Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Not sure if he was reassuring them or himself, Darius told his parents, “Amalah is an excellent hostess and will see to your every need. I have no doubt you’ll be comfortable there.”

  “I’m sure we will be,” Yasmin assured her son gently. “I’m very happy I’ll see my granddaughter soon.”

  “Good luck finding her,” Darius responded, grinning at the thought. Maybe his mother would take over their game of hide-and-seek. “She’s very mobile and drafts people to carry her about on a whim. Half of my time is spent tracking down who has the baby.”

  “And it’s about to get more challenging with additional family in the mix,” Amid noted in amusement, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I pity my daughter-in-law; she’ll be constantly searching for her child.”

  She already was. Shaking his head, Darius changed the subject for a moment. “Patre, what with my duties as general and trying to get the house in shape, I haven’t set up established trade relations like I want to. If you get bored, feel free to help. Sego has done a little, as have I, and he certainly knows who to talk to.”

  Amid was a trader at heart so he perked up at this invitation. “Truly? You said in your letter that you’re basically on the main highway leading toward the coast. I imagine that would be a prime location for trade.”

  “We also produce an amazing amount of grapes. The vineyards are well established there.”

  The smile on his father’s face would put any fox to shame. Darius knew that calculating expression well, having seen it often in his life, and he wagered there would be excellent contacts and trade agreements in place by the time he returned home. He also rather hoped that his family would like Niotan well enough to consider staying and not return to Arape, but that wasn’t something he could say now. Better to speak of it later, after they had lived in the country for a while.

  For now, he said, “There are a few culture quirks you should be aware of, before you hit Niotan.”

  “Please tell us,” Yasmin encouraged. “I’d rather not bungle anything.”

  Relaxing a little more into the very soft cushion under his thighs, he launched into a culture lesson and just enjoyed talking to his parents.

  They left mid-morning, as Darius had too many instructions to give people, and farewells with his family took a while since he honestly didn’t know when he’d see them again. Then Tunheim’s family fed them a large breakfast, adding a few supplies to their packs, and sent them on their way.

  It took two and a half days of hard riding, spending ten hours a day in the saddle, to reach the capital. Ruralcalba spread out over a hilltop and down its sides, the city walled off to the outside, the sandy stones almost shining from a distance. As one of the oldest cities in the Sovran, it showed its age in the architecture, square, blocky and functional. The palace stood in the center of the hill, towers and spires reaching into the sky. Darius studied it as they rode closer—the flags on the watchtowers, the movements of the soldiers on patrol, the lack of traffic going into the city, and frowned. That did not bode well. The city radiated a subdued air, as if bracing for invasion. Anyone that had survived the last invasion would likely choose to run rather than face it again. How many people had even tried to stay?

  Darius stopped, pulling off to the side of the highway, and stared in aggravation. His party stopped with him, forming a rough half-circle around Sohrab. “Roshan, lesson time.”

  Roshan nudged his mare a little closer, head cocked.

  “Tell me why we shouldn’t enter the city.”

  To the boy’s credit, he didn’t protest ignorance, but instead turned his attention toward the capital, thinking and observing for several long minutes. It took him a few minutes to see it, eyes narrowed, teeth catching at his bottom lip for a moment. “There’s no traffic going in from the south entrance. Only people leaving. We’ll draw attention if we go in through that gate.”

  “Very good,” Darius praised. “I’d rather not draw attention right now; it will likely alert my enemies in court that I’m here, and I want to speak to Baros properly before that happens. So, how do you suggest a party of armed men enter the city without alerting the wrong people?”

  “Ride around the city and enter through the north gate?” Roshan suggested a little dubiously. “A lot of refugees are likely fleeing inside, we should be able to mix with them.”

  Darius quirked an eyebrow, a little surprised. “You’re thinking ahead. Good. You’re right, that might work.”

  “So what were you thinking of doing?” Kaveh inquired with a knowing smile, as if he knew perfectly well what Darius planned. Then again, he had been with the general for two years, he knew how Darius thought. “Sneaking in?”

  He didn’t actually mean to smile, or for that smile to be a mix of impish anticipation and evil planning. It just slipped out.

  Roshan spluttered wordlessly, hands held up in a warding gesture. “B-but it’s heavily fortified!”

  “It was last time, too,” Darius informed him, trying hard to yank the smile off his lips and more or less failing. “Didn’t stop me from sneaking out. I see quite a few guards up on the walls, but not as many as there should be, which means they’re operating with a skeleton crew. That leaves more than a few holes in the defenses, if you know how to exploit them properly.”

  “Which of course you do,” Ramin drawled, dark eyes twinkling in amusement. “I give you this, General, we’re never bored when following you.”

  “Sneaking into a fortified city is a good offensive lesson,” Darius defended himself mildly. “I’m doing this for Roshan’s sake. That’s not a joke, stop laughing, all of you.” Some supportive friends they are. Navid laughed hard enough that he nearly pitched out of his saddle. Ignoring them as best as he could, he told Roshan seriously, “I do think your idea about going through the north entrance would work, though, if we weren’t so obviously foreign a group. I can get in, perhaps Ramin, you definitely could, but not the others. They’re too Niotanian in appearance even in plain clothes like this; we wouldn’t survive the scrutiny of the guards. Even if they let us in, we’d definitely be reported to someone.”

  Roshan nodded in understanding. “So we keep that as a backup plan?”

  “If needed. I know of three easy ways inside the city, two of them accessible in broad daylight, so we’ll try those first.” It had been three years, but Darius didn’t think the city had changed so much that he wouldn’t find a way through the walls. People never really changed, after all. “Our surest bet is the livestock yards.”

  The men all exchanged confused glances, all but Tolk, who seemed to have a glimmer of what Darius planned. “Another lesson from your merchant parents?”

  Grinning, Darius nodded, circled a hand in the air and moved them out in a gesture.

  They skirted the south gate entirely, heading east, toward what people referred to as Trader’s Gate. If it had an official name, not even Darius knew it, and no one tried to call it anything else. All of the caravans, livestock, and such came through this gate. At this tense time of the year, half the pens stood empty, but the place still saw enough traffic that Darius’s little group stood half a chance of blending in. Trader’s Gate had always been a gathering spot for foreigners, as all different nationalities came through here to buy, sell, and trade. Cattle, horses, sheep, goats, pigs, even a few camels were for sale. Sheep dogs kept a close watch on their flock, tired men with leathery skin and sharp eyes watched out for opportunities and trouble in equal measure. Travel weary as Darius and his party looked, they garnered barely a second glance.

  Up until they reached the gate, that was.

  The security might be more lax at Trader’s Gate, but even here guards stood ready to interview travelers and take down names. Darius stopped just shy of one of the guards, intentionally choosing the younger, a deliberate play on the odds. The older man might have served under the former Brindisi general. The younger one, likely not, looking ill-fitted in that uniform, as if he’d barely had it a few months an
d hadn’t had the chance yet to fill it out. Darius deliberately softened his accent into pure Arapeen, greeting the man easily. “Light and water with you, sir.”

  The guard blinked up at him, a hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun. “And you, sir. Name?”

  “Samir Bresa,” Darius lied smoothly. “With my younger brother, Kamran, and my employees.” Seeing a flicker of doubt in the guard’s eyes when he looked at Roshan, he added, “Brother-in-law, actually; my wife’s youngest brother came to us this season to learn the family trade. Say, have you seen Afa Handmin? I’m supposed to meet him here to discuss some business.”

  The suspicions eased once Darius dropped that name, one most people here knew, as Afa Handmin had his fingers in many pies. “I haven’t seen him yet this morning, sir, but he’s bound to be near his office.”

  “The one on Baker Road?” Darius checked. “I’ve been south near Baiji the past two seasons, I wasn’t sure if he had kept the same office; there was talk of him moving to a bigger space last I was in town.”

  The guard smiled and shook his head ruefully. “Master Handmin has been saying that for ten years. If he ever does move, I think the whole city will fall apart. Try there first.”

  “I will, thank you.” With a click of the heels, Darius urged Sohrab ahead, breathing easy once they entered. Someone came up alongside and he turned his head, meeting Bohme’s incredulous look with a shrug. “I did try the entrance with the best odds first.”

  “It should not be that eashy!” Bohme protested in a low hiss.

  “Tell me about it.” Darius shook his head, partially in despair. “You’d think they would learn at some point. Ah, well. I’ll fix it. If it makes you feel any better, gaining entrance to the palace is going to be a lot harder.”

  Making a face, Bohme subsided. “Not shure I want any trouble, shir.”

  “You and me both.”

  ~~~

  Darius checked them into an inn, just a single room, as no one would be getting any sleep tonight. Either Darius would succeed and bring them into the palace before the last bell, or they would be on the run for it. Tonight, sleep would not be optional.

  Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to later, Darius made sure everyone ate heartily. He really wanted to go to a favorite restaurant that sat nearby, but he didn’t dare. He’d been a faithful regular there before his banishment, and they would surely know his face. Shame, that, as he adored their sweet pastries. The fluffy, flaky crust melted like butter in a man’s mouth. Niotan didn’t have anything like that.

  People grew more suspicious of men that wandered around alone after dark, so Darius had to time his departure just so. Late enough that he could get almost to the palace before full darkness set in, early enough that he could go through the streets at a quick walk and make it seem as if he were just hurrying home before sunset. When he judged the time to be about right, he stood, buckling on a nondescript short sword and two daggers, the most he could carry with him tonight. Nothing about him even hinted at his name or occupation, just in case someone stopped him.

  The men watched him prepare and Kaveh said, almost in a rhetorical drawl, “Do you get the impression he’s planning to sneak in alone?”

  Darius blinked at him. “Of course I am. Stop glaring at me, all of you. I can’t bring you in with me, it will endanger all of us.”

  They exchanged looks but only Tolk seemed willing to ask the question: “Really think you can just sneak in?”

  Laughing, Darius challenged, “I snuck out just fine after killing a king. Why do you think sneaking back in to talk to another king is going to pose a challenge?”

  No one seemed to know what to say to that.

  Shrugging, Darius reminded them, “I need to speak to Baros one-on-one anyway. For that reason alone I can’t bring you in with me, but the route I have in mind only allows one person safely. Even two would be pushing it. Let’s not push it, we have enough challenges on the horizon as it is. Now, stick with the plan.”

  “If you’re not back by last bell, leave,” Navid recited faithfully, tone disgruntled and dark frown aimed at his general. Navid was the least vocal of his disapproval for the situation but he had other ways of making sure Darius knew how he felt on the matter.

  “Either me or a palace runner will come collect you,” Darius promised. “Once Baros has me, he might not be willing to let go readily. Actually, he probably won’t, we have a lot to sort through. Code word is?”

  “Parisa,” all of them recited dutifully, some with eye rolls, some with amused smirks.

  “Very good.” Satisfied, Darius headed for the door. “Do wait up, won’t you?”

  Many people had wondered, asked, even attempted bribes to weasel Darius’s infiltration methods out of him. After killing a king was not the only time he’d snuck out of the palace. Darius had snuck in and out when the city had been overrun with barbarians, too. Not that he had made a habit of playing thief through palace security, or anything, but he had been consulted on palace security more than once, so naturally he knew all of the holes. There was no such thing as a perfect defense, no matter what people try to sell you on.

  Some of the holes had been plugged, causing Darius to backtrack, but he exploited the others without compunction. Within an hour, he was inside a place he would have sworn he would never see again.

  It felt strange to be in these halls. A mix of nostalgia and something that might have been regret flowed through him. He knew every cranny of the palace well, having spent years running around inside. Without a shred of irony he could say that here felt more home to him than the Niotan Palace. But then, I still get lost in the Niotan Palace.

  If not for the fact that just being here put him in danger, he might have enjoyed the stroll down memory lane. Paranoia kept his nerves taut, his eyes jumping from one shadow to the next, leery of someone loyal to the previous king taking a chance at revenge.

  His life prior to that had been a good one, certainly less complicated to the one he had now. Darius’s nostalgia steadily grew tainted by the memories of his last night in this place. Part of him still wished that he’d never been forced to kill a king. But another part of him realized that unwishing that night meant regretting Amalah and Parisa, and that he could never do.

  Fate had given him a hand that he himself might not have chosen, but in the end, it was worth the price. The family he had now was worth any price.

  As if to make his paranoia into a liar, Darius didn’t see so much as a ghost while heading through to the palace’s interior. He had a specific goal in mind, and even though his heart threatened to beat its way out of his chest, no one challenged him as he steadily made his way there.

  People really never changed. Even after two years of being away, Darius knew exactly where Baros would be at this time of night. Whenever there had been serious trouble, Baros would retreat to his private study, a room off from his bedroom, where he would pour over reports, maps, and any other information he could lay hands on.

  Slipping through the door, Darius paused and studied the young king. Again he felt a strange mix of emotions. He’d been Baros’s mentor for years and he could feel that old mantle trying to assert itself on his shoulders again, but it didn’t quite fit anymore. Had Darius outgrown it? Or could two years of separation be blamed for this ill-fit?

  Even as the thought occurred, Darius knew it wasn’t truly either. Part of him, even though he understood why, resented that Baros once sent armies and assassins after him. Darius understood intellectually that while Baros-the-friend wanted him to live, Baros-the-king had no choice but to pursue his father’s killer. He understood that—then and now—he truly did. But while the mind could accept this dual contradiction, Darius’s heart struggled under the burden. While he worried about Baros, a part of him felt that the king had indeed finally gotten his comeuppance.

  Shaking his head, he freed those thoughts and focused. The King of the Sovran was barely in his twenties, now, although Baros looked older. At le
ast ten years older. It could be the candlelight casting the illusion of age onto his golden skin, or the slovenly way his clothes hung on him, or the tired hunch of his shoulders. Darius had known with that letter how bad the situation must be, to force Baros to reach out to him, but now he saw it with his own eyes, and his heart ached for his friend.

  He kept his voice low and calm as he greeted, “Baros.”

  The young king whipped around, upsetting his chair enough that it knocked over, one hand automatically reaching for the sword leaning against the table before he registered who had called to him. “Darius! Wind and stars, man, why are you entering like a thief?!”

  “Because I’m not entirely sure that if I came through the front doors, my enemies wouldn’t try to stop me,” Darius responded bluntly. He came forward and offered a hand.

  Baros, after a startled moment, grinned and ignored the hand entirely, catching his friend up in a firm embrace. Since Baros had a good two inches on Darius, his words whispered against fair hair, “I’m so glad you came. Thank you.”

  Returning the embrace just as fiercely, Darius let himself take a moment, just a moment, to appreciate the solid warmth of the man he thought of as a brother. Then he stepped back, hands clasping on Baros’s shoulders, getting a good look at him. “You’ve lost weight since I’ve seen you. And is that grey I see at your temples?”

  “Turns out trying to manage the mess I was left with aged me a decade,” Baros responded sourly. “It’s bad enough I had to try to somehow manage all of father’s mistakes, but then you left on top of it all, and you were the only adviser I had with any sense. Well, aside from Behnam and Kuberski.”