Heretic Spellblade 6 - Ch5

Chapter 5

Charlotte

“Where is everyone?” Charlotte asked as she wandered into the small hall that dominated the fortress of the Reaches’ Guard.

Princess Charlotte, the prophet of the Holy Kingdom of Falmir and its current regent, flounced onto the glass throne sitting in one end of the hall. Not a single guard or servant reacted to her arrival. Likely because none of them seemed to be around.

She wore the same low-cut navy blue dress that she’d worn during her failed attempt to “aid” the Empire with its recent Messenger breach. The heavy gold trim only emphasized her curves, especially given the deep slits up to her waist, its backless nature, and the fact her impressive breasts practically spilled out of the top. Long brown hair trailed down her back in delicate curls.

Yet nobody was around to appreciate her appearance, and especially not the man she wanted to the most. Not that he was ever around. But one day, Nathan would be by her side. She’d been bouncing between worlds for exactly that reason. Now, with genuine power in her grasp, she’d finally achieve her goal.

If only things were so easy. The voice in her head that granted her access to Omria’s power—or whatever it was that Charlotte used—had yet to shut up after her tiff with Fyre. Battling the dumb horse in the skies above Soreaux had been exhilarating.

The memories warmed her, despite how empty the hall remained. She recalled singing hymns and calling up chants from the believers in the city while the very stones emanated with her power. And while she hated that Fyre had done the same, the performance had almost felt like a competition. The sort of thing she’d once participated in as a child, as both women drew in the crowds with skill and grace, rather than bloody violence.

Of course, Charlotte knew that many of her competitions had been won through the threat of violence. The appearance of the princess losing to some petty noble with a pretty face and a cute voice galled her parents.

But this time, no such advantages availed her. While she’d ignored the voice’s advice and confronted Fyre like this, she at least heeded it when it warned her not to attack the other prophet. The horse had done the same, forcing them to compete on pure skill.

Charlotte hadn’t lost, of course. It had been a draw. And, sure, maybe she had wished to blow Fyre’s head off after the first few bouts of singing. Maybe once she finally claimed her Nathan, she’d enjoy the sight of the foolish horse being railed while she held her down.

Gulping, Charlotte shifted her thoughts away from the bedroom.

“This is pointless,” she muttered, rising from the throne.

She scanned the fortress. True to her expectations, only a handful of people were present. They appeared to all be servants.

What had happened while she’d been away? Sure, she might have spent a bit of time in her palatial bedroom back in Fertheim after failing to take Soreaux but—

No, she didn’t fail. The voice pestered her as she questioned herself.

There are no mistakes, no failures, the voice whispered. It’s all going according to your plan.

Plan? What plan?

Abruptly, Charlotte remembered that she had planned to invade Trafaumh after proving that she was the superior prophet. Except that hadn’t gone to plan at all. While she’d definitely shown that she outclassed the horse in every way, Charlotte had been competing against someone with unfair advantages.

Fyre possessed multiple channels for Omria’s power and had been closer to them. The Imperial Palace in Aleich stood as Omria’s strongest bastion of power—in more ways than one—and Fyre controlled the flow of magic from it as well as the Pearlescent Canyon. Soreaux had been under contest, but only barely eluded Fyre’s grasp.

According to the voice, the Inquisition prevented any prophet from outright claiming the power. Among all the other lies that the Order of Trafaumh told about Omria, chief among them was that the goddess was beyond their understanding. They’d been tapping into her magic for decades, if crudely.

That left only a handful of sites, and the voice was cagey about most of them.

Age frays all threads, the voice said.

“What does that even mean?” Charlotte asked aloud, anger slipping into her tone.

Fortunately, nobody heard her outburst.

It is safest to limit your strength to recent nodes. He might seize you, otherwise, the voice explained.

Whoever this “he” was eluded Charlotte’s understanding. And what did recent even mean in this context?

Of the seven channeling sites that the voice identified, only three of them had been created by the last incarnation of Omria. The Imperial Palace in Aleich, Soreaux, and Fertheim’s royal palace.

Although Charlotte didn’t remember ever reading about the royal palace being constructed by Omria herself. Supposedly, it had been constructed after the Empire drove the beastkin from the land and freed the humans oppressed by the warlike tribes that once dominated the continent. But if so, why didn’t history talk of this?

No matter.

The other four sites had clear links to Omria. The Spires had been constructed as the ancient home of the faeries when Omria gave a damn about them. Fyre would surely claim the Spires the moment she understood the truth of being a prophet. Similarly, the Pearlescent Canyon was where she had descended to Doumahr in that era.

Not quite, the voice muttered, but refused to elaborate.

The other two sites were in Arcadia, and beyond the reach of both prophets. The Elysian Tower and Lake Styx were sacred sites to the faeries and they’d react violently if other races even got close.

But if other channeling sites existed, surely Charlotte could only benefit from them? She had far greater power than the horse, but that advantage waned with every sacred site that her opponent claimed. One could be perfect and still lose if their opponent was big and ugly enough.

The voice refused to rise to the bait. How annoying.

Checking the fortress again, Charlotte found one person of interest. Despite Beatrice’s attempts to hide herself, her nature as a Messenger gave herself away.

With a thought, Charlotte teleported into her bedroom. Unlike the one in Fertheim, this one lacked the true magnificence of a royal princess’s suite. Sure, Charlotte could do it up, but why? She didn’t sleep here. Her real bed was only a thought away.

A familiar figure lounged on the bed, wearing little more than some black lingerie with cutouts in all the right—or perhaps wrong—places. She cradled an oversized holy blade against her nearly naked body. Long blonde locks ran down her pale skin and her horse ears pricked up upon seeing Charlotte arrive.

“I thought you’d never get here,” Fyre moaned.

Charlotte froze. Instinctively, she reached for her power. Her opponent was right here and stupid enough to think that their little duet meant she gave a damn. But like hell would Charlotte miss a chance to vaporize the dumb horse and claim Nathan for her own.

And with her gone, that other one will— the voice crooned in her ear.

Then reality slapped Charlotte in the face and she felt as though somebody had dumped ice over her body.

She’d come here to find Beatrice, right? Fyre wasn’t laying in front of her, attempting to seduce her. How could she even get in here? For that matter, if the other prophet could sneak in, wouldn’t Nathan be here as well?

Fury rose within Charlotte as she realized she’d been tricked. With a thought, she reached out to rip Beatrice and her false appearance apart. Maybe she’d think twice after Charlotte flayed her alive.

“Shit, shit, shit, it’s me!” Beatrice yelped, shooting up to the roof. “Don’t fucking kill me!”

Fyre’s appearance melted away and was replaced by that of a rather plain, dumpy looking noble in a black dress. Charlotte clicked her tongue.

Killing Beatrice a few hundred times would be nice, but the chance had passed. Instead, the princess placed a hand against one hip.

“What are you doing here? I thought I assigned you to Soreaux. If we don’t sabotage the Regal Council, they’ll recognize the horse long before we can move,” Charlotte said.

The expression that rose to Beatrice’s face was an odd mixture of confusion and disdain. “Uh, you told me to return. And we’re already moving. Did you spend too long masturbating in your bedroom? I remember seeing all sorts of health warnings about doing that too much. Maybe your brain leaked out in all the—”

“Shut up,” Charlotte snapped.

Beatrice raised her hands. “Don’t be so snippy. You were right all along. Picking a fight with the other prophet worked miracles. Not only did it freeze the descension rites being conducted by the Order, but it’s triggered a cascade. The eastern half of Trafaumh, including Soreaux, is cut off. So, as you ordered, I sent in Oliver as well as a few other Bastions. The Empire raised their guard so it’s not like we can invade them anyway.”

Several long seconds passed as Charlotte attempted to understand what she’d heard.

“I ordered this?” she asked.

“Of course. Do you think I’d start a war with Trafaumh myself?”

“We’re not going to war,” Charlotte corrected. “We’re freeing the nobles and true believers from the oppressive yoke of the Inquisition.”

“Oh, we sure are. In fact, those nobles are so happy we’re helping that they’ve started waving your flag around. All we need to do is clean up before Trafaumh gets their shit together. And, uh, hope that no other Messengers come through. Whichever one caused this cascade is fucking huge. I didn’t expect another elite to show themselves so soon after Atlas. My employer took off the kid gloves fast.”

Charlotte barely understood Beatrice’s words but didn’t care. The voice seemed unconcerned.

Had she truly forgotten giving out the orders? This did match her plan and invading during a cascade seemed like the sort of thing she’d do.

Rubbing her forehead, Charlotte barely recalled doing such a thing. She’d used her communication mirrors and…

“Wait, a Messenger caused the cascade?” Her heart leaped in her throat. “Who was responsible? From where? Is Nathan alright?”

“Probably? It was his fortress that caused the cascade.” Beatrice grinned. “All the better for us if your lover boy is too busy licking his wounds. We can—”

Charlotte didn’t bother waiting to hear the rest. She teleported away and appeared inside a secluded room. No doors or windows existed here. A few mirrors stood on stands nearby. She attempted to use a familiar one.

These communication mirrors allowed for instant conversation between the pair. Cascades could interfere with them, as their connection ran through the leylines. The lack of an answer indicated that Nathan either still refused her attempts to talk to him or that he was inside the cascade’s effect.

She ordered herself to calm down. If Nathan had closed his portal and caused the cascade, then that meant he was still alive. She even checked with the voice about whether there was a way to change worlds to confirm his existence.

No need, the voice said. I can feel his taint in Doumahr.

“He’s not tainting Doumahr,” Charlotte muttered. “But that’s good. It means Beatrice is right. Nathan will be busy recovering from his battle, the Empire is on guard for an invasion, and Trafaumh is in chaos. The time to strike is now.”

Or an hour ago, apparently. Somehow, Charlotte had already taken action.

Was Beatrice lying to her? Again, the voice refused Charlotte’s attempts to shift worlds to one where the orders hadn’t been given.

The refusal chafed at her, but Charlotte couldn’t easily shift worlds herself. The confusing kaleidoscope of alternate realities was beyond her comprehension. The voice needed to control her mind during the transition in order to protect her.

Unable to go back and work out what she’d done in the past, she decided to push forward. If her armies had invaded, surely she could see them at work, right?

With a wave of a hand, her mirrors lit up with images of fortresses, grassland, and towns. She didn’t need a physical medium to scry, but sometimes it helped. Especially when she wanted to view multiple locations at once. The headaches she’d gotten last time had been foul.

Charlotte glanced over the mirrors and a smile lit up her face.

In the grassland, a huge host of Falmirian knights marched across the Far Reaches, right where Falmir and Trafaumh bordered each other. Gorgeous sapphire banners rose above their ranks, while golden lights hovered high above their forces, illuminating the darkness. Their numbers seemed endless.

Soldiers packed into the towns, decked out in armor and uniforms common to Trafaumh. Yet they waved banners of the Holy Kingdom of Falmir. Bellows declaring secession from the Order and the Inquisition rung out through the night. Charlotte’s name echoed off the densely packed houses and artisan stonework.

Despite the efforts of black-clad soldiers of the Inquisition, it seemed the rebellious nobles of Trafaumh were winning handily. Heavily armored holy knights in service to the clergy battled on both sides.

A fortress burned even as the Inquisition held off a vicious assault on its walls. Holy knights shouting Charlotte’s name poured out from the keep, cutting down their former comrades. Not a single soldier from Falmir itself had even gotten within a trebuchet shot.

One might describe this as utter chaos. Charlotte felt it beautiful.

Realizing that watching accomplished nothing, Charlotte searched for her puppy, Oliver. The Bastion ostensibly leading Falmir’s army.

Although her memories suggested she’d handed over command to another Bastion.

Just shy of the border stood an encampment. She wasted no time teleporting inside the command tent in it. Oliver and another man who looked somewhat like him stood over a table. Both men had unkempt black hair, but the older man possessed a neatly trimmed graying beard.

Both of them froze when she appeared, before Oliver burst into a bright smile.

“Your Royal Highness, you’re joining us on the march?” Oliver asked, sounding exactly like the puppy Charlotte imagined him as.

The other man rolled his eyes, before saluting with a half-bow. “Your Royal Highness, forgive my impertinent son.”

Oh, right. That’s who this man was. Earl Adam Martel, a powerful and loyal bastion of the kingdom. Although the loyalty was only to whoever held the power at the time. She recalled handing over command to him now.

Charlotte kept her expression steady as she recalled the man’s betrayal of her family and even his own son. If she didn’t need the old bastard, she’d incinerate him on the spot.

But in this world, Oliver retained his father’s support. In fact, her puppy had become a Bastion entirely because of nepotism, unlike Nathan who had actively ran away from his home in a teenage act of rebellion. Perhaps that was why Oliver remained a puppy, whereas Nathan held the majesty and splendor of a great wolf.

“It’s no matter,” Charlotte said. “And no, Oliver, I’m not joining you. I need a report on our progress and what we’ve encountered so far.”

Surprisingly, Adam nodded in approval at her words, while Oliver barely hid his downcast expression.

“We’ve faced no resistance, Your Royal Highness,” Adam said. “What few Inquisition soldiers we’ve encountered have fled on sight. Marquis de Vandapp has welcomed us with open arms and is in the process of chasing the Inquisition out of his march. Come morning, we expect his private army to join us when we lay siege to Chateau d’Jarle.”

Charlotte nodded. She vaguely recalled the fortress from the briefings Gareth had given Oliver prior to the invasion. “That’s the Inquisition’s main stronghold in the region, correct? What about the local cathedral?”

“It’s not just their main stronghold. It’s the frontier mustering point of the Inquisitorial Corps, the Inquisition’s elite soldiers. They’ve been reinforcing it lately. If we can take it, then the next real line of opposition won’t be for nearly two hundred miles,” Adam corrected. “And don’t worry about the cathedrals. The archbishops have already fallen into line, according to the nobles we’ve been speaking to over the wireless.”

The man gestured at a bulky device that dominated half the tent. While it appeared archaic to Charlotte, she knew it was cutting edge for the time period. All the brass wiring and exposed crystals were proof of that. Mages put together portable wirelesses with a focus on maintainability.

“If we’ll face that little resistance, how long do you think it will take to reach Soreaux?” she asked.

The senior Bastion shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. As fortunate as the timing is for our invasion—”

“Liberation,” Oliver corrected.

“Sure. Our liberation.”

Something told Charlotte that Adam didn’t care much for sophistry.

“What do you mean it’s not going to happen?” she pressed, her voice raising an octave despite her attempt to remain calm.

Adam didn’t react to her shrillness when he responded, “For one, we’d need to march some 500 miles to reach Soreaux. Even across good roads, flat terrain, and facing no opposition, that would take us two weeks.”

A wince escaped Charlotte. “I… Well, I did ask how long it would take to reach Soreaux. So you’re saying two weeks?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Adam said, frowning. “If we’re lucky, it’ll take us two weeks to suppress the Inquisition out of western Trafaumh. And that’s only because we have the support of almost every major noble here and have been preparing for this invasion for months now. The problem comes after. Due to the cascade.”

“Why? It’ll distract their armies, certainly, but cascades are resolved within hours and days. Surely—”

“Your Highness, this is the second-largest cascade I’ve witnessed in my life,” Adam snapped. He paused and recomposed himself with a sigh. “My apologies.”

“You are excused,” Charlotte muttered.

Oliver glared at his father, but was roundly ignored. “Large or not, Trafaumh is one of the great powers of the world. They can suppress a mere cascade!”

“Maybe,” Adam said. “There have only been three other cascades approaching this magnitude in living memory. In order, they are the ones in Kurai, the Spires, and Mortiswatch. The less said about Kurai, the better, especially as nobody knows how it fell before we all arrived there and I have no desire to relive that blasted hellscape.”

Like so many other Bastions of a certain age, Adam Martel was a veteran of the force sent to suppress the Messenger that destroyed Kurai. Charlotte recalled that Falmir had lost nearly every Bastion they sent there. Where the Empire and Trafaumh had countless surviving veteran Bastions, Falmir possessed only a precious few like Gareth and Adam.

“You’re not suggesting this is like Kurai, are you, father?” Oliver asked.

“As I said, the less said, the better.”

Charlotte nodded. “What about the other cascades? My understanding is that they were all dealt with rather quickly.”

“Is it?” Adam raised an eyebrow. “The one from the Spires knocked out communications for days, and that was a single cascade. Because the Federation and the Empire expected war to break out at any moment, they suppressed the invasions, yet the aftermath lingered. Mortiswatch proves how troubling a cascade of this size is.”

“Your point, Earl?” Charlotte’s temper frayed.

“A large cascade causes more cascades and even breaches because many fortresses aren’t prepared for massive demonic invasions. The Empire is still mopping up the demons from the Mortiswatch cascade. While this means the Inquisition will face a communications blackout for longer, it also means—”

“I asked, what is your point!”

Adam remained silent, as if resisting the urge to chide a child. While Charlotte glared at him, his expression matched that of a stone.

She wished to hit him or demean him, or do something. Anything to remind him of his place compared to hers.

But she needed him. More than her adorable puppy, Oliver, even. Yes, she wanted Oliver to be the one to wave Falmir’s flag atop Soreaux’s citadel, but he couldn’t lead the army there.

Adam Martel possessed everything Charlotte needed to win this war. Land and soldiers to muster an army. Powerful Champions to defeat Inquisition Bastions, although he lacked a trigem. Decades of experience as a Bastion and general.

And, most importantly, Trafaumh’s rebellious nobles adored him. Adam Martel was a fellow noble. Somebody to aspire to, whose family stood apart from religious chains, and even influenced the monarchy due to their ancestor’s role in the battle of the Torruvium Fields. Nathan had never cared for his family history, but it had played a role in the mind of Charlotte’s father when he had sent Nathan into the Empire all those worlds ago.

Keeping all that in mind, Charlotte swallowed her pride. She patted down her dress and pretended nothing had happened.

After nearly a half-minute of awkward silence, Adam continued, “By the time we reach eastern Trafaumh, we’re likely to face demons in the open. Whether Trafaumh is capable of suppressing a breach or not is irrelevant. Almost none of our soldiers are trained to battle demons, and they’re not expecting to face any. They’ll be massacred without greater support from Bastions or…”

“Or…” Charlotte asked, genuinely uncertain.

“Some sort of support from yourself, Your Holiness,” Adam said, shifting from side to side in a manner entirely unlike the dour man.

Ah, so he lacked much faith in her abilities, yet knew she was capable of something. “I understand. Leave that to me. Now, tell me what we’re dealing with in the near-term.”

Adam pursed his lips before pointing at the map. Charlotte looked down at the figures sitting atop it, unsure what she was expected to see.

“Nobles loyal to us are seizing control of everything in the western half of the country,” he explained. “Other than assisting them with Inquisition holdouts, we can move swiftly toward the rivers that split eastern and western Trafaumh. But short of the teleportation spell you used a month ago at Castle Karlam, we’ll run into heavy resistance trying to cross.”

Charlotte finally understood what she was looking at. Trafaumh was cut in half by a series of rivers that ran north toward the ocean. She’d never thought much of the fact, but the map laid out a different reality.

West of the river, blue wooden figures greatly outnumbered the black figures. The blue figures were her soldiers and the nobles who supported her. Naturally, the black figures comprised the Inquisition.

But east of it, the situation flipped.

“You think we’ll be stopped by the Inquisition’s armies along the rivers,” she said.

“I don’t think, I know,” Adam grunted. “Almost every major bridge and ford is fortified. And if we try to go around, through the few that aren’t defended, we’ll have our supply lines cut off. Not to mention that there’s a trigem nearby. While the Bastion there is no Dominic, we’ll need some damn fine planning to defeat a trigem without effectively losing the war.”

“I can handle that,” Charlotte said. “What about the cascade? Shouldn’t that frustrate their deployment?”

“The Inquisition has backup communication methods. Even if the wireless, communication mirrors, and relay paper don’t work due to how strong this cascade is, they’ll still talk to each other. Every country has some form of backup communication for cascades. The mountains are lined with signal towers. Plus signal spells, messengers on fast horses, and even carrier pigeons. Within a few days, they’ll be mobilizing according to plan.”

“They planned for us to invade them?”

Adam snorted. “Technically, these backups existed in case of cascades. But we all plan for war, Your Highness. The Empire’s been waking from its long slumber and fired up its war machine. Even if we’re moving first, war was inevitable. Humans once stood as a single power, and we’ll do so again.”

“A holy power,” Charlotte added. “Omria blessed the Empire and made it great, and now she’ll do so to Falmir.”

“I’ll take all the blessings I can get, Your Highness.”

Not much of a believer. Ironic that Nathan and Oliver both came from this man’s loins.

“Continue with your plan,” Charlotte said. “I’ll speak with Gareth and determine if we can accelerate our advance.”

“Pike, huh? Well, good luck with him. If you can teleport us to Soreaux and make everything I said pointless, I’ll hand you the city and the heads of every inquisitor inside it. But until then…” Adam inclined his head and tapped on the table.

Charlotte took his point, even if she found it annoying. This was what generals were for, after all. As much as she wished to let Oliver take the lead, he simply lacked the ability to manage such a massive task himself. Such a vast contrast between him and Nathan. Even the boy Nathan had been when he first invaded the Empire seemed vastly superior to the man supposedly standing in front of her.

Her puppy’s expression seemed almost lost. She ignored him and teleported away.

Back in Fertheim, she pondered her next move.

After a little while, she realized the problem. Claiming the western half of Trafaumh meant nothing. Her power would only increase if she seized Soreaux and proved herself to be the true prophet to the people. Or, realistically, wiped out the Inquisition there so she could claim Soreaux’s magic.

With it, she’d have the advantage over Fyre and Nathan would have no choice but to realize her greatness. He hated the Inquisition, after all. She could even free all those tormented beastkin below the citadel.

With her plan in mind, she activated another mirror using her power as prophet. A rough face with messy hair and permanent stubble appeared. Bags under his eyes indicated his exhaustion.

“Gareth, I don’t care what you’re doing right now, but I have new plans,” Charlotte crooned. “Do everything you can to destabilize Soreaux. Ensure our agent there paralyzes the city. Once everything is ready, I’ll come there myself. We’ll destroy the Inquisition from both sides at once.”

- - - - -

Commentary: This chapter may be somewhat familiar, as I've reused the bulk of the original PoV chapter from the original attempt at Spellblade 6. I had originally considered rewriting part of it, but most of the plot elements would be identical (Adam Martel, Charlotte taking action without being entirely aware of it, invading Trafaumh, a recap of the prophet duel etc). On a reread, I still felt satisfied with the scene, so kept most of it.

Adam Martel gets more screentime, however (plus some other changes). He's supposed to be clashing with Charlotte, as he's a staunch republican who hates the monarchy and comes from a family line that fought for secession from the Empire. This ties into Nathan's inherent distaste for revolutionary movements, regardless of their merits (or lack thereof), given his father's own ties and beliefs. So Adam and Charlotte do not get along, even if he's there to do his job and further his country's cause.

A brief note on nobility. I'm unlikely to fully explain Falmir's nobility, unlike with other countries, but they do have a system. Trafaumh is pre-Revolution France (with all the problems that came with); the Empire is a simplified Holy Roman Empire; but Falmir is a mish-mash of the HRE and England. They'll have the elements of the Empire (counts, dukes etc) plus stuff like earls. The idea is they introduced additional ranks post-secession. There's also a divide between royal nobles (i.e. those with at least some royal blood in them) and non-royal. This probably won't come up much, other than brief mentions (e.g. Adam is an earl, which is the highest non-royal rank and quite powerful), but maybe some people are interested.