by Kal Spriggs
"What was that?" Hector shouted.
"I think it was a wizard's duel," Katarina shouted back. The sky still boiled with energy and random blasts of lightning still shuddered downwards
"Did we win?" Hector asked. He stared at the stocky, gray-haired wizard.
"I surprised him," Cederic said. Katarina moved over to give the shrouded wizard a hand up. "He didn't expect a wizard to intervene, certainly not one with my abilities... and he didn't have proper protections in place for what he'd done."
"What did he do?" Katarina asked, even as another bolt erupted from the heavens and smashed down far too close.
"He ripped the energy out of a dozen powerful Armen spirits and used them to turn this storm into a weapon," Cederic shouted. "I shattered his control over that weapon, which hopefully killed him or at least drove him off."
Another lightning strike hit the ground nearby and men caught on the edge of the strike dropped screaming to the ground. Cederic squared his shoulders, "Now I need to see if I can stop this storm... before it kills us all."
***
Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken
Christoffer winced as the storm erupted with bolts of lightning. Most of it seemed centered in the south, but here and there lightning smashed down close enough to his men that they began to crouch. "Spread out!" He shouted, but his officers had already begun to give the word. Men went into a dispersed formation, so that if any of them were hit, it wouldn't kill dozens with a single strike.
Christoffer turned to Mondragon, who gave him a wide-eyed look. "I don't know what this is, my Lord," the young Iron Wizard said. "I think it's a mix of spirit magic and wizardry, but this is beyond anything I've seen."
"Do we have some way to counter it?" Christoffer said as he looked back to the battlefield. Even dispersed his men handled the retreating Armen well enough, cutting down those who came near with boarding pikes, spears, and swords. Those who tried to get around the formation were picked off by caster fire.
He looked over at Siara, gravid with his child. She pursed her lips, "Powerful wizardry, warlockry too. This is not safe. We should withdraw."
Mondragon looked worried, "I don't know--"
A hilltop ahead of them erupted in an almost constant stream of lightning. Christoffer looked away from the brilliant flashes, protecting his eyes with an outstretched hand.
A heartbeat later there was a thunderous roar and a rush of wind that threw Christoffer off his feet. As Christoffer shook his head and looked up, he saw that the explosion had left someone standing in the midst of his armsmen.
A tall, gaunt figure stood over him, his black robes scorched and shredded. Christoffer almost didn't recognize the pale face of his youngest son, yet the look of hate and the selfish twist of his lips brought him back to the execution and trial. That look was not something that Christoffer could easily forget.
"Protect the Grand Duke!" Gervais Wachter shouted as he charged at Xavien. A wall of force hammered the armsman from his feet and sent him tumbling. Christoffer drew his sword, even as Admiral Elias Wachter threw himself between Xavien and Christoffer.
Yet his son backhanded the man hard enough to send him flying. Christoffer surged to his feet in a lunge, the Ducal Blade of Boir singing in his hands, aimed straight at his son's heart.
Xavien spun his staff too quick for Christoffer to see, deflecting the strike and then bringing the heavy metal staff down on Christoffer's forearm.
His bones snapped like twigs and Christoffer bit back a scream as green energy coursed through his body. He fell back unable to work his legs, unable to even breathe. Christoffer fumbled at his waist, his left hand numb.
Xavien let out a blast of green energy and a half dozen of armsmen and Marines were thrown back. A curtain of green fire erupted around them, so that only Siara, and Christoffer were still within.
“Ah,” Xavien hissed, “this must be the little northern whore you picked up to provide you some comfort.” He smirked at Siara, “I see you’re carrying a sibling of mine. Welcome to the family.” As Xavien looked back down at him, Christoffer’s left hand found what he’d sought.
He drew the hand caster that Mondragon had given him and fired. Xavien’s staff flared again and the column of force deflected harmlessly into the ground, smashing a geyser of dirt into the air. Xavien looked down at him with a look of derision. “Did you think that toy would hurt me?” Xavien batted the hand caster away. “I’ve spent more hours than you can imagine studying and practicing my arts. I’m a master of wizardry and sorcery and I know enough of warlockry to rip your soul from your body. There is nothing you can do to stop me, father.”
Christoffer kept his eyes on his son, even as he saw Siara move around behind Xavien
“Have you nothing to say?” Xavien asked. “No last wish to know why I snuff out your pathetic life?” There was an edge of desperation to his voice, almost as if he sought some measure of acknowledgment.
“I just figured that I failed you,” Christoffer said, his voice resigned. “I wasn’t a very good father.”
Xavien’s face went red with rage, “Damn you, I did this! Don’t you rob me of my—”
Siara gave him no warning as she struck.
Xavien spun as Siara attacked, his staff coming up to block her blow.
Yet it wasn’t a normal weapon she swung. The Ducal Blade of Boir ignited with blue energy as she cut downwards, slicing through Xavien’s staff and deep into Xavien’s neck, then through and out in a rush of black blood.
Xavien’s severed head flew a dozen feet away and the curtain of fire vanished. Above them, the storm began to break up. Christoffer’s armsmen rushed in, yet the threat was past.
Siara dropped the Ducal Blade next to him and sat down quickly. She groaned and put her head against his shoulder. “Not to be a burden, my love, but I think my water just broke.”
***
Chapter XXII
Eleanor
North Hills Village, Duchy of Masov
Twenty-ninth of Inkar, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Eleanor stepped in front of Samen as the archer strode towards the tavern, his face set and his shoulders haunched. “Where do you think you are going?”
Samen glared at her, “That bastard Hector is in there… and while we may have fought off the Armen, I’m not about to forget that his mercenaries cut my wife’s throat in front of me. I will have blood in payment.”
“If you kill him,” Eleanor said with a level tone, “you will have blood to spare. You will see our lands drown in blood, you stupid fool.” As he tried to move past her, she grabbed his arm. His eyes went wide in surprise at her grip. He shouldn’t, he should know well enough how archery developed grip and muscles. Though he probably didn’t know the fact that she did physical training every day to maintain that strength. “We might be in a lull after this fight, but if you think for a minute that the survivors of this fight won’t immediately be at each other’s throats at the slightest provocation, you’re stupider than I thought.”
Samon’s face flushed, “Damn, you, woman, he killed my wife!”
“No, Samen,” Eleanor said as gently as she could manage, “Grel killed your wife. And Covle Darkbit ordered him to do it… and we know that Grel worked for that wizard and word is that Covle Darkbit danced to his tune as well. The same wizard, I might add, that just threw an army at us while we were busy fighting one another. You go in there and try to kill Hector and you’ll be doing the work of the same sack of crap who ordered our village sacked.”
He pulled his arm free. “What would you have me do?” His voice was low and angry, but she saw some thought behind his eyes.
“Wait,” Eleanor said softly. “Give it the rest of the day. Do you think Katarina and Hector don’t realize how perilous this little truce is? Let them work it out. You may think they’re just smiling and laughing at each other… but they’re feeling each other out. It may well come to fighting… but it may not.”
Samen scowled at her
… but he didn’t argue. “What happens if Hector makes a move?”
“Then we kill him,” Eleanor said. “But leave that to me. I’ve seen him fight, he’d chop you into fish bait before you could draw your sword.”
“You think you could take him?” Samen asked incredulously.
Eleanor gave him a level look and then patted her bow. “Samen, if I can see him, I could kill him.” In fact, it was something she had nearly done exactly that as the battle wound to a close. She’d had an Armen bow with arrow knocked. It would have looked like a last, lucky shot from Hector’s enemies… but she had held back.
I should have taken the shot, but I hesitated, she thought, probably because Hector reminds me a bit of Aerion’s father. She always had a soft spot for the men who made hard decisions. She understood the weight Hector had tried to bear… not that she’d hesitate to kill him if he became a threat once more.
***
Commander Kerrel Flamehair
North Hills Village, Duchy of Masov
Twenty-ninth of Inkar, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Kerrel stepped into the inn’s common room and she had to pause at the sight before her. It was odd enough to see Duke Hector in conversation with Lady Katarina. It was stranger still to see Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken seated at the table next to them, his right arm in a sling, his Armen wife holding his newborn son next to him.
Throughout the tavern, officers from both sides of Masov’s civil war as well as the Order of King Gordon and the Grand Duchy of Boir all stood or sat in groups. Some were clearly uncomfortable at the situation, but no one had drawn weapons. Most of them seemed too exhausted for that, but there was a strange sense of comraderie as well. They had fought the Armen together, had faced wizardry, black sorcery, and the worst that a dozen Armen shamans could throw at them.
And we triumphed together, she thought with no small amount of surprise. Not in a hundred cycles would she have guessed that they would stand shoulder to shoulder against any threat.
Granted, it hadn’t solved their problems. Neither Hector nor Katarina had broached what to do now… everyone seemed content for the moment to focus on recovering from the battle, burying their dead, and healing their wounded.
Kerrel stepped out of the doorway as Halyna Kail coughed politely behind her. Hector’s mother had spent the battle at Longhaven and Hector had sent Kerrel to bring her almost before the battle was truly over. Luckily, Halyna had already been on the way south, so the retrieving hadn’t taken long.
Hector laughed at something that his son said and for a moment, Kerrel was struck by the similarity between the two of them. They were truly father and son, she saw, which still felt strange when she reminded herself that Gerlin was older than she was. Katarina laughed at the same joke and then something struck Kerrel as stranger still.
She looked between Katarina and Hector and her eyes went wide. Their features were too similar. They shared the same dark hair, the same sharp features and the same piercing blue eyes. “Firespawn,” Kerrel snapped, “You aren’t cousins… you’re siblings.”
She hadn’t realized she spoke aloud until the entire tavern went quiet. Kerrel’s gaze went to Halyna. The woman seemed too shocked to speak… but her very silence was confirmation enough. And who could miss it, seeing them standing side by side, Kerrel thought. It was obvious that Hector had to be Duke Peter’s son… which made Halyna Kail’s mysterious patron all the more clear, now.
Hector’s face wore the most shocked expression of all, “Mother…” he seemed oblivious to those around him, his gaze focused on Halyna. “Tell me…” He trailed off as his mother gave a slight sigh and turned and walked out.
Ancestors what a mess, Kerrel thought. Hector wore a pained expression and he looked around at Katarina and then Grand Duke Tarken. “Please, if you would, excuse me.” He hurried out of the tavern and Kerrel moved to follow.
He gave her a hard look, “I need some time, alone, with my mother,” Hector said in a hard voice. Kerrel stepped out of his way.
“Well, that’s a right mess,” A soft voice said from next to her. Kerrel saw that it was Lord Garrel, Lady Katarina’s betrothed. The young man had proven himself well in the battle, leading a company to settle the right flank. His father, Earl Joris of Olsztyn had nearly lost the battle for Lady Katarina. In fact, from what Kerrel had heard, he had ended up in position to “guard the supply train” by the time the Armen had attacked. Kerrel was a little surprised that Katarina hadn’t had the nobleman hung for desertion, but then again, it probably wouldn’t be an acceptable thing to do to her future father-in-law.
“Yes,” Kerrel said, “quite the mess. Excuse me.” She moved away from Lord Garrel and headed to the bar. As she did, a short, blonde woman intercepted her. “Ah… Commander Flamehair. There’s something of a private party happening in the back room. A mutual acquaintance suggested you join us.”
Kerrel gave the woman an odd look, “I’m sorry…”
“He goes by Jay,” the woman said.
“Oh,” Kerrel said. She hadn’t seen anything of Jay since the battle’s start. In truth, she wasn’t surprised at all to hear that he already sought to take advantage of the unofficial truce.
“Of course,” Kerrel said, “lead the way.”
***
Duke Hector the Usurper
Hector grabbed his mother by the elbow and pulled her aside. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Hector demanded.
Halyna pulled her arm free and glared at him, “Oh, now you want to talk? Now you want to share secrets?” She shook her head. “You idiot, do you think I didn’t try? When you were younger, you couldn’t have kept a secret like that… and the information getting out would have put Peter in a bad situation politically. Then you went off and married Tiara.”
Hector didn’t miss the bitterness in his mother’s voice. She had never approved of that marriage. Now I see why, he thought, hard enough to make a case to inherit as an illegitimate bastard born out of wedlock, even harder when you’re married to a barbarian girl with a halfblood son. “You wanted me to take Duke Peter’s place.”
“Not the way you did,” Halyna said. Her face turned hard, “I loved him, you know. Peter was the only man I ever loved. He valued my advice. He loved me for who I was… and then circumstance forced me to chose between the man I loved and my only child.”
She knew about the assassination, he realized. She must have known about it with time to warn Duke Peter… my father, Hector reminded himself. “You should have told me,” Hector said as the blood drained from his face. “I would have stopped it.”
“You would be dead,” Halyna hissed. “Peter thought that I had told you. He thought you’d gone mad with ambition, that I had poisoned you against him. That is why he locked me away. He would have killed you if you hadn’t killed him.”
Hector looked away. “I killed my own father.” His stomach twisted, “I killed my half-brother and tried to kill my half-sister…”
“They would have done the same, to clear you out of the way,” Halyna snapped. “And now the only one in your way is right there,” she pointed back at the tavern, “and you and Cyryl are joking and laughing with her. Finish this. Kill her and end this stupid war.”
Hector stared at his mother. “It’s that simple, is it?”
“It always has been,” Halyna said. “Survival is a matter of removing those who are in your way. This peace is temporary. Tomorrow the grudges and complaints will arise… how long is it you think before she comes to the same decision.”
Hector closed his eyes. “You taught me that family is the most important thing. You taught me that I need to protect my family.”
“I’m your family,” Halyna snapped.
“Peter was my family… his two children… the little boy that I had Vendakar mercenaries kill, he was my brother,” Hector slammed his fist into a wall. “Do you not realize that?!”
“He wasn’t my son,” Halyna said. “You are my son.”
�
��Go away,” Hector whispered. He couldn’t look at her. It was all he could do not to draw his sword and hack at the wall in fury. He had been lied to… but he had lied to himself as well. He had told himself that everything he did was to protect his lands, his people… yet he had murdered his own family.
He had to make this right. As he heard his mother walk away, he realized that she was right, in a way. Sooner or later Katarina would realize that this war could be ended if someone killed him.
He would just have to make his move before that happened.
***
Captain Aerion Swordbreaker
“You spent the entire battle here?” Aerion grumbled. He had listened as Aramer filled him in on what he’d been doing since they parted ways at the Ryftguard. It sounded like a lot of skulking to Aerion, finished up by hiding out in the village.
From the expression on Cederic’s face, the shrouded wizard seemed to agree.
Aramer shrugged, “Healing wounded. I know many of the people on both sides of this conflict… you’ll forgive me if I didn’t leap joyously into the fighting.”
“Well, at least you made yourself useful,” a woman said. Aerion turned to see that Commander Flamehair had arrived, escorted by his mother, Eleanor. The redheaded mercenary looked just as tired as Aerion felt. She gave him a nod and Aerion sat a little straighter. After seeing her in combat, that nod meant a lot to him.
“Useful might be a stretch,” Brooke said. The mage looked even more tired than Aerion, but then again, she’d spent the past eight hours healing wounded and trying to save lives. She’d saved hundreds of soldiers and mercenaries in the process. “After I tapped the energy in his mageblood, he wasn’t useful for anything besides fetching bandages and boiling water.”
Aerion snorted at the thought of Aramer fetching and carrying.
“I’ll have you know,” Aramer said, “I was the finest assistant any healer could ask for!” He wagged his finger and adopted a quavering, elderly tone, like the one he had used while in disguise as Arren Smith. “Back in my youth, I was a healer of great reknown. Why, I even saved young Aerion here from almost certain death…”