Jackson nodded.

A message was quickly written, and sent. The response came late in the afternoon, in the form of a raven, while Jackson was once again training Koval in swordfighting. The cheeky kid actually tried to take advantage of the fact that Jackson was distracted by the bird to strike him with his wooden sword, but in his rush made a misstep, allowing Jackson not only to parry the attack, but disarm him in the same move. Still, he complimented his squire on his attempt.

“Wasn’t that a little… dishonorable?” Koval said, scratching his nape.

“Being dishonorable didn’t stop you from trying, did it?” Jackson said. “But nevermind honor. A battle is not a competition or a tickle fight, kid. The goal is to hurt the other, or kill him if you gotta.”

“Right, but… Well, I don’t know if I can do that.”

Indeed, Jackson had still not involved Koval in any actual fight, not even when he went to ride against the raiders that threatened one of the Allied villages a few months ago. The kid isn’t ready, he had told himself. But, come to think of it, he had gotten a lot better with the sword, and was probably as good a horserider as Jackson -possibly better, he seemed to have a knack with these beasts. And he wasn’t a kid anymore. Though he wasn’t eighteen yet, in this world he was already considered an adult. Sure enough, he now looked and sounded like one; he had even grown a little mustache.

Still, Jackson hesitated to bring him into a real fight. Koval had known hardships and tragedy, Jackson knew that, but all the same he was in no hurry to make him lose what was left of his innocence.

The message was, as expected, a response from Bonnie, who agreed to meet with Jackson in a clearing halfway between the Hellhound camps and the Elven part of the forest, after sunset. It was rather close by, barely an hour of walk away, which was good, because Jackson really didn’t like taking a walk in the woods at night; he had seen too many horror movies for that. It helped that he knew that section of the forest, and that Alizana, who was accompanying him, could smell her way through the trees just as well in the nighttime as she could during the day. 

The sky was clear to see the stars when they arrived in the clearing. Jackson couldn’t resist lying on the ground to look at them; Alizana joined him. Bonnie arrived about an hour after. She was wearing a simple outfit consisting of a tunic and a pair of pants, and carried a bow and arrows instead of her scoped rifle. Her usual calm expression had a distinctive note of melancholy.

“Hey, Jack,” she said. 

“Good to see you again, Bonnie.”

“Yeah…” She hesitated. “So, um…”

“So… You guys don’t call, you don’t write. You don’t even show up at our parties. What’s up with that?”

“We’ve had a lot going on, Jack.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” Jackson said. “Yesterday, some of your people came by. They asked to live with us from now on. Said their chief and their elder had made some decision they can’t abide by.”

“What else did they say?” Bonnie asked, concern troubling her light green eyes.

“Not much. But I’m not stupid, Bonnie. It’s got to do with the Empire, hasn’t it?” Lower, he said: “Hell, everything has to do with them nowadays.”

The Elf woman sighed and dropped her head.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does. I’m sorry, Jack.”

“What are you sorry about?” Jackson said, trying to control the birthing anger he felt in his guts. “What exactly did the Empire do?”

“They, uh…” She took a deep breath. “Some time ago, the Imperials got in touch with some of our elders. The Emperor made them an offer.”

“What kind of offer?” Alizana said.

“At first, he offered us vassalage. Well, not vassalage exactly. It was more, like, he guaranteed us autonomy on our territory if our elders pledge allegiance to the Eastern Empire. Apparently, that’s the same deal they offered to another Elven people somewhere up in Narria.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” Jackson said.

“I didn’t know about it then!” Bonnie said. “If I had, I would have told you, but the elders decided to keep it to themselves for the time being. I’m not an elder, Jack, I’m just a clan member. I answer to them, not vice-versa.”

“Some leaders you’ve got,” he muttered. “So they took the Emperor up on his offer, I’m guessing?”

“No.” Bonnie licked her lip. “Not then.”

Jackson groaned and pinched his nose.

“But a few weeks ago, the Imperials made us another offer. A better one.”

“What, complete independence?” Alizana suggested, skeptical.

“Heh, no, the Emperor would never offer that. From what I’ve heard of the man, he likes control.” She licked her lip again. “No, what he did offer was, uh… The same thing, but a bigger territory, basically.”

“What does that mean?” Alizana said.

“He offered to recognize the Vertrisian Forest as the fief of the Vertrisian Elves. The…” Bonnie cleared her throat. “The entire Vertrisian Forest.”

“What the fuck?” Jackson blurted out.

“Yeah, the Emperor said if we swear allegiance to him, he’ll support our claim over the entire forest, both the eastern and the western portion.”

“He’ll support you against us, you mean!” Jackson said, raising his voice. “What the fuck, Bonnie? You guys are preparing to turn on us, and kick us out?”

“Again, I didn’t know about this!” Bonnie cried out. She sighed, then resumed at a normal level: “Look, some of my people, including some of my elders, have never been happy about your people living in this forest. They kept saying it was our forest, and we shouldn’t have to share it, especially with strange monsters from who knows where. Those are their words,” she quickly added, glancing at Alizana.

“And, err, well, I guess the war didn’t make things better. We lost some good people, for one thing. And there was that curse the warrior-monks threw at us. That caused some resentment against your people.”

“But you just said it wasn’t us! How can they blame us for this?”

“I’m not saying it’s rational, Jack. Or just, or fair. But these guys don’t like you, and I guess they’re just looking for reasons to like you even less. But the bigger problem was the fact that the only other alternative was waging war against the Empire. And that’s a war we just can’t win.”

“We can,” Jackson stubbornly said.

“No, we can’t, Jack. The Empire has more men, more money, more support, more… just more. There’s just no winning this.”

Not if we give up, Jackson wanted to reply, but he bit his tongue instead.

“Anyway…” Bonne said. “Like I said, at some point a few weeks ago, the elders received this new offer. And… Well, they had this big meeting about it, and… They’re going to take it.”

She had rushed that last part out, like spitting out venom. Jackson blinked, stunned and temporarily at loss for words.

“Can’t… Can’t we… Can’t we meet with your elders?” he struggled to ask. “Like, our chieftains and them. Maybe we can… Maybe we can change their minds. Like, renegotiate our agreements or… something.”

“They won’t change their minds, Jack. Once the elders have made a decision, they stick to it. It’s tradition.”

She looked up at the gibbous moon.

“Not everybody approved of that decision, you know. In fact, a few of us tried to fight it; I heard some call it a betrayal of our allies. But in the end, the majority agreed with the elders. As for the others… Well, we had a choice between accepting it, or leaving.”

“What did you choose?” Jackson asked, sounding more accusatory than he wished.

“I…” Her shoulders slumped. “I can’t leave my people, Jackson. I can’t leave my husband. Especially not now.”

“Now…?”

“She’s pregnant,” Alizana explained.

Bonnie and Jackson both did a double take. 

“I-I am, but how did you…?” Bonnie said. “Did you… smell that on me?”

“Mostly I was guessing. But, yes, your scent is different. Stronger, in a way.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I am pregnant. So, I… Look, Jack, I’m sorry. There’s nothing I could have done about this decision, and the only thing I could do about it now is leave in protest like the others, but that wouldn’t achieve anything. And I can’t- I just can’t… Jack, I’m so sorry.”

She was rubbing her hands, something Jackson had seen her do before when she was getting anxious. The sorrow in her eyes cleansed the anger from his heart within moments. He breathed out of his nose, and said:

“I get it.”

“If there was anything I could have done… I have to think of my future, Jack. Accepting the Empire’s offer means my child won’t be born in a country at war. I-”

“I said: I get it, Bonnie. It’s not your fault.”

Bonnie let out a breath of relief. Silence fell in the clearing, only interrupted by the song of an owl sitting on a tree somewhere. Jackson blinked again, pressing a hand against his forehead. How could this be happening? How could any of this be happening? The Vertrisian Elves had been their allies ever since the beginning. And now, just like that, they… They…

“When is this going to happen?” Alizana asked. “Your people joining the Empire, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s been decided yet. First, our elders will meet with the Emperor, or more likely with his diplomatic councilor -I think her name is Menard-, and iron out the details, sign the forms, and so on. That should take a month or two. But after that… I…”

“I see.” She cleared her throat. “Well, thank you for telling us all of this.”

“Yeah, of course. I, err… I should go now.”

Without another word, Bonnie turned on her heels and all but ran off. Jackson just watched her go, still stunned. Byron appeared by his side, arms crossed, and sighed.

“What just happened?” Jackson asked, throwing up his hands.

“We’ve just lost the war,” Byron said.

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