Echo of the High Kings (The Eoriel Saga Book 1)

by Kal Spriggs

  “I thought it was good at first at how well they go along, but they're both too demon-spawned eager to get into mischief,” her father said. “I can't blame Jarek, not really. Katarina though...” Her father sighed. “Well, there's nothing for it. She's basically upset the entire betrothal discussion in one act. I'll have to bend over backwards now, to get the concessions we'll need... which might well give up more than we can afford. Thank the High Kings she wasn't born a boy or she would be a disaster.”

  Katarina felt tears well up in her eyes. She stumbled back from the door and went as far away from the study as she could go. She found herself at the back corner of the library, next to the thick history books which she'd so enjoyed. I'd be a disaster, would I? She looked at the books and her fingers traced the spines. She had disappointed her father, caused him pain, and she didn't know if there would ever be a way to earn his trust back... she could see that now.

  She wouldn't bother, then. If he hated her so, if she was this disaster, then she would live her life her way... and to hell with the consequences.

  ***

  Lord Hector

  Town of East Reach, Longhaven Barony, Duchy of Masov

  Twenty-Ninth of Idran, Cycle 993 Post Sundering

  Lord Hector pulled his cloak tighter against the damp air of the tavern as he read through the scout's report. He wasn't certain if it was the cool, damp fall air or the dire news laid out in the precise handwriting on the parchment that made the gooseflesh rise on his arms.

  “You need to kill him tonight,” his spy said, voice tight with strain.

  Hector's head snapped up and he met the blue eyed gaze of the source of the reports. “You seem eager for me to commit treason based on the Armen threat.” For a moment, he almost forgot that the dusky-skinned man across from him wasn't one of the barbarians from the north. He had seen many such faces, often marked with ritual tattoos or brands, often blood-spattered from their work. Most of them he saw at little better than arms reach while they tried to take his life and he theirs.

  Hector didn't realize that his hand had dropped to his sword until the other man reached out and put his hand atop Hector's, “I do not seek to drive you to treason... I seek to save these lands from the savagery that we both know awaits. You raised me to be your spy amongst the Armen and your scout on campaign. Believe me, Father, the Armen will come with the spring.”

  Hector failed to hide a wince at the word 'father.' It wasn't that he didn't have pride, of a sort, in his bastard son's accomplishments... yet, the truth remained: his boy was a halfblood. While half his blood came from Hector, the other half of that blood came from the enemy. Hector shot a glance around the all-but-empty tavern, but it looked like the old drunks at the bar had little interest in their conversation. Hector's eyes lingered on a hooded man in the corner, but the hunched figure in the shadows looked to be too far away to overhear their conversation. Even so, Hector pitched his voice low so it would not carry, “I sent you to gather information. You brought back rumors and vague warnings, talk of sorcerers and the mutterings of Armen holy men. I can't bypass Baron Estrel and go to the Duke with this, not without hard numbers.”

  “Do not allow your hate for me to blind you to the truth, Father,” his son said. For a second, he looked so much like his mother that Hector had to look away. His chest ached with a long-remembered pain and Hector's left hand stroked a scar that ran along his left thigh.

  “I don't hate you,” Hector managed to mutter. “But as you said, if this is all I have, then I am left one option: kill the rightful Baron of Longhaven and take his place. Otherwise, there isn't time to prevent his next tribute shipment.”

  Hector's son nodded, “You can't go to the Duke without solid proof, or Baron Estrel will undercut anything you say. The barony will fall without a strong leader. Your cousin has whored away his father’s gains. The talk amongst the Armen is that his lands are ripe for raiding.”

  Hector nodded despite himself. He had arrived two cycles earlier, sent by the Duke with directions to try to repair some of the damage Baron Estrel had done to his defenses. What he had found had made the most pessimistic reports of the Barony's readiness look far understated. Little remained of Baron Estrel's forces. Most of his soldiers were unfit for duty, and his Master of Arms was an old drunk. Hector had done what he could, but the truth remained that the Barony was in a state of disarray... a fact that the Armen raiders knew quite well. Estrel had held them off until now with bribes and tribute, but even the Armen knew that soon he couldn't afford any more. Soon the Armen would descend along the coast. They would rape, enslave, pillage and burn, and Hector had seen what they left behind often enough to feel sick just at the thought.

  Hector's mouth twisted in a grimace, “I know what I have to do, yes... and I know the cost. If even a whisper of this gets out, the Duke will demand justice. My head will be the one that rolls for this.” Hector looked down and noticed that his wine sat untouched. He took a sip of his wine and the liquid burned in his throat. He shook his head as his vision flared for a moment. His head felt a little light.

  “You need not face that,” his son shook his head. “Have me do it, Father. It will look like an Armen raid. I'll even hire a few Armen to launch a distraction. Even if I fail, the worst anyone will think is that I've betrayed you.”

  Hector heard the words as if through a tunnel. He shook his head again, and he heard his own response as if it came from someone else, “You think I lack the stomach for it, do you?” He hadn't realized that he stood until he heard his chair hit the floor behind him. Some part of him wondered at his own reaction, yet it was a disconnected thought, one he barely noticed.

  His son stretched out an arm, “No! I merely think that this is the best way to do this! Please, sit. I did not mean to anger you, Father–”

  Hector seemed to rush back into himself and his head cleared. Forgotten was the lightheaded feeling, replaced by a spike of rage, “Do not dare to try to placate me!” Hector shouted. “You think me too cowardly to do the business myself, you seek to make me skulk behind you and then you seek to insinuate that I'm unreasonable?!” Incandescent rage filled him, and only the shreds of his self control allowed him to rip his hand away from the hilt of his sword. “Begone,” Hector snarled.

  He saw his son's face go slack with shock and then firm with rage of his own. Even so, he tried to reason with him, “Please, do not do this. You need to distance yourself from this or it will all be for naught–”

  Hector saw some movement behind his son– the cloaked man in the corner. For a moment, Hector met the other man's dark eyes and he thought he saw the slightest twist of a smile on the other man's shadowed face. He laughs at me, just as my son always has... The smile was the last straw, the catalyst that sent his rage boiling over.

  Hector leaned across the table and struck his son twice, once across each cheek. “You are no son of mine. You've done your task. Begone! Let a man of honor do his duty.”

  Hector righted his chair as his son turned away without a word. He saw that the drunks had given him their attention, but a glare from him sent them back to their drinks. He sat and stared down at the table and ignored the sound of the inn's door as his son walked out into the cold fall rain. He pushed the wine goblet away and stared down at the reports. A part of him wanted to get up, to go after his son. Yet his pride and his anger kept him in his chair and his duty forced him to examine what he had to do. He knew how to do it and he knew exactly what it would cost him to do it right. He was right to tell his son that he must do the deed himself. Hector was sent by the Duke to fix things, and so it fell to him to make it right. If nothing else, he owed it to his cousin to kill him in person.

  Hector rolled up the parchment report and his gaze went distant as he began to make plans. He went past the immediate deed and had begun to plan his campaign against the Armen for the spring within a few minutes. He never noticed the hooded man from the corner as he slipped out of the tavern, just as the tavern maid
hadn't noticed when he slipped a vial of amber liquid into Hector's wine when he'd entered.

  ***

  Lord Hector

  City of Longhaven, Longhaven Barony, Duchy of Masov

  Twenty-Ninth of Idran, Cycle 993 Post Sundering

  The sun had just set when Hector dismounted from his horse and passed the reins to one of his men. He had made his preparations at East Reach and rode the remainder of the afternoon and early evening to arrive at Longhaven in time. Hector glanced up at the well-lit manor house, then back at the dimly lit town. It was just like Estrel to display his wealth while the rest of his Barony didn't have the money for lamp oil. “You have your orders,” he said. They stared at him for a long moment in silence. He saw Sergeant Steffan open his mouth to speak, and then close it again.

  Hector gave them a stern glare. “I will not repeat myself. Go to your assigned posts and prevent anyone from leaving the grounds until I return.”

  The fifteen men dispersed, all except Sergeants Grel and Steffan, the two men whose loyalty and competence had most impressed him so far. Hector turned back towards the door of the manor house and took a deep breath. He walked past the pair of guards outside unchallenged. Inside, out of the dark night, the house seemed warm and cheerful. He heard his cousin's wife before he saw her. She swept into the foyer, a plump, cheerful woman who always seemed happy to see guests. “Hector, so good to see you,” she said. “What brings you here tonight? Hopefully not any more of that dreary business?”

  “More work, I'm afraid, Lady Rinata” Hector said. He forced himself to smile, though he knew the expression would look wooden. “Lord Estrel and I will need to discuss it for a few hours, I think.”

  She shook her head, “Always so serious. I can tell whatever news has you here so late worries you. Do not take the world's burdens on your shoulders, Hector, or it will send you to your grave early, a bitter man.”

  Hector stared at her for a long moment, “I am the master of the guard and Baron Estrel's military captain. It is my duty to worry and to guard these lands for Lord Estrel, and his and your duties to defend the people of Longhaven as the Baron and Baroness.”

  She rolled her eyes, “I agree, and you'll not hear me say otherwise. If you'll remember, I have backed every one of your arguments with my husband. But worry and fear will drag you down, weigh down your spirit, and will age you. Do not forget to find time for friendship, love and even a family,” Lady Rinata said.

  “Thank you for your concern,” Hector said, and felt a surge of guilt as he forced himself to meet her eyes. She was one of the few that had treated him with respect rather than as the by-blow of the Duke's younger brother. Not for the first time, Hector wondered what the strong, confident, and kind woman saw in the self-absorbed Baron Estrel. Then again, she might just see it as her duty to stand by him, arranged marriage or no, he thought. “I must speak with your husband.” He glanced at Sergeant Steffan, “The Sergeant here is from the town of Western Reach. He's just returned from visiting family there, I wonder if you'd care to discuss the latest from your home?”

  “Why, certainly,” Lady Rinata said. She immediately turned to the Sergeant. Some part of Hector wished that he could trust her, that she might see reason, but he couldn't risk that she would side with her husband. Hector gave a single nod to Sergeant Steffan as she turned her back. The sergeant nodded back, nervously. Hector just hoped that Steffan wouldn't give the whole thing away. Lady Rinata was well known for her perception, she might see through his nervousness and figure out Hector's true purpose here tonight before he did the deed.

  Hector brushed past her, followed by Sergeant Grel. They ascended the stairs, and then walked down the hall to the library. As expected, he saw Captain Grayson, Baron Estrel's personal armsman outside. “Evening, Robert,” he said in greeting.

  “Lord Hector,” the armsman nodded, “Good to see you back. The Baron had not expected your return so soon. I take it you have news about the Armen?”

  “He won't like it,” Hector said.

  Grayson gave him a sad nod. Hector knew that of all the people privy to the entire picture, Baron Estrel's personal armsman understood best the precarious state of their defenses. Under other circumstances, Hector knew he could count on the man to argue his side. Then again, with what Hector was about to do, the last place he wanted Robert Grayson was in the room at his side while he did it.

  “Well, there may be some shouting,” Hector said. “I'll ask that you let him get over his anger without interruption.”

  “More like you shout at him to get some sense in his head about this,” Grayson said with a smile. “But I'll take your meaning. Sergeant Grel and I will wait out here and have a good chat while you talk with the Baron.”

  Hector could not force himself to meet his friend's eyes as he stepped past him into the library. He found his cousin seated at the table, back to the door. For a moment, a cowardly part of Hector wanted to do the deed then, but he had to at least try to get his cousin to see reason first. If successful, that route would prove better in the long run.

  “My Lord,” Hector said. His cousin waved a hand for him to circle around the other side of the table. Baron Estrel did not look up from his book.

  Hector glanced at the pile of books as he passed, and he grimaced. He did not know how such drivel had survived since the Starborn's arrival. They included social programs for the poor, extensive taxation of the wealthy merchant class to fund programs that turned productive members of society into useless drones. Worst of the ideology, Hector thought of how he gelded the military and his policy of bribery and appeasement of enemies and barbarians.

  Hector had no grasp over the history of those books, but he saw the effects on the Barony of Longhaven. Time and again the same idealistic idiots had run their experiments upon otherwise healthy societies, leading inevitably to their ruin. He had no desire to see the end of this particular experiment. The Starborn had brought other books, books on agriculture, medicine, chemistry–at least those had some use. Not for the first time, Hector wished that his cousin's fascination had lain with books of science or even magic, rather than social progress. “My Lord, I've just returned from meeting with my spymaster. The Armen intend to invade this next summer. I have come to ask that our latest shipment of tribute be retained and used to bolster our forces.”

  “What?” Estrel looked up from his books. “Hector, you can't be serious. I just spoke with the emissary of one of the Semat clans, who assured me that they've no intention to resort to military violence as long as we pay them their rightful share of wealth. We have extorted their lands for too long, and their anger is just something that occurs naturally due to the difference in wealth between their lands and ours.”

  Hector took a deep breath, “Whatever the cause, cousin, the effect will result in the destruction of the city of Longhaven and the enslavement of our people. Hold back the tribute, and send for troops from Duke Peter, or else we will face raids which my men cannot hold back.”

  “No, this is unacceptable,” Baron Estrel shook his head. “You always see so much of a threat from these people. I don't understand your bigotry. You even took one of their women as a mistress!”

  “I have seen what they will do, you idiot, and I am trying my best to prevent that,” Hector snapped.

  “You can't talk to me like that,” Baron Estrel angrily rose from his chair.

  “Sit down, shut your mouth and listen!” Hector shouted. He saw his cousin's jaw drop and he dropped back to his seat in shock. He doubted that any man had dared even raise his voice in his presence since his father's death. “You have bankrupted our Barony and turned one of the most prosperous cities in the Duchy of Masov into a city of paupers. The Duke has requested his taxes and I know that we'll barely be able to pay our own debts, much less pay our dues to him. Your father's military program has fallen into disarray, which is why Duke Peter sent me here in the first place: to prevent Armen raids.”

  “Which I have prevente
d. Since we began the tribute program, no Armen have raided our lands!” Baron Estrel said. “And I–”

  “Those tributes increase every cycle. And no matter what, we will be unable to pay them next cycle,” Hector said. “Which even the Armen realize, so they intend to raid us and take what is left by force. They'll carve your heart out in front of your wife and give your soul to one of their dark spirits. They'll rape and torture your wife until she wishes they had done the same to her.” Hector leaned over the table. “I refuse to allow that, cousin. I will do everything in my power to prevent it... even if it means removing you.”

  “But...” His cousin paled, but then he shook his head and sat up straight, “You don't have that authority. Only the Duke does and he would not listen to you.” Baron Estrel's face took on a nasty smirk, “You're just his dead little brother's bastard, little more than an embarrassment, whatever your skills.”

  Hector ignored the jibe, it wasn't as if he hadn't heard the like before, “No... he wouldn't, not with how you've downplayed my reports. He doesn't have the full picture. I don't have that authority... but I have that power, as your military commander. While you have constantly belittled your guard, undercut their loyalty every time you cut their pay, and treated them as little more than servants, I have trained them, shaped them, and given them my respect and loyalty.”

  Baron Estrel went ghostly white. He hunched forward in his chair, almost as if he expected a blow. “You would not dare...”

  “I do not want to,” Hector said softly. “You are my cousin, and whatever your faults, I do not wish to see you dead, much less do the deed myself. But I will, if you force my hand.” He met his cousin's gaze, and for a moment, he thought he saw the man realize Hector's own seriousness.

  Then Baron Estrel sat up straight, “No, I call your bluff. You won't do it, not with how Duke Peter will react. You would face execution, or worse, the Traitor's Death. No, I relieve you of command, Hector. You will place yourself under house arrest, and await my judgment. I understand the pressures you are under, and I will be lenient when I take that into consideration.”