(Hospodian political situation (East))

Palls of thinning smokes hung in the air, slowly revealing lines of men, women and teens going to and fro carrying bricks on their shoulders; some bellowing for more despite the fatigue etched in their expressions. Others carried skins of water or set up tents to treat their wounded with a hint of satisfaction.

Once again they had successfully survived a raid. Once again their walls and defenders had held firm in the face of dazzling volleys of cannon fire and masses of attacking screamers.

A youth could be seen coming out to one of the main castle's round towers. He stared glumly at the sprawling but smoking city before him.

"To think those raiders sallied forth from the city that is Hospodia's ancestral seat..." he murmured bitterly.

His words caused a female officer nearby, who was giving her sword a few strokes of a whetstone with her back to the wall, to pause and look up at him. Her armor was already slick with battle colors.

"I'm very sorry that you have to pass your ninth name day squatting away like this, my prince. Bright side is, it seems to be over for today. Unfortunately we have no navy worth mentioning as yet, to contest their control of the Sarsan Strait..."

"It's alright, Sen," the youth replied without turning. "You and the others have been working so hard these past few days to hold them raiders at bay; and I still have those flying lessons to occupy myself with." He sighed. "I just hope these raids will die out..."

"They will," Senna assured. "No military leader can afford for long to send losing raids. This really is a battle of wills and endurance."

That's it! The ship we faced then could well be one of their would-be raiders... We're indeed fortunate there was only one that day!

"But," the princeling protested, "I was told Arenda's former Mayor Varastra is no military man to begin with."

"True," the female officer's expression hardened with dawning realization. "He's a former diplomat. Where swords fail, words might prove deadlier--or even a mixture of both. We must stay sharp, in body and mind and faith."

"My uncle once besieged this same city for fifty-three days, did he not? We have endured beyond sixty. I hope supplies can last..."

"This city had seen no sieges since the general set out to subjugate Elbar, years ago," Bohma came up behind them, "but he's also a prudent man. I oversaw part of his stockpiling efforts. Commendable indeed!"

"That is past!" Vlos blurted. "Now we do have a siege, however indirect, and I can't even go down there to try lift their morale without being mocked as a wet-eared half-pint!"

Senna cleared her throat, put down the whetstone, sheathed her weapon, and stood.

"In any case," she cut in, "we may have to resort to raids of our own to revive the stocks. Thankfully a number of outlying farms are still in our possession."

"The Varastrians would've seen first to their seizure," Bohma replied.

"Haven't you noticed, dear Bohma, that we've had hardly any land assaults? Merely seaborne raids. I'm guessing Varastra wants to use their tip of naval advantage, given the existence of shipyards in Arenda. That might also help to explain why we managed to hold out for so long, though I dare say tempers are flaring in his camp."

Vlos blinked. "So why don't they just attack from both directions?"

Senna cracked her neck to both sides, this veteran of seventy raids under Urdin. "The land routes are way more perilous, Prince. There is the Mirdas Forest that would impede any full-fledged army, and twin hills immediately after that. Our best shot, as well as theirs, would therefore be through raids and skirmishes. Rapid and fierce, I like them."

"Only if we are winning," Bohma put in.

The princeling was not done. "How was it then that my dad managed to send armies surging to this city's very doorstep?"

"Victory often comes with the more resourceful and daring side, sir, but above all there's The Infinite One's Grace. Your father suggested clearing part of the forest, and his brother saw it done."

Bohma sighed. "It's only been three years since then. Are you sure that 'secret' path isn't going to be re-used by our enemies instead?"

"I left clear instructions for Mayor Yasnar to keep that part under all-day watch. Now if you'll excuse me, I must gather volunteers for the upcoming raid."

"You'll lead them yourself?" Vlos asked.

"Who better? Ukara is reminiscing with his long-lost family; Hnakir is arranging things with the mayor. Bohma, can you be trusted with our liege's life?"

"We have seen enough breaches of trust, don't you think?"

Senna nodded curtly, with a touch of that fiery expression that Hnakir had had a taste of.

"In the meantime, sir, I suggest you get on with your flying lessons. That, or practicing your swordplay; you may need both soon."

"Stay safe, Sen."

***

For all his inquisitiveness, Vlos found the exchange of strategic matters between two of his uncle's former aides (Darra was rumored to have been executed on Vasmir's orders for refusing to go back on his oath to Hospodia) quite complicated--more so when he could imagine the end results directly before him: moans of pain, grief and frustration, often accompanied by opened bowels, festering wounds, gnawing hunger, and extended periods of inaction; especially for ones very much like Saris...

All for the high-sounding ideals of unity! Peace! Security!

And yet, for officers such as Senna, Hnakir and the like, such realities seemed to be overshadowed by the 'simple' act of how far they could move this or that piece onto whichever direction on laid-out scale maps!

Was this why Dad and Uncle used to bicker so often? After all, Uncle wasn't there when Dad's life was put to rest... then again, the same could be said of Dad when Uncle was taken down.

So now they are even, the boy concluded; and Urdin might as well be rampaging from the west alongside what army he could muster, while Vlos himself could only squat in a stranger's city in the east! He did not even have the slightest experience in commanding a raid, through which victory might be delivered...

He sighed.

At least some of those who had been under Uncle's command are now by my side, and they are no pushover. He on the other hand, would have to start anew. Above all, there is The Infinite One.

Things can get rough sometimes, but you must be firm.

The final advice of his father that had flashed in during his rocky time in the ship, now came back with renewed vigor.

"Infinite One," he murmured, looking up, hands raised in fervent supplication, "as You brought us to this, kindly bring us through this."

The princeling then went in search of his lady mother; she whom Urdin had helped to propose, rumors be true. None dared whisper so in her hearing, however--and being former Lady Hospodia, she could be anywhere.

***

As he navigated Balaras Castle's corridors, trying to recall which fork leads to where--or at all--Vlos could not help wondering that there had been a time when Urdin's bellowed commands rang with vigor through the forks, inspiring nigh-immediate response from those called upon. What a sight it must have been, when the general rode in side by side with his liege--Vlos' father--to accept obeisance from the city's top figures; keys to its treasury; cheering of its people, and whatnot.

The current Mayor Yasnar Rahandria himself, it was widely acknowledged, had been among those humbly lined up as prospective Hospodian subjects--and this following the demise of the tyrant Yzarc, who had been Husnir the First's arch-rival for years.

Two weeks after that momentous day--by then the Hospodian garrison had been firmly installed--Yasnar had been summoned to Yzarc's former residence by Husnir's eldest son to be sworn in as the new mayor under Hospodian administration. Over the years, his loyalty had not faltered; quite unlike that of Mayor Mahan Varastra on the other tip of Sigista Island.

Urdin too had become widely recognized as the 'Bane of Balaras' from that day onward; and now Vlos couldn't help thinking that, heck, a nephew of a vampire with such a name and renown was due to be regarded with at least a pinch of fear and awe by present Balarians.

"As of now, I have yet to have the trust of the people here beyond my immediate companions, the way Uncle did with those in Estreon... to such an extent that they are ready to provide bands of warriors for him..."

So the princeling had come to believe, and the realization appalled him somewhat.

"Am I then not worthy yet of the title 'Prince Hospodia', one that many would look up to, as Uncle had so often said? Or is Senna's and the others' willingness to listen to me, simply a ruse to amuse a child who'd lost his father..?"

Perhaps this is why I'm looking for Mom, to again ask for guidance on matters currently beyond my reach, but ones I'd have to master in due time...

At length, he reached the door to Lista's room and was momentarily at a loss whether to knock or not. He did not wish to appear like a crybaby, for he isn't anymore; and yet... And yet...

I am nine now. Surely that means something!

Just as he put his little fist at the door, it opened inwards. For just a moment he stood in Lista's shadow.

"Oh my, Vlos, don't just stand there. Come on in! Something the matter?"

"Are you... about to go somewhere, Mom?"

"Truth is, I was about to look for you. Took you quite a while in that tower."

"Well, here I am."

"Indeed, and you see I'm allowing you in. Come."

The boy took two steps and waited until after the door was properly closed before beginning to speak, as in his uncle's days... before a thought struck him.

I can't be like this forever. I am also a prince, no different than Uncle! I even said so myself once..

"Well, son?"

Vlos looked up and found his lady mother patiently sitting in a chair by her bedside, hands folded on her lap like the refined lady she was. The son had his own room in the castle: a tacit acknowledgement from Yasnar of his liege's coming-of-age.

I wonder why I can't seem to let Mom know that, just yet...

"I... want to talk of something, my lady."

If Lista noticed anything was amiss, she hid it well. "Feel free to, my cub."

'My cub', the princeling thought fiercely. Was that meant to be diminutive? Well, I am a child--no, a prince! Alright, a child prince... Darn...

"Um..."

An awkward silence reigned for a moment.

"As you can see, my lady, I... am a prince."

"Who told you otherwise?"

"None, but you see..." he gulped, mustering courage as best he could. "I must someday lead armies, do battle, care for the people, and the like..."

"This is well-known. So?"

"So, er... I have much to do, and I do feel it awkward to always see you for guidance about how to get things going around here, like this. I... I hope you understand, Mom."

Alista stood. "Oh, I do understand, child. You have no wish to look like you're ruling behind my skirt. Very well, let's be honest. I'm not too much into statecraft even during your father's time. I am simply a former peasant girl with a noble title through marriage to a now-dead king."

"Mom, that is not what I--"

She held up a hand. "There. I am also your mother; and in that position, you need not be shy about consulting me in all matters you'd care to discuss. Never forget that it is part of our belief to be nice to one's parents, always."

Vlos took this in and his expression perceptibly brightened. "Yes, Mom. Indeed it is, thank you."

Lista smiled too and spread out her arms. "Would this Prince Hospodia care for a hug?"

The boy prince took it eagerly, holding the pose for quite some time.

"Prince or no, I am your son, Mom. Always will be. Now Dad's no more and Uncle's distant, you are the closest I could look up to!"

His head was stroked gently a few times. "I'll try not to disappoint you there, my dear brave prince."