Kingslayer

by Honor Raconteur

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’re smiling evilly.”

  “I learned how to from the best, sir.”

  Chuckling, Darius raised the megaphone to his mouth and called, “I WILL BE GENEROUS WITH YOUR TERMS OF SURRENDER, ADAD!”

  That shocked the Admiral back in motion and he whirled away to snatch up his megaphone once again. “WHO SAID I WOULD SURRENDER?!”

  Darius picked up a burning torch from a holder nearby and lifted it high above his head. “DO YOU PREFER TO BURN INSTEAD?”

  Adad didn’t answer immediately. In fact, he lowered his megaphone and turned to speak rapidly with the ship’s captain instead. Darius didn’t need to hear the conversation to know more or less of what they said. Even if they launched the landing boats with soldiers aboard right this minute, it would take a good hour to get everyone off. Worse, they couldn’t time the landing so that all of the boats would reach the docks at the same time. Darius’s troops would be able to overwhelm each boat as it came to them and pick them off, one by one.

  But even if, by some miracle, they managed to get the boats to quickly launch and reached the shore before the burning oil destroyed the boats, they would be trapped. The Ilam soldiers would be stuck on land without any way to retreat or receive support from the mother ships. They might have enough men to take over this city, but the whole country?

  Ramin leaned in closer and whispered, “Do you think our bluff is working?”

  “He hasn’t once glanced back to look at the gate,” Darius muttered back. “He doesn’t think he can charge it and break through. Or he doesn’t think he can reach it in time. The oil will carry the fire straight to his ships. I’ve seen a house burn before—it was nothing more than charcoal and embers in minutes. I doubt a ship will burn any different. I bet Adad knows that, too.”

  “Shouldn’t you be adding on some pressure?” Ramin asked in worry.

  “No, no. First rule in bluffing, Ramin—never, ever talk more than you need to. The trick is to give the other side just enough information to think that you have the upper hand. Then you silently wait them out, as if you have every confidence that you’ll win no matter what they do. Silence sells the idea. Talking, as if you have to convince them, that’s what spoils it.” He lifted his spyglass again to get a better look at Adad’s face. The man looked very angry, but he also had no color to his skin, complexion a sick grey. “He’s almost ready to cave in,” he observed almost to himself. “Wait for it….”

  Adad milled about the prow of the ship again, clearly looking for an exit of some sort. He stopped in the same spot, shoulders slumping. Very reluctantly, he picked up the megaphone and growled, “A THOUSAND CURSES ON YOU, BRESALIER! YOU AND YOUR HOUSE!”

  This time, he didn’t bother to try and hide his evil smile. “OFFLOAD YOUR MEN AND COME ASHORE, FOUR BOATS AT A TIME! WE’LL DISCUSS THE TERMS OF SURRENDER WHEN YOU LAND.” Turning his head, he ordered Ramin, “Put together some crews to go and inspect the ships first. He might think to sabotage them in some way to prevent them from falling into our hands.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ramin turned and started calling out orders to people as he walked off the dock.

  Darius handed the megaphone off to Payam, grinning all the while. He’d just won a major battle without a single sword leaving its sheath.

  This one would go down in the history books for certain.

  ~~~

  “Darius!” Tresea called to him, tone irritable, waving a piece of paper in the air. “Your reports leave much to be desired! ‘We won. The bluff worked.’ Is that really all you had time to write?!”

  He waited until he had reached the foot of her dais, bowed properly, and straightened back before responding seriously, “It was. But I bring you good news so I pray that you are not angry with me for long.”

  She sat back with a huff. “I’ll judge that after I hear your news.”

  “Thirteen warships were captured in your name.” He somehow managed to keep his face straight saying this. Really, all he wanted to do was smile.

  It took a moment to sink in and then her eyes flew wide. “You captured the armada intact?”

  “All but two,” he corrected with a resigned shrug of the shoulders. “They sabotaged them before we could get to them. But the other thirteen are in prime fighting condition. Adad signed an agreement of unconditional surrender. As of yesterday, you have a navy at your command.”

  She threw her head back and laughed in sheer joy. “You marvelous, marvelous man! Sit, sit, and tell me the full story.”

  He crossed to the bench nearby that she pointed to, obediently sat, and spun the story for her. Previous experience had taught him that when she said tell me the full story, she meant every detail, and so he weaved his words into a colorful tale. Tresea leaned further toward him with every word, literally sitting on the edge of her seat as the story reached a climax, even though she knew how it would end. As he wound down, she relaxed back into her throne with a satisfied sigh, as content as a cat that had finished off a prized dish of cream.

  “You deserve another estate for this victory,” she informed him with a pleased smile.

  Darius shook his head in panic. “My Queen, I beg you, refrain from that. Amalah has her hands full with the Soohr Estate as it is.”

  “Darius.” Uh-oh. She had that half-smile on her face that scared him down to his toes. “Why do you always argue with me when I want to reward you?”

  He gulped nervously and ventured, “Because your rewards are usually excessive?”

  Tresea’s fingers tapped against the arm of her chair in an irritated rhythm. “And what do you think is an appropriate award?”

  “I think you’ve already very generously given me an estate,” he said frankly. “I honestly cannot wish for anything more in this moment.”

  Her eyes narrowed to angry slits. “You will name something in the next five seconds or I will decide for you.”

  She would, too. Probably that estate that he didn’t want. Something he wanted, something he wanted…no, nothing came to mind. Although Amalah had mentioned something in passing as a joke…oh, right! “Er, actually My Queen, there is something that my betrothed wanted.”

  Tresea waved an impatient hand. “Well?”

  “Can we borrow the court painter to re-do the murals in our home?” He gave her his most charming smile, that one that always got him out of trouble. “Some of them were destroyed by weather and age and are beyond recognition now. We thought about hiring someone, but truly, you have the best artist in the country.”

  “I do,” she acknowledged with no false modesty. “It took me some time to find him. Once again, you have asked for something of far less value than the thing I wanted to give you. But that,” she sighed in resignation, “is partially why I trust you. You are not a greedy man.”

  He scratched his head and wondered how to respond to that.

  “Oh very well, Darius, you may borrow my court painter.” Tresea rolled her eyes heavenward, praying for patience. “But in return, next time, you will not argue with me.”

  He bowed in acknowledgement. “Of course, My Queen.” He prayed right then and there that she changed her mind before that point about giving him a second estate. He hadn’t been joking earlier—Amalah truly did have her hands full with just one. Two would be impossible. His bride-to-be would not be pleased with him if he doubled her workload.

  It felt a little strange being back at his desk. With two months of celebrations (one for his wedding and the other for the victory at Izeh Port), moving into the new house, and trying his hand at estate managing, his military duties had been pushed off to the side. But he couldn’t ignore them forever and so he and Amalah had returned to the palace yesterday. Now, looking at the charts and maps and books that he had abandoned, the desk looked a little lonely and neglected.

  Well, it wouldn’t be that way for long. He called for Payam, sending a message along to his staff that he wanted updates on their progress since his last report f
rom them. Then he started clearing off the surface, sorting it into piles of unneeded information, maps and reports he still wanted access to and books that could be returned.

  “General Bresalier.”

  Darius turned from his desk and looked up. Ashtad stood in the doorway, and one look at the man’s face made it clear what sort of news he had to report. “Ashtad,” he acknowledged, waving the man inside and to a seat. “Just once, I want you to come visit me with good news to report.”

  Ashtad grimaced at the mild rebuke as he sank into a nearby chair. “Actually, when you don’t see me is the good news. I report the worst news myself.”

  The worst news, eh? Darius sat down at the table, because he felt like he needed to, and braced himself. “I’m all ears, Ashtad.”

  The Master of Spies took in a breath and met Darius’s eyes without flinching. “You told me that you didn’t think Brindisi had the means to pull together an army of more than ten thousand to march against us. And even then they’d have to scrounge around for the numbers.”

  Darius went very, very still. “Was I wrong?”

  “No, you were right.” Ashtad had the strangest expression in his eyes as he said the next words. “Brindisi dropped their war against Serrati.”

  A feeling of ice coldness washed down his spine, making him shiver. The campaign against Serrati was as old as he could remember, the war that every soldier had fought in at least once. Darius had once remarked to then Prince Baros that by the time a king had funded the campaign for five straight years, he could have bought the country instead of trying to conquer it. It was a waste of manpower and resources. He apparently took that advice to heart. Wetting dry lips, he forced himself to think and speak. “Freeing himself from that campaign has won Baros anywhere between twenty to thirty thousand troops that he can reassign as he pleases.”

  “Twenty-seven thousand precisely,” Ashtad answered in a mechanical tone. “The other eight thousand he’s taken from the Baiji horsemen.”

  For an odd moment, he couldn’t understand what Ashtad said, as if he’d forgotten every word of Niotese that he’d learned. Then, in a rush, he added everything together and it all made too much sense. “You’re telling me that I have an army of thirty-five thousand heading my direction?”

  “Yes.”

  Thirty-five thousand…Brindisi really wanted him dead, didn’t they? Or they were that humiliated that a former general had stopped them so completely from conquering a small country like Niotan. Perhaps it was both.

  Their motivations didn’t really matter right now, though. What did matter was numbers. Darius had eight thousand troops to his name at this moment. He could always employ the mercenary Night Raiders again, but they were only five hundred. Not enough to really tip the balance against those odds.

  His mind whirled, tactics and geography and past experiences flashing through his mind’s eye. He didn’t have the numbers to go head to head with a force of that size, but he didn’t believe in fighting battles like that to begin with.

  “Bresalier.” Ashtad gripped his hands on the tabletop together so hard that the knuckles showed white. “Tell me you can win.”

  “I don’t fight hopeless causes.” He grinned at him, then almost laughed at the shock on Ashtad’s face. “We can win. But to do it, we have to move now and I need every piece of information that you can get for me. Specifically, which route they take to get here and if they’re picking up the Baiji horsemen on the way or if they’ll meet them at Dakan Pass. Also, who’s the leading general for this one. If it’s someone I know, it’ll help me when planning tactics.”

  Ashtad nodded jerkily in confirmation. “O-of course. I’ll find out. But we only have eight thousand troops. You really think we can fight off thirty-five thousand?”

  “Ashtad, I swear to you that by the time the Brindisi Army makes it through Dakan Pass, there won’t be thirty-five thousand.”

  ~~~

  Darius had made preparations for Brindisi in more ways than one. From the comfort of his new home, he’d sent out several letters and even made a few visits to some of the generals that he knew regarded him favorably. Some of them had been more hesitant than others, but winning the eastern front and then the sea battle at Izeh Port had gained him their respect at least. The others just became more sour at his success and refused to acknowledge him at all. After he won this last battle, he’d have to do something about them. But for now, he focused on the men willing to help.

  The whole purpose of him returning to Khoor when he did was to hold the first War Council since he’s assumed position as lead general. With only four generals in attendance—five including himself—it hardly seemed a real council, but at this point, Darius would work with what he could get.

  But with the new information, he could not wait for the previously scheduled time of tomorrow afternoon and instead called for an emergency session to be held within an hour. Then he dove into a uniform, grabbed the latest reports, and headed straight for the council room, Sego and Payam in tow.

  The Council Room lay deep within the heart of the palace. It took him several minutes to get there. The doors were wide open when he reached it, and for the first time, he crossed the threshold and stepped inside.

  For a room that decided the victory or defeat of a country, it had no impressive features about it. A long table surrounded by chairs dominated the center of the room. A very large map had been painted into the wood of the table in bright golds and reds. Two large windows were on either end of the room, letting in a great deal of light and looking out over a tranquil garden, but Darius noticed in amusement that the windows did not open. Traditionally, most council rooms had an adjoining courtyard to them so that the men could get up and walk around, taking breaks from their discussions. But whoever had designed this room wisely had not followed tradition. The courtyards were typically used for duels more than anything else as the generals had a bad habit of fighting out their differences in opinion.

  He stopped just inside the doorway and gave a polite bow to the two men already seated at the table. “General Mihr, General Bahram, I’m glad you came.”

  Mihr, now looking properly rested after several months of being home, gave a slight smile and stood, returning the bow. “I am glad you called, General Bresalier. But I worry at this early summons. Has something happened?”

  “Yes. But I don’t wish to go over this multiple times. Please wait until the other two arrive.” He acknowledged the bow that Bahram gave him and then gestured to Sego, who had the reports stacked up in the corner of his elbow. “If you would, go through these and tell me if the numbers have changed in the past month or so. I need the most accurate information possible.”

  “Of course,” Bahram assured him.

  Darius went to the head of the table, dragging the chair back in a slight scrape against tiles before settling into it. As he sat, he truly looked at both men. He’d only met Bahram briefly before now but he’d exchanged several letters with him over the past few months. Before Darius, Bahram had held the dubious privilege of being the youngest general on the council. At the age of forty, he had been promoted to his current rank by Queen Tresea for his excellent service. Sego told him that Bahram was one of the few that had gained his rank by merit alone instead of connections. Even Mihr had practically married into this career.

  Bahram certainly didn’t look like a brilliant strategist. Actually, he had the small and wiry build of a horseman. In fact, if Darius hadn’t known better, he’d have almost pegged the man as Baijian because of his dark, leathery skin, bushy black hair and that hooked nose.

  Sego passed both men the reports before quietly blending into the shadows behind Darius. Payam just as quietly took up the same position, waiting for Darius’s orders.

  Generals Ormad and Delshad came in almost at the same time. Delshad was still tucking his sash into itself around his waist, and he looked as if he had dressed on the run—literally. His hair, uncommonly long for a military man, tangled arou
nd his face and kept falling into his eyes. He kept reaching up to brush it away, only to have it spring back. For such a tall man, his voice came out in an unusually high pitch as he greeted, “General Bresalier. General Mihr. General Bahram.”

  No one had a chance to respond as Ormad boomed out, “Bresalier, what’s going on?”

  “Take a seat,” Darius invited calmly. “I’ll tell you.” He watched Ormad yank back a chair and drop into it. The man had the size of a small bear, and the temperament to match. He was always bellowing something, it seemed, but under that tough exterior lay a man with common sense. He didn’t have the instincts of a good strategist but he knew how to obey orders and how to work with what he was given.

  With everyone seated, Darius nodded to them. “Thank you for coming so quickly. Niotan’s future depends on it. Not an hour ago, Ashtad came to me and reported that Brindisi has gathered together an army and is marching them here.”

  “Already?” Delshad objected, eyes wide. “It can’t be much of a force, surely.”

  “Thirty-five thousand,” Darius corrected grimly.

  Bahram let out a low whistle. “Now how did they pull that off?”

  “They ended the campaign against Serrati.” Darius gave them a rueful shrug when they all groaned in understanding. “That won them back considerable manpower and resources alone. But I think they’ve also gained some troops in a few other places. Serrati’s war alone didn’t consume that many men.”

  The four men exchanged glances between themselves.

  “Bresalier, correct me if I’m wrong, but those barriers of yours won’t handle thirty-five thousand,” Mihr said in a steady, calm tone that belied the worry in his eyes.

  Darius nodded confirmation. “Not even close. They might be able to handle twenty thousand, if we had more layers to them and more troops, but we don’t have the ability to meet that large of an army head-on and win. We need to whittle down those numbers before they even reach Niotan’s borders.”