Chapter 28 – The Prince

The so-called Master Dubhrua turned to face them, and the Selenians now had a good view of him. He was a little taller than Yuliya, and a fair bit taller than either of Team Elpis. His metallic features, specifically his bladed hands and axe-like helm, glinted in the candlelight. The rest of his body primarily featured red-and-black colouration.

The Bisharp fixed them all with a steely glare. No words came from his mouth, setting in unease all the greater for the Selenians.

Yuliya could barely hold it together. She tried her hardest to hold back a sob as she spoke to a face she hadn’t seen in five long years.

“Y-Your Highness…It’s really you, isn’t it?”

(Art by maskedwayfarer on Discord.)

The Bisharp’s glare softened slightly, but it still retained its hardened edge. Arian could feel the bitterness radiating from Dubhrua, in all of its oppressive nature. He grimaced uncomfortably, feeling almost weighed down by its sheer force. Looking over, Elvira seemed to feel that way too.

“…Yuliya.” The Bisharp spoke for the first time. “It has been some time.” His voice sounded rich, his silver spoon accent prevalent. This was a noblemon, undoubtedly. But the dignity of his voice was overwritten by a heaviness that suggested he had been through his fair share of tribulations.

“Y-Your Highness!” A few teardrops fell from Yuliya’s eyes. “You’re alive! Oh, thank the Creator, you’re alive! I truly thought you had perished five years ago!”

“That really is Prince Leonid, huh…” Arian murmured. So he actually stayed in town, even after the way he was treated?

“I did not die on that day. The castle guards saw to that,” Leonid replied. “They got me out of Iria while that monster took the lives of my parents. From there, Lada’s knights transported me to the Dresilian border. I am indebted to them for allowing me to live.”

“They were brave soldiers,” Yuliya sniffed. “If I can find them, I wouldn’t be able to thank them enough.”

“If you still can. Mitrofan would do away with them if he knew.” A snarl crossed the prince’s face. “How did he do it? How in blazes did that turncoat turn my entire country against me? My father spent years cultivating the trust of his people and nobles, and earned their respect through his virtuous deeds. How is it that in the span of a year, that spiteful Aggron was able to turn my own people against me?”

“Not everyone. Mitrofan rules through fear and oppression,” Yuliya corrected. “His Majesty ruled through grace and care for his people. I’m sure that once you return, Your Highness, they will side with you and help you to overthrow Mitrofan!”

“…Tch.” However, Leonid didn’t sound convinced. “It won’t be as simple as that. Any attempt to overthrow him won’t be accomplished without proper planning and organisation. I will not hear pipe dreams of revolution and glory days unless I see evidence of such a thing.”

“But we have just that, Your Highness!” Yuliya told him. “Back in Selenia, Branislav has organised hidden forces to come forth when the time comes. And more recently, we have allied with remnant forces of the Irian Guild, and it was thanks to them that we were able to find your whereabouts! Two of their members travelled with me to Alba.” She gestured to her mercenary companions. “I would be none the wiser had we not met.”

“You…enlisted the Irian Guild for help?” The Bisharp blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

“I did indeed. They’re against Mitrofan as well, and have similar goals to ours,” the Furret explained. “They’re being led by Mud Bomber Melchior, and have their own group of determined fighters. They have additional ties as well, which is how they were able to locate you. Our alliance hasn’t been for long, but already it has borne fruit.”

“…So you believe.” No joy sparked in Leonid’s eyes, however. Instead…suspicion glinted in them. “Alas, that fruit will rot before you know it.”

“Oh dear…” Elvira murmured, as if she knew where this was going.

“The Irian Guild are a treacherous breed, Yuliya. Have you forgotten the patronage my dynasty showered upon the Guild over the years, protecting them from constant censure, only to be stabbed in the back when that vile Guildmaster descended upon Iria Castle, killed my father and took his crown? Do you forget your enemies, Yuliya?!”

“I do not, Your Highness!” The Furret was taken aback by her liege’s sudden rage. “They are not our enemies! Not everyone in the Irian Guild supported Mitrofan’s takeover! Quite the opposite – many turned against him! Team Marshwood, his most devoted team, turned against him! Mud Bomber Melchior leads the Guild now, and Fernblade Kallias’s daughter is among their ranks! That’s her right there!” She gestured to Elvira.

“Bah! I have no time for such overtures!” scoffed Leonid. “Guild scum were always looking to undercut us from the very start! Do you not see, Yuliya? This is a Mythymnan Rapidash that only opens the door to treachery! Just like that filth Mitrofan did to my father and my nation!”

“You know we can hear you, right?” Arian interjected.

“I know full well you can hear me, Riolu,” Leonid snapped. “Your intent is fully clear to me, and I will not fall for your tricks!”

“It’s not like that at all,” Elvira said. She breathed in, trying to keep her cool. “We want to help you, Your Highness. We want to liberate Selenia from Mitrofan’s clutches just as much as you do. Selenia’s been left in a deplorable state because of him. My town, Ozerograd, was taken over by a bandit gang who terrorised the townsfolk day in, day out for five years. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I’ve experienced what it’s like to live under him.”

“…You are the daughter of Fernblade Kallias, Yuliya said?” Leonid murmured. “Keep talking, Treecko. What else did that monster do?”

“He hired House Kumiega’s heir to become one of his marshals,” Elvira began.

“What?” The Bisharp suddenly became alert.

“He trespassed upon the Irian Catacombs as well,” Arian said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He burned down the Irian Guild and made everyone who didn’t join with him an outlaw,” Elvira went on. “Our very existence is reason enough for him to chase us down, and-“

“I’m not interested,” Leonid suddenly cut off.

“Wh-What?”

“There you go rambling about yourselves once again! You had me fooled for a moment! You had me believing you genuinely cared about the welfare of my nation.” Selenia’s tsesarevich glared at them.

“But when pressured, all you care for is your own back. Not your clients, not your people, and most certainly not the house that ensured your existence!”

“Without us, we wouldn’t even be meeting right now!” Arian countered. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“Arian!” Elvira whispered urgently.

“You dare speak to me that way, Riolu? Do you knowto whom you are speaking?” Leonid pointed a blade at Arian.

“I’m not stupid. I know who you are, Prince Leonid,” Arian said.

“That’s no attitude of a saviour. That’s closer to someone who would stab me in the back the first chance they got!”

“For the love of God, we are not going to betray you! We-“

“Dyna ddigon!“

The commanding bellow of C pierced through the air, halting Arian and Leonid in their tracks. The Falink marched up to them, the rest of his legion behind him.

“This constant arguing will get us nowhere!” the lead Falink said. “Arian, if you want to bring Master Dubhrua home to Selenia, then treat him with adequate respect! You’re burning bridges with that attitude!”

“…Fine.” Arian would’ve retorted, but saw C’s point.

“Thank you for that,” Leonid said.

“You are not without fault either, Master Dubhrua!” C’s outburst caught the Bisharp off guard. “Part of a leader’s integrity is trust! By cutting off these mercenaries, you are no closer to reclaiming your homeland! You want to dethrone that Mitrofan and become tsar of Selenia, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, Carwyn. What is a prince if not devoted to his realm?”

“If you are devoted to your realm, then take this risk!” C urged. “And should they step out of line…we will act on it. That’s right, isn’t it, soldiers!?”

“Sir, yes, sir!” five voices yelled in unison.

Leonid scowled in annoyance. The look on his face spelled angry reluctance at having to possibly partner with those he’d expressed disdain for not even a minute ago. But…even the prideful prince had to admit his subordinate had a point.

“…Tch,” he spat. “Fine. Yuliya is here – I can trust her at least.” He gave a knowing nod to his sister-in-law. “But let me make one thing quite plain to you mercenaries.” His attention turned to Team Elpis. “One step out of line and you can kiss any semblance of an alliance goodbye.”

Arian was about to retort, but Elvira cut him off.

“We accept your decision, Your Highness,” she said.

“Hmph. Now, then onto the next matter,” Leonid said. “We need aid, and that is something all three countries have denied me.”

“All three?” Yuliya frowned.

“Indeed. Be they Alba, Dresilia or Miletos, when Selenia’s hour of need is nigh, they all look the other way. That is the reality before us,” Leonid spat.

“Is there no other way, Your Highness? It has been a few years. Attitudes may have changed.”

“One thing is more certain. I will not return to the East,” the Bisharp prince declared. “I sensed connivance in the negotiations, and there were signs that they would help me, but only for their own benefit. Fellow Selenian nobles warned me of a deal that would come with strings attached, so to speak. I will not have that.” He shook his head. “Selenia’s shackles would remain – the only change would be their owner.”

“But that’s surely the mark of compromise, isn’t it? We must make sacrifices for our nation, and if that means-“

“No, Yuliya,” Leonid cut her off. “Under no circumstances am I allying with the East. Especially not with Dresilia.”

“Hm? Why them?” Arian asked.

“Quiet. We are not touching on this matter right now,” the prince shut down. “With them cast aside, that leaves Alba as our only remaining option. Alas, Rí Trahaern burned that bridge by cutting ties with me some time ago.”

“But that was a few years ago, by the sound of it,” Yuliya pointed out.

“A year and a half ago.”

“Attitudes can change,” the Furret went on. “Could he not give you a second chance?”

“Rí Trahaern is not known for second chances.”

“It’s worth a try, isn’t it? This is for our country, Your Highness!” A tear dripped from the knight’s eye. “We cannot simply shut off every possible opening. If we do that, Selenia will never know freedom!”

“I agree,” C said. “And so would my men. I understand your feud with Rí Trahaern more than anyone. But it’s a gulf that must be bridged! If you can do that, then you’ll have quite the backing, as well as a possible future ally against the East!”

“That…” Leonid was about to protest, but saw the Falink’s point.

“Please, Your Highness,” Yuliya begged. “For our country, please reconcile with Rí Trahaern. Selenia’s fate depends on it.”

The Bisharp considered the words of his allies, and the pleading looks of each of them. Even Team Elpis silently implored it, though they said nothing in the wake of Leonid’s harsh words to them.

“…Alright,” he said, with a hint of reluctance. “I will try.”

“Great!” Yuliya cheered. “I’ll head back to the Guild ahead of you and try to arrange a meeting with Rí Trahaern, Your Highness. He is aware of us, and knows that we want aid to overthrow Mitrofan. Having you by our side would greatly strengthen our cause.”

“Very well. Go, Yuliya.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” And with that, Yuliya left the room. The creak of the front door could be heard, followed by a slam.

“Right.” Leonid turned his attention to Team Elpis. “Let me make one thing plain right now. I may have agreed to this alliance, but that does not mean you have earned my trust. You will need to do much to regain it, after the Guild’s betrayal.”

“We have every intention of proving we mean our loyalty, Your Highness,” Elvira pledged. “You will see that the Irian Guild stands with you and will help you reclaim Selenia back from Mitrofan’s grasp.”

“Hmph.” The prince remained unconvinced. “Stick to your vow, Carwyn. It never hurts to be safe.”

“Yes, Master Dubhrua!” Carwyn collectively obliged.

“…Master Dubhrua, huh?” Arian noted. “What’s up with that name? Why do you call Prince Leonid that?”

“It’s a name adopted as a suck-up to Albans,” Leonid said. “They can’t stand titles like ‘Prince’, and many don’t appear to like Selenians either. The name change is an attempt to blend in. …Not that it works,” he murmured. “But I can’t call myself Prince Leonid. Not in public, anyway. In public, I am Dubhrua, and I demand you refer me as such.”

“Alright then, Dubhrua-“

“Master Dubhrua. I have integrity, you know.” Affront laced Leonid’s voice. “Show some respect!”

“…Very well then, Master Dubhrua.” Arian cringed after saying that. I’m no servant of his.

“Now come.” Leonid flicked his tattered cape. “Let us away. Rí Trahaern will not come to us.” He strolled towards the door, Carwyn following after him in a chorus of footfall.

“Let’s go, Arian,” Elvira said, and started after them.

“Right…” The Riolu followed her, with a hint of begrudging. The exchange that unfolded stirred discontent in him, as he headed to the front door.

I’m not going to enjoy working with him, am I?

 

 

---

 

 

The evening sun shone brightly upon St Táiltiú’s Square, as Leonid, Carwyn and Team Elpis went outside. The Falinks formed a ring around Leonid as they stepped out into the open.

“Before we begin,” the Bisharp said. “Pay no mind to passersby.”

“What does that mean?” Arian asked.

“Do not ask silly little questions,” Leonid scorned. “When I order you to do something, you do it without question. Is that understood?”

“…Yes,” Arian muttered. “Master Dubhrua.”

“As it should be.” He turned, and began to march. Team Elpis followed him.

There weren’t too many people around the square – evening was setting in, and most families were inside having their evening meals. The scents of home cooking wafted through the air, and Arian’s tummy growled as he breathed in the air.

Hopefully the Guild has food for us. I’m starving after all that looking around today.

It wasn’t long before the group arrived at more crowded streets. At first, neither member of Team Elpis noticed anything off. But then…

“Wait a minute. Isn’t that…?”

“That’s Himself, alright.”

“That cábóg‘sstill around?”

“I thought he’d gone back to that green hell of his.”

Arian’s sharp ears picked out whispers from passersby, and his senses picked up on a multitude of emotions. But none of them were positive.

Suspicion. Scorn. Disdain. Feelings of this nature prevailed amongst those on the street. Team Elpis tried to make themselves as unnoticeable as possible, but this wasn’t fully successful. Their trailing after Leonid drew the ire of more Albans.

“What’s with them? Why are they following him?”

“D’ya see those bairns, Fionnuala?”

“Aye, I do. The hell are they doin’ with aul’ Dubhrua?”

“That’s Dubhrua? Ah, stop! Ya mean, yer one who…?”

Arian didn’t hear the rest of the remark from the passing Greavard, as they drifted out of earshot. It was a pity; he would’ve wanted to hear more. Then again, he recalled Rí Trahaern’s words.

Challenged one of their strongest generals to a duel and lost…Is that why these people don’t like him? The Riolu looked around him, at the faces of contempt. But why? Why did he do that? Did he really think he would win?

“Keep marching, Riolu!” Leonid’s call drew him back to attention.

“Oh, sorry!” he apologised. “Master Dubhrua!” he then added before the Bisharp could chastise him. He cringed at his words, but swallowed them as he caught up with the prince.

They walked on, weathering the looks and remarks they got from passing Pokémon, until they arrived at the bridge to the Rí’s Guild. The evening sunlight glinted off the waters of the Istwyth, in quite a sight to behold. Team Elpis would’ve stopped and taken in the view, as some on the bridge were doing, but they had a more pressing prince-related matter on their plate.

The group arrived at the Guild entrance, the same place where Arian and Salann had their altercation the day before. The latter remained at his post, along with Alasdair. However, both immediately moved in front of them to block their path.

“Oi! No access to the likes of you!” Salann shouted, pointing at Leonid.

“I need to see Rí Trahaern,” Leonid demanded. “Let me through!”

“Not a chance in hell!” Alasdair growled indignantly. “Not after the way you acted, you gàrr-laoch!“

“Hold on a minute! What’s all this?” Elvira asked. “Why are you acting like this to Master Dubhrua?”

“Is this to do with when he came here first?” Arian wondered.

“Of course it fucking is,” Salann hissed. “You really thought you could take on Fachtna, of all people? Ruthless Wrecker Fachtna?”

“Of all the people to challenge to a duel…I’m amazed you even have the gumption to show your face back here,” Alasdair scoffed. “The hell you think the answer’s gonna be? Absolutely not!”

“Absolutely yes!” another voice cut in. A familiar, chipper tone.

Just like the day before, Scáthach fluttered down from the portcullis roof and landed in between the quarrelling parties.

“T-Tánaiste?!” Salann was taken aback by the Archeops’ sudden appearance.

“Let him in,” she ordered.

“B-But Tánaiste!” This time, Alasdair joined in the protest. “Do you realise who’s standing behind you?”

“I know Dubhrua’s behind me, Alasdair.” Scáthach looked over her shoulder. “Long time no see, huh?” Oddly, the chipperness that normally accompanied Alba’s tánaiste seemed to diminish once she and Leonid caught eyes.

“Tánaiste Scáthach,” Leonid acknowledged. “We meet again.”

“Yes, we do, Dubhrua,” Scáthach replied. “And I’m gonna let you in. But only because Trahy said so. If he didn’t, I would’ve left you out in the cold.” She turned to the two guards. “Let them through, or I’m telling Trahy.”

The threat of the Copperajah’s wrath was enough to make the duo part ways and open the path to him

“Come on. You don’t wanna miss dinner, do you?” Scáthach said. “Trahy wants you there. Now brostaigí, or it’s gonna go cold!” She then flew away into the Guild, leaving the four far behind.

“You heard her. Enter.” Salann gestured coldly to the tánaiste. The four wordlessly obliged.

The walk through the Guild’s courtyard was uncomfortable at best. The throng of fellow mercs was nowhere near as crowded as yesterday, but the few that were shot piercing glares towards Leonid. The Bisharp did his best to pay them no heed, but Arian sensed a hint of discomfort coming from him.

“That fucker’s back…”

“What does the Chief want with him? That’s what I’d like to know.”

“He can’t seriously see the potential in that Sel, can he?”

Remarks from passing Guild members accompanied Team Elpis, Carwyn and Leonid into the Guild itself. Arian admittedly felt slight pity for the prince, but kept his thoughts to himself.

Along the Guild’s hallway, Yuliya awaited.

“Your Highness.” She bowed to him. “I have managed to secure a meeting with Rí Trahaern.”

“I heard there was to be a dinner over which we would speak again?” Leonid said. “Tánaiste Scáthach claimed as such.”

“Yes. Preparations are being made as we speak.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence persisted amongst the group of five Pokémon, while they waited for the all clear. Eventually, that was given to them by a Claydol servant.

“The rí is waiting for you,” they buzzed. “Follow me.”

The group followed after him, entering the canteen. The smell of Cairbre and Tiarnán’s delicious cooking drifted through the air, reminding Arian of when they arrived yesterday with Team Scalebreaker. The two dragons were nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. Must still be off on that mission, the Riolu presumed.

The Claydol headed for a door off to the side marked, and telekinetically opened it.

“Rí, Tánaiste.” He bowed his head, as best a Claydol could. “Prince Leonid has arrived, along with Team Elpis.”

“Get them in here.” The gruff voice of Trahaern could be heard.

The Claydol stood aside as the group of five stepped into the room. There awaited Trahaern and Scáthach, both of whom fixed their eyes on Leonid.

“Take a seat.” The Copperajah used his trunk to pull out a chair, looking less than pleased. “I never thought you’d come crawling back here.”

“Persistence and desperation go hand in hand,” Leonid said. “Something I imagine most Albans are familiar with. Is it not the way for the poor in this country to try and become strong, and in turn hoist themselves out of their plight?”

“That’s…true,” Scáthach admitted.

“Hmm.” Trahaern looked down on Leonid. “Maybe you aren’t completely tactless. We’ll see once this dinner gets underway.”

As if on cue, servants entered the room with covered plates, and placed each down on the tables. They then lifted the covers, revealing steaming hot stobhach laoich on each of them, though with more vegetables in this batch.

“Sit down and eat,” Trahaern instructed. “Don’t let Chef Cairbre’s hard work go to waste.”

“I had no intention of doing that.” Leonid sat down at the seat that the rí had pulled out. Team Elpis and Yuliya took their own seats, while Carwyn stood by Leonid.

Arian and Elvira both looked at the stew in reluctance, remembering the kick the spice provided last time. They gingerly took a spoonful of stew each, and brought it to their mouths.

“Ack!” Arian uttered. How’s it even spicier this time?! It was like a fireball was on his tongue! Not wanting to cause a fuss in front of three royals, he kept his mouth shut, which made tears leak from his eyes. Looking over, he saw his partner do much the same thing. Across from him, he sensed Yuliya had similar sentiments to them, but she was doing remarkably better at hiding her feelings, barely flinching as she daintily brought the food to her lips.

At the same time, Trahaern, Scáthach and Leonid had begun conversing. All three tore their attention from their food and listened in on the conversation.

“So where have you been all this time?” Trahaern spoke, after which he grabbed some stew with his trunk and brought it to his mouth.

“…Living in a house at St Táiltiú’s Square,” Leonid told him. “I’ve gotten by.”

“I knew you were still around,” Scáthach said. “Ca did invite you for a divination ritual some time back.”

“They did indeed. But for what?” the Bisharp huffed in contempt. “All it amounted to was that clergymon telling me I would never become the Tsar of Selenia.”

“Wait, what?” The Archeops was taken aback, and the Selenians, Yuliya in particular, grew rigid at Leonid’s words.

“What did Their Grace say to you?” Trahaern asked.

“I do not care to repeat it,” Leonid replied. “The way they lace their words with cryptic meanings and false allusions…I cannot stand when words are danced around in front of me! Do you truly rely on such balderdash, Trahaern?”

“Hey!” Scáthach cawed angrily. “Take that back! Don’t say mean things about Ca!”

“Quite right, Scáthach.” Trahaern kept his composure, but a note of scorn entered his gravelly tone. “The advice of Archdruid Cathbad has been invaluable whenever they have given it. They have saved me and others from various assassination attempts with their insight, and have been a guide in times of decision. Their view of Fate, while mysterious, is not misguided, and they hold the beacon that guides us to the truth.”

“Tch. And yet they dabble in such cryptic language. How do you know they’re not misleading you?”

“Many times has Their Grace lent their aid, and not once has it turned out to be folly,” the rí countered. “I trust them, and I will not do to our Archdruid what Pyrrhus did to the Pythia.”

“It is the matter of relying on it,” Leonid said. “Considering what I have been through, I have learned that those who I can trust are few and far between.”

“An aspiring leader placing doubt in trusting others? Well now.” Trahaern’s eyes flashed with disappointment. “That’s not a good sign at all.”

“I beg your pardon? Explain yourself, Trahaern.” Leonid shot an accusatory look at the Copperajah.

“Placing trust in others is a basic function of a leader,” Trahaern explained. “Your people pay you taxes and swear allegiance to you, and in return, you offer them shelter and protection in your realm. It’s not a fair exchange if you don’t trust them even after they serve you. In many instances like that, tyranny follows, and where tyranny reigns, suffering is inevitable.”

“Excuse me? Are you calling me a tyrant?” Leonid said, aghast. “A tyrant is the very reason my people are suffering! Are you deaf to the cries for help of innocent people to the south?!”

“I am aware.” Trahaern was unfazed. “And?”

“And?! You know of their woes. You hear the voices of my people as Selenia withers under that monster. But you sit about in Breifne and do nothing about it!” Leonid slammed the table in outrage, knocking over a wine chalice. Luckily it was empty, and a nearby servant righted it again.

“There is one simple reason why I have not acted,” Trahaern said, intent on keeping calm. “The Selenian people are indeed in dire straits. Many of them have hope that their tsesarevich, as you call your heir, will return to them one day. Three of them have even come directly into Alba to find you.” He gestured to Yuliya, Elvira and Arian with his trunk. “But the problem lies in who they seek. That problem-” He paused, before directing his gaze back at the Bisharp. “-Is you, Leonid.”

“You claim I am the problem?” Leonid gritted his teeth. “Do not insult me in this manner, Trahaern!”

“Indeed I do,” the Copperajah said. “History is rife with examples of aspiring leaders overthrowing tyrants and pledging freedom, only for them to become tyrants themselves. Even if you do succeed in kicking Mitrofan off your throne, what then? Who’s to say you won’t fall into that same trap?”

“I most certainly will not!” thundered Leonid.

“Hmph. Your actions belie you.” Trahaern remained unimpressed. “You could not complete Fachtna’s training. You could not rise to the occasion, even when reminded that passing the training meant we would give you aid. You brazenly gave a challenge to Chief Fachtna you could never win. A year and a half later, and you don’t appear to have changed at all.”

“I could say the same about you!” Leonid yelled back. “You are as apathetic now as you were then. Is it any wonder that in an era of extreme drought, you have not answered your people’s pleas? If you are a ruler who understands it all, then explain the feuding chieftains of Dálriada and Annwyn!”

“Hmm? What’s this?” Yuliya murmured. She and the other Selenians noticed that both Trahaern and Scáthach suddenly looked more serious.

“That area has been a breeding ground for rebellious behaviour. Any day now, it could turn into something more substantial.” Leonid suddenly had a second wind, and seized on the opportunity it presented. “You should have dealt with this problem at the core, but you have allowed it to fester and now feuding has spread to neighbouring tíortha. At what point will Breifne descend into riots and looting? At this rate, it’s going to happen!”

“You cannot talk! You, whose nation rose up against you!” Suddenly Trahaern’s composition fell away. “Cónaíonn tú i dteach gloine! Do not speak to me of rebellion when you were brought down by that very thing!”

“That does not change your own standing! You call me a tyrant, yet you exhibit those signs yourself!”

“How dare you, you vile little-“

“Alright, enough!”

The outburst came from Scáthach. Trahaern and Leonid halted their bickering, both of their gazes turning to Alba’s tánaiste.

“Please don’t argue,” she said. “It’s not fun to listen to.”

“Hmph. Tell that to this upstart.” Trahaern pointed his trunk Leonid’s way. “Daring to insult the Archdruid and our chieftains, right in front of us!”

“You’re right,” Scáthach acknowledged. “That was kinda rude of you, Leonid. You really shouldn’t say stuff like that, especially when Ca has a way of knowing these things. It could come back to bite you, like it did for others who made an enemy of them.”

“Tch…” Leonid would’ve retorted, but he gave an annoyed huff instead.

“But Trahy…he has a point.” The Archeops turned her attention to the rí. “Alba really isn’t in the best of shape right now. With this drought, we really have had problems securing food and water. It’s made things all the worse when it comes to Dálriada and Annwyn. They’ve always been at each other’s throats, but the drought’s made it worse than ever, and their raids are nearly constant. If we ignore them, then problems are gonna spread, and we’ll lose the goodwill of other chiefs.”

“Don’t be paranoid about them, Scáthach,” Trahaern criticised. “All the other chiefs’ backing is very much assured.”

“I don’t know about that. Ca’s had some unnerving feelings as of late,” Scáthach said. “We need to stop those two chiefs before things get any worse. We have enough on our plate as is; we don’t need rebellion on top of it.”

“Hmm…” The mention of the Archdruid gave Trahaern some pause. He seemed to consider the words of his tánaiste, before he gave a decision.

“Very well. You’ve made a good point, Scáthach. We must deal with this scourge directly, and I know of a way to put them in their place.” He paused for emphasis, before continuing.

“Prince Leonid – you will be the one to quell this matter. You and your Selenian companions.”

“…How did I know you would say that?” Leonid grumbled.

“So you have perception after all,” Trahaern muttered. “You will head out tomorrow morning. All the instructions will be given then.”

“Hold a minute. Have I not a say in this?” Leonid objected.

“No, you do not,” the Copperajah shut down. “If you want Selenia’s rot to continue, then by all means deny me and keep aid beyond your reach.”

“Hmph,” Leonid uttered, but he said no more than that.

“You should be grateful, Prince Leonid, for I do not give second chances often. Hear this seanfhocal from Laighean – ‘Tugann taoisigh cneasta dhá sheans, ach ní thugann ach amadáin trí cuid.’ In your tongue, this would translate to, ‘Honest chiefs give two chances, but only fools give three.’ You would do well to keep this in mind.

“If you succeed, we shall talk more on the matter of aid,” the rí continued. “But you must succeed in quelling this threat to peace, and if you fail, the outcome will be the same as your continued insults to my name.”

“…I understand.” Suddenly, Leonid became more serious. Reluctance remained, but he understood Trahaern’s warnings.

“That is all there is to discuss for now. Finish your meal.”

Trahaern’s words were final. No conversation took place for the rest of the meal, the clinking of cutlery filling the air instead. The task ahead of them weighed on the Selenians’ minds as they finished off their food.

Before long, all the plates were clean, and Trahaern stood up.

“You are all dismissed. We shall speak more on your mission in the morning. Scáthach and I will see to the necessary preparations.” The Selenians took his order as a missive to leave, and they obeyed.

Once they were all out of earshot of the Copperajah, Arian was the first to speak.

“We gotta quell a revolt?” he said. “How? We’re only ten people!”

“Quit your complaining. We have no choice in the matter,” Leonid replied. “If we want Alban aid, we must help them before they help us. A basic gift of reciprocity – one you should be quite familiar with as mercenaries!”

“Hey! That’s not how it is at-“

“Arian,” Elvira interrupted. “I get your complaints but we can’t really argue our way out of this. We just have to buckle down and hope we have what it takes to do this.”

“Do you think we can?” Arian looked worriedly among his companions.

“I’ve quelled small-scale revolts before,” Yuliya said. “But that was with Trokhym’s help. I must admit my unease in this too. But…if it’s for my tsesarevich and country, I’ll see it through.” She put a paw to her chest.

“Thank you, Yuliya.” Leonid turned back to Team Elpis. “Get some rest. You need to be at your peak tomorrow. I will not tolerate failure, and nor will Trahaern.”

“Gotcha,” murmured Arian halfheatedly. “Come on, Elvira. Let’s go.” With that, the duo left to return to their guest room.

 

 

---

 

 

With Team Elpis gone, that left Leonid, Carwyn and Yuliya on their lonesome.

“Come with me, Yuliya,” Leonid suddenly said. “We need to talk.”

“Oh? Of course, Your Highness. What do you wish to talk about?”

“Follow me.” The Bisharp began walking, followed by the six Falinks. Yuliya followed after them, through the hallways of the Rí’s Guild.

Eventually, they found their way to a balcony. Thankfully, it was empty, giving Leonid peace of mind to discuss a pressing matter with Yuliya.

“It is good to see you again, Yuliya,” the prince began.

“Likewise, Your Highness,” the Furret returned. “You said there was something you needed to speak to me about?”

“Yes. A pressing matter.” Leonid looked at her right in the eyes. “You might have noticed there is…someone missing.”

“Svetlana.” Yuliya suddenly realised. “Your Highness? Where is she?” A note of panic entered her voice, fearing she knew the answer. “Why is my sister not by your side?”

Leonid didn’t answer immediately, pausing as he took in a long breath and gave a sigh.

“Gone.”

“Gone?” That one word struck Yuliya’s heart like a knife.

“Svetlana disappeared whilst we were in Mirionydd, in Ceredigonia. It was the middle of the night when I woke and noticed she was not in her bed.” The regret exuded from the Bisharp as he told the tale. “Around that moment, I saw a shadow on the windowsill. I feared it to be an assassin, but then they jumped out the window. I gave chase across rooftops, but I did not get far. My puny Pawniard body could not keep up.”

“Did they kidnap Svetlana?!” All composure had evaporated from Yuliya.

“I do not know. But in my haste, I had forgotten the fractured state of Mirionydd. Before I realised it, I was swarmed by a gang of bandits. I had trespassed on their territory, and they paid me back by beating me within an inch of my life.”

He winced at the memory. “I truly thought I was going to die. If not for Carwyn, who nursed me back to health, I would not be standing before you today.”

“Heavens above…” The Furret turned to Carwyn. “Thank you for saving His Highness.”

“Much obliged, ma’am,” C acknowledged.

“In that moment, Svetlana was lost to me. I was forced to go on to Alba without her, for staying in Mirionydd became all the more risky when more fighting broke out the next day by one of their revolutionary gangs. I left the city in the turmoil, and travelled to Breifne with a group of refugees. They were taken in by the Alban Church, while I went directly to Rí Trahaern.”

“So that’s who those people were,” Yuliya said. “They were Ceredigonian refugees…”

“Innocent people who wanted to escape the subjugation of Cunobelinus, their praetor. I do not blame them one iota,” Leonid said.

“But Svetlana…” A tear dripped down Yuliya’s cheek, and she began to sniffle. “My sister!”

“Let your tears out, Yuliya.” Leonid looked down, his fists clenched. “The fault is mine. I should not have been so careless.”

The Furret was too emotionally overwhelmed to take in those last words, and fell to the ground as the trickle of her tears became a torrent. Sobs erupted from her, as she cried for her missing sister. Leonid stood by her, making sure that she had an outlet for her anguish. The loss of Svetlana weighed on his conscience, and he felt a crushing sense of failure from it.

This is the least I can do for her. I could not keep Svetlana safe, but Yuliya is still alive. The closest person to family I have left…I have to keep her safe. I must.

 

 

---

 

 

The Empyrean Mountains reached their lowest peaks at Ardalion’s north. The land here was arid and dry, and the difficult terrain made it hard to carve paths through the mountains. The thin soil cover made it difficult for crops to grow, though some berries thrived as they did in just about any ground.

In some parts of Dresilia, they called this region ‘the final reach of civilisation’. Alba called the region ‘ár dtír caillte‘. It was a haven of lawlessness, often met by harsh law and order from the region’s ruling authority.

This was Ceredigonia. It was either a province of Dresilia, or a tír of Alba, depending on who one asked. The right of who owned the land was hotly contested, and many wars had been fought on its soil.

Both nations wanted that land so they had a buffer against which to guard against the other nation. It had changed hands a number of times over the years, but Dresilia had held it for most of its history, and continued to do so to this day.

However, while this border was the most fortified in Ardalion, with well-guarded forts lining just about every mountain pass and road that led westwards, there was rarely a moment of security. Alba had long since winded down full-on invasions, but small guerrilla armies sometimes slipped through the cracks and attacked the Ceredigonian authorities that way. And beyond that, there existed those of Alban blood within Ceredigonia’s borders, who assisted and launched their own attacks in the region.

Safe to say, it was quite a headache for the Druddigon praetor that led this region of conflict.

Cunobelinus sighed in annoyance as he read a report he had been given. Another attack in Merionethensis, the biggest town in the province of Ceredigonia. This time, it was on a visiting official, and yet again it was the actions of Ruthless Wrecker Fachtna’s mindless followers who were responsible. Those same agitators who vandalised the ‘Merionethensis’ signs and painted ‘Mirionydd’ over them, the same who claimed Ceredigonia belonged to Alba. Ever since he’d taken over the praetorship of this troublesome province, they’d been nothing but a thorn in his side. By the sounds of it, it had been the same story for his predecessors.

“Alban-blooded scum,” he growled. The news did get better near the end; thankfully; the attackers had been apprehended, and were currently being interrogated. Then they’d be taken to court, be declared guilty and imprisoned for life. As was customary for lowlifes of their sort.

I’ll let the magistrates deal with that nonsense. Cunobelinus filed the report with the others that were on the right side of his desk. Now then. Onto other matters.

He took other sets of parchment that had been handed to him. These were a bit different – instead of reports, he was given a pair of posters instead, along with a letter.

The posters depicted a Riolu and a Treecko, with the word WANTED written on the top of both posters. He read the details, but nothing stuck out to him. They were Selenians, apparently, and enemies of the tyrant Mitrofan.

“Sels,” he scoffed. Why should I care about the antics of those savages?

Then he peered at the letter that accompanied the posters. The writing was one quite familiar to him.

I saw these two in Breifne. Apparently, they’re looking for their lost prince. They’re definitely the same ones that Dommy’s looking for.

The letter was signed with a heart, with a serpentine trail illustrated trailing off from the heart’s bottom. Cunobelinus couldn’t help but smile upon seeing it.

The sooner I can pull you out of there, the better. It pains me that you have to be surrounded by scum like them. But you’re strong. You can do this, my girl.

He looked back at the posters, at the Riolu and Treecko pair.

Whatever did that shadow want with these two? he pondered, frowning in puzzlement. They don’t look that strong. So how could they vex someone like Mitrofan? And why does Dominian want them, exactly?

“Not like it matters,” he growled. “Anything to tempt Fachtna from whatever sandy hole he’s hiding in. And perhaps…this may just be the bait to lure that sand-dweller in.”