Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  “I owed Josef a great debt,” Lord Lukas said. He looked up and met her eyes. “As his... well, not his wife but the mother of his child, that debt is most closely owed to you. I protected his family on the road here. I haven't any money, my father defied Lord Hector and for all I know, his lands have been laid to waste by now. All I can do is ask your permission to protect and serve you and your son, in any way that I can.”

  Kara stared at him in shock. This was the last thing she would have expected. After a long moment, all she could do was laugh at the absurdity. Surely, if nothing else, this was proof that there was no creator, no plan or method to the insanity of the world.

  “No,” Kara shook her head bitterly, “I don't want anything to do with you. If you want to salve your honor, join Katarina's army... and die for all that I care.”

  Lord Lukas's face went blank. For just a second she hoped that he would turn to anger, would strike her in retaliation for her unequivocal rejection. That would prove everything she believed about most of the nobility... that even when they pretended to care about people that it was merely a pretense.

  But Lord Lukas didn't grow angry. Instead he just looked at his feet. “I see. I can only hope that you'll change your mind.” He cleared his throat, “I will do what I can and I hope that you will change your mind.” He gave her a low, polite bow and gave her father a nod. “Thank you, Master Solis.”

  With that, he turned and left.

  She rounded on her father. “How could you bring him here,” Kara snapped at him. She waved at where her son lay. “For all you know, he would have murdered us both for some misplaced bit of honor!”

  Her father shook his head, “No, I'm a better judge of character than that. For that matter, it was Josef's brother Jakub who introduced me to him and you know as well as I do that Josef's brothers would have killed him if they thought he'd be a threat to you or your son.”

  Kara looked away, lips pursed in anger.

  “From what I learned, he and his brother guarded them and their families from bandits and Hector's mercenaries. They gave up their warm blankets to their children. They spent their money to buy food for the group and they chopped firewood alongside Jakub and his brothers,” Solis shook his head. “That's not the kind of thing that men do, that noblemen would do, unless they truly felt some debt.”

  Kara snorted at that, “No, it sounds like some foolishness they'd do over honor, until the adventure faded.”

  “They slept in ditches and under wagons with the rest of them,” Solis grunted. “If they were going to lose their taste for it, they would have by now.” He gave a dismissive wave, “Even if Lord Lukas is a fool... you're Katarina's spymaster. My only flesh and blood left in this world and you blame me for wanting to indulge his honor and have someone around protect you?”

  Kara blinked at that. She had to admit, it would be sort of useful to have someone around... especially someone disposable. She gave him a more contrite nod. “Sorry father, I hadn't thought of that.”

  Solis gave her a slight smile, “Now, then, I see my favorite and only grandson is asleep, so I'll leave you to get some work done.” His smile faded a bit, “Apparently I've a lot of work to do as well, from what I hear.”

  Kara nodded. “Yes, I'd keep a good eye on Benedykt, too, from now on.”

  “Oh,” Solis said, “I will, trust me on that.”

  ***

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  Zielona Gora, Barony of Zielona Gora, Duchy of Masov

  12th of Makkar, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Aerion breathed a sigh of relief as the last of his men walked through the gates. They'd had to carry the last of the refugees the past few miles.

  Those that we didn't lose, he thought even as his fists clenched.

  The trap had worked, they had left the Karaskir far behind... but the long trek through bitter cold and deep snow had cost them dearly. At least twenty refugees had succumbed to exhaustion, cold, and frostbite. Aerion privately feared that more had simply fallen and been overlooked in the snow. All of the survivors were in bad shape and each of his men had to take turns pulling sleds with the worst of them.

  He had lost two men to wounds suffered in the fight with the Karaskir, and five more had died during the fight itself. Their bodies would not be recovered, he knew, for the great beasts would have eaten them.

  They've no food now, except for each other, he thought with grim satisfaction. The sorcery-spawned beasts would have long-since turned on each other. Whether the snow had piled up enough to allow them to escape or not, he hoped that they would have killed each other at this point.

  Just what had driven them down out of the mountains in such numbers and at such a distance from the Black Fortress was a question in which he hoped to find answers.

  “That's the last of them,” Walker said tiredly. Of them all, Walker seemed to have changed the most since the battle. His normal, sly smile was gone, his plump frame was gaunt, his cheeks hollow. There were hollows under his eyes, too, and Aerion figured it was the lost refugees that kept him awake at night.

  “Yeah,” Aerion said. He nodded in the direction of the Keep, “I'm going up there to report in. You good to take the men back to barracks?”

  Walker gave him a level look, “Of course I am.”

  “Good,” Aerion nodded, “let me know of any issues.”

  “I will,” Walker said. He looked between Aerion and Lord Jarek, “Damn, that’s spooky. You two could pass for twins, especially with the matching eye patches.”

  Aerion looked over at Lord Jarek, who still sported the bandage over one eye. Both of them chuckled after a moment, “That’s odd,” Aerion said. He had always wanted a brother.

  “Hopefully my eye won’t need to be cut out,” Lord Jarek said as he touched the eye patch. “Though if I need a body double for official functions, I might start wearing one, just to call on you.”

  “Uh,” Aerion frowned, “Sorry, I’m afraid that doesn’t appeal to me very much.” He nodded his head in the direction of the Keep. “I assume you're coming?” At this point, he and Jarek had done away with the titles. Jarek had lived and slept with Ghost Company. He had taken his turn at pulling sleds with the rest of them. Any further resentment Aerion might have felt for the nobleman had died along their march along with too many people.

  Jarek gave a weary nod, “I'll need to report in to Lady Katarina.”

  The two of them turned and started down the street. Here in the town, the main roads were plowed and shoveled clear, at least, as opposed to the outside where snow was five foot deep even on the main roads, with drifts as high as ten foot. Just as well many of the refugees knew how to use snowshoes and already had them, he thought. Even so, his men would need months to recover their strength after carrying and pulling most of the others.

  Aerion realized that this was the first time in the past few weeks that he and Jarek had in private, without either the struggle for survival or the pressing need for rest. “Jarek... that is, Lord Jarek, I want to apologize for my behavior before...”

  “No need, Aerion,” Jarek responded. He shook his head, “Ancestors know, if our places were reversed I'd probably not have behaved half-so-well.” He let out a sigh, “I don't envy you, you know. Romance between commoners and nobility... it never ends well.”

  Aerion only nodded in return.

  They walked in silence for a while, every now and then they passed someone braving the cold. “What's next for you, do you think?” Aerion asked.

  “Well,” Jarek said. “I'd assume a company, probably of volunteers here from Zielona Gora. Some of the children of my father's armsmen have already asked to serve me.”

  “What about after all this?” Aerion asked.

  Jarek gave him a look, “Well, I'm going to marry Lady Eustasia in the spring.” He sighed then, “I suppose you mean after this war?” When Aerion nodded he continued, “I'm not really sure. My barony needs a lot of work. What few things that Hector's mercenaries h
adn't destroyed over the past few cycles they managed to wreck in the siege and assault.” He looked around at the buildings around them, “It'll be cycles before all the physical damage is repaired... and I'm probably not the one to heal most of the non-physical wounds.” He sighed and looked down at his feet, “I don't have the patience or the temperament for that. I've considered staying on with Katarina's army...” He gave a final sigh, “Honestly, I've lived in hiding for so long that my goal has always just been to survive. It's hard to think about the future when you are living day to day.”

  Aerion understood that. Yet at this point, the revolution, the uprising against Hector seemed a real thing. He felt that they had delivered a serious blow against the Usurper. They might well be able to win this... and that meant that Aerion should start thinking about what he planned to do after all this.

  “That was a good idea, back at Dawnspring, by the way,” Aerion said. “If not for that, we might well still be stuck there.”

  “Thanks,” Jarek said with a smile, “Though without some of your suggestions, it wouldn't have worked. The oil was a great idea.” His smile faded, “Though I can't lay claim to the entire idea. It was my brother's idea, when we were younger, a game we played, as I said.”

  Aerion frowned, “Your brother, but isn't he...” He trailed off as he realized just how awkward a topic he had just strayed into.

  Jarek glanced over at him, “He wasn't always...” Jarek shook his head. “You have to know, Starborn families don't carry mental or physical defects.” Aerion nodded at that, it was something that he had grown up knowing in his village. Starborn lived longer, had better health and when a Starborn and a normal human interbred, the Starborn lineage remained dominant.

  “My older brother, he wasn't always like this,” Jarek said. “There was an accident, when I was two cycles old. It was when Duke Peter visited, we had all of the southern nobility here at the Keep. My brother...” Jarek closed his eyes and Aerion realized that the nobleman fought tears. When he finally spoke, he had strain in his voice, “My brother fell from a wall, a bad fall, and he nearly didn't survive. Since then he's been like he is now. My father planned to marry him off to a nice girl who would look after him to continue the bloodline. I don't know that I have the heart to do that to him, but he's too dangerous to leave unattended.”

  Aerion nodded at that. Hector's mercenaries, in the person of Covle Darkbit, had controlled Lord Maximillian. They'd set him up as the Baron of Zielona Gora and used him as a puppet. Now that word had spread about his mental state, it wouldn't work as well as before, yet the very fact that he was the older son meant there would be some legitimacy to anyone who backed him.

  “Well,” Aerion finally said with a smile, “I'm glad it's something you have to worry about, not me.”

  Jarek chuckled at that. “True enough. It isn't as if you haven't enough problems on your plate, right?”

  Aerion didn't really know how to respond to that, so he joined with Jarek's laughter.

  ***

  Kara

  Zeilona Gora Keep, Zielona Gora, Duchy of Masov

  15th of Makkar, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Kara looked up as she heard Lord Lukas clear his throat. "What do you want?" Kara asked coldly. She'd spent the past six hours reading over scout reports and comparing them to what informants had already passed along. It was well past midnight and she hadn't eaten anything since lunchtime.

  "My brother brought me dinner," Lord Lukas said, "I realized you hadn't had anything, so I wondered if you wanted it." He offered the wooden bowl up and the smell of stew made her stomach rumble.

  Kara blinked at him in surprise. "Yes... thank you." The unexpected generosity startled good manners out of her and she took the bowl from him. She started to eat, feeling awkward as he waited. "Have you had anything?" Kara asked around a mouthful of stew.

  Lord Lukas shook his head. "I'll get something later, its fine."

  Kara's eyes narrowed. She knew he hadn't had lunch. He hadn't left her side all day and she had only had lunch because her father had brought it by, knowing she was busy in all the preparation to for the spring campaign to come. There were so many uncertainties, so many questions about who would side with who and which towns would support Katarina or oppose her. Kara had thousands of reports to go over, to try to settle some of the uncertainty, to separate the false reports from the real ones.

  If he had been here, guarding her all day, then the stew she ate was probably the only food he had seen all day. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Kara snapped.

  Lord Lukas frowned, "I swore an oath to protect Josef's family..."

  Kara sneered at that, "Right, I could believe some fluff-headed noble might swear an oath like that and remember it for a few days. Why are you really here? Do you think you can win me over with stupid things like this?" She shoved the wooden bowl back at him, the stew half-eaten. "Do you think you'll get some kind of better treatment from Lady Katarina if you have me on your side... or do you just hope to cover up some misdeeds of you or your family?"

  "No!" Lord Lukas shook his head, "It's not like that at all!"

  "Well," Kara snapped, "You're right! It's not like that at all. I'm going to dig up whatever secrets your family has hidden. Whatever you're hoping I'd miss, I'll find it, and I'll take it straight to Lady Katarina."

  His shocked expression turned stony, "It's a waste of time. I told you, I gave my oath to protect you and your son, nothing more. I gave this oath because I owe my life to Josef."

  "Don't you say his name!" Kara shouted. "You don't get to say his name, you don't miss him the way I do!"

  Lord Lukas held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "I'm sorry..."

  "Get out," Kara grated. Behind her, her son woke at her raised voice and she felt a wave of exhaustion and frustration roll over her. "I said get out!"

  He backed away and Kara turned to comfort her son. She felt tears roll down her face. She was just so tired. She'd seen so many of her friends and relatives die, when Hector's men sacked Watkowa Village. Alais and Einar, both her cousins, her friend Aedel, raped and murdered. She'd helped to bury them, prayed that the spirits of their ancestors would welcome their souls and protect them. The loss of Josef after that had almost broken her. They had only had a few short weeks together.

  Josef had been big, strong, and yet surprisingly gentle. He had been kind, loving, a large, comforting presence... and he had seemed too strong for anyone to take him away from her.

  And he was dead. Killed by a demon in the tunnels below Southwatch. The Noric and Armen there had been led or accompanied by mercenaries in Hector's service. Once again Hector and the nobility had taken away the people she cared about.

  And now she was terrified. All the reports said that this insurrection would not be as cut and dried as they had hoped. This might well end up in a bloody civil war that could last generations. It could very well cost her the life of her son, one day.

  I won't let that happen, she thought with iron resolve.

  Kara rocked her son and gradually his cries eased and he cuddled tight against her. "It'll be alright, sweetheart," she murmured to him as she cried silent tears, "Mommy will make it alright."

  ***

  Chapter X

  Glaw Nara

  Trelhaven, Grand Duchy of Boir

  15th of Makkar, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Glaw spat a gob of spit as he glared through the mist and fog at the town of Trelhaven. As a subchief of Kras-Nar-Thak, he had fought numerous lowlanders and his body wore the scars to prove it. He hated them all. He hated the weaklings of Boir who fought like cowards and killed their foes with magic at distance. He hated the fighters of Taral, who refused to submit and whose women fought alongside their men. He hated the Marovingians who hid behind armor and shields and didn't fight man to man.

  Glaw hated that all of them would hide behind walls when they knew they were too weak to win. It robbed him of the victory that strength deserved. Real men
did not run from battle or death. They submitted to strength, just as Glaw submitted to Kalamanath.

  Glaw didn't know how many days had past since his men had looted, killed, or rutted with women. Too many, he thought, too much time wasted in these lands. The warm weather bothered him. Here in the depth of winter, it should be bitter cold and the snow should stand taller than a man. Yet here on the Boir Sea all he saw was the same damp sleet that came down, day after day.

  The town folk had held out against attacks, too… day after day. Glaw had seen too many of his good warriors die, killed by coward lowlander mud-suckers who hid behind their wall. He couldn't even starve them out.

  Glaw looked over at where the skeletons of galleys lay pulled up on the beach near the river mouth. The Kel-Yor tribe had tried to stop the lowlanders, but the lowlanders had snuck out and raided their boats, lighting them on fire at night, when the Kel-Yor tribe had been asleep. Since then, lowlander boats had come in and out of the harbor.

  He looked over at the lowlander camp, raised on a hill and separate from his own men, on the other side of the lowlander town. Their offerings of weapons and captive women had convinced Glaw to bring his warriors here, along with the promise of much loot. Now he worried that he had followed them to death. They had preserved their men and had let his warriors and those of the Kel-Yor tribe lead the attacks.

  His warriors would only wait so long. They would rather be home, in the lands they had conquered from the Taral, sleeping with their slave women and worshiping the spirit of their protector. I want a fight, he thought, doesn't have to be a good one, just something to get my warriors fired up.

  Even as he thought that, he heard an odd sound from above.

  Glaw looked up and against the overcast sky, he saw a dark shadow. His heart leapt up, "Kalamanath!" He shouted as he pointed to the sky. "Kalamanath has come, she will wage her vengeance upon these lowlanders!"