A New Campaign

Hell.

Who was knocking at the door before day broke? She wanted to string Alain up for allowing someone to disturb her sleep.

Rylla lit a candle to find her nightgown on the couch.

 Across the bed chamber, she lit the candelabra on a long cabinet. Her eyes glanced over the shadows in the corners the light could not reach. She hated waking in the dark some place strange. For a woman like her, assassins Sleep was hard enough to come by in the governor’s chambers last night after she seized the city, now she’d have to do it again when this disturbance left.

She waved her candle into the adjacent room. Vyn still slept through the knocking. Rylla smiled. The woman would to sleep through her wedding day when it comes.

The knock came again. With another curse under her breath, Rylla opened the door to reveal Alain himself.

The commander of her personal guard pushed his way into the bedroom. “Ma’am.”

“Why are you waking me?” Rylla asked. She peeked back into Vyn’s room to make sure she was still asleep.

“It’s early, I know. I would have liked to wait until you woke, but I have grievous news,” Alain said. “Your grandfather has died.”

“How? Has the capital fallen? I’ve heard no scout reports.” Rylla’s heart leaped. Had her campaign failed? Did the enemy slip passed her lines? She could not afford a setback, not now, not like this.

“No, ma’am. The enemy still has not moved position.” Alain sat down on the couch.

Rylla’s nostrils flared at the disregard to respect and formality.

Alain seemed to remember himself and stood back again. He sighed. “His health took him, ma’am.”

“He was healthy when we left the capital,” Rylla said. Her grandfather was old, but he aged well.

“Healthy, considering his age,” Alain corrected. “We’ve been on campaign for a year and a half.”

“What took him, then? How did he die?” She pulled her gown tighter. “Peacefully, I hope. He was a good man.”

“The report does not say. Here’s to hoping.”

Where was the whiskey? Rylla opened the cabinet next to the table and shifted through the glasses and bottles. She poured three fingers and offered to poor Alain a glass, before remembering he was still on duty.

A white shadow slipped into the room.

"Sorry we woke you," Rylla said.

Vyn shook her head. “You didn’t. I woke to relieve myself and I heard you talking.”

Rylla poured Vyn a glass half as full as her own. “Here. Toast your late king.”

Vyn tilted her head and took the glass. “He’s dead, then?” She raised the glass and shot it down her throat. Her face screwed as she fought the cough. She held the glass out for a refill. “And here’s to his son’s reign.”

“He may not take the throne,” Alain said. “The Senate has called for a council to decide the heir.”

Rylla took a sip and coughed.

“Surely the king would have left a will and named his own heir,” Rylla said.

Alain shrugged. “I wouldn’t know ma’am. I’m your guard, not a court savvy, nor was I there, ma’am. Though, word around the camps is the king was not well of mind at the end. Can the senate overrule a will?”

Rylla pressed the edge of the glass to her lips. This could be her opportunity. This could write her legacy. She was third in line now, but if they wanted a council select to heirs, her time may never come.

“Who else would they consider?” Rylla asked.

“If I may, ma’am,” Alain said.

“No, you may not.” Vyn snapped.

Rylla caught Vyn’s eyes and held them. Behind the sleepiness, they screamed for mercy. The blonde woman folded under Rylla’s gaze and took the whiskey bottle and poured a third serving.

“How many men can we spare?” Rylla asked Alain.

“Your personal guard, of course.” Alain stood a little bit straighter. “If we’re talking truthful, not many, unless we reorganize.”

“Who cares if you sit the throne if we lose the war?” Vyn muttered.

“The city is secure. I’m confident we can allow the city guards to resume their duty in protecting this city,” Rylla said. More to herself, she said, “We have three-thousand men outside these walls. A quarter of them could protect the city if we station them atop the walls. There’s three cities between here and the capital. We can take half of each garrison…”

“And weaken your hold? What happens when you pull out of these cities and the enemy takes it as an opportunity to take back their cities? Who is going to continue to support you after you lose half the land we have conquered?” Vyn slammed her glass on the cabinet and it slid. “Who is going to support you after you take the throne by force when the senators called a council? Are you going to eliminate the senate? How do you prove your legitimacy? By force?”

“I’ll retake any land that we lose.” Rylla said. “I’ve done it already. I will do it again.”

“And have to start from the beginning again? What would be the point? How are you going to retake the cities if you lose them, Rylla? You take half of each garrison and take the throne. Let’s be optimistic and say more than three-quarters survive. Then the enemy retakes its cities and, in the best scenario, kills half of the men you left behind in each garrison. Do you really think you can retake seven cities with half the men you had the first time?” Vyn asked.

Rylla laughed. “You’re asking ‘what ifs’, Vyn. Who’s to say any of that will happen?”

“Who’s to say it won’t? It needs accounting for, Rylla. It all needs to account for.”

“You’re a war tactician now?” Rylla scoffed. She eyed the whiskey bottle and her hand itched to reach for it, but her stomach turned. How could Vyn oppose her like this? It’s the drink. Vyn was always bold with it on her lips. She cares and she wants to protect you. Rylla reminded herself. 

“I’ve followed you on every campaign. I pay attention. Besides, it’s not military tactics. It’s common sense.”

“Common sense doesn’t win wars. Risks win wars.”

“Risks lose wars just as often. Back your uncle in front of the Senate. Defy the Senate’s call to council, but don’t force your will on them. Don’t make an enemy out of them this way.”

“I’ll make an enemy out of them no matter what.” Rylla didn’t need this now. She didn’t have much time to decide how she wanted to move.

Vyn looked away. Her tongue flexed, squeezed between her teeth.

Before Vyn could say anything more, Rylla turned to Alain at the door. “When is the council to be held?”

Alain raised his chin. “The day after the funeral, so four days from now.”

“With an army behind you, you wouldn’t make it to the capital in time,” Vyn said.

Rylla rolled her eyes and paced to the window and back. Her fingers danced on her arm as she thought. If she pushed her men hard, she’d make it.

“Why don’t you want this for me?” Rylla sat down on her bed with such force, she almost fell onto her back. Her head was spinning.

“I don’t want you dead. I don’t want to witness your legacy ruined after you worked so hard. Do you remember Onetree? This is me returning the favor.”

How dare she.

“That was not a favor. That was not something refundable or done out of desire for reciprocation.” Rylla was back on her feet again. Before she could stop herself, she was chest to chest with Vyn. She struggled to steady her breath and her thoughts as she looked up at her friend. The room spun.

“You’re lost,” Vyn sneered. She took a step back and stumbled. Her leg caught the couch and she fell.

Rylla twitched, suppressing the urge to lunge. Vyn was down on the floor, Rylla wanted to… She wanted too…

Hell.

Could she do what she wanted to?

Rylla averted her eyes in shame. She did not want to look at Vyn. She could not.

“Alain, ready companies Eight through Fourteen of Foot,” Rylla said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Alain saluted. He reached a hand out to Vyn, but she placed a hand on the couch instead and pushed herself to stand.

Tears flooded Vyn’s eyes, darkening their blue.

Rylla’s friend walked through the door and left it open.