Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  Many of the merchants were foreigners. A handful of exotic-looking women from Aoriel had a booth selling tawdry-looking silks right next to a Marovingian merchant selling cheap, fruit-flavored wines.

  Christoffer frowned as a pair of Vendakar merchants came forward, holding up vials of what might be perfume or some “miracle” elixirs. “I'm fine, thank you,” Christoffer said, just as one of his armsmen stepped forward to intercede.

  Christoffer's hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword, more from instinct than anything else. He felt something like an electric shock, though, and almost on its own, his arm drew the Ducal Blade of Boir.

  The two merchants didn't recoil. Instead, one of them threw the vials in his armsman's face while the other rushed forward. Christoffer didn't pause to think, instead he lunged forward with his sword, his tall height giving him a reach advantage as he ran the lead assassin through. As Christoffer stepped back, two more Vendakar assassins emerged from the crowd. Christoffer saw his other armsman step forward to intercept them, but that left the man to his front... and his first armsman was down on the ground, clutching at his face from where the contents of the vial had struck him.

  The first assassin drew a dagger from inside his robes and leapt forward with a wail. Christoffer cut off his charge with a slash that took the assassin's head from his shoulders.

  He turned in time to see his second armsman down the last of the other assassins. Christoffer looked over at the first of his armsman, just as the other young man went still. “Is he...”

  His other armsman shrugged, “We need to get you back to the Citadel, my Lord.”

  “We need to help him,” Christoffer said sharply. Odds were, the Vendakar had used some kind of contact poison, but the young man might be saved if they could get him to a healer quickly enough.

  “He would want us to get you to safety, my Lord,” his armsman said. “Captain Wachter's orders.” His voice gave Christoffer's chief armsman more authority than Christoffer. Then again, since their job was to keep him alive, Christoffer didn't doubt that they would listen to their young Captain over anything their Grand Duke would say if his life were on the line.

  He allowed his armsman to pull him back, even as some of the city guard came forward to keep the crowd back. Yet his eyes came to rest upon the bodies prone in death. The Vendakar, sprawled out in violent death... and the young man who had died to defend him. That last was something that would haunt his dreams, he knew.

  ***

  The fallen armsman lay in his armor, his visor down to hide his face, his weapon gripped in his hands, and a white cloth draped over much of his body. As Christoffer watched, six of his other armsmen came forward to take up positions around the bier, which they picked up and carried out in a slow, stately procession.

  The small shrine lay in one of the wings of the Citadel, the brooding fortress that had served as the seat for Boir's Grand Dukes for longer than Christoffer cared to think about. This tiny room had been abandoned for several hundred cycles, he would guess. It had been used as a storage room since the time of Emperor Dalton. Now, though, the artful stonework shone, the granite and marble surfaces cleaned and polished, clearly the effort of his new Ducal Guard. And if I heard right, he thought, it is the shrine to the spirits of the old Ducal Guard, as well. He felt his throat swell a bit as he considered that.

  A fitting place, he thought, for the young man who had died to protect Christoffer.

  “His name was Andre Groskopf,” Gervais Wachter said in a low voice as Christoffer watched the quiet ceremony. “His great-great-grandfather served in the Ducal Guard. Tomas, there, is his cousin.” He nodded his chin at one of the mourners, a big young man with a mane of bright red hair.

  Christoffer felt his throat swell even more. “I am sorry, I should have been more cautious.”

  The younger man gave a slight shrug, “You need not apologize, my Lord. You will do your duty and we will do ours. While I would have liked to have a larger contingent with you that morning, in truth, I did not think you would be at much risk.” He sighed, “I'm thankful that two were enough... along with your own skill. Albert tells me you had drawn your blade even before the assassins made their move.”

  Christoffer looked down at the pommel of the Ducal Blade. He still didn't know how it had done what it had. “It wasn't me. I felt like an electric shock hit me and the blade practically drew itself.” It troubled him that something had so much power over him. “I don't like that I don't fully understand how to use it.”

  “The legends say that the Ducal Blade has a number of powers, your Grace,” the young man said. Christoffer had already become used to the archaic way that he addressed him. In modern times, all noblemen were simply referred to as “my Lord” but the proper means of addressing a noble was a holdover from older times. “All of the old families have heard stories, but I can ask around for more specific information.” He clearly seemed excited that there was another line of defense for his Duke.

  Christoffer felt resignation more than anything. He hadn't wanted this job. He still felt as if his family's history hung over him like a black shadow. Still, if the blade would allow him to protect himself or gave him warning of hostile intent, maybe it would let him prevent the deaths of another of his armsmen.

  It would be inexcusable of me if I didn't learn everything I could... he thought, if it saves even one life besides my own, it is worth it.

  Young Andre might have signed up to give his life to prevent Christoffer's death... but that didn't mean that Christoffer had ever wanted that oath to come due. He realized that he had distanced himself from these young men, partially aware that he would put them at greater risk as he lead his nation. The Grand Duchy of Boir was at war and Christoffer was a field commander. He had already put himself at risk, fighting the Armen on the Lonely Isle... and he would continue to put himself at risk as the circumstances required it.

  In doing so, he was bound to put himself in a position where one or more of his newly founded Ducal Guard would have to sacrifice themselves. He had fallen into a trap he had seen often enough in young military officers. Either they became too close to their troops and so could not give the dangerous orders that would put them at risk... or else they distanced themselves from their men to the point that they lost touch. These young men were not under his military command, not entirely. They were sworn to his service, in a measure of noble and vassal that Christoffer didn't feel entirely comfortable with... a legacy of an archaic time that he thought better left to the past.

  Still, they were his people and he had distanced himself from them so that he could put them in harm’s way. It was a mistake, a disservice... one he needed to fix. “When they have finished,” Christoffer said quietly, “I'd like a few minutes to speak with them all.” He understood that Gervais Wachter had recruited almost a dozen other young men, many of them descended from old families who had served the Grand Dukes back when the Ducal Guard had meant something.

  It still means something to these men, Christoffer reminded himself, and for young Andre's sacrifice, it should mean something to me, too.

  “Of course, your Grace,” Gervais said. “The city guard has finished their investigation, by the way. The 'merchants' took ship from Freeport less than a month ago. One of them, the one who went for you, bore a tattoo of Shivenkaru's symbol.”

  “Some of her death cult, you think?” Christoffer asked with raised eyebrows.

  Gervais shrugged, “Possibly. Their weapons were poisoned... as was the oils they threw in Andre's face. Still, it isn't uncommon for some of her worshippers to serve as mercenaries.”

  “And they came from Freeport,” Christoffer said sourly. The renegade Lord Admiral Hennings still held the town, at the far end of the Ryft, the direct sea passage between the Boir Sea and more southern waters. Since Hennings had already resorted to assassins, it wasn't too hard a stretch to imagine that he might send some more. “I trust the information has been passed along?” Even in th
e apparent privacy, he didn't specify who that information needed to be passed along to. Baroness Diana of Verlicht had a broad network of spies in the service of the Duchy and Christoffer had put his chief armsman in touch with her people, but that didn't mean that Christoffer wanted to spread that information wider than that.

  Gervais gave him a nod, “Yes, your Grace. I was informed that it matched with some of their information, but nothing more.”

  Christoffer frowned a bit at that. He couldn't say that he was surprised that Lady Diana's people weren't sharing much beyond that. She herself kept things close to her chest but he felt relatively certain that she would tell him information he needed to know. Nothing beyond that, though, he qualified.

  “Fine,” he said with a nod. “I'm headed up to my quarters.” He assumed that most of them would want a few hours, perhaps a few days of mourning, so he would restrict himself to the Keep where he wouldn't need the

  “Your escort is waiting, your Grace,” Gervais said. Christoffer shot him a glance and Gervais gave an implacable shrug, “Your entire detail volunteered to escort you and miss Andre's service.”

  Christoffer sighed. These young men were entirely too dedicated. He hoped they had social lives, married, had kids, that kind of thing. “Very well, who?”

  Gervais gave a slight smile, “Tomas and Xander.” Christoffer recognized the first name, Gervais had just told him that he was Andre's cousin. Gervais answered the question a moment later, “Xander is Andre's younger brother.”

  Christoffer felt his stomach twist. “I see.” The two men had just lost family in Christoffer's service... and they were honored for it by guarding him. He didn't want to think too hard on that fact just now. “Well, then, please see to it that I have some time to speak with Andre's parents, I can visit them at their home if necessary.”

  “Of course,” Gervais said.

  Christoffer gave him a last nod and then turned away. He felt no surprise to see his betrothed, Siara Pall, stood behind him near the door. The Armen woman had come a long way from the ragged hostage that his men had rescued... but she was still just as beautiful as when he had first laid eyes on her.

  Involuntarily, his eyes dropped to her stomach, where the slight bulge was just now becoming noticeable. My child, he thought, with some sense of wonder. It was not his first child... but his first with a woman that he loved.

  She met his gaze and gave him a slight smile, her white, even teeth bright against her dusky skin. “Ready, my Lord?”

  He nodded and followed her out of the small shrine. Was it his imagination, or did his blade throb a bit at his hip as he stepped away?

  He pushed that thought aside as he found another of his armsmen awaited him in the corridor. This must be Xander, he figured. A moment later, Tomas followed him outside. Christoffer closed his eyes and took a tense breath, forcing back the regret. He stood tall when he looked between the two young men. “I cannot return your fallen kinsman,” he said, “but I will honor his sacrifice.”

  Tomas just gave him a nod. Xander gave him a sad smile and turned to lead the way. As they walked, Siara pulled out her notes. “I've fit in a visit to his parents,” she said, “this evening after they've finished interring him.”

  Christoffer gave her a slight smile, he wasn't certain if she had overheard his discussion with Gervais or if she just knew him well enough to plan on it anyway.

  “I'd also like you to arrange a meeting with the Iron Wizards,” Christoffer said. “Tell them I need an expert on older-style runic items.” He looked down at his sheathed blade. “I know they specialize in artisan runes, but they might be able to tell me something of the Ducal Blade's powers.”

  She gave him a nod and made a note, “Will tomorrow be early enough?”

  He almost told her to push it into the next week... but then he remembered the still body of young Andre. “The earlier the better,” he said quietly.

  “You have a meeting at the Admiralty tomorrow afternoon, but we could work that into your schedule,” Siara said. She cocked her head, “I'm not familiar with their practices. Do they fall under your authority, my Lord?”

  Christoffer frowned a bit as he considered that. “They're one of Boir's registered guilds... so they fall under their guild organization and their guild swears loyalty to me.” At times, the Iron Wizards had even had a voice on the Duke's Council, though that had ended after the Iron Council Crisis. I sometimes wonder if we've gone too far the other way, he thought, they're so removed from the realms of political power that they have little say in our laws. For that matter, he would not mind a voice among his advisers who knew something of the workings of magic.

  Especially since my son, Xavien, seems to have become a wizard after his mysterious survival, he thought grimly. Xavien had already been dangerous enough as a sorcerer, taught those dark arts by Christoffer's late wife. As a wizard, well… Christoffer didn't really know what his twisted son might be capable of. Siara seemed to sense the dark turn of his thoughts and she reached out to take his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze.

  As they came to his quarters, Christoffer waited patiently as his two armsmen spoke with the soldiers stationed as guards outside and then waited while Xander searched his quarters for good measure. He didn't begrudge them that time, he could see that they took strength from the ritual, as if it made them feel more confident after the loss of one of their own.

  At last, though, Christoffer stepped into his quarters and took a seat behind his desk. He listened as Siara rattled off information on his future meetings, taking it all in, but his attention focused on his two armsmen

  Christoffer studied the two men. Xander looked barely old enough to shave. The contrast between his youthful face and the archaic armor he wore was disconcerting. There was an earnestness to his face, one that suggested he would be all too eager to make the same sacrifice that his older brother had made. He had a similar stocky frame to Gervais Wachter, stout and muscular with broad shoulders. His blonde hair and smooth face gave him an almost girlish look that contrasted starkly with his frame.

  Tomas, on the other hand, stood head and shoulders over his cousin. His fiery red hair stood out against his tanned skin. He almost looked to have blood from the distant continent of Aoriel, though if so, it was just enough to give his features an angular look. While Xander looked young and earnest, Tomas looked wild and fierce.

  Both of them, Christoffer knew, would be entirely too willing to chop any threat to him into tiny pieces, probably with no hesitation and undue force.

  A glance at Siara showed that she had finished a similar evaluation as she completed running through the litany of his many appointments over the next week. The smug smile she wore suggested her contentment at his defenders resolution.

  “Right,” Christoffer said as he pulled his mind back to the task at hand. He lifted the first of the Council reports from the large stack at one side of his desk and opened it with a slight sigh. Crop estimate reports, he thought, of course. The tall stack of paperwork had only grown in the months since his departure to the Lonely Isle. It would probably take him all of the winter months to catch up... and at that point, it would be time to lead the Fleet out again.

  I'll finally be caught up and then I'll return to an ever larger stack of reports, he thought with a sigh. He almost wished the assassins had been successful, just to rid him of the requirement to read all of it.

  ***

  Siara Pall

  Siara smiled slightly as she felt the small child move within her. He was, as yet, a tiny thing, but he was fast growing. In a few months, even just walking would be an effort.

  Still, that would not stop her from doing her duties.

  Her betrothed had finally turned in for the night, which meant she had some free time to review her own reports. After the Lord Chamberlain's relief and arrest, she had gradually begun to take over more and more of the day to day operations of the Citadel. Part of that had been from a natural desire to protect her love,
but much of it had been because no one else seemed to step in to fill the void. General Schoelhorn's men had provided security and some of the southern nobles had their own staff to clean and cook, but general maintenance of the fortress had swiftly declined without someone to take charge.

  Siara had quickly coordinated with Captain Elias Wachter, who had seemed to know many of the old servant families who had served the old Grand Dukes. The notion of family loyalties was not at all foreign to her, and she was glad to be able to call on such ties. It made a tedious process far more efficient, particularly in regards to finding loyal people for every aspect of the Citadel, from cooking to trash removal.

  It had also meant that the Citadel’s staff's loyalty came back to their Grand Duke. That was a particularly effective tool... and one that many of the Citadel’s noble residents clearly didn't fully understand.

  She didn't know if the old Lord Chamberlain had simply neglected to utilize his staff as spies or if he had neglected that part of his job as much as all the other aspects. Certainly the kitchens and gardens showed a variety of signs of that neglect. Much of the nobility seemed oblivious to the servants around them, even after a number of them had proven to be assassins slipped in by the renegade Hennings.

  Those servants, many of whom felt strong loyalty to the Duke who had reinstated them to their former prestige, had no compunctions about reporting on what they had heard.

  Indeed, Siara would have felt unholy glee at her ability to root out treason, save for the fact that most of the goings-on of the nobility were so petty as to be inane. Some were, quite obviously, in league with Lord Admiral Hennings, the rogue nobleman who had seized Boir's Southern Fleet and who she was convinced had forged an alliance with Armen, Norics, and whoever else would support his ambition in seizing the Grand Duchy of Boir.