Part 1
The great hall of Podem thrummed with warmth and chatter as the feast wound to its close. Massive platters of honeyed fruits and sweet pastries replaced the remnants of roasted game and savory stews, while attendants refilled goblets with rich, spiced wine from Gillyria's southern vineyards. The mingled scents of cinnamon, cloves, and melting beeswax filled the air, creating an atmosphere of opulent comfort that belied the fortress's grim purpose. Emperor Simon sat at the head of the high table, trying to appear older than his eighteen years. To his right was General Bisera, her once-bloodied battle armor exchanged for a tailored gown of deep burgundy, yet she still held the posture of a soldier. James occupied the place of honor beside Bisera, still adjusting to this strange courtly role.
Next to James sat Saralta, her presence as wild and striking as ever. Tonight, her riding leathers were gone, replaced by traditional steppe formal wear—a tunic of embroidered indigo trimmed with silver medallions over fitted trousers—rather than the flowing silks preferred by Vakerian noblewomen. Her dark hair was elaborately braided with colorful ribbons and tiny bells that chimed softly with each tilt of her head, a reminder of distant plains and the horses beyond. She looked every inch the outsider, even as she shared their table.
Saralta spent much of the evening scanning the hall with the sharp eye of a scout. Every so often, her gaze flickered back to the tall figure standing immobile behind James's chair: Selene, the angelic guardian introduced that morning. Selene was as still and silent as a carved statue, clad in a close-fitting white tunic that left her arms and shoulders bare and even revealed a glimpse of midriff—an attire that would scandalize any proper courtier's sensibilities. Even at a distance, Saralta could read the barely concealed disapproval on a priest's face as he fixed his eyes on the divine envoy. A hush fell in a few corners of the hall as nobles stole shy glances at Selene. The tall, graceful woman towered over most mortals, her pale skin almost luminescent in the candlelight. Several young ladies flirted with their companions, wondering in whispers whether, by some miracle, this new beauty meant they could dispense with corsets and pale ceruse, and simply start braiding bells into their hair. A nervous nobleman to James's right sipped his spiced wine too quickly, coughing as he tried to hide a blush after staring at Selene's face a moment too long. Even in his youth, Emperor Simon felt warmth in his cheeks and reminded himself to breathe steadily; he dared not seem captivated by this celestial visitor.
"Mage, your 'angel' doesn't eat," Saralta murmured conspiratorially to James as the hall grew quiet. She nodded discreetly toward Selene as servants cleared dessert. "Does she subsist on prayers alone?"
James chuckled softly, mouth full of plum wine. "She… doesn't require sustenance in the same way we do," he replied, keeping his voice low.
"Convenient," Saralta retorted with a wry grin. She reached for another slice of honeyed venison and piled it on her plate. "If I had to stand guard that long, I'd have half your dinner by now."
Bisera, seated on James's other side, raised an eyebrow but only commented dryly, "Some of us possess self-restraint." There was a hint of warmth in her voice as she allowed herself a small smile.
Saralta met Bisera's eyes and shrugged. "Life's too short to deny yourself pleasures, General." She bit into the venison as Bisera cleared her throat, looking slightly distracted. Bisera's attention had returned to Saralta's comment, and a faint blush tinted her cheeks. The border between duty and desire was one Bisera did not often cross.
James cleared his throat. "Saralta, how are your warriors settling into Podem's barracks? I imagine they find these stone walls confining after the steppes."
"They're adapting," Saralta said with a grin. "Though they've already reorganized the stables three times to match our customs. Your stablemaster looks ready to throttle me."
Bisera laughed softly. "Your methods clearly work," she admitted. "I've never seen horses respond so quickly to orders on the battlefield. Perhaps there is indeed something to learn from steppe horsemanship."
Saralta nearly did a double-take at Bisera's praise. "Is the legendary Lioness of Vakeria admitting that barbarian riders might know something her imperial cavalry does not?" She clutched her bosom, feigning shock. "I may need wine to recover from that surprise."
Bisera managed only a crooked smile. She was not used to bantering—especially from this fierce foreign princess—but she appreciated the genuine warmth in Saralta's eyes as she spoke.
Across the hall, the dining chamber had fallen into near silence. Saralta leaned closer to James and whispered, "These nobles and their ideals… are being upended by your angel's perfect figure." She winked.
A hush fell. Some of the more pious guests at the high table exchanged swift, uneasy glances. A young lady near the center of the hall caught herself staring at Selene's elegant neck and quickly smoothed her gown down as if seeking forgiveness for even admiring something so immodest. A nun finished her prayer, muttering into her pendant; even General Lucen, a veteran soldier who had seen many a battle, sat straighter, suspicious that gazing at an angel's loveliness might anger the Spirit. Saralta noticed the subtle tension. "Don't worry," she quietly told James, "it's only sinful if we feel guilty about enjoying it." James stifled a laugh.
A commotion at the doors then drew every eye. Bishop Ardan swept into the hall with several gleaming, gold-trimmed clerics. The rich white of his robes and the serious lines of his face stood out against the crimson of the other nobles. Even from across the hall, Saralta could sense his fervor. They moved toward Simon with measured purpose, and Ardan's eyes found Selene immediately, narrowing at that revealing attire. Servants scurried to make room at the high table.
Bishop Ardan bowed formally to the emperor and then to the table. "Your Imperial Majesty, I apologize for our late arrival," he said, voice deep and wary. "The evening service required additional prayers given our… unusual divine visitor." He threw a brief, respectful nod toward Selene, whose serene face was as unreadable as a statue's.
Simon inclined his head. "Of course, Your Grace. The Universal Spirit's mysteries arrive in unexpected ways. Please, join us." His voice trembled only slightly, betraying how young and inexperienced he felt in moments like this—yet he projected an air of practiced confidence.
Selene finally broke her silence as the clerics were seated. With mechanical grace, she stepped forward to stand beside James's chair. The room's candlelight caught the ivory sheen of her skin and the delicate down of her feathers. Her normally folded wings lifted slightly, then rested. Conversations paused at neighboring tables as she spoke.
"Bishop Ardan of the Universal Spirit," she said in a tone simultaneously gentle and precise, "it's a pleasure to be in your presence." Her voice was low but carried clearly. She even bowed her head to exactly forty-five degrees before lifting it—a motion so mechanical that Ardan's jaw fell open for a moment.
On cue, Saralta burst out laughing. The sound was a rich, uninhibited peal that cut through the strained silence. Heads snapped toward her, and several noble ladies gasped in scandal. Beside Saralta, even James's stoic countenance cracked into a bemused grin.
"I like her," Saralta announced loudly enough for much of the hall to hear. "She's definitely from a different world!"
Several subdued chuckles rippled out. Even Simon allowed himself a small laugh at Saralta's irreverence. Bishop Ardan, recovering quickly, gave the merest of forced smiles. He settled in his seat, clearing his throat of any remaining offense. "Indeed, Lady Selene," he said formally, though his voice still trembled, "you are most welcome."
Saralta whispered something to Bisera that elicited a snort from James, but Bisera only quirked an eyebrow.
When Ardan took his seat, Saralta leaned once more into Bisera's ear. "Did your angel just stun the priest?" she whispered, eyebrow cocked.
Bisera immediately shot back—quietly—"She is not my angel"—but then corrected herself in a softer tone—"she is Seraphina's emissary, sent to protect James." There was no anger in her voice; only the calm certainty of duty.
"Quite dedicated, too," Saralta agreed, her gaze unabashed as she took in Selene's elegant height and bearing. "Though I still can't fathom why a divine messenger needs to look so… alluring?" she added with a wry tilt of her head.
Bisera answered solemnly, "The ways of the Universal Spirit are not for us to question." A practiced recitation, but Bisera's own eyes betrayed that even she felt the truth of Saralta's wonder.
Saralta studied Bisera with an odd sympathy. Quietly, she said, "But you do question, don't you, General? Behind that proper Vakerian exterior, you wonder just as much as I do." There was no mocking in the tone now, only a sharp curiosity.
Bisera took a slow breath, searching for a dignified response in a situation that felt far from ordinary. Before she answered, Emperor Simon raised a hand for silence.
"Friends, honored guests," he began in a surprisingly firm voice. "Today marks the beginning of a new chapter for Vakeria. The presence of General Bisera, the Great Mage James, and Princess Saralta of Rosagar with her steppe cavalry gives us new hope in these troubled times." He offered a nervous smile. "Tomorrow, we will convene a war council to address both the Gillyrian forces camped at our walls and the disturbing news from our capital." He paused, glancing toward Selene and James before meeting Saralta's eyes. "Tonight, let us take strength from our unity—and courage from each other's company."
Glasses clinked in salute around the table. Saralta narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at the mention of "disturbing news." She leaned toward James and asked quietly, "What exactly is this 'news' from your capital? No one's briefed me."
James lowered his voice. "A possible coup," he said.
"Court politics," Saralta observed. "Always messier than honest battle." She took a long draught of sweet wine, swirling it thoughtfully.
Bisera cleared her throat. "There are reports of unnatural darkness in the palace; it sounds like dark magic is involved." She did not smile.
"My people have tales of dark spirits that feed on fear. Perhaps our shamans' knowledge could complement your priests' understanding," Saralta said as she sipped her wine.
Bisera blinked, taken aback by the genuine respect in Saralta's voice. "That… could be possible," she admitted. Saralta's comment led Bisera to ponder for a brief moment whether pagan superstitions might indeed be knowledge coded as myth, but she quickly dispelled her thoughts.
James watched them. He sensed that despite their differences, Bisera and Saralta were beginning to find common ground.
As the evening wound down, Saralta stretched and stood. She addressed Bisera with a grin. "If we're to be useful tomorrow, I should check on my cavalry and then get some rest." Her gaze drifted over the heads of some nearby noblemen, each of whom promptly stumbled over his words. "Which reminds me, where is my chamber, General?"
Bisera replied crisply, "The eastern tower's third floor. The rooms are prepared for distinguished guests."
"Perfect." Saralta nodded, then turned back to James, waggling her dark eyebrows. "And you two—where do you sleep, in case I need to find you at dawn?"
Bisera's voice remained formal. "James has been given a chamber in the west wing, near the royal apartments, as befits his station as imperial advisor." She looked faintly uneasy at the remark.
"And you?" Saralta pressed, eyes glinting with mischief.
Bisera answered without hesitation. "The commander's quarters adjacent to the main barracks, where I can be reached quickly." She met Saralta's eyes steadily.
"How proper," Saralta drawled. "Well then, I bid you good night." With a casual salute, she turned on her heel. She leaned in just before leaving and murmured to Bisera, "It's better to fight alongside you than against you, General. And you, pretty boy"—she shot James a teasing look—"try not to let your angel tempt anyone to sin before the morning." Then she laughed lightly and strode out of the hall, the tiny bells on her braids tinkling confidently.
As the hall emptied and candles burned low, James became more aware of Selene's presence behind him. All evening she had remained perfectly still, as though wreathed in motionless silence. "Does she ever… relax?" Bisera asked softly to his left, nodding at Selene.
James smiled faintly. "I don't think she can," he admitted. "She's… designed for protection, not repose."
Bisera studied Selene thoughtfully. "It must be strange for you to be directly under the watch of the divine." James gave a tired laugh. "It's stranger than you can imagine—for me, at least."
Part 2
Before dawn, Podem's keep was already astir. Dawn's pale light washed the eastern battlements with gold, but inside, soldiers and servants moved swiftly through corridors. The feast tables had been broken down and stored, replaced by wooden stands holding large parchment maps of the realm. On a raised dais at the far end of the hall, Emperor Simon sat flanked by his generals: General Bisera to his right, in a mix of ceremonial armor and gilded leather; and General Serko to his left, whose lined face showed weariness. On benches around them sat noble emissaries, officers, and a few trusted clerics, all whispering under their breath.
The assembled group took a sudden, collective intake of breath as James entered, with Selene following at exactly three paces behind him, her wings folded close in the dim light. Even battle-hardened officers glanced up in awe. To see Selene, a being with otherworldly perfection and a gracefully cold demeanor, among them brought both awe and shock. Some subconsciously straightened their shoulders; young pageboys exchanged wide-eyed looks. Even in this serious council, Selene's presence was akin to a sacred icon come alive.
James took his place beside Bisera, bowing his head slightly to the emperor. Selene stood motionless at the doorway, silent and watchful like a sentinel statue. Saralta entered moments later. She had exchanged her formal dinner tunic for sturdy leather riding clothes and still wore her bells in her hair. Rather than make a grand entrance, Saralta simply strode purposefully to the maps in the center, nodding to the markers already set.
Simon cleared his throat. "We face unprecedented danger," he said, gesturing to the table in front of him. The sprawling map showed Podem in the south and, far to the north, the city of Arinthia. "Alexander's Gillyrian forces will soon reach our walls," he continued, nodding toward the southwest corner of the map. He shifted his gaze north. "Yet equally disturbing news has come from our capital. Today we must decide our course on both fronts."
General Serko was first to speak. He stepped down from the dais and placed a wooden marker on the southwestern approach to Podem. "Alexander's army is ten days' hard march from our walls. Their scouts have already been sighted by our troops returning from Serra," he said, sweeping his arm across the map. "We should focus our strength here—fortify the bridge crossings, set caltrops in the shallow fords, and prepare fire oil for the western gatehouse. The capital's troubles can wait until we've broken Alexander's assault. After all, our signaling beacons have already warned loyal nobles to secure their strongholds until the current situation passes."
Bisera studied the map intently before shaking her head. "With respect, General Serko, there is grave risk in that approach," she countered, tracing the road network south of Arinthia. "If the rebels secure the capital's granaries and armories, they'll have both supplies and blades to distribute. Within a fortnight, they could field conscripted levies—poorly trained but numerous. More concerning, they could seize the imperial treasury and hire experienced foreign mercenary companies." She pointed to several key mountain passes. "Three thousand hired spears coming down Blackthorn Gorge would sever our supply lines from most of the provinces."
Serko nodded, his weathered face betraying concern.
James approached the map, studying the terrain carefully. "Perhaps we need not abandon one threat to address the other," he proposed, indicating the route between Podem and Arinthia. "The journey passes through Dragonsback Ridge and then splits at Vatra Pass. What if we divide our forces according to their strengths? A strong garrison remains here with our heavy infantry and siege engineers, while a smaller, swift cavalry force takes the eastern path through Vatra toward Arinthia."
Bisera nodded thoughtfully. "We maintain our defenses here—mangonels on the southwestern towers, spearmen in reinforced formations at the gates, crossbowmen on the walls. Meanwhile, we send a mobile force north." She traced a path with her finger along the mountain ridge. "The Vatra Pass is treacherous this time of year, but a small force could move swiftly, especially if we travel light. No supply wagons, no siege equipment—just mounted warriors carrying seven days' rations in their saddlebags."
Saralta leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "My steppe riders can manage that terrain. We're accustomed to traveling thirty miles a day even in rough country." She placed several markers representing cavalry units. "We could send three hundred light horse archers through Vatra, then circle east around the Blackmere Woods to approach Arinthia from the unexpected eastern quarter. The rebels will have their heaviest defenses on the southern and western approaches."
"The eastern walls are older," General Serko added, "built before the imperial renovations fifty years ago; they lack reinforced towers and have fewer arrow loops."
Serko pointed to several potential rally points. "And we could establish signal stations here, here, and here—with mounted couriers stationed at each point. Carrier pigeons would be useful too, if the imperial mews still have trained birds."
"They do," Simon confirmed. "Though pigeons can only carry the briefest messages, and a skilled hawk can intercept them. Mounted couriers would be slower but more reliable for detailed orders."
Saralta traced another route with her dagger tip. "There's also the old hunters' trail through Whispering Pines. It's barely wide enough for two horses abreast, but it cuts directly through the mountains. Local guides could lead a small force through in five days rather than seven."
Simon listened carefully before clearing his throat. "This plan… is bold." The young emperor's voice was steadier now, but a faint tremor remained. "Two separate fronts, each with forces tailored to the task. Our scouts confirm the rebels have established barricades at Arinthia's main gates but haven't yet had time to fully secure the eastern approach." He glanced around the hall. "Who will lead the expedition to Arinthia? It would require both tactical acumen and swift decision-making."
A pause fell over the assembly. General Lucen shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tight. "Your Majesty, dividing our forces violates every principle of defensive warfare," he protested. "We have perhaps eight thousand fighting men at Podem, plus another thousand if we arm the able-bodied townsfolk. Alexander commands at least twenty thousand, and they are all elite imperial troops. If we divide our troops, we risk being overwhelmed here by sheer numbers."
Saralta met Lucen's gaze squarely. "With respect, General, traditional doctrine didn't foresee being pincered between a revolt and an invasion; a bold thrust at Arinthia would shock both our enemies and provide morale to the local Vakerian nobles, so that they remain at least neutral." Her voice was measured and firm. She did not push it, but she did not back away either.
"There's wisdom in both approaches," Bisera offered diplomatically. "But consider this: Alexander's troops will move cautiously, establishing siege lines and building trebuchets before attempting a direct assault. That gives us perhaps a month or so before Podem faces serious danger. A small, elite force could reach Arinthia in half that time, disrupt the rebels, and potentially return before the siege tightens."
Emperor Simon nodded in agreement. "And the psychological effect would be substantial. If the populace at the capital learns that loyal forces are moving against them, some might feel emboldened to resist the tyranny of the usurper."
Suddenly, Bishop Ardan's voice cut through the bustle. "But let us not forget the supernatural force at work in the capital," he warned.