Valkyrie's Shadow

Chapter 30

That damn Raymond is a slavedriver. No wonder Windstride ran off.

It was a thought that bordered on sacrilegious, but it wasn’t made in earnest. Far ahead of the advancing Theocracy forces, “Divine Chain” Edgar Kukuhu Beaumarchais couldn’t help but silently grouse over his circumstances. He knew that it was just the lot of a scout – to be alone and vulnerable as they performed their various tasks, mostly unappreciated by pretty much all but those who shared the same tribulations. To everyone else, it was simply a role no more difficult than that of a footsoldier or even a packhorse. There was no consideration as to how much work went into physical reconnaissance.

As the 9th Seat of the Black Scripture, tasks like this were mostly trivial, but something in the valley below was setting off his danger sense – alarmingly so. It was a rare feeling: one that he usually only sensed when in the company of his fellow Black Scripture members. He sent the army Rangers that were working with him back to stand by at the top of the pass into the basin before going down alone as he crossed off the various possibilities on his mental checklist.

Heroic Adventurer convention? No. Elder Dragon mixer? No. A Godkin party that we were not invited to? No.

Everything on the list was something equally ridiculous, and he couldn’t think of any rational explanation for what was going on. The reports that accompanied their dispatch detailed the arrival of a Demihuman army, primarily composed of Goblins…but Goblins were, by and large, a weak race – even weaker than Humans were.

The High Council had been aware of a disturbance occurring in the Abelion Wilderness for some time now. Through divination and more mundane surveillance, they watched as populations of various Demihumans were displaced. Like ripples in a pond, they moved outwards from a point of origin somewhere in the Abelion Hills. Unfortunately, Thousand League Astrologer was still on sabbatical, so it was the most information they could safely come up with.

Three major Demihuman movements were of particular concern to the Slane Theocracy. The first had ended itself while traversing the mountains north of the Great Forest of Evansha. The second was a large, modestly powerful group that came through the southern half of The Neck, which was intercepted by their forces before they could cross into the borders of the Theocracy. Finally, there was this Goblin army that had spilt into the upper reaches of the Katze River.

Though it was a substantial threat, Raymond Zarg Lauransan, Cardinal of Earth and the Commander of the Six Scriptures, seized upon the event as an opportunity to train and recover from what had befallen them since the previous spring.

When it rains, it pours.

The old idiom appeared to be in full effect: Windstride, the former 9th Seat, had betrayed the Theocracy for some unfathomable reason, stealing the Crown of Wisdom and killing the Miko Princess in the process. The Sunlight Scripture had been wiped out and was effectively defunct until suitable replacements had been trained, and the Black Scripture had taken grievous losses in an encounter with a powerful Vampire while on an unrelated task. Beaumarchais was one of those who had been killed – it was his first big mission, too.

Sighing at the memory, he continued creeping his way down into the valley. He came across a series of locations that appeared to formerly host large encampments, then found standing encampments that were similarly empty. Though the occupants were not present, the smell was unmistakable: Goblins, just as reported.

He did not linger for long, and eventually encountered something that was decidedly not a Goblin. Standing across from a river ford, near the ruins of an old wooden bridge that was once a part of the trail, were four figures. Three, he instantly recognized, causing him to finger a throwing knife in his bandolier. The two most dangerous ones were Death Knights, the other was an Elder Lich holding a clipboard for some reason. The fourth appeared to be a tall Human woman, also holding a clipboard, speaking to the Elder Lich.

From her posture and gestures, she was speaking in an authoritative manner. He watched the movement of her lips in an attempt to make out her words, then realized that she was speaking in the principal language of the Theocracy. Beaumarchais frowned, mind working to make sense of the puzzle before him.

At first, he thought that the fourth figure was also one of the Undead, like a Vampire or some other type that held a close resemblance to Humans. The pieces fell together quickly once a gust of wind picked up the banner propped up by one of the Death Knights.

The Sorcerous Kingdom…

He supposed that it made sense. Though the situation in the spring was murky at first, intelligence gathered by the Windflower and Clearwater Scriptures about the nation that had abruptly popped up to their north explained everything before him.

They had Death Knights, Elder Liches and Soul Eaters aplenty, which explained the sense of danger that he perceived emanating broadly from the basin. The former citizens of Re-Estize were also alive and well, confirmed every day by merchants passing through from nations abroad. The Theocracy’s forces stationed along the border in the Riverlands also said much the same thing.

Beaumarchais retreated further back into the trees to gather his thoughts. As far as the Slane Theocracy was concerned, they held a strictly neutral stance with their new neighbours to the north. The main force was still a few days away, but it was filled with proud new Scripture candidates that were coming from their victory in the west and going into the basin expecting the next fight.

Would some advance warning be enough? He scratched his head, looking up towards the pass. The force had more than a few narrow-minded and muscle-brained zealots out to prove themselves, so he decided that even a stern warning was no guarantee that someone might act without orders.

If the Sorcerous Kingdom was occupying the basin, he couldn’t imagine that any of the invaders had survived. Once he confirmed the threat had passed, he could report back and turn the entire operation around. The best way to avoid conflict was for them to never meet at all…but what if they already knew they were coming? He had to minimize chances for an incident, and it wasn’t as if they had any diplomats in the fielded subjugation force.

He let out a resigned sigh as he stepped out onto the trail. His luck was terrible with women ever since he was inducted into the Black Scripture. Hopefully, it wouldn’t rear its ugly head here. He walked back down to the ford. The woman glanced in his direction and waved the Elder Lich away.

“Good morning,” he said in the cheeriest voice he could muster.

“Good morning,” the woman smiled back.

The sounds of the river filled the air between them. It occurred to Beaumarchais that, while he was determined to prevent a misunderstanding, he hadn’t thought about what to say. His smile froze on his face.

This…is lame, is it not? I am an idiot.

“Is there something I might help you with?” The woman prompted.

“Ah, erm, yes,” he stammered out limply. “I am, um, Bo. From the Theocracy.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bo.” The woman’s smile did not fade, “I am Baroness Ludmila Zahradnik.”

Her cool, refined manner did not help his mental recovery in any way. He was a rough-spoken man, raised to fight on the front lines of the battle for humanity’s survival in a world full of powerful threats. Her speech reminded him of a wealthy merchant’s daughter, or maybe a well-to-do aristocrat…actually, she did say Baroness, did she not?

Beaumarchais made a more careful examination of her. The woman was clearly descended from a southern bloodline, with brown eyes and full, chestnut hair that flowed down over her shoulders. She had the attractiveness that aristocrats tended to have, but her tall stature and clear features lent to her a handsome beauty rather than the softness one would have expected from a scion of northern lineage. Beneath this attractive appearance, however, she was strong – far stronger than expected for the people of the northern nations. Considering her youth, she would have been a candidate for one of the Six Scriptures if she had been born in the Theocracy.

The northern nations of humanity had fallen away and corrupted the teachings of the gods, so it was rare for such a thing to occur. Her temple-schooled speech gave him the answer: she was not a heretic – she was one of their own faithful. He understood that the remaining temples in the north had reined in the more aggressive aspects of their faith that were now promoted in the Theocracy, but she was one of their own nonetheless. A bud that had blossomed in a land that was commonly considered lost to decadence and heresy. As he marvelled at the notion, she cleared her throat.

The Death Knights standing behind her changed their posture, and Beaumarchais stepped back. She wouldn’t send them after him for being rude, would she? He disliked fighting Undead. Various other reasons aside, he was inherently at a disadvantage in direct combat against them. Her gaze shifted slightly, and Beaumarchais staggered forward as a large hand heavily slapped him across the back.

“Yo,” a deep voice sounded from behind him. “I came running down when we got your signal. I know your luck with women has been terrible recently, but you are not supposed to call for reinforcements when you find one out in the middle of nowhere.”

Rubbing his sore back, Beaumarchais turned to level a scowl at the burly newcomer. He was another member of the Black Scripture, similarly dispatched for the opportunity to recover his strength after being slain by the Vampire.

“This guy…” Cedran let out an exaggerated sigh, “Has he even offered you his name, or has he been ogling the young domina this entire time?”

Beaumarchais’ scowl deepened. Though his two shields marked him as a defensive Fighter, Cedran was a rogue in many other ways.

“Bo, I believe,” Baroness Zahradnik made a slight gesture, and the Death Knights returned to their former stances. “I am Baroness Ludmila Zahradnik. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, mister…”

“Ah,” Cedran waved his hand as he made a noise, “there is no need for such formality in the middle of nowhere! Bo, eh…I would be pleased if you called me Cid, domina.”

“Hey ‘Cid’,” Beaumarchais frowned, “are you not being too familiar?”

“What are you talking about?” Cedran grabbed his shoulder and spun him back around, “She has seen us before.”

“S-she has?”

“Ai…did your return take something out of your head along the way? Do you not recall the last time we came through here? The name? Do not be staring so passionately at her this time, or one of her footmen might come over and put out your eyes.”

His face screwed up in confusion. The last time they passed through here was on their mission to deal with the Catastrophe Dragon Lord. He traced their route in his mind…

“Ah.”

“‘Ah,’ he says,” Cedran snorted. “I hope you will forgive my addle-brained friend for his rudeness, domina. Also, you have our condolences for your loss: Surshana must have surely welcomed such faithful servants to his peaceful embrace.”

“Of course,” Baroness Zahradnik smiled, “the burdens you must shoulder are many, so I do not mind…and thank you.”

The barest note of melancholy entered her voice, but her expression did not change. Such were the masks that nobles wore. Cedran cleared his throat after a moment of silence.

“Speaking of the things that we must do,” he said, “we should settle matters here before the idiots in the back run us all over.”

“I suppose they have come expecting Demihumans.”

“Just so,” Cedran grinned. “We have no quarrel with the Sorcerous Kingdom, but, all too often, soldiers are like a hammer for want of a nail.”

“I understand,” Baroness Zahradnik said. “In that case, what can I do to help?”

Cedran turned his gaze down the valley. To the north, the land had been cleared, but the distance was too great to make out any real details.

“Hmm…” Cedran rubbed his square jaw, “I am guessing we should begin with an update on the situation here, yes?”

“Of course. Simply put,” she told them, “the Demihuman incursion is no more. The Fiends that appeared to be responsible for driving them east were destroyed or turned away as well. What is left is cleaning up the mess.”

Beaumarchais exchanged glances with Cedran. The only notable Fiend threat that they were aware of was Jaldabaoth. There was an ongoing debate concerning the relationship between the many powerful beings that had appeared in a relatively short time. Momon had driven away Jaldabaoth in Re-Estize, then moved on to protect the people of E-Rantel after the rise of the Sorcerer King. Then there was the Vampire that Momon had reportedly destroyed, and its companion who was still at large.

Momon had set himself in opposition to Jaldabaoth and had also stood against the Sorcerer King in E-Rantel. If Baroness Zahradnik’s words were to be trusted, the Sorcerous Kingdom had now also set itself in opposition to Jaldabaoth. Was it an alliance of convenience between Momon and the Sorcerer King? At the least, they could rest assured that the Sorcerer King and Jaldabaoth were not on the same side. These were only his thoughts on the matter, of course – the High Council would come to their own conclusions using the information that was passed on to them.

“Ai, I think the boss might cry when he hears this,” Cedran said. “He had arranged for a training opportunity here.”

“What a coincidence,” Baroness Zahradnik smiled slightly. “My thoughts were just the same.”

Over the next half hour, Cedran continued with his questions. Beaumarchais shifted uncomfortably at their cordial back and forth, despite understanding that Cedran was mostly just trying to collect as much information as possible. Baroness Zahradnik asked very few questions of her own, and the first she asked was something about her people who had gone to the Theocracy. All they could say was that small civilian movements were something they were not informed of and that Beaumarchais had noticed nothing amiss on his way into the upper reaches.

Aside from that, her queries seemed nothing more than points of polite conversation. There was no sense that she was trying to get anything in return. Did this woman even understand that she was basically being pumped for useful information? Beaumarchais recalled that her father seemed the diligent and honourable sort, and her house cooperated with the Scriptures, understanding that the Scriptures fought for humanity. Baron Zahradnik’s daughter, by all appearances, followed in his footsteps.

“On a more personal note, domina,” Cedran said as their conversation wound down, “what is it like living in the Sorcerous Kingdom?”

Beaumarchais glanced over at Cedran worriedly. Attempting to gain information on the state of the Sorcerous Kingdom was all well and good, but dark rumours still lingered with its recent advent. He wondered what the High Council would do if they found their reports to be false and that Humanity was indeed suffering in E-Rantel. Baroness Zahradnik’s reply, however, did not contain even the slightest note of hesitation.

“Things have much improved from when we were a part of Re-Estize,” she said. “Rule of law reigns, and the lands are secure. The people are left in peace, as long as they do not commit any crimes. Humanity thrives – the faith of The Four is in slow decline and the lost return to the fold. Speaking of which, we are in dire need of temple staff…”

The Dragoon

On a blood-soaked plain, a grizzled sergeant forces his sword arm to work through heaving breaths. Tears of grief and rage fall as the sounds of dying men and women under his command rise all around him. There was no surrender and no retreat, for the enemy was relentless and without mercy. They were doomed, and all that was left was to fight on in hopeless desperation.

Then, over the fray, a Griffon cries, and the enemies before them are swept aside. Battered soldiers raise their heads at the sudden reprieve. Before them stands a singular figure, clad in gleaming plate mail. He does not speak, nor does he look behind. His halberd cleaves forward with unstoppable drive, breaking the enemy before him; painting bloody arcs like a crimson banner waving proudly over the battlefield.

Across the front, winged shadows fall: heralding the arrival of allies striking down from the heavens like the wrath of the gods. The soldiers look to one another in disbelief. They were saved...no, salvation fought on ahead of them. Weapons raised, they surge forward with a fervent battle cry, following after the champions leading them to victory.

The cavalry has arrived.

Well, not really.

A component of professional militaries around the world, Dragoons are often mistaken for Knights, Cavaliers or Hussars. Though possessed of not insignificant riding skills, they are in reality heavy infantry that utilize their mounts for battlefield mobility. The historical origin of their distinct specialization is shrouded by myth and legend. In some places, they are said to be the evolution of dismounted Knights that heavily favoured fighting on foot. In others, the need for armies to swiftly transport their foot soldiers to critical locations led to the permanent formation of the first Dragoon contingents.

The truth is that multiple paths may lead to the Dragoon class, as it is ultimately a concept shared by peoples around the world. While the circumstances and backgrounds of cultures that give rise to Dragoons may differ, the results are similar, though they are not without nuance.

Broadly speaking, the skills and abilities of a Dragoon initially revolve around the riding skills required to take them wherever they are needed, focusing on the speed and endurance of their mounts while maintaining their personal growth as a melee combatant. They are unlike cavalry classes that remain mounted if possible even in close combat. Like other classes with special riding skills, they prefer magical beasts as mounts; regular animals do not fare well under the rigours of their vocation.

As they advance in levels, a Dragoon's riding ability expands to enhance the survivability and resilience of their mounts, while the Dragoon improves their own ability to analyze and understand the battlefield, effectively insert themselves into combat, and to inspire – or demoralize – those subjected to their presence.

Highly versatile and capable of quickly traversing great distances to answer the tactical and strategic needs of an army, Dragoons are employed as impromptu raiders, skirmishers, pickets, and escorts. In their most well-known role, they function as devastating shock troops. The high physical and mental demands that come with the profession tend to mean that Dragoons are not only capable of great feats of strength and endurance, but develop a flexible tactical mind that can gauge the ever-changing state of the battlefield and act decisively upon it.

Dragoons strike where it hurts their enemies the most, bring relief and leadership to flagging allies, and are possessed of the strength of will to do so no matter how dire their enemies may appear to be.

(A/N: Dragoons have no direct connection to Dragons, dammit!)