“Justified? Sacrificing your own son?”
“Had I done nothing, you and Markolac would certainly have clashed, and in so doing ripped this kingdom asunder. My actions saved Akenberg from being torn in two.”
“You exaggerate to shield your ego from the truth. You failed yourself, this kingdom, and your family.”
Hermann snorted. “Have I failed? I don’t see it that way. My son will be emperor, after all. Even if it isn’t the one I expected.”
The brief silence that followed loomed profoundly. He found it telling that Nico did not attempt to deny this destiny. The natural progression was clear enough, even to that obstinate mind.
Nico paused to consider his words. Exactly what was expected from a good ruler, and another promising sign. “The future will bring what it brings. I’m not trying to shape it.”
“You don’t really believe that. Ever since you returned, you’ve seized power at every opportunity.”
“The difference between us is that you see power as treasure, to be collected and coveted. But power isn’t treasure, it’s more like a sword. To be used only when needed, and treated with respect. With honor.”
“This foolish code of yours makes you take unnecessary risks, young prince. Those risks will catch up to you, sooner or later. And when they do, where will your precious honor leave you?”
“Honorable.”
Hermann’s eyes narrowed. At first, he thought his son was making game of him. Now he could see the boy was earnest.
“You’re not Eberhart, Nicolas. Leave the heroics to the heroes.”
He could tell those words had stung. Not that Hermann wished to be cruel to his only living son, but it appeared that was the only way to get the message through.
Once more, Nico needed a moment to rein in his embattled emotions. Then he called out in a loud voice, “Captain Reikmann.”
Hermann’s old friend entered the chamber, striding boldly to the prince’s side. The king greeted him with a smile. “You have joined with the boy, Reikmann?”
“I side with winners, Hermann. The Third has proven himself to me, as you once did.”
The Third. Bah. When did that become more important than blood and friendship?
Nico cleared his throat.
Here it comes. Will it be death, then? Or banishment? Public humiliation, perhaps?
“Captain Reikmann, my father is unwell. He sees the importance of strong leadership in a time of war, and relinquishes his duties to those better able to perform them.
“Yet he is to be respected for all he has done to benefit Akenberg. Maybe there is still time for him to learn that respect—the giving and receiving—is more valuable than power.
“He is confined to quarters until the transition is complete. After that, ceremonial duties can resume.
“Does this suit you, Father? Do you ‘know where the ground lays?’”
Not death, then. Not even a trial. Smart, for the boy would not benefit from certain secrets being revealed.
It was far more than Hermann expected, and probably better than he deserved. Perhaps he still had more service to provide his kingdom.
“Very well, then, I abdicate. Rule with my full support, for the time I have left. What’s in a title, anyway? You seem to accumulate them faster than one can keep track. Prince, Thane, Commander, General, Third.
“I suppose you have one more to add to your list, King.”
SHIELD AND CROWN
Empire Asunder Book III
Glossary
(Space restrictions require this to be a partial list. A full description of terms and culture is found in Empire Unveiled, the fourth part of this box set.)
Nobility
Emperor - the highest authority in the Empire, dominion over all twelve kings
King - ruler of a kingdom/province, swears fealty to the Emperor
Duke - ruler of a duchy within a kingdom, swears fealty to a king
Baron (Hern in some provinces) - ruler of a barony within a kingdom, swears fealty to a duke or king
Count (Landgrave in some provinces) - ruler over two or more lords, swears fealty to a baron, duke, or king
Lord - landed gentry with Imperial holdings
Military
Soldiers are divided between recruit ranks, drawn from the commoners, and officers, generally drawn from nobility or esteemed veterans of the recruit ranks.
A standard squad (squadron for cavalry) is 10 privates plus a corporal.
A standard company is 4 squads (3 for cavalry) led by a captain.
Officer Ranks
General - commands an army, reports to the king
Commander - commands a regiment or detachment, reports to a general
Captain - commands a company, reports to a commander
Recruit Ranks
Corporal - recruit in command of a squad, reports to a captain
Private - recruit, reports to a corporal
Provincial and Town Officials
Chancellor - a position of authority over administrative or financial matters within a province, appointed by king
Retainer - personal follower of a specific member of the nobility, sometimes themselves of lesser nobility
Magistrate - chief judicial and executive official in a city, town, or significant village, usually appointed by lord, count, or baron
Clerk - chief administrative official in a city, town, or significant village, usually appointed by magistrate
Historian - librarian overseeing Archives, usually appointed by magistrate
Other
Swordthane - member of the Order of Swordthanes
First of Swords - singular head of the order
Second of Swords - one of two thanes obedient to the First of Swords
Third of Swords - one of six thanes obedient to a Second of Swords
Housethrall - servant for life in the employ of nobility, town official, or prominent family
Fieldthrall - worker for life employed on one of the many farms dotting the Empire
Cards of an Imperial Deck
Heart - Love
Crown - Nobility
Shield - Friendship and Loyalty
Dragon - Beasts
Storm - Chaos
Sword - War and Conflict
Devil - Evil
Skull - Death
Dramatis Personae
(Space restrictions require this to be a partial list. A full accounting of people and places is found in Empire Unveiled, the fourth part of this box set.)
Akenberg
Prince Nicolas (Nico), Hermann’s second son, a Swordthane and commander of The Threeshields
King Hermann
Prince Markolac (Marko), Hermann’s eldest son, killed in battle at Allstatte
Renard, retainer to Prince Nicolas, killed in battle at Cormona
General Koblenzar, formerly in command of all Akenberg forces
General Freilenn, in command of the Fourth Army
General Reikmann, second-in-command of the King’s Army
General Cottzer, formerly second-in-command of the Emperor’s Army, defeated at Allstatte
Captain Anika, aide to General Reikmann
The Kingshields, Akenberg cavalry company
Captain Mickens
Private Lima, Nico’s aide
Private Pim, twin of Mip
Asturia
King Anton
Lord Jacinto, an advisor
Princess Letitia (Leti), Anton’s daughter
Prince Tobias (Toby), Anton’s son
Private Zenza, a Swordthane and member of Anton’s Royal Guard
General Moroles, in command of Cormona defenses
Neverdawn
Jak, a housethrall
Calla, the historian’s daughter
Kleo, the clerk’s daughter, Kevik the Corrupt’s sister, sacrificed in Ra’Cheka
Kluber, the magistrate’s son
Riff, a housethrall, sacrificed in Ra’Cheka
Kevik the Corrupt, the clerk’s son, Kleo’s brother, commander of the Veldt
Henrik, the historian, Calla’s father, killed at Winter Festival
Disciple Lukas, caretaker of the Shrine of Tempus, killed at Winter Festival
Vilnia
Private Yohan, a soldier and half-Oster
Commander Jenaleve (Jena), King Volocar’s eldest daughter
Private Brody, a soldier, killed in ambush
Harpa
Summersong Maple (Summer), caravan leader
Patrik, Summer’s betrothed
Fairmeadow Sonnet (Meadow), killed in ambush
Silverson Goldthrush (Silvo), killed in ambush
Others
Redjack, a tribesman and Vilnian traitor
Twoscar, a tribesman
King Argenlieu, co-ruler of Daphina
Queen Louisa, co-ruler of Daphina
General Boisson, in command of the siege of Allstatte
King Deniger, ruler of Gothenberg
Gregory, the magistrate of Threefork
“The shield is a token of both friendship and loyalty; for are those not one and the same? Not nearly so capricious as love, nor ephemeral as honor, it is to the wise a currency more valued than silver and gold.”
Imperial Deck Standard Rules
Prologue
The Tiger
They could not see the thing that stalked them, nor hear it, nor smell it. But they knew it was out there. Though Twoscar would never admit this to anyone, he was afraid.
The raiding party no longer felt like the adventure it had in the early days, when all had been fighting and killing and plunder. Now, many tendays since departing his homeland—Sulja, that lovely mountain region he had so utterly failed to appreciate while there—the thirty-six men left of the original sixty were tired, homesick, and burdened by the accumulation of spoils. Once, when he and his clanbrothers were motivated to strike out at the hated Imperials, the grassy meadows of this exotic land stretched out like a limitless field of opportunity. Now they all simply wished to get back home, these same meadows alien and inhospitable.
Of the twenty-four warriors they had lost, eighteen were killed in the countless raids conducted against unsuspecting caravans and patrols. Regrettable losses, but expected. The enemy had always suffered far more, the trade-off always in the tribesmen’s favor. Violent death was a not uncommon occurrence in their way of life—full as it was with trials, rivalries, infighting, and border conflicts—so they had all learned to accept the event with relative detachment. Perhaps even a little selfish excitement, for each man who fell meant more booty for those who survived.
The last six were a different story, however.
The final raid they had conducted—an attack on a harpa caravan, well-defended but unprepared thanks to Redjack’s ruses—resulted in their greatest rewards yet. Losing four of their own was a difficult price to accept, but the delight at the sight of so many precious goods—tin for the crafters back home, cloth and furs to replace their own torn and rank rags—was exceeded only by the revelation of yet another sacred captive. This last was the most welcome boon of all, for it led to their leader calling a successful end to this raid. They could all go home at last.
The tribesmen were in this for riches, but their overlords for captives. And not just anyone would do. Twoscar had lost count of the number of ransomable prisoners he had seen eaten by the Archon and those few of the Suljik brothers who sought to curry favor. Twoscar himself had never participated in the repugnant deed, and most of the others felt the same revulsion. Even Redjack himself, otherwise favored by the Chekiks, had declined to join in the ceremonial meals, and declared the practice anathema to the ancestors.
But not all were dissuaded by such rules, or at least placed less importance on them than pleasing their new masters. Brackswig, in particular, was determined to emulate the Archon in as many ways as possible, shaving off black beard and top-hair in a farcical impersonation of Chekik baldness. He was the first of the tribe to taste Imperial flesh. Now he claimed to prefer the flavor to all others, an assertion with which he felt compelled to taunt the two remaining living captives.
Brackswig was one of the few who still talked to the prisoners. Most had stopped after what happened to Loko.
The journey back to Sulja was not as direct as Twoscar would have liked. A zigzag route east and south, east and south, each turn toward the Stormeres getting his hopes up, each turn away dashing them anew. The Archon would not deign to tell the tribesmen his intentions, of course, but Redjack was privy to some of the Chekik strategies and speculated openly that all the raiding parties were meeting up in Threefork to complete some unknown and unfinished business.
The group of forty that left the ruined caravan had done so in high spirits, buoyed by the aftereffects of battlelust, the thrill of victory, and welcome thoughts of home. Laughter was common, and jokes abundant. At least initially, most of the humor was made at the captives’ expense.
Redjack—passing down orders from the Archon—would not allow the men to do what they wished. The temptation was interminable, alas, for the prohibition only served to amplify the raw appeal of the women, and too long had it been since Twoscar and the others lay with the wives and lovers of Sulja. For days, the vexing desire led to frequent outbursts toward the prisoners. The tribesmen’s knowledge of the Imperial language was limited, but they knew enough to use some colorful words.
The tough blonde received most of the taunts with quiet contempt. The anger she possessed was so palpable that Twoscar felt a warrior’s empathy with her. She was a swordmaiden, he knew. And a capable one, for he had personally seen her strike down more than one of his brothers before they overwhelmed her with numbers. Initially, her hate was directed only at Redjack—the rest of them were almost invisible to her, unworthy of her attention—but then Brackswig started receiving a portion of his own when he dared to hit her.
Until that time, she had been so impervious to their words that they made a game of seeing who could be the first to get a rise out of her. They took turns, one at a time, each leveling insults or issuing threats, only to be met by stony silence. Each had given up with a laugh, but Brackswig was in it to win. In this, as in all things.
He had been talking directly to her—standing just in front of where she stood, both hands bound—describing the acts he would perform on her as soon as the Archon left their group for the next. At first, Brackswig’s particularly unpleasant pronouncement appeared to affect her, revealed by a flicker in her eyes and a clenching of the jaw. For just a moment, she might have been scared. Then Redjack chose that moment to wander near, and her eyes instantly abandoned the man before her in favor of the one she blamed for the destruction of her squad.
Brackswig began yelling, but the opportunity was lost. So he punched her in the belly so hard she collapsed to the dirt. Her face twisted as she struggled to breathe, and he looked down on her in rage. His foot swung back, ready to kick, before Redjack placed a hand on the angry man’s shoulder. Brackswig gritted his teeth, torn between act and restraint, then settled for spitting on the woman and walking away.
Redjack bent down to help her up. She tried to resist his aid, but the bindings limited her movements. He held her by the arms until the wobbling steadied, then smiled to her. “We can’t have you spoiled. Not before what the Chekiks have in mind for you.”
She spat into his face, then collapsed again from a second punch to the gut. This time, Redjack did not stoop to help her up. He simply stared, the smile broadening as he enjoyed his position of dominance. “For too long have I listened to you and your kinsmen. Obeyed your witless officers. Watched you arrogant Imperial pricks insult my people, so sure of your false superiority. Soon enough, the empire will learn its real place in this world. You’re just slaves who escaped for a time. I hope you enjoyed your brief freedom, for it’s coming to an end. You think you’re better than us. Well, we’re going to watch you suffer.”
Twoscar and his
brothers watched the exchange in fascination. It was more than a little gratifying to see an Imperial receive a heavy dose of humility. This was why they all loved Redjack. He had never been afraid of the toughest assignments, had never shied from confrontation, had never bought into the tribesmen’s natural inferiority to others.
And he had been the natural choice when the Chekiks first arrived in Sulja, years earlier, demanding volunteers to infiltrate the Imperial armies. Where others were cowed by the newcomers, too apprehensive to get close to the oddly powerful halfmen, Redjack had taken that burden upon himself. He had spent the subsequent years away from home, surrounded by enemies, always one slip away from discovery and death. Whenever Twoscar felt homesick, he reminded himself how much worse it must be for this clanbrother.
For the moment, the captive was incapable of getting up on her own. But she was able to speak, one of the few times she chose to. “Prove it.” Her voice was not much above a croak, but they all heard.
“What’s that, you say?” Redjack laughed.
“Prove you’re better than an Imperial. Untie me and fight this weak, starving woman. Show us you’re a man.”
The others laughed as they yelled encouragement, but Twoscar did not. He watched Redjack’s face, saw the momentary flicker of fear. That split-second spoke volumes. Then their clanbrother composed himself, laughed again, and spoke over his shoulder as he walked away. “If only I could…but I wouldn’t want them to do to me what they will to you.”
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 46
