Hearts of Fire

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Forcing his anger down and his breathing steady, Nico walked into the midst of his own bivouac. A few of the soldiers looked at him, curiously or expectantly, as he moved among them, looking for one who was as angry as himself.

  Never as garrulous as the other twin, Pim had withdrawn further into himself since his brother Mip’s death in a field hospital after the Battle of Cormona. And so he was alone now as the commander approached. Not inattentive to duty, however, and he straightened as Nico motioned toward the crossbow stowed on his destrier.

  “Corporal Ezra tells me you are the best in his squadron with that weapon. Is this true?”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  “Show me.”

  A look of confusion passed over Pim’s sad face.

  “Quickly, Private.”

  The youth hurriedly pulled the crossbow from its strap and loaded a bolt, then glanced at the narrow sunbeam entering the canyon’s mouth. “There,” he said. “See the rattlesnake on the flat rock yonder?”

  “What snake?” Nico asked.

  For a response, the crossbow fired with a loud twang. Nico watched as the bolt splintered into several pieces on a large rock in the distance, as did the small crowd that had quickly gathered around the exhibition. One trooper, a red-haired veteran named Mira, was already on horseback and headed toward the point of impact. She twisted in the saddle until horizontal, reached down, and lifted a long thin object from the sunlit stone. The snake’s body continued to coil and writhe in her hand as she returned with it.

  Nico admonished her. “By Theus, Private Mira, please put down that snake before it strikes you.”

  She smirked. “It’s headless.” She held the twitching body up.

  Proof enough that Pim was capable, but did he have steel in him? Enough for Nico to entrust his life?

  “Private Pim, I need someone to keep watch during the parley. I believed they were honorable, but after last night I don’t know what to expect. Tell me true, are you up to it?”

  The twin sneered. “Let them try something.”

  There is the steel I was looking for. Perhaps more than I wanted.

  “Corporal Manus, you will wait for my signal. Private Pim, come.” Nico mounted smoothly and set off for the entrance at a trot, eager to get this unpleasantness over with.

  Gornada was already waiting, still on horseback, at the mouth of the canyon. So was his companion, the Swordthane Zenza, a particularly arrogant and hostile rival of Nico’s. As the two Akenbergers approached, the captain took several paces forward. Nico nodded for Pim to stop, then proceeded alone until ten yards from his counterpart.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Prince Nicolas.”

  Nico raised his hand, palm out, putting an end to the formalities. He felt the inner rage building up again, and fought to control his emotions.

  “Spare me the empty words, Captain, and I’ll do you the same service. I’m not here to negotiate, nor to list grievances, of which there are many. Consider this meeting a courtesy that I already regret.”

  “Prince Nicolas, you are in no position to behave—”

  “Your numbers are not nearly so overwhelming as you pretend, Captain, nor your position as advantageous as you believe. We depart as soon as this parley is concluded. If you follow us, prepare for a battle that you can ill afford.”

  Always the proper officer, Gornada’s demeanor was unaffected. “The king orders me to bring you back. It is not my place to overrule—”

  “The same king that my brother died protecting?” yelled Pim. “We saved his kingdom, and this is how he repays us?”

  Gornada could not deny the justice of Pim’s statement, nor the pain in his tone, and to his credit he did not try. Turning instead to Nico, he continued to make his case. “Prince, you must realize that we cannot let you go. You cannot outrun us, you’re in unfamiliar territory, and your way ahead is blocked. Consider your position carefully. We have no desire for bloodshed here—”

  “Perhaps you should have told your troops,” Nico spat back. “Corporal Manus,” he called.

  At the prearranged signal, Manus rode forward from the cluster of Akenbergers, flanked by two horses and leading three more. Each held a body garbed in Asturian livery. The dead had been treated as respectfully as the Threeshields could manage, the blood wiped from faces and limbs, the stains on their tabards blending imperceptibly into the dark red cloth. But pale skin and lifeless stares revealed a gruesome end.

  “One more is wounded. He couldn’t be moved, so we are guarding him at the north end.” And what stories he told us. “The others fled,” Nico continued. “But not before these attacked, firing on us, ignoring our warnings and the odds against them. Two of my troopers wounded, one killed. Completely needlessly.” He slowed his speech to avoid slurring the words so angrily spilling from his mouth.

  Gornada had gone as pale as the corpses. He looked as though he had been struck. “Leon,” he gasped.

  The captain’s obvious distress was lamentable, but entirely his own fault, so far as Nico was concerned. The midnight combat had been brief but bloody, the arrogant Asturian corporal yelling insults until the moment Manus silenced him with a sword thrust.

  “You can see my reason for doubting you,” Nico continued. “One unnecessary death is intolerable. Don’t make the same mistake—”

  “Ah!” The captain screamed, his face twisted in hatred. He looked at Nico, his feet kicking his warhorse forward, hand flying toward the sword on his hip. Then a feathered quarrel appeared in the center of his tabard, the olive tree sprouting a new branch. The captain’s eyes widened in surprise, the look of hatred disappearing, replaced by confusion. His hand slipped away from the hilt, leaving the blade in its sheath.

  Dumbfounded, Nico stared in amazement at the captain. Gornada opened his mouth, wanting to say something, then tipped sideways and fell from the saddle.

  Calm yourself. Nico took a few deep breaths as he gathered his thoughts. What’s done is done. There was no more time for arguing or fighting. This situation needed to be resolved before it escalated even further.

  Manus and two other Threeshields surrounded Zenza. The soldier made no move toward his weapon, but glared at Nico with unbridled hatred. Clearly he expected to meet his end, and faced it with the steely resolve expected of a Swordthane.

  A quick glance at the Asturian camp showed activity. How long before they reacted, and a full-scale battle erupted?

  “Private Zenza,” Nico began. “You witnessed what happened here. The captain attempted to attack me under a flag of parley, just as your troopers attempted to ambush us in the canyon. Then, as now, we merely defend ourselves. This does not need to be war between our kingdoms—”

  “Is that how you see it?” Zenza interrupted. “It’s not how I do.”

  “I’m warning you… Do not start a war with deceit, Private.”

  Zenza spat on the ground, the spittle landing disturbing close to the body of the dead captain. “Kill me or let me go… Thane.”

  “Corporal Manus, let the private go.” Why do I do this?

  “If we let him go, he’ll tell any story he wants to King Anton,” Manus said calmly. It was not a protest, simply a consideration, much the way Renard used to speak to Nico. How much he missed that gruff old bastard’s counsel now.

  “If he lies to King Anton, then he’s in the wrong. Let him go.” Because it’s right.

  “We will leave the captain’s body here, along with the other dead. You may return for them as soon as we depart.”

  Zenza grinned as the Threeshields pulled away from him, his eyes never wandering from Nico’s. “The next time we see one another, be prepared to fight,” the other Swordthane warned. “I look forward to ending your delusions.” Then he laughed, turned his horse, and set off at a gallop.

  Nico felt the urge to cry, or scream, or do anything to release the frustration and anger that overwhelmed him. As an officer, he could do none of these things. But neither was he in the mood for disc
ussion. “Mount,” he ordered. He set off as abruptly as the other Swordthane had, in the opposite direction.

  By that eve it was clear that the pursuit was over. Most likely, the loss of their leader and collapse of their plans put the Asturians in a state of confusion.

  The terrain was breaking at last, the dusty plains of Asturia blending into gently rolling Akenberg ridges. Where exactly the official border lay, Nico did not know or care. The important thing was that they would be home within a few more days. And then a whole new series of problems would overwhelm him.

  Nico allowed the company to stop early to set up camp. They all needed rest, most especially himself. Ever since the anger and excitement of the two confrontations faded, he had spent the afternoon struggling not to fall asleep in the saddle.

  Now he isolated himself in his tent while the others ate. He desperately wanted to climb into the bedroll and let oblivion pull him down, but there was one more duty to perform first. Discipline was the sinew that held a fighting force together. He had himself to blame as much as anyone, but that did not absolve the others of guilt.

  The tent flap opened. “You wished to see me, Commander?”

  “Yes, Pim. Come in.”

  The young man looked nervous, like a child about to be admonished by a parent. Nico had to remind himself that the soldier before him was slightly older than he.

  “That was poorly done, Private. Far better to have disarmed or wounded him.” Anything but killing him. “I know you were defending me, and that I put you in a difficult position with little instruction. This is not an official censure, and I will put nothing of this conversation in my reports.

  “But we need to be better, you and I. We cannot allow anger and vengeance to cloud our thoughts, for our actions have greater consequences than we know. I expect more discretion from you in the future. Is that clear?”

  Pim stared at his boots. “Aye, Commander. I’m sorry.”

  “You will learn from this experience, Private.” As will I.

  Pim nodded. “Am I dismissed?”

  “Not yet. There is one more thing. I am reassigning you from Corporal Ezra’s squadron, Private Pim.”

  The shoulders shook once as the trooper struggled to retain his composure. Nico was impressed. This encounter had been difficult for the prince, and he was the one doing the reprimanding, not the one receiving. Thankfully, the rest of this should go much easier.

  “Yes. You know of my brother’s death, which makes me heir in a time of war. I expect to command the remnants of Prince Markolac’s army, and I need loyal, capable soldiers to come with me.

  “You have much more to contribute to Akenberg, Private. Let us hope this war ends quickly. But as long as it continues, I want you at my side. We have both lost a brother. We understand and need each other.”

  “Aye, Commander.” The response was purely reflexive, born from years of unquestioningly following orders. But the sole tear rolling down the private’s cheek revealed the turmoil inside.

  Nico stepped closer, putting a hand on the lad’s shoulder. They may be close to the same age, but a world separated them in every other way. He squeezed once, then stepped away.

  “Now you’re dismissed.”

  Pim nodded and turned, then wiped his face once before leaving the tent.

  Nico sank into the folding chair, laid his head in his hands and closed his eyes. For the moment, there were no more decisions to be made, no more orders to give. He was alone with the thought he had avoided all day.

  Leti, can you forgive me?

  Just a few days earlier, Rinnick had carried a message of war between Akenberg and her two northern neighbors, Lorester and Daphina. Now, war with Asturia as well was a foregone conclusion. Three kingdoms against one, and that one had already suffered a catastrophic defeat.

  The death of Prince Markolac meant this burden was Nico’s to carry. His father was old and frail, and could not reasonably be expected to lead the kingdom through a difficult war. The responsibility fell to the new heir who, in time, would be king himself—if his homeland survived that long.

  Yet all Nico could bring himself to care about was her. He had promised that they would never be enemies. Somehow, somewhere, he had become a liar and fool.

  This line of thinking would trouble his sleep, and he wished for distraction. The sounds of a cavalry camp at night surrounded him. The clink of field utensils on plates, cursing and complaining, and laughter. A great deal of laughter, born from the release of tension of the past four days.

  Stepping outside, he watched them for a minute. The familiar circle was forming, a hand of cards about to begin. Once, Nico would have been tempted to join, but he no longer felt the desire for games.

  There were four players, and a small crowd of observers. Beyond, the troopers sat or stood alone or in pairs, telling jokes and stories.

  This was his new family, but Nico could not bring himself to mingle. Instead, his eyes were drawn up the slope to the hill’s rounded apogee. Not high, but enough to give a decent view.

  He ascended slowly, enjoying that there was no particular hurry for a change. At the summit, he stared southward. Asturia had given hospitality and hostility, love and perfidy. How much had he learned about life in a few short tendays? How hardened was his heart?

  “Leti, I miss you already.” And I’m sorry.

  He turned around, facing north. Ahead lay Neublusten, a majestic mountain, a peaceful lake. And war.

  He did not notice the four of them standing outside his tent until he was nearly upon them. Private Lima and the three corporals, waiting expectantly. Nico felt a moment of confusion, trying to remember whether he had summoned them. His mind was still muddled, so anything was possible.

  Then Mickens clarified that they wished an audience. Nico nodded and led the way in. There was barely enough room for them all, and only two chairs. Since they would need to stand, Nico considered doing likewise, then realized that a blowing leaf might knock him over. He did not know what they wanted, but knew he should take it sitting down.

  Once situated, he looked them over in earnest. He prided himself on reading people like books, and so his curiosity was piqued. They were excited about something.

  “What is it?” he asked. He glanced from one face to the next, wondering which of them would speak.

  Manus stepped forward, an awkward grin forming on his rugged face. That black beard had grown even thicker in the days since the hurried flight from Cormona, giving him the appearance of a wild animal. Once, Nico had felt a hint of uneasiness about the older veteran. Now that they knew each other better, Nico respected the man’s honest, unfiltered opinions.

  “The company discussed it, Commander. No one opposed, and we feel it’s our right to do.”

  A sense of dread began creeping in. “Do what?”

  Lima came forward with something in her single hand. A folded cloth, which she handed to the commander. Nico opened it, expecting to find something inside. But there was nothing, so he examined the cloth itself.

  It appeared to be a miniature version of a battle standard like the ones outside his tent. But this one was not a design he recognized. It bore a resemblance to the Threeshields’ crest, featuring the white mountain inside a shield on a background of indigo. But here was a sword added on one side and a crown on the other. Nico knew the emblem of every major unit in the Akenberg army, yet was unaware of this one.

  “Whose is this?” he asked.

  “The Princeshields,” Manus replied.

  “Who are the Princeshields?”

  “We are.”

  Nico looked up. The elder corporal’s face, normally quite dour, appeared uncharacteristically nervous as he cleared his throat. “The Threeshields have never been led by a prince. Or a Swordthane. We wish…to recognize that.”

  Nico stared. Manus shuffled his feet, back and forth, awaiting a response. The others looked just as antsy.

  “You’re sure of this?”

  White teet
h appeared in the midst of the ugly beard. “Aye, we are. With your permission, of course. But I figure you’ll have a mutiny if you say nay.”

  Nico looked down. “Fine. Now leave me,” he ordered with uncharacteristic abruptness, waiting for them to depart before rubbing his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Below

  ONE-HUNDRED STEPS beneath Neverdawn, the slowly winding stairway came to an end. Jak was already disoriented, and could only guess in which direction the rough passageway before them headed. It was wide enough to allow two abreast, with floor and walls shaped and smoothed by human—or inhuman—hands.

  “Come on, you’ve got to see this,” Riff exclaimed, leading the way down the corridor. He held the only lit torch, so the other three were forced to follow at the same excited pace.

  “Where’s Kluber?” Calla asked. Jak had been wondering the same thing. He had sent the two down with only a single torch, which meant the older boy was without a light source. Unless he had developed magical vision all of a sudden, he would be blind.

  “You’ll see.”

  The passageway curved left, then began a gradual descent, leveled off, and curved left again. Jak opened his mouth to inquire how much farther they were going, then closed it again as the silhouette of a figure formed in the blackness ahead.

  Kluber stood where the passage ended, opening onto an impossible sight.

  “Careful,” he warned as they fanned out, staring down from the ledge into the enormous cavern stretching out below, illuminated in a faint blue glow. The far side was barely visible, but Jak formed an impression of an imperfect circle miles wide and thousands of feet high. The outline was natural, given the rough walls and immense stalactites jutting down from above. But the contents were clearly not. Stone buildings in varying states of decay dotted the cavern floor. Most were low, single-story structures, but a few stretched high above the others with looming grandiosity. Only a second glance revealed that many of these spires and monoliths suffered from the same wretched condition as their smaller brethren. In fact, the longer one stared, the more the whole place seemed poised to crumble into dust at the faintest touch.