Alveron’s inclusion in the leadership of the expedition had some…odd consequences.

  When I fully introduced the ancient Elf to the rest of the Captains, the reactions to him were mixed. Some, like Bella, were already familiar with him. Back in the day, it had been the Thorny Reef that had ferried my companions and I at the time into the docks of Sancthaven. She was respectful of the Elf, but was willing to speak her mind when it came to dealing with him. But to my surprise, it wasn’t the fact that he was an Elf that drew the most attention.

  It was that he was a Paragon.

  Both Gustave and Marcel had taken to treating the last surviving sane member of the Elven royal family with surprising reverence. This was, once again, one of those little idioms that popped up in Veredenese culture. There was a genuine reverence for people who reached the upper echelons of power granted by the System. I had experienced this in the past, of course, whenever I had tagged along with Grey, watching as people bowed and scraped before my mentor. But that was nothing compared to how two previously strong-willed commanders behaved before a genuine Paragon.

  The moment Alveron would even speak in our meetings following his people settling in with the expedition, as we clattered along the forested roads of the upper Barren Forest, they went silent. I would have expected this from Gustave, considering the man was a junior officer, but not Marcel. The Gnoll was a seasoned leader of his people, and not even from greater Herztalian society. But no, for all that the Gnolls were essentially a stranded alien species upon Vereden, he was perfectly willing to step aside for the Elf.

  Nyx didn’t display this behavior, I noticed. Like Bella, the Sculpted woman was respectful, but almost seemed a bit wary of Alveron. I think it was likely because, as a Sculpted, she hadn’t had the deep indoctrination of Veredenese societal norms as she had matured. Her people were still very new to the broader cultural landscape, and in their own social groups, a bit reclusive, despite finally winning their citizenship. Sylvia was a bit of an outlier when it came to who she chose to associate with. The rest of the Sculpted had a reverence for the adopted daughter of Greycton because she was the very first of them. It made my partner a bit uncomfortable at times, and to my understanding, she had been fairly reclusive socially before she had met me, and we had forged a friend group together.

  All that to say, there was a burgeoning divide within the Captain’s circle when it came to making decisions. It wasn’t combative, of course. But I could tell Alveron was still a bit displeased with me, that I had insisted we continue making for Rhoscara, instead of immediately attempting to assault Smaragd. On one side, we had Alveron, with Marcel and Gustave, who seemed to waffle between his hero-worship of me and his deeply ingrained awe for the Paragon. On the other hand, we had myself, Bella, and Nyx.

  And then, in the center of it all, was Olag. I could tell that the Dwarven mercenary Captain was just delighted that he had, seemingly by chance, stumbled into such a position of weight. The Florens Dwarf was an instinctual politician and had immediately realized that he had become the counterweight. For all that he was trying to befriend me personally, he was still a commander in a loose alliance with those he had already fought a battle with. It was easy to tell, at least to my relatively experienced political eye, that the Dwarf was doing all he could to benefit his own people, often playing the two sides against each other.

  In a certain sense, I could respect that. The duty of a commander was, above all, to his soldiers.

  But on the other hand, it was a massive pain in my ass.

  I really hadn’t expected the semi-democratic council system I had chosen to establish the leadership of the expedition to come back to bite me like this. Of course, I was still the overall commander of the expedition, and final decisions still lay with me. But I was reluctant to command like a tyrant, especially when we were gearing up for a massive, protracted battle with the forces of the Principality.

  Because we were getting closer to Rhoscara every day now. And we were starting to find traces of the famous Rangers of House Florens.

  Which meant they were active out in the forests around us.

  Which also meant that Rhoscara had somehow managed to figure out a way to survive within the Skyfall as well.

  I was starting to lose just a little bit of the pride I felt at the development of the APD’s.

  I shouldn’t be all that surprised, though. It’s not like Rhoscara or House Florens were lacking in resources or talent. The city was, quite literally, the artistic heart of the continent. The Florens were respected far and wide, even by their most vocal critics, as the foremost patrons of the arts. Or, well. Maybe matrons, considering Elysael was the current Prince.

  The Rangers were definitely out here, though. Multiple times now, not long after we had officially crossed into the territory governed by Rhoscara, we had stumbled across a familiar sight. The Red City had long ago set up a series of menhirs, or waystones, that pointed the way to the city along the roads. I had first been introduced to them shortly after my arrival on this planet by the merchant Gren, when he had ferried Azarus and I to the city so I could gain my last needed Professions. About waist height on a Human, and hewn from the same crimson stone as the walls of the city, they were the marker that you were on the right path.

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  And they were now accompanied by an official proclamation from House Florens, bearing the seal and stamp of Prince Elysael herself.

  Currently, we had brought the caravan to halt to look at one of these. Originally, when the scouts had returned with news about these notices, I had thought to just have one of them brought to the leadership so we could read it together. Only, Olag had sharply vetoed that idea, arguing that removing these would be a direct antagonization of the Rangers.

  They were meant to remain here for any particular travelers, apparently. And…we couldn’t just put it back when we were done with it, apparently. Olag couldn’t actually verbalize why, of course. Only that it would signal a fundamental disrespect to Dwarven sensibilities.

  So the entire caravan was stopped so we wouldn’t offend our prospective allies.

  “…wherefore we, the people of Rhoscara…in the face of exceeding cruelty…” Olag muttered to himself, rapidly scanning the length of parchment held in his hands. From where I stood, I could see a growing frown on the Dwarf’s face. To my slight discomfort, I was the only member of my growing ‘faction’ in the expedition present for this. Bella and Nyx were back up in the Ashen Bride, while Olag, Gustave, and Marcel were down here with me.

  I wasn’t technically all alone, of course. Nyx had sent along Sylvia as her second, with the other Sculpted woman watching over us in the background. Renauld was here too, primarily because…I think he just wanted to? Because he could?

  Well, that and because I think he was softening on his Father. I wouldn’t tell him this, but it was obvious to me that, for all of the tension between the two Gnolls, Renauld still felt something for him. I don’t know if he was looking for acceptance from his progenitor, or acknowledgement, or something. But recently, I had caught the Healer hanging around during leadership meetings that, while he was technically invited to, as our lead Healer in the expedition, up until now he had been dodging them. Renauld didn’t typically didn’t care much for the minutiae of leadership, eschewing it for the practicalities of his position.

  Right now, he was hovering awkwardly to my left, acting like I was a shield from his Father, who was…immediately to my right.

  Marcel, of course, was oblivious to all of this. Truly a paragon of fatherhood. When Olag fell silent to outright scowl down at the paper in his hands, the older Gnoll pointedly cleared his throat. “Well, Captain Olag? What does it say?”

  Said Dwarf flicked his eyes up to consider the other Captain, before dismissing him in favor of me. “They’ve declared independence from the Principality,” Olag said bluntly, curling his hands around the parchment’s edge. “Effective immediately, Rhoscara has designated itself a…” He glanced down briefly. “‘Free City-State’, laying claim to everything west of the eastern coast to the central highway, and south of the northern banks of the Fiume d’Oro. Including the eastern half of the Barren Forest, stretching all the way south to the border with Herztal.”

  We were all silent for a moment, absorbing that. I don’t know about everyone else, but I was trying to parse just how much land that was, based on maps I’d seen. I blinked rapidly when I did. “That’s a fourth of the entire Principality.”

  Hundreds and hundreds of miles of good land…and Rhoscara had just decided to lay claim to it all independently?

  “Not only that, but nobody has laid claim to any stretch of the Barren Forest before,” Marcel pointed out incredulously. “To do so essentially indicates that they intend to wrest it from the Elves within and hold it. Such a thing would be a campaign on an…unimaginable scale.”

  I exchanged a troubled glance with Sylvia, who had wandered closer at the frankly stunning proclamation. “They choose now of all times to do this thing?” She murmured.

  She…had a point. Beyond the daring it took to declare your independence from your nation, there was the matter of doing this in the middle of the apocalypse.

  What the Hell was Elysael thinking?

  “I guess we know why the Principality is so willing to burn them out,” Renauld shook his head. “Guess it wasn’t just about the whole, you know. Fomenting slave revolts thing.”

  I winced…

  And then nearly had a heart attack when an unexpected voice spoke up behind the group.

  “This is who you have chosen to risk everyone to save, Nathaniel?” An aged, distinctly displeased voice uttered. As everyone gathered jumped at the intruder, I glanced back and found Alveron standing behind us, clad in his cloak and mask, but sans his staff. Instead, the elderly Elf’s arms were crossed over his chest in pique. “A group of Dwarves who have chosen to steal the land of my people during a crisis? These are your vaunted allies in the face of annihilation?”

  I took a deep breath, aware of many eyes falling on me then. “It…does signal a willingness on their behalf to wage war against the forces of Smaragd.”

  When Alveron’s eyes narrowed at my words, I restrained a wince.

  That…had been the wrong thing to say. Goddamn, but did this guy throw me off my game.

  My salvation came from an unexpected source. “Enough of this,” Olag said abruptly, striding back up to the waystone and affixing the proclamation once more. What the hell happened to not being able to put it back? “We have no time to waste quibbling over trivialities. We must make for the city at once, if only to discover just what my dear cousin the Prince is thinking. Lord Alveron, if you object to House Florens' partial seizure of your lands, then it is there you may lodge a complaint. I know I certainly will.”

  Alveron’s displeasure visibly eased at that, and I restrained the urge to hug the Dwarf because, well. One, that would be unprofessional, and two…

  Honestly, I didn’t want to give him ideas.

  Instead, I cleared my throat, getting everyone’s attention once more. “Pack it up, everyone. You heard the…Dwarf.”

  As my orders were followed, I caught Olag’s eye and nodded slightly to him in thanks. He understood my message, and despite how the Dwarf had essentially helped split the expedition’s leadership…

  I was thankful he had joined us.

  At the very least, Olag was a mostly reliable ally.

  ………………………..

  The very next day, something both expected and unexpected happened. We may have been traveling through the area that the new ‘City-State’ of Rhoscara had claimed, but we had mostly been on the fringes of their traditional territory.

  That must have changed, because when the expedition’s rest period for our current equivalent of night was over, we rose to a mildly alarming sight.

  Another Dwarven ambush. Incidentally, and irritatingly, also from Rhoscaran Dwarves.

  The Rangers had found us.