Libertatis Imperium (Gate)

[charclone]

Pina found the new 'car' to be much more relaxing than the 'hummer' she had ridden before. The ride was smoother, the seats more luxurious, and best of all, she had a much better idea of what to expect.

According to the internet, Canadians were more easily pushed around when compared to their American counterparts. Since she was meeting with the Canadian Government first, it was something she was looking forwards too.

"Princess, I understand why you have agreed to meet with them on their turns, but…" Hamilton trailed off.

"Yes, Hamilton?" Pina looked at her aide. "Is there an issue?"

"How are we to negotiate a peace, considering their government could just be voted out before we finalise any treaty?" Hamilton, sitting next to Pina in the back of the car asked. "With the Senate, we could rely on their families, words of honour, and blood ties to keep the senators sticking to the agreements, even without your father. But the Canadians do not obey their monarch the same way, and the Americans don't have a king at all."

"That is true." Pina nodded. She had thought about it a great deal. Some of it she kept to herself, as she was starting to suspect that NATO was spying on her, but she wasn't sure how they were doing so yet. Certainly, she would be doing the same in their shoes, but she had been provided with no servants, relying on the ones she had brought. "However, consider this: The King may be amenable to a deal that bolsters his position, and he still wields some power. In addition, there are other nations that are not closely aligned with Canada and NATO. Were a treaty broken easily, it would undermine the trust that other nations have in Canada and the US."

"But…"

"The US is a slightly different problem, yes," Pina admitted. "Fortunately, I realised something. They are much like the merchant republics that exist in Falmart. We merely need to identify during the talks who are the real players. If we support them, so that they have an easier time staying in power, then they are more likely to be friendly with us. Best of all, the US only has two major parties. We merely need to determine who in those parties are significant."

Hamilton sighed.

"You make it sound easy."

Pina winced.

"I know. It's far easier than it sounds, and we haven't looked closely at the other NATO nations that are involved. That Germany was less than a century ago the enemy of the world still leaves me confused as to how they gained so much power in the current era." The Saderan princess sighed. "Not to mention, we still aren't sure what they will want. I may have to swallow my pride, and reach out to Sir Richard, as he seems close to the King, having been elevated recently."

"Unless he is in the favour of one of Canada's or the United Kingdom's parties." Hamilton pointed out. "He might still be useful, but if we are seeking to support the King against them…"

Pina nodded at the point. She frowned as she heard a rumble. A moment later, she gasped as a massive machine raced down the steel rails laid down the inside of the Gate, not too far from where the car was driving.

She stared as it went by, pulling many box-shaped carts, and tanks for carrying liquid.

"Hamilton," Pina said to her equally dumbfounded aide. "How many of those boxes were being carried?"

"I'm not sure your highness…" Hamilton said, slipping into formality in her shock. "But I think I saw twenty. And they could be used to carry troops, or supplies, or weapons…"

"Exactly," Pina blanched. "They could move stockpiled of supplies with ease if they established those steel roads… and if they can make so many things out of metal… then the only thing stopping them from building a steel road to Sadera is how fast their soldiers or engineers could build it."

"And that was only one of them… during a ceasefire. We haven't seen any of them while we were at Alnus, have we, your highness?"

"Not that I can recall, and I doubt I would forget such a sight…" Pina frowned, catching on to Hamilton's point. "They aren't building up stashes for an attack because they don't need to. They simply won't be able to outrun their supply lines."

Pina flinched at the sudden light, as the car exited the Gate. She blinked as another car passed them, entering the Gate, and she caught sight of Richard and Tara in the back of the vehicle through the glass.

---

"I think we passed the princess when we entered the Gate," Tara said, as the car pulled into Alnus.

"Really?" Richard blinked. "Huh."

As the car came to a stop, he helped the driver pull luggage from the trunk of the car. Richard blinked as a US soldier stepped in to help carry some of the luggage.

"Heard what you did, back in the initial attack. Brave. Stupid, but brave." The soldier said. "Corporal Philip Fields."

Richard shook the offered hand.

"Richard, but you probably knew that."

"Ah, ah, ah!" Another US soldier came running up. "It's Sir Richard now, isn't it? That's how it works, right, when you Brits knight someone?"

"I'm Canadian, and I think that's only in formal settings," Richard replied. "And you are?"

"Ah, sorry. Corporal Harry Thomas." Harry said, wearing a shit-eating grin. "Here, I might as well help your lady friend, her majesty, the presumptive Queen of her people."

"I can carry it." Tara glared at Corporal Thomas.

"Oh, but it's poor form to make a queen carry her own luggage!" Harry joked. "Isn't that right Fifi?"

"Fifi?" Richard gave Philip a confused and mildly amused look.

"If either of you hit him, I saw nothing," Philip said, setting the luggage down on the front steps of Richard's loaned house.

"Aw, I know you love me, Fifi." Corporal Thomas grinned. "Anyway, I'll leave you two alone. I bet that you two would get together! Also, we have patrol in an hour."

"Hey, Philip!" Tara yelled to the more reserved corporal. "You can let whoever bet against us getting together that the bet was interfered with. We were only given one room by whoever set up the trip."

Harry's face twisted into a look of horror.

"No! No! Say it isn't so!"

"It was only twenty dollars. C'mon Archie Karas, we got patrol." Philip said, grabbing the overly dramatic corporal by the scruff of his neck and dragging him off.

Richard and Tara shared a laugh before they hauled the luggage into his house.

---

Bouro slid the knife underneath the wax seal.

He wasn't worried about the tampering being detected, when it was eventually delivered, as he had paid off the right people, and had blackmail on the ones he hadn't. Emperors did not open their own mail, even from their favoured daughters.

There wasn't a thing that happened in the capital that Bouro didn't know of. His people didn't officially exist according to Imperial Law. It meant they only had the protections they could win themselves, but that also meant they were ignored by most of the political factions. You'd be surprised what you can overhear when people discount you as a threat.

True, there were a few that had realised the threat the Haryo could pose, but they were few, and easily disposed of, or were in the Haryo's pocket.

As Bouro unfolded the letter, he found himself content in the current situation. The loss of several legions to the invaders from the Gate was troublesome, but barbarians had to chance against the whole empire. And if the infighting started to get to be a problem, well, Bouro knew which horses to back. Molt was canny enough to lead the Empire, but he needed their spies. Zorzal was an idiot easily led by the nose, a perfect puppet until one of theirs could be placed on the throne.

It was a simple plan, one used by many nobles for longer than the Empire had lasted. Get a member of your house into the family, ideally an illegitimate child legitimised by the father, and remove any other potential claimants.

Bouro grinned.

Tyuule thought that the Haryo planned to use her and Zorzal's child, once she conceived. The idiot bitch didn't realise it had not only been his funds and spies that had hired the shapeshifters for Zorzal but that he had wanted the Prince's ego stroked to make him more malleable once they found one of their own that was to his tastes while being smart enough to manipulate him.

Oh, Tyuule was smart enough, but Warrior Bunnies were problematic for chimaera like Bouro. Whatever they mated with was always a Warrior Bunny, no matter the father. It meant that they could produce no chimaera. It would mean none of their kind would be on the throne through her.

Thus, Tyuule was just a pawn to Bouro.

He frowned, reading Pina's recently arrived letter from Italica. He scoffed at her reports of the otherworlder's capabilities. The idea that they had flying creatures capable of wiping out armies was absurd. Not even the gods could claim they could do that, not in an instant.

It made no difference to Bouro. So, he refolded the letter to be delivered to Molt.

In his mind, his plan was flawless. Once he controlled Sadera, he could bring the other chimaera groups to heel under his rule.

Bouro was a man that desired power. He would not lie about that, not to himself. He would sacrifice anything to achieve that, though he was certain he would be satisfied with being the puppet master, rather than ruling directly.

His mixed features of elf, orc, dwarf, and who knew what else, twisted into a smile.

Yes, he was confident that once he controlled Sadera and the Imperial family, it would be only a matter of time until the other noble families were replaced with his people, and the entire world would be his.

That his people might be as homogenous as their blood never occurred to him.

 

[charclone]

"You wanted to talk to me, general?" Richard asked, entering General Samuel Jameson's office, the day after he had returned to Alnus. "Your message said it was urgent?"

"Yes. It seems we made two major errors with Alnus." The general said. "I'm sure you noticed the tent city that has sprung up."

"I have, yes." Richard nodded as he sat in an offered chair. "I take it more refugees have been coming in?"

"Worse. As it turns out, Emperor Molt Sol Augustus is a canny bastard. He realised that he wasn't going to be able to fight us, and deal with a slave revolt at the same time, so, betting on his daughter negotiating a ceasefire, he told the revolting slaves they would not be stopped if they headed to Alnus." Samuel explained. "Of course, they ended up stripping the land as they moved, meaning he didn't need to waste manpower or support in scorched earth tactics. This also meant he had more troops to train up additional forces. We assumed the number of refugees would be steady, coming from nearby towns and villages, not massive slave armies."

The American general sighed.

"That was our first mistake. We are now worse off supply-wise than we were before. Quartermasters are confident that we will last the winter, barely, if we supplement supplies from Earth. NATO isn't happy about this, and nor am I. Fortunately, it's also a bit of a PR boon for us; people will be moved by the sight and stories of slaves being helped, so we should be able to get some more donations from various groups." Samuel pulled a decanter from a desk drawer. "Do you drink?"

"No, not really," Richard replied.

"Well, you might want to. Local customs use alcohol."

"That is more of a fermented grain soup than an alcoholic beverage," Richard replied. "Unless your troops have been buying local beers, fortifying them, and reporting they are just the grain soup."

The general sighed before pouring himself a glass of alcohol from the decanter. About a finger's thickness of a clear liquid in the glass.

"I've seen about forty reports of my people teaching the locals how to make stills. And more than a few of the 'confiscated and dismantled' stills have ended up in local hands." He shook his head. "So, it's certainly a possibility, but I suspect that the reality is that they are just using stills."

"You said there were two mistakes?" Richard asked as the American downed the liquid in his glass.

"Yeah." Samuel stored the decanter in his desk. "So, we've been pushing your reputation, milking it for local relations. Well, that chicken has come back home to roost. Those slaves? They passed through and near Italica on their way here, where they passed peacefully, thank god, but they got plenty f rumours and stories. Stories about a Black Knight, who held back a whole Imperial Legion assaulting one gate by themselves. Stories about an otherworld lord that tamed the new queen of the savage Warrior Bunnies, and took the Saderan princess as a consort."

He grinned at Richard's face, seeing it fall and pale.

"Stories of a knight freeing slaves, to found a new kingdom at Alnus after taking from the Imperials. Stories of a human becoming king of the Warrior Bunnies and leading them to conquer Alnus." The general laughed as Richard groaned and held his face with his hands. "They are expecting you to lead them against the Empire, not support a peace treaty. Our mistake was not controlling the narrative better."

"So, we have a bunch of former slaves, hoping for a chance to take revenge against their former oppressors, with no way to control them?"

"Exactly. They aren't much of a threat to NATO's forces directly, my men and women could break them faster than we did the Saderan Legions. The issue is the number of casualties among civilians, and the loss of goodwill. So, here is what I want from you," General Jameson leaned forwards to look Richard in the eye. "You know that informal group you called the Long Patrol? Been using it to help us keep order in Alnus? They think you are lord of Alnus, or at least the governor. So, I'm pulling some strings, and burning some favours. I'll lend you some trainers and get some modern small arms for your Long Patrol. Start pulling those ex-slaves into it, I'll make sure you have enough sergeants and drill officers to instil discipline in them. Then, keep hold of Alnus, ride them, and get them focused on protecting what they have, rather than vengeance. You can tell them that if peace breaks down, though I doubt it will at this point, then we will have them assist NATO. If not… well. Officially, they are a local force."

Richard blinked.

"A private army?" He gaped. "A private fucking army!? I'm a bloody scholar, I have a Bachelor's of History, and the most I've led was a couple of dozen people in some re-enactment events, and in some other stuff, but that was all fake. Play. Not… not commanding troops in a real battle, let alone with modern weapons."

"We need some way to keep the aggression in check." The NATO general stated firmly. "You have the local support, and you are a known factor. With your connection to Tara, you should be able to exercise some influence on the Warrior Bunnies as well but we won't hope for a miracle with their current state. We aren't tossing you straight into the water. You will be taught what you need to know, but we can't have a slaughter if there is a riot. This is the best short-term solution we have."

Richard bit back his next protest.

"I… can I spend some time to think about this?"

General Jameson shook his head.

"We are walking a tightrope here. We don't exactly have many options, you we trust the most, so, there isn't really any time. I can give you a few days to settle back in, and catch up on any paperwork that came up while you were gone, but…" He shrugged. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry your being forced into this."

---

"So, I heard you have a plan?" Hannah sat in front of Tara. "Also, where is Richard? I heard you two finally got around to…"

"Stop." Tara silenced the brow-haired Warrior Bunny. "Richard is off seeing General Jameson."

She frowned and looked around. The tavern was more filled than usual, with no open space at the bar, and only a handful of tables with empty seats.

"There a place we can hear ourselves think?" She asked.

"Sure. A new place opened, its pricier, more upper class, but they don't turn away demi-humans."

Tara stood and followed Hanna towards the door.

A hand grabbed her elbow. Its owner slurred something to her, grinning with broken and stained teeth. The drunken man pawed at her breasts.

Before Tara could decide whether to punch him in the face or kick him in the balls, a hand grabbed the drunkard, and hauled him out the door, tossing him into the street.

"I warned him." The man grunted.

Tara blinked as she recognised the newcomer.

"Vel?"

The Imperial deserter that had fought with them at Alnus, having stolen one of the few wyverns still alive in the area, grinned at her, his sunburnt face cracking as he smiled.

"Tara." He nodded. "The scholars from NATO finally let Thoos and I return to Alnus. So, what's going on?"

"Lots of refugees," Hannah said, motioning for the young man to follow. "Couple slave rebellions got past the Empire, coming here. Lots of our people with them, so our numbers are swelling."

"Heh, guess we started something." The ex-legionary grinned as he followed the two into the street. "So, where is Sir Richard? One of the scholars said he was given an award?"

"Yes, 'Order of the British Empire'." Tara grinned. "He was knighted as part of it, by his King."

Vel blinked at her incredulously.

"Wasn't he already a knight?"

"I think the difference was between a mounted soldier who can afford plate armour and a minor noble," Tara explained. "But not exactly, just the same sort of difference."

"Ah, so he was recognised for his service, and given a minor title, but still important enough to be recognised and awarded by the King himself." Vel nodded. "Like those Rose Knights, I saw. I heard an Imperial Princess is here?"

"Pina Co Lada," Hanna confirmed, ignoring the snickering from a pair of patrolling NATO soldiers.

"She left yesterday for Earth," Tara said. "Now, where are we going?"

The streets were slowly becoming more congested as they moved through the town.

"Turn right, here. There it is." Hannah pointed it out, avoiding a family carrying their meagre belongings. "With the side being worked on still."

"Oh, are they expanding it?" Tara asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Hannah confirmed.

The exterior of the building had been painted white, with several windows showing a display of baked sweets. A sign hung above the door, bearing a steaming teapot.

Inside, the trio found it was in stark contrast to the street. The lower level was some form of tavern, though of a high class. But it was the upper levels that showed the style of customer they expected to deal with. A gold chandelier was suspended in the air, and they could see luxuriously upholstered furniture around tables.

A bouncer of some sort stood at the entrance, just inside. The wolfman gave them all a look before his features shifted in recognition.

"Ah, Lady Hannah. Welcome back."

Tara snickered.

"Lady?"

"Shut it. I can afford to eat at these places now."

The wolfman coughed into his fist.

"Ah, right. Sorry, may I know the names of your acquaintances?"

"This is Vel, the wyvern rider I'm sure you've heard about." Hannah gave Tara a dark look. "And this… is Tara. Richard's lover, and the ex-Queen Tyuule's sister."

Tara glared at Hannah.

The bouncer flinched.

"Ah, royalty?" He sputtered.

"No." Tara glared at him, then alternated to glaring at Hannah and Vel, who snickered. "I don't have any claim to the throne."

"Er, you are an august personage regardless." The wolfman gave an awkward bow. "Please, be welcome, take any table you like, and a servant will deliver a menu for you."

Tara sighed as he scampered off towards what she assumed was the owner, or at least operator, of the establishment. They shared a quiet but increasingly frantic discussion.

"C'mon, let's get a table." Hannah dragged them both to the second floor.

Tara blinked as they passed a small group of Pina's Rose Knights at one table.

"This table has a great view of the garden they set up in the back." Hannah pushed Tara into a seat. "So, this place is somewhat like the tavern, borrowing from Earth, but they are using higher class stuff."

A servant, well dressed to the point Vel felt somewhat underdressed, even in his second-best garment, appeared, and offered them menus. Tara was familiar with the concept, having been to a handful with Richard during their trip.

"I just needed a place to talk about my plans, not a high-class meal." Tara groaned.

"I saw the opportunity to drag you to this place, and took it." Hannah grinned. "Now, what plans?"

Tara glanced at Vel, who was busy pouring over the menu.

"So, the basic problem, is no one can agree on what we should do, right?"

"No, we need someone to unify around." Hannah held up her hands. "I don't mean a new Queen, just… someone with a plan."

Tara sighed.

"Okay. So, my idea is this: spur the people, not just the various groups, into taking action. We could inspire them using… old stories, Earth media like a poem Richard found, or movies. We need them to want to find a solution, rather than be listless like they are now."

Hannah nodded.

"In addition, regardless of what we choose, we need to set up a new government. If we settle somewhere else, stay, or retake our homelands, we will need organisation." Tara swallowed. "So, what are the new people like? Which clans are they from?"

"Pretty mixed… but, uh…" Hannah suddenly became evasive.

Tara narrowed her eyes.

"They are escaped slaves like us but… they want to keep fighting, and some of them were… under the impression you had already taken charge?" Hannah yielded after a moment. She held up her hands defensively. "I had nothing to do with it, they came to that conclusion themselves. Plus, they kind of think… Richard is the lord of Alnus?"

Tara groaned.

"It's not all bad, most of them are supportive of you, but… they have expectations."

Vel cleared his throat.

"If I can ask something?" Tara motioned for him to continue. "Why don't you lead them? I don't mean to suggest you should, it's just… I'm missing something."

"You were gone a little while," Hannah noted.

"The issue is… threefold. One: I am not pureblooded, which is more important to traditionalists when it comes to the eligibility of a queen. Two: My popularity is… low. My half-sister lost us our homelands, and most think she betrayed us."

"Not true, about your popularity, I mean," Hannah interjected. "Yeah, a lot of people hate Tyuule, but you aren't her, despite your looks and relations. Also… who cares what those old hags think about what makes a good queen."

"I care. I'm not suited to be queen. I'm terrible at… what did Richard call it… social engineering, unlike Tyuule. She was unifying the clans even as we lost ground and bands to Zorzal. Most of my ideas are based on Richard's."

"So, rule with him, have him support you," Hannah said.

"And what about what he wants? I don't want to rule, and if the Gate closes… he'd probably want to stay on Earth." Tara shook her head. "Besides, even if I did want to be queen, I would need to remove the faction's leaders with a coup, and then I'd have no legitimacy."

"So, what's the third reason?" Vel asked.

Tara sighed.

"That is the third thing. I'm unsuited to be queen. I'm good in a fight, but I can't lead."

"I disagree, it wasn't Richard that commanded us at Alnus, it was you. He just led the charge." Hannah said. Then she shrugged. "Though, I suppose you are right. If you did remove the factions, you'd need a very good reason. Plus, what troops would you use?"

Vel laughed.

"It's not like Richard has an army." He paused. "Uh… wait, would the Long Patrol count?"

"No, they are just a militia, for governing Alnus." Tara shook her head. "And I can't see a reason why NATO would arm them with any weapons."

 

[charclone]

Madira sat on the bench next to Tara, as people filtered in for another meeting.

"So, you have a plan I hear?" The priest-in-training asked quietly.

"Basic plan is to galvanise people," Tara whispered back. "It doesn't matter what we choose, as long as we do something, else we will be stuck as a dying people."

Madira frowned. She nodded, agreeing with Tara's basic point.

"What we choose does matter. We can't abandon our ways, but I agree, as we are, our culture will die."

"We are still stuck trying to figure out what though," Tara noted. "That, I am struggling with."

Madira paused for a moment.

"The new arrivals… they are willing, wanting, to fight. And they are loyal to Richard." Madira grinned. "That gives us an army, and a large number of people with which we could grow our population afterwards. We could spend a year gathering strength, then march on Sadera, with their legions destroyed by NATO, we could take the capital, make their senate and Emperor give us back our territory, all of it, at spearpoint."

"Richard doesn't command them, and they are poorly equipped." Tara objected. "Besides, he doesn't have command over them. Why would he, or they, spend their lives fighting for us?"

"They need a home, we want our land back, we both want revenge, and Richard is your lover, yes? Can't be too hard to get him to help."

"Again, Richard does not command them. And I do not like you suggesting I use him like a pawn." Tara growled. "Not to mention we do not have any equipment. Or supplies. It isn't as simple as you seem to think. And even if it was, who would lead us?"

"You." Madira shrugged. "You have a claim, stronger than anyone else. I don't care for this talk of 'Representative Democracy', it's too far from our traditions, our way of life, and would be too difficult to set up. Not to mention give the tribes and clans too much power."

Madira interrupted Tara before she could retort.

"Ah, it seems the meeting is starting. Think on what I have said, I'm sure you will agree it's the best course of action."

Tara glared at the young Elder as she walked away to join her political group.

She sighed a moment later and settled in to hear the usual arguments for an hour before there was a break. After the break, she would jump in, and suggest they temporarily set aside the issue, and instead devote some energy to keeping their people together. A festival perhaps or organising a viewing of some Terran movies with similar values or circumstances might work. Whatever could be done to remind their people what and why they were fighting.

---

"I thank lady Tara for her suggestions and recommendations. I also thank this gathering for agreeing to them." Matron Radya said. The older Warrior Bunny had been one of the few that had escaped capture, helped by her clan and tribe members. She had appeared at Alnus with a small band of about thirty, two weeks after NATO took the hill, and had quickly established herself as one of the political figures of the Warrior Bunnies at Alnus. She also was part of the faction that was strongly opposed to Tara, just based on her relations. "I also support bolstering our culture. I disagree with the decision to use… Earth 'media', we must prevent our culture from being polluted…"

More than a few people snorted or laughed.

"Your father was an elf, and we learned metalworking from them as well. My grandfather was a dwarf. You can't get more polluted than that!"

Radya ignored the heckling.

"…but the Festival of Sowing is overdue. I believe that a simple one, to remind our people of our ways, is in order."

Sounds of agreement were made.

"But which tribe's festival? I think NATO would protest the southern borderer's usual celebrations, as would my own tribe." An Elder asked. "They seem to be against needless bloodshed, and I doubt they want us kidnapping their people, or raiding the Kingdom of Elbe."

"I did say a simple one," Radya said. "The rituals and commonly shared festivities would be acceptable to all, yes? Of course, couples may spend the night however they wish."

Tara frowned at the look Radya sent her.

A handful of immature clan representatives snickered at the innuendo. The Festival of Sowing referred to more than just sowing crops, after all.

"However," Radya continued. "We must not forget that we need to decide what path we are going to take. NATO is making peace with the Empire. We cannot rely on them to regain our home. Thus, we also must consider what alternatives we have. Do we strike out on our own and strike the Empire? Do we accept charity from NATO and risk losing our culture? Or will we make a new home, here! At Alnus!?"

Tara frowned as she heard more than just Radya's people applauding her. They were quickly drowned out by the arguments, but it underlined the support Radya had, or at least, her ideas.

The arguments continued well into the evening, as other people tried to present their ideas.

---

Tara flopped onto Richard's lap, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Stressful day as well?" Richard asked, shifting on the couch in his quarters.

Tara moaned before she replied verbally.

"Yes. I need to organise some of the events that have been planned, there is a festival that will be put on, and those idiots still won't agree to do anything." Tara muttered. "How about you?"

"… so, you know how Hannah keeps joking about a coup?" Richard said sheepishly.

Tara shifted in his lap and looked him in the eye.

"Please tell me the general doesn't want you to support a coup."

"No, but one of the main arguments you use against it… well…" Richard glanced away. "The Long Patrol is basically going to become my private army."

Tara blinked at him, before placing her head against his chest and letting out a groan of frustration.

"It's more to keep the newly arrived slaves under control, and busy, rather than risk a riot but… yeah, they are going to be armed with guns." Richard hugged her.

"An elder was suggesting we could use them as an army to retake our homeland." Tara snuggled against him. "Now I have less argument against her idea, and I'm afraid it would get far too many people killed. I… I don't want to face the sort of stress Tyuule did, and I… I'm afraid that if I do end up having to lead, I'll screw up as bad as she did."

Richard reflected. He would be lying if he said the power of command wasn't tempting, but he was a scholar at heart. He knew full well what sorts of stress people could face. He knew full well what sort of impact mistakes could have, when they involved hundreds, let alone thousands, of lives.

Yet, while he was being forced to take command of a glorified militia, more to keep it too busy to cause trouble, Tara was facing something far more serious. He set his concerns aside for the moment. He would take what would come as a result of his actions, but he would be damned if he didn't try to help Tara.

"I doubt you will screw up as badly as she did." Richard held her. "First of all, you know what mistakes she made. Second of all, you have people and resources she didn't, who are willing to help. Third, you are not in nearly as bad a position as she was."

"I still don't want to… end up responsible for my people." She muttered. "It… scares me, the damage I could cause."

Richard snorted.

"If not you, then who?" Richard quoted. "And the fact that you are well aware of the impact of your actions, and do not see power as an… easy solution, or a right, makes you much better equipped than most people for wielding it."

"Are you trying to convince me to take power?" Tara lifted her head to look him in the eyes again. "Don't let Hannah, or others, hear you."

"No, I'm not." Richard shook his head. "Sorry, it's just, I was… I was trying to help, without actually thinking about how."

Tara sighed.

"I… I agree that I wouldn't trust more than a few of the tribe leaders, or self-proclaimed leaders, here with power." Tara frowned. "But…"

A knock at the door interrupted any further conversation.

Tara mumbled complaints as she got off Richard, letting him get the door.

"Sir Richard?" Rasha said, standing tall. "There are some petitioners here to see you."

Richard blinked, noting that there was apparently now a pair of guards outside his housing unit. Dressed in Saderan legionary armour, and armed with swords, shields and spears, they bore the sigil of a black sword, wreathed in flames.

Outside, with the two guards standing between them and the entrance to his house, were around twenty people, some were elves and Warrior Bunnies, and others were humans and orcs. There was even a draconic-looking fellow, with a pair of dragon wings at the back.

The group kneeled upon seeing him.

One figure raised their head.

"Sir Richard, we have travelled far, to escape the clutches and bondage of the vile Saderan Empire." They said. "We have come to you to pledge our service!"

Richard sighed.

Tara snickered as she came up behind him at the doorway.

"See, I told you the rumours were true." One elf in the back whispered to their companion. "See? Queen of the Warrior Bunnies."

"Okay, some of the rumours were true." The human next to them admitted. "I doubt he took the princess as a concubine, or that he is the prince of his lands."

"I don't know, the house is small, but it looks way fancier than any palace I saw. Besides, maybe they are a frugal sort?"

---

"So, that is the situation here?" The priest rasped. "Well, I can wait a little while until I have an opportunity."

"So, I take it you found what you were looking for at Italica?" Rory asked, before sipping her drink.

The some of other patrons of the bar kept giving the pair confused looks, though the one individual that tried to kick out the 'dirty vagrant and child' was tossed on his ass by a pair of US marines. Most of the other patrons were smart enough to not risk the ire of a demigod.

"Yes, an old relief, from when Italica was ruled by elves. The scene was of a battle, a victory of the elves. Here, I have a charcoal rubbing."

The twisted man pulled a long piece of parchment from his robes, unrolling it onto the table.

"You see? They fought Warrior Bunnies, long ago. Ancient ones. The battle was lost to time, sadly, but, do you see this figure, here, with the spear, a mage with her?" He said.

Rory studied the rubbing.

"Yes, I…" She paused as she heard Emroy start to laugh. "… Emroy knows of this battle."

The man blinked, before coughing to the side. He cursed his body, as he had hundreds of times before.

"Well, that… hmm." He considered it. Then he blinked. "This battle is later than I thought, but it is still what I needed. Proof that Italica was the city from which the demigod and mage operated from."

Rory listened as Emroy whispered to her.

"Emroy says that is only partially correct. It was the third battle of a war, and while it was a great victory, it was only the beginning of their tale." The child-like demigod frowned. "He doesn't know it all, or how it ended, but…"

She pointed to a figure, amidst the thickest part of the fighting. A large elf bore an axe, as tall as he was.

The priest looked at it, confused, before he read what was written above the figure. Then he laughed.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Latest chapter I have written for this story (ch 46) was fighting me, but at least I also have an extremely large chapter for Æonian Flame... in about four weeks when I post it. Unless I write more for that story.

Anyway, here is chapter 43. Enjoy. Also, please leave a comment about your thoughts, as I am always curious what people think about the chapters.

---

She was annoyed with her friend.

Most of the time, it took several decades before they would let a mage-in-training join in battles. Her friend? Only took one to become a fully certified warmage.

The demigoddess had fought two battles against the long-eared foe alongside the king's armies. In the first battle, they had been scattered, and the village fell swiftly, the inhabitants put to the sword. The second battle happened after several more villages had been destroyed. Over two thousand warriors cam pouring into a valley as the elven army marched.

The fighting had been bloody, brutal, and served only to invigorate the elves. Several other kingdoms had pledged their support, with a few smaller ones becoming vassals of larger ones.

The Huntress-Queen seemed annoyed at it. She had forced her 'champion' to kill several envoys, in the wilderness outside the city. It only served to make the other kingdoms more afraid, as an unknown killed stalked their envoys, bold enough to strike deep inside elven territory, even after the Huntress-Queen's people had been so brutally beaten. This in turn made the Huntress-Queen more infuriated.

Thus, a third battle was to take place, fifteen years after the elven village that took in the young girl was destroyed.

The demigoddess glared at her friend, dressed in the full battle regalia of a warmage.

The young elven girl, now a young adult elven warmage just smiled at her friend, dressed in light armour, still with the blessed spear.

"So, the enemy is massed at three times our numbers, across the river?"

The demigoddess sighed.

"Yes. They fortified parts of it. The 'High King' as he is being called now, wants to use mages to brake the fortifications, while the army fords across, as a distraction, while detachments cross upstream to flank them." She shook her head. "Please don't do anything foolish."

"What, like charge into a massed army by yourself to rescue the king?"

The demigoddess glared at her snarky friend.

"I'll be safe, don't worry, but you take care of yourself as well, alright? I… I'm scared at what the Huntress-Queen might make you do, besides killing those envoys."

"You knew?"

Her friend nodded.

"Yes, I knew. I also knew why. I… I've been looking into it. Once the battle is over, we'll talk about it, alright? There is something I want to go looking for."

They both turned to look in the direction of a horn call, blasting out over the camp, calling soldiers to arms.

"Well, I'd best join the other mages." Her friend leaned forwards and kissed her on the cheek. "Been wanting to do that for a long time."

The demigoddess stared as her friend fled.

'What foulness. How can you even call it love, and yes, I know you are calling it that in your head. Honestly, you can't even spawn children when it's between two women.' The voice of the Huntress-Queen intruded upon her mind. 'Now, you have a battle to fight. Go, teach my people why they should never had grown soft.'

---

The fortification, wooden walls built into and atop hills, burst into flame. The eruption didn't destroy them, but they did ignite them with such heat that they became useless as defences. The rabbit-eared warriors came charging down the hill as the vanguard pulled itself from the boats, forming lines that crashed into each other. Spears and blades stabbed, in an attempt to break the shield walls.

The demigoddess leapt from the boat she was on, over heads of the Elven warriors, and scattered the foe as she landed. To her shock, another form landed next to her.

A large, muscled elf gave her a momentary grin, before swinging a massive halberd around, scattering more of the foe. He bellowed a laugh, as he scattered them like wheat, permitting the elven forces to take advantage of the sudden breach. More warriors disembarked from the boats as they arrived at the shore and pressed the advantage.

The demigoddess cast a glance at the unknown demigod and plunged into the fray. Blood began pulling at their feet, as they butchered the foe.

Within moments, the foe broke, and attempted to make a stand on the slopes beyond the riverbank.

The two demigods gave them no chance.

A log was easily torn from the burning fortifications and sent rolling down the side slope. The women warriors screamed in panic and pain, and the elves cheered.

To the demigoddess, it was dull. She could not be killed, she had gotten her fill of vengeance seeing several villages burned, and by this point, she was better a warrior than the fools that tried to leap at her, often failing to land a hit, let alone bypass her armour.

Minutes after the last warrior was off the boat, the sound of hooves could be heard. The battle was decided, even if it wasn't over, as the elven cavalry came charging from upstream. Their spears and speed scattering the disorganised foe like dust in the wind.

The demigoddess sat on one of the hills, watching the foe be butchered, even as they tried to flee. She flinched when a blood-soaked hand landed on her shoulder.

"Ah! What a wonderful slaughter." The demigod grinned. "I love the sight of death. Part of the reason the God of Order chose me as his demigod. My name is Emroy. Who is your patron, round ears?"

The demigoddess glared at the elf. She was still self-conscious about that.

"The Huntress-Queen. She thinks her people became lazy."

Emroy laughed.

"Lazy? Hah! Civilised is more like it. Most of these warriors are from cities to the East. So, how did the demigoddess of the Huntress-Queen end up working with the High-King, my nephew?"

"I… they attacked the village I lived in. I… only lived, and saved the people there, because of her. We… wait, your nephew is the High-King?"

"Yup! My brother had a better head for politics, so I handed the crown to him so I could be a warrior."

Emroy said more, but his voice suddenly became distant.

'Ah… finally, they agree to come together. A new Queen has been chosen, one who is uniting the clans and tribes under her, rejecting the soft ways of the cities. Go to her." The Huntress-Queen commanded. 'She will need my guidance, if she is to be… properly trained, and take the right path. No, I don't care for your… attachments. My people will be strong once more.'

The hand on her shoulder tightened.

"I could stop you, if you wanted me to. Let her plans falter." Emroy gave her a dark look. "My god told me of what was coming to pass. Another massive battle, many will die. What good is deaths without a good life before them? Say the word, and I will help."

She was tempted. But she felt an ache in her spine. A compulsion to go.

A dark thought slipped into her mind, as a plan formed.

"No, but… tell my friend, a young elven mage, what happened, and why I am going."

Emroy grinned, and he pulled his hand away, adjusting the massive halberd on his back.

"As you wish. I will of course support the elves. The god of order is rather opposed to the Huntress-Queen's desire for the chaos of nature."

The demigoddess stood and yielded to her patron's demand, walking in the direction she was told to go. Across the mountains, to the other side of the continent, where a young queen rallied her people, and made ready to wage a war to consolidate her power, and her people, under her ideology.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Heh, almost forgot to put this through Grammarly.

---

The hammer came down on the hot metal, pounding it into shape.

The pounding was rhythmic, as the pneumatic machine worked the metal, guided by Richard as he angled the cherry-hot metal rod.

The heat and noise were hardly what he called therapeutic, but the simplicity of the task was something he enjoyed. There was no risk beyond that to himself by his own mistakes. No fear of putting who knows how many at risk. Just him, the metal, and the work.

A knock sounded.

Richard sighed and pulled the metal from the machine. He inspected it, noting that it was warping the wrong way. He shrugged and placed it back in the furnace. It was a flaw he could manage.

"You wanted to see me?" Hannah gave him a look, standing at the doorway. It vanished a moment later under a teasing smirk. "Why was that blacksmith looking so appalled when I went by him, by the way?"

"Because, apparently, only the League Principality lets its nobles forge their own arms and armour. He thought I was insulted at the quality of his work." Richard rolled his eyes as he took the gloves off. "To be fair, his work isn't exactly high standard, but that's more to do with the fact that the metal he is used to working with was crap. It's workable though."

"So, who's forge is this then?"

"Mine, shared with a couple of NATO soldiers who do metalwork." Richard shrugged. "No idea why my name is on it, but if that means I can use it, I will. The equipment is… I think some of it was donated by the machine shop."

Hannah shook her head. It seemed the eldritch workings of NATO's bureaucracy were beyond even Sir Richard.

"Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Right, so, I noticed a lot of the Warrior Bunnies have been wearing and ordering blades. Would it be… appropriate, if I were to forge and gift Tara one?" He pulled a piece of paper off a bench and showed it to her. "I based it on a kukri knife and a more traditional blade of your people I was shown."

The drawing was that of a blade, slightly longer than a traditional Warrior Bunny blade. The edge bulged out, not far past the handle, curving slightly along its back end. It was a savage-looking blade, with plenty of weight for slashing, but still enough of a point to stab with.

"Was that what you were working in?"

"Nah, was going to try for a decorative khopesh." At her confused look, Richard explained. "A hooked sword, similar to an axe. Used by an ancient culture."

"I… see." Hannah did not. "Anyway, it would be seen as romantic, as well as practical. Anyone that would have an issue with it would be more likely to be part of one of the various anti-NATO factions anyway, and picking at straws."

Richard grinned.

"Thanks."

"You work metal often?"

"I helped make my blade and armour myself," Richard says proudly. "Pounded the metal into shape, and I was the one to put the edge on the sword. I've made several by myself since then."

Hannah rubbed her hands together.

"Would… you be willing to make something for me?" She asked, eyes practically glittering.

"Do you have something in mind?" He asked. "It could be something I could use as a smokescreen to surprise Tara."

Hannah rubbed her chin.

"I prefer longer blades than the usual knives… so how about a sword? How long would it take?"

"I can make a decent sword in a day, but I can make both of them by the festival." He cocked his head to the side in thought. "Though, that can depend on the metal, and size of the blade."

"Eh, something like an arming sword." Hannah shrugged.

"Broadsword, katana, wakizashi, sabre, cutlass, falchion, Jian, backsword, spatha, gladius…" Richard rattled off the types of swords he knew.

Hannah gave him a blank look.

"What kind of swords are you used to using?" Richard smiled sardonically at her.

"Oh, uh." Hannah blinked. "Saderan blades, mostly. My people have a longer version of our knives made for hacking, and... uh, oh!"

Her expression transformed into one of realisation and excitement.

"There was this strange sword I found once, it was old and rusted." She picked up a pencil and began to draw on the back of the paper with the design of Tara's knife on it. "It was curved and belonged to a human soldier that got lost in our lands, joining our tribe after he couldn't find his way home. It looked like this."

The blade was bowed, though the point ended in line with the hilt, which itself was protected by some form of basket.

"It was still good enough to train with. I loved the way it was so light but could also slash so well. It broke when I was young, but a replacement would be great." Hannah beamed. "So, do you think you could make a sword like this?"

Richard shrugged.

"Looks like a cavalry sabre." He noted. "Yeah, I can make that pretty easily. Was the hilt curved or straight?"

"Curved, but only slightly."

"Alright." Richard made a note on the paper. "Might take a little longer, especially if I want to do something fancy with it, such as making it good in a fight."

He scratched his chin.

"Festival is in a week, right?"

"Eight days."

"Alright. In that case, I can get it done, but don't expect anything fancy, like decoration." He gestured to the machines around him, plugged into the Alnus power grid. "Most of these are time savers for the forging, not for decoration work. I can do a simple engraving though."

"That's fine. I want a working weapon anyway, not some fancy noble's toy." She bounced on her heels. "Thank you."

"No problem, just don't make people think I'll do this for free, I use it as stress relief half the time." He paused. "Hey, what's Tara up to anyway?"

---

"No! We are not going to ask NATO for prisoners to sacrifice!" Tara screamed at the poor sod that had been used as a messenger by one of the traditionalist factions. "They wouldn't accept, and it would damage our relations."

"Well, we certainly can't have that." Radya yawned. "I'm impressed that they gave you funding for this Lady Tara."

Tara glared at the older woman next to her. The council, such as it was, had decided or rather failed to oppose, the two of them being put in charge of the festival.

It was driving Tara crazy, and not just because of Radya's lazy attempts to sabotage her efforts.

"Oh, don't give me that look." The matron waved her hand. "I want to see our culture survive as well. Now, with that idiocy out of the way, what about a… tournament? Not just some sports competitions, though we should have those, but some duels. Not blood sports, but… well, it would do well if we were to, say, win a few rounds against Pina's knights."

The derision in the old hag's tone when she mentioned the Order of Rose Knights made clear her distaste for the concept.

"As long as you make sure there are no… accidents." Tara wanted to scrub her tongue with steel wool. Protecting Pina's knights seemed wrong, but at the same time, simply letting Radya kill a few of them would get everyone in trouble. Her attempts at subtly were just below blatant.

"Of course, I'll take charge of that." Rayna wore a false smile. "Dishonesty has no place here, it's meant to be a tribute to the gods, and our people, after all. Unlike the Saderan senate, treachery is not our way."

Tara shook her head.

"Now, there was a written suggestion, with a plan for food stalls. A way to display our 'culinary arts', as the note put it." She stretched in her chair. "NATO has safety standards that would need to be enforced, but they would also be willing to help in that area. More than a few have volunteered to help cook as well."

Rayna snorted.

"Soldiers of any type will never turn away free food." She laughed. "Fine. You have a good relationship with them, so you can manage that. I'll put Madira in charge of selecting the judges for both. Her tribe is gone, so she won't be biased. Now, the Weeping Woods tribe wants to have several types of dances..."

 

[charclone]

The senate building was an august and ancient edifice of Sadera. It had stood since the start of the Empire, lasting through rebellions, wars, fires, and coups. It had been renovated many times, each time making it more grand than the last. It was, in the eyes of many, a symbol of the Empire itself, the wises and richest of the Empire united within a single circular wall, to guide the course of the nation.

The truth was a little different, of course.

"Obviously the barbarians have altered the Princesses letters!"

"But what of the rumours that she has been captured? The letters could be faked!"

"They were delivered by Imperial wyverns from Italica!"

"We should rally the Praetorian Guard and several new legions and crush the Barbarians, not be negotiating with them!"

"Drive them from Sacred Alnus!"

"And what of the legions we have already lost!?"

Molt Sol Augustus had expected his decision to send his daughter to cause chaos in the Senate. The girl had been too sheltered, and she knew it. She wanted the ability to prove herself. He didn't regret giving it to her. The information she had already sent back was beyond what he expected.

"Vengeance for the slain! We shall send them to Hardy's domain, to honour our own sent to Emroy!"

He had shared edited copies of the letters, omitting things the Senate didn't need to know, such as personal details, or the fact that she feared he had kicked the sleeping dragon. He may have given assent to the invasion, but it was his sons that had pushed for it, and funded it. Let them lie in the beds they had made. Perhaps one would prove capable of leading the Empire after this was over?

"Are you implying her highness is competent!? Might I remind you she was the one who organised her own Order of Knights! They held Italica against the rebels!"

"Rebels!? They were our own people, seeking to return a rogue city-state to our fold! That child countess should be executed for the murder of Imperial soldiers and nobles! She's a kinslayer!"

"Kinslayer, perhaps, but what choice did she have!? Her sisters were going to kill her, and it was Princess Pina's advice to her to execute them! It has Imperial support!"

"Imperial Support!? They were married to my grandnephews! My family is descended from Emperor Bulla the second!"

"Who's lineage was removed from the throne by vote of the Senate!"

"An overstep of power!"

It would seem that now was the time to step in, before it completely went out of control.

Molt stood.

"Esteemed Senators! Distinguished patriarchs and noble veterans!" He gestured to all of them, his voice echoing about the chamber as the senators fell silent, arranged in a semi-circle around him, following the curve of the building. "It was with assent of the Senate that Princess Pina was made Praetor Peregrinus. She was thus sent out, first to Italica, and then to Alnus, to fulfill the duties the Senate had charged her with. Is that assent now being withdrawn?"

"A vote!" One senator called out, as another made to stand. "Such must be voted on."

Molt kept his face impassive as the vote was made and counted. And failed. Miserably.

"Augustus!" The senator who had demanded it be voted on stood and saluted. "Your loyal senate has, in accordance with old traditions, weighed and found that the Praetor Peregrinus shall remain!"

Molt nodded. The senate knew who ruled, as it had been since the early days.

"Then, with the losses that we have suffered, we shall pursue peace. It shall not last, as no peace does, but we knew too little of our barbaric foe, even with my daughter amidst their camp. We know not the names of their kings, what they value, nor why they have taken Sacred Alnus. Thus we must delay fighting, whilst we learn and uncover their weaknesses, and their strengths. In time, they shall become our strengths! The power to crush legions! But for now…"

Molt took a breath. He heard, in the distance, a servant doing as ordered, speaking with Zorzal, who was easily the loudest of the two. Filling him in on what the Senate was going to, or, rather, had already discussed, and being slow enough about it that Zorzal would have no chance to make a fool of himself before the meeting was over, neatly circumventing the risk of him shaming himself or the Imperial family. Again.

"For now, we must rebuild our strength, before we once more clash with our barbaric foe." He finished.

As the Senate session closed, he mused at how Pina could have twisted things to her advantage. With mere words, she had cost the Empire nothing, and gained a respite. Time to learn and build. Even better, she had established some diplomatic ties, and learned things about their foes strengths.

Alas, she had devoted herself to her Knightly Order, rather than sparing any effort on politics. Thus, she had no allies to spread news of her successes. She was young, and had time, but it would be one of her half-brothers that took the Throne. At least she would not be reduced to political irrelevance, to be used as a pawn by other factions. She was too virtuous for that. Too iron willed.

Molt stood from the throne and left the Senate chambers.

He snorted, finally able to hear Zorzal's words now that he was closer. Zorzal was trying to impress the servant with his three years old martial exploits. Aside from funding a punitive strike against a slave rebellion a year ago, he had done nothing martial since. At least he had delayed himself in the process.

Molt sighed as he walked past the two. Three, he corrected himself. Zorzal had taken to showing off Tyuule again. It was unbecoming for a man to hold to past glories like that. A quiet word would be ignored or falsely misunderstood, and anything direct would incite backlash from his son's allies in the Senate, leaving Molt without any recourse to correct his arrogant child.

Still, Molt's mood was not ruined.

He had gained what he wanted from the meeting. None of the senators had revealed, or displayed that they knew, the information he had hidden from his daughter's letters.

Good.

It meant that at least Bouro was being honest with him on this, for now, and that none of his political enemies were reading his mail. There was still the question of what Bouro's game was, however. He had altered letters before, from Zorzal's campaign, to make the princes seem more competent than he really was, letters that were used by Molt's son's supporters to boost his popularity in the city.

There had been senators and nobles that had suffered… accidents, or in one case, outright mobbed in a riot. It happened rarely, but Molt saw the patterns. It was too careful, yet also too bloody, compared to the usual games the nobility and patricians played.

Yet, so far, it had provided no clues to Molt as to what the creature's goal was.

Fortunately, Molt was not an idiot.

He had access to other sources of information. Old campaign allies, friends among the common soldiers that had retired, people who owed favours. Like pieces on a gameboard, really. Molt sometimes felt that joke, from a recent play, was a little too accurate in this situation.

Move and counter move. Guessing to what your opponent's strategy and goals are.

As Molt stepped into the carriage, that would carry him the short distance to his palace, he made note to write to some of those old friends. Pina and her knights were outside of the usual political games, and untainted by Bouro's connections. He would send a message to her, with carefully constructed orders.

Involving outsiders, especially barbarians, in Imperial politics was dangerous at the best of times, but Molt considered his daughter smart enough not to involve them. She would be a useful, and valuable piece. Her current lack of political ambitions would likewise be an asset.

The next day, a retired soldier would purchase passage on a wagon. He was a man of little note, having served quietly. The only incident of note was in his youth, unknown by all, when he and a young Molt, then the third prince of the Empire, slipped out of their assigned camp using the Molt's authority as prince. Their adventure would not last long, only a day, ended by a narrowly escaped assassination attempt none would know of besides the two of them, the perpetrators being buried a year later.

The soldier was far from a close friend of the Emperor, but he was good at keeping his mouth shut, skilled with a blade, and loyal to his emperor.

If any checked his letters, they would see only a letter from the Emperor rewarding their old friendship by paying off his debts, in exchange for him assisting with training his daughter's knights in his style of bladework.

It was even mostly true. The debts had been exaggerated, the man could have easily paid them off, but he was a loyal soldier, even in his later years.

Within his mind was another message. It was, in the end, simple. An encouragement to his daughter to become more involved in the politics of the Empire, as was her duty, and more importantly, to listen.

The Emperor did not fear the war restarting before he was ready, but he knew he had more enemies inside the court than outside. When his daughter returned, she would be heralded as a hero. But she would also be used. With no political connections, she would be reliant on her father. With no political ambitions, she would not overstep. With her knights, her reach was further than she realised.

Such as Emperor Molt's thoughts, unaware that his messages were behind. Unaware that his daughter feared the war restarting at any point. Unaware that she had her own designs now.

Unaware that it was more than just Bouro and the patricians that were watching and playing against him.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Nope, not story isn't dead. Just have exams coming up. That slows things down, and chapter 49 was fighting me.

Anyway, here is chapter 46. Oops, wrong chapter. This time it's chapter 46.

---

In place of the shows and plays normally put on, Tara had decided that movies from Earth would do well. Her justification was that the tribes that normally migrated with the season, and would carry and perform the shows and plays… weren't exactly able to do so, being either dead or enslaved. A handful of members from those tribes were present, having come with the escaped slaves, either joining with them or having participated in their rebellions.

But those handfuls were far from able to put on plays.

Thus, an alternative was needed. Some of the traditional plays and shows were impossible to put on or replace, on account of them lacking the usual performers. But it was far from unheard of to go for a season or two without the traditional plays and performances.

Still, that left them needing some form of entertainment, which was a tradition in the festival.

The issue was what to show. What movies would be shown?

There had been enough support for some, like the Star Wars series and Braveheart, and Tara wanted to use Zulu. But there had been a great clamour about what other films should be shown, what shouldn't (Tara had forbidden pornographic films, as they did not serve the purpose of the festival) and who had the authority.

Someone's joking suggestion of MacBeth had not been appreciated. She and Richard had watched it together, so she knew what the anonymous smartass was suggesting. She did not want to be queen.

Tara groaned at yet another request for something stupid.

"No. I can see about you having an area for private use set up if there are others that will ask for such, but no, I will not bar non-Warrior Bunnies from participating or at least observing the festival." Honestly, the idea that they should bar people from the festival, just because one tribe did it, which was on the opposite border from the Imperials and warred mostly with the Elven Kingdom to the North, was idiotic. Though, the tribes from the Bay of Blood, named for the constant warfare with the elves in the area, were always considered a little odd. "None of the other Tribes bar outsiders from their festivals. Why should I favour your clan over the other clans and tribes?"

The woman huffed and walked off without a further word.

Tara rolled her eyes.

"Okay, now, who else had something they wanted to suggest…" Tara blinked at the identity of the next person asking to talk to her about ideas for the festival. "Lady… Bozes Co Palesti, was it not?"

"That is correct, Lady Tara." The blonde knight quietly glared at Tara, even as she kept her tone polite. "I was hoping to inquire if a… martial competition, could be made at least adjacent to the festival?"

"There are several ways out people honour Emroy. I don't see a reason why not, but I am curious as to why you want to be part of it." Tara frowned. "My people had reason to hate the empire."

"The knights with me, we are… out of practice. And all our teachers were Imperials." Bozes' glare gained a slight grin. "A chance to test ourselves against people who would not hold back, besides it being for sport, would benefit both. As long your people do not violate hospitality, I think they would appreciate a chance to fairly test themselves against us."

Tara blinked.

Part of her was suspicious. Why would Bozes want to get into a fight, wasn't she part of Pina's honour guard? Was this part of some plan? But no, they were establishing a peace treaty, and Pina seemed to be for it. Was it part of some internal byzantine Saderan political gamble by the Princess?

It was starting to make Tara's head hurt. She abandoned trying to puzzle out the intrigue of the knight.

"I will discuss it with the others." She said. "I can't make any promises, but I will let you know before the festival starts."

Bozes nodded, before leaving.

Tara blinked and sighed once she was out of sight. She held her head in her hands.

"Great, another thing to organise." She groaned.

---

Richard blinked as she placed a large stack of forms on his desk.

"Things I am requesting from NATO," Tara explained. A moment later, she yawned. "Sorry, I've been up all day without a break."

"That busy?"

"Yes." Tara bluntly stated. "This is part of why I don't want to be queen. It's so much work, on top of the same amount of stress as being a royal guard."

"Do you have subordinates to help you with it?" He asked, reaching out and rubbing her back.

Tara moved out of reach in response, pulling his chair away from the desk so she could sit in his lap. The Lt. doing paperwork, part of the Alnus community garrison and bureaucracy, snickered quietly, and quietly slipped away, finding an excuse to leave them alone for a little while.

After a moment, Tara answered his question, mumbling into his shoulder.

"No. Are you offering?"

"I'd love to help, but I'm also rather busy." That part of his time was being eaten forging the blade for her he carefully didn't mention. "But I have recruited a couple of locals. I could lend Lelei, she's… disturbingly familiar with NATO's forms, but has been assisting me with slowly taking over the Long Patrol legally, alongside some people from NATO. Plus, sorting out the issue of who owns Alnus."

He snorted.

"Got a computer and some stuff, with some games, sent to Countess Myui. Now she is trying to support my 'claim' to Alnus as my fief. I think King Duran has also joked about it… at least, I hope he was joking."

"I just… it's stressful, dealing with all the remnants of the tribes. So many are interested in seeing their versions of the traditions displayed, many only half remember them, and others are arguing about whether or not those versions should be used." Tara sighed and snuggled tighter to Richard. "There are so many different versions of our traditions, and… no one is agreeing about which should be used. There was even a fight about it."

"Ouch."

"So… yes. I think I would appreciate the help." Tara stretched.

The door swung open.

"Sorry to interrupt, but there was a riot." The Lt. reported, sticking his head back in. "Should probably go check on it."

Tara groaned as she leapt off Richard's lap, letting him stand and reach for his badge of office.

"What happened?" They both asked at the same time, before glancing at each other. Richard snorted as Tara smiled. He swung the sheath onto his back.

"Squad that intervened only got there once it had started. A couple of the Long Patrol were pulling combatants apart." The Lt. explained as they hurried out the door and down the stairs. "All combatants were Warrior Bunnies, and there was… one of the leaders that was caught up in it. Her name wasn't reported, she was knocked out and sent off to the hospital once the Brits got everyone isolated and cowed."

"Damn," Richard swore and Tara cursed under her breath in her native tongue.

---

When they arrived, they at least noted that seemed to be over.

"What happened?" Richard demanded as he broke off to talk to the Long Patrol members. Best to act the part of their commander, even if it felt wrong.

Tara crossed her arms and glared at the groups of Warrior Bunnies under guard.

"Sergeant, could you explain what you saw when it started?" The Lt. asked.

"Yessir." The British man answered. "We had just passed through this street a few minutes ago, passing the first group who had been standing around talking. Didn't catch what they were saying at the time. We heard sudden shouts and yells. I ordered my unit to turn around and called it in. We arrived in short order, and the Long Patrol men had already been on the street when it happened…"

---

"So, in short, the second group dashed out of the alley and attacked the first with fists, who defended themselves, and Matron Radya who happened to be passing by, and when the Long Patrol saw it happen, they rushed to intervene." Richard summed up. "When the British soldiers arrived, their presence was enough to take the fight out of both groups, who surrendered."

Tara bit her tongue to keep from screaming at the idiots being led away by the MPs.

"Well, at least it's simple enough." The Lt sighed. "Course, it means more paperwork for all of us. And I'll need to inform the general. Again, now that we know what happened. Does anyone know why they attacked in the first place?"

"I recognise a few of them." Tara sighed. "Different tribes, but the group of attackers were part of the raiding tribes, most of them migratory, and the ones attacked were mostly from heartland tribes. Not all though. I'm willing to bet that this is related to our… lack of purpose."

"Alright, I'll make a note of that." The Lt sighed as he recorded it. "MPs will probably want to talk about it more in detail as they investigate, but that can wait until tomorrow. Good news, Matron Radya isn't hurt too badly, sprained leg and a nasty bruise on her head, but she'll recover."

Tara made a sound of relief.

"For a moment I was worried I'd have to run the festival myself."

The Lt winced.

"Ah… about that, the festival is in two days, correct?"

"Yes… she won't be out of the hospital by then, will she?"

The Lt shook his head.

"Four days, they want to make sure they aren't making any mistakes, due to assumptions about her having the same physiology as humans."

"I think her father was an elf, actually." Tara groaned. Her groan redoubled when she heard the Lt. radio that fact into the hospital.

---

Radya, once she woke up, agreed with Tara. It was an… unacceptable situation.

'Now, Tara and her faction will be the dominant ones, able to dictate what traditions will survive.' She seethed internally. 'All because those youthful idiots couldn't provoke a fight like I told them, and then listen to me when I 'reigned them in before anyone was seriously hurt'. No, they just decided to rush in and attack anyone they saw. Even blaming me and the other heartlanders for the fall of the Kingdom! It was Tyuule's treachery, no matter what lies Tara spreads.'

Weeks of planning, down the drain, because of another's stupidity.

'Bah, this is why we should be sticking to our old traditions. Not letting NATO dictate the laws we have to live under. If I was Queen, I'd weld all the tribes back together, using NATO's tyranny, then get them to crush the Empire. That general is like other men, all the soldiers are, and it wouldn't even be hard. We'd even have a more diverse bloodline because of it, recouping some of the losses Tyuule inflicted on us with her betrayal.'

 

[charclone]

A.N. Not dead. Just had exams, same with my other stories.

---

"So, this is where you disappear too!"

Richard looked up from the anvil at the source of the voice.

"Your majesty." He greeted King Duran before resuming the shaping of the metal. "Problem with the hand?"

"No! It's wonderful." The portly King grinned beneath his thick beard. "So, what's this you are forging?"

"Bits and pieces of an experiment. A couple of scientists were messing with local metal, and asked me to try and forge a sword for them." Richard guided the piece back into the forge. "Just messing with the supposedly 'magic' metal to get a feel with it."

"Oh? What are you used to using?"

"Steel, aluminium, iron, and bronze mostly." Richard shrugged. "Done a bit of copper plating on a shield once."

"Hmm." The Elben King hummed. "You forged your own arms then?"

"Mostly. A lot of the initial work was done by my teachers, but yes, I have done a lot of the forging, especially for my swords." Richard wiped his forehead. "So, how can I help?"

"I wanted to reward you for the arm," Duran explained. "But, well, there are… differences between our cultures. As I understand it, your government would need to first approve any title I wanted to give you?"

"Ah, yes." Richard blinked and fumbled. "A title is a bit much for a prosthetic."

"Well, you also humbled the Empire." Duran's grin turned savage. "In addition, the history and design for the arm would merit at least a minor honourary title. But your nation's laws complicate things. So, how about a suit of armour?"

Richard blinked, partly in confusion.

"I'll pay for it to be refitted to you, but your usual armour is rather… plain for a parade." Duran's grin grew wider. "I have a suit in my armoury I think that would suit you rather well."

"Why?" Richard blurted out. He winced but pressed on. "While I understand wanting to… reward me, the arm was a gift, and knowledge is best shared, lest it disappear. Not to mention a suit of armour, well, I'm well aware of how expensive those can be."

Duran laughed.

"Why not? Besides, I have plenty of suits of armour, and even if it was a gift, I still owe you. It is how things are done." Duran chuckled. "A king must be seen rewarding those that have done them a favour, even if that favour was done as a gift."

Richard sighed.

"Also, I was hoping I could invite you to my court as a guest, for a short while." Duran went on. "Partially, I want to foster relations between our nations. Partially, well, we are no longer a vassal of the Empire. Molt acknowledged our release a week ago, as part of the peace efforts between NATO and the Empire."

Richard wanted to ask how that worked, but he held his tongue, as King Duran continued, and the metal in the furnace had reached an appropriate temperature. He fed the cherry red bar into the hydraulic hammer.

"It would do both of us well to be seen as friends," Duran explained. "I have also heard rumours of you being given command officially of the Long Patrol."

"Yes, it's going to be announced at the start of the festival tomorrow." Richard shrugged.

"Well, as it happens, I have more than a few people that would be interested in joining. Your General told me about it when we negotiated the sale of Elbe grain. My people would be able to supply a small war chest."

"War chest, for what?"

"Building an army is hardly cheap." Duran frowned, his tone admonishing.

"NATO is footing part of the bill. Alnus is covering another part." Richard shook his head. "The Long Patrol is mostly going to be used to protect the area, it's not an offensive force."

Duran hummed.

"Still, the additional funds would help you. And as I said, I want to reward you, and foster relations. I can discuss it with General Jameson if that will avoid complications."

"I think that would be best, yes." Richard looked over the hammered metal. "Huh. More malleable than I was expecting when heated, but takes a lot to get to the right temperature."

"Ah, dragonsteel?"

"One of the names for it, yeah. Still melts despite the name, and is chemically just treated iron." Richard snorted. "Saw a couple of scientists pulling their hair out over it. Still, it somehow has a higher melting point than iron."

---

"New sword?" Tara blinked as Hannah inspected it.

"Yup. Convinced Richard to forge it for me." The cavalry sabre flashed in the midday sun as she moved through the motions. "The balance is amazing."

"Hmm. Maybe I should get him to make me a new blade." Tara pondered.

"I'm sure he'd do it if you asked," Hannah replied, smugness creeping into her tone.

"You planning to join the tournament the Order of the Rose requested?"

"Yup. So, how are things going with the festival, everything in place for tomorrow?"

Hannah's blade cut through the air.

"As can be. Richard's people helped a lot, which made Radya's injury less than a hindrance. Apparently, she had mismanaged some of the funds, overpaying for a couple of supplies NATO was already supplying."

"Really? Yikes." Hannah sheathed the sword, making a note to make more time to practice. The tournament wasn't until the end of the festival, at the end of the week, so she had time. Hannah blinked. Tara's voice sounded… off. "You okay?"

"Just tired." Tara leaned against the fence of what had become a sparring area. "Not sleeping well, Richard says it's probably stress."

Hannah hummed in thought.

"Well, how about we take some time to have some fun during the festival? Once it starts, you don't need to keep an eye on it, right?"

"No, I need to be present for some things, like if there is an emergency, but it follows the common style shared by all the tribes: Two feasts, one at the start, the other at the end. A couple of dances, and rituals, and in the place of the plays we are having some movies. Games will take place throughout, and I have set up some groups to judge the games as necessary." Tara yawned. "Richard is busy getting the Long Patrol set up, and Major Johnston is going to be teaching him some things, so he is only going to be available for part of the festival."

"Ah, and that is also putting you in a bad mood because you want to be able to spend the festival with him."

"That, and because… there is still no agreement about what we should do. If we should create a new government, elect a monarchy, even if they aren't pureblooded, or if we should head to Earth as individual tribes and settle there. It's also stressing me."

Hannah nodded.

"I… still think you should be queen. We've had our disagreements, but who else would be put? Radya? Please, the idiot is hardly quiet about her revanchism."

"Revanchism? What, did you accidentally eat a dictionary?"

"Oh, shut up. I'm still learning English, alright? Doesn't help that there are big differences between American and British English."

"… seriously though, what does revanchism mean? I've never heard Richard use the word."

 

[charclone]

Tara's heart beat in her chest in time with the drums. Most of them were not traditional ones, instead borrowed or donated through NATO, but that was fine. It was hardly the first time a tribe used foreign drums.

Rather than stand with the drummers, or the dancers as they moved around the long tables, Tara found herself seated at the head table, alongside what remained of her people's leadership.

Part of her wished she was instead part of the honour guard. Things were simpler then.

As the festival went on, and the dancers finished, the main bonfire was lit, illuminating the prepared outdoor area as the last rays of the sun vanished, meant to symbolise the ending of summer. Food was brought out, laid down along the tables, and soon, the feast began.

A mix of local and Earth cuisine was being served, but Tara found her appetite absent. She merely picked at her food.

"Not to your tastes?"

Tara glanced at Madira in the seat to her left.

"I'm… glad that nothing has gone wrong yet, but…"

"But 'yet' is the key word, isn't it?" The young Elder chuckled. "Relax. I'm sure something will go wrong, some drink will get spilled on someone, there will be a fight, but nothing catastrophic will go wrong. You can handle it."

Tara merely grunted in response.

"Or is it that Richard is busy, and unable to attend the feast?" Madira grinned. "Ah, that's it, isn't it? I'm surprised. I'd have thought you'd be more… possessive of him, considering how some of the girls usually act… and are acting, with alcohol during the festival."

Tara followed Madira's gaze. She sighed at the sight; one of the Warrior Bunnies that had danced as part of the ancient tradition was already deep in her cups, sitting in the lap of a NATO soldier, the both of them laughing.

"She's drunk already?"

"Well, it is the NATO supplied stuff she was drinking. That is rather strong from what I have heard." Madira answered with a shrug. "Anyway, what is Richard up to?"

Tara groaned.

"You are going to pester me about it the whole time, aren't you?"

"Yup. The old biddy on your other side is deaf as a bat and to focused on her food."

The elder on Tara's other side raised a hand, in a fashion Tara had seen NATO soldiers do to each other, with only one finger raised, pointing upwards, and the rest curled, without looking up from her rapidly diminishing pile of food. Madira laughed.

"Fine." Tara sighed. "He's off with some other soldiers and officers discussing how to run the Long Patrol. An abbreviated officer school was how Major Johnston phrased it."

"I see. Off to learn how to be a general?"

"Something like that." Tara grunted. "Anyway, any thoughts on the number of our people that are looking to join it?"

"Hmm." Madira hummed for a moment in thought. "Not really. I'd join up myself if I wasn't busy trying to keep our culture from dying. Recording it in books was a good idea."

"Really? Why?"

"Harder to lose, easier to make copies, and books don't get destroyed, or charge into battle drunk." Madira gave Tara an exaggerated flat look. "Oh, you meant why I'd want to join?"

Tara rolled here eyes and chewed on a piece of chicken.

"Honestly, I feel our war with the Empire is unfinished. We aren't dead, and we didn't give up. Broken, but not defeated." Madira shrugged. "If NATO won't use us as regular soldiers, then at least as part of their auxiliaries we have a chance."

"The Long Patrol is just to police Alnus."

"And if the peace breaks down? Do you really believe it will just sit there? No. Armies exist to fight after all." Madira shrugged. "Not that it matters. Richard will have command and I suspect you will as well."

The older woman grinned at Tara.

"Am I wrong?"

Tara stuffed food in her face rather than answer in an attempt to hide the blush.

It was amusing, Madira noted, that while sexual innuendo and topics were not causes for blushing, as they were with most of the NATO soldiers and civilians, talk of relations, romance, and attraction could be a source of embarrassment.

---

Pina collapsed into the bed.

Meeting after meeting she had expected. She had even expected the attention to detail. What she had not expected was the 'media'. They had been incessant, constantly asking questions far too fast for her to understand what they were saying, and they appeared everywhere she went. The constant flashing of lights from the 'cameras' had been getting on her nerves.

Fortunately, her job was mostly done. An initial treaty, along with a list of prisoners that would be released as a show of faith with no ransom demands. The treaty would need to be looked at by her father, of course, and the senate, but the prisoners were being released and transported shortly after she would leave Alnus.

Stripping away the dross and language, the treaty was simply an agreement to halt hostilities, discuss at an agreed upon location future peace settlements, and return prisoners. Armies would not advance towards each other's lines, nor would any taken territory be returned.

The loss of several vassals would hurt the Empire, but her father had already considered them lost anyway when he had sent her. The last report they had received, from across the Blue Sea, had told tales of the united vassal armies being crushed amidst seas of fire and metal monsters.

Pina worried about the ransoms of the remaining prisoners, but she had been able to secure the released of several key individuals. Men that held influence, but would not be worth too much ransom, to avoid antagonising NATO at the loss of profit. People that Pina felt she could trust to agree that the war needed to end, as well as a few members of her order that had been conscripted by their families for the invasion. A handful of her bothers' people had also been selected, hopefully to act as favours for later.

It tasted bitter, to use such underhanded tactics. She had grown up yearning to be a knight and follow a code of conduct and honour. To have comrades she could trust at her side.

A knock sounded at her door.

"Enter." Pina sat up and adjuster her clothes for any wrinkles.

"Princess…" A young member of the order entered, bowing in a stiff and formal manner. "My apologies to disturb you at this late hour, but… Lady Bozes had put forward a challenge to the Warrior Bunnies and NATO."

Pina paled.

"It is organised as a tournament, but I fear she has overstepped her position."

"When will the tournament take place?"

"After the Warrior Bunnies festival, a week from today."

Pina sighed, feeling the headache coming.

"I see. Thank you. Inform Lady Bozes that I wish to speak to her in the morning."

 

[charclone]

Bozes flinched at Pina's glare in the morning.

"Would you please explain why you felt it necessary to risk antagonising NATO, so soon after we made progress on the treaty?" Pina questioned, her face stern and upyielding as she stared at the blonde knight. She crossed her arms, leaning forwards slightly in her chair. Her voice carried a cold tone, one that informed Bozes exactly how annoyed Pina was with her.

Bozes straightened herself where she stood as she answered, burying her nervousness. She still failed to meet Pina's gaze.

"The knights, that is, we have been growing… rusty. The exercises and training have been helpful, but… when I heard about the Warrior Bunny's festival, I realised that it would be a great way to test our strength against them. They are a famed warrior people, what better way to test ourselves and them?" Bozes' resolve grew as she explained her reasoning, her fidgeting slowly fading.

"And revenge for the stain on my honour, and on the honour of the Order, from the defence of Italica, had nothing to do with your request for a series of duels, which Sir Richard may participate in?"

Bozes' expression dropped as her friend and Liege struck the core of the issue with a precision usually displayed with a lance on horseback.

"I… they wouldn't dare do anything!" She protested, her voice rising in indignation, finally looking Pina in the eye. "We are guests, and it is a fair tournament!"

"They are a different culture, and we are barbarians to them!" Pina shouted, shaking her hands in the air for emphasis. "Sir Richard is close to the King! I saw a recording of the awarding ceremony being shown. They are displaying and constantly talking about our nation in something called news broadcasts! His victories and constantly being discussed, alongside other victories by NATO against us! Does that remind you of anything? What would the emperor have done if I asked him for a war against a barbarian tribe that had slighted me?"

"You wouldn't-" Bozes started.

"No, but Richard may!" Pina exploded, before collapsing into the chair she didn't remember getting out of. She groaned. "The Empire is outnumbered, without them raising their armies. We would be crushed in mere days if they were taking this war seriously. I won't ask you to throw any fights. But keep to the rules, and make sure Richard has no grounds for which to find an excuse."

Bozes winced, swallowed any further protests, and nodded.

Pina sighed in relief as she left.

"Gods, please don't let anything happen."

---

Hannah flicked the sabre in her hand, testing its weight and speed. Her eye's tracked the glittering blade, following its subtle curve to the curved guard and hilt. She heard this hiss of air against its razor-sharp edge.

"If this is what you made for me, I can't wait to see what you made for Tara." She laughed gleefully and giddy. "Show me?"

"Nope." Richard grinned. "It's for Tara's eyes first before anyone else."

Hannah pouted at him as she sheathed her sabre.

"I'm glad I was able to get it done before the end of the festival," Richard said, leaning against the table in the smithy. "What with all the extra work prepping for the Long Patrol."

"How's that coming anyway? Any chance I can join?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah, I put your name on the list of potential officers." Richard shrugged. "No idea if you will be chosen, but if you chose to accept you will be tested and drilled. If you pass? You'll end up going through part of the same training with me, Tara, and a couple of others already confirmed to be made the senior officers in the Long Patrol."

"Really? Tara?" Hannah frowned. "Don't want to lose her that badly? Or do you just not think she will be made Queen?"

"She doesn't want to be queen." Richard sighed in weariness. "She's rehashed the argument several times now, but… I don't see the situation improving, and the festival doesn't seem to be having the effect she wanted, from what I heard. The people are more in favour of their own state, yes, but the leadership is more fractured than ever, based on her complaints."

Hannah nodded in sympathy.

"I've seen the same. More and more are backing Tara, despite her wishes, especially with the still constant flow of refugees and escaped slaves." She shook her head. "So, speaking of the Long Patrol, how is it coming along?"

"Well," Richard rubbed the stubble on his chin in thought. "Edgar is drilling me on leadership and tactics, and we finally figured out what we are doing for supplies. Going to be getting a crap ton of old Lee-Enfields pulled from somewhere, Canadian Rangers I think, a couple of British machine guns, and even more Inch-pattern FN FALs than the rifles, from several sources. Cheaper than buying new ones, even through NATO, and the ammo could be compatible."

Hannah blinked.

"I understood a fraction of that. So, we are getting some weapons?"

"Small arms, yeah, and old ones at that." Richard shrugged. "Still need to acquire uniforms, though. We are getting a bunch of US helmets, so that helps."

Hannah nodded.

"It's a lot of work to get a force equipped. I remember seeing the warriors train and training with them. It took months to forge enough blades for everyone, and most didn't have proper armour." Hannah said. "Would we be wearing armour?"

"Eh," Richard shrugged, unsure, the table creaking as he moved. "Probably not. Too expensive. Though, we're still figuring things out. Anyway, I'm off to give Tara her blade and watch the game."

"Oh, right, there were a bunch of games being played today between teams, wasn't there?" Hannah said. "A couple of the teams were from NATO, weren't they?"

"No, teams were mixed," Richard replied, pulling an item wrapped in cloth from a hidden spot beneath the table. "There was at least one NATO soldier in each of the teams for the Earth sports being played, and a couple of Americans joined in for the Warrior Bunny's traditional games."

"Most of the different sports are just variations of the same game, played differently by each tribe." Hannah corrected. "But, anyway, haven't they already started?"

"Yeah, but there was part of a ceremony Tara wanted to meet with me beforehand," Richard explained. "Anyway, I'm off."

Hannah smiled as he took off at a jog, his gift for Tara concealed in its cloth wrapping under his arm.

---

Tara paced back and forth.

Her stomach was slowly turning itself in knots. Things looked fine, but the reality was, the festival was a failure.

"Tara!" She leapt at Richard's call.

"Richard!" She laughed, tension bleeding out of her body at the sight of her lover. "You here, great!"

"So, what was it you wanted to show me?" The Canadian knight had something under his arm, Tara noted, as her eye's flickered toward it.

"Yes. Come with me." Tara grabbed his hand, pulling him along. "The leaders and I are supposed to observe at least one each of the games… so I made sure we would have this game to ourselves, the others already planning to see other games, or have already done so."

Richard followed her up a set of stairs, part of the rear of the bleachers that had been constructed for the games by NATO engineers who their officers decided had too much free time.

He blinked at the size of the private box as Tara led him into it.

"It was meant for all the leaders to attend at once, but that didn't happen," Tara explained. She bit her lip.

Richard noted that she was blushing, even as the crowd murmured outside. Seems the walls were thin.

Tara sat on one seat and gestured for him to sit next to her. She waited for him to take the seat, before reaching underneath it, and pulling out a sheathed blade. It was in the style of the Warrior Bunny's traditional blades.

Richard shook with laughter as she handed it to him. He handed her the wrapped blade he carried to her in exchange.

"Did Hannah have anything to do with this?" He asked as the laughter subsided.

"She… mentioned you lacked a knife or short sword to protect yourself," Tara admitted.

Richard snorted in amusement as he inspected his blade. Curved, with a broad blade, it was vaguely reminiscent of a Kukri, though it lacked the same extreme angle of curve, and was in the opposite direction, with the longer edge sharpened. It was detailed with an intricate pattern in the blade, shallow enough not to endanger the integrity of the blade, but deep enough to be seen. It reminded him a little of the US Bowie knife if it had a curve to it.

Tara pulled the cloth from her own blade and inspected it. She noted the deliberate similarities between the traditional Warrior Bunny blades and the Kukri, being an interesting hybrid. She snorted, noting the copper wire down the back edge that spelt out 'Rome shall perish—write that word/ In the blood that she has spilt' from Boudica, an Ode. It gleamed in the light, and she admired the complex wrapping done in the leatherwork around the handle. A wide, flat, pommel ended the hilt, providing a counterweight and catch.

"Where… how…?" Tara stumbled.

"I forged it myself." Richard put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her into a hug.

Tara sheathed the blade, grabbed him by his collar, and pulled him into a kiss. As they separated, Richard blinked in surprise, his cheeks flushed, matching Tara's. Also matching were the grins on both of their faces.

They would have continued, had the crowd outside not broken out into a cheer as the teams made their way onto the game field.

Tara blinked, remembering her duty, and leapt to her feet. She drew her new blade and walked to the front of the box, where she could be seen.

Richard didn't remember what speech she made, but he remembered the way she made her blade flash in the light as she saluted the teams with it.

After several moments, the game began, and she returned to her seat.

"So, about the blade you gave me…" Richard began slowly. "I don't suppose you would be willing to teach me how to use it?"

"Of course." Tara grinned.

Out of the corner of his eye, Richard caught the sight of something that felt familiar to him. He dismissed the sight a moment later.

'Impossible for her to be here. My sister would have no reason to be allowed past the NATO checkpoints.'

Any further thought on the subject vanished as Tara sat in his lap.

"Now, where were we?" She gave him an impish grin.

 

[charclone]

"Well, you're in a happy mood," Hannah commented.

Tara rolled her eyes, as she knew Hannah was just looking to tease her. An old, informal tradition among the Warrior Bunnies was to tease those who had found someone. No one remembered where it came from.

Speaking of informal traditions, the pair had found themselves meeting in the fancier establishment. Tara had initially shied away from the deference she was shown until one of them pointed out it was more a matter of politeness, rather than any sort of 'worthiness' or inherent value difference in their lives.

It had changed little since it had first been established.

The tables were nicer, the chairs now were more heavily cushioned. The quality of the food had increased, as Italica had begun to trade with Alnus, and through Alnus, Earth. It was small and restricted so far, but Tara had both seen what was being sent through, and the money involved. Spices were highly valued, not to mention exotic things such as maple syrup.

At least the Long Patrol would have a steady supply of funding once officially stood up.

Tara sighed and sank into the plush chair. Imported from Earth, she had heard.

She blinked as the food was brought out to them.

"Your food, your majesty." Tara's blinking became owlish, as the server, a Warrior Bunny she didn't recognise, placed the food on the table while referring to her as if she were the queen. The scars around the woman's throat, partially hidden by her clothes, hinted as to why they had never met. One of the recent arrivals was Tara's guess.

"I'm not queen." She blurted out in shock and indignation. How far, she wondered, had the rumours gone, and to what extent had they grown? Some had been funny, if preposterous, but if they were claiming she was queen, then things would quickly get out of hand and in a dangerous fashion.

"Not yet, your majesty." The woman smiled. "But no matter what the tribes vote, there are many that support you, and… when I first arrived, the first thing that I was told was that 'Nay-toe' and the local lord were working with you, Tyuule's sister, to ensure we could celebrate our traditions, while the Empire tried to crush them."

"It wasn't the same as being able to go back to the way things use to be, but… it was so much closer to home than I had felt in three years." The woman bowed. "So, thank you, your majesty. Now, by your leave, I have other duties to attend to."

Dumbstruck, Tara fumbled for a moment, before mimicking a dismissing gesture she had seen Tyuule use in court. As the woman left, Tara stared sightlessly, dumbstruck.

Hannah chewed on her food, a look of amusement on her face.

"You know," She said as she swallowed. "If we don't get some sort of government set up-"

"Don't." Tara snapped. "Just… don't. I…"

Hannah's face twisted from amusement to concern as she saw Tara shiver.

"… the stories about the Gate… it rarely stays open long." Tara resumed, after a moment to collect herself. "What happens if it closes?"

"… NATO would go home if it could before that," Hannah answered after a moment's thought. "Why? What brought this up?"

"I saw Radya, just as she was released from the hospital. She's overseeing the current festival for today." Tara explained, her face pained. "She… reminded me of the stories when I asked her what she thought about the other factions. She explained she didn't want to rely on NATO when it could leave in a moment."

Hannah snorted.

"So, your afraid of things collapsing suddenly if NATO disappears?" Hannah paused and looked at her friend. "No… you don't care about being queen…. Richard. Your worried about what he would do… that's why you pushed ahead and-"

"Not that far just… some personal time." Tara cut her friend off. "But… yes. I… I honestly think I would prefer to stay on Earth with him if the Gate closed."

Hannah stared.

Tara flinched as the silence grew.

---

Strike, parry, riposte.

Richard's flamberge flicked through the air as he moved through a sequence.

Block, parry, feint, strike.

His breathing was heavy, and his clothes beneath his black armour clung to him, glued to his body by his sweat.

The metal glinted in the sun as he moved, and the mail clattered.

Beneath his armet-style helm, he grinned. It wasn't just the events that had transpired yesterday with Tara, but it was also how this was what he enjoyed. He enjoyed the feeling of his armour, the weight of his sword in his hands. The control and skill required.

The field around him was often used by the Long Patrol when they trained, mostly keeping up their old skills from when the handful of them were still Saderan soldiers. Today, it was nearly abandoned, which was why Richard chose now to use it.

The grass had long been torn away by many feet, replaced by dirt and sand. Wooden fences formed the perimeter of the training field, while a few storage sheds surrounded it, and kept it relatively private.

Richard paused when he caught sight, through the slits and holes of his helm, of Major Edgar Johnston approaching from between two of the sheds.

Richard sighed at the sight of his father's old friend and set about removing his helm. The sword went back into its sheath to be maintained later. His stomach sank with dread.

"So, it was my sister that I saw yesterday?" He called, leaning against the fence as he rested.

Edgar winced.

"Yeah… sorry, just found out she was let through. General Jameson didn't know about your history." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He had been present for one of the fights between them in the past. "Unfortunately, she isn't here as your sister but as a representative of one of the companies from the 'States that is being considered as a supplier for the Long Patrol."

Richard winced.

"You sure we can't just look for a company still making old… I don't know, British redcoats?"

"They own the company that makes stuff like that, yeah, along with other military surplus." Edgar sighed. "Unfortunately, you need to talk to her, as that company is offering a way better deal than any of the others, especially with boots. Your sister causes problems though, I'll make sure she's back on Earth by the end of the day."

"Meaning, I need to talk to her today!" Richard's armoured fist struck the wooden post of the fence. "Alright, when, where, and do I have enough time to at least shower and change?"

---

Anne scowled as she waited.

Her brother was… not someone she liked. He was lazy, wasted his time on outdated things, paid little attention to the modern world, and would rather be out playing in the woods pretending he was a knight, an outdated and childish concept itself, rather than put any work in to gain in the world.

He wasted time on ancient history, rather than with creating modern history.

Yet, somehow, he had become famous, while she was working on it.

It wasn't fair, in her mind.

Unfortunately, corporate had ignored her protests and complaints. She was his sister, and they wanted to use that to get ahead of their competitors, on top of their better prices. Her boss had even implied it would hurt her future prospects if she didn't stop, suck it up, and get the deal signed.

It nearly drove her to drink.

At least she wouldn't be in this filthy backwater place for long, and watching some of the locals move around in their style of dress had given her fashion ideas she could use.

She glanced at her watch.

Richard was running late.

It was about what she expected.

She leaned back in the chair and continued to wait. Plastic, mass-produced, and thankfully clean, unlike the seats she had seen in the town.

Why Richard was content to work in this place was beyond her, but at least the office NATO had set up was properly done, albeit soulless.

The front door clacked open.

Anne glanced at it, noted that it was another one of those bunnygirl locals entering, and went back to waiting, the girl dismissed from her mind.

"Sister," Richard grunted.

Anne sat up, startled, and blinked. She noted the girl was hovering behind Richard, armed with a sword on her hip. Some sort of bodyguard? She had heard Richard was seen as important somehow by the locals, and there was a man in armour just outside the door as well.

"Brother." She forced on a false smile. "I'm not happy with this situation either. So, what would it take to convince you to accept the deal?"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"Depends on what the deal is." He gestured to the stairs. "Let's talk in my office."

---

"Nope, that doesn't work." Richard shook his head. "Way beyond our price limit. We don't need to be fashionable, just presentable, and practical. We can use military surplus if we need to."

His hair was wet, Anne noted. Must have been off playing until someone forced him to come see her.

She was a little surprised it hadn't taken days.

"I can personally guarantee the quality." She began.

"Custom fitted? Seriously?" Richard snorted, not bothering to look at her as he stared at the suggested deal. "Fits with the usual bullshit you pulled."

"Bull…" Anne gaped. "I was trying to help with Mom!"

"At interest rates that I couldn't afford. For paying for your own mother's health!" Richard stood, leaning over his desk.

"I had to be sure you wouldn't waste it on scrap metal for… toys and garbage!" She snapped back. "How else could I have done that!?"

"Well for one, trusted me! I'm still paying for Mom's care, by myself. You never tried, beyond those exploitative offers!" He roared. "When was the last time you bothered to care about anyone besides yourself!?"

"How dare you!" Anne hissed.

The pair of them glared angrily at each other for several moments.

A young British Lt. coughed from the doorway.

"I'll just… leave these here." He placed the papers in his hands on Richard's desk before making himself scarce.

Richard blinked and collapsed into his chair.

"You really think it's toys and garbage?" Richard snorted. "Look outside, these people considered that stuff more advanced than most of what they had."

"They are… primitive. Of course, they think metalworking is impressive." She shrugged, failing to see his point. "Honestly, I'm surprised you were able to scrape together enough money for Mom."

"There are differences between the cloth of the 19th and 20th centuries, yes? Well, the locals are used to the Roman and… a mix of various ages of medieval technology." Richard went on. "There are degrees of variation in technology. Modern metalworking is leagues ahead, even when mimicking late medieval technology."

"And why is that relevant? Yes, the cloth and fashions of the 19th and 20th centuries differed."

"You consider that significant?"

"… sort of. It led to modern fashion, something that is important."

"Nearly all technology is an evolution of the past's." Richard explained. He leaned back and closed his eyes. "My degree is in medieval history. Do you know how complex it was to just get steel? Now, it's everywhere on Earth. In practically everything."

Richard rubbed his eyes.

"Starting to go off on a tangent. Worked at a museum to pay for mom's bill, and had others help." He sighed. "My point was that it is important to remember because it is part of history. A step that was taken to get where we are today. We forget that, and we would need to reinvent it if it became needed again."

Anne frowned.

"And that relates to our argument how?"

Richard looked at her. He looked tired.

"I want you gone; you want to be gone. So, why are you giving us an asinine deal?"

"Corporate told me to present it first."

"Dumbasses."

"Yeah. They didn't care to listen when I told them it would be a bad idea to send me."

Richard snorted.

"So, no deal, or can you agree to a more reasonable deal that partially screws them over?"

Anne pursed her lips.

"I'm not going to hurt my career." She tapped her chin. "But… give me an hour to draw something up."

Richard nodded.

"Hey, you know Dad was the one that introduced me to the medieval stuff, right?" He said after a moment.

Anne winced.

"Yeah, I know. It's just, you seemed so focused on it, at the expense of other things."

"I enjoyed it. Never saw why you enjoyed fashion. It's… art. Not making clothes, or making better clothes, but instead making as flashy and impractical clothes as possible."

"It's art. It doesn't need to be practical." Anne felt her face twitch.

 

[charclone]

Princess Pina Co Lada chewed her lip as she watched a handful of her knights duel. The way the tournament had been set up was a point system, requiring a certain number of victories before moving on to the final elimination brackets.

Despite the presence of any sort of prize, it had been a necessity in the face of the number of contestants that had entered. Many were Warrior Bunnies and NATO soldiers, with a handful of the Long Patrol participating. The Order of the Rose was by far the smallest group, discounting the small number of amateurs that had joined.

Bozes had flown through her matches, starting the day after the final day of the Warrior Bunny festival. She was fighting with a ferocity that was making Pina nervous. Bozes had always been aggressive, but she seemed to be putting her anger into her strikes.

So far, it was working, but she had been against mostly other Rose Knights who were intimidated by her, and youths that had never been trained.

To be fair, Richard seemed to have been fighting others in a similar position, mostly people less experienced than him. But that did little to assuage Pina's fears.

Pina flinched as one of the knights lost their duel, the woman being laid flat on her back by a blow by the training blade. A moment later, her opponent helped her up.

She mentally tallied her knights' points and winced.

So far, it looked like only Bozes would move on to the next round, which was going to be dominated by Warrior Bunnies. Surprising, but Pina wasn't surprised.

They were famed for their skills in warfare.

---

Hannah's blade was sent into the air, and she stumbled backwards from Richard, raising her hands in surrender.

"Victor: Sir Richard!" The referee, a US Marine announced.

"You alright?" Richard asked as he pulled his helm from his head. "Your movements seemed… off."

"Ah, it's just the armour. Not used to all the weight." Hannah shrugged as she pulled the helmet off. "How do you move with all that?"

"Practice," Richard laughed, leaning his sword on his shoulder. "Lots of practice. Come on, I see Tara waving at us."

Hannah rolled her eyes and followed him.

"She was watching the whole time." Hannah snorted.

"Yeah, but now she wants us to head over. Probably so we aren't delaying the next match." Richard joked as he walked over, pulling his helmet off. He leapt over the fence that lined the border of the arena before being wrapped in a hug.

"My victorious knight." Tara laughed, kissing him on the cheek.

"Hey!" Hannah protested. "What about me?"

"You didn't win." Her friend replied, smirking.

Richard rolled his eyes at the back and forth.

"Right, that was my last match for today. I'm going to go shower and look after my equipment," He glanced at Tara. "You going to come with me, or do you have other things to do?"

Tara's ears wilted.

"Other stuff. I'm trying to talk with other groups, see if they have any ideas for governance but…" She sighed, leaning against Richard's plate-armoured shoulder. "Aside from the… people wanting me as queen, and Radya's cronies, the other groups are… even more fragmented than I thought. A lot of them have even fallen apart because of the festival."

Richard winced.

"Anyway," She said with false cheer before he could say anything. "You need a shower."

"Yes. I do." Richard laughed, rubbing her shoulder. "Hey, Hannah, can you watch the rest of the event, and tell me who the people to move on to the next round are?"

"Sure." Hannah waved. "I need to go return this stuff anyway. But I get to borrow your shower afterwards. It's way nicer than the communal ones."

---

"Lord Richard?" Richard glanced up at the Long Patrol member. "Radya is here, requesting an audience."

Richard snorted, glancing around at the inside of the smithy he was using. He sighed, before finishing the adjustment to the leather strap of his armour.

"Alright, send her in." He set it to the side as he spoke, leaning back in his chair. "Not exactly a throne room, but I'm no lord."

The soldier ignored his mumbles as he moved to let the Warrior Bunny matriarch in.

"Sir Richard," She greeted.

Richard felt something was off about her tone. He had never spoken directly to her, but there was a slimy quality to it that seemed out of place. A hollow falseness.

"Matriarch Radya," He greeted in reply. "I see you are recovered from the incident."

Richard could have been mistaken, but for a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of fear and anger in her eyes.

"Mostly, yes." Her nostrils flared, and an ear twitched as she looked at Richard. "My compliments on your victory in the early round."

"Thank you. But that isn't the only reason you wanted to speak to me, is it?"

The dark-haired, rabbit-eared woman regarded him carefully.

"There are… many legends of the Gate opening. None of them tell of it staying open so long." She said, breaking away from Richard's hardening gaze. She looked around the forge with false interest. "It is… unprecedented, to my knowledge."

She looked back at Richard, smiling and shrugging.

"Ah, of course, I am no scholar. Perhaps the scholar-mages of Rondel know of times when it stayed open. There are certainly many kinds of humans and elves, so perhaps it has happened before." She said.

Richard bit back a snort. Compared to Pina's mask, Radya's was practically transparent. Though Richard didn't know why Pina disliked him, he was starting to become aware of it, from the way she had frowned whenever he noticed her looking at him.

"What are you getting at?" Richard dropped his feigned politeness. UnCanadian of him perhaps, but he wasn't being rude about it.

"I am curious, as to whether you would choose to stay, or leave if the Gate were to close." If Radya was insulted by his blunt question, she wasn't showing it. "I understand you and Tara are… close?"

Richard bit back his initial confirmation of their relationship, considering the woman in front of him.

"And… why does that matter to you?"

"Well…" Radya hesitated. "If Tara were to become our queen, you can't blame me for being concerned about where her feelings lie, can you?"

Richard bit back a snort.

Throughout human history, there had been countless would-be kings and queens. Petty tyrants and revered conquerors. Richard was a student of history. He knew, that for all the dramatization of history, the media did, the path to power that those who had succeeded in their ambitions walked was not nearly as dramatic or eye-catching. Often, it was quiet, until it was too late or too costly to stop.

To Richard, Radya was quite blatant in her ambitions, with the tone of voice she tried, and failed, to hide when she mentioned Tara being queen.

"If?" Richard asked. "Who else would be… acceptable? Not to be accusatory, of course, just… well. I'm sure you've heard Tara's reasons for being hesitant."

His heart thundered in his ears as he spoke.

Radya smiled, this one almost predatory.

"Oh, I could hardly blame her. It was… not as an easy position, leading our people." She shrugged. "But, of course, that doesn't answer your question."

She paused.

"Well, it hardly matters, as long as they do the job properly." She said after a moment. "Now, I had best be off. By your leave, Sir Richard."

She bowed, and spun around, leaving in a flash.

Richard remained seated, deep in thought.

Nearly half an hour later, Tara walked in, pouting.

"Tara," Richard's eyes flicked up at her. "I thought you would be busy still?"

"Most of the groups cancelled their meetings with me or accused me of deliberately splintering their groups." She groaned, striding over to sit on his lap. "So, what happened to make you put on that frowning face?"

"Radya swung by earlier. She tried to get under my skin for some reason…" Richard paused. "How many groups splintered?"

"Uh… most of them, I think?" Tara yelped when Richard suddenly stood up, throwing her from his lap in the process. "What's wrong?"

Tara blinked as Richard began to pace.

"Small things about her that were off… and would it be correct that the only two groups to really retain any sort of power are the… Royalists, backing you, and Radya's faction?" Richard asked, stopping next to the table where his word lay.

"I think she lost some followers, and some groups are still around, though much smaller. Some new ones formed too… but I suppose they are the largest two." Tara answered, frowning. "Richard, what's wrong?"

"Radya is rather manipulative. Ham-fisted about it, but manipulative." Richard replied, drawing his sword. "And I think she has ambitions. She… deliberately avoided saying she would be a candidate for rulership, despite my own implications of that being the case. I might be jumping at straws, but…"

Tara winced.

"She's… yeah. She's manipulative." She admitted. "I don't know if she is trying to be queen but… I think she has been pressing in that direction in some of the meetings. But… why should we care? If she is queen, I won't have to be."

Richard inspected his blade, then slumped and sheathed it.

"First, do you really trust her with that power? Second… it would divide your people further." Richard said. "How many of your people would choose to follow her? And how many would… resist it. Aggressively?"

Tara blinked. She crossed her arms.

"Please tell me you aren't suggesting I make myself queen to keep her from doing the same?"

Richard didn't respond, instead electing to put the sword back on the table and lean against it.

"Richard. I don't want to rule. I'd be terrible at it!" She shouted.

"Not wanting the power, actually makes you more qualified to handle it," Richard said. "In addition, there have been many poor rulers that did not ruin their nations. They made sure they had advisors, lieutenants, or even just cronies, who could do the job the monarch could not. It's partially how the British ended up with the Prime Minister being head of Government."

The pair stood in silence, tension in the air between them.

It was broken a moment later by Hannah knocking on the door.

"Hey, Richard, I'm off to steal your shower." She said, the tension unrecognised. "But your first match is going to be against one of the Roses. The yellow-haired one?"

"Thank you, Hannah." He said. "Enjoy your shower."

He glanced at Tara, who had her head hung low and her arms crossed.

"Well, I'd best get my gear ready for that match tomorrow." Richard picked up his armour. "Tara, I… I'll see you tonight?"

"…Yeah." Tara sighed. "Tonight. I'm… I'm going to go… talk to some more people."

---

Bozes Co Palesti tested the training blade in her hands. Feeling its weight as she prepared herself for the duel.

Across the field, Richard stretched in his black armour.

'My princess and friend was insulted. I cannot let that stand.' She thought, glaring at the black-clad knight. 'But Pina is right. To tarnish my honour in the process, and jeopardise the peace my liege was working towards, would be… an unacceptable situation. So, here, on this field of honour, I will defeat you!'

Richard, of course, could not hear her thoughts.

As the referee, a soldier from someplace Bozes had heard called 'France', called them both to the centre of the field, a third pair of eyes watched, greatly interested in seeing the defeat of Richard.

Radya, sitting in the private stand set aside for notables, watched gleefully. Confident that her words the day before had had the chance to worm their way into Richard's mind. His defeat would be a minor note, but if he was seen as weaker than the Empire, then it would plant doubt in the minds of some of the other Warrior Bunnies who were still on the fence.

Part of her was glad that her subordinates had at least been able to carry out her plan, even in her absence. A whisper here, a rumour there, coupled with the fact that it was only Radya and Tara that seemed to have any sort of working plan, and the other factions splintered and collapsed. Not completely, but it became much easier to win them over if they were lacking in the political influence that supporters gave them.

The only flies in the ointment were Richard's popularity, his closeness to Tara, and her being related by blood to the Royal line. It was netting them a solid power base.

She had been tempted to try and spread rumours that Richard's efforts to secure food were going mostly to NATO, but the amount of food NATO was still handing out would keep those from being effective.

Hence, the duel.

She had also been tempted to try and sabotage Richard's armour, but he maintained his armour, so that idea was nixed.

In the end, her tongue was her weapon of circumstance.

With them reduced in stature, she could consolidate her power. Perhaps even be queen before the end of the year.

She grinned wickedly as the duel was signalled to begin.

Richard quickly was put on the back foot as Bozes leapt forwards, her gilded armour flashing in the sun, her blade stabbing at his chest, to be batted to the side as Richard backpedalled.

Bozes swung again, and again. Richard kept himself steady, taking a hit when he could not parry. Steel clanging and ringing as they collided.

"Just take him down already." Radya hissed quietly, attentive to the presence of one of the NATO officers in the stand.

It was just a brief moment that Richard needed.

As he parried one of her blows, he called out.

"Come one!" Laughing in the process.

Bozes grit her teeth and lunged again. This time, Richard stepped to the side, gripping the blade of his sword in one hand, to block her redirected strike mean to keep him from getting around.

Driving her blade back, he lashed out with his sword, striking her helmet. She stumbled backwards in shock, teetering.

Under the rules of the tournament, one's foe needed to be knocked down, or yield. Drawing blood was possible grounds for disqualification.

Pina, in another stand, covered her face as Bozes steadied herself, letting out a scream of rage.

"She's lost it." The Saderan princess muttered. "I shouldn't have let her participate. I knew she got angry easily in duels, it's how Gray kept beating her whenever she felt humiliated by the training enough to challenge one of the instructors."

Bozes lunged, her strikes less coordinated, but with much more power behind them.

For a brief heartbeat, Radya grinned, sensing Richard's surprise. Then the grin vanished.

Richard parried her blows, and despite his speed slowing, his steps became more confident.

Bozes lunged one final time, intending to strike at Richard's arm. She had not lost her senses with her temper. She knew she couldn't harm Richard, but she fully intended to win.

Richard's sword came at an angle, catching her sword and pointing it skywards. His offhand lashed out, catching her wrist as he stepped parallel to her blade. In a battle, it would be a move that left him vulnerable. But in a duel…

His sword's tip was caught by his plated foot, and they both struck the back of Bozes' outstretched leg.

She let out a gasp as she hit the ground.

"Victory: Richard."

Radya stood and walked out, not caring that, as Bozes stood, Richard seemed to be the one in worse shape, tearing his helmet off and panting.

---

"My compliments on your victory," Pina said, later that day.

Richard, an icepack over one eye, looked at her.

"I'm not sure what you mean, your highness? I lost the tournament." He said, winding as he aggravated his bruised hand.

"You defeated one of my knights," Pina kept her voice even. "She is… rather distraught about that fact. Nevertheless, it was fair, and it underlined her weakness. How, if I may be so bold as to ask, did you know she was easy to anger?"

"I didn't." Richard laughed. Pina frowned in disbelief. "No, really, I didn't. I laughed because I was having fun."

"I… I suppose I can understand the sentiment." Pina replied. "Still, there was another matter. I am returning to Saderan in two days, but I received an invitation for you, from a Count Arruns. I believe he was part of the invasion force, the one that initially captured you. He… sent a guarantee that you would not be harmed, and could bring as many guards as you wished."

Pina motioned for Hamilton to hand over the letter in question. Richard took it, curiously.

"My apologies if I am missing something, but… why are you delivering it? It seems rather… below a princess." Richard asked, adjusting the ice pack.

Pina's face twisted in confusion.

"It would hardly do to insult you, considering your connections to your own monarch."

Then, it was Richard's turn to be confused.

"I… have no connections, blood or political, to His Majesty the King, aside from earning the medal he awarded."

Pina blinked.

"I… see. My apologies, I assumed." She said. "The medal, it's awarded only by the monarch, then?"

"Yes, the Order of the British Empire is awarded only by His Majesty," Richard replied. "It is… awarded based on merit, rather than political connections or feudal reward. Now… I hope you don't mind if I ask, but, would it be correct to assume that you have also been invited to this… what is the event?"

"A feast and party, I believe, and yes, the Imperial family was invited. As a matter of course. I doubt any of us will attend." Pina paused. "Why?"

"Because, it might get turned into a diplomatic thing by the politicians, a way of showing we are moving towards peace. When is it scheduled?" Richard put down the icepack to unfold the letter. "Er… not familiar with the dating system used…"

"In three months," Hamilton supplied. "A little short notice for a diplomatic event, but I suppose it was not planned to be such."

"Well, I… am not sure I'd be there, what with training the Long Patrol," Richard said, yawning and placing the icepack back over his bruised eye. "I suppose I'd best discuss this with the General, and then get to preparing a response. With your leave, your Highness?"

---

A.N. So, uh... been 19 days since the last chapter. Its not dead, I'd say if it was, but life gets in the way. Have a backlog, and this was written back in 29/04/2023, but I wanted to keep the backlog three chapters long. Didn't expect it to take this long though.

Good news, I've nearly written what I expect to be the halfway point. So, yeah. Enjoy. Next chapter shouldn't take as long.

 

[charclone]

"You are going to that party," General Jameson stated bluntly the next day. "Between getting to show off the Long Patrol, making connections with the Imperials, strengthening the peace, and presenting ourselves as peers, it is an opportunity to do a great deal of diplomatic good. Besides, we will be having a celebration of some sort to commemorate the peace deal around that time anyway, which you will need to attend as well, so this lets us plan ahead a bit more, and show off."

Richard nodded, sitting in the chair across the desk from the General.

"I understand, it's just…" He chewed his tongue for a moment. "I killed his son when he captured me. So… I feel uneasy about it."

"You'll have a protective detail, more than just a handful of the Long Patrol. Veteran soldiers, who have done this sort of thing before," The American general explained, in an attempt to reassure the younger Canadian. "Besides, I doubt it's ambush, the Count is inviting too many different people, including the Saderan Imperial family."

"I know, I know…" Richard sighed, shaking his head. "Probably just my nervousness over the upcoming training."

Samuel snorted in amusement.

"You'll be fine," He laughed. "Major Johnston has faith in you, and I trust his judgement. Hell, the man's gut could probably pick out one of those… what were they called? The shapeshifters?"

"Dar," Richard replied, letting himself relax.

"Right, well, speaking of them…" The phone began to ring. "Hang on, one moment."

Richard leaned back in his seat, letting his eyes wander around the general's office. He noted with some amusement, that a trio of battle standards, all Saderan, had been set up in his office to one side in a rack. Pictures of other people in uniform dominated the walls, with only a single display case showing the general's awards and campaign ribbons being the only statement of ego he spotted. The NATO flag hung next to a bookshelf, on which Richard recognised many of the books on medieval and Roman society, culture, politics and warfare.

"General Jameson," The officer said into the phone. "Jeff, good to hear from you, but… no, I understand… I…"

Richard gestured to the door, in a silent question to the General. Samuel shook his head, mouthing 'stay'.

"I'm glad to hear your daughter is doing better. But no, I can't authorise that… damn it, Jeff, you can't ask for those sorts of favours. We just don't know enough about… Okay, look, first, I understand, but you shouldn't be being given that information. Second, you have not been invited, and the list will be up to other people to decide, probably a committee. Third, the main invitee is here in my office, and you have interrupted a meeting. If something gets cleared, and they are looking for volunteers, and I can legally inform you, then I will, but please, for both our sakes, don't do anything stupid… yes, thank you. You too, goodbye."

Jameson placed the phone on the receiver with a sigh, hanging his head.

"Friend of mine, politician. Daughter got hit by a car a couple of years ago, and he is desperately hoping there is something here on Falmart that can heal her injury," He took a deep breath. "Someone told him about the invitation. Modern communication, and the fibre-optic cable, are sometimes a pain. He offered to participate in the delegation and back me however I needed, in exchange for getting healing for his daughter."

Richard winced.

"Corruption, but the kind that is hard to condemn," He sighed. "So, I assume based on your comment that a committee is going to determine a list of Earth politicians to attend?"

"Probably. I only just sent the report in myself," Jameson shrugged. "Anyway, where were we? Oh, right, the Dar."

The American general pulled a file from his desk.

"Here, give it a read. The guy that was captured back at Italica has been gone over by the spooks, and now he wants to 'defect'," He said, handing the folder to Richard. "More like he wants a steady paycheck, with a boss that isn't going to treat him as disposable. I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but the choice is yours since he is hardly the first former foe added to the Long Patrol. Intel added a bunch of comments. Take a few days to read through it, then decide."

General Jameson leaned back into his seat, rubbing his jaw.

"One last thing. Got an odd request from Rory," A dark look flickered over the general's face as he gained a distant look as he mentioned the demigod. It vanished a moment later. "She, along with an odd fellow from Italica have requested your assistance and backing for an… expedition to some old ruins. She insisted it be you, rather than some archaeologists."

"Me? Why?" Richard's face twisted in bafflement. "Why would she want me? I avoid her."

"So do I. Her and the marines are a… potent combination," Samuel shuddered in memory. "All I know is that she cited her god as part of the reason and that the journey would help relations. She said there were a couple of bandit groups that were hiding near the route they would take, that we could wipe out. I'm willing to believe her that far since she is at least honest with us, and she offered to assist our people by being given copies of some records of the Gate from Rondel, a mage-city-state to the north."

"Any idea what they are looking for?"

"No. And that worries me," The American sighed. "Magic, gods, dragons, things from fairy tales and fiction. Too many unknowns with them being real. If she's headed to seal some ancient evil before it awakens, then I would want it done yesterday. If it's for something else…"

The general threw up his hands.

"So…" Richard asked. "You suggesting I go?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm willing to send some soldiers in that direction, and what she is offering is worth it, but…" General Jameson shook his head. "Some days, I wonder if this is all a bad dream. Anyway, you have just over a week free before the training would start, so there is time. This, I am also delegating to you. I'll give you the name of the fellow with Rory, and let you talk to him and decide. If there is nothing else on your end?"

"Actually," Richard handed a form over. "The bill for the uniform. Need your permission to ship them over."

"Oh, right," Samuel laughed. "So, what did you agree on with your sister?"

"Boots and dress coats," The Canadian replied. "Another company is going to do the uniforms and the helmets. Dress headwear is being done by a third company. Ended up going with, at Hannah and Tara's insistence partly to draw from history and snub the Saderans; dress uniforms inspired by the British Army of the 1860s."

The American general laughed.

---

"So, a week away from Alnus? Sign me up!" Tara laughed next to Richard.

He had sent word to the individual, a priest of Palapon the god of vengeance apparently, named Dimmu, requesting to meet him.

Tara, exhausted from the verbal fighting that had broken out in the wake of the festival, had elected to join him. They had chosen a new restaurant, this one located in the newest section of the rapidly expanding Alnus town, as the location for the meeting, partly out of curiosity.

So far, Richard had not been impressed. Cheap tables, rickety chairs, and based on the wait times, a too-small and understaffed kitchen.

"We still haven't decided if we are going to follow up on it," Richard pointed out. "Besides, you'll be away as part of the officer training. Oh, I think that is him now."

A cloaked figure walked through the entrance, hunched over, using a staff for stability. The cloak was old and well-worn but looked as if it had been recently cleaned. Slowly, the figure made their way to Richard and Tara's table.

"Sir Richard, Lady Tara? I am Dimmu. Thank you for agreeing to consider my request," The malformed shape beneath the cloak said as he sat at the table, in lightly accented Saderan. "My apologies if it is rude not to remove my cloak, but I suffer from sensitivity to the light."

"So, why is it you requested my assistance in this matter?" Richard asked.

Dimmu paused, considering his response.

"Ultimately, while there are several reasons, my primary reason is that Her Holiness, Lady Rory, recommended you," He explained. "My research… ties into my faith. I am a priest of the god of Revenge, and the tale I am investigating… pre-dates him. A tale of revenge, which is of interest to him. In exchange, my revenge will be seen too. So it is not purely a matter of the pursuit of knowledge or wealth."

Richard knew that there would be cultural differences. Even on Earth, there were still cultures that treated revenge as a virtue. Or at least acceptable. Nevertheless, the concept of revenge, here, made him uneasy.

"'An eye for an eye leaves the world blind.' As the saying goes," He said. The idea of assisting an act of revenge made him uneasy. Left a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought. "I fail to see why I should assist you."

"Well, that is an… interesting way to look at it. But is not justice another form of revenge?" Dimmu asked, peering out from under his hood. Richard and Tara caught a glimpse of a malformed face, with twisted bone beneath fur and twisted and knotted skin. "A thief who has stolen from a merchant has taken goods that might have been sold to a family to eat, after all. And is it not a judge chooses who lives and dies, who faces punishment, and what 'just' punishments are?"

"Justice is based on a set of standards, applied to all, evenly and without bias. On paper, if applied correctly," Richard countered bluntly. "Punishment is done and determined by society, not an individual. It is not about punishment itself, but rather adding incentive to avoid the crime being done in the first place, and having a standard that had been agreed to beforehand on how to handle those that did break the law. Revenge is based on emotion, rather than any sort of rational agreement or process. But we are getting off-topic. Why should I go with you on this expedition to ancient ruins?"

Richard felt Tara lay a hand over his.

"Well, it would seem your people and mine have… different definitions and values of justice," The priest snarled. He took a breath before continuing. "The ruins in question are an old Warrior Bunny city, from well before the Saderan Empire was founded. Perhaps before humans ever came to Falmart. The elven city-states, primarily the one that once existed where Italica now is, waged a war in response to heavy raiding. It lasted for several years, until the Warriors Bunnies on this side of the Dumas Mountains. I am tracing the path of two warriors, a demigod and her lover, who participated in the war. From what I have gathered, the demigod was the servant of the Warrior Bunnies goddess, an old god that no longer worshipped, and yet she fought alongside the elves. Her lover was a powerful mage, credited with the destruction of entire armies. They split, after one battle, and I believe they reconnected in this city. But this is the strange part: That city was never attacked, never mentioned afterwards. Both peoples seem to have… abandoned the city and avoided it like it was cursed. My god is certain that their tale of revenge against the goddess culminated there, and my own research supports it. All I ask is for the story. The riches and whatever artefacts discovered would be yours. I can also offer my services, and the services of my god, to assist your mission, and to determine if any of those items are cursed."

---

"Presenting! Praetor Peregrinus Porphyrogenita Pina Co Lada!" The sound of the wind and the roar of the 'helicopter's' 'engines' nearly drowned out Hamilton's announcement as Pina's delegation – the elements of the Order of Roses that were not staying at Alnus – disembarked from the NATO flying machines.

Pina kept her face calm, and her feet steady, as she led them towards a formation of the Imperial Guard. Smiling, she evenly greeted the officer in charge as he saluted her.

"Praefectus Praetorio Spurius Commidus. A pleasure to see you again," She acknowledged her father's commander of the Imperial Guard. "I am honoured my father has seen fit to send you personally to escort me back to Sadera."

"It is my honour and pleasure, your highness," The officer smiled back and bowed. "I must apologise however, for not giving you the proper time to recover from your journey, especially given the… strange mode of transportation the otherworlders provided, but your father has requested your presence. He wishes to speak with you, as soon as possible. He also hopes the newest recruit to the veterans assisting your knights arrived safely."

The Praefectus Preatorio, titled from an ancient office, glanced nervously as he spoke at the large helicopter behind her. Pina didn't blame him, it was a strange way to move, but it was swifter than any flying mount she had heard of, and offered a smoother ride.

"He did, yes. I look forwards to what he can offer my knights," She replied. "Now, if the Emperor asks of it, we should not keep him waiting. Please, lead me to my father."

---

"Thank you, Valerian. You may leave,"

The officer saluted his emperor, before departing, leaving Pina alone with her father in his study. On the desk lay her letters to him, reports on Earth, NATO, and related political concerns. In his hands was the second to last letter. The latest was apparently still on route, and Pina had overtaken it.

"The senate is greatly concerned over some of your reports," He began, not looking up from the letter. "They, quietly, accuse you of xenophilia and defeatism. I know you better than that, however. And I am not a blind fool. This NATO crushed many of our legions. We would be left with half-trained recruits, dregs, and rebellions across the empire if we launched another attack. So, we cannot defeat them militarily?"

"No," Pina answered her father, taking the offered seat. She relaxed into the cushion, thankful for its presence as it absorbed any discomfort from setting in her armour. "They have… extremely well-developed supply lines and doctrines. They have been able to stockpile supplies for weeks, and we have no reliable method for defeating their cavalry equivalents. Not to mention their soldiers are trained to an equal standard as our own, with superior weapons."

"Could we not steal, purchase, or replicate their magic?" Molt Sol Augustus asked. He knew the answer already of course, Pina had laid it out quite thoroughly, along with a basic explanation of how the weapons worked. He had sent out a few agents to acquire alchemists to see if there were methods available, and he knew for certain that Bouro had as well. But he wanted to know if Pina had learned anything else, or if she had information she did not want to risk in a letter.

"It isn't magic," Pina sighed. "We can replicate it, but only in a very primitive form, until we can create better tools and metals. Unfortunately, it would be too unreliable to use on the battlefield and would be extremely expensive. If we can maintain relations with NATO long enough, and at high enough levels, we would likely be able to purchase tools and weapons."

Molt raised his eyebrows.

"Indeed? What would be the main difficulties?"

"Slavery, and the peace treaty. There is also the matter of the land they are occupying, and the vassals," Pina replied. "King Duran seems close to Sir Richard, the knight that took Alnus, and there has been talk of treaties with the other vassals in the region."

Molt nodded. He had heard similar rumours, and the letters between him and Duran, well; they were far from friends. Duran had always resented the Empire's control over his country and the oppressive taxes levied.

"What do you think they will demand for the treaty?"

"That…" Pina faltered. "Aside from monetary or material demands as compensation for the invasion, I'm not sure. They may want trade concessions or force us to move away from using slavery, as they are strongly opposed to it. One member of NATO had a civil war over the issue, and another dedicated its navy to the extermination of the slave trade for several decades."

Emperor Molt hummed in contemplation, leaning back in his chair. He didn't blame Pina for not knowing what they would want for peace, and what she did not say they wanted was rather strange. It was a fact of diplomacy that one needed blood relations between nobles, to strengthen any peace, otherwise, it was merely one man's word against another.

If they were not demanding any form of connection, then what else would they want instead to avoid a new war? Pina's letters had outlined quite clearly how handily they could break the Empire. That they did showed a weakness for the plight of the commoners, if what Pina had been told was true regarding them fearing the collapse of the Empire.

Molt paused and searched for a letter, one that detailed the political systems of the other side of the Gate.

"They're all like republics," He muttered. "That would make dynastic alliances difficult."

Pina seemed confused as her father smiled.

"As long as the financial burden is not too severe, a monetary repayment would be acceptable," He said. "They intend to do us the honour of hosting the peace talks, yes?"

"Yes. I offered them the use of the Jade Palace if that would be acceptable to you," Pina replied.

"Good, that will do fine. Isolated that they cannot accuse us of spying on them, but not so far that they could be attacked without the Imperial Guard being able to respond," He nodded. "Yes, that will do. Now, there is another matter. The Senate. They are not going to be happy about the treaty. Less conquest, and fewer slaves, will hurt them. The Imperial family will survive, and I recommend you quietly get rid of your slaves. Sell them, gift them to this Richard to free them and gain some influence with him, whatever you feel appropriate. Daughter, you received my letter?"

"I did, yes," Pina confirmed, slightly confused. "But I'm not sure what you meant by it. How can I become more involved than I already am? What of the Order of Roses?"

Molt sighed at his daughter.

"You brothers both scheme for the throne. Members of the Senate look to use them, and you, to achieve their own ends," He explained. "Zorzal thinks me blind to his true intellect, though he overestimates himself in the process, and Diabo makes far too many risky deals. Neither of them I would trust. Yet, I cannot simply appoint you to the throne, not without Zorzal doing something to earn condemnation from the Senate. There is also the matter, daughter, of you. Why do you think so many nobles, most of them Equestria Familia, agreed to join or were sent to join your order of knights? Surely you recognised not all of them hold to the same sorts of stories and codes you do?"

Pina's mouth went dry. Suddenly, her armour felt heavier.

"Father, what do you mean? I am aware that some are looking to curry favour, but we are devoted to the Empire never-the-less."

"Indeed," Molt, who had earned the throne through political alliances and the previous emperor being dethroned by a too-powerful senate, one he had curbed to end a brewing civil war, nodded leaning over his desk. "But daughter, who would be Emperor when I am gone? Who would rule the Empire?"

 

[charclone]

The demigoddess kept her face stern and steady, as she walked past the wooden spikes. At their tops were the heads of the Queen's enemies, both political and foreign prisoners. Their bodies were tied to the base of the wooden poles.

The Queen was everything the Huntress-Queen loved in a ruler: bloodthirsty, ruthless, a hunter, someone to tolerate no weakness, and above all: pious. She tolerated no threats to her rule, foreign or domestic, and dealt with them all with bloody ruthlessness, torturing and executing any foe she caught.

It made the demigoddess' stomach twist in disgust.

The city, once a beacon of the queen's people's civilisation, had been transformed. When she first arrived, the mountainside city still had some buildings not dedicated to military use. Temples to gods other than the Huntress-Queen, festival grounds, an arena for footraces. The merchants' district still had a few stalls, remaining only because they still had a few things the queen's lieutenants had found desirable. Those same lieutenants' heads decorated the city gates, alongside the merchants.

What few parts of the populace had thought of resisting her had been crushed, simply by the demigoddess appearing; a symbol of their goddess' favour in their queen.

Mortals could challenge nobility, with risk, but to challenge a god was considered foolish and suicidal.

It made the demigoddess want to gnash her teeth and break the bloody, arrogant, and murderous queen beneath her foot.

As she passed a mustering point, the training warriors paused, long enough to turn to her and salute, before returning to their training. She was an old sight now, having been here for over a decade, acting as an advisor to the queen, one oft-ignored, unless the goddess gave her specific instructions on what to say, usually something bloody and cruel, all shaping the future of the long-eared people into something even more violent.

Still, it meant she was well-informed of the status of the war.

Even after so many years, the elves stood strong. Their armies won most engagements, and more and more warbands were being destroyed, often by the other demigod Emroy. His bloody axe and dark laughter heralded the sound of death and destruction on the battlefield.

But she had no word of her dark-haired friend… and almost lover, not directly. The queen was furious at the failure to capture or kill any of the elven mages, who wreaked a bloody cost in any battle, and vanished if their army was on the verge of defeat.

That was both a blessing and a curse, one that made her heart ache.

She strode through the dwelling of the queen. A small, compared to the elves', palace, but a palace, nonetheless.

She barged into the council chambers, uncaring of the interruption she caused, her weapon in her hand. She took invisible delight in the brief flash of displeasure on the Queen's face before she motioned for the messenger to continue.

"…thus, the warband was destroyed. Only I and a few others who were to carry messages escaped," The tired-looking warrior said, glancing at the demigoddess. She shook under the queen's glare. "By the chief's last count, there were seven hundred elves on wyvern-back, and thousands more on foot, with many mages."

The queen pursed her lips, as she stroked one of her ears.

"I see. Then, they are headed here?" She asked.

"The chief believed so, your majesty,"

The Queen closed her eyes in thought, her ears straightening to the top of her head. She leaned back.

"My warband will march to meet them," She said after a moment. "With so many flyers and soldiers, an enemy king must lead them."

She sprang from her seat, drawing her blade to hold it above her head.

"We will crush them, sacrifice their king to our goddess, then take their homes, and the blood of their weak will nourish the fields that will feed our people! Our strength will never tire!"

The demigoddess left amidst the cheers of the queen's soldiers. She was like that nearly every time, it was a wonder her people never got tired of it, with the promises made never coming true.

She walked through the palace, knowing how it would play out. The queen would suffer heavy casualties but would repulse the half-hearted assault by the elves, as they had done before. Their numbers would cease to grow, with so many potential mothers slain on the field or serving as warriors.

The plan was dreadful but effective. The elves were carefully herding their own numbers in battle, careful to lose as few as possible while inflicting as much damage as possible. Fields burned, stores destroyed, wells poisoned.

Famine and disease would do more damage.

The Huntress-Queen would rage about it for a year, before blessing the survivors to have even more female children, and less male, to encourage greater ferocity and competition, all the while, the elves strengthened themselves.

A flicker of movement out an open window caught her eye. She blinked, and for a moment, saw through the morning mists a figure walking through the courtyard, a black sword in their hand. Gone in the next breath.

The demigoddess blinked again, then shook it off.

She continued on her way, seeking out her one ally in this place.

The queen's daughter and heir leapt up in surprise, stuffing the scroll behind her back as her door opened, before relaxing upon seeing the demigoddess.

"You scared me, I thought you were one of my mother's lackeys," The young woman sighed, her dark hair framing her face as a smile grew. "Look what I found amidst the ruins of the old temples: a love poem!"

The demigoddess smiled but placed a finger to her lips.

"Your mother is headed off leading a warband. Another incursion," She explained. "So someone will show up to tell you that you are in charge."

The young woman groaned.

"I hate this, I hate my mother's… insanity. The city folk had more people, and larger armies than us," She groaned. "They had more food, and could even forge metal from ore, rather than repurposing old scraps. Yet my mother insists on her… insanity. We only beat the cities because they were fighting each other, and kept paying us to help them, and that left us rich, and them weakened."

The demigoddess felt a mental nudge from her patron.

"It is the will of the goddess that the strong rule," She said mechanically, her tone conveying her annoyance with the situation.

The princess bit back a snort.

"Anyway, I'd better hide this again," She said, storing it along with hundreds of others in the space beneath her room. A forgotten old cellar had become her library, despite the queen's belief that books made those who read them weaker, by making them reliant on the written word for memory. "Okay, well, I guess I'd better go take charge of my mother's 'kingdom'. More like a band of lunatics."

The young woman gave a long-suffering sigh, as she left to go fulfil her duties.

The demigoddess accompanied her.

---

Several days later, with no word of any battle, the young woman still ruled.

She chaffed under the laws of her mother, but at least none would dare challenge her when she showed an occasional softness.

The demigoddess frowned as she noted one advisor that had been left behind, who seemed to be smirking, as she accompanied the queen's daughter to the latest court.

"My lady, my warband caught these elves. I offer them to you as a sacrifice to your future prosperity, when you rule," The woman smiled. She gestured and the doors were opened to admit several warriors. With them, a child.

The young elf was at most twelve, with skin darker than that of any elf the demigoddess had seen before.

"These foolish weaklings asked for protection through our lands," The cruel woman laughed. "Thus, I offer you the son of their leader, as your first kill, so that the blood of the weak will nourish your future strength."

The demigoddess saw what was going on.

The princess was no killer, her mind was sharp, but it was better suited to wordplay or managing food supplies. She had never taken a life, though her mother was planning to make her do so.

But, as a defiant face of refusal flickered across the princess' face, another warrior rushed in.

"The queen is dead! Her forces were slaughtered by the elves! They are coming here!"

The room fell silent.

"Boy," The princess, no, the queen said. "Take your people from our lands. I grant you mercy, take your people south."

The elven boy slipped from the nerveless fingers of the warriors and ran.

The advisor made a sound of protest.

"Can your warband stop them?" The new queen asked. "Can you succeed where my mother failed?"

The advisor's face flickered.

"… no. Not with you as queen," She snarled. "Your mother instructed me to ensure you were properly hardened as a warrior. But you are weak."

"But stronger than you," The queen reposted. "Strong not in arm, but in knowledge. My mother took all of her warriors and got them slaughtered. The cities had more than us, more food, more warriors, more quality weapons. Their weakness was division."

The demigoddess blinked; she knew her friend, she had the wit, but… she had never seen her make a stand like this.

She froze. The Huntress-Queen had been paying far more attention to her once she had arrived, yet now… she had only felt the attention, once, days ago. She should be demanding her to act, to silence, yet again, someone speaking against her will.

There was nothing but silence.

"My mother's strength won, but we now live barely above squalor. We lose how many warriors to disease and famine?" The queen continued. "How many are born, only to stave to death before their first year? My mother was a fool. She led us to ruin, and now the elves come for our capital!"

The demigoddess saw warriors gathering, angry, but with agreement written on their faces. A few glanced at her, and a look of surprise flashed across their faces.

'Of course, I'm saying nothing against her, and I am the Huntress-Queen's agent, thus, there is an implied consent,' She thought gleefully.

As the new queen continued to rant and encourage her people, stripping away her mother's lies and foolishness, the demigoddess pulled on the line that connected her to the goddess, curious.

She gasped, as she found herself at the feet of two titans. One, topped by rabbit ears, desperately stabbing at the other, a giant figure shrouded in blood and darkness, with wild eyes glowing out of them.

The dark one looked at her, pinning her in place with merely its attention.

"Ah, you still defy her? Good. I will keep her busy. Your friend is coming with a plan. A blasphemous plan," The giant rumbled, and the demigoddess dimply recognised it as that of the demigod she had encountered years ago now, at the battle for the river. "But it is a plan that will work, now that I am a god of war, darkness, death, and madness!"

The giant laughed as it parried one of the Huntress-Queen's blows with a shield.

"Go, and be ready for this one to stand in your way."

She found herself, once more, in the court. Braziers burned, and the warriors around were cheering.

The new queen was smiling amidst them.

"We will go across the sea, beyond the mountains, and there, away from the elves, we will regain the strength my mother wasted!"

A hand touched her back, and the demigoddess looked over her shoulder.

From the shadows, she saw the face of her elven friend. Older, weathered by pain and stress, but still the same. The shadows moved around her, like black smoke, and something about the shadows made her nervous.

Her friend whispered.

"Emroy became a god, and I found old secrets, things that have made the other gods want me dead," She said quietly. "But it will end the threat of the Huntress-Queen, and free you. Meet me, tonight, near the temple in the mountains."

 

[charclone]

The convoy came to a stop.

Richard had, as part of his university program, visited an archaeological site excavating an old Scottish fort. It had been ancient, likely built on an earlier site, though they hadn't dug deep enough to tell, and most of the ruins had been covered by dirt, or worn away with time.

He remembered the cold, and the odd formations of hills, hinting at the locations of ancient ruins. Falmart was warmer than Scotland had been, but mist hung heavy across the sparse forest that had grown amidst the old city.

He took a deep breath as he got out of the vehicle, Tara already standing next to the door.

"Not much to look at," She said, looking around. "But, I do see this as being a place where a city might have been founded. Cliffs nearby provide protection on one side, the dried marsh we drove through would have provided defence on that side, the river feeding the marsh and city another."

"Well, buried ruins don't tend to look like much more than a few hills," Richard replied. "But I am willing to bet that we are in the right place. That slight bump, going around the perimeter? I'm pretty sure that used to be a perimeter wall."

As the two of them talked, some distance away Corporal Thomas groaned, sitting on a fallen log.

"Why did we get tagged for fucking babysitting duty again?" He asked, glancing at Corporal Fields. "You hear anything, Fifi?"

"No, but I bet the sergeant volunteered just to annoy," Philip rolled his eyes. "Now stop laying about, we're on patrol. The area isn't secure."

---

"Anyone else see that?" Richard called out, a few hours later. "Saw something in the fog."

"Where?"

Corporal Harry Thomas frowned, even as he and others spread out to search. They had been here for a few hours, while some sort of scanning equipment was set up. The mist was not dissipating, something that set his nerves on edge.

Hell, his nerves had been on edge ever since he had stepped out of the Hummer.

His gut had saved his life more than once, especially here in this fantasy land. An ambush by bandits spoiled, an elf found at the bottom of a well and another with several broken bones hidden amidst bushes some distance away, a well-hidden wire beneath sand leading to an IED being found when he stepped over it, all because he had a feeling.

Harry shook his head to clear it of memories and old fears. For all that he was a jokester, and lazy, he knew full well when to take his job seriously.

A flicker of movement in the distance caught his eye.

He signalled with his hands, creeping forwards, his rifle up and ready. Flanking him was the rest of his squad, covering him.

He moved forwards, then froze, and sighed.

"Just a damn rock," He called back, before inspecting it. Then he paused. The movement had been from a piece of fabric tied to it… and fabric wouldn't have lasted through the ages, would it? "Hey, got carvings on the rock, and it looks like someone was here to tie some fabric to it."

---

Past the rock had been a set of ill-maintained, and age-worn steps, yet, in the dirt and dried mud near the half-buried steps leading up the mountain, were prints, many footprints.

"Looks like people have been here within the last year," Harry heard one of the Canadian soldiers with them, further up the mountain path say. "I think I see a cave up ahead."

His stomach tied itself in a knot and his skin crawled.

"Hey, sarge?" He called. "Somethings wrong."

"Wrong? How… no birds," Sergeant Puckett swore under his breath. He reached for the radio. "Major, are you seeing any wildlife in the area? Or hearing anything?"

The radio crackled, and the voice of Major Johnston crackled through it.

"Negative. We're still making sweeps through this damn fog. Report if you have an idea as to what made them so scared."

"Acknowledged."

"This… this land is Hardy's," Harry spun around at the unfamiliar voice, then cursed for forgetting Rory had joined their expedition. "Above the ground, yet… she has a claim to it. It is her domain."

"You… really don't like her, do you?" He asked.

The demigod in the form of a young girl was gripping her oversized halberd tightly, her eyes darting around. Such a nervous picture was at odds with her normal confident character.

"The rumours of this place being cursed… I suspect Hardy was the one who cursed it," She said, ignoring his question. "We should finish and leave, quickly."

---

Richard looked out from the cliffside over the mist-filled plains that hid the ruined city. The midmorning sun rose in the sky yet failed to penetrate the mists below.

Behind him, Dimmu inspected the shrine that had been found in the cave.

"So," Tara said, walking over to stand next to him. "This… is not what I was expecting."

"Never seen ruins before?"

"Plenty. But…" Tara hesitated. "None so old that they were buried. Or, if I did, I never noticed them."

Richard snorted.

"That's fair," He reached out towards Tara's hand, letting her grasp his. "But it doesn't take much to bury ruins. Just some wind, dust, and plant life. Wind carrying dirt off the mountains, or across the plains, depositing it at the foot of the mountain, where the ruins catch the wind, would eventually leave it buried."

"You've seen it before?" Tara asked.

"Yeah, plenty of times. Online, mostly, for classes," Richard shrugged. "But I've been to other archaeology sites. Old abandoned Scottish fort, half the thing was buried by time, even after people worked for years. It was around six hundred years old if I remember correctly, and it was more heavily buried than this. But that was all due to topography if I remember my classes correctly."

Tara hummed, simply enjoying the moment.

A flicker of movement far in the distance through the mists caught her eye.

"Something wrong?" She heard Richard ask. She shushed him, dread of an unknown threat growing in her heart, not fully understanding why.

She listened.

The chatter of soldiers. The crackle of radios. The sound of rubber boots on stone and grass.

The wind against the stone and cliff face. The distant rustling of trees.

The rustling of trees, in the distance, didn't match the wind. And there was another sound, that they matched… it sounded like… when Thoos, Vel's wyvern, flew close to the ground, but louder despite the distance.

Cold claws grasped her heart.

She turned, pushing Richard toward the small cave, and opened her mouth to shout, when the Ancient Fire Dragon, the sun gleaming off its crimson scales, burst from the upper layers of the mist. Far too close for comfort at the speed it was travelling.

---

"Contact! Fire dragon, approaching fast, West!" Edgar's radio crackled with an American sergeant's voice.

He was already spinning around, orders being barked, when he felt it, the wind as something passed by, large and fast, directly overhead.

"Bastard came for round two!" He roared. "Captain Riley, get those launchers from the trucks up that cliff yesterday!"

From up above, the crack of rifles could be heard, muffled slightly by the distance and thick fog.

The troops left with their transports were not lax, already manning the .50 cals on some of the vehicles, or handing out what few disposable rocket launchers and SAMs they had.

Blood pounded in Major Johnson's ears as he hefted an M72.

He'd faced the dragon before, early on, only two weeks into the Falmart campaign, while it had been attacking a village. They saw the smoke and went to investigate.

By a minor miracle, none of theirs had died that time, though the wreckage of the village dampened any high spirits they might have had. Far too many villagers had been killed. The only solace was that they had given the dragon what they had hoped was a mortal wound, shredding its arm with a well-placed Stinger missile, forcing it to flee in pain. Most animals wouldn't survive such a wound.

The dragon, it would seem, was different from most animals in tenacity.

Combat boots tore into the stone and dirt up the path as they climbed.

Edgar motioned, as they neared the fighting just past the edge of the mist, for missile teams to take position. They could see the beast, gossamer red scales glittering in the sun, vast wings nearly blotting it out and beating against the air, as its one remaining claw swiped at the ground. Smoke drifted up from where the flames had been sprayed.

The scent of charred flesh made one soldier stumble to the side and empty the contents of his stomach.

"Fire!" Edgar ordered.

The missile streaked out, and as the wings rose one more, fire blossomed against its hide.

For a moment, it looked like it had done nothing as the wings kept rising.

Then one rose higher than the other, free from its host, tumbling away as the dragon screamed and fell, disappearing behind a small cliff on the mountain.

"Quiet!" Captain Riley barked as a few soldiers started to cheer. Her voice strained. "Get those rockets up!"

Edgar winced as he felt the ground tremble with the impact.

"Incoming!" Someone yelled, boulders tumbling down.

They pressed themselves flat against the cliff as they passed, the stones bouncing down the angled cliff. For a brief moment, there was silence as if the world held its breath. They heard the dragon roar, still alive, and the crack of their comrades' weapons.

"Go, go, go!" A sergeant barked.

"Get eyes on and finish that bastard!" Edgar shouted. "Someone contact HQ, let them know we grounded the bastard!"

They pressed on, and as they crossed over the cliff, they saw the dragon.

Its hide was torn and rent. Blood poured from the hole where its wing once was. But it was fighting still.

"Put it down!" Edgar roared.

It was almost comical, how the dragon, with its one good eye, glanced at him. It seemed to recognise the threat, and like a wounded animal, it tried to flee, scrambling towards a cave.

The missile struck the ruined shoulder, where it had lost its arm, before it reached the cave, too small for its bulk. Once more, the mountain shook, as the crashed into it, this tome headfirst as it stumbled, its head vanishing inside the now large cave, debris littering the area around it.

The dragon struggled, but it was plain to see its death was imminent, as a crimson tide poured from its wounds.

"Christ, that bastard is tough," Someone groaned next to Edgar.

With one last heave, it slammed its claw against the cliff face, before falling still.

"Check the wounded," Edgar ordered, and set about organising relief for the wounded survivors. "I want a casualty report and inform HQ about the dead monster. We need a medivac as well."

---

"Eight dead, twelve wounded, two missing. Two of the dead and four wounded were from the falling rocks. Dragon did the rest," Riley reported, her face pale. "That priest is unhurt, but…"

She glanced at Tara, covered in dragon blood.

"…Richard… I shoved him towards the cave then… everything happened so fast," Tara shuddered. "Next moment, I was struggling to avoid being crushed or eaten."

Edgar forced his jaw to unclench.

"The other missing?" He asked.

"Sergeant Peterson. We… found part of his leg, but the rest of him is missing." Riley reported.

"Major, Captain!" Corporal Ross saluted. "We just dug Sam out of the rubble near the dragon's head. He's in bad shape, but the medics say he'll live. We also found this in the dragon's good eye."

They stared at the mangled piece of dragon blood-soaked metal. Bits of the eye still clung to the twisted remains of Richard's sword.

Tara stood and walked away, her face stony.

"The dragon forced its way into the cave, right?" Edgar asked. "He probably got hit and was buried deeper. We should have what we need to dig him out, and with any luck, Sergeant Peterson. Get to it."

"Sir… the cave wasn't very deep. I think the dragon…"

Edgar cut the American corporal off.

"Don't, just… don't. Caves like that probably have a back area, where the water came from when it was formed, so, until we have a body, we will search."

"He is not dead," A voice called out.

"Rory," Edgar glanced at the demigod. He blanched at what he saw. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Thrown off the cliff by the dragon," Rory stated, matter-of-factly. "But Richard is not in Emroy's domain, which he would be if he had died. Nor is he in Hardy's, despite this being part of her domain, and dragons being hers."

The small demigoddess frowned.

"I never considered it but… why are dragons, creatures of magic and the sky, part of the goddess of the underworld's domain?"

 

[charclone]

The Demigoddess watched the trail of people leave the city from where she was perched on the cliff. Finally, as the sun began to dip down, she turned and entered the temple. She had never been deep into it, only entering the outer areas, but she knew it was the main temple of the Huntress-Queen.

She paused at the scent of death, beneath a carving a massive dragon set into the cliff face.

A trio of priests lay dead, with not a mark on them, but their bodies lay twisted in agony.

"You're here, good," Her friend stepped out of the shadows, a beaming smile on her face. "Come, let's be done quickly. Our friends are waiting for us, to celebrate this final victory."

The thought of seeing the friends she had made, of going home, banished any doubts.

She met her friend's smile, nodded, and they both plunged into the shadows of the inner temple.

---

Consciousness came slowly to Richard. He groaned, as he realised an aching pain came with it. He shifted and blinked as the blurry memories of the attack came rushing back. His heart raced, and he tried to move.

Around him, he saw little. Dim shapes from a light above. Something rolled off his chest, landing with a dull, heavy thud, amidst stones. The sudden change in weight made Richard cough, tasting the dry air. He felt around in the darkness, finding stones around him, and rents in his chest plate. His legs and arms felt sore and bruised, but intact.

He slowly pushed himself up, then flinched as something struck his head. It took him a moment to realise that that sensation had been what woke him. A warm liquid ran down his face. Finding a small beam of light from somewhere above, he wiped his face and placed his hand into the beam. It shone crimson with blood.

Richard frowned, glancing upwards, as he heard more drops land both near him, and up above.

He began to feel around the edges of the cavern he found himself in, carefully stepping over unstable rocks and debris.

His foot came down on something soft, and very much not a rock.

Gently, Richard felt the body, feeling around for a recognisable appendage to check on their pulse.

His hand felt the shape of a flashlight. Hope flared in his chest as he felt for the power switch.

He recoiled, flinching as the light flared into his face.

The lens was cracked and the casing was battered, but it was functional.

Richard pointed it at the body. He gagged, glancing away from the mangled corpse.

A distant sound caught his attention, making Richard point the light in its direction, revealing a passageway.

A passageway of worked stone.

Richard looked up, with the flashlight, seeing a yawning hole of broken stone, going at an angle.

"Guess the cave used to be a whole lot bigger," He guessed aloud. "Old complex, based on the worked stone, is my guess."

The sound got closer, and Richard reached for his sword, touching only air. He frowned, then glanced at the corpse. Tentatively, he tried to ignore the gaping wounds and missing parts, pulling the pistol from the holster, thankful it had survived and stayed with the body.

He glanced at the giant tooth embedded in the corpse's face, neck, and torso, before tearing his gaze away.

Carefully, he made his way into the passage.

---

The spear opened the fanatic priest from hip to thigh.

A rolling wave of darkness swallowed her compatriot, before leaving the masked priest to drop to the floor, cold and lifeless.

'I granted you your power. I can take it away!' The Huntress-Queen's voice echoes, not just through the demigod's mind, but also through the very magic of the temple. 'I might not be able to see you, but you are mine!'

She glanced at her elven friend, who just winked at the unspoken question, as they dashed through the labyrinthian temple, far older than either of them realised. Deep into the Earth, past long abandoned shrines to forgotten gods and statues of ancient warriors.

---

Richard gasped, shuddering. He leaned against the wall, nearly losing his grip on the pistol and flashlight.

He blinked, not recognising the stonework under the light. He glanced behind him, expecting to see the cavern. Instead, a branching hallway stretched out behind him.

He found his breath short.

With no other option, he pushed ahead, regretting he hadn't thought to check the soldier's radio.

Moments later, he stumbled.

---

The demigoddess leaned against her spear, feeling its weight for the first time in years.

"She… took the power back," She panted.

Her friend offered a shoulder, helping her to keep moving forwards.

"Well, the idiot is too late. Just a little further, right? She's out of pawns, and Emroy is still fighting her. The other gods… I… they don't like her either. She wages war against them and serves no purpose but her ego," The elven mage hesitated. "But the power I took… has a price. Once we deal with her, we'll talk about it, yeah?"

"What… did you… take?" The demigoddess found her breathing heavy and slow.

"… Apocryph," The elf said, as they came before an elaborate set of carved and ornately decorated doors, power radiating from the other side. "The antithesis of the Gate, the gods… and reality."

---

Richard blinked, finding himself beneath a large stone, in the process of pulling himself through the gap between it and the floor. The gap was large enough to crawl through, but still uncomfortably tight.

Ahead, in the fractured light of the flashlight, a door, like the one he had seen in the vision, lay shattered and thrown from its hinges.

Something flickered just past the light.

Slowly, Richard approached. He saw a small room, with an ancient skeleton on the floor. Flesh and clothes had long deteriorated. Embedded in a strange, door-shaped carving was a spear, glittering with an unearthly light.

The same light glowed through the cracks in the door carving.

Richard frowned, then focused the flashlight on the skeleton. The bones were scorched black in some areas. Yet, in others, around the hands mostly, a black mist hung.

Richard knew that bones decayed. He didn't remember the formula, and even if he did, he didn't know enough about local conditions to estimate the rate of decay. For all he knew, the person could have died a century ago, or ten millennia, and that was before factoring in the obvious magic at play.

He eyed the false door warily, reminded of the ancient Egyptian belief of using false doors as a threshold between the land of the living and the land of the dead. He preferred not to learn the truth, especially was magic being real.

Something in the dark growled behind him.

He spun, bringing the pistol up. A strange, giant mole-like creature glowered at him with blind eyes and large teeth. He flicked the safety and squeezed the trigger.

The gun clicked empty.

For a brief moment, he stared at the creature, and it stared back at him. Then it tensed to lunge with its stubby legs.

Richard spun and grabbed the spear.

Everything went white.

---

Old wounds, from millennia ago, long forgotten, ached.

Emroy, in his dark realm, smiled and laughed.

---

Palapon felt the ancient vengeance come to fruition. To them, it was a taste of so many flavours, sweet, savoury, and so many others lacking any words in any mortal language.

Dimmu, his priest and agent, sighed as he felt his god's hand on him.

---

Hardy blinked in confusion. Her very being suddenly in two, yet whole.

Memories far older than her came to the forefront. In one, a demigod raged. Her name and past eroded, yet she had stolen divinity. A hole ached in her heart.

The other, an ancient god. A murderer, vainglorious and cruel. With an ego that competed with her delusions for greater size. Who's realm was that of hunters… but had long strayed from those that hunted for purpose, instead, becoming that which was murder, an affront to the hunters of the wild.

Hardy, goddess of the dead, the underworld, and successor to the ancient god, for the briefest of moments, died as her being was sundered.

---

Richard blinked, as he saw the scene play itself out. He was but an incorporeal ghost, but he saw and understood, on some instinctual level that defied the senses, what was going on.

He saw the god, who had once been a desperate Warrior Bunny, driven to horrific extremes by her own mistakes and choices, reach out and possess the dark-haired elf mage, despite the danger that the power she wielded posed.

He felt the anguish and horror the human, former demigod and Greek woman from Earth's distant past, felt as she saw her friend and lover turn her power against herself to wound the Huntress-Queen.

He understood her rage as she drew upon the last of her strength, driving her spear – blessed and empowered by the Huntress-Queen – into the door to the Huntress-Queen's domain, into the goddess' metaphorical heart.

He felt the rush of power that exploded outwards, ripping the ex-demigod apart, as her soul was poured into the remnants of the goddess' power, churning the tattered remnants of their souls together into a new being.

All became nothing.

Then, he saw them, the ex-demigoddess, and the Huntress-Queen, struggling and fighting.

He felt the weight of the spear in his hand.

---

Richard gasped and shuddered, the spear in his hand. Its blade gleamed mere centimetres from the cracked stone gate.

Acting on a guess, and the remnants of the vision, he grasped it with both hands and struck the stone door with the spear.

 

[charclone]

A.N. Before we get to the chapter, I just want to apologise. I took a short break to work on the start of book/part two instead of posting, and only later realised that it would have been better to finish book/part one, before the break.

Anyway, here's the next part, nearly to the end of book one.

---

Richard felt like he was falling for a moment, and then he stumbled as he felt the ground under him.

He blinked, looking around.

A blond woman, like the one he had seen in his vision, the demigoddess, sat in a chair. A table stood before her, with a tea set upon it.

Next to the woman lay the body of a Warrior Bunny. A bloodstained silver crown was a short distance away. Standing from the corpse like a ship's mast, tall and straight, was the spear.

Calmly, without regard for the cadaver next to her, the woman took a sip from her cup.

She seemed not to notice Richard's presence.

All else was a blinding white.

Richard stood, dumbfounded and confused at the sudden change in scenery. Until, after several moments, the woman finally looked at him.

She frowned, observing him for a moment.

"It is not often a mortal deals a lethal blow to a god," She said, smiling. "Between the wounds inflicted on her, our brief separation, and your completion of that girl's blow…"

The woman rested her head on her hand.

"The Huntress-Queen is… gone. Her domain is mine, as are her powers."

Richard looked around into the white void.

"Where am I?" He asked.

The woman sighed.

"You are in what is now part of my realm. I have… removed the old décor, but I'm not sure what to do with it," She smiled coyly, then scowled at Richard's lack of reaction. "Well, it's no fun if you don't react. I am Hardy, goddess of the underworld."

Richard struggled to remember what he knew of her.

The old city had been said to be Hardy's territory, and he remembered overhearing Rory complaining about her to some Marines, but he was coming up blank.

Hardy sighed.

"Well, I was hoping for more of a reaction, but given you know little of Falmart's gods…" The goddess of the dead placed her cup on its saucer with an audible clack. "You don't even recognise the tea set I pulled from your memories."

"I… what?" Richard's confusion broke through.

Hardy ignored it.

"The cost of godhood. One cannot easily enjoy mortal pleasures without taking a mortal host, a fatal experience for the host. Yet, I miss the taste of tea, foods, and the feeling of a breeze on my skin," The goddess leaned back. "While I was composed of the wrecks of those two, I had no memories of what it was like, without a host."

Richard was getting the feeling she was monologuing.

"Now that I remember…" Her attention was refocused on Richard. "… so much more, you may deliver a message for me. Tell Rory that I will not be pursuing her."

Richard kept himself from asking about that. He had a feeling in his stomach that he didn't want to know.

"Faerel died because of the Huntress-Queen, when we struck at her, in the heart of her sanctum. But my lover – and it feels oh so very good to have that missing piece restored – stole powers that the gods of the time had outlawed. Her spirit clung on while the Huntress-Queen's husk lived within me," A cold, sad smile stretched across Hardy's face. "But once she died, so did Faerel. But her spirit now resides in my realm."

"The dark elves the queen I knew spared; they were plagued by the Ancient Fire Dragon you slew-"

"I what?" Richard gaped. "I remember seeing it crash towards me in the cave…"

"Well, you dealt one of several mortal blows," Hardy waved, a look of annoyance on her face from the interruption. "Your allies dealt several others. But your sword pierced a vein behind its eye in its throws."

Hardy paused and studied the mortal before her.

Richard shifted under her gaze.

"You are a strange mortal, all of your kind from beyond the Gate are," She suddenly snorted. "But then, I suppose I am as well, being from the land you call Greece. Not content with the ways things were. I pushed for that war, and I opened the Gate, many times."

"You… opened the Gate?"

"Oh, the Saderans, with a little prompting, stabilised it to remain open longer, but yes, I opened the Gate," Hardy smiled. "The Saderans were becoming… boring. While the Huntress-Queen was part of me, that detail grated on me. Her husk pushed for me to always seek more, always hunt. But at least now her mantle is mine to do with as I wish. I shall keep her creatures; they are seen as mine by mortals anyway."

"Yet, there is then the matter that you and your people killed one of them," Once more, Hardy regarded Richard with interest. "Though, it was sent after you by the echoes of the Huntress-Queen, still blindly guarding her sanctuary against that ancient attack. Three thousand years, and she still held on until you finished the blow."

Hardy pursed her lips.

"I suppose, then, that I owe you for that… and there is one more matter to consider."

Richard swallowed.

"And that would be…?" He wracked his mind, trying to think and clear his head. It was a bit much, to process all this while comprehending that he was speaking to a god. The fantasy novels he had read were… less than useful, beyond the most abstract concepts.

"You dealt the death blow to a god," Hardy smiled. "You could, in theory, become immortal, become a god."

"Nope," Richard's mind came to a screeching halt, with just enough room to get that answer out.

Hardy blinked, then laughed.

"Oh, so sure?" Her eyes glimmered. "Ah, yes, I suppose immortality would be a curse from that perspective, and… I suppose I would have chosen the same, when I had a mortal lover still, not that we were given much time to consider that. Then, I offer you boons and a message for your people."

Richard froze.

Once more, he found himself overwhelmed.

"Ah, I had forgotten what mortal minds were like, so absorbed in the chaos of the internal duel between those two," Hard laughed. "How about this then: Take the spear, with my blessing. You shall find its power unsurpassed, with both my own touch, and that of Apocryph on it. A suitable weapon for a Queen. I shall also have your new blade blessed, and as long as you wield it, I shall support your endeavours here in Falmart, once it is forged. In exchange for the power you are giving up, I lend you my demigod, Giselle. Finally, the message is this: The longer the Gate is open, the more Apocryph will grow. I can, and will, suppress the effects but I will not do it forever. The Gate must eventually be closed. Giselle will be available for more details, and can be a guide to see those effects."

Once more, Richard found himself unable to speak. This time, it was due to an idea in his head. A small one, but a tempting one. Slowly, painfully, he crushed it, making to thank Hardy.

She spoke first.

"Unfortunately, my power does not stretch beyond the Gate," Hardy said. "I cannot grant you the ability to speak with your father. It would be up to one of the gods on the other side. Now, off with you."

Richard blinked as he found himself once more in the cave.

In the light of the flashlight, still thankfully in his hand, he saw the ruined corpse of the soldier.

He felt the weightless weight of the spear in his other hand. Its baleful black blade stood in stark contrast to the gold and silver of its haft.

Above, he heard a sound.

A light shone down from a soldier in a harness, attached to a rope.

"I found them! The sergeant is dead, but Richard is on his feet!" The soldier reported on his radio. "Hey, Richard! Hang on, we'll get you out shortly!"

---

As the soldiers moved to extricate their people, hauling the carcass of the Dragon away to be looked at by their 'scientists' and to clear the way, Dimmu heard the voice of his god, cheerily explaining the story.

Dimmu smiled and softly spoke.

"Ah, then, soon, I can have my own revenge. Tell me, what next step must I take to see Bouro dead?"

 

[charclone]

"Uncharacteristically generous of you, Hardy," Emroy observed, polishing his axe. Around him, the detritus of war lay scattered. Shattered shields, skulls and bones, broken armour, and cracked swords on scorched ground, all as representatives of his domain. "But then, you've changed."

"Oh? Have I?" Hardy made an approximation of a coy smirk. For gods in their realms, physical laws meant little, but that did come with disadvantages. "Perhaps, in your madness, you are failing to see the big picture."

The god of madness and war laughed in response.

"No, but the past you, fused to the corpse of the Huntress-Queen was never so generous. There had to be an immediate benefit," He shook his head. "Not that I am complaining."

Hardy snorted, then settled in to wait.

Around her, the mishmash of her adopted and stolen domain shifted. Serpents and dragons, wolves and hawks, intermixed with rock and stone, gems flickering, and souls formed a procession.

Eventually, the others appeared.

The twin gods of knowledge and learning, Elange and Ral, were the first, surrounded by books and shelves, and other instruments of knowledge and experimentation. They were followed by Palapon, who gave Hardy a smile and a wink, surrounded by weighted scales and bloody implements of revenge.

Miritta and Deldort were the next to appear, the gods of fertility and covenants respectively, surrounded by the appropriate representations of their domains.

Deldort looked at Hardy, studying her for a moment, before giving her a smile and nod. The former dwarf-turned-god had not previously had a friendly relationship with her, but it would seem that might change.

When Zufmuut stormed in, surrounded by chains, walls, written laws, and blinding light as the representations of his domain, he gave no acknowledgement that there were barely half of them present.

"We cannot let this continue!" He barked, forcing the meeting of gods to begin early. "The otherworlders do not belong and are contaminating the world!"

"Oh come now," Began Ral, his elven features relaxed and standing in contrast to the god of light's twisted and furious face. "True, they are adding things, but that is why the Gate is permitted to open in the first place."

"Yet, it remains open long after it should have been closed!" Zufmuut raged. "Hardy does not do her duty! Once more, her laxity threatens the world! Apocryph rises!"

Palapon shook his head as Flare appeared, the god of the sun looking slightly confused.

Slowly, the missing gods trickled in.

"Perhaps," Admitted Deldort. "Certainly, in the past, she has, like the Huntress-Queen of old, only been self-serving. But then, the Huntress-Queen was still present, if partially dead."

"Nonetheless, we are left with a dilemma. If we are to preserve this world, the otherworlders must be destroyed," Zufmuut snarled. "They threaten the civilisation of this world and its very existence!"

"I disagree," Emroy said. "True, the Gate must eventually be destroyed. Apocryph grows while it remains open, but NATO is not a threat."

"Indeed. They show great wisdom, in general, by their use and development of 'science' as they call it," Ral nodded. She smiled good-naturedly. "A process of learning, one that I agree with, and have pressed my followers to study. Why, I would not be surprised if they learned to hold back Apocryph."

"Yet that is another point in my favour!" Argued Zufmuut. "If they can learn to battle Apocryph, what would stop them from destroying us!?"

Hardy smiled.

"What indeed," She hummed. Beside her, the slain spirit of an Ancient Fire Dragon rose. Both eyes had been ruined, an arm was simply gone, and holes that had been blown into its side were remnants of the wounds it took in life. Hardy reached out, striking its hide, and the wounds slowly vanished from the spectral creature. "What are you proposing?"

Zufmuut glared at her, uncertainty flickering across his existence. He sensed something was different about her, but what, he wasn't sure.

"We unite. There are elements of the Empire that have not lost their senses, and we can together push fortune into their hands. Let the invaders find the very world itself turned against them, their works swallowed by the land, the skies striking against their artifice!" Zufmuut shouted. "We must act!"

The last of the gods of Falmart trickled in during his short speech.

Hardy shook her head.

"I disagree. We would simply be giving them a reason to use knowledge of how to kill gods," She smiled. "Yes, they have that knowledge already. You can thank the Huntress-Queen's last demigod for that."

Palapon smiled, as Emroy laughed.

Ral and Elange shared a look.

"We must refuse. We are gods of knowledge and learning, of creating, not destruction."

Duncan, God of blacksmithing and the forging of tools shook his head.

"I must agree. The Empire, bah," He huffed. "If its time has come, then its time has come, like the Elven kingdoms before it. We will outlast it."

Zufmuut snarled at the mention of the elven kingdoms, lost to time.

Deldort nodded in agreement.

"We have a duty to the people of this world, as its gardeners, but we are not its rulers."

Hardy watched, as most gods voted against this plan. Part of her was hoping for a more explosive reaction from the mention of NATO knowing how to kill gods, even if they themselves didn't have the full picture, but perhaps the knowledge was not as feared as she had been led to believe.

As her focus swept over the assembled gods, floating in the void, she noted something.

She was the only one once human, while the rest were almost entirely once elves. Deldort, Duncan, and a third she didn't care to recall the name of were the only dwarves, while Flare was a dragonkin, and Wareharun was… a forest. Somehow. She never did learn the specifics of that.

She frowned, as the gods began to argue about specifics. Zufmuut was the oldest, by far., and there was a pseudo-formal order to the ranks of gods. Those who had been elevated by their former patrons gave a level of deference, but this was not a hard rule, as Zufmuut and Emroy displayed.

She shrugged. It was beside the point.

"There is a matter I would like to bring to everyone's attention."

Everyone's focus fell on her as she spoke.

She pulled a soul to her bosom, cradling it, before feeding it the last of the Huntress-Queen's divinity.

Zufmuut recoiled at the presence of the soul.

The newborn god in Hardy's arms practically radiated the power of Apocryph.

"That one… what are you doing!" He howled.

Terror and pain rippled off him.

Curious and curiouser.

"May I present my first lover, and my consort," Hardy smiled at him. "The goddess of Apocryph, Faerel."

Deldort nodded.

"Ah, so we finally have one to guard against that darkness?" He said. "How appropriate that it is one of the dead, who commanded that dark power."

"You accept this!?" Zufmuut glared at them. He paused, thinking. "No… no, none of you would know, I am the last, after all. The last from the survivors."

He stood before the other gods.

"I am the last survivor, of when Apocryph stormed the world," He said, in a cold tone. "The gate, in arrogance, was held open, and it slaughtered us. I was only able to save a handful, who went on to build new civilisations once the Gate was destroyed by the brave sacrifice of the other gods. I will not let that sacrifice be in vain."

"I am the god of order, of light! I will not let the light of civilisation be destroyed through arrogance!" He declared. "I stand against you and your allies and will see the otherworlders cast down. Before it is the doom of us all once more."

Deldort sighed.

"So be it. But there will be no direct fighting," He declared. "You agree to only act indirectly?"

"I do."

Hardy sighed. Then smiled as Faerel whispered in her ear.

"I will abide. But I must ask," She looked around. "Who is willing to side with NATO?"

Emroy barked a laugh.

"I will!"

He was joined by the twins, Palapon, and Duncan.

"As do I," Faerel declared. "I remember another who saved us from a darkness, and she was an otherworlder."

Hardy coughed.

"Heh, I suspect Rory would bless your union, were she a god yet," Emroy chuckled.

"And who will stand with me, against this arrogance and madness!?"

Zufmuut frowned as none declared their support for his cause.

"All in favour of declaring neutrality?" Lunaryur, the god of music, asked.

Zufmuut sighed, as the rest of the gods chose neither side.

"Your foolishness will see us dead."

"No," Emroy snorted. "Your short-sightedness will. You are blind in your own light. NATO will not hesitate to annihilate a threat the likes of one of us. My demigod has read their histories. If pushed, I believe that they can just as easily kill us all, but that is all the more reason not to antagonise them."

"Cowardice? From you?" Zufmuut laughed. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Hardly. I want to be able to see it!" Emroy laughed.

---

Richard glanced up from the book as Edgar entered. He held a finger up to his lips, gesturing to the sleeping form of Tara at his side, her head resting on his bedside.

"How are you feeling?" Edgar asked, looking around the hospital room.

"No change. My bruises will heal, and the docs are ready to kick me out. I'll be good for boot," Richard quietly replied. Tara shifted. He glanced at her, before looking back to his friend. "She's refused to leave my side since we got back."

Edgar sighed.

"Not that. I meant the dragon," He shook his head. "Got more than a few people in therapy over it."

Richard frowned.

"I had a few nightmares after Italica, but they faded fast, and the dragon… I barely remember it. Had more nightmares about the corpse," He admitted, before shaking his head. He placed a bookmark on his page. "Is that a cause for concern?"

"No. Hell, I barely remember my first firefight," Edgar admitted. "'Course, it was rather short. The first time I killed someone was six weeks later, that shook me up worse."

"You never talk about that."

"Not something to be proud of," Edgar pointed out. "I did it because it was him or me. I am proud of having defended the lives of my comrades, and the people that would have been hurt. I don't regret it."

Edgar briefly struggled with something.

"Do you… want to talk about the fair? About what happened?"

The Canadian Major noted Richard's breathing hitched slightly, and his eyes widened by a fraction, losing focus.

"… not right now. I talked with a psych, while I was in the hospital, and… I… I know I need to, especially since his father has invited us, but…" Richard shook his head.

"Alright, later then," Edgar stood. "Rest up. Boot won't kill you, but you have a Long Patrol to learn how to lead, so you cannot afford to screw up."

"Ain't that the truth," Richard snorted. "Later."

Edgar nodded, intending to hold him to that, before slipping out.

---

Yao Haa Dushi sighed in relief as the soldier let her pass the checkpoint despite her not having any identification papers or knowing their language.

She blinked, as an unfamiliar sound echoed overhead. Gazing up, Yao felt her knees weaken, as some manner of beast flew overhead.

It carried a strange fabric beneath it, water dribbling from its folds.

And poking out from the edge of the fabric was the lifeless face of the Ancient Fire Dragon. The same creature the elders had sent her to find these people to enlist to kill.

She had been told to use any means necessary, be it the treasure of her clan, her words, her skills with blade and bow, or even her body, to secure their assistance.

She knew she was chosen because of her misfortune, but she had been willing and ready even to sacrifice her life if it meant saving the lives of her people.

And the dragon had been slain, rending all the prepared sacrifice unnecessary, as well as her journey.

The soldiers reached for their radios in a panic as she collapsed, calling for the medic.

 

[charclone]

Gently, Emperor Molt Sol Augustus thumbed through the pages of the report.

It detailed the latest attempt by the Imperial Alchemist Academy at replicating NATO's weapons.

Molt had already given up on getting anything from the mages, aloof of the affairs and needs of the state and buried in their personal research.

To his disappointment and lack of surprise, there had been no major breakthroughs, even with the knowledge Pina's knights were able to gather. The powder was too unstable, too costly, and the metal too poor. Attempts at improving the metal quality were beyond them, and the skill of the Empire's smiths.

Part of the absence of surprise was the original purpose of the Alchemists. They mostly created poultices and elixirs to heal wounds or dye cloth. A destructive powder was a change in their standard operations, though they had, in the past, developed poisons and caustic solutions for use in war.

Molt's favourite tale of their efforts in war was the creation of a poison that was easy to produce and was coated on every arrowhead in the Imperial Legions, taking advantage of the northern barbarian tribes' lack of proper shields. It led to their vast hordes crumbling into weakened warbands, which were swiftly surrounded by the more disciplined legions, and forced to surrender.

Molt paused, as another, much older, story came to mind.

He stood from behind his desk and stepped out of his office, barely noticing the Praetorian Guard keeping pace with him.

He walked down the hallways of the Palace, dimly lit by the light of dawn, and stepped into the library.

One of its keepers bowed as he passed them.

A brief word was shared, before the scribes scattered, searching for the relevant texts. It was only the work of an hour before Molt had found the story he had been searching for.

Disappointed, he sighed and returned the texts to their keepers to be stored once more.

Ancient tales from some of their younger ancestors, who had come through the Gate to find the young Empire, bringing news that ancient Roma still lived in the East. Carrying tales of fire that could be stored in pots, or thrown with a mechanism from the bows of ships, called Median Fire. But there was nothing on how it was made.

Settling once more in his chair, Molt considered what the next step was.

The alchemists would continue to work, perhaps the mages would finally see sense, or perhaps, sometime in the near future, they might find a pliable member of NATO who could sell them the secret to NATO's weapons, whatever it might be that they are missing.

Molt sighed, shaking his head, and ran his hand through his hair.

That all relied on luck.

With a grunt, Molt wrote a note to himself to look into offering a reward for an alchemist that can make blasting powder, or something similar. It threw all caution to the wind, with no subtly, but Molt had a gnawing feeling in his gut, one that reminded him of more than a few times he had been attacked by assassins or the time he had nearly walked right into a tavern inhabited by a large band of bandits.

Molt shook himself before standing and taking a walk.

He frowned, minutes later, as he saw his son Diabo in the distance leaving the palace gardens in the company of a trio of senators. It was too distant to identify them, dressed all in their formal togas, but Molt had a good feeling as to who it was.

His son had been ingratiating himself with most of the senate, keeping himself involved in anything he could, and making it very difficult for any single enemy to remove him without either revealing the underhanded deals that had been made or harming a great many senators in the process.

It kept Diabo's power base entrenched and fortified, and well balanced by any parties that emerged among the Senatoria. But he neglected the Equestria who provided the bulk of the military officers, and only paid lip service to the Plebiansia, who made up the bulk of the workers and soldiers.

Molt hoped that Diabo would realise how vulnerable he was leaving himself, and the Empire should he come to power. His dealings oft upset the lower classes, yet he faced no consequences, for they had no understanding of how the mechanisms of power worked, only seeing the effects when their land was seized by senators looking to enrich themselves or wanting to get a better position to take advantage of an upcoming conquest.

He treated it all as a game, with the laws as its rules, and while Molt agreed that rules should not restrict an Empire, disregarding them, or twisting them to make a profit set dangerous precedents.

Molt continued walking about the extensive palace, not particularly carrying where his feet took him until a raucous sound shook him from his thoughts.

With a disgusted glance at the balcony above where the sounds were coming from, Molt moved on.

His other son, Zorzal, was a disappointment.

For all of his martial prowess in the field and his efforts to maintain his vain physique, Zorzal was a hedonist. At first, Molt had ignored it, for he too had found pleasure in similar areas, carousing with other notables, and even common soldiers when he joined the Legions at his father's command, but his son, instead of learning of the dangers of hedonism as Molt had done in his service, had only fallen deeper into it.

Molt had sent him, as part of a legion, to patrol a border. The Warrior Bunnies did often raid, yes, but they rarely were lethal, and their prisoners were often released. Molt had hoped that the harder life might shock Zorzal out of his idiocy, with little actual danger involved.

Instead, he found his son using his bloodline to take command of several border legions as war broke out, with suspiciously good timing, and finding a talent for charisma. Despite the horrific inefficiency, his son was hailed as a victorious hero, taking the Warrior Bunny Queen as his trophy, using her to satisfy his urges, on top of his usual carousing.

While he may have broken the Warrior Bunny army, taking vast numbers of them as slaves, something that earned him a great deal of wealth, it also created more problems on that border, necessitating extra legions to be sent there.

Slave rebellions, Warrior Bunnies who had not been caught engaging in hit-and-run attacks, now with greater ferocity, and the elves to the north that had once been only bordered by them now contested with Saderan cities appearing nearby.

If Molt could, he would have sent his son back, until the territory was quelled, but that would look like exiling a hero, even if it had been a public secret that Zorzal had broken promises to the Warrior Bunny Queen to secure her surrender, and discontent would arise if he did that.

Zorzal had won the admiration of the plebians, and only a fool ignored what a large enough mob could achieve.

Molt was thus left with an unstable east, with no one to negotiate with to stabilise it, a resting foe on his west, uncharted territory past the southern colonies, and older foes in the north.

The elves had slain the last attempt at dialogue shortly after the defeat of the Warrior Bunnies. Apparently, the Warrior Bunnies had some ancient feud with them, that had ensured that they had no strength to push against the Empire until Zorzal came.

Thus, Molt desired new weapons, to hopefully gain some sort of advantage against that distant foe, while keeping NATO friendly enough not to invade.

He paused and glanced in the direction of the Jade Palace.

He knew that if he approached, he would be able to hear his daughter's knights drilling, even this early in the morning. No simple play it was, but a serious practice. Metal would clash and officers would bark orders to formations as they moved, on foot and horse.

His daughter had been born to a woman, not wed for political convenience, but instead, a concubine that Molt had loved, much like how Pina had loved the idea of knighthood and chivalry. He knew he had become a romantic, as the weight of his title weighed on him, but her presence had been a soothing salve as he chafed at the limitations placed on him out of necessity. When Diabo and Zorzal's mothers died, he had chosen the concubine to be his wife and Empress. Something that passed with little comment, as it was far from without precedent, given she was human.

Pina had been born into the Imperial Purple a few months later.

Molt had intended to award his Empress with more than a mere county, as befitting an Empress, but she died before Pina came of age. Part of Molt was tempted to see if NATO had a cure for the illness that had claimed her, but he feared what his reaction might be if he learned the cure had been within his reach.

Unlike her brothers, Pina didn't deliberately cultivate a political power base. Her knights provided her one, and in the last few weeks since she had returned from Alnus, she had used it to her advantage to press for peace, with her father's support, but it, like her brothers, left her vulnerable.

Her power base, such as it was, was spread out. A few Senators' daughters, some Equestrian family's daughters as well, and a handful of well-off and distinguished plebians' children. It was small, but very well spread out.

Molt had added to it what he could. Permitting members that had been pulled into the Legions to return, giving her more funding, granting her mother's former estate, and even permitting her to start recruiting additional members.

She had added a dozen wyverns and two of the larger breeds of lesser dragons bred by the Empire to her numbers, to Molt's surprise. He was pleased with her explanation: she was using the prestigious postings of wyvern and dragon rider to attract more to her knights, as flyers were rare and expensive, not often trusted to hands that might turn them to their family's gain over the Empire. But as part of the Order of Rose Knights, they would be indoctrinated to follow a code of chivalry and would be part of the order for much longer, tying their family's standing and status to the Order.

She was also recruiting an honour guard, at Molt's suggestion, as Zorzal had done from friends he had made. Of course, Pina's were better equipped and drew from many more places. Some of Molt's own Praetorian Guard had family amongst them. And if any of the Senate protested that Pina's 'honour guard' was more akin to an infantry cohort, well, Pina was going to be the one hosting the NATO diplomats.

Molt still wasn't sure which of his children should inherit the Throne when he passed. He knew that there was the risk that there would be civil strife no matter which one came to power. Perhaps Zorzal, with Diabo acting as a puppet master, would work best, but then, Molt doubted they would work together, being that they didn't get along well enough, and Zorzal would likely waste his time amidst the whore houses, possibly even starting a war the Empire couldn't afford, to fuel his antics. And Molt doubted Diabo would have the spine to stop him.

But Pina was less prepared. She had expressed a healthy fear at the idea of a war they couldn't afford to win, let alone loose, when he had presented the risk of a civil war to her, showing her wisdom over her ego, but she also lacked the backing in the senate to properly take the throne.

Not for the first time in his life, Molt was unsure of what to do.

A civil war, of his own making, was on the horizon, if he did nothing, yet showing favouritism to educate Pina risked making the situation worse.

Molt sighed, shaking his head.

It was a thorny issue, with no simple solution. Made worse by the recent defeats against NATO, the disastrous expedition and the attempt to hold Alnus.

"Oh gods, grant me a vision of what to do," The Emperor quietly prayed under his breath.

The wind gently blew across the palace grounds.

Molt flinched as the smell of unwashed bodies from the city hit his nose.

With a snort, Molt turned around, intent on returning to his office. There were other affairs of state that he could deal with, demanding his attention. He had time. Pina was learning, Zorzal was still fornicating without care for his image among the elite, and Diabo was still scheming amongst the senators. None had eyes on the Throne yet, a solution could wait.

 

[charclone]

"Atten-shun!" Richard barked, sweating under the sun, his throat dry.

The Long Patrol Company of the Foot snapped to attention. Drill instructors yelled at those that were too slow, or simply sloppy. The number of yells, and intensity, had steadily decreased on average, though more than once a trainee had been pulled aside for punishment detail.

The brief boot camp they had run through was simply early conditioning, with some extra bits to get them ready for a parade march. Enough to instil the basics of what was needed, though none had been permitted to so much think about touching a weapon yet.

They had drilled with wood replicas, in marching order, but weapon training would come later. For now, all that was needed, to build morale and a sense of unity, was discipline and camaraderie from boot camp.

Or that was what Richard remembered from the lectures on leadership he and the other officer candidates had been told.

The grizzled ex-legionnaire that had been selected as the Company senior NCO grunted next to Richard.

"Good enough, I suppose," Sergeant Lars spat. "Imperial Legions are still outperforming them in formations, but for three weeks of training, it's… passable."

"They will have the time after the party," Major Edgar Johnston said. "Still, they have been more meticulous with keeping their uniforms and equipment clean than most recruits. But I suppose that means we should reward them with a final long march."

"You heard Major Johnston!" Sergeant Lars barked at the company. "Marching order, on the double!"

With glaring eyes, he watched the troops move into formation. He deliberately did not smile in pride as they did so without complaint, from either themselves or the accompanying drill instructors.

"Richard, with me," Edgar motioned to the car.

"Company! Rifleman's Pace! Quick! March!"

As Richard got in the car, he caught a glimpse of Tara, leading her platoon, amidst the troops.

"We'll be mixing up formations, to keep them from growing to accustomed to a specific officer," Edgar said, once the car began to move. "Why?"

Richard blinked at the sudden quiz.

"In case of the loss of an officer, or units being reorganised. In addition, it helps prevent soldiers from getting too attached to any individual officer, especially with the Long Patrol to expand soon, preventing favouritism and corruption. They are part of the Long Patrol as a whole, not whatever platoon they are with," He answered, shifting in his seat, and adjusting his uniform.

"Partly," Edgar nodded. "But also because that troublemaking rival to Tara has been trying to make inroads with parts of the Long Patrol."

"Shit," Richard, uncharacteristically swore. "So, how are we supposed to react?"

"At the moment, not at all, beyond this," Edgar sighed. "Intel assured me it's currently handled, all the Warrior Bunnies she spoke to rebuffed her attempts, but that she was brazen enough to try…"

Richard groaned.

"And this is why Tara doesn't want to be queen," He sighed. "Okay, so, long-term?"

"If Tara won't change her mind, what alternatives do you think there are?"

Richard blinked.

"I'm… not sure. There are small groups, but no unified whole, or large factions. Maybe organise them into a confederacy, of at least the ones that want to stay, and let the ones that want to emigrate go?" He said. "There… really isn't a good option. If nothing is done, then their culture will die, leading to a shitshow on Earth over not helping them, and if we split up…"

"Some nations will accuse us of cultural genocide," Edgar bitterly interjected. "They already are, but the general doesn't want to give them more ammunition. We're doing a lot of good here, and the people want us to stay. The place would probably collapse into anarchy if we left."

Richard nodded.

More than a few people had petitioned him to claim Alnus as his fief, not understanding NATO regulations and Earth laws.

"In the long term, we need to stabilise the area in a permanent fashion," Edgar continued. "To do that, it's looking more and more like we need the Long Patrol, at the very least to have a local structure to build from. Local culture would turn it into a feudal system, which while not ideal, works better than anarchy or handing it back over to the Empire, or other nearby powers."

"So…?" Intoned Richard.

"So, look for a solution, please," Edgar said. "For everyone's sake. In other news, a blue dragon girl just showed up at Alnus, looking for you, and King Duran has returned with the suit of armour for you."

"Ah," Richard grunted, deflating. "Hardy's demigod."

"Yup," Edgar confirmed. "Apparently has a rivalry of sorts with Rory, which got the Marines involved. She also has a sword to hand over to you."

Richard was silent as the car drew closer to Alnus.

"Does it… bother you," He asked. "Knowing all this isn't pages in a book, but instead real?"

"Yup. Did ever since I got a call saying a medieval festival was being attacked by Romans with dragons," Edgar said. "I almost thought it was a drill, that someone was being silly with, but that wouldn't fly, and they were giving codes to activate every unit in range."

He glanced over at his young friend.

"The magic part isn't what's bothering you, is it?"

"…no," Richard admitted. "Its… I'm supposed to lead these people. I'm not qualified. I've barely led events and teams in what amounts to sports."

Edgar shook his head.

"All the schooling in the world isn't going to qualify you for leadership. It's something you learn as you go, though asking for advice certainly helps," He said. "Doesn't look like we have the time to go over a full story, but consider this: You've been doing a fine job so far."

Edgar patted Richard on the shoulder as the car came to a stop.

"Now, it seems someone forgot to mention the demigod had a pair of pet mini-dragons," He said, looking out the window. "Welp, better go introduce yourself before a marine does something stupid, and try not to stare, it doesn't look like she is too happy about the 'dress' her god makes her wear either."

Richard snorted as he caught sight of the demigod.

Her outfit, unlike Rory's which covered everything, covered nearly nothing at all. What amounted to a quarter of a dress on each hip leading up to her collar, and a small piece of fabric, covered only a handful of points on her body.

Though admittedly, the other Draconians (a name that made Richard want to either congratulate or strangle whoever came up with it and made it stick) in the Long Patrol had also needed tailored clothing because of their unique physiology.

"Giselle, I presume?" He called out to her, stepping from the car. "I'm Richard."

---

The blue-scaled demigod studied him as he approached.

Giselle felt torn.

On one hand, her Ancient Fire Dragon was dead at NATO's hand, Hardy didn't seem to care that whatever her plan with the dragon was had been foiled, and of course, Hardy had decided that she was to serve this 'Richard'. What that entailed had been left to him, a fact that Giselle was unsure how to feel about.

On the other hand, NATO was clearly powerful, able to kill an Ancient Fire Dragon, change Hardy's mind, and they even, despite having Rory's patronage, had offered some sort of animal called a 'cow' to feed Towato and Mowto.

Standing at the edge of the town, with the blade she was to deliver tucked under her arm while her wings shielded her from the NATO soldiers who kept stealing glances at her, she frowned. She knew her outfit didn't cover much, but it was the formal attire of a senior priest of Hardy. At least it didn't restrict her flight.

At least Richard wasn't staring.

Giselle blinked as he didn't walk straight to her. She hadn't been expecting him to act fearful of her since none of the NATO soldiers had acted in a deferential manner towards her or Rory, but nor had she expected anyone to willingly approach a pair of Fire Dragons.

She stared as Richard kneeled in front of the two wyrmlings laying on the ground in the sun, fearlessly reaching out and scratching their scales as if they were mere wyverns.

More than a few passersby, who had been giving Giselle and her dragons a wide berth, paused to stare as well.

"Heh, like Vel's wyvern," He said, as Towato nuzzled his hand, greatly enjoying the affection. "So, I assume that is the sword Hardy promised me?"

Giselle started, glancing at the blade in her hand.

"Ah, yeah," She muttered, handing it to him, glad to no longer be touching that thing. She saw an opportunity for some small preemptive revenge. "So… you know those aren't wyverns, right? Plus, they might be upset that you killed their parent."

"I didn't kill any…" Richard started to snort, then paused, going very still. "… Fire Dragons, huh? I didn't kill it. Blade ended up in its eye, but I honestly don't remember what happened."

Giselle grinned.

Mowto decided to dash her hopes by nosing Richard's hands when he stopped scratching. Towato turned to glare at Giselle for making the human stop giving them affection.

"Don't give me that look," She spat back at it. The infant dragon huffed.

"You don't like me, do you?" Richard asked, fear subsiding as the dragons, despite their heads being as large as his torso, acted like a pair of eager pets seeking affection.

Giselle flinched.

"I am loyal to Lord Hardy," She automatically responded, before slumping. "But she can be a bit demanding, and I don't understand why she decided to just… give me to you."

Richard frowned.

"What does that mean, anyway?" He asked. "I know what Hardy said to me, but words can have different meanings in different cultures."

Giselle tilted her head to one side.

"You don't know?"

"Nope."

Giselle stared at him.

"Isn't Rory one of your companions, standing beside you when your army killed the Ancient Fire Dragon?"

Richard snorted.

"No. Most days I avoid her," He admitted. "She's creepy and hangs out with the US Marines anyway. She also got punted off the mountain early in the fight, I remember that part."

Richard patted Mowto on the nose as he stood.

"So, NATO is not my army, nor was I in command of the force that killed it. We were just there to look into some old ruins," Richard said. "It ambushed us but was brought down by the AT rockets and SAMs the convoy had. That was all Major Edgar's work."

"But Hardy credited you with killing my dragon," Giselle said, with more heat. "She said you dealt a mortal blow."

"A mortal blow. As I said, my sword ended up in its eye, probably as it spasmed in shock from the other mortal blows," Richard countered. "… your dragon?"

Giselle shrugged.

"I woke it, found it a mate, and partially trained it, at Hardy's command," She admitted. "So… what did you do, then?"

Richard sighed.

"Dealt the finishing blow to the Huntress-Queen, according to Hardy," He said. "Look, I just got back from exercise. Do you mind if we eat while we talk?"

Giselle blinked. She fought against the impulse to immediately leap at the opportunity for food.

"Sure," She agreed. "So… know any good places to eat around here?"

"Yeah, but these two will have to wait here," Richard said. "They aren't going to attack anyone without you nearby, will they?"

"Nah," She shook her head. "They were already fed today and are lazy."