Test Page

Chapter 10 - Shifting Winds

"....The entire hill was a sea of fire at that point. So I figured it was time to lead in a charge. One hundred and seventy armored gryphons straight into their ranks! And their center hardly even buckled!"

Kaede listened to Sylviane's incredulous tone as she sat next to Cecylia on the Princess' spacious bed, in the broad but otherwise austere 'royal cabin'. Meanwhile her hands nursed a steaming mug of hot chocolate, which Cecylia had introduced as a Skagen product when she made it.

It was surprising, since cocoa was not a plant that grew in the frozen north. Given that most other produces paralleled those of Earth, there was likely more to the Northmen nation than meets the eye.

"They're housecarls -- and their name for being household troops isn't just for show either..."

With patient words that were almost unlike her, Cecylia explained in a soft soprano that felt soothing just to hear. Her hands gently stroked the largest Ania as all nine bodies of the matryoshka cat laid comfortably around her, purring in turn as though a chorus of relaxation. They all basked in the warm glow of the phoenix Hauteclere, who continued to stand regally next to the Princess while chirping playfully to the smaller kittens.

"--The housecarls live in their lord's castle. They feast at the same tables, train on the same grounds alongside noble sons and daughters, even address each other like brothers regardless of rank..."

Not even Cecylia could keep the rising admiration out of her voice.

"Men like that have a bond stronger than any oath. They will fight to their dying breath for their liege, protecting the safety of his life and the sanctity of his corpse. The Jarl's personal force might have struck the detachment, but I'll bet that the heir was among those you defeated, Sylv."

"We don't have any units like that," Sylviane murmured.

"The Knight Phantoms, the Lotharin Armigers, Imperial Bucellarii and Cataphracts, not even the Cataliyan Ghulams could compare to the élan of the Northmen elite."

Cecylia's broad grin then returned in full:

"It's brotherhood at its finest."

"Of course you're a fan of them," Sylviane chuckled back as she twirled her dark-plum hair, periodically brushing them past her cheeks and lips. "Sweaty shirtless men wrestling each other in the halls before drinking themselves to a stupor." Then, curious: "but I thought they also killed over mere arguments?"

Cecylia tilted her head as she frowned with mild distaste, but not towards the Princess:

"It's true that in the north all disagreements could be decided by single combat. But usually it isn't to the death; certainly not among brothers -- that's just outsiders exaggerating what they don't understand by chalking it up to 'barbarism'. But you have to admit: it does save all the political wrangling and plotting, just smash your wine cup at them and draw swords!"

"Sometimes I wish we had that tradition," Sylviane sighed wistfully. "Then I can just knock out all those bickering lords and save us the headaches!"

Kaede could almost imagine: the new United Nations Assembly, where they resolved national disputes by putting world leaders in a ring and having them fight it out.

The was a certain refreshing allure to it... definitely cleaner, at any rate.

"Once upon a time," Cecylia grinned again, her scarlet-crossed eyes almost twinkling. "A lot of Lotharin cultural aspects survived the Imperial subjugation, but that's not one of them..."

The petite dhampir shrugged.

"...It does have its downsides though: like how all judicial cases may be overthrown through trial by single combat -- no representative champions allowed either. So among the Northmen, if you're weak, you're nothing. Can't even get a bride, since a man is expected to literally beat off the other suitors and then take his bride-to-be in a staff duel."

"Sounds like a painful wedding," Sylviane frowned back.

"If he wants her to look good and perform well on their first night, then he better be good enough to beat her without much bruising! It's part of the incentive!"

In response, the Princess crossed her arms and raising her head high. With her eyes closed, she began in a faked, haughty voice almost reminiscent of Pascal's arrogant drawl:

"No, Pascal. I cannot marry you. Go back and train for another decade."

Sylviane peeked one eye open and met her friend's gaze once more, before her composure fell away and both of them began to laugh.

Even Kaede couldn't help but grin at the mental image -- Pascal's frozen shock as he faded to dust after being told he simply wasn't good enough.

"Well, having Hauteclere is rather unfair," Cecylia countered half a minute later when the giggling finally died away. "Not that Pascal will ever say that. He's no sore loser and is all about combat realism. A loss is a loss, and Oriflammes certainly don't hold back on a real battlefield."

The Princess nodded as she proudly declared:

"It's a manly trait, and not one of those fake macho ones either."

With Pascal's rooftop apology to Ariadne and Parzifal only two weeks old in memory, Kaede had to agree with that as well. Bowing one's head might seem to undermine the image of alpha masculinity, but it also took true courage that embodied manliness beyond any cheap facade of confidence.

But speaking of Ariadne, Kaede had been curious about one thing. Sipping away the last of her hot chocolate, she put the mug aside before finally cutting in:

"Wouldn't such a culture imply that Northern women are martial as well? I didn't see any of them fighting though; neither the attack force nor on the walls."

"Only the men leave their settlements on campaigns," Cecylia clarified. "Northern women only take up arms as part of a garrison to defend their homes. So the militias units are gender segregated. The men are also very protective of their women, so the units stationed on the walls were probably all male as well."

In other words, their mothers, sweethearts, and wives in the rear literally did the bloodshedding for them if the men broke and ran. It almost reminded Kaede of the Sacred Band, even if it lacked the hundred-and-fifty gay couples...

Cecylia would have loved to see that... Kaede thought without a doubt.

Then, it was Sylviane who answered with a solemn deadpan as she reached down to cradle a meowing kitten:

"There were hundreds of women killed and wounded at the gates. I had to bloody them some more before they would talk... and I thought we Lotharin girls were tough..."

The Princess trailed off as a somber silence fell upon the room.

"Sorry," Kaede looked down. I shouldn't have brought it up.

She soon felt an all-encompassing hug from the back. A comforting embrace she had wanted since last night, yet couldn't ask.

Cecylia seemed warmer than most people too. More touchy-feely than she was used to, at any rate...

...Just before hot breath blew into the sensitive back of her left ear as the dhampir girl leaned in and softly bit her earlobe.

"EEK!"

Kaede yelped. She almost jumped on the bed, if it wasn't for the other holding her down.

"She's having trouble dealing with her first battle," Cecylia informed Sylviane through a catlike grin. "Clearly we should help her forget it."

The Princess smiled back but shook her head:

"It doesn't work that way."

But as her wisteria eyes met Kaede's, it was with the softest look she offered the familiar girl yet.

"Come over here Kaede. My hair is just not as soft as yours."

Kaede paused and looked back with reluctance, while the Princess reinforced her imposing smile:

"What did you promise in exchange for my permission to stay besides my fiancé again?"

The smaller girl almost groaned aloud.

Teddy Bear time...

After Cecylia let go and Kaede shifted across the soft comforter, she once again found Sylviane draped over her shoulders and rubbing cheeks against the back of her head.

"She's super-huggable isn't she?" Cecylia grinned.

"Yep," Sylviane agreed happily, her voice slightly muffled as she continued her snuggling. "And since she's my fiancé's familiar, she belongs to me as well."

I'm not a belonging! Kaede almost cried out.

Not that it would have done her any good. But for some reason, despite Pascal's more oppressive aura and Sylviane's lack thereof, Kaede found it a lot harder to object to the Princess than to him.

"You're possessive as ever," jested Cecylia as she stood up from the bed.

She was soon making tea, using a kettle without any fire and a can of leaves that appeared from her pockets.

Her first cup would also go to the Knight Mari, who continued to guard the door, seemingly disinterested in their conversations.

"Holy Father forbid a ruler who isn't possessive," Sylviane countered. "They might start losing pieces of their realm."

Turning to face Kaede from over the smaller girl's right shoulder, Sylviane finally decided to talk to her depressed doll:

"Kaede, to tell you what my father once told me -- in war, your enemies are here for the same reason you are: to serve their allegiance, to protect their view of the world. Once battle begins, you win or you lose. You kill or be killed. It's either your life, your friends, your country... or theirs. And until you're willing to surrender everything you hold dear or they offer the same to you, there is no middle ground..."

Even as the Princess spoke, her delicate fingers continued to gently brush back the fine, silky strands of canary-white hair that pooled around Kaede.

"--Respect your foes, for they are the same as you. But never hesitate to kill them where they stand, so long as they hold steel."

Meanwhile, Cecylia nodded along with a thoughtful smile.

"I... I know all that," Kaede agreed as well. "But it's just..."

Knowing it and doing it are still two entirely different things.

But that wasn't something any amount of reasoning from others could fix.

Kaede once read that women recovered far easier from the psychological effects of killing than men, so long as they recognized their own families as 'endangered' in some way. Hence the Soviet Union discovered that women made excellent snipers, a grisly profession that even most men couldn't stomach. It was a scary extension of the maternal instinct that both iron ladies before her had in abundance.

She was rather envious, and wondered a bit why her current self didn't have more of it.

"...I just wish we could have won without destroying so many lives."

"Everyone believes they're just, everyone wants to win," Sylviane said quietly. "But to achieve that with little or no bloodshed is rare accomplishment... one that required the highest caliber of military command."

"Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting," Cecylia added sagely while brushing a nonexistent long beard.

"Who is that from again?" the Princess asked, mirroring Kaede's exact thoughts.

She could have sworn she read those very words in The Art of War.

"The 1st Sun General of the Dawn Imperium," Cecylia answered, referring to the superpower in the eastern continent of Eos.

Two millenniums ago, it was the Inner Sea Imperium and the Dawn Imperium that signed the accord "Two Realms Under Heaven", splitting the world into two respective spheres of influence that still shaped geopolitical and cultural boundaries today.

"Unfortunately, Pascal isn't that good yet," Sylviane spoke Kaede's mind once more.

"Neither was its originator when he first started," Cecylia noted. "It took him a lifetime to perfect his ways of war. They say that by the end, he wrote those lines because he grew absolutely sick of spilling blood."

"So... the only way to avoid bloodshed in war is to get better, and the only way to get better... is by bloodying more foes."

Talk about a catch twenty-two, Kaede summed up her own words.

"I don't want to sound callous," the Princess began. "But you're his familiar, Kaede. This is the path you'll have to help him along, so it's best you become acquainted with it."

"Easy for you to say," Kaede retorted irritably.

She regretted it almost immediately. Sylviane was the one person she really couldn't afford to throw temper at.

But as she turned towards Sylviane with a "sorry", what she met instead was a dry smile filled with nostalgic melancholy.

"No, you're right. It is easy for me to say..."

The Princess replied before exhaling deeply, but her firm gaze never broke contact, only to reveal an icy disappointment:

"--Perhaps one day you'll figure out just what it means for me to wear this tiara of a crown."

I am so in trouble for that one...

Kaede had barely a second to fear and ponder, before royal hands reached over and began to undo her blouse.

"Cecil says your skin is as beautiful as your hair, so let's have some fun and take a look."

'Fun' was the last thing on her mind as Sylviane began to strip her swiftly and... almost forcefully.

Caught completely off-guard, Kaede's half-hearted attempts to stop the Princess were impeded by stronger and faster hands. Within a minute, she was down to only her charmeuse undergarments, as pure and white as the freshly fallen snow. They were warm and soothing to the touch, but she nevertheless felt cold and vulnerable as her hands huddled around the halter top covering her small chest.

"Please stop... Your Highness," her wispy voice cried out. Isn't this enough as your 'punishment'?

Just before Sylviane leaned over her shoulders to whisper into her ear:

"Should I also ask you to 'please stop' sleeping in my fiancé's cabin? Would that be fair? I hear the barrack cabins are quite crowded -- maybe they'll have to give you a bed among the men..."

Kaede froze at once. Her only night spent in a stranger's room was her first night in Pascal's dorm. She never wanted to experience that terrible anxiety again...

You witch...! she could only curse back in her thoughts.

Across from them, Cecylia simply sat back down while nursing a mug of hot tea, content to observe with a silent smile as her scarlet-crossed eyes stared unerring at Kaede.

Sylviane then gently brush her hand down the spine of Kaede's barren back, leaving a ticklish sensation and trailing heat down her exposed skin.

"You promised to obey me, remember?" the whispering voice continued with a sensual edge, its breath hot against the back of her ear.

The combined sensations and trepidation soon left Kaede shivering all over.

Why are you doing this...?

"Your skin is really sensitive," the Princess declared happily before kissing the nape of her neck. "It's a shame I don't have my wardrobe here."

Before Kaede had a moment to relax, she gasped aloud as Sylviane brushed a hand across her upper thighs, lightly stroking the exposed flesh above thighhigh stockings.

It sent tingles across her entire body, and Kaede reflexively reached down to stop the motion. But Sylviane batted it aside without mercy.

"P-please... stop..." Kaede whimpered as she cringed her eyes closed.

I don't want this... definitely not like this...

Moisture pooled within her eyes even as her feminine body began to heat up, particularly in the area between her legs that still felt alien to her.

"No..." came the slow reply.

"But keep begging softly," whispered Sylviane as her fingers continued creeping up Kaede's delicate, inner thigh. "And maybe I'll consider..."

Even though she already know I was a guy... Kaede thought, before her rationality managed its last conclusion this morning:

She's doing this on purpose...

...

After what felt like an hour of teasing, the Princess finally stopped her harassment.

By the end, Kaede was nearly sobbing as she trembled all over.

"Shhhh. It's okay. It's alright."

Sylviane repeated those words in a motherly voice as she kept Kaede in a hug from the back while rhythmically stroking the girl's hair.

She continued for minutes, dozens of minutes, until the smaller girl relaxed once again.

Even at its end, Kaede just couldn't understood the purpose of it all.

Was she merely punishing me for impudence? Or was she just trying to assert dominance again? But then, why did she spend so much effort comforting me afterwards?

The only thing that seemed apparent was that joining Cecylia or Sylviane merely added to her problems.

Yet... as she left the cabin, her stress somehow felt a bit more relieved from before entering it.

...

Later that night, when Cecylia visited Sylviane after dinner for another chat, she came with her reflection at the day's events:

"You were quite the sadistic tease today."

"I am not sadistic!"

The frowning rebuttal came immediately, prompting Cecylia to give her friend a tilted, knowing look:

"You enjoy bullying smaller girls until they get teary because you find them cuter that way. That's totally sadism, as mild as it is. Plus... I don't think you stopped there today."

The Princess almost rolled her eyes with a "whatever" expression.

However this time, Cecylia didn't just back off:

"You know I don't usually get involved in other people's affairs, Sylv. But... are you sure you're not just trying to feel better from tormenting her? The poor girl is already working through troubles; Pascal won't overlook it if you bully her too much, you know?"

Reluctantly, Sylviane returned her gaze. A dhampir's focus sapped strength and willpower by holding close eye contact, making it even harder to resist their scrutiny.

"You're right, as usual," the Princess sighed as she fell back onto her bed. "It's not fair... he's my fiancé, yet she's the girl who spends every hour closer to him."

Cecylia couldn't help but break a smile. It was nice to remember at times that as tough as Sylviane often seemed, she was still just a girl.

In a way, Emperor Geoffroi was a genius to arrange such a political marriage -- one that actually left his daughter smitten and... unfortunately, jealous.

"Hate to break it to you Sylv, but you'll be a ruler, and he'll be a general," Cecylia calmly noted. "Your time together will always be limited... and like all men pressed into stressful situations, he'll be lonely from time to time; certainly on those long, difficult campaigns as he watch thousands of his own perish..."

The dhampir then move over to take up the Princess' hands in her own.

"--From that perspective, wouldn't it be better to leave him in the care of a mistress you can control and trust, than some possible outsider whom you can't even predict?"

"Isn't that what I'm working on? Just as you suggested before my coming to Weichsel?"

"Yes," Cecylia agreed. "But you need to take it slower -- come to know her better, develop a stronger bond before you work her into it. I think even you realized you went too fast today."

Without another exhale, the Princess slowly nodded.

"She's definitely a submissive though," the dhampir smiled again after a few seconds' pause. "It was even more glaringly obvious than last time."

Sylviane smirked a little in response, before their eyes met again:

"Thanks for the tip from before."

"What are friends for?" Cecylia rhymed back.

"Mutual benefits," Sylviane finished, before the two of them started giggling again like normal girls their age.

----- * * * -----

Jarl Asgeirr Vintersvend scratched his white beard as his icy-blue gaze stared unblinking through the glass windows.

Shaped from a single rock column and reinforced by steel, the Air Docking Tower laid at the corner of a V-shaped cliff that rose twenty-stories from the shores below. From its control room at the top, Asgeirr should have been able to see the waves for kilopaces around...

Instead he could barely make out Aurora's bulwark-like head in the dense icy fog.

His skywhale 'flagship' was moored below, tethered to the tower alongside three others. They were also asleep -- their first rest in three days' time. Meanwhile, the dockhands took this opportunity to move one wheelbarrow after another of supplies on-board; at least, that was what they should be doing.

"Welcome back to civilization, Asgeirr."

The elderly man with a perpetual frown never bothered to turn around. Even after ten years, he still recognized the gruff voice of his older half-brother and one-time liege: Jarl Eyvindur Sigmundsen of Kattegen.

Asgeirr soon felt the hard muscles of a powerful arm reach around his bony shoulders. They wasted no time before pulling him into a warm, familial embrace.

"Cold as ever," Eyvindur chuckled before releasing his brother. He then turned about to gaze out the same window, though his arm continued to hang around the other's shoulders.

"Still upholding your name as our Admiral Winter?"

"They call me Admiral Winter because winter comes with me, not for my interest in meaningless banter," Asgeirr corrected him. "It's stupid how the southerners consider us 'uncivilized barbarians', then we turn right around and call the frontier tribesmen that."

Yet despite his sour words, the older brother's grin soon lit up like the sun. Asgeirr didn't even have to face him to feel its radiating warmth.

"Isn't that why we call it the 'frontier'?"

"And the frontier is where we belong," said the younger. "Settling wildlands and recovering realms the dragonlords once held, not back here squabbling over strips of dirt."

The Hyperboreans of Skagen excelled at seamanship above all other peoples. Here boys learned to swim before they could even walk, to knot a rope before they could truly talk. Saltwater was the grass of their prairie, with trimaran hulls in place of saddles and steeds.

...Except for those who rode on skywhales, of course.

Not that the difference was huge: the storms rocked the same, just replaced waves with clouds.

"Hey, I didn't vote for this war," Eyvindur countered. "In fact, we never voted at all. Those idiots in the south decided to mobilize on their own, and before we could force an edict on them the Wickers struck first. What were we suppose to do? Drink and cheer while those heathens trod over the last of our people on the continent?"

Asgeirr didn't bother answering, and Eyvindur took a moment's silence to calm back down.

"Hyperboreans never abandon their brothers, no matter what. You know that better than anyone. Out in the frontier, our ways are all you can depend on," Eyvindur reasoned. "Västergötland took a thrashing and lost their fleet during their fall campaign, yet they didn't hesitate for even a half-day before issuing a call to arms when the Wickers invaded."

"It's arguably their fault," Asgeirr retorted with contempt. "Were it not for their marauders and adventurer scum, we'd have hammered out a treaty with Weichsel centuries ago!"

It wasn't entirely fair. The southerners' own prejudices were also to blame; they often neglected to even bother differentiating between the Hyperboreans.

"And were it not for their warriors, the Imps would have kicked us off the continent even longer ago."

The burly Eyvindur then slowly shook his head:

"Pointless 'what ifs' better left to historians. We are what we are -- different, but united by our honor, the dragons' honor. Those Trinitians can call us barbaric all they like, but if that's what it takes to not degenerate into a bunch of scheming, backstabbing, morally-depraved mongrels, then I'll gladly remain a 'barbarian'."

"Hmph."

Asgeirr grunted as he eyed the silhouette of a volcanic drake in the fog. The armored beast belonged to the lead rider of Aurora's on-duty 'combat air patrol'. Except given the need to hide the skywhales' presence, they were kept on reserve atop Aurora's blocky head instead.

"We'll see who the barbarians are when we rain fire and ice upon them."

"Don't forget the acid," chuckled his companion in good humor. "Fire is in our hearts and ice is in our blood. But acid rain, that's your trademark! Should of named you Admiral Vinegar instead. Cool and sour!"

Asgeirr exhaled sharply. It was as close to a snort as he would get.

It was better to be 'sour' than bitter. Growing up, Eyvindur was the Jarldom's mighty heir, full of confident masculinity, while Asgeirr was the scholarly bastard mage. People flocked to see Eyvindur in action, while nobody even noticed him -- until he made a name for himself circumnavigating the world, single-handedly.

He had broken his brother's heart before departure, yet Eyvindur welcomed him back with open arms and a grand feast to spread his fame. Since then, Asgeirr vowed to himself that he would never betray blood again.

After over a hundred years, he wasn't about to break it now. So long as Eyvindur remained the leader of Skagen's confederate forces, he would fight alongside with the might of the Stormlord himself.

"Just make sure they don't notice," Asgeirr replied after a long pause. "Keeping the Frontier Fleet fogged up the entire way back already killed my men's mood. Hate to see it go to waste."

"Don't worry," the jolly Jarl reassured while patting Asgeirr's shoulder. "I handpicked every man in this tower right now. There's not a single one of them that I wouldn't trust with my life."

----- * * * -----