Severance (The Sovereign Book 1)

by Michael Pritsos

  “Tero,” the man answered reluctantly. He bowed his head toward his conqueror and Xander kept an eye on him for a moment. “Tero of Erebus.”

  “No captain, then, I assume,” Xander said without hiding his disappointment.

  “He comes,” Tero said confidently. He had a slight lisp in his speech that Xander figured must have come from the cleft lip the man possessed. He only had a thin chain of silver to denote his rank, while the rest of him seemed as common a Gaian soldier as the rest. “You will all die if you do not leave soon.”

  “Not if they fight like you,” Xander snarled.

  “At least we stay in bed with our own kind,” Tero said. “Your thoughts are a cluster for this Gaian woman back home. ‘Will I make it back alive? Gods help me!’”

  “We should kill him for that insolence!” Victor hollered from the crow’s nest.

  “Kill an unarmed man?” Xander asked.

  It was all he could do to contain his own anger. His face felt aflame there was so much rage coursing through his body. The rest of the Thalassans leveled their reloaded pistols at the hostages before them. A puddle of urine pooled around a Gaian’s feet. Xander turned back to the Gaian lieutenant, taking his own pistol from its holster and leveling it at the hare lipped captive.

  “You aren’t sure of yourself,” Tero said confidently. His face distorted in a smirk and then erupted in a gout of blood for that final arrogance. The Gaians were appalled at the barbarity but held their tongues as their commanding officer’s corpse tumbled down the stairs of the helm to rest at their feet.

  “The rest of you shall be spared,” Xander reassured them. “But only after you give us the armor on your backs, the weapons at your feet, and whatever else you may hold on this ship.”

  “We should tow it back,” Jake protested weakly. He was clutching his side where crimson flowed perpetually. Xander tried not to linger on the man’s health but merely nodded to the north where another speck was approaching.

  He walked down the steps to pull the chain from the lieutenant’s corpse when a hidden knife flashed to his side. The daring Gaian had only taken two steps before a shot sounded. The would-be-killer’s neck burst with blood and he stumbled to the railing when another shot sounded at a separate Gaian. The air was filled with smoke and noise in moments as the disarmed Gaians were butchered over one man’s stupidity.

  “Cease fire!” Xander hollered above the din. “Cease fire!”

  When the shots had finally come to halt Xander was standing on a deck so sheeted in blood it looked as though painted red. By the gods, he swore. The corpses rocked back and forth with the waves and he felt a welling of water in his amber eyes. I caused this, he berated himself. I should not have killed that Tero fool, no matter what I felt…

  “You fools,” Xander whispered to his men as much as to himself. “I told them they would be spared.” Not a man spoke. “I told them they would be spared!”

  Jake collapsed against the deck. Two men knelt to him and both shook their heads at one another. They moved his body back onto the Lepida to give him a proper pyre back home. The rest of them hung their heads and only a few had the audacity to come forward and strip the dead. The lieutenant looked north and saw the speck looming closer.

  “How long before they get here?” Xander shout at the crow’s nest.

  “Not long enough,” Victor called back. “Let’s go.”

  “Go?” one sailor protested. “We just beat the hell out of these bastards. We can go another round.”

  “We lost six in this one,” Xander replied. “We can’t afford to lose six more.”

  The muscled sailor nodded reluctantly and holstered his pistol.

  “Well you heard the man,” Victor exclaimed. “Loot the ship so we can go home!”

  The surviving crew took what they could and left the Gaian ship loaded with naked corpses. The Lepida sat a little lower in the water with the weight of two piles of armor and personal effects. Xander tossed a powder horn on the enemy ship as he clamored on board. Taking a lamp from his helm he pitched it into the enemy mast and watched flames lick up the wood to scorch the furled sail.

  “Let’s go home,” he said curtly and the grappling hooks were all cut. Saturnus took the ship’s wheel and made for the south as the second Gaian ship was within shouting distance. A small explosion tore through the sound of the sail billowing when the powder horn caught fire.

  * *

  “Victor and Saturnus will go to sell the loot wherever anyone will buy it,” Xander informed the men as they made port.

  A group of Triton’s folk were gathering at the dock where Lepida had come in with a scraped hull. Looks of awe and fear were on their faces but there was also jubilation there. The ship had returned with most of its men and a trophy of armor and weapons. That could only mean they had won some skirmish against the treacherous Gaians.

  “What cut will we receive?” the muscled sailor asked. Xander had come to learn this man’s name was Brandon. He had been a last-minute replacement and his attitude bordered on bloodlust the only few hours Xander had known him. It was somewhat excusable, however. Jake had been the soldier’s cousin.

  “A third of the money received gets kicked up to King Philip,” Xander began. “Another third goes to me, which I split with Brennus, while the last third is divided amongst you thirty-two. Unless, that is, you find somewhere in your hearts to share a bit of your cut with the deceased’s family members. I get first spoils,” he declared by showing them the silver chain he had taken from the dead commander and a small bronze ax he had looted from another corpse. “Empty your hands if they hold anything of value from those bastards though, if I find out any of you are holding out on the pile you’ll find yourselves staring off a watchtower for a month.”

  With that they were dismissed. Most of them went off to a tavern to drink away the day’s slaughter, while Victor and Saturnus hailed a passerby for use of his wagon and donkey. Xander marched down the loading ramp and found Brennus waiting among the throng. Caedmon was there too and wore a grin that suggested he knew a joke only he was privy to.

  “You were supposed to head back at midday,” Brennus jested.

  “We got distracted,” Xander replied. He motioned to the wagon being loaded with coats of cheap mail. “Forty-three coats of mail, thirty-four shortswords, seven bronze axes, two spears, and a few purses. That should fetch a good amount of coin.”

  Brennus shrugged. “You’d be surprised at how little that will fetch you. Must’ve not been a captain, I’m guessing.” Xander shook his head in response. “How much coin in the purses?”

  “A hundred pieces of silver, or near enough to make no difference,” Xander answered. “Some coppers as well.”

  “You couldn’t tow the ship back?” Brennus asked with a furrowed brow.

  “Not this time,” Xander replied. “Another one was coming and I didn’t feel like sacrificing more men.”

  “A good call,” Brennus remarked. He looked over Xander’s shoulder to where a few of the sailors had lingered to bring their dead companions from the deck. “I count five dead.”

  “Six,” Xander said.

  “Well the armor, weapons and everything should fetch around nine pieces of gold,” Brennus guessed. “That’s three for Philip, three for your crew, and one and some change for each of us.”

  Xander’s exhausted eyes brightened at that. A piece of gold for one day’s work? That was more than he expected and the prospect of what to do with that amount of money was tantalizing. Even the loss of his men and the massacre of Gaians were temporarily dimmed by the receipt of that cash. “I’ll give you your share as well as His Majesty’s in the morning.”

  Brennus nodded. “Don’t forget to fill your ranks back up. You should have around ninety pieces of silver once all is said and done. You should be able to use that to entice some of those grounded Phorcians to switch their colors and fill your ranks.”

  “All of it?” Xander exclaimed.

&nb
sp; Brennus guffawed. “I’d say eight silvers a piece should be enough to entice them to forgo an oath to a stagnant House Niall and receive direct payment from our king in the future. Get ten of them. That leaves you with ten silvers for yourself. Not bad for one day’s work, huh?”

  “Son of a whore,” Xander cursed. Brennus and Caedmon both laughed and his friend put a placating hand on his shoulder with a grin. “Ten pieces of silver after losing six soldiers and watching the deaths of dozens of men…”

  “Welcome to the duties of command, boy,” Brennus said with a wry grin. At that he left and Caedmon followed his captain with a short farewell to his friend. Xander turned to the dock where a group of shipwrights were examining the scrape on the Lepida’s bow.

  Thomas approached then and placed his hand on his hips. “My boys and I will take care of that scrape for you.”

  “I thank you for that kindness, Thomas,” Xander said.

  Thomas sighed. “Nothing’s free, boy. You’re lucky it’s an easy job. Three others and I can do it. Should be about five silvers, I’d say.”

  “Shit,” Xander muttered. He avoided the glare from Thomas for the curse and dug through the purse laced at his belt. He placed five coins in Thomas’ extended hand and received only a curt grin in thanks.

  Five silvers for my troubles I guess, Xander thought bitterly. He turned away from the dock and began to walk down Triton’s main street in the waning light of the evening. Ana was walking his way being led by Saija and she gasped to see the blood that caked Xander’s face and arms. She rushed forward to him but before she got there he halted in the street and pulled a thin silver chain from his purse.

  The young woman covered her mouth as Xander draped it up and over her head in silent proclamation of their relationship. When he pulled away from her he saw tears in her eyes and a gentle smile dimpling her cheeks. A least today I earned a smile from one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever known, Xander thought. I wonder if any woman will mourn Tero in the coming weeks.

  Roselyn

  The trees were blooming neon colored hibiscus and Roselyn stared out her stained glass window at the distorted blobs of pink and orange. A kick in her belly made her smile. I bet you’ll love these flowers if you’re a girl, little one. She was growing very fond of just spending time in her room speaking to her unborn child. She mused that it was almost like writing in a journal because she was always speaking to someone who never replied. She could say whatever she wanted to her baby, without the fear of someone finding her thoughts written down somewhere. There was only about one month left in her pregnancy, and then she could speak to her little ‘journal’ while staring into his or her beautiful face.

  Roselyn’s belly was remarkably rotund, so much so that she was standing a fair distance from the window but her crimson skirt was brushing up against the recently polished sill. Noticing this only made Roselyn feel self-conscious about her roundness so she turned away from the window and crossed the room to her bed. It was an effort to climb onto the massive four-poster, even using the stool that was placed there for convenience when she first started having problems with the height of the bed. She heaved herself up and once seated, she realized just how tired she was and decided to take a small nap before someone came in to bother her for some sort of duty or checkup. The princess lowered her body into a comfortable sleeping position and stretched like a cat, smiling when she felt her baby moving inside of her. Are you stretching too, in there?

  Most everyone in the country wanted Roselyn’s baby to be a boy and she agreed to some extent. Patrick would be regent should anything befall her father, and it would be good to bear a son to take up the crown. On the other hand, she had also been thinking lately about how nice it would be to have a girl to dress up and talk to about boys when she was older. When she truly considered it, she would most like to have a family just like her own: a strapping young man and a beautiful little sister for him to tease and watch out for. Thinking of Daemyn no longer made Roselyn well up with tears, it was more bittersweet these days. She put both of her hands on her belly and spoke aloud to the child, “If you’re a boy, I shall have your middle name be Daemyn, after the uncle you will never meet. You will have his name because he did so much for you before you could even know it…”

  Roselyn was drifting into sleep as she was speaking to her baby, and just as she was about to completely drift away Isabelle came bursting into her bedchamber. Her hair was frazzled and her cheeks were rosy from exertion. “Roselyn,” Isabelle panted as she used the door to brace herself. “Come quickly, something has happened to your father!”

  Roselyn jumped from her position on the bed without thinking and clutched her lower back as pain coursed through her aching body. Without another word she followed her mother as quickly as she could manage without hurting herself, and the guards posted at the bottom of her stairs rushed up to help her easily descend. She was grateful for their help but knew that if they weren’t holding her by the arms she would probably push herself to move faster.

  The two women reached the base of the stairs, nodded in thanks to the guards, and continued on towards the foyer that opened up to the courtyard in the back garden. As they reached the gigantic oaken doors that led outside, two more guards opened them to reveal a carriage at the foot of the castle’s steps. Roselyn imagined that her father must have injured his leg or back and couldn’t ride home… it couldn’t be more serious than that. Before she could further consider this, Patrick’s massive black stallion came galloping up to the steps. He dismounted in record time and rushed to his wife’s side.

  “Princess, your father’s heart has faltered. It happened while we were hunting,” Patrick explained to a shocked mother and daughter. When neither of them spoke he continued. “He’s in the carriage, unconscious, but no one wants to move him until the physician arrives.”

  Just as soon as he spoke of the physician another coach pulled up beside her father’s. A small man wearing a thick black cloak with red lining hopped out before it came to a complete stop. He rushed over to the royal carriage without delay, swung open the door and then disappeared inside. Roselyn noted that the physician had a satchel that must house his supplies, but she couldn’t imagine what he could possibly have in that bag that could fix a problem of the heart. She had never heard of anyone surviving after their heart gave out unless it was just a minor aching that eventually subsided. He must save him! He’s my father… he’s our king… Roselyn’s thoughts were frantic prayers that the physician would work a miracle on her beloved father, and without thinking about what was appropriate for a princess she stooped to take a seat on the frequently swept steps. Patrick clasped her arms to help lower her down, and before long her mother appeared on the step at her side. They held each other tearfully while they awaited the news of King Philip’s fate.

  *

  King Philip’s funeral was one of the grandest affairs Pontos had seen in decades. More magnificent and elaborate than Daemyn’s funeral and Roselyn’s wedding combined. Philip was a well-loved king. During his reign there were more celebrations and events than there was even a need for, and common folk love festivals. Especially ones for practically no reason. The entirety of Pontos was there to witness his burial, in addition to a few others from various isles. Roselyn scanned the crowd, all dressed in black cloaks and black gowns, weeping for the loss of their ruler. If only news travelled faster… She found herself thinking of Xander, and wishing for his presence, however Triton would not receive word of the king’s death until at least the following day. She could imagine how much the king had grown to mean to Xander, not only after serving him as a castle guard for a few years but also advancing as he had been all due to Philip’s faith in him. He would probably be deeply saddened by the loss of the king, especially because at one point he absurdly entertained the idea of the king being his father-in-law someday.

  Patrick was dutifully at Roselyn’s side, with her mother on his left. He was in the middle of the two women
and that symbolized to all who were watching that he was the new regent of Thalassa. Roselyn stood, brokenhearted, considering what this meant. Her father was gone and her husband would soon be proclaimed as the new ruler of Thalassa. She clutched her side as yet another pain shot through her. She had been in non-stop agony since her father’s passing, of the mind and of the body. Most of it was caused by stress, she knew well enough, but she was worried that such stress and sorrow would make her baby come sooner than expected. This, of course, could mean much suspicion if she were to give birth to a child of a decent size even though it would be rightfully many weeks before she should be due. A surprising new fact that Roselyn had only learned in the last few months is that there are people that are paid to keep track of such things in order to prove the legitimacy of the royal family. The constant worry of this knowledge put yet another level of stress on the baby.

  Lost in thought, Roselyn didn’t even notice when the minister began speaking about her father’s life and reign. She was staring at his casket, with the many flowers and gifts laid on top of it. She noticed that many of the flowers were hibiscus, pink and orange just like the ones she had admired the morning her father died. The sudden irony of this made her burst into tears. Patrick waved to Theodore, though Roselyn hardly noticed, and within moments the man was rushing over to her with a wooden chair. She took the seat gracefully, knowing her feet were becoming increasingly more unsteady as she stood.

  Before she knew it, the funeral was over. People were slowly starting to trickle away from the cemetery; some stopping at Daemyn’s grave to pay their respects. She saw various family members, however, none of them came over to approach her and give their condolences. Roselyn, Patrick, and Isabelle were the last to leave, save a few of the key members of court. Roselyn’s ladies stood dutifully awaiting any instruction from her, as well as Queen Isabelle’s. Patrick eventually decided it was time to go and they all made their way back to the castle. Its grey stones stretched towards the heavens. My home has become so dreary this past year, Roselyn thought with a deep sigh.