Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  “What happened?” Jonal asked with more than a bit of apprehension in his voice.

  “Well,” the Countess smiled, “I ran away. Joined up with some mercenaries, learned the use of a blade, how to fight, and how to lead.” She drew her sword and the runes that covered its surface glowed with an eerie green light. “I won this in battle... and then I led a band of good fighters back up to my village. We killed any Noric who dared to face us. I found that demon and I cut his head off. He had quite the look of surprise when he saw my face, a bit like that expression you wear, boy.”

  Kerrel saw Jonal flush, but she laughed along with the Countess. The older woman had suffered far more than she let on... or so the stories went. She was also a far better killer than most people Kerrel had met, savage and completely ruthless. Still, she had a soft spot for underdogs, children, and those who were powerless, a trait she had passed on to her company.

  “It was a long rise from a Noric slave to a noblewoman,” the Countess grunted. Her gaze flitted to Kerrel, “And yes, I know a bit about diplomacy and politics, enough to know that making peace isn't going to be as easy as you might think. And speaking as one who's children's and grandchildren's lives will be on the line in any kind of civil war... it may already be too late to stop.”

  “Oh?” Kerrel asked. She leaned back and her eyes went narrow, “I've seen some discontent in the north over taxes, but they know what Hector defends them from. In the south, yes, I've seen some of his mercenaries are out of control, such as Grel, but they have to know the dangers of a civil war.”

  “Ha,” Countess Darkriver spat Bacca root juice into a cup. “Calling Grel out of control is like saying the mountains can be a little cold in the winter. That bastard has been a menace, giving good mercenaries a bad name for the past decade.” She shook her head, “You've got to understand the history and the changes that have taken place over the past few cycles in order to really understand what is coming.”

  “Enlighten me,” Kerrel said.

  The Countess spat more of the Bacca root juice into her cup. “The north has always been a bit more wealthy. They've the ports, which means they have more merchant traffic and trade. The Ryftguard has always been important, but travel over the roads in the south is almost impossible in the winter, even back under the reign of the High Kings, and winter comes quick to those highlands.”

  Jonal spoke up, “It's no different in our lands. We've a coast of our own and some trade, but everything dries up come winter.”

  “But in the north, they spend much of the winter crafting. They make trade goods to sell and when the spring comes, they take their boats out and sell more. They have a surplus of food from the longer growing seasons and better soil, while the winter runoff brings new soil down from the mountains,” the Countess said. “In the south, things have always been a bit tighter. The winter lasts a full six months and they're lucky to get three or four months of good crops. Most of the higher mountain villages get by with just one growing season. They trade in raw materials, either shipping them down-river to the lowlands or overland along the roads. Lumber and charcoal from the Tucola Forest, ore from the Ryft Peaks, furs from both, and often that trade is for more foodstuffs to last out the winter.” She gave a smile and her stained teeth looked suddenly sinister, “And when times are tough, they make their trade in fighting men, either as mercenaries, soldiers, or bandits.”

  Kerrel nodded, “It is like that in Asador, though we've horses and cattle rather than ore and lumber.” Kerrel knew that the similarities didn't end there. The noblemen in such lands often suppressed the Starborn laws and took more and more power to themselves. Most people, focused on survival, didn't much care, not until it was too late and the nobility had the power to turn any protestors out of their homes to face the winter without shelter or food.

  “Well, Lord Hector's taxes have hit there the hardest,” the Countess said. “And Covle Darkbit has taken a heavy bite out of what little surplus they had. More than that, the Usurper has taken his war to the Armen, but not to the Norics. Their raids over the past five cycles have destroyed several villages. Lord Theodore of Nine Peaks has won a few victories against them and so has his son Lord Jack. That has made some loyalty for the nobility. On top of that, most of the old Duke's army came from the highlands and plenty of them don't look on the Usurper with much favor.”

  Jonal spoke up, “So how has the appearance of the false Lady Katarina–”

  “Please, you can spout that line all you want outside, but at least pretend to respect my intelligence in my own office,” Countess Darkriver snapped. “It is general knowledge at this point that Grel tried to murder Katarina. If you say anything otherwise in the south, you'll be ignored at best.” She spat her juice in the cup again and shook her head, “Since her return, she's been making Hector look the fool. First, Grel butchered an entire village, only to miss her. Then she rescued the survivor of the prisoners given the Traitor's Death to cover it all up... delivered to that fate by you, I might add.”

  Kerrel looked away, “I didn't know that Covle was there, I had hoped that Grel would face punishment for what he did.” She still felt sick to her stomach as she thought about how she had turned the three prisoners over. She hadn't had much choice, though, when faced with breaking with Hector over it. She'd given him her oath, which was important enough, but there was also the Luciel Order and their goals to consider.

  “Well, we know better now,” Countess Darkriver said dryly. “Since rescuing the one survivor she routed several of his mercenaries, captured a tax caravan, eluded a large operation in the Tucola Forest, defeated an entire company of heavy cavalry sent after her... and apparently defeated a large Noric force up in the mountains.”

  Kerrel's eyes narrowed, “You seem oddly well informed.”

  “I make my money knowing which side to join up with,” Countess Darkriver said. “It pays to be well informed.” She grimaced, “Word is that much of the southern nobility is ready to join up with her and almost all the commoners, both freeholders and peasants. She's some kind of stronghold in the Ryft Peaks, possibly wherever she defeated the Norics who attacked her. She's become something of a hero to some of those mountain villages who have lived under the Usurper's taxes and the threat of Noric raiders.”

  “You sound as if you favor her,” Jonal said. Kerrel didn't miss the tone of suspicion in his voice or the way he shifted in his seat.

  “Can you blame me for feeling a bit of amusement?” the Countess asked. “Six months gone, dead of winter, I get a note from Pargan that your Lord Hector offered him a contract he couldn't refuse... not without bringing down his army on my people. Scattered as we were, the Mongrels had no choice but to accept.” She spat into her cup and gave a shrug, “For that matter, it was Lord Peter who gave me my lands and made me a noble for my services. The Usurper knows that if it had come to a war, the Mongrels would have stood with the Duke and not his bastard nephew. But it didn't and there was no money in throwing our lives away.”

  “Has Katarina contacted you?” Kerrel asked.

  The Countess gave her a level look, “I've never discussed our contracts with outsiders before and I don't intend to just now. But seeing as my three companies came back here and that we didn't pick a fight with you, you might have yourself an answer.” She spat Bacca root juice again, the yellow brown fluid stark against her pale lips, “Might be that the word 'mercenary' probably has a bad taste to them in the south.”

  “Can I offer you a contract for your services?” Kerrel asked.

  “No,” the Countess growled. “It's been a damned hard campaign in the south. There's politics brewing within the nobility of Boir and we didn't have the right stink to them that took over down at Freeport. Had to fight our way out and then campaign over the southern desert to Black Peak Pass. We marched all the way back, the men are tired, the fields need harvesting, and I'm just about sick of politics.” There was another note to her voice, though, one that said she was tired of seei
ng her people die. Kerrel had heard that tone in her before, but that hadn't stopped the woman from going out to fight for the right money and cause. Here's to hoping that Katarina doesn't become both of those, she thought darkly.

  “If this does go to a full civil war,” Kerrel said, “You'll want to be with Hector.” Not for the first time, Kerrel wished she could speak openly of the Luciel Order and their goals. Countess Darkriver would have been an invaluable asset, if she could win her over to their cause.

  “No,” the Countess said. “I'll want to be on the winning side and I think it's too soon to be predicting that, you know?” She smiled grimly. “Something you might want to think about yourself, might save you the noose when it comes down to it.”

  On the one hand, Kerrel understood the other woman's point. If the entire south erupted, then Hector's mercenaries would be hard-pressed to survive, much less win. Still, if that became the case, then Hector would have no choice but to bring his main army south. That would leave portions of the coast dangerously open to raids, but he would have no other choice. He had already cautioned her that in that case his army would come as a force of occupation and they would destroy any forces which dared to stand against them.

  That level of bloodshed would create feuds and hostility that wouldn't go away for generations, Kerrel well knew. If Hector was lucky, he would have a sullen, angry populace. If he was unlucky, the Duchy of Masov would shatter into a hundred factions, each vying to seize a bit of temporary power over the others. Her own homeland, the Duchy of Asador, had been in a state of constant warfare since the death of its last Duke without a clear heir some four hundred and fifty cycles previously. She knew that Hector had selected her for this task because of that background... and from her determination to prevent similar bloodshed and chaos here.

  The Countess seemed to see the determination on her face, “Well, maybe it's too late for you, having taken his coin and all.” She shrugged, “Spend the night, get some rest. I've no doubt you've a long way to go come morning.”

  Kerrel nodded, though with everything the Countess had told her, she didn't know how well she would sleep.

  ***

  Covle Darkbit

  Lower Debber, Duchy of Masov

  18th of Agmat, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Covle's new commander of the guard escorted the Duke's Hound into his office with considerably more decorum than Grel's last visit. Captain Rasev Ironhelm was far harder on the eyes than Captain Wallace, but at least he did as he was told without questions. Covle didn't so much as glance up from his reports, “Thank you, Captain Ironhelm, you can go, the Duke's Hound can let himself out after we finish here.”

  The stocky man gave a single nod that Covle caught out of the corner of his eye, along with his suspicious look at Grel suggested that he didn't trust the man. Covle was grateful for that, he didn't trust Grel either, after all. Still, he left without a word and closed the door behind him.

  “Commander Darkbit,” Grel's voice managed to turn Covle's rank into something of an insult.

  Covle restrained a grimace, but he still didn't look up from the reports on his desk, he needed to show the brute his place, “You are the one who requested this audience, are you not?” Besides that need, he had to review the plans for his forces to winter here in the south. Keeping the villages and towns supplied for the upcoming long winter was hard enough for the locals. Supporting several thousand mercenaries off of the tiny surplus was proving to be almost impossible and Covle had already determined that he would have to confiscate food to ensure his men stayed fit through the winter. The locals won't like that, he thought, but I don't really care what they like.

  “I've finished getting my men back into shape and I wanted to check in with you before I took them out on a patrol,” Grel said. “Since we've had reports of rebels making camp in the Tucola Forest, I thought I'd take the boys out to deal with them.”

  Covle nodded slightly. The reports sounded more like refugees taking refuge where they could, but he didn't mind if Grel wiped the beggars out. They would most likely all die come winter, in any case, he well knew, and those that came back to the towns would just be a burden, extra mouths that would take food that his men would need. “Of course. Keep me informed if you find anything of note.” He sipped at his crystal wine goblet and hid a grimace at the taste. It was the finest vintage to be found here in Masov, he knew, from the vineyards near Lower Debber, but compared to his now-empty bottles from Iron Fortress Vinyards, it tasted like horse piss.

  “I will,” Grel said. “If we can't find any rebels out there, we might well do some inspections of travelers for spies and infiltrators, maybe search some of the outlying villages.”

  Covle's grimace deepened, “Stay away from the villages and don't harass too many merchants. Your men will be dependent upon whatever food we can get from them to survive the winter.”

  A voice spoke, far different from Grel's normal snarl, “Do you think that bothers me in the slightest, Darkbit?”

  Covle looked and he felt the hair on the back of his neck rise to find Grel that stood there, but something else stared out of his normally dark, beady eyes. “Xavien?” Covle breathed, too horrified at the possibility of discovery to say much else.

  “Of course,” Xavien answered with Grel's mouth. “Though I must admit, dominating such a primitive-minded creature is somewhat distasteful. Still, needs must and all that.” Xavien's polite smile on Grel's bestial face was incredibly disturbing, Covle realized. “But I think you're forgetting your place.” The coldness in his voice was like being dowsed with ice water.

  Covle finally thought through the realization that the wizard Xavien stood before him, rather than merely Grel. He stood quickly from his desk and gave a florid bow, “My Lord, how can I serve you?” It grated on him to bow to anyone... but Xavien was far more powerful than any mere noble. He pulls the strings on generals and nobles, Covle thought, and what is mere worldly power compared to the power to bend men to your will? Covle felt no pangs at all to secretly follow the other man's orders over his sworn oath to Lord Hector, just as he'd felt no qualms over betraying Duke Peter for Lord Hector. Both men tried to deny me what should be mine by birth, he thought, both men laughed at me behind my back... so Hector too will learn who gets the last laugh. For that matter, Xavien had been behind his earlier defection to Hector.

  “Better,” Xavien said. “Now then, Grel did not know the full import of the battle that occurred in the mountains.” There was an edge to his voice, one that suggested the battle had been far more important than even Covle realized.

  Covle smiled suddenly, “I knew it! You had him and Henderson ambushed because they were getting in the way of our plans, didn't you?”

  Xavien cocked his head and stared at him with narrow eyes. Covle felt his blood chill at the look of calculation on the other man's face. He held his breath until Xavien finally answered. “Very shrewd of you to draw such a conclusion.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Covle said nervously. It wouldn't do to appear too capable, Covle realized, particularly if it made Xavien suspect that Covle would attempt to manipulate him. I would, Covle thought, but I don't want him to think about that.

  Xavien shook his head slightly, almost as if amused, though Covle wasn't certain where he drew that humor from. “In any case, Lady Katarina has acquired both powerful weapons and a small fortune. This makes defeating her that much more difficult.”

  “How do we approach this, then, my Lord?” Covle asked politely.

  Xavien nodded slightly, “This will be delicate, to be certain. But I still think we can salvage the situation short of a total civil war.” His tone was dry, but Covle didn't doubt for a moment that Xavien considered that a viable option. If he had, Xavien's following words would have made that abundantly clear, “I'll admit, something appeals to me about putting you in charge here, rather than leaving the Duchy a scorched wasteland.”

  Covle forced himself to smile in return, “I find
the former far more appealing to the latter, as well, my Lord.” Xavien had promised him power and wealth in return for his service, but that didn't mean that failure wouldn't be punished. It suited the other man well enough, Covle knew, to torture and torment those who failed, even when their failure was part of Xavien's plan all along. Then again, Covle knew that he at least, wouldn't fail. I haven't failed him yet, he thought quickly, and if I do, I'll damned well do my best to kill the bastard before he gets the opportunity to 'punish' me.

  Xavien ignored his comment, if he'd even heard it. “You've probably heard that Lord Hector is sending Captain Flamehair down here as his Ducal Investigator. I think his intention is to make peace with the southern nobility, to include your father. No doubt, after the way you've handled them, they would love your head on a platter... and if it would get him a secure south, I imagine that he would give it to them.” Covle grimaced at that. The southern nobility had always been an arrogant lot. He hadn't missed the opportunities to rub his authority in their faces as Hector's southern commander. The fact that Covle's father had been behind several attempts on his life thus far suggested that they not only found his actions offensive, but that his father found him embarrassing. Not as painful as I want it to be for him, Covle thought, not yet. The many debts of pain and embarrassment that his father would pay had only begun and Covle planned to take his full measure of payment.

  “Do you want me to take care of Kerrel Flamehair?” Covle asked eagerly. The arrogant bitch had irritated him before. So far, Lord Hector seemed enamored of her. From the rumors Covle had heard, she had even saved him in a recent battle on the Lonely Isle. That didn't mean Covle felt anything for her beyond annoyance. From what he had heard, she was some noblewoman who had offended some alliance of nobles in Asador and been exiled for her troubles. Still, it would be quite pleasurable if he were able to do something... permanent to her. Preferably with a few hours of enjoyment to be had first. If she hadn't prevented those Vendakar from succeeding in their betrayal, he thought, I might have made my move to supplant Hector as the next Duke.