Shield and Crown

by Michael Jason Brandt

  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 up 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 Ak
enberg 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 minutes. 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.

  “I don’t know what I’ll find,” he admitted. “I only know what I hope to find. I have read secondhand accounts of the lore housed in this place, but it has not been touched for many hundreds of years. How much is intact, I cannot say.” He was prepared to say more, but only if forced.

  “But you seek something in particular.”

  “I do.”

  Nicolas stared at him, waiting. So did Lima, and Pim. Only Jak’s companions knew what was coming, and only Kluber approved.

  “I wish to summon a devil.”

  He did not know what Nicolas’s response would be, but Jak thought he had considered every possibility. Nevertheless, he was caught off-guard as the king stood, grim-faced, and moved around the desk. Despite himself, Jak took a step back before he could stop. Then he swallowed nervously as they locked eyes.

  “Why?”

  Jak become intensely aware that the king and his entourage were all armed, while he and his friends were defenseless. Perhaps he had pushed his luck too far.

  “I have a message for them.”

  “What message?”

  The lunacy of the plan struck Jak as squarely as a blow. There were so many inherent perils, so many things that could go wrong. Yet he had convinced himself that this was his task to perform in life. And he had made a vow, one that still burned painfully within.

  “I want to kill one.”

  “Tell me more. Tell me everything.”

  “To strike fear in the others. To tell them their time is coming to an end.”

  “Why?”

  The words streamed out of Jak’s mouth like madness, emotions getting the best of rationality. He was glad the king pressed him, because he needed to say these things aloud, just once.

  “They…destroyed my home. Killed my friends…a loved one.” His voice choked, but he forced the rest out. “I failed her. Them. I need to make up for that.” The tent had become oppressively stuffy, devoid of air. He was running out of breath, but continued to speak; felt a hot wetness on his cheek, but was not embarrassed. He focused on the eyes staring into his, swallowed, and composed himself. “It sounds impossible, but I can do it.”

  “How?”

  Jak felt his breath returning to normal. He shook his head. “That is why I need to enter the chantry.”

  The king nodded, slowly. Thoughtfully. A good sign, Jak believed.

  Then Nicolas reached out, planting a hand on Jak’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for that, but this request is not as simple as it might seem. On small decisions does the future turn, for better or worse. And we don’t know which until too late.”

  The king let go. “Well, my friend, no one can accuse you of lacking steel. I’m of a mind to grant your request, with one exception. Or rather, addition—I’m coming along. I have unfinished business there.”

  He turned back to the desk. “I have a few things to do, first. Meet me at the gates in one hour.”

  One hour would give them time to eat a small meal, which suddenly struck Jak as an excellent idea. A bit of nourishment was just what he needed, for he suddenly felt quite drained.

  Nourishment—and perhaps a little time alone with Calla.

  He turned to her, smiling with relief. He knew she disapproved of the journey he was on, but he also knew she would support him along the way. At least, Jak hoped so. He was counting on it.

  They were committed now, for better or worse—just as Nicolas had said. Jak felt an inner calmness, but knew she very well might not feel the same.

  The look on her face was difficult to interpret. Neither disapproval nor pleasure, but wide-eyed amazement. As she opened her mouth to speak, he honestly had no idea what she would say.

  Her voice was barely above a whisper, as though a conspiracy was brewing.

  “Jak, did a king just call you ‘friend?’”

  Nicolas and
Pim were already engaged in conversation when the other three arrived. Jak wished he could know what the two men from opposite stations—one a nobleman, the other born a thrall—talked about as though they were equals. Alas, as the two groups merged, the quiet soldier moved into a silent, watchful position a short distance away.

  How the two of them could wear their heavy chain armor in temperatures like these, Jak had no idea. The mere thought intensified the discomfort of his own profuse sweat, and he wore little but a lightweight tunic and breeches. Perhaps there were advantages to being a nobody, neither soldier nor noble.

  Unsurprisingly, Calla and Kluber were as quiet as Pim, still overwhelmed by the speeding pace of events. Jak, too, was uncertain how to behave, and was relieved when the king began the proceedings.

  “Greetings, everyone. I believe our friends here welcome us, in their way.” With a tilt of the head he motioned upward, where a pair of stone gargoyles stared down on the intruders in the courtyard, informing them all that they were anything but welcome.

  The building itself did not look any more inviting. Constructed of aged dark stone, different in color and cut than anything else in the city, the wide front entrance bore a strong resemblance to the ruined structures of Ra’Cheka. In Jak’s mind, this scene intermingled with a host of unwelcome memories.

  The sun above had reached its scorching peak, but the thought of going inside promised anything but a comforting escape from the heat.

  “Still wish to go through with this, Henrikson?”

  “I do, My King.”

  The other man chuckled. “For being so brilliant, Jak, you sure are a slow learner. If you’re going to play a role in this war, we need to teach you some basic etiquette. I’m only ‘My King’ to Akenbergers. Use ‘King Nicolas,’ if you wish to show respect, or when someone who cares is listening. But I prefer simply ‘Nico.’” He said all this absently, while staring up at the great edifice before them. “Now, is everyone ready?”

  Jak looked at his companions. Worry on one face, determination on the other. “We are, Nico.”