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Alira climbed the ladder to the Dauphin’s weather deck. Each wooden step groaned as she fought the pitch and roll of the ship, tossed around by the waves. As she reached the top, Alira pressed open the wooden hatch and was greeted by the kiss of warm sunlight and a heavy smell of salt water in the air. As a wave hit the side of the ship, her face was sprayed by the ocean and left a repugnant taste on her tongue. It took a moment for Alira’s eyes to adjust to the light, and she was greeted by the outstretched hand of Emile. He pulled her up and held on to her for the few moments she needed to steady herself.
“I’m capable of getting on deck myself you know!”
“Yes, gallantly exemplified by your fall a few days ago.”
“That was one time!” Alira turned away to hide her blushed red cheeks from him. “Beside the point, shouldn’t you be getting ready for this council?” She didn’t understand why he seemed not to take this as seriously as he should have. Sure, Talliers doesn’t bear the same hatred for Drangvik as we do–as I do–but as our ally, I expect they stand beside Namelle when the time comes. Well, what’s left of us that is.
It was difficult to understand that her only purpose here was to accompany Emile to Drangvik. She had no army to commit to the cause and would be at the mercy of former allies and historic enemies if she had any chance to save her home. In Rygar’s words, if Namelle had been conquered by Essea then it created a stepping-off point for future invasions of Nemesia’s southern kingdoms.
“What do you think we’ll find when we get there, Alira?” Emile asked her, placing his hands on the ship’s wooden rail to look out over the white-capped, blue-grey expanse beneath the horizon. “Do you think Drangvik will aid us?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Alira said as she took a place at his side. “Not but monsters there, I presume.”
“Alira...”
“Fine. Normal people with normal lives. You know, a great deal of my heart hates them for what they did to us. I’m trying to put it behind me Emile, I just can’t get past it.”
“So much hate, for something that happened well before any of us ever drew breath.”
“It’s a history that is unforgivable, and they’ve never tried to make amends with us. What they did cut a wound so deep that hating them has become a part of who we are.”
“It’s only a part of who you are, Alira?” His fist slammed against the wooden rail and his voice rose. “Which Namellian now remembers this story? Who remembers the name Vaal? Cael certainly didn’t when he sent a letter to them.”
“I remember it,” she yelled at Emile. “As long as I remember then the memories of the tens of thousands who were buried in the earth beneath the mountains is forgotten. Have you travelled the road between Rihelle and the old capital? It is a graveyard Emile, lined with neglected tombstones and grown over burial pits for the countless victims of one man’s ambition.”
Emile shook his head, his frustration evident. He turned to look back at the sea, struggling to make Alira see the necessity of Drangvik. Despite their past friendship, the present was strained. “I don’t forget the sacrifice of your people, Alira. It’s because of Aenne Aelle’s sacrifice that any future invasion into our lands was stopped. Even knowing their sacrifice, you’re denying your people a crucial ally in their darkest hour.”
“How dare you say that to me!” She reached for his shoulder and turned to him. “My concern has only ever been for them.”
“Are you sure about that?” Emile’s voice softened. “The Alira Verbrandt I knew always put her family first and never shied away from asking for help when she needed it.” He continued, “When your father left and never came back, Cael had to become a man he wasn’t ready to be. Zahra took a different path and became your greatest warrior, a living legend.” He tried to get her attention, but she turned away, arms crossed. Her jaw was clenched, and her face was flushed with anger. He had tried to reach her in Vilmonde, but now he aimed to break through her defenses. “Without Cael and Zahra, you turned to seeking your mother—”
“Don’t... Emile, I swear, if you-”
“What happened, Alira? She paid you no mind, and that hurt, didn’t it? She was a port in the storm of your life, the only one you had to turn to. That is, until she died of a broken heart and left you behind. Alone and-”
Alira struck Emile, slapping him on the cheek as hard as she could. The pair were set upon by Leopold, who cautioned them they were being watched by the ship’s company on the upper deck. As Alira looked around, she saw the eyes of the crew. Embarked Tallieri and Vocklan soldiers who watched her strike their prince.
“Perhaps it’s best that we take this down below.” The three climbed down the ladder and Emile followed Alira into to her cabin with Leopold behind to make sure it didn’t get out of hand.
Alira stared at the wall at the far end, searching for anything that could occupy her attention so that she didn’t have to face Emile, or worse, herself. “So what if I’m alone?” Alira said with a weak, broken voice. “I’ve always been alone.”
“You were never alone, Alira. You chose-”
“Chose what, Emile? You think I chose for my father to die on that battlefield, and take every piece of my mother with him? Do you think I chose Cael to become the duke and Zahra to join the army? This-” She picked a cup up off her cabin’s table and threw it at the wall where it shattered into many pieces on the deck. “You think I wanted to spend my days isolated in the darkness of our archives? Those stories were all that I had, and they accepted me for my lot in life. They were there for me, day in and day out.” She flipped the table over, and threw her chair across the cabin, collapsing onto the floor. She buried her head in her hands. “That was the only choice I could make...”
She released decades of pent-up anger, torment, and frustration, carrying away all of the painful memories and regret within her. The pain of never getting to say goodbye to her father on her terms, her wish that Cael hadn’t grown up so fast and left her behind, her desire not to be outshone by her sister. As she suffered, Emile knelt and hugged her.
In that moment Alira understood how terrible her mother’s suffering was, and that she now walked in her footsteps. Kala watched everyone she’d ever loved, in her eyes, leave her behind. She buried her hurts deep within herself and built walls to keep others out. As it protected her, it shielded her heart from feeling the love she deserved, and even love for herself. Only, different from her mother, Alira tried to keep up the fight for Cael to notice her. She tried anything that would garner his attention, no matter positive or negative and often–as in Khuldir–reckless.
“Let it out, Alira. Leave nothing behind.” He held her close because she didn’t need to be lectured. She didn’t need to dwell on the worries of the world, she needed someone who loved her. If Cael couldn’t be there for her, Emile would be.
“When you are ready, I want you to open your eyes.” She wiped her eyes and sniffled. The cabin was a mess, something she had lost sight of in her outburst. “What do you see?” Emile asked.
“If you’re trying to get at the mess, I assure you I’ll-”
“Not the mess, by Kaata’s graces Alira, honestly? Although, I suppose if you’re offering to-”
“Emile...”
“Ahem–I suppose I should be more precise. Who do you see?” A rhetorical question as she knew it was none other than Emile.
“A friend.”
“That’s right, your friend. I am here with you because of my care for you, I never forgot my oldest friend. Leo is here because Vockla stood beside me when we overthrew my father. I had to turn to my friends then, as you do now. Reyvia and Shiun are sending delegations for this, old friends who haven’t been this far west in decades and are coming for you. Even Drangvik understands that this fight affects us all. If you look at each and every one of us, you might not always see a friend, but you will see an ally if you choose to accept them. Past events and present differences shouldn’t prevent us from pursuing our future.”
Alira looked to interject, but Emile continued. “What I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to forget. You don’t have to forgive, but each and every one of these people has as much to lose as you’ve lost. Let that fill you with hope.” Emile stood up and extended his hand down to Alira.
“I’m sorry for striking you, Emile. I never meant to-” A knock on the door interrupted Alira’s apology. As Leopold opened it, a Vocklan guard came to attention and told a message to Leopold that was spoken in Alterede.
“Bitte um Verzeihung, mein Herr. Wir nähern uns Drangvik und der Kapitän hat Sie, Prinz Emile und Lady Alira um Ihre Anwesenheit an Deck gebeten.”
“Danke, und bitte informieren Sie den Kapitän, wir werden sofort vor Ort sein.”
“We’re needed on deck Emile, Lady Alira as well. The captain says we’re close. I’ll head up and inform him you’ll be coming.” Emile nodded to Leopold who closed the door to the cabin. He made sure Alira had her sea legs before he reached under the bed to pull out a trunk, lifting it onto her bed. “Here, this is for you.”
She loosened the straps and opened the trunk to find her armor and sword inside. “You’ve had it repaired?”
“It was rent, near beyond repair. I had our smiths fix what they could, with a few new additions. We weren’t able to get the scars of the slashes out, but it’s best we leave those as a reminder of what you endured.”
The claw marks where the Reaver slashed at her were evident, but the plating was rendered a darkened green while the gold inlays and accents were replaced with silver. In the center of the breastplate, acid had washed the gold from the lion sigil and now it matched the armor’s look. “Gold has always been our color, you know that.”
“We are living in un-traditional times, Alira. Let the old color fade into the past and become a memory. This is who you are, the second born of Trystan and Kala, Reaver’s Bane, survivor of the Heaven’s Fall. Alira Verbrandt, the last lioness of Namelle.”
* * *
The Dauphin drifted in alongside the wooden dock as it trimmed sail and slowed the ship to its rest. The slightest breeze pushed it to its berth amidst a thick fog that blanketed Ellriheim. The island seemed as if it were hidden by the pagan gods to whom the islanders paid worship. Those who may have been angered by the arrival of outsiders to the Drangvik capital of Asjavegr.
There wasn’t anything visible beyond the limits of the dock, save for the shore party in place to receive the ship’s lines. A handful of burly men in braided, dark hair with long beards and furs. Among them, standing with his hands on his hips was Kjallak. The gangway was lowered and the first to disembark were the Prince’s Royal Guard and the Vocklan contingent who accompanied Leopold. The plate-cladded continentals stood out among those wearing animal furs and deep, earthy leathers.
Alira was hesitant to step off the ship, the last refuge in a sea of uncertainty. Her silver armor seemed dull in the thick fog as the sun’s light was choked out. How do these people live here? It’s no wonder why Vaal wanted the continent. How I too would have been driven to insanity.
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, prince,” Kjallak boasted and shook Emile’s hand. “And to you, Sir Leopold, the jarl thanks you for making the voyage.”
“Thank you for the hospitality, Thane Thorvardsson, and their excellencies send their regards and appreciation for your hosting of us.”
Kjallak looked up to Alira at the top of the gangway. “You have more to fear on the open ocean than you do here.” Alira descended and held on tight to the unsteady ropes that ran down the gangway’s sides. She ensured that her footing was set prior to disembarking yet still stumbled as the ship pitched up and down. “Find your sea legs out there?” Kjallak asked. “It takes a while, but you’ll get used to it. Welcome to Drangvik, Lady Verbrandt.”
“My thanks, Kjallak, to you and your jarl, whose name still eludes me.”
Kjallak smiled, “that, you’ll learn soon enough. She wished to speak with you alone as soon as you landed. I would hate to keep her waiting.”
Alone? After everything we’ve been through days ago. You really think... Forget it, remember what Emile said. If not a friend, an ally united by common purpose. She looked at Emile who nodded in approval for her to go. Well, if he’s certain I’m not going to be gutted and thrown into the sea here then I’ll trust him.
“Lead on.” Alira followed Kjallak down the dock until her feet met solid ground.
The area was a mix of small rocks, dirt, mud, and ocean water. She observed small wooden houses with straw roofs shrouded in fog. Animals darted around freely, unchallenged by the locals who cast curious glances at Alira, the first Nemesian they might have ever seen. The people here seemed hardened and aged well beyond their years. If there were more like Kjallak, they could prove to be valuable allies. The scent of smoking meats over open fires mingled with the salty air.
As they walked up the hill toward the large, long building at the top, the fog dissipated. On either side of the path was a mixture of rock and trees, in demonstration that nature thrived in the most austere conditions.
“Impressed yet?” Kjallak asked, trying his best he could to make conversation with someone he had little in common with, other than a fight in the days previous.
“The fog hides the islands well, one might assume they never existed at all. In honesty, Kjallak, it’s not what I thought it would be.” Alira didn’t know what she expected to find in Drangvik. From the stories, she envisioned a lawless–
“- wasteland full of bearded savages, brigands, and drunks, eh? I’m sorry if we disappointed you, princess.”
“I’m to assume there are others outside of Asjavegr?”
“Aye, yes, scattered over the six islands. You’ll find four other Thanes, like me, on the remote islands while the jarl watches over Ellriheim.” The hill turned steep, and Alira’s legs burned. She was unaccustomed to the climb, but it reminded her of the last road during the ascent into the city of Khuldir from Tirelle.
“How do people live here? Do you grow enough food?” With fog and lack of sunlight, Alira didn’t understand how that would be possible. Sure, fog crept across the fields beyond the city on some mornings but was gone by midday.
“We don’t,” he replied. “We invite the continentals to the islands for great meetings and then pick their bones clean,” he told her. He laughed as he showed her the ring of bones on a rope around his neck.
“Well, I can’t imagine many of us make for good eating.” Alira laughed as well and patted her stomach.
“If it will put your mind at ease, we’re not the islanders from your legends. Vaal’s Drangvik is long gone. The jarl saw to it that any who embodied his spirit were brought to heel or put down altogether.” Well, that’s... good, to hear. “For what it’s worth,” Kjallak added. “I know I wasn’t there. It was a time far beyond my reckoning, but if I can offer an apology for what my people did to yours, then you have it. It pains me to think where we could have been all those years ago.”
“It’s... I appreciate that Kjallak, on behalf of Aenne Aelle. Both those alive, and those lost. Perhaps if we had Drangvik with us at the Heaven’s Fall, things might have been different.” Her heart melted with his apology. She wished for the incursion to be acknowledged, and decided she would no longer harbor resentment toward this new found ally.
The longhouse came into view. It towered above all else and made even Kjallak look small. He stopped before the entrance, “everything would have been different, but it’s because of what happened that has led you here. Let’s not keep her waiting.”
They walked in over the threshold and Alira saw the great pillars filled with ornate, wooden carvings. The glow of the torches spread throughout showed that each work of art told a story that Alira, if she had time, intended to learn. Several passageways led off of the main hall, but Alira’s eyes saw a throne at the far-right end where the jarl sat and watched her every move.
The light cast away the air of mystery which surrounded her. An older woman, dressed in brown furs and leather armor with one steel-plated pauldron. She sat with her right leg crossed over her left and leaned her head against her hand that rested on the arm of her throne. Her light, sun-kissed hair set her apart from the others on the island. On her head was an iron circlet and beside her chair was a great black dog, bigger than any she saw in Nemesia.
Kjallak stopped and paid his respects to the jarl. Is that the... L’Cada? No, it can’t be. “Jarl, may I present the Princess of Namelle, Lady Alira Verbrandt.” He stood next to Sonja and faced Alira. “You stand before the Jarl of the Drangvik Isles, Thane of Ellriheim, Savior of the Vikr. Lady Alira, you are in the presence of Sonja Siblinasdottir.”
Alira didn’t know what she should do next, so she paid the only compliment she could; she followed Kjallak’s example and rendered a L’Cada of her own. She was unsure of how it was recognized in Drangvik, but it may have been taken by the survivors of the incursion or learned as a mockery to their old enemy; or something else entirely.
“Many thanks, Kjallak.” Sonja rose up from her throne. “But to make our guest feel more at home, allow me to introduce myself by the family name that I cast off so many years ago. I am Sonja, of the house Verbrandt.”
“That’s.... impossible.” The confusion hit Alira harder than the reality she had stumbled into. Another Verbrandt? This is some cruel trick. There is no way she carries our name. “Do you mean to mock me?”
Sonja looked Alira up and down. “After everything you have seen, do you still believe in impossibility? If so, it clouds you from the realization that our meeting is more than coincidence. I am indeed Sonja Verbrandt, and seeing you present yourself without your brother by your side, causes me to assume that we are the last.”
“I have heard no mention of you. If you are a Verbrandt, as you claim, then why remain hidden across the sea? Have you no memory of the continent?”
Sonja hopped up on the edge of a table and asked, “how well do you know our family’s history, Alira? I’m assuming that you know the name Lucias?”
Lucias Verbrandt, the legendary Namellian lieutenant who defied the duke and rode for two days and nights to devastate the forces of the tyrannical Vaal. He lifted the city of Tirelle from the Siege of Drangvik. “He was the first lion, what of it?”
“Much is known of his exploits in Tirelle, but what is said of his return?”
“He was welcomed as a hero and took his rightful seat as Namelle’s ruler. He laid the foundation on which our family’s history was built.”
“If you know the name Lucias, then you must also recognize the name Killian?” She watched Alira try and place the name but came up empty. “No? Then his name didn’t survive the centuries long since passed.”
One of the young soldiers on service in the longhouse pulled up a chair for Alira at Sonja’s command. “At the time of the Vaal’s attack, Killian was the ruling son of Namelle. At his side, and head of the Royal Army, was his younger brother, Lucias. When Vaal led his fleet across the ocean to the lands of Aenne Aelle, he laid siege to the port city of Rihelle. With their navy defeated, the garrison and the city guard were no match for the serpent from the islands. He destroyed everything, and everyone in his path.”
“I’m familiar with the story,” Alira replied. “It’s the story of the heroic general, Alira Terran.”
“Albeit this isn’t her chapter. Killian had Lucias ready the army, so sure he was that Vaal would come west to Namelle. He pulled as many civilians into the city as he could before shutting the gates.” She took a horn from a servant, tipped it back and wiped her lips with the fur that collared her wrist. “Killian’s concern lied with his people and protecting them from any harm. When the ravens began to arrive from the king, requesting aid, Killian refused and the gates of Namelle remained shut. When they were less than a day from the capital’s walls, and time had run out, Lucias made the decision for them both.”
“The last ride... was in defiance of his own brother?”
“It was. You know the rest of the story, so I need not bore you with the details,” Sonja said.
Alira crossed her arms and sat back in the chair. “The stories were written in Tirelle, and end with the sacrifice of General Terran. They fail to mention what came next.”
“Did the keepers not record it?” Sonja asked, sitting forward toward Alira. “Surely, they must have.”
“I’ve been through our archives from beginning to end. They’ve indicated nothing with respect to Lucias’ return journey, or Killian Verbrandt for that matter. Many records only begin with Lucias’ naming as the Duke of Namelle.”
“Then they must have erased all memory of him. The texts were either destroyed or hidden. I’ll need to think on this further, but let’s focus on the matter at hand.” Sonja stood up from the table and leaned against the pillar next to Alira’s chair. “Lucias arrived home days later, accompanied by the king. At his side was Vayal, the sword General Terran had gifted him. Lucias and his soldiers were celebrated as heroes. In the town square, the king stripped Killian of his position and title and banished him and his family from the city in disgrace.”
A sense of clarity began to dawn on Alira. Sonja continued, recounting how Killian’s family wandered through towns and cities, seeking a place to call home. Over the centuries, the line persisted until the last male, Sonja’s father, was born. He fathered two daughters, leaving Killian’s line without a male heir.
“In a last attempt to restore Namelle to its former glory, my father sent me to Drangvik with a proposal to marry the jarl to my Verbrandt name. What better way would there be to strengthen the house, and earn your way back, than to make an ally of Namelle’s greatest enemy? My sister, she was already promised to another by the day I sailed for Drangvik. It was the last day I saw either of them alive.”
“Your sister was promised to another? If your father sent you to Drangvik then what plans did he have for her?”
“Those plans were discussed in secret with a young officer from the army, whom he met during the officer’s patrol in western Reyvia. Hearing my father’s story, the officer agreed that reuniting the Verbrandt lines was crucial. He was a close friend of the duke’s son, Trystan. He brought my father before the duke, and the marriage for Trystan was arranged. The duke, however, wanted nothing to do with Drangvik, and so I was forgotten. My father died knowing his daughters were safe, even if they’d never meet again. If it weren’t for that officer’s secret letters, I would never have known that both he and my sister had passed.”
“Trystan Verbrandt... then that means...” It’s true, everything she’s saying is true...
“My sister, Kala, was your mother. Which means that you, Alira, are a child of the reunified Verbrandt house. My father’s dream was realized, so many years after his death.”
Alira’s chair toppled backward as she shot up, clutching her chest, her heart pounding with disbelief. Stumbling away from Sonja, she collided with a pillar, her confusion mounting. In a moment of panic, she drew her sword and pointed it at Sonja, the blade mere inches from her face. The guards on watch drew their weapons, but Sonja raised a hand to stop them, her demeanor calm and resolute.
“So, you are the keeper of Tempest. The last time I saw that sword, my ship had just left the Reyvian shores, and it was clutched in the arms of my sister. That, Alira, is the sword of Killian Verbrandt. The sword of Namelle.”
As she regained her wits, Alira lowered the sword and dropped it on the ground. Its loud, metallic clash reverberated through the hall’s silence. Sonja picked up the sword, held its grip in her left hand, running her right over the smooth surface of the blade. Her hands remembered the feel of it, but it was evident it wasn’t exactly how.
“Where is the stone, Alira?” Sonja asked, dismayed. Alira gave no reply. “This is far more important than you and I. Where is the stone?”
“It’s, it’s gone, long gone. It was–uh–removed, some twenty years ago now.”
“How long it has been gone doesn’t matter. Where is it?” Sonja’s voice grew stern and direct. “Alira, where is it?”
Alira shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “It was beset in the sword Vayal on the last day I saw my father.
“Damn you, Kala, you knew better. Did you forget everything father told us? Where, pray tell, is Vayal now?”
“Vayal hasn’t been seen in twenty years, Sonja. It left Namelle with my father and hasn’t been seen since.”
Sonja slid Tempest back down into its sheath at Alira’s side and picked up a mug off the table. She dipped it down into a barrel behind the table and chugged it back. She threw the mug to the far side of the longhouse and slammed her fist on the table. “Our family was charged with its safekeeping. For almost a thousand years ago we were its stewards.”
“And what is its significance?” Alira asked.
“Siblina’s Gale, it was called. A powerful, ancient artifact that allowed our family to commune with the goddess, Siblina. It was even said the first to wield it, Casimir Verbrandt, could harness the power of wind.”
“Siblina, another of the five?” Alira said to herself, quiet, but loud enough that Sonja overheard the inner thoughts which escaped her.
“There are more than one?”
Alira told Sonja about everything that Drea had revealed. How there were deities, which warred with one another and drew in humanity into their rebellion against the dark one, Aegill. Drea told her that destiny waited on the other side of the mountains and that she was a Fate of the god, Aten. She was to unite the fates, reawaken Aten and finish the war.
Now, in her knowledge there were three stones that were revealed. The Stone of Drea, beset in the Ring of Terra and given to Zahra at the Heaven’s Fall. One which still belonged to an unknown line. The Flame of Kaata in the cross guard of Étincelle, the sword of Emile Riennes. Now, Siblina’s Gale, which was meant to be set in Tempest and the fated line of the Verbrandt family. One by one, the Fates were being drawn together, as Drea said they would be.
Kjallak returned into the hall to inform Sonja that the council was ready, and all delegates had arrived. “My eyes never believed they would see a sight like this, jarl. Talliers, Vockla, Reyvia, Shiun, Drangvik-” He looked at Alira and smiled. “and Namelle, all united for what seems to be the first time in each of our lives.”
Sonja whispered to Alira, “after we deal with Essea, finding that stone becomes our priority.” She turned to Kjallak, a look of surety borne on her face, “well then, let’s not keep destiny waiting.”
The three walked out of the long house and down a well-trodden path which wound around one of the low mountains. The trees had begun to bud in the warmth of the spring sun and the songs of birds were heard throughout. The path opened to a clearing where the delegates were seated, and Alira made her way for the seat next to Emile when she heard a familiar voice.
“Alira!” She didn’t have time to brace herself before she was tackled to the ground by an unknown attacker. Who has the audacity to do this to me? Wait, I know that voice. “Oh, thank the goddess, you’re alive.”
“Lin?! Lin!” She threw her arms around his neck as he picked them both off the ground. He hugged her in return, “h-how are you here?”
“I’ve come from the Isle of Massa with the Shiunese Shogun.” Alira looked over Lin’s shoulder and saw the delegate, not the emperor, but another in ornate, banded armor with a long, curved sword that leaned on the tree next to him. “Let’s find time to speak after, Alira. It does me well to see you alive.”
Their hands released and Alira took her place next to Emile. Sonja welcomed all to Drangvik and impressed upon them the significance that they were seated together to face the threat of Illyria and, with Alira’s story, something much darker. “Too long have we remained separate while our enemy has grown in strength, far too recently in annihilating the Royal Army of Namelle. As well, to the best of our knowledge, the Khuldiri guardians of the ancient Aelle Faene have suffered the same fate.”
Dag, I am sorry to have forgotten you as of late. I pray your people survived and, if we no longer count you among us, that it was a quick death. I know you fought bravely until the end, and I will always remember you.
“To my right sit Prince Emile Riennes of Talliers, Sir Leopold Schmitt of Vockla and Princess Alira Verbrandt of Namelle. To their right, the delegate of Shiun. The Shogun, Daigo Soto, and advisor to the emperor, Lin Isei. To my left is the right hand of the exalted Sultan, Sulaimaan al-Amara, his Vizier, Ibrahim al-Masri.”
There was another who attended with Ibrahim that Sonja did not introduce, possibly having mistaken him as a guard or a servant. He watched Alira since she entered the clearing, never having taken his eyes off of her. He was dressed different than Ibrahim and wore clothes of white under a hood which covered both his head and the intricate tattoos on his body. Around his neck was a golden necklace, its symbol was that of an insect. One which Alira had only seen once before, on the neck of Mohammed. A necklace of the Sect of Nine. His expression was emotionless, but he paid an uncomfortably close attention to her.
“Prince Emile, this meeting was called by Cael Verbrandt. As Aenne Aelle’s oldest ally, I cede this forum to Talliers and it’s monarch.”
Emile began to rise from his seat, but Alira placed her hand on his lap. “Are you sure?” he asked her.
“No,” she replied softly, “but I must.”
Alira approached the center of the clearing, her hands clasped in front of her. To the onlookers, she projected confidence, though her heart raced with trepidation. As she tried to speak, her voice faltered. The silence enveloped her, broken only by a gentle breeze that seemed to carry whispers of encouragement from the sea. She felt a connection to her brother’s spirit, bolstering her resolve as she turned to face the gathered assembly.
“What I must ask of you all is not easy. A brief time ago, my brother led our army from Namelle into the Aelle Faene. Shortly after our arrival in Khuldir, we were attacked by the forces of Essea. That engagement cost us two thousand lives in less than an hour. During the attack, my brother gave his life to slay an ancient entity you know only from the most nightmarish of tales. In the days that followed, we were reinforced and marched on the great plain of Heaven’s Fall in a failed surprise attack.”
“Did you not think to ask for aid?” asked the vizier from Reyvia. “You are not as absent of your friends as you might believe, my lady.”
“There was no time. Either we could wait it out in Khuldir and leave the city of dwarves at risk, or we had the chance to launch our own attack.” She held back the telling of her meeting with Drea and that she was overcome by an ancient entity that pressed the action. “Our force of two thousand was met with another five times our size, we fought as long as we could. I don’t know how many made it out, or even if my sister is still alive. I was taken as a trophy and set to be executed in Essea until I was saved.”
None knew Alira’s story up to that point, only that Namelle had been defeated by a force greater than their own. Some still expected Namelle’s king to be present. “Prince Riennes tells me that the Esseans found a way to get through Khuldir and are, beyond a doubt, headed for Namelle. You were asked here to join together and help me take back my homeland of Aenne Aelle.”
She understood why none responded as she finished her speech. There was a lot to consider and much more at stake. Each nation defended a border with the Illyrians and to lend their armies to her cause might leave them vulnerable. “Bonds of friendship are never easily broken. Least of all, when they extend to the earliest of times and the darkest of days,” said Emile. “Talliers, as it always has, stands by Namelle. Our forces are yours Alira, as many as I can spare.”
“The fate of this affects us all, Lady Verbrandt,” stated Leopold. “As we have always stood by Talliers, where they go, we follow. Your fight is their fight, and thus it is ours. Vockla will stand with you.”
The two Alira knew she had the support of spoke first. She hoped, beyond all hope, that it would sway the others.
“The emperor always speaks of the time when our great alliance existed,” said Daigo, from behind Alira. “An alliance that stood since the light of the first days. Yet in Shiun’s hour of greatest need, no help from Aenne Aelle came and we paid for that betrayal with countless lives. We found our true ally in Reyvia. If not for them, Shiun would not be here.”
“Lord Daigo, words cannot express how sorry I am for those many years ago.” I lost something valuable that day too. “I understand the views of your emperor and can sympathize with your loss. Our army was routed by a combined Illyria on our way to aid you. Our deaths numbered near ten thousand that day and we couldn’t break through.”
Daigo sat back and whispered something to Lin which she believed was to confirm what Alira had told him. Lin nodded, familiar with the War of the Lost Alliance. “I will take your words back to Emperor Seto with hope that, in the future, we shall be able to aid you. For now, the forces of Shiun will remain in the land of Jade and Blossom. For what it’s worth, princess, my faith and many blessings go with you. I will permit Lin to return with you in addition to the contingent of Bushi detailed to him as a show of my own faith in your endeavor.” It was not the answer she hoped for, but one she respected.
“The sultan is not as eager to abandon Namelle as our friends east of the Isle of Massa.”
“What of it, Ibrahim? Do you think Seto to be careless in his decision? You know what we sacrificed for them.”
“No, he is not careless, he is blind. He fails to see the importance of the lands of Aenne Aelle, and turns his back on old friends, who he forgets suffered as equally as he did. He fails to realize that it’s what we do here and now that matters. We have been gifted chance to destroy Essea–a piece of our enemy–and claim our first, real victory over them.”
Alira turned to face Ibrahim. “Lord Vizier, may we-”
“We will assemble the greatest fleet Nemesia has ever seen. Lady Alira, Reyvia will make safe the eastern lands of Aenne Aelle and drive the Esseans from their mountain refuge. The sultan does not so easily forget the allies of his father, and is proud to fight alongside Namelle once again.”
Only one remained, Drangvik. Sonja watched Alira and she cast her eyes out upon her guests. Her fingers tapped the arm of her chair, rhythmic, patient and calculated. If she committed the islands to Alira’s cause, then there was no going back. History would be re-written and diplomacy would be shaped to their desire, not dictated by the past.
“The final decision is yours, Sonja. Will you help me take back our home?”
“If Drangvik answers your call, if we sail across the Quelled Sea, then the past is forgotten. Namelle will open its arms to Drangvik, we move on from the memory of the incursion forthwith, and create a brighter future, together.”
Alira made peace with Drangvik through Kjallak’s apology, but this was the official digression in everything she believed. “You have a chance, Alira, to break down the wall between our two nations. You are the first of Aenne Aelle to stand on Drangvik’s soil since the years before the incursion. Most of all, you have my support.”
Sonja rose from her chair and held out her hand. A better future, if an uncertain one. If the actions of those here today was indicative of what kind it would be, then Alira would see it through. This time, she didn’t spurn the help of Drangvik. She made the decision to correct the course of diplomacy and heal the wounds between the nations. She hit Sonja’s hand out of the way and embraced her instead. The other nations rose and placed their hands on Alira’s shoulders, a binding web of the first days, which signified the new, binding alliance of southern kingdoms.
“These troubles have been set upon you, Alira Verbrandt of Namelle. The might of the south is with you.”