Epilogue

  “No, John, I will not!” Julia cried, “I will not be passed off to live on the Queen’s mercy. I will not be a spinster, damn you!” Her voice had risen to shouting now. John sat quietly, looking out at the city of Andaban from the balcony on which they sat, taking breakfast. Her tone softened slightly, but she still spoke with intensity, “I have nothing, John. None will have me now. All will assume that I have been ruined in captivity. Helena, at least, has her father to care for her. The rest of the noblewomen have their titles and wealth. I have nothing, John. My father was neither wealthy nor titled. He rose to colonel by his skill as a soldier. He had only the wages of a soldier. I am left with so little.”

  “Do you not have any family?” Dryden asked idly.

  She glared at him as if the question were obscene somehow, “You know my parents are dead.” She replied with a tone that said he was the greatest of fools.

  “Apologies, I was referring to extended family. Uncles, cousins?”

  “Only distant relations. None with means.”

  Dryden wondered if she couldn’t find work, but he held his tongue. She was accustomed to the role of noblewoman, though that had only been possible because of her father’s station as a senior officer in the King’s army. He was also not completely a fool. He could read between the lines of what she was saying and knew she was asking him to propose, though to make the proposal herself would be a great scandal. He had a certain attraction to her since they first met when he had arrived in Vurun, and he had often thought of her while she was a captive. He knew that he could not propose, however. He was a gentleman of good breeding and a second son of nobility. Being the second son gave him more latitude, but he could not simply choose to marry whomever he wanted. That was an arrangement for his father to make. There were many considerations: dowries, political alliances, social standing, inheritances, and more. His father would want him to marry up, or at least marry someone who brought something of significance to the family. With Colonel Gorst dead, Julia brought nothing to the bargaining table. Her attempt at the suggestion was desperate. His serious consideration of it, even for a moment, was madness. He ought to have recoiled from it. At best, marrying a low-born woman without wealth or connection would result in being completely disinherited, never mind marrying without his father’s approval. It was unthinkable. Yet here he was, thinking upon the very matter. He took the small porcelain cup and sipped his black coffee.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to say anything?” Julia prodded.

  “I will write to my father.”

  Julia scoffed, “My appetite has gone. I will return to my room and take my breakfast there.”

  “As you wish.” Dryden turned to a Vuruni servant standing nearby. “Do as the lady asks. When that is done, bring me this morning’s paper.”

  The man bowed, “Yes, sahib,” and began to ferry her dishes inside.

  Julia turned and went, “Enjoy your meal, John.” She said bitterly as she left.

  Dryden looked out across the city. The balcony from the hotel in Andaban had a fine view. Old stone buildings spread out across the valley. Palm trees and towers rose throughout. Blue domes and whitewashed towers stood bright in the sun. It was quite a pretty place, he thought to himself, when it was not under siege. Order had been restored through the colony at great cost. Vurun itself was a ruin, now abandoned by not only Vastrum but also by Fyranis and Kavala An-Dakal. After the war, the An-Dakal clan had lost the strength and will to hold the city of Vurun and retreated back to their strongholds. The valley was now a wreckage that no one wanted. On the other hand, the northern colonies from Andaban to Ghinai and beyond were thriving and harmonious once more.

  The servant returned a few minutes later and handed Dryden a copy of the latest newspaper. It was dated as being a few weeks old. That was about the quickest that anything ever arrived in Vurun from Kathalamanyr, the bright and shining capital of the Vastrum colonies of the east. It was where the governor-general was and the main garrison of the army. It was also where the 13th Dragoons were heading. They had been reassigned away from Vurun along with most of the rest of the surviving forces who had been assigned north of Andaban. Only a few small garrisons would remain in Ghinai and across the Kryval. Dryden unfolded the paper. It was the New Kathala Gazette. The front page had a sketch of a burning city with the word “Retribution!” printed large above it. The sketch looked nothing like Vurun. Dryden doubted the artist had ever been to the place. He did not care to read about that subject. He had been there, done it. It was over. He turned the page.

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  “War in the East!" the next headline read. A civil war was brewing in the old empire of Rakhmar, where princes battled for the throne. He read on. There was unrest in Dravan. Someone had struck gold in Durzan.

  “Letter for you, sahib.” The servant interrupted his reading and held out a silver tray with an envelope addressed to Dryden, sealed carefully with his father’s wax stamp. Also on the tray was a small, ornately decorated letter opener. He took both, broke the seal, and read the letter. It was in his brother’s hand.

  Dear Brother,

  I hope this letter finds you well. We have heard of your exploits in Vurun. Everyone has heard of them. You are famous! We are all so very proud of you, John. I am writing to you not only to congratulate you on your success but also to inform you that our father is unwell. I will not sugarcoat it. He is dying. The doctors think it is a tumour. It is pressing on his brain. We do not know how long he has left. If you are able, I would ask that you come home to visit him before he passes. It may be the last opportunity.

  All the best, and with much love and admiration, your brother,

  James Dryden of Starlington

  P.S. With father ill, I have taken over the running of the household. I have rehired Rosie. She has asked after you several times. She has not forgotten you.

  Dryden smiled. He and his older brother had always been close. He wondered, though, that his brother had mentioned Rosie. Was she not just one of the serving girls? It seemed an odd thing for him to mention. She seemed a distant memory, like staring at a stranger through fogged glass. He wondered again that he had named his horse after her. He knew he would have to write back to his brother. He knew that it was his obligation to return home, too. He would need to see his father before he passed away.

  A face poked through the door onto the balcony. “May we join you, John?” It was Mar.

  “Of course,” He gestured to the seat Julia had vacated.

  Mar stepped out onto the balcony and sat. “We’ll need a third chair,” he told the servant, who nodded and disappeared.

  Colonel Havor came through the door after Mar. He, too, sat as the servant arrived with another chair for him. Havor was no longer skeletal in appearance, though he was still rail thin. The colonel had always been pale, but now he was more so, taking on an almost sickly pallor. He squinted in the morning sun.

  “I have been reinstated,” Havor noted dryly, “Despite my protests.”

  “The 13th is yours, Jack.”

  “You did well enough without me. I told them you were better suited to command the regiment. They disagreed. Haddock fought for you, you should know. He said I should be a full colonel, and you should be the commander of the 13th. Belfair fought against your promotion. Ultimately, the governor-general blamed you for Vurun, for reinterpreting his orders. In his letter, he called it a debacle. He said the only reason he was not court-martialing you was that you were famous, and doing so would be wildly unpopular back home. Also, I hear Queen Ella is quite taken with you, or at least with your growing legend. Still, Belfair is determined to keep you a major. So we’re all stuck in the Bloody 13th. Khathan will retain his captaincy against Belfair’s protests. The Brigadier did not like the idea of a Guludan officer in a Vastrum regiment, but it wasn’t up to him. To be honest, I’m not keen on it, either, but if it rankles Belfair, I’m for it. Never mind that, though; we’re to report to Kathalamanyr at our soonest convenience. We’ll replenish our number before we see action again. I should think…”

  “I need to visit my father in Marrowick.” Dryden interrupted. He tossed the letter on the table, “He’s dying.”

  “That’s good. You can recruit for us while you’re there. This stays at this table, John, but Haddock thinks another war is coming. A bigger one than we’ve seen for a while.”

  “With whom? The Fyrin army retreated after we burned Vurun.”

  “No, not with them. You read the paper here?” Havor said, gesturing to the folded-up newspaper on the table.

  “I skimmed it.”

  “It’s Rakhmar. If the civil war goes on, Haddock thinks the V.A.C. will try to take advantage. With Vurun gone, we need another source of aethium. Apparently, they’ve begun growing it up in the mountains in the northern provinces of Rakhmar. Not as good quality, but still, a damn sight better than having our war mages go mad or worse using lesser catalysts. Anyway, the V.A.C. wants it. I hear the king won’t go for it, but Haddock thinks they’ll try anyhow. Regardless, we must be ready, John. If the V.A.C. invades Rakhmar, we’ll all be pulled in soon enough. I’ll give you the leave to go back home, but I expect you to use your newfound celebrity to bring a couple hundred brutal bastards back from Vastrum when you return.”

  “I can do that.” Dryden nodded.

  “Good. I expect us to be up to full strength this time next year. There will always be another war to fight. Comes with holding an empire. We must be ready for it.”

  “Indeed, sir. I must take my leave, gentlemen,” Dryden said, “I must write a letter to my brother and make preparations to return home.”

  Mar nodded to Dryden, “Do not be long, John. I suspect this war will come sooner rather than later, and we will all be pulled into the tempest. Aethium grows where the blood of gods has spilt. Write your letters, see your family, and do as Havor bids. Do not forget the curse that has been placed upon us. Do not forget the sacrifices we have made. How much more will be asked of us in the wars to come?”

  Dryden frowned, “It is ever the same in all wars. We are men of Vastrum, and we will do our duty as long as we are able.”

  The End