“General Grascas ven Antarch, I give you a force twenty thousand strong. Make war against the kingdom of Sindoria and cast them down.” In an audience chamber decorated with a crest bearing a lion motif—the mark of Estoll—Grascas bowed his head as the king gave his orders. The king’s voice sounded dispirited and lifeless, as if he were discussing tedious bureaucratic niceties. “We will no longer tolerate their barbaric practice of forcing other countries into unjust trade agreements. We have made a declaration of war. Show them no mercy. Cut down all who would stand against you.”
Belseirre, the king of Estoll, was an utterly mediocre king. He was said to be wholly incompetent at war, but he was competent enough during times of peace, and he didn’t seem to harbor any territorial ambitions. Though not too prideful to listen to his subordinates’ advice, much of the advice given to him was poor. He wasn’t a particularly kingly king. He was easily swayed by temporary circumstances and needed a great deal of help, but if nothing else, he had avoided earning the ire of the populace. He was a kind man at heart who always thought of his people first when considering how he should govern his kingdom. He wasn’t very good at securing victory in struggles for power, but he had helped consolidate the country of Estoll and increase its self-sufficiency, reducing its reliance on imports for basic foodstuff. Grascas knew him to be a king worthy of his service.
But why?! Grascas thought. Why must we go to war with Sindoria?! But it was not a vassal’s place to interrupt his king. The invasion of Sindoria had already been decided. Voicing his objections now would do nothing but lower morale.
Grascas kept his head bowed, his fingernails grating against the beautifully polished floor in suppressed anger. He bit down hard to prevent himself from blurting out the words he wanted to say. The inside of his mouth tasted like metal.
“This matter has been settled, General Grascas,” said the king. “Now, I must be off. My wife awaits me.”
Crack! A sharp sound rang out as cracks formed in the tile underneath Grascas’s fingers. His anger felt almost palpable throughout the audience chamber. The nobles scrambled out of their seats and made to leave the chamber. When Grascas was alone, he spat something out of his mouth—a bloody fragment of tooth.
Someone came up to him and spoke. “I am sorry, General. I wasn’t able to stop this...” It was the successor to the throne himself, the crown prince of Estoll.
“No, Prince William. Do not blame yourself.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is all because of my own weakness. I am powerless. Powerless to bring prosperity to my kingdom, powerless to take the throne, and powerless to defeat our enemies...”
Few had noticed how mad the kingdom of Estoll had gone. In fact, far more people seemed to welcome the latest developments with open arms. William was not wrong to say that he was powerless, and Grascas could not defy a royal command, but even so, they had to do something. They had to fight. Otherwise, Estoll’s corruption would lead to greater misery.
“I’ve caused great trouble for you...” said William. “And for Tina...”
“Nothing will come of clinging to the past,” Grascas said, clenching his fist tight in defiance of the dark cloud that had settled on the castle. “You and I must live in the present world.”
~ ‡ ~
Southeast of the king’s castle, the noble township of Sharron was said to be the most refined district of the capital of Estoll. It was the best part of town, reserved for important noble families close to the king or the descendants of famous heroes. Those who resided there were said to be the champions of Estoll.
In the best part of the township stood a particular mansion that served as a gathering place for the nobility and the envy of the commoners. It was far from the castle, but home to the most powerful noble family in Sharron. And in one chamber in that mansion, a woman was busy giving orders to the staff.
“Go fetch the tea and sweets, won’t you?” she said, sounding for all the world to hear like a queen on her throne.
Analissia Rainfiel, the master of this mansion, was the child of a master wizard and a noblewoman from a prestigious house that had served the royal family for generations. She was young, but she had already inherited a noble title. And thanks to her prodigious talent, she had been appointed to the post of prime minister.
A beautiful girl with bright blonde hair and wearing a plain servant’s garb hastened to obey Analissia’s command. She set the table with plates of fancy sweets and a steaming pot of hot tea. That was all Analissia had asked. She waved her hand, dismissing the girl as if she were nothing but a tool. The girl bowed deeply and left without a sound.
Then came a quiet knock at the door. “Come in!” said Analissia. Her voice was overflowing with kindness, completely unlike the tone it had had when she was addressing her servant. She affected a falsetto, laughing brightly as her guest entered the room. “Welcome home, Izuna! Come! I’ve had some tea prepared for you. Let us drink a cup together.”
“Thank you, sister...” said Izuna. Her voice was so faint it was hard to hear that she was talking.
“What’s wrong?” Analissia asked, worried about the girl. “Come, now. Over here.” She beckoned Izuna over and the girl dutifully tottered forward, hesitatingly sitting down on the very edge of her chair. She looked left and right, not touching the sweets that had been laid out for her. After a while, she seemed to make up her mind about something and opened her mouth to speak.
“U-Um...sister...I... The water is all dried up,” she said, blurting out the bad news. “There’s nothing there. And I didn’t see anyone. I wasn’t able to do what you asked...” Her bangs fell over her eyes, which were squeezed shut.
“I see.” Analissia couldn’t help giggling a bit at her fearful, miserable-looking sister. “Hee hee... Good girl, Izuna. You delivered that report very well.”
“Are you not...angry?”
“I’m not. I know you did everything you could. And I have a reward for you for trying so hard! I’m sure you’ll like them—they’re macarons.” Analissia handed her sister one of the sweets and petted her head. She seemed to have calmed down a bit.