The governor of the castle opened his mouth and announced in his impressive voice, “General Pacmad, the chieftain of the Kataji, the Father of the Bear and undefeated warrior of his clan.”
Leopold remained seated, as befitting his status. Behind him, Vergil stared down at the nomad whose ancestors he had destroyed.
In measured steps, the mercenary general walked down the length of the hall, flanked by his lackeys. Leopold watched with some annoyance at his deliberate, practiced stride. The man was just a primitive tribesman, a mongrel, yet he seemed to have quickly learned the nuances of Eracian protocol, encouraged by so much gold.
The splendid chamber was truly not a place for a bastard like this nomad sell-sword, but Leopold really did not have any choice. He desperately needed to restore Eracia’s good image. And since he didn’t have any great captains and heroes like Vergil, or even one of his lieutenants, the paid troops would have to do.
General Pacmad looked pleased. Well, why shouldn’t he be, Leopold thought sourly, squirming impatiently on his plush velvet throne seat. Nomad raiders had not been allowed on Eracian soil in three centuries, the records said, ever since Vergil the Brave had burned across their lands and raped every one of their women.
And now, they rode the streets of Somar freely, mingling with his people.
“His Royal Majesty, Monarch Leopold, the supreme ruler of Eracia,” Kai spoke when the general reached the designated ceremonial marker. Instructed in court etiquette, the chieftain bowed his head and knelt down on one knee. The full court emulated the gesture.
“Greetings, Your Majesty Leopold,” the nomad said in passable Continental. “I thank you for your hospitality.” He snapped his fingers. One of the followers handed a quiver-like bag made of colorful hide to the general. The bag had bear paws knotted down its length.
Leopold didn’t like the ceremony. Like most tribal societies, the nomads were a collection of mixed and even conflicting cultures, stealing bits of lore and language and law code from every nation they traded with. The monarch had considered forgoing the entire event, and for a change, most of his weakling court had agreed. But the tribesmen had insisted. They believed the military pact had to be sealed with a large public affair. A token of honor and trust, they said. Strange, coming from people who bed their sisters and sheep, in that order, Leopold thought.
So, Leopold had gathered all of his nobles—those not being kept hostage, that was—and crammed them into the throne hall to witness the alliance between Eracia and the nomads, a first one ever, it seemed. A useless farce, but one they had to endure. For all practical purposes, the deal had been in effect for some time now. Somar was bursting with foreigners, ugly people who leered at everyone and everything and always wanted to sell you something. But they were highly trained in war and would fight for whoever paid them.
The three realms were surrounded by half nations that had not yet mastered central government, taxes, or education, it seemed. The entire north and west were one huge patchwork of tribes, stretching from Vergil’s Conquest to wherever the dusty roads led into the sunset. And then to the south, the Parusites had their own clans and races. Well, those religious fools had been like the nomads not that long ago. But just like the Eracians, they’d had their special hero who took a bunch of segregated, feuding villages and turned them into a big, proud nation.
Leopold waited patiently with a very slim, polite grin as the general stepped forward and presented his gift. Kai accepted it. Carefully, the man opened the bag. Inside, there was a large whip, worked in exquisite detail, tipped with a shiny metal, most likely silver. It looked ridiculous.
“For your strong hand, when your wife displeases you or your horse does not obey,” Pacmad said.
Leopold briefly looked at his queen. Diana sat at his side, aloof, distant, her face passive. She was bearing this charade much more stoically than he.
Leopold felt someone watching him. Across the hall’s width, demurely confident in her political victory, Countess Sonya stood, staring like a predator. She had positioned herself so that anytime he looked at his wife, he would have to see her. That was how women worked, he thought, annoyed. He made his eyes face forward, at the general’s wrinkled face.
The walls to the left and right were lined with statue-like guards, swords unsheathed, tips down, on the cold marble, gauntleted hands folded over the pommels. In theory, they were supposed to protect him from harm, although he doubted how quickly they could react with such a large crowd of nobles cramming the approach to the throne. Fools, all of them.
Flanking his throne were those few he labeled his most trusted advisers, but they were hardly any better than the rest of the audience. Like cowards, they tried to insinuate their truths, hinting, suggesting, terrified of confronting him. Only Philip had some guts, but even he was always fretting and worrying. The chief spy was concerned that bringing in the nomads would precipitate an all-out war with the other realms rather than bring the deterrence that Leopold sought.
Well, it was not a meaningless assumption, but it underlined all that was rotten in the soul of his nation. Eracia had become a shadow of its former glory and might. Not through an overnight revolution, but a slow decay, a corruption that had taken three generations to bloom to its full filthy might. Adam’s work had finally destroyed the monarchy, robbed it of its army and dignity.
This new war was more than just a petty squabble over territorial gains or family honor. It would decide the future of the realms. Whoever held Athesia would control the economical might of the lands. The dead emperor had proven that. Now, Eracia could only stand by and watch helplessly as the Parusites carved reality in lands and blood. Leopold needed some kind of leverage, fast.
But his Privy Council just did not understand. They all feared the foreign intervention. Philip had argued that the nation’s deterrence would be destroyed if they let the nomad tribes march across the border. Internal discord and the heavily fortified border castles were what kept the realm safe from the clans. But this war would unite the tribes, and once past the Eracian defenses, they could easily turn on their allies. Only this time, they would attack from within the country, using its cities as bases, and well-paved roads to travel quickly.
Leopold was willing to accept the risk. If he wasn’t, he should not rule. The High Council of Trade had embraced Adam’s son and championed him, knowing all too well the hazard of breeding an emperor inside their own realm. The Parusites had once again ridden forth in all their strength, leaving their lands unprotected. Even that stupid girl Amalia was ready to risk everything to secure the future of Athesia. Meanwhile, Eracia hunkered like a beaten dog, licking its wounds, waiting for scraps.
That would not do.
The governor coughed. Leopold banished his thoughts and looked at Kai. Ah, yes. The gift in return. Smiling, he gestured for the steward to reciprocate. Moving with all the pomp of his station, Kai reached toward a silk-clothed table behind him, lifted a large sword, and handed it to the mercenary general.
“May your hand be true,” Leopold said. His aristocrats nodded sagely in approval.
Frowning with concentration, the Kataji chieftain drew the sword and inspected the metalwork. He pursed his lips once or twice, glanced down the length of the blade, turned it over, hefted it to check the balance, and finally, made a slow cutting stroke.
Then, he unbuckled his own sword and threw it on the ground. He put on the new gift around his hips. “A most worthy gift, Your Majesty!”
The price for letting the tribesmen enter Eracia had been high. Fifty chests of gold, which he did not have, and had to borrow from his nobles in return for vague promises. One thousand virgin girls would be given over to chieftains and their best warriors as prize women. They would also gain ten years of free trade with all major cities in Eracia, countless boxes of goods and spices that would be sent to the clans.
In return for peace, Leopold could free his northern and western armies from guarding the frontier with the noma
ds and send them to threaten the Parusites. Thirty thousand men, strengthened by twice as many tribe warriors and sell-swords. After twenty years of humiliation, he had a mighty force that everyone would have to reckon with. He would not go down in the books as Adam the Conqueror, curse his soul, but he would be remembered as a monarch who revived the glory of his realm.
His court should be pleased with their ruler. Instead, they could only count the coin he owed them and fret over the filthy, disturbing presence of the nomads in Somar. True, he hated the sight of his paved streets polluted with these strangers and their strange ways. He didn’t like how the Alley of Kings festered with men wearing pelts and trinkets in their hair. Kogan’s Park was scarred with hoofprints and littered with horse dung, as the primitives had no notion of beauty. Every corner, every shop, every brothel had the clan people lined up, grinning, arguing, tinkering, trying to sell things, taking liberties with women. The cold didn’t stop them. They were used to harsh life in their hills.
A long time ago, Leopold knew, the nomads had wandered from the Red Desert across the Akan Mountains to the far reaches in the north. Then, some unknown chain of calamities forced them to settle down and become more or less like the realms. Except they didn’t have a notion of cities or law or order. They had roamed the lands for several generations, pillaging, stealing, until Vergil had brought down his hammer and crushed them. Since, they kept to their clans, warring between themselves mostly, keeping a safe and respectable distance from Eracian wrath.
The monarch hated to admit it, but while his armies were busy parading and lamenting the days gone past, when the sight of Eracia’s regiments was enough to cause grown men to shit themselves, the nomads spent their life in battle. They didn’t need much reason to shed blood. No two clans were alike.
Leopold’s invitation to spill blood on his behalf had somewhat united them, enough to put their feuds aside and ride forth to hear him out, curious after ten generations of silence. Now they served him, and he hoped that this alliance would lead to a new era of cooperation between Eracia and the tribes. Leopold did not intend to send only merchants with the spices and gold. He planned on sending teachers and books so they would tame these mongrels and make a peaceful nation of them.
To his chagrin, Leopold had not been privy to the negotiations with the Kataji. Margrave Philip, Konrad, Sonya, and Master of Coin Quade had done all of the work. He had been forced to stay in the capital and wait for war reports from Athesia.
And then, there was that letter from Amalia.
Leopold suspected Sonya had done most of the talking, the scheming bitch. She was crazy with her craving for a better title. But she had it right, no matter how much he despised her. Eracia could not remain on the sidelines. Leopold could not allow to be perceived as a gelded fool.
Once they had ensnared General Pacmad, it was a done deal. The other chieftains had hurried to join his side, not to be bested by their rival. The Kataji might be the strongest, but they sure weren’t the most fierce, they said.
He wanted this stupid ceremony to be over. It was just a show, anyway, staged to please his court and the tribesmen, nothing more. All the little details had been worked out in advance. And when the first snows thawed, the armies would march south and east. Except…
The letter from Amalia.
There was just that one doubt in his heart. The message seemed genuine, but it was months late. He had no fresh information of what was happening in Roalas. But was the empress so desperate to offer such generous terms? Then why had she locked up his emissaries as her hostages? Why go through all the trouble if she wanted peace and alliance with Eracia?
Well, she would have to negotiate with his forces when they showed up before her city’s gates.
“Our bargain is sealed, and it cannot be broken,” General Pacmad said, scattering his thoughts.
Leopold nodded and smiled amicably. “It cannot be broken,” he intoned. Well, time to focus on making the realms tremble before the might of the Eracian forces. It would not be easy.
“Your Majesty, I have one more gift for you,” the chieftain said, almost as an afterthought.
Leopold arched a brow and looked at Kai. The steward shrugged. Strange, the monarch thought. Kai was supposed to know everything about these tribesmen. Well, so be it. He was eager to get this charade over with. Then, he would have to endure an hour with his cretin son and finally be free to enjoy himself. He might like some music, but the city was empty of great performers in the winter. Perhaps a dance show, with women. He would make Kai attend to it.
One of Pacmad’s warriors handed him a hatchet. It was weighed down with a bear paw. Stupid mongrels and their primitive customs. The weapon was small and looked heavy. But it also looked wickedly sharp, and it gleamed in the midmorning light seeping through the frosted glass panes.
Then, Leopold saw the hatchet spin, flying, hitting him in the chest.
There was no pain, but then, there was no air. He heard someone scream. It was Diana. Kai was on his knees. The hall was in total chaos. The aristocrats were trying to flee. Behind them, the honor guard was pushing forward, trying to reach their monarch.
A few of his men had drawn their ornamental swords and were fighting the tribesmen. Through the open doors, a horde of soldiers in fur and wolf pelts and bearskin cloaks was running. Not his men.
What was going on?
Leopold tried to draw breath once again. It didn’t work. That stupid hatchet was buried in his rib cage, black blood seeping through his rich silk. Such a shame. He tried to stand up and collapsed. There was someone towering above him. It was General Pacmad.
“Eleven generations ago, your king raped the women of my family in their beds. Then, he made them cook him his meals. And then he left. Afterward, he came back and took away the bastard children to raise them as Eracians. There’s no greater insult to a Kataji warrior than to take him away from his clan. But we waited. For eleven generations, we waited.”
Leopold reached up with a red hand, but the chieftain smacked it away. Behind the mongrel, men were running, howling, dying.
“I must thank you for letting us get here. We don’t know how to conquer cities. But we know how to fight men, when they stand eye to eye with us and do not hide behind giant walls.” The Father of the Bear spat on the dying monarch. “I know you. You think us primitive. But I read books to my children every night. And we pray to the gods at dawn. You are a fool, Leopold of Eracia, and now we will rape your women and take away your sons.”
Gurgling, Leopold turned over, feeling the cold steps of his throne dais rub against his shoulders. From the awkward upside-down angle, he could see the battle unravel in clear, morbid detail. Countess Sonya was lying on the ground in torn clothes, a gang of tribesmen on top of her. If he could cackle, he would have.
Philip was kneeling, arms raised, that coward. He couldn’t see Diana. But she must have run away to try to save Ludwig. Well, he sure wouldn’t miss any one of them. They were all incompetent fools. His advisers, his nobles, his retarded offspring, every one of them. Finally, he would have peace, and no one would be able to annoy him anymore or try to blackmail him. He would have all the time for himself.
The sounds slowly faded away. And then the colors dimmed. Leopold closed his eyes. The world was shrinking to a tiny black dot, and he welcomed it.
CHAPTER 57
Calemore was leaning against a tree, rolling a peel of apple skin between his teeth. It was now as thin as a butterfly’s wing, but he was too distracted to notice. Garnet sap, refusing to ice in the cold, was sticking to his white cloak, almost like leeches.
Elia was sitting on a rock not far away, seemingly lost in thought. She was cold and miserable, wrapped in blankets, but she bore it with stubborn resilience. Their horses were trying to weed some old, frozen grass from beneath the patches of dirty, crusted snow. Winter was slowly losing its grip, but it would be several weeks still before flowers burst from the ground.
The White Witch
had brought the goddess here almost ten days back. There was nothing to do but wait. He spent his time hunting, exploring the vegetation, and watching his store of apples slowly dwindle. Elia tried to busy herself by tending to their small camp, but there was only so much you could do while awaiting your death. Damian was bound to arrive soon. The sooner, the better, Calemore mused with some bitterness. Impatience finally gets you, so close to your goal, he thought morbidly, counting the centuries gone past since the Sundering. And how he fretted like a human, watching every frost-hazed sunrise with childish anticipation. It annoyed him.
He pushed back from the tree and had to tug on his cloak to free it of the sappy mouths. He walked to the fire and placed another log there. The blackened pot with their lunch bubbled softly, chunks of greasy elk meat bobbing on the surface. Food fit for a common woodsman. Not a dignified way for someone like him to be spending his time, he admitted morosely.
Not fifty paces away, free of any snow or dirt, was the Womb, their goal. His goal. The cairn-like pile of stones might appear to be nothing more than a burial spot of some ancient warrior, until you noticed the snow line ending at a perfect distance from the monument.
Calemore flexed his fingers. He would have to wait.
And then, he heard the noise.
Whoever was coming didn’t bother concealing their approach. He could hear the jingle of the harness even if he could not hear the hooves clapping on the needle bed. He could hear the tiny branches snapping. Well, they must know he was there. The smoke from their fire was clearly visible for leagues around. Not that he worried about any human intruders.
Whatever it was that imbued this place, it triggered a natural aversion among humans. With the magical barriers down, there was nothing to protect the Womb from curious travelers. And yet, all roads went around the place, wriggling away as if nudged by an invisible wall. The elements had reclaimed their control of the City of Gods, but people knew better. They avoided this place.
The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) Page 63
