Jackal Among Snakes

I worked as a mercenary long before I had even heard of Argrave. I fought in a few of King Felipe III’s wars of conquest, but decided to veer away from that path when I came to the conclusion that he had no regard for the lives of his men. Most other armies that I’d served in had that perspective. Levies and mercenaries were not knights—for lords and kings, they were a resource to be used and expended until consumed by the ravages of war. I was given special disregard whenever they discovered I had some elven ancestry.

I saw a hint of something different even before the end of the calamity. I simply had no idea what it might grow into. There were two that did, however.

Galamon the Great, Imperial General of the Twelve Armies, Sword of the Empire

After the war, the army established by the Kingdom of Vasquer essentially ceased to exist.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Posthumously-named Shriekers—servants of Gerechtigkeit that used sound against their enemies—ravaged their ranks. Essentially any battalion without magic support was entirely eradicated. I had the good fortune to serve under an elf named Grimalt (a Veidimen and former royal guard who is now in contention for the role of imperial general, whenever Galamon elects to relinquish the role). His magics were the only thing that preserved my life during that battle.

Before the calamity, I would place our numbers at between fifteen to twenty thousand. After? Elenore reported that only 978 soldiers reported back to duty. That figure includes both those who chose to stop fighting, and those who tragically weren’t given the luxury of choice. Suffice it to say that this fighting force was roughly equivalent to a baron in the former kingdom of Vasquer.

Galamon grew that to a standing army of 120,000 soldiers, with a far, far larger number of men able to be deployed in wartime. Not a one of these men were drafted, conscripted, or otherwise levied.

I spoke to Galamon many times but fought under his command much more. While he lacked the effortless charisma of Orion, he nevertheless inspired an undying loyalty and respect from his men by virtue of his actions. He never gave an order that any of us thought that he wouldn’t do himself. Often a soldier would find themselves aided in a task by a stoic Veidimen, only to later realize that man was their general, not another soldier.

Galamon brought with him from Veiden ideas that disseminated throughout the army—that of discipline, of camaraderie, of a strict hierarchy from which all-encompassing strategies could play out. He brought the notion that a soldier was not merely something to be thrown against other soldiers, but one of many people encompassing the army. It was virtually a brotherhood.

Though he taught the basics of combat, far more important was the idea that soldiers and commanders working in tandem were infinitely more effective than a well-skilled combatant. That same principle could be applied to magic, even—and apply it he did. Each of the twelve imperial armies has a robust battalion of magic users, whose collaborative endeavors often astounded even the emperor and empress.

To that end, we were as much laborers as we were fighters. Near every brick of every road, from the southernmost tip of the Burnt Desert to the frigid north, was laid by a soldier. We were overseen by engineers and architects right alongside our own commanders. Aqueducts, wells, bridges, harbors, lighthouses, canals—though typically drafted by Artur, soldiers did the work. It strengthened our bodies, taught us to follow orders, and built fellowship between one another. The empire never denied us that credit.

How did it come to that point?

In the first twenty-five years, Galamon endeavored to make the army seem a life path just as valid as tilling the land. As with its predecessor, volunteers to the army were paid. Service guaranteed validation for future applications for land settlement, alongside high subsidies. Access to healers was guaranteed, both for the soldier themselves and any relatives. Education, both magical and non-magical, was guaranteed without cost, though suitable aptitude is required for the former. It was through one such education program I learned to read and write.

Just as the benefits were increased, so too were the unpleasant aspects mitigated. The punishment for desertion was no longer death, with the exception of desertion in consort with treason. Death during service provided immense compensation for the families of the departed.

Additionally, the army was undoubtedly a place where merit reigned. It was very seldom that any of us felt we were taking orders from someone unfit and unqualified. Each and all of us watched the best among us rise up and take command, and earn honors commensurate with their efforts on and off the battlefield.

Never before have I been prouder than when I watched the emperor, the empress, and our general bestow a Sword of Esteemed Valor upon a man I called friend—a man I knew was deserving of such an honor. The respect with which we were treated slowly permeated the society that we had our hand in building. None fought harder for us than Galamon.

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Though a very quiet and reserved man, Galamon does tend to speak more when it comes to matters regarding his family. His son went into civil service in the empire, serving in the north in an attempt to facilitate ease with Veidimen settlement in the region. He speaks glowing praise for his wife, who waited for him ‘far longer than [he] deserved,’ by his own words. They have a pet bear.

I could speak for hours of Galamon’s genius in the art of war. In all my years of service, he never truly lost a battle. He established many battalions using a variety of unique tactics. Wyverns, for instance, became a standard battalion under his eye. His mastery of logistics is too astounding to be quickly summarized. His use of magic in battle is so potent I struggle to imagine a foe capable of defeating them. So as not to bore the reader with page upon page of battle tactics, I shall simply leave it at this.

Galamon stands, to this day, as an exemplar of the imperial army.

Orion of Vasquer, Grandmaster of the Knights of the Sun, Shield of the Empire

After the Last Calamity ended, most assumed this acclaimed knight and brother to the emperor would continue his role as protector of the imperial family. That was true, in part. With the imperial family expanding in size, there was ample need for able protectors. Orion personally chose people to watch over the young princes and princesses.

His own twins were among the growing imperial family—a boy and a girl, born 3AC by his wife Sun Li, who he joyously named Argrave and Anneliese. He often declared his children ‘a gift for my faith,’ and ‘an endowment from the generosity of the universe.’ His daughter grew particularly attached to the community of Gilderwatchers he often visited, while his son followed in his footsteps.

Orion’s aim expanded far beyond the imperial family alone, however.

The army, grand and adaptable as it was, proved somewhat lacking when it came to one task—policing. As communities grew, that became an evident weakness. We were trained to fight enemies, follow orders, and complete the objectives the imperial court desired of us. Though we could subdue miscreants well enough, we admittedly lacked certain nuances when it came to presiding over communities.

Orion was the first to notice this issue, and thus founded the Order of the Sun in 2AC after receiving permission from the court. He petitioned in 1AC, but his eccentric request to for those in his order—including himself—to be designated ‘Slaves of the People,’ and to be legally enslaved, caused some delays.

Previously, local militias handled disputes within settlements. Orion’s intent was to do away with that system entirely. Militias and city guards were notoriously corrupt, acting more so by the whim of some city guard commander than by any genuine rule of law.

His knight-commanders were incredibly notable. Mial, daughter of the Castellan of the Empty, was virtually his right-hand. Ruleo and Georgina, both of whom fought for Felipe III, repaired their tattered reputation in service to the people. Veladrien of Jast, or ‘Stain,’ joined with the express intent of becoming a corrupt guard, only to reform beneath the enormity of Orion’s good nature. One of them wore a boar’s mask, and became an idol among children for dashing, daring deeds in defense of the citizens—he would later be immortalized in the ballad, ‘The Romantic Warrior,’ describing his long quest for the perfect master.

The structure of the Order of the Sun is incredibly loose. Knights of the order need only petition the council of knight-commanders for the right to establish a command of their own in a certain region. The rules, however, are incredibly strict. Each and every knight is expected to be a master of the law—indeed, they have to pass a civil service exam to maintain their title. Furthermore, they must prove themselves capable in combat. Whether by blade or spell, a knight must prove capable of taking down five trained men alone without seriously injuring them.

Even despite these incredibly strict requirements, the Order of the Sun is a constant presence in most major cities, and more than able to respond to the needs of far-flung settlements. So as not to be outmanned by criminals, squires also act as lesser members of the Order of the Sun. As knights-in-training, they act as an extension of the knight they serve, themselves behaving with an effective code of conduct and considerable training.

The Order of the Sun embodies the chivalry that had Orion had himself so valiantly championed in defense of his family and his world. I became a squire in 21AC to provide a more stable life for my wife and our unborn child, eventually earning the title of Knight of the Sun in 24AC. Having worked with his knight-commanders, and Orion himself, I can say with complete certainty that no one besides Orion of Vasquer could have established such an organization.

“Orion is singular. Sophia once told me about her fantasy of a perfect knight. Well… she pictures Orion now, I suspect. I couldn’t do what he’s done,” said Argrave during a public ceremony, where someone mentioned the Order of the Sun.

To that point, many have speculated if the Order of the Sun could persist without Orion’s stewardship. Indeed, even the prime minister has had such concerns, at times publicly floating the idea of beginning to transition into an organization more closely-entwined with local governance. The notion received such strong pushback that it’s yet to be brought up again.

By rumor, Orion is the founder of another order founded in the Age of Reclamation—the Order of the Moon. These knights are equal to those of the Order of the Sun, but operate knowing that their deeds will receive no fame. They receive guidance from lunar dragons and the prime minister, helping ferret out conspiracies against the court, breaking up organized crime before it begins, and revealing powerful supernatural creatures like vampires before they can do harm.

I write possessing no proof of the subject, only my testimony as a Knight of the Sun. I believe the Order of the Moon does exist in some capacity—whether under that name, I cannot say. To what extent their influence reaches, I cannot begin to guess. But all too often, burgeoning gangs would crumble unnaturally, and the bulk of the credit would fall upon us Knights of the Sun as if by providence.

The next section of this work will cover the Age of Fury, where both of these organizations were put to the test.