If so, Nico did not believe that would work. A Third drew a great deal of respect from the soldiers and people, regardless of where he was from. Once the armies were combined and grew used to following one leader, it would be difficult indeed to split them apart.
He could see, however, what Jacinto got out of this arrangement. It gave his side a fighting chance, and himself the possibility of surrender without shame.
At some point in the future, even shy, stuttering Prince Tobias would be old and confident enough to demand his throne. When that day approached, a power struggle would ensue, and a disgraced Lord Jacinto would have poorer prospects than one who had saved his people from the hardships of siege and battle.
And when the time came, Nico knew who he would support, for he felt a bond near kinship with Leti’s little brother. To say nothing of the love he felt for Leti herself. One way or another, their family would go on ruling Asturia as long as Nico had any influence on events.
Jacinto sighed. “There will, of course, be those who object.” That this man could suddenly play the role of the reasonable one, pretending to be in favor of unity against those who opposed, was a testament to his diplomatic skills, no doubt highly developed through years of pretense and manipulation. “That is why the outcome must be...final. If there is any doubt…”
He was speaking, of course, of withdrawal. This man, like others of his generation, had no understanding of the code between Swordthanes. In a bout of such import, the loser would fight to the death. It needed no further discussion.
Nico could refuse the offer, naturally. A year had not passed since his last bout, the requisite time after which a thane was compelled by the Order to defend his title. But there was also no reason he could not accept.
“Madness,” Koblenzar said. “You cannot consider this.”
Freilenn leaned in. “Third, we need not treat them as equals here. We have every advantage.”
Nico recalled the moment he had met the brash Asturian thane, in the dueling chamber of Anton’s castle. A fight had nearly broken out then, as the man insulted both Toby and Nico with unwarranted vitriol. Then Leti had sent the man back to his quarters.
The weak, indolent man, whose fondness for drink had gotten the better of him…
“Very well,” Nico said. “Swordthane Zenza is to come to the center point between the armies. Alone.” Remembering the debacle with Pim and Gornada, Nico would allow no trickery or mistakes.
Jacinto’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened in retort, but Koblenzar’s outburst put an abrupt end to the discussion.
“Get out!” He yelled at the dignitary. “End this foolishness now.” His wrath was such that even Jacinto’s refined expression lost all composure, and the fear of physical harm drove him out faster than his age should have allowed.
Even before the man was gone, Koblenzar faced his king. “I have watched you blunder through one victory after another, but this is too far. Someday your luck will run out, and Akenberg will suffer the consequences.”
“General, I have always allowed disagreement in my presence, but there are limits to what you can say to your king.” In the back of his mind, Nico knew there was truth in the accusations, but this was not the way to present them.
“My king…bah. A good king cares for his own people. I see now that your desire to be emperor exceeds all else.”
“I’ll remind you, General, that you were in favor of—”
“I thought it would bring prestige to Akenberg, but you care nothing for us. Just like your father, you care only for your own ambitions.”
“I am not my father, General. How can you—”
“You’re more alike than you know, Nicolas. Power and glory, at any price.” Koblenzar began to calm down, though his words still stabbed at Nico’s wounded pride. At first the clumsy blows of a mace, now they were the practiced cuts of a dagger. “You rule as if you’re already emperor, yet with any justice you never will be.”
The attacks were fast and furious, but Nico was used to fighting back. “You’re wrong, Koblenzar. Power and glory mean nothing to me. You never took our Order seriously. Our code. Honor is everything.”
Koblenzar snorted. “Honor? If there was any honor in this world, your family would be gone from it.”
“General, return to Neublusten. You are dismissed. Again.”
The part of Nico where the anger raged hoped that the other man would draw his sword and attempt a strike. That part was disappointed as the outburst ended, and the sad old figure left the headquarters without another word.
He left Nico shaking with doubt and confusion.
“He’s wrong, Third.” Freilenn spoke quietly, yet the calm authority that served him so well as an officer remained. “You are nothing like your father.”
“Am I not? Am I not putting others ahead of my own people?”
“Nay. What’s best for the empire is what’s best for your people, for without one there cannot be the other. You saw this before anyone, but I see it now. And others will, too.”
“I thought Koblenzar and my father were friends. Why does he hate us? What has my family done?” This was an inquiry Nico knew he should have pursued long before now. Yet he had always told himself that he was different, so the answers did not matter. Or perhaps he was simply afraid to hear them.
Freilenn paused, taking the time to formulate his words. “Your father always placed more value on consequence than act.”
“Speak freely. You cannot upset me more than I am.”
“Very well. Hermann was not born to the throne, as you know. The man was as common as the name. Loyal clerk to the Landgrave of Braden principality. The landgrave was a drunkard, and allowed his clerk greater responsibility than the norm. And when the landgrave died of overindulgence, Hermann himself assumed the title at Hern Walkenson’s behest. The principality thrived, and the baron relied more and more often on your father’s capable hands. Until the hern died, in a tragic house fire. Without an heir, so King Friederich elevated Hermann once more.
“You know where this ends, and I make no accusations. In any case, Hermann was always a thoughtful man. A careful man. Not to mention a reliable worker with a reputation for helping everyone who asked. By the time King Friederich and his sons died in their unfortunate boating accident, Hermann had the vocal support of the other nobles. There were a few dukes who could easily have staked claims, but they thoughtfully deferred to your father.
“And he was a good king, as far as Akenberg was concerned. Our neighbors may not agree.” Freilenn took a deep breath before continuing. “Particularly Asturia. King Anton had followed a similar path from commoner to crown. His ascension, however, was not so smooth.
“Some within Asturia opposed Anton’s claim. Others, like our Lord Jacinto, supported it. This kingdom was thrown into chaos and conflict. King Hermann saw that weakness as an opportunity, and marched in with the Akenberg army. I was a captain at the time; I remember it well.”
“We just invaded Asturia for no reason?” Nico asked.
“Well, as to that, Hermann made an atavistic claim to Lambon and the whole of Krankensheim. We marched in ‘for the defense and security of the people.’ Understand, Third, your father was neither the first nor last to do this. I’d guess most land that’s changed hands was taken with similar justifications.
“Naturally, Anton was too weak to oppose Hermann. He owed a debt of gratitude to Jacinto, who won a king as his ally but lost his own land in the process.”
Freilenn paused, remembering the original question and the root of this story. “Your father was a good king, as I say, but he had many enemies. And no friends. Men like Koblenzar stayed with him because he rewarded them, but when the king allowed you to cashier the general, that pretense came to an end.”
“I see. Thank you, General. It’s a part of history—my kingdom’s and my family’s—that I should have learned before now.”
He was about to dismiss the officer, but the man stepped closer
and put a comforting hand on Nico’s shoulder. “Koblenzar is wrong. You’ve never blundered, not that I’ve seen. He simply sees the world differently.”
One glance outside showed that night had fallen. “General, please see to the deployments. I think we should prepare for the siege until we know for certain there is no treachery. And get some sleep.”
“Aye, Third. You, too.”
His departure left the headquarters quiet. But not empty. Lima and Pim were both there. Watching, or perhaps watching over.
He asked them to leave him then, uncertain quite what he meant. And when they obeyed, he contemplated the meaning of being alone. He stood at the cutaway window for a time, staring at the walls of Cormona and the lights beyond. Then, at last, he returned to work.
When Lima reentered the headquarters an hour later, he was surprised to see her. “What are you doing up?” he asked.
She laughed. “You told me to return at midnight.”
“Did I? Well, I’m happy you did. What is the Lorester expression, ‘Duty never ceases?’”
“Aye, Third. And nay, Third, it does not.”
“Ask, Lima.” He could see she had something on her mind.
“Do you really believe he—Lord Jacinto, that is—will follow through on his promise? That the Asturians will obey your orders after the morrow?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it? Or one of them. He may not want to, but his hands will be tied. The people will have witnessed the duel for themselves. In grand spectacle. That is no easy thing to ignore.”
“You hate spectacle.”
“I do. But it sometimes has its uses.” Nico recalled the fight against Arturo, which he never would have won without the boisterous support of the crowd.
Or without my father poisoning the opponent. If there is any justice, I will lose this fight.
Nico knew better than to continue that line of thought. There were too many events that required his attention, too many preparations to complete.
He tossed a sheaf of papers to his aide. She glanced at them, then frowned. “Is this really the time?”
Pleased by the speed of her cognition, he merely stood and reapproached the window. The cloudless sky was well lit by the moon and stars, all the beautiful constellations shining on the world below.
He smiled at the vivid mental image that struck him. “Do you remember when I first made you my aide, after the battle just over there?”
“Of course.”
“You could barely read then. I knew that, and was unsure about my decision. Have I ever told you how pleased I am how it turned out?”
“Many times, Third. I tire of hearing it.”
He chuckled. “Pim, too. I wouldn’t be here if not for the two of you. And Mickens. And Renard.”
Nico looked wistfully outward a while longer. “I thought of this place as home, once. You know?”
She said nothing, so he went on. “That dream is dead.”
“It needn’t be. They’ll follow you, after the duel.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t the same. I thought… I thought it might be, but it isn’t.”
Then he pried his eyes away from the distant castle, and his thoughts back to the matters at hand. “Your pardons, Lima. Just fanciful musings before a duel. They always come, but they’re brief.”
Lima joined him at the aperture. He wondered what she saw as she looked. Something different than he. A much different world.
“It’s getting brighter.”
“What’s that?”
“The star.”
“Get your head out of the clouds, woman. We have enough problems down here.”
“Why are you allowed to muse, and I’m not?”
“Benefits of being king. Get some sleep, Lima.”
“You, too, Nico.”
“Nicolas the Great! Nicolas the Great!”
The adoration of the crowd always made him feel uncomfortable. But never more so than this morn, coming so soon on the heels of Koblenzar’s accusations of ambition and pretension.
At the same time, Nico truly loved the soldiers who followed him, and their respect meant nearly as much to him as the honor for which he constantly strived. He could not help but feel both inspired and humbled by the display of reverence they showed him now.
Yet that inspiration was sadly short-lived, for he had spent long hours through the night contemplating his worth, the good and the bad, and was still not altogether sure which side of the ledger he was on.
But he had a duty to perform, and if he could unite these two rival provinces in common cause and action, then perhaps honor might truly be earned.
He passed alone through the lines—alone but for Lancer, who carried him to the place where this one war would be resolved. He had thought to come just as dawn broke over Cormona, simultaneously with today’s opponent, but Nico’s natural inclination for punctuality brought him here a few minutes too early.
Alone and apart, he dismounted and studied the field, where soon one man would die. Nothing but Asturian clay and rock, flat and uninteresting.
He expected a dull fight as well, at least compared to his last duel against Arturo. Nico remembered Thane Zenza well from three seasons before. Though the warrior must have some skill, he had certainly not improved in the intervening time as much as Nico had. His own star was still rising, straight toward the heavens. From prince to king, Thane to Third, onward and upward.
Zenza had already been past his prime nearly a year ago, and Nico believed himself the better swordsman even then.
The fight should not take long. Yet there was always risk in a duel, and overconfidence had been the downfall of more than a few champions.
Zenza was brash, arrogant, and lazy. No proper representative of the Order. But at least his death would have value.
For the first time in his life, Nico was not bothered by the prospect of killing. Deserved or not, he held the Asturian soldier responsible for a great deal of the animosity and misunderstanding between the two kingdoms. If a civil war could be ended by the death of one man, that was a small price to pay.
Besides, it was a favor to Zenza. By falling to the blade of another thane, the soldier’s honor would be restored.
And what of Nico’s honor? What of his family’s? Fate would have its say in this, as well. If he won this duel and united the empire, perhaps his family’s dishonor could be left in the past. If he lost…well, perhaps that was for the best.
Now the warm sun began to spread across Nico’s shoulders, bringing to mind the immense heat of this summer. The unnatural malignity of the climate, too, he had taken into consideration. There were two opponents to face today—a swordsman and the weather. If taken too lightly, the latter would be the more dangerous.
To combat it, Nico had left his mail behind. The decision was not without risk, but he trusted that his shield would suffice. Unburdened, Nico need not fear for his stamina, while the thought of an overweight, out-of-shape Zenza tiring quickly in his own armor almost brought a pang of sympathy.
That was an emotion with no place on dueling ground or battlefield, and Nico was quick to push it away.
Arriving early was a mistake. He realized that now. There were too many sights to trigger the mind, and too many memories to hold back.
There, less than a mile away, was the field of his first battle. At the time, he had been too upset by the loss of his soldiers—and his only friend—to appreciate the tremendous import of the occasion. Only in hindsight did he see how that one decision and its aftermath forever altered him as a person, and the trajectory of his life.
The tower visible beyond the walls was the site of the castle, where Nico had received his first exposure to the culture of Asturia—its rich and varied food, its beautiful women, and its fierce pride.
He had not lived there long, but in a very short time that castle had started to feel like a place to belong. It was where King Anton had gone from rival to father figure and back again. The castle had
housed the ceremony honoring Prince Nicolas of Akenberg for heroic services rendered to Asturia, and the great banquet where he had shared a drink with a man he respected, the man Leti saw as an uncle, the man Nico had later killed.
Princess Letitia. He had met her here, and fallen in love, and promised he would never be her enemy. And look at him now.
Yes, arriving early was a mistake. He found himself not just halfway between their lines, but halfway between Akenberg and Asturia in heart as much as body. Both sides had marked him with friendship and turmoil, respect and betrayal, love and pain.
He was as close to the pinnacle of success as a man could get, yet he was sad.
There was movement, at last, from the city gate. A single horse and rider trotted through, then began to canter toward Nico.
At one hundred yards, he could see that the man was not Zenza. Perhaps the Asturians had reneged on the agreement, or were sending a messenger to buy time.
No. This was a swordsman, his longsword sheathed and roundshield slung over his back.
At fifty yards, Nico recognized the tall, slender figure. A full beard altered, but did not fully disguise, the youthful appearance.
Nico waited for the rider to stop and dismount, his movements much smoother than when last they had seen one another. The boy had grown into his body.
Their eyes met at last, and they nodded to one another. “King Nicolas.”
“Prince Tobias.”
Each waited for the other to speak. For his part, Nico had hundreds of questions he would like to ask, and a dozen sentiments to express—pride for a student, joy at seeing a friend again, love for one he had hoped would be family.
“They’re watching.”
“Yes. We should begin.”
The one relief was that he saw no hatred on Toby’s face. That would have been hard to accept.
Nico drew his sword and raised it in salute. His shield—a targe, slightly smaller than his opponent’s—was already up.
Toby saluted back, and Nico saw that the hand trembled. Nico gritted his teeth, wishing he had brought a bit like some fighters used.
“I expect a fight worthy of a thane, Toby.”
Shield and Crown Page 27
