Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden
Page 26
Kezra’s shoulders tensed, and the smile on her lips faded. “Nawaz? He—he’s—” Her cheeks first went pale and then darkened to a horrible, blotchy red. Why wouldn’t she raise her eyes? Why wouldn’t she look at him?
Blood rushed through Joel’s ears. He could feel the world spinning out of control. “Oh, gods. He’s not—not—is he—?”
“I’m okay, Joel.”
Joel whirled toward the familiar voice. “Nawaz!”
The Healer trudged forward from much the same direction Kezra had. His jerkin was stained with dried blood, but he didn’t appear to be injured. The blood might not even have been his.
Joel reached for Nawaz without thinking, touching one of his tattered sleeves. “I was so worried.”
Nawaz flinched, the first sign that all wasn’t well. His deflated eyes darted once toward Kezra, but then he turned his back to her and his broad shoulders sagged. Ashen cheeks flushed into a blaze of crimson.
“J–Joel,” he stuttered with a heaving chest.
Joel took the Healer’s hand and squeezed gently. What had stolen the life from Nawaz’s gaze? What horrors had he seen out there that could reduce him to a shade of his former self?
“Stand with me,” Joel whispered. Whatever Nawaz was struggling with, he needed someone to ground him. “It’s going to be all right. You’re not hurt, are you?”
Nawaz hung his head but couldn’t conceal the tremble along his bottom lip. “No. I’m fine.”
Joel wanted to press his friend for more, but the argument by the fire had escalated. Swallowing uneasily, he listened.
“We should have focused our efforts on stabilizing the border,” Koal said. “We never should have crossed it.”
Morathi’s face twisted into a fierce scowl. “We crossed because the lost souls of Ashvale and the brave soldiers who fell at Kaleth’s Crossing deserve justice!”
Spirited shouts arose from the crowd.
“There’s no justice to be had if one reckless decision leads to the deaths of ten thousand soldiers. Without food for the men and beasts, we won’t be able to sustain ourselves all the way to Tahir—and you can bet your arse the raiders won’t allow any more barges to arrive. Look, we’re three sennights from the border. If the army turns back now, it can reach Perth before losses begin to mount.”
“You’d have us run like dogs? You’d let the Shirite savages win?”
“There is no path to victory for us now—”
“Like hell there isn’t.” Morathi turned his back to Koal, addressing the gathered soldiers directly. “We mustn’t fault the seneschal for wanting to tuck tail and run. After all, it’s what he’s used to. For years, he served a spineless ruler who was content to roll belly-up and allow our enemies to ransack our borders without reprimand!”
“General—”
“But no longer! Arden’s new leader will not watch idly while our country is terrorized by heathens, and neither will I. As Seneschal Koal is well aware, as commander of the army, I have the final word in all matters of warfare, and I’ve made my decision. We march on!”
Joel held his breath. Why were the soldiers cheering? Had they already forgotten that men like Morathi and Neetra were the reason the army was in this dire situation to begin with?
Morathi raised both hands into the air. “I say it’s time the world knows Arden is a force to be reckoned with! I say it’s time Shiraz answers for its crimes! I say we pillage and plunder our way straight to Tahir’s gates and let those dirty heathens know the true meaning of terror! What say you, soldiers of Arden? Are you with me?”
A deafening roar of cheers and clapping hands answered his call.
Joel watched in disbelief. Lies! Why were they listening to the general’s lies?
He looked to his father for direction, but Koal had fallen back, putting himself between Deegan and the wild crowd. Natori laid a palm over the hilt of her sword, and Tular and Hasain, consciously or not, closed tightly around the prince.
A new terror seized Joel’s body. Oh, gods. Deegan. The army wouldn’t turn on Deegan, would it?
Morathi smiled, sickeningly smug, as the soldiers chanted his name. No one seemed to pay any attention as Arden’s Crown Prince was escorted inside the command tent. Joel stared, face contorted by revulsion. This couldn’t be real! This couldn’t be happening! Had the army really just sided with Morathi?
Nawaz’s grip tightened around Joel’s fingers. “Come on, Joel. We should go, too.”
Joel allowed himself to be led away—away from the insanity, away from the madness. He couldn’t allow himself to think any of this was real. If he did, the tiny speck of hope he clung to would surely slip through his fingers and be lost forever.
Chapter Thirteen
“Kirk. Otho. Come inside.”
The ominous undertone in Marc’s words didn’t sit well in Kirk’s stomach.
Kirk stepped into the dean’s office behind Otho and closed the door. He wiped a strand of damp hair out of his face, wishing he had a change of clothing. The midsummer heat was downright oppressive, and he’d run all the way from the far side of the building to get here. Now his sweaty robes were clinging to his arms in a most unbecoming way.
Marc sat in the windowsill, looking as scattered as the loose parchment strewn across his desk. He stared through the glass pane into the Academy courtyard like he was watching a battle play out before his eyes.
Kirk took a tentative step. “You wanted to see us?”
“Have a seat.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Kirk lowered himself into one of the two chairs meant for guests. Otho claimed the other.
Marc was silent for some time, as if something outside the window held him spellbound. His vacant gaze suggested he stared at nothing, however. Kirk knew the look; the dean’s thoughts were deep, and most likely dark.
Marc finally rose and went to sit behind his desk. Clasping his white-knuckled fingers together, he leaned against the hardwood, as though he suddenly couldn’t find the strength to stay upright by his own accord. His shoulders sagged. “I received news. There’s been an attack.”
The shock of the words sent Kirk leaping to his feet. “What? Where? Wh—”
“Sit. Down.”
Kirk flopped back into the chair. His ears thudded along with his heart. He couldn’t breathe.
Marc closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. It seemed he, too, was struggling to maintain his composure. “I only know what I was told at council yesterday. A small number of Shiraz invaders overthrew one of our supply barges on route to deliver supplies and then used the vessel to infiltrate Arden’s war camp. They destroyed the majority of the army’s food and medicine and left half the encampment in ruins.”
Otho’s amber eyes were uncharacteristically wide. “Were there casualties? How many soldiers did we lose?”
Kirk cringed. He didn’t want to know.
“Casualties were—light. Crown Prince Deegan and Koal are both safe.”
“What about Joel?” Kirk couldn’t resist asking. “Joel’s safe, too, right?”
Marc hesitated, and Kirk could tell the dean was uncertain. “Joel has a good head on his shoulders. I’m sure he’s all right.”
Irrational resentment stole Kirk’s voice away, but truly he wasn’t angry at Marc, only scared because there was no way of knowing for sure.
Joel is fine. He has to be.
“Judging by the letter you found in Neetra’s suite,” Marc went on, “this could be the doing of the Empire.”
Otho nodded in agreement, but Kirk remained unconvinced.
He thought back to the correspondence from Adrian Titus. “I don’t mean to sound skeptical, but I don’t think so. The Empire wouldn’t have stopped after destroying just the food. It was clear in the letter that Sarpedon wanted all opposition to an Imperial alliance annihilated. They would have gone after Prince Deegan and the seneschal directly. They wouldn’t have left any chance of the heir’s survival, nor Seneschal Koal’s.”
Marc grimaced. “Morathi’s given the order to march on. The High Council, of course, voted in favor of the general’s decision.”
A shudder raced up Kirk’s spine. “Are they mad? What if the Shirites sink the next barge that tries to reach Arden’s troops? What then? They’ll be even farther from safety, with no food, and no way for aid to reach them.”
“There will be no more ships venturing into enemy territory. The council won’t risk losing another. Neetra already sent word to freeze all future consignments. The army will have to pillage.”
Kirk threw his hands into the air. “So they’ll arrive at Tahir’s gates weak, hungry, and completely demoralized and will probably be walking straight into a trap devised by the Northern Empire. Isn’t there anything we can do? Why can’t we send a message to Seneschal Koal? There’s still time to warn him—”
“Even if we do send a message, there’s no guarantee it will ever reach Koal,” Marc replied, rubbing at his temples.
“Right,” Otho snorted. “And you can bet your arse Neetra’s got his cronies intercepting every pigeon from here to the border. If he finds out we know more than we should, he’ll be storming our doors before we can blink. We’ll all be hanging from the gallows and Seneschal Koal will be none the wiser.”
“We have to do something!” Kirk protested.
Marc shuffled through the parchment atop his desk, as if half-heartedly attempting to organize it. “Our friends on the front are beyond our reach. We have to trust Koal’s experience and judgment. If anyone can get them out of a dire predicament, it’s him.”
Kirk bit his tongue to keep from lashing out. Did Marc not understand how ruthless Lichas Sarpedon was? Yes, by the grace of the Blessed Son—or dumb luck—Kirk and the others had escaped Teivel, but a half-starved, unprepared Ardenian army would be no match for the might of the Northern Empire. Sarpedon would make damn certain of it. He’d hit Arden hard and without mercy. Even Seneschal Koal wouldn’t be able to escape this time.
Otho folded his arms over his chest. “What’s our next move? What can we do to help from here?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. I’ve already asked far more of you both than I ever should have. I feel like we’re up against a bigger force than Koal or I or anyone else ever imagined.”
Kirk’s heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. Marc wasn’t giving up, was he? “But all the information we found inside Neetra’s suite—”
“—is invaluable, but not exactly useful at this time.”
“But he’s scheming with Arden’s enemies! He’s plotting to overthrow the Radek line! There must be someone you can go to—someone you can tell.”
“Who, Kirk? Who? Koal’s at war. Deegan’s gone, and even if he wasn’t, he’s powerless anyway. And the rest of the royal family? They’re prisoners inside their own palace. Neetra has swayed the majority of the councilors to his side. He’s bought off everyone else and even placed his own agents among the Royal Guard. Now he’s spreading mistrust and lies about the Radek family, and the worst part is that people are listening to him.” Marc squeezed his eyes shut. “Koal is relying on me to hold things down inside the council chamber, but I’m only one man. He was always the unifier, not me. I—I don’t know what to do.” Marc’s voice cracked, on the verge of shattering entirely. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I should have checked it. Why didn’t I check it? None of this would have happened! Why didn’t I check the damn vial?”
Kirk didn’t have any answers. He only had questions. Questions he never got explanations for. Would Marc ever entrust him enough to divulge more than cryptic allusions? Hadn’t he proven himself loyal by now?
Kirk glanced over at Otho and could tell the weaponry apprentice wanted to know just as badly. And why shouldn’t he? They’d both risked their lives for Arden, and neither of them even knew why. They deserved answers. Now.
Kirk cleared his throat and asked bluntly, “King Rishi was murdered, wasn’t he?”
Marc’s eyes popped open and he stared, bewildered, across the desk. Kirk held his breath. So did Otho. Neither man dared breathe until a response was given. Would the dean finally reveal the truth? Would he finally tell them what had really happened to the King?
Silence swelled, filling the room, but at last Marc slumped in his seat and nodded once. “He was poisoned. The healing remedy that was meant to ebb influenza symptoms was tampered with before it was given to him. He drank it without knowing, and by the time we figured out it was poisoned, it was—too late to save him.”
The news should have surprised Kirk more than it did, but he’d been suspecting it for moonturns already. “So that day Otho and I went with you to the royal suite, the talk about the vial you gave him, that was it? That was the poison?”
“Yes. I gave it to him without checking it again. It’s my fault the King is dead.”
“You didn’t do it on purpose—”
“It doesn’t matter. I still killed him! I was framed like a chump. And then to save my worthless arse, Rishi ordered us to make his death look like a suicide. For all the help I’ve given, I might as well be dead, too. I should have just turned myself in. Maybe none of this would have happened if I had.”
Kirk reached across the desk and laid a hand on Marc’s forearm. “Or maybe events would have played out in exactly the same way, except the royal family would now be without one of their most fiercely loyal allies. I haven’t been here for long, and I don’t know very many people, but even I can see how much you do to help your friends. They’d be lost without you.”
Marc shook his head, blurry-eyed. “Aodan was right. I failed Rishi. And now I’m failing what’s left of his broken family.”
Kirk didn’t know what to say, so he squeezed the dean’s arm, hoping the gesture would be enough to show Marc he wasn’t alone.
“Who did it?” Otho asked darkly. “Who meddled with the remedy? You know, don’t you?”
Marc’s face contorted, but he didn’t look up. “We have a pretty good idea who was behind it.”
A horrified squeak escaped Kirk’s mouth. “Was it Neetra?”
Otho curled his nose. “Neetra’s too much of a coward to do anything himself, but I’m guessing he gave the order.”
“Yes,” Marc rasped. Kirk could feel the dean shudder. “There are dangerous men walking among us.”
Kirk’s skin crawled as he stared out the window, trying to collect his scattered thoughts. Contemplating the King’s death wouldn’t do any good right now. Right now they needed solutions for the mess left behind. Marc seemed at wit’s end, ready to accept defeat, but Kirk had learned from years of surviving on Teivel’s streets never to give up.
“There has to be more we can do. What about Councilor Aldino? I think it’s pretty safe to say he’s been bought off. Otho and I more or less found proof of it inside Neetra’s office.”
“I already looked into it,” Marc said. “Recordkeeping of financial contributions to any of Silver’s guilds are available to the public. The Adelwijns did make a considerable donation to the Armorer’s Guild, but there’s no evidence of the funds going anywhere than where they were intended. I don’t think Joaquin pocketed any of it for himself.”
“He’s guilty! I just know it. If only we could get him to confess—”
“Why would he? Joaquin’s a little daft, but he’s not a complete idiot. I’m not sure why he voted for Neetra to be steward in the first place, but turning on him now that he’s in control of the High Council would almost certainly have severe repercussions. Joaquin has much he could lose.”
“What if we offered him amnesty in return for the truth? And protection?”
Marc barked a broken laugh at that. “Protection? We couldn’t even keep the King safe.”
“There must be a way.” Kirk allowed the silence to fester for several moments before he pressed on. “In the Empire, highborn society was lad
en with scandal. I see no reason why that wouldn’t hold true in Arden as well. You say Lord Aldino has much he can lose. Maybe we can take advantage of that.”
Marc raised a brow. “What are you suggesting exactly?”
“Blackmail,” Otho muttered, and Kirk nodded in agreement.
“Problem is, we’d need something worth blackmailing him over,” Marc replied. “Over the years, I’ve been privy to some of the more interesting gossip at court—probably one of the reasons Koal and Rishi tolerated me for so long—and I’m telling you, I have nothing on Joaquin. No secrets, no dirt, nothing.”
Kirk gave the dean an incredulous stare. “There must be something.”
“Not that I can recall. The man’s practically a saint. He’s always been a good sort, and in the past he typically voted in favor of the King. The fact that Joaquin is now one of Neetra’s most staunch supporters is almost unfathomable.”
“Well, clearly he’s changed. The jingle of golden coins must have been too tempting for him to pass up. Neetra paid him off. It’s the only explanation.”
Marc rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe. But I asked around, and there are no indications the Aldino family is in any kind of financial distress. It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would Joaquin completely abandon his principles for something he doesn’t even need?”
“The lure of money turns many a good man into a monster.”
Otho, who’d been quietly listening, shifted restlessly in his chair. “Maybe it wasn’t about money. Look, we sure as hell know what Neetra’s capable of. If he was brazen enough to arrange the King’s murder, what’s to say he didn’t use fear tactics against Joaquin?”
Marc rapped his spidery fingers against the desktop as he considered. “That’s not a bad theory, actually. It’s no secret Joaquin is devoted to his family. He loves his wife and children. I’m sure he’d do just about anything to keep them safe.”