The kingdoms of Galt and Rendur stretched almost parallel to each other, thirty or so miles of twisted alpine valleys separated by a group of mountains called the Verwall. Long time rivals, long time enemies, they would have been at each other's throats constantly if their mutual borders came into more than a few miles contact at either end. As it was, those ends fluctuated constantly. The western border, with the mountain Alpila in at its heart, had changed hands more than twenty times in the centuries since the two kingdoms had been founded. As for the eastern border, only the fact that constant battle interrupted much needed trade with central Austria had kept the area relatively stable.
To Quentain Noloscari, wanderer, mercenary and constant observer of human behavior, the relations between the two kingdoms was unsurprising. He'd traveled great distances in a search for something that even he couldn't quite name and had come to the conclusion that the some things never really changed. The best way a ruler could keep his people controlled was to distract them with outside dangers or rivalries. Thus, every so often, Rendur would find an excuse to invade Galt, or Galt would return the favor. Not even their common faith could prevent their little wars. Especially not recently, when the heresy of the Calvinists had been making inroads into western Galt.
Had there been no mountains separating Galt and Rendur it was almost certain that one of the two kingdoms would have wiped the other out. Even more likely, only one kingdom would have formed in the broad valley that would have resulted. The Verwall, though, stood as a great divider, an almost bird shaped range of mountains that kept the two kingdoms from each other's throats.
The real mystery to Quentain was that neither Rendur nor Galt claimed the Verwall for themselves. Rather a small - and it had to be miniscule indeed to fit within the Verwall territory - kingdom called Kardovia ruled there. Isolated, almost certainly too high in the mountains to provide much viable farmland, it seemed almost impossible that there could be enough people in that spur of land to make a kingdom. Yet, despite that, there was both king and kingdom. There was also a princess.
"They're an odd people," the Royal Cook told Quentain when he brought the message that said princess, along with her brother, were going to be visiting Galt. Reto was a fat old man, in his late fifties and slow moving. Since Quentain didn't trust a cook who didn't like food, Reto had his complete approval. That the man had, in his youth, spent a number of years visiting many of the places Quentain visited more recently the friendship was inevitable. "We don't see more than one or two Kardovians come down from the mountains in a hand of years. No fault to them, though. They tend to be the ones the peasants blame when things go wrong. Rumor says they're witches and devil worshippers."
That was the sort of rumor that tended to give kingdoms an excuse to go to war and - considering that taking Kardovia would make invading the other kingdom simpler - it seemed odd that neither Galt nor Rendur had done so. The question made Reto shrug, a gesture very like Quentain's own father when he'd asked an impossible question. "Take a look at those mountains sometime. Would you want to try taking an army up there?"
"It could be done," Quentain answered, thoughtfully. "But no, I wouldn't want to try if I didn't have to." There were, he knew from the maps, a few passes into Kardovia, one of which appeared to be fairly straight, with a slope that would allow quick movement for a well trained troop. Still, that long smooth slope might be deceptive, leaving one open to attack from the mountains on either side of the valley. As for the other passes, only a fool would attempt to lead an army up steep, twisting, goat-trails. If the terrain didn't kill off half your men, those guarding the trail would be in a position to pick them off one by one.
Reto yelled at one of the cook-boys to turn the spit over the fire more slowly and grinned at Quentain. "There's more to it than that. That place scares people. There's more than just the terrain to deal with. More than just wolves or bears or the like. That plateau to the west of us? There's supposed to be a whole tribe of monsters - ogres or the like - living there."
Ogres could definitely be bad news. Quentain had run across a few in his travels and the last one had given him his permanent - though fortunately slight - limp. "Even so...."
"Even so," Reto answered, tone slightly mocking, "Kardovia's mountains are supposedly full of ogres, trolls, giants, dragons and worse. Maybe some of it's superstition, but you and I both know some of it isn't."
Quentain smiled wryly. One of the results of a misspent and extremely nomadic life had been the opportunity to see magic at work first hand. The Church, of course, frowned on sorcery and anything related to it, but that hadn't stopped him from being curious. "So between the mountains and the monsters neither King nor Church has managed to overthrow Kardovia and make it Galt. From the fact that I haven't heard of Kardovians invading either Galt or Rendur," he paused a moment to allow Reto to spit over his shoulder at the mention of the other kingdom, "I take it that Kardovia's rulers aren't interested in expanding their borders."
"If anything it's the opposite. Now I haven't made much of a study of it, being a bit busy making pretty dishes for his Majesty, but one hears things, even down here in the kitchens." Reto paused another moment, long enough to check the sauce for the goose he was roasting, "The way I understand it, Kardovia used to cover more territory. From the sound of it, they may have ruled the valleys surrounding the Verwall a long time ago. Then the Romans came in and forced them back. Since then, they've just gotten more isolated."
One of the things Quentain liked about Reto was his hunger for knowledge. He might say he hadn't made a study on a matter but his education - for all its erratic and eclectic nature - was better than anything a noble might receive. More importantly, the former mercenary was willing to share that knowledge with anyone and since Quentain's whole life had been guided by the principle of 'Find out why,' the two men had hit it off immediately.
"Quentain Noloscari!" The voice of one of Quentain's fellow soldiers cut through the sound of plates clattering and chopping knives. "Commander wants you!"
Regretfully, Quentain hoisted his long shanks off the kitchen counter and accepted the apple that Reto handed him. Straightening his tunic he headed for the steps up and back to work.

.oOoOoOo.

The trip down from the Zophia province had been pleasant enough, particularly when a small band of Ur-Zophia showed up to escort them most of the way. It was, to Marguerite, something of an honor. Ur-Zophia tended not to make their presence known to the human population of Kardovia, preferring to keep to themselves in their mountains. That the band's leader, named Bael, wanted to talk with her, his big, furry form ambling beside her horse, was more than Marguerite could have hoped.
The questions Bael asked were mildly confusing, though, leaving Marguerite wondering if something was wrong among the Zophia. They had never cared about the way humans ruled themselves before now. And yet Bael wanted to know everything about her, about her brother and about the King who had sent them on this journey.
Her own history, and her brother's, was easy enough. The Riekart family had ruled the Shinvarl valley, between Mt. Kastein and Averna, for centuries. Her mother, distant cousin to the king himself, had died when she was young and she had taken over the duties of chatelaine, just as her brother had taken on many of their father's duties when grief for their mother had practically incapacitated their father. Their lives had been quiet, ordinary, lives. Marguerite had fully expected to - one day - marry someone outside the valley and leave home, the usual life of a second child not inclined towards the Gods or the sword. Bar would inherit the dukedom from their father and - like their father - do his family proud.
Except two years ago Marguerite's life had changed. The king was celebrating the fiftieth year of his reign and everyone was expected to attend. They had gone to the ceremony in the cathedral atop Mt. Kastein and as it had ended the King had spotted her, his eyes widening at the sight. At first she'd feared that Lueh, who had a reputation for spreading his favors far and wide, had taken a fancy to her. Except something seemed to drive him to leave the Royal box and go to her, something compelled him to speak. "The Twins command me," he had told her, lifting the Crown from his head and holding it out to her. "The future of the kingdom is yours. When I die, the Crown is yours as well, to give or keep as you see fit."
It had been decades since the Crown had been so offered. The last time had been by Lueh's father, King Anri, handed to Lueh barely a year before the King's death. Lueh had taken the crown for himself, having decided that he would be the best choice to rule the kingdom among the possible candidates. For most of his rule he'd done well, too, though Marguerite had heard rumors that all was not as it seemed. Before now she had never concerned herself with the particulars, being more concerned with keeping her own small portion of the kingdom running well.
The responsibility of being Crown Princess was one that Marguerite had nearly refused. Certainly from his expression the King would have wished her to. Yet responsibility was one thing she had never shirked in her life and if the Twins - messengers of the Three and Kardovia's protectors - thought she was the right one to make this choice then she could not deny them. She'd touched the Crown, eliciting a brilliant flare of light from hawkseye gem set in its front.
Since then she'd traveled around Kardovia, meeting the other members of the royal family and trying to understand what kind of people they were. She still wasn't sure who she would choose to rule, though she didn't think she would choose herself. Somewhere, out there, she was certain, there was a man or woman who would rule the land wisely and well. She only prayed the Twins would guide her to that person before Lueh died.
Bael had listened to her story with interest but with little comment. Nor did he explain himself when they reached the border between Kardovia and Galt. Instead, as was his kind's wont, he and his band had faded into the woods, disappearing into the thick trees that covered the mountainside.
Now, approaching their destination, Marguerite wished she could have refused to leave Kardovia with her brother. It had been the King's idea, this trip. Kardovia was isolated, locked in on all sides by two kingdoms that were - or so it seemed - constantly at war with each other. If they could - at long last - form an alliance with one or the other kingdom they might be able to protect the country better the next time the Outlanders took a dislike to Kardovian ways and tried to destroy them. There had been far too many such incidents in the past.
Still, maybe it was for the best, this trip. Perhaps being out of the kingdom for a while would give Marguerite time to consider. Time to make the right choice. She seldom wished for the Gods to take a more direct hand in the choices their people made but she did wish they would be more clear in their guidance.
As they rode slowly up to the city of Galtur, where the King of the land held court, Marguerite just hoped their mission wouldn't be a total failure.