Shield and Crown

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Nico took for granted that they all wanted him to make a push for emperor. After all, it would shine glory directly onto Akenberg, and indirectly onto themselves.

  Lorester and Daphina were all but at his mercy. Falkenreach and Vilnia were in no position to argue. That he had sent aid to the latter, with the promise of more to come, probably pushed them onto his side. The status of Gothenberg was unclear—reports were conflicting on that account—but if Vilnia fell to invasion then they might be next. If he was smart, King Deniger in Oren needed a unified empire as much as anyone.

  Already, five or six of the twelve kingdoms were likely to support a declaration by Nico, even if they did so grudgingly.

  That left Asturia, the land that he once thought of as his second home. King Anton was a good man. Prince Tobias had been Nico’s pupil, and Princess Letitia owned Nico’s heart. Toby and Leti would convince their father to trust Nico again. Wouldn’t they?

  The latest reports from General Freilenn were positive. He had pushed the Asturian army back toward their capital and, as commanded, had done so with a minimum of fighting. Asturia had not the history of success in war that Akenberg did, nor its rigid discipline and superior leadership. Rather than lose everything at once, the Asturians had shied away from pitched battle, hoping the strength of numbers—three kingdoms against one—would wear down their foe.

  The surrender of Lorester and the rapprochement of Daphina would put an end to that strategy. Now Asturia found themselves alone. Surely, Anton could be made to see reason. If not through respect for Nico, then out of sheer self-interest.

  Either way, the time had come to find out. With the detachment of Anika and several hundred soldiers, this western front was as prepared as Nico could make it. No one advocated an offensive from this position, much as they might wish to cleanse Falkenreach of its foul infestation. There was simply too much risk involved, too many unknowns about their enemy.

  The best he could hope for was a stalemate here while he moved on to other conflicts. Only after a resolution with Asturia was attained, and the barbarian invasion of Vilnia stopped, could they afford to dedicate more resources to stamping out this demonic incursion once and for all.

  Nico gave the orders, expressed heartfelt best wishes to General Anika, and sent word to Boisson. The demons were a Dauphi problem for now. It was time for Akenberg to deal with Asturia.

  He tried not to be so excited, but the prospect of seeing Leti again made his heart sing.

  The messenger from the east arrived in the middle of the second night. Lima woke Nico, who immediately had the man sent in.

  One glance at the haggard rider spoke volumes. The shabby condition of his surcoat and breeches were nothing compared to the weariness on his face.

  “Private, what is your name?”

  “Hirt.”

  Nico waited a moment to see which title the man addressed him by. Then stopped waiting.

  “You come from General Cottzer?”

  Hirt nodded.

  Nico stood. “Lima, get Reikmann and Koblenzar. Private, will you accept my seat?”

  The man shook his head. Of course, he’s been in the saddle too long already.

  Pim ducked in and made himself invisible in one corner. Nico continued attempting to ease the tension inside the stuffy confines of the tent.

  With that name, he must be a former thrall. Like Pim, a lowborn who somehow managed to climb above his station and become a cavalryman. That alone indicated no small measure of capability, and perhaps explained why Cottzer had chosen him.

  He’s not very talkative for a messenger, though.

  Hirt squeezed his eyes shut, confronted some inner barrier, and broke through. He sighed audibly, visibly relaxed, and looked right at his king.

  Nico nodded to the generals as they entered, but never took his eyes off Private Hirt. With everyone present, he touched the man’s shoulder. “Deliver your message, soldier.”

  “Forgive the delay, My King…Third, your pardon.”

  “Go on.”

  “I rode as fast as I could to Neublusten. Then to Allstatte. When I heard you left there, I hurried to catch you here.”

  “When was the last time you slept, Private?”

  A look of confusion formed on Hirt’s face. “I’m not sure.” He considered a moment. “Three days ago, I think.”

  No wonder the man’s wits were rattled. “I see. We’ll arrange a cot for you.” Nico nodded to Lima, who ducked back outside.

  “I...come from Halfsummit, Third.”

  “So we’ve retaken it, then?”

  Another momentary look of confusion. “We have, My King.”

  Both generals gave eruptions of pleasure, and even Nico could not resist a smile. I knew I could count on Cottzer. The man was determined to succeed. I just had to give him that opportunity.

  Hirt did not share the relief. “There were costs, My King.”

  “How many?”

  Nico expected a series of numbers, delivered in official military form. The deviation from this practice alone should have been a warning as to what was coming.

  “Perhaps I might explain, Third.”

  Was he worried about punishment? “Go on.”

  “You heard Rama’s report? The first battle, the sorcery?”

  “Yes. Rama reached us three days ago.”

  “Three? There were five between battles—”

  “You came quickly, Hirt. You’ve done well. Please tell us what happened.”

  “Swordthane Garrett…your pardon, Second Garrett, asked for volunteers. He wished to assault the Chekik magi…he called them Archons…when they were distracted and he could catch them unawares—”

  This man was a poor choice to be messenger, Nico thought. But there’s nothing to be done about that, now. We’ll get through this story, eventually.

  “Please slow down, Private. That will help. You’re saying the Second wished to wait for the enemy to be engaged, for the Archons to unleash their magick, and then make a direct attack on them?”

  “Aye, My King.”

  That does sound like a Swordthane, Nico thought. It’s just what I would do. Not that he ever possessed much doubt, but it was reassuring to hear that the Order was in capable hands.

  “How many volunteered?”

  Hirt looked surprised. “All of us, of course.”

  Nico nodded. “Just so. How many did he take?”

  “Ten. He felt that General Cottzer should stay with the main army, for the main attack. So did the Vilnians.”

  “Perhaps you should tell us of that.”

  “Following the first battle—the retreat—the enemy did not pursue. Within a day, our lines were reformed. Another, and we were ready to go back.

  “But it was five days, as I mentioned. The generals and the Second designed a new plan, orders were issued—”

  “Understood. Go to the start of the engagement, Private.”

  “Aye, My King.” He paused, seeming to collect his wits once more. Nico’s request had bumped his thoughts out of order, and it took time to sequence them again. “Aye, the attack started at dawn. We were the right wing—”

  “This was on the field, or at the fortress?”

  “The field again, Third. The tribesmen met us in line, just as before. And we pushed them back, just as before.”

  “And the sorcery came again?” Reikmann prompted.

  “Nay, that was the strange thing. Though we drove their army to the lake at the base of the cliffs, the magick didn’t come.”

  This was beginning to feel like good news. If so, he wondered why Hirt had not been more forthcoming right away. “What happened then?”

  “There are trails up to the top of the bluff, then a few hundred yards, then the fortress itself. They lost most of their numbers at the base of the trail, but we pursued them up—the Akenbergers proudly in the lead, My King—and faced them again outside the walls.

  “That was where the sorcery came. And other things. Demons or de
vils, I know not which. Things I never wish to see again.

  “A great flying beast, much like the dragons of lore. Smaller, without breath of fire, though.” He sounded almost disappointed, as if upset that his childhood fantasy had not turned real. Nico found himself wondering whether the man was sane. Certainly, the account was beginning to sound more and more like a fairy tale.

  “Instead, it seemed to radiate pure cold.” He shivered, though even at night the temperature inside the tent was sweltering. “We brought it down, though, Third, with arrow and bolt.”

  “What else did you see?”

  “A giant, of sorts. Perhaps an ogre. A dozen feet tall, or more—it stood hunched, like so—covered in red fur, wielding an enormous crude axe. It looked fierce but clumsy, until General Ariens led a charge with ten soldiers. That axe cut him in two in a second.”

  “What?” General Reikmann blurted out. “Ariens dead? I know him—”

  “Dead as the others, General.” Hirt went on, unfazed, the recollection flowing smoothly now. “That right tough bastard cut down scores, until the Akenbergers got there to finish him off. I got a few swings in, myself, and never was I so relieved to see an enemy die. Burnt myself on his fur, though, I did.” He held up his forearm, where the blackened flesh was visible even in the modest light of the tent’s hanging lantern.

  Nico shook his head. The story had lost whatever fantastic quality it once possessed. It now became far more real, and the consequences more vital.

  “You won the battle, Private?” he prodded, rising out of the chair.

  “Aye. And nay.”

  Nico sat back down. A king does not slump, he reminded himself, and stiffened his back. “Finish.”

  “We cleared the bluff. That was a mistake. That’s when the fire came, spreading across the top, pushing us to the sides.” He paused, then closed his eyes.

  “Hirt, what happened?”

  “The wind. Like nothing you’ve felt before. Some of us were close to the trail. We ran for that, down one turn, and were saved. Most of the others…” He gulped. “It blew them. Dozens, hundreds. A thousand yards to the bottom. We watched them go over. There was nothing we could... General Cottzer…”

  Nico saw the tears now, but he needed to hear the rest. “Finish, Private.”

  “Second Garrett was there. He and the volunteers. I had lost track of them. But there they were, pressing through the winds, past the remnants of the flames, to the fortress. I’m sure he knew by then it was a trap, but the magi were in there, so that’s where he went. And the others. Into the fortress.”

  “But he won, didn’t he? You took the fortress.”

  “His plan was to catch them by surprise. But the only surprise was on us. The winds stilled, and we heard fighting.” Hirt calmed himself, though his chest continued to heave.

  “He took the fortress. Killed the magi and whatever else was inside—that, or they killed themselves in the process.

  “We dared not help, for we heard the earth rumble. Felt the ground beneath our boots shake. Watched as the rock split, and the fortress crumbled in on itself. The whole thing sheared off, then went down to the bottom.”

  Just like that, Hirt stopped talking. He looked at them each, in turn, then squarely at Nico. “I’m sorry, Third. I know I’m a poor messenger. There…weren’t many options.”

  Nico felt surprisingly calm. He spoke quietly, since the tent had suddenly gone silent. “How many of you survived, Private?”

  “Of the Vilnians, a few hundred. Commander Kizer assumed command. He sent word to Northgate for reinforcement, and set up a forward base at the mouth of the pass, in case more of the enemy attempt to come through.”

  “Which they’re sure to do.” Nico did not want to ask the next question, but he had no choice. “How many of Cottzer’s command survived? How many of our soldiers?”

  “Five, My King.”

  Reikmann coughed. “If this is true, there’s nothing to stop a full-scale invasion of Vilnia. A few hundred troops will hardly slow them down.”

  Nico nodded, still trying to process the numbers. Five left out of sixty-seven. It was a blow, but that was war. “Private Hirt, you did well to get us this message so quickly. We’ll send help, of course.

  “Now get some rest. We may have more questions for you in the morn.”

  Sleep came late that night, and the next. And each time, when sleep did come, it was so restless that it provided no relief. He had a tough time processing the news from Vilnia, along with what it portended. For the war, and for the Swordthanes.

  Feeling a growing urgency, Nico and his entourage had ridden ahead, hurrying to reach Cormona as quickly as possible. General Reikmann had stayed behind to resume his command of the King’s Army, but Koblenzar and his growing network of aides continued to stay with the ruler. So, too, did Captain Mickens and the Kingshields, along with Privates Hirt and Rama from Cottzer’s doomed command.

  They knew they were inside Asturia when the land turned dry as a bone, and almost by magick Nico’s thoughts became more buoyant. These lifeless stretches brought back many fond memories: the first blush of pride at winning his Proving; a similar delight from his first command; the simple joy of playing cards with Pim and his gregarious twin, Mip.

  From there, it was an easy progression to other remembrances. His first battle came in Asturia, an event no soldier forgot. He had been honored by King Anton in a surprising ceremony, an event all the more notable for the personal rivalry inflicting Anton and Hermann, Nico’s father and then-king of Akenberg.

  Following that ceremony, Nico felt at home in Asturia. Perhaps more so than he ever had in Neublusten, at least to that point in his life. He had become a sort of mentor and brother to Prince Tobias, and trained the gangly youngster at swordplay for a time.

  Then he and Princess Letitia had fallen in love, just as circumstances conspired to pull them apart. His decision to leave her was one of the hardest of his life, and his promise to never be her enemy weighed heavily on his conscience ever since.

  Since then he had won an even larger battle, saved his home city from siege and his kingdom from defeat, become Third and then king. Yet Leti was still the best thing to ever happen to him, and every mile farther into Asturia was a mile closer to her.

  “Now that is a welcome sight,” Lima said from beside him.

  “What’s that?” he asked. As was so often the case, he had forgotten she was there, lost as he was in his own thoughts. He squinted, gazing into the distance, but saw nothing other than empty miles of dry earth.

  He looked at her and saw she was looking at him rather than ahead.

  “You, My King.” That was the title she used when teasing him. “You look happy. Asturia suits you, it seems.”

  He laughed. “Of course it does. This is where the Threeshields adopted me. And where I discovered my nosey aide.”

  Lima looked away, hiding the grin on her face. “Do you think the royals will negotiate, rather than fight? They seemed reasonable, until they didn’t.”

  “I think so. I hope so. Why wouldn’t they?”

  Lima shook her head. “People always find reasons to behave against their own best interests. We’re nothing if not fools.”

  That eve, rather than face another restless night, Nico wandered the camp. It reminded him of the old days, when he was just a prince and his command a mere thirty-three troopers. He had tried to know every woman and man by name back then, a practice that became impossible as his station elevated.

  For old times’ sake, he wanted nothing more than to witness the simple camaraderie of his recruits and officers going through the patterns of everyday army life. There was talking, laughing, cheering, yelling. Games, jokes, insults, and secrets. All woven into a background of constant motion, duty and obedience. Soldiers worked hard, they played hard, they lived hard, and died hard.

  The particulars did not matter. Seeing this again reminded Nico that soldiers were eternal, because warfare was eternal. And he was
comforted, because it reassured him that this war would not be the last. The Chekiks did not matter. The demons did not matter. He did not matter.

  He could do what he believed right, lead an honorable life, and stop worrying that he held the fate of the empire in his hands.

  Nico returned to his tent, but not to his bedroll. Instead, he sat at the desk, thinking of better times to come. A queen, children, and a happy, peaceful kingdom. He was so lost in thought that he did not see Pim enter the tent, stare at him for a minute, then disappear again. Not even when the former thrall reappeared, Lima at his side, did Nico break free of his reverie.

  Not until they spoke. “Are you all right, Third?”

  It was the sort of question he seldom received anymore. A personal question, not an official one.

  He stared at them. Nico did not recall doing anything to warrant concern. So where did this come from?

  And then the idea struck him. They worried about him because that’s what friends did. Nico was not just a king and a commander to them. They knew the person he was from before, not the one he had become, the one who had to master every moment.

  That was exhausting.

  “Lima, Pim. I know it’s late, but will you stay awhile?”

  Pim fetched two extra chairs from a nearby tent, Lima a bottle of Dauphi wine from the stores. Together they listened to the sounds of the camp going to sleep. There was still activity, but even that became hushed, respectful of those at rest.

  Likewise, the three drinkers were also quiet, beginning in whispers though alcohol soon had its effect and conversation grew free and easy.

  Pim fetched more when the first bottle was empty, and announced on returning that the stars were particularly prominent tonight.

  “How is the new one?” Lima asked.

  “Brightest of all.”

  “I wonder what it means.”

  Nico had a thought. “I believe it’s Garrett. I think the heavens knew he would earn it.”

  They looked at him inquisitively. Not with suspicion, but simple curiosity.

  He went on. “The Order teaches us that the highest honor is to die in glory. Wait, that’s not the right way to put it, it’s more complicated than that.