“My loyalty is to the crown if that is what you’re asking.”
“To the crown or to me?”
“Your majesty wears the crown, so my loyalty is to you, milord.”
“And if another wears the crown? Your loyalty would be swayed just like that?”
“It is not my duty to be political, milord. Only to serve the ruler of this house.”
“I admire your honesty, Dreyer,” Alexander laughed. “You can go. I don’t believe I will dine tonight.”
∞
Thousands of tents were erected just outside the gates of King’s Square. They were colored by house and region. A red tent belonged to wealthy individuals of King’s Square who contributed large sums of coin so that their boys wouldn’t be drafted. Typically, a homeless boy was abducted from the streets to replace their sons. They were given the best armor, weapons, and living conditions as a reward, or as a distraction from the unjust practice. A yellow tent, which there were many, housed a dozen or more soldiers of low-birth. These were boys of artisans, farmers, and vendors. Blue tents belonged to those that were educated and owned businesses. These men were promoted to various ranks above footmen and would carry out a general’s orders with zeal. Many of the men housed in blue tents, that were not already successful in business, wanted careers in the military or in the Royal Guard.
“Milord, do you think it wise to march under these conditions?” Dover asked, looking out at the pellets of ice crashing to the ground. “Should we not wait this out? The men are freezing in their tents as it is.”
“Do you not think nine days is long enough?” barked Benvero, an older general that had served with Alexander’s father.
Alexander loomed over a map of the island. Little wooden figures were placed in areas where they thought bands of Viktor’s army were stationed. His brother’s wooden horse was placed just outside of King’s Square where he and the others were making their war plans.
There were a few other generals in the tent with Alexander. Adaman was the youngest general at twenty. He was a soldier of the Royal Guard who proved to be adept at eliminating undesirables as evidenced by his raid on an orc encampment not far from Port Common. He was racist, zealous, and willing to do whatever Alexander asked. Hemlar was also in the tent, but he was much older than Adaman. In fact, he was the oldest man ever to serve as a general of the Royal Guard. Alexander toyed with the idea of testing him shortly after the King’s Square coup, to see where his loyalties were at the time, but decided against it when the old man pledged allegiance to him via a hand-written letter.
A small shard of ice shot through the top of their tent and landed on the map, catching them all by surprise. “And the royal tent is even made of stronger materials,” snarked Dover.
“We march in the morning. One of my scientists predicts the storm will be over by then,” Alexander said. “Make the other divisions aware. I’m sure they’re bored by now.”
“We are the farthest away. They’ll surely beat us to the Hamelesh,” Dover replied.
“Then they’ll beat us there, then. It’s not a race. Send the dove and be done with it,” Alexander said, his tone getting a little more aggressive. “Or is this something I must do myself?”
Dover took a breath and exited the tent. The others watched him go and waited for Alexander to give them a task. He sat in a wooden chair and massaged his forehead.
“Milord,” Benvero said, breaking the awkward silence, “would you have me prepare the officers?”
“Yes, go. All of you. You know what must be done to leave in the morning. Go and do it,” Alexander replied, without looking up at them.
∞
It was morning and the ice storm hadn’t subsided like the king’s scientist had predicted. The tents had been taken down at sunrise and the troops were lined up and ready to march. Alexander, on horseback, rode up to Dover and the other generals. Dover refused to look at him.
“Give the order and we march, milord,” Dover said, looking at the thousands of troops before him.
Alexander looked at the generals and then at the men. He felt as though he needed to say something before they embarked on what would most likely be a perilous journey.
“Should we say something to motivate them?” Alexander asked the generals.
“That’d be your business, milord,” Dover chirped back.
“Soldiers don’t need motivation, milord. They just need to be told what to do and be punished if they fail,” Benvero said.
“What say you? You’re closer to them in age than we are,” Alexander said to Adaman.
“It’s a privilege to fight in the king’s army, your majesty. It would be a privilege to them to hear your voice, but I’m not sure it’d change much. They’re here to fight.”
“Well, then. It’s settled. No motivational speeches today. Let’s move,” Alexander said.
Three
∞
The freezing rain beat down on tents and roof of Fort Asbury. The raindrops slid down and onto the ground, forming small puddles of ice. Only a few guards stood outside, with eyes on the surrounding forest.
Yaspar came to, drenched in sweat and with a splitting headache. Two large blankets made of black bear fur covered his chest and legs. He looked around and realized he was being housed in a tent reserved for men with injuries. A dozen others were asleep on makeshift beds, each covered by thick bear fur blankets. He could tell it was morning by the half-open flap at the front of the tent.
He looked to the sides of his bed for his belongings and found nothing. The long sleeve shirt he wore wasn’t his own, nor were the britches on his legs. He realized they must’ve stripped him down, washed his wounds, and dressed him in new clothes. A rush of terror overcame him for a moment when he thought about them potentially seeing his tattoo. He pulled back a sleeve to find a large bandage wrapped around his forearm. He remembered fighting the grizzly and taking a few shots to the neck and chest, but he didn’t remember an injury to that part of his arm. He slowly unwrapped the blood-soaked bandage to discover a good portion of his forearm, where the tattoo used to be, had been torn off. Relief.
He touched the wet bandage on his neck. It was soaked in blood as well and was cold to the touch. “You don’t want to be touching that, milord,” a voice said from the front of the tent. A thin black-haired man hobbled toward Yaspar. He used a cane to walk and looked to be in his twentieth year. “Your hands are dirty and I’m to believe that makes a difference when dealing with wounds.”
The man stood beside Yaspar’s bed and gently unwrapped the top layer of the bandage on his neck. “I heard you were fighting a grizzly. I’m not sure I can find many reasons to take on such a beast. Did it insult your mother?” the man asked with a smile.
Yaspar fought back a grin and didn’t respond.
“So, you understand me? We all wondered if you spoke common,” the man said. “My name is Gates. What are you called?”
Yaspar opened his mouth to speak and felt excruciating pain from his neck. He closed his eyes and winced in pain.
“How foolish I am, asking a man with a neck injury to engage in conversation,” Gates said as he unwrapped the last layer of the bandage. “Well, this is looking better today. I would say you’re a week out from being yourself again. Let me get a fresh wrap and get you sorted out.”
Yaspar watched Gates walk across the tent to a shelf where various medical items were stored. He reached up to touch his wound and was surprised by how deep and long the cut was. He ran his finger from one side of it to the other and estimated it to be about half a foot long.
“Your neck looks like my leg,” a man lying in the bed next to Yaspar said. “I’d show you, but I don’t want to make you ill.”
Gates limped back toward Yaspar. “Let’s wrap you up and get breakfast sorted out, shall we?”
∞
The freezing rain continued to beat down on Fort Asbury all morning long. Injured soldiers were typically aloud to walk about the common are
a of the fort to strengthen their muscles. Not today. Yaspar and the others were commanded to stay inside the tent and wait it out.
Yaspar finished breakfast and looked around at the other men who were given the same meal as he had. It was odd to be treated so fairly and with such empathy, compared to his imprisoned days at King’s Square. These men brought him in and treated him as one of their own. He didn’t know what to make of it.
“My name is Heldar,” the man with the injured leg said. “I know you can’t speak yet, so I won’t ask questions that require a winded response. Are you from Avanton?”
Yaspar shook his head no.
“The Hamelesh, then? Are you a farmer?”
No.
“I don’t know why I asked that. If you were from the Hamelesh I’d recognize you. I’ve been a farmer all my life. I joined this rebellion a few months ago, leaving my wife and son behind. You’re probably wanting to know if I regret it?”
Yaspar smiled and looked away.
“Well, I don’t. What we’re doing here is so important for the good of the island. I don’t consider myself political, but I know a poor leader when I see one and Alexander is just that,” Heldar whispered.
Yaspar opened his mouth to talk and let out a small cough.
“You don’t have to say nothin’,” Heldar said. “It’s just that if we don’t rise up against this king we’ll be mistreated for years to come. That’s all I wanted to say. Oh, and that I believe in Viktor and Josiah.”
Just then, Viktor, Josiah, and Gates entered the tent and started walking toward Yaspar. The other men in the beds sat up at attention, many of them smiling at the sight of the prince. Yaspar sat up slowly, nervously, studying the face of the man he was hired to kill.
“I take it Gates has sorted you out?” Viktor said with a smile, glancing at Gates to his left.
Yaspar shook his head gently, yes.
“He can’t speak, my king,” Heldar said. “His neck was nearly ripped off.”
“Yes, I remember. Do you write?” Viktor asked, pulling out a parchment and a quill.
Yaspar, who could write very well, shook his head no.
“Not educated, I gather. Are you able to write your name at least?” Viktor said, looking at Josiah.
Yaspar held up his arm that was wrapped in bandages and made a writing movement with his hand.
“I see. The hand you write with is on the arm you nearly lost. Well, write your name with your left, then. We’re not judges of penmanship here,” Viktor replied, handing the man the parchment and quill.
Yaspar knew Viktor would recognize his real name if he were to write it. An assassin’s fame never dies. He had to think quickly, or they would be suspicious. He held the quill in his left hand and scribbled the letters R-a-p-s-a-y.
“Rapsay, huh? Is that a Romulosan name?” Josiah asked.
Yaspar, assuming it was okay to be a Romulosan, shook his head yes.
“You don’t say? I was told my mother was a Romulosan. I’m assuming you’ve learned to speak common, then. You’ve understood all of my questions up to this point.”
Yaspar shook his head yes again.
“And you learned how to fight with a sword somewhere as well. You nearly defeated the grizzly on your own.”
Yaspar opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself as the pain was unbearable each time he tried.
“I must be exhausting you. I will let you be. Gates will see to your full recovery and we’ll let you on your way once you’re healthy. Unless you wish to join my army. I’ll always reserve a spot for men as brave as you,” Viktor said with a smile. “Gates, ensure this man is well-looked after.”
“Yes, milord,” Gates replied.
Viktor turned and walked out of the tent while Josiah stayed behind for a few seconds. “I look forward to our future conversations, Rapsay. I’m sure you’ll have many things to say soon,” Josiah said, scanning the injured man’s face. Yaspar didn’t shake his head or look away as even the smallest of gestures could expose him. He and Josiah stared one another down until Josiah turned to leave with Gates.
“I’m not sure the prince’s confidant likes you much,” Heldar said. “I’m not sure he likes anyone much, really, except the prince.”
Yaspar watched them leave and recognized how difficult it was going to be to gain the good graces of Viktor’s closest aide. Perhaps joining the army and fighting alongside him bravely would do it, he thought.
Four
∞
“We don’t even know who he is,” shouted Josiah.
Viktor raised his hand for Josiah to keep his voice down. The others looked around at one another. Each man in the room quietly agreed with Josiah. They had just heard, a few days ago, that Alexander had sent three assassins to kill their prince. This man, Rapsay, could very well be one of them. Everyone thought it, but no one said it aloud.
The room was lit by a fire and measured slightly wider and longer than the one room cottage where he was raised. He trusted everyone in the room, even Lornar, his new servant, who stood by the door. Lord Patrio, the former lord commander of Fort Asbury, was in the room as well. He had used this room as his personal headquarters before the siege. He thought it fitting that Viktor used it to develop battle plans and strategize.
“Kelond, what do you think?” Viktor asked. “You were there when we rescued him. Do you believe he’s an assassin?”
“Too early to tell, milord,” Kelond replied with his raspy voice. “He is an outsider, though.”
“All of the men beyond those doors were outsiders once. Were they not?” Viktor understood their concern, but he wanted to be more sympathetic than he had been this last year. He and Josiah slaughtered men at will and he felt that his soul was becoming colder towards anyone that didn’t see the world as he saw it.
“I agree with Kelond,” Gideonis said. “There is something about him that does not sit well with me.”
“What say you, Erwin?”
Erwin looked down at his sleeve which had been stained by the blood he coughed up this morning. He felt his health fading fast and wanted to be of use to Viktor but didn’t want to alarm anyone that he might not last the cold season. He spent part of the morning watching Yaspar sleep in the medical tent after he procured a bottle of goldenbloom ointment. This was all he knew of the man.
“You must be cautious, my prince,” Erwin said. “Cautious, but not quick to judge. The man is helpless now, but will soon regain his strength. There is time for you to determine his intentions.”
“I agree. You would go on to suggest we treat every new recruit this way as well, correct?” Viktor asked, watching Erwin nod in agreement. “It is unfortunate that we must wage the rest of this war in fear of our own troops.”
“Only until we find the three assassins,” Josiah said quickly.
“Do you not expect Alexander will send hundreds more until he finally kills me? I’m surprised he started with three, to tell you the truth,” Viktor said, watching Marianna enter the room.
“You should not concern yourself with this, milord,” Kelond said. “We’ll surely protect you.”
“I can employ the rigorous vetting process outlined by your father a decade ago if you’d like,” Lord Patrio said.
“Vetting process?” asked Josiah.
“Leaders of armies were commanded to put new recruits through a rigorous training called the vetting process. I dare not go into detail while a lady is present, but the premise is that we break them down until they want nothing more than to serve their commanding officer’s orders,” Lord Patrio explained.
“How many new recruits have we gained in the last seven days?” Viktor asked.
“A little over six hundred, my prince,” Erwin coughed out, a little blood showing on his bottom lip.
“Is it something you can do with that many men?” Josiah asked.
“I’ll need a dozen or so lieutenants, but yes,” Lord Patrio replied.
Viktor looked at the others who
seemed to like the idea. He nodded and sent them all away. All except Marianna. Josiah looked at Marianna and then back at Viktor as he left. He noticed the intensity in their eyes and the focus they had on one another. He motioned for Lornar to follow him out.
∞
Marianna took a seat across the table from Viktor. She smiled and played with the end of a curl of hair. “How does it feel to have your own council? King-like?”
“Erwin is not well,” Viktor replied.
Marianna’s smile turned as she agreed with him. “He’s not been well for weeks. He spends all his time in those magic scrolls. He’s determined to learn how to cast spells without an artifact.”
“He may outlive us all. Some of those spells are quite powerful if he could ever learn to use them,” he said, unbuttoning the top button of his undershirt.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, standing and walking around the table.
“Is that right?”
“Yes, and I want you to fully consider it before answering right away.”
“Now I’m intrigued. Go on.”
“You promise? You’ll think on it before rushing to your answer?” she said, now standing next to his chair.
“Certainly,” he smiled, thinking she is about to confess her love in some strange way.
“Make me a lieutenant in your army?” she said, with a look that couldn’t be more serious.
“What? Of course not,” Viktor shouted, standing to his feet and moving away from her.
“You are a liar. You said you would think on it.”
“There’s nothing to think on. Do you want to be killed? Because that is what would happen,” he said, lowering his voice slightly.
“You don’t know that. I know my way around knives and daggers,” she said, offended.
“Oh, because your father was a butcher?”
“Yes, and no,” she growled. “How can you be so one-sided? Are women inferior to men in every way? Is that what you believe? That I’m so fragile that I’ll be laughed at by your foes?”
Viktor turned and grabbed a small sword that was leaning against a wall. He tossed it to her and then pulled a dagger from his belt. “Attack me.”
The Warrior Prince (The Tragedy of King Viktor Book 2) Page 2