The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 4, Chapter 2

The Paladin of the Holy Kingdom, Part III: Act 4, Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Summer Palace was a sprawling complex in the northwest of Rimun, occupying an area larger than the Royal Palace and Prime Estates of Hoburns combined. Starting from atop a cliff overlooking the western ocean where the palace itself was perched, its grounds ran along the coast to the sandy beaches a kilometre to the south.Checkk new novel chapters at novelbin(.)com

Before the reign of Queen Calca, the Summer Palace was reserved for the exclusive use of the royal dynasty and its guests. Upon her ascension, however, the young Holy Queen opened the palace to the public. Both royals and the nobility alike protested the decision, but Calca was adamant, claiming that it would help bring the Holy Kingdom’s people together.

In a frenzy of the idealistic energy characteristic of her reign, Queen Calca had the palace’s expansive gardens and beaches transformed into parks for public recreation. The arcades were turned into markets while the auditoriums and galleries were converted into theatres and stages. The palace itself, thankfully, was still treated as private property.

While the changes were implemented, her naysayers bided their time, waiting for their chance to criticise the Holy Queen for her foolish idealism when her monstrously wasteful project inevitably failed...except it didn’t.

Citizens sailed in from all across the country during the quiet winter months and holy days, transforming the Summer Palace into a bustling centre of culture and commerce. Needless to say, the hundreds of thousands of people who visited it every year earned immense revenues for the Crown. Even Demihumans and Heteromorphs frequented the place and the gates of the palace were continually buried in gifts from subjects who wished to show their appreciation for the Queen’s kindness and progressive vision.

There were no gifts at the gate now, however: only flowers left by the citizens who still mourned the late Holy Queen’s passing.

That damned fool couldn’t even do the one thing he was supposed to.

Duke Denis Debonei brooded silently as he stared out at the distant city from a window of his palace office. The new Holy King’s duty, first and foremost, was to lead. He didn’t even have to rule – he had a cabinet staffed with capable ministers and the entire Royal Court to assist with that. Yet, whenever the people of the Holy Kingdom thought of their sovereign, it was the late Holy Queen who still stood at the forefront of their minds.

Caspond may as well have been a dried fish for all his subjects cared. Actually, his subjects would probably care more about the dried fish if what he heard about the royalist-controlled lands to the east was accurate.

The mountain of problems with their new sovereign should have been unacceptable to both the royal dynasty and the aristocratic establishment, but the ‘progressives’ of the nation saw the weakness of the Holy King as an opportunity to bring the change that they desired to the Holy Kingdom. Now, the country was suffering from a political and economic schism that divided its people into two camps with no hope for reconciliation in sight.

“Your Grace,” a footman approached him from the grand foyer, “a rider from the front gate just came in. The Faceless One and her entourage have arrived.”

“How large is the entourage?” Denis asked.

“Two carriages. One carrying Merchants, which we redirected to a guest house. An armed company of light cavalry running escort. The Faceless one has three attendants: a butler, a Maid, and a Bard.”

Denis asked no further questions, rising from his seat and tugging at the flaps of his coat. The footman bowed before returning to the foyer.

“The Faceless One, hm...” Count Vigo rose along with him, “It would be nice if we had an actual name, but I suppose that would ruin the mystique.”

“It’s preposterous that we’re meeting this fellow without even knowing that much.”

“A sign of the times, Your Grace. Times that should hopefully come to an end soon.”

Lord Vigo accompanied Denis as he made his way to the palace foyer. It was supposed to have been Marquis Bodipo accompanying him, but he had been called to lead the forces taking the Renclusa Valley. Denis could only think that it had been a purposely-timed move by the royalists to keep the highly capable Marquis from coordinating his followers from collaborating with the rest of the conservative faction.

In the foyer, various Noble guests of the palace were arriving to receive the new arrival. Most had looks that were more curious than anything else. To many, the Faceless One’s – or, rather, who they represented – rise to power was like a tale from the distant past when the original Nobles of the Holy Kingdom carved out their territories from the devastation and chaos left in the wake of the Demon Gods.

Through the glass of the doors, a dozen lightly-armed riders came ahead of a carriage that one might expect of a wealthy Merchant. Another set of riders dismounted to open the doors. An odd, masked figure of less-than-average height wearing a rugged rancher’s outfit stepped out. Denis frowned at the sight, but Count Vigo stirred in recognition.

“Neia Baraja,” he breathed.

“I don’t see how you can identify anyone when they’re wearing a domino mask, Lord Vigo. This isn’t a masquerade, for the gods’ sake.”

“It’s because she’s wearing a mask, Your Grace.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Back during the war,” Count Vigo replied, “she wore a mask more often than not. Not the same mask, mind you, but it’s hard to imagine her without one. The huge crowd gathered at the city’s northeastern gate should have said it all, but I somehow didn’t make the connection.

In that case, what does this mean for us?

Before her arrival, they treated the Faceless One as the representative of Los Ganaderos, a loose coalition of ranchers that occupied roughly a quarter of the north’s developed interior. Their faction already traded with them heavily and, aside from that, the ranchers could come in useful if violence broke out. Theirs would be a simple negotiation, as far as Denis was concerned.

Now, the Faceless One was the leader of a movement whose core philosophy could be summed up as ‘work harder, you idiots’. In the wake of the Demon Emperor’s invasion, when land and opportunity were plentiful, that philosophy had worked in their favour. Their resulting successes, of course, attracted even more followers.

To the Nobles who had come to aid in the north’s recovery efforts, the quaint group had proven to be an economic boon. With the arrival of the Faceless One, however, they had become a faction with real military power that also represented a not-insubstantial portion of the land’s total industrial activity. The Faceless One’s appearance in Rimun and the coming negotiations would be crucial in determining whether she and her followers would become useful allies or a new enemy.

As Denis waited at the head of the reception, a gust of wind stole the Faceless One’s wide-brimmed hat. To his shock, she tried to chase after it. The Bard, who was about the age of his granddaughter, stopped her and sent one of their escorts to retrieve the hat.

She was raised as a commoner, then. The Bard acts as a behavioural consultant. Anything that the Bard is capable of will be several orders of magnitude more adept than her employer.

The ‘butler’ and ‘Maid’ were clearly just for show, as were the carriage and escort. Denis adjusted his expectations downwards by several notches, then smiled as the Faceless One and her party approached.

“Welcome to the Summer Palace, Neia Baraja. I am Duke Denis Debonei. I hope you’ll forgive the state of the palace grounds: Jaldabaoth’s armies made extensive ‘use’ of the place.”

Many of the Demihumans occupying Rimun during the war preferred the green spaces of the Summer Palace and thus its grounds had become the site of all manner of horrific activities. It was to the degree that the Temples even insisted that every square metre of the premises be scoured for traces of negative energy and demonic influence in the aftermath of the city’s liberation.

The masked woman replied with a simple curtsey which looked quite strange with her pants and riding chaps.

“Thank you for your welcome, Your Grace. I commanded one of the regiments during the liberation of Rimun and we spent three days clearing the Summer Palace of Demihumans. It was heartbreaking to see Queen Calca’s legacy so defiled.”

Denis weighed the woman’s response. His apology was meant as bait, but he had not received any of the expected replies. Usually, there were two one would render following an apology like his. The first was a cordial one that helped the host save face while also giving the guest an appearance of grace. The second was for the guest to perceive the apology as a sign of the host’s weakness and go on the offensive.

“I can agree on that point. But to prepare for the future...”

“Of course,” Denis nodded. “So long as you can arrange for transport of your supplies overland, we will arrange for them to be shipped.”

“Um, we brought some Merchants who can deal with your Merchants if that’s alright...”

“It’s good that you’ve come prepared. We’ll let them handle those matters while we move on to other topics of import.”

Dinner moved onto the main course, which consisted of buttered lobster with a hearty portion of crisp greens and garlic bread. The Bard changed her selection to a piece he had never heard before. The lyrics were unfamiliar in their construction. Human songs and poetry tended to centre around Human life and events. Very rarely were they about countries or regions of countries, though every country had at least one or two of those works. This song, however, was purely in praise of the raw, wild nature in and around the Azerlisia Mountains.

“I don’t believe I’m familiar with this song,” Denis said.

“It’s called Winter’s Crown,” Baraja said as she weaved back and forth in her seat with the melody. “Saye said that Humans first heard it in the Sorcerous Kingdom.”

Humans first heard...

Did that mean the composer of the piece was a Demihuman or Heteromorph? Now that she mentioned it, the lyrics did bear similarities to the songs of the Holy Kingdom’s aquatic neighbours. At least supposedly. Humans were unable to speak aquatic languages and literature didn’t translate itself, so all he had to go by were crude translations that obviously fell short of the original works. The melody, however, was drastically different from even those pieces, sounding so primal that he thought he might be sucked into the pristine realm that the song exalted.

“Is it very popular in the Sorcerous Kingdom?” Count Vigo asked.

“Saye said that it’s popular in the regions around the Azerlisia Mountains,” Baraja answered. “Both in the Sorcerous Kingdom and the Baharuth Empire. She’s not sure whether it’s spread to Re-Estize yet.”

“Speaking of the Sorcerous Kingdom,” Denis said, “Have you maintained any of the connections that you’ve made there?”

“The only person from the Sorcerous Kingdom that I spent much time with was His Majesty the Sorcerer King, so...”

That’s already one hell of a connection, woman.

...or so he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. The Faceless One shifted in her seat as the Nobles at the table all levelled expectant looks at her.

“Um,” she licked her lips nervously, “His Majesty has already done so much that I don’t think it would be appropriate to ask for more.”

Commoners had a nonsensical sense of propriety and Baraja seemed about as common as common could get. If one never communicated their needs and desires, then chances were that those who could facilitate them would never know – especially if they were physically distant.

He and the members of his faction were as averse to the Undead as anyone, but political pressure from the Sorcerous Kingdom would likely spell the end of Caspond with a minimum of fuss. Was it possible to press the issue? A courier would take at least three weeks to reach E-Rantel and waiting for an audience could add considerably to that. By the time they received an answer, there was a high chance that Prince Felipe would already be back and Denis was fairly certain about how the fleet would react to any dealings with the Undead.

“I see,” he said. “In that case, we’ll see what solutions we can devise with the addition of your people’s assistance.”

If things took a dire turn, he could bring up the topic again. Their near-term goal remained the same, which was the consolidation of power to eventually employ against the royalists. The Faceless One’s influence and territorial control would serve to further strengthen their position and give their opponents a much larger strategic threat to consider.

Winter’s Crown transitioned into a wordless tune that bore a rhythm and chord progressions favoured by Baharuth’s martial aristocracy.

“Just to be clear, Your Grace,” Baraja said, “not all of my people are combatants or should be treated as such.”

It was an utterly odd statement to make. Every able-bodied adult in the Holy Kingdom had served in the army, so everyone could be fielded as a combatant.

“Do you mean to say that they won’t qualify as capable combatants due to the current situation in the north? If so, something can be arranged to remedy that.”

“Um...yes, and no. Your Grace is correct to say that we don’t have the means to equip and deploy them, but neither did we intend to use them as military assets in the first place.”

The other Nobles at the table showed no visible reaction to her statement, yet the mix of anger and disdain emanating from them was palpable. A man who wouldn’t fight for their land was no man at all.

“In that case,” Denis said, “what do you and your people intend to contribute to the cause?”

“Ah, it’s not that we won’t contribute soldiers if they’re needed. But we have people suited to those roles and undermining our industrial production won’t allow us to fight prolonged conflicts. We also have to consider what happens afterwards – crippling the north even further is something we’d all like to avoid if possible.”

It’s pragmatic, but...

A Merchant would have probably accepted the proposal after attempting to squeeze out as much profit as they could out of it. The pursuit of profit, however, was not the way of the aristocracy.

“What you say does appeal to a certain line of reasoning,” Denis said, “but, as anyone in the Holy Kingdom should know, prosperity without the strength to protect it will only be stolen. All things being equal, our people would consider it unjust if such an exemption is made for yours.”

“I agree,” Baraja replied, “but all things are not equal. My forces have all fought in the war and they are almost purely light cavalry. If necessary, I can have two thousand of them available. This should be more than what a Count is expected to contribute in terms of fighting strength, so considering us an equal partner should present no issues. Furthermore, my forces control the northwestern interior and the royalists are incapable of challenging us there. If things do come down to civil war, that will give your armies access to Lloyds and Hoburns without risking an amphibious landing and exposing your supply lines.”

Low murmurs rose from the seated Nobles. That she had professional troops not even a Count could offer for the war effort came as a surprise to all of them. For Denis’ part, he had a hunch that she would turn Los Ganaderos into an ad hoc militia, but he wasn’t sure whether she would be willing to commit them to a conflict.

“This regiment of light cavalry,” one of the Nobles halfway down the table said. “Could it be that you’re offering the men of Los Ganaderos?”

“That’s right, my lord,” Baraja nodded.

“Then you’ll forgive me for saying so, but there is too much at stake for us to simply take you at your word. Can you prove that they are as effective as you say?”

The music stopped. Denis calmly took a sip out of his wine glass. Since Baraja had offered cavalry, the challenge was inevitable to Nobles who considered cavalry the domain of the elite.

“Of course,” the Faceless One replied without hesitation. “Shall we decide on a time and a place?”