The Noble Warrior (The Empire of the North Book 1)

by Brendan DuBois

  Randall’s fists clenched in rage that this young cow had fouled him up, just as he had everything in hand. He looked at those bright, expectant eyes and swallowed his anger, remembering what his father had earlier said.

  “Absolutely, mademoiselle, I will be along shortly,” he said.

  Michelle curtsied and walked away. Randall kept his fists clenched. Damn, damn, damn. He kicked at the broken knife so it slid under one of the banquet tables. Randall pushed his way out into the open area of the Palace Hall, heading to where Michelle and her mother stood. Stupid girl! Randall had been less than a meter away from doing what had to be done, and when might he ever have a chance like this again?

  Walking over, he tried to ease his breathing, tugged at his tunic, hating how tight it felt about his plump belly.

  Despite the fact Armand was hungry for smoked salmon, he followed Henri as they made their way up a side stairwell that opened up on a long balcony that looked down upon the main hall. Locked doors on the other side of the balcony led into meeting rooms and offices, but Armand and his friend ignored them, as they both leaned over the balcony on their elbows, taking in the view.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have any paper airplanes with you, would you?” Armand asked, and Henri laughed. “Not tonight, friend.” Then he nudged Armand. “Your sister is being wooed. Do you think your mother will approve?”

  With a frown Armand saw what he meant. His sister Michelle was chatting with Randall de la Bourbon, and he knew the two of them been dating for several weeks; chaperoned, of course, since his mother couldn’t stand the thought of Michelle being left alone with a suitor. “Can’t stand that worm,” Armand said.

  “What are you going to do if they get engaged in a few years?”

  “Challenge him to a fencing duel. Or a hockey game.”

  Henri said, “That’s why he doesn’t like you, you know. How long has it been? Two years? When you shoved him into that snow bank and he cut his chin?”

  “It was a clean check,” Armand said defensively. “Besides… you know how he throws his dad’s title around.”

  “Among other things,” Henri quietly added.

  Armand knew some of his own “other things” when it came to Randall de la Bourbon. One being that he claimed his family was descended from the original settlers to these lands, and since Armand’s own family title only went back a couple of generations, Randall always considered himself superior. And there were also encounters he was rumored to have with his household’s servants.

  Henri said. “So, what does your mother make of him?”

  “Unfortunately, he has quite the name and family history,” Armand said. “So if Randall eventually proposes, Mother will probably approve and both families will work out the protocol as banns get posted. And then I’ll move to Brit Columbia.”

  Henri laughed and poked his elbow into Armand again. “See that small fellow, with the turban?”

  Armand saw a plump man in light brown robes, standing before a couple of lords, talking with his hands moving about, like a magician. He was bearded and had a white turban wrapped around his head. “Yeah, I see him. Who is he?”

  “New ambassador from across the Atlantic. An island nation, called Brislam. Looking to open up trade routes.” He looked to Armand. “If your father approves, of course.”

  “You mean the Minister,” Armand said. “Father doesn’t have the power to --–“

  Henri laughed again, long and hard. “My word, Armand, you do need to go out more. Your dear papa is the real power in the Ministry of Trade. The Minister is a dim fellow who has his position because he was lucky enough to marry a cousin of the Emperor. Your Father does the real work. The poor Minister probably wets his pants if he’s asked to count above ten.”

  Despite the fact the talk was getting close to sedition, Armand burst out laughing. “Well, now you sound like Mother. She’s always pushing Father to take more credit, to be more out front in dealing with Court and the Emperor. Perhaps Father should listen to her more.”

  Henri said, “No, he’s being the smart one. Quiet. Efficient. Working behind the scenes. You can get a lot done when you’re not trying to be the center of attention.”

  Armand touched the scar on Henri’s face. “And were you being the center of attention when you got this, my dear friend?”

  He chuckled. “That’s what you get when your father is on General Staff, and wants to make sure his oldest son gets experience before entering Academy and the military arts. I was touring a chain of installations along the Dakota border when a Sioux raiding party burned one of our forts. A reprisal expedition rode to the south and I tagged along until we tracked down that particular tribe… and in the ensuing scuffle, I got slashed.” He shrugged. “They took the worse of it, my friend. That they did.”

  Armand stared at him. “I didn’t read about any raids like that in the newsjournals. Or hear about it over the wireless.”

  Henri seemed to pity his friend. “Armand… do you really think everything that goes on out in the further reaches of the Empire gets reported? Or noticed? We do what we have to do to protect the Empire… and sometimes people back east notice, and sometimes they don’t. That was one of those times.”

  “Protecting the Empire… in what way, Henri?”

  Henri gestured to the crowd. “Look there. All happy and peaceful and well-fed, being entertained by soft music and good conversation. Nice and safe and with no degree of fear. Am I right?”

  “You know, when you lecture like that, you remind me of Father.”

  “Good,” Henri said. “But just a number of klicks away --– a day’s ride on horseback, a few hours in a coach, even less time in a railway carriage –-- are the southern lands. In what used to be the mightiest empire in the world, there are villages that could live for a year on what’s laid out on those tables. There are bands of tribes or marauders that would cheerfully behead some of those pretty women down there, to get their neck jewelry or earrings. And there are others who wouldn’t stop eating when what those tables were cleared off…”

  Armand said, “Henri, you’re teasing me. Cannibals? Please. Shaman tales, that’s all.”

  Henri’s face looked weary. “Remember our sailing trip last year? Those bones we found… don’t tell me they ended up that way be accident.”

  Armand folded his hands together, leaned over the balcony railing. “I’ll remember that trip until my last days. And I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Then believe this. The old collapsed empire to the south… what keeps those diseased, hungry rabble out of our lands are the Imperial armed forces. Not a law, treaty, or well-behaved border guards. A long time ago, during the War of the World, the kingdoms here survived only by being very tough and very lucky. Luck you can’t depend on, my friend, but toughness… that’s what keep those people down there safe and sound. You can count on it.”

  Armand kept silent for a few moments, until Henri said, “Sorry, my friend. Too much dark talk for a happy time. Your sisters, how are they?”

  “Both are doing well,” Armand said. “Jeannette is growing up to be quite the young lady, and Michelle… she’s becoming more and more like her mother, every day.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Armand,” Henri said. “No offense, but having your Mother under one roof, to be joined by her younger twin… well, it’s no wonder your Father spends so much time in the office.”

  “True,” Armand admitted. “But last week, he got out of the Ministry and went south. To Potomick. And I went with him.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. “True?”

  “True. We took an airship from here and made a direct flight.”

  “Did you see the ruins? Did you?”

  “I did. They were magnificent. I saw buildings that ---“

  There was a burst of applause before them, and male and female dancers started filing into the hall. Music started playing and Henri raised his voice. “What the adults here call entertainment is about to begin. Lo
ok, my friend, I have to see my father. He wants to parade me around before some lords. Call me tomorrow, we’ll have a nice long luncheon down by the lake. You can tell me about Potomick, I’ll tell you more about the Sioux. Deal?”

  Armand grasped his hand, gave him a firm shake. “That’s a deal.”

  Now chanting had begun, and the dancers began to make their familiar movements and steps. The music was drums and a few hand-held wind instruments. The dancers lined up in their traditional furs and boots, carrying long spears, as they chanted, moved forward, moved back, raising up the spears, dancing, the music now reaching into Armand. The dance was a familiar one, more than a hundred years old. It told how the tribes of the north and the clans of the power and the farmers of the plains joined the people of the west, to defend themselves during the War of the World, to survive the collapse of the empire to the south, whether it was called Potomick or Amerka or something else.

  People were cheering, clapping, as the dance commemorated the founding of the Empire of the Nunavut, the selection of the Prime Emperor --- his real name lost to history --- and Armand saw Mother down there, moving as well, mimicking the dancers, showing off to the crowd. Mother’s family came from a prominent line up north that centuries ago took part in the negotiations that led to the founding of the Empire, and the dancers seemed delighted in having a woman from Court join them. Even the Emperor took notice of Armand’s mother, clapping and nodding with pleasure, and she returned the attention by blowing a kiss in his direction, which made him laugh.

  A quick tap on Armand’s shoulder, as Henri left and went down the darkened hallway. He turned and waved at Armand, and he waved back.

  It would be a very long time before Armand ever saw him again.

  Chapter Eight

  When the dancing and screeching and banging of drums was over, Randall offered his best smile to Michelle de la Couture, took her hand and gave it a quick kiss, and walked away. So far the night had proven to be a disaster. His one chance to take care of Michelle’s older brother had failed, and now the rest of this boring evening stretched out ahead of him

  He walked away, rubbed at the back of his head, still tender from his father’s attention. Now what?

  Ahead in one of the buffet areas, he recognized one of the servant girls who had worked for his family. Couldn’t remember her name, but last year, she had been traded over to the Fournier family… and despite being a servant, she was a pretty little thing. Foss something. That had been her name.

  Randall started towards her, thinking he could at least rescue part of the night.

  After the dancers finished Armand found he had to visit a WC. He went down the hallway, looking for a stairway downstairs, and he smelled tobacco burning. There was a dark alcove off to the right, opening up to a small balcony. As Armand moved by a voice called out. “Excuse me… is there someone there? Can you help me?”

  Armand stepped out, saw an old man on the floor, dressed in the traditional furs of the north, next to an overturned chair, part of a set. One of his booted feet seemed to be stuck in the balcony’s grillwork. A small cigarette was clasped firmly in his lips and he smiled up at Armand. A spilled drink was on the stone floor. Armand knelt down and pulled and twisted at his boot, freeing him. The old man sighed with pleasure. “Thank you, young one. Will you help me up?”

  Armand put his hands under the man’s arms, pulled him up, and then got the chair turned up right. Poor old man, he thought, drank too much and look at him. The old man sat down with another happy sigh. “Thank you. I came up here to rest my bones and have a smoke after our performance, and I missed the chair. Fell right on my fat ass, hah-hah-hah!”

  Armand couldn’t help himself, smiled at the old man. Maybe he wasn’t so drunk after all. The man took a puff from his cigarette. “Your name, young sire?”

  “Armand de la Cloutier.”

  “Ah, a fine name. And why are you here tonight? Hoping to find some young woman to make a bride, one of these days? Hah-hah-hah!”

  “No, sir,” Armand politely said. “My father is in the Ministry of Trade. We came here for the birthday celebration for the Emperor’s nephew.”

  “Mmm,” he said, adjusting his fur coat. “Weren’t we all. Oh, I’m being rude.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Charlie Ten Horse. Thanks for rescuing me.”

  Ten Horse, Armand excitedly thought. One of the oldest and most influential families from the lands up north, where there was ice nearly year around, the northern lights danced and flickered almost every night, and the winds blew harsh and cold from the North Pole.

  Armand grasped his old, wrinkled hand, gave it a firm shake, forgetting for now his need for a WC visit. He had always heard so much of the Inuit tribes that lived in the far reaches of the empire, but it was rare for them to travel to Toronto, unless it was for a special event like this one. They kept mostly to themselves and were small in population, but legend had that it was their influence and negotiating skills that helped seal the agreement that had led to the empire. Armand had never met an Inuit leader face-to-face, and felt like he was a lucky boy indeed to meet such a prominent leader. “I… I… so nice to meet you, Mister Ten Horse.”

  He took another puff from his cigarette. “Please, that’s too formal, Armand. I’m an old, old man. You can call me grandfather, if that suits you.”

  Armand was sure his voice squeaked with pride and pleasure. “That would be wonderful, grandfather.”

  He motioned. “Then have a seat and keep an old man company while he enjoys his tobacco.”

  For the next several minutes they talked like old friends who had never met before. He told Armand of his people, their proud traditions and culture and tales, and how they were honored to come here and dance for the Emperor, to commemorate his young nephew’s birthday. And Armand told him of growing up in Toronto, of being the oldest son in a family, how he was being groomed to take his Father’s role in the ministry, and how Mother had her battles with Father and Court.

  “Mmm,” he said. “Your Mother sounds like a harsh woman. I think a winter on the ice would cool her off… hah-hah-hah! But then again…”

  He finished the cigarette, stubbed it out on the arm of the chair. “We sometimes have a need for harsh men, and harsh women. That’s how survived, you know.”

  Charlie nodded to the dark waters of Lake Ontario. “For us to prosper after our neighbor empire collapsed was a miracle of the highest order. And the effect of that collapse still lives on. Like the echoes of a harpooned whale crying, going on and on… my grandfather told me old tales from people who had been alive, back then… when the cities to the south burned and emptied out… how great moats and trenches were dug along the old borders, the bridges and roads destroyed… to protect us… how all of the old ones’ flying machines fell out of the sky… oh, those dark days…”

  Armand sat quietly on the other chair, listening to the worn voice. “Now, this is not a shaman’s tale, so don’t roll your eyes at me… but there are desert lands on the other side of the world, where fires that began during the War of the World still burn, from when the old ones used bombs that made a piece of the sun burn in the air…”

  Armand said, “I’ve heard stories like that. And I was never sure if I should believe them.”

  He laughed and slapped Armand’s leg. “Hah! A good one… listen to the old stories, appreciate them, but be skeptical. But the story of the desert lands still burning, of burning so brightly that they still make people sicken and die, that is a true story. I have heard it from explorers who have gone there and have seen it themselves. And you, you lucky one, you will have many stories to tell, once you get to be my age.”

  “Thank you, grandfather,” Armand said.

  “Hah!” Then he struggled to get out of the chair, and Armand helped him up, as he cheerfully said, “Now, help me get back downstairs, before my people leave without me.”

  As Charlie Ten Horse wandered off, Armand’s bladder reminded him of an earlier quest. H
e found a narrow stairway and went downstairs and strolled through an old hallway, part of the original Palace Hall, where he hoped to find a WC. But he quickly got lost in a part of the Hall that was lit by gas torches and had narrow, dark corridors leading off at odd angles. Armand remembered a few times, years ago, when he and Henri would sneak out during official functions, and try to get through the locked doors and deep passageways. They had gone looking for treasure and relics, and all they had found was old, broken furniture and piles of boxes.

  Armand walked a few meters into the near darkness and was going to turn and re-trace his steps when he heard a soft yelp.

  “Is everything all right over there?” Armand called out. “Hello?”

  A murmur of voices and a young male said, “All’s fine. You can leave.”

  But Armand kept walking, turned a corner, and by the flickering yellow gas lamp, Armand saw Randall de la Bourbon, with a satisfied smirk on his face. Randall stood next to a young girl, dressed in black and white, shiny brass ring around her neck. Her makeup on her face was slightly smeared. Armand looked to her. “Are you all right, girl?”

  She was smiling but her eyes seemed troubled. Randall said, “She’s just fine, Armand. So why don’t you leave me be?”

  Armand took the girl’s arm. “It’s all right, you can run along.”

  She smiled in gratitude and quickly walked by Armand, leaving him alone with Randall, the current object of affection for his sister Michelle, and --- the thought made him queasy --- his possible future brother-in-law. He said quietly, “There are laws forbidding what you’re doing. She deserves better.”

  Randall gave Armand a look of mock horror. “Really? Truly? Is that so? And what kind of laws are you talking about, Armand?”

  “About the mistreatment of a family’s servants,” Armand said. Or slaves, he thought. There was a distant sound, like somebody was approaching, but the sound didn’t repeat itself.