Treason or Revolution?
The day before the departure ceremony, at Count Leonberg's castle in Pelgaroin.
“There's no turning back now.”
Count Leonberg sighed deeply and raised his glass. The ice in the wine shifted as he moved it.
He stared at it for a moment, drained the glass, and set it down. It was his third drink in quick succession, but the alcohol had done nothing to ease his nerves.
Can you truly defeat the emperor, Benelia?
Had he been right to send his troops to support the princess? However badly the emperor had lost his judgment, was it right for House Pelgaroin—a family that had sworn allegiance to the throne for generations—to turn against him?
How would history remember them?
If the revolution succeeded, Pelgaroin would be praised as one of the great houses that helped create a new age.
But if it fails…
He would lose his soldiers and everything his family possessed. Even if he managed to survive a charge of treason, he would never again live as a nobleman.
He had gambled all that he held dear. Had there been another path, he would not have supported Benelia. The safest choice, as other great houses understood, would have been to remain beside the emperor.
If only the princess had not forced him to remember.
Count. Think back to the world of eight years ago. And think about the military honor displayed behind you in this very office.
Leonberg tightened his grip on the glass.
Eight years ago, his eldest son, Beneller, had still been alive.
He had been a gentle, timid young man. Yet the emperor had ordered him to war. Young noble sons with little battlefield experience ordinarily served well behind the front, where they could learn without being sent on the most dangerous missions.
Beneller had scarcely harmed another living thing. Leonberg had believed the boy would return from the war unharmed.
Instead, the emperor placed him in the vanguard and ordered him to break the orcs' camp.
Beneller. My son…
The reports said his son had succeeded. He had broken the enemy formation and fought to the end.
But the knight who brought the account also brought Beneller's body.
“Damn it…”
Pain throbbed behind Leonberg's eyes. He cursed under his breath and rose abruptly.
He turned and seized the display holding the military honor bestowed upon him by the emperor. With a furious movement he flung it to the floor. It struck, bounced, and rolled to a halt.
“House Pelgaroin has served the Empire for generations,” he said hoarsely. “We served so that the Empire might be ruled properly.”
He glared down at the fallen honor, his voice hardening.
“Then, Calvanes, you are no emperor of mine…!”
His clenched fist trembled with anger, grief, and longing for his son.
On the day of the departure ceremony.
“Hear me, soldiers!”
Before the northern wall, the assembled army listened to its emperor.
Mounted on a warhorse decked in brilliant armor, he cut an imposing figure, the very image of the sovereign to whom men might swear their loyalty.
Benelia, standing with the commanders near the front, knew that appearances were deceiving. The man before them was the emperor—and her father by blood—but he was unfit to rule.
Calvanes von Esteban.
He demanded obedience without understanding generosity, exercised power without knowing governance, and chased glory without grasping honor. His grand causes concealed a hunger for his own advantage.
And yet his blood runs in my veins…
Benelia had never truly thought of the emperor as her father. If she spoke of him that way, it was only to describe their blood relation. She felt no filial warmth toward him.
He had never shown any toward her, either. He had scarcely spoken kindly to the daughter whose birth he regarded as illegitimate. Even now, he did not glance in her direction.
“By the teachings Lord Karatias gave humankind, we shall punish evil and fulfill the task entrusted to us! Now tell me: what is evil?”
A mage at his side amplified the speech until the emperor's voice rolled over the army like thunder. Standing so near, Benelia found it almost painful to hear.
She turned her attention to the troops.
The ranks seemed endless. Standards bearing the emblems of Ebeka, Hygus, Mowes, and Fermadan—the Empire's greatest lords—flew above their formations. Knights in decorated armor held their places beneath them.
Some of the young men leading those forces looked barely old enough to command.
Sent to earn honors, are they?
Perhaps their fathers believed victory was certain. Perhaps the young nobles had volunteered in search of glory. Either way, Benelia welcomed inexperienced commanders among the emperor's ranks.
She looked farther along the army and saw the Church of Balance's paladins in white armor. At their head stood the pope, smiling calmly in a red robe.
The sight made her frown.
“…Under Lord Karatias's protection, we shall wipe those evil demons from the face of the earth! The holy mace shall fall upon those who feast on human death!”
Benelia let the emperor's words wash over her and turned to the right.
Her own troops, the Dawning Steps, stood shoulder to shoulder with the soldiers of House Pelgaroin. The polish of their equipment and their orderly ranks testified to the resources of that powerful central family.
The knight commanding them was equally impressive. Though well past youth, he moved with unwavering discipline.
Hildes Froheim, wasn't it?
He was a master swordsman, recognized with the title of Provost Meister by the order known as the Falcon of Disappearance. His skill was said to be worth a hundred ordinary soldiers. Numbers alone would not decide the coming battle, but Benelia was glad he stood on her side.
“May God lead our struggle to heaven! In the name of Karatias, who has given us all!”
“In the name of Karatias!” the soldiers roared.
Thousands stamped their feet in unison, shaking the ground. Standard-bearers struck their flagstaffs against the earth before raising them once more. The emperor surveyed the salute with evident satisfaction, then turned to issue the first marching orders.
The units on the far left began to move.
More soldiers than I expected. With the mercenaries, there must be forty-five thousand…
Benelia watched the long columns file past until an unexpected movement caught her eye. Someone was riding against the flow of the marching troops.
A man in immaculate, expensive armor approached at a gallop.
Prince Leonhard.
His ash-colored hair streamed behind him. He hauled on the reins, drawing a nervous protest from his horse.
“Whoa. What's gotten into you? You behaved perfectly well all the way here…”
He clicked his tongue, then turned a slick smile upon Benelia.
“Well, well. It's been a while, hasn't it? You didn't even come to last night's banquet.”
“I have no taste for parties.”
“Still as unfriendly as ever. Relax. I didn't come to fight. What are you glaring at?”
“Of course you didn't come to fight. You came to provoke me.”
Her answer was cold, but his smile only widened. He had not forgotten the humiliation she had dealt him before, and he was eager to repay it.
“Provoke you? How cruel. I merely pity the soldiers forced to suffer your ridiculous strategy.”
“Is that so?”
“Marching through Grimund Forest to strike the Black Castle? You must be mad for military glory. I'm sure your men think the same, even if they don't dare say it.”
“Have you finished?”
“Hardly. I could say much more, but unlike certain people, I have an important place in the main army. I'm a busy man.”
The deliberate sneer made Benelia want to strike him. Too many eyes were watching, however. She closed her eyes, mastered her temper, and changed the subject.
“Have you written your will?”
“What? Well, of course. Everyone should do that before going to war…”
Benelia opened her eyes and regarded him with open contempt.
“I'm glad. For once, you made a sensible decision.”
Leonhard stared, then frowned as the meaning reached him. She was suggesting he would not return from this campaign.
“You filthy illegitimate brat…”
He gritted his teeth and reached for his sword. Then he noticed the escort knights watching him, their expressions hidden beneath their helmets.
After a tense moment, he took his hand from the hilt and seized the reins instead.
“Benelia. This is the last time you'll get away with such arrogance.”
He wheeled his horse around and rode away, his immaculate red cloak streaming behind him.
Benelia watched until he was gone.
“Prepare to depart.”
Her knights bowed and passed on the order. Calls echoed through the ranks and reached the Pelgaroin forces beside them.
Benelia looked past them toward the long procession of the main imperial army.
Those men were marching as allies today. Before long, they would be her enemies.
Benelia watched them go and spoke quietly.
“We must win.”
Not for treason, but for revolution.