“By destroying the source. The sword Kevik carries.”
“You cannot fight him.”
“Nay, not yet. I fear the hard times may last a while. But eventually, we’ll strike back.”
“I wish you luck and speed, Jak.” They shook left hands, left to left. “Kluber, I know you’ll help him. And Calla…I don’t know what to say.”
Neither did she, apparently. Jak put his arm around her shoulders. “Ready?” She nodded, a hint of sunshine dancing across her brown hair. The break in the rain was much appreciated, but he knew it would not last.
They had learned their location from the hunter and wife. The border with Lorester was not far away, but the nearest road led southward, to Daphina and on into Akenberg. At one time, the idea of leaving Falkenreach would have filled Jak with anxiety. After all that had happened, however, the notion barely warranted a second thought.
“Look out for the patrols,” Gronen warned them again. “And heed the rumors of war.”
“We will,” Kluber said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
Gronen nodded. The gloves were back on. Clearly, the man preferred to keep the paw out of sight, both to hide it from others and himself. Thinking of the progression of Kleo’s scales, Jak wondered how long before the rest of the body began changing.
Sori appeared beside her husband, and he wrapped an arm around her. “Luck and speed, you three. Luck and speed.”
3
Neublusten
The eagle soared far overhead, gracing the blue sky with golden majesty, tracing a path from the walls of Neublusten to the sparkling lake for which the city was named. Once over the water, the bird circled back, flapping its wings but once, then gliding lower over the melting snows of the field where a thousand soldiers were forming, always in motion, in the spirit of all animals everywhere, hunger compelling its eternal search for prey.
As he watched, King Nicolas of Akenberg silently wished it luck. He felt little sympathy for the hare and marmot, for this was simply the way of things. The blessed prospered, the weak succumbed. It was unfair, but so was life.
Farther and farther away, the image lost clarity. Now little more than a speck, the great bird abruptly changed directions, back toward the heights, as a volley of bolts flew into the sky.
Nico frowned. Crossbowmen, making sport. He could barely make out the projectiles from this distance, but had no doubt what they were. He also knew they would have to be lucky, indeed, to take down an eagle in flight.
One was, and the swift speck of gold ceased its upward trajectory and fell to earth. The noblest of creatures in a moment of transcendent glory, snuffed out in an instant.
“That’s a lesson for you,” Leti told him. “Appreciate all of life’s precious moments, for you never know when they will end.”
“As My Princess commands,” he replied, leaning in for a kiss.
“There’s no time for that, boy,” Renard admonished. “You have a kingdom to lead. Nay, an empire.”
Nico closed his eyes regretfully. When he opened them again, the other two were gone. He still had the beauty of the lake, however, and the welcome warmth of sunshine. The tranquility of the scene was not to be lightly disregarded.
But in times of war, springtime meant new offensives, and he had ordered this one himself. Now, it was his obligation to see the troops off.
From a respectable distance away, two others watched him stand. Seeing him mount, they followed suit. Then, as he cantered toward the Fourth Army, they galloped to catch up. Lima took position on his left, Pim his right. Neither spoke a word, but he felt their presence so keenly he almost stopped missing his ghosts.
He loved them more than he could let them know. Nico owed them much, for he never would have reached the position he was in without their aid, and their friendship.
Exactly what position was he in? A king, but more than that, according to the rumors. A reluctant hero to his homeland. The man who turned a war around, who summoned hope from despair.
And a ruler only a few steps away from being emperor. Win this civil war he unwillingly found himself fighting, and he would become the obvious candidate. Akenberg’s former enemies would have little alternative but to support him. Such was the price of defeat.
If Akenberg won this conflict. One battle did not make a war. The siege of the capital was over, but three enemies remained, and more fighting was yet to come.
Soon his escorts were joined by another. Captain Mickens of the Kingshields, Nico’s personal guard, saluted his leader and fell in behind the others. Nico glanced back to see the man beaming at his former comrades. And why not? They had all gone through trying times together, and all had much of which to be proud.
Pride did not sit easily upon Nico’s head, however, for there was always one more obstacle in his way, one more problem to push through, one more responsibility to fulfill. This had been his life ever since being tasked with a modest errand to a neighboring kingdom, two seasons and a lifetime ago.
Words were not necessary for the foursome to enjoy each others’ company, and the brief gallop across the scenic plains was more rousing than the grandest orchestra.
Nico located the commander near the front of the formation, twenty companies of infantry and four of cavalry, plus the ancillary aides and adjuncts that made an army function. A formidable force with which to turn the tides of war, and much better than what Nico had returned to at the beginning of winter. An army with more tendays training at its back. And, even more importantly, a victory.
Overseeing this massing of eager young men and women was the man Nico came to see. He slowed his destrier, but did not dismount, and spoke in a loud, authoritative voice. He wanted as many of the staff and soldiers as possible to hear the respect he had for this officer, the true savior of Neublusten.
“General Freilenn, I wish you and your troops a fast and successful journey.”
“Thank you, My King. You honor us with this duty, but not so much as you do with your person. We are all very pleased that you send us off personally.” He smiled, enjoying the exchange. For a commoner, Freilenn was becoming quite adroit with the formalities of etiquette.
Moving closer now, Nico lowered his voice and spoke in the casual manner of friends. “Remember, drive them back as needed, but avoid bloodshed where possible. We want them deterred, not dead.”
“Aye, Third. I understand the circumstances.”
He did not, of course. Or at least not all of them. Freilenn was aware of the three conflicts inflicting the empire—not only this civil war, but the rumors of a demon infestation in the north and a Chekik invasion in the east. Every able soldier was needed for the latter two, which meant every death in the former was doubly tragic. Thus Akenberg’s unfortunate war with her neighbors needed to be resolved as quickly and bloodlessly as possible, then resources shifted to the other fights.
These strategic necessities had been explained to Nico by Third Arturo, just before his death in a duel between the two. The result was that Nico took on the responsibilities and the title of the other, along with an overwhelming sense of guilt.
All this Freilenn knew. But there was more that he did not, that he could not. Nico had made a promise to Princess Letitia of the Asturians that they would never be enemies. Events had already made him an unwilling liar, and he had no desire to become a willing one.
The Fourth Army was marching south, against Asturia. The Loresters, to the north, had already lost one battle and were open to negotiations. That left only Daphina for Nico to confront with the remainder of his forces.
“I trust you above all others, Freilenn. You’re the right man for this.” Nico spoke from the heart, as the other well understood. “But I’ll miss having your counsel.”
The general nodded. “Let’s be sure to speak again soon.” He smiled. “In Cormona, preferably.”
They saluted, then Nico backed away while the man issued orders. Soon two-thousand boots were marching in unison, filling the lat
e morn with precision stomping like the drums of an endless symphony. Freilenn was taking the best of the recent recruits, leaving a mob of misfits for Nico and Lima to whip into shape.
He turned to his long-time, one-armed aide. “Well, we should get to work.”
She nodded. “Aye, Third. General Reikmann is waiting.”
Once the leader of King Hermann’s royal guard, Reikmann had been promoted following General Handersonn’s debacle at the Battle of Neublusten. Nico had hated to cashier that drunken officer, for he genuinely liked the man and believed in second chances. But not third.
Handersonn had tried, and mostly failed, to turn the influx of recruits into an effective fighting force. Now that responsibility was Reikmann’s, for which the man had obvious mixed feelings. An old friend of Nico’s father, he was torn between a genuine desire to please and a regrettable attachment to the old ways. He accepted Nico’s reforms without complaint, but lacked originality of his own.
To help the new general transition, Nico assigned Captain Anika to his staff. She had proven herself capable in relief of Handersonn in the recent fighting, and she would be next in line should any of the current generals fail. Or fall.
That left Cottzer. Once a highly respected officer, he had risen to field command beside Nico’s brother, Markolac. Now he was a broken man, for not only had Markolac’s army been defeated and Cottzer captured, but he had been party to the betrayal of the younger prince. Nico forgave him for the slip, but the general had more difficulty forgiving himself.
“Are you ready for this?” Lima asked as they neared the city walls. Nico looked from her to Pim, who grinned like a proud fool at the king’s discomfort. Mickens was only slightly more successful at concealing his mirth.
Nico lowered his head, then sat up straight in the saddle as the gate opened before them and they rode inside.
“Hail, Nicolas the Great!” the gathering crowd cheered. The familiar refrain followed the entourage through the streets, and would go on all the way to the Rechshtal, the headquarters of the army that had become more of a home than Castle Neublusten itself. “Nicolas the Great! Nicolas the Great! Nicolas the…”
He had mixed feelings about the cheers. On the one hand, love and respect was something he cherished, even though he could never be comfortable with such outward demonstrations. The cheers themselves never failed to lift his spirits, and had literally saved his life in the duel with Arturo. These people had been with him through that, the subsequent battle outside the walls, and his hurried coronation. Their support had stayed with him while he recovered from many difficult wounds.
His physical wounds, that was. There was another that would never heal, the one in his spirit, for he had not defeated Arturo fairly. Long after the duel ended, after the battle won, Nico learned that the Third had been poisoned.
The Swordthanes lived by a particular code of conduct, and Nico had been made an unwitting participant in that code’s violation. Every man must die, and to die by the blade of another thane was the highest honor of all. There would have been less shame in dying to Arturo than there was in defeating him unfairly.
Not only did Nico not deserve to be Third, not only should he be dead, but the act denied a great warrior of the righteous honor that should have been his due. All Nico could do was hope the man had not known the truth before his last breath. It was a guilt that would poison the young king’s heart as long as it continued to beat.
There was one other general that Nico had all but forgotten, until the man presented himself at the Rechshtal that eve.
Lima came into his office looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Third, General Koblenzar wishes a word. Should I send him off?”
Nico leaned back, considering. Koblenzar was the former commander of all Akenberg forces, and the man Nico had summarily dismissed as soon as he took that role for himself. There was little love lost between the two of them, and even less respect, but Nico’s curiosity was piqued. “No. Send him in.” I want to see what he is about.
He was about pleading for a job. Nico never would have guessed the man had a scrap of humility, but here it was on full display. “Should you give me the opportunity to serve Akenberg once more, I shall do so faithfully, to the best of my abilities.”
“Alas, we have no command positions available.”
“There are other ways I might serve, other functions I can provide.”
“Such as?”
“For one, I was the head of the intelligence service. It is a responsibility not many are qualified for, requiring a network of discreet informants built up over time.”
Along with a moral pliancy beneath most, Nico thought. Yet the man had a point, for the gathering of information was a greatly underappreciated duty. Even Lima, who hated the man, would attest to that.
“Suppose I appointed you on the morrow. What would you do, General?”
“I understand that Crown Prince Matheus managed to escape our capture, but there are surely others worth interrogating. I would start there.”
“I hope to make Lorester see the value of peace, not fight them to submission.”
Koblenzar scowled. “It may be wise to press your advantage while they are weak.”
I intend to—at the table, not on the battlefield. “What else?”
“Our other enemies, Daphina and Asturia. I have contacts in both. A steady stream of information, troop deployments, the tendencies of commanders.”
“Very well, General. I see your point. I will take this into consideration. You understand if I think the matter over?”
“Of course, My King.” The man bowed and accepted his dismissal, even going so far as to nod at Lima. Perhaps the recent victory—the changing fortunes of the kingdom—had earned the old officer’s respect.
Nico turned to his aide for advice. “I think I should speak to my father about this. What do you think?”
“I think you should trust your own mind,” she replied. Then considered. “On second thought, that’s a terrible idea. You should speak to your father.”
He laughed. “Make an appointment. First, let’s see the Loresters.” He stood up.
She shook her head. “Not so fast. You have another visitor to deal with.”
Nico sat back down and waited impatiently. He was finding a king’s busy schedule to be even worse than a general’s.
Yet this visit was due to neither. A handsome young face peeked into the room, grinning like a jester. The man it belonged to was no courtly fool, however, that much was clear from the moment he sauntered into the room and crossed long arms over a powerful chest. “So this is the man who defeated my esteemed Patron, and to whom I now owe fealty. Do wonders never cease?”
The meaning was clear enough. This was a Swordthane, the first one Nico had met who was beneath him on the hierarchy. The Order of Swordthanes had only one First, whom two Seconds served faithfully; each Second three Thirds, making Nico one of six; and each Third three untitled thanes of their own.
When he defeated Arturo—or rather, when Arturo died during their duel—Nico assumed the other swordsman’s position. That included the three subordinate thanes, though he had never attempted to contact them. Something must have compelled this man to seek him, instead.
I wonder if he intends to challenge me? According to the code of the Order, Nico could rightfully decline until a year passed since his last bout. Nevertheless, he already decided that he would accept any challenge. Win or lose, it would ease the burden of guilt.
Whatever his purpose, the man’s appearance was a welcome distraction from the morbid duties of war and the petty affairs of state. Nico stood, extended an arm, and offered the guest a place at the table. “Please, Thane, sit. You honor me with your presence.”
The eyes crinkled in silent laughter. “Are all kings so courteous to former thralls?”
Nico recognized that he was being teased, but knew not whether it was intended to provoke, or as simple merriment. He shrugged. “If you find courtesy d
isagreeable, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
The stranger lifted an eyebrow, and his smile lost its touch of ostentation. But he accepted the offered seat. “My Third—”
“What is your name, Thane?”
“I am Fawkes, at your service.”
“I am Nicolas, at yours.” The brow lifted again, but the man listened patiently. “No doubt you know more of me than I of you, Fawkes. But I hope you will rectify that. My responsibilities here, in the midst of conflict, have forced me to neglect my functions in the Order more than I might have wished—but that does not mean I take them lightly. In fact, I hope your arrival here will go far in helping me fulfill my obligations. Am I correct?”
“Aye, My Third. I come from Second Devero, who desires that I answer all your questions. And instruct you as to the Order’s wishes.” As he spoke, lithe fingers danced animatedly—or perhaps nervously—on the pommel of his sheathed sword, as though he possessed too much energy to remain stationary in the manner of courtiers.
“Just so. I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting the Second, so please tell me all about him. Why do you laugh?”
“Her. The Second is the proudest woman I know, and the finest warrior. Though I’ve not met the First of Swords, of course.”
Nico grinned. He had a habit of making silly assumptions that came back to bite. If nothing else, these blunders kept him humble and attentive. “Where is the Second now?”
“In Falkenreach. Fighting demons.”
“Yes, Arturo told me of the infestation. How fares the fight?”
“Too soon to tell. When Arturo failed to return, I was dispatched on this mission before the real fighting began. Naturally, I will return to the battle as soon I leave here.”
“I hope you can stay a few days, at least. I have much to learn.”
“A few days, aye. Longer, impossible.”
Lima opened the door and caught Nico’s attention. “Your pardon, Third. Chancellor Thamos desires a word.”
He nodded, then looked at his peer. Solidly built, squared shoulders, but an easy manner. Confident, and no doubt capable. “As you can see, Thane, I find my time is not my own. But come to my office this hour each day, from now until you leave. We will speak as long as my aide allows. I want to know everything. In the meantime, I hope you’ll enjoy the comforts of the castle.”
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