Chapter 18 - A Small Sacrifice

Eighteen

Estrid

Vadonis, Kalduran

12th of Tournus

The city of Vadonis was an ugly jut built within the uneven hills north of the Sidian Mountains, the range separating Kalduran from Tharghest. Elevated above the expanse of southern Kalduran’s flat wilderness, it spilled down the rocky hills in a river of stone and civilization, pooling at the base in an absurd amalgamation of Kaldurani domes. From a distance, it resembled an unsightly disease the foothills had contracted, all bulbous pustules and scabs.

Once, when Dujaro had been a flourishing trading outpost, Vadonis had prospered from the trading route, close to the border as it was. Now, it served as a makeshift sentinel, watchful eyes aimed forever at Tharghest in search of Imperium invaders.

Estrid stood at the edge of the highest balcony in the city prefect’s estate, staring down at the chaotic cluster of life below. The mountain air was bracing, tugging at the collar of her coat and flicking at her shoulder-length hair. She turned her back to the view when the breeze’s touch on the back of her neck elicited memories of the visions Aladar had accidentally subjected her to when they’d sparred, back in Varanos.

Though she’d respected Tanas’s suggestion of silence, she still sought answers. However Aladar had projected his vision onto her, and whatever visions he’d conjured, weren’t part of any aasiurmantic feat she knew of. And what she’d seen—the Abyss, the barren desert, the malevolent figure—she still couldn’t explain. Did they signify something important? Did Aladar see it all whenever he fell victim to one of his episodes? Were they the key to halting his fits, if such a thing was possible?

She leant against the balcony with her back to the city and shook her head; she didn’t have time for such things right now. Kalduran was, after all, at war.

It’d only been a few days since the altercation at Dujaro. Soon, the Imperial armies would appear at the mouth of the Dujaro Valley with plans to lay waste to her province.

She couldn’t help but wonder what might’ve happened had she not visited Endarion’s room that night. He wouldn’t have had reason to suspect her of sending the assassin, wouldn’t have accused her, wouldn’t have duelled her, wouldn’t have lost. Not that it mattered; she’d needed to see him, regardless of the consequences. She’d been a lovestruck child, craving closure and gaining anything but. She’d needed him to know how she felt, wanted to know what’d he’d do with the information, and what she’d do with his reaction.

“Stop,” she muttered to herself, clenching her jaws.

Whatever he’d been in the past, Endarion was her enemy now. Not just an opposing arch-general following someone else’s commands, but the Paramount-General, the architect of the Imperium’s invasion and the man who would now endeavour to defeat her in the field.

She saw Aladar pacing towards her from within the building, sporting the plain black greatcoat he preferred. Though he’d regained his focus since his latest episode, Estrid knew that, for some time now, she’d always see a glimmer of madness in his eyes.

“They’re ready,” the Baltanos said as he stood beside her.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked.

He offered a stiff nod in reply. They’d discussed her role as his successor in depth on the way back from Dujaro, and he’d decided she would need to formulate their strategies, announce them to the other kandras, and execute them as she saw fit. They needed to see her as the overall commander of this campaign, just as they would one day see her as their Baltanos. He would be little more than a guiding hand, a mentor standing back from his student’s performance.

The prefect of Vadonis had surrendered his council hall to them, and Aladar made short work of colonising it. He’d cleared away the seating usually reserved for the prefect’s advisors and dragged a large table into the spacious room’s centre. The obligatory military maps blanketed it, the obligatory officers arrayed around it.

For this particular meeting, Aladar had convened only the four kandras. Tanas was notably absent, having retuned to Kalduran’s capital after the negotiations to govern in his husband’s stead. The Baltanos without his faithful consort at his side made for a vulnerable figure, as if an important part of him had been snatched away.

Estrid took her place at the Baltanos’s right side and spared a glance for Elek, who usually occupied this space. He eyed her warily, his hands braced possessively over one of the larger maps.

He’d said nothing else to her after their confrontation in Dujaro. He’d also not, as he’d threatened, said anything to Aladar about his suspicions regarding her loyalty, though she knew they’d been empty threats anyway.

Beside Elek slouched Laszlo Lakatos, Kandras of the Eskaldan army. His coat of office—a light blue affair trimmed with silver—displayed a more stylish cut than was proper, making him look like an indulgent nobleman. A career soldier in his early forties, Laszlo had served on every rung of the military ladder before ascending to kandras. He and Estrid were on friendly terms, Laszlo being an easy man to like, and when she caught his eye, he smiled and winked in his casual, boyish manner.

Ilona Redik, Kandras of the Northstorm army, completed their elite group. The eldest of them by a fair margin, she’d earned every grey streak in her hair and every wrinkle on her weathered face. Unlike Laszlo, her own uniform was pressed to perfection, the grey colouring and scarlet trim so clean Estrid suspected Ilona donned a new coat made for the occasion. She’d always been suspicious of Estrid, treating her with derision if not outright ignoring her. Ilona's age and experience demanded respect, though, and Estrid had always deferred to her during the successive campaigns the Imperium had launched into Kalduran over recent years. Though not an aasiurmancer herself, Ilona’s Northstorm boasted the largest number of trained combat-mages, and her army was almost always used as a hammering offensive because of it.

“No one is surprised Dujaro ended as it did,” Aladar began, clasping his hands together. “But now that we are officially at war, we must defend Kalduran. I have chosen Kandras Elerius to devise our movements because she knows the Imperium best.”

He dipped his head to her, and she cleared her throat. “None of you will agree with me on what I’m about to say, but it’s necessary.” She awarded each of the three other kandras a moment of attention; Elek grimaced, Laszlo nodded, Ilona glanced away. “Strategically, it would be best to surrender Vadonis to the Imperials when they appear. I will leave instructions with the prefect to let them in without a fight after we depart.”

She braced herself against the table in preparation for their outbursts.

“You’d sacrifice an entire city, give the Imperium unchallenged entry into Kalduran?” This, from veteran Ilona.

Laszlo spoke in his usual casual tone, albeit louder than usual. “Seems very ill-advised,” he said with a raised brow.

“You cannot be serious,” Elek exclaimed, harshest of all. “That is the quickest way to lose the war, not win it.”

Aladar silenced them all with a sudden slap to the table, and Estrid nodded her gratitude. “If you’d allowed me a second or two to explain, perhaps you would’ve saved your breath,” she began. “Firstly, I should bring it to your attention that the Imperial armies outnumber ours by a wide margin, at least fifty thousand soldiers. We have the home advantage, but little beyond that. If we lure them into Kalduran and lull them into a false sense of security by ceding Vadonis to them without a fight, they will grow overconfident. We can conserve ourselves for a more important fight later, when they think us too afraid to strike.”

“But you’d be sacrificing the city,” Ilona repeated.

“Not sacrificing,” Estrid replied firmly. “Paramount-General Boratorren controls the Imperials. If the city surrenders to him, he won’t harm it.”

Elek scoffed. “The same Boratorren who accused you of trying to kill him, instigated a duel with you, then allowed for war to be declared in the first place?” Though she knew Elek would always cling to his accusations, the duel at Dujaro had supported her argument that she was no longer beholden to Endarion, and even the stubborn younger kandras had to accept that.

She waved his comment away. “I made a lapse in judgement there. I am as much to blame for what happened at Dujaro.”

“Should’ve just killed him,” Laszlo noted. “Maybe that was your lapse.”

She clenched her jaws, distracted herself by pulling a map of Kalduran and Tharghest towards her. Though old and outdated, it served her purpose. “They have their war camp at Aukruna,” she said, stabbing a finger at the ruins of Tharghest’s former capital. “I have a trusted source within the Imperial forces who tells me the Castrian commander is keeping her army there until she is called on. She has between fifteen and twenty thousand men; the numbers aren’t exact. If we attack the Imperials as soon as they appear on our land, we may give them reason to call for Nazhira Tyrannus’s support. If we leave them alone for as long as we can, they don’t. If we leave it long enough, they’ll be too far away to summon her at all.”

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“You’re scared of facing the Castrians in the field?” Elek sneered.

She cocked her head at him. “I don’t see the point in going out of my way to ensure our enemy outnumbers us by an even greater margin. If we can keep the Castrians out of the fight, and a few surrendered cities—which we will eventually regain—are the cost, is it not worth it?”

“When, exactly, would we consider attacking them?” Ilona asked. “Do we allow them to reach Varanos itself? Do we go further, and watch them march into Drasken?”

She resisted the urge to scrunch the map up in her fist and throw it at the older woman. “We may not have to attack them at all.” She spared a brief glance for Aladar, seeking his support. They’d discussed this, of course, but she still wasn’t certain now was the right time to share the extent of her plans. “I know how divided the loyalties of the Paramount-General are. I expect he was given his title so he could be blamed and punished should the Imperium lose this campaign. If I can back him into a corner, if I can convince him in some way, I might be able to get him to turn on his homeland. Or, at the very least, stop invading us.”

“How would you plan on doing that?” Elek demanded, his teeth glinting in a scowl. “We all know you rescued him on Shaeviren, but I don’t think past goodwill is enough.”

“I’ll figure that out when it becomes necessary,” she replied. Though these individuals were her fellows, she didn’t trust any of them, save Aladar, with the identity of her source within the Imperial ranks, nor how she planned to use that source against Endarion.

“Does that mean you don’t have a plan?” Laszlo said, softening his question with a half-smile.

“It means,” she snapped, “that I will make my plans to suit the moment they are needed, rather than plan for eventualities that don’t happen. Might be the Imperium doesn’t take the bait and leaves Vadonis alone. Might be they raze Vadonis and you all get to call me foolish.”

“Might be you get us all killed,” Ilona said.

“Might be,” she said with a shrug. “But I know Boratorren too well. I would be willing to bet my title, my army, my lands, anything, on his eventual cooperation. We can use him to destroy the Imperium’s armies, as the Varkommer would have us do.”

Not that Aladar had revealed to the other three kandras how the Varkommer wanted the Imperium silenced permanently, and that this campaign wouldn’t follow the usual beats of the last several years. The rising conflict in the Karhes, which demanded most of Drasken’s attention, remained a guarded secret, something Estrid doubted the wisdom of; concealing crucial information from leading generals wasn’t a strategy she’d ever been taught. If Ilona, Laszlo, and Elek knew why this campaign had to be different, perhaps they’d follow her willingly.

But the Varkommer desired ignorance, at least for now.

Her last words trailed into a charged silence. She studied the three kandras one by one, knowing she’d won no allies today. They all looked to Aladar, unwilling to accept her word without his backing. She knew they wouldn’t follow her unless he commanded it.

“I agree with Kandras Elerius,” the Baltanos replied, the vacant expression he’d worn throughout the kandras’ exchange becoming an easy smile in a heartbeat. “I always have.”

―

Estrid slouched in a padded chair, one leg folded carelessly over the other, a glass of the finest vintage of imported Padrean wine from the Vadonis prefect’s cellars in her hand. She watched the door like an expectant predator, glancing every so often to the window and the darkening night beyond.

The kandras and the Baltanos had left the city behind that morning and headed east to organise and conceal their armies within Kalduran’s endless wilderness. A few hours ago, the Imperials had marched on Vadonis and found the gates flung open, the prefect a welcoming host. She’d seen the procession from the room she’d acquired and heard the chaos that always punctuated an occupation as enemy soldiers threaded through the streets on patrol and in search of a trap Estrid had never decided to set.

She’d recognised the dark purple uniforms they wore as Dobran Tyrannus’s and scowled at the sight of the bastard’s men swarming through one of her cities. She knew the other arch-generals would be close behind, looking to spend the night safe behind the walls of an occupied city, rather than camping out on the plains with their men. For this reason, she’d asked the prefect to convey a message to one of the arch-generals, summoning him to the room she now waited in.

It was an hour shy of midnight when the door to her sitting room creaked open and the intruder froze in the doorway.

“Estrid?” he said, one hand clasping the doorframe as if to support himself.

She raised her glass to him, downed what was left of the wine, and set it on the table beside her. By the time she’d risen to her feet, the figure stormed in, closing the door behind him, and wrapped her in a hearty embrace.

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Kavan Aza, Arch-General of Quendinther.

“I could ask you the same,” she replied, pulling away. “Rude of you, to invade my country like this.”

“I only follow the orders, I’m afraid,” he replied with a smile she couldn’t help but mirror.

Though she corresponded with him often, she hadn’t seen him in the flesh since her defection twelve years ago. He possessed no aasiurmancy, yet the years hadn’t drained him and, at the age of forty-seven, he appeared as hale and energetic as a man half that. She surveyed him, grasped him by the shoulders as if to assure herself he was real, and he returned her inspection, his eyes bright.

“You look good,” he said, admiring her, a hint of old, buried infatuation in his gaze. “Drasken agrees with you.”

“As it will you,” she said. At his confused frown, she gestured for him to take the seat opposite hers. When he’d done so, she elaborated; “As much as it’s a joy to see you again, I’m not here for a social visit.”

Kavan raised an eyebrow and gestured expansively at the room around them. “You mean you, Imperial public enemy number one, didn’t hide in a city undergoing occupation by the Imperium, just to have a nice chat with your best friend?”

“Best friend? Don’t flatter yourself.” She let her laugh fade before continuing. “I’m here because I have a plan, and you’re integral to it.”

“Well now I am flattered. What do I have to do?”

She pushed back into her seat. “Does Endarion still trust you?”

“As far as I can tell,” Kavan replied. “He knows I was always loyal to you first, but I’m still part of his insurrection plans.” He looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes. “I heard about the fight. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Who gives a fuck what he was thinking?” Estrid snapped, making Kavan wince. She patted her knee, trying to pass off her outburst but knowing Kavan wouldn’t fall for it. “I need you to defect at a time and place of my choosing. Can you do that?”

He froze, took a moment to gather his response. They’d discussed this in detail over the years, not only before she’d defected, but in the many secret letters they’d exchanged since. Though the Boratorrens might believe Kavan an ally of theirs, he’d been Estrid’s first. She’d raised him through the ranks of Quendinther’s army when she’d been its arch-general, plucking him from obscurity and shaping him into her second-in-command. The adoration he’d developed for her had been an unintentional byproduct of her mentorship, something she’d subtly discouraged early on. Even if her life hadn’t been messily twined with Endarion’s, she wouldn’t have abused her power over Kavan by entertaining a romance with him. Even if she knew his vain hope of one had, for some years, fuelled his loyalty to her.

She’d once known guilt about using Kavan in this way. But, like Borso, he was her friend as well as her subordinate, and he’d always been a willing participant in her plans.

“I can,” he said.

“Good,” she said with a shallow exhale. A part of her had wondered if he’d turn against her now, as all her friends and allies seemed destined to. “Wait for my signal. It won’t be for a while yet. I need to know what direction this fight will take.”

She understood then that her long-term paranoia—that ridiculous Boratorren paranoia she'd contracted by proximity—had finally paid off. Endarion and his older brother had started formulating their plot to unseat the Caetoran and begin their own dynasty decades ago, and Estrid, always a central part in this as their ally, had concocted her own plans in tandem, a safety net of sorts. When it had become clear the Caetoran and Dobran plotted her demise, she’d abandoned her place as Arch-General of Quendinther safe in the knowledge her successor was a man personally loyal to her.

As much as she’d wanted to leave behind the Imperium and everything connected to it, she’d needed a foothold there, and Kavan, who’d been her trusted first-general for years, was perfect. Not only could he continue to feed her information about Endarion and Valerian by virtue of still being allied to them, but he was now in a position to upset their plans. She didn’t know how the defection of one of his only military allies would affect Endarion, but she knew he’d be desperate, especially when Kavan joined the Kaldurani ranks and took to the field against Endarion and the Imperials.

Twelve years ago, she hadn’t envisioned how she might use her friendship with Kavan. To disrupt the Imperium, yes, but to personally target Endarion?

He accused me of trying to have him killed. He’s no longer the man I love. Loved.

“He doesn’t want this command, you know,” Kavan said quietly, his gentle voice a war-hammer to her thoughts.

She scoffed. “He told you that himself?”

“No, but I’ve known him almost as long as you. I can tell.” He tilted his head, puppy-like. “Just as I can tell that this plan of yours is not just to sabotage the Imperium. Do you want to hurt him?”

She snorted. “I had my chance at Dujaro and I didn’t take it.”

“I wonder why.”

“Kavan,” she snapped. “I don’t need this right now. Whatever we had, whatever he was to me, it’s done. He leads the Imperium, I lead Kalduran, and we’re about to go to war. If what I ask of you hurts him, that’s just an unfortunate side-effect.”

Though she knew Kavan’s defection would hurt Endarion. Perhaps more than hurt him. If the Caetoran really had elevated him to scapegoat him—and Estrid could believe that—then the betrayal of Kavan, a known Boratorren ally, might be his condemnation.

Could she live with that, knowing she might get him killed?

He abandoned me to my likely death twelve years ago. He seems to have lived with that just fine.

Their lives were a mangled knot of politics and paranoia and the cruelties of the Caetoran, Endarion as much a victim as she. But it was easier to blame Endarion for the trajectory of her life than it was to blame the entire Imperium.

Kavan presented a placating hand, the motion knocking her concentration askew. “I believe you,” he said. “You should probably know that the surrender of Vadonis has confused us all. It took Endarion four solid hours of sitting and brooding in his pavilion to decide to enter the city. You’re trying to lure us in, correct?”

“Yes,” Estrid confirmed. “I want Castrio as far removed as possible. When their intervention seems unlikely, then I’ll think about hindering the Imperium.”

Kavan rubbed at his clean-shaven chin. “Good. That Castrian woman unnerves me. I don’t know what game she’s playing, but it’s certainly not for the Imperium’s benefit.”

Estrid sighed and ran a hand over her face, stroking the crooked line of her jaw. She remembered what Aladar had said, about the west mobilising against Drasken under a new warlord. If Castrio decided it had designs on them as well, the empire could be facing off against three separate enemies, potentially at the same time. Drasken didn’t possess the manpower to fight on three fronts at once, not with the rest of their field armies scattered across the empire’s expanse.

One war at a time.

She held out a hand and clasped Kavan’s in it. “Despite the circumstance, it really is good to see you, Kav.” She gestured to her empty wine glass. “I’ve got time for that nice chat with my best friend, before I leave.”