Assassin's Gambit: The Hearts and Thrones Series

by Amy Raby

Lucien’s brows lowered. “She came here intending harm. And she killed one of my men.”

  “I know,” said Vitala. “Let the Circle feel the debt.”

  He grimaced. “Very well. I was thinking along those lines myself, but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind—since when has Lucien Florian Nigellus ever spared the life of a murderer? We’ll send her back with a message for the Circle. But what happened to you? Were those your Shards spilling out of your hands?”

  “Yes.” She winced as if she’d stepped on a spinebush thorn; in the excitement of battle, she’d forgotten about the Shards. She opened her hands to look for them, but they were gone. Probably lying in the dirt somewhere. “She disarmed me. I did the same to her, but she can get more Shards from the Circle. I can’t.”

  “Can my people help you recast the spells if we find the Shards?”

  “Maybe. It takes a Healer and a Warder, which you have, but I don’t think Kjallans know the techniques. I don’t know them either.”

  “When things settle down a little, we’ll try. In the meantime, I’ll have some men search for the Shards.” He glanced at Ista’s cot. “I think they’re finished with her.” The crowd around Ista had thinned. He walked over to her, and Vitala followed.

  Ista was sitting up. Her clothes were bloodstained and her skin was pale as sea spray, but clearly she was out of danger.

  “Are you strong enough to travel?” asked Lucien.

  Ista regarded them with an air of mulishness and said nothing.

  “This isn’t an interrogation,” he said. “We’re letting you go. I just want to make sure you won’t fall off your horse three steps out of the camp.”

  Ista’s skeptical eyes moved from Lucien to Vitala and back again. “I’m strong enough to ride. May I have some water?”

  Lucien nodded to a nearby soldier. “Fetch water. Food, too.” He pulled a folded letter out of his pocket and handed it to Ista. “Read this.”

  Grudgingly, as if she were doing him a favor, Ista unfolded the paper and read. “It’s orders. You’re to decimate the villages of Tinst, Echmor, and Rynas.”

  “Those orders are from the usurper Cassian. We’ve already been to Tinst, and we didn’t decimate it—we liberated it. A horse will be prepared for you tomorrow morning. I’d like you to ride to Tinst and see for yourself what my people did there, and then return to your Circle. Tell them we’re not your enemies, and they should call off these assassination attempts.”

  Ista’s forehead wrinkled.

  “It’s true,” said Vitala. “I wouldn’t have joined Lucien otherwise. He’s not here to harm Riorca. He’s here to free it.”

  Ista regarded them with a mixture of scorn and disbelief. But it didn’t matter whether she believed Lucien’s words; she’d be a fool to turn down the offer of a horse and clemency. Her curiosity would very likely send her to Tinst as ordered.

  A soldier arrived bearing a waterskin and some strips of dried spinefruit and stockfish.

  “Camp rations,” said Lucien. “Nothing fancy, but it’s what we eat when traveling.”

  Ista didn’t seem concerned about the quality, nor should she be; the Circle, like all of Riorca, lived austerely. She drank deeply from the skin and bit off the end of the dried fish.

  “You’ll stay the night here, under guard, and ride out in the morning. Understood?”

  Ista nodded.

  “That man you killed,” added Lucien. “His name was Jovius. He was twenty-three years old, an only son from Ingdan. His mother’s a weaver. She sent him a hand-woven blanket every winter.”

  “How tragic that he was placed in harm’s way,” said Ista. “And just think, if your country was not so intent on occupying and exploiting mine, he would still be alive.”

  “I take your point,” said Lucien. “But Jovius was not your enemy. You just killed one of the men trying to free your country. Good night.”

  21

  In the morning, Ista was dispatched, without ceremony, on horseback to Tinst, and the battalion marched on to Echmor, another dead village, which they freed in the same way they’d freed Tinst. Lucien repeated his speech and theatrics, including burning the supposed orders from the usurper. After an evening’s celebration, they moved on to Rynas.

  In Rynas, a live village, there were no slaves to free, but Lucien spoke to the people and described what he’d done in Tinst and Echmor. Then he announced that they would no longer be required to pay tributes to Kjall, and another village had been converted to his side.

  Later that evening, an exhausted rider rode into the encampment, covered head to toe with red dust.

  Lucien welcomed him. “Antius. You have word?”

  “We have the signal tower at Emwar Pass, sire,” said Antius.

  “Good,” said Lucien. “Rest up, and I’ll send you back to headquarters with orders for our signalers.”

  When the scouts had left and Vitala was alone with Lucien in the command tent, she said, “That’s good news. Now you can countermand the decimation orders.” After all, if White Eagle had received decimation orders, in all probability so had the other battalions. While Lucien’s battalion was freeing villages, other battalions might be decimating them.

  “I’m not going to countermand them. It’s not the best use of those signal towers, and, besides, it will look suspicious.”

  Vitala gaped. “Lucien, you must countermand those orders. If you don’t, Riorcans will be murdered by the thousands. You said you were going to help Riorca. If you want my support, if you want the Circle’s support—”

  “Vitala, let me finish,” he said. “If I countermand the orders, it won’t stop the decimation. In fact, it will probably make things worse.”

  “Why would it make things worse?”

  “Because of something else I’m doing. Let me explain.” He called to the door guards, “Pass the word for Quincius.”

  The tribune arrived minutes later and, at a gesture from Lucien, sat down at the command table.

  “Do we still get our supply shipments on the fifth day of the soldierspan?” Lucien asked.

  “Yes, sire,” said Quincius.

  “And it’s the same for the neighboring battalions, is it not?” He leaned over the map and pointed. “Blue Lion, to the west of us, here. Orange Oak, to the southwest, here. Blue Wolf, east of us, here. Are these positions correct?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  “I want you to call up three prefects and assign each of them one of those shipments. Have each of them work out a plan for quietly intercepting it. They mustn’t leave any witnesses. I’m going to send the commanders of Orange Oak, Blue Lion, and Blue Wolf signals from Cassian saying that he’s suspended the shipments due to lack of imperial funds.”

  Quincius laughed. “Very good, sire.”

  Lucien nodded. “Choose your men for their intelligence and discretion. Have them work up plans this evening and present them to me tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  After Quincius had left, Vitala slumped in her chair. “All right, you’re going to make the battalions angry with the usurper while securing supplies for White Eagle, but I don’t see what that has to do with the decimation orders. If you take away the battalions’ food, they’ll steal from Riorcan villages.”

  “One thing you may not be aware of is that those supply shipments include the soldiers’ pay. Imagine for a moment that you’re a soldier in Blue Wolf. First you’re given orders to decimate a village. Then those orders are rescinded and you’re told not to decimate the village. Then you’re told you won’t be getting fed or paid this month. How do you react?”

  “I wring my commander’s neck,” said Vitala.

  “Yes, well, how do you react if you don’t want to wind up on a stake?”

  “I see what you mean. The man who’s angry at his boss hits his wife, who slaps the child, who kicks the dog. The soldiers, who can’t take out their anger on the usurper or on their commander, will take it out on Riorca, possibly by carryin
g out the recently rescinded decimation order. And stealing food. But won’t they do that in any case?”

  “They’ll want to exact revenge on the usurper for not paying them, so whatever he last ordered them to do, I think they’ll avoid doing,” said Lucien. “Including decimation.”

  “That’s risky,” said Vitala. “There’s no telling what the soldiers will do when denied food and money.”

  “Conveniently, I’ll have extra food and money on hand to offer them.”

  Vitala laughed. “Come on! You can’t believe they’ll fall for that—won’t they figure out it was you who stole it from them in the first place?”

  He grinned. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Where else could it have come from?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Lucien. “A Kjallan soldier’s loyalty is to whoever provides the tetrals. I’ll have White Eagle at my back, and I’m their legitimate emperor. Remember that the usurper has lied to them about the Circle killing me, and my very existence is proof of that.”

  “Gods help you if they find out you’ve been lying to them too.”

  “Indeed,” said Lucien.

  “And, just like that, you’ll have three more battalions at your disposal?”

  He shrugged. “There are details to work out. But yes. Just like that.”

  • • •

  The days and weeks that passed were heady and dizzying for Vitala, as Lucien’s plans began to bear fruit. False signals were sent out, supply trains intercepted, and White Eagle marched from village to Riorcan village, where Lucien gave his speech and liberated the populace. Gifts arrived at White Eagle’s encampment—salt cod, goat cheese, wooden carvings, a tiny sack of gunpowder that someone had hoarded in secret for years.

  Lucien wanted to seek out the Circle and open negotiations, but Vitala advised him not to. Better to let the Circle come to them.

  So Lucien opened negotiations with the leaders of Blue Lion battalion. He ascertained that the soldiers were incensed at the usurper for having denied them pay and supplies, and offered to remedy the situation. When the leaders hesitated, he faked a signal from Cassian demanding a series of random personnel changes: promotions and demotions among the officers that made no sense at all and infuriated them. Soon afterward, they accepted his offer to address the troops of Blue Lion.

  The men of White Eagle were openly jubilant about meeting up with the other battalion. Many of them had friends in Blue Lion whom they hadn’t seen in years. Supply carts were loaded high with food and wine—after stealing six supply shipments, White Eagle had more than enough to go around—and the march to Blue Lion’s grounds was a happy one, with many smiling faces.

  The mood at Blue Lion’s encampment was quite different. The disgruntled atmosphere was evident not only in the soldiers’ faces and in the camp’s lack of cleanliness, but also in the whipping posts newly erected in the center of the camp.

  The commanding tribune had managed to assemble the soldiers, and Lucien mounted a podium to speak. He moved slowly, emphasizing the action of his wooden leg and crutch rather than downplaying them as he usually did.

  “Thank you for tolerating the extra time it takes me to get up here,” he began. “As you can see, I’ve made sacrifices in the service of my country.”

  Applause began, light at first, but it grew louder and louder. Vitala smiled. Lucien had his moments.

  He held out his arms for silence. “I come to speak to you today about a very important matter: the crimes of a man named Cassian.” The crowd booed the name; some men shouted and threw clods of dirt at the nearby battle standards that, judging by the stains on them, had seen some abuse already. “What are the crimes of this Cassian? Let me name them. First, he has, through vile and underhanded means, forcibly removed from the throne the rightful Emperor of Kjall and called him dead. Do I look dead to you?”

  “No!” the crowd answered.

  “Second, he has blamed this crime on Riorca and ordered the execution of thousands of innocent men and women to assuage his guilty conscience. Soldiers, I ask you: is this the act of an honorable man?”

  “No!”

  “Third, through his incompetent mismanagement of government and his personal greed, he has betrayed the men most important to the survival of the empire itself—you, the fighting men of Kjall!”

  The crowd roared its anger.

  “He has denied you much-needed supplies.” Lucien ticked points off on his fingers. “He has denied you food. He has denied you your well-earned pay. I don’t think this is any way to treat Kjallan imperial soldiers.”

  The soldiers shouted agreement. More clods of dirt flew through the air toward the battle standards.

  “You have wives and children, mothers and fathers and sister and brothers to support. That is why I have come here today. You must have your wages, and I shall pay them out of my own personal coffers—”

  The shouts of the soldiers became so deafening that he had to pause for a moment, patting the air with his hands in an effort to quiet them.

  “Gentlemen, I am only giving you what you are owed. This is your due for the fine service you pay our empire. I don’t ask for your thanks, but I do ask for your help. Cassian is no emperor. He is a usurper, a criminal who must be brought to justice. Join forces with me, and we will take back Kjall from betrayers and thieves.”

  Cheers rose as he stepped down from the podium, and Vitala had little doubt that Blue Lion would soon be joining forces with White Eagle.

  • • •

  Though Vitala had spent almost her entire life in Riorca, it was only now, traveling with Kjallans, that she truly became acquainted with her country. With White Eagle, she marched from one end of it to the other, through dark, mossy forests, red-dirt badlands where little grew but dry brush, and the frost-limned foothills from which one could hear the Great Northern Sea crash angrily against the cliffs. It was a beautiful, austere country, and her heart swelled with joy to know it at last.

  Lucien often sent pensive looks in the direction of the iron-gray waters, and she knew why. He feared an attack by sea. When Orange Oak battalion had joined him, he’d gained control of two Kjallan warships, but two would not be enough.

  “I hate to say it,” he commented as they crossed through Nacuny Pass on their way to some of the villages on Riorca’s northern coast, “but we’re lucky Mosar wiped out the Kjallan fleet in the last war. The most the usurper will be able to raise is about eight warships.”

  “You think he’s figured out what’s going on in Riorca by now?”

  Lucien nodded. “The reports coming in from the mainland sound unusually dull. I suspect the usurper knows I have the signal towers. I’m not worried about him sending troops by sea. He can’t transport enough that way, and we’d just retreat inland. But he could wipe out the Riorcan fishing fleet.”

  Vitala bit her lip. “And then we’d have no salt cod.”

  “Exactly,” said Lucien. “The men might cheer that news at first, but I’m sure they’ll wish for their salt cod when they begin to starve.”

  “Can’t we outfit the Riorcan fishing vessels with cannons?”

  “We could if we had cannons.” Lucien frowned. “Or ammunition. Which brings me to another point.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “We’ve heard from the Circle.”

  She took it from him eagerly, but as she absorbed its contents, her enthusiasm faded. She handed it back to him. “You have to decline this. I’m not taking you back into one of the Circle’s enclaves, not after what happened last time.”

  He looked pained. “I need the Circle, and I can’t wait much longer. I’m completely blind to what’s going on south of the Riorcan border.”

  “You may need the Circle’s intelligence, but the Circle needs your army even more,” said Vitala. “Send them a counteroffer. Tell them to meet you on White Eagle grounds, and I’ll bet you truffles to red dirt they’ll accept.”

  Lucien stuffed the paper back in his pocket
. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  22

  The Obsidian Circle sent three enclave heads into the White Eagle encampment to negotiate a settlement. Two of the men were unfamiliar to Vitala; the third was Bayard, and he was leading Flavia on a rope leash. Vitala locked eyes with him the moment he rode in, careful to conceal her excitement at seeing the dog, even though Flavia was pulling at the leash and swinging her tail so enthusiastically her whole body wagged. Vitala looked all three men over with a wardbreaker’s eyes, searching for traps—hidden Shards, hidden anything—but she found nothing.

  “Vitala,” said Bayard stiffly as he entered the command center.

  “Bayard,” she replied in the same tone.

  “And Emperor Lucien,” said Bayard, extending his hand.

  Lucien, too savvy a negotiator to even glance at Flavia, clasped wrists with him. “It’s a pleasure to welcome the Obsidian Circle into my camp. Even if you did try to kill me a few times,” he added without humor.

  Bayard pulled out a topaz on a gold chain and offered it to Lucien. “Sir, we would like to return your riftstone.”

  Lucien glanced at it quizzically. “That’s not my riftstone.”

  “Ah.” Bayard raised his eyebrows at Vitala.

  She smiled.

  “Well, the dog seems to believe she belongs to you,” said Bayard, handing the leash to Lucien.

  Lucien nodded, passing the leash to one of his guards with instructions to take her someplace where she wouldn’t disturb the proceedings. He sent a happy wink to Vitala.

  Bayard continued. “You know me already—my name is Bayard. My companions are Asmund and Gulli. We each command an Obsidian Circle enclave.”

  Lucien gestured for them to take their seats at the table. “And you know Vitala, formerly an Obsidian Circle assassin, now my trusted adviser. And this is Tribune Quincius, who commands White Eagle battalion.”

  “We’re pleased with the work you’ve been doing here in Riorca,” said Bayard. “Freeing villages, relieving them of tribute payments. This work is compatible with the goals of the Obsidian Circle.”