Hearts of Fire

by Michael Jason Brandt

  As he finished with the first group, a second lineup began forming on the other side of the courtyard.

  He pulled Lima aside to whisper. “I don’t need to inspect them, too, do I?”

  “Aye, General.” Her emphasis on the title he had given himself reminded Nico that he had asked for this. He nodded, and she led the way again.

  Halfway through the line, a commotion occurred on the far end. Two soldiers pulled on one man, who resisted. “I wish to fight,” he pleaded.

  Nico’s eyes narrowed as he approached. “What’s going on?”

  “This one shouldn’t be here, General.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He is one of the king’s servants.” The soldier tugged at the arm again, and again the man—not much more than a boy—resisted.

  “Stop,” Nico commanded, and both the tugging and the resisting immediately ceased.

  Leaning forward, he examined the familiar features. “I know you.” Ignoring the terror on the youth’s face, Nico dug deep into his memory. “Kip, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, My Prince. That is to say, Yes, My Prince.”

  “General. And this isn’t court…you can say ‘aye’ in the army.”

  “Aye, General.” Kip studied his feet, his cheeks turning a pale red.

  “You say you wish to fight, Thrall, but your posture admits defeat. Which is it?”

  The body tightened. “I wish to fight, General.”

  “Then lift your head.”

  Already, the germ of an idea took root in Nico’s cluttered mind. He looked at Lima, reminding himself to get her reaction as soon as possible.

  “You can stay, Private.” Nico turned to the two veterans. “He can stay. If anyone complains, send them to me.”

  “Your father—that is to say, the king—won’t like it.”

  “You’re right about that. Carry on.”

  The only surprising thing was that the summons did not come until the following day.

  Nico stood before his father, studying the king while the king studied him in return. Anger had taken at least ten years off the venerable face. Now Hermann looked almost healthy enough to take command of the armies personally.

  “I admit, it was promising to see the way you took charge from Koblenzar, but this… What the Devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Enlisting thralls who volunteer in exchange for an end to servitude. “Didn’t you do something similar when you allowed thralls to serve as cavalry?”

  “Only the very best, and only in small numbers. You just let anyone who can swing a hoe into the army.”

  I know. We’ve had hundreds of volunteers already. It’s wonderful. “We need troops, Father.”

  “When you are king—if you become king—you will learn that you have to keep the nobles happy. Making them cook and clean for themselves does not make them happy.”

  “And they would be happier when the Loresters take their land away?”

  Hermann sat back in his armchair. Nico assumed the man was too angry, too unaccustomed to the backtalk, to respond. Then, amazingly, the king began to laugh. Weakly, laced with coughing, but definitely laughing. “I am a fool. How could I have been so wrong?”

  The frailty was back, and the self-deprecation difficult to hear. Nico stepped forward, compelled to reach out and comfort the weak man. “You’re no fool, Father.”

  The hand was slapped back. “There is no time for that. Go on, then. Do as you will. Know that you will be judged by success or failure, not by good intentions.”

  I’ve already learned that. All too well. “Thank you, Father.”

  An hour of watching illuminated one incontrovertible fact. Four days of drilling had not appreciably improved the quality of the new recruits.

  This courtyard—one of five throughout the city appropriated by the army—was filled by one hundred trainees. The instructors had formed them into two companies, assigned temporary corporals, and were attempting to move them as cohesive units. Sadly, the teams never managed more than a few turns without someone going in a wrong direction and colliding with a neighbor.

  Disorder was happening again, right before Nico’s eyes, and he was not surprised to see that the culprit was Kip. This was the third time in as many days that the thrall had blundered, leading Nico to wonder whether the castle staff had been taught left and right in reverse as some sort of practical joke.

  At this rate, it might take a year for these soldiers to make an efficient fighting force. Maybe the Loresters would give him that long if he asked politely…

  They all heard hoofbeats, and the added distraction caused even more disarray within the undisciplined troops. Nico turned away in disgust to watch the rider enter the courtyard, do a quick scan of the surroundings, then head directly for the prince. He smoothly dismounted and took a moment to catch his breath. “General Nicolas, a message from General Freilenn. The Second Army returns on the morrow.”

  Nico chewed his lip. The Second Army had orders to delay the Loresters as long as possible. He was hoping for at least another tenday. Had they already run out of time?

  “Thank you, Private. Please tell General Freilenn to bivouac outside the city. The barracks grow full. Also, that I wish to see him personally. This eve, if possible.”

  “Yes, General.” The messenger leapt back onto his mount and rode away.

  Fast. Efficient. Professional. Clearly a young nobleman, or possibly a relation of the General. Sons and nephews made popular choices as aides and officers.

  The contrast with the rabble in the courtyard could be seen by a blind man.

  He met with General Freilenn in an office of the Rechshtal. Younger than Koblenzar and Reikmann, but still far older than the prince, his was a face seen occasionally about the castle but always on the fringes of importance. Nico did not believe they had ever formally been introduced, although they may well have spoken in passing at some event or another. And now they were discussing the existence of the kingdom itself.

  “I was under orders not to engage in battle, General. That restricted my options severely.”

  “I understand.” Nico had thoughtlessly allowed his disappointment to register in his tone, and the perceptive man grew defensive. “No one will accuse you of dereliction. It is the circumstances I regret, not your conduct.” He rubbed his temples, wishing the pounding would recede, even if only for a moment. “We are now faced with a choice: battle or siege.”

  The broad shoulders stiffened. “The Second Army stands ready for either.”

  Nico sighed. He expected bravado, but preferred honesty. “I have no doubt about that. Tell me true, however—you’ve spent two tendays in the field. Marching, fighting. How long before the troops are…restored?”

  Freilenn stared directly at Nico, evaluating. Not the answer, but the man before him. “Three days.”

  “How far behind are the Loresters?”

  “One day.”

  “Lima?” She was behind him, he knew. She was always behind him.

  “Aye, General?”

  “Send word to the senior officers. Prepare the city for siege. All citizens, foodstuffs, and water inside the walls within two days. And send Mickens to me.”

  She left without a word, the most capable one-armed woman who ever lived.

  “Well, General, we need to buy a day. I can give you one additional cavalry company. Understrength. Can you scrounge up enough fresh soldiers to punch the enemy one more time?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Let’s take a look at the map. See if we can figure something out.”

  The two generals found a modicum of comfort with one another, as one would propose an idea and the other found a way to reject it. Nico made it clear that he did not mind disagreement, but expected respect—not only in word, but in manner. He simply did not have time to find out the hard way which old soldiers held disdain for newcomers. To his credit, Freilenn gave the prince no particular cause for concern.

  They were still brainst
orming a short while later when Corporal Mickens stepped into the room. “General, you sent for me?”

  “Yes. Congratulations, I’m promoting you to captain. You can worry about the uniform later. For the next two days, you and the Princeshields are under General Freilenn here. Understood?”

  “A-aye, General.”

  “He’ll send for you when he’s ready. Make me proud.”

  “Aye, General.” He stepped out as quickly as he had arrived. A capable corporal, but would he make a capable officer? They would know in a day or two.

  An hour later, the outlines of a plan were agreed upon. Nico trusted Freilenn enough to adapt it to time and circumstance, as needed.

  It was well after dark, and the General had a ride ahead of him. Nico wished him luck and bid him goodbye. Then, as the hoofbeats faded, wondered whether they would see him again. If not, the time for all of them would be short, indeed.

  “Father, you wished to see me?”

  “Yes, Nicolas. Please come in.” The king stood to clasp Nico’s hand in both of his.

  The excess of politeness triggered a warning within Nico’s mind. He looked about the room as if expecting an ambush. Sure enough, there was another man present. A stranger, silently standing near the balcony, admiring the incomparable view.

  Nico looked at his father, whose eyes flashed anger. The hands squeezed as hard as they were capable of, which was not enough to cause the slightest discomfort. But the message was clear. Do not disappoint me.

  “Nicolas, it is my pleasure to introduce Arturo—the Third of Swords.”

  The room spun momentarily while Nico steadied himself. Lately his mind had been so preoccupied with such critical tasks that he had lost track of his place in the world. This meeting came not just as a surprise—it completely shattered his perspective.

  Arturo casually approached the royal father and son. “Thank you, Hermann, but there is no need for formalities. Nicolas and I are family, too, of a sort.”

  “Well, you asked to see him. Perhaps now you will tell us what brings you here.”

  “Of course. I understand that you are at war, that the Lorester army is at your doorstep. I desire you to surrender.”

  Hermann snorted. “You’ve wasted your time, Thane.”

  “’Third.’ I understand your reluctance, and that you would like to…throw me from your castle, but I ask your forbearance for just a minute. I’ve given this matter a great deal of consideration, and I think you will come to accept my suggestion.”

  “No. We don’t have time for—”

  “Father.” Nico felt uneasy for interrupting, but had no choice. He shared a bond with this stranger, and that bond included courtesy and respect. “You may speak, Third. But please consider that every minute is valuable to us right now.”

  Arturo bowed. “Events unfold of which you have no awareness. I am here, in part, to rectify that.

  “When Eberhart left, he warned of calamitous events. King Hermann, you were there, I believe. Surely you remember this.

  “These events have now transpired. This civil war you find yourself in is but one danger threatening the empire, and the simplest to resolve.

  “The Chekican Communion returns. We know Gothenberg has been invaded already, and we fear Vilnia is about to be, as well. I don’t think I need to tell you of the horrors of the Chekiks, other than to remind you that they enslaved our people for generations. If the legends hold true, that was the least of their oppressions.

  “And that is not all. In the north, from Falkenreach, we hear reports of demons. Not mother’s tales to frighten children into obedience, but genuine beasts of evil and blood. Some say they are the devils themselves, coming to rejoin the Chekiks and restore the ancient civilization.

  “The empire desperately needs a new emperor, we all know this. My Patron served for years beside Eberhart. He seeks peace between the kingdoms so that these outside terrors can be pushed back.”

  “He seeks to become the new emperor himself,” Hermann said.

  “He does. Our continued existence requires it. Once unity is restored, those who sacrificed to achieve it will be compensated.”

  “If we give Allstatte to the Dauphi, and the north to the Loresters, he will restore them to us?”

  “I cannot give specifics, of course, but all sacrifices will receive just compensation. It is far better than the loss of the empire entire.”

  “You know very well our enemies will never give back the land they steal from us.”

  “The land once stolen from them? These are minor disagreements. The Order of Swordthanes is not driven by petty politics and personal rivalries, not when there are greater matters to concern us. Your son understands this—do you not, Thane?”

  Nico nodded. He studied the Third in detail. Handsome and dark-skinned—perhaps from Buldova, where the Naru influence was strongest. Not quite middle-aged, trim and tall, with absolute poise and precision of movement. Very much the ideal that Nico hoped to achieve one day.

  “We reject your offer, Third,” Hermann stated flatly.

  “If we may, I’d like to hear the prince’s thoughts.”

  “I’m still king.”

  “Yes… Nevertheless, Nicolas is heir. He must live with any decision made today. He is also a Thane himself, and I will surprise no one when I say that I am his Patron. He must obey me, or renounce the ethos of the Order.”

  “It is not the way of the Order to interfere in politics so directly.”

  “Not unless circumstances justify doing so. Eberhart understood this when he unified the twelve kingdoms. And so things now stand.”

  At the time of his Proving, Nico was merely an insignificant second prince without role or responsibility. He admired the Order, its traditions, and its values. Discipline. Prowess. Courage. Honor. Never did he imagine he would be forced to choose between it and his kingdom.

  Seeing the conflict show in the prince’s face, Arturo frowned sympathetically. “I put you in a difficult position, I know. I would give you time to consider, but as you yourselves admit…every minute is valuable right now.”

  Nico met his father’s eyes. The warning was still there. What would happen to king and kingdom if they accepted the Third’s offer? Would it really be so bad? Akenberg would lose land, but they were already the largest of the central kingdoms. They could survive a subtraction. The ignominy would be hard to take, but an overwhelming enemy was bearing down on them already, threatening annihilation. This offer spared them from that worst of all outcomes. And it was possible these other threats were real enough. If so, the Chekiks alone would require the combined might of the twelve kingdoms to resist, and even then the outcome was dubious at best. Demons. Devils… Arturo was right. A new emperor was needed now more than ever.

  Nico could not abandon the Order. It had meant too much to him for too long.

  He sighed. Hermann scowled, and Arturo smiled. “A Swordthane quickly makes the right choice. Yes?”

  Nico nodded. “Tell me, Third, when was your last defense?”

  The smile dropped. He glared back. “Nearly three years.”

  “It’s an honor to challenge you.”

  It was the only way.

  Chapter Seven

  Below

  THE BADGER led Jak and Kevik on a wild chase through the forest, until they were hopelessly lost deep within the glen.

  “But why are we chasing it?” Jak called to his best friend.

  “Because it’s running,” Kevik yelled back.

  “But why is it running?”

  “Because we’re chasing it.”

  At last they cornered the fearful creature amid a proliferation of leaves that filled a shallow depression. The badger stared back with blazing blue eyes, daring them to take one step closer. They did, its blue eyes flashed green, then it promptly dove beneath the sea of leaves.

  “Where did it go?” asked Jak.

  “Look,” Kevik replied, brushing aside handfuls of debris. “A hole within the g
round.”

  “Where does it lead?”

  “I don’t know. You should look.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re the smaller. I can’t fit in there.”

  Jak could see the logic in this, even if he did not like it. He approached the hole and peered inside. There was nothing but blackness. He leaned further.

  “See if you can grab it,” Kevik suggested.

  Jak reached in with both arms. Then felt a kick from behind, and his body tumbled forward, clogging the hole perfectly. He frantically twisted this way and that, but his body was stuck around the hips, his arms helplessly pinned inside.

  That was the worst—the uselessness of his arms. They were trapped, which prevented Jak from freeing himself, which prevented the use of his arms, which prevented Jak from freeing himself, which prevented the use of his arms…

  And all the while Kevik laughed.

  “Jak!”

  Kleo was shaking him, her face looking down with fright and concern.

  He gasped for breath, wondering when exactly hell had run out of air. He could not breathe at all, and glared at Kleo in panic. “H-help,” he gasped. Although lying on his back, Jak felt that he was going to fall…down, down, even farther than they already were, deep into the earth where the cold stone would close in and swallow him.

  Thankfully, his arms were free after all, and he clasped Kleo by the fragile shoulders. “Don’t let me fall…”

  She grabbed his forearm with both hands. “You’re not falling, Jak. You had a nightmare.”

  Laughter. Where is that laughter coming from?

  Slowly, he began to recover his wits. There was air—and he was not falling. But they were still trapped in hell.

  He hurriedly looked around. He could see Kluber sitting up, watching. But the place where Calla slept was empty.

  She was gone. Just like Riff.

  “Calla,” he croaked, his fingers pressing hard into Kleo’s soft skin.

  “She’s fine,” Kleo said soothingly. “She just…went for a walk.”

  Went for a walk? Down here? With all that has happened? Jak was about to rebuke the others for allowing such irresponsibility, until he realized what Kleo meant. Calla had simply gone to make water, of course—and Jak needed to get control of himself.