The Return
The two armies stood in awed silence as Lioran and Kaelen returned across the Plains of Ashenmere together, side by side, their armor shining in the dwindling light. Neither looked like a winner. Both walked with the measured deliberation of men who'd been tested to the breaking point.
When they were at the middle point between the armies, Kaelen raised his sword and held it high.
"The duel is over!" he bellowed, his words carrying out across the grasslands. "Both opponents remain standing. Both fought honorably. The issue is resolved not by killing but by comprehension!"
The Rhaemond forces broke into bewildered whispers. Some troops lowered their blades, not sure what this was about. Others glared at their officers, for explanation that no one was willing to provide.
Lioran lifted his own sword in reflection. "Let it be heard," he bellowed, his voice carrying strength that was not born of the ember. "The northlands will be ruled in common, by joint advice between Ser Kaelen and the Dragon Lord. No further wars between us. But only harmony."
It wasn't the oration of conquest. It wasn't a tyrant's proclamation or a savior's announcement. It was merely the facts of what had happened, presented to those who required to know.
Renn arrived on horseback as Lioran and Kaelen approached the fringes of the Flamebound's line. The young man's face was smeared with tears, though whether from relief or some other emotion, Lioran couldn't tell.
"You lived," Renn said flatly.
"So did he," Lioran answered, nodding toward Kaelen.
Renn gazed between them, taking in this new reality. Then, gradually, he dropped to one knee. Not before Lioran, but before both of them, swearing his allegiance to something greater than either man in isolation.
Other Flamebound knelt, too, in the dirt of the plains. Even Torven, grizzled captain, dropped one knee.
Kaelen shifted awkwardly beneath the gesture. "Stand," he growled. "Stand and ride back to Blackspire. We have much work to do."
...
The Council Chamber
Three days later, Lioran sat in Blackspire's war room with Kaelen, Torven, and a group of nobles and bureaucrats from both the Rhaemond territories and the newly won lands.
The room was changed. Where there had been a throne at the head of that great stone table, there now were two chairs alongside one another—equal in stature, equal in station. Maps had been re-drawn, resources listed, the framework of government laid out like the veins and arteries of a living thing.
"The shortage of grain I forecast is already showing itself," Torven said, gesturing to a part of the map. "The southern granaries were attacked by bandits three days ago. We have at most four weeks' worth of good stores."
"Send riders to the merchant caravans in the eastern provinces," Kaelen proposed. "Make them good offers and promises of safe conduct. Most merchants care about profit, not politics. If we can offer security the old government couldn't, they'll be eager to trade."
Lioran thought on this. The ember within his chest had fallen silent since the duel, as if pleased by something it had seen. The aching need for greater power, greater destruction, greater mastery had lessened somewhat. It was not gone—he could feel it, would probably always feel it—but it was no longer in charge of his mind.
"Agreed," Lioran replied. "And we'll set up warehouses in neutral towns on the trade roads. Make stable stopovers for traders. People will hear that our lands are more secure than others. That's an asset in itself."
Kaelen nodded. "You think in networks. Well. Wars are fought by generals, but kingdoms are constructed by people who know systems."
A messenger entered, bowing slightly. "My lords, there's a deputation of the Church coming in from the south. They bear the white truce banner, but their force is considerable. Maybe two hundred spirits."
The room grew chilly.
"How far?" Kaelen asked.
"Half a day's journey. They'll be here by evening."
Lioran rose and went to the window. From here, he could look out and see the southern road stretching on into far mountains. Somewhere along that road came the Church's answer to his being.
"Let them come," he said. "But ready the castle. I want guards stationed, but have them out in the open and clearly in command. We don't want them thinking we're hiding or fearful."
"Are you scared?" Mira stood in the doorway, having been there listening. Lioran hadn't seen her.
He looked at her. "Yes," he acknowledged. "The Church is faith structured into authority. That's a different type of foe than soldiers or blades."
"The Church is people's desire for meaning," Mira amended. She stepped into the room, her standing somehow authoritative even though she had no official control. "You must know that before they get here. You must know what you stand for to them and why they fear you so much."
"I'm a heretic," Lioran said. "Someone who applies power that goes against their doctrine."
"No," Mira replied. "You're evidence of their incomplete certainty. You're living contradiction to their absolute truths. That's why they fear you. Not because you're evil, but because you're actual evidence that their conception of the world is defective."
Kaelen rose. "Then maybe we should offer them a solution. Let them see that we are not their enemy. That we are not trying to eradicate their belief, but to live among other than together."
"Will they take it?" Renn inquired. He'd been sitting in the corner, but now he rose. "The Church has been calling crusades since I was an infant. They do not bargain. They cleanse."
"Some do," a new voice chimed in. People turned to find an old woman in plain robes standing in the doorway next to Mira. "Others know the world is bigger than dogma."
She came into the room with unexpected authority, and Lioran assumed this must be someone important—a priestess, perhaps, or someone with ties to the Church.
"I am Sister Elara," the woman said. "I've come early of the main delegation to speak with you before the crowds gather and positions become entrenched." She indicated for Mira to assist her to a chair, and Mira did so without hesitation, as if they had known each other for years. "The Church splits on the issue of the Dragon Lord. There are some who desire your execution. Others perceive opportunity."
"Chance to do what?" Kaelen asked, his hand remaining close to his sword.
"For change," said Sister Elara. "The Church is hardened. We talk of compassion and faith, but live doctrine and order. When the High Cardinal learned of you, he saw danger. But some of us saw something else. We saw a possibility to remember what we were to be."
She fixed her eyes on Lioran. "The question is whether you are willing to work with us towards reform, or whether you will continue along the path of unavoidable conflict."
Lioran's ember ignited—not with rage, but with something nearly akin to curiosity. This was not the confrontation he had anticipated. This was negotiation. Potential.
"What would reform look like?" he asked.
Sister Elara smiled. "That, young Dragon Lord, is a discussion that will take far longer than one night. But I believe it is a discussion worth having."
...
An Unexpected Alliance
Evening fell on Blackspire, and Lioran stood on the battlements as the Church delegation arrived.
Two hundred spirits, all but a few of them clergy, but soldiers as well—though they looked more ceremonial than soldierly. The High Cardinal himself rode among them, an old man who looked astonished to still be alive, never mind capable of making this trip.
But it was Sister Elara who commanded most attention. She rode alongside the Cardinal with an air of authority that indicated she wielded more influence than her plain robes suggested.
Kaelen stood with Lioran, observing the procession moving through the gates of the fortress.
"Do you believe her?" the knight asked.
"No," Lioran acknowledged. "But I see her. She's like Mira—someone who wants to see the entire richness of a situation rather than breaking it down into neat categories."
"And the Cardinal?"
"Him, I'm not so sure about. But even dictators can be persuaded if you discover the right fulcrum."
They came down from the battlements to meet the representatives of the Church in the courtyard.
First among them was Sister Elara, bending her head slightly. "The Dragon Lord receives the Church in his fortress?"
"I receive those who wish to talk to my home.
Whether you represent the Church or just yourselves, we'll have to see."
The Cardinal advanced, and Lioran detected recognition glimmer in his very old eyes. "I know you," the old man stated. His voice was reed-thin but firm. "Not you, precisely, but what you are. This has occurred before, hasn't it? Other Dragon Lords. Other instances."
"Yes," Lioran replied. "As per what I have been taught, numerous times."
"Then maybe," the Cardinal said slowly, "we've been combating the wrong foe the entire time. Maybe we should have been studying you instead of attempting to annihilate you."
Mira came out of the fortress and stood with her son. Her voice was gentle when she spoke, but it had absolute conviction behind it.
"Then we have a great deal to talk about. Shall we commence?"
The evening that followed would remake the northern lands forever.