Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Still a little uneasy about the whole idea, the boy thankfully did as bid with brisk efficiency and no further arguments.

  Darius didn’t know how much time he had, so he ate quickly, wiped the worst of the dust from his skin, and laid out a spare uniform on the bed, just in case. They always kept some clothes and things here, for convenience’s sake, and he believed that the formal dress uniform would still fit even if he hadn’t put it on in a year.

  Reasonably sure.

  Mostly sure?

  Amalah had employed very good cooks.

  With nothing else to do, he wandered back into the main room and dropped onto one of the padded benches next to Roshan. Sego of course looked court ready, dark hair tied off neatly to lay over his shoulder, Bresalier House uniform impeccable, despite having ridden on the same road as everyone else. Darius felt that Sego wore some manner of anti-dust charm about his person, but the man would never admit to it. Tolk had cleaned up as well, hair slightly spiky from a quick wash, but even the House uniform couldn’t make him look completely respectable. Something about that rangy build would always suggest something piratical.

  Both Sego and Tolk gave him a speaking look and he blew out a breath. “We can’t do anything more than wait, now.”

  “Darius,” Sego said with the air of a man that struggled to remain patient, “you realize that this whole thing could be an elaborate trap.”

  “Possibly,” Darius allowed with a shrug, because there was no use denying it, “but I don’t believe it is. I recognize the handwriting, and no one would think to use that language to write to me unless they knew Baros and I very, very well. I taught him Haelic, and it’s not a common language. It was our own way of assuring the other person the message was written by our own hand—a seal of confidence.”

  “And no one would copy this?” Roshan raised a doubting eyebrow. At thirteen his voice hadn’t quite broken yet and wobbled between a higher pitch and the emerging bass of adulthood.

  “We made very, very sure to destroy those letters after reading them. We didn’t want anyone rumbling onto our trick. It would defeat the purpose.” Besides, it had taken a full year to teach Baros enough to make him even conversant, and neither of them had wanted to repeat the process with another language due to one moment of carelessness. “I am absolutely positive that the letter came from him. I’m not as convinced that people won’t take advantage to make this into a trap when I do step into the Sovran.”

  Bohme let out a relieved breath. “Sho you do plan to brashe for a trap.”

  “Of course. I just don’t think the source will be from Baros.”

  There came a rapid knock at the door. Tolk promptly pushed out of his chair and opened it, revealing a palace runner that seemed a little wide around the eyes. “Queen Tresea demands an audience with General Bresalier immediately,” he relayed in a high-pitched voice.

  Demands, eh? Darius didn’t feel the least bit surprised. He went into the other room, threw on the uniform, and came back out to find the runner shifting from foot to foot. “Lead on.”

  The runner nearly vibrated with the urge to sprint ahead, but Darius slowed their pace down to something Sego could keep up with. He had to wonder, what had been Tresea’s reaction like to set the runner off like this? Something spectacular, in any sense, and he mentally braced himself.

  At this time of the evening, the palace’s occupants all gathered in the main dining room, leaving the hallways deserted. It made their footsteps ring and echo off the tile, only the night breeze floating in through the open windows off-setting the sounds. Darius found his mind drifting in memory, back to a night when he had stolen into a sleeping king’s bedchamber—the atmosphere felt the same to him. Granted, he had no intentions of killing a queen, but still the familiarity lingered. The difference between now and then was that he had people with him this time, and three years ago, he had been dreadfully alone.

  Shaking his head, he cast the memory aside, as it had no place in the here and now. Right now, he needed to focus on convincing his queen that he needed to go.

  The runner took them to an antechamber right next to the main dining hall, which didn’t surprise Darius one bit. He gave a perfunctory nod to the guards at the door before stepping inside and announcing, “General Bresalier for you, My Queen.”

  “Excellent, come in,” Tresea called out strongly.

  Darius strode through, taking the room in at a glance. Nothing more than three benches and a writing table, Tresea taking up the center bench, pointing imperiously at him while waving the letter in her free hand. Her ebony hair wrapped around her head in an elaborate, braided style, a one-shoulder gown of white making her glow in the candlelight. The setting made her more striking than usual. “Darius. What is this?”

  “It’s a very interesting missive, My Queen.” Darius took the bench she pointed him to, in turn making sure that Sego sat next to him. His steward no longer argued with him about that, just looked to Tresea for her permission before settling, his bad leg stretching out. Tolk and Roshan remained standing behind Darius, Tolk subtly guiding the boy on where he needed to be with a hand on his shoulder. “I received it only this morning.”

  Tresea tapped the letter into her open palm. “I can’t read this. No one in the palace can.”

  “My apologies, I didn’t think it would be wise to have a translated version of the letter floating about, hence why I didn’t attempt it. Allow me to summarize. Baros is in trouble. Even saying he’s in trouble is an understatement. The Roran barbarians are trying to invade and he’s barely able to hold them off. He’s begging for my help.”

  Eyes narrowing, Tresea asked slowly, “Why you?”

  “Two reasons. One, I’m the only general that understands the barbarians, their culture, their language, their weaknesses. I was one of the few that would work with them in war and—” here he met her eyes deliberately “—the only one that ever defeated them.”

  Her face lit with sudden understanding. “When you reconquered the capital.”

  “Precisely. Two, Baros has suffered a serious dearth of personnel over this past year. Even I heard rumors of it. I’m not sure how many of his generals are left, ones that aren’t already tied up with some other campaign. Even if he had someone else with my expertise, or close enough to it, I don’t think he has anyone he can afford to send. He’s literally fighting too many wars on too many fronts.”

  “And he trusts you.” Tresea gave him a sharp smile at his surprise. “You are, after all, his mentor, his teacher. He knows very well that he can trust you to do the job correctly.”

  Darius couldn’t refute that, she made a good point. “And that.”

  Tresea sank back into her seat, staring blindly straight ahead, her usual manner when she needed to think something through. “If the Roran barbarians get past his defenses, how far will they go?”

  “They can make it all the way to the capital, possibly beyond.” Darius grimaced as the words left his mouth, as they tasted like blood and ash, a memory from dark days he never wanted to relive. “It will actually be easier this time. Baros’s troops are badly out of place; I’d wager my left foot on that.”

  She did not like this answer, no one in the room did. Sego and Tolk had been given the bare bones on the way here but they hadn’t realized how badly the situation had degenerated, and they stared in horror at Darius. He didn’t feel like it needed to be said, but Darius put the words out there anyway. “My Queen, if the Sovran falls like this, pillaged and looted, their economy will collapse. All of the trade we’ve done in the past year and a half will vanish, and our economy—”

  “—will take a colossal hit as well,” Tresea finished wearily, aging a decade in front of his eyes. “We’d survive but it would destitute this country and take years to recoup from the loss. I know, Darius. I know all too well.”

  He fell silent, letting her think, as pushing someone too hard and fast never amounted to anything good. Tresea stayed that way for several long min
utes before pinning him with a penetrating look. “You want to go.”

  “I do,” he admitted without a qualm.

  She’d expected this answer, they wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise, but her brows beetled in confusion. “Why?”

  Taking in a breath, Darius decided to be perfectly frank with her. “Because aside from protecting Niotan, I think that by doing so, I can free Arape.”

  For the first time since he entered the room, Tresea lit up in a fierce, exultant way, as if a dozen doors and paths had suddenly opened up before her. “You’d use Arape as a bartering chip?”

  “More than just them. Amalah was the one that pointed it out to me, what an opportunity this is.” He couldn’t keep a proud smile off his face and truthfully didn’t even try. “My Queen, we both know the Sovran is self-destructing, that it can’t last the way it’s going, and I know from Baros’s tone in that letter that he’s realized the same. But he doesn’t know how to get out of this situation, or what to do, and so he’s struggling. If I put it to him that I will help him, will drive back the barbarians, he’ll be willing to negotiate with me on terms. I want to come to this agreement: any country that wishes to leave the Sovran be allowed to do so.”

  Sego swore softly next to him, breathless with incredulity. Tolk too sounded like he had just sworn or perhaps choked on a curse.

  Tresea’s eyes darted over Darius’s face, her own giving nothing away. “You think he’ll agree?”

  “I estimate that half of the countries he now controls will stay with him, either because their government is too entwined, they don’t have the military forces to protect themselves, or because they fear economical depression if they separate themselves. Half of his current holdings is actually the right amount to govern with the forces he commands. It will be a devastating blow, of course, but he can’t feasibly keep most of these countries from splintering off anyway. He literally doesn’t have the manpower to stop them. He knows this. He must. All he needs,” here Darius leaned forward, intent, unshakable in his convictions, “is an excuse to let them go. I can be that excuse.”

  “You’re mad,” Tresea breathed, eyes wide, consuming her face.

  Darius gave her a manic grin and didn’t bat an eyelid. “I’m right.”

  “You are,” she agreed in that same, breathless tone, “which is what scares me. You said Amalah thought of this?”

  “She did. The first to realize it.”

  Tresea clapped her hands together, delighted. “You’re training your own wife to be a military strategist?”

  Well, not on purpose. “I think it’s more a consequence of living with me. My wife has always had an excellent mind to work with, and I think out loud, so of course she’s going to learn tactics and strategy by default.”

  “I pity the man that tries to outmaneuver your family in the future, then.” Tresea’s smile went wide for a moment, silently laughing, before it faded into more somber lines. “If you and your raja are correct—I believe you might be—then Baros surely must realize at some point what your price will be for your help.”

  Darius hadn’t thought of that, but it didn’t surprise him. Shrugging, he allowed, “At the very least, Baros will anticipate that I will demand Arape’s independence. I have never made it precisely a secret that I want my home country to be free of the Sovran. I’m not sure if he’ll realize I’ll demand more than that.”

  She studied him with those dark eyes, weighing and measuring him. “You truly think that you are worth losing half the Sovran?”

  A short laugh escaped him involuntarily. “It sounds so arrogant when you say it that way.”

  “It is arrogant, Darius, no matter how I say it. You think you are worth a half dozen countries?”

  “He’s desperate enough to give me a full pardon for killing his father.” Darius splayed both hands before gesturing toward the letter. “Desperate enough to give a convicted man lead of his armies. Baros is frantic. I don’t think he has any bargaining power at this point, not with me.”

  Tresea accepted this with a slow, considering nod. “I cannot disagree. This whole affair tells me he is at the very end of his tether. Alright. Darius, I must ask, how do you know this isn’t a trap?”

  “No one else would know to write to me in Haelic, My Queen,” he responded succinctly.

  Pursing her lips, Tresea stared in consideration at the letter. “Your own personal code with him?”

  “Yes.”

  She had grown up in the palace interior, playing the part of queen, politician, and spy. Espionage was an old friend to this woman and she knew as well as he did what a personal letter in a secret language meant. “But if Baros intends for you to cross into the Sovran, then he will have to publicly give you a pardon first.”

  “And that will be when I expect trouble. Baros does not intend to entrap me. What would even be the point, now, after all this time? But that doesn’t mean my enemies in the Sovran won’t take advantage if they feel like they can.”

  Lips pursed, she cocked her head a little to the side, considering. “You think you can still get to Baros and do the job even with this interference?”

  “I’m definitely taking a bodyguard with me, but I think with the right preparation and disguise, I can get in quite easily. The Sovran is not the tight unit it was even two years ago. Their guards and security are likely slipshod at this point. There’s too much else on their plates and not enough people to oversee it all.” Darius held his breath because the questions she asked meant that she was already half-sold on the idea of him going.

  Tresea accepted this with a noncommittal hum. The silence stretched out again, uncomfortably so, all three men unnaturally still as they waited on her judgment. Finally the queen huffed out a breath, half-aggravated, half-rueful. “I don’t think it wise to just jump in, not without testing the waters first. Darius, you have long told me that your father is a merchant, one that deals with information.”

  Feeling like he knew where she was going with this, Darius said simply, “That is so, My Queen.”

  “You have also mentioned your intense desire to see your family. Go and visit them, learn from your father what the situation is. If you feel that you can do what Baros has asked, then continue on, and send me word of your plans. If not, gather what information you can—and your family if you wish—and return home. We will make what plans and preparations we can in case the Sovran does fall as you anticipate.” Tresea still looked tired by this whole conversation but her tone remained strong, indomitable. “I have no intention of losing my best general on a roll of the dice. I feel like this is a gamble, one which I know the stakes, but not the game. I will not wager you unduly, not if I can help it.”

  Darius felt his heart warm at her obvious affection for him and grinned at her. “Thank you, My Queen. I promise I will not be reckless in going forward. I have too much to lose.” His smile went rueful as he added, “And my wife will murder me.”

  Laughing, Tresea agreed, “She would be well within her rights and I would help her. Keep that in mind, Darius.”

  Why are all the women in my life intelligent and strong-willed? Not that Darius minded, but he did have to wonder. “I will bear that in mind.”

  “Good.” Tresea paused, gaze turning inward for a moment. “If the situation is dire, you don’t have much time. When do you wish to leave?”

  “I think I can pull everything together in two days’ time. If I go by the Tran Highway, I should be able to get there within five days.” Knowing very well why she asked, he added, “I would prefer General Mihr to be in charge here while I’m gone. He’s the best versed in all of our defenses.”

  Tresea cast him a soft smile. “Of course you thought ahead. I request that you bring Mihr up to speed before you leave, but after that, I give you permission to go.”

  A thrill of elation shot through him and he crossed both arms over his chest before giving her a bow, a formal gesture of gratitude that he didn’t know how to express in any oth
er way. “Thank you, My Queen.”

  “Water and light be with you, Darius,” she returned, torn about his going, but resolute at the same time. “And remember, do not be reckless. Niotan cannot afford to lose you if the Roran barbarians break through the Sovran.”

  “I know.” He left it at that.

  Tresea yanked Mihr out of the formal dinner and exchanged places with him, giving the men the space they needed to talk strategy and timelines. Darius appreciated this beyond words, as he really was pressed for time and needed to do things all in one go if at all possible. Besides, he had a favor to ask of this man, and it behooved him to do it tonight, all things considered.

  With a soft grunt, Mihr took the opposite bench and looked at Darius with that patented patience he aimed at younger soldiers. He brushed a hand through his peppered hair, knocking out the worst of the travel dust as he asked, “Well, Bresalier, what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

  “I object, sir,” Darius retorted with a grin. “I got volunteered for this one.”

  Mihr’s crow’s feet grew more pronounced as he eased into a subdued grin. “Let’s have it.”

  Obligingly, Darius went through the same summary he’d given Tresea, although not in as great of a tactical detail, as Mihr knew as well as he where matters stood.

  Mihr’s face turned increasingly sour as the facts unfurled until he looked nearly pickled at the end of it. For once, he let his posture fall from the perfect poise of a soldier and showed his age by letting his shoulders sag for a moment. “I knew things had gotten rough up there, but bad enough he’s pardoned you? Is literally begging for you?”

  “I don’t like it,” Darius said frankly, “and we both know how things will turn out if his premonitions prove correct. Our queen has given me leave to go, although cautiously. If this turns out to be a trap, I’ll be right back, but if not….”