by T B Phillips
“Ah, Captain Creech. Samani Kernigan and Braen Braston conspired against him while you were gone. I was barely able to fight off the mutiny and restore order.” He sat down in the throne with an exaggerated plop. With a sigh, he added, “I could have used your fleet’s help, but we managed.”
“You managed because you hold the city defenses in your palm, Nevra. I wouldn’t doubt if you killed Artema yourself.”
Nevra stiffened in the high-backed chair. “I can assure you that I did no such thing. In fact, that accusation is complete nonsense.”
“Regardless, I don’t accept your legitimacy, Stefan.”
“Are you challenging my rule, Adamas?” Nevra lifted his hand and six guards entered the grand doors.
Creech lifted his hands away from his sword hilt, showing the guards that their lord was not threatened. “I’ll be calling a vote of the council.”
“I dissolved both the council and the inner sanctum. Had you been here to vote, you could have dissented.” The pox-covered man busied himself with dirt beneath his fingernails as he spoke. “Alas, you were not, and so your voice is silent.”
“Then I’ll be rejecting my letter of marque and leaving the guild, Lord Nevra.” With a sweeping bow and a swirl of cloth, the flamboyant man left the chamber.
After Adamas Creech had left, Nevra signaled to Captain Pogue. “Captain, that man has no marque and is thus an outlaw to the Esterling Empire. Have him followed out of the keep, then arrest him before he gets to his ship. Before. Do you understand? I cannot stress that part enough, Pogue. After you do, have his first mate brought to me so that we can begin negotiations. I’ll grant a marque and percentages to him in his captain’s stead.”
“Aye, sir.” Pogue spoke quietly with his men and then led them out of the hall.
Stefan returned his attention to his ledger, opening it to a page and drawing a line through one of the names. “Forty percent,” he said quietly to himself, “more like twenty-two percent.” He scribbled some more and then closed the ledger, setting it on the throne beside him. Moments later, shouts erupted from the halls. His security detail rushed in and surrounded him as Creech ran into the room with blood dripping from his cutlass.
“Thought you could hide me away, Stefan?” He brandished the sword, taunting the soldiers who surrounded Stefan. “I’ll cut you to ribbons and feed you to the tuna!”
Nevra froze. He stood motionless behind his guards, heart racing and adrenaline pumping. He wanted so badly to run from the room.
“You’re a pox-faced coward! Come out from behind them!”
In a flash, Pogue entered the room with dual cutlasses drawn. He was a flurry of metal as the two slashed and parried. The guards, seizing the moment to get their king to safety, ushered Nevra through the door to his chambers as quickly as they could. He did not look back as the ringing of steel on steel carried down the hallway.Once safely in his rooms Stefan began to panic. In his haste he had left his ledger atop the throne. “I have to go back!”
His guards quickly moved into a position to block the door. One of them, a brute from Fjorik, spoke up with a deep northern accent. “Can’t let you do that, sire. The outlaw is still out there, and our job is to keep you in your quarters until the ‘all clear’ is sounded.”
Alec had turned Captain Creech away from Nevra as quickly as he could while the security detail whisked him down the hall and into his chambers. Their swords clashed, ringing out and echoing in the vast and empty hall. Despite the little man’s flamboyant appearance, Pogue’s opponent was a master swordsman. The two dueled until the door shut behind the pirate king, sealing them out from the inside. He allowed Adamas to push him toward the throne, and then slipped his sword away, sheathing one cutlass and then scooping up the ledger with his free hand.
Creech held his attack long enough for Pogue to thrust out the book toward him. Through clenched teeth he whispered, “Get this to the resistance and meet me at a pub called The Leaking Sea Chest!” The little man nodded and took the book, turning to flee. “Wait!” Alec drew out his second cutlass and hissed in a whisper. “Make it believable!”
Creech drove his sword through the right side of the Captain of the Guard, intentionally missing any vital organs. Pogue blacked out and fell into a heap on the ground.
Chapter Forty-One
Forced marches were hard on men, beasts, and equipment, but the column made good progress in two days and was certain to reach Eskera by the next evening. Maximus rode in the middle of the procession alongside Titus. Together they mulled their options and conceived a plan that they hoped would prevent them all from getting killed. Their entire move was based on a hunch, and there was no certainty that they would succeed.
The general turned his destrier around and moved to the medical wagon, rapping against the doors in the rear. A nurse opened them from the inside, and Max looked in on Robert and Sarai within. The girl was still unconscious, which was a good thing for her while most of the nerve endings healed. No doubt she would awaken with the pain of her life, that is, if she awakened at all. Robert, as usual, knelt over the girl and used his powers to keep an aura of dense air around her body. He was keenly focused, paying close attention to any changes in her status.
“What are you doing exactly, Robert?”
“I’ve increased the amount of air around her burns. Her tissues are badly damaged, and I am hoping that this will help the healing process.” The boy looked exhausted. He had bags under his eyes, and he hadn’t slept in either of the two days during the march.
“You need rest, boy. Otherwise you won’t be worth a damn to anybody.”
“How close are we?”
“One more day. We’ll be able to camp tonight, and I want you to get some sleep.”
“I’ll try, but it depends on her.”
Max nodded and spurred his mount back to the front of the wagon. Titus was looking at him expectedly. To the captain he asked, “What?”
“When are you going to tell him, Max?”
“Tell him what? That this fight is not a guarantee? That all of us may die, tomorrow night or the next morning?”
“No. That he’s your son.”
Max frowned. “Figured that out, did you?”
The captain nodded. “It wasn’t hard.” A moment later he added, “I’ve known for a while actually. The resemblance is uncanny and getting more noticeable as he gets older.” He looked up at the glare that Max shot him. “Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of telling others. The Empire needs a Reeves in charge.”
“Yeah? Well he’s an Esterling, not a Reeves. And if word got out, we would all cease being fugitives, and would instead be heads on spikes.”
“Every man in this camp is willing to risk that, General.”
“I need them to risk it for him and not me, Titus. This empire is in trouble with Marcus in charge, and when the shit hits it will need Robert’s compassion.” With that, Max trotted off to the check the front of the formation.
The next evening, General Reeves brought the column to a halt about five miles from the city walls of Eskera. His men were exhausted, and he ordered them all to make camp and set picket lines. He doubted that the attack would come before the reinforcements, but he was careful nonetheless.
“Titus, get the men well rested. I want them ready for anything at any time. Give them double rations tonight so they can build back some strength. After that, I want you to dispatch a rider to General Lourdes in the city. Let him know that we’re requesting a parlay with friendly intentions. As allies, Titus. Emphasize that part.”
Titus saluted and rode off to make the arrangements. Max moved to the medical wagon and peeked in, noting that Robert was fast asleep next to his lady, somehow maintaining his current of air around her wounds. Gawds but the boy did look a lot like him. If Titus had pieced it together then other people would too. With a sigh, he worried about th
e war that Robert was about to face. Even if he survived the military campaign, the young prince would have to battle accusations and criticism from political and personal attacks for the rest of his life.
After ensuring the boy was safe and finally sleeping, Max walked the camp. His men were tired and would need to see their general. All around him was fatigue. Men walked around with hunched shoulders, dragging their belongings as they worked with glazed expressions. He couldn’t let them get sloppy. An orderly camp was part of military discipline, and men fought the way they camped.
He stopped to help two soldiers putting up their tent and returned their salutes with a quick nod. “As you were, men. Here, let me help you hold the pole.”
“Thank you, General.” One of the men said. Max watched them as they stretched the canvas out and staked the corners.
“Is it true, sir?” The other man asked, earning a warning look from the other.
“Is what true, private?”
“Is Prince Robert gifted like the Falconers?”
Reeves cringed at the question but decided to answer. “Would that matter to you or the others if he was?”
“No, sir. He’s one of us. We’ve marched and trained alongside him for two years. Watched him grow up really.” The soldier paused, then stood to full height and looked the general in the eyes. “We’d die for him, sir.”
“Well, soldier. Let’s hope that you don’t have to. Besides, I think he’d rather that you kill the other bastard.” He looked at the first soldier and asked, “Do you feel the same?”
“Sir.” The first soldier had decided that it was safe to speak to the senior officer, having witnessed the success of the second. “I do. Gifts or no, Robert’s ours. We were there, that night, me and Gus.” He had pointed a thumb at his buddy.
“What night was that?”
“The night that you two rode in on horseback. He had a shield around you both, shimmering and sparkly. It curved the air and the arrows followed its shape, sir.”
Max nodded. “I reckon that what you saw was true, son. Just remember that he’s your true king. When this battle comes, he’ll be out front with you and doing what he can.”
The men stepped back after pounding in the last spike and Max nodded his approval of their handiwork. Hopefully they would rest well inside of it. “Sleep well, soldiers.” As he turned to leave, Gus asked a question that made him pause.
“Sir. Will we be fighting our own then? Will the army split sides? Ol’ Sarge said that’s what happens in a civil war.”
A quiet passed over the general in a way that he had only seldom felt. He finally found the words and responded with candor. “Yes, son, I’m afraid that at some point we’ll be forced to fight men that you have trained with or fought beside. Get some rest, now.” The men nodded and gave a sharp salute that he returned before striding off. He walked the rest of the way to the command tent with a faster gait, returning salutes but not wanting to speak to any more of the men that night.
By the time he arrived, Captain Titus was speaking with a courier. Seeing the general, the aide-de-camp rushed over to deliver news. “Sir, General Lourdes has agreed to meet.”
“Good. What time tomorrow?” He hadn’t expected a response so quickly and had hoped that he could also get some sleep before the parlay.
“Not tomorrow, sir. He wants to meet in an hour. He said that he’s looking forward to meeting with you and Prince Robert as soon as possible.”
Glancing at the medical wagon he frowned, not wanting to wake the boy until he was completely rested. “Cinder’s crack.” He shook his head. “Well, I guess now is better than never.”
The air above Eskera chilled Robert as he flew, and he somehow knew that he couldn’t stay airborne much longer. This dream was different than those in recent nights, and he couldn’t help but notice a change in clarity as well. The city below rose up with sharper details than the dreams of Taros burning Sarai, and he felt that he was more corporeal. The cold air and sounds of the night stimulated his senses much as they had when he watched the pirates attack the town of Diaph. He somehow knew that he was actually above the city.
Two armies camped within the walls of Eskera, the reinforcements having arrived several days before Max had calculated. The accounts provided by the general’s spies were clearly accurate as Robert quickly estimated five-thousand imperial troops by counting the rows of tents in the city squares. Those, combined with General Lourdes’s forces, would ensure that his and Max’s small force would face nearly eight thousand if they could somehow scale the walls.
To the north he recognized the orderly lines of his own army camp as it lined the edges of a southward reaching swamp. Of course, he thought, Max would have protected the flank of their infantry against the imperial cavalry within Eskera. He focused in on the camp and it rushed up with such speed that vertigo and nausea washed over him for a brief moment. Once oriented he could clearly see the medical wagon that held both Sarai and his own sleeping form. About twenty yards away, Max was mounted, and Titus stood before him discussing an urgent matter. Hoping to hear their conversation, he started his descent and came to a rest atop the wagon.
“Don’t wake the boy. He’s been using a lot of energy to keep his girlfriend alive and I want him at full strength when the fighting starts.”
Titus nodded and pointed toward the south. “Are you certain that it’s safe to meet with Lourdes alone outside of the camp? At least let me send a security detail.”
“No. The risk is huge, but it’s one that I need to take, Titus.” He gestured toward the wagon, “Keep the detail around the Prince. He’s all that matters at this point.”
Robert watched as Max rode south into the night and then spread his giant wings, preening his feathers and fanning them to help trap warm air close to his body. Ready for flight he pushed off, sending the cart shaking with the rhythm of his heavy and beating wings. He rose quickly into the cold air and kept his eyes on the horseman riding south. Maximus Reeves was no fool, but desperation gripped him on this night, and would need an extra set of eyes.
The general felt the cold wind on his face as he rode toward the meeting spot. He was not in a hurry, but he wished to arrive at the parlay before his old friend. So many thoughts raced through his mind, filling him with doubt and worry. In all practicality, they didn’t stand a chance against the larger force, and he prayed that the reinforcements hadn’t arrived. The other concern was whether or not Merrimac Lourdes could be convinced of the legitimacy of Robert’s claim.
Max had been aide-de-camp for the crusty old warrior ten years ago, serving in the same capacity that Titus does for him. Mac was fiercely loyal to the former emperor, having fought to put down rebellions and fended off raids from both Fjorik and the Pescari. The royal family rewarded his loyalty with a twilight command over the permanent army in place at Eskera, that assignment intended to take him into retirement and beyond. Max prayed that the man still had some fight left in him and was placing himself and Robert at the mercy of a man who could end the entire civil war with a single cavalry charge.
A torch burned on the road ahead, indicating that he had failed in his goal to arrive first. He pulled his horse back from a canter, walking the beast up to a cleanly shaven man in a crisp uniform and seated atop a fallen log. The hair upon the man’s head had gone completely white, and what was left was cropped close to the scalp. Although he was weathered and old, he was still fit and in fighting form.
“You’re late.” The words came out as part of a low rumble.
Max shook his head as he dismounted. “I respectfully disagree, Major General, that you are early.”
The older man grunted what could have been a laugh. “At my age I arrive when I damn well please.”
“You always arrived when you damn well pleased. Remember the battle of Fort Falstaff? Sir John waited six hours for your cavalry to arrive.”
/> “Sir John was a drunkard and deserved to bake in the sun a few hours. The fat bastard was always cracking jokes at my expense in the academy, and a bigger hangover was my gift that day.”
“As I recall you ordered me to rest the men in their tents for the entire morning. I thought you’d lost your mind.” Max took a seat next to the old warrior.
“But you followed my orders anyhow. Have you finally reasoned out my strategy for that day?”
“It was for the horses. The Pescari had a distinct advantage with their speed but had ridden three days across The Waste. John would have marched out to meet them, but you set up a faster charge down the hill instead of on the open plain.”
“Exactly. Always strike when your opponent is exhausted.”
Max blanched a little at the insinuation. “Is that your plan tonight?”
Merrimac Lourdes laughed loud and gruff. “What the hell were you thinking, pushing your men from Weston to Eskera like that?”
“I needed to beat your reinforcements.” After a pause, he asked, “Did I at least pull that off?”
“Not a chance in hell, Max. You can’t outrun an Esterling ship with a forced march, not when they have the wind.” Putting a hand on the shoulder of his former protégé he added, “You’re screwed, mate.”
“Not necessarily.”
“You have a miracle amongst your foot soldiers, Max? Something to turn the tide against ten thousand men?”
“Not ten thousand, but we can handle five or so with your help.”
“I’m done fighting in wars, Max. If I charge on you then I save the crown one final time. If I don’t, well, let’s just say that I’m too damned old for an overland march to Eston.”
“Not even for the true Esterling heir?”