Terese walked up the spiral stairs, flickering braziers placed on each tier casting their orange light. Her black boots clopped on the stone steps; a steady rhythm that interrupted the deafening quiet. She reached the top of the tower and opened the roken door barring her path.

The chamber was large enough for a dozen or so people to sit in a circle, of which there were around Queen Lyssa. She stood bare of any clothing save for her under pants, as did the men and women surrounding her. Her Circle sat cross legged, still and silent. The tower was open, suns’ light traveling down and reflecting off the silver panes polished to a blistering extreme that covered the ten sided faced walls. The floor was covered in a singular decagonal silver plate that would have blinded mortal eyes with its mirrored brilliance of the suns.

The Queen stood head raised skyward, palms open behind her in absolute dominion. Queen Lyssa breathed deeply and hung her head back, her heavy bare breasts emphasized by her arched back.

“My Queen,” Terese knelt before her. “I bear a message delivered by pigeon. The Middenfort has been taken, and is besieged by the combined forces of Lyonia and Hearth.”

The Queen’s eyes opened and she lowered her arms, smiling serenely in the white haze of light. “Do you know why we use pigeons instead of eagles for war, despite our sigil?” Lyssa asked.

“Eagles can never be contained. They are wild creatures, living far away from humans.”

“You are right. A pigeon can be kept and trained to return wherever its home needs to be. They can instinctually find their way home. An eagle however; once it tastes freedom, will fly away, never to be seen again, as that is its nature. How fares your son? Training with the sword again?”

“He trains diligently.”

“Diligently you say? Already, just at the span of four.” Queen Lyssa smirked. “He will grow to be a mighty warrior, just like his mother.”

“You flatter me, my Queen.”

“You know I am not one to flatter. I merely say how it is. So. The new General proves himself to be as cunning as he is ruthless. How I enjoy the games powerless men have to play to win. No deed too bloody, no moral so sacred.”

“Is it wise, my Queen, to allow General Martin’s own man command of your entire army?”

“Army?” The Queen scoffed. “There will be no army left, or armies, as soon as the mortals have finished playing their little games. Let them kill each other. They are as much an enemy as a pigeon is to an eagle. Even if they flock together it makes no difference.”

The Queen rose from the floor, and with a beckon of her hand her clothing slipped back onto her body.

“You should recuperate your power,” Lyssa said.

“I have spent several hours meditating here since first light, my Queen.”

“Never having lost your discipline, even after your master’s death. Do you regret that your son would grow without his father?”

“I regret nothing. He would have used my son as a slave, just as he used me.”

Queen’s Lyssa’s boots tapped back onto the silver plated floor.

“Do you feel free, Terese?” Lyssa murmured, hands clasped behind her back.

“You granted my freedom for myself and my son, my Queen. Without your aid I would have been killed, and my son executed.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Lyssa. “It was you who struck the final blow. The Demon King would have surely killed me. Such names deceive, for he was no demon. What other people choose to call you is what matters. King Lao deemed himself a demon, but we know the truth don’t we? Perhaps he was in some regards. But he died as a slaughtered animal, never knowing who held the dagger that drove through his skull. Now you and your son have fled your Realm, perhaps never being able to return. Do you fear for retribution?”

“Lao’s sons and daughters will kill each other over the Kingdom. I do not fear my future.”

“Hmmm. Come, let us see your son’s progress with the sword.”

“As is your wish, my Queen.”

They both floated skyward up the open roof of the tower and flew to a nearby courtyard below, landing onto the hard bare earth. A dozen or so boys drilled with sword and shield, dull thwacks and clacks of wood striking against wood; each noble born except for one.

A man paced about, all beard and stern discipline; watching and deftly correcting their posture with a flick of his yardstick he held upward behind his back. They all paused at their arrival, and swiftly fell to one knee. One boy, the smallest of them all, ran forward to hug Terese’s waist.

“Mam!” He exclaimed in Westlandic despite his clear Orient origin, dark eyes the same as his mother’s. “I thought you were leaving.”

He turned and stared inquisitively at Lyssa. He had straight cropped hair black as soot, his skin tan, his slight frame typical for a boy his age.

“Haru, kneel before your Queen,” Terese demanded.

Lyssa flicked her hand out, “It is alright.”

The Queen stepped forward and knelt face to face with the boy.

“Haru, is it?” Lyssa asked, to which he nodded. “I am Queen Lyssa.”

“Do you tell my mam what to do?” Haru asked in turn with innocent bluntness. Lyssa smiled.

“Your mother,” her eyes darted to Terese, “Follows me willingly.” She stood up and gestured for the kneeling man to stand.

“Drillmaster Sulus. How goes Haru’s training?”

Sulus bowed low. “The boy shows promise, my Queen. He has already progressed to the stone form, and is-”

“Does he spar with the others?”

Sulus blinked. “With respect my Queen, he is too young to begin sparring-”

“I’ll be the judge of that. He shall spar with-” Lyssa pointed to one boy, the largest of them all. “-him.”

Sulus beckoned the boy over, “Osferd, take off your shield.”

“The boy can keep the shield. Is that not what the stone form is meant to be used against?”

Osferd was at least ten span, already nearly as tall as Terese. Haru fidgeted nervously as the other boy approached him, the air heavy as Osferd faced him a few paces away. He stood two heads over Haru, arms beefy with muscle. Osferd looked hesitantly at his Drillmaster, who nodded grimly. Haru stared at the other boy with wide eyes.

“Well?” Lyssa said. “You may begin.” Her voice hardened. “And don’t hold back, each of you.”

Osferd shuffled forward, sword resting sideways on top of his shield, arm poised back to jab downward. Haru raised his sword out in a basic balanced stance. Osferd barreled forward and Haru spun around his charge.

“That is not the Highlander way, is it Terese? Nor is it any traditional style of the Orient. You’ve been training him yourself.”

“I teach him what I’ve learned. He trains in the three forms of water, lotus, and stone by himself, every day. He is diligent, my Queen.”

Haru danced and backstepped, evading the strikes of the older boy with an uncanny grace for one so young.

“He does not hold one form for too long,” Lyssa noted. “He changes and adjusts to his opponent’s attacks accordingly as a true bladesman. But he is still a child, and soft of heart. In time he must learn to stand his ground and fight back.”

The Queen raised her voice. “You’re holding back, both of you. Do not make me repeat myself again.”

Osferd’s face was reddened from exertion and anger that flashed in his wide set eyes. He raised his shield once more, stepping with more thought to his movements. He charged again and slashed with his sword, a feint as he kicked Haru who cried out as he fell to the ground.

“Continue!” The Queen ushered.

Terese heard Lyssa’s voice echo in her mind, Do you fear for your son, Terese?

I fear for him every day, as any mother would for their child.

The boy paused before stabbing Haru’s gut, causing him to writhe on the ground. He looked back with uncertainty at the Queen.

“Very good. Martial skill no matter how great is second only in its intent. If your foe has greater intent than you, you have already lost. You seek to merely avoid his attacks, Haru. You held back. Do you want him to continue?”

“No,” Haru whimpered and got up to his feet, wet streaking his face and dribbling down his nose.

“Never disobey me again, Haru. Now,” Lyssa bent down to whisper in the boy’s ear. She stepped back. “Begin again.”

Haru held his training sword in front of him.

Remember the stillness I taught you, Terese Voiced to him. Steel your mind.

Her son stood composed and still, sword in both hands as Osferd moved behind his shield. He jabbed his sword again, shifting his shield to the side as he did so. That opening let Haru move to Osferd’s sword arm, not parrying but redirecting the larger boy’s strength with his own sword and starting a series of blinding slashes that sent him reeling backwards.

One slash struck Osferd’s exposed thigh as he raised his shield, and he gave a pained shout. The older boy swiped widely out with his sword, a wild attempt to keep Haru at bay; but he merely ducked underneath the clumsy counter and struck twice in an X slash across his face. The boy sagged to the ground, only supported by his shield as he cried in pain, blood dripping from his nose.

“Very good,” cooed the Queen. “There are no notions of remorse or honor in battle. The weak die, the strong survive, and the strongest thrive.” She looked upon the other boys who watched her with rapt attention. “Remember these words, and hold them in your heart, for that is the way of this world.”

***

The Council Chamber of Raul was held like every kingdom behind the Throne room, symbolizing the unity of the mage aristocracy. The Queen sat on the same gilded chairs as the others, a show of balance in power.

Terese sat on one end, the Queen at the other, the rest of her Circle in between. The long table could host a dozen at both sides, but there were several chairs that were now empty. A map of the Empire lay on the table; small standing black iron abstract figures representing Raul’s legions, burnished bronze for Lyonia’s, and molded steel soldiers of Hearth.

One mage spoke. A dark skinned man; his eyes bright green, signs of Umbran descent. He was bald with a greying goatee. Strong features of a squared jaw and straight nose with a lean angled face of feline quality.

His voice echoed in the chamber, deep and hoarse, “We have finally gained a foothold past the Highlands with the Middenfort. Should we not join our legions and break the host that guards Hearth’s borders?”

The Queen drummed her fingers along the armrest of her chair. “Do you trust my judgement, Batu?” She murmured.

Batu did not balk nor even blink in reply. “I wholeheartedly follow your rule, my Queen. I merely advise action so that you would succeed the High Throne. There have been no reports of any mage intervention between Lyonia or Hearth in the front so far. Were we to bring our Gifted to the battlefield we could well shatter the enemy and march upon the Capital.”

“Indeed,” The Queen agreed. “Your plan is forthright and logical, perhaps even obviously so. It would be an easy path to follow, right into Roth’s plans. How many Gifted are in our Academy?”

“Including our initiates, we have thirty four, my Queen,” answered a woman of long auburn hair and hard blue eyes. She wore flowing black robes that foretold her authority as Archmage of Raul’s Academy.

“Thirty four Gifted, against a near hundred of the Crown Guard, now that we have killed a dozen of their best. Not counting that of Lyonia’s own Circle, and all of their Initiates together. And no mage has yet even set foot on the battlefield, in our reports Batu?”

The line of Batu’s mouth tightened. “That is correct, my Queen.”

“Such cold logic in the face of such greater numbers. It’s simple math really. For each Gifted we hold, they have four more, no doubt corralled in the Capital. And when we do reach Hearth with our tired, outnumbered legions and all of our Gifted, what course of action do you deem fit then, Commander?”

Batu bowed his head. “It was my mistake, my Queen.”

There was a moment of silence, until Lyssa beamed. “Oracle Silas. Relay this message: that the host withdraws from the Middenfort by nightfall, and march back to Raul.”

The Oracle, as well as the rest of the magi knew more than to argue.

“It is already done, my Queen.”