“That’s a hell of a walk if you don’t have have a wizard to teleport you.” Cyrus heard Windrider whinny. The rain was chill, the little splashes of water bouncing off his armor and into his face.
“I think he hoped I’d have found a strong army I could bring back with me,” Longwell said. “Syloreas has long been our enemy, back thousands of years, since the three Kingdoms began.”
“Perhaps you could give us some history of the conflicts of this land,” Odellan said.
Longwell looked at the elf with dull eyes and an amused smile. “Certainly. They fought constantly; not ten years would go by without one of the three Kingdoms declaring war on another and pressing the attack. Sometimes there were defeats, occasionally a Kingdom would be conquered for ten or twenty years-I think Actaluere was actually put under Syloreas’s boot for almost fifty years once, but that was several thousand years ago. Every time, eventually, the people would rise up, throw off the lazy army with the help of the other Kingdom, and the cycle would start again a few years later.”
“Oh my,” Odellan said. “That makes the sordid history of the elves and dark elves look quite peaceful by comparison.”
Cyrus stared at Longwell with a raised eyebrow. “No offense, but your people sound as bloodthirsty as the trolls. That’s an awful lot of wars.”
Longwell shrugged. “I didn’t start them. And I was only involved in one of them-the last war, between all three Kingdoms.”
“Who started that one?” Cyrus asked.
“Syloreas,” Longwell said. “Briyce Unger began with an invasion of Actaluere’s northern borders, and my father,” he said, rising tension apparent in his voice, “decided it would be an opportune moment to deprive Syloreas of some of their southern lands while they were distracted with an invasion thrust that nearly reached halfway to Caenalys, the capital of Actaluere. What my father hadn’t anticipated was that Briyce Unger would turn his armies around when he heard that we had begun assaulting his border and march them directly there to hammer us.”
“What did Actaluere do?” Odellan asked.
“Not a damned thing,” Longwell said bitterly. “They tossed out the remaining garrison troops that Briyce Unger had left behind, then sat their army back and waited until Unger and my father’s forces had done a good amount of damage to each other. Then King Tiernan of Actaluere launched an attack on our border, taking two cities away from us and leaving Unger unpunished.”
“Can you really blame him?” The Baroness’s voice came from behind them, startling Cyrus and causing him to turn. She sat on horseback, following only a few paces behind them. “He saw an opportunity to get Unger out of his territory and take two jewels out of Galbadien’s crown with minimal effort while you and Syloreas were busy bleeding each other dry in the north. King Tiernan ended the war he hadn’t even started with more territory, while Galbadien and Syloreas both lost half their armies.” She shook her head and smiled. “Your father got perfidious and thought to turn our war to his advantage, but Unger’s bullheaded pride worked against him. Your father was outsmarted by Milos Tiernan. There’s no shame in it; Tiernan’s shrewd above all else.”
“That was treachery,” Longwell said, reddening. “My father gave Milos Tiernan a perfect opportunity to get revenge on Syloreas for invading their territory; it could have been mutually beneficial for both our Kingdoms and instead Tiernan stabbed my father in the back.”
The Baroness kept an infuriating smile perched upon her lips, giving her an impish look that caused Cyrus more intrigue than he cared to admit. “I thought it was an exceptionally clever way to pit two enemies against each other to maximum advantage. After all, it wasn’t as though there’s ever been any sort of peace or alliance between Actaluere and Galbadien-only a few years without war between us.”
“No formal peace, but no formal war either,” Longwell said. “It was basest treachery.”
The Baroness shrugged. “See it however you like; Milos Tiernan walked away from the conflict with more territory and an army ready for the next war. Your father’s Kingdom limped away just as Syloreas did, with countless young men dead, less territory than when you started, and forced to concede what you’d lost. If the point of war is simply honor and not winning, you’re still doing it wrong. I hear tell your father’s soldiers are just as savage when sacking a town as Briyce Unger’s are.”
Longwell did not answer, and seemed to slump slightly forward on his horse, his eyes focused ahead. Cyrus watched the dragoon for a long moment, and when it seemed unlikely he would ever speak, he did. “I cannot argue with that.” Longwell rode off a moment later, after the silence had hung in the air. He rode toward the back of the column, ignoring several soldiers who hailed him along the way.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Odellan said, “perhaps I should speak with him-and inspect the column while I am at it.”
“Certainly,” Cyrus said with a nod. Odellan turned his horse and rode away. Cyrus turned to speak with the Baroness, but she was already gone, ensconced in a conversation with Nyad and Ryin, the three of them riding side by side.
The next week passed quickly, the flat lands over which they traveled speeding their journey. Longwell seemed to come alive again a few days after the conversation with the Baroness. He had been sulky and withdrawn, causing Cyrus to privately wonder if he had been that depressing to be around when they had first set out on their journey.
Only a few days later, they came around a bend in the road and something enormous became visible on the horizon. Cyrus was riding at the front of the column as he almost always did, and when the silhouette began to take shape as the sun was starting to set behind them, he wondered if perhaps it was a cloud bank.
“That is the Castle of Vernadam,” Longwell said, riding to the fore to come alongside Cyrus. “That is my father’s home.”
“Not yours?” Cyrus asked.
He caught a glimmer of regret from the dragoon. “Once perhaps. Not anymore.”
They bedded down for the night in a clearing, and as the campfires lit the sky, Cyrus stared into the distance, where he could still see the faintest shadow of the castle on the horizon. He heard someone move next to him where he stood at the far edge of the army’s camp, and he turned to see the Baroness, clad in her riding outfit but with a blanket wrapped around her to guard against the chill of the early evening.
“There stands Vernadam,” she said, almost whispering, “a place I never thought I would see, not in my lifetime.”
“No?” Cyrus looked over to her, saw the wind stir her hair. “The borders of your lands don’t seem too hostile to crossing, if it were for just a person by themselves.”
She looked over at him, her glazed eyes returning to focus. “Women do not travel alone, and the Baron does not travel this far outside his holdfast.”
“How long were you married?” Cyrus watched her. She didn’t answer him quickly, as though she were taking her time coming up with the right reply.
“Only a year or so,” she said. “It was a very quick arrangement, really.”
“Hm.” Cyrus nodded, looking at the fire. “Less than a year and already happy to leave him behind. He must have been a real monster.”
“As though you don’t already know.” He could feel her bristle.
“I know what he did to others,” Cyrus said, reaching for a branch and stirring the embers of the fire with it. “I know how he treated strangers in his land who meant him no harm. So, yes, that gives me some idea of how he might treat his wife.”
“You have no idea,” she pronounced, and her words were stiff. “Beatings were commonplace. Whippings he saved for occasions of special displeasure, which seemed to happen whenever he was drunkest.”