Rider of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  The barricade shifted. “It’s coming apart!” Imogen shouted. “Ready sabers!” Ranks of Kirkellan warriors formed up, the first two ranks still armed with gun Devices and taking shots at anything they could see. A soldier incautiously raised his head over the crumbling barricade and took a bullet in the forehead; he fell forward over the barricade, making it shift further. Then it came down entirely, and soldiers clambered over it only to be met with the massed gunfire of the first ranks of the Kirkellan. They fell, injured or dead, and more soldiers climbed over their bodies and dropped to the ground in front of the barricade, drawing their swords.

  It was a massacre. So many soldiers came over at once they didn’t have room to swing their swords without hitting an ally. The Kirkellan, accustomed to defending themselves and their horses against such strokes, parried and thrust, and thrust again, going for the soft tissues of the stomach and groin, or feinting at faces and throats. More soldiers went down, creating obstacles for their comrades to avoid or get over. The Kirkellan forced them back against the barricade, then over it, then, to Imogen’s amazement, back out the door. “Stand down!” Imogen shouted, hoarse from screams she didn’t remember making, and they all stood for a moment, heaving great breaths of weariness. “Stand down,” Imogen repeated dully. It was a heaven-sent miracle, an impossibility, and it wasn’t going to happen twice. The next time, Diana’s soldiers would be prepared. The next time….

  She looked around. Two Kirkellan dead, two more injured. One of the dead was Lorcun of her own tiermatha. They would mourn him later. For now, they had to move the bodies somewhere out of the way. “You two,” she said, too tired to remember their names, “take our fallen dead to one of the side corridors, out of the way. You—” she shook her head to clear her eyes, “I mean, Maeva, help get the wounded out of the way and see if they can continue, or take them to the infirmary. Everyone else, let’s heave the bodies—oh, damn.”

  One of the enemy soldiers lifted his head and looked directly at her. “Don’t kill me,” he pleaded.

  “I should, traitor,” Imogen said in Tremontanese.

  “I’m no traitor. I’m trying to return the kingdom to its true ruler.”

  Imogen groaned. “And I think Diana told you it is her.”

  “She’s fought the Ruskalder for years. She’s earned our trust. What has the false King ever done for us?”

  Protected this country? Ruled wisely? Worked long hours to make decisions you couldn’t bear to shoulder? “I am not going to argue with you and I am not going to kill you even though I should. Maeva,” she said, switching to Kirkellish, “as long as you have to take Aemen to the infirmary, take this fellow along too. Dorenna, tie his hands—better yet, you go along, and hurry back.”

  “You should kill him,” Dorenna said.

  “His only crime is believing that frothing bitch’s lies. But if he tries to escape, cut him down.” She looked around. “Get moving, everyone, they’ll be back.”

  Her runner came back as they were repairing the barricade and heaving bodies over it. “Colonel says report on damages and hold your position. The fighting’s reached the rotunda and the enemy forces have split. So far they’re contained.”

  Imogen heard Saevonna take in a sharp breath. “Tell them we have pushed the enemy back for now. We still hold our position and we will send word if we fall back.” If, not when. She stopped to tie her hair back more securely, then shouted, “They’re coming!”

  The second wave was much cannier than the first. Two soldiers kept low, protected from the guns by the barricade, and began dismantling it from the bottom. The Kirkellan exhausted their guns and could only watch as the barricade disintegrated before them. Realization struck Imogen and she shouted, “Take the battle to them! Tear the barricade apart!”

  The Kirkellan set to ripping apart furniture and flinging it at the soldiers, forcing them back, but eventually it was gone and they were back to saber work. These soldiers had learned the lesson of their dead comrades; they didn’t crowd together and block one another, but had plenty of room to swing their swords, and now the Kirkellan did far more parrying than they did thrusting. Men and women on both sides fell. Kionnal, in the first rank, dropped his saber and went to one knee, clutching his stomach; Areli and Dorenna both screamed his name and dove after him, Areli to pull him to safety and Dorenna to take his place. She fought like the wind, screaming and unstoppable, and in the face of her vicious attack the soldiers faltered and stepped back. “Somebody help me!” she shouted, then grunted and fell backward. Two Kirkellan rushed to take her place, and Imogen, cursing, got her hands under Dorenna’s armpits and hauled her out of range of the soldiers.

  She was unmarked. Imogen couldn’t see any wound that might have killed her, but she lay ashen-faced and limp on the floor. Imogen felt for a pulse and couldn’t find it because her hands were too shaky, that was it, not because there was no pulse to find. She tried again, and Dorenna opened her eyes and startled Imogen so much she screamed and flashed on a memory of Dorenna doing the same thing to her when she’d nearly died of lung fever. “Don’t do that!” she said, and slapped Dorenna hard, her hands shaking even more from the rush of fright.

  “Blow to the head,” Dorenna whispered. “Just let me sit a moment.”

  “Stay down,” Imogen told her, and went back to the fight.

  More Kirkellan had fallen. Areli sat with Kionnal’s head in her lap, both of them white. Areli held a wad of cloth to Kionnal’s side; it was already streaked with blood. “I’m not dead yet,” Kionnal joked, his voice too faint for comfort.

  “He needs to get to the infirmary,” Areli said.

  “We need every wounded warrior out of here, because we’ll have to fall back in a few minutes. Can you take them?”

  Areli nodded. “Get everyone moving.”

  “And tell Dorenna she’s helping you. She won’t go if she thinks she’s on the wounded list.”

  “Is she—”

  “She got hit on the head and I think she’s concussed. She’ll just get in everyone’s way if we let her stay.” Imogen looked toward the fighting. “It’s my turn in the front rank. Go.”

  She slipped past her comrades and ducked into an open slot where a warrior had just fallen, his throat slit so deeply his head bounced as he hit the floor. Imogen slit the belly of the woman who’d killed him and kicked her backward into another soldier. She parried a blow aimed at her head, ducked under it and slashed across his thighs, making him stumble right into her return strike. This was what she was made for. She was a good diplomat, but she was a phenomenal fighter, and her saber ran red with the blood of her enemies, and she laughed in their faces as power surged through her, setting her on fire. She was unstoppable. She was—

  —she was fighting nearly alone, had pressed the soldiers too far and was now separated from her comrades, and she had to back up or risk being cut off completely. Dunevin was shouting at her, words she couldn’t make out, and then someone took her place and she backed away into the other tiermatha’s captain. “We’ve lost half our force!” he shouted in her ear. “We need to fall back!”

  Imogen screamed at him wordlessly, feeling the need to kill overpowering her, and he struck her across the face. It brought her to her senses. She looked around and saw only fourteen warriors remaining upright. “Fall back! Fall back!” she shouted, and took up a position in the front rank to protect the retreating warriors. There were only three of them, and Imogen fought mechanically, counting the time it would take them to reach the fallback position, then the time it would take for them to take shelter and for the riflemen to ready their weapons. “Strike hard!” she roared, and the three of them cut down their opponents, turned, and ran as hard as they could.

  The fallback position was an intersection where a large corridor met two smaller ones. Imogen and her fellow warriors pelted into the intersection and went to their knees, then crawled as fast as they could to either side. Diana’s soldiers raced after them and ran into a solid wa
ll of gunfire. Rifle balls and Device bullets riddled them, and they collapsed, screaming, while the Kirkellan crawled behind the barricades on either side and fell to the floor, spent.

  The weapon fire went on for a while. Imogen sat up and surveyed her warriors. There were nine on her side, counting herself, Kallum, Saevonna, Revalan, and five of Dunevin’s tiermatha whose names she didn’t know. “Did everyone make it to the other side?”

  "I think so. They were carrying the wounded. Jathan got hit pretty hard, maybe three others wounded slightly.”

  Imogen counted. “We’ve only lost three. Eight, if you count the ones too injured to fight.”

  “Is Kionnal….”

  “I don’t know. It looked bad. If Areli doesn’t come back, that’s a bad sign.”

  The rifle fire stopped. They heard shouting from the hallway, then more shouting from farther away. “That’s not good,” Revalan said.

  They leaped to their feet, sabers drawn, as people came running down the hall behind them. “No, we’re friends!” came the call, and several men and women in blue and silver appeared, swords in hand.

  “We are glad to see you,” Imogen said, coming forward and shifting her saber to her other hand so she could clasp the leader’s. She had dark hair bound severely back at the nape of her neck and an elegant profile. “I am Imogen.”

  “I know who you are,” the woman said with a smile. “Connie Anselm. Lieutenant Anselm. We’re here to provide relief. Is this all that’s left of your command?” Behind them, the rifle fire began again, and someone screamed. Anselm’s smile grew broader.

  “The others are across the intersection. What is happening?”

  “The Baroness’s troops were stopped at the rotunda. They had to find another way around, except we blocked all the other exits. But Colonel Williams said to tell you he thinks this is where the Baroness is making the real push. Do you know where your secondary fallback position is? You’re supposed to join the troops back that way.” She pointed in the direction of the north wing. “The rest of your warriors will have to go to the other fallback position, down that way. We’ll hold this point as long as we can.”

  “We can help here,” Imogen began, but Anselm shook her head.

  “Orders,” she said. “They want you to take command back there. You know what the colonel said—they depend on having you where you’re told to be.”

  Imogen hesitated. More rifle fire sounded, telling her the attack had resumed. “Good luck,” she said, and collected her warriors.

  The corridor rose gently as they ran east. They passed several corridors, all blocked, and came to a place where their hallway crossed another. Imogen’s heart sank. She knew the cross-path; it led directly to the north wing. Thirty or forty soldiers holding gun Devices relaxed when she came into view. “Ma’am,” said one of the men, a short fellow with graying hair and a square, craggy face, “what are your orders?”

  Imogen looked around. “No barricade?”

  “They want us to have clean shots, nothing to get in the way. There’s a barricade down there—” he pointed east, down a dark hall—“and the other hall leads to the prison complex, which is sealed off. So it’s just that hall you came down we have to worry about, though we’re watching the other way just in case.”

  “Then let us do that, and hope they do not pass Lieutenant Anselm.”

  “We’ll know if they do because the lieutenant will haul ass in this direction.”

  “Good.” A light went on. “Is she related to the general?”

  “His only daughter. She’s on her way up, and not because of who she’s related to, either.”

  Imogen nodded. So Tremontanans went to war as families, too. “What is your name?”

  “Trell, ma’am.”

  “Trell, send your runner to the lieutenant to tell her turn right when she gets here, into the prison corridor. We can set up an ambush. I will report to the north wing now.”

  The hall to the north wing was paneled in dark wood, somber and weighty, with a blue carpet that matched the North colors and muffled her footsteps. Steps rose to a short landing, then rose again to a broad hallway which opened up into the north wing. There was no door to bar entrance; there was no barricade; there were only doors lining the halls, and the reception desk, and about fifteen soldiers who lowered their weapons at her approach. “I want to see Colonel Williams,” she said, and was silently allowed past the guard.

  She had to poke around before she found the room the colonel had retreated to. Several runners sat on chairs or the floor in one corner; as Imogen watched, a woman handed one of them a note and the girl scampered off without waiting for instructions. Other men and women were gathered around a military telecoder with the air of people waiting for something. The colonel and Jeffrey looked up from the map they were studying. The colonel frowned; Jeffrey looked tense.

  “I take it your people are outside the north wing now?” Williams asked. “Come look at this, see if there’s anything you can add.”

  It was the sketch map of the palace, but now it was covered with circles and X’s and lines drawn in red and green pencil. “This is the ground we’ve had to give up,” Williams said, pointing. “And this is what we blockaded so they couldn’t get at it easily. We’ve funneled their attack into just a few choke points and have managed to keep them there for far longer, frankly, than I’d hoped.”

  “What is this?” Imogen asked, tapping Ansom’s Gate.

  “Ansom’s—oh, you mean the markings.” A red X crossed through a green circle with some violence. “Your people held out longer than anyone else. It was green until just half an hour ago. Congratulations.”

  “I am only sorry we had to give way. We killed many of them and sent one to your—the place where the injured go.”

  “You sent an enemy soldier to the infirmary?” Jeffrey was incredulous.

  “He is here because Diana tell—told him she is Queen and you are wrong. He wants what is best for Tremontane and I think he can learn you are that.”

  “I wondered why they’d turn on me.” He turned a red pencil over and over again in his long fingers. “I would rather not execute them all for treason.”

  “Time to worry about that later, your Majesty. Madam ambassador—I suppose you’re not that right now, are you?”

  “Today I am a warrior. Tomorrow we will see.” But the ambassador seemed more distant every moment.

  “Well, Imogen, we’re holding at these spots. The rotunda’s finally clear, once they realized it was a death trap. I don’t think I have to tell you how crucial your defense is.”

  “I see it—saw it when I came here. There is no barricade or door. There is only us.”

  “And that small handful of soldiers, yes. If the rest of the Army is to make a difference, they need to be here in the next few hours.” He glanced at the telecoder. “They have to come.”

  “Something is wrong,” Imogen guessed. “More wrong than Diana attacking you.”

  The telecoder began chattering. “Wait,” Jeffrey said, holding up one hand. He went to stand over the operator, who was scribbling as fast as her pencil could move. Imogen saw his face go very still. When the telecoder went silent, and the operator laid her pencil down, Jeffrey said, “Fred, we have less than half a day.”

  “Half a day for what?” Imogen said. Jeffrey and Williams ignored her. “Half a day for what?” she insisted.

  Williams shook his head. Jeffrey said, “She might as well know.” He took Imogen’s arm and drew her to an unoccupied corner of the room. “You know Max had someone in the telecoder room blocking the Army’s messages about Diana’s movements,” he said quietly. “Then we had to abandon the room when we were preparing for the siege because it was indefensible. We didn’t regain contact with the Army until about half an hour ago.” He ran his hands through his hair, a now familiar gesture of frustration. “Diana’s troops were at the far eastern edge of the new border, just outside Barony Daxtry. When the Army discovered she’d
abandoned her post, the detachment just west of hers broke off to follow. It left a gap—”

  Imogen cursed.

  “Exactly,” Jeffrey said. “The Ruskalder army is marching on Tremontane.”

  Chapter Thirty

  “But that is too convenient,” Imogen said. “How could they be ready so soon?”

  Jeffrey let out a long, deep breath. “Hrovald’s army must have been gathering for a month, watching for a weakness in our border patrols. I can imagine what he thought when that gap appeared. It seems he started moving south when the troops chasing Diana had barely disappeared over the horizon.”

  “I do not understand. Burgess wanted you to move the troops south into Veribold. Did he and Diana want Hrovald to invade?”

  “Max says they had no idea Hrovald’s army was even there. He’s nearly dead with terror—Max, I mean. Colluding with Diana and clearing the way for an enemy invasion, even by accident…anyway, the main body of our Army figured it out and started pursuing Hrovald, but…what it comes down to is Hrovald’s army is going to be here in a matter of hours, twelve if we’re lucky.”

  Imogen felt faint. “He will overrun us.”

  “The main Army is several hours behind Hrovald. It’s absolutely imperative we end this now, so we can prepare to defend Aurilien. I’ve got people looking for Diana—she can’t be so unreasonable as to want the city to fall.”

  “I do not agree with you.”

  “I have to take the risk. I can offer her exile rather than execution if she gives up. She has to see reason.”

  “I hope you are right. But I think you are not. It is more likely she will fight until she is dead.”

  “She’ll come here either way,” Jeffrey said. “She’s always had a turn for the dramatic, so I imagine she’ll want to gloat before she—”