Conquest of Avalon

The spirit Glaciel stood unnaturally still, her sharp, icy face expressionless beneath her spiked crown. Or is it just that I can’t make the details out? Things had been bad ever since darkness fell, but this was close to a worst-case scenario as far as visibility was concerned.

Lucien Renart, the Fox-King, was the only sign of life on Glaciel’s entire castle, glowing a fierce red even in the cold he was far from dressed for. He, at least, seemed to be able to see the situation for what it was, head turning between Glaciel and her servants as he bounced lightly on his feet. “This city is mine, Glaciel, under my dominion as Fox-King. You helped my ancestor build her empire. Why would you disrespect it now?”

That wasn’t enough to get her to move, but it did cause a sound to pick up in the air, tinkling chimes of wind through the ice that somehow managed to evoke the sound of laughter.

“Lucien!” Fernan hissed, then cursed himself for forgetting to address the Fox-King appropriately. “I don’t think she’s willing to nego—”

He held up a finger before Fernan could continue, though.

“Marie has been dead for centuries, Fox-Boy, and her empire not long after. You may bear her blood, but so too do you descend from one or another of her idiot children who tore the realm apart. Her passion burned bright, but brief.” The air grew colder as she spoke, prompting Fernan to breathe out a slow trickle of fire. “And yet I remain. My Court remains. Ice preserves.”

“And yet it’s fragile, too,” Lucien replied, his voice steady even in the face of this. “Cold preserves, but ice shatters. It melts.” He leapt forward and drew his sword, somehow plunging it into one of the ice servants in one fluid motion. “Fernan, now!”

One of the shadowy figures threw a javelin of ice towards him, but the Fox-King had already pulled his sword free and swerved aside before it could reach him.

Now what? You never told me the plan. “Prick,” Fernan muttered as he blasted green flame from his hands towards the ice spirit. Or at least, his best guess of where she was, based on where she’d been standing before. Now that everyone was in motion, even their faint dark outlines were almost impossible to see properly. Other than Lucien, red aura effortlessly darting across the ice, Fernan could make out approximately nothing.

“Agh, fuck!” He felt a piercing pain in his thigh, cold immediately seeping in through the wound. Fuck this. Remembering the sphere of flame the geckos had used to trap Jerome, Fernan spun around, creating a circular vortex of fire to protect himself.

Could we not have tried talking just a little longer?

Somehow, the Fox-King remained alive and on his feet, though it was impossible to tell how effective his sword was against the nigh-invisible creatures. How is he even keeping his footing? It was like he’d already trained to fight on ice. He turned his head to Fernan for a brief instant, nodded, then rolled out the way of what was presumably some kind of attack.

What can I even do?

Renart pulled a dagger from a sheath at his side, still warm from the heat of his body, then threw it forward.

It stopped mid-air.

Ah.

Fernan immediately followed it up with a jet of flame, blasting himself up above his flame ring to avoid disrupting the protection. For a brief instant, it illuminated the silhouette of an ice creature, wafts of steam rising up above them.

They were melting, sinking back into the floor below, as the hissing of the steam took on a tone of agony. Their sagging face lit up just enough for Fernan to see the pain and anger writ plain across a shockingly human visage, dripping and decaying.

Immediately, Fernan redirected the flame up, allowing the creature to bury what was left of itself in the ice below.

Below…

Lucien threw another dagger, but this time Fernan only threw out a small ball of fire, no larger than his fist. It lit up the shoulder of another creature, melting parts of their arm and collar, but no more.

He’s not going for Glaciel herself.

Fernan felt the ice crack beneath his feet, dark webs forming underneath it, and jumped into the air seconds before a spear of ice would have run him through. He pushed out more fire from his feet, rising into the air, but angled it away from the creatures as quickly as he could manage.

In the air, he finally felt like he had a moment to breathe, to look down and assess.

The Fox-King was out of daggers, already slowing slightly in his movements, and indiscriminate fire risked killing people, or even sinking the entire castle.

That’s a thought…

Fernan threw five more smaller fireballs in different directions, keeping them level in the air to avoid hitting anyone.

Three flew off uselessly into the horizon, but two found their mark in the ice castle’s walls, illuminating intricate patterns of dark ice for an instant before extinguishing themselves.

Fernan smiled as he threw more blasts towards the same area, gradually getting a better picture of the shape of it: four walls not unlike any other castle, surrounding a massive twisted spire far above them.

A few went too high, glancing off the battlements enough to see that they were manned, which put them off-limits for anything more devastating. The walls, though…

This time, Fernan went wider, a thin, curved sheet of fire about four feet across pressing against the icy side of the edifice. He melted four or five inches of the outer wall, by the looks, and sent another sheet to follow it up.

Only the castle seemed to be repairing itself. A latticework of ice stretched across the holes he made almost as fast as he could make them. And there was only so much energy to spare… People had given their lives for this, so that Fernan could help. And this was so far from that it was sickening.

“Fools, fools!” The tinkling sound of Glaciel’s laughter filled the air once more. “You cannot hope to exhaust my power. Each day more people succumb to the cold. Terramonde takes his share, to be sure, but the lord’s portion remains with me.” Her face formed in the walls, crown poking out above the battlements. “I am the best path remaining for humanity to survive, and it begins here, where Soleil once held power. If you would simply—”

Fernan felt the wall smack into him, knocking him forward into the air and sending a fresh spike of pain through his leg. He only barely managed to flail his way back into a standing position before he hit the frigid water.

He rotated his position, scanning for Lucien’s beacon of light amidst the dark chill, but he seemed to be gone. Even the vague hints of darkness against the sky to suggest the castle was there at all were gone, as were any traces of the flames he’d left behind.

Where—

Lucien was moving, far too fast for it to be under his own power. He didn’t even look like he was fighting anymore, pressed flat against the ice. Was the entire castle in motion?

Fernan flew closer, trying to take in as much detail as these pitiful eyes could manage, but he couldn’t see any obvious cause. Glaciel would hardly have cut herself off in the middle of a sentence, but who else could move the ice castle like this, and so fast as well?

He flicked his fingers outwards in its direction, sending out ten spurts of flame barely larger than a pin, just to see if it could illuminate anything. That was simply a speck of dirt on the mountain though, and casting a wider net with another ten more did little else to help. He was going to have to land soon too, to avoid those people’s sacrifices going even more to waste.

But first…

Blasting himself forward, he flew lower and lower, closer to the water as he caught up. “Get ready!” he shouted once he was close enough, and fortunately the Fox-King took his cue, jumping up into what, while quite wobbly, could generously be called a standing position.

Fernan slowed as much as he dared, only to get a glacial lance whizzing by his ear for his trouble, but it was enough. His hand closed around Lucien’s, and he heaved him off the ice and out towards open water.

Another rain of spears seemed inevitable, and indeed Lucien had to maneuver him around several more as they adjusted to a more sustainable position, but the hail ceased abruptly when Glaciel’s castle slammed into the side of the city wall.

“What now?” Fernan asked softly as he set the Fox-King down on the city battlements, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. “We can’t stop her without indiscriminate murder, and—”

“—And worse, probably not even then. Yes.” Renart sighed. “I don’t know how much of that you caught, but I could barely keep myself alive down there. You helped me take a couple of the biggest brutes out of the running, but I was pretty much evading the entire time. Probably only brought down six or seven myself.”

Only?

“Thanks for the save, anyway. How did you move the castle like that?”

“...I didn’t.”

“Then who—”

A massive wave rose up from the water, then crashed against the side of the ice, pressing it further against the city’s stone. And at its crest was a man, aura flickering around him, his hands pressed forward towards the wall.

“Emile,” Renart breathed. “How?”

“Who’s Emile?”

“Camille’s uncle. He went missing after… after the duel. When Lumière was in charge I thought he was hiding, or maybe in exile. I hoped, at least. But—”

“I believe a round of thanks is in order.” The man jumped from the top of the wave onto the wall next to them, landing with a flourish. His entire aura was so faint it was difficult to even see him up close, green streaked with red. Perhaps that was why Fernan hadn’t spotted him earlier. “Though I wouldn’t count on it working again. That used up just about the last of my power from Levian, for the moment.”

“Emile, it’s so good to see you again!” Lucien jumped forward and wrapped the man in a hug. “After Fouchand and Camille I… I was worried you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“I always come back.” He put his arms behind his head. “If you hear otherwise, you’re sorely mistaken. It’s kind of what I do.” He stroked his chin in a way that suggested he had a beard. “Especially now. Soleil is dead, and the spirits will convene to choose a replacement. I couldn’t stand idly by and let it happen without speaking up.”

“You’re going to talk to Levian?”

“Of course! That brute wouldn’t miss this any more than I would. The last time he came to one of these things, he was elevated from Torrent of the Deep to the Lord of the Lyrion Sea. It wouldn’t surprise me if he made a play for more, here. Play kingmaker, perhaps, in exchange for concessions. It’s a familiar strategy, and frankly, he needs it right now, what with the death of… of poor…” He sniffled, burying his head in hands.

“Camille,” Lucien exhaled softly, then hugged the man tighter. “She would want us to work through this.”

“She would,” Fernan agreed. And she wouldn’t care who got hurt in the process. “I didn’t know her long, but she was a woman with a mission, always.”

“I’m the same way,” Emile Leclaire agreed, nodding his head. “In the meantime we have a destructive brat to deal with.” He clicked his tongue. “Glaciel is always playing her own game, heedless of anyone else, but this takes it to a whole new level.”

“She’s trying to stop the selection of a new sun, isn’t she? To maintain and grow her power?”

“Or delay it, at least. Every day like this brings her more power.”

Fernan clenched his fists. “Throwing away the lives of the entire world, just to swell her own ego. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s childish, is what it is.” Leclaire sighed. “Most spirits think of humans as little more than fuel, food. It’s short-sighted, but at least it makes some amount of sense from their point of view. Easy to see how they would arrive at that conclusion. But Glaciel… Ugh, what a fool, playing at being a human monarch, consorting with humans, even picking sides and fighting in human wars. This is just the latest bout of her self-serving mania.”

The Fox-King nodded sadly. “It served the Fox-Queen well, when she needed to bring the south into the fold, but now it could mean the death of all of us. I don’t even understand why she’s attacking us! We’re not flame spirits.”

“To establish favorable ground, I would guess,” Leclaire said. “Sweep the humans away, especially the flame sages such as yourself, young man, and the terrain is hers. It sets a precedent, and gives her ownership. Claim.”

“Metaphysically?” Renart asked. “Spiritually?”

“In the sense that she’s a spirit and would be doing it, but primarily in a very grounded, literal sense. With Guerron as her fortress, she could better defend it against any spirit she deems troublesome to her plans. If the likes of Flammare and Levian fail to show up at all, she’s essentially already won.”

“Fuck that,” Lucien spat out. “I don’t care what it takes, stopping her just became our first priority. Fernan, how many lives do you think you would need to—”

“Hold on a moment there, Your Majesty.” Leclaire held up a single finger. “Let me talk to her, first. I’ll see if we can’t work something out.”

“We tried that,” the Fox-King countered. “The most she offered was letting me run away. And that was for a descendant of the Fox-Queen. You’re just the sage of a rival spirit.”

Leclaire shook his head.

“I’m sure His Majesty meant no offense, Lord Leclaire, but that’s how Glaciel will see you. Didn’t you just say you were running out of energy? Fall back with us into the city. We can regroup and plan our next move.” Hopefully something other than whatever horrific massacre Lucien was just about to ask me to do.

“Go ahead.” He cracked his neck. “I’ll catch up.”

“Emile, I just got you back. Please, don’t put yourself in danger like this. It’s not what Camille would have wanted.”

Leclaire snorted. “I imagine Camille would have wanted you to live, most of all.” He jumped from the battlements, hitting the frigid water below with an audible splash.

“Fuck me,” Lucien muttered. “How could he just go off like that, leaping into danger with no say from the rest of us?” You mean like you did? At least Leclaire hadn’t endangered anyone else in the process.

“We should make sure Annette is safe.” Fernan turned his head back to the city, examining where the damage from the icy bombardment was worst. Several more houses had been crushed, and vast numbers of them bit into stone and dirt, spreading their chill out from the point of impact.

No one warm was pinned beneath them, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t hurt or killed anyone.

“I hate that you’re right.” Renart vaulted over the city-facing edge of the battlements, hanging for an instant before his hands moved out of sight.

“There’s a staircase—eh, whatever.”

The Fox-King beat him to the ground by a few minutes, since Fernan had no interest in flying, not when it would spend his energy frivolously. “You should know, I saw you pulling your punches.”

Fernan blinked, beginning to walk deeper into the city. “I didn’t punch anyone.”

“It’s an expression, Fernan. You were holding back.” Renart matched his pace, breathing more heavily than he had been earlier in the day. “Were you running out of energy?”

“I mean, it’s always in limited supply. I try to be careful to—”

“Right, but you could have pushed harder, there. Incinerated those fuckers, melted them into slag. You almost got the first one, before he went to ground. I know it wasn’t to conserve, because you went wild on the ice castle. So why? Why hold back?”

Then why did you ask? “I… I didn’t want to kill any of them. Is that a problem?”

The Fox-King’s aura, sustained bright since the minute Glaciel’s attack began, finally dulled. “They were trying to kill us.”

“Technically, you attacked them first.”

“I—” Lucien rubbed his hands against his face. “Are you serious? They attacked us first by throwing fucking missiles into our city.”

“But then they stopped when we were talking to them. It’s, um, what was it called again? Parley? Parley. You broke the parley. We did, I guess. So I’d be responsible for—”

“Parley?” Renart pounded his fist against his forehead. “This spirit wants to end all life on Terramonde as we know it. If she gets her way, both of us will be dead, along with everyone else in this city, even your precious villagers. The geckos. Everyone! And you’re worried about— I can’t even believe I’m hearing this. You’re just going to let them, because, what, it would be poor form not to?”

“No,” Fernan said firmly, trails of smoke curling up from his nose. “That’s why I fought back against them. That’s why I saved you. That’s why I got to work destroying the castle that Glaciel seemed so invested in protecting, and hopefully drew some of those spirit-touched away from you to get to work on me instead.” His eyes blazed bright as he stared the Fox-King down. “So I ask again: Is that a problem?”

Renart clenched his fists tightly, staring back at Fernan. A silent movement passed, and the Fox-King exhaled. “No, it’s not a problem. Thank you for helping. Seriously. If we hadn’t gone over there and stalled them, half the city probably would have been ice before Emile made it here to help. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” More self-reflection than I might have expected.

“But stopping people like her is our duty, Fernan. It’s the basic social contract of aristocracy: we are empowered and so we must protect. Sometimes that means ending a threat permanently.”

“Not them. Not like that.”

“Fine.” He held up his hands, then waved them away. “You drew a line, and I get it. It’s noble, really. But you can’t let your honor come ahead of doing what’s right. When the time comes, and you need to choose the greater good… Well, I hope you can, that’s all. Because that’s the only reason we have any right to rule at all.”

“Well said.” Laura Bougitte emerged from one of the houses, burning away a patch of ice on the ground as she did. Duchess Annette walked a few feet behind her, head darting around nervously as she followed. “Lucien, Fernan.”

“Glad to see you’re alright, Laura,” Fernan said. “Both of you, I mean.”

“You are, aren’t you? Even after we had that fight…” She laughed. “One of the good ones, alright.”

“How bad is it?” Lucien asked. “The path here didn’t look too bad, but—”

“Four dead, that we know of. So far. A few dozen more injured.” Annette rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “It could have been a lot worse. Although, you should know, there was another wreck in the harbor. Nothing to do with this, but I didn’t find out until now.”

“Khali’s curse,” Lucien swore. “We need to speed up construction on the lighthouse. It was supposed to be done before another of these.”

“Actually, I might have an idea there,” Laura said.

“Really?” Fernan tilted his head.

“Well, I thought about what you said, back at that peasant girl’s house.” You did? “And then I thought about you.”

Lucien and Annette exchanged a look, but Fernan ignored them. “You thought of a way to help?”

Laura nodded. “I talked to Flammare, and presented him with the idea of manifesting himself in the sky. At least for a while. It’ll set a good precedent before he ascends to Arbiter of Light, and, well, it should help. I hope.”

“I hope so too.”

“It’s a start, at least.” Renart exhaled long and hard. “I really hope Emile’s doing alright in there. I don’t know that I have another fight in me without collapsing.”

“You were in a fight?” Laura asked, while at the same moment Annette asked, “Emile?”

“Yes,” Fernan said. “To both. We tried to negotiate with Glaciel, the spirit behind this.”

“It didn’t work.”

Annette scoffed. “What a surprise, that asshole. You know, Camille lectured me on the Winter War for a solid three hours and I swear, by the end, I was ready to throw Glaciel into the sun.”

“Yeah, exactly. But Emile saved us. He was the one who pushed them up against the wall, and now he’s—” Lucien was interrupted by an appearance of the man himself, walking quickly but elegantly towards them from the city walls.

“Good news,” he said casually once he’d arrived. “Glaciel has agreed to a ceasefire, at least until all of the spirits are assembled.”

“Wait, why?”

“I made her a compelling offer. You really should be grateful I arrived when I did, children, or there might not have been a Guerron left to host them all.” Leclaire patted Lucien on the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some urgent business to attend to. An old friend is arriving soon, and I need to make the appropriate preparations. I’m sure we’ll all enjoy catching up soon.” Without another word, he walked away, heading north into the city.

For a moment, they all stood there, dazed, watching Leclaire walk away.

“What the fuck just happened?” Lucien muttered.

“I need to get some sleep,” Annette said, shaking her head. “This might be my last chance for a while.”

Laura nodded. “I’ll talk to Flammare.”

“I’ll go help with search and rescue, make sure no one’s trapped in the destroyed houses or anything.” Fernan spared another glance towards Camille’s uncle, then set about his work. I suppose arrogance runs in the family.

Glaciel was true to her word, whatever the nature of the promise she’d given, and she and her spirit-touched stayed within her castle for the next two days.

Actually helping people for that time was soothing, especially when he found a kid trapped under a caved-in roof that everyone else had missed. It was a break from conceited nobles whose self-righteousness was almost more annoying than their selfishness.

Lumière had been such a blatant prick that it had made Fernan forget, for a time, how much the rest of them had in common with him.

Normal human contact like this, away from all the posturing and politics, it felt invaluable. It was the first time he'd had a conversation with his mother that had lasted more than an hour since arriving here, or learned the name of Chanteclair’s new baby. It’s not just for me, either. The time was long overdue to put in work here more directly, instead of just trying to head off disaster from afar. He’d been away from his people too long, distracted by the trial, then the sun disaster, and now this. Finally, a moment, however brief, to recuperate and—

“Hey, Fernan!” Florette jumped up out of nowhere and wrapped him in a hug. “Did you miss me?”