Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  And maybe not the rest of us, he thought desperately. Although he came Capulin Vale and not the southern highlands, he could still recognize the smell of snow and read the weather enough to know the danger. They had been fortunate enough to make it through a couple light snowfalls on the road and to weather one severe storm in the town of Lower Debber.

  A fall blizzard like the one he felt was coming might well bury them all... deep enough that no one would ever find their bodies until spring.

  And that's assuming the raiders don't get us, Jakub thought. They had already stumbled across the remains of other refugees, half-buried in the snow, killed by either Hector's men or bandits. His brother had said he saw movement in the road behind them earlier in the day, before the clouds and growing twilight had made it so they couldn't see far. If it was some of Hector's mercenaries, then they couldn't afford to stop. As it was, the twenty heavy wagons slowed them, the oxen tired and gaunt, but no more so than the women and children who rode those wagons.

  His own wife walked next to the lead wagon, but his three children sat atop it, along with those of his two brothers.

  "What do you think?" Matel asked as he came up next to him.

  Jakub shrugged. He wished he knew. "We must continue, I think," he said after a moment. What other choice did they have? If they had a month, he would have cut down trees to form a long-house for all of them to stay warm... but they didn't have a month. Nor did they have the food to survive more than a week more on the road.

  And even if we did build someplace to stay, those damned mercenaries would just burn us out, Jakub thought. Without weapons and training, it didn't matter how big he and his brothers were, they couldn't defend their families.

  He glanced over at the only armed men in the entire group. Not so long ago he had hated the two young men, Lord Janer and Lord Lukas. Lord Lukas, especially, had been an impulsive ass, quick to get drunk and pick fights while Lord Janer had collected taxes for his father, never a popular role, especially come harvest time. Lukas, in fact, was the cause of his brother Josef having to flee. Now, though, as he watched the two young men walk alongside the wagons, their finery in ruins and their horses long since slaughtered for meat, he felt a grudging sense of respect.

  Twice the brothers had fought off bandits on their way. They had also given every bit of coin they had towards buying food along the road... and occasionally bribing those of the Usurper's mercenaries who would take coin to look the other way.

  They had traveled with Jakub's band since the beginning, neither with a word of complaint... and Jakub couldn't even say the same thing about some of his fellow commoners.

  "Jakub, we need to turn around, head back to Tucola Lake," Ganley said, his womanish voice raised in a whine. "We can't keep pushing everyone this way."

  Jakub turned and gave the older man a stern look. Ganley wasn't -quite- riding on the wagon. Jakub had warned him often enough against it, sometimes with a cuff for good measure. But he was leaning on it, quite heavily. The once-overweight miller hadn't lost as much weight as the rest of them, though he was still half the man he once was.

  If I find out he's a stash of food for himself and he hasn't shared it with the young ones, Jakub ground his teeth, then he'll wish I caught him riding on one of the wagons with the infirm.

  A family here or there had already lost children. Sickness made worse by the cold and lack of food, Jakub knew, though to a man born and raised in the fertile Capulin Vale, it made his heart ache to lose a child for such reasons. If Ganley had some food and hadn't shared it, Jakub would turn him out to fend for himself.

  "We can't turn around," Jakub said, his deep voice loud enough to carry, "the storm is almost here. We are closer to Zeilona Gora than we are to Tucola Lake." He didn't mention that Tucola Lake didn't have the room to take them in. It was already full of refugees, many of them in worse shape. Every barn, storehouse, and inn held people, some in such great quantity that sickness would surely soon follow... if it hadn't already.

  They had said that Lady Katarina had a shipment of food on the way, with more supplies to build shelters for the winter, but Jakub hadn't wanted to wait. Even if that was the truth, there was no guarantee the supplies would make it any time soon.

  "Are you sure?" Ganley asked. "Maybe we should just wait here, surely someone will be along..."

  "If we stay here," Jakub said, his voice hard, "we'll freeze in that storm," he pointed at the clouds roiling towards them, black and terrifying. "We've no choice but to continue."

  Ganley looked around, as if to stir some support from the other refugees, but no one met his eyes. "Well..." he started to say.

  "Jakub!" Matel said, pointing back to the rear, "Armed men!"

  Jakub bit back a curse and hurried towards the rear of the line. He saw Lord Lukas and Lord Janer draw their swords and do the same.

  A handful of the refugees at the back had the energy to hurry out of their way, but most just continued to plod onwards into the growing twilight.

  At the back, Jakub saw dozens of men drawing close. They weren't weighted down by wagons or slowed by exhaustion... and they were armed. Jakub couldn't make out their colors or if they wore uniforms.

  Jakub looked at the others who had joined him, his two brothers, Matel and Ivan, Deo the Blacksmith, and Lord Janer and Lord Lukas. Jakub readied his walking staff and gave a shout out over his shoulder, "Anyone willing to fight, we need you."

  He heard a panicked yell and a glance over his shoulder showed Ganley running off the road and towards the trees, a burlap sack filled with his possessions clutched in his hands. Damn him, Jakub thought, but not with any particular vehemence. Without so much as a set of furs, Ganley was as good as dead out there with the storm bearing down on them.

  The leader of the armed men came to a halt, not far away. Before he could speak, the first gust of the storm front struck. It carried heavy white flakes that almost hid the two groups from one another.

  It doesn't matter if they're here to kill us or not, Jakub thought with despair, the storm will do the job if they don't.

  ***

  Eleanor

  Zielona Gora, Duchy of Masov

  18th of Ravin, Cycle 1000 Post sundering

  "I don't like it," Cederic said.

  "Why am I not surprised?" Eleanor asked. She gave a wave at the darkening sky, "It isn't as if we have much choice. Our little conspiracy needs to grow or else we're not going to accomplish much." She saw the wizard nod at that, but he still had a mulish look on his face. He's been sulky ever since he got word that his girlfriend died, Eleanor thought. She didn't know who this "Seraphai" had been, beyond the fact that Cederic had named her as Noth's daughter. Even so, from what her own son had said, she had been arrogant and haughty, neither characteristics being Eleanor's favorite in general.

  "I still think that trying to contact the Luciel Order--"

  "Is a dangerous course of action," Eleanor said, "I know. They're not my favorite people either... but they do have influence and contacts. Without Aramer, neither of us have enough pull to accomplish much of anything. We can advise Katarina, but the nobility will need to be influenced as well or this is all for naught." The Luciel Order had operated in the shadows for centuries, all under the guiding principle of guarding the remnants of civilization. That often made them allies of those who wanted to reunite the Five Duchies and restore the High Kingdom... but not always.

  She chose not to remind him, again, of her son's involvement. For one thing, she had already bludgeoned the wizard enough with that fact. With Aramer, it went a great deal further towards influencing the man. For another, Cederic didn't seem to understand the attachment of family, possibly because of his upbringing as a Shrouded Wizard.

  Hard to be attached to someone or something when they'll forget you as soon as you leave the area long enough, Eleanor thought grimly.

  "Fine," he said after a moment's thought, "I'll go along with that, but I'm not going to bring Quinn into this."
/>
  "He's already in it," Eleanor snapped impatiently. She rolled her eyes, "Ancestors, the boy is your apprentice and friends with my son. Shouldn't he know something of the dangers and risks he faces? Keeping him in the dark isn't going to protect him and it isn't going to make him feel like you respect his abilities. Quite the opposite, it's likely to make him hare off and do something stupid once he does find out the truth."

  Cederic scowled at her, but he didn't argue. Probably because he was honest enough with himself to realize she was right. "What about Walker?" Cederic asked.

  Eleanor sat back, accepting that his lack of argument amounted to acceptance. "I don't trust Walker," Eleanor said in a level tone. "He has secrets. His fighting style, as Aramer pointed out, is rather... unique. His temperament is questionable. I don't trust his motives for being here."

  Cederic nodded, "He has something about him... almost an echo of my people's ability, not to be forgettable but something I can't quite put my finger on. It bothers me, but I can't say why.

  "Really?" Eleanor raised an eyebrow. While Cederic had admitted that he wasn't all-powerful, if something bothered him about Walker, then it would behoove her to take another look at him herself. Walker had become her son's friend before Eleanor even knew Aerion still lived. When she had first met the volatile young man, she had assumed he was the younger son of a northern noble, out looking for adventure. She hadn't seen enough risk to try to caution Aerion in a serious fashion.

  If he was more than that, though, she would do more than caution. She would keep her eyes on Walker, because if he was more than he seemed, his presence around her son was a risk she would not accept. If need be, she thought, I'll see to it that he suffers an accident.

  Cederic sighed, "I wish I could speak with Aramer, do we know any more about where he is?"

  "I suspect," Eleanor said, "that he is with Commander Flamehair. Which means he is close to Hector." News had reached them that the mercenary commander had recovered from her wounds and had called Covle Darkbit's forces back from the attack at Zielona Gora. Given the further bloodshed she'd prevented, Eleanor was inclined to like her a bit, especially given the fact that she had met and served under Kerrel's mother.

  On the other hand, Kerrel seemed to support Hector. Since Covle Darkbit and Grel had carried out Hector's orders and run roughshod over the south, Eleanor wasn't very happy about the girl's loyalties. Either Hector was a callous bastard who gave men like Grel free reign or he did the same thing out of incompetence. Either way, he wasn't fit to rule and either way, Kerrel Flamehair supported his rule.

  And Aramer's game involves her and Hector, Eleanor thought. Personally, she didn't see a way for him to salvage the situation. It would be a very hard effort on his part to get either party to the table to talk peace, much less both of them. A victory for Hector would leave the south a blood-soaked ruin while Katarina winning seemed to be the best option, it would also cost Hector his life and possibly that of Kerrel to boot.

  While Eleanor wouldn't cry any crocodile tears about Hector, she didn't doubt that Aramer would work against that result. He had as much as said that he thought Hector was the better ruler under the threats the Duchy of Masov faced.

  Eleanor didn't doubt that Aramer could assassinate Lady Katarina if he thought it would swing things his way, but that wasn't his plan. He could have done that at any time, but he hadn't. He had encouraged her, advised her, and helped her every step of the way.

  "I think there are too many players," Eleanor said. "This dark wizard who attacked us at Southwatch, the Vendakar who betrayed Hector on the Lonely Isle, noblemen like the Earl of Olsztyn, the Luciel Order... there are too many fingers in the pot."

  Cederic frowned, "Then what do we do?"

  Eleanor snorted, "We do what we can. Try to talk Katarina around towards peace. Try to prevent more atrocities that will lead to still more bloodshed." Her gaze went to the closed window and the blowing snow that had appeared outside. "And I'll try to ask the spirits to make sure my idiot boy doesn't freeze to death out in that storm."

  ***

  Lady Katarina Emberhill

  Katarina gave a grunt as Bulmor's practice blade caught her in the ribs. Her armor stopped most of the force of it, but she would still have a painful welt. She stepped back and wiped a hand across her face. "Normally you let me get a hit or two in on you," she said. "Have I irritated my best armsman?"

  "Your only armsman," Bulmor growled. "What do you think?"

  Katarina pulled off her practice helmet and scratched at her sweat-soaked hair. The keep possessed several practice salles, this one was atop one of the towers, secluded enough to assuage Bulmor's paranoia and with broad windows that gave an amazing view that Katarina could appreciate when she took a break.

  Normally an amazing view, she thought, presently nothing besides a howling blizzard. To punctuate that thought, the windows rattled and the entire tower shook slightly at a particularly powerful gust. Katarina had watched the storm roll in, an odd echo of Bulmor's building frustration.

  "I think," Katarina said in a low voice, "that you are angry with me for indulging my emotions about Aerion and that you are even more irritated with yourself for not being able to protect me from this." She kept her voice low to prevent anyone from hearing her, though the chances of that were low. Just the rumor that she matched Aerion's feelings would cast a scandal upon her betrothal to Earl Joris of Olsztyn's son Lord Garrel.

  Bulmor didn't meet her gaze.

  "The circumstances are such that I think we can dispense with any blame," Katarina said. She waved a hand, "Ancestors, Bulmor, do you think I don't know it's a mistake? Do you think I haven't tried to send him away?" Her voice rose a bit, "Hell, that's why he's out in that mess right now!" She could admit some of her frustration lay in that fact. She knew that she had to remain firm, to remain strong, yet she couldn't help but think about how her lips had felt when he kissed her... or how the rest of her had felt, either. "If you have a solution, a real solution, I'd be glad to hear it."

  Bulmor looked away. "The smartest thing for the two of you would be to stay far away from one another. I would say to send him and his company to the Ryftguard, but after their hard patrols people would start to talk." Talking was the last thing that Katarina wanted, she didn't want stories about how she felt about him to get around to her soon-to-be father-in-law.

  Joris would have him killed, she thought desperately, poisoned, stabbed, anything to get him out of the way... assuming he doesn't freeze to death in this damned storm.

  "Ghost Company would wonder what they'd done wrong, it might destroy their morale," Bulmor grunted. "And that would ruin things since they've become some of our most experienced and capable soldiers. I've already transferred several of their sergeants out to our new companies to help stand them up. I'd like to continue the process, cycling new people in to get them trained."

  Katarina nodded. The odd combination of youth and experience between Aerion and his first sergeant, Jasen, had made for a unique company. From what Bulmor had told her, they had far fewer casualties in their new people, mostly because of how much time they spent training, even when they went on patrols.

  Katarina tugged on her training helmet and picked up her practice blade. "Now, unless you have an alternative solution, let's work out some of our frustration on each other."

  Bulmor gave her a tight smile and raised his blade in salute.

  ***

  Kara

  Kara rocked her infant son and hummed a lullaby as she read through the reports from her spies. Well, they weren't her spies, precisely. They were Lady Katarina's spies. But they didn't report to Lady Katarina, they reported to her. While the noblewoman hadn't officially appointed her as a spymaster, it was a position that Kara had basically taken over.

  She frowned as she considered the picture they painted. Kara had painstakingly worked for the last four months to build the spy network, made up largely of refugees who she had talked into returning home
and working for Lady Katarina. Some of them were merchants, whose commerce with Hector's mercenaries gave them knowledge about what the Usurpers men were up to. Others were tradesmen, often blacksmiths who received orders to repair weapons, armor, or other equipment. Some small handful were servants to nobility, who had a far more intimate view of the goings on than their masters knew.

  All of it together painted a picture... but Kara wasn't certain she had enough information to see what picture it painted.

  Hectors men were readying themselves for a late fall campaign, but they couldn't march on Lady Katarina's forces. Several of the northern nobles were considering a move to support Katarina, but without working together, that would be suicidal, Hector's army was too large.

  A general uprising was unlikely, as well, at least without some chance of success. The northerners had too much at risk.

  It had to mean that either Hector planned to lead his army into the southern highlands in the worsening weather or that someone in the north had raised arms in open rebellion. She would guess it was one of the smaller holdings or maybe even one of the noble houses, but she didn't know why. If they had waited until spring, Lady Katarina's forces would move north and they would have stood some chance. Any kind of rebellion now was doomed to failure.

  More good people will die, just like my Josef, she thought and felt tears prick her eyes. It was not something that she wanted to think about, but she forced herself to do so anyway. She hadn't known Josef long, they had only had a few weeks together and only the one night... and he was dead because of Lord Hector.

  It might have been Armen or Norics who did the deed, she thought, but I heard well enough that there were some of Hector's mercenaries at Southwatch. She didn't think Hector was in league with the barbarians, but some of his men clearly were, and if Hector didn't control them, then he bore responsibility for what they did.

  Yet she felt a flutter of unease as she remembered the disrupted peace talks at the Ryftguard. Hector had sent his own mother to try to work out a peace deal with Lady Katarina. More than that, his primary representative, Commander Flamehair, had seemed to negotiate in good faith. Rumor had it that she'd been stabbed by one of Grel's men.