Sovran at War (Kingslayer Book 2)

by Honor Raconteur

  Atki’s chin came up and she turned in the saddle, calling out to a man standing several feet behind her. Darius did not understand a single word she spoke, which meant it had to be some rural dialect that even the barbarians didn’t normally speak. He knew their two main languages. Some sort of heated exchange happened between them but it seemed more thoughtful than angry.

  Finally, she turned to face Darius again, mouth curled in something that might have been a satisfied smile. “We pick the seeds.”

  That was not the demand he expected. Then he realized the debate had likely been about what type of plants would grow well in their region and what people knew how to grow. Sensible of her. Darius knew she had to be shrewd—she’d gotten five clans to follow her after all, but apparently she knew more than just warfare. “What do you want?”

  “Onions, spinach, carrots, potatoes, wheat, corn.”

  Her advisor spoke up again, another quick list, and she nodded before continuing, “Apple, cherry, pear, and plum trees.”

  For a discussion that happened on the spot, that was quite the well thought out list. Darius knew from many a campaign that with that combination of vegetables and fruits, they would be well-nourished enough to avoid most diseases and ailments. “Agreed. Three hundred iron plows and a hundred bushels of each seed. If we don’t have enough in storage to cover that, we’ll pay you the difference.”

  “Four hundred iron plows,” she shot back.

  Darius almost argued on principle, then thought about the range of territory that the five clans covered and realized four hundred plows would be barely enough for them to get by. Still, he couldn’t just agree, he’d lose any stance he had in this negotiation. “Four hundred plows and you show us where you stashed everything you looted.”

  She didn’t like that, her lips pursed in aggravation, no doubt because she still planned to abscond with some of the goods. The barbarians notoriously would obey the strict letter of an agreement and ignore the intent of it completely. The trick was wording any bargain with them so they didn’t have any wiggle room. “Fine. Agreed.”

  Letting out a low breath, Darius maneuvered forward again, spat in his palm, and held his hand out.

  With something that might have been grudging approval, she spat in hers and clapped their hands together in a firm grip. Her hands had calluses upon calluses, enough to make him briefly feel like a boy wet behind the ears. This close, Darius could see every line worn into her face. She might have been in her early thirties but the harshness of her life made her look more like fifty. “We of the Roran never know if you will be our ally or our enemy, Kingslayer.”

  “I’m no one’s enemy,” Darius responded honestly, reclaiming his hand and resisting the urge to wipe it off on Sohrab. It would be an insult if they caught him doing that and he carefully kept it upright on his knee instead. “My only priority is keeping my countrymen and family safe.”

  She eyed him, thoughtfully this time. “That is what makes you dangerous. You have too much to fight for.”

  “I can’t argue that.” Looking about, he offered, “Camp here, tend to your wounded, and I’ll report this agreement to King Baros. We’ll try to have you ready to leave within three days. Any later than that, you’ll miss the prime time for spring planting.” That and Darius wanted them GONE.

  Nodding, Atki agreed simply, “We’ll wait.”

  Relief shook him hard. Despite staggering odds, he’d won. He’d managed to get through this insane battle without decimating the Sovran Army in the process. It took all he had to not let out a yell, or dance around in happiness.

  Fighting to keep a demented grin off his face, he turned and headed for Behnam, to repeat anything the man had been too far away to overhear. He found the other general not more than a few feet behind him, standing at the ready. Behnam gave him a single nod, signaling he’d heard it all and had no objections.

  Taking a moment, he looked over his own army and found the men tense and waiting. To them he called out, “A treaty has been reached! Stand down!”

  A wave of disbelief went through the ranks. Darius prudently repeated himself, louder this time, “A treaty has been reached with the Roran! Stand down! Retreat to the hills and rest!”

  Behnam caught his eye, expression saying he’d take care of the rest. Likely the men wouldn’t be able to really rest while within a stone’s throw of their enemies, but at the very least he wanted to make sure no fights broke out while his back was turned. Behnam should be able to handle things here, now that the order was given.

  Relieved, Darius gave him a casual salute in return before heading directly toward Ruralcalba.

  To his complete lack of surprise, Navid fell in beside him before he could completely leave the hills, acting as bodyguard. Bohme still hadn’t reported back which didn’t bode well. Where had Roshan gotten off to?

  Darius honestly felt torn. He absolutely needed to report to Baros first, get all of what he negotiated approved and the gathering of seeds started, but on the other hand, he needed to know about Roshan. Not just because his family would kill him, but he did not want anything to happen to that boy.

  Perhaps Navid sensed his turmoil, as his commander promised him, “As soon as you safely adit, then I’ll help Bohme looksee.”

  “Thank you,” Darius responded in heartfelt tones.

  They entered through the main gate, guards on either side looking at him hopefully, to which he gave them a cocky smirk that answered any possible question they had. A cheer went up from them, spreading to every person within earshot. Darius paid it half attention as his eyes roamed around the area, hoping that if not Roshan, at least Bohme would be there to reassure him. No such luck.

  Navid instantly split off and Darius gave himself a light smack on the cheek, forcing his mind back to business. He had a king to update first.

  Because he knew Baros very well he didn’t try to go to the palace or look in any of the ‘proper’ places that a king should be. Baros didn’t have the serenity to wait patiently in his office and he had all of the natural curiosity of a cat. Darius looked around, at the milling courtyard of people and city guards, toward the top of the thick walls surrounding the city, and nodded to himself. There.

  Darius headed for the nearest stone stairs leading up to the wall, taking them at an easy pace, given their steepness. Halfway up, a guard met him coming down, snapping out a salute. “General Bresalier. If you’ll follow me, I’ll lead you to King Baros.”

  “Lead on,” Darius encouraged, smiling and mentally patting himself on the shoulder for guessing right. Then again, Baros was predictable.

  In theory, the wall had plenty of room on top for people to pass by each other, as it stood two wagons wide. So many people had crammed themselves up here, desperate to see how the battle went, that Darius had to use a judicious amount of elbow just to get through. He now understood why Baros had sent an escort for him. He’d never have found the king otherwise.

  Some people, the ones in uniform, glanced his way and their eyes flared wide in recognition. They tried to move their fellows aside, give him room to pass. The others, the merchants and citizens of the city, they didn’t always recognize him, but they knew a man in uniform, and they shifted aside with many a curious stare. Darius felt a little like a prize stallion on display.

  A guardroom, jutting out from the main wall, had its door wide open. The guard ducked in there and Darius thankfully followed, glad to escape the press of bodies. Because of the narrow arrow slits, not much natural light filtered through here, and the coldness of the stone made it damp and chilly. Four braziers in each corner fought to give the small room both light and heat, which Darius for one appreciated, even if it did make the air a little smoky.

  Baros turned as he entered, his whole body leaning forward, lips parted with avid anticipation. “Did we win?”

  Darius grinned at him, as smug as the cat that had found its way into the cream.

  With a whoop of delight, Baros caught him up in a
hard embrace that lasted two seconds before he bounced back again, too happy to contain himself. “You are ever our friend, Darius! Did you negotiate peace?”

  “I did, and I had to promise them something that I’m not sure you’ll agree with, but I think it’s the only way to get them to permanently go away.”

  Baros stared at him with a squinting eye. “It’s never good when you start with a disclaimer. Out with it, Darius. What did you do?”

  “Promised them seeds and plows.”

  The two advisors in the room, neither of which Darius knew by name, although their faces rang a faint bell, stared at him as if he had lost his mind. Baros’s eyes narrowed further, more contemplative than angry. “You offered to feed them.”

  “They’re starving, Baros.” Darius said the words bluntly, with no apology. “The last time the barbarians invaded, they did so in retaliation for your father’s stupidity. This time, they came because it was either go to war or waste with hunger. This isn’t a matter of people making bad decisions, they are desperate to survive. If we don’t feed them, give them the means to feed themselves, they will come again and again until there’s nothing left of us.”

  “So we give them seeds and plows,” Baros said neutrally, no inflection to indicate how he felt about this one way or another. “And what do I get in return?”

  “They show us where they stashed all of the loot and they leave for home within three days.”

  Silence fell hard. It rivaled the tension that Darius experienced with the battlefield negotiations. He locked eyes with Baros, refusing to show any weakness or doubt, as that would not lead to anything good. The advisors spluttered, nearly incoherent with their incredulity that these were the terms of surrender.

  Baros flung up a hand, stopping them before they could start ranting, eyes never leaving Darius. “You demanded only this because they have nothing to give.”

  “That,” Darius acknowledged, “and I want them to go home as quickly as I can manage. Think about it, is this the sort of culture that you want lingering near your capital city?”

  A fine shudder rippled across Baros’s face. “Great gods, no. Point taken, Darius.” He thought about it for another moment, grimaced, and admitted, “I can’t think of better terms than that. The leader agreed to all of this?”

  “She did.”

  Baros’s eyebrows rose. “She?”

  “Quite a formidable woman,” Darius responded wryly. “She did specify what type of seeds they would accept.”

  “Considering their harsh climate, it would be foolish to do otherwise. So she has some savvy to her, eh?” Baros didn’t dwell on this, flicking it away. “Fine. Give me the exact terms of your agreement with her so that we can deal with this efficiently. I want them gone as quickly as we can manage it.”

  ~~~

  It took almost two hours for Darius to wrangle everything through. Baros dispatched runners to get reports of what they had in storage, and what he would have to pay in kind for, but actually they had most of it. Baros even threw in several wagons and teams of oxen in for free so the barbarians could lug it all home. Darius didn’t think it had anything to do with generosity.

  Only with the orders given did he finally, finally break free of his obligations long enough to go looking for Roshan. Both of his bodyguards and Navid had failed to report to him, but Darius had spent the past two hours running around like a madman, so he didn’t feel alarmed because of that. Still, Roshan normally was quite obedient, and it had to be something serious to stop him from returning to Darius. Injured, perhaps?

  Four field hospitals had been set up inside the main gates, and Darius headed there first, dodging around the soldiers as they either walked or were carried in for treatment. This field hospital had taken over an inn, tables acting as operating theaters, cots stacked up in every conceivable space and a few ridiculous ones. At first blush, the chaos of it all made Darius flinch, not sure where to look (or not look), where to go, or even who to ask directions of. But after a moment of study, he realized the women and men in white aprons gave the orders, moving about with brisk efficiency and calling out commands to each other. Some people had different colored ribbons tied around their ankles, yellows and reds and blues that meant something, surely. Darius just didn’t know the system.

  He stepped through the main room, didn’t see anyone he recognized, and left, heading across the street to a tavern/field hospital. This time he had much better luck. In fact, he barely cleared the door before Bohme materialized in front of him, agitated and a dark, frustrated frown drawing his mouth flat. “Shir. Found Roshan jusht fine.”

  Darius pinned his bodyguard with an unamused look. “He’s fine but he’s in a field hospital?”

  From somewhere behind Bohme, Roshan’s young tenor called out, “Really, I am fine! It’s not as bad as it looks!”

  Darius’s fathering instincts winced at that statement. Those words never prefaced good things. Ducking around Bohme, his eyes searched out Roshan, finding him sitting gingerly in a chair with his shirt off and a thick bandage around his chest. A matching bandage wrapped around his right wrist and he had a spectacular bruise turning his skin blue and purple, ranging from jawline to temple. “Roshan, what did you do to yourself?”

  The boy had the audacity to smile, trying to charm himself out of this situation. “In the confusion of getting the Baiji sorted, I kind of got rammed into from the side?”

  “Fell clean from saddle,” Tolk answered concisely, shifting from one foot to the other, dark expression matching Bohme’s. “Landed wrong on wagon nearby, otherwise wouldn’t be this badly injured. Ribs aren’t broken, though, just cracked.”

  Thank Shaa for small favors. Broken ribs meant punctured lungs, after all. Even cracked ribs would take a month to heal and Darius wouldn’t subject the boy to riding on horseback for at least three weeks. Depending on how much cleanup people dumped on his head, Darius might or might not win free of the Sovran before Roshan recovered enough to ride. “I’m relieved to hear it. If the injuries aren’t that severe, though, why are you still here—”

  A thunderous voice cracked over the multitude of voices and noises in the tavern, the tones strident and climbing in pitch with every word. “I don’t care who you are, you’re a foreign soldier, and I’m not releasing that boy into your care! You’re all foreigners!”

  “So is he!” Navid snapped back, exasperated. “Dracon gyne! He’s my countryman—”

  “I won’t hear it! He’s too young to be in the battle, as you claim he was, and he’s obviously not a soldier. So you either bring me kin, or he stays here.”

  “Her,” Tolk grumbled, shooting the woman in question a glare. “I didn’t want to leave him alone here, but she won’t release him. Navid arrived ten minutes ago. He gave it a try before tracking you down.”

  Hence all the delays. Darius shook his head and turned sharply on his heel, marching straight for Navid’s side before his commander lost all patience. Landing a hand on Navid’s shoulder, he stilled the man before he gave into temptation and strangled the woman. “Peace, Commander, I’m here.”

  Navid gave him a look of pure relief. “Sir. Sorry, gyne’s a wowser.”

  “Quite alright, Tolk filled me in.” Darius took in a breath and from deep inside, drew on what was left of his patience. He didn’t have much after today’s events. Still, the woman didn’t seem a bad sort, in fact she looked like a matron with several children of her own. She had the massive arms of a laborer, ruddy complexion, and her hair caught up in a no-nonsense braid. Darius had seen the like many a time in field hospitals. This woman likely ran the place like a drill sergeant. “I’m Darius Bresalier.”

  Her blue eyes widened for a moment and the area immediately around them stilled as everyone in earshot immediately tuned in for this conversation. Then her chin came up and she resumed her belligerent stance. “Mona Hardgrave, First Medic.”

  So, not completely over this field hospital, but close enough. “Medic Hardgrave,
I understand that you attended to my brother-in-law, Roshan.”

  She blinked taken aback at this statement. Her eyes darted between Darius and Roshan, expression shifting from stubborn to contemplative. “Brother-in-law?”

  “I married his older sister a little over two years ago,” Darius explained, still gripping his patience quite firmly. “He became my apprentice at that point, hence why he was in battle with us. Not fighting, but learning.”

  Hardgrave pursed her lips again, then went directly to Roshan, bending down to have some quick, quiet conference with him. No doubt double checking Darius’s story.

  Navid leaned in and muttered, “She’s no empty sack, that one. Kingslayer himself tells her something and she still won’t back down.”

  “Not surprised,” Darius admitted honestly. “It takes that kind of personality to do this line of work.”

  Finally satisfied, Hardgrave stood and nodded to Darius imperiously. “I’ll release him to you. Just sprains and cracked ribs to deal with, but keep those ribs wrapped for the next three weeks and he will not be fit for riding until those bandages come off, are we clear?”

  “Crystal, Medic,” Darius promised.

  With a last snort, she moved away, on to other patients.

  Only when she left did Roshan stand, an eager smile on his face. “Navid says we won. Did the king agree to the terms?”

  “He did,” Darius confirmed with a broad smile, relieved in more than one sense. “We won. Let’s get things sorted quickly so we can go home, shall we?”

  People poured out of the house in waves, from every conceivable door, maybe even a few windows. Even his in-laws came out, their arms spread, half-running toward Roshan. He’d sent word ahead so that everyone would know more or less when to expect them, but he hadn’t quite anticipated this reaction. It honestly looked as if his house had been invaded.

  The mare he’d acquired from Tunheim came to a tired stop at the stone arches, blowing out a breath and waiting for this crazy human to get off. Darius slid down with a grunt, handing the reins over to one of his waiting stable hands, the boy as eager to see the new mare as his master. Ruffling his head, Darius went forward, looking for the dark head that belonged to his wife in the sea of people.