Chapter 352: Familial Mending

Argrave stepped into the courtyard of the grand fortress that had been constructed at his behest some months ago. It marked the northern entrance to Blackgard where they’d tunneled through the mountain to bridge the Indanus Divide. The garrison had made the place much more habitable since he last visited, building ramshackle if effective homes like some sort of castle town. He didn’t intend to stay long. Still, someone waited for him: the two-eyed, red-haired Elias of Parbon.

“Your Majesty,” Elias greeted, lowering his head.

“Don’t do that. You get a pass,” Argrave waved his hand. “You and your father can call me whatever you want in private, as far as I’m concerned.”

Elias raised his brow, and Argrave couldn’t help but stare at his two ruby-like eyes. A month ago one of them had been rotted away by a disease commonly known as the waxpox, but now they were whole and healthy again.

“Why’d you ask me to meet at the north side? I have to travel south to return home,” the man reflected.

“You’re right,” Argrave shook his head. “Slipped my mind. But Durran and his fingers are back, and your eye looks whole… so I have to ask, how’s your sister?”

“She’s singing a lot,” Elias said brightly. “And she says she’s happy. I’m not inclined to doubt her.” He scratched just above his forehead, then began, “Argrave… I can’t thank you enough. Me, my sister, both of us…”

Argrave held his hand out. “So don’t thank me at all. I don’t want to hear it. I’m more interested in that other thing I asked you and your father to deal with.”

Elias shook his head lightly. “You’ve… never mind. Alright, well…” Elias looked off to the gate. “Things are just like you said: the people that had the plague have a lot of trouble returning to their lives. People won’t employ them, and sometimes their old homes reject them. A lot of fear in the air. Most of the nobles were glad to have us expel the plague-ridden from their land. They viewed it as a personal favor from His Majesty,” the man finished bitterly.

“Then you’ve been rounding them up, sending them to Dirracha?” Argrave pressed.

“Yeah. Most of them got into the temporary housing.” Elias nodded. “I never thought you the charitable sort. Why are you doing this?”

Argrave frowned. “Am I so horrible?”

Elias stared.

“I’m making some changes to the military,” Argrave sighed in defeat. “Whenever the kings of the past needed an army, their options were three—their personal forces, their vassal’s forces, and a widespread levy. Separate, they’re insufficient. Together, they’re rather grand.” Argrave waved his finger and shook his head. “That structure is a mistake, long term. I’m tossing it aside, making something wholly new.”

“You’ll make them soldiers?” Elias looked taken aback. “Argrave, these people—”

“They won’t be treated like levies, don’t worry.” Argrave interrupted Elias once again. “You might not know this, but the waxpox fed on magic to sustain and grow itself. Because of the disease’s attraction to magic, I can imagine there’s going to be a great many diamonds in the rough, so to speak. Beyond that, those young and malleable enough will form the core of my new personal force—not royal guards, but professional soldiers. They’ll be paid. Then, they can take care of their families. And when it’s feasible… House Quadreign will treat those it can with its flame.”

Elias scratched at his cheek. “That’s… rather noble.”

Argrave said nothing. He wasn’t doing this to be noble—he was doing it because everyone available needed to be used in the fight ahead. And he’d stolen the idea from Orion and his Waxknights, regardless.

“I’ll keep sending them to Dirracha, then.” Elias’ voice was a little more optimistic than before.

“Elenore can handle the next part. Don’t worry—she’s been briefed,” Arrgave shook his head.

Elias nodded. “So… you’re getting married?” he looked at Anneliese, who had been quiet during this exchange. “Me too. That’s what I’m coming home to.”

“You’re having a wedding?” Argrave pointed.

“Sure, I think,” Elias shrugged.

Argrave looked at Anneliese pointedly.

#####

They departed from the fortress at a little past midday. They travelled small, their group consisting only of Argrave, Anneliese, Orion, and some of his Waxknights. The journey from the fortress to Relize had taken four days in the past, but that had been with a sizable force of somewhat uncoordinated infantrymen on a steady pace. With fast-moving horses, the marble city of Relize came into sight by dusk. But Dras’ encampment, their true destination, was long before that. That place was more visible in many ways considering Rowe’s dragon, Crystal Wind, rested on the ground with its pearl-like body.

When they neared, Argrave recognized Patriarch Dras from a distance. He spotted another person at his side, and hastened the horse even more before Orion chided him to be more cautious. Once the two met, Argrave dismounted, walking forth with a smile.

“Galamon!” Argrave called out, walking to the man quickly.

Galamon stepped ahead of Dras, taking off his helmet. His white hair was usually long, but he’d trimmed it. He stood there, stoic as ever. Argrave gave him a hearty hug.

“It’s damn good to see you.” Argrave pulled his head away.

“I thought it best to come.” Galamon looked to the side. “Anneliese.”

“Hello again, Galamon,” she waved, smiling too.

“This guy treating you alright?” Argrave pressed, pointing his thumb at Dras as he stepped away. “Things going well in Veiden?”

“…I’m glad I asked for him,” Dras said seriously. “And I’m sorry to see these men go,” the patriarch looked back.

Argrave frowned, then looked to Galamon to seek confirmation. The snow elf gave a somber nod, agreeing that things were indeed as dire as the patriarch claimed.

“There are mountains and glaciers in Veiden that are uninhabitable. Most people thought there was nothing beyond them, but… a Twisted Twin of the Winter descended, driven mad by… well, you can imagine what. The beast killed half a hundred before he was slain.”

“A…” Argrave struggled to remember Veidimen lore from Heroes of Berendar. “A frost ettin?”

“I don’t know what an ettin is, but you’re probably right,” Dras let out a long sigh. “It’s not just that. Things thought long dead are reappearing. On top of that, Galamon is still investigating the supposed reemergence of the Ebon Cult.” The patriarch closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again and fixed his gaze on Argrave. “Hah. It must sound like I’m guilting you into letting me keep my men.”

“I am incapable of feeling shame,” Argrave shook his head.

Dras laughed loudly. “Well, that’s good. I’ve found that to be a very valuable trait as a leader.”

“Galamon,” Orion said, stepping ahead of Argrave. “The royal knights you drilled…”

“Yes?” the snow elf said evenly, staring Orion eye-to-eye.

“They’re very skilled,” Orion said earnestly. “You have the soul of a commander, and that shines through in their eyes. I’m looking forward to seeing how these men of yours will transform Vasquer.”

Galamon furrowed his brows, confused, then dismissed that and said simply, “Thanks.”

The sound of a heavy piece of wood meeting the grass attracted Argrave’s attention, and he turned his head to watch Rowe walking over.

“Galamon—get everyone together, bring them here,” Dras directed him. Galamon nodded and walked off as Rowe took his place in front of their group.

“Look at you,” Rowe said, sizing him up. “You’re getting fat.”

Argrave was taken aback and looked down at his stomach. “No, I think I was just quite skinny before.”

“Not your body. Your head. That has to be what’s inside there, considering how utterly shoddy this thesis of yours remains,” Rowe retrieved a stack of papers, waving them about in the air. “You’ve been eating the low-hanging fruits, and now you’ve found yourself too fat to jump to get the harder ones.”

Argrave laughed, Rowe’s brutal criticism welcome reprieve from being called ‘Your Majesty’ by each and all. “I think I’m almost ready to put that shoddy thesis into action, ascend to A-rank. Just have to get everything in place.”

“You’ve been ready to do so for weeks, now. You’re just a coward. Everything has to be perfect for you to take the slightest step forward. Rather unlike your woman, here.” Rowe looked to Anneliese.

“He is younger than I am,” Anneliese defended. “And he bled for me, elsewise I would have failed utterly.”

Rowe snickered, but as he did, a great rumbling shook the earth. Argrave craned his neck, looking beyond cautiously. Orion’s royal knights came to attention, too, placing their hands on their swords. Then, Argrave realized what it was.

Three hundred Veidimen warriors stepped out of their tents in a refined and practiced order, marching almost in lockstep before they took a formation behind Patriarch Dras. They had Ebonice axes on their waists, swords as tall as grown men in their hands, and shields big enough to cover their whole torso strapped to their arms. Many were larger than Galamon… and each had an icy discipline in their eyes.

“These are your men,” Galamon declared, stepping out of the crowd until he came to Argrave. “I chose them, personally. Each and all signed contracts in blood to serve you, and only you, until their deaths. They will do whatever you ask of them. I will introduce you to the three officers of their number later.”

Argrave looked at them just as they looked at him. They seemed like proud lions, each and all. Just as they would be devastating on the battlefield, so too would they be hard to tame. Their loyalty was assured by contract, but Argrave wanted their respect. He’d have to think of how to earn it.

Dras put his hand on his waist, looking them down. “Three hundred and three—more than was asked for. My three best officers are here, and I hate to lose them. But I made a promise, and it will be kept.” He looked at Anneliese. “They’re a fitting honor guard to be gifted for my daughter’s wedding, I should think.”

“How is the adoption playing in Veiden?” Argrave asked curiously.

“People understand,” Dras shook his head. “And Rowe… spoke on her behalf,” the patriarch alluded vaguely. “Regarding her… before we begin the ceremony, there’s something Anneliese should hear.”

Anneliese’s face grew accommodating as she asked, “Yes? What is it?”

“Your mother and younger sister are here,” Dras said evenly.

Anneliese’s composure faded for a moment as her features twisted in surprise. “What? You cannot be serious,” she said, blinking quickly as her hands moved anxiously. “Why?”

“Is it so strange?” Dras tilted his head. “They… well, your mother wanted to speak to you before the wedding,” he corrected. “Alone, preferably.”

Anneliese stood there agape.

“I see this might not be as innocent a request as I thought it was. I took you as my daughter,” Dras continued. “If you say no, they will not speak to you. Still, I’ve delivered the message.”

Anneliese looked at Argrave. He offered her his hand, and she took it. For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then, after swallowing, she said, “I will meet them.”