Part 43

After telling Tempest everything they knew about Verin and the Lost Victor, Tempest sat back in his chair and thought.  His face was completely calm.  She looked over to Alethia for any kind of clue as to what Tempest was thinking.  Alethia was likewise unreadable. 

Finally Tempest spoke up. 

“There’s two possibilities,” he said. “Either you’re pulling a joke on me, in which case I’ll react with anger and possibly violence.  Or you are both delusional and need a holiday to get your heads turned around the proper way.”

“It’s true, Temp.  He’s the Lost Victor,” Alethia said.

“Second option it is.  At least I won’t have to hurt any of you.”  The enormous Minotaur stood up and went over to his armor that was hanging from pegs on the wall.  “I have more important things to do now.  I must polish my armor, take a nap and get a snack.”

Greza couldn’t believe it.  The Bull of the prophecy didn’t believe it.  After Verin she probably should have been expecting it, but she had imagined this going better than it was.

“Nothing we said sunk in?”  Alethia asked.

Tempest whirled around, snorted and barred his sharp teeth.  His power and anger filled the room.  Both her and Alethia recoiled back from the sudden fury of the great beast.

“Sunk in?  Yes, it’s sunk in.  Alethia, you chase dreams and adventures.  I know you have a need to collect all the memories you can, but this is ridiculous.  I don’t care if you waste your time but don’t waste mine.  Greza, you’re one of the best scouts I’ve seen and a soldier like few others, but you’re a fanatic that insists a dead religion is still true.  It’s not and no one cares about your Divine Lights anymore.  The sooner you two see the truth the sooner you can get back to doing something useful.”

They were then shown the door and had it slammed behind them. 

“He took it better than I thought he would,” Alethia said. 

“At least you believe me.”

“That’s two of us.  Now we need to convince others.”

“Mercenaries aren’t known for being particularly religious or open minded.”

Greza walked back to her room, disappointed that Tempest thought it foolishness, but excited that she had at least one other person that knew the truth. 

When she got back to her room Onata was there playing a tuneless song on the flute.

“Where you been?”  Onata asked.

“Talking to Duke Verin.”

Onata’s left brow raised.

“Talking, huh?”

“Onata, you’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“I already do.”

“I told the Duke that he’s the Lost Victor.”

“The what?  You are crazy.”

Greza explained everything that had happened about the priest, the prophecy and Alethia’s discovery about Verin’s hand. 

“Very well,” Onata said.  “My dad used to do something with me when he didn’t believe my stories.  He would run through the scenario as if I was right.  So, let’s assume you’re right about this.  If the Duke is the Promised Victor, then who are these others that we can find?”

“The Bull and Raven I’ve already found.  Then there’s the Witness that will proclaim him to the world.  Then there’s the Princess that will marry him and start a new dynasty.  Then there’s the Defender who will save his life on more than one occasion.”

“How do we recognize these others?”

“I don’t know.  There is more scripture about the prophecies in books that I don’t have.  Those books are usually reserved for priests and such.”

“Then it sounds like your next step is finding one of these books.”

“You’ll help me then?”

“Sure.  Got nothing else to do. Just remember that I think all this is a chamber pot that hasn’t been emptied in a week.”

Greza would take any help she could get.  She hadn’t realized how tiring it had been to carry the secret alone.  It felt good to have help.  That night during her prayers she gave extra thanks to the Divine Lights.

Over the course of the winter she found herself training new recruits in hand-to-hand.  The training masters told her story of how she was a hero to every new recruit and to her consternation they embellished it to the point where even she thought she was a hero. 

She never yelled at the recruits like the training masters did.  She spoke kindly to them and gave nothing but encouragement.  Yet they were still frightened of her.  Whenever someone did something wrong she’d ask them to step forward to spar.  She gained the reputation of being able to transform into a demon.  She just told them not to confuse meekness for weakness. 

Greza checked the Duke’s library several times but it did not contain the book she needed: Prophecies of the Winter Prophet.   The book was considered by most to be too confusing, esoteric and boring for the lay people.

More messengers were sent out to other kingdoms and mercenary companies.  Every day the war grew closer.  Few people knew what it was about but some suspected that it would be the Empire. 

“I’ve never seen this much preparation for a campaign before,” she overheard one old veteran said.

This was only her second winter here but already she could see that the atmosphere of the fortress was different.  Crates of provisions were being stacked already and the training was far more demanding. 

Her and Onata were sent out again to deliver a message to another mercenary company to the south.  The mercenary general in charge there laughed at first at the idea of a company hiring another company but when he read Duke Verin’s letter the smile vanished from his face. 

“He’s serious,” the tall, thin man said.  He wore gold and blue silks and didn’t look like a soldier to her, but Onata insisted that the Storm Spears were one of the best. 

“He’s very serious,” Greza said.

“You know this is madness, right?  No army can take on the Empire and expect to survive.”

The man picked up a jeweled chalice and took a deep drink.  He held it like one of the dandy fops she had seen in her Master’s court.  This man had more in common with a woman than other men. His hair was long and braided and she saw traces of makeup.  

“No one army,” Onata said.  “That’s why we’re getting many armies.”

“No, no, no.  I’m not going to risk my precious men on an idiotic adventure that’s doomed to failure.”

“It’s not doomed to failure,” Greza said.

“Oh?  And how much does a grunt know about such things?  You’ve fought in dozens of campaigns?  Studied the art of war for decades?”

Onata gave a barely perceptible shake of the head to warn her about any mention of the prophecy. 

“Lord Decaron, our Duke is not one to enter into such things lightly,” Greza said.  “He would never attack the Empire unless he saw a way to win.  Also, think about what you have to gain if we win. Land within the Empire.  Fortune like the kind that only Imperial nobles know of.”

She was about to end it there but then she had a feeling to push further with this man.  He dressed like a fop but she knew there had to be more to him that what was apparent. 

“Lord, also think of this as a chance to right so many wrongs.  For generations the Empire has kept everyone in subjugation.  The difference between slave and citizen is growing less and less every year.  The Empire does as it wants; throwing anyone that dare questions it into dungeons where they’re never heard from again.  Whole families go missing and the rights that were once sacred to the People are all but gone.  Tell me, Lord Decaron, what have you lost to the Empire and what would it be worth to get it back?”

Decaron’s eyes went wide and his knuckles whitened around his goblet. 

“You know nothing, girl,” he whispered. 

“I know that injustice can only reign so long.  Justice will eventually prevail.”

“What I lost cannot be regained.”

“Then let it be avenged.”

Decaron threw his goblet to the side and stormed out of the room.   

They waited the night in a guest room where Onata asked over and over again if she had lost her mind. The entire time she wondered if she had blundered. She ran the conversation over and over again in her head.  She had said what she thought was right and couldn't do any more or any less.

“Decaron will never sign now.  I’m not sure what you said, but you pissed him off and that’s seldom a good thing to do when trying to convince someone to join your side.”

In the morning they were summoned to Decaron’s office.  He was dressed in thick robes and wore a thin crown on his head.  He didn’t look at them as the entered and only waved them to come nearer.  

He didn't look happy.

“Tell your Duke that I think he’s insane,” Decaron said.

Greza’s stomach tightened as she thought about the report she’d have to give to Duke Verin.  She had angered Decaron and practically ensured that he wouldn’t agree. 

But then Decaron continued. 

“And tell him that he should make room for one more in his mad house.”

He handed them a message scroll and waved them off with a thin hand covered in rings.