The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4)

by Igor Ljubuncic

  Only he would let Amalia choose first. Peace, and he’d let her live.

  Sometimes, before sleep, he wondered why he didn’t lust for revenge against that girl so much anymore. It must be Vlad’s death. Or maybe the fact he had destroyed Athesia and through that liberated his own soul. Killing wasn’t as satisfying as he had imagined it to be, and the responsibility he had for these people under his reign now blunted his desire for vengeance even further. In fact, it felt like a burden, bitter, boring, will sapping.

  Sergei rose and spread his arms in greeting. Yuri stepped into the hall, still filthy from travel. He was tailed by a handful of knights of his house, and they all trailed road dust after them.

  “Your Highness,” the duke said, bowing. The men behind him went down on one knee, tapping their chests in salute.

  “Yuri, I am glad to see you. I wish we could have met in Sigurd for the Autumn Festival banquet. Alas, we must remain here in this cursed land.” He knew he did not sound as aloof and regal as he should, but he just couldn’t care anymore.

  “My troops are ready for war,” the duke announced. Some of his old-time conviction was back, the memory of his last year’s failure washed away. Sergei hoped all his lords would arrive clothed in fresh morale. They had let him down during the Siege of Roalas, and in turn, he had abandoned them. Now, they all had a chance to redeem themselves.

  “Please join me. Now, I’m afraid I have summoned you to help me make peace.” Sergei pointed toward a chair.

  The duke waited until Sergei sat down. Then he took his own place. He beat his gloves against the edge of the table, then tossed them onto the map. Matvey came over to pour wine.

  “Peace?”

  “I am going to offer Empress Amalia peace. If she swears loyalty to me, she will be pardoned, and all her men will be spared. Athesia will integrate into the realm, fully.”

  Yuri sloshed the wine in his mouth, buying himself time until he could think it through. “Your Highness, that is a bold decision.” If he were disappointed, furious, or even slightly apprehensive, he tried to hide it behind the patina of brown chalk on his whiskered cheeks.

  “If she refuses,” Sergei said, leaning over the table, pushing a painted lead weight that marked Amalia’s presence near Ecol, “then we will be having a war. This time, I will not be merciful.”

  Yuri pointed his chin east, past the glazed windows and paintings. “Your Highness, I have noticed quite a bit of traffic on the road ever since we passed Keron. Are those Athesian refugees returning home?”

  Can I tell him about the meeting with Gavril? No, I cannot. Not everything. “The clergy has established a strong presence near the town. They are now marching north. Apparently, the priests believe there will be a conflict with some unknown force coming from outside the realms.” Nonsense. Myth. Then, he could not forget the sight of those bodies returning home, or those pigs, slashed and pierced and butchered, and their wounds never quite so round and clean. He could not forget the look on Vasiliy’s face as he tried to grasp the shame and failure of the royal house.

  Yuri nodded. “Faith in this land is a good thing.”

  A safe, neutral statement. Sergei ignored the pious chitchat. “What is the news from back home?”

  “Intriguing, Your Highness,” the duke said. “There is peace at the borders, but…” He paused. “The Batha’n people have suspended trade with us recently, for an unknown reason. Likewise, the Badanese convoys will not travel north of Sigurd. From what I’ve heard, there are dozens of their ships moored in the city’s harbor. They say they are waiting for the storm to pass.”

  Sergei frowned. Once, he had been a very religious man, and he would have felt a tingle of respectful fear down his spine whenever he heard an ominous snippet of news. Recently, he had grown to dislike rumors and gossip that professed the divine. He believed they were just tools of manipulation, created by the patriarchs and well honed to popular use. Now, as if the world was testing his resolve, he was being taunted by omens everywhere.

  Gavril, now my own dukes are telling me bedtime horrors. “Intriguing,” he agreed.

  The duke nodded. “Other than that, the realm is prosperous. The harvests will be bountiful, and the banditry is at an all-time low. Even the Red Desert tribes are quite docile recently. I can hardly remember the last time I had to hang a brigand.”

  Sergei looked at his trusted scribe. Genrik was there, inconspicuous, like an ancient decoration, sitting outside of plain view and yet seeing and hearing everything, his hand deftly scratching ink lines over expensive paper, writing history. One day, Sergei knew, he would be measured by those pages. But would they tell just the boring facts, or maybe, would they also present his reasoning, his fears, his doubts, his courage? Probably not. Otherwise, how would future generations make the same mistakes as him, if not through ignorance of the lessons of the past?

  I wish I could have sat with Pyotr to hear him think. Or the Eracian hero Vergil. Even Emperor Adam. He would have loved to have been there, to try to understand how their minds worked and how they had made themselves immortal.

  “What is your strength?”

  Yuri put the cup down. “Seventeen hundred heavy horse from my own household, plus about two thousand light cavalry, scouts, and some auxiliary units. About eighteen thousand footmen and men-at-arms, as well as three thousand crossbowmen and archers. I have brought basic supplies, food, and tools for approximately two months’ worth of campaigning.”

  Reports mentioned almost twenty thousand men walking and riding behind Pavel. Within days, he would triple the strength of his army in Roalas. “I will need you to relinquish about one thousand spearmen for the city regiment, and another thousand for the tax duties and the Gasua garrison. You will take the rest north, toward Ecol, where you will join my sister’s forces.”

  Duke Yuri looked down at the map. “Empress Amalia?” he asked.

  Sergei tapped the mining city, maybe a little too forcefully. “She is holding Ecol and all the territories north from there. So far, she’s withstood several attacks and avoided getting besieged. However, her troops are exhausted and severely depleted. She is roughly matched with the Red Caps, but you will sway the odds in our favor. Should there be more killing.” Peace. He would offer peace first.

  “Your Highness,” Yuri spoke in polite, inevitable agreement.

  “Peace or death, those are her only options,” Sergei said, maybe trying to convince himself.

  Yuri snapped his fingers, motioning for Matvey to refill his cup. “Do you have any idea what really happened with Adam’s daughter, Your Highness? I heard Empress Amalia remained hidden in her brother’s camp for several months. Then, one day she revealed herself, and he embraced her. Then, she had the bastard murdered.”

  Sergei snorted, slightly annoyed. He remembered Sasha’s letter and the incredible story of Amalia posing as a commoner before being discovered and miraculously pardoned. He still did not really believe that.

  “Emperor James was killed in battle, most likely. I am not aware how the two siblings made peace among them, and it makes no difference. We embarked on this war with Empress Amalia leading her nation. We will end it facing Amalia. Whether she has the courage to make another bold choice, it’s entirely up to her.”

  The duke raised his brows. “As you command, Your Highness.”

  Sergei gestured, a generous wave of his hand. “You have had a long travel. Please report to the city’s warehouse sergeant for resupply and repairs. Your troops must be ready to march in three days. You are welcome to lodge at the palace.”

  “I am honored, Your Highness,” Yuri said. He realized he was being dismissed. He rose, bowed curtly, and marched out, his men following.

  Sergei felt warmth on his left cheek. He turned his head and saw Genrik looking at him. “Yes?”

  Genrik offered a thin smile. “I am pleased to see you like this, Your Highness. There is pain in your heart, but you are the leader of our nation once again. Parus needs a strong ki
ng.”

  “Perhaps it does. Perhaps it does.”

  Later, he summoned Lady Lisa. She arrived into the court room shadowed by two Red Caps. Sergei wondered what motivated her now. Fear? Hope? Did she believe Amalia could somehow prevail and regain the throne? Did she dread reliving the experience of her child dying again? The cold weight in his chest was a reminder of his own loss, and he would not wish it on anyone, even his enemies. I regret to inform you that your son has been killed.

  No.

  He dismissed everyone, including the high scribe. He wanted no one else to hear this.

  She was watching him with a patient, passive expression on her face. He had to admire her courage. After all she had been through, he could never detect rancor in her eyes, nor any evil in her words and acts. She bore her captivity well, unafraid, resolved, at peace with her decisions. He envied her.

  “You have called for me, Your Highness?”

  Any other day, he would have loved to debate the future of Athesia with her, to hear her perspective on the recent developments in Eracia, to talk about Amalia or the High Council, to figure out what he should do with the clergy, but other things troubled him. The fact that Badanese ships would not sail north. Gavril’s story. Stupid, silly omens.

  “Do you recall the day your husband defeated my father’s army?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  His heart was fluttering, he realized. “What happened? What truly happened?”

  She made a small, ladylike shrug. “My husband defeated the Parusite forces, Your Highness.”

  Sergei leaned forward. “I want details.”

  The former empress-mother waited until he reclined, as if he was some unruly boy. “I do not have much to tell. It was a quick, brutal battle, veiled in morning mist and rain. I watched from the city battlements, and all I saw was the Parusite cavalry ranks being mowed down. Adam won.”

  He inhaled sharply through his nostrils. From the first time since he’d met her, he felt like she was lying to him. Explicitly lying. “I find that rather improbable. Something else happened.”

  Lady Lisa was silent again, thinking. The corner of her lip twitched. “You must have heard the stories.”

  “I have,” Sergei responded, trying to keep his budding anger down. “But I do not want rumors and bards’ follies and soldiers’ secondhand gossip. I want to know what happened that day. How was my father’s army defeated so quickly?”

  “I do not know the full extent of the truth, Your Highness.” That twitch again. “It was a confusing day, full of terror and excitement and wonder. Many people would swear they witnessed a miracle that day, but as time passed, you could not tell truth from fiction. Now, all that remains is the legend. The question is, do you want to believe that? Is that the answer you sought these past twenty years?”

  “I want the truth,” he insisted, not quite sure if he really wanted to hear.

  “The truth can be difficult to comprehend sometimes.” A long, long pause. “Do you believe in magic, Your Highness?”

  Do you believe in magic, Your Highness…

  There it was. Just as he had feared. So what now? “I will ask you something else instead, my lady. A priest named Gavril is massing his congregation not far from Keron. You must have heard. He’s asked me to lead my troops north to face an ancient enemy coming to destroy the realms.” Amalia’s mother was looking at him without blinking. “He’s also asked me to make peace. What would you advise me?”

  “You know my stance on the matter, Your Highness. You can continue waging war against your opponents”—her voice faltered slightly at the last word—“or you can focus on doing something meaningful. Giving people hope. Creating a legacy that will outlast you.”

  “Either way, I will be remembered.” He pursed his lips. “Some will name their children in my honor. Others will swear I was the greatest hero to have ever lived. Many others will probably curse my late mother.”

  She shook her head, unconvinced. And what about Vlad? The unspoken thought floated between them. How will you justify his death? You cannot. Your only salvation is peace, a courageous peace with your foes. Just like Emperor Adam did.

  “Everyone wants me to make peace. For one reason or another. I understand your motives. But I am not sure I can trust this man Gavril. So what would you have me do?” He didn’t want it to sound like a request, but his tone was sharp. A plea, a polite, respectful plea.

  Lady Lisa squirmed, took a deep breath. Sergei wished he could know what she was thinking, how her mind worked. He craved to understand how this magnificent woman operated.

  “Ancient enemy, coming to destroy the realms?” she repeated.

  He waited.

  “You must not disregard that possibility,” she said at last. A tingle crept down his spine. The patriarchs would probably condemn him for heresy, but he was beginning to suspect something he had seen a long time ago but never really bothered to acknowledge, blinded by the fear of his sire, the relief over his death, and countless generations of stern Parusite upbringing that left no room for doubt. He was beginning to understand there was more to the realms than just the plight of greedy humans fighting over land and rivers. It wasn’t about belief either. Something else, and in the recent weeks, a strange feeling nagged at him, made him uneasy. But it had been elusive, at the corner of his eye, teasing, slippery, misty.

  Meeting with Gavril had upset him. Seeing those pilgrims head north worried him. Now, talking to this woman, who did not presume to speak for gods or armies, it all fell into place. He was no longer just entertaining suspicion. He was certain. Magic was not just a fragment of ancient tales. And if magic could exist, why not old, ancient enemies from faraway lands?

  Sergei didn’t have all the details, and he wasn’t really sure he would comprehend the whole story, but he was beginning to realize that his reign would not end in ruling over Athesians and flirting with the High Council and whoever called himself the monarch in Somar now. There was something else to consider now. Something bigger than his vendetta, his mistrust of his lords and the clergy.

  Emperor Adam, you bastard.

  Make peace with Amalia? Well, he could do it for himself. Or the people of the realms. Or maybe to prevent the realms from being obliterated by an ancient myth. The last bit made it easier. He almost felt relief against the backdrop of the terror rising in his soul.

  Do you believe in magic, Your Highness? I do now, he thought. “Thank you, my lady, as always, it’s been a pleasure. I am most grateful for your advice. You may leave if you wish.”

  She inclined her head. “Good luck, Sergei,” she said, omitting his title, surprising him. “You will need it.” Her feet shuffling on the marble, she left.

  He remained in the seat, trying to grasp the enormity of the world’s secrets and silently cursing the Eracian man who had started all this mess twenty years ago.

  CHAPTER 23

  Into the city, the soldiers went, walking on their two feet, armed and ready, frightened yet eager, spears gripped in callused hands, shields carried overhead to protect from arrows and stones. Out of the city, the soldiers came, limping, dragging themselves, many of those borne on stretchers.

  It had been a month since the ill-fated attempt to infiltrate Somar. The night mission into the market area had failed miserably. To add insult to injury, the Kataji chieftain had then lured the Eracians into another trap, opening the gates for them, making them believe all was well.

  Throughout the dun night and a bleak dawn, Bart had listened with utmost dismay to the shrieks coming from the city, the screams of death and agony as his soldiers were forced into narrow streets, pinned down with a heavy barrage of arrows, and then made to burn and suffocate in the deliberate fires set by the nomads. In the morning, he had watched the decimated battalions retreat, defeated in spirit and body.

  The fighting had continued unabated ever since.

  The Eracians were trying to force their way into Somar day and night. Fresh troops were streaming
into the killing zone, all too aware most of them would not come out unscathed. Yesterday’s forces would then return, for a brief sleep and some cold gruel, before going back into the slaughterhouse. The siege walls looked like an old tapestry, eaten by worms. Entire sections had been reduced to rubble by the trebuchet bombardment. Other parts had been sapped by Major Kilian’s engineers. Still, the bulk of it stood, and it swarmed with rotting bodies and bled black blood down its pocked sides.

  His army was holding a small section near the gate, finally captured after a week of deadly engagements against the tribesmen. For the past three weeks, the soldiers had been trying to break through the nomad lines to gain a new foothold deeper in the city. But every inch of ground was contested to the death. There was just no point surrendering or taking captives.

  The Eracians were fighting the nomads door to door, in cellars, in gutters, in narrow alleys between burned-down buildings, anywhere a man could stand and swing a blade, standing on top of wounded comrades, right in that hot, squelchy, wet red mess if need be. When the swords became too blunted to cut through leather and flesh, when the spear shafts snapped, men fought with their bare hands, clawing and spitting and punching, wrestling with the nomads, trying to kill them with shards of stone or street cobbles or pieces of rusted drains. Anything that would make the other side bleed and hurt.

  Inside well-barricaded houses, they found dead women and children, or they found starved women and children, and sometimes, the Eracian mothers and daughters joined them in the fight against the nomads. Smoke stung their eyes and made the air oily and hard to breathe. Roofs would collapse, burying men alive, and the other squad members would have to stop fighting and dig them out. Horses shied away from the narrow, packed streets, shied away from the screams and the blood and the flames. Even humans had difficulty moving through the ruins.