An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3)

by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Brandt nodded and began filling goblets with wine, working his way along one side of the table. Once finished, he stood to the side of the room and waited for the other wine steward and the one who served water. With drinks served, Brandt poured the remainder of his carafe into Poul’s, who was to remain and refill goblets as needed. Jurgan and Brandt departed together, clearing the way for the food servers who entered and began performing their assigned tasks.

  As Brandt ran down the stairs, he found himself grinning. It had been three days since he had been alone with Quinn. His wait would end tonight.

  Brandt crept up the stairs, listening for movement from the floor above. Behind him, the servants’ quarters were quiet, as usual at this late hour. He frowned at the thought of waking early after a short night of sleep. I should have given sleep more appreciation when I still lived in Kantar. At the time, he thought his life was busy. The volume of pranks he had concocted over the years was a telling sign that he had had too much time on his hands back then.

  He turned the corner at the landing and eased up the stairs. A female guard walked past, twenty feet away. Brandt crouched low with his hands on the steps, hoping the guard had not spotted him. The soft tap of her footsteps faded as she crossed the main hall, oblivious.

  Moving to the top of the stairs, Brandt snuck a glance around the corner and found the guard moving away, the woman now halfway to the council chamber doors at the rear of the building. He slipped around the corner, padded along the wall, and carefully opened the side door. It let out the smallest of squeaks and Brandt winced. A sidelong glance revealed the guard approaching the far end of the hall. He slithered through the narrow opening and closed the door behind him. When it clicked shut, the pale blue light from inside fell away and darkness enveloped him.

  As his eyes adjusted to the dim starlight, the garden before him began to coalesce. He crept away from the building and headed toward the shadowy silhouette of trees ahead. A cool breeze blew from the east, and the shrubs beside him whispered softly, the flowers near his knees rustling in response. A nightrill call echoed from above. Brandt peered up into the tree, but saw only shadows, and beyond those, only stars.

  “Psst.”

  The sound came from his left. He adjusted his path, twisted to squeeze between a pair of tall shrubs, and found Quinn waiting in a small clearing.

  “Why must you always be late?”

  He shrugged in the darkness. “Old habits die hard.”

  “See what happens when you grow up as a spoiled brat?”

  “Ouch,” Brandt stopped before Quinn and touched her face. “I wish I could see your eyes. Meeting in the darkness like this…it deprives me of their beauty.”

  She snorted. “Does that line work with the daughters of other royals?”

  He chuckled. “Not the smart ones.”

  “Good. I’d hate to think they lacked the capacity for reason.”

  “Well, I never said that.” He shifted closer until he stood with his cheek beside hers, his voice dropping even lower. “Besides, they lack your fire, your strength.”

  He felt the warmth of her breath on his neck, the heat of her palm on his upper arm. His hand cupped her chin and guided her lips to his. A rush of warmth ran through him, leaving his pulse racing and head dizzy by the time the kiss ended.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine…surviving.” He sensed resignation in her voice. “It helps that you’re here, even if we can rarely be together.”

  “By your side is where I wish to be, Quinn.” He grinned. “That’s where all the excitement happens.”

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “I’ve been called worse.”

  A moment passed with both of them quiet. Finally, Brandt decided it best not to avoid reality.

  “While I am more than happy to spend time alone with you, I assume there was another reason you wished to meet me.”

  Quinn sighed. “Yes. A man arrived two days ago and gave a report to Varius and Kardan while I was in the room. He brought an army of hired soldiers, mercenaries gathered across Torinland and Hurnsdom. Somehow, he had gathered thousands.”

  Brandt frowned. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “They are to meet Mollis at a rendezvous point somewhere to the north. We need to figure out where they are heading.”

  “I agree, but what can I do? Other than serving them wine, I’m never close to those people.”

  “Kardan has maps in his office. He uses them for planning, and they are marked with Imperial troop locations.” Quinn sighed. “I haven’t figured out how to get close enough to read the maps. Both Varius and Kardan are in the room whenever I’m there. Kardan keeps long hours, often sleeping in his office rather than in his room on the floor below. Worse, whenever they are both away, I’m stuck following them around like a nursemaid.”

  “That does make it difficult,” Brandt agreed. “Too bad there aren’t copies elsewhere.”

  Quinn gasped, her eyes widening. “That’s it!”

  His brow furrowed. “What’s it?”

  “I saw similar maps on Sculdin’s desk a few weeks ago.”

  “Captain Sculdin?” Brandt found himself nodding. “That makes sense. He is likely supporting Kardan and might be sent into the field himself.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Did you forget? My father is the king of Kantaria. Between him and General Budakis, I’ve had my fill of military strategy discussions.” Brandt thought about the maps and decided it was likely for Sculdin to become highly involved. “Kardan must trust Sculdin to give him copies. A general cannot function alone. I suspect Sculdin is his second in command. If so, he will take the field at some point.”

  “Well, we need to get into Sculdin’s office and have a look at those maps.” Quinn turned away. “Follow me.”

  “Now?” He asked but received no response as Quinn disappeared past the shrubs. “Something tells me I’m going to be tired come morning,” he muttered.

  Hurrying to catch up, Brandt slipped between the shrubs and spotted Quinn scurrying toward the rear of the castle. With light but hurried footsteps, he caught up to her as she put her back to the wall and peered around the corner. A moment later, she resumed her journey with him in tow.

  As they approached the rear wing, Brandt realized where they were headed. Reaching out, he grabbed her shoulder, and she spun around to face him.

  “Are you crazy?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

  “Hush. You don’t want to wake the guards.”

  “Exactly! This is where they sleep.”

  “It’s also where Sculdin’s office is located.”

  She turned and continued forward, toward the door leading to the guard barracks.

  Stifling a groan, Brandt again hurried along. He caught up to Quinn as she slowed before the door. She pressed her ear against it, listened, and then tested the handle. Turning it, she eased the door open, and pale blue light leaked out. They both peered inside and saw nothing but an empty corridor. From somewhere inside, they heard the soft rumble of a snore.

  Quinn opened the door further and slipped inside with Brandt a pace behind. Stepping softly on the balls of their feet, they crept down the hallway toward a single glowlamp sconce mounted beside an open door. When she reached the open doorway, Quinn peeked in and pulled back. She glanced at Brandt and tilted her head to the side, indicating that they continue. After she slithered beyond the doorway, he scurried past, glancing in to see rows of bunks along the walls, most occupied by sleeping guards. There were easily two dozen bunks, perhaps more.

  When they reached the end of the corridor, Quinn opened the door and he followed her through.

  They stepped down to a dirt surface, fifty paces long and half the width. An arched ceiling stood three stories above them, and the pale blue glow of a dormant glowlamp came from the loft overlooking the room. Quinn pointed toward the loft.

  “Sculdin’s office is up there.” She eyed Brandt.
“Can you…you know…use your magic to make yourself light and just jump up there?”

  “Actually, I’d rather not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Once Chaos is used, it takes a long time to recover. What if we are discovered, and I need to use it to escape or to save you? I’ll be helpless and all…floaty.”

  “Really?” Her eyes narrowed at him. “What do you propose, then?”

  “Well, I can boost you up, and you can climb to the loft. I’ve seen your climbing skills on the Jungle. This should be easy.”

  “Why me? You can climb just as well.”

  “True, but I’m stronger than you and you’re lighter, so you’re easier to lift.”

  She snorted. “Well, we agree on the last statement.”

  Quinn walked toward the wall, looking up as she decided on her best route.

  “Lift me here.” She pointed up. “I’ll grab the ledge, shimmy over, and climb the railing.”

  Brandt stood with his back to the wall, clasped his hands together, and squatted. Quinn put her boot into his hands and he stood, grunting as he lifted. With her other foot, she pushed off his shoulders and climbed up.

  He turned to watch as she gripped the first ledge, climbed to the next ledge above, shimmied to the side, gripped a balcony baluster, and began to climb up it hand-over-hand. Seconds later, she disappeared over the railing. The room fell quiet save for the sound of shuffling papers above. Nervous, Brandt stared at the door to the barracks, fearing it would open at any moment. If caught while Quinn was in Sculdin’s office, they’d be doomed.

  Hearing a noise above, he saw Quinn climbing over the rail. She lowered herself until she dangled from two balusters and let go, bending her knees with the landing. Still, the thud of her boots striking the dirt sent alarms off in Brandt’s head, spinning like the puff of dust she created.

  “I have it. Let’s go.” Quinn turned about.

  “Wait.” Brandt caught her shoulder and spun her back toward him. “What do you mean, you have it?”

  “The map I need.” She patted her torso. “I rolled it up and stuffed it in my jerkin.”

  “You stole it?” Brandt struggled to keep his voice down. “I thought you were going to look at it, memorize it. If you steal it, they’ll know it is missing.”

  “Too late for that.” She turned and ran toward the door.

  “Chuli was right,” Brandt mumbled to himself. “Quinn is even worse than I am.”

  Releasing a sigh, he again hurried to follow. Hurrying along, he wondered what crazy plan she would come up with next.

  11

  Reclamation

  Ashland waved Wharton aside and leaned into the cane as she stood. Using the cane reminded her of Budakis, who had used one for his last six years. Those final years were difficult on him, yet he rarely showed it. She missed his strength and wished he could be at her side now. Farewell, Gunther. I pray that Issal rewards you for the goodness you brought to the world.

  The captain of the guard turned toward the door, gripped the handle and glanced back at her.

  Ashland gave Wharton a nod. “I’m ready.”

  The man opened the door and held it for her. She grunted at the effort of each step, her muscles still weak, her body stiff from lying in bed for two weeks.

  Two guards waited outside the temple apartments. Nels, she recognized. The young woman to the other side was unfamiliar. With Wharton in the lead, and both guards following behind, Ashland descended the stairs and entered the courtyard that led to the main keep.

  Gray skies greeted her, along with a cool winter breeze. Ashland held her royal robes together with her free hand and frowned at the lack of color in the courtyard. While Kantar rarely experienced rain outside of winter, the season had just begun and the gardens thirsted mightily. The shrubs appeared dry and dormant from months of dry weather, the flowers wilted and forlorn.

  Her gaze was drawn toward the top floor where she saw remnants of the wreckage. An attack on her family, her home, had rendered damage that might take years to repair. Yet, they had survived. The image left her longing to reach out to Brock. Restrain yourself, Ashland, she told herself. Remember, you are the queen. You can do this.

  Wharton approached the side door, and the guard stationed there gave him a brief nod. The captain of the guard held the door while Ashland entered. He then reclaimed the lead while she limped down the corridor toward the main hall.

  It was busy, as usual. The doors to all four courtrooms and the royal throne room were closed. Without pause, she followed Wharton toward the wide-eyed guards who stood beside the closed throne room doors.

  “The Queen would have an audience with Magistrate Filbert,” Wharton announced.

  One guard, a young man with dark eyes, black hair, and a deep tan, turned toward his companion. Clearly the senior of the two, the other man was tall and lean with a hatchet face and beady brown eyes.

  “The Magistrate said he was to be left alone. He’s meetin’ with his clerk, fixin’ laws and such.”

  Wharton shifted closer to the guard. “You appear old enough to possess a bit of wisdom. Tell me, is there any kingdom where a magistrate outranks a queen?”

  The guard’s thick brow furrowed and his eyes shifted back and forth. “Um…no. I don’t think so.”

  “Exactly.” Wharton pushed past the man and into the room. “The Queen is going in.”

  Ashland followed him inside, trailed by her two guards.

  Although it was mid-day, the cloud-covered sky did a poor job of lighting the throne room and made the murals on the domed ceiling all but imperceptible. Likewise, the distant corners were dark beyond the rows of benches along the center aisle.

  The room stood empty save for two people upon the dais. The magistrate lounged upon the king’s throne, dictating to a skinny young man with curly brown hair. Ashland’s throne, which normally stood beside Brock’s, was notably absent.

  Filbert stopped in mid-sentence, his eyes going wide as he sat forward. “You…Your Highness,” the old man stammered. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Ashland continued forward, leaning on her cane with each step, wishing she had the strength to discard it.

  “While my body still recovers, I assure you that my mind is sharp, and my will is strong.”

  The man opened his mouth, but Ashland continued before he could reply.

  “I hear talk of you drafting a law to repurpose the city temples toward worship every day of the week rather than using them to educate the city’s youth, save for Seventh Day, as they do now.” She stopped before the throne and allowed anger to seep into her voice. “The education system King Brock established was among my husband’s most revered accomplishments. You cannot discard it on a whim.”

  “I assure you, it is no whim, my Queen.” Filbert’s voice was firm, demanding. “Rescinding that enactment would both increase the public’s connection with Issal and would save the kingdom’s coffers a fair sum.”

  “At what cost? Would you not invest in our future? Knowledge is power, and sharing knowledge with our youth ensures a better tomorrow for our people.”

  “Bah!” The magistrate decried. “It’s a waste! If we revert to teaching skilled youth trades, then we will ensure our future with better blacksmiths, more skilled bakers, trained hunters, and more.”

  “We can have those things, and those people will also know how to read, write, and do basic math, making our society that much stronger.”

  Filbert stood. “You’ll not…”

  The ring of a sword withdrawing from a scabbard echoed throughout the courtroom. The magistrate’s eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open as Wharton leveled his sword at his chest, the point mere inches away.

  Filbert’s wrinkled face had grown pasty white. “I am a magistrate of the law. You wouldn’t…”

  “Don’t attempt to tell me what I will and will not do, old man,” Wharton growled. “I report to Queen Ashland and nobody else. As long as she lives, she holds
the power in Kantaria.”

  Wharton flicked his sword to the left, and Filbert shuffled in that direction, circling around the guards.

  I must regain control of the conversation. “Thank you for stepping in while I was recovering, Magistrate,” Ashland said. “You may return to your courtroom and resume your normal duties.”

  Filbert’s expression darkened to a scowl. He turned, rushed past the armed guards, and fled from the room with his black and purple cloaking billowing behind him. With a gulp, the scrawny clerk scurried after the old man.

  “Follow him,” Wharton said to the guards. “Be sure he doesn’t cause a stir. I’m sure he’ll be fine once his anger has simmered.”

  The two guards nodded and headed out the door.

  When she heard Wharton’s blade returning to his scabbard, Ashland turned toward him.

  “Thank you, Wharton. If the confrontation had escalated much further, I would have been forced to issue punishment. I am already at a disadvantage, and I don’t need the other magistrates backing him based on what they might perceive as abuse of my station.”

  “You are their Queen, and it’s best they remember that fact.” With his jaw set, Wharton glared toward the door where Filbert had exited. “You should know that we lost a few guards in the explosion, and a few more quit afterward. I’m still filling positions, but I find it difficult to determine which ones I can trust. I thought it prudent to warn you.”

  Ashland nodded. “Trust given is a delicate thing, easily damaged and extremely difficult to repair. We trusted Kony…and look at what happened.”

  Wharton’s brow furrowed and his eyes found the floor. “I apologize, Your Highness. My job is to protect you and your family. With young Kony, I…failed you.”

  Extending her free hand, Ashland gripped his. “Nonsense. You couldn’t have known. He fooled everyone. Most of all, my son.” A tear slid down her cheek. “Broland thought he had found a friend. He gave much of himself to Kony and their relationship. Spurred by that friendship, I saw Broland growing into the person I had always hoped he might become. To have been betrayed like that…” Another tear emerged.