The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2)

by Igor Ljubuncic

  It would do no good to wave the Athesian flag inside Caytor. Even his most ardent supporters might not fully understand the meaning of that symbolic act. Even James wasn’t sure he would. Sometimes, he tried to grasp the enormity of his legacy and failed.

  The hunt, he focused on the hunt.

  Within a week, he was supposed to find and catch the little forest creatures played by Xavier’s troops. If he failed, they were going to meet by Rekke, a small village north of Pain Daye, regroup, and head back home, all friendly again. Failure was not an option. Half the court bet on James to win this round. He could not come back humiliated.

  The would-be enemy had a whole day’s lead on him, better horses, and years of experience prowling the region, trying to make Xavier rich. James had a bunch of impressionable young men, skeptic officers who did not quite believe in his ability to command, bored councillors and their private guards, and a handful of rusted soldiers who needed to oil their joints and weapons. There were no veterans from the last war to help guide him.

  In the practice yard, James was still a student, albeit a very experienced one. Not a novice tripping on his own sword, not even an eager young apprentice working through his moves. But it would take him many more years of hard, painful training before he would become truly skilled with the blade. In theory, emperors and kings did not need to be blade masters; they had their champions for that.

  Well, you focused on your strengths and minimized your weaknesses. He had read that in one of Blackwood’s books. He liked that.

  His own father had been a man of extreme measures. Maybe not the best fighter. No, no book or song even mentioned him fighting in dramatic duels. Emperor Adam had won and ruled by being the biggest bastard in the realms.

  James had spent a long time wondering how he might become like his father. There was only one way. He would have to earn the utmost respect of his men. Take complete strangers and bond them to his cause, whatever the cause. Battles were the best way of forging friendship and brotherhood between soldiers. James had no wars yet, so he staged battles.

  Both Master Hector and Warlord Xavier agreed that these battle simulations were the most efficient way for James to build trust with his soldiers, learn the delicate arts of command, and prove his worth. Leading four hundred men did not equal the reality of marshaling entire armies, but it was the closest thing to a war they would get during peacetime.

  James made an effort to be liked and trusted. He enjoyed no privileges over his soldiers. He slept in a small tent with the frightened Timothy and ate the same food like the rest of them. The first time Timothy tried to serve him wine, he had punched the boy in the stomach. Not too hard, just enough to send a clear message. After that, Timothy kept to being a dutiful squire when required and nothing more. James refused being served. All he had was a filthy uniform soaked with rain and sweat, and saddle sores.

  Out here, he was doing what he knew best—finding his foe.

  It sort of worked. His effort was paying off.

  He looked back at his time in Pain Daye with pride. He had come a long way, from being a frightened village boy with simple ideals, to a crafty politician, a leader, a man who shaped the destiny of others.

  This excursion was different from all the previous ones. This was not just a trip to ease out the boredom and allow his followers to win favors from the future emperor. This was a battle of pride. Their victory in the hunt depended on their ability to survive in the forest. Most of his followers could recite ancient ballads in exotic dialects, but they would not know what a wild goose looked like unless it came served on a platter. Wealthy Caytoreans were city folks, merchants, bankers, lawyers, and investors. They were polite, cunning, they could name a dozen types of forks, and they fenced for fun. But they had never had to spend a night in the deep woods, all alone and unprotected.

  He taught his men how to spot edible mushrooms and what berries to avoid. He showed them how to camouflage their skin with natural pigments. They learned drinking water could be found not only in riverbeds and little streams gushing beneath rocks. There were a hundred herbs that could spice the food or heal the blisters on your feet. Animal sounds, animal smells, types of earth and grass, the hazards of a forest at night, the perils of caves and burrows, he shared all of his knowledge and experience with them. Just a few days ago, they would balk if they encountered a bear. Most would start drawing their bows or baring their swords. Now, they just clanged their helmets against their shields and scared the beasts away.

  “When you hear an animal roar or hiss or shriek at you, it means it is afraid of you. It’s giving you a warning to stay clear. There’s only one beast you should run away from, and that’s a horny skunk.” That earned him a long round of laughter and gruff, friendly pats on the back.

  “Or a honey badger,” a big-toothed lad offered. James promoted him to a chief scout.

  When a man broke his leg, they splinted it with a piece of a spear shaft and built a stretcher from ash boughs, then sent him back to the mansion. They were all filthy, unshaven, with grass in their hair. They were almost rangers now.

  His first excursion had been a small affair, just a ten-league trek with a handful of soldiers, learning the surroundings of the mansion, checking for good ambush spots and defense positions, should he ever need to defend it. This mission was so much more.

  James wanted as many of his officers as possible to see him, to memorize his face and learn the sound of his voice. He wanted them to know the man they would serve. They were all Caytoreans, and yet, they were expected to fight and die for a stranger and his foreign realm. That would not do. So he became one of them. He was winning them over. He could tell that.

  Being a war leader was not a simple thing. Chasing foxes and stealing eggs from bird’s nests was one thing. Hunting men was a different affair. Deep down, they all knew this was just an elaborate show. No one was going to die, unless they suffered an accident. But the hunt was far from being painless.

  Xavier’s men had promised to fight dirty, and they kept true to their word. At night, their rear guard would circle around James’s force, sneak in and steal horses, leave men tied with rope and gagged in their beds, and piss into the cooking pots. Any man found bound or without his sword in the morning was declared incapacitated and sent back to the mansion.

  On the second day, James had lost seventeen soldiers and forty horses. Some of his troops were forced to ride double. Others had to walk and straggle hours after the main camp. Two cooks had been kidnapped, found naked in a nearby field with turnips in their mouths. The day after, James lost three sentries, but they managed to capture one of the infiltrators. He told them all he knew after they dunked his head into an icy stream.

  On the fourth night, as they camped after a fruitless day of tracking, several soldiers decided to play cards. One was found cheating, and a genuine brawl erupted. Someone got stabbed in the belly, and someone else had his nose shattered. James left the matter in the hands of his squad officers.

  By the fifth day, his little regiment of human wolves had become clockwork machinery, dirty, rugged, and sharp. Xavier’s party no longer attempted to harry them. The hunters were closing in. James made them rise early. Not a single moment of daylight was wasted on camp preparations. Cold breakfasts and colder dinners were eaten in the dark. The rain made no difference. He hated the discomfort as much as they, but he was never going to let them know that. He led with stubborn pride.

  This was the sixth day outside the mansion. James had messengers ride to Pain Daye and back again, to practice communications. He ordered small, well-guarded supply convoys to join him on the road, and he sent three squads of scouts well ahead, probing, searching, trying to cut the enemy off from any major road or settlement.

  Xavier himself was at his side, judging, taking notes. And so was Rob.

  James had been surprised when the slick businessman asked to join the hunting party. He had claimed he was a skilled rider, a decent swordsman, and complained
little. True to his word, he was always among the first in the saddle, following without a word. When James gave him an order, he obeyed like the rest of them. Well, like most of them. Several fops in his retinue had felt the discomfort of the field was too much for them, so he sent them away. He brooked no whining. Any man late for the morning count was dismissed from the party. Anyone found drunk or asleep during a watch was packed back to the mansion. No whoring was allowed, even when they camped near a small town or a village. Even the slightest hint of a lack of discipline was punished. He had lost more than seventy men, but he had more than three hundred grim, determined followers.

  Councillor Sebastian was in his company, too. The man was no fighter, but he was learning slowly, carefully. He compensated for his lack of combat skills with determination and precision.

  They rode in silence, the soft ground swallowing all sound. It was raining, but most of the downpour was shielded away by the tree canopy. There was a permanent gray gloom in the forest that weighed heavily on the soul. James could understand why Xavier’s men would choose to hide here.

  A rider approached from the left flank and saluted. He just nodded once. It meant, nothing to report, all clear. Without a word, the man turned about and trotted back to his company, approximately a bow’s shot away. A few minutes later, another scout arrived from the opposite direction.

  “There,” James said suddenly. The column halted.

  One of the soldiers dismounted and went to inspect the sign; one of the trees was scarred by the passing of armed troops. It looked as if a giant claw had raked the bark, but it had to be the jagged edge of plate armor or someone’s sword sticking out doing the damage.

  “Could be deliberate,” Rob offered. “They might be setting up a trap.”

  James dismounted, stretched, and went to check the tree. Their prey could have made that on purpose, to excite them and lead them astray. Or they could think they were safe now, having fooled them at the earlier junction, so this could be a simple mistake by an unwary soldier.

  The future emperor knelt and stared at the ground carefully, inspecting the crushed litter for hoofprints and boot marks. He found a piece of metal lodged between the tree roots. It looked like a plate rivet.

  He pointed again. They snaked southeast. Predictably, the enemy was trying to backtrack around and surprise their hunters. Only they were heading toward his rear guard, a hundred men strong. He would soon have them pinned down.

  At his command, the Wolves spread out. The units broke down to squad level. James took the left flank, with Rob at his side, Timothy behind and to the left, now with that wolf head tucked away, and another soldier forming the other end of their formation. Slowly, inevitably, the gap grew, and the four of them were soon riding alone. There couldn’t have been more than fifty paces from the next squad, but the army of silent trees blocked the view.

  Rob reached into his pocket and drew a crushed, wet cigarette. He sighed longingly, then put it back. For six days, he had not been allowed to smoke during the day, and most of the night, for fear of alerting their enemy. Cigarettes had an acrid smell that carried a long distance.

  James was alternating his gaze between watching the soil and the uncharted route ahead. There was nothing of interest here, it seemed. Their foe was probably still several hours away. He let his mind wander. Two weeks back, he had received another letter from his mother. Not until he had read it had he truly realized how much he missed her. Deep down, he felt sorrow for losing that simple, isolated life. He loved his new role as the future emperor, but at the same time, he knew that he would never again enjoy innocence like he did in Windpoint.

  News from back home felt like a drop of treacle. Nothing was happening, whereas every day in Pain Daye brought new excitements, new thrills, new dangers. Rheanna was still avoiding him, but not as much as before. He missed her presence, her intimacy. Perfumed whores with their fake, plastered smiles lost their appeal after a while.

  Celeste, the sweet girl, was still waiting for him.

  James’s thoughts steered toward his half sister, Amalia. He often wondered what their first encounter would be like. Did she hate him? Or did she hate the idea that he represented, the threat against her own rule? Was she trying to kill him? So far, he hadn’t caught even a single Athesian assassin, but it still meant nothing. Even so, now that the threat of fake emperors was all but gone, his worries focused on weeding out his unseen enemies, those who attended his court in exile and laughed at his jokes during lavish dinners.

  He wanted to send a secret letter to her, but he couldn’t bring himself to write it.

  Nigella occupied his thoughts a lot. The surreal nature of his humiliation at her hand left him feeling bashful and curious, like a child. And the ominous portent of her prophecies chafed his soul like a noose around his neck. He thought he had his partner, friend, and butcher, but now that all three were in place, he felt there was something missing. At least Rob was the friend he had never had.

  He was the most easygoing fellow he had ever known. Always pleasant, always smiling, always in a good mood, telling jokes and doing randy pranks. In a way, it was almost too hard to take him seriously, but then he would instantly sober up when needed. His tongue could lash out all the fine talk the court demanded or the ribald jokes that you heard in the seediest taverns. James felt relaxed in his presence. They shared their views on life, on women. They both hated hypocrisy. In his place, taking in new friends and trusting them completely was a risky business, but he felt no danger around Rob.

  Which was why he valued his opinion so much.

  “What do you think?” James whispered.

  Like always, Rob took his time evaluating the last several hours of James’s leadership, then gave him his brief, honest, sometimes brutal interpretation. The investor stole a glance back at his squire, but the boy was frowning hard in concentration, watching the forest floor.

  “You should not have punched Timothy,” he whispered, taking James back to the first evening of their hunt.

  James nodded grudgingly. “That was a bit harsh, true.”

  Rob shook his head while trying to watch the forest. “No. It was misplaced. Timothy was only doing what was expected of him. It is your duty to explain to your help what you want. You may have appeared gruff and manly in front of the soldiers, but some of the fops didn’t like it. It was rude.”

  James had not considered that. He wondered why Rob had not told him that outright. Probably not to undermine his confidence.

  “And there’s one more thing. Being a man of the people is all nice, but soldiers expect their officers to be, well, higher than they. That’s why they are officers, you see. Perhaps all these fools around you will bless your farts as perfume, but the truth is, you should let Timothy help you. Let him clean your armor before sleep and help you don it in the morning, polish your sword, and all that. It’s expected.”

  James felt that punch coming right back at him, cold and hard. “Thank you,” he said.

  Rob scratched his neck. “And you shouldn’t be dismounting to check the trail either. I know you’re doing it here and now, because you’re the best, and you’re trying to teach these men, but do not ever do that when it’s for real. Emperors do not sniff grass and mud.”

  Something snapped ahead, like a twig.

  James reined in his horse, all thoughts of his less-than-spectacular progress fleeing. Rob’s rouncey neighed nervously. Bruce, the third man in their squad, frowned and pulled out his sword. Timothy drew his own blade.

  Two men stepped from behind a tree about ten paces ahead of them. They were dressed in brown and green leathers and wool, blending well into the surrounding. They looked like Xavier’s men.

  James grinned softly. “Party’s over.”

  The two men said nothing. It was the first hint that something was wrong.

  More men appeared from behind trees, roughly forming a semicircle around the four of them. James saw they were armed with short spears, swords, and o
ne man even had a crossbow. They looked like any other soldier in Xavier’s rogue force of Rabbits and other furry creatures, but their faces were hard and unsmiling, and there was not a hint of recognition in their eyes.

  Steel hissed as Robin drew his sword, grasping the reality before him. James slowly realized this band of men was not going to surrender. They did not play by the rules of their game, most likely because they were not part of it.

  So, this was no longer a game.

  He took a deep breath. His foes had tried a dozen assassination attempts on his life in the past several months. But it had always been a single killer, never a force of mercenaries. Well, this was only expected. Wondering which one of his would-be friends may have betrayed him, James unsheathed his own blade. No one moved. They were probably toying with him, confident in their numbers and a sure kill. They wanted him to make the first, desperate move.

  But he wasn’t the first.

  One of the men yelped and staggered, an arrow buried deep in his stomach. The crossbowman lifted his weapon and aimed at James, but another arrow felled him. It pierced his throat and spun him around.

  James spurred his horse forward. Rob and Bruce followed. Timothy lagged, looking every bit as shocked as he usually did. James veered away from the spearmen, knowing an encounter between cavalry and sharp points was never pleasant for the rider. He charged toward a swordsman. The man lifted his own blade, but James had a longer reach. The tip of the sword caught the man below the jaw and tore into his face. Mutely, the man stumbled, half his face torn off. James reined in behind a tree, waited for his three comrades to catch up, then charged again.

  Within seconds, it was over. His men quickly subdued the ambushers. Someone must have realized something was wrong, because the entire party of twenty-four men was there, Xavier, Sebastian, all the rest of them. There were nine corpses on the ground, another man was wailing softly, dragging his innards through the mat of dead leaves, and five men were kneeling in surrender, their arms raised.