Sovereign Stone

by David Wells

  Kern’s eyes widened and he froze for a moment like he was trying to decide what to do. Alexander’s hand was on the hilt of his sword under his cloak.

  “Commander Kern, do you serve the Old Law?” he asked pointedly.

  Kern frowned as he made his decision. “Of course, but I serve the Baron of Buckwold first. Who are you?” he asked.

  “I told you, my name is Alexander and I’m offering you a way to avoid war right here and right now.” Alexander spoke softly but with deadly seriousness. He could see the fear bloom in the commander’s colors when he made the connection. “You have this one chance to protect your lands and your people, Commander. Consider your next decision very carefully.”

  The commander looked around and saw a room full of his officers. Most of them were not even aware of the very tense conversation taking place at his table, but those nearby were all looking at Alexander with varying degrees of realization.

  “You’re hopelessly outnumbered,” Commander Kern said with less than complete confidence. “What’s to stop me from killing you right now and ending this war?” Alexander could see uncertainty shimmer in the man’s colors.

  “My death won’t end this war because I didn’t start it—Phane did. But more importantly, I wouldn’t be here if I feared you. I can see that you’re a good man. You clearly want what’s best for your people. Siding with Phane and Headwater will buy you slavery at best and destruction at worst. Side with me and serve the Old Law. Help me reunite Ruatha. Please.”

  He held the commander’s eyes with his own while he made his plea, but he watched the rest of the room with his all around sight. Most of the men were still oblivious but the man to his left was slowly going for his sword. Alexander tightened his grip on the hilt of the Thinblade.

  Commander Kern hesitated like a man torn between duty and conscience before giving his answer. “What would you have me do?”

  Before Alexander could answer, the man to his left stood and drew his sword. He tried to bring it around in one stroke across Alexander’s chest, but he wasn’t fast enough. The Thinblade came free of its scabbard, sliced up through the heavy wooden table, and clipped the officer’s sword off three inches from the hilt, the blade clattering noisily onto the table. Alexander brought the Thinblade up and over the man’s head, then dropped the flat of the blade down onto the startled officer’s right shoulder. He looked over at Commander Kern while keeping his mind’s eye on the officer who’d just drawn on him. The officer stood stone-still, looking at the edge of the Thinblade. Commander Kern stood slowly with his hands open and visible.

  “Make your choice, Commander Kern, but know this, if you choose war, it begins for you right now.” Alexander held him with glittering golden eyes.

  The room was standing as awareness of the conflict spread from the officers’ table like a wave. Some drew weapons; others just looked at the commotion.

  “Stand down,” Commander Kern said loudly enough for all to hear.

  His men sheathed their weapons but remained on their feet, watching the spectacle unfold.

  “I choose peace, Alexander. In truth, we have no desire for war. If you can offer a way to avoid bloodshed, then I will hear you out.”

  Alexander felt the acuteness of his all around sight. He could see everything in crisp detail within the confines of his mind. He shifted his focus to the man on his left, who stood motionless under threat of the Thinblade. “Who do you serve?”

  He stood mute for a few moments before Commander Kern looked at him. “Answer the question,” he commanded.

  “I serve the Baron of Buckwold,” the man lied.

  Alexander watched his colors flare. He turned his glittering eyes on him.

  “You lie,” Alexander whispered with menace. “I can see right through you. Speak the truth. Tell all here whom you serve or I will take your head.” Everyone at the table tensed at the very real prospect of bloodshed.

  The officer whimpered, “He’ll kill me if I tell.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” Alexander visibly tensed his sword arm before the officer answered.

  “I serve Elred Rake,” he said quietly but still loud enough for all at the table to hear.

  “Who gives you your orders?” Alexander asked. He could see anger play across Commander Kern’s face at hearing his officer’s betrayal.

  The man deflated in defeat. He was broken. Alexander saw it in his colors and on his face.

  “I get my orders from Administrator Nero.”

  “What?” Commander Kern said hotly. “Who does Nero work for if not Baron Buckwold?”

  The officer hesitated. Alexander looked at him pointedly before he answered.

  “Nero serves Elred Rake.”

  “Dear Maker,” Commander Kern whispered. “Baron Buckwold took ill nearly a month ago. He’s delivered all of his orders through Nero.”

  Alexander sheathed the Thinblade and offered his hand to Commander Kern. “I am Alexander Ruatha and I offer Buckwold my friendship.”

  Commander Kern took his hand and the tension in the room faded. “Thank you, Lord Alexander. I fear Buckwold may have been duped into supporting this war for the benefit of Headwater. I must return to Buckwold and expose this fraud.”

  “I agree,” Alexander said. “I would ride with you to Buckwold and make my case to your Baron myself.”

  ***

  Commander Kern put his Second in command of the legion with orders to remain where they were no matter what messages came from Headwater. He selected a score of men to ride escort and they made haste to Buckwold.

  The countryside was fertile and well managed. Commander Kern was proud of his homeland and took pleasure in answering the questions Alexander asked while they rode.

  The territory was equally divided between farming and ranching in the northern plains, mining and timber in the highlands, and fishing from the port of Buckwold. They had rich resources and industrious people. In spite of many attempts by Rake to insinuate his tendrils into their affairs, they rejected the system of trade guilds used by Headwater.

  Baron Buckwold was an independently minded man who respected the free will of others. Buckwold was allied with Headwater only as a matter of necessity. They had much to trade but could only do so by using the trade routes through Headwater. The more Alexander heard, the more he liked Buckwold. They would make good allies—they viewed the world in much the same way he did.

  They rode hard for three days before arriving at the city of Buckwold in the middle of the afternoon. It was a sprawling community on the edge of the eastern ocean. The citizens lived in sturdy houses made of thick-cut timber and they took care of their property. The place was busy with trade. The people moved with purpose. The sea air was filled with promise and hope.

  Alexander felt good about his prospects of establishing an alliance with Buckwold. If he could isolate Headwater, then his father could defeat their army with much less loss of life and be in a position of strength to defend against Andalia from the south and the Reishi coming through the Gate.

  Chapter 15

  Commander Kern became much more serious as they approached the center of the city. He knew the coming conflict was going to decide his fate one way or the other, but he didn’t hesitate. He led them straight to the palace perched atop a bluff overlooking the ocean. It was a beautiful estate with manicured gardens and a low sprawling complex of buildings. The trees were windblown but hardy and the buildings themselves were built with the same thick-cut timber that the rest of the city was constructed of, only with much greater artistry and grandeur.

  They turned their horses loose in the large paddock just outside the palace gate. When they strode into the large enclosed courtyard, a horn sounded.

  A number of soldiers were stationed around the grounds and on three-story towers connected with catwalks ringing the courtyard. They wore different uniforms than the men of Commander Kern’s legion. Alexander surmised that they were the palace guard.

  A sol
dier with the markings of high rank came out of the main building trailed by an officer of lesser rank and gave Commander Kern a frown.

  “Why aren’t you with your legion, Commander? You should be to Headwater by now.” Then he noticed the others with Kern and motioned to his adjunct, who hurried off into the main hall of the palace.

  Alexander studied the officer’s colors and found him wanting. He looked like a man who had risen in rank by sabotaging those of greater merit in order to clear the field and win promotion by default. He was self-serving and less than honest, with a streak of cowardice.

  “General Randal, there is treachery at court,” Kern said. “I have returned to reveal a traitor to Buckwold.”

  Before the general could respond, a man sauntered out from the main hall, followed by the adjunct officer and a dozen palace guards armed with crossbows and long swords. He was a tall man with narrow features and close-set, dull brown eyes. He wore a black goatee and mustache, and his stringy black hair was tied back in a loose ponytail.

  He asked with arrogance and superiority, “And who might that be, Commander Kern?”

  Alexander could see the fear flare in Commander Kern’s colors, but to his credit, he drew himself up, took a deep breath and leveled his finger at the man standing on the porch.

  “You are the traitor, Nero. You serve Elred Rake.”

  Administrator Nero regarded Commander Kern for a moment while he calculated. Alexander watched his dark and muddy colors undulate through fear, then anger, and finally settle on deceit.

  “Nonsense. I am the faithful servant of Baron Buckwold, and you have disobeyed your orders, Commander Kern.” He turned to General Randal. “General, relieve him of his command and detain him to answer for his disobedience, then send an officer to assume command of the First Legion and have them make all possible haste to Headwater.” He issued the orders like a man who expected to be obeyed.

  General Randal stepped forward. “Commander Kern, surrender your sword.” Alexander watched satisfaction ripple through the general’s colors.

  Commander Kern stood his ground. “I will surrender my sword if the Baron commands it, but I will not take another order from this traitor.”

  The general sputtered in surprise for a moment. Nero’s eyes narrowed and he looked around, furtively appraising the situation. Alexander looked around, too. With his all around sight, he took inventory of the soldiers arrayed throughout the courtyard. In addition to the twelve men standing behind Nero, there were easily twenty men on the towers and catwalks, all dressed in the uniform of the palace guard.

  The men on the catwalk had the colors of men who were loyal, well-disciplined soldiers doing their job, but the dozen men standing behind Nero clearly served him. Commander Kern had twenty hand-picked men from his legion who showed no sign of backing down. They stood behind their commander, tensely looking around at the tactical situation.

  General Randal raised his voice, as if speaking louder gave his commands more weight. “I gave you an order, Commander. Surrender your sword!”

  “And I gave you my answer. I will see the Baron if I have to fight my way to him.” Commander Kern had passed the point of anger and fear and arrived at steadfast resolve. Alexander grinned ever so slightly as his hand found the hilt of his sword under his cloak.

  “As you wish,” Nero said. “Guards, seize him!” The dozen men behind him started forward.

  As one, the twenty soldiers standing with Commander Kern drew their swords. They didn’t advance and they didn’t speak, but their bare weapons spoke volumes. Nero’s men stopped and looked around hesitantly.

  General Randal’s face turned red with anger. “You will be held for treason if you don’t stand aside at once. Commander Kern, you are ordered to surrender your sword!” he bellowed.

  Alexander got the impression that General Randal had never actually commanded men in battle. No one flinched.

  Commander Kern raised his voice so that everyone in the courtyard could hear him. “There is treachery in the palace. Nero is a traitor and he has usurped the authority of our Baron. I ask only that I be given an audience. If Baron Buckwold commands that I surrender my sword, then I will obey. Will you men, who have sworn to serve the Baron and his family, stand by and allow this man,” he pointed at Nero, “to speak for Baron Buckwold?”

  The men on the catwalks lowered their weapons, but a moment later, another platoon of twenty men poured into the courtyard from a side building. Nero smiled in a self-satisfied way at seeing his reinforcements arrive. Kern’s men spread out to face the threats from both sides.

  Alexander focused his all around sight on the newly arrived men and saw in a glance that they were loyal to Nero and spoiling for a fight. He weighed his options and tried to call on his precognition but nothing came forth. Things were spiraling out of control and he wasn’t sure if there was a way to avoid bloodshed.

  “You men are all guilty of treason against the Baron of Buckwold,” Nero said with just a hint of panic. “If you surrender now, your families will be spared. Otherwise, they will be charged with treason as well.”

  Some of the soldiers faltered a bit at the threat against their families, but Kern didn’t budge. Alexander saw his anger flare, then Kern drew his sword and pointed it at Nero. He took a deep breath and yelled, “Charge!”

  Everything happened very quickly. Nero’s smug confidence evaporated. He squeaked and ran away into the main hall. General Randal looked around in confusion as twenty of his own soldiers lunged toward him. Jack tossed up the hood of his cloak and shimmered out of sight. Lucky casually pulled a jar from his bag and threw it between Kern’s soldiers and the newly arrived reinforcements. It shattered and a cloud of thick, white, noxious smoke rapidly filled the area, blocking the view of half the crossbowmen on the catwalks.

  The dozen men on the porch fired their crossbows into the crowd of soldiers. Kern’s men were equipped with medium round shields that took the brunt of the attack, and only three fell.

  Isabel drew her sword and said, “Right behind you, Alexander.”

  Anatoly said, “On your left,” as he unslung his war axe.

  Abigail nocked an arrow, smoothly drew it back, took aim for only a split second and killed one of the crossbowmen on the porch. Nero’s men were drawing their swords as they retreated.

  Alexander kept his grip on the hilt of his sword but didn’t draw. “Commander, lead the way.”

  They swept forward past a sputtering and indignant General Randal. The soldiers loyal to Nero retreated into the main entry hall of the palace. It was easily a hundred feet square with a high vaulted ceiling made of beautifully carved timbers. The floor was polished hardwood and the furnishings were exquisitely handcrafted woodwork. Under other circumstances, Alexander could have spent an hour admiring the quality of the craftsmanship.

  Nero’s soldiers retreated down one of several broad corridors that led from the main hall, but Kern ignored them. “The Baron’s chambers are this way,” he pointed toward another wide corridor and several of his soldiers raced ahead. They made their way through halls and chambers, then up a flight of stairs and down another broad hallway. When they came to a four-way intersection with another wide hallway, they were attacked by Nero’s reinforcements, who had circled around and set an ambush.

  The two soldiers moving ahead of the rest of the platoon were cut down quickly by surprise, then twenty men with swords and shields came around the corner and advanced.

  Alexander looked at Isabel to his right and Anatoly to his left. Both nodded. He drew his sword and stepped out in front of Kern’s soldiers to meet the oncoming attack. An arrow whizzed past him and buried in the eye socket of a soldier; Abigail had the first kill.

  Deadly calm settled on Alexander. He was in a fight and he had the Sword of Kings in his hand. He swept into the enemy with fury and rage. He sliced down through the shield and arm of the first man in a diagonal stroke and brought his blade up again to cleave the next man in two. A soldier
stabbed him and drove hard into his gut but the dragon-steel chain stopped the sword from penetrating. Alexander cut him in half with another sweep of the Thinblade. He waded into the enemy with Isabel covering his back and Anatoly guarding his left side. His all around sight and the magic of the skillbook guided him through the enemy. He moved with precision and economy of motion, striking with deadly speed.

  The fight lasted only seconds before the bulk of the enemy platoon lay broken and dismembered, scattered across the hallway slick with blood. Five men fled to avoid joining their companions in the afterlife. Alexander was splattered with droplets of blood and his blade was dripping red. He turned, golden eyes glittering with anger, to face a stunned platoon of soldiers all staring at him with awe and fear.

  Commander Kern approached somewhat tentatively. Alexander schooled his anger and picked up a scrap of a dead man’s cloak to wipe his sword clean before returning it to its scabbard.

  “Take me to the Baron, Commander,” he said quietly.

  Commander Kern nodded and swallowed hard before motioning for two of his soldiers to take point. Soon they were at the outer doors to the Baron’s chambers. There were a dozen palace guards standing ready and waiting to meet any intruder. Alexander surveyed their colors and saw they were honorable men. He let Commander Kern take the lead.

  “Stand aside,” Kern said, “we need to see the Baron.”

  The guard captain held his ground. “The Baron is not to be disturbed, by order of Administrator Nero.”

  “Nero is a traitor. The Baron may be in danger,” Kern said. “Who’s in there with him?”

  The captain hesitated with a frown. “Administrator Nero was appointed by the Baron. He’s a trusted advisor.”

  “Who’s in the Baron’s chambers?” Kern asked again with more edge to his voice.