Chapter 1973: Precarious

"Merciful Light, she’s aligned herself with the demons..."

For several moments, Argidir didn’t know what to say, and Dylan didn’t press him. Any lord worth his title was prepared with plans for the events that he expected, contingencies for the ones he dreaded, and a scattering of ideas that would only be useful if something fanciful happened, but no one prepared for events like this.

While Argidir tried to marshal his thoughts, Amren picked up the fallen letter, reading it over silently while he watched his father sink. The expression on his face grew darker and darker the more he read, until, by the end, he resembled one of the clouds of coal smoke that hung low over the city when the winds were still and the weather poor.

"Father," Amren said, swallowing heavily as he watched his father grapple with the enormity of the news. "We need to inform Grand Inquisitor Dorothus," he said. "The sooner he knows..."

"We need to do nothing of the sort!" Argidir snapped, turning a furious gaze at his son. "You don’t speak a word, not one single word, of what you’ve heard or read here tonight. Not to your sister Meredydd, not to your butler, and most certainly not to that smooth-headed snake in crimson!"

"Defy me in this, Son, and see yourself gelded and your name stricken from the family line," Argidir warned. "I put my trust in you when Dylan said his news was too important to give to anyone else, and he put his trust in you when he didn’t ask me to send you away. Don’t make either of us regret that."

"Y-yes, Father," Amren said, caught completely off guard by his father’s sudden fury. It wasn’t that he’d never seen his father’s temper flare; it was just that, for the first time since he’d come of age, that fury was directed at him.

"Light, Dylan," Argidir sighed as he looked at his old friend. "This is treason."

"What Ashlynn has done?" Dylan said carefully. "Or the fact that I’ve carried her letter to you?"

"Both," Argidir said flatly. "The Church will call it blasphemy. The Crown will call it treason. The Ruling Council will call you whatever they need to if it helps the rest of them drag me down. Or Rhys Blackwell. They won’t spare him over this either. Even if he’s done nothing, Huchon will demand his head over this... Maela may not escape it either."

When Argidir spoke, he didn’t sound like a duke addressing his vassal. He spoke like a friend. It had been years since Dylan followed Argidir around the kingdom, serving as his squire at a time when neither man had inherited their fathers’ legacies.

Dylan had been more than just a squire. He’d been Argidir’s second in more than a dozen duels, and he’d been the sword at Argidir’s side when they got into trouble that mere titles and threats couldn’t keep them out of.

In the years since the wild days of their youth, as both men grew into the stations to which they’d been born, that friendship had taken on additional layers. Dylan was a staunch ally both in Keating’s Court and the Royal Court. Their children were even close, and when Argidir’s oldest daughter had left for the Royal Academy, Dylan’s son traveled with her in the same carriage.

But treason...

"Maela is safe," Dylan said. "Micheline too. The man who brought me Ashlynn’s message is taking them to Ashlynn in Lothian."

"So you’re throwing in with your niece?" Argidir asked. "You know I should hang you for that, don’t you?"

"Do I have a choice?" Dylan asked, holding his hands up helplessly as he shrugged. "I could raise an army and throw it at Otker Canyon tomorrow, and the next day, the Inquisition would still be at my door over this. I’ve spent days turning it over and over in my mind. The best solutions I can come up with involve sacrificing myself and my family in the hopes that DuCoumont County isn’t flattened by battles it can’t win."

"Your niece mentioned sending armies to Otker Canyon and the Little Horns," Argidir said. "How much do you know about her forces? Can she really hold her borders?"

"I don’t know much," Dylan said honestly. "The messenger didn’t stay for more than a few hours. Long enough for Micheline to pack for the journey. I can’t tell you how many soldiers she has under her banners, Eldritch or otherwise."

"I can tell you that she took Hanrahan in a single night," Dylan said. "Despite the presence of an Inquisitor from the Holy City, a Templar with a Holy Light Blade and Exemplar Domas Onaitis’s Disciple, Loman Lothian."

"So she got both Lothian brothers," Argidir said, furrowing his brow in thought. A scowl flickered across his face at the word ’Eldritch,’ but he quickly let it go. Using a ’heretical’ word to refer to demons was the least of their problems tonight.

"Did Loman die in the battle?" Argidir asked, focusing on the important part. If there was still a legitimate Lothian successor out there, it would make matters even more difficult, especially given Loman’s connection to the Church. It would be best for everyone if the line was truly dead.

"She took what’s left of him prisoner," Dylan said with a shudder. "The messenger seemed fairly confident that Loman would never be able to use the Church’s miracles in battle again. One of Ashlynn’s lieutenants tore off his arm and plucked out his eye. Something about Loman sacrificing acolytes to fuel his miracles."

"Tore off his..." Amren said, swallowing heavily as he found himself unable to finish the sentence.

"Argidir," Dylan said. "The people who Ashlynn has allied herself with have been fighting the Lothians for a hundred years... And they’ve been making fools of the Lothians for at least fifty of those years. We’ve been wrong about the forces of the Vale of Mists for some time now," he said bluntly.

"At some point, the Lady of the Vale decided it was better to keep tensions in the march to a simmer," Dylan explained. "She’s held back from crushing the Lothians for fear of provoking another Crusade. Once Bors brokered his ’Holy War’ with the Church, the Vale lost all reason to hold themselves back. What Owain did to Ashlynn amounted to throwing a match on oil-soaked rags."

"You’re saying that if we try to fight your niece, we’ll lose?" Argidir asked, raising a brow at Dylan.

"For the first year," Dylan said, pursing his lips as he nodded. "There’s nothing in Keating that can stop them if they throw their full might at us. We can make them pay for every league of ground," he added quickly. "But until the Saint arrives with his Exemplars and the Church organizes the full might of a Crusade, we’ll lose nine in every ten battles, eight if we’re lucky, and the ones we win will feel like defeats."

"You’re giving up already?" Amren said in disbelief. "Without even a single battle between us? Father, if we call up our vassals, we can field more than a hundred knights in less than a month, and an army of more than a thousand with ease. And that’s before we count the Templars, Inquisitors, and the Church’s Temple Guard..."

"Amren," Dylan interrupted, shaking his head. "It’s not enough. Whatever army you try to assemble, it’s not enough."

"I’m guessing she didn’t mention it in her letter," Dylan said, glancing briefly at the piece of parchment on the table. "Maybe she thought it would taint her offer to negotiate for peace, or... I don’t know. Despite everything, it seems like Ashlynn is working hard to restrain the scale of this conflict and prevent slaughter. She really is hoping that she can secure her borders and then negotiate with us and with the Kingdom of Gaal like any other foreign nation."

"But you should understand what it is you’re facing so you know just how bad of an idea opposing Ashlynn really is," Dylan said in a grave, dire tone.

"Ashlynn is a Great Witch," Dylan said. "The same as the Evil Queen of old. Only, Ashlynn already has four witches in her coven, and she hasn’t stopped making more. The Vampire she allied herself with is every bit as powerful, if not more so," he added. "With several ’progeny’ who could match an Exemplar in battle."

"That’s the force we’d be up against," Dylan said. "And nothing short of a Crusade will stop them if they decide to march against us."