Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Amid went to each, offering a hand, and the men promptly dismounted to greet him properly. For Roshan, he clasped the boy’s hand and stayed there a moment, looking at him curiously. “So you are my new family.”

  Roshan stared at him with just as much curiosity. “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me,” Amid seemed unable to stop himself from asking the question, “what is the most important thing that my son has taught you so far?”

  “About war or life, sir?” Roshan returned readily.

  Darius watched with bemusement, as even he couldn’t predict how Roshan would answer that question.

  “Both.”

  The boy didn’t even have to think about it. “When it comes to war, sir: finances.”

  Amid’s blue eyes flared wide and then he slapped a hand against his leg, barking out a laugh. Turning to his son, he gave him an approving nod. “You’ve taught him well.”

  “The success or failure of any warlike endeavor hinges on the monetary backing it has,” Darius observed to no one in particular. “People always doubt me, at least initially, when I claim that my lessons from my merchant father has saved more campaigns than my sense of tactics.”

  Waving this off, Amid pressed, “And about life, Roshan?”

  “Kindness.” Roshan met his eyes levelly for a moment before looking over his shoulder toward Darius. “It was his kindness toward my sister that saved her. It’s his kindness that makes people loyal to him, and that, in turn, saved a country.”

  Darius had often wondered if even half of what he told Roshan sunk into the boy’s head. Apparently he needed to watch his actions, as Roshan seemed to be paying far better attention to what Darius did rather than what he said.

  “Did it, now.” Amid gave his son a proud smile before leaning slightly into Roshan. “Why don’t you tell me more about that. His letters home have left much to the imagination. In fact, the whole family will want to hear this tale.”

  “I told you what happened,” Darius protested weakly. He already knew a losing battle when he saw one.

  “Your letters home read like military reports,” Amid informed him, already gesturing for people to mount back up. “Your mother and I, not to mention your sisters, would like to have the full story.”

  Yes, he might as well give up on this right now. If Roshan told them the story, at the very least the boy wouldn’t be finding other mischief to get into or committing any social gaffs that would get them all in trouble. “Fine, fine. Tunheim, how far away is your camp?”

  “Only a half hour from here, you’d see it already if not for the way the land rolled.” Tunheim gave Sohrab a covetous gleam as Darius mounted. “And how is our warhorse doing?”

  ‘Our’ warhorse? Giving him a knowing look, Darius responded, “Sohrab is in fine form, as you can see. We’ll discuss breeding him to some of your mares later, alright?”

  Tunheim beamed at him, circled his hand in the air, and turned them toward the camp at a fast trot.

  A Baijian camp looked more like a town than anything. Huge tents housed each family, with rugs and furniture set up inside like any other home, and other tents designated stables, crafting, cooking, and business. It didn’t smell like towns, though, as they didn’t stay in one area for more than two months or so, and the collection of waste never had the chance to become overpowering. Especially in this open land where the wind constantly blew, it kept the area from ever becoming ripe. Darius had always enjoyed staying with the Baijians for that reason. That and they knew how to be excellent hosts.

  Tunheim led them straight toward the center of the sprawling camp, toward a tent dyed a deep green, calling out as he came, “Bresaliers! I bring you a missing son!”

  His words had a magic effect, people pouring out from every possible doorway, coming toward them like heeding a siren’s call. Darius spotted his youngest sister, Tara, first and did he see the signs of a child in her stomach? He’d heard in his last letter from home that she had been married and sent a gift back to her, but with child already? It couldn’t have been five months, surely!

  Then again, he and Amalah had had a child on the way within two months of their marriage, so maybe he didn’t have room to cast stones there.

  Darius hopped out of the saddle, keeping a tight grip on Sohrab’s bridle, as the horse didn’t take well to being crowded. Roshan, bless him, immediately took over the stallion who started fawning over the boy like a lovesick cow. Sohrab adored Roshan, no one understood why, and in moments like these Darius didn’t bother to question it, just used it.

  Free to act as he wished, Darius swept forward, grabbed his mother, and hugged her until ribs squeaked in protest. His heart loosened as he did so, a knot of tension unwinding that he refused to pay heed to, instead focusing on his mother. “Matre.”

  “Darius,” she whispered, holding him just as fiercely. “Step back, let me look at you. Oh, you look well,” she said, grey eyes crinkling at the corners under the force of her smile. “Your wife has taken good care of you.”

  “She does,” Darius agreed easily. A little reluctantly, he let go, and felt himself bombarded by his siblings on all sides. He tried to snake at least one arm around each in turn as he greeted them. “Samir,” he greeted his oldest brother, “where is Gisa?”

  “Sick to the stomach with our fourth child,” Samir answered, worried and amused at once, looking remarkably like his mother in that moment, as Darius knew that expression well. “She always suffers badly the first three months. She’s inside and anxious to see you, once you’re done being mobbed out here.”

  Accepting this, Darius turned and greeted everyone else. Hashem, second oldest son and still far too energetic despite his being two years older than Darius. Arian, his younger sister, as tall as most men and strikingly like their father in most ways. Kamran, the youngest son, a mirror of Arian, as a twin should be. Laleh, engaged last he heard, although the way she stood alone now did not bode well. Laleh had the beauty to draw men but no one seemed to know what to do with her headstrong stubbornness so she’d had three broken engagements already.

  Children gathered around him, obviously Bresaliers as well, as they had the fair skin and coloring, but Darius didn’t know enough to put names to faces. He’d heard about them, of course, but not being home for four years had distanced him just enough that he felt out of touch with this new generation.

  “Darius,” his mother drew his attention back to her with a touch on his arm, “Master Tunheim has been most kind to us, very accommodating.”

  Hospitality in a foreign country was highly prized among his people and Darius hastened to assure her, “Tunheim and I are brothers in arms, friends, so you don’t need to worry.”

  Relieved that he would properly repay their host, she turned to the next matter. “Your army courier said that you were already on your way here? Why?”

  And how did he even begin to answer that question? Darius didn’t feel it right to even try doing so here, in the middle of the path, and turned to Tunheim. “My friend, is there a place that we can all sit and talk?”

  “Of course, come inside,” Tunheim urged. “Abed! Kavoo! Come take the horses for our guests!”

  Knowing well how Sohrab responded to strange stable boys, Darius corrected, “I best take Sohrab.”

  “I’ll do it, sir,” Roshan offered.

  Catching his mother’s questioning look—it did seem a little strange to have a young teenager in with a war party—Darius quickly introduced, “This is Roshan, my brother-in-law.”

  “Oh!” Yasmin stepped forward and took Roshan’s head with both hands, giving a quick kiss to both cheeks, delighted. “I am Yasmin Bresalier. You’re so handsome, Roshan, it pleases me to have you as part of our family.”

  Roshan blushed a little and ducked his head. “Thank you.”

  “I have a portrait of your sister,” Yasmin continued thoughtfully, studying him from every angle, “and I do believe you two share a striking resemblance.”

  “More
so with every passing day,” Darius agreed, feeling like he should rescue Roshan, but willing to let the boy suffer a little longer. His mother could be clingy sometimes. “You should see Parisa. She looks startling like Amalah.”

  Yasmin’s hungry grandmother hands twitched. “I’ll get to see her soon, right?”

  “You most certainly will,” Darius promised, subtly pulling Roshan away so he could escape. He didn’t miss his siblings’ amusement at this subtle maneuvering. Really, where did people think he got his sense of strategy from? Fourteen years of maneuvering around his parents gave a man instincts. “For now, let’s go inside, I’ll properly introduce my staff to you, and then I can tell you what exactly is going on.”

  Darius had been in cabins less luxurious than Tunheim’s tent. Thick canvas portioned off different areas, hinting at bedrooms, while the main room had several low benches and more thick cushions to sit on than Darius could rightly number. Everything possessed a riot of color that strangely avoided clashing, making it colorful and relaxing. Darius sank onto one of the cushions, happy to be on something soft and not moving, greeting his prone sister-in-law as he did so.

  It took more than a few minutes for him to make all the introductions, and for people to settle comfortably. In that time, Tunheim’s wife and daughter handed out snacks and goblets of cool water to them all, which Darius truly appreciated. He definitely owed Tunheim major concessions for this. He’d obviously been treating the Bresaliers as his own family, something he didn’t have to do. Darius gave him a look of absolute gratitude, which Tunheim returned with a wink.

  Finally, though, they all settled. Darius made all the introductions, which took more than a few minutes, then walked his family through the situation, sharing information without a second thought to security, because they likely knew better than he did where the defenses of northern Brindisi stood.

  While he finished, an army courier entered, but paused just inside and stayed at an easy attention, waiting for the general to acknowledge him. Darius gave him a curious glance but he wanted to finish the conversation here before turning his attention to the man.

  After Darius finished, Arian held up a hand. “Wait, you’re telling me the reason why you just waltzed into the Sovran is because you’ve been pardoned? From killing a king?”

  “It does sound rather ridiculous when you put it that way,” Darius acknowledged ruefully. “But in truth Baros forgave me the night I did it. He knew very well that his father had broken oath with me—twice, no less—and that he needed to be held accountable for the thousands dead. No one else had the authority to do it. Well, no, authority isn’t the right word. No one else had the right aside from me. How Baros managed to ram the pardon through with his Council of Lords, that’s my question.”

  “King Farhan had a lot of enemies,” Amid stated with a grimace of distaste. “Even dead that didn’t change much. I bet half the Council willingly went with the idea but King Baros likely had to make some uncomfortable concessions to get you in here. It’s a political hotbed that you’re walking into, son.”

  “When is it not?” Darius asked, mostly rhetorically. “At any rate, I’m here to negotiate with Tunheim,” he carefully didn’t look the man’s direction as he said this, “to see if I can borrow some help, as I have a bad feeling I’ll need it. Patre, you said that you were heading straight for me?”

  Amid nodded, answering even though he didn’t really need to. “Not that we’re sure where your estate is, but I thought if we stopped off in the capital first, someone there would be able to give us directions.”

  “I’m relieved you came to me,” Darius admitted frankly. “I’ve been scheming on how to get you down there for the past year. For a visit, if nothing else.”

  Yasmin, more logical about such matters, asked anxiously, “Do you have room for all of us?”

  Considering his family totaled fifteen people, filling this room to near bursting, Darius well understood his mother’s concern. “You’ll fit in just fine. Well, assuming some of the kids can share rooms, which I’m sure they’ll be good with.”

  The children—the oldest being ten—all exchanged excited looks, no doubt thinking of all the games they could play while the adults safely slept.

  Of course, the adults caught the looks and interpreted them easily, but said nothing. There were rules about such matters, where children should be allowed to be childish, and adults pretended not to notice.

  “I don’t want to send you on your way without some sort of escort, though,” Darius added, fretting a little. “The estate’s on a main road, not difficult to find, but you’ll be stopped several times before you get there. Especially now with this upheaval, the borders are under tight security. Anyone leaving has no trouble, but anyone going in will be under tight scrutiny. You’ll be stuck in Dakan Pass without some authority or permissions to get you past. It will take you at least three and a half weeks to get through on your own.”

  The army courier, Giv, who still hovered near the doorway, cleared his throat deferentially. “General? If I may?”

  Turning, Darius gestured for him to speak.

  “Sir, I actually live just past your estate. If they can wait for me to report to General Mihr, I can provide escort and credentials the rest of the way until Raja Amalah releases me from the duty.”

  Darius looked, really looked, at Giv for the first time. Nineteen if he were a day, slight of frame and dusky skin, likely started out as a runner to begin with, and the accent of the streets hovered in his words. Not as thick as Navid’s accent, but there. So this man had worked his way up the ranks from army runner to army courier, no mean feat, but likely wouldn’t progress much further. Like Navid, he would be pulling a long shot, trying to rise in ranks with only his wits and ability. Because he started as a runner, the slot of officer would never be opened to him. That thought did not sit well. On a hunch, Darius said, “Nebe. Not a myrm.”

  Someone made a questioning, confused noise, and Navid leaned in closer to the group to whisper the translation: “Well noted. You’re not one to blindly follow orders.”

  The courier’s eyes flared wide and he opened his mouth once, closed it, swallowed hard, then found some sort of courage to offer, “General no nenter nor riddled.”

  Throwing his head back, Darius laughed. “I try not to be either stilted or short on intelligence, Courier Giv. I’ll write a letter of introduction, give you a way to cut through the security. Please escort my family home.”

  “Yes, sir.” Giv grinned, delighted that he hadn’t stuck his foot into his mouth in front of the general.

  “And Courier Giv?” Darius tacked on with a penetrating look. “You may inform General Mihr when you report in that I expect you to be promoted and I will be very cross with him if that is not done by the time I get back. Don’t look surprised, man. You’ve gone above the call of duty twice now, showing both incentive and the ability to plan ahead, and I need those qualities in my officers.”

  Perhaps because of panic, Giv fell back into street slang, hands up in protest. “Sir, my learning’s bollycocked!”

  Navid snorted. “So was mine, Courier.”

  “We’ll send you to school,” Darius maintained firmly. “I do not waste talent.”

  Looking more than overwhelmed—as he should be, officer’s school was not cheap—Giv managed to duck into a bow. “Yes, sir. THANK YOU, sir.”

  “Good.” Darius reconsidered and decided he better write his own letter to Mihr to make sure this happened. “I’ll write the appropriate letters tonight before we send you on with my family. Patre, Matre, I assume this works? I would much prefer to see you home myself, but—”

  Amid shook his head immediately, expression understanding. “You can’t afford the time. Not with the situation as it is up there. Courier Giv has been very kind to us, very courteous, we have no problem traveling the rest of the way with him.”

  Relieved, Darius let this go. “Good. Kaveh, write a letter for me to Mihr updating him on
matters so that I may sign it.”

  Kaveh instantly nodded and went for his saddlebags, looking for the necessary materials to write with.

  Turning back to his parents, Darius queried, “What is the situation like up there exactly?”

  “Madani is completely overrun,” Yasmin answered promptly. “The refugees are pouring out every direction, even toward Serrati. The border to Arape hadn’t been hit with any real force, just scouting parties, when we left.”

  That troubled him more than Darius liked to admit. Madani sat just above the capital, a narrow country that separated Tatvan from the Roran border. If it had fallen, then literally nothing stood between the barbarians and the rest of the Sovran. “The badlands?”

  Shaking his head, Amid denied, “They hadn’t found a way through it by the time we left. They’ll have to go through Tatvan to reach Arape. As much trouble as the badlands give us during trade season, I do appreciate it as a barrier between us and the barbarians.”

  “Serrati still holds firm, as always,” Hashem added, trying to hold one of his sons still long enough to wrest a half-filled glass from his hands before the boy spilled it all over the place. “Or at least that’s what we heard as we traveled down.”

  Darius didn’t expect to hear differently. If Serrati ever fell, he would be sure to brace for an apocalypse. “And the coast?”

  His family exchanged uneasy glances, which answered the question.

  Sighing, Darius rubbed at his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Did you hear any word of where the Brindisi army managed to hold a defensive line or who was in charge?”