Darkscribes.org

"Her Penance"
Jeremy Gottwig

I know from the moment I see her that someone is going to die.

She is tall, subtle, with long red hair, and she wears a black jewel on her forehead. Her eyes too are dark, but she always wears simple white, which darkens her eyes even more.

There are few who know that the duke's sister is an assassin. I, as Lord General of Ordorm, am one. The duke is another, and I've reason to believe that her son is also privy to this secret. This pinnacle of secrets.

She has her own cottage in the northern Ordish glades, just beyond river's end. It is a small cottage with only a single servant. Personally I've only ever seen it from afar, but I've heard reports that she spends her time drinking tea and watching wildlife from her back porch. She has aged very well, with few wrinkles to speak of and hair lacking even a hint of gray.

Her husband died a few years back for reasons nobody knows. Only after that happened did she retreat to her current home, while her son took to the Ducal court as an under-advisor to the Minister of Wealth.

The duke, and only the duke, has the privilege of her services.

I would guess it was five days ago that he sent out the rider with a letter pressed by the duke's seal. It would have been an innocuous letter, beginning with a greeting, going on to inquire of her well-being, informing her of her son or some other bit of courtly curiosity, and at the end, expressing an utterly innocent request of some sort. Perhaps he begs her prayers to Elys for a sick relation or invites her to join in some upcoming celebration, which she never attends. But by some unknown method, this letter contains a mark, a date, and a place.

Now that I see her here, I have a place and a date, but one question remains: Who is marked? I also have to wonder: Who will take the blame?

My mind wastes no time in speculating.

I am part of an emissary to Red Flats in Windrove, the domain of Viceroy Luthra Shy, one of five members of Windrove's all-powerful Gray Commission. We are here to resolve a land dispute between our two lands. Both Ordorm and Windrove claim the Flats, and this conference is the final hope in averting war. From what I have seen, neither has an especially valid claim to the area, insignificant as it is.

And it is insignificant, as merely a desert of red stone and sand with only a single palace that is totally dependent on imports. At a canter, I could cross the flats in about the time it would take to finish a large meal. Not only that, but it offers neither strategic nor economic advantages. The land is desolate, utterly, and it borders only Windrove and Ordorm. Perhaps if it were coastal or farmland or even somewhat scenic, I might understand the need for some sort of action.

Why either side cares for such a place escapes me, but as a soldier I do as I'm told.

She is almost certainly here for some reason related to the conference, but no matter how long and hard I consider, I am unable to discern how the death of any major attendee would prove beneficial to the duke or his cause.

At the evening meal in the Red Room on the third day, the crimson sunset spilling down through the skylight above, I consider.

There are the obvious choices: the Windrovian emissary. Jun Shy. Lady Harre. And Grin Friy. Jun Shy is of the same religious order as the viceroy, and he wears the violet robe to prove it, though he claims to be beholden only to the order and not the viceroy. The man seems as old as the stars themselves, and his white hair flows nearly to his ankles. It is so thick I doubt he has ever lost a single strand. His role here is limited to impartial arbitrator, though I struggle to see him as truly independent, in view of his companions. Still, to kill him would only anger the others and make a peaceful resolution much more difficult, if not impossible. Lady Harre? The viceroy's niece, and a lovely niece at that, even despite a somewhat unattractive hooked nose. From her death I can imagine only nothing to gain and much to loose, in that her husband is one Halath Harre, the top Ordish spy in the Windrovian capital of Spire, with access to the Empress herself – the Empress being the only person in Windrove with veto power over the Gray Commission. To lose Lady Harre is to potentially lose one of Ordorm's most crucial allies. Grin Friy? What about him? Here is a pacifist and political moderate whose life mission is the prevention of war at any and all costs, even if it means making great sacrifices. I wouldn't mind seeing him die, considering that I have no love for appeasers, but no doubt the duke would see differently. After all, it is true that Ordorm is an almost insignificant country in comparison to Windrove, and in a war, Ordorm's chances of victory are minimal, bearing in mind that Windrove has the advantage of a vast population. Ordorm has superior generals and technology, plus one hidden ally, but even with every advantage, we could win every battle and still lose the war. To assassinate a moderate like Grin Friy would only make the belligerent voices even louder. War would ensue. The duke aims to avoid this. No, Grin Friy is not her target.

But as I say, as Ordorm's top general and the architect of her superior forces, I would not be saddened to see the likes of Grin Friy in a funeral pyre. Those like myself feed on blood. I welcome war, and a war against Windrove would be the ultimate test of my creation and intellect. Though as a member of the Ordish emissary, I will do as my duke requests. I will pay the Windrovians every courtesy I can manage, and by the conference's completion, we will have sustained the peace. This is what my duke wishes, and this I will achieve.

Still the question of the duke's sister goes unanswered.

I watch her as she eats, taking slow deliberate bites with her silver taleps. As royalty, most eyes are on her. The servants attend her first. Her neighbors seek her input on a variety of subjects, and she replies pleasantly. Even as she chews, a smile remains on her face. She laughs at appropriate times and offers bits of humor herself, to which everyone else laughs, save her. It's improper to laugh at one's own jokes.

It occurs to me, as it does whenever she crosses my path, the brilliance of using her in such a capacity. Nobody would ever suggest that someone so pleasant and attractive could be an assassin. It would be easier to accuse the duke himself. How perfect. Were she even a hint fouler, the unwelcome yet obvious fact that death follows her everywhere might take shape.

She takes a bite of king roefish, looks to Grin Friy and grins. I realize I'm staring and turn to my own roefish, which I devour quickly.

"What is your interest in the Lady Autumn?" asks a voice to my left. I cringe and glance at the source of the voice. Lili Rand, Minister of Storms and one of my fellow members of the Ordish emissary. I hadn't noticed her sit down. "You've hardly taken your eyes off her since her arrival."

With a scowl, I reply, "I can appreciate beauty, can't I?"

"Perhaps. But why would any man want to tempt himself with something so untouchable?"

"You're not a man," I comment. She acknowledges that with a nod.

"Still, perhaps someday she will relinquish the drop and again open herself to suitors." The 'drop' Lili Rand refers to is the black gem on Lady Autumn's forehead. Anyone familiar with Ordish culture knows that the drop indicates a woman in mourning for a dead husband. It's presence makes her untouchable, and were any man to proposition himself to one with the drop would make his life forfeit, though it is rare for any woman to invoke the Mourner's Rule. "She has kept herself very well, though. It would not surprise me if she were to welcome one such as you."

"She won't," I say. "She will mourn until death." I believe it too, even though I speak only from impressions. I have hardly spoken a dozen words with the Lady Autumn since I first met her all those many years ago.

I turn away from Lili Rand and sink back into my thoughts.

Someone will die, and I've spent the obvious choices. Who are the less obvious possibilities? Someone in the Ordish emissary? There is Lili Rand, Young Bluesh, and myself. To kill me, Lord General of the Ordish military, would be to open the borders and welcome the Windrovian dictatorship, and I can't imagine anyone, no matter how insane, wanting to do that. Lili Rand, Minister of Storms, lacks even a single cell of treachery and is therefore too loyal to ever consider assassinating. Young Bluesh? The duke's cousin. I can't help but scoff at the notion. Better to kill the royal hound. Unless Young Bluesh is contemplating a coup d'etat, his death would accomplish nothing, and Young Bluesh lacks the intelligence to even consider seizing power. He joins us only to add royal status to the envoy, and with the duke's sister present, nobody can think of any reason to acknowledge the elderly imbecile anyway, who sits silently at the corner of the table shoveling custard into his mouth. I can't help but pity the man at times.

Or it might be that the duke had sent her along to deal with some bit of business that had nothing at all to do with the conference. The duke is a fair man and not one to command frivolous assassinations, so whatever the issue, it must be one of utmost importance. Perhaps he is taking this opportunity to kill a spy that had been troubling him for some time, or perhaps there is some issue of state that might only be resolved by a sprinkle of poison. Such issues do materialize from time to time, and as Lord General, I'd imagine I arrange for such mortal dismissals even more often than the duke himself. After all, I do have a few assassins of my own, though none with the perfection of the Lady Autumn.

A sprinkle of poison. I lift my gaze back to the duke's sister. When would she strike? On her left sits some Ordish noble and on her right is an important Windrovian bureaucrat, members of each of our respective entourages, and they chat as if our lands are best of friends. Maybe she means to kill one of these two, not that I can come to a viable reason why. Still, I can't help but watch her hands for a quick flick of poison into a plate or a cup, though in her sleeveless dress, it is beyond me where she might conceal any poison. Then again, I'm sure the Lady Autumn has her methods.
*
Following the uneventful dinner and the usual pleasantries, I steal to my rooms on the top floor of the east wing and call for a glass of dry, white wine. One of my servants, a boy who goes simply by Lock, enters shortly and sets the glass on my desk. He hangs his head, waiting for further instruction. I study him for a moment.

"Something is going on here," I tell him softly. He peers at me out of the top of his eyes and smiles. He may appear to be a mere servant, but in truth, he's my most skilled of spies. "Have you been into any mischief lately?"

"What kind, sir?"

I straighten in my chair and tap a finger on my lower lip. How can I relay my concerns without letting him know about Lady Autumn? I wonder if he already knows about her. Lock can be surprisingly resourceful. Quite often he divulges to me some tidbit of information I believed known only to myself.

"Do you know of anyone of exceptional importance traveling with either emissary? Anyone traveling secretly."

"Like a spy, sir?"

"Perhaps."

"One or two, sir. But they're hardly important. They just tell little secrets to weak little nobles."

I dismiss those with a wave of my hand. Lady Autumn is much too critical a weapon to waste on menial spies.

"Then have you learned anything at all I might find important?"

"I overheard some whisperings you might like, sir."

"About what?"

"War, sir."

I tip my head forward. "Tell me more," I command.

"It's the man with the long, white hair, sir."

"Jun Shy," I whisper.

"May be, sir. I can't say I know his name."

"Continue."

"Yes, sir. Early on, before breakfast even, I decided to go for a little walk over in the east wing. You see, I met a lovely lady yesterday sometime, and I hoped to talk her out of a few more pinches of sugar, since it really is quite good sometimes. Anyway sir, I wasn't sure which room was hers, so I walked from room to room and listened just a bit, since I know her voice and all, but at one door I heard the most curious talk, though I didn't know who it was at first, since the door was closed and all. But I stood and listened and heard one fellow say to the other that an army is traveling east and the other said there would be no war, but the first fellow said that of course there would be a war and this was all foolishness. That's all they said about that, sir."

"Who was the other voice?"

"I'm not sure sir, but he was a very bitter sort and he had no hair at all. I remember that much."

"No hair," I consider. "General Smoa. It must be. But I haven't seen so much of a glimpse of him. He must be hiding somewhere. But why would he be here? And in secret?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Of course not. But if you see him again, let me know immediately."

"Yes sir."

Something occurs to me. "How did you know who the voices were if the door was closed?"

"Well, I had to be clever sir. You see, I opened the door and apologized as if I went the wrong way."

"They may have seen your face."

"Not so, sir. I was very careful."

"I'll trust you were. Anything else of interest today?"

"Not so much as a whisper, sir. I didn't even get my sugar."

"Should I reward you with sugar then?"

"Maybe sir, though it's getting late and I could really use another bit of beer."

I nod. "Tell the kitchen I said you can have another glass of beer. But just one. I want your wits about you in case you come across anything more."

A wide grin spreads across Lock's face. "Yes sir, yes sir." He bows and runs off.

An interesting boy. A few years back, I caught him trying to raid my pocket for valuables. He found only a prison cell. Then at his trial, so many nobles came forward to testify against him – dozens in fact – that I knew I had discovered a true talent. Many even claimed he had pilfered from then numerous times, even going as far as to sneak into there houses at night. Of course, not one noble could identify their thief with utter certainty, but still he admitted to every accusation without any suggestion of gloating. Of course the court found him guilty, but instead of suffering the pickpocket's punishment of chopped off thumbs and a brand on each cheek, I invited him into my service. It was a wise decision for both of us.

The next morning, I wake to find Lock standing over me. "I've found him sir," he tells me, a look of glee on his face. I roll out of bed and rub my eyes. By the orange spilling through the window, I guess it to be sunrise. Usually I don't wake for another turn of the wheel, but as a soldier, the lost sleep has no affect on me.

"Here sir," Lock says, rushing to the window and opening the shades. I follow him and peer outside, careful to keep myself concealed.

"That's him," I confirm, noticing the bald man on horned steed, who is preparing for a departure. General Smoa, my counterpart on the Windrovian side. It's accepted by all that he has neither the experience nor the intelligence of myself, but nobody doubts that he is formidable in his own right. His genius lies in the realm of plains warfare, which makes perfect sense, in that Windrove is nothing but plains. Were war to break out, I would avoid meeting him there if I could. In the mountains or at sea, however, I'd slaughter him. At least until we fell prey to superior numbers.

"An army moving to the east," I think out loud. Keeping in mind that Ordorm lies on the north-eastern edge of Windrove, I can only guess that this army is positioning itself to attack Ordorm.

The gates open, and Smoa and two others ride off to the west, veering off to the north while still in view.

"Politics and war," I say. "If only I were a politician, maybe this would all make sense." I gander toward Lock. "You've proven your worth once again. Tell me what you want, and you'll get it."

"Maybe a bit more of that sugar, sir. I do like it, and it makes breakfast taste so much better."

I nod. "I'll see to it. In the meantime, keep your eyes and ears open. Pay especially close attention to the Shy. He may be more important than I had originally thought."

The boy bows and runs off. I turn back to the window and watch the sunrise.

War. The mere thought of war thrills me. War gives a warrior a purpose, gives him a reason to exist. But my duke demands peace, and I will do everything within my power to maintain the peace. Still, the temptation to simply allow this all to come to fruition is nearly irresistible.

Lady Autumn's presence here seems suddenly more feasible, when considering Jun Shy and General Smoa in the same room. The boy had said that the Shy championed for peace, but that he would even have such connections turned him into the most likely target. Or perhaps Smoa himself was her target. He could be clutching his gut right now, about to topple off his horned steed, or maybe she slipped him something that would slowly kill him over the course of a week. There were some truly cruel poisons in existence.

I will know for certain if she departs today. Once that happens, her work here is finished.

I bathe, dress, and eat breakfast, which is a sweet pastry that's so rich it hurts my teeth. I don't even bother putting on my taleps before eating. Dirty fingers don't bother me today, which is a dangerous feeling.

Next up: With my bodyguards, one on each side, I make my way to the conference hall, taking a slight detour. By the time I arrive, I'm a tad late, and everyone on both sides of the conflict has already arrived and waits patiently and silently in their chairs surrounding the broad wide table of white marble.

Maybe that explains the desire to possess this place: the opulence. Marble tables. Walls of redwood and gold. Glass ceilings in certain rooms that reveal the sky: rooms like this one. Paintings, some of which so valuable they could feed the poorer lands of the far north for a decade. There is certainly value here, everywhere, and yet the place is a leach of resources. Were war to break out, I would not want to be in a position to defend it. How much would it cost just to haul water to an adequate regiment of troops? I've heard of places across the sea with giant airships that might easily provide required supplies, but we have no such luxury here. Perhaps I should seek this technology out. Yes, that is a notion I must seriously entertain.

"Welcome Lord General," Grin Friy chirps. I nod as I take my seat.

"My tardiness could not have been helped," I lie. In truth, my aforementioned detour consisted of a leisurely stroll down to the stables to visit my steed. While there, I also spent a few moments discussing comings-and-goings with the keeper, though try as I might, he was unwilling to say anything of any recent visitors. Still, the cautious glances he shared with his two sons spoke volumes. I have no doubt that family just discovered a newfound wealth. I wish them the best.

"Of course not," Grin Friy agrees. He pays me a smile, which I ignore. As I say, I dislike this man.

"And what is on the table today?" Young Bluesh inquires, apparently trying to sound useful. I'm not sure why Lili Rand and I even allow him to attend the meetings.

Grin Friy replies: "I'm sure the same issue that has been troubling for the past two days."

"Which is?" Young Bluesh asks.

I scowl in his direction. "This damned debate over this accursed splotch of land," I say. Everyone laughs but Young Bluesh.

It is true that everyone feels the same as I, and on that point I do share some ground with Grin Friy. The Red Flats are useless, a fact everyone is aware of save our leaders.

Jun Shy leans forward. "Yes, yes," he says. "And I bring some striking news of which all here must be aware." I catch my expression before it turns to one of shock. Briefly I study the faces of the others, to find nothing but patient curiosity. "Last night I had a visit from General Smoa, who informed me, much to my dismay, that troops are now being put in position to invade Ordorm." Gasps all around from Windrovians and Ordish alike.

Grin Friy stands. "How dare they! Even before we've exhausted all options."

"Are we wasting our time here then?" Lili Rand whispers into my ear. I simply shake my head and say nothing. It occurs to me then the certain brilliance of relaying Smoa's words at this time. Suddenly Windrove has gained the upper hand. They are preparing for war as Ordorm's Lord General is stuck at Red Flats. At least now that the information is public, it is possible for me to send a rider with a warning to the Duke. My only hope is that Simple Farsh, Minister of Gore, leaves the combat decisions to my under-generals. Simple Farsh is a fool above fools. I would feel more comfortable with Young Bluesh in the position, who would probably just crawl into a closet with a bottle and a prostitute. At least he would stay out of the way. Farsh, on the other hand, has no vice but power and control.

I wonder how I can best counter Jun Shy's sudden push for Windrovian dominance. "Should we abandon this effort and prepare for war then?" I ask. I focus on Grin Friy as I say this. Briefly I glance at Lady Harre, who wears such a look of ire that unseen flames dance in her eyes. Her sympathies lie where, I wonder. Does she side with her husband?

"It is yet too early to simply walk away from this table," Grin Friy says.

"And yet," Lady Harre says, her voice surprisingly mild, "it seems the Gray Commission has already concluded that these talks will break down. I smell a conspiracy."

"The Commission bleeds conspiracy," Jun Shy says with a nod. "The question is whether or not the Empress is part of this."

Lili Rand and I exchange a glance. This is the first time either of us have heard such distain for the Gray Commission from our counterparts. Did Jun Shy actually impart this knowledge, as I previously thought, to gain the upper hand, or did he speak out of sheer disgust with Windrove's tactics?

"Does the Empress matter?" Lady Harre asks. "She is a pawn of the Commission, just as we are."

"Then you do not give her enough credit," Grin Friy says, "but please, let's keep to our talks. War may yet be averted."

"What, exactly, did the general tell you," Lili Rand asks Jun Shy. Good question. I wish I'd thought of it first.

"I've told everything," Jun Shy replies. That, of course, draws a curious eye from me. Thanks to Lock, I know of another detail not present in the Shy's earlier statement. The troops are traveling east. Not north or west, but east. Perhaps it's just that such a point seems useless for anyone but a warrior like myself. Or perhaps he made a conscious decision to exclude this. I can read nothing one way or the other in his expression.

"Why would General Smoa come to you?" I ask.

At this, Jun Shy's wrinkled face darkens. His eyes narrow. His lips sour. "I spent much of the night asking myself this same question."

"And what are your conclusions?"

"That he seeks an alliance with my order."

"Would you ally with him?"

"Were war to ensue, it is highly likely the Order of the Seventh Dawn would ally with Windrove against Ordorm."

Honest. And his honestly explains the earlier omission.

"But at present, my goal is only one of peace, as commanded by the Viceroy, also a member of my order."

"You would side with our land, even if the Commission actively sabotaged these talks?" Lady Harre asks.

At this Grin Friy's eyes widen, "my lady, your words are close to treason!"

She ignores him. My respect for Lady Harre grows.

"We will protect you if you wish to defect," Lili Rand says.

"I've made no such suggestion and nor will I," Lady Harre spits. "I am Windrovian, and I will remain Windrovian. The Order of the Seventh Dawn, on the other hand, can choose. It belongs to itself and only to itself. At present, Windrove holds no sway over it and its decisions."

"This may be true, in theory," Jun Shy says. "But is it not also true that Windrove merely allows us to remain as we are? That it does not remove our property rights and force us to become citizens? No, we are not beholden to Windrove, but the unspoken threat that all can be appropriated for the state looms over us always."

"Flee to the north," I suggest. "In Ordorm or any neighboring land, you could simply buy and own any available plot you choose."

"Yes, but to do so would be to abandon our hospitals and our orphanages. This cannot be done. Poverty is rampant in Windrove, and too many depend on us now."

"Poverty is not as bad as my colleague suggests," Grin Friy mumbles. "But it is true that the order does serve a purpose. That said, I believe we should return to the topic at hand, for it seems apparent to me that no ultimate decision has been made. We can still prevent war!"

"I am not so certain," Lady Harre hisses. "I cannot foresee any way in which any of us can change events that are already in play, and it is obvious that war is in its early stages. No, Grin Friy, none of us can prevent war. Only the Gray Commission can halt this now, and unlike the Viceroy, they have no interest in the Red Flats."

"Then it was a ruse," Lili Rand says. "A way to buy time. To keep us occupied while Windrove's armies maneuver into strategic positions."

"This is also my assumption," Lady Harre says. She glances at me. "And your Lord General is here. Were he to leave now... this instant, he would not arrive in time to prepare the troops."

"But we don't know where General Smoa's troops are. They could be leagues away from their desired position."

"He would not have risked revealing himself to any of us were he not certain time was on his side."

This seems likely, though I am furious with myself for not coming to these conclusions last night. Had they come to me then, perhaps an immediate departure could have accomplished something. Now it is most likely too late. Still, I would have to leave the Flats by mid-afternoon, and damn the Duke and his expectations of peace.

Something occurs to me. "The Lady Autumn, has she left yet?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Lili Rand says in a tone that implies she's chasing the relevance of my question.

"We must make certain our royalty is safe," I say, hopeful that will put all curiosity to sleep. Or perhaps Lili Rand will simply conclude that I'm concerned for a woman she believes I fancy.

In truth, I am now all but certain her target is none other than Jun Shy. If she hasn't poisoned him yet, she will soon, and I'd imagine it will be a long-term poison, one that will gradually destroy him over the next week, or however long it will take him to return to the Viceroy. Make sure he dies either in the Viceroy's court or among his subjects, and those of his order will become much less likely to join with the Windrovian forces. Exclude the Order of the Seventh Dawn, and the Windrovians will be without medical assistance, a great disadvantage.

Although if that's true, wouldn't it also be true that the Duke himself expects war?

I smile. I cannot help myself. My duke is wiser than I thought. He expected this move by the Windrovians, and he acted. And why would he send me? To pretend his ignorance, of course. As Lady Harre said, my presence here cripples the Ordish. Or at least, that is what this image implies. Perfect. Imagine General Smoa's surprise when he discovers our forces ready and waiting with the Order of the Seventh Dawn within our ranks.

"What are you thinking?" Lili Rand whispers into my ear. The others, excluding Young Bluesh, are discussing whatever or what-have-you amongst themselves.

"That we need to make preparations to leave," I whisper back. "Young Bluesh can remain to continue deliberations, if he so desires. But I have a feeling you and I will be needed soon."

"Yes," Lili Rand agrees. "And we need to warn the Lady Autumn as well."

"Perhaps," I say. "If she hasn't left already."

With that, I stand. "I am sorry, but the Minister of Storms and I must make our exit. We leave our companion, Young Bluesh, to complete what we've started here, and we hope whatever agreement you reach benefits both our lands." I waste no time in exiting the room, Lili Rand close behind. I do not look back.

On the other side of the door, I hold my fingers over my lips and beckon for Lili Rand to follow. We travel from hall to hall until we reach my chambers. I command my body guards to wait five paces from my door and make sure nobody approaches. Lili Rand sits on the corner of my bed and crosses her arms as I check behind every curtain for eavesdroppers. I even glance on the ledge outside my window and under the bed. Nothing. We're alone.

I proceed to relate to Lili Rand my conclusions, excluding Lady Autumn's role in all of this. She listens with increasingly widening eyes, and when I finish, she says, "I do hope you're right, though I admit, the Duke has never struck me as so clever a person before."

"Nor has he to me, but I can come to no conclusion other than this, and if I am even partially correct, our attentions will still be required up north. Mine most of all."

"Yes, I do not dispute that under any conclusions."

"Then could you ready the party for departure? Not everyone. Just enough to provide us with an armed escort. We need speed at this point. The others can wait for Young Bluesh and perhaps provide him with an illusion of importance."

"You are cruel to him."

"Because he is useless, and I am a soldier. I've no use for useless people. They are an extravagance I cannot afford."

She sighs. "I'll do what you ask."

"Thank you. I would do this myself, but there are some things I must take care of before our departure."

"Such as?"

"Issues of intelligence. And hurry, before the Windrovians decide they'd rather keep us here, or worse."

Lili Rand nods and exits, a haste in her step.

Now for my part.

I move into the next room and plop down at my desk, pull out a pen and three sheets of paper, and begin writing. I've no choice but to assume I'm right. No other option seems feasible, and we must now prepare for war. On each sheet I write the same thing: The north comes to your aid.

After folding the sheets appropriately, I extract my wax and melt it over a candle. Four droplets fall onto the each note, which I seal with the Lord General's signet ring.

There are wide networks of revolutionaries all throughout Windrovia, networks only few of us have access to. For years they have been waiting, knowing their success depends only on an alliance with some northern military superpower, and in truth, the sentiment is mutual. Without a revolt from these revolutionaries, Ordorm's defeat is all but certain. Windrovian numbers are simply too great. These revolutionaries are our hidden ally of which I earlier spoke.

I push the notes into envelopes and seal them in the same manner but with a generic impression. There. Done, with only to see them sent off with reliable riders. I ring my service bell and a young woman enters after a moment. "Bring me Fith Hild," I tell her. She curtsies and scrambles off.

In short while, Fith Hild, perhaps my most trusted soldier, arrives, breastplate ever glistening, his Kag polished and ready for violence. In a skirmish with Nohrfahn some years back, a country that has since become a staunch ally, Fith came to my aid at a dire moment, and I've never forgotten his actions.

"I've a task of utmost importance for you," I tell him, "and I put a great deal of faith in you and your discretion." He slaps his chest, the soldier's sign of understanding and compliance.

"Listen closely. I have three messages here. I've written neither recipient nor destination on the inside or outside. Those you must remember. The first must go to a woman named Feil – just Feil, no last name. In fact, none of these have last names that you need to know. You'll find Feil at the corner house with the black steeple in the town of Valug. Hand the first message to her and say nothing. Do not even stay if she asks you to. This task I ask you to handle personally. For the second envelope, you must choose someone you trust, and to him or her, relay the following: The recipient is a man called Lich who can be found in the costal town of Kabal. He is a fisherman who sleeps on his boat. This boat is unique because it is of the Island Windrovika variety, and most likely the only such boat on the east coast. If there are others, he can know for certain by looking for the uniquely black mast. For the third letter, you must pick another trusted rider who will deliver it to a farmhouse just north of Spire itself. So long as this person follows the Cris Road, the correct farmhouse is easy to find. Look for a black flagpole flying the Windrovian banner. The contact there will be Naol. Understand?"

"I do."

"Then repeat it to me." He does as told, missing nothing. There is a no more competent soldier. "Choose your fellow riders carefully. And like yourself, none can remain after delivering the message. Bring all the food and water you'll need. All must return to Ordorm immediately after delivering the message. Now go, and ride quickly. I want you on riding before midday."

Again he slaps his chest before rushing out.

I take a deep breath. Things are now in action. War is inevitable, and the thrill of it nearly overwhelms me. Call it a sick thrill, if you choose, but this is who I am. I spent years preparing for this, the ultimate test of my skills and my fighting force. Will I succeed? If everything goes as planned… if all messages are delivered… if the Duke prepares adequately for the invasion… if all technology operates as it was designed… if the Windrovians are careless and waste their vast population… if the Gray Commission's spies are inept… if I can avoid facing General Smoa on the plains... if, if, if, so many ifs. If all goes as planned, we might be successful, but it will be a rough war no matter how successful we are. Even if victorious, I've no doubt that the Ordish numbers will suffer, making us vulnerable to other armies of other lands, but I cannot focus on that now. Too many ifs. For now, I can allow myself only to perform my duty for Ordorm and do my best to bring about victory.

I realize that I'll need to pack a few things and pull the cord above to call back the servant. She doesn't come. I give it another tug, this time harder, and the cord falls limply onto the floor. "Damn my soldier's arms," I say, lifting the end for a brief examination. I drop it immediately. This cord has been cut.

I lurch to my feet and rush into the other room. On the floor next to my bed lays a bloodied Lock, a wide-eyed look of anguish splashed across his face. A knife reaches from his chest. I recognize the hilt. It belongs to me.

"The boy," I say. "She assassinates the boy. Why?"

"Not quite," comes a feminine voice from behind. It's then I feel the blade in my back, and I collapse. A mortal stab. Things go dark briefly, but I return, finding myself on the floor next to the boy and staring up at Lady Autumn. I try to breathe, but cough only blood. Her white dress is spotless, something I marvel at. So perfect.

"My brother is a fool," she tells me, shaking her head. "But I do as he asks."

If only I could speak to ask her why, but I can't. The best I can manage is a shake of the head. She interprets the meaning.

"Why? To avert war at all costs, of course, and he is willing to sacrifice his Lord General to assure that. The Gray Commission has mislead him. They tell him this is the only way to ensure peace. Their lies are apparent, but it isn't up to me to think. I'm just his assassin. I do what he asks me. This is my penance for my husband's crimes, and as long as I mourn, I've no choice." She shakes her head. "I was told to watch you until you sent out your riders and then to kill you. Somehow he knew you would send out riders." Again she shakes her head. "My brother is a fool." With that, she exits. I try and follow her with my eyes, but my neck has lost feeling.

Killed by my duke. I'm torn between sleep and war. Should I rest or should I fight? I know I'll die anyway. Her fingers were sure, and the blade was deadly.

But then I realize it wasn't me they wanted. My death was little more than a sweet addition to a more devious plot. It all comes clear. It was the revolutionaries. I've just incited a revolution. Everything was staged for the sole purpose of inspiring me to send out those riders. A revolution will ensue that the Gray Commission can easily suppress, destroying our most crucial ally. Then what? There's no stopping them from sending their armies north. Were I alive, perhaps I could stop it or force Ordorm into action, but with my death, so dies the only person who understands what has ensued and why.

It's brilliant. Perhaps Ordorm deserves to fall.

It's useless to fight.

I'll sleep soon.