Brock waved her off. “You need not worry. We are all friends here, and we may set the titles aside for now. It’s best if I just hear the straight of it, without propriety interfering.”
Resuming his tale, Brandt explained how he and Quinn had recovered in Yarth while waiting for a new mission objective. That wait ended when given the task of joining the Imperial Army. The very night they learned that the army was to march west, they were discovered by the Archon’s son, Ikonis. Knocking the young man unconscious, they escaped and headed west.
The next revelation was shocking to all, a move of pure brilliance. By destroying the road leading west from Yarth to Hipoint, Brandt and Quinn had effectively cut off half the Imperial Army, including the cavalry unit, leaving them unable to join the attack on Wayport.
Brock stared into space as he considered the news. “As things stood, there were moments where the battle could have gone either way, the gap between victory and loss far too narrow for my liking. I shudder to think what would have happened had we faced four thousand additional soldiers and an expanded supply of flashbombs.”
Quinn said, “Winning the battle here was just one reason to prevent the advance of the army.”
“What do you mean?” Cassie asked.
“During our time at the Imperial garrison, Brandt and I grew to know the people in our squads. Many had no idea why they were even fighting. Most turned out to be good, honest people who were forced into service.” Anger came through Quinn’s voice. “Even to their own people, the Empire was nothing but a bully in disguise, hiding behind their righteous cause.”
“What Quinn means is that we didn’t want to see those people die merely to further the Empire’s agenda. It’s why we devised the plan to stop the army’s advance in the first place. The benefit to the defense of Wayport was an afterthought.”
Pretencia spoke up. “Well, whatever the motive, you two did a wonderful thing.”
“Yes, and we are all thankful for it.” Brock frowned at Delvin, who was busy examining his fingernails. “That still doesn’t explain how you came to arrive here on a ship with your Master Espion.”
Brandt nodded. “Right.” He turned toward Quinn, who was scowling at Delvin. “The moment after we collapsed the cliffside, and the road fell into the sea, we were captured by the Archon’s son and some other riders. The Speed rune I had been forced to use to survive the destruction of the roadway also left me exhausted and unable to do anything but surrender. We were bound and returned to the garrison in Yarth as prisoners. The next day, we arrived in Sol Polis, where the Archon and Council were sure to execute us for treason. Instead of meeting our end, we ran into Delvin and discovered what he had done.
“We entered the chamber where we thought we would hear our death sentence and found Archon Varius, General Kardan, and all eight Council members dead from poison. Of course, this sent the Archon’s son into a rage. I have little doubt we would be dead if Delvin had not returned to save us.”
Quinn snorted. “Delvin would be dead as well if I hadn’t saved him.”
“You believe that, don’t you?” Delvin said with a smirk on his face.
“I know Ikonis well. His skill with the longsword is unrivaled. He is strong, quick, and would have gutted you on the spot if I hadn’t tripped him.”
That name, Ikonis. It sounded vaguely familiar. Broland only knew one person who could best him in a duel, and that was the person who had betrayed him.
“Hold on,” Broland said a bit too loudly, drawing everyone’s attention. “This Ikonis. Is he about this tall?” Broland held his hand a few inches above his own head. “Does he have black hair and amber eyes?”
Brandt shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Don’t let those eyes fool you,” Quinn added.
“Kony,” Broland said. “He told us his name was Kony. He tried to kill me, Mother and Father as well.”
Brandt gave Quinn a questioning look.
“After Iko arrived in Sol Polis, I overheard a discussion about it but was afraid to tell you.” Quinn reached out and took his hand. “They believed your father and brother to be dead. I…I didn’t want to put you through such pain until I knew the truth of it.”
With narrowed eyes, Brandt stared at her. “You hid this from me?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, but telling you would have inflicted pain. I…I couldn’t bear to do it.” She nodded toward Brock and Broland. “When we arrived here and found them alive, I was glad I didn’t, even if it was wrong.”
“She wasn’t the only one,” Cassie said, biting her lip as Brandt turned toward her. “I knew…” Her voice trailed off as she stared at him. A long moment of silence followed.
“I guess I should thank you for sparing me the pain. I just…find it irritating to be the last to know.”
Brock stood and moved closer to Brandt, looking him in the eye. “Setting your hurt feelings aside, are Varius and the others positively dead?”
“Yes. Very much so.”
Brock turned and strolled toward the window with his hands clasped behind his back, lost in thought. Although he stared toward the sea, all was black with the harbor now fully in night’s grip. After a long moment of silence, he turned and addressed the room.
“The Empire was driven by the old leaders of The Hand. Those people are now dead. The flashpowder weapons the Imperial Army used are all but gone, the facility where those weapons were crafted now destroyed. A third of their army has been reduced to ash, and many of those who remain have plead fealty to Kantaria. It seems that the threat has passed and, perhaps, we can now live in peace.”
Pretencia stood and approached Brock’s desk, leaning forward with his hands on it as he spoke. “What of my kingdom, Brock? Kalimar remains under their control.”
“Would you risk the lives of your citizens just to take it back, Dalwin? What of Vinacci and eastern Hurnsdom? Would they be next? How long must we fight? How many more lives must we lose?”
“They stole my kingdom from me, Brock!” Pretencia slammed his fist on the desk.
Brock’s face turned red and he shouted back, “And they took Hipoint, killed a thousand of my people, and destroyed much of Wayport!”
The two men glared at each other for a moment before Brock sat with sigh, his fury expended.
“I cannot deny there are those who fear magic, who would prefer to live out their lives away from it. If I try to force my magic down their throats, I am no better than the Empire and their desire to crush Chaos.”
“What are you saying, Brock?”
“I’m saying we should allow the Empire to exist as is, in peace. The kingdoms of Issalia will remain a haven for those who can wield Chaos, the Empire will become a refuge for those who wish to avoid it.” He sighed. “I’m saying we need to let it go.”
“What of me, Brock? I’m a king without a kingdom.”
Brock stared at Pretencia for a long moment before replying. “I could use a trustworthy, experienced leader to take over here. How does Duke Dalwin of Wayport sound to you?”
Still leaning over the desk, Pretencia stared into Brock’s eyes. After a moment, he nodded. “Very well. Let peace guide our path for now. It won’t continue forever, but we can focus on rebuilding what we have until the Empire forces us to do otherwise.”
“Thank you, Dalwin,” Brock said before turning toward Brandt and Quinn. “What of this Ikonis? Will he be the new leader? If so, will he listen to reason?”
Quinn said, “I don’t know if he will lead them or if it will be Rorrick, their last remaining army captain. I believe there is some goodness inside Iko. He was raised to hate Chaos, yet he has exhibited a thoughtful reluctance to follow orders from Varius and Kardan. I believe he will listen, but I cannot guess at what his agenda might be moving forward.”
“That,” Brock said, “Is more than I could have hoped for under the previous regime.”
Ikonis Eldarro stood in front of the Sol Polis Citadel. The morning sun cast long shadows across the
square while a breeze blew in from the sea to the west. Behind him was the entire citadel staff, or at least those who had survived. The dead guards and servants had been laid to rest two days earlier. Today was the final day of funerals. Today, his mother would return to Issal.
Ten funeral pyres stood before him, each laid out on a block of stone. The center pyres were for Kardan and Iko’s mother. Upon the others, the eight Council members lay.
After discovering his mother, Kardan, and the Council members poisoned, another type of poison had run through Iko’s veins. For days, he had been driven by hatred and revenge, wishing nothing more than to kill anyone related to the incident. Yet, Quinn’s words remained in the back of his head, refusing to be discarded. There is room enough in Issalia for us all to live as we like so long as we don’t prey on others.
Three days after Iko’s mother’s death, a messenger arrived from Wayport. The assault of the city had failed, leaving thousands dead including Sculdin, Mollis, Brillens, and Iko’s friend, Percy. After hearing this news, Iko’s anger fell away, leaving him numb and empty.
Minister Derrine from the citadel temple finished the funeral rites, bowed toward the Archon’s pyre, and held a torch to it. Orange and yellow flames licked the kindling briefly before setting it ablaze. The woman then moved to Kardan and continued down the line. Iko’s focus remained on the flames consuming his mother’s body, and he wondered how it had come to this.
Within the feelings that had consumed Iko for much of the previous four days, he found his answer: hatred. The hatred his mother, Kardan, and the Council members had held against Chaos had consumed them until the bitter end. That hatred had led to their own deaths, taking Scully, Percy, and thousands of others with them.
In that moment, while staring at his mother’s burning corpse, Iko made a pledge that the Empire would persevere. That could only happen if there was peace. Too much had been lost already to continue down the previous path.
Iko had received word of Rorrick returning to the garrison two days earlier. The man still commanded an army of thousands and held the power to challenge for the seat of Archon. Iko could not allow that to happen. Before Rorrick could return, Iko had to take the seat himself and solidify his position. There was only one way to counter Rorrick’s military might: Iko would have to align himself with the local guildmasters here in Sol Polis as well as Sol Gier and Yarth. With their money behind him, he would become the next Archon behind the promise of prosperity in the wake of their recent war.
In time, the Empire might extend itself beyond the current borders. Somewhere out there was the assassin who killed Iko’s mother. Somewhere out there was the person or organization behind it all. Someday, when the time was right, Iko would deal with the issue.
42
Return
The sea breeze ruffled Brock’s tunic as he leaned over the ship’s railing. While much had occurred in the world since he had last gazed upon his city, Kantar appeared unchanged. A season had passed – a winter filled with loss balanced by the promise of a better tomorrow. He put his faith in the notion. Duty required him to remain vigilant, but he prayed for a future filled with hope and joy and peace. To that hope, he held firm, gripping it as if he would fall to his death by letting go. Perhaps that was the truth of it.
Morning sunlight reflected off the dark blue waters of the harbor. The docks were busy with sailors, fisherman, and dockworkers, each focused on the task before them and oblivious to the troubles weighing on their king. That was the way of the world – citizens going about their lives and placing their faith in the crown, leaving the greater worries to those who ruled. Many sought the mantle of king as a path to power. Brock treated it as a burden to protect those who could not protect themselves. Perhaps my ideals make the crown heavier, but it is all I know.
The ship slipped past the breakers, and the captain called for furled sails. With a course set for the nearest open slip, the crew furiously prepared to dock. Accordingly, Brock turned and went below deck so he wouldn’t be in the way.
Knocking at the first door, he waited until he heard “Come in.”
Inside, Tenzi rested on a bunk, propped up on one elbow. Parker sat in a chair with his feet on her bed.
“We are arriving,” Brock said. “Tell the others to gather their things. I promised the captain the ship would be his again as soon as we landed.”
“At least the man has a ship.” Tenzi said, her tone conveying her discontent.
“Must we do this again, Tenzi?”
“Just ignore it, Brock,” Parker said, his face showing the hint of a smile. “It’s nothing personal. She feels incomplete without a ship and will moan about it until the issue is resolved.”
“Have you two considered my offer?”
“I spent two decades as an admiral, Brock,” Tenzi said as she pushed Parker’s feet aside and swung her legs down. “I’m not sure if I want the job again.”
“That was then. This is now. After Olvaria threw her lot in with the Empire, we must be doubly wary of our position on the sea. Ri Star appears to have withdrawn, but it may not be the last of them. Until I have assurances from Olvaria, I’d prefer to take precautions.”
“You will guarantee spots for my crew if I take this position?”
“Absolutely, on your ship or on another.”
Rather than reply, Tenzi stood and stretched. “Hand me my boots, Parker.”
“Are you two staying in the citadel?”
Tenzi sat and began pulling her boots on. “No. We’ll stay at an inn with the crew, or what’s left of them.”
The comment brought a sigh to Brock’s lips. Only five members of Tenzi’s crew remained, the rest lost over the previous months during various battles – just another reminder of the price paid for freedom.
“Very well. I’ll see you on the docks.”
Brock ducked out and moved to the next room, opening the door and startling Broland awake.
“What?” Broland sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Perhaps two hours after sunrise.” Brock reached into the wardrobe, pulled out his pack, and began stuffing it with clothing.
“Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“I figured you needed it. The last few nights didn’t go well for you.” Brock recalled Broland spending the bulk of three days and nights on deck, throwing up anytime his stomach contained anything more than water. Rough seas could affect anyone, and Broland was particularly sensitive to such things. “Eventually, your body needs a long, restful night to catch up.”
“You’re packing.”
“You’re observant.”
“Have we arrived?”
“We will dock in the next few minutes.”
Broland slipped his boots on and began gathering his things. By the time their belongings were collected, the ship had settled. Brock and his son headed up the stairs.
Tenzi, Parker, Joely, Hex, and Shashi were already there, huddled with Captain Thumbolt. The group turned and headed down the plank as Brock and Broland approached the captain.
“Thank you again, Captain.”
The man bowed, his fingers absently twisting the tip of his waxed mustache. “It was my pleasure, your Majesty.”
“As promised, the quarters are, again, yours. I’ll send a courier down this afternoon with payment, so don’t be too quick to set sail.”
“No worries. I plan to stay the night anyway. I need time to find cargo to bring back to Wayport.”
“Do me a favor, Thumbolt,” Brock said.
The captain’s face drooped with worry. “Sire?”
“Wayport is in dire need of food. The battle, brief as it might have been, was a drain on the resources. Do not overcharge them.”
“But, your Majesty, trade is all about supply and demand. Their demand is high, so prices rise with it.”
Brock put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I am not asking you to forego a profit; rather, I am telling you to set a discreet price. I will he
ar of it if greed surpasses your ethics.”
The man sighed. “Yes, my King.”
With a chuckle, Brock patted his shoulder. “Good man.”
He turned and descended the plank to join Broland and Tenzi’s crew on the pier.
The walk into the city was quiet, interrupted with only snippets of conversation. Brock drank in the view of the docks, the bay, the city walls, and the bridge to the south. He passed through the gate with the guards watching him and the others as if they were no different from any other visitors. Dressed as he was with his hair far shorter than usual, he appeared nothing like his normal kingly self. Broland had donned a hat, which hid his features. Traveling with Tenzi and the others, the king and prince could easily have been mistaken for common sailors. It had been decades since Brock had experienced anonymity. The feeling was liberating, if even for a short time.
Center Street was busy – a thriving throng of people buying and selling goods. Brock and the others weaved their way among the foot traffic, carts, wagons, and the occasional street performer. The city felt healthy, prosperous, and alive.
The scent of freshly baked bread stirred Brock’s hunger as he came to a bakery. Stopping, he bought two loaves of bread. He broke off a chunk for Broland, another for himself, and handed the other loaf and a half to Tenzi, who began tearing off pieces for the others. The bread was warm with a hint of butter, delighting his mouth and surpassing the promise his nose had whispered. Chewing on their delicious prize, the group continued along the street, moving uphill and toward the waiting citadel.
Just before reaching Upper Kantar, Tenzi and her crew departed with the plan to settle down at the Aspen Inn for a few days. Brock and Broland wished them farewell and resumed their journey.
He and Broland passed through Upper Kantar with ease, and it wasn’t until they reached the citadel gate that Brock was challenged.
“Stop and state your business at the citadel.”
The guard was new, a young face Brock had never before seen.
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