Kingslayer

by Honor Raconteur

  Now, if he remembered correctly, the charts he wanted were on the second level. He’d rarely found anything of interest on the main level, as most of the area had tables set up for people researching, and the back shelves were full of the popular books, mostly love poetry and things of that nature. So as soon as he cleared the door, he headed instantly for the stairs on his left.

  He’d taken all of three steps when he spied Amalah in the library. She didn’t notice him, though. She’d squirreled herself away in a corner near a window, legs tucked up near her body, open book in her lap. Whatever she had in her hands had captivated her attention and she remained completely oblivious to the outside world. He maneuvered his way for the stairs and stole glances in her direction. She never looked up, though.

  Well, he’d stop by as he left and talk with her. Maybe even sneak up behind her and scare her a little. The second level wrapped around the back end of the room before leading to another staircase that led downwards on the other side, near where she was sitting. He could make a simple loop and end up near her oh-so-casually. That shouldn’t rile that obnoxious fiancé of hers.

  He went to the now very familiar shelves and gathered up the books and the two charts that he needed. Then he went back toward the railing to check and make sure she hadn’t moved yet.

  She hadn’t, but another player had entered the field when he wasn’t looking.

  Grygotis now stood near the center of the room, in a circle of women who were vying for his attention. Darius recognized several of them—none of the women there enjoyed a particularly wholesome reputation, to say the least. They were pressed closer than they should have been, and the smile on Grygotis’s face had a lecherous slant to it. Clearly, the man enjoyed this feminine attention. One of them said something to him and he threw his head back and laughed much louder than he should have within the sanctity of the library’s silence.

  Darius’s poor impression of the man soured by several degrees. Bad enough this idiot treated Amalah poorly but he actually dallied with other women? Before they were even properly married? Darius found the double standard ironic, too. Here Grygotis stood in open view, flirting with several women, and apparently didn’t think anything of it and yet he’d castigated Amalah for flirting with Darius. And she hadn’t been flirting with him. (Unfortunately. Darius would have rather enjoyed it if she had.)

  Grygotis never once glanced up in his betrothed’s direction, which inclined Darius to believe that he didn’t know she sat nearby. He stole a glance toward her. Amalah had obviously heard him, as the book had been lowered and she watched him silently as he played. A statue would have had more expression than she at this moment. This lack of response worried Darius far more than rage or pain would have. How many times had she seen this that it no longer affected her? Or did she hate the man so much that she didn’t care where his attention turned to?

  Darius didn’t like either possibility.

  Without a word, Amalah slowly closed her book and walked quietly out of the library. Darius watched her go, not sure whether to feel anger on her behalf or sorrow. To be tied to a man like that….

  She’s not my fiancé, he reminded himself as he took several deep breaths. I have no power here. I can’t fix this, as much as I wish I could.

  With Grygotis’s crude laughter ringing in his ears, he turned for the door, forcibly turning his mind back toward war.

  ~~~

  In an effort to avoid thinking about Amalah, he buried himself in work, often taking on tasks that he normally would have delegated. It did not escape the notice of his staff or his household as everyone gave him odd looks now and again. Darius normally looked for excuses to escape his desk for a few minutes at least once a day but now he’d chained himself to it willingly and made no complaints. It would naturally cause a few raised eyebrows.

  But because of that single minded dedication, the plans for both his sea bluff and his land battle came along nicely. With Kaveh’s help—not to mention Gabr’s—they calculated how much oil they needed and Darius did the necessary forms to requisition what they needed. Even with the insane order, however, it wouldn’t quite be enough so he also had to request that the queen ration oil for the next month for all of Niotan.

  Gabr assured them that hollow walls could be easily floated into place and would not put undue strain on the walls. That wouldn’t remain true if a ship tried to ram through them, of course, and damage would likely incur then. But if a ship really did ram its way to freedom, damage to the harbor walls would be the very last of their worries.

  The walls would be done in two weeks and from that point on, a special crew would be in charge of them. Their sole task would be to practice putting the walls up so that they could do so at lightning speed. Gabr volunteered to head the crew and Darius approved it. He could trust that man to see things properly done.

  Kaveh and Ramin he put in charge of the city’s protection. In case the bluff failed and they had to light the oil, he wanted lots of water in place to prevent it from spreading. They worked with the local city’s inhabitants to make sure that everyone was prepared to grab up water quickly. He and Navid tackled the unpleasant possibility of street fighting. If, somehow, something went wrong and troops really did land on the docks, Darius didn’t want the city to fall just because he hadn’t been prepared. They bent over a detailed map of Izeh and spent hours discussing tactics and deployment.

  They weren’t truly ready to fight a naval battle at this point, but he didn’t mind that. Darius believed that Brindisi would come across land one more time, with a larger force, before they would try their hand at sea. That was part of the reason why he had put his plans for the next land battle into play before even trying to figure out how to fight invaders from the coast.

  Because the plans for the land battle had been started well before, it had progressed further. The barriers along the eastern front were all rebuilt and ready for battle. The battlements in the pass were very close to being completed. Another month, at most. Kaveh thought it would actually only take another two weeks, assuming that the fair weather would hold. The mountains’ unpredictable nature made it hard to guess anything. It had been known to snow at the highest peaks even during summer months.

  Darius put his forehead down on the cool wood of his desk and let out a long sigh. He’d been right here in this chair for almost two weeks solid, nailing down plans and reading reports, and he didn’t feel like he’d accomplished anything. Even though a lot of work had been done. But unless he saw the progress for himself, it just didn’t seem real to him somehow.

  Maybe Sego had a point. Maybe getting out and taking a look at the northern battlements would be a good trip for him.

  A tap came at his door. Looking up, he called out, “Enter!”

  Sego walked inside with the strangest look on his face. He looked…perturbed. In his footsteps was a man that Darius had only met once before. Ashtad of Holdaway, the Master of Spies for the queen.

  Darius stood up abruptly, instinctively on edge from this unannounced visit. Ashtad looked just as perturbed as Sego did. Worse, he looked as if he hadn’t rested properly in days. His grey hair stood up in every direction in a deranged style, circles under his eyes, pale skin almost waxy. When Darius had first met him over a month ago, he’d worn a perfectly tailored uniform but now it hung on him as if he had been recently skipping too many meals.

  “Ashtad,” Darius greeted with a short nod of the head. “I think you bring me bad news.”

  “I don’t know if it’s bad or not,” Ashtad responded with a raspy voice. “It depends on how prepared you are.”

  The words did nothing to reassure him. Silently, he waved both men to the table to sit. He fetched three metal goblets and a pitcher of water from a side table and poured them each a glass before joining them. Sego, used to his methods of receiving bad news, took the glass and tossed the water down.

  Ashtad regarded it for a moment before picking it up. “So the information about your re
ligious beliefs are true.”

  “They are. I think we need all the help we can get.” Pointing to the glass, he gestured for Ashtad to drink up before tossing back his own glass. The pitcher had been placed in the room early this morning, so it had been sitting there for several hours and had become lukewarm. It still felt pleasantly wet against Darius’s throat as it slid down. Taking in a breath, he set the glass deliberately in front of him before meeting Ashtad’s eyes squarely. “What do you know?”

  Ashtad also drank the water before speaking. “We just received word from two different spies that I have in Brindisi. You guessed wrong, General. Brindisi just hired a mercenary fleet from Ilam. They sail for our shores in a month.”

  Darius rubbed at his throbbing temples, trying to stave off a headache. “Good thing I didn’t bet on it, then. How long will it take for them to reach Izeh Port?”

  “A month, if the winds favor them.”

  “So two months left to prepare.” Maybe a little more time than that, although he shouldn’t count on it.

  “Tell me that you will be ready for them when they arrive,” Ashtad almost pleaded.

  “We should be,” he answered almost absently, mind already whirling with logistics and timelines. “We’ve already put many plans into motion. The only thing that I can’t speed up is the arrival of the oil, which is what our whole plan hinges on. But even that is due to arrive at the end of next month.”

  “Two weeks before the arrival of the fleet.” Ashtad’s eyes closed in relief. “That should be enough time, surely.”

  “Especially since we’re not depending on just that oil.” Darius gave him a reassuring smile. “We’re rationing oil here in Niotan too. It will be well. They won’t catch us unprepared.”

  Ashtad let out a low breath, worry draining from his expression. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, General. Is there anything that I or my department can do to help?”

  Darius thought about that for a moment before responding. “Do you know the strength and size of the armada?”

  “The message I received was brief,” he apologized with spread hands, “so I have nothing more than the bare facts to give you at this time. The armada is fifteen ships, five of which are Aksaran Corvans, nine Ilam Warships and a Trevel Flagship.”

  He let out a low whistle of admiration. Darius had spent half his time in the past few months researching battleships from what resources were in the library. He recognized the ships Ashtad had just rattled off. Aksaran Corvans (named from the bay where they were built and deployed) were the main stay of any fleet. They were mid-size compared to the other ships in the world, with two tiers of rowers to move them about, and they normally held the supplies for the rest of the convoy. Only having five to support ten other ships said that no one expected much resistance from Darius. They would have enough supplies to reach Niotan’s shores, perhaps another few days to plow through any resistance, and then be able to land and re-supply.

  Ilam Warships were considered to be the light cavalry of the open sea. They were smaller, requiring only a hundred rowers, but they were highly maneuverable. They could also fit in the narrow sea passages that most ships couldn’t, making them the ideal ship to use to deploy marines with. The fact that they took up the bulk of the armada clearly said what state of mind their commander was in: attack.

  The Trevel Flagship, though, that worried Darius. No ship on the open sea could compete in sheer size. It stood three levels tall, with rowers on each level, and could house several complements of marines without strain. If that ship chose to ram the hollow “gate” on the harbor wall, it could smash through it easily.

  My bluffing skills just became vital. Trying not to worry more than he needed to, he asked, “Do you know who their commander is?”

  Ashtan shook his head regretfully. “You now know as much as I do. I have, of course, requested more information but it’ll take weeks to get here. Are you sure you can withstand a convoy like this?”

  “I’d planned on anywhere from fifteen to twenty ships,” Darius assured him. Just not the Trevel Flagship. “For one thing, the Izeh Port can’t hold more than that and still give room to maneuver.”

  “A good point, General. Then…,” he stood and offered a half-bow. “With your permission, I want to go back to work.”

  “Certainly. But take tonight and get some good rest, alright?” Darius smiled to soften his words as he didn’t want to sound nagging. “I need your mind at its sharpest.”

  Ashtan blinked, a little startled, but a rueful smile tugged at his mouth. “I will do so. Shaa’s blessings with you, Bresalier.”

  Darius gave him a thankful nod for the blessing, so rarely heard this far from home. “My thanks.” I’ll need it.

  As soon as Ashtan had turned and left the room, Sego gave him a penetrating look. “You don’t think we can win this easily.”

  “You’ve gotten far too good at reading me,” Darius responded mildly, already scribbling out a note to call his staff to him for an emergency meeting. “No, I think that our plan will still work.”

  “Then why do you look worried?”

  “That flagship is outside of my expectations,” he admitted frankly. “We’re going to need a lot more oil.”

  Darius walked through the hallways of the palace, heading back to his suite after a meeting with the queen. He felt like he’d had a constant headache threatening ever since hearing that they were under imminent threat of being invaded through Izeh Port. His leisurely plans of preparing had suddenly been sped up and now, if he didn’t have three very good commanders to depend on, he’d have lost control of all of it.

  He took in a breath and let it out, then repeated it, trying to calm himself down. When a man got into too much of a hurry to think things through, some very fatal mistakes were made. He, of all people, had to stay in control. He glanced at the runner faithfully dogging his footsteps and asked, “Payam, the queen said that the price for oil is skyrocketing because of our rationing. How bad is it?”

  “Bad,” Payam admitted with a grimace. “Shade finder’s say a drop of oil dickers for eight coppers.”

  Ouch. A month ago, a bottle of oil would go for that price. “The common people can’t afford that.”

  Payam nodded glumly. “Any burnies goin for steep.”

  It made sense. If oil was taken away from you, then the common man would search for the next substitute. Darius imagined that not one abandoned stick of wood could be found in this city. This situation wouldn’t last much longer, not more than another month or so, but he still didn’t like for the people to suffer like this. Oil sometimes meant not being able to eat or not having enough light or heat in the evening. He rubbed at his chin as he thought. “We need to think of a different approach to this…,” he trailed off as a familiar voice came from up ahead.

  He had passed through the main section of the palace without truly noticing. In the heat of the day, such as now, this was the coolest place to be. The thick walls on all sides kept out the heat and the different layers of wooden latticing forming the ceiling kept direct sunlight from entering but still allowed light through. A very elaborate water fountain dominated the center of the courtyard and threw out cool water in every direction. If anyone had a choice, they were always here before and after the noon meal, enjoying the cool air and court gossip.

  Amalah tended to be here with her family on a fairly regular basis, or so she’d mentioned once to him. She could very well be ahead of him and his ears weren’t playing tricks on him. But the tone hadn’t been a happy one. And he’d never heard Amalah raise her voice before.

  A little worried, he lengthened his stride, forcing Payam to jog in order to keep up with him. As he turned the corner and stepped into the courtyard, he couldn’t quite believe the scene that met his eyes.

  Amalah, her parents, and Grygotis were gathered at one bench near the entrance. In Amalah’s hands was the mirror he’d given to her, and she clutched it protectively to her chest. Grygoti
s loomed over her menacingly, hand raised as if poised to strike her.

  “Give it back,” he hissed at her in a tone that carried. Several rajs and rajas nearby drew away from the scene, clearly unnerved at the menace in his voice.

  “I will not,” Amalah responded curtly. “It is an appropriate gift, given to me in return for a favor.”

  “You shouldn’t be accepting gifts from other men!” he thundered.

  “As you do from other women?” she responded with false sweetness, a brittle smile on her face.

  Grygotis actually reeled a step back, shocked that she had dared retorted. Darius didn’t find anything surprising about it. Amalah was sweet natured and had an even temper, but if you pushed her far enough, she would match fire for fire. It just took a lot of effort to get her mad enough to fight back.

  Apparently, Grygotis had never pushed her hard enough before.

  Enraged, and probably a little humiliated, he reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet. “You’ll give that mirror back to him,” he snarled between clenched teeth. “And everything else he’s given you!”

  Amalah winced and tried to yank her arm back. “I will not.”

  “YOU WILL!”

  Alright, he’d had enough. Darius couldn’t do anything about the oath of betrothal between those two, but he absolutely wouldn’t stand there and watch her being manhandled like that. Darr strike him dead if he ever tolerated such brutality. Hand clenching, he stalked forward, red clouding his vision.

  At that moment, the unthinkable happened.

  Angry, beyond caring about the audience around them, Grygotis reared back a hand and slapped her across the cheek. Amalah’s head snapped to the side under the force of the blow and she staggered a little.

  He faltered for a moment in sheer disbelief. That thrice-cursed, son of a mother-sucking goat actually hit her?!

  Almost without pause, Amalah fell backwards, snatching up the book lying on the bench with her free hand. With a snarl on her face, she stepped forward and slammed the book against Grygotis’s ear with all of the force she could muster.