Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  “Well,” Lord Jack said as he came up, “It seems Earl Joris has come to play. How exciting! Ah, here's a white flag and it looks like he and his captains are coming up. Shall we go down and see what brings the old goat down off his mountain?” Not for the first time, Lord Jack's eager tone was too much and Katarina gave a laugh. It felt good, for things had been far too grim over the past few days.

  She shook her head, “Right, well, let's meet him in kind, shall we?” She looked over at Gerlin, “Summon Captain Swordbreaker and Captain... that is Commander Samen and...” she trailed off, reminded again of Arren's death.

  “Cederic, Miss Eleanor, myself, and how about Nakkiki?” Gerlin said, “He's mighty impressive.”

  Katarina smiled at that and she saw Bulmor nod. Clearly, whatever had brought Earl Joris here today, Bulmor didn't mind having the dangerous Nakkiki present. “Just make certain Quinn is there, then, as well, because I don't want to be trying to explain to Earl Joris's heir that one of my guards thought a handshake was a deadly insult.”

  Bulmor grunted something under his breath. “Sorry, I didn't catch that,” Katarina said.

  “Why, I do believe your armsman said it wouldn't be a great loss,” Lord Jack said loudly. He cocked his head, “Come to think of it, I might agree...”

  Katarina didn't bother to hide her smile as her armsman glowered at the young noble. “Lord Jack, I'm putting you in charge here, should anything go wrong out there.” She turned away from the rampart but she hesitated. “Jarek, would you accompany me as well?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  She felt some of her tension ease then as she took the stairs down to the side gate. More of that tension eased as she found Aerion and the others awaiting her. For some reason, having both Aerion and Jarek both present felt right, as if she were somehow safer even than with Bulmor watching over her. She shook her head, focus, she thought, logic and cool-headedness will get me through this. There was no room for emotion, no time for it, not if she wanted to not only save her people, but find some way to prevent the destruction of the Duchy of Masov.

  She gestured at Aerion to lead the way and the big young man shouldered his shield and then lifted the bar and pushed the door open. He stepped out, followed a moment later by Nakkiki and Quinn and then all the rest. Katarina looked around at them and didn't bother to hide her smile. All together, they were quite the parade, she saw, from big Nakkiki to the petite Eleanor.

  Deadly, though, she thought with a predatory smile, all of them very deadly.

  They walked out to meet Lord Joris and his escort and she treasured the looks on the faces of those with him. She picked out Lord Joris immediately, for he was overweight and wore the finest clothing he could. His blonde hair was combed over his balding head and he had a neatly trimmed blonde beard, streaked with enough gray to look impressive, but Katarina saw how it was cut to hide his double chin. Arrogant and petty enough to worry about his appearance, she thought, best to not embarrass him or he'll never forgive me.

  At his rear were two younger men, both of them alike enough that they had to be brothers. She could assume they were his sons, for the resemblance was enough to mark them. The two others behind them had the looks of guards or armsmen, Katarina wasn't certain which. The other two men with the group were to one side, clearly considered important enough to be present, but not important enough to be central to the discussion. They'll be his common-born officers, then, she thought.

  “Greetings, Lady Katarina,” Earl Joris said as they drew near. He nodded his head in what someone might charitably consider a bow. “I am Earl Joris of Olsztyn.”

  “Earl Joris,” Katarina nodded her head in return, not an inch lower than his.

  “This is my eldest son and heir, James,” Lord Joris said and gestured at the young man on his right. James was tall, she saw, and muscular, though there was something familiar about carefully trimmed blonde hair and goatee, something that set her teeth on edge. “And this,” Lord Joris said, “is my younger son, Garrel.” Garrel didn't look much older than Aerion, though there was a softness about his face that suggested he hadn't seen much hardship. Even so, he had a boyish smile and his sandy-red hair was loose and free, and he seemed more at ease rather his older bother and father's pompous decorum.

  Katarina gave them both nods, “Lord James, Lord Garrel, welcome.” She turned her attention back to the Earl of Olsztyn. “Lord Joris, I see that you have come with a small army. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, then? Have you come to swear your allegiance to me and oppose the Usurper?”

  “Well,” Lord Joris said with a sly smile, “I'm afraid that is entirely dependent upon you.”

  “Dependent upon me?” Katarina asked sharply.

  “Yes,” Earl Joris said. “Will you honor the agreement I had with your father?” His voice was eager, almost excited, and he clearly felt pleased to have the edge over her in this conversation. His face was flushed too and Katarina thought he looked something like a bloated toad, with bulging eyes and a fat face.

  “What agreement is this?” Katarina asked. She didn't like the way he had ambushed her with whatever it was. It felt underhanded, at best, and it seemed like he wanted to keep her off balance.

  “Well, my Lady,” Earl Joris said jovially, “for my son, Garrel, to marry you, of course, what other agreement do you think I could be talking about?”

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lord Hector the Usurper Duke

  The Lonely Isle, Duchy of Masov

  7th of Namak, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Hector pinched the bridge of his nose as he stared at the mirror. “So,” he said finally, “Let me get this straight. A fight broke out there, probably started by Grel or Covle Darkbit. You are now a “guest” of Lady Katarina and my forces there have been beaten back and withdrawn?”

  His mother gave him a wintry smile, “Unfortunately, that does seem to sum it up well.”

  Hector dropped his hand and met her gaze, “You would tell me if they... pressured you to say any of that, wouldn't you?” She gave him a level look that reminded him how he'd felt when he was a child and had come back muddy from playing with the stable boys. He sighed, “It would have been so much easier to handle if that were the case. Then I could just tell my commanders to annihilate the rebels and be done with it.”

  “You'll have to handle those two, you know,” his mother said. “They did everything they could to break up these peace talks, to include breaking the truce.” She pursed her lips, “Kerrel Flamehair, on the other hand, was a good choice.”

  Hector snorted at that. It was probably as close as his mother could come to admitting approval for his lover. “Yes, though I could use her here, just now.” He sighed, “Thank you, mother. I assume that you don't have free access to the mirror?”

  She shook her head, “They've allowed me a few minutes on my own, but I had to promise not to tell you their numbers or any other military details, as if I knew enough about it to be a worry.” She shook her head, “I've talked some with Lady Katarina and she's offered to put me on a merchant ship headed for Boir.”

  Hector nodded slowly at that, “That would be ideal, I think, with a voyage from Boirton to Longhaven after that.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at him, “Why not Western Reach or the Redcoast?”

  Hector ground his jaw as he thought of why that would be a bad idea. “Not something to discuss when I can't be certain they aren't listening in. Just take ship to Longhaven. If all goes well, by the time you get there I'll have finished up the campaign season up here and be headed that way myself.”

  She nodded at him, but he saw her hesitate. “Have you thought about your... have you thought at all about Cyryl?” He heard her hesitation to use the word son, but he wasn't certain if that was because she worried about eavesdroppers or because she didn't want to set him off.

  Hector grimaced, “Now is hardly the time for that discussion. He's made his decisions and so ha
ve I.” In truth, there were times where he sorely missed the boy. There were other times when he remembered just how obstinate he could be. And though I'm glad to hear he survived Grel's ambush, Hector thought, he chose his side long ago.

  She just nodded, “Very well. Take care, my son.” She cut the connection. Hector shook his head, for he knew that on the topic of Cyryl anyway, they still disagreed. She wouldn't be one to let it lie. When next they met, she would probably nag at him, night and day until he agreed to make some kind of peace offering to his son.

  And speaking of peace offerings, he thought darkly, what can I do to salvage this situation? He stepped away from the mirror and took a seat. After a moment, he called for a messenger. “Summon Commander Nasrat,” he said.

  Hector sat back in thought as he awaited Zabilla Nasrat's arrival. Since his victory over the main Armen presence, locals had streamed in to join his forces. Now that they didn't have to defend their walled villages from constant raids, many of their fighting men felt free to join up with his army. Hector guessed that by the end of the campaign season he would have two full battalions of the locals, possibly as many as three.

  That, he hoped, would be enough to secure the island over the next year. He would have to supplement those forces, but he'd already captured almost a dozen of the Armen sloops from raid camps he'd struck. The fast sailing ships would function as the vanguard of the navy he wanted to build, for he would prefer to fight the Armen at sea rather than allowing them time to rape, murder, and pillage on land.

  His guards announced Commander Nasrat and he called for them to send him in.

  “My Lord,” Zabilla Nasrat bowed, “You sent for me?”

  “I did,” Hector rose. “There have been some developments to the south. More and more it looks like I will have to attend to them, personally.”

  He saw surprise on Nasrat's face, “I thought that you had sent Commander Flamehair to the south?” Zabilla almost sounded concerned about her.

  Hector's eyes narrowed at the other man's tone. He had thought that the other man hated her, presumably for her career as a mercenary or perhaps from personal distaste. The sudden concern was a reversal and it suddenly made Hector wonder just how 'random' his deployment at the battle had been. No, he thought, that's absurd, there is no way that Kerrel can act well enough to fake the animosity she had in return for him. “She's fine, as far as I know. However, the rebellion under way has grown in strength and...” he shrugged, it didn't hurt to admit it, “I made a mistake in allowing Grel and Covle Darkbit to be a part of the peace talks. They sabotaged the whole thing, probably intending to save their own necks and make themselves valuable again.”

  Zabilla frowned, “I see.” He considered that for a long moment, “Have you, perhaps, thought about whether they've been suborned?”

  Hectors eyes went narrow at that, “I hadn't.” He had assumed that both men acted out of their own self-interests... but if they had been bribed or paid somehow to work against him... He shook his head though, “I don't know who they might work for. The Vendakar, possibly. The Darkstar come to mind, I suppose, but that seems somewhat far-fetched.” His eyes narrowed then as he thought about the unrest in Boir. How hard would it be to believe that they might foment unrest in his own lands, in order to keep him weak and make his lands a better target to the Armen? “I'll have to look into that.”

  He waved a hand, “In any case, I wanted to discuss with you my plans here, in case I am called away sooner than I'd like.” He leaned over his camp desk and gently lifted a heavy sheet of vellum. “This is for you. We'll be making a formal announcement soon, but I wanted to tell you myself.” He passed the document over.

  Zabilla inspected the seals and formal lettering with confusion for a long moment. “You...” he trailed off and then looked up with surprise, “You're making me a noble?”

  Hector nodded, “The Baron of the Lonely Isle. It also includes Red Island, though I've retained Naram's Tower as part of Longhaven.” He took the document back and set it back on his desk. “It's well-earned and I think your people will value you as their official leader.” The Lonely Isle was a huge grant of land, which was claimed by the Grand Duchy of Boir as well as himself. Granted, they didn't have any troops here, Hector knew, so they weren't likely to press any claims. Red Island and Naram's Tower were two tiny islands that lay directly between the Lonely Isle and Longhaven and both had garrisons to protect their harbors since they made excellent locations to stage raids against the mainland.

  Zabilla still seemed shocked, “Thank you, my Lord.”

  “Now then,” Hector said brusquely, “how did coordination with the Boir Navy personnel go during the last attack? I read your report, but I noticed you didn't mention their role very much.”

  Zabilla shrugged, “It went well, but I think there is still a certain level of distrust between our forces.” He frowned in thought as he searched for the words, “I think missions where we work together would build trust... and I think if you were to personally meet with their leader, Grand Duke Tarken, it would also improve our relations.”

  Hector grimaced at that. In truth, he felt uncomfortable about directly dealing with the new Grand Duke of Boir. While he was a military man, Hector had heard of just how popular he was with his men. That kind of popularity, in Hector's opinion, was often a product of either an officer who pandered to his men or a man with ambition and charisma. Given his recent rise to power, Hector was more inclined to believe the latter. “I'll see about doing that,” Hector acknowledged.

  Of course, the other reason he was uncomfortable about that was the envoy who he was supposed to meet in only a short time. So I should wrap this up, he thought. “Commander Nasrat, since you'll soon be responsible for these lands in general, I'd like you to draft up attack plans for the remaining Armen raid camps as well as Arkavar.” Arkavar was a semi-permanent town where many of the Semat Armen came to trade. Hector had tried, multiple times, to destroy it, but the numbers of Armen had always been too strong. It was girded on three sides by steep bluffs, which left only the harbor as a viable attack point, other than the road and a handful of paths that led up the bluff. The town was also the best port on the northern end of the Lonely Isle, so taking it would not only cut off the Armen from using it, but potentially allow Hector to improve trade across the island and, more importantly, to move troops from one end to the other more quickly.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Zabilla said. Clearly he viewed the assignment as some kind of test and he wasn't far wrong. Part of why Hector had shown him the document now was that, since it wasn't yet official, he could destroy it if it appeared that Zabilla Nasrat wasn't ready for that level of responsibilities. The thing that Hector most liked about the man was that he wouldn't let that bother him, he cared more about his homeland than about any rewards or privileges he gained from defending it. He was, in many ways, the complete opposite of Covle Darkbit, which Hector appreciated more and more as he thought about it. I'll have to take care of both Grel and Darkbit, he thought, whether they're working for someone else or just too blinded by self-interest, they're too dangerous to me alive.

  Hector waited as the man rose and left and then called in his aide, “Bring in our envoy from the south.” He settled back to his chair behind the camp desk and contemplated the letter of introduction. The plain text was simple enough, but it was the implications that bothered him.

  “My lord, I present Lady Lindsee, wife to Earl Hennings of Trelhaven,” his aide said.

  “Duke Hector,” she curtsied, a graceful motion that she also used to display her attributes, Hector noted. She had the figure to favor it, he could admit, with tiny waist and hourglass figure, her curly blonde hair was arranged in ringlets that probably took hours of preparation. Her brown eyes were warm and friendly, “I am so glad to finally meet you, I've heard so much about you.”

  Hector didn't rise from his desk, “Lady Lindsee, I've little time for this and since you've come such a long way, I feel we can disp
ense with the pleasantries.”

  Her smile faded, “I suppose we can.” She arched an eyebrow, the calculation in her eyes a stark contrast to the warmth and cheer she had earlier projected. “Would you like to hear my husband's offer?”

  Hector leaned back in his chair, “By all means.”

  “Lord Admiral Staven Hennings, Earl of Trelhaven, has been wrongfully cheated of his rightful position by 'Grand Duke' Christoffer Tarken. Furthermore, he seeks an alliance with you, against Boir. In return for that alliance, he is willing to open free trade with the weapons and equipment crafted by the Iron Wizards, until now, exclusively for the Grand Duchy of Boir. Think, Lord Hector, what you could accomplish with a fleet of ironclads to patrol your waters.”

  “That is interesting,” Hector said. “Surely, you must be aware right now that I'm allied with Grand Duke Tarken against the Armen. What makes you think I'd betray that alliance?”

  She shrugged, “You should think about who you trust, Lord Hector. Surely you've heard, by now, that Tarken was aboard the only ship that survived the ambush of the Northern Fleet? Does it not seem odd to you that he, alone, escaped that calamity? Does it not seem rather fortunate that Grand Duke Becket and his family died at the hands of assassins only days after Lord Tarken sailed to the north? Let's not even go into the fact that he's taken an Armen woman as his mistress.” Her voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, one that made Hector wonder at the hate she felt for the man. From what he had been able to uncover about her, her sister had married Tarken and was the mother of his three, now deceased, children. It was obvious that whatever vitriol she held for the man, it had colored her perceptions of him.

  It doesn't mean she's wrong, though, he mentally acknowledged. It was highly suspicious that Christoffer Tarken had survived the calamities that had befallen Boir. It was all the more so that he had risen to the highest position of power when the dust settled. Yes, even Hector had heard rumors about the Grand Duke's hard fought battles with the Armen, but those could have been staged, he supposed, or might come because the Armen outlived their usefulness.