“Your highness this is very ill advised.” Arterious, crown prince of the Solestian Hegemony, however was far too excited to listen. A war, an actual war, and he was going to be a part of it. The moment his father had ordered the armies to be mustered the excitement of it had grabbed him. Stories about his father and his grandfather swirled through his head. This time it was going to be him.

“Your highness, the troops won’t be mustered for another two months. To go ahead with the scouts would be dangerous.” Arterious scoffed. “Would you calm down Herbert? I’m taking Lyra with me; she will see the enemy coming from miles away.” Herbert threw his hands in the air. “Listen sire, the enemy has wyverns, the Augur might not be equipped to predict one of those in time.” Arterious stopped to lay a hand on Herbert’s shoulder. “Herb, I was at the war council, trust me I know. I’ve been training my whole life for this. It will be fine.”

The prince smiled, then picked up the pace. “Now, then are the horses saddled? Yes? Excellent!” Briskly they walked through the winding corridors of the palace, past numerous tapestries of Arterious’ ancestors claiming great victories, Soles’ light shining on them. “I can already see it Herbert, my own tapestry. What will they call me? The demon slayer? The protector? There are many possibilities.” Herbert’s expression was closer to despair than happiness. “Sire, perhaps your expectations of the war are a bit optimistic? Maybe it would be prudent to first see the enemy, before ordering a tapestry.”

“Don’t worry Herbert, I will keep him in check.” A soft voice whispered in Herbert’s ear, making him jump into the air. “Oh, Lady Augur, I didn’t see you there.” Lyra smiled at him, making him blush just slightly. “Arte is just a little excited, he will become more serious as the mission progresses.” Herbert shook his head. “But, Lady Augur, surely you see how unwise it is to send the one and only crown prince on a mission he doesn’t have to be on?” Lyra shrugged. “Trust me, it will work out. There is a place where he has to be, he definitely won’t die until he has gone there.”

Herbert got a faraway look in his eyes, like regular people tended to get when you talked about the future. “Trust me, it will be fine.” The manservant shook his head, then nodded. “Of course, your ladyship.” Lyra caught up with the prince and gave him a bright smile. “Hello there conqueror of worlds. How are you feeling?” Arterious gave her a beaming smile of his own. “Ready to fight an army of demons, you?” Lyra shrugged. “Ready to watch you do it.”

As the two of them left the manservant behind the latter turned towards one of the guards. “I hate it when they’re like this.”

Ɏ

The Solestian Hegemony was going to war. Technically it was already at war, but nobody cared about the technicalities. To some the declaration of war had come as a surprise, to many it was unwelcome. However, for the Solestian dukes it was nothing but the fulfilment of their duties. Long ago their families had sworn allegiance to the throne and grumble though they might the light would not let them break such promises.

The first to report to the throne were the seafaring merchant dukes of the east. Wealthy beyond most people’s dreams, they arrived at the capital in great splendour. Colourful banners, shining armours, supported by mercenaries from the western plains and loaded with supplies they were ready for the honour and glory of protecting the homeland.

Then came the warden dukes of the south. Bleak, minimalist banners, dented armour and battletested men. They knew war like the backs of their callused hands, knew how much honour there was to find in a burning village. Worry was on their mind, worry for the ones they had left behind, vulnerable to Red Empress’ laughing monsters. Worried though they might be, but the call had come and they would always answer.

Lastly came the impoverished dukes from the west. They didn’t look like much, impoverished as they were. No shining armours, no professionally trained troops, no cavalry. What they lacked in quality they however made up for in quantity. For every soldier the eastern and southern dukes had brought the dukes from the west provided five conscripts. For in the west the population doubled every ten years and no amount of raids by the Khanates could stop it.

The three northern dukes stayed put in their holds. They weren’t missed by the others. Uncivilized, cruel, savage, inbred, those were the monikers used when talking about the northern dukes. It was a reputation most unfair, the holds of the northern dukes may have lacked in beauty, but they were safe and quite welcoming. They might not have luxurious wines and graceful silks, but better whiskeys and softer furs couldn’t be found anywhere else on the continent. No, the northern dukes didn’t deserve their reputation, save for Duke Conrad, who was both cruel and savage.

Across the sea Neyendaal too was preparing for war. After a very concerning report had brought to the Gentlemen Seventeen’s attention, they had immediately convened a council. None had been happy. This war was going to be bad for business and the whole dragon thing had everyone on edge. After much shouting, cursing and a good amount of gin the Gentlemen had come to an agreement. Ten gunner divisions would be deployed, four warships would be recalled from the colonies and the whole dragon situation would be pawned off to the University of Heinen, where a counterstrategy would be formulated.

Still, King Agemendon wasn’t happy. He was having tea in the corridor of seasons, his favourite part of the palace, mulling over reports. As always High Priest Callum sat at his right side, drinking a new type of beverage that increased trade with Neyendaal had made available. “You should ease on your coffee intake, too much and you won’t be able to sleep for days.” The king absently noted. Callum shot the cup in his hand a sad look. “I don’t think I will be sleeping at all in the coming days.”

The king wearily looked to High Priest. “I don’t see a solution. We’re exposed no matter what we do.” He threw the scroll he had been reading on the table. “The red bitch insists on sending an ambassador, she can feel something is afoot. And with the coming of spring the first outriders of the Khanates have been spotted.” Callum poured himself another cup of coffee. “In that case I have good and bad news.” The High Priest avoided looking Agemendon in the eye as he spoke the words.

“Well, spit it out then!” The king exclaimed after a minute of silence. “We’ve been approached by the elves. Apparently, they have some kind of grudge to settle with the invaders and are willing to keep our western border secure.” The High Priest took a deep breath. “In return they want to regrow a part of their forest and marching rights through our lands.” Before Callum was done talking the king was shaking his head. “No. No, I won’t have it. My ancestors bled so that a way to the plains could be opened up through that thrice damned forest. With every bloody tree their power grows and I can’t accept that.”

“Sire, we may not have another choice. A treaty with the elves might be the only way to keep the Khanates in check. They’ve grown increasingly bold with each passing year and there has been talk of a great stallion uniting the tribes. With our armies tied up in the north we might not be able to keep them out of the interior.” The king took a sip of his tea, calming his strained nerves. “So, you’re telling me that I have to choose between releasing the elves or letting fucking horse people run rampant through my kingdom? Those are both terrible options.”

Callum gave his king an apologetic look. “Both are better than the alternative. Personally, I recommend making a deal with the elves. The damage the Khanates might do is far greater than a swath of forest regrown.” The king and the high priest were silent for a couple of minutes. “When I was crown prince, my father once sat me down to explain who the enemies of our nation were. The immortal red empress and her soldiers who feel no pain. The Khanates who ever hunger for gold and precious metals they can’t obtain themselves. Neyendaal, whose rulers see us as backwards savages. And the elves with their inhuman minds.”

The king looked up. My father trusted me to keep the balance so that Solestia can live, like he did and his father did and all the fathers before that. When I ascended to the throne, I was prepared to face all the old enemies like all my ancestors had before me. I kept the elves to their treaty. I kept the Red Empress at bay with trade, diplomacy and sometimes the sword. Neyendaal I turned into an ally. The Khanates I sat up against each other, by selling the metals they so desperately want to a single clan. None of this has prepared me for this.”

Callum remained silent. “Who could have predicted that a new enemy would spawn behind our lines, fully mobilized and ready for war? Is this Soles trying to teach me a lesson? Maybe his light has abandoned me?” The king’s voice was bitter. “I lament this decision High Priest. Contact the elves, make it clear that they can’t have more than a hundred hectares of forest and they need to keep the Khanates out of my kingdom.” The high priest rose and bowed. “As you desire sire.”

The sun was setting, perhaps it was a fitting allegory for the state his kingdom was in, the king mused. Slowly he took the crown of his head and looked at it. It reminded him of his father, of the talk they had when the old king had been lying on his deathbed.

“We’re surrounded by enemies my son, many of which we made ourselves.”

And although his father had been pale as a corpse, the smell of death in his nostrils, Agemendon remembered the fire in his eyes.

“We might play nice with them from time to time, but they know it is a facade. Given the opportunity we will burn their countries to the ground. That is why they hate is and will always try to destroy us. They are heathens who understand nothing of the world they live in. Never forget my son, when they are vulnerable you must destroy them, just like they will destroy us in our time of weakness.”

The sun dipped below the horizon and a darkness fell over the corridor of seasons. Darkness was coming for his throne; it would find only light and death. Slowly the ageing king rose from his comfortable chair and walked towards the balustrade separating him from twenty meter drop down. A last breeze of winter tore at the king’s robes, as he watched the lights of the city beneath him. He wasn’t much for plays and theatre, but now, on the eve of war he was reminded of a line he had heard a long time ago.

“Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.”