Seven Deaths of an Empire

by Matthews, G R

  “Forgive me, Your Highness,” Bordan said, bowing in respect. “The scouts estimate a force of between six hundred and a thousand warriors. Some mounted, but it was impossible to be sure how many.”

  “And?” Aelia looked up from the map. “I am not my father, Bordan. I do not like to guess.”

  “The scouts to the north were prevented from crossing the bridge,” Bordan started.

  “Governor,” Aelia snarled, rounding on the fat man who backed away, shaking his head. “If your guards are preventing my soldiers from carrying out their duties, it will be you hung from the cross, not them.”

  “My… my… Princess… I—”

  “It was not his guards that stopped the scout, Princess Aelia,” Bordan interrupted. “The northern end of the bridge is guarded by mercenaries. They stopped my… our scouts from crossing. From the tracks that others found and this information, we are sure the mercenary army has crossed the bridge.”

  “You let a thousand mercenaries cross the bridge, Governor.” Aelia’s voice was a cold whisper in the room.

  “We had no reason to not stop them, my Princess,” the governor explained, clutching at his clothes and bunching the material. “Mercenaries often accompany trade caravans or have other business in the forests to the north.”

  “A thousand men is not a trade caravan,” Aelia roared, “it is an army.”

  “We should be able to see them,” Bordan said into the quiet that followed, “when the rain clears. If not, I would suggest they have gone into the forest. The governor’s staff say there are barely three leagues of farmland between the river and forest.”

  “And those on the bridge?” Godewyn asked.

  “Left to dissuade us from following,” Bordan answered, grateful to have someone other than the Princess asking the needed questions. “Were it me and knowing the honour guard is five hundred strong, I would comfortably leave a hundred men to hold the bridge.”

  “A hundred.” Aelia stopped her pacing. “Is that all?”

  “The bridge is not wide,” Bordan said, pointing to his map. “Two, maybe three carts wide. Twenty men, stood shoulder to shoulder, would block it.”

  “And they would have put up blockages and barriers,” Vedrix ventured.

  “They have, so the scouts tell me.”

  “But we can take the bridge,” Aelia said, coming back to the table and stabbing her finger at the map. “Twenty men, even a hundred, can be swept aside by our forces.”

  “It would be a bloody battle, Your Highness,” Bordan said. “They will have set up enough blocks to funnel us into smaller numbers, preventing us from bringing the full weight of our army to bear on them.”

  “You seem to know a lot about what they will do,” Aelia stated, her tone bordering on accusation.

  “I know what I would do, and mercenaries are often led by those who know the price of a life and would make anyone pay dearly,” Bordan answered.

  “But we can get across?” Godewyn asked.

  “We can,” Bordan answered. “I do have one concern.”

  “General…” Aelia growled as Bordan paused.

  “Once we clear the bridge, we will only be able to bring across as many soldiers as the bridge is wide,” Bordan explained, drawing a finger from one side of the bridge to the other on his map. “We will be vulnerable on the northern bank until we can bring enough troops over. If Abra’s mercenaries attack us at that moment, we face losing a lot of soldiers, perhaps the bridge.”

  “How many?” Godewyn asked.

  “Half, maybe more,” Bordan said. “If not all dead, then captured or injured beyond the ability to fight.”

  “So how can we stop that happening?” Godewyn asked.

  “We need information from the other side of the river,” Bordan said. “Has Abra marched into the forest, or is he camped on its edge waiting for the honour guard to emerge? If it is the latter, we will need to find another way across.”

  “There is not another crossing within a day’s ride in either direction,” the governor said. “At least, not large enough for an army.”

  “There are smaller bridges?” Bordan asked. “Where? Mark them on the map.”

  “Um…” The governor took the stylus and dipped into the ink, brushing the excess off on the lip of the pot. He began to draw lines across the river to the west. “Here and here, within a day’s ride, but they are old. Built centuries ago, when the land up here was wild and untamed. Most are in disrepair and only a few farmers use them, and then only in the winter when the river freezes. The ice holds the supports steady.”

  “But I could get a small troop across, a few scouts to determine what was happening across the river,” Bordan said. “Have you seen the bridges with your own eyes?”

  “Only this one,” the governor pointed. “It isn’t sturdy enough for a horse. It may even have collapsed this spring when the floods came.”

  “But you don’t know,” Bordan pressed.

  “I don’t,” the governor admitted.

  “Half a day’s ride?” Bordan peered at the map, trying to gauge distance when there was no scale and only the memory of a man who had not visited the site recently.

  “On a fast horse.”

  “So, we could have information by tomorrow,” Bordan said, clapping his hands. “At that point we can plan our attack and see if there is merit in sending a force across here,” he pointed to the first bridge the governor had marked and then the second, “or here if we send riders with spare horses.”

  “General,” Aelia said, and all eyes turned to her. “We all know my education was more philosophical than my brother’s, but it seems we are intending to spend a lot of time waiting?”

  “Information is a weapon as much as a sword, Princess Aelia,” Bordan said, welcoming the chance to guide the Princess’s anger and frustration. “To strike at the bridge and lands beyond, we need the knowledge that will enable us to get across in one go. Better to wait a night and win our way across in a day, than rush to attack and be bogged down on this side for three days.”

  “It may…” the governor began and stopped, before an angry glare from the Princess made him continue. “That is, I have some information from the tribes. A bird arrived from one of my people in the tribes, just as you arrived. I haven’t had the opportunity to—”

  “You have people in the tribes?” Aelia snapped, cutting the governor off with a sharp chopping motion of her hand. “You talk to the tribes, have dealings with them? Traitor.”

  “I, that is, as Governor of Cesena it my duty to be aware of the activity on the other side of the river,” the governor said, looking towards Bordan for support. All the General could offer was a slight nod.

  “I will judge your duties and how you carry them out, Governor, not you.” Aelia bit the words off, turned on her heel and stamped over the window which looked out across the rain shrouded city.

  Into the silence, Bordan asked, “And what did your messenger tell you?”

  “The honour guard fought a battle, General, with the last of the holdouts from the tribes. Many were from the northern parts of the forest. By the account I received, it was a slaughter on both sides.”

  “Your Highness,” Bordan said, trying to bring the young woman back from the brink of losing her temper, “this will be the battle Master Vedrix told us they were preparing for.”

  “Carry on, Governor,” Aelia said, waving a hand but not turning from the window where the rain struck the thick glass obscuring the view of the city. “Who does your… messenger say emerged victorious?”

  “Well,” the governor said, casting a glance at the seething Princess, “taking into account the tribe’s natural tendency to paint their accomplishments in the best light possible, I would say the Empire. The message says they have lost a lot of supplies, but their journey and the large waggon they accompany continues on its path to the bridge.”

  “Did they give you an estimate for its arrival at the bridge?”

  Bordan wa
tched as the governor took a deep breath and cast one more fearful glance at the Princess.

  “If the message is true,” the man said, his voice quavering, “and accounting for its age and time it takes to travel the forest…”

  “Get on with it,” Aelia shouted, her voice cracking against the stone of the tower.

  Bordan exchanged a glance with Godewyn who inclined his head, moved over to the Princess and began to whisper in her ear. The young woman’s shoulders sank a little, and some of the tension drained from her frame, if not the room.

  “Well, yes, Your Highness,” the governor replied, shrinking upon himself, “I would expect it tomorrow or the day after. Three days at the latest.”

  “Tomorrow?” Bordan whispered. “Governor, we have spent time sending out scouts, discussing strategy, how to gather information, and you had this sitting in the back of your mind.”

  “Tomorrow?” Aelia cried, shaking off Godewyn’s hand upon her shoulder. “Governor, you have served me poorly. This information should have been your first utterance when we arrived.”

  “Your Highness, I didn’t think… that is, I did not get the chance, you were—”

  “You. Blame. Me.” Spittle flew from the Princess’s mouth and the young woman stamped back to the table gathered up the drawn map and waved it in the governor’s face. “All of this. All of this wasted time. While scouts rode out, while the old General worried about crossing the bridge and scared us with what-ifs, and you knew that my father’s body was close.”

  “But, I—”

  Aelia cut off the governor’s excuse by grabbing the back of the man’s head and shoving the crumpled map into his open mouth. “Now tell me your excuses. Now tell me you haven’t cost me the throne.”

  “Your Highness,” Bordan began but caught the fire of rage in Aelia’s eye.

  “Do not ask for forgiveness for this one, General,” Aelia growled out, pushing the map further and further into the governor’s mouth, ignoring the choking noises coming from the man. “One day, Bordan. One day, and you wanted us to wait for supplies to be loaded on the ships.”

  “Your Highness,” Godewyn said, his voice calm and controlled, “you have been ill-served here. However, there are other ways of dealing with this.”

  The governor’s face was turning red and his hands were grabbing at Aelia’s, nails digging into the gloves the Princess wore along with her armour.

  “Not now, High Priest. I’ve no need of your counsel and wise words. This piece of shit,” Aelia rose in anger as she shook the man’s head from side to side, “waited to tell me. He waited for half a day. We should be across that bridge by now, tackling Abra’s forces.”

  “I agree, Your Highness,” Bordan said, glancing at Godewyn whose face was calm but resigned and Vedrix, who turned away and walked to the window overlooking the town.

  The governor’s struggles were weakening and his face had turned purple. Even as Bordan watched, the man’s eyes rolled up in their sockets and his arms fell limp at his side.

  “I told you, General. I told you,” Aelia’s rage cresting as she allowed the unconscious man to fall to the floor, and her voice now carried the heavy burden of guilt. “We should have been quicker. Damn the supplies, damn the boats, and damn you. I will not lose my father’s body to Abra and his mercenaries. Get my army across that bridge, whatever it takes, whatever the cost.”

  “As you command,” Bordan answered, struggling to keep his voice level. He bowed, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, a mixture of fear and anger coursing through his veins. “We will attack at dusk.”

  “Not dusk, General, now,” Aelia shouted, looking down as if seeing the governor for the first time. “Have someone sent in to look after him, would you, Godewyn? And once he is awake, lock him in a cell.”

  “Of course, Your Highness,” Godewyn answered, catching Bordan’s eye. “I will see to that immediately.”

  “I am,” Bordan paused, choosing his next word carefully, “concerned.”

  “About taking the bridge,” the High Priest said, arching an eyebrow.

  “Partially,” Bordan acknowledged. “Driving rain is never a good time to assault a fortified position. They know we will be coming, whether that is today, tomorrow, or a day later. Abra’s a fool, but he’s schemed enough to make plans for every contingency.”

  “You don’t think you can take the bridge?”

  “The army can take the bridge,” the General replied. “Of that there is no doubt. I’d rather not lose more soldiers than I must. Her father,” Bordan glanced over his shoulder towards the room they had just left, “would have cautioned patience before action.”

  “Half the battle is won before a sword is drawn,” Godewyn quoted. “One of yours, I believe.”

  “I may have said it, but the source is much older than me. However, that doesn’t make it any less true. We need information before we attack.”

  “But the Princess has ordered the attack,” Godewyn pointed out.

  “And I have no choice but to obey,” Bordan said, disappointment souring his tone. “I will order the soldiers forward as soon as we are ready. We should have spent more time tutoring Aelia in strategy and history, rather than poetry, discourse and philosophy.”

  “A second child, and a daughter at that,” Godewyn answered with a shrug. “No one expected her to take the throne, at least not without some time to prepare.”

  “And now time is our enemy,” Bordan wiped the rain from his face.

  “How long can you delay?”

  “Late afternoon,” Bordan answered.

  “Around dusk?”

  “Just before, I hope. Mind you, I pray the rain stops and we can see who we are fighting and what we face,” Bordan replied. “Night fighting is never pleasant, and I can’t imagine Abra’s mercenaries will oblige by lighting enough lamps and torches to assist us.”

  “You’ve been through a thousand battles, Bordan, and many of them in circumstances less than ideal,” Godewyn pointed out.

  “Circumstances are never ideal, I just prefer them to be more in our favour,” the General answered as they continued down the steps.

  “So what has you more worried now than before?”

  Bordan stopped on the next landing, glanced around to ensure they would not be overheard. Satisfied, he grunted and steeling his mind said, “She does. Our Princess and heir.”

  “She is young, General.” Godewyn smiled. “Don’t let that concern you overly. Once she is crowned, there will be time to grow into the role.”

  “Perhaps,” Bordan agreed, “I remember stories of her father being a little rash when he came to the throne, but he listened to advice. You know what Alhard did in the village?”

  “I am aware,” the High Priest said, lowering his voice.

  “You didn’t see him though,” Bordan whispered. “Stubborn and unwilling to listen, he let his fears overwhelm him. In the ranks, he would have been a danger to everyone around him.”

  “Such people were victims of a wayward sword or arrow from their comrades,” Godewyn said. “It wasn’t common, I know, but I heard of such incidents when I was in the ranks.”

  “In the ranks, Alhard would have been unlikely to make it through the next battle. You know how it works. Each man relies on those either side, to protect and fight for them. He would have put everyone at risk and the soldiers would have seen that, and taken action,” Bordan whispered and gripped the priest’s forearm. “I don’t agree with it, but I know it happens. The Empire is the same. It needs to be guided on its purpose by a strong Emperor. One who can listen, learn, knows their faults and surrounds themselves with good advisors. Everyone working together. Aelia needs to listen to advice, to be guided, and to guide. She is lashing out at all the wrong people at the moment.”

  “Heirs and Emperors, especially young ones, don’t have to act the same way a soldier does, General. Their ascension has been brought by the Flame and has a purpose. Once the amulet is transferred, o
nce the memories and souls of the Emperors are passed across, she will understand,” Godewyn replied, placing his own hand over the General’s. “Aelia has a better mind than Alhard possessed. We may find that an education in poetry and philosophy is more suited to govern than a military one. She is operating from grief and anger. Aelia will find peace, General. You worry too much.”

  “The curse of getting old, Godewyn,” Bordan said. “My time is coming to an end, but she listens to you still. Guide her, Godewyn, be the calming influence she needs.”

  “I will do my best, General.” The priest smiled and clapped Bordan on the shoulder. “Now, I had best let you see to the army so you can please the Princess with an attack before dusk.”

  “I live to serve,” Bordan agreed.

  “I know, old friend. Believe me, I know.”

  XLII

  The Magician

  Five years ago:

  He screamed, sitting bolt upright in his bed. The oil lamp flickered, and he could see sparks trailing from the small flame. They arced into the air and cascaded down upon the stone floor like a waterfall. No fire began though, and catching his breath, he reached out for the sparks as they fell, but they twisted away from his fingers.

  Kyron sat on a wooden bench in the wattle and daub hut. There were no corners to catch his eyes and he had no place to look but into the faces of his parents.

  “You’re dead,” he said, struggling to find the right words.

  “Most here are,” his mother said, her voice gentle and teasing out memories he had long since lost touch with. “The priests visit from time to time, bringing news of the world and changes.”

  “Why are you here?” Kyron’s breath was shallow and dark spots were beginning to fill his vision.

  “Be calm, son,” his father said, the deep voice, the calm tone and surety within it an echo of an older man. “Breathe easy. That’s it. You know why we’re here.”

  “But,” Kyron said, fighting down the lump in his throat, “why here? Why not in the Flame?”