Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  He glanced back one time when they reached the exit. He saw the lips still moving, the face staring vacantly to the ceiling. The bastard always was good at talking.

  Yohan closed the door.

  7

  Allstatte

  “Your pardon, but the king is much too busy to see you,” the attending soldier announced. She was a beefy woman with an unsightly scar across her forehead, and her voice was deep and convicted. The words were polite, but the tone was derisive, and the point was emphasized by a strong hand clamping down on Jak’s shoulder.

  This was the second time what seemed like a simple request was balked by the Akenberg soldiers. Their arrogant authority both unnerved and reassured him. While their orderly confidence gave him a faint hope that they might stand against the evil he knew to be coming, that same demeanor reminded Jak of how insignificant he was compared to the true powers in the empire.

  And now it seemed what tiny role he could play was stymied by the same infamous engines of discipline that gave the Akenberg army its reputation for strength.

  Perhaps this was for the best, after all. Jak had other, more personal affairs to which he ought to attend. Feeling guilty enough already for leaving Calla and Kluber behind while he sought this audience, he turned away from this makeshift seat of power.

  But he stopped before going far. He glanced back once, pondering. The king’s tent was smallish in size and unmarked from the exterior. The only visible sign that the ruler of Akenberg was within was the posting of a solitary guard at the closed flap.

  This was a captain’s tent—not even a general’s, let alone a king’s. And it spoke volumes about Nicolas’ personality to a perceptive, thoughtful observer.

  The city of Allstatte sat less than a mile away from this Akenberg bivouac. Surely, much of the army here could find housing within the city walls, had that order been given. Perhaps Nicolas had not wanted to upset the people of Allstatte any more than necessary, considering the lengthy siege through which they had recently suffered.

  But Jak believed there was more to the decision than that. The tent itself was a giveaway. Its single occupant clearly preferred modest accommodations over opulent, economy over luxury, the military life over the administrative.

  These thoughts jibed with the first impressions taken from his initial interaction with the man. A most surreal experience, and one that Jak had not taken the time to fully process. Servants simply did not interact with kings, so that aspect alone was difficult to believe. Yet it had all happened so quickly, and so perfectly aligned to the chaotic circumstances, that Jak felt as though he had never really made any choices along the way. He had simply allowed the current to pull him speedily along, heedless of direction. And only hoped it was not a whirlpool that would ultimately pull him, and those he cared about, down into the abyss.

  In a way, he had already seen one dark abyss, had spent far too long there, and would do everything in his power not to go back. Himself, or his friends.

  Better get back to them, then. He realized he was still standing there, staring at the tent while the guard stared back with deepening suspicion. Not a good impression, Jak. He turned away.

  “Wait.”

  The king’s companion, the big private named Pim, happened by and took in the scene. He addressed the guard. “What’s amiss?”

  She scowled and aimed a thumb in Jak’s direction. “This one wanted to see the Third.” She spoke as though Jak was not present to hear, or as though she did not care.

  “This one knows the Third, Leny. Let him through.”

  Her scowl deepened as she glared at Jak once more, but she nodded once and stepped out of the way.

  Pim led Jak into the tent, where King Nicolas sat behind a portable desk, hunched over a stack of papers, oblivious to everything else.

  No one spoke for a time, providing an opportunity to study the king’s face. The forehead was creased, the corners of the mouth turned down in a frown. Concentration, strain, and displeasure were as clearly written as the letters in a book.

  Jak had heard all the chatter by now. That this man was new to the throne, a second son, forced into a position he did not expect and had never trained for.

  From all indications, he took the role seriously—but it did not suit his disposition. This one prefers the battlefield and the dueling arena to the audience chamber, for sure. No wonder he makes this tent his throne room.

  The silence dragged on uncomfortably. Jak looked down at his feet, fidgeting, becoming more and more aware of his own inadequacy. What right do I, a mere housethrall, have to ask favors of a king?

  At last, Pim cleared his throat. “Third, the Reacher Henrikson requests an audience.” The way those closest addressed their leader—using the Swordthane title rather than the royal—all but confirmed Jak’s impressions. “He says it will only take a moment.”

  Jak had said no such thing, having said nothing at all since a few embarrassed words to the guard outside long minutes ago. But he took the hint easily enough. Be quick about this, thrall. Don’t waste our time.

  That was all well and good, presuming he could conquer the sudden queasiness in his belly and the growing instinct to run away. Not until now had he realized just how petty his request would sound to a ruler responsible for an entire kingdom. Jak had to force himself to look away from his feet and at the man behind the desk, a man so clearly burdened by countless, more important worries.

  Yet as the king looked up, Jak watched the lines of strain transform into an unvarnished smile. “Henrikson, I’m pleased to see you. How fare your companions?”

  Jak’s voice caught, and he made a choking noise. He felt an embarrassment stronger than any he had ever experienced. For some odd reason, he thought of the first pretty girl he had tried to converse with as an adolescent. The words then had formed readily enough in his mind, but had come out of his mouth in a completely different order.

  He worried that the same would happen here. A simple request was becoming an improbably difficult obstacle. I am trying to save my friends, fight demons and devils, enlighten the empire entire to the falseness of its beliefs…and I cannot even get one sentence out of my mouth. Some hero I would make.

  Nicolas showed no reaction, other than to turn to the other person in the tent. “Pim, please send for Lima. Thank you.”

  As Jak heard the flap closing again, he realized he was back to staring at his feet.

  “Take your time, Jak. I suspect everything is just now catching up to you. That happens to me, too, at times. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “My King—”

  “Lift your head up, Jak. I’m not your king, but go on.”

  “Your pardon…King Nicolas, I humbly request—”

  “Jak, no one who cares about deference is listening. Just say what you need, so I can think it over.”

  “I need to enter the chantry, My… That is, I need your guards there to let me in.”

  Nicolas’ reaction was somewhat surprising. He stiffened a little as his smile disappeared, and though his eyes remained centered on Jak the intensity behind them faded distinctly. His thoughts were clearly elsewhere as he asked, “Why?”

  “There is knowledge there, My… That is to say, there are books. I can learn things to help us fight the Veldt.”

  “Why you, Jak?”

  Why me, indeed. What a great question. One Jak had asked himself a thousand times, yet never arrived at a simple answer. “It’s my task, My King.”

  The other man nodded, seeming to understand. Perhaps better than Jak did himself. Maybe the two of them could talk about it, sometime, and the king could explain how the world worked. How nice it would be to make sense of things, at last.

  “And what is my task, Jak?”

  With those words the illusion shattered as quickly as it had appeared. The king was still nodding, but was now leaning back and looking toward the roof of the tent—toward the sky beyond, or more probably toward whatever gods he believed lived u
p there.

  Just like that, it was clear that no one had answers.

  The flap reopened, and a quintet of newcomers interrupted the meeting, filling the tent to near capacity. Pim and Lima Jak knew, but the others—a youngish woman, a heavyset man, and a grim-faced graybeard—he did not.

  King Nicolas turned their way and acknowledged their presence with a tilt of the head. “Generals. Captain.”

  Now Jak felt the unease returning. He was in the presence of not only a king, but two generals. And one of them looked like he was ready to yell at the first convenient target. In this group, Jak had no doubt who that would be.

  Reinforcing the impression, he watched the older man look disdainfully around the cramped tent and its austere furnishings. A single folding desk, putting function before form; a small clothing rack and a smaller chest; one plain wooden chair, used by the tent’s owner; and no place for anyone else to sit. The general took these things in with a single glance, until his eyes landed at last on Jak.

  “My King, I’m sure your discussion was important,” he said, his tone indicating that he thought no such thing. “But what we need to speak of is more so.”

  At least he had not condescended to snap at Jak—probably because he had already disregarded the thrall’s existence entirely.

  For his part, King Nicolas appeared unmoved. “Lima?”

  “They wish to speak of the…merger, Third.”

  Nicolas sighed. “This again? I spoke to General Boisson, and he is receptive. I trust you and your counterpart with the details, Lima. What more can we do now?”

  The graybeard answered for her. “Your pardons, My King, but we need to speak of much more than working with Boisson, or even Daphina entire. There are the Loresters, whose cooperation—and vote—must be secured. Now is the time, before the sting of defeat fades. General Freilenn has the Asturians on the run. Soon they will be forced back to the capital, open to negotiation.

  “We have a perfect confluence of events to call another council between the kingdoms. The timing may never again be so propitious.”

  “You’re speaking of electing me emperor again, General, and I’ve already given you my response. Perhaps in time, but not before. There are other crises to address first.”

  “The kingdoms need a new emperor, My King. They need one leader, one source of command. That will make all these other crises eminently more solvable.”

  “There may be something to your position, General. I will think about it.”

  “There are messages to write, My King. Details to hammer into form. We should start sooner than—”

  “I won’t be raced into a commitment I haven’t had time to properly consider, General. You know this about me already. The sooner you let me think in peace, the sooner I can decide. In any case, it doesn’t take an emperor to feed the people of Allstatte and the refugees, to work out the chain of command with Boisson’s army, or to get in position to block this menace from Falkenreach. Those are the first priorities.”

  The arguing general straightened even more, rising to his impressive full height, towering over every other occupant of the tent. “What can be more urgent than ruling the empire?”

  “Saving it.”

  Jak could see color entering the king’s cheek, knew the heat was rising within.

  But then Nicolas sighed. “Out. Everyone out. Lima, return in fifteen. Only Lima.”

  But what of my request, Jak thought. Such a simple favor, and all it would take was one word. “My King—”

  “I’m not your king, Henrikson,” Nicolas cut him off with a bark. “I’ll consider it, along with everything else.”

  Jak had trouble accepting this outcome. He had assumed the difficult part would be getting to the king, and that had gone better than hoped. And yet…

  Lima tugged at his arm, leading him out of the tent. The intense heat of the day hit them immediately, an omnipresent discomfort he had barely managed to forget within the shadowed interior. A nuisance, to be sure, but not one as potent as the rejection he had just received.

  The one-armed aide let go once they were a few yards away, but Jak did not walk away. He faced the tent, hoping to see the flap reopen. It did not, and he finally turned to the woman beside him. She was studying him with patient sympathy.

  “He said to wait. He did not say ‘nay.’”

  Then why does it feel like nay? “I am…not highborn, Lima.” Jak did not realize what he was admitting until the words were out, but he was desperate.

  Unsurprisingly, she was nodding. She already knew.

  “He cannot be seen to favor an outsider over his own generals. He must not only be fair, he must appear fair.”

  “Are appearances that important? He’s the king. Cannot he do what he wants?”

  “I didn’t understand at first, either. But he knows what he’s doing. I don’t always grasp the nuance of his decisions, but I trust them entirely.”

  He continued to stare at her, unsure how to respond.

  “You should, too.”

  He had spoken honestly with her about him, and she had responded. Now he had a mind to press on, to learn even more. Learn all you can, Jak. “You admire him?”

  “How could I not? He was not prepared for any of this, but look what he’s accomplished already. And he made me more than I ever hoped to be. I was a one-armed soldier. Now a king and Third trusts me with more important work than I knew existed.”

  “You look exhausted.”

  “I’m content, and that means more to me than you could know.”

  This was a woman with a story worth learning, Jak knew. But as much as he might like to hear it, he felt a growing sense of urgency pulling him away. He needed to return to his companions as soon as possible. To let them know he had failed, and to ask their advice.

  Like all refugees, the three exiles from Everdawn took up temporary residence in a makeshift camp near the Akenberg bivouac. Each small cluster of friends or family were afforded a small tent for protection from the unyielding temperatures. It was far less comfortable than even the modest one Jak had just departed, but after all the three of them had gone through since fleeing their home, even this much was a veritable palace.

  Besides, the proximity to so many armed soldiers was more than a little comforting. The immediate threat was gone, though no one ever forgot the horde of demons moving down from the north.

  The others were happy when Jak returned, but the exuberance faded as he delivered the news. Kluber appeared nearly as upset at the rejection as Jak himself, but Calla was more relieved than anything. She immediately folded Jak into her arms and stroked his hair reassuringly. Giving in to impulse, he deigned to kiss her then, she deigned to return it, and Kluber deigned to occupy himself elsewhere.

  How wonderful this feeling was, this ability to share a disappointment with one other and know they care. Moments like these were to be treasured, always.

  He both wanted to be gentle with Calla and to let her know the strength of his feelings for her. He touched the slight distention of her belly, where a second life grew that would soon require his love too, and the jumble of emotions he felt were far too complex to express in words. He could only hope that she understood, the way she always had before.

  Brief embraces like this were the only source of comfort and catharsis Jak received in these hectic days, which made them all the more precious. He would have liked this one to last forever, but they were still in the very same kiss when they heard the stranger arrive outside the tent.

  “This one?” came the gruff feminine voice, and a more distant one replied in the affirmative.

  Calla had time to brush back her hair—but not to hide the happy blush in her cheeks—when the flap opened and the familiar scarred face of the king’s guard appeared.

  Leny, how unhappy I am to see you.

  “The Third wants to see you again, immediately,” she stated curtly. Her eyes darted back and forth between the tent’s two occupants. “Make that ten mi
nutes. Any longer and I look bad.”

  The head disappeared, and Jak liked to imagine her spending the next ten minutes guarding their tent like it was the king’s own.

  “Well, Henrikson, I’ve thought about your request, and I have questions. For starters, what are you looking for in the chantry?”

  “Knowledge, as I said, My King.” Jak felt far less nervous about this second audience, for he was not alone. Kluber stood on his right, impassively taking in the scene. And Calla pressed lightly against his left arm. He wanted to take her hand in his, but was unsure whether that would be a breach of etiquette. In any case, her presence was enough.

  “I’m not your king. And please be more specific. You say you wish to help fight these demons, but it is my responsibility to employ every weapon to its greatest advantage. Besides, there will be others who question my decisions, and I’d like to have answers.”

  “Aye, My King.”

  Nicolas sighed audibly. “The books within are rotted. What knowledge could you possibly hope to find?”

  “There is an inner sanctum, My King. Behind a sealed portal.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen it, once. No one can open it.”

  “I can, My King.” This was not entirely true. He could not be certain until he made the attempt, but the seal was sure to be like those of the Pantheon in underground Ra’Cheka, and he had learned much of the ways of the Chekiks during his time below.

  “Assuming I believe you, what lies within?”

  Besides the three Everdawners and the king, only the soldier Pim and aide Lima were inside the tent. This Jak had taken as a positive sign, so he allowed himself to be hopeful. But now this questioning threw an additional complication into the mix, for he did not know how much of his plan was safe to reveal. He had second-guessed his own ideas enough to know that others would surely find plenty to criticize, were they so inclined. Indeed, they might deem him mad and lock him away forever.

  Yet he had already confessed several painful truths to the man before him. There was no good reason to change course now.