The Lives of Velnin chapter 21

A Whispered Proposal

Apr 19, 2025

Around me I beheld every crossbow pointed my way. In the dirt, lay Soraina, the Dark Empress, disarmed with her blade flown to the opposite side of the ring. I wondered whether in winning the duel, I had simply signed my death warrant.

From face up in the dirt, Soraina raised her right hand, palm outward. "I yield. Vel, sheathe your sword and help me up. Guards, lower your crossbows."

I slowly, carefully placed Swelfalster back within its sheath. As the guards lowered their crossbows I walked towards Soraina, took her by the hand, and pulled her up.

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Suddenly her hand was cupped against my ear and her hot breath upon it. "Vel," she whispered, "I have need of a consort. Shake off your witch's touch. Be mine, and I will spare your men, and spare Tarmel. Left for any of my soldiers, these will reach me." During her whisper I felt something slide into my shirt. Clever sleight of hand on her part—to pass me whatever it was while all eyes were directed to her lips whispering into to my ear.

Soraina strode across the ring, picked up her sword, sheathed it, and strode back to her throne. Once more seated upon it, she declaimed, "Prince Vel has won his duel, fairly and honorably. Allow him to re-armor, then escort him from our pavilion and allow him to return to his men. We will meet them on the battlefield at this hour, in two days time." With this she went silent. I went to my men, once more donned my armor, and we walked out of the pavilion, flanked by two guards of the Black Legion. From there, we walked back to the wall, unescorted, and rejoined the men.

In my tent, I examined the bundle Soraina had slipped me. It was a package of envelopes bearing the seal of the Dark Empire, slim mana-bearing threads woven throughout the inside. I recognized the magitech as something my brother Velwin made use of during his work as a spy: self-immolating envelopes, which, once sealed, burned themselves if opened without the touch of the intended recipient, whom I was sure was Soraina.

I pondered her offer. Was it genuine? She was the Dark Empress, but she was also, underneath that, just a girl. She must lack for equals, and thus lack for anyone she truly was interested in. Defeating the Black Legion during the Battle of Citadel Ruins, and defeating her in a duel of swords, I had proven myself her peer, worthy of her interest, as perhaps no others in this world were. Perhaps her interest was true, and romantic.

She might also have true and immediate political need of a consort. While her courtiers were cowed, her word was obeyed, and her sword was powerful, she likely could not feel truly secure in her position as a young maiden commanding powerful men, each of whom likely would prefer to be in charge. A consort with a magic sword would be additional insurance against any sudden coup, and via provision of an heir, help ward off any schemes to empty her throne. Yes, I thought her offer to be real.

Was I willing? My mind screamed no. I visualized Aloree in my mind, her face full of sweetness and love. I remembered her kiss, her touch, my arms around her. My heart warmed at these thoughts. And yet... Aloree still in my mind and heart, I could not shake the deep attraction I felt for Soraina. I blushed, ashamed at the thoughts, ashamed to betray Aloree even a tiny bit, even in a small feeling. Somehow, my heart went out to Soraina, and if she had true need of me, I couldn't help wanting to help her.

But the offer... It was for my father's kingdom's protection, only, not for any other. Not for Talore, and certainly not for Aloree. Would Soraina spare a rival, if my army stepped aside? Magic users did not survive the Black Legion; I doubted Aloree would survive the Dark Empire, between being a princess, and magic user, and a rival female. And as Soraina's consort, no doubt she assumed my kingdom would be hers by default once my father died, avoiding the need for a battle at all. No, the offer, though perhaps only an opening bid, was far too low.

I sighed. Ultimately, haggling this was not for me. My father had taught me, and emphasized repeatedly as he saw the romance between myself and Aloree bloom, that a prince must do what is best for his kingdom, and my hand in marriage was not for me to negotiate or decide entirely on my own. He would not marry me off against my will, but the political terms of my marriage were for him to negotiate, not I. I was happy to pass the buck—though I was not sure whether it was because a little bit of me wanted to marry Soraina, or because I did not, and hoped for my father to scuttle any deal so I could have my happily-ever-after with Aloree.

I lay down for the night and closed my eyes, my heart conflicted.

In the morning I sealed most of the envelopes Soraina had given me in a package for my father, along with a note detailing her offer and my thoughts on it. For myself I kept a small portion in case I had need to communicate with her directly, but I suspected further talk was moot. My father would handle it, and if I fell on the battlefield in the days to come, my brother Veltrin might make better use of the envelopes, and her offer. I sent the package away to Tarmel with a messenger and a fast horse.

The mood in the camp was somber as I joined the men for breakfast. Word had spread that this was our last day of peace—tomorrow, battle would be joined. Somehow, knowing the day of our potential demise brought on a moodiness that had not afflicted us as we had first stood at the wall, watching the Dark Empire's forces approach, expecting an attack at any second. Did Soraina know what she was doing, giving us a date to demoralize us and convince us to flee before it came? Still, none broached the idea of flight.

We used our last day as best we could to prepare to deal death. The Dark Empress was correct that we were outnumbered hundreds to one, but thousands of men in a narrow pass with a wall behind them would not be easy to pass, and she would not be able to bring her full numbers to bear on us. I discussed Soraina's fighting style with my officers, and what I thought it meant for her battle strategy: she would prod us, test us, try to take our measure without fully engaging and without throwing her best troops at us until she knew it was time, the way she had began our duel with her weak hand and worked at range to judge my mettle. In a way, this was all to the good: the more the Dark Empire's forces played careful, the more food and water they would run through, and the more time they had to die of disease. Still, we wanted to keep them off-balance, and not play into their plans. When the first day of fighting came, we wanted to make our mark, litter the field with their dead, and put fear in the hearts of the next day's wave.

If they were not committing their best, the Black Legion, they would be committing men without the large shields we used to withstand archers. In that case, our plan was simple: we would allow them to come within about half a bowshot of our wall, and begin to let fly with arrows, taking as many out in our volleys as we could. Our heavy troops would then charge forth from the wall, shields and spears before us, and push them back, keeping them at range in the kill box.

They might very well flee, or retreat. Soraina had worked at the edge of engagement range in our duel, and I would expect no less of her battle tactics. But her troops could not be controlled as well as a master duelist controlled his blade. If we pushed them towards the edge of bowshot, our men would feign panic, and flight. I doubted any but the Black Legion had the discipline to resist this spectacle—the less-trained hordes she would first send against us would surely react by attempting to charge us down. Once we drew them back into the kill box, we would turn around and force them back under our shields and spears, as once again our archers thinned their ranks. In this way, we would litter the grounds with their dead, half a bowshot from the wall and beyond, and perhaps we would indeed build up a wall of their corpses they would fear to pass.

Our plans were made. We prepared to deal death by cutting our hair, taking the bread and wine together, and saying one last prayer for victory—for our triumph, our homeland's protection, and our enemy's death or retreat. All but a few men who stood watch got a good night's sleep.

In the morning we beheld the troops arrayed against us; they had taken position before the rising of the sun. We took our breakfast, did our exercise, and took our positions as the promised hour of the Dark Empire's attack approached. Before us, just out of bowshot, lay an endless mass of grim-faced men in caps with short spears, light shields, long daggers, and powerful bows. Half a bowshot behind their rows without number lay row after row of pure archers wielding recurve bows. As the hour approached, a horn sounded. Overseers began whipping their men from behind, and the spear-wielding men broke into a charge.

Brian Heming - author and pulp fiction fan

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