Crowned in Black - Ch 1

“Voivode Dragozin. Lucien Hart has taken our king.”

The Court Mage’s words rang like bells in my ears, and the world around me - soldiers shouting orders, frantic nobles racing toward the Throne Room, wailing servants - faded into a blur of ringing white noise.

Ignas. No.I could readily picture his kind, sly face in my mind. He was the rarest of the rare, a king who’d turned out to be a genuinely good man, a good leader… and he’d been captured by some of the worst people uploaded to this fucking world. Suddenly, Violetta’s presence in Dakhdir and Ororgael’s mad invasion of Revala made perfect fucking sense. They’d been trying to lure Ignas west. Now we had no king - and the Ilian Empire was camped right across from our doorstep.

“Alright. Here’s what we do.” I was surprised by how in control I sounded. “Ignas appointed Janos of Czongrad as Regent. That means Janos will be taking the throne any minute now to address the court and brief everyone, right?”

“Y-Yes, Your Grace.” Simeon was visibly shaken. Masha, normally fiery and quick, was tongue-tied. Rutha covered her face with one slim, scarred hand.

“Karalti can hold the fort here in case there’s a riot. I doubt anyone’s gonna want to tangle with a pissed off queen dragon.” At the sound of her name, Karalti rumbled, and lowered her hatchback-sized muzzle until the tip of her snout brushed my shoulder. “Simeon, come with me. We’ll go in and hear what Janos has to say. Rutha, Masha… I have a bad feeling about this. Stay with Karalti and be ready to evacuate.

“Stay? Evacuate?!” Masha finally found her voice, swelling up until she reached her full height: a towering four feet, eleven inches of pissed off Masterhealer. “What, do you think I am some delicate Jeun princess who never stepped off her litter? You can sod off with that notion, Lord Tuun. It was I who delivered Ignas and smacked the royal cheeks ‘til he took his first breath. Damned if I’ll sit on my hands and diddle myself while he’s in danger!”

“Well… fair enough. Can’t argue with that.” I looked at Rutha. “Rutha…”

“I can’t walk, but I can cast spells.” The sorceress’s expression hardened as she pulled a brace of mana capsules from her inventory and divided them between her spellglove and her hovering wheelchair. “If this were a raging battlefield, I’d do as you ask. But the royal courts of Artana are my battlefield, and I have played the Great Game since I was barely sixteen years old. You need me.”

I let out a hiss of breath through my teeth. “Karalti? Are you going to be okay?”

My dragon snorted a cloud of hot, ozone-tinged air over the four of us. At Level 18, she was headed toward being the size of a small passenger jet, but her telepathic voice was bright, youthful, even bubbly. “Yep! I can still Teleport one more time today. I’ve regained enough mana for other spells, and there’s eight charges of fiery doom locked and loaded!”

“I’m seriously hoping we don’t have to unleash any more fiery doom today. One sandworm and five airships were plenty.” I reached up to rub the gleaming opal spines crusting Karalti’s jaw, squared my shoulders, and marched past the others into the chaotic depths of Vlachia’s royal bastion, Vulkan Keep.

Soldiers had formed choke points in the entry hall to prevent crushing. The corridors were bristling with halberds, but the nervous men - almost as confused and alarmed as the courtiers rushing in from every corner of the fortress - let us pass without so much as a murmur. Red-faced criers at the Throne Room entrance continued to announce, stammering and speeding through the names and titles of dignitaries as they flooded past, including us. "Voivode Dragozin Hector of Myszno! Simeon Staglitz, Royal Magus and advisor to his Majesty the Volod! Lady Rutha of Vasteau, Sorceress to King Rosvind! Masterhealer Masha, Physician to the Court!"

No one could really hear them over the noise inside. The towering cathedral hall was lined on both sides with a seething crowd of agitated people, many of whom were already wearing white – the Vlachian color of mourning. Soldiers lined the narrow procession to the Raven Throne, which itself was ringed by the elite Knights of the Dragon, Vlachia's Kingsguard. This wall of muscle and steel protected Voivode Janos of Czongrad and his close advisors, clustered at the base of the dais with their heads together.

“Holy shitsnacks. What a mess.” I zoomed my vision past the throng of people. The Regent looked shrewd, tired but alert. He’d changed out the normal blue and green livery of his provincial House for the black and red garb of the Corvinus regent. He didn’t look nearly as stressed as I would have been. “Why in the hell did the system feel the need to broadcast a Global Alert? Every fucking Tom, Dick and Harry is crammed into this place.”

“Oy,” Masha groaned in agreement. “Rusulka’s tits… it’s chaos. I’ve never seen the court like this, not even after the death of the Volod’s father.”

Huddling with Simeon and Masha around Rutha's chair, the group of us bulldozed our way down the aisle. I scanned the room for familiar faces. The Mercurion Ebisa stood at ease to the right of the Raven Throne. She was hooded and masked, armed with daggers and dressed in a severe bodysuit of leather and chain. Normally, Ebisa favored decorative masks made of porcelain or wood. Today, she was wearing a flat, smooth metal helm without any facial features or vents. A red sigil burned balefully on the front of it, the enchantment that allowed her to see through solid steel. A Mercurion battle mask. She expected trouble.

There were others I knew among the crowd. My fellow Starborn, Nethres, lingered by the entry to one of the vestibules. She was in full Valkyrie gear, her axe over her back. I opened my HUD and dictated a quick PM. “Hey, Nethres: we’re on the other side of the aisle. Can you see us?”

The woman’s head jerked up, and her eyes scanned for a moment. Then she looked through her HUD, peering until she spotted my waving hand. She lifted hers, and shot back a quick message. “Yeah. I see you.”

“After this mess, we’ll take you back to Myszno with us to pick up your mount,” I replied, keeping half an eye on the throne. “Even if you’re still technically under house arrest. They can’t keep you here now.”

“Sure. Thanks. Might have some stuff to tell you, too. About Lucien, Baldr, and the Kingsmen. Don’t want to talk about it here, though, even in PM. Got a weird vibe.” She nodded to me, then looked uncomfortably back toward the front of the room.

I recognized two of the commanders who had served under me in Myszno among the crowd. Wingleader Vasoly, captain of the 4th Fleet, 32nd Dragoons, cut a striking figure in his red dress uniform. He was a small, wiry man with close cropped, wavy black hair and a sharp face weathered by the wind. Ur Gehlan, a commander in the Knights of the Red Star, stood beside him with at least thirty of his men. The Knights were distinctive with their shaved Cossack forelocks, red lamellar armor, and lines of facial tattoos. I recognized about a dozen of them, soldiers who’d fought beside me during the battle for the Prezyemi Line.

"Gehlan! Vasoly!" I shouted to them over the noise, waving an arm.

Both men turned instinctively at the sound of my voice, and their faces lit up. Gehlan turned around and yelled something at his men, while Vasoly gave a signal with his hand. Knights and dragoons made way for us, opening a circle. Rutha smiled gratefully at them as she drifted in and came to a rolling stop.

"Voivode Dragozin! Still on this side of the dirt, eh?" Gehlan roared. Like all the Knights, he was a big man with a big mustache, ruddy in the face and dark in the eyes. He clapped his hand into mine and clasped my arm, then drew me in for a brief hug and cheek kiss. Vasoly shook hands and respectfully inclined his head.

"Sure am, commander." I nodded to each of them in turn. "What the hell happened in Revala?"

"We don't know yet, but we all want to know how our damned fleet was defeated by a country less than a third our size," Vasoly called back. “Thank goodness you’re here. We need you and every other competent Starborn on Vlachia’s side. Where is Lady Ba’hadir?”

“Busy. On her way back to Myszno.” I glanced around, then refocused on him and Ur Gehlan. “We got the Warsinger.”

Their eyes widened, but before they could comment, a new voice called out to us. “Simeon!? Masha!? What in the watery hells is going on?”

We turned to see a dignified elder man in indigo robes bustling toward us, squeezing between heavily armored Knights of the Red Star. Trailing him was another familiar face: the junior sage and keeper of the castle library, Kythias.

“Mastersage,” Simeon answered him, bowing as much as he could without being jostled. “Please, return to your office. It isn’t safe here.”

“And miss out on Czongrad’s little speech? Pah.” Mastersage Nemeth was nearly as old as Masha, which put him in his mid-seventies or early eighties. He reminded me of an ibis, with his long neck, beaky nose, and steely dark eyes. “I’m here for the same reason we all are. Ignas is the last Corvinus. If Janos doesn’t have a plan to rescue him, we’re doomed.”

“Do zla boga. Don’t use that word, Mastersage. We’re cursed as it is,” Commander Vasoly groaned.

“This isn’t over until we say it is.” I nodded to his words, studying Kythias. The red-haired Lysian was normally bright and alert, with a tongue like a well-oiled blade. He looked uncharacteristically subdued.

A hush rippled through the chamber as Janos stepped onto the dais and placed the regent’s crown, a simple platinum band, on his head. Now he looked a little more like I’d expected – pale, a bit nervous. I’d never liked the Voivode of Czongrad since first meeting him at a disastrous auction in Taltos, but in the moment, I felt for him. Suddenly thrust into a position of responsibility, facing a screaming angry mob demanding accountability and solutions to seemingly-impossible problems? Yeah. I’d been there. Except this guy had the fate of the entire kingdom resting on his shoulders now, not just a single province. OUR kingdom, because in this moment - maybe for the first time ever - I felt myself to be part of a country. A nation. This nation: Vlachia.

Court Heralds positioned themselves beside the first step of the throne. I recognized Elizabet, the First Herald of the realm, as she activated a magical pendant and drew a deep breath.

“Order! Order in the court!” Her magically augmented voice pierced the sea of noise filling the hall, bringing an immediate hush. “Lord Regent Janos Lanz of Czongrad shall address the assembly! The court is ordered to silence!”

The hush deepened to a murmuring and clicking, and the crowd finally stopped surging. I glanced around. There were roped off galleys to either side, where the nobility twittered quietly behind lines of guardsmen. Simeon, Masha, Mastersage Nemeth, Kythias, Rutha and I were now basically surrounded by the representatives of the 4th Fleet: Vasoly’s Dragoons, Ur Gehlan’s knights, mages and NCOs and medics. It was close quarters, and there wasn’t much room to move. A wave of intuitive tension swept through the pit of my belly. Not fear. More like anticipation that somehow, somewhen, we were about to have a real bad time.

“Loving citizens of Vlachia, be at ease.” Janos’ clear, commanding tenor rang out over the throne room, amplified by magic that made it sound as though he were speaking from the walls. “His Majesty, whom I gratefully represent, knew a day might come where he rode to the protection of our great nation or its allies, and not return. He made preparations for this eventuality. To this end, he appointed me, Voivode Janos Lanz of Czongrad, to lead in his stead. Know this: as we speak, a council of the finest military minds in Vlachia gather in the Royal War Room, planning how we will approach the situation in Revala and recover His Majesty.”

And once again, I remember just how fucking useless politicians actually are. I really didn’t like his use of the word ‘recover’. I crossed my arms and studied Janos, keeping watch around and behind me. Dragon riders had wraparound peripheral vision, so I was able to monitor the crowd while keeping my head forward. No one else looked particularly happy with what they were hearing, either.

“I will now brief the court on what we know in the lead-up to our setback.” Janos said stiffly, hands gripping the sides of the royal throne. “The First and Second Fleets flew to Revala in expectation of a difficult battle against the significantly smaller, but hardened and determined forces of the Ilian Empire. Our army drove Ilia back from the border toward the capital of Lovi, where a heated battle took place. Reports indicated that the campaign was proceeding well, but that Ilia’s dragons were conspicuously absent. The First Fleet, led by the Sarkany-class Dreadnought Henrietta, carved a salient in the Ilian line and downed the Ilian capital ship, Sol Invictus, in a battle that sent the Invictus plunging into Lovi’s outer walls. His Majesty ordered a partial retreat to avoid being pincered in the salient in the event of a counterattack. It was anticipated that Dakhdir and Jeun, Vlachia’s allies under the White Sail Alliance mutual defense compact, would join our fleet. With even greater numbers, we would surge back into Lovi and push Ilia out of Revala.”

Janos paused for effect.

“Three nights ago, His Imperial Highness Emperor Hae Yuryu of Jeun sent a missive to His Majesty explaining how they were delayed by strange weapons and hostilities at the border of Jeun and Revala,” he continued gravely. “A black beam of anti-magical light from the sky decimated the Jeun flagship and threw the fleet into disarray, shortly before their forces were attacked by Ilia’s dragons and – to all accounts – Mercurion warships.”

The crowd erupted into agitated murmurs of alarm. Ur Gehlan and Simeon both gasped. Masha’s eyes widened.

“Wait, am I missing something?” I leaned down and asked Masha. “The Mercurions showing up for this is…?”

“Unheard of,” Masha whispered back. “If there were Mercurion war machines…”

“This means that the Mercurions of Zaunt have broken the Blood-Artifice Compact, which prohibits the import and use of the machines known as ‘sangheti’tak’ on Artanan soil,” Janos finished, before Masha could. “This compact, which has stood for over a thousand years, represented the state of truce between our peoples and the living constructs of Zaunt.”

“Well, fuck.” I reached up to grip at the line of braided hair running down the middle of my scalp, squeezing it.

“Meanwhile, Dakhdir arrived in Revala as expected,” the regent continued, lifting his chin. “The Sultir’s airships flew in from the south-east and joined the Vlachian forces from the rear… and there, they committed the foulest treachery ever leveled against this nation. The Dakhari fleet fell on Vlachia’s from behind, attacking fiercely. This signaled the Ilian forces to reveal themselves in their full might. A combined force of camouflaged Ilian airships, Mercurions with long-range weapons bunkered in Lovi’s tallest buildings, and the Dakhari traitors attacked the First and Second Fleets from all sides.”

My eyes narrowed. Camouflaged ships were a modern strategy. Awful as it was, it was a brilliant move in an asymmetrical war situation like the one Ororgael was dealing with.

“Much of the Second Fleet managed to escape the trap and are regrouping at the border. However, the First Fleet was completely encircled. Rather than allow the devastation of our forces, Volod Ignas Corvinus II honorably bartered his own life and freedom and allowed himself to be captured,” Janos finished heavily. “Ilia seized the remaining ships and personnel. What has happened to them and the Volod at this stage, we do not know.”

The court broke into unhappy murmurs. The air around us seemed to vibrate, like a bomb about to explode.

“HOWEVER,” Janos called out sharply, before the court could erupt. “We are taking immediate action to discover the whereabouts of the Volod and our citizens and enact their recovery or our vengeance for their loss. Following this address, I will be joining the emergency council upstairs-”

“Dakhdir must pay!” A man’s furious shout – deep, gruff – cracked out from the side galleys. It detonated the entire room. Suddenly, voices howled from everywhere, all of them demanding the blood of the Sultir, the Mercurions, and Ilia. I stepped in closer to Masha, tensing as the line of Red Star knights behind us were jostled forward by the angry crowd, which was quickly turning into a mob as screams of rage burst through the hall.

Up on the dais, one of Janos’ advisors leaned in and whispered in his ear. The regent nodded and made a sharp gesture.

“Order! Order in the court!” Both of the Heralds called out, their well-trained, magically enhanced voices overriding even the savage anger of the assembled.

“Good people of Vlachia.” Janos rose off the throne, holding out his arms. “I hear you, and feel your pain. Make way, all of you, for the Emissary of Dakhdir, Pasha Sumay'al Aswan of Dalim. He was detained before this audience, and shall be judged before it to explain the foul betrayal of his sovereign. But a trial cannot take place if there is not order!”

“Wait a second.” I bent down to speak in Rutha’s ear. “This is… really fucking convenient, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Rutha’s eyes darted to the wall where the first cry had come from. “Almost as if scripted.”

We may have noticed, but the Regent’s words had the desired effect on the angry mob. They stopped shoving against the lines of soldiers acting as human barriers between noble and commoner, subject and regent. As cries of ‘make way’ rang from the other end of the great hall, hisses, boos and curses rang out, building in volume. The Knights of the Red Star helped to carve out an alley down the middle of the hall. Without thinking, I stepped in to help with crowd control, reaching out to brace a hand on Ur Gehlan’s shoulder so my arm formed a barrier.

Two heavily armored guards dragged the miserable form of the Pasha toward the throne. The Dakhari man looked like he’d put up a fight. His pampered, tanned skin was purpled in places, his lip split.

“Hector?”Karalti’s clear, musical voice broke through the deafening roar of the assembly. “What’s going on in there? It’s really loud, and you’re really stressed.”

“Those Dakhari ships that tried to intercept us in the desert? It wasn’t just us they were fucking over. Dakhdir betrayed Vlachia and set up Ignas to be taken by Lucien and Ororgael,” I thought back, fighting the urge to cover my ears. My hearing was almost as good as my vision, and the noise was crushing. “We know Violetta is in Dalim, and I guarantee she set this up. Casper also played a role, probably. What I want to know is how they timed everything so perfectly. They must have spies - spies who are able to report to them in real time.”

“Like a party chat,” Karalti confirmed grimly. “But who?”

“I don’t know.” My gut ached uneasily at the thought, and I glanced toward Nethres.

The Dragon Knights forced Pasha Aswan to his knees in front of Janos. When I’d last seen him, he was done up in brilliant peacock blue silk robes and reeked like a bathroom air-freshener dispenser. Now he was in his pajamas, his perfectly coiffed hair hanging as a ropey mess around his shoulders. When he wasn’t dressed in layers of coats and robes, he turned out to be kind of scrawny.

“Pasha Sumay'al Aswan, as the diplomat dispatched by your Sultir, you are your nation’s representative in Vlachia,” Janos proclaimed, retaking his seat. “By what means do you explain this treachery?”

“Treachery repaid in kind!” Pasha spat. His voice was magnified, too. “Dakhdir has rejected the White Sail Alliance for what it is, Czongrad – a bully pulpit ruled by Vlachia for Vlachian interests, all while actors from YOUR nation attempt to overthrow our divinely appointed Sultir!”

“What nonsense,” Janos replied. “Agents of Vlachia, undermining the Sultir? In case it escaped you, Yazid Khemmemmu still sits upon the Peacock Throne. There have been no attempts on his life we have heard of.”

“Then explain the destruction of Al’Asad Prison!” Pasha retorted.

“The prison in the Bashir Desert?” Janos arched an eyebrow. “The Bashir is a no-man’s land, unowned territory that separates Dakhdir from Napath.”

“The Bashir Desert may be common land, but the prison was the rightful property of the Sultir!” Pasha gestured wildly behind him. “What about the chaos and destruction in Dalim by one of your own noblemen, leading a force of rebels released from that very same prison after its destruction! Explain to me the Vlachian warships who attacked our fleet as they flew out to investigate Al’Asad! Vlachia cannot slaughter our people and not expect retaliation. Even if Ignas did not declare war on Dakhdir, he permitted acts of war to go unpunished!”

Janos waited until the chorus of booing and hissing died away, then waved the court to silence. “Extraordinary accusations require extraordinary proof, Pasha. For one thing, you would need to be able to name whoever supposedly committed these crimes-“

“I can, and I will, because the actors are in the Bashir right now, warring with our navy as we speak!” Pasha retorted. “They are Voivode Hector Dragozin, lord of Myszno, and his fireblooded Shallatu whore!