Dark Court: The Final Hour

by Camille Oster

  Chapter 13

  EVERY BIT OF ROISEN'S anger went into the next battle. The messy, grinding melee was exactly that, a vent of fear and frustration. There was nothing good in battle. The good came afterward with the victory, but it was never complete. Battles were hard won and the price was heavy. Today, though, Roisen felt betrayed, and he put every bit of his rage into the fight.

  The battleground was the same as before, the battle almost feeling like a rerun of the last one—except Wierstoke's forces were a little more tired, and a little more hungry. Roisen hadn't managed to choke off Wierstoke's supply completely, but the impact was clear.

  It would be his victory today, and everyone in the land would know it, including Lady Ashra Greve. Victory wasn't achieved yet, so Roisen pushed away any thought of it and focused on the man running at him with his sword raised above his head. It was a reaction of anger and fear rather than good swordsmanship, and it would get the man killed—especially as Roisen was still on his horse.

  With ease, Roisen brought his sword down in an elegant arc, catching the man's side. He stumbled, then crumpled.

  These men fought for money or for privilege, or whatever else Wierstoke had promised them. Men would do anything for the betterment of their families. They would be rewarded. Ashra, however, promised them something different, but she was deluded to think she was strong enough to achieve it. This wasn't simply pretty words and lofty promises, she was taking on the whole Naufren class, and they held all the power in this land.

  This stance would kill her in the end and these actions were putting her beyond protection. No one was going to cede their power to her. Cause enough trouble and she would have to be removed.

  Another man came at him, on horseback this time. It wasn't a man he knew, but this man wasn't some mere peasant. He swung and Roisen blocked, the clash of swords making a sharp, piercing chime. Anger was etched in the youthful face as he bared his teeth. This was the son of one of Wierstoke's allies. Maybe it was even Wierstoke's son—one he hadn't introduced to court yet. Few wanted to expose their children to the court while Raufasger had been living. If it was one thing Raufasger understood, it was leverage, and there was no better leverage than children.

  Bringing his horse around, the young man engaged again. Skills showed that he had been trained in battle, but he lacked experience.

  It almost felt unsporting of Roisen to use his hard-won experience, but this was war and it wasn’t his role to protect youth from taking on more than they could chew. Still, with a forceful knock with the hilt of the sword, the boy was sent flying into the crowd behind him, dropping his sword on the way. Letting go of his sword was a mistake he might not survive.

  Unconcerned, Roisen sought his next target. An enemy soldier stood with his sword raised, ready to clash down on his combatant. Urging his horse forward, Roisen slew the man.

  "Thank you," the spared victim said from the ground.

  "Grab your weapon and fight," Roisen said and the man scrambled to his feet. There was gratitude and admiration in the man's eyes, which really was misplaced. Roisen had no concern for the man personally, was simply offended by the reduction of the overall number of his army. The man didn't see it that way, though.

  Wierstoke's men were tiring first and their fervor seeped away. They would be called to retreat and Roisen would gain ground, which spelled victory for him, unless Wierstoke wanted an all-out slaughter of his own men.

  As expected the call came. Roisen had won by feeding his men better. It was simple, as Wierstoke’s natural greed made him always choose cheaper food with less energy. It filtered through to the battle today, but Roisen wasn't sure Wierstoke would see that.

  In a way, Roisen wanted to chase after the retreating men and truly slaughter them. It would end this war quicker, but it would be dishonorable. Raufasger would have done it, but Roisen knew instinctively that his reign had to be different from Raufasger's. Ruthlessness would be tolerated, but he did not want to set up his reign with dishonor—even if Wierstoke would be perfectly happy to do so.

  Wierstoke's filter of greed blinded him to the finer nuances of diplomacy.

  The victory was Roisen's, but he hadn't won the war, simply the battle. Wierstoke would regroup; he would try to address his weaknesses. The man would thoroughly review this loss and might even discover his lack of support from his own troops. Purse strings would be pried open and his men better fed next time.

  Roisen, however, was going to savor this victory by bringing it back to the citadel. He hadn't done enough to claim all-out victory yet, but there was nothing to stop him from reclaiming the citadel from which so many had now fled. Wierstoke would be forced to return as well, or word would spread that he was hiding away on the battlefield in shame.

  As much as possible, Roisen and his men would claim the citadel, but it was too large to defend from Wierstoke. The man would be forced to claim his place there too. It may well be that the citadel itself turned into the battleground, but again, that would be dishonorable. It was not how battle was won, but the place would be crawling with assassins before long—as if it wasn’t already.

  In the meantime, the issue of Ashra would also be addressed. Hopefully, she would stay at her estate, plotting outlandish coups with her misguided men. It would perhaps be better to ensure she did not receive the support she thought she had. Bribery and threats did go a long way, and it was better that her activities were undermined before they really started.

  Returning to camp, Roisen ordered it packed up, and everything, including the injured, taken back to the citadel, and he was on the road back to the citadel within the hour. The battle had exhausted him and burned all of his energy, but he rode with a straight back, refusing to give any indication how tired he was. The battle would now partially be in politics, until they took to the battlefield again, which Roisen suspected they would within a week.

  It was mid-afternoon and the train of his army traveled behind him. They would be seen coming for miles, but Roisen wasn't sure there was anyone in the citadel to see them.

  The guard stood by as they reached the portcullis into Roisen's part of the citadel. The guard was another issue to deal with. So far, they had refused to pick sides, but this victory showed them who the likely ruler would be. At some point, they would have to pledge their loyalty.

  The courtyard was practically empty, but Fiedra was there, smiling and clapping. One of the few who hadn't deserted the citadel. "Well done, my lord," she said with an elegant curtsy. "We heard you were victorious today and Wierstoke had to run with his tail tucked between his legs."

  "As he does so well."

  "That must smart something wicked," she smiled. "Very impressive, and I am glad to see you returned to the citadel."

  "I felt it was time to start making myself comfortable."

  Fiedra was smiling again. No matter how high the tension rose, Fiedra never ran.

  "Who is still in residence?" he asked.

  "Very few, but I dare say we will see people return now that you are back."

  "Wierstoke will not cede the citadel. He will come, eventually."

  "Then we must make him uncomfortable. At the end of the day, it is here that you must win when it comes down to it.”

  Unfortunately, Wierstoke would refuse to accept this defeat and he would return. Politics was not a game he was a novice at, but the next physical battle would be very important. Another defeat and people's trust in him would waver.

  Roisen's men had to be ready, and ideally, that would include the full complement of the guard. No one had succeeded in claiming the best and strongest fighting men in the land, but they could not stay impartial forever.

  Meanwhile, Roisen needed to bolster his army, to find more men and more weapons. He also needed his allies to commit more resources—food, weapons, horses. If he had enough, he could prepare for the next battle and even lock Ashra down at her estate all at the same time.

  "We must celebrate," Fiedra said, glee shini
ng out of her eyes. Fiedra always thrived on victory—had been his ally for so very long. But it was another pair of eyes he'd wished to be here congratulating him, but steadfast Fiedra was what he had instead. At every turn, Ashra denied him, while Fiedra gave her all to the cause.

  "Yes," he replied. "We must celebrate this victory."

  Chapter 14

  TRUDGING THROUGH THE mud, Ashra stepped up on the small knoll around which the people of this village was gathered. She'd never been here before, but the people were hungry, their clothes dirty and worn.

  The sad truth was that they would listen to anyone who came with a cartload of potatoes. It was just that she was the only one who had come.

  "Farm the land around you," she said. "Farm these fields for your own hunger."

  "And who will then protect us when the guard comes?" a man called.

  Bryce stepped in. "We all have to send a message that we will not be starved. We will not be subdued, and we will not tolerate another liege that pays no heed to our welfare. It is time for us to take our land back."

  His zeal was irrepressible, even when a little tact would be more circumspect. "It is also time," Ashra continued more calmly, that we insist a fairer form of governance. Lord Lorcan and Lord Wierstoke are battling each other for who will rule us next, and we do not want to hand over our lives and wellbeing to another Naufren. We will not be subjugated by Naufrens, and there is no reason why we should tolerate it."

  "We vastly outnumber them," Bryce continued. "It is only by our complicity that we allow this."

  Ashra wished he would calm the rhetoric at times. "We do outnumber them, and we can choose not to comply with their system."

  "How?" the same man challenged. "When they send the guard to cut us down at the merest infraction."

  "Then the people of this land must be the ones who give the guard direction, that sets that laws we want enforced. We must stand together and make our voices heard," Ashra said calmly and for once, Bryce didn't charge in with his heated rhetoric. "And we must show our numbers."

  Silence reigned over the group, so Ashra continued. "We will not tolerate being imposed on, or used for other people's benefit. These are our villages, our land, and we will not stand by and watch as wealthy lords cart the crop away. So farm this land and thrive by its abundance."

  The vocal man grumbled. The fear of the guard was deep and pervasive, leaving Ashra only to guess how Raufasger used them to enforce his rule.

  "The guard has agreed not to interfere with our activities. They see us as another challenger for the throne, but we are so much more than that. We want to change the very system that governs, to make the people the power behind the laws that apply to this land."

  "Then who will govern us? You?"

  "No, a council made up of representatives. Based on numbers. Each village will have representatives dependent on their size. It is a much fairer way of ruling."

  "And why would the Naufren put up with this? Both Lorcan and Wierstoke have armies," said a woman with a baby in her arms.

  "Because those armies are made up of us. None of us would choose to fight for them if there was another option."

  "They fight for money," another man called. "It gets more loyalty than any lofty ideas."

  "Then you must choose," Ashra said, her voice growing louder. "This is the time. Raufasger is dead and there is currently no one on the throne. This is the time when there is a chance for change, so we have to choose. Either money and a future of the same, or we choose a different way of living. Each person must choose. We," she indicated to Bryce and the persons who had come with her, "have already chosen and we are now going to fight for that choice. You choose a better future for yourselves. You either join us, or you join the Naufren who have starved and oppressed you for years, and hope that they will show you some consideration in the future."

  A grumble spread through the crowd because every person there knew that the Naufren had no loyalty to the people who served them. They paid, but not a penny more than they had to.

  "Choose for your family's, your children's future. And no one will be allowed to sit on the fence. Choose your side." Alright, increasingly she sounded a little more like Bryce every day, but she'd done this same speech a number of times now.

  "And do what?" a young man asked. Ashra could see in his eyes that he had already chosen.

  "We're going to march on the citadel. We're going to face the citadel and send a message that we are not going to be ignored. We are the ones that they live by, they have nothing without us, and we will not be ignored or starved or put to side as unimportant. Collectively we have the power and it’s time to show them that. You are either for your own people or against. There is no in between."

  Over time, it had become clear that they needed a mission, a purpose, and marching on the citadel was piercing into the very heart of the Naufren aristocracy. From the meeting with Lorcan, she knew Wierstoke would fight, but she wasn't entirely sure what Lorcan would do. He probably would fight. It was the very system he benefited from that she was attacking. But if he could, he would step back and let Wierstoke take care of it.

  Emotions stung her with the thought—emotions that she refused to examine. Whatever she felt about the father of her daughter was not something that would sway her at this point. This was larger than the both of them.

  All along, she had wanted to do this without violence, by appealing to people's better nature, but Lorcan's accusation that she was an idealist and a dreamer had proven true. They would have to show force and if they were smart and scary enough, they could do so with little bloodshed. But change did not come without bloodshed. Raufasger had certainly achieved change by that means. Now it was time to remove the Naufren’s rule and they were not going to give it up willingly.

  "Good speech," Bryce said as they climbed down the knoll. "Our people report that word is spreading ahead of us from village to village. What we really need is the word to spread in Lorcan's and Wierstoke's armies. They are nothing without our people fighting their fights for them."

  "Yes," Ashra said as they returned to their horses. The potatoes had been stripped away.

  "We also caught a spy," Bryce said. "He was lurking around at the back, and no one in the village knew him."

  "Release him. Let them spy. Let them fear," Ashra said. "We cannot assume any secrecy in this. Their palm greasing would stretch everywhere we go, so let's not bother hiding what we are doing. Assassins are what we have to worry about."

  For all of Bryce's fiery speeches, he did listen to her when she spoke. She was the one who knew the enemy and how they thought. In that regard, he was largely out of his depth, which was partly why he needed her.

  "It is in these villages that they would attempt something. Your estate is too guarded."

  "I am aware," Ashra said. The one upside of the people being starved and deprived was that a well-fed and trained soldier stuck out like a sore thumb. Which they would probably realize, so there was a good chance they would pay someone desperate and without scruples to attempt the deed. There were always people who would do anything for money, even if the people were getting fired up to demand change.

  "We should return to the estate," Bryce said. "Your reputation precedes you."

  Ashra sighed. "We cannot fear assassins. We must guard against them, but I cannot hide. Your role in this has hardly gone unnoticed either."

  "My loss would not be as damaging as yours."

  Ashra wasn't so sure. Her death at this point may serve to fire people more. Not that she wanted to die, but she hoped both Lorcan and Wierstoke believed that. If Lorcan was to be believed, her death was just about assured, but anyone who knew anything about rebellion feared a martyr.

  "Saying that, marching on the citadel will take planning. We need to build the structures we need to act as a group."

  The idea of marching on the citadel was terrifying, but it was necessary. What she couldn't wrap her head around just yet was how it could pla
y out. She needed to communicate with Captain Burgess to let him know her plans, and to ensure he still agreed not to interfere. Even if he did, they would still march. It may well be that they ended up fighting the guard in this. When it came down to it, Ashra hoped she would have sufficient numbers that the guard knew they were rendered ineffective.

  The one thing she could depend on was that the Naufren already knew her plans. They were probably planning for an attack that very moment, but Lorcan and Wierstoke fighting each other was only to her benefit. There was, of course, the real possibility that they would establish a truce until the threat she posed would be taken care of. Lorcan was pragmatic enough to do so, but what Wierstoke would do was more of a question. It wouldn't do to underestimate him, but he wasn't a man who hid his ambition, instead used brute force. He had been the same at court, where he used his power to get what he wanted, only being circumspect in challenging Raufasger himself. It was unlikely he would deem circumspection as necessary with her. More likely, he would charge ahead without bothering to make agreements with Lorcan. As a man who had always been wealthy and powerful, he had trouble seeing the limits of that power.

  Chapter 15

  THE WEATHER DIDN'T SEEM to want to make up its mind, switching between cold and warm in an endless sequence. Clouds rolled across the vast valley outside the windows to Roisen's apartments. It felt like storms were coming, but that might be his disposition. Wierstoke and his army were riding toward the citadel, and Roisen simply had to sit around and wait for him.

  Over the next week, they would fight in drawing rooms and over afternoon teas. The political game was as important as the battlefield. Collectively, the court would choose the next ruler, but the death of the challenger had to be a part of that decision, or this would go on forever.

  His enemy being here would certainly allow Roisen to work on Wierstoke's allies as the man continued to lose battles. Over time, allies would congregate on one side, and that made the weaker side nervous, their lands and property looking increasingly at risk. It may well suit Roisen’s purposes to have some of his allies moving on Wierstoke’s weaker supporters, simply ride in and claim their estate. That would send a strong message and they would rush to the perceived stronger challenger. Partially this war was about displaying their plumage.