by R. T. Kaelin
Their dresses rustling, the three noblewomen stopped before the men. Duchess Adnil fixed her stare on Jak and asked, “Are you hurt, young man?” She had stopped chuckling, but still wore an amused smile.
“Ah, no. I’m fine, thank you.”
“Good to hear,” replied Duchess Adnil. With a twinkle to her eye, she added, “I wish I could get that kind of response every time I entered a room. It would make my days so much more enjoyable.”
Jak’s cheeks and neck turned an even deeper shade of red. Facing the baroness, he said apologetically, “Lady Vivienne, I’m sorry for the mess I made.” Holding up the goblet that he had successfully retrieved, he added, “And for this.” The cup had a few flattened dents on the lip and base from bouncing on the hard marble floor. “I’ll pay for it. Somehow.”
Nathan wondered where Jak thought he could get the ducats. The goblet looked expensive.
Duchess Aleece said, “Nonsense, Jak. You will do no such thing.”
Jak looked to the duchess.
“You know my name?”
“Of course,” replied the noblewoman. “Vivienne has been keeping me apprised of everything. If I am not mistaken, your martial training is progressing well, yes? I have heard you have quite the mind for tactics, as well.”
Jak stood, mouth open, speechless.
Turning her gaze to Zecus, the duchess said, “You as well, Zecus Alsher—although I hear the spear and staff suit you better.”
Zecus managed better than Jak, offering a small bow and a gracious, if slightly befuddled, “Thank you, my Lady.”
Nathan took a small step forward and said, “Excuse me, my Lady, but neither know of your involvement with the Manes.” The confused stares of Jak and Zecus now turned on him. Ignoring them for the moment, he glanced at Lady Vivienne. “I was unsure if you wished them to know yet.”
Duchess Aleece shifted her gaze to Nathan. For the first time, Nathan noticed the duchess’ soft, hazel eyes. They were stunning.
“And you must be the Red Sentinel sergeant, then? Nathan Trell?”
She gave him a friendly smile, completely disarming him. Forced to swallow a lump that had inexplicably appeared in his throat, he inclined his head and responded, “I am, my Lady.”
The duchess’ smile widened.
“Commander Aiden has had nothing but high praise for you, Master Sergeant. Thank you for all you have sacrificed. Your mettle and conviction astound me.”
Nathan’s neck felt warm.
“Thank you, my Lady. You are too kind.”
Jak muttered, “Hold a moment.” He glanced at Duchess Aleece. “If she knows about the Shadow Manes, does that mean she knows about…uh…” He trailed off, unsure what he should or should not say.
With slight smile, Duchess Aleece said, “Your brother and sister? Broedi? The White Lions? Oh yes, Jak. Most definitely, I do. I was a member of the Manes long before I ever sat in the Sovereign’s Chair.”
Jak and Zecus were dumbfounded, Boah and Joshmuel only slightly less so. Perhaps the older Borderlanders had experienced enough shock for one day. A hint of a grin rested upon Duchess Aleece’s face. Apparently, she found their bafflement mildly amusing.
Jak glared at Nathan.
“You knew?”
With a quiet sigh an apologetic shrug, Nathan said, “I did. Broedi told me before he left.”
“And you didn’t tell us?”
“I promised not to,” said Nathan. “I am sorry, Jak. Truly.”
Joshmuel shook his head, murmuring, “All of this is very confusing to me.”
Boah added with a lopsided grin, “I’m glad I’m not the only one.” Holding up his goblet, his smile widened as he said, “I thought perhaps this wine was stronger than it tasted.”
With a smile, Duchess Aleece conceded, “Explanations are owed to you all, I suppose.”
Eyeing the noblewoman, Nathan asked politely, “May I do so, my Lady? I feel obligated to explain my silence to Jak and Zecus. While I understood the need for it, I am not proud of my part in the deception.”
Her deep, hazel eyes shifted to him, swallowing him. She gave him a tiny smile and said, “I shall add honorable to the long list of your admirable traits.” She waved her hand toward the other men. “Please share what you will.”
Turning to address the young men, Nathan said, “Before he left, Broedi warned me of what might come to pass today. At the time, the plans were still under discussion but—” he glanced at the baroness “—Lady Vivienne convinced him that should today’s show become necessary, it would be best if Zecus remain ignorant of his role.”
Nathan turned to the frowning Borderlander and said, “He hated to deceive you, Zecus—as did I—but we agreed with the baroness. And after seeing what transpired in the chamber, I can see there was merit to the choice. I am, however, sorry for my role in your deception. You as well, Jak. I could not tell you, Nikalys, or Kenders for fear one of you would slip. Or, tell Zecus outright.”
Jak frowned, saying, “Which is exactly what I would have done had I known.” Shaking his head, he eyed the noblewomen and asked, “Was all the deceit necessary?”
“Perhaps not,” said Duchess Aleece. “But it was the most effective means by which to accomplish our goals. We now have a public alliance of three duchies, possibly five if things go well with Eli and Catherine. And, we managed to do so without revealing anything about the prophecy, the Progeny, or the White Lions.” A smile crossed her lips. “Even Rholeb is unaware of what is truly happening. He believes Vanson is behind everything.”
Duchess Adnil added, “And do not forget the power of the whispered word.” She shifted her sharp-eyed gaze to Zecus. “Your outburst in the balcony was perfectly dramatic, young man. By now, half of Freehaven has heard what you saw in that demon’s camp. Within weeks, all of the Freelands will be talking about the invasion. By Year’s End, Duke Kyle will have no choice but to join us.”
“What about the other duchies?” asked Jak. “It will take turns to deliver messages and get responses.”
A sly smile on her face, Duchess Adnil said, “Actually, it won’t.”
Cocking an eyebrow, Jak asked, “Do you have horses that can fly, my Lady? Because I don’t see how you could reach the Foothills in under two turns. And the Colonial Duchy? How long does it take to sail there?”
Duchess Aleece, somewhat reluctantly, answered, “You have touched upon a rather closely guarded secret amongst the First Council, Jak.” She glanced at the Long Coast duchess. “Should I?”
With a short huff, Duchess Adnil said, “You’re hesitant about sharing this? Considering to whom we’re speaking, I believe we can share.” Turning to face the waiting men, the older woman said, “When the First Council outlawed magic two and a half centuries ago a provision—one that was never publicly disclosed, of course—was written into the law. Simply put, the ten sovereigns are exempt.”
Nathan raised his eyebrows in surprise.
Duchess Adnil continued, “While all mages were removed from the courts, a number of the more useful magical artifices remained, many of which we continue to employ to this day. Some allow for much more efficient communication than that by horse or ship. Council business would be nigh impossible without it.”
Duchess Aleece said, “Lady Vivienne will be happy to explain much of this to you, but it will have to wait until later.”
The frown upon the baroness’ lips indicated that she was not pleased by the prospect of having to explain anything to anyone.
Duchess Aleece nodded at the wall and said, “For the moment, we must get going. Storm Island awaits.”
Nathan turned a surprised eye toward the duchess.
“You are going back with us?” asked Jak. “Both of you?”
Duchess Aleece nodded, saying, “Yes, but only for a few hours. I have been quite anxious to meet your brother and sister.”
Addressing Duchess Adnil, Nathan said politely, “Pardon me, my Lady, for all that Broedi shared with me, he never ment
ioned you as a member of the Manes.”
“Because I am not,” replied Duchess Adnil. “Until Aleece approached me a few weeks ago, I had no idea of their existence. Or of the growing threat in the Borderlands.”
Glowering at Duchess Aleece, Jak said, “The Cabal is intent on finding and killing my brother and sister. I think it’d be best if you don’t go around telling people about them.”
Lady Vivienne sucked in a quick, furious breath and glared at Jak. Nathan frowned. One did not go giving orders to a duchess.
The ruler of the Southlands held Jak’s gaze, silently studying the black-haired young man, her expression blank and unreadable.
A long, quiet moment passed. Surprisingly, Duchess Adnil broke the tense silence.
“Young man, Aleece spent her childhood with me, growing up at court in Albonia. She is as much family to me as your foster brother and sister are to you. I am more than capable of keeping her secrets.”
Jak gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Oh, well. I suppose that is fine, then.”
With a calm, kind voice, Duchess Aleece said, “Jak, I admire your devotion to your brother and sister. And, I know that your words come from a place of good intentions.” She paused for moment and, with hands clasped in front of her, took two, quick steps toward Jak. In an instant, her eyes grew hard and her voice sharp. “But if you were to ever address me in that manner in public, I would have you arrested on the spot, tossed in the stockade, and flogged in the nearest town square.” Raising her voice, she snapped off each word, crisply and clearly, “My position demands respect. A leader cannot lead without it, do you understand that?”
Jak wilted like a fresh flower tossed in a blacksmith’s forge. With a tiny, contrite nod, he said softly, “Yes, my Lady.”
Tempering her tone slightly, the duchess added, “I am glad. Because soon, many will be looking to you for guidance.”
Jak looked up.
“Me?”
Duchess Aleece nodded.
“You are the sibling of the Progeny, whether in blood or not. As this war grows—and it will—your responsibility will grow as well. And I request—nay, I demand—that you rise to the challenge. You are not an olive farmer anymore, Jak. Stop acting like one.”
Nathan noticed a slight grin of approval on Duchess Adnil’s lips.
A visibly chastised Jak said, “I am sorry, my Lady. I spoke hastily and without thought. I am unfamiliar with being in the presence of nobility.”
Duchess Aleece smiled warmly. The firm authoritativeness melted away so quickly and completely, Nathan was not sure if it had ever been there in the first place.
“I am no different from you, Jak. I worry, hope, love, and cry. Yet, when I am performing my role as ‘Duchess Aleece, Sovereign of the Southlands,’ I expect all of the respect my position deserves. The rest of the time, I prefer to be treated like any other person.”
Nathan’s opinion of Duchess Aleece continued to rise. She was everything a ruler should be.
Duchess Adnil stepped forward, patted Duchess Aleece on the back, and promptly said, “Now that the lesson in etiquette is over, can we continue on? I truly have but a few hours before my advisors come looking for me.”
“Of course, Aunt Adnil,” replied Duchess Aleece. Turning to Lady Vivienne, she said, “The key, please?”
Lady Vivienne reached into a fold of her dress, pulled out the unusual key she had used to open the port at Storm Island, and handed it over to Duchess Aleece’s outstretched hand. The duchess strode to the back wall—her grand, Southlands-blue dress swishing as she walked—and dragged the key along the stone, opening a rippling black rift. Turning back to face the group assembled in the room, she said with a glint in her eye, “Let’s go see the Progeny, shall we?”
Without waiting for an answer, she wheeled around and stepped through the port. One after another, they walked into the inky blackness suspended between two flaps of the wall. As Nathan strode to the wall, a small smile touched his lips. He wondered what Nikalys and Kenders would think when they came face to face with two sovereigns of the Oaken Duchies.
Chapter 9: Kur-surus
8th of the Turn of Luraana, 4999
Battles were chaos distilled.
The low thudding of the grayskins’ war chants rumbled in Okollu’s chest as much as it beat against his eardrums. The blade-men’s incessant shrieking and clicking was thrice as bad, each shrill call feeling like a bladed quill digging into his skull. He cursed both races as he ran. Their racket was making it difficult for his pack to hear his directions.
Okollu sprinted, along with the rest of the Drept pack, through the dry, grassy plains and toward the great stone walls of Gobas. Great, jagged gaps in the sand-colored ramparts awaited him and his pack mates, holes caused by the flying rocks tossed by the grayskins and their cursed nedabiks. Men stood atop the walls; more smooth-faces would die today.
Thick, black smoke filled the air, making each gasping breath that Okollu drew a torturous one. Much of the city ahead of him was on fire, caused by the grayskins sending bolts of lightning beyond the walls. Okollu was relieved that part of the assault was over. Thunder made the pack skittish.
He stared at the towering walls as he rushed through the grass, a low, angry growl slipping from his throat. The Drept should not be here. This was not their fight.
Baaldòk’s voice bellowed over the other din of battle.
“Through the breach!”
Okollu looked over his shoulder to see the false tas-vilku of the Drept pointing to one of the gaps with his oversized sword. The red-skinned diavol ran with the pack, sprinting faster than any creature with two legs should move.
Loping on all fours, Okollu turned to study the indicated hole in the wall. The gap was narrow and well-defended still. Men stood atop the intact sections on either side, armed with the stringed weapons that launched the sharp, pointed sticks. An open charge through the walls meant more Drept would die today.
Baaldòk shouted, “Okollu! The breach!”
The diavol wanted him, needed him to relay the order. The pack was spread out over the plains and the battle’s cacophony drowned out even Baaldòk’s echoing voice.
Okollu hesitated a moment as he considered giving a different order, wondering what would happen if he called for a retreat instead. He delayed long enough that Baaldòk reiterated his demand, roaring, “Okollu! Now!”
He wanted nothing more than to turn and rip the demon’s throat open. Yet he maintained control. He could not take the demon alone.
“Okollu!” screamed Baaldòk.
Okollu waited a moment longer before tossing his head back and loosing a long howl, adjusting pitch and tone to convey Baaldòk’s orders to the rest of the pack. When he was done, he snapped off the cry and shut his jaw, smacking his teeth together with enough force to snap the leg bone of a boar. Okollu, along with hundreds of the Drept pack, shifted directions and aimed for the breach.
As the pack turned, new kur-surus moved to run at his side. Grrash, an all gray female, sprinted on his left. Rargol, a brown-furred male with black markings on his muzzle, was on his right. Both were good hunters, Grrash was one of the best the Drept pack had.
Staring ahead to the walls, he watched as one of the giant machines perched atop a tower loosed a ball of flame from its cup. The sphere soared through the air, tumbling and dripping fire as it flew. Okollu eyed the ball carefully, trying to gauge where it might land. His two hearts began to pound even harder than they had been as he realized the globe would land in the midst of the Drept.
Okollu tilted his head back and began to howl a warning to his pack when Baaldòk cried out, “Do not stop! Straight ahead!”
Snapping his jaw shut, Okollu whipped his head around to glare at the diavol. Baaldòk’s disregard for the pack was maddening. Facing forward, he stared into the blue sky and watched the ball of flame hurtling straight for him. A long trail of white smoke trailed the sphere.
Okollu did not want
to die today. He could not die today. With his death, hope for the Drept would perish as well.
Moments before the fire crashed to the ground, Okollu dragged his right paw through the grass, pretending to trip and stumble. As he tumbled to the ground, he reached out and grabbed Grrash—she was closer than Rargol—wrapping his fingers around the bone where leg met hind paw. As the two fell to the ground, sliding through grass and dirt, Okollu heard the sizzle of the flames and felt a flash of heat.
Fire, dust, and chunks of dirt exploded a dozen paces ahead of Okollu and Grrash. A dozen kur-surus yipped and howled in pain. Okollu lifted his head and saw several of his pack mates on fire. Rargol—running by his side only moments ago—lay dead a dozen paces away. His body was bloody, charred, and absent its head. Okollu would not have even known it was Rargol were it not for the brown and black fur.
As dust and dirt rained down on Okollu, he heard Baaldòk roar, “Keep going! Take the walls!”
Drept rushed past Okollu and Grrash, dashing around the crater in the ground and ignoring their dead pack mates. Grrash whipped her head around and glared at Okollu, her yellow eyes wide an angry. Kicking her leg, she growled, “Let go of me!”
The moment Okollu released her paw, she jumped to all fours and began to sprint straight for the breach. If this were any other fight, Okollu would admire her bravery. Yet it was not courage driving Grrash forward.
“Get up!” shouted Baaldòk. The diavol grabbed Okollu by the scruff, hoisted him from the ground, and shoved him toward the walls. “Get into the city!” His blood-red eyes danced with the reflected flames of the burning bodies and grass. “Now!”
Swallowing his hatred like a hunk of rotten meat, Okollu growled, “Yes, tas-vilku.”
Baaldòk began to run toward Gobas and Okollu followed, wondering what the point of attacking this place was. Utter destruction seemed to be the only goal here. It made no sense.
Soon, the pointed sticks of the men began to rain down on the Drept, striking down even more of his pack. A low, constant growl hovered in Okollu’s throat as he ran. He hated this war.
