Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  “Of course, my Lord,” Gervais said.

  Christoffer stood and led the way out of his office. He gave Nikolas a nod as he stepped into the outer chamber, “I should be back this evening. If you want to arrange for dinner, I'd prefer to dine alone.” He saw Nikolas give a slight frown at that, but Christoffer didn't care. The whispers and gossip of the dining hall was too much for him to stand, just now. “Your father might have told you about my escorts,” Christoffer said with a gesture at Coxswain Jenkins and Carpenter's Mate Brussels.

  Gervais nodded. His eyes, though, flicked to where Jenkins had fallen in behind them and Carpenter's Mate Brussels led the way. Christoffer could see appraisal in the other man's eyes, as he evaluated the two men and the protection they provided.

  “So,” Christoffer said as they stepped into the corridor, “Tell me about the Order.” He saw Gervais hesitate and he clarified, “I already know the basics, tell me about the training and how they can be of service to the Duchy.”

  “Well, my Lord,” Gervais said, “To clarify one point... the Order doesn't serve the Duchy.”

  Christoffer cocked an eyebrow at the young man, who, to his credit, met his gaze with no sign of fear or worry. “Explain.”

  “The Order, goes back to before the Sundering. They were originally an organization to honor those who had served the High Kings loyally, but who had grown somewhat advanced in years,” Gervais said somewhat neutrally. Christoffer, despite his foul mood, had to smile at that. Such martial organizations were common enough, where old men gathered and talked about the good old days.

  “As a consequence, they were one of the only surviving martial traditions after the Plains of Sorrow, the Sundering, and the reign of Moral Blackheart,” Gervais said. He has no need to go into detail, Christoffer thought, entire generations died in the span of a few cycles. The war between Moral and his father, High King Haden had killed tens of thousands and Moral's blessedly short reign had killed hundreds of thousands, but the breakdown in trust from his misrule had done far worse. The collapse of the High Kingdom had lead to infighting, war, and famine that killed millions.

  Gervais continued, “They began training young men in their tradition. There were, I believe, three chapter houses at the time, one here in Boir, one in Taral, and a third in Asador. The one in Asador was destroyed when Mount Cratos erupted and destroyed the city of Inator. The Taral Chapterhouse fell when the city of Tair was destroyed by Kalamanath and the Norics who worship her.” He recounted the destruction of two of the largest cities in the Five Duchies without a pause, which reminded Christoffer of his youth. He had seen war, but he had not seen destruction on a scale that made those two cities destruction seem real. I pray to my Ancestors that he doesn't ever see that, either, Christoffer thought, and not just because Boirton would probably be the city to burn in that case.

  “Since then, the Boirton Chapterhouse has mustered just over three hundred knights and almost a thousand men-at-arms. Among our armory we have a number of relics from the times of the High Kings: runic weapons, armor, and also some artifacts of historical significance... though nothing as important as the Ducal Blade of Boir,” Gervais said respectfully.

  Christoffer's hand settled to the sword on his hip. He had felt uncertain about carrying the blade, at first, but Siara had recommended it, to remind people of his position and also to allow him to be armed at all times. The thought of Siara almost made him miss a step. Ahead of him in the corridor he saw a pair of servants pause at the sight of them before stepping respectfully to the side to allow them to pass.

  “Many of our knights and men-at-arms are out on missions. As part of our charter with the Grand Duke, we aren't allowed to maintain more than two hundred under arms here at the Chapterhouse at one time, with the only exception being those in training.” He shrugged, “So we currently have just over eight hundred men-at-arms being led by some two hundred and fifty knights working along the borders, out on missions to recover artifacts and weapons from the High Kingdom, and in general doing what we can to uphold the ideals of the High Kings.”

  Christoffer managed to bottle away the now-familiar ache from thinking of Siara and thought over what the young knight had told him. “That seems considerably larger than I had expected. I've rarely heard of your organization acting in numbers, but it seems you have a considerable army.”

  Gervais shrugged, but Christoffer saw that the young man's gaze had gone to the pair of servants, “We focus our efforts in many places and it isn't uncommon for a single knight or a handful of men-at-arms to be by themselves.” His voice went distant and Christoffer saw his hand drop to the hilt of his sword. “As a result, one important part of our training is attention to detail.” He paused and put out a hand to stop Christoffer. “My Lord, I think we should turn around and head back to your quarters. Now.”

  “What?” Christoffer asked. Ahead of him, he saw Brussels pause too, his head moved to track the two servants and his hands clenched suddenly into fists. Christoffer's eyes went to the two servants and he noticed then that while both men had their heads bowed respectfully, their hands were out of sight and they were tense, ready to spring into action. “I think you are right,” Christoffer said and started to back up.

  As he did so, the nearest of the two men let out a shrill whistle. Both of them drew wicked looking daggers and charged Brussels. The big Earthblood stepped into their attack with a bellow and caught the first man by the throat to slam him into the wall of the corridor. The other man struck then with viper speed: two, three, four or more times into the big man's torso. Brussels stumbled back, but not without a heavy backhand that threw his attacker to the floor. He clutched at his stomach and looked back at Christoffer. “Get the Grand Duke to safety!” Brussels called out, his deep voice level.

  The assassin on the floor crawled backwards a bit and gave another shrill whistle. It was answered, a moment later, by several more and down the corridor Christoffer saw a half dozen more men, dressed as courtiers, prefects, and servants, answer the signal. All carried weapons, either more of the wicked curved daggers or the prefect's swords.

  “Go!” Brussels shouted and kicked his downed attacker hard enough that the man bounced off the wall. The Earthblood grabbed one of the attackers daggers off the floor and began to edge backwards down the corridor, his attention on the assassins.

  Christoffer started to back up and he saw Gervais break the seal on his sword and rip it free of its sheath in one motion. The stocky young man stepped in front of Christoffer and glanced over his shoulder, “We need to move.”

  Brussels stumbled and shook his head and Christoffer saw him waver and almost fall. For the first time, Christoffer saw an expression of pain across the big man's face, “Poison,” he grated in a deep voice. He gave one more look back and Christoffer saw the sudden realization of death in the other man's eyes. “For Boir and the Grand Duke!” Brussels bellowed and charged the attackers.

  Jenkins grabbed Christoffer by the shoulder and pulled him away.

  ***

  Captain Randal Schultz

  Captain Schultz sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. While his current surroundings had little of the creature comforts he craved, this was only a temporary visit. He glanced around the spartan guard room and his smile grew a bit more. That bitch Siara, on the other hand, he thought, is in much worse surroundings and she'll be lucky if that's all she gets. Lord VanEggar had casually mentioned the rope, which in Captain Schultz's opinion was what she should have had before.

  Some part of him wanted to go down the hall and show her what he really thought of her, but he mentally shied away from that thought. He couldn't help a slight shiver as he thought of the beating she'd given him. She came from a culture that doesn't value women, he thought, how was I supposed to know she knew how to fight?

  Not that it would do her any good now. Lord VanEggar's assistance had allowed him to have a half dozen of the Citadel's prefects for the capture. He had almost needed all o
f them, too, especially when he ordered her to surrender. He felt his smile return as he remembered how the prefects had beaten her down after she lunged at him.

  “Captain,” the junior prefect spoke up from the doorway, “Some workers are at the door, they said they're here for the repairs to the stonework on the lower level.” Captain Schultz hadn't bothered to learn the young man's name, it didn't matter.

  Captain Schultz frowned at that. He didn't remember hearing about any repairs, though the lower level could use it. The lowest level of the Citadel was a mess, with toppled stones and dank cells. It was, of course, where he had locked Siara Pall, in the tiniest, darkest cell he could find. Perhaps it was in the orders for the day, he thought absently. He hadn't read those, Lord VanEggar's Commander Strasser had a love for writing orders and reports, and Captain Schultz had simply not bothered to read most of them.

  He waved a hand, “Very well, let them in.”

  The junior prefect hesitated, “Sir, by policy, we're not supposed to let anyone into the dungeons without an escort. They don't have one. Also, there's five of them, they'll outnumber us...”

  “Oh, just let them in,” Captain Schultz snapped. It wasn't as if someone were here to stage a breakout. While the handful of prisoners down here were either condemned criminals awaiting death or a few of Lord Hennings' captured supporters and family, it wasn't likely that any escape would get this far. Besides, Schultz only had another hour before he could go back to his suite. If he had to call for an escort and clear up the matter, it might take hours.

  The junior prefect hesitated a moment longer but finally turned away and headed up the hall to the door. Technically, Schultz should have gone with him, or sent Senior Prefect Schmidt, but Schmidt was asleep and the older man was a foul-tempered oaf when he was awake.

  I knew I should have listened to Captain Achen and just not even shown up to the shift, Schultz thought darkly. Most of the officers for the Citadel prefects held their positions as rewards from Lord VanEggar. The Lord Chamberlain managed the Citadel much like an extension of his own lands, and most of the senior positions were given to those who had helped him or to who he owed favors or money. And he's very grateful for what I did to help him against that bastard Tarken, Schultz thought with a grin.

  He looked up as he heard a grunt from down the hall and then a clatter. With how inept the enlisted man seemed, Captain Schultz figured that the junior prefect had probably tripped and then dropped his spear. Damned incompetents, he thought, the only thing I miss about the Navy is that at least there people knew what they were doing. He would definitely skip his next shift. After all, it wasn't like Lord VanEggar would let Commander Strasser fire him.

  Two workers appeared in the doorway. “Where is the Prefect Captain?” One of them asked. He had an odd accent, Schultz noted, which wasn't unusual in itself. Boir had many immigrants, some from as far off as Aoriel. It was odd, though, because he looked like someone of the Five duchies, with light skin, light brown hair, and brown eyes. He had a roll of parchment in his left hand, while he carried one side of a crate with the other.

  “That's me,” Schultz said. He grimaced as he stood up, “Paperwork for me to sign?”

  The worker nodded and he and his compatriot came forward. Schultz frowned as he looked at the other man, who could have passed for a twin of the first man. Same lightly tanned skin, light brown hair, even similar features. “You two brothers?” he asked.

  They both hesitated and looked at each other. Schultz felt a sudden urge to shout at Senior Prefect Schmidt to wake up as they shared a look that seemed sinister. “Where's the junior prefect?” Schultz asked as his stomach roiled with sudden fear.

  The two men dropped either end of the crate at the same time and rushed him. Schultz cursed and reached for his sword, but they had him pinned to the wall before he could move. Over their shoulders, he saw another man hurry in, this one drew a wicked, curved blade from inside his tunic. Schultz's eyes went wide as the man rushed to where Senior Prefect Schmidt snored. Without warning, he slashed the man's throat. The senior prefect's eyes went wide and his hands went to his throat, but blood spurted outwards between his fingers.

  Schultz watched as the man grunted and died. He smelled the sharp stink of urine and felt warmth trickle down his leg and realized he'd wet himself like a scared child. He looked between the implacable faces of the two men who held him. “What do you want?” He said, his voice high pitched. “I'll do anything you want!”

  “Good,” the first man held up the parchment and Schultz recognized a list of names. “What cells are they in?”

  ***

  Siara Pall

  The sounds of the lowest dungeon had become a familiar thing, much in the way the aches and pains of age became familiar to the elderly. They were comforting, in a way, even as they bore her down under a crushing weight, much like the weight of the stone above her.

  She had never liked confined spaces, she could admit, but she had managed to tolerate life in the Citadel's upper levels, where windows offered glimpses, however distant, to the open air. Here, though, in the cold, damp dark, she had no breaths of fresh air, no glimpse of freedom. Here there was only the steady, distant drip of water, the scurry of rats, and the creaking weight of stone above her.

  I failed him, she thought, I dishonored him and lost his trust. She still wasn't certain how it had happened, how the letters she sent had caused it, but those had become the way in which his enemies had turned her into a weapon against him, she knew. She had seen the heartbreak on his face, the defeat in his eyes, when they accused her of being a spy. Now, she feared she would not have the opportunity to plead her innocence to him... and even if she did, she doubted that he would ever listen to her.

  Her own heart nearly broke under those thoughts. She wished she had the way to tell him how much she worshiped him, how she would never do anything to harm him. She saw his greatness, like a glowing light that surrounded him, and she would rather die than hurt him the way that his enemies had used her to do.

  Suddenly, Siara heard a change in the familiar patterns of sound. She couldn't say, on a conscious level, what she heard that warned her, but the shift was enough that she moved to the cell door. She stilled her heartbeat and listened. Past the sound of the dungeon, she heard it then, the distant sound of voices and the soft slap of boots against the stone steps.

  “...please, you'll see, she's his mistress, but also a spy for the Armen, she's valuable!” Siara recognized the voice of Schultz and her lips drew back in a snarl of hate. Something about his voice, though, told her that he was pleading for his miserable life.

  “We will see,” the voice that answered was different. It had none of the accent of the south and she hissed as she recognized the measured words. Armath Kuull, she thought, here? That realization sent a shock of determination down her spine. If they were here, then they were here as enemies. They might have many goals... but the dungeons were of the most secure place in this fortress. They could just as easily infiltrate to where Lord Tarken's suite lay. They will be here to take his life, she thought.

  She moved to the side of the door. Siara tensed her muscles and readied her spellgrafts. She had not used them before, not in earnest, yet she felt tranquil as she listened to the footsteps approach.

  She heard the bar being lifted beyond her cell and the flickering light of a torch shown in as the door swung wide. “No one is here, you pay with your life,” she heard. So as not to be blinded, she kept her eyes slitted as she stepped through the doorway.

  The man who'd spoken held a dagger and she struck him first. The bone spur projected only an inch out of her thumb and she raked it across his neck. She saw Schultz, pinned to the wall by two other men. The nearest dropped the torch which flickered out. In the sudden darkness, Siara smiled. She stepped over the twitching body of the first man she'd attacked and struck again. She raked her bone spur across that man's eyes as he drew his dagger. He let out a shrill scream as the venom seared
into his eyes. The third man shoved Schultz in her direction, but she ducked under the man's flailing arms and gave him a sharp elbow to the kidneys as he stumbled past. The third of the Armath Kuull drew his dagger, it's wicked curve stank of poison.

  She didn't hesitate, though, and she caught his arm as he thrust blindly. She trapped his arm between her body and arm and pulled him close to punch her bone spur directly into his throat. She held him as she heard his heart flutter and then felt his body tremble beside hers until the venom did it's work. As he started to stiffen and shudder, she released him and stepped back.

  In the darkness, she could see the warmth of Schultz and smell the sharp stink of his voided bowels. She grimaced at the stink as she found one of the killer's daggers and then another. She made certain not to touch the blades as she scented the poison on them. Dyleth Sap, she thought, fast acting, very deadly, and only used by the Anokar Tralk of the Armath Kuull. Knowing that, had she more time, she would have killed them more slowly, for they were the most hated of all by her people.

  She found Schultz as he scrabbled away on hands and knees and caught him by the hair. “No! Please! I didn't lie to you, I told you she was there!”

  “What did you tell them, why are they here?” Siara hissed in his ear.

  She felt him go stiff with terror under her and she didn't bother to hide a smile of pleasure in the dark. “Siara, you should let me go. I'll put a good word in for you...”