Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  “You didn’t know you were messing with a blacksmith’s son,” Gallo said, spreading his legs and flexing his muscles. He dropped a large bundle of dark burlap on the ground with a heavy clanking, then he and Hinch each drew a weapon from it. The two of them now held swords of their own, and not the wooden practice variety. Jak could see they were iron—poorly constructed, but sturdier and far deadlier than the blunt ones he and Kevik had at their disposal.

  “You’re a fool,” Kevik said. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

  “Of course,” Gallo barked, clearly annoyed that the confrontation was not going the way he expected. “Hinch, ready to teach these two a lesson about cutting pricks off?”

  “Aye,” the other growled, although he clearly was not.

  Jak took a step away from Kevik, then another, giving his friend plenty of room to maneuver. His eyes were on Hinch, who stepped with him, matching his lateral movement. That was good, as far as Jak was concerned. He had wanted to make sure that the two others could not both attack Kevik at the same time—probably the only tactic that would give them a prayer of a chance. Now all Jak had to do was delay long enough for Gallo to be disarmed, and then the fight would be over.

  Jak did as he learned from countless times watching Kevik—he stayed in a defensive posture, allowing his opponent to initiate contact. At first, Hinch seemed to be in no hurry to do so, and the two of them simply circled in small, cautious steps. But the sound of steel on wood close by indicated that Gallo had found the courage to press on. Whether stemming from sudden bravado or pride, Jak’s opponent at last decided to attack. He brought his sword forward in a two-handed swing, arcing toward the center of Jak’s weapon as if hoping to chop it in half.

  Jak had invited the clumsy move by the way he extended his own sword. Now he quickly dipped it out of the way, allowed Hinch’s momentum to pull him off-balance, and whacked the other boy hard in the knee. Hinch dropped the metal sword in order to clutch his leg with both hands as he fell to the ground with a cry.

  Hardly winded, Jak kicked his opponent’s blade some distance away, just to make sure the boy did not get any second thoughts. Then he turned toward the other two, doubtful that his help would be needed.

  Sure enough, Gallo was on his knees already, one hand holding an injured shoulder. He glared up at Kevik, who had the wooden sword in one hand and the iron in the other, both pointed at the pitiful figure. Jak smiled and took a step toward the two of them, just as Kevik pushed the iron blade straight into Gallo’s chest. It came out the back, soaked in red. Kevik let go of the handle, and the bully tumbled over.

  Jak gasped for breath but was unable to find any. His lungs felt that they had lost the capacity to inflate no matter how wide his mouth gaped open.

  He forced himself forward again, toward his friend. Kevik was staring at the unmoving body, clearly stunned by what he had done. That was a relief. For just a second, Jak had worried that the other might smile.

  Jak squeezed his fists tightly, then released them. He realized he had dropped his own sword somewhere along the way. One more clench and then he exhaled heavily. His mind was functioning again. Racing, but functioning.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. A silly question, intended only to break the silence.

  Kevik’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide and wild. “Jak, I killed him.”

  That could not be denied, so Jak did not attempt to. “Are you all right?” he repeated. “Did he hit you somewhere?” Jak hoped there was an explanation for what had happened. A spontaneous act of self-preservation, rather than murder.

  But Kevik shook his head. Clearly, he was fine. Physically, in any case. He looked at the boy he had just slain. “What should we do?”

  “We’ll explain that these bullies started it—”

  But Kevik was already shaking his head. “They’ll expel me, Jak. From the academy.”

  “You killed him!” the high-pitched voice shouted accusingly, reminding Jak of the other witness. There were too many things to process at once, and his mind reeled in confusion.

  Standing as straight and tall as possible, Jak walked swiftly toward the injured boy, who had regained his feet but still clutched the damaged knee. Jak attempted to look and sound as menacing as possible as he glared down into Hinch’s pained face. “Nay. I did. Do you hear me? I did it, and I’ll come for you next if you tell anyone otherwise.”

  Hinch looked terrified, but nodded. Good enough. “Now get lost,” Jak ordered. The boy turned and limped away as fast as he could, leaving everything behind.

  Jak turned back to the scene. To his surprise, he saw Kevik picking things up. Already with the burlap wrap in one hand, he began collecting all the discarded weapons. He carried them over to the body, dropped the large cloth beside, and placed the swords on it. Then he drew the killing blade from Gallo’s chest and added it to the pile. As he began to wrap the bundle back up, Jak moved toward him.

  “We should leave everything the way it was,” he said.

  Kevik, crouching as he worked, shook his head. “We’re getting rid of it.”

  “It’s okay, Kevik. We don’t need to. We’ll tell them—”

  “I heard you. And I forbid you from doing it.” He paused a moment before continuing. “These two weren’t from around here. No one will know about this for a while. Maybe never. You put the fear of Todos into that kid. He might never say anything.”

  “Kevik, the village needs to know, the body needs to burn—”

  “Why? Do you really think it matters if the shrine doesn’t get to burn every single body?”

  “Whatever village they’re from needs to know. His family—”

  “Family? What has family ever done for you or me?” Kevik spat and glared up. The strength of his conviction rendered Jak speechless. Kevik went back to tying the bundle. “My mind is made up, and you’re obligated to serve. Got that?”

  He stood and shoved the bundle into Jak’s arms. Then he bent down, picked up the dead body, and slung it over his shoulder. The blacksmith’s son was not small, but Kevik the Killer was unaffected by the burden.

  “Now, we’re going to dump all this into Broker’s Pond, and we’re not going to say a word to anyone. Even Calla. Do you follow me, Jak?”

  In all his years of servitude, there had been a great many orders that the housethrall had not liked carrying out, but had done so anyway. This one was easily the worst.

  7

  Cormona

  Although there was much about the circumstances to trouble his anxious mind, Prince Nico had to credit the Asturians for their hospitality. The guest quarters were magnificent, he was treated by servants with a respect accorded to the highest dignitaries, and the meals delivered to his dining chamber thrice per day were suitable for the king’s own table, even if Nico were never invited to sup there. The food was a colorful profusion of unfamiliar dishes, where even the few he recognized had subtle variations in flavor that turned each meal into a culinary adventure.

  At first Nico had been reluctant to try some of the more exotic fare, but once acquiring the curious impulse to sample the oddities there was no looking back. Never having spent time away from Akenberg, he had never before realized how truly bland was the food of his home province.

  He only wished for more in the way of company with whom to enjoy the experience. Sometimes Renard joined him from the smaller adjoining suite, but the older man spent most of his time with the soldiers in the barracks. Nico could not blame his retainer, for Nico joined them himself as much as duty allowed.

  Most of his days were spent learning what he could of the castle and its inhabitants. The place was spectacular in design and decoration, particularly considering the drab isolation of the surrounding region. It seemed as though some thief had stolen all the color from the environment to concentrate it in this single structure. Vast tapestries hung from the abundant windows, vibrant oil paintings covered the walls, and nearly every surface was gilt in silver or gold.
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  Accentuating the theme of opulence, pretty young girls were seen everywhere. Some were courtiers, but many were servants, their attire so fine it was difficult to distinguish between the two. He wished some of these would accompany him for his solitary meals, but everyone was far too busy—or apprehensive—to share more than a few words at a time with him. A persistent mood of nervous foreboding hung in the air, never allowing anyone to forget the imminent threat of war that loomed so ominously.

  Curious how Cormona would fare in this conflict, Nico spent no small amount of time inspecting the defenses of both castle and city. The former were truly impressive—soaring towers and sweeping battlements adorned with curiously cherubic gargoyles, a design fulfilling both form and function. On the other hand, the latter consisted of little more than a low, wide stone wall around the city’s crowded neighborhoods, interspersed with an austere tower or two per elongated side.

  In Nico’s mind, the people had good reason to worry about the threat of Duke Iago’s approaching legion. As did King Anton, whose face was drawn with worry on those few occasions when Nico caught glimpses of him. If their roles were reversed, Nico would worry, too.

  It felt strange being in the midst of, but not fully within, the bustle and gloom. This was now the eleventh day since news of Iago’s first victory had reached the king’s ears, and Nico knew from studying the maps that an army marching at a reasonable speed would reach the capital soon. Anton had chosen not to march toward the enemy and meet in the middle, but rather to take the time to mobilize what forces he could from the local population. This last tenday was spent integrating these with the professional soldiers that garrisoned Cormona on a regular basis.

  From what he observed watching them practice rudimentary maneuvers on the rocky plain outside the walls, Nico estimated that they numbered little more than a thousand. Depending on which rumor one put more faith in, Iago’s forces had anywhere from two to ten times as many.

  The only good news—for Nico naturally found himself pulling for Anton—was in the disparity of quality. Although much of the defending force comprised relatively untrained levies, a substantial number were those capable veterans that formed the backbone of any good army. Iago’s troops, however, undoubtedly consisted of the mob-like amateurs that rallied around every poorly conceived cause. For sure, he would also have some well-equipped and disciplined units, but not so many as the king. It was the test of strength and resilience between the two armies that would determine the outcome of the impending clash—and whether Nico returned home escorting a princess or empty-handed.

  From watching the maneuvers day after day, he could already see improvement in the coordinated movements of the hastily integrated forces. Nico had learned from Captain Bayard the importance of getting groups—whether squads, companies, or entire regiments—to move as one. No matter the skill of individual soldiers, once fighting devolved into every man and woman for themselves, all hope of order and discipline fell by the wayside. Panic and chaos quickly ensued. The approaching battle would largely depend on which side could postpone that calamity the longest, making every hour of training vitally important.

  It was a meaningful lesson for a young, aspiring commander.

  Most afternoons, Nico would spend a few minutes with his company to reassure himself that all was well. Today, however, he was tempted to skip the trip in favor of some additional reconnoitering, wanting instead to spend more time learning all he could of Cormona’s upgraded defenses. The time and effort might be edifying, for one never knew when such knowledge might turn out to be useful.

  He had already discerned that Cormona was vulnerable to siege. Considering the dearth of fresh water in the area—desiccant Qiver aside—the city relied on a constant stream of porters to and from a cluster of nearby springs. Cut those off and the city would quickly succumb to thirst and illness. Even if Iago were aware of the weakness, however, he would be unlikely to pursue that strategy. Rebellions rarely had patience. The duke would seek a faster, bloodier resolution.

  In the end, Nico cut his inspections short to visit the barracks anyway. He knew there was very little that Captain Bayard could not handle on his own, but the prince and commander wanted to remain an important part of their routine. Besides, he was hoping to spend a little more time with the twins, Mip and Pim, of whom he was growing increasingly fond. Perhaps he could even talk some of the crew into another game of cards. The remembrance of the last, with a desire to make a stronger showing for himself, remained fresh in his mind.

  “There was an altercation in the sparring chamber this morn,” Captain Bayard reported. The unemotional way he habitually spoke made judging the severity of the problem difficult.

  Nico knew that some of his troopers had taken to frequenting the chamber—partly to keep their skills sharp, but mainly to relieve boredom. He waited quietly as the captain explained how the argument had developed.

  “We’ve used the chamber before and never had a problem, but in recent days there have been far more people practicing than usual. Space became crowded, and our folks were chased away. They chose to report it to me rather than risk a fight…though I know it galled them to do so.”

  Nico nodded, the picture becoming clear. “How many of us?”

  “Three. Corporal Keldon and Privates Manus and Lima.”

  “Be sure to commend them for their discretion.” Nico hesitated. “You and I should have seen this coming.”

  Bayard’s eyes widened. “Oh?” This was the first time Nico had ever seen the man defensive.

  “Yes. The Cormonans are tense. Their livelihoods are in turmoil. You can feel it in the air. We should expect that tempers will flare up.”

  A slow nod. “There is some truth to what you say. But we should be cautious about letting them look down on us. It sets a bad precedent.”

  “I agree. Let’s do something about it, shall we?”

  The sparring chamber was indeed crowded, far more so than its counterpart in Neublusten. The approach of Iago’s army had suddenly made everyone quite interested in learning how to defend themselves. Not that everyone present was practicing—there were a number of those pretty girls so ubiquitous in the castle, although whether serving or merely watching was unclear. Probably a little of each.

  Traditionally, the sparring chamber formed a focal point of every castle, and Cormona’s was no exception. The large room measured sixty paces to each wall, high-ceilinged and well-lit from a number of large overhead windows. This was one part of the castle without decoration, with bare stone walls except for a single banner with Asturia’s golden olive tree crest on red background.

  Along with Renard, Nico brought the same three troopers who had been expelled earlier, although he had not told them exactly what he had in mind to address the situation. He was not entirely certain just how much weight his personage carried. Hopefully, any domestic officials present would respect his lineage as Prince of Akenberg, while any military officers would respect his rank as commander—but that was far from certain.

  Which was why Renard carried the small sack slung over his shoulder.

  Whether this undertaking was successful or not, Nico preferred that any future objections be directed toward him. This, at last, was a role he could perform for the Threeshields. It was his duty to his men and women to stand up for them in a dispute, and his responsibility to the Asturians to make sure the Akenberg presence did not add to their anxieties. Those were already severe enough without the added complication of strife inside the castle from those who should be friends.

  Scanning the crowd for faces he might know yielded the expected lack of results, for although being treated courteously, Nico had not managed to meet many Asturians of status. Now regretting that shortfall, he had no idea whom to approach in order to resolve the issue. He would have to wait for them to come to him.

  He motioned toward a corner of the chamber where no one was currently sparring. The fivesome staked their claim, and Corporal Keldon withdre
w a pair of practice swords and bucklers from the bundle he carried. He handed one of each to Manus and Lima, who waited for a nod from Nico to begin practicing.

  Nico felt that he could watch them with an expert eye, considering the years of critical examination Renard had drilled into him. Manus was unspectacularly competent, showing no glaring weaknesses—exactly what Nico would have expected from a veteran of his years. Lima, on the other hand, was younger and much rawer in talent. She was faster than the man she currently faced, but her movements were more imprecise. In a few years, she would be the better of the two. But today, Manus had the upper hand.

  From the corner of his eye, Nico watched an officious-looking man approach the group. Nico moved to intercept him, hoping for recognition but ready to announce himself, if necessary.

  It was not. “Your pardons, Prince,” the official started. “This chamber is for Cormonans only. I thought we made this clear earlier.” His eyes darted a glance at Corporal Keldon.

  “So I heard.” Nico suppressed any resentment from his tone. He wished to be diplomatic, but firm. “I request that you make an exception, however.”

  The official’s mouth opened and closed, wordless. It was a start, Nico decided.

  “What is your name?”

  “My name, Prince? Ignus. But I don’t see why—”

  “A pleasure, Ignus. King Anton must appreciate having servants who attend their duties so faithfully. At the same time, he will also appreciate those who understand when to use judgment over strict regulation.” Nico said all this casually, pretending that instructing servants was second nature to him. He took his eyes off Ignus and watched the continuing clash between Manus and Lima. Seeing the older man score a solid hit on her leg, he smiled. “Nicely done, Manus! Lima, I dare say you will have him in time, but the old soldier still has a few nicks left on that blade.” The tone was lighter than he had ever used with them before, and the two soldiers exchanged curious glances.