Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Published by Raconteur House

  Murfreesboro, TN

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  KINGSLAYER: SOVRAN AT WAR

  Book Two of Kingslayer

  A Raconteur House book/ published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2018 by Honor Raconteur

  Cover by Katie Griffin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

  Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information address: www.raconteurhouse.com

  Other books by Honor Raconteur

  Published by Raconteur House

  THE ADVENT MAGE CYCLE

  Book One: Jaunten

  Book Two: Magus

  Book Three: Advent

  Book Four: Balancer

  ADVENT MAGE NOVELS

  Advent Mage Compendium

  The Dragon’s Mage

  The Lost Mage

  Warlords Rising

  Warlords Ascending*

  THE ARTIFACTOR SERIES

  The Child Prince

  The Dreamer’s Curse

  The Scofflaw Magician

  The Canard Case

  DEEPWOODS SAGA

  Deepwoods

  Blackstone

  Fallen Ward

  Origins

  FAMILIAR AND THE MAGE

  The Human Familiar

  The Void Mage

  GÆLDERCRÆFT FORCES

  Call to Quarters

  KINGMAKERS

  Arrows of Change

  Arrows of Promise

  Arrows of Revolution

  KINGSLAYER

  Kingslayer

  Sovran at War

  SINGLE TITLES

  Special Forces 01

  The Midnight Quest

  *Upcoming

  This one is for the fans. (You can stop begging now.)

  Also a special thanks to my father, Glenn Michaels, who helped me plot out the tactics for this book. I wrung his brain dry for three hours and I truly do appreciate being able to pick his brain.

  “I am a general renowned for my strategies; I’ve been in more wars than I can rightly recall off-hand; I understand logistics and can plan maneuvers in my sleep; so why,” Darius paused and looked between two different branches of hallway, despairing, “why didn’t I realize that teaching my daughter the word ‘up’ would lead to this?”

  Payam, following at his heels, stifled a giggle.

  Darius turned to give him a half-hearted glare. “Something amusing about this?”

  “No, sir,” Payam managed with a remarkably straight face, although his lips kept twitching, spoiling the effort. He offered ingeniously, “At least we narrowed it down to who has her?”

  “There is that,” Darius acknowledged with a rueful smile. Ever since three weeks ago, when he had taught his daughter what “up” meant, she had latched onto the word with a fervor that dismayed her parents and bodyguard. Parisa, at barely eighteen months, didn’t have much of a working vocabulary and she still struggled with her balance enough that walking presented its challenges. (Although her crawling speed made even adults trot to keep up with her.) She’d learned people’s names, nicknames for the ones that gave her trouble, and a few other words besides: no, yes, please, that, and Bi-bi (her stuffed bunny).

  And then Darius had stupidly taught her “up.”

  He hadn’t been able to find her since.

  Parisa loved “up.” Up meant that she could communicate that she wanted someone to pick her up and carry her off, which every single person in his household was willing to do, as Parisa possessed an astonishing beauty along with an unhealthy dose of charm. No one hesitated over putting her on a hip and toting her about, and Parisa enjoyed both being held and mobile.

  It strangely felt like Darius played an elaborate game of hide-and-seek with his daughter. In order to give the game more of an edge, Parisa drafted whoever she could to be her legs, giving her a better chance to outmaneuver her sire and win the game.

  And she is definitely winning, he couldn’t help but think.

  “You go left,” Darius dictated to Payam, “I’ll go right.”

  “This time of day, Bohme is normally in kitchen,” Payam informed him.

  “Or napping on the back patio,” Darius added, already moving toward the outside doors. “So go check the kitchen and I’ll check the patio.”

  Payam scurried off, sandals slapping at the tile floor. Darius shook his head, lamenting to himself that he really, really, should have thought that word through. All he’d wanted was to teach his daughter how to reach her hands up to make it easier to lift her.

  The sleep deprivation of a parent could not be easily dismissed. It messed terribly with a man’s judgment.

  Darius stepped outside onto the patio and hoped instantly that Bohme hadn’t chosen to lounge out here. The day had already turned too warm for comfort. Even the shade of the covered patio, the trees gathered near the house, and the wind coming in from the west didn’t take the edge off completely. Darius normally liked this spot in the evenings, where he could see his lands, as it had a good vantage point and he could see both the vineyards, the farms, and a part of the highway from here. The angle of the house made it the best place to enjoy the sunset, but the mornings were unbearable on this side of the house.

  Taking two full steps out, he swept the area, but he didn’t see either bodyguard or baby. Kitchen, then. Turning, he headed back down the hall, but paused at the intersection as he heard his wife’s light footsteps hurrying his direction.

  “I haven’t found her yet, but we know Bohme has her, and Payam is checking the kitchen,” he spoke as soon as she came into view.

  “Finding her to settle her for a nap is like waging war in this house,” Amalah said in exasperation, dark eyes rolling toward the ceiling as if praying for patience. “But that’s not why I’m searching for you.” In her hands she held a missive, rolled up with very tight cord and wax binding it shut, and Darius’s eyes went wide as he took in the seal pressed into the wax.

  Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and quickly broke open the seal. Baros had written to him only once before, so if he were reaching out again, it couldn’t be anything good. The first words of the letter confirmed that with chilling certainty. His eyes scanned through it quickly, head swimming with different thoughts and emotions. He felt hot and cold at once, a tingling in his chest that he belatedly realized was a surge of adrenaline. Oh, if this was true. If any part of this was true….

  “What does Baros say?” Amalah asked in a hushed tone.

  Darius almost tilted the letter her direction so she could read it herself then realized belatedly that Baros had written it in Haelic, a language she didn’t know. “He’s asking for my help.”

  Amalah’s dark brows shot straight into her hairline. “Your help? You’re wanted by the entire Sovran, how can you possibly help him?”

  “He says here that he’s wrangled a full pardon for me so that I can enter, but he needs my help.” Darius stared down at the letter, blindly, as everything he had heard in the past year coalesced into patterns all at once. “Amalah. I told you that because Niotan wrested free of the Sovran, avoided being conquered, that Baros would lose control slowly of the other countries.”

 
“Yes, so you did.” Amalah’s eyes scanned his expression, reading him. She was always lovely, his wife, even with her hair in a messy braid over her shoulder, but that expression reminded him that a sharp mind lay beneath that beautiful exterior. “Is that happening now? Is that what he wants you to stop?”

  “No. Something worse than that. I should have anticipated this, but—” he swallowed the words down because in truth, he had actively not thought about war much in the past year. He had chosen to dwell instead on his family, on his estate, his people. It had been so much easier, a happy respite, to focus on love instead of violence. “The Roran barbarians were the first to break free of the Sovran after last year. And now it seems they’ve pulled together, at least most of the clans, perhaps all, and they’re threatening the northern countries. Baros has battled them to a standstill for now, but he can’t find a way to force them back into their territories. If he doesn’t do it soon, then they’ll overrun him. They’ll overrun the Sovran.”

  Amalah went pale, expression stricken, and Darius felt he reflected her in that moment. They both knew what it meant for the barbarians to enter a country. Darius had always cursed them when they were allies, as they proved fickle in the best of times. Using cats to scare them off had proven that to the Niotanian people. The barbarians did not make good allies, but they were worse enemies. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, they thought nothing of razing and pillaging a country.

  The Roran barbarians did not conquer. They destroyed.

  Raising a shaking hand to her mouth, Amalah asked in a threadbare voice, “If they enter the Sovran, if Baros can’t hold them back, how much of the northern territory will he lose?”

  Darius shook his head grimly. “We’re not just speaking of the northern territory. The last time they charged in, the barbarians made it all the way through the capital. Remember me saying I had to re-conquer the capital after that disastrous campaign? It was them I fought off. They’ll get halfway through the Sovran before they even think of slowing down. We’ll lose millions, Amalah. Millions of people. The barbarians don’t take prisoners, not really. They don’t conquer. They claim and destroy and then go home with good war stories and loot. That’s their only goal.”

  The corners of her mouth tightened into an unhappy line, brows drawing together sharply. She didn’t like this idea. Darius didn’t either. His mind cast back to those dark memories, when he had been forced to do in-city fighting, street by street, using guerilla tactics that were bloody and inhumane, all to get the enemy out of his city. He still had nightmares about that time. In no way did he want to relive it.

  Amalah’s hand came up to hold the one still grasping the letter, her fingers gentle on his skin, urging him to let up on his white knuckled grip. Her eyes held a well of empathy and understanding and she, bless her for it, didn’t ask about those dark memories. “Why you?”

  Blowing out a breath, Darius let those images go, focusing on the here and now. His hand released so he could tangle his fingers with hers, finding comfort in her grip. “Most of the generals in the Sovran refused to work with the Roran clansmen. I believe I’m the only one that has ever defeated them. They need me for my experience with them, my understanding, as normal tactics don’t work with the barbarians. They don’t think in linear lines like the rest of the world does.”

  “Hence why Baros’s generals can’t turn completely?”

  “I think that’s part of it. That and Baros is still reeling, still trying to find some sort of equilibrium after both losing to Niotan and retreating from Serrati. He doesn’t have the troops placed right anymore, at least, the ones he has left. Niotan and Serrati both cost him dearly.” Darius closed his eyes, thinking hard and fast. What should he do?

  “Darius…” Amalah openly hesitated before asking, “Is this possibly a way that you can free Arape?”

  He froze. Free. Arape. Opening his eyes, he looked at his wife with a tremor of wonder. “Explain.”

  “You told me several times that the Sovran can’t continue as it is, that it doesn’t have the troops or manpower to retain control of its territories. That you wish Arape could break free and be independent of them once more. Baros is formerly your student, he should understand all of this as well, shouldn’t he?”

  Darius nodded but let her continue. She hadn’t gotten to her point yet.

  “Then perhaps you can agree to help him with the understanding that if any country wishes to leave the Sovran, regain their independence, that they be allowed to do so. If I understand the economics right, not every country will, because some of them depend heavily on the Sovran for trade and governing, so Baros will not lose them all in a rush. I think it will reduce the Sovran to something more manageable, though, something that he can hold onto without destroying the Sovran altogether. And it will give countries like Arape a chance to withdraw without having to fight a harrowing war.”

  He had been so focused on the barbarians, on what it would cost to boot them back into their own lands, that he had missed the overall opportunity this afforded them. Dropping the letter, he took his wife’s head in both hands and kissed her soundly. Above her lips he breathed, “You are the most brilliant woman on the face of this planet and I adore your mind.”

  She giggled, kissing him lightly back. “Just my mind?”

  “All of you. All of you is perfectly wonderful but right now I’m in awe of your mind. Yes, beloved, that is exactly what I should negotiate for.” Belatedly, he realized, “If Tresea will let me do this. She might not.”

  “Niotan’s economy is still struggling, we can’t afford to lose our trade with the Sovran either, it will cripple us,” Amalah observed. “Queen Tresea knows this as well as we do. I think one general is a small price to pay for keeping her country from economic collapse.”

  Darius stared at her and remembered a half-forgotten statement he’d read once. It had been an account of a king from long ago, who said that a man’s ability to achieve anything depended upon the woman supporting him. Never did Darius understand that better than in this moment. His beautiful, intelligent wife did not focus on the darkness of the now, but instead looked ahead, finding a better path for him to aim for. He felt fit to burst with his pride of her. “You are so very right.” He didn’t think he needed to ask, but a wise man communicated with his wife and didn’t make assumptions. He’d learned that one the hard way. “You realize that if everyone agrees, I’ll be gone for perhaps a year?”

  “I also realize that if you do not go, Arape might fall, your family lost to you,” she responded with a soft firmness, unshakeable with her faith in him. “And you’d never forgive yourself. We can manage without you for a short time. But I cannot watch you live with a broken heart, not when we both know you can stop this.”

  His eyes prickled with unshed tears as he leaned back in, his forehead resting on hers, breathing her in. “I love you.”

  Amalah held him close for a spell because they both needed that moment. Then she stepped back a half foot and gave him that look he had seen before, when she was ready to send him off to war, resolute and determined. “Go. At the very least try.”

  Even if he didn’t win the argument, Darius would try, but he had a feeling that he would win. Tresea was also a very intelligent woman. She likely saw the situation the same way Amalah had, and with any luck, this wouldn’t be an argument at all. “I’ll need to speak with Tresea tonight, but if I can’t get an audience with her that quickly, I might stay in the palace for a day or two. I’ll send word when I know anything for certain. I’ll take Tolk and Sego with me.”

  “Roshan too,” Amalah encouraged.

  Yes, of course, he should do that. Roshan had been learning from him for the past year and a half, mostly theories, as they had no battles for him to experience. At thirteen, he was too young to put on a battlefield just yet anyway. But half of war was politics and letting Roshan learn that now would pay off in spades later. “I’ll take him. Amalah. I hate to say this, and I don’t really believe it, but t
his letter from Baros might be a trap. Or people might take advantage of his plea to make it into a trap.”

  Amalah just looked at him, a smile curving at the corners of her mouth. “You think those people would succeed?”

  “Well, no, as I’d be looking out for it, but Tresea might be reluctant for me to go because of that. A lot of people in the Sovran blame me for the state of things now because I killed their king.” Not that it was true, the Sovran had been in trouble before Darius ever stuck a knife in Farhan, but people didn’t always see the truth for what it was. “I’m trying to say, even if I do go, it might not be with any fanfare and I might have to embark on some subterfuge, which will draw this process out even more.”

  “I understand, but I hope you will cut through that, if you can. I don’t think the Sovran has a lot of time left.”

  Darius had the terrible premonition that she was likely right.

  Darius made it to the palace just as the formal dinner started. Drawing Tresea away would be difficult, so instead he sent a palace runner ahead of him with Baros’s letter, knowing that she could not read it, but that the curiosity would guarantee him a quick audience.

  He was not above manipulating his monarch when urgency demanded it.

  Tolk, Bohme, Roshan, and Sego had come with him, and they all ordered food from the kitchens, which arrived with commendable promptness. His young brother-in-law cum student looked a little worse for wear from the ride in, his dark curly hair showing a fair amount of dust, white shirt and tan slacks more brown than they should be. Darius took one look at him and shooed him into the washroom. “Go clean up. You’ll be coming with us to meet the queen.”

  Roshan jumped a little, alarmed by this idea. “Me? But it’s an important meeting, isn’t it?”

  So growing up in court hadn’t made him immune to monarchs, eh? Probably healthy if he kept at least a little of that alarm. Darius still felt alarmed sometimes and it kept him from becoming dangerously complacent. “You’ll soon discover that war is mostly politics, my young apprentice. Best you start learning about it now. Shoo, go clean up.”