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More from jodimest
I exceeded my character limit on the last chapter, so this is the absolute end of the story. Closure is good!
Kazimir slept and slept. He half-wondered if the Gods had forsaken him from the afterlife, condemning his spirit to wander in a state of half-consciousness for eternity. Only occasional hints of the mundane goaded him towards the belief that he wasn’t in fact dead. The telltale scent of burning oil. The sound of a distant altercation. The odd slammed door. These things had no place in the afterlife, and as all of this at last occurred to him he burst through the veil of dreams and awoke, finding himself in a familiar room in a familiar place.
Hetman Zhoka’s lofty palatial residence in Opaliye seemed more abuzz than usual. Cleaner. It was also better lit, with almost double the number of oil lanterns adorning the walls, lending a more inviting and extravagant air to the already haughty palace. Foreign scents intruded upon the typical, heady musk of the Rosomai. Vucari, Hirvi, Liskai. Sabalazmon. He shot out of bed only to find that his head was swimming. He had slept for… how long? He asked himself as he groggily looked himself over.
Two legs. Two arms. Ten fingers, ten toes. Both eyes, it seemed. Genitalia intact. There was a ragged scar on his chest, punctuated by a small, bald divot. A medicinal poultice was wrapped around his left leg, just below the knee. He also felt slimmer, smaller, like he had been before his exile from his old clan. The muscle he had built during the campaigns of the previous fall and winter seemed to be gone.
The door creaked open. Kazimir half expected one of his new friends to peer through the aperture, but it was merely a chambermaid come to check on him. She realized that he was awake and opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated at the last moment and swooped away. Timidity was not common among the Rosomai, even among servants. What brought this on, he wondered.
Moments later, Bianka swept in through the door. She didn’t waste a moment in smothering him with a near crushing embrace, made more uncomfortable by her suit of armor. He returned his embrace as best he could, though he doubted that she could feel it through the tightly bound plates of steel.
She kept this up without a word for what seemed like several minutes. Kazimir tried to find some way to break the awkward silence.
“It’s good to see you,” he croaked, realizing how dry his throat was. “How’s Zhoka?”
Bianka freed him at last, sitting down at the side of his bed. “In good health and spirits. The dignitaries have been doting on her for days.”
“Dignitaries?”
“The Battle of the Rookery is won, thanks to the assistance of the Rosomai. We have the gratitude of the Vucari, as well as a handful of Sabalazmon. I don’t know all the details, but there is talk that the Rosomai will join the Alliance. Hence, the visitors and all the commotion.”
“How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been unconscious for almost 3 weeks.”
“Gods! Wait, does that mean that Mauno used his healing magic on me? What happened?”
Bianka sighed. Her barely contained glee melted into a somber mood.
“That Sabalazi, Jassy, was the only one to see it. After the battle he said you ran forward and tried to stop their musketeers from shooting our lancers. In the confusion you were shot twice. Jassy shouted down the musketeers, showed them some sense. Hag did the same for our cavalrymen, but he was stuck by a musket and killed. By the time we found you and stripped you of your armor, there was little left of you. There was nothing we could do.”
“Hag is dead?”
“Yes. I understand that you and he were not the best of allies.”
“I… Regret that now. Hag saved my life more than once. He sought redemption more than anything. May his spirit be at rest, knowing that he fulfilled his duty.”
Kazimir coughed, more to clear some of the dryness in his throat than anything else. A dull ache persisted in his ribs.
“What about Mauno? Where is he?”
“Mauno,” Bianka hesitated, her eyes dampening, “He cast a spell. I’m not sure if it was a mistake due to his haste or if he intended to sacrifice himself all along, but he gave up his life energy to save you. All of it. He’s dead.”
There was a long silence. Kazimir felt no remorse. For some reason, he felt very little at all. Mauno had always hinted and spoken of his willingness to sacrifice for him. Both of them had come to terms with their mortality long before the Battle of the Rookery. They were kindred, each willing to sacrifice themselves for something greater, and now he was gone. The fact didn’t fill him with sadness. Rather, it emptied him.
“Mauno was a hero. He stood by his word until the very end. He deserves a place in the Rosomai legacy, in the stories and in the hall of ancestors. His sacrifice was not in vain.”
Bianka was silent for a long time. She remembered the first night she saw him, the same night she met Kazimir for the first time. There was a victorious warband of Druzhina, an evening of celebration shattered by betrayal. The female Hazor had infiltrated the feast as servants and courtesans, all at Zhoka’s behest. Mauno stood accused of treason, even drawing the suspicion of Kazimir, yet in spite of nearly being torn apart by the baying crowd only Mauno stood by Kazimir’s side when the evening was done. He had been a silent partner in this entire endeavor, and how he was gone.
“It is not my place to say this. I know that I doubted you at times. I did not always trust your intentions, nor did I always believe in success. Mauno never shared my skepticism. He gave you something no one else was willing to, not even I. He gave you his trust.”
She placed a hand on Kazimir’s shoulder. “If you want to honor his sacrifice, you must see your dream through. Give our people a future. Give us a legacy of honor, not just victory.”
Kazimir made his way to the throne room and was met with applause, some enthusiastic and some clearly forced. He admitted that he was nervous about Sabalazmon in the presence of Rosomai royalty, but Bianka appeared to have matters of security quite under control. Around the table were familiar faces. Baron Parkhaiev, the Vucari colonel, seemed little worse for the wear even after the desperate fighting of his small troop. Zhoka was dressed in her best finery, as elegant and composed as Kazimir imagined a Rosomai could look. An audience of mostly Vucari representatives and officers and a handful of Sabalazi delegates stood a stone’s throw away from the table, held back by the Hazor bodyguards. Ilkhan Jassy, the most unlikely of allies, sat to the left of Zhoka near a pair of bodyguards within a polearm’s reach. Some extravagantly dressed representatives sat in uncomfortable silence, giving him mixed looks as he approached an empty chair that Zhoka had placed to her right.
Ilkhan Jassy shot up from his chair and pressed his palms against his chest, bowing politely to the Rosomai. This elicited some shocked murmurs from the Sabalazi in the room.
“Prince Kazimir. It is good to see you again. I had a feeling it was a noble who had led my men into battle, but you should have mentioned you were a prince.”
“Technically, I am not. I am an exile from my clan.” Kazimir did his best to mimic Jassy’s bow, “Even so, I am very happy for your assistance. Your arrival was timely.”
Parkhaiev stood up next, taking Kazimir’s hand and shaking it.
“I think I can speak for everyone at the table that we are pleased to see you on your feet once more. That any of us stand at all is due in large part to your intervention.”
“Then I think you owe me an explanation about these proceedings,” Kazimir grinned wryly. If he read Bianka’s words correctly, these diplomatic talks had been underway for several days without him.
“At the very least. It is simple enough to summarize what has happened, as it has been disappointingly little. Please, sit.”
Everyone took their seats at the table. Tension hung in the air, old enmities and disputes barely kept in check.
“Kazimir, it has become apparent that my expedition, along with that of the Crown Khanzada, was never meant to succeed. From the standpoint of the Vucari, it was a token effort to curry favor with the Great Khan and strengthen the alliance between our people and the Sabalazmon.”
The white wolf began pacing, eyes scanning back and forth, “The Tsar and Tsarina apparently felt that it was best to engineer the failure of this endeavor by placing a notorious drunkard, me, in charge of the Vucari expedition. There is another wrinkle to this tale that I believe Ilkhan Jassy can fill you in on. Ilkhan?”
Jassy stood up, shooting an acidic glare at some of his own associates, “I am here only because the Crown Khanzada, heir to the Azek Khanate, is too proud to stand in the company of the Rosomai. I apologize for his unwillingness to parley, as well as some others in this room.”
Jassy continued, “The truth of the matter is this. The Khanzada’s expedition was doomed to fail from the start, just as the Vucari’s was. It was the Great Khan’s intention that his son would die in battle far from the capitol. The Khanzada is a novice at politics, but he knows betrayal when he smells it. When we return to the capitol, there is a chance that this shameful conspiracy will result in a civil war!”
“Why would the Great Khan sacrifice his own son?” Zhoka interjected.
Jassy shook his head, “The Great Khan is not so old or infertile that he cannot produce a new heir. The death of a prince, however, would stir the people into action. They would follow the ‘grieving’ Khan’s wishes without question. They would mobilize for war, first against the Holischiky, then almost certainly against the Rosomai.”
“But the Khanzada lives. Will there still be war against us?”
“The Great Khan has no love for the Rosomai. It is entirely possible,” Jassy huffed.
Zhoka shook her head, “How convenient for you, then, that the Rosomai are steeped in civil war. The Ovadyah have already assassinated the leadership of two clans. It seems they plan to unite our people through deceit and murder. It cannot stand.”
“It seems that we have all been duped,” Parkhaiev grumbled. “Frankly, Kazimir, the last two minutes in your presence have produced more truthful words in this room than the past week.”
Zhoka leaned in towards Parkhaiev, “Yet you mentioned that there is a clear way to avert a war of extinction with the Sabalazmon.”
“Only one, and I would never have suggested it had yourself and Kazimir convinced me beyond a doubt that your people are worthy of redemption.”
Parkhaiev withdrew a scroll in fine vellum from, of all places, a rather large and empty bottle of wine. As it unfurled, one of the Vucari at the table, a prim individual dressed in a felt jacket and a powder wig, shot up from his chair and planted his hands on the table. Kazimir noticed the seals of the Tsar and Tsarina, a sparring hawk and a swooping raven.
“This is the Treaty of the Beastfolk Alliance. 52 million sapient beings live under its protection. It is over a century old. It has been signed by Doges, Kings, Tsars, Chieftains, and Khans. Signing this document affirms your race’s membership in the alliance. Through the power of this treaty any internal or external threats to your land, property, or race can be announced, measured, and acted upon by the Alliance Council, a body of representatives from all races. The treaty obliges that every nation supply troops or an equivalent in goods and services to the common cause, but in return it pledges diplomatic and military protection to member states. Every member reserves the right to remove themselves from the Alliance should it not suit their best interests. However, I understand that the Rosomai could use some friends about now.”
“Parkhaiev! I must protest!” The dapper Vucari in the powder wig whimpered. “That treaty is not yours to offer! The Tsar and Tsarina have appointed me as the ambassador to the Rosomai!”
“Yes, and they’ve made it abundantly clear through their actions that they don’t give a damn about the Rosomai. I do.”
“That is irrelevant!”
Parkhaiev’s hackles stood up, springing from beneath his collar, “Very well, allow me to outline some ‘relevant’ points. I am the ranking officer of the Vucari expeditionary force in Rosomai lands. As the commander of our forces campaigning abroad, I have the authority to independently represent the Vucari without direct orders from the Tsar and Tsarina. They have not explicitly stated that the Rosomai are to be excluded from the Alliance, which means that I am permitted to invite them into it. Additionally, unlike you I speak their language, making me somewhat more qualified than you in a diplomatic function, wouldn’t you agree?”
“But that document is a century old! If the Rosomai sign it, it obliges us to supply them with troops if they are invaded! We are already committed across a wide enough area as it is. If the Rosomai sign this treaty, it will provoke the Sabalazmon. It could start a war!”
Ilkhan Jassy grinned smugly, taking to his feet. “If I remember correctly, the same argument was made about inviting our people into the Alliance some 20 years ago. We were, after all, a pack of ‘warring weasels’ and ‘barbarians’. I think you’ll agree that in the last 20 years our lot has improved, and in return we have granted you some of the world’s finest cavalry.”
“O-of course, Ilkhan, I didn’t mean to imply that-“
“Of course not, ambassador. I, for one, am reticent to stand in the way of Prince Kazimir here. From what I’ve heard, he’s done a great deal to serve his people. As the main representative of the Sabalazmon at this table, I can see the potential benefit of the Rosomai joining the alliance. If the Khanzada is to confront his father militarily over his betrayal, it would be in our peoples’ best interest not to have to worry about a Rosomai invasion, especially one led by this determined and intelligent individual. If you protest, I recommend that you convince Kazimir and Zhoka of the dangers, not us.”
The Sabalazi in the room grumbled and murmured, but Jassy appeared to command a measure of fear and respect from them, for as he turned and glared at his associates they abruptly withdrew their complaints.
With all complaints satisfied, Parkhaiev turned to the Rosomai at the table.
“With the consent of the honorable representative from Azek, and with the power vested in me, I extend this invitation to you and your kind. Hetman Zhoka. Kazimir. Would you care for a few moments to discuss this?”
Kazimir turned to Zhoka. It was clear that she had some concerns, quite a few, but that she didn’t want to be remembered as the one who threw away what was possibly the Rosomai’s best chance of survival as a race.
“I have but one question,” Zhoka spoke with the grace and authority of a queen. “Will you reserve a seat for me on the Council?”
“Naturally, Hetman.”
Zhoka sat and pondered for a long time. Another tense silence. When she spoke again, it was with the voice that Kazimir had come to love, that of a confident but casual matron.
“Then I suppose it is time that I brought my reign as Hetman to an end.”
Bianka’s eyes flew wide open. Somehow she knew what was about to happen. It was the Rosomai’s turn to murmur and gossip. One of Zhoka’s advisors spoke up.
“Hetman, permit me to say that it’s common knowledge that you have no blood heir.”
“Not true. As much as I would like to appoint Kazimir as the new Hetman of the Ulic, I cannot. His heroism is unquestioned, but he has a throne of his own to claim. No, there is another. I owe my people the truth, at last. Bianka, step forward.”
Bianka appeared from the rows of Hazor guards lining the room, pulling off her steel helmet and bowing before Zhoka on one knee. Zhoka stood before her, pulling a silver amulet from around her neck.
“Bianka of the Ulic, daughter of Hetman Maykop. Rise and accept the Seal of the Hetman.”
As the princess rose, Zhoka coaxed the amulet around the back of Bianka’s neck and about her shoulders. They stood wordlessly face to face for a few moments, then Zhoka turned to the crowd.
“Bianka has accepted my seal, and with it she accepts responsibility over Clan Ulic. We are not a people steeped in elaborate ritual. We are warriors at heart, and Bianka has been raised as a warrior. I encourage the Ulic chieftains to endorse her appointment. She is a hero of battle, a hero to her people, and a worthy leader. In time, she may grow to eclipse my rule as well as her father’s. I only have one request of her.”
Zhoka turned back to Bianka. “Find a good mate, and don’t wait too long as your father and I did. Trust me when I say that having legitimate children makes this whole thing easier in the long term.”
Without further ado, Zhoka sat back down and examined the Treaty of the Beastfolk. She parsed it for a minute and took a quill in hand.
“I, Zhoka, former Hetman of clan Ulic and First Councilor of the Rosomai, formally sign this treaty, agreeing to the terms established within.”
She slid the treaty over to Bianka, who smiled uneasily.
“Very clever, stepmother, crowning me Hetman just in time to sign this… delicate document.”
“You can sign your name beside mine or beneath it, pup. It’s your prerogative.”
“Thank you so very much,” Bianka grumbled slightly, taking the quill in hand and clearly signing her name next to Zhoka’s. “My first act as Hetman of Clan Ulic will be to sign this treaty, thereby starting what I hope to be a peaceable, fruitful, long-term compact.”
Kazimir was surprised to see the quality and delicacy of Bianka’s penmanship as she slid the treaty before him.
“Your turn.”
“Rather… succinct terminology for a royal, don’t you think?”
Bianka leaned in and spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper, “I imagined that you would be interested in signing this document, seeing as how you spurned your clan and drove the Ulic to the brink of financial disaster with your crazy, amazing scheme. Would you prefer I hung you by the thumbs to gain your consent?”
“I have no formal title. How should I go about signing this?”
“How about Prince Kazimir? Everyone has always called you that. There’s no need to write down a clan. I believe that people will know who you are by name alone.”
Kazimir looked at the treaty, scanning over its words and its many nuanced signatures. When he set out with 50 warriors almost a year ago, he would never have imagined such a drastic change in himself and his people in such a short time. So much blood had been spilt, Rosomai, Holischiky, Vucari, and Sabalazmon, yet in the end it came down to a single drop of ink on a sheepskin.
With little hesitation, he dipped the quill in the inkwell and signed his name in an understated, short, and simple fashion.
“Prince Kazimir” was all it said.
EPILOGUE
Kazimir had at last met the demands met of his father, Kalman of the Kozaky. He had touched many an enemy, taken many a weapon, and taken something of value to his people from the experience: A treaty, an alliance with the vast, unseen worlds to the south and beyond, filled with faces and people that no Rosomai had ever seen before. He was finally ready to return home as a true Hetman.
He scoffed aloud, “Well, father, it was harder than I expected, but it is done.”
He slipped off his jacket. Spring had set in at last, and with it came warm breezes and gathering clouds from the north. Even in the town of Ovadyah the lush green grasses spilled between yurts, houses, and the palace compound. The herds had already been sent out, and with them many of the town’s inhabitants, lending it an eerily quiet air.
The familiar musk of a Sabalazmon brushed across his nose, carried by the breeze. He turned around to see Ilkhan Jassy buttoning on his riding jacket and approaching with a bit of a swagger.
“Prince Kazimir. The Khanzada’s delegation is leaving, and I go with them. I wished to bid you farewell.”
“That’s kind of you, Jassy. Thank you for everything. Without your intervention, I don’t think any of us would be here.”
“Civility is difficult to find in our lands. The flower of justice and courtesy is so often trampled down when it is seen. Jealousy and old, bad blood make us believe that we should rip up the garden and plant weeds instead. In you, I see a hope for your people. There are still flowers between our two peoples, and there are still gentlemen.”
“Why do you say this now?”
“Because you are the kind who would understand, and because we might not have a chance to meet again as friends. Years, maybe even months from now we may find ourselves rivals. If that is the case, know that I will always think of you as an honorable person, be you a friend or foe.”
Kazimir nodded quietly, and with that Jassy stepped away and seemed to launch himself onto his pony like a spring. Without further ado he rode off with the Khanzada’s honor guard and the rest of the Sabalazmon delegation.
Kazimir pondered for a long time, thinking of the cost of it all. Mauno had been a good friend. Hag of the Burya, for all his arrogance and bluster, had also proven himself worthy in the end. For a moment he felt regret, that their lives were his responsibility, but he told himself that both had acted out of free will in order to protect him. He pledged to himself that he would not waste their sacrifices. Rage bubbled up from within him as he thought of the Ovadyah, one of the great clans, murdering his father and stealing his throne. The gods, it seemed, had placed good men on Kazimir’s path so that his story might continue. Perhaps now, after proving himself worthy, the deities could finally see the deceit the other Rosomai had fallen into. Perhaps now they would stand behind Kazimir and see justice done. His story would go on for as long as they willed it.
He eventually made his way back into the palace after ambling about town for a time. There were no jubilant crowds, no ostentatious victory celebrations, and no bittersweet speeches. He imagined that he had slept through most of them, but he liked it better this way.
The palace was still abuzz with activity. Zhoka’s old harem, where Kazimir once bunked for a while, was now mostly clear of beds and sumptuous décor. Instead, servants were bringing in desks, chairs, and spare tables. On the back wall hung two simple adornments: The Vucari flag with its dueling hawk and raven and the tattered flag of the 6th Expeditionary Force. Baron Parkhaiev had at least seen fit to take off his big hat, another Vucari obsession that Kazimir still had a hard time understanding. He had contented himself with a bottle of brandy and a heap of papers, and a handful of Vucari seemed to be busy settling in.
“Baron?”
“Prince! Welcome to the Vucari Embassy! Well, for the moment, anyway. I imagine at some point we’ll have to set up an actual diplomatic enclave, complete with actual, ugh… Diplomats.”
“You’re not fond of diplomats?”
“I’m a military man. In my experience, diplomats get your people killed and pretend they did you a favor. Still, now that I’m in their shoes, well… you must know that old saying.”
“You seem a fine diplomat to me. I don’t recall any other Vucari coming to our lands and convincing us to join the Alliance. You’re the first!”
“I wish it were so simple. Still, that’s not your problem right now, it’s Zhoka’s and mine. We’re begin our ride to Northern Watch tomorrow, where I get to show her a steam locomotive train and try to convince her to actually ride the crazy thing. Then I get to introduce the new First Councillor to the Tsar and Tsarina. Then I get to shake a lot of paws. Somewhere along the line I get drunk. Then I embarrass myself again and get in trouble, but by then your friend Zhoka will be safe and sound. She’s going to love the new job.”
“Well, at least you have a plan, right?”
“Yes. I don’t want to leave an impression that I’m ungrateful, Kazimir. We landed on a barren coast with nothing but winter to greet us. We would have starved out there, but Zhoka literally saved our lives, and with your cause to fight for my men have a victory to carry home with them. This endeavor has succeeded beyond all expectations, including my own.”
“Do you think you’ll return someday?”
“I might not have a choice. That fool of an ambassador has a head start on me. He’s going to try and convince the Tsar and Tsarina that I misrepresented our national interests, that I was reckless, debauched, that sort of thing. He’d be absolutely correct, mind you, but you simply can’t please some people.”
“So why would they send you back here if they don’t trust you?”
“That is a story that goes way back, and it takes more time to tell than I have. The short version is that I was a national hero of sorts, right up until I made some terrible decisions. If things go well and I still have a job, I might return as the new ambassador. If things don’t go so well, I’ll turn in my resignation and come back to fight for the only people I know willing to get their hands bloody for a good cause. That’s you, by the way.”
“Do you think that the Vucari will honor our alliance?”
“Yes,” Parkhaiev said flatly. “We’re already deployed on too many fronts as it is. The last thing we need is another enemy. I believe that the smarter among us will embrace your membership.”
“What about you personally? What will you do for us?”
Parkhaiev sighed, “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this predicament before. The Alliance will need soldiers, modern troops with crisp uniforms and new muskets. They can be a bit… heavy handed when it comes to recruitment and conscription. Perhaps I can organize the affair, make sure that my people don’t overstep their authority. If I lose my commission for what I’ve done, I might finance a battalion out of my own pocket. That would be exciting, wouldn’t it?”
“Exciting? Yes, I suppose, but how will you afford a battalion on top of the drink you so fancy?”
“I suppose I’ll have to cut back. Anyway, it’s not as though I plan on raising the battalion for show. Your soldiers will go on tour, fighting the enemies of the Alliance and proving yourselves their betters! The Tsar and Tsarina will learn rather quickly that the Rosomai have a lot to offer.”
“And what about your reputation? Don’t you wish to repair it?”
Parkhaiev grinned, “Victory wipes away dishonor, Kazimir. You know that as well as anyone.”
Kazimir at last made his way back to the throne room, where servants were in a flurry, planning for the formal ceremony of Bianka’s ascension to the throne. While servants whirled around her, she sat in common clothes, bewildered at the events of the day. As he approached and knelt down on one knee, she shook her head, stood up, and pulled Kazimir to his feet.
“Please, Kazimir, you’re not helping. This is… a lot to take in at once. I don’t want my closest friends bowing before me just because I’m the Hetman.”
“I never had a problem with it,” Kazimir smirked.
“That’s because you were raised as a prince. I was raised as a servant, then as a soldier. I didn’t even know the truth about my father until a few years ago. I truly hope I’m ready for this.”
“The Ulic have a legacy of freedom for their females. Now that females have taken part in a victorious battle, I think that you will have earned their loyalty and devotion. There’s also the matter of Zhoka’s request to you.”
“About children? How could I forget? Of course, for children I suppose I would need a husband. I hear there’s a Rosomai suitor drifting about the palace with nothing better to do.”
“Hm. On second thoughts, perhaps the children can wait a year or two, once we get this troublesome civil war out of the way.”
“A commendable plan,” Bianka smiled. “Now don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you amble about idly while I do all of the work here. I’ve soldiers to organize, ceremonies to plan for, and the small matter of a wedding on top of everything. Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re the hero of the day.”
“What have I gotten myself into?” Kazimir chuckled.
Kazimir slept and slept. He half-wondered if the Gods had forsaken him from the afterlife, condemning his spirit to wander in a state of half-consciousness for eternity. Only occasional hints of the mundane goaded him towards the belief that he wasn’t in fact dead. The telltale scent of burning oil. The sound of a distant altercation. The odd slammed door. These things had no place in the afterlife, and as all of this at last occurred to him he burst through the veil of dreams and awoke, finding himself in a familiar room in a familiar place.
Hetman Zhoka’s lofty palatial residence in Opaliye seemed more abuzz than usual. Cleaner. It was also better lit, with almost double the number of oil lanterns adorning the walls, lending a more inviting and extravagant air to the already haughty palace. Foreign scents intruded upon the typical, heady musk of the Rosomai. Vucari, Hirvi, Liskai. Sabalazmon. He shot out of bed only to find that his head was swimming. He had slept for… how long? He asked himself as he groggily looked himself over.
Two legs. Two arms. Ten fingers, ten toes. Both eyes, it seemed. Genitalia intact. There was a ragged scar on his chest, punctuated by a small, bald divot. A medicinal poultice was wrapped around his left leg, just below the knee. He also felt slimmer, smaller, like he had been before his exile from his old clan. The muscle he had built during the campaigns of the previous fall and winter seemed to be gone.
The door creaked open. Kazimir half expected one of his new friends to peer through the aperture, but it was merely a chambermaid come to check on him. She realized that he was awake and opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated at the last moment and swooped away. Timidity was not common among the Rosomai, even among servants. What brought this on, he wondered.
Moments later, Bianka swept in through the door. She didn’t waste a moment in smothering him with a near crushing embrace, made more uncomfortable by her suit of armor. He returned his embrace as best he could, though he doubted that she could feel it through the tightly bound plates of steel.
She kept this up without a word for what seemed like several minutes. Kazimir tried to find some way to break the awkward silence.
“It’s good to see you,” he croaked, realizing how dry his throat was. “How’s Zhoka?”
Bianka freed him at last, sitting down at the side of his bed. “In good health and spirits. The dignitaries have been doting on her for days.”
“Dignitaries?”
“The Battle of the Rookery is won, thanks to the assistance of the Rosomai. We have the gratitude of the Vucari, as well as a handful of Sabalazmon. I don’t know all the details, but there is talk that the Rosomai will join the Alliance. Hence, the visitors and all the commotion.”
“How long have I been here?”
“You’ve been unconscious for almost 3 weeks.”
“Gods! Wait, does that mean that Mauno used his healing magic on me? What happened?”
Bianka sighed. Her barely contained glee melted into a somber mood.
“That Sabalazi, Jassy, was the only one to see it. After the battle he said you ran forward and tried to stop their musketeers from shooting our lancers. In the confusion you were shot twice. Jassy shouted down the musketeers, showed them some sense. Hag did the same for our cavalrymen, but he was stuck by a musket and killed. By the time we found you and stripped you of your armor, there was little left of you. There was nothing we could do.”
“Hag is dead?”
“Yes. I understand that you and he were not the best of allies.”
“I… Regret that now. Hag saved my life more than once. He sought redemption more than anything. May his spirit be at rest, knowing that he fulfilled his duty.”
Kazimir coughed, more to clear some of the dryness in his throat than anything else. A dull ache persisted in his ribs.
“What about Mauno? Where is he?”
“Mauno,” Bianka hesitated, her eyes dampening, “He cast a spell. I’m not sure if it was a mistake due to his haste or if he intended to sacrifice himself all along, but he gave up his life energy to save you. All of it. He’s dead.”
There was a long silence. Kazimir felt no remorse. For some reason, he felt very little at all. Mauno had always hinted and spoken of his willingness to sacrifice for him. Both of them had come to terms with their mortality long before the Battle of the Rookery. They were kindred, each willing to sacrifice themselves for something greater, and now he was gone. The fact didn’t fill him with sadness. Rather, it emptied him.
“Mauno was a hero. He stood by his word until the very end. He deserves a place in the Rosomai legacy, in the stories and in the hall of ancestors. His sacrifice was not in vain.”
Bianka was silent for a long time. She remembered the first night she saw him, the same night she met Kazimir for the first time. There was a victorious warband of Druzhina, an evening of celebration shattered by betrayal. The female Hazor had infiltrated the feast as servants and courtesans, all at Zhoka’s behest. Mauno stood accused of treason, even drawing the suspicion of Kazimir, yet in spite of nearly being torn apart by the baying crowd only Mauno stood by Kazimir’s side when the evening was done. He had been a silent partner in this entire endeavor, and how he was gone.
“It is not my place to say this. I know that I doubted you at times. I did not always trust your intentions, nor did I always believe in success. Mauno never shared my skepticism. He gave you something no one else was willing to, not even I. He gave you his trust.”
She placed a hand on Kazimir’s shoulder. “If you want to honor his sacrifice, you must see your dream through. Give our people a future. Give us a legacy of honor, not just victory.”
Kazimir made his way to the throne room and was met with applause, some enthusiastic and some clearly forced. He admitted that he was nervous about Sabalazmon in the presence of Rosomai royalty, but Bianka appeared to have matters of security quite under control. Around the table were familiar faces. Baron Parkhaiev, the Vucari colonel, seemed little worse for the wear even after the desperate fighting of his small troop. Zhoka was dressed in her best finery, as elegant and composed as Kazimir imagined a Rosomai could look. An audience of mostly Vucari representatives and officers and a handful of Sabalazi delegates stood a stone’s throw away from the table, held back by the Hazor bodyguards. Ilkhan Jassy, the most unlikely of allies, sat to the left of Zhoka near a pair of bodyguards within a polearm’s reach. Some extravagantly dressed representatives sat in uncomfortable silence, giving him mixed looks as he approached an empty chair that Zhoka had placed to her right.
Ilkhan Jassy shot up from his chair and pressed his palms against his chest, bowing politely to the Rosomai. This elicited some shocked murmurs from the Sabalazi in the room.
“Prince Kazimir. It is good to see you again. I had a feeling it was a noble who had led my men into battle, but you should have mentioned you were a prince.”
“Technically, I am not. I am an exile from my clan.” Kazimir did his best to mimic Jassy’s bow, “Even so, I am very happy for your assistance. Your arrival was timely.”
Parkhaiev stood up next, taking Kazimir’s hand and shaking it.
“I think I can speak for everyone at the table that we are pleased to see you on your feet once more. That any of us stand at all is due in large part to your intervention.”
“Then I think you owe me an explanation about these proceedings,” Kazimir grinned wryly. If he read Bianka’s words correctly, these diplomatic talks had been underway for several days without him.
“At the very least. It is simple enough to summarize what has happened, as it has been disappointingly little. Please, sit.”
Everyone took their seats at the table. Tension hung in the air, old enmities and disputes barely kept in check.
“Kazimir, it has become apparent that my expedition, along with that of the Crown Khanzada, was never meant to succeed. From the standpoint of the Vucari, it was a token effort to curry favor with the Great Khan and strengthen the alliance between our people and the Sabalazmon.”
The white wolf began pacing, eyes scanning back and forth, “The Tsar and Tsarina apparently felt that it was best to engineer the failure of this endeavor by placing a notorious drunkard, me, in charge of the Vucari expedition. There is another wrinkle to this tale that I believe Ilkhan Jassy can fill you in on. Ilkhan?”
Jassy stood up, shooting an acidic glare at some of his own associates, “I am here only because the Crown Khanzada, heir to the Azek Khanate, is too proud to stand in the company of the Rosomai. I apologize for his unwillingness to parley, as well as some others in this room.”
Jassy continued, “The truth of the matter is this. The Khanzada’s expedition was doomed to fail from the start, just as the Vucari’s was. It was the Great Khan’s intention that his son would die in battle far from the capitol. The Khanzada is a novice at politics, but he knows betrayal when he smells it. When we return to the capitol, there is a chance that this shameful conspiracy will result in a civil war!”
“Why would the Great Khan sacrifice his own son?” Zhoka interjected.
Jassy shook his head, “The Great Khan is not so old or infertile that he cannot produce a new heir. The death of a prince, however, would stir the people into action. They would follow the ‘grieving’ Khan’s wishes without question. They would mobilize for war, first against the Holischiky, then almost certainly against the Rosomai.”
“But the Khanzada lives. Will there still be war against us?”
“The Great Khan has no love for the Rosomai. It is entirely possible,” Jassy huffed.
Zhoka shook her head, “How convenient for you, then, that the Rosomai are steeped in civil war. The Ovadyah have already assassinated the leadership of two clans. It seems they plan to unite our people through deceit and murder. It cannot stand.”
“It seems that we have all been duped,” Parkhaiev grumbled. “Frankly, Kazimir, the last two minutes in your presence have produced more truthful words in this room than the past week.”
Zhoka leaned in towards Parkhaiev, “Yet you mentioned that there is a clear way to avert a war of extinction with the Sabalazmon.”
“Only one, and I would never have suggested it had yourself and Kazimir convinced me beyond a doubt that your people are worthy of redemption.”
Parkhaiev withdrew a scroll in fine vellum from, of all places, a rather large and empty bottle of wine. As it unfurled, one of the Vucari at the table, a prim individual dressed in a felt jacket and a powder wig, shot up from his chair and planted his hands on the table. Kazimir noticed the seals of the Tsar and Tsarina, a sparring hawk and a swooping raven.
“This is the Treaty of the Beastfolk Alliance. 52 million sapient beings live under its protection. It is over a century old. It has been signed by Doges, Kings, Tsars, Chieftains, and Khans. Signing this document affirms your race’s membership in the alliance. Through the power of this treaty any internal or external threats to your land, property, or race can be announced, measured, and acted upon by the Alliance Council, a body of representatives from all races. The treaty obliges that every nation supply troops or an equivalent in goods and services to the common cause, but in return it pledges diplomatic and military protection to member states. Every member reserves the right to remove themselves from the Alliance should it not suit their best interests. However, I understand that the Rosomai could use some friends about now.”
“Parkhaiev! I must protest!” The dapper Vucari in the powder wig whimpered. “That treaty is not yours to offer! The Tsar and Tsarina have appointed me as the ambassador to the Rosomai!”
“Yes, and they’ve made it abundantly clear through their actions that they don’t give a damn about the Rosomai. I do.”
“That is irrelevant!”
Parkhaiev’s hackles stood up, springing from beneath his collar, “Very well, allow me to outline some ‘relevant’ points. I am the ranking officer of the Vucari expeditionary force in Rosomai lands. As the commander of our forces campaigning abroad, I have the authority to independently represent the Vucari without direct orders from the Tsar and Tsarina. They have not explicitly stated that the Rosomai are to be excluded from the Alliance, which means that I am permitted to invite them into it. Additionally, unlike you I speak their language, making me somewhat more qualified than you in a diplomatic function, wouldn’t you agree?”
“But that document is a century old! If the Rosomai sign it, it obliges us to supply them with troops if they are invaded! We are already committed across a wide enough area as it is. If the Rosomai sign this treaty, it will provoke the Sabalazmon. It could start a war!”
Ilkhan Jassy grinned smugly, taking to his feet. “If I remember correctly, the same argument was made about inviting our people into the Alliance some 20 years ago. We were, after all, a pack of ‘warring weasels’ and ‘barbarians’. I think you’ll agree that in the last 20 years our lot has improved, and in return we have granted you some of the world’s finest cavalry.”
“O-of course, Ilkhan, I didn’t mean to imply that-“
“Of course not, ambassador. I, for one, am reticent to stand in the way of Prince Kazimir here. From what I’ve heard, he’s done a great deal to serve his people. As the main representative of the Sabalazmon at this table, I can see the potential benefit of the Rosomai joining the alliance. If the Khanzada is to confront his father militarily over his betrayal, it would be in our peoples’ best interest not to have to worry about a Rosomai invasion, especially one led by this determined and intelligent individual. If you protest, I recommend that you convince Kazimir and Zhoka of the dangers, not us.”
The Sabalazi in the room grumbled and murmured, but Jassy appeared to command a measure of fear and respect from them, for as he turned and glared at his associates they abruptly withdrew their complaints.
With all complaints satisfied, Parkhaiev turned to the Rosomai at the table.
“With the consent of the honorable representative from Azek, and with the power vested in me, I extend this invitation to you and your kind. Hetman Zhoka. Kazimir. Would you care for a few moments to discuss this?”
Kazimir turned to Zhoka. It was clear that she had some concerns, quite a few, but that she didn’t want to be remembered as the one who threw away what was possibly the Rosomai’s best chance of survival as a race.
“I have but one question,” Zhoka spoke with the grace and authority of a queen. “Will you reserve a seat for me on the Council?”
“Naturally, Hetman.”
Zhoka sat and pondered for a long time. Another tense silence. When she spoke again, it was with the voice that Kazimir had come to love, that of a confident but casual matron.
“Then I suppose it is time that I brought my reign as Hetman to an end.”
Bianka’s eyes flew wide open. Somehow she knew what was about to happen. It was the Rosomai’s turn to murmur and gossip. One of Zhoka’s advisors spoke up.
“Hetman, permit me to say that it’s common knowledge that you have no blood heir.”
“Not true. As much as I would like to appoint Kazimir as the new Hetman of the Ulic, I cannot. His heroism is unquestioned, but he has a throne of his own to claim. No, there is another. I owe my people the truth, at last. Bianka, step forward.”
Bianka appeared from the rows of Hazor guards lining the room, pulling off her steel helmet and bowing before Zhoka on one knee. Zhoka stood before her, pulling a silver amulet from around her neck.
“Bianka of the Ulic, daughter of Hetman Maykop. Rise and accept the Seal of the Hetman.”
As the princess rose, Zhoka coaxed the amulet around the back of Bianka’s neck and about her shoulders. They stood wordlessly face to face for a few moments, then Zhoka turned to the crowd.
“Bianka has accepted my seal, and with it she accepts responsibility over Clan Ulic. We are not a people steeped in elaborate ritual. We are warriors at heart, and Bianka has been raised as a warrior. I encourage the Ulic chieftains to endorse her appointment. She is a hero of battle, a hero to her people, and a worthy leader. In time, she may grow to eclipse my rule as well as her father’s. I only have one request of her.”
Zhoka turned back to Bianka. “Find a good mate, and don’t wait too long as your father and I did. Trust me when I say that having legitimate children makes this whole thing easier in the long term.”
Without further ado, Zhoka sat back down and examined the Treaty of the Beastfolk. She parsed it for a minute and took a quill in hand.
“I, Zhoka, former Hetman of clan Ulic and First Councilor of the Rosomai, formally sign this treaty, agreeing to the terms established within.”
She slid the treaty over to Bianka, who smiled uneasily.
“Very clever, stepmother, crowning me Hetman just in time to sign this… delicate document.”
“You can sign your name beside mine or beneath it, pup. It’s your prerogative.”
“Thank you so very much,” Bianka grumbled slightly, taking the quill in hand and clearly signing her name next to Zhoka’s. “My first act as Hetman of Clan Ulic will be to sign this treaty, thereby starting what I hope to be a peaceable, fruitful, long-term compact.”
Kazimir was surprised to see the quality and delicacy of Bianka’s penmanship as she slid the treaty before him.
“Your turn.”
“Rather… succinct terminology for a royal, don’t you think?”
Bianka leaned in and spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper, “I imagined that you would be interested in signing this document, seeing as how you spurned your clan and drove the Ulic to the brink of financial disaster with your crazy, amazing scheme. Would you prefer I hung you by the thumbs to gain your consent?”
“I have no formal title. How should I go about signing this?”
“How about Prince Kazimir? Everyone has always called you that. There’s no need to write down a clan. I believe that people will know who you are by name alone.”
Kazimir looked at the treaty, scanning over its words and its many nuanced signatures. When he set out with 50 warriors almost a year ago, he would never have imagined such a drastic change in himself and his people in such a short time. So much blood had been spilt, Rosomai, Holischiky, Vucari, and Sabalazmon, yet in the end it came down to a single drop of ink on a sheepskin.
With little hesitation, he dipped the quill in the inkwell and signed his name in an understated, short, and simple fashion.
“Prince Kazimir” was all it said.
EPILOGUE
Kazimir had at last met the demands met of his father, Kalman of the Kozaky. He had touched many an enemy, taken many a weapon, and taken something of value to his people from the experience: A treaty, an alliance with the vast, unseen worlds to the south and beyond, filled with faces and people that no Rosomai had ever seen before. He was finally ready to return home as a true Hetman.
He scoffed aloud, “Well, father, it was harder than I expected, but it is done.”
He slipped off his jacket. Spring had set in at last, and with it came warm breezes and gathering clouds from the north. Even in the town of Ovadyah the lush green grasses spilled between yurts, houses, and the palace compound. The herds had already been sent out, and with them many of the town’s inhabitants, lending it an eerily quiet air.
The familiar musk of a Sabalazmon brushed across his nose, carried by the breeze. He turned around to see Ilkhan Jassy buttoning on his riding jacket and approaching with a bit of a swagger.
“Prince Kazimir. The Khanzada’s delegation is leaving, and I go with them. I wished to bid you farewell.”
“That’s kind of you, Jassy. Thank you for everything. Without your intervention, I don’t think any of us would be here.”
“Civility is difficult to find in our lands. The flower of justice and courtesy is so often trampled down when it is seen. Jealousy and old, bad blood make us believe that we should rip up the garden and plant weeds instead. In you, I see a hope for your people. There are still flowers between our two peoples, and there are still gentlemen.”
“Why do you say this now?”
“Because you are the kind who would understand, and because we might not have a chance to meet again as friends. Years, maybe even months from now we may find ourselves rivals. If that is the case, know that I will always think of you as an honorable person, be you a friend or foe.”
Kazimir nodded quietly, and with that Jassy stepped away and seemed to launch himself onto his pony like a spring. Without further ado he rode off with the Khanzada’s honor guard and the rest of the Sabalazmon delegation.
Kazimir pondered for a long time, thinking of the cost of it all. Mauno had been a good friend. Hag of the Burya, for all his arrogance and bluster, had also proven himself worthy in the end. For a moment he felt regret, that their lives were his responsibility, but he told himself that both had acted out of free will in order to protect him. He pledged to himself that he would not waste their sacrifices. Rage bubbled up from within him as he thought of the Ovadyah, one of the great clans, murdering his father and stealing his throne. The gods, it seemed, had placed good men on Kazimir’s path so that his story might continue. Perhaps now, after proving himself worthy, the deities could finally see the deceit the other Rosomai had fallen into. Perhaps now they would stand behind Kazimir and see justice done. His story would go on for as long as they willed it.
He eventually made his way back into the palace after ambling about town for a time. There were no jubilant crowds, no ostentatious victory celebrations, and no bittersweet speeches. He imagined that he had slept through most of them, but he liked it better this way.
The palace was still abuzz with activity. Zhoka’s old harem, where Kazimir once bunked for a while, was now mostly clear of beds and sumptuous décor. Instead, servants were bringing in desks, chairs, and spare tables. On the back wall hung two simple adornments: The Vucari flag with its dueling hawk and raven and the tattered flag of the 6th Expeditionary Force. Baron Parkhaiev had at least seen fit to take off his big hat, another Vucari obsession that Kazimir still had a hard time understanding. He had contented himself with a bottle of brandy and a heap of papers, and a handful of Vucari seemed to be busy settling in.
“Baron?”
“Prince! Welcome to the Vucari Embassy! Well, for the moment, anyway. I imagine at some point we’ll have to set up an actual diplomatic enclave, complete with actual, ugh… Diplomats.”
“You’re not fond of diplomats?”
“I’m a military man. In my experience, diplomats get your people killed and pretend they did you a favor. Still, now that I’m in their shoes, well… you must know that old saying.”
“You seem a fine diplomat to me. I don’t recall any other Vucari coming to our lands and convincing us to join the Alliance. You’re the first!”
“I wish it were so simple. Still, that’s not your problem right now, it’s Zhoka’s and mine. We’re begin our ride to Northern Watch tomorrow, where I get to show her a steam locomotive train and try to convince her to actually ride the crazy thing. Then I get to introduce the new First Councillor to the Tsar and Tsarina. Then I get to shake a lot of paws. Somewhere along the line I get drunk. Then I embarrass myself again and get in trouble, but by then your friend Zhoka will be safe and sound. She’s going to love the new job.”
“Well, at least you have a plan, right?”
“Yes. I don’t want to leave an impression that I’m ungrateful, Kazimir. We landed on a barren coast with nothing but winter to greet us. We would have starved out there, but Zhoka literally saved our lives, and with your cause to fight for my men have a victory to carry home with them. This endeavor has succeeded beyond all expectations, including my own.”
“Do you think you’ll return someday?”
“I might not have a choice. That fool of an ambassador has a head start on me. He’s going to try and convince the Tsar and Tsarina that I misrepresented our national interests, that I was reckless, debauched, that sort of thing. He’d be absolutely correct, mind you, but you simply can’t please some people.”
“So why would they send you back here if they don’t trust you?”
“That is a story that goes way back, and it takes more time to tell than I have. The short version is that I was a national hero of sorts, right up until I made some terrible decisions. If things go well and I still have a job, I might return as the new ambassador. If things don’t go so well, I’ll turn in my resignation and come back to fight for the only people I know willing to get their hands bloody for a good cause. That’s you, by the way.”
“Do you think that the Vucari will honor our alliance?”
“Yes,” Parkhaiev said flatly. “We’re already deployed on too many fronts as it is. The last thing we need is another enemy. I believe that the smarter among us will embrace your membership.”
“What about you personally? What will you do for us?”
Parkhaiev sighed, “I don’t know. I’ve never been in this predicament before. The Alliance will need soldiers, modern troops with crisp uniforms and new muskets. They can be a bit… heavy handed when it comes to recruitment and conscription. Perhaps I can organize the affair, make sure that my people don’t overstep their authority. If I lose my commission for what I’ve done, I might finance a battalion out of my own pocket. That would be exciting, wouldn’t it?”
“Exciting? Yes, I suppose, but how will you afford a battalion on top of the drink you so fancy?”
“I suppose I’ll have to cut back. Anyway, it’s not as though I plan on raising the battalion for show. Your soldiers will go on tour, fighting the enemies of the Alliance and proving yourselves their betters! The Tsar and Tsarina will learn rather quickly that the Rosomai have a lot to offer.”
“And what about your reputation? Don’t you wish to repair it?”
Parkhaiev grinned, “Victory wipes away dishonor, Kazimir. You know that as well as anyone.”
Kazimir at last made his way back to the throne room, where servants were in a flurry, planning for the formal ceremony of Bianka’s ascension to the throne. While servants whirled around her, she sat in common clothes, bewildered at the events of the day. As he approached and knelt down on one knee, she shook her head, stood up, and pulled Kazimir to his feet.
“Please, Kazimir, you’re not helping. This is… a lot to take in at once. I don’t want my closest friends bowing before me just because I’m the Hetman.”
“I never had a problem with it,” Kazimir smirked.
“That’s because you were raised as a prince. I was raised as a servant, then as a soldier. I didn’t even know the truth about my father until a few years ago. I truly hope I’m ready for this.”
“The Ulic have a legacy of freedom for their females. Now that females have taken part in a victorious battle, I think that you will have earned their loyalty and devotion. There’s also the matter of Zhoka’s request to you.”
“About children? How could I forget? Of course, for children I suppose I would need a husband. I hear there’s a Rosomai suitor drifting about the palace with nothing better to do.”
“Hm. On second thoughts, perhaps the children can wait a year or two, once we get this troublesome civil war out of the way.”
“A commendable plan,” Bianka smiled. “Now don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you amble about idly while I do all of the work here. I’ve soldiers to organize, ceremonies to plan for, and the small matter of a wedding on top of everything. Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you’re the hero of the day.”
“What have I gotten myself into?” Kazimir chuckled.
Category Story / Fantasy
Species Mammal (Other)
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File Size 52 kB
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