Altina the Sword Princess: Loose Threads, page 14
Our hold of Port Ciennbourg has been overturned. The loss of the port and our command of the sea has left the High Britannian Army stranded in Belgarian territory without supplies. We have also received reports of the newly crowned Queen Margaret accompanying the army to the front lines, and we are working as fast as we can to verify the validity of these statements.
Parliament will most likely move forward with peace negotiations, but in the million-to-one chance that Her Majesty has been taken prisoner, it may take several years for us to pay the ransom required for her return.
There are concerns that the war may draw out as well; there are many past precedents of the Empire fending off an invasion only to invade their former aggressors in retaliation. The Grand Duchy of Varden, who invaded Beilschmidt territory last year, lost Fort Volks to a counterattack just this February.
The commander of the Beilschmidt border regiment at the time was one Fourth Princess Marie Quatre Argentina de Belgaria—a mere fifteen-year-old girl, though one with the famed Black Knight Jerome in her service. This young princess has recently taken her position as commander of the Empire’s Fourth Army, and there is a great likelihood that she was the one who took command during the naval battle.
Will our front lines crumble under this young Amazon of the Empire?
Let us look forward to a glorious resurgence of our great nation’s valiant officers...
The latter half of the article was chocked full of emotional appeals, no doubt intended to raise the readers’ fighting spirits after such a string of disheartening news.
Bastian held his head. “Is this for real...? She seriously flipped the war upside-down...”
“Is that your little sister?”
“Yeah, something like— Ahem. Nope. Never heard of her. Nuh-uh.”
“I see.”
Elize had climbed off the bed and was now standing beside it. Bastian had gotten up as well.
Roland leaned his back against the wall, folding his arms with a serious look on his face. “I do so happen to know an individual with some influence in military matters, so I asked them—”
“Are you seriously the same age as us?” Bastian interrupted.
“How rude. I am clearly sixteen.”
“Well, the way you talk is a bit...”
“U-Urk... Th-There is no shame in an intellectual speaking in such a manner. More pertinently, it seems the fourth princess has a skilled tactician by her side.”
“Oh, really?”
Both High Britannia and Belgaria were fervently at work gathering information; each knew about the internal makeup of their enemy to a certain degree.
“He is Third-Grade Admin Officer Regis d’Aurick, apparently... Do you know him, by chance?”
“I only ever fought with the First Army.”
“Understandable. I don’t know how the rumors hold up to reality, but those in the know... They call him ‘the Wizard.’”
“Hah?! ‘The Wizard’?!” Bastian did a spit take at the ridiculous name straight out of a fiction book.
“He conquered Fort Volks at a numerical disadvantage, and now he has bested the Queen’s Navy, who were thought to hold an insurmountable dominance at sea. It is understandable that they would refer to him as such.”
“Hm...”
“I personally hail from the south, so I don’t know him, but you were raised around the capital, were you not? Perhaps you’ve heard the name, at least?”
“Regis d’Aurick? I’ve never...”
All of a sudden, the realization struck him—two years ago, during the spring. That young soldier he had met at the library may or may not have been called Aurick, and perhaps his first name might have been Regis...
Bastian vehemently shook his head. “No, couldn’t have been. He was wearing a commoner’s uniform. And more importantly, a guy who gets scolded for reading pulp fiction instead of working couldn’t possibly be some amazing tactician.”
“Considering he was unknown up until recently, perhaps he’s fresh out of the academy. In any case, the town’s probably in an uproar.”
“Have you gone to check it out?”
“No, I only saw the news a moment ago. But it’s blatantly obvious if you give it some thought: just when they thought their guns and cannons gave them an overwhelming advantage, the High Britannian Army lost—not even to Latrielle, the rumored future emperor, but to his fifteen-year-old sister.”
“Well, I’m sure it put a damper on their victory celebrations.”
“If victory is uncertain, all that remains is their fear of Belgaria. It is only now that they have begun to realize they declared war on the strongest nation on the continent.”
“Bit late for that...”
Elize’s expression darkened. She and Bastian had endeavored to stop this very war, and not only had they failed, but now her nation was headed toward defeat.
“It’s not your fault, Elize...”
“I know, Bastian... I’m okay, really.”
Roland shrugged. “We should be more worried about ourselves. Violence toward and even the murder of Belgarians has been on the rise as of late, and while these are officially considered crimes, there aren’t enough officers on the street. Even when culprits are found, they’re being released for lack of evidence, among other things.”
“The hell’s that all about?!”
“They call themselves the Royal Soldiers, but really they’re just criminals—a gaggle of robbers and murderers. They’re largely composed of youths who couldn’t go to war. They claim to have a just cause, retaliating against the Belgarians who killed their fellow countrymen.”
“It’s not like the Belgarians living here had any part in that! Not to mention, High Britannia’s the one who picked the fight!”
“The nation will struggle to control them when they’re trying to rally everyone’s fighting spirits. And for the criminals running amok... that reasoning hardly matters.”
Not just Bastian, but Elize tilted her head as well. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“It’s one of the ugly sides of humanity, I’m afraid... We find amusement in abusing and criticizing others.”
“Th-That’s not true.”
“Of course, their conscience would prevent them from abusing those who don’t deserve it—everyone wants to be the Good Samaritan, after all. But once some reason is spotted—no matter how minuscule it may be—the script is flipped entirely. When they are convinced their target is deserving of criticism, they can attack them as much as they wish, without any pangs of remorse. Such is the case for those wielding violence against Belgarians right now. I’m sure they have their own excuses, but it ultimately boils down to their lives not having turned out how they wanted, so they recklessly alleviate their frustrations in the name of justice.”
Elize was at a complete loss for words.
Bastian cast his eyes down. “Then they’re just weak, ain’t they?”
“Indeed. With neither the courage nor the backbone to face their own problems, they are left at a standstill, unable to scale the walls life has thrust before them. They look up to and envy success, all while looking down upon and sneering at those beneath them. Their time is spent searching for those they can lower the hammer of righteousness down upon, like starved stray dogs on the prowl. And while I hold them in contempt, I could not say it to their faces, for it would make me no better than them.”
“Perhaps...”
“This news of our defeat will surely radicalize the Royal Soldiers even more. The gloom they endeavor to rid themselves of will only embolden their fears of these ‘invading’ Belgarians. There is no doubt in my mind that they will exhibit more misplaced patriotism than ever before.”
“What can we do?”
“I’ll need to discuss this with Marlborough, but... I am considering returning to Belgaria.”
“What?”
“I cannot study here anymore; not only is my life in danger, but there is no point in me staying in a country where even the library is out of my reach. I have friends and comrades here, but I also have my own ambitions.”
“Your own ambitions...?”
“Oh, right. You see, I... No, well... It can wait. For now, we must act. We are fortunate in that our house in Belgaria is located in the south of the Empire, and our limited contributions to the war mean that High Britannia’s nobles and civilians are apathetic toward us.”
“Do you have a ship?”
“We’re at war; passenger and private vessels are prohibited. But there is a ship I can use.”
“You’re stowing away, then?!”
“Not too loud, Bastian.”
Bastian clapped a hand over his mouth, then muffled out a quiet, “Sorry...” They were in a room in a corner of the manor, though, so it was unlikely anyone had overheard.
“In any case, I’m returning to my home,” Roland said. “How about it? Would you like to come with me, at least until the war dies down?”
“Us? Are you sure about that?”
“Leaving you here might bring trouble to Marlborough somewhere down the line.”
“G-Good point...”
“I want some time to think about it,” Elize muttered, looking rather conflicted.
Roland nodded. “It’s an easy choice for Bastian and me, but High Britannia is your motherland, so I understand why you would waver on this decision. Please keep in mind that there is a search warrant out for you, though, so I personally do not want to keep you at Marlborough’s manor. It will take some time to arrange for the ship, so you have a while to think it over.”
“...Very well.”
✧ ✧ ✧
As Roland predicted, the group calling themselves the Royal Soldiers grew even more extreme. As a sense of defeat swept over the town, public order deteriorated to the point that Belgarians weren’t the only targets of violence and abuse—other High Britannians who were arbitrarily selected as enemy sympathizers soon found themselves being sacrificed for the cause as well.
✧ ✧ ✧
One week later—
The ship was set to leave port that night, but Elize still could not bring herself to make a decision. Bastian had grown equally unsure; with a search warrant out for them both, he didn’t intend to leave her behind, but neither did he want to drag her along against her will.
The sun had begun its descent when they were both summoned to Marl’s private room. It easily could have been mistaken for the master’s study, as there was an entire wall lined with rows upon rows of books like one would expect to see in a library.
In the center of the room was a large desk and a leather chair in which Marl was seated. She looked as though she had somewhat wasted away. Perhaps there was a lot weighing on her mind.
“Bastian, how is your body holding up?” she asked.
“It feels a bit dull, but the wounds don’t hurt anymore. Thanks a bunch for all your help.”
“That’s good.” She placed a small wooden box on the desk, then turned her eyes to Elize. “Have you made your resolve to cross over to the Empire?”
“I’m still hesitant... I had a goal in this country; many expectations were placed upon me, and many people have thrown down their lives to support me... I’ve failed... I’ve lost everything... But even so, I can’t help searching for something—anything—I could do for High Britannia.”
“So I take it you believe you won’t be able to do anything once you’ve left for Belgaria.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind.”
“Were you... against this war?”
“I still am. I believe a country prospers in peace. Why do you ask?”
“My apologies. I know that was rude of me, but I needed to know.”
“I understand.”
“I believe this is what you were looking for...” Marl said, pushing the wooden box she had put on the desk over to Elize.
When Elize opened it, her breath caught in her throat. Contained within was a lone golden ring engraved with the royal seal, signifying her as the ruler of High Britannia. It took on the shape of a rose.
“Th-This... How did...?”
“The people I reached out to can be quite odd, but they’re reliable. They sift gold from Greybridge river, dredging the sediment for any valuables they can find. Not even the smallest grain of gold dust gets by them, so I was sure they could find a ring if put up to it.”
“That may be the case, but... surely they would have kept it for themselves...”
“The gold panners have a guild, and I purchased it through their chairman.”
Elize’s eyes wavered as Bastian patted her on the head. “Isn’t that great, Elize?” he said. “Oh, and, err... Thank you so much, Mrs. Marl!”
“Thank you!” Elize repeated, putting her hands together and dropping to her knees as though praying to God.
Marl rose from her chair and walked around the large desk until she was standing right before Elize, likewise lowering herself onto her knees. “Am I right to assume you are Elizabeth Victoria, the true queen of High Britannia? I should be begging your forgiveness for my countless discourtesies...”
“Not at all... While I received the ring from Queen Charlotte, I could never make it to the castle, and so I was never enthroned... Mrs. Marl, please forgive me. I owe you so much, and yet I did not tell you...”
“What are you saying? Your decision to remain silent was completely understandable, given your situation.”
Elize stood, taking Marl’s hands in hers. “You have my gratitude.”
“I was certain from the moment I saw that ring. You are more worthy than Queen Margaret, who started this senseless war.”
“I haven’t the words... but I’m already...”
“House Tiraso Laverde lacks any significant power, but we are on the board of the Trade Federation.”
“Ah, I didn’t know that.”
“We publicly only deal in textiles, but importing iron ore to produce high-quality steel is an important enterprise of ours. Regardless of the war’s outcome, now that High Britannia has made an enemy of the Empire, this steel will be necessary.”
“Y-Yes.”
“I have my finances and the influence that has come from them. I’m sure they will prove of some use to you, Your Majesty.”
“...I am not a queen. Right now, I am simply Elize Archibald.”
“Understood. Then Elize... please, feeble as we may be, permit us to assist you in leading our country down the correct path.”
“I would be glad to. But what do you want me to do?”
Their conversation seemed to be progressing smoothly enough, but Bastian still thought it necessary to step in. “Depends on your goal,” he said. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, Mrs. Marl, but if you’re going to start a civil war, I’d rather take Elize and run.”
“...I don’t want to be used for war either,” Elize murmured anxiously.
“We merchants seek peace,” Marl smiled. “We desire an end to all wars, whether big or small. And to that end, Elize, I want you to flee to Belgaria.”
“Eh?!”
“I appreciate that this might come as a surprise, but there are already great tremors passing through High Britannia. If a new candidate for the throne appears in addition to them, opposing the new queen, it will most likely lead to civil war.”
“That would be rather troublesome...”
“A development like this while we are at war with Belgaria will cause this country to fall into ruin. Right now, the best action you can take is staying out of the public eye.”
“I understand...”
“I know you may have suspicions about leaving everything to me, but... could you trust me on this one?”
Elize nodded; it seemed that she had already come to her decision. “I am but a powerless student right now,” she began. “If your proposal is to the benefit of this nation, as I believe it is, then I’ll go to any lengths necessary to achieve it. I can understand why you wouldn’t want me—or rather, the Rose Ring—to come out at a time like this.”
At those words, a touch of relief seeped into Marl’s smile.
“Are you really all right with going to the Empire, Elize?” Bastian asked, wanting to be sure.
“It certainly was not an easy decision to make. This is the land of my parents, my friends...”
“Well, this is you we’re talking about here... I’m sure you’ve put enough thought into it.”
“To be honest... I’m still not completely confident.”
“Really?”
Elize bit her lip, her eyes wandering across the room. “I’m always anxious that my personal feelings might be... clouding my judgment.”
“Hmm?” Bastian wore a quizzical expression, evidently having failed to decipher her vaguely worded explanation.
Elize merely sighed.
Their conversation having come to a close, Bastian and Elize thanked Marl for all her help, their host responding that she would gladly receive them if they ever met again. They also gave their thanks to Shia, the maid who had looked after them. She seemed especially melancholy as she said, “Please drop by again, when we’re at peace.”
The sun had set by the time Bastian and Elize departed the manor. The moon shone brightly, and the stars twinkled in the night sky. To ensure they couldn’t be traced back to and subsequently cause trouble for House Tiraso Laverde, they departed for the port in a standard cab rather than a marked carriage.
✧ ✧ ✧
The moon floated in the night sky, its contours blurred by a faint veil of clouds.
“I can’t stand it...” Roland murmured.
“What’s wrong?” Bastian asked.
“I can’t stand when things aren’t spelled out clearly.”
“Are you... talking about the moon?”
“Indeed. But it has a strange charm to it, don’t you think?”
“I’m getting a bad feeling myself... The ship’s leaving from here, right?”
“That’s right. It’s too late to turn back now.”
It was a quiet night at the harbor. The wind was weak, and the waves softly lapped the docks. The scent of salt hung faintly in the air, as one would expect from a coastal hamlet.
