Revolution (Cartharia Book 2)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  She looked back at George, who looked impressed. This surprised her eve more than the applause. After shaking himself off, he grinned, "Looks like you've got more than talent than I originally thought, little lady. That's a way to start out. Not many can manipulate so much so quickly. I thought you were going to snuff it a third."

  "Thank you," Penny said, her voice numb. She was still in shock from the sudden explosion and then cheers that followed. She stepped down away from George and looked over the group. As she did, her eyes fell on Craig.

  He was smirking but there was a hard glint to his eyes that she recognized as anger. Her eyes narrowed at him, and he merely shrugged a shoulder and turned away.

  Penny shook her head and resisted the urge to sigh. She didn't know what to think so she put Craig out of her mind and focused on George.

  "Alright, well, don't feel bad if you can't match her show," George was saying to the group, "The truth is, she's had some secret practice! You, in the front, come on up."

  Sara Burke went up. George asked her several questions that seemed irrelevant to Penny before pausing to ask, "What's your favorite sort of weather?"

  Penny peered at George, watching intently. She had never seen him try to test someone else. She was surprised by his easy manner with everyone. She thought he would have been grumpier to the group.

  "Well, I like the rain," Sara said cheerfully, "but also any sort of storm. They're very inspirational."

  "Inspirational," George repeated and then shook his head, 'Right, well, right now, I want to try one more exercise. I need you to try and ignore everyone around us. Clear your head, tune things out. When you've done that, I want you try to extend your energy -- Chakran if you prefer -- outwards. See if you can feel the air."

  Sara nodded and closed her eyes. She breathed in and out deeply a few times. Penny had never seen her look so mellow. It had seemed like a ridiculous request to Penny but after a few minutes of this, Sara smiled softly, breathing in deeply again. Her hands extended outwards and she lifted her face.

  "Now," George said, "use that energy to change the way it feels."

  Sara frowned momentarily but after another minute, she looked as pleased as before. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath as one to watch her. In the silence there was a sudden whistle and then a burst of wind.

  "Did I do that?" Sara asked, "I could feel everything about the air once I stood still long enough."

  George nodded, "You did. You'll be working in air manipulation. Thank you....?"

  "Sara Burke," Sara beamed at George, bobbing on her heels, "Thank you, Mister Simons."

  George nodded and then rubbed his chin, looking back at the group, "Let's get the next one."

  Penny waited until the people had dispersed after the lesson before catching Craig as he made his way out, "What's wrong with you?" she demanded.

  Craig frowned at her, "What are you talking about?"

  "You know what I'm talking about," Penny said, "I know it was you, during that manipulation bit. You did that."

  "Oh, that," Craig said, "You obviously couldn't do it. You were making a fool of yourself in front of a group of people that need to see a strong leader. Since that's not you, I stepped in. You should be grateful."

  Penny lifted a hand to slap him, but before she could, he'd grabbed her wrist. He bent it back and she doubled over. "Prove me wrong," he taunted.

  Craig stepped up closer to Penny, right in her face. She made to step back but he quickly yanked her body up close to his. In an instant, he had hold of both of her wrists. He flipped her around easily, pulling her wrists behind her back and holding her back against his chest.

  "Let me go!" Penny cried out, her anger building.

  "Let me go," Craig mocked. He let go of her wrists and shoved her forward. Penny nearly fell before catching herself and turning around to glare at Craig. She didn't hesitate before balling up one of her fists and swinging at his face.

  He easily caught her hand with his palm and swatted it away, "Keep trying," he said in the same mocking tone, "Come on, Penny. Show me you're strong enough for this."

  Penny let her arms fall to her sides. She glared angrily at Craig for another moment and then suddenly, he was on fire. She lurched backwards, surprised. Just as suddenly as it had happened, it was gone. The fire was gone, but Craig stood there, panting, his clothes smoking.

  "Keep practicing," he told her, "Next time, that might do some real damage."

  Before Penny could argue with him, he turned, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked away.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Fair And War like Form

  DEYNETH WAITED UNTIL THE BLADE HAD ALMOST reached her before pivoting forward, and to the left. It was done in one, graceful movement. Her opponent quickly turned, trying to follow her moves. He struck out again, this time in a jab towards her abdomen.

  Deyneth moved to the right this time and backwards. He gave a frustrated grunt and charged towards her, brandishing his sword. For every jab or slash he made, Deyneth merely glided away, letting the blade cut into the empty night air. She didn't raise her own sword -- a long, thing weapon that she could handle with one hand -- until the opportunity was appropriate. When it was, she slid in, sheathing the metal in the soft flesh of his side. He wore armor but she'd been deliberate about finding the appropriate gap.

  She supposed she should be grateful he hadn't been wearing a full chest piece that would have covered his entire body, but Deyneth didn't have time to be grateful. Her men were under attack, and she had to do her best to end this fighting as quickly as possible.

  With that in mind, she headed towards the next Lamonte soldier near her, and the dance began anew. This one was a bit more elegant in his approach, and proved a far more difficult opponent. He didn't waste his energy at pointless hacks, but moved as she did, mimicking her flowing movements and graceful turns.

  Their blades met a few times, in a steel kiss, but they were equally matched, and each kiss ended with none of the passion required to put the fight to a quick end.

  It had been Deyneth's idea to attack the heavily fortified eastern Lamonte shore. She had commandeered almost all of the ships Fairenthe had supplied to their cause, and many of the soldiers they'd sent as well.

  Since she'd convinced the council of the plan, they had been preparing for the attack in a variety of ways. The first had been the sacrifice of several scouts. They had supplied many of their men with sealed documents stating their intents of an attack upon the shore, and sent those men to Lamonte to hunt for Arinford officers.

  They were suicide missions and most of the men knew that. Lamonte held their side of the shore, and held it well. The men sent across were captured, tortured, and killed. Some of them might have been kept alive, but it would be a small number, and those men probably wished for death. Lamonte soldiers were not known for their gentle natures when it came to prisoners of war.

  It would be the sealed missives that would be most advantageous to their attack. The missives were written with code words and names that should have been only known in Arinford. But Deyneth had it on good authority that Lamonte had managed to crack these codes long before. With their arrogance, they hadn't considered the idea that Arinford might have realized this and taken it into consideration.

  With the codes readable by Lamonte officers, it would soon be common knowledge that Arinford was working with Fairenthe, and they were sending their new troops and ships to try and gain a foothold on the shore. Deyneth had made sure each missive stated the western shore.

  The western shore was one of the weaker points of Lamonte. There were fewer men there and it would be relatively simple to acquire if they used enough manpower. With their recent additions, they had that manpower. Fairenthe had given them quite the advantage.

  With Lamonte knowing the plan, though, they would certainly send reinforcements to the western shore. Across from the shore, they would see supplies arriving, weaponry being tested, and ships being preppe
d for battle.

  The ships would be manned with a skeleton crew, however. They would be filled with men whose lives would be a sacrifice for the better of Arinford. With minimal crews in each, it wouldn't be a devastating loss. If they'd attacked the western shore while it was fortified, that would be devastating.

  With reinforcements heading to the western shore, Deyneth and Rafinnel had taken the rest of the ships, laden with the vast majority of their troops and headed to the eastern port, which had been recently evacuated.

  It was the perfect diversionary tactic. It had been used time and time again throughout history, on small scales and large ones. It was a tactic Deyneth had originally read bout when she was a child, studying history, and one she had always wanted to put into effect. The stalemate on the shore had finally given her the opportunity.

  She stepped to the left now, and when her opponent followed her, she swung to the right, and extended her arm as she went. Her sword was an extension of herself and it followed her movements in a circular arc. She hadn't been sure this particular diversion would work either, but her opponent made a mistake and believed her. His severed head was the penalty.

  It rolled towards her feet and Deyneth stepped delicately away from it. She didn't want any more blood on her person than what was necessary. She'd been in her fair share of battles since birth but she'd never particularly liked the washing of blood off afterwards.

  More men had been waiting at the shore then they'd planned. It had been Mikal Planis who'd informed her that Lamonte hadn't sent all the reinforcements they'd expected or been led to believe. There had been twice the number waiting then they'd planned on.

  He'd said this with an arrow protruding from his side, his face pale, and his life draining away in a long red river.

  He was the first to die by Lamonte's hand that night.

  Deyneth and Rafinnel had led the attack themselves, and it was still raging around them. Deyneth looked around, seeing smoke and fires, and blood and bodies. They would lose plenty more men this night, but she wasn't going to let Lamonte prevail.

  Arinford would take the shore. She knew that, by the count of the bodies on the ground. Lamonte hadn't been foolish enough to abandon the shore completely, but they'd been caught by surprise. Her father would have said they'd had their pants down and were taking a piss. Not a shit, unfortunately, but a piss would do in this case.

  Deyneth moved to engage another opponent as an arrow whizzed by her head. She wasn't smiling, but there was a grim uplift to the corners of her mouth. Sacrifices would have to be made to win this war, but those were sacrifices she was willing to make.

  Sullivan could feel the blood in his face. He wanted to scream, and to throw things, and to create a scene worthy of the kind of king some men considered him. He was aware that his title had long since been the Black King.

  But he didn't. He stood there, staring at the reports in his hands, and listening to his own heartbeat, heavy in his ears. Arinford had somehow managed to get ahold of the shore again. It didn't seem possible; Lamonte heavily out-numbered them. But they had. There was something about a diversion in there, but it didn't matter to him how it had happened. It had happened, and that was bad.

  Fairenthe had pledged their support to Arinford. The news of the royal engagement of the young princess had been a surprise as well. Sullivan hadn't truly believed Fairenthe would make the alliance, not till they did. He thought they'd prove to afraid.

  For the first real time, Sullivan considered he might not win the war. It was not a good thought and he had to resist the urge to shred the report to a thousand pieces and let it fall on the caret of his room.

  "Tell me what we can do," Sullivan said.

  Eric Daniels stepped forward. He'd been his warlord since the start of the war, and Sullivan still wasn't convinced he was the proper man for the job.

  "We need to send men immediately to Arinford," Eric said, "It doesn't matter if we lose a large number. We overwhelm them and take a port. If we don't, they're going to be overwhelming us. We need them to be home, defending their kingdom."

  Sullivan frowned, "Fine. Do we have the men?"

  Eric nodded, "The number, not necessarily the appropriate officers to lead them. You need at least one more battle-master after Dorin's death. You were considering Frien or Malevus for the job, weren't you?"

  "I still am," Sullivan admitted with a sigh, "Once they return, of course. Frien is a good leader, but I'm not sure he's the man for me. His ego gets in his way. He doesn't know Arinford like Malevus does. She can give us information we'd never have otherwise. She's the right one for the job. It's why I left her alive when she defected..."

  "Then use Malevus," Eric said, "She's sworn her loyalty to you. She's been promoted to Commander. You've entrusted your daughter in her care. When she returns, let her prove herself on the battlefield."

  Sullivan considered it a moment and then shook his head, "Not yet. Send one of your other battle-masters out for now. I don't want her home till I know she won't become reminiscent of her former allegiance. Do you know what it would mean, their former hero killing their people?"

  Eric gave a reluctant nod, "Just don't wait too long. I think you might be making a mistake by waiting. At least send Frien once he returns."

  "Do not presume to tell me what to do," Sullivan warned, his eyes flashing. He turned to his newest assistant, a man named Jecks. "If you could escort Warlord Daniels out, I believe I have heard enough reports for the afternoon."

  "Your Majesty," Eric said, impatient, "Please reconsider. I still have several reports to give. There are several developments you should hear about. There have been men attacking villages and--"

  Jecks cleared his throat. "The Good King has heard all the reports he's going to hear this day, Warlord. If you would come with me, I would be happy to hear them in his stead."

  Eric didn't look at all pleased, but he followed Jecks out the door nonetheless.

  Once he was alone, Sullivan let out a deep breath. He'd been able to control his anger while the Warlord was in the room, and now that he'd left, much of it had diminished. He was still furious with the men who'd allowed the capture of the western shore, but it wouldn't do to dwell on that. The situation would have to be remedied, that was all.

  Deyneth stood with her hands behind her back, looking over the officers present. There was Battle-Master Rafinnel and several of his commanders. She hadn't summoned the others.

  "We are going to be returning to Arinford within a fortnight," Deyneth said. She held up a hand to forestall any discussion on the matter. "There will be plenty of other officers left here to make sure the shore is held and the attacks go as planned. All of you are important in Arinford though; we have more duties to attend to."

  She cleared her throat, "There are defense strategies that must be considered. I have no doubt that Lamonte will retaliate by sending a larger force to take a portion of the shore. We do not have the numbers to put an ample stop to this, but I believe we can take defensive measures to protect the kingdom."

  "There is also the matter of offensive strategies, now that we are able to send men to Lamonte again. We must be careful on the officers that we send after Sullivan."

  There were several exchanged glances at this, despite the silence that followed her words. They were all thinking of Matilyn. Despite Deyneth's attempts to keep it from public knowledge, they were all aware that she'd defected. The reports had been hard to ignore.

  "These are all things to discuss when we return to the castle," Deyneth said, "But there is something that must be discussed now, when we are far away from prying ears and eyes of the council."

  She paused and said in a slow voice, "We must decide what shall be done if our King falls ill. If he should die, who will the Kingdom fall to?"

  Rafinnel narrowed his eyes at her. They'd always gotten on as well as they could, but now he looked angry. "Prince William is next in line for the throne, Warlord. If something should happen to our King
, the crown will go to our prince."

  Deyneth looked over at Rafinnel, "I understand your fondness for the child. I have spent enough time with him that I too care about what happens to him, but we must be realistic. With Prince William being kept as a prisoner of war by Sullivan, we cannot guarantee that he will be able to ascend in his father's place."

  "Princess Alyssa is next in line," Rafinnel said, his voice rather cold, "Should the Prince be unable to claim his title, his sister would rule in his stead. There is precedent for a Queen to rule in the place of a King."

  'There is," Deyneth agreed, "but Princess Alyssa is engaged to the young prince of Fairenthe and will soon be sent to court there. We do not want the Sol family to rule Arinford as well as their Kingdom. The princess must not take the crown."

  "She is next in line," Rafinnel said again.

  Deyneth nodded. "And do you want to see her leading the Kingdom from Fairenthe? Allowing their royal family to control what happens in Arinford? She is a child, hardly of age to rule."

  Rafinnel glared at her but was silent. Fairenthe might be their allies now, but it didn't mean they were well-liked or well-trusted. If Lamonte had offered them a better prospect, or had seemed to be winning the war, it would have been Sullivan they'd have considered an alliance with.

  "If something should happen to our King," Deyneth said, "The best solution would be for his high-ranking officers to rule in his stead until the Queen remarries and bears a new heir, or until Prince William comes back to claim his proper position."

  Rafinnel looked ready to hit something, his face was so red, "You want to take over the kingdom? You cannot. You are not of royal blood."

  Deyneth shook her head, "No, but in the days when war still run rampart there was precedent for a military warlord to step forward in lieu of a King, until a more suitable ruler can be chosen. I do not want to rule Arinford, nor Cartharia. I am not hungry for power, Battle-Master."