Daybreak Volume 4 Chapter 18 – Unspeakable Intent

Never imagined I’d be leading an assault against my own home.

Sylviane thought as she gazed upon the Rhin-Lotharingie capital of Alis Avern from the observation deck of a skywhale. A cacophony of alarm bells rang from the city as her flotilla of watercraft made their final approach across the mist-shrouded waters of Lake Alis. They were led by the behemoth she rode under which flew only a dozen paces above the waves.

The capital city was built upon the south and east-facing slopes of a rocky hill situated at the island’s northern corner. It had been founded by her ancestors in the Averni tribe as they sought shelter upon the largest island on Lake Alis after their disastrous defeat at the Battle of Alisia. Therefore, like most Lotharin settlements, its layout was designed not for ease of transit, but rather to make it as difficult as possible for attackers to grind through rows of zigzagging streets to reach the main fortifications on top.

For the capital, this was the imposing Oriflamme Citadel with its tall hexagonal central keep, surrounded by thick curtain walls bolstered by the twelve towers of the phoenixes, all of it built from local blue-granite stone.

Nevertheless, those same zigzagging streets now hampered the defenders as the Princess could see banners bearing the crest of her traitorous uncle rushing down the hill. The garrison left behind by Gabriel was clearly trying to rally towards the lower city and its docks. Yet every so often the flags would be further slowed if not outright stopped.

The residents must have constructed roadblocks at the bottlenecks, her mind raced through multiple possibilities before arriving at the most likely option.

After all, among the Princess’ forces were a hundred members of the capital’s city guard who had survived the Avorican Campaign. These men had sent messages to their family and friends inside the settlement to impede the garrison’s efforts at defense. Shouts and cries could be heard from across the distance from all around the waking city. And although it was too far to make out what was being said, the harsh argumentative tone and palpable tension in the air made it clear that Sylviane’s sources had been correct and that the citizens saw Gabriel’s soldiers as an unwelcome ‘occupation force’.

“I’m not seeing any new defenses constructed along the docks,” Kaede spoke to the Princess’ side as the Samaran girl peered through a set of arcane binoculars. “<And no more than three squads of soldiers there right now, likely those who had been on night watch.>” Her voice resounded over both real and telepathic speech.

“<These men do not deserve to be called ‘soldiers’. Their readiness is an utter disgrace,>” Pascal replied scathingly over telepathy from the skywhale cabin that he had converted into his headquarters communication room.

Yet that low readiness is good for us, so stop complaining, Sylviane’s mind interjected once more with another rapid-fire thought.

It was as though she couldn’t take in a shred of information without reacting to it off-hand. Though this was just another way in how her mind had been racing since yesterday. Her thoughts had been so hyperactive that she could barely even sleep last night. It gave Sylviane a feeling that she was probably in another one of her ‘hypomania episodes’.

“<Well, that’s what happens when a settlement’s garrison is afraid of its own townsfolk,>” King Alistair said with a loud yawn as his heavy footsteps strode towards Sylviane from behind. “<Besides, were they actually reliable in combat, then Gabriel would have brought them onto the battlefield yesterday.>

“All ahead then?” He then asked as he looked down at Sylviane from her side. His countenance beamed with an eagerness for battle even though there was still some drowsiness from his voice.

That should be obvious.

“<Take the fleet straight into the docks as planned,>” the Princess ordered over telepathy so Pascal could pass it to the signal officers who maintained communications with the crews of each ship. “<The air cavalry and skywhale artillery will provide support in breaking up any organized resistance we face.>”

“<Understood.>” Pascal replied in his professional voice. Though his tone was still a bit terse as they never settled the argument they had last night.

“Take us airborne and prepare for close air support,” Alistair called back to the helm at the same time.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” replied Captain Moreau, master of the skywhale Marianna who carried Sylviane and her companions in the gondola right now.

“It’s a good thing we’re not a real fleet though, or our ships wouldn’t even fit into those meager docks,” the King then added in with a faint sigh as though talking to himself.

“Is that an insult against the fleet or my hometown?” Sylviane replied dryly.

“Both?” Alistair looked back with a playful smile. “I mean really, a Skagen farming village could compete in dock space.”

His expression then faltered as his faded-blue eyes met Sylviane’s vacant return stare.

“Not a day for jokes, huh?”

Do you think my Great-great-grandfather would find it funny that the capital he built is now in the hands of an occupation force?

It was just one of a half-dozen replies that came to Sylviane’s mind at once. All of them ranged from dry and serious to sarcastic mockery. However, the Princess also understood that she shouldn’t start another argument just before heading off to a potential battle. And she had just enough control to reduce her replies to a single word:

“No.”

Sylviane turned her eyes back towards the city as the behemoth they rode under pulled away from the waters and began gaining altitude. The skywhale veered towards the northeast as soldiers called out to man the port side artillery emplacements. Captain Moreau had enhanced the armaments of his ‘merchant skywhale’ since she last rode onboard by adding a repeating ballista at the aft and eight scorpios along the two sides.

Meanwhile, as Sylviane followed the city’s view towards the left side of the observation deck, she saw the swarm of ships and boats that had previously followed behind them. The flotilla was led by two cog trading ships, a hulk transport, and four river barges, followed by a plethora of smaller fishing ships and even rowing boats that were pulled behind the larger vessels by ropes.

They were all that her supporters could find along the southern shores of Lake Alis. The fleet had set sail just before daybreak to take advantage of the morning mist. However, even with every ship and boat crammed to capacity, they were only able to transport six hundred men. Combined with her air cavalry and those onboard the skywhale, the first wave would number just under a thousand troops — which would normally have made a risky proportion for an ambitious assault.

Normally, that is.

Sylviane reached around to an unfamiliar weight on her belt. She wrapped her fingers around the ornate handle of the Sword of Fortitude before drawing the pristine blade that had belonged to her uncle only a day before.

The Princess swung the sword once in her hand. Its weight distribution felt odd to her as she had never practiced with a long blade. The arming sword felt almost ornamental compared to the weighted head of flanged maces or her meteor hammer which could crush curved plate. Nevertheless, as the steel edge began to glow with a golden-white light, a spherical cloud of tiny crucifixes began to envelope her and the cerulean phoenix perched on her shoulder.

“Let’s make it clear to the defenders that any fight will be both hopeless and for a meaningless cause,” Sylviane looked up and stared once more into King Alistair’s gaze.

“And that the Holy Father favors your cause after all,” he added with an encouraging beam.

“Yes.” Sylviane answered in a plain tone as she suppressed an urge to scowl. Her stiff expression was one of no-nonsense as she wanted to see this episode of her life finished as quickly and as cleanly as possible.

The Princess had heard of the lies that agents of Gabriel and his church backers had spread about her throughout Rhin-Lotharingie. They said she was not just the daughter of an apostate emperor, but secretly a devil-worshiper herself. They even accused her of hosting sinful orgies with the girls of her entourage in the dark recesses of Oriflamme Castle, or that she had taken on a mass murdering infidel as her intimate partner. This in turn cast Pascal as an impotent cuckold and her Weichsen allies as beguiled men who were being taken advantage of.

Yes, her companions and trusted allies had all brushed off such accusations as pure fabrication. King Leopold of Weichsel was said to have even laughed at the ridiculousness of it given how he had seen Pascal and Sylviane around each other as children. However, as Sylviane took a brief glance towards Kaede, she thought about how there was also more truth than most people knew to these claims.

It would certainly not be wrong to say that Sylviane had been tempted to play with Vivienne in a manner that only men spoke of. However, that had only been in thought only, as in reality Sylviane limited herself to only cuddling the girls she found cute.

Part of the reason was because she didn’t want to take advantage of the girls she adored or make them hate her. But the other part was more religious. Because despite everything about the Trinitian Church which she had come to despise, Sylviane was still a devotee to the Holy Father and Hyperion’s faith. And in that, she felt both guilty and resentful towards the Church’s accusations when she had fought hard against her sinful desires.

Perhaps if the Sword of Fortitude truly had been forged by Hyperion the Dragonlord as church legends claimed, it would not approve of her impure urges. However, the reality was that the artifact blade had little to do with the Trinitian faith, which emerged centuries after the sword had been forged and the Church had appropriated it for its own use. Yet, this was a fact known only to few. And as long as Sylviane wielded the holy armament, the people would see her as a true believer blessed by the Holy Father himself.

What a convenient tool it’s become.

Sylviane looked down at the sword in her hands once more and wondered if its original maker would have approved. Nevertheless, it was thanks to the blade’s recognizable symbolism that she could do this without taking the risk of bringing her uncle in chains to a battlefield.

“Your Highness, I see one half company… banner, having made it to the docks.” Kaede’s voice reined the Princess’ wandering thoughts back to the present.

The Samaran girl pointed towards the northern entrance to the docks. And sure enough, at least fifty soldiers rushed through the gates and started moving towards the piers. Many of them carried torches with them which Sylviane could only presume was to light the docks on fire. Such an occurrence would not only seriously impede her landing efforts, but also sabotage the capital’s ability to support the war in the months to come.

“Let’s go,” Sylviane dictated to both her and King Alistair’s assembled armigers as she walked briskly towards the observation deck’s main exit. “We cannot allow them to set fire to the docks!”

“No need to encourage me. I’ve been waiting for this!” Alistair replied gleefully as he slammed his armored gauntlets together.

The King’s beaming grin was infectious as it often was. Yet, despite the restlessness Sylviane felt inside her to retake the capital, the throne, and everything else her traitorous uncle had taken from her, the Princess did not feel any of the eagerness or elation that King Alistair openly expressed.

Instead, the Princess felt this nagging, dreary feeling. It was as though she was about to face a reality that she did not want to see.

“Ladies first, Your Highness,” the King gestured towards the door that his armigers opened which led straight to the open air outside.

If you insist.

Sylviane didn’t look back before leaping off the deck and extending her arms as she fell through the chilly air outside.

“Blaze Ignition.”

The Princess felt Hauteclaire’s radiant warmth meld into her body. The phoenix’s magic seamlessly integrated with her own as the unison merged them together into one being. Flame-feathered wings erupted from gaps in the back of her cuirass as her greaves barely skimmed the lake’s waters before taking off. Her long hair billowed behind her in a bright-blue hue as white-blue embers cored by traces of gold drifted off in the light morning breeze.

Sylviane could sense her armigers forming up behind her in their classic chevron formation. Her eyes remained focused on the pretender’s troops in the docks who started shouting and withdrawing back to congregate. The soldiers threw away their torches and rushed to form a hedgehog of polearms to repel an aerial charge. However, this in turn would leave them vulnerable to ballista bolts from the skywhale, not to mention the shrunken barrel grenades and explosive torpedo javelins of the air cavalry who were waiting upon her orders to attack.

Let’s hope they’re not complete idiots and it doesn’t come to that, Sylviane thought as she eyed yet more soldiers rushing into the docks.

The Princess suddenly braked in the air and came to a complete stop less than a hundred paces from her nearest foes. Several longbowmen behind the goedendag formation released their arrows into the air. However, all of their projectiles were stopped dead in their flight by the sphere of tiny golden crucifixes that encircled Sylviane.

It was as though they had lost all momentum the instant they met the Holy Father’s divine light.

Sylviane could not have asked for a more perfect demonstration that her sword was a true relic of the Dragonlords. And the Princess knew exactly what needed to be done as the last thing she wanted was to see her hometown turned into yet another battlefield.

“Soldiers of Rhin-Lotharingie!” Sylviane called out as she thrusted the holy sword into the sky. “I am Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, and I hold in my hand the true sword of the Trinitian faith! The Holy Father has judged me worthy in my battle with Gabriel yesterday, and my uncle has been found wanting and is now a prisoner of his fate!”

The Princess could see the soldiers on the ground exchange wide-eyed glances. Clearly, they had not been told that Gabriel had lost and been captured in the battle yesterday. However, many of them also gawked upon the Sword of Fortitude and the sphere of golden light that surrounded Sylviane. There was no denying that she wielded one of the seven holy swords that symbolized the virtues of the Trinitian faith.

“I have come to reclaim the hometown where I grew up, and I’ve no desire to spill forth more Lotharin blood! Lay down your arms with honor, and those misled by my uncle shall have amnesty for partaking in his sins. Do not throw away your lives for a meaningless cause, not when the people of Rhin-Lotharingie still look upon you for protection and aid during this time of need!”

The tension that lingered in the air at that moment had frozen even those who had just arrived at the docks. However, it did not take long before the first soldiers began to throw aside their arms. A cry of ‘lay down your weapons’ could even be heard from a young nobleman at the back. He strode up with an awed look before bowing down to take one knee:

“Your Highness, I beg your mercy on behalf of my father Viscount Niels de Eprave. It was his weakness that allowed our family to be pressured into Duke Gabriel’s schemes.”

Weakness as reflected in the state of your men. Sylviane thought as she looked upon the sorry state of his levy and even the few armigers in the docks. The only two armsmen who looked resolute enough to make a stand were those who followed their young liege.

Nevertheless, she returned a brief nod towards the young lord who was barely past his teenage years.

“I meant what I said, Your Lordship,” she declared. “All shall be forgiven, so long as your men disarm.”

The young lord then stood up and turned towards his men once more to shout:

“Lay down your weapons! That’s an order!”

A clattering of steel and wooden poles hitting ground could be heard as the remaining holdouts threw away their arms.

The young lord then turned about to face the Princess once more before drawing his own sword and kneeling down to offer it in both hands.

“You may keep your weapon, Your Lordship,” Sylviane responded courteously with the custom towards a nobleman in honorable surrender.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” he answered before standing up with a half-hearted smile, before he looked back to his men:

“The Emperor is dead. Long live the Empress!”

 

—– * * * —–

 

“Pascal reports that Colonel Hammerstein’s forces are now in position to the north,” Sylviane heard Kaede say as the Samaran girl followed behind her and King Alistair’s armigers in the vanguard. “The citadel is now surrounded by our air cavalry on all sides. And Pascal estimates only a hundred soldiers remaining inside.”

“Let’s hope they listen to reason like everyone else then,” the King to her side said.

Sylviane wasn’t sure if it was reason, flagging morale, or simply a lack of willingness among the remaining soldiers to fight for Gabriel’s lost cause. But from the docks to the citadel’s entrance, every group of soldiers they encountered had laid down their arms after only a brief exchange. Only one column from the garrison had taken casualties as they had been ambushed by citizens who took up arms on their own accord. Though there were several others who surrendered to the armed locals before Sylviane’s men even arrived at the scene.

“We’ll find out. Keep your distance behind me until their intentions become clear,” Sylviane ordered as she stepped out from the cover of the last building before the citadel’s gatehouse and marched across the stone-paved open ground.

An arrow shot out from one of the slits in the gatehouse bastions. It was stopped dead in its flight just as its tip touched the light that enveloped Sylviane.

“HOLD!”

A hurried cry came from the crenellations on top of the tower. The Princess could hear the astonishment in the man’s voice as he gazed upon what must be an impossibility based on the Church’s claims.

“Soldiers of Rhin-Lotharingie!” Sylviane began just as she had done a half other times. “I am Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, and…”

She had yet to go further when a feminine shout came from inside the citadel:

“Open the gates!”

With a loud creek, the steel-reinforced oaken gates began to part before Sylviane’s eyes. Standing in the opening was a lady in her late-middle ages and six of her armigers. The noblewoman and her entourage stepped out as the gates fully opened until they stood only twenty paces in front of the Princess. They then knelt down on one knee and bowed before the lady looked up at the crown heir of the Empire.

“Your Highness, I am Countess Mathilda de Odrimont, and I beseech your forgiveness for supporting your uncle’s treason. With my husband sick in bed and my young son held hostage by Duke Jasper, I could not bring myself to oppose my liege’s wish to side with the pretender.”

Perhaps some nobles truly have been strongarmed into this, Sylviane thought to herself before gesturing to the Countess to rise.

“Please stand, Milady, and you may keep your weapon as I accept your honorable surrender,” the Princess replied politely.

“You’re most generous, Your Highness.”

Sylviane then looked over the Countess’s entourage and up towards the other men of the garrison as she declared in a loud voice:

“I offer amnesty to all those who have been misled by my uncle’s treachery so long as they lay down their weapons peaceful…”

Sylviane’s last words died in her throat as her body froze before she could finish. She had been scanning the gatehouse with her eyes before her gaze encountered the remains of a half-thawed human head.

The ghastly remains were placed on top of a spike just inside the citadel’s gates. its eyes had been gouged out leaving behind only lifeless sockets that looked down her way. The skull bore a noticeable crack and its cheek bone was caved in from what must have been a blow to the face. However, the other half of the head was largely intact and Sylviane could immediately recognize her father’s decomposing face.

“Your Highness?”

Sylviane heard the Countess’ voice but her mind could not process what was said. Her thoughts had been racing since before the battle yesterday, yet now it felt like every part of her mind suddenly froze in place. A deathly chill spread up her spine and across her torso as though her body was turning to ice. Meanwhile, her consciousness seemed to drift and she felt like her body was no longer attached.

“F-father…” Her lips barely moved as she uttered in the quietest voice.

It was as though her grasp on reality would shatter if she made even the slightest loud sound.

“Sylv,” she could almost hear her father as her mind placed an image of his loving smile over the mangled head she saw.

“I’m sorry, Sylv,” her memories recounted his heartbroken words when she screamed at him that she never wanted to be the Crown Princess. “I know you never wanted this, but… I don’t have anyone else left. I have no other choice.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear that, Your Highness,” the Countess spoke again and interrupted her father’s voice.

At that moment, there was nothing Sylviane wanted to do more than to wrap her fingers around this despicable woman’s throat and snap off the head.

She might have done it too, if she could only peel her eyes away from the remains of her father’s mutilated head, to break the stare that she felt coming from those empty eye sockets that fixed her gaze.

How could these people be so cruel, to do such a thing to her father, to their emperor and liege who had dedicated his entire life to the development of the realm? Even those who have not placed the head up there were guilty of standing by and doing nothing as the crows pecked out her father’s eyeballs and maggots consumed his flesh.

You monsters, traitors, every last one of you!

A dark emotion that the Princess had kept suppressed since she withheld from slaughtering her uncle on the battlefield yesterday boiled inside her mind. And now, with every other voice of her inner monologue silenced by the ghastly sight before her, it became the sole voice of authority inside.

Sylviane wanted to shout but her chin was trembling too much to speak. She wanted to crush the skulls of those who knelt before her with her bare hands if only her arms would stop shaking.

You don’t deserve mercy. Not a single one of you!

A clear thought of judgment ran through the Princess’ otherwise icy mind as she began raising her quivering arm into the air. Her entire body was trembling with a mixture of cold anguish and frozen fury as she wanted to see every traitor responsible for this travesty die a most gruesome death. She wanted, no, she needed to make sure that each and every one of them would pay for her father’s terrible death. And her desire for vengeance would not be quenched until the blood of thousands flowed a new river to Lake Alis.

“Your Highness! Stop!”

The Princess heard another girl cry out, the shout of a familiar, soft voice that came from behind her back. Her slowly rising arms stopped for a brief moment as she felt puzzled by why someone would tell her to stop at a moment like this?

Surely they can see how these traitors must all die to show the Empire that justice has been carried out. That her father in heaven would not forgive any of them until blood has been repaid by blood!

Kill the traitors! All of them! The words had formed in her mind and were almost at her lips when Sylviane heard another cry.

“YOUR HIGHNESS!”

The words came from just behind her before the weight of a petite girl slammed into her back. Two arms wrapped tight around her lower chest and forced her right arm back against her shoulders with astonishing strength. The intruder then used their own momentum to twist Sylviane’s frozen body to one side until the Princess’ eyes broke contact with her father’s putrefied head.

The soft and usually wispy voice then shouted out with more desperation and demand than Sylviane had ever heard the girl speak:

“REYNAUD! TAKE THAT HEAD AWAY! NOW!”

And in the moment, a crack of lightning lit up across their heads as her armiger shot straight into the gate.

No!

Sylviane found herself wanting to reach out, to turn back and stop whomever dared take her father away again. But the arms that wrapped around her chest only squeezed harder as they pulled her cuirass out of position, until the lower rim began to press into her hips and an aching pain at least entered her thoughts.

“Don’t do this! Elder Sister! Please, come back to us!”

It was only then when Sylviane realized that Hauteclaire had left her body and now stood perched on the girl’s shoulders instead. She could feel the phoenix’s flames radiate against her cold body yet little warmth seemed to reach inside.

It was as though her body was no longer her own, as if her flesh had been replaced by stone and ice in its place.

And with it, her mind, her consciousness, her sense of self, everything had changed.

She no longer felt as she did an hour ago, or even a few minutes ago.

…And she wasn’t sure how to get back.

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