Chapter 27 Sariel
SARIEL
Y ou called for me, Your Highness?” Sariel asked, stepping into Isabelle’s tent.
The queen leaned back in her chair to study him.
She wore her traveling attire, boots caked with dirt and yellow shirt stained with sweat.
Not long from now, she would meet with the two kings of the Blue Rivers Alliance, and Sariel suspected she was making a point in keeping dressed for travel and war.
“Indeed,” Isabelle said, folding her hands together and leaning forward.
“Marshal Oscar has no training in fighting dragons, and my advisers lack any materials on the matter other than vague stories of conquest from the days of the Anaon Kingdom.” She arched an eyebrow.
“But you… you and your brother are mercenaries from afar, with backgrounds unknown. You are mysteries to me, and every time I test you, you reveal yourselves more knowledgeable than you have any right to be.”
Sariel crossed his arms. “This sounds more like an accusation than a compliment.”
“It is a statement of fact,” she said, and smirked.
“If I wished to make accusations , I would remind you of your behavior at a certain waterfall in Leyval. Instead, I would point to your sword, also carved of dragon bone, and say that my desperation leads me to you. Have you any wisdom to impart about dragons, if not fighting them, then at least on their behavior, and what might drive one beyond its borders and into the north?”
Sariel approached, his eye on the table before her.
Set up on it was a map of Etne and the nearby Vivarai, showing their forests, rivers, and villages.
Painted wooden pieces marked the locations of the various armies currently mustered, and among them, a red block representing the last sighting of the rampaging dragon.
“The western lands have united against dragons many times before in their history,” Sariel said. “Even before the dragon-defense pact was signed. Numbers are very much our greatest strength, as is our tenacity. We must give chase and be relentless, until the dragon is forced into battle.”
Isabelle gave him an incredulous look. “How do we force a battle with a creature that can take flight at any moment?”
Sariel grabbed the various pieces representing armies and started moving them about the map, positioning them on all sides of the dragon’s red block.
“Dragons can indeed fly, but it is slow, taxing, and tires them quickly,” he said.
“If this dragon is truly rampaging, assaulting all in its path, then it is already stressing its body and expending much of the flame from its belly. When it sees an army approaching, it will indeed take flight, but only to gain a mile of two of separation so it may resume crawling.”
He showed this by moving the block, and then in turn had two of the armies on either side close in further.
“So we stay spread out at first, each army separate, almost daring the dragon to fight us. But it won’t. A rampaging dragon has lost most control of its mind, and reacts on instinct. It seeks easy blood, and easy meat. A battle against a human army is neither.”
“But what if the dragon does decide to fight?” she asked.
In response, Sariel took the other pieces and had them converge.
“Then we respond,” he said. “But trust me, the dragon will try to fly away. It won’t be foolish, nor risk its life for no reason. It will fly, trying to avoid us, and so we keep spread out, keep chasing, until…”
He shifted the pieces again so the dragon was surrounded on all sides.
“If the dragon continues to fly, it will tire itself and be vulnerable when landing for a rest,” he said.
“Once it realizes the trap is set, and multiple forces chase from all sides preventing it from easy escape, that is when it will land, and be a savage monster against the first army it encounters in hopes of breaking through.”
He had the dragon’s piece knock over the army ahead of it, but then pressed the remaining two into contact.
“But while that assault is happening, the remaining armies arrive to reinforce. Losses are guaranteed, Isabelle, make no mistake on that, but a methodical, strategic chase covering multiple directions will be the best method. If the dragon is cunning, it might slip from the trap between chasing armies, but an outer ring of scouts with horns should form a wide enough net to alert everyone and allow us to pivot so we are always on the chase.”
Isabelle pinched her lower lip between her fingers, silently absorbing the strategy.
“All right,” she said at last. “This was very helpful, thank you.”
“Wait,” he said, before she might dismiss him. “Might I suggest a different course of action first?”
Her studious gaze shifted into caution. “Which is?”
Sariel shrugged.
“Attempt to speak with the dragon. It does not rampage without reason. Granted, that reason might not allow any potential solutions for peace. But as with any war, we should first seek to avoid violence.”
“Avoid violence?” She shook her head. “Multiple villages in Argylle, full of innocent lives under my direct care, were murdered. My people have been feasted upon , Sariel. There is no room for peace, only retribution. The dead demand it.”
Sariel’s patience thinned at the rebuke. To have the woman listen so readily to his strategy, but then brush him off when suggesting an alternative to war…
“As you wish, Your Highness,” he said. “At your leave?”
“No,” she said, surprising him. She pushed off from the table and reached for her sword belt hanging from the back of her chair. “You’re coming with me, and bring your sword.”
Sariel suspected a gathering of such esteem had not happened on Kaus in years. The chosen spot was a shrine to Leliel, open-aired and surrounded with stone pillars weathered by centuries of storm and wind. Most importantly, it was in clear view of every waiting army.
Isabelle arrived first. Along with Sariel and her marshal, Oscar, she was accompanied by King Allan of Armane and Prince Druss of Rudou, as well as the newly surrendered King Yarrick of Forez, once the third member of the Blue Rivers Alliance.
It wasn’t hard to see the symbolism there.
It was a message that those who bent the knee could still maintain power, and respect, as vassals to Doremy.
Behind them, banners waved from their respective forces.
King Murta of Vivarai led the procession from the east. They were all dressed for war, but with far more splendor than Queen Isabelle.
Murta was at the midpoint of his life, and while he might have been muscular once, he had a bit of a belly and a face swollen from far too many nights drowning in wine.
His armor shone with silver, that which wasn’t hidden behind green sashes.
With Murta was King Jehan of Etne, as well as a gaggle of lords from the smaller realms each had united.
Their own armies waited to the east, filling the distant valley with their banners.
“We meet at last, Bastard Queen,” Murta said, and sniffed. “And I see you brought the beaten dog with his tail tucked between his legs, too.”
King Yarrick’s face lit up with rage, and he clenched his jaw to prevent from speaking. Sariel had met him only once, a proud man of stocky build and a face like a horse. He had yet to decide if the man surrendered early out of wisdom or cowardice.
“Did you think King Yarrick would be hanging from a noose?” Isabelle asked, forgoing a welcome. “I seek a united Kaus to push back against the Astral Kingdom’s conquest. Yarrick is an ally now, as will be all who properly bend the knee.”
The words were not truly for Murta, but for those accompanying him. King Murta’s alliance was held together with fraying threads, and Isabelle wasted no time picking at them.
“Spare me the lofty lies,” Murta said. “Let us deal with the dragon.”
A table was set in the center of the temple, containing a map similar to the one in Isabelle’s tent. Pieces representing the various kings’ and queens’ armies were marked and painted, but not yet placed. Sariel suspected they were left for their own leaders to position as a sign of respect.
“Are we certain of the dragon’s location?” asked Jehan. He sniffed as if allergic to the map. “These creatures are supposedly capable of traveling great distances if they so wish.”
“I have had scouts tracking its position ever since Siltborough burned,” Isabelle said.
She pointed to the little red cube that represented the dragon.
“It is there, or close enough as to not matter for our discussion. What matters now is if the kingdoms of Doremy, Etne, and Vivarai are willing to honor the ages-old pact of dragon defense.”
King Murta crossed his arms, his scowl deepening.
“And who would lead this defense?” he asked. “You?”
“A council formed among us,” she replied, with more restraint than Sariel could have managed. “Which is what we are here to do. With each passing day, the dragon’s destruction spreads, and hundreds lose their lives.”
“Yes, a very convenient destruction,” Murta mumbled.
“Are you implying that I summoned a dragon?” Isabelle asked.
Murta scoffed at her.
“I imply it is a wonder bandits have not stolen everything you hold dear, you are so incompetent in defending your realm. I find it insulting that we will be expected to carry the burden you cannot.”
Isabelle leaned against the map table, her golden eyes piercing Murta’s.
“Are you saying you will abandon your duties to Kaus?” she asked.
“My duty is to defend my people,” he argued. “And if I believe their lives are better spent within my borders than dying because of your incompetence, then yes.”
Sariel scanned the others, judging temperaments. King Jehan would follow Murta’s decision; that much was clear. The other lords and ladies sworn to the two looked less certain. They feared the dragon, and they did not trust Vivarai to protect them.
The question was, Did Isabelle sense it, too, and could she use it to her advantage?