Chapter Fifty-Four
ELENA
I sat at the head of the table. Mom and Huntiata sat to my left, and Feractian and Jonias sat to my right. Candles illuminated the walls and ceiling, but the light was dimmed, each aura dying into darkness before it could touch another. Shadows played along the faces of those at the table, painting dramatic contrasts about the structures of their faces, though their eyes sparkled in the flickering flame. All around each of us was darkness, and the darkness provided a sense of intimacy, concealing us from the rest of the world.
"Before we begin, I just want to say how grateful I am for your support." I said, "Your sacrifice is far more than I deserve, and... well, thank you. Most of all, I would like to thank Lady Catherine Jonias, not only for saving my life, but also for caring for me, for being a gracious host, and for starting this movement. My lady, from the bottom of my heart, thank you."
"Here, here!" everyone else echoed.
Lady Jonias just waved it off, though she blushed a little. "I did it all for money and power, you fools."
"We all did it for money and power, Catherine!" Huntiata laughed, "It just so happened that it's also the right thing to do."
"I had ulterior motives." Mom smiled, "Country, honor, tradition; these things are paramount. Money and power are simply the tools we entrust with those who should rightfully lead. This isn't a fight for our sakes, but a battle to uphold the very foundation of Highland society."
"Indeed." Lady Jonias said wryly, "Because we all know that Elena is a beacon of royal propriety."
"It's the spirit that matters."
"She's certainly carrying at least one tradition from her predecessor." Jonias smirked at Mom.
"Do your legs creak when you open them?" Mom shot back.
"I guess they're not as well-greased as yours, Lady Straltaira."
"Alright, so that's the last time we ever try to be nice to Lady Jonias." I grumbled, "Changing topic; Feractian, how many men have your barons managed to acquire?"
"Last count was over fifty."
"That many?" I raised my brows. "That's wonderful!"
"Sometimes quantity isn't quality, Your Highness. These are gangsters and the like, and the price for their services will be steep." He twiddled his mustache with an indignant huff, "But if you want to raise a riotous mob, these are the types who can get it done. At the noon bell tomorrow, they'll make their move."
"At the noon bell." I echoed, "So that will be when it starts." I looked to Huntiata, "There's a guard change at the noon bell, right?"
"There is."
"Where's our in?"
Huntiata pulled out a rolled parchment, and flattened it on the table. It was a diagram of Castle Bentius. "That secret passageway to the tower bedroom you asked about? It's sealed off, so that plan's gone. Fortunately, the watchmen caused so much damage in the first battle, that the major defenses are all weakened. No ballistae, no drawbridge, and no wall. I paid off the right guy to make sure that the gate stays open. The only thing keeping someone from waltzing right into the castle, are two-hundred watchmen."
"Too many."
"Yes, but here's the wrinkle." Huntiata unfurled another map, this one of Bentius. "Ternias is desperate to keep the perception of law and order in the lower wards, so he's constantly cycling watchmen down there to make it seem like their numbers are at full strength. A hundred here, a hundred there, and a hundred there; their never stationary, always on patrol. Their circuit is fifteen miles nonstop, from the finance district, to the merchant district, to the lower residential, and to the outer walls; he always keeps a hundred on the outer walls just in case of Alkandran riders. After the noon bell, a hundred of them get some rest, but the other two-hundred switch with those guarding the castle, and stand guard for another four hours. In short, they're dead tired. They'll be slow to react, and easy to route."
"We just need to break their spirit fast then." I glanced at Lady Jonias, "What's the most intimidating spell you can cast?"
She thought about it for a moment, then twirled her fingers. The table seemed suddenly twice as long, and surrounding the new half, were poorly rendered versions of me, Mom, Jonias, Huntiata and Feractian. There was no detail on any of our faces, nor our clothes. We looked more like mannequins than people.
"It's a mirroring spell," Jonias explained. She raised her arm, and her ethereal visage did the same, "It's not great—it's actually rather awful." She stood up and walked three paces down the length of the table, and her visage did the same, walking straight through a marble column like an apparition. "But it's very easy to cast, and doesn't require too much energy to maintain. If I were to cast this three times on our bannermen, their numbers would appear to quadruple from a distance. A closer inspection would reveal the mirage, but exhausted and panicked watchmen won't focus too much on the details."
"Perfect." I said, nodding approvingly. "So, our bannermen will filter into the Noble District throughout the morning. When the noon bell tolls, the men Feractian's barons hired will begin riling up the mob in the lower wards. That'll keep the fresh troops occupied while our bannermen marshal in the square. Jonias will cast her spell, and we'll attack."
"Where will I be in all of this?" Mom asked.
"Locked in a closet with a bottle of wine," I replied, "you're not going to be anywhere near this fight."
Mom let out a sigh of relief, and smiled. "I think that's for the best."
"Huntiata and I will lead the vanguard," I said, "Feractian and his bannermen will provide the missile support, and Jonias will be in the back to provide magical cover. Don't get too caught up in tactics. This is going to be a street fight, and we all know it."
"And that's that?" Feractian asked.
"That's that." I said, "If the watchmen route, we'll storm the castle and take Ternias's head. If they don't, well... then we've got a fight on our hands. If that happens, we'll have to break the defenses before the watchmen in the lower wards can disengage from the riot and get back to the noble district."
"Or we'll be fucked from both ends." Huntiata grumbled.
"Elena's used to it." Jonias mumbled.
I rolled my eyes. "Alright, you all know the plan then. We'll meet here at nine tomorrow morning to begin preparing."
The other five members nodded in agreement. I nodded back, and we sat there in uncomfortable silence.
"Did I forget something?" I asked.
"We're on the eve of battle; this might be our last night alive." Feractian said, "As our queen, should you not rouse our spirits with a charismatic speech? You were famously eloquent in the court."
"I could use a pep-talk right about now." Lady Jonias laughed nervously. I hadn't noticed until that moment that she'd been fidgety the entire meeting. For that matter, so had been Lord Feractian. Huntiata was a veteran, and sat with stony calmness, but I knew he was crawling in his own skin.
"I... uh..." I started, and leaned onto the table, knitting my fingers together, "I don't think speeches really help. I've fought my fair share of battles, and it doesn't matter much what's been said before the fight. I can only give you some advice that's helped me get through it. Control your breathing. Focus on little things like taking slow breaths. It'll keep you centered. Keep moving. Your cover is best when you first get behind it, and becomes worse with each passing second. Keep your head down, and your eyes up. When you're face to face with the enemy, always strike first. It doesn't matter if you've been trained for decades and your enemy's a fresh recruit; the man who strikes first, wins." I laughed humorlessly, "Poets and story-tellers regale you about great warriors who were nigh unbeatable, but most of those men just played the odds right. Keep breathing, keep low, strike first, and your odds will be good."
"That's it?" Feractian asked, "It's all just a game of chance?"
"Aye," Huntiata said, "and I'll add another thing to the queen's list: never fight clean. Get dirty. Go after the balls. Go for the guts. Throw dirt in their eyes and put your blade in their squishy parts. Bite their throat out if you get the chance. There's no reward for fighting with honor, for I've never seen a man die with it. I've known some of the noblest, most refined and soldierly chaps in the world. Men I knew my whole life, but they didn't even recognize me when they were trying to put their intestines back in their torn bellies. Just the wild look in their eyes, like how a fish looks when you yank him out of the water. And the screaming... good god, the screaming. They all shit themselves too. That moment when the sword goes in them, and their eyes bug out... that's when they shit themselves." Huntiata glanced up at Feractian and Jonias, who were staring slack-jawed at him. "Anyway," he smiled sardonically, "sleep well."
"You're a bastard, you know that?" I snapped at him.
He winked. "The very worst." He stood up, and wiped his hands on his pants. "I'll see you lot in the morning then. Come this time tomorrow, we'll be feasting in the royal hall." He gave Jonias an impish look, "Well, some of us will, maybe."
