Severance (The Sovereign Book 1)

by Michael Pritsos

  “Would you like to go to The Saving Grace for a while?” Xander asked. “I’m sure you want to wish Saija good luck, as well.”

  “Yes,” Ana answered. “I would like that.”

  When they were finished with the dishes Xander led Ana to the front door and opened for her to pass through. As they moved out into the night, Ana couldn’t help but wonder if her father had a motive when he was questioning Xander about the battle. He could probably tell from Xander’s thoughts that he hadn’t told her about it yet, and perhaps he was trying to cause a rift between them. She shook her head and pushed the thought out of her mind for now so that she could enjoy her time with Xander.

  The streets were quiet and their footsteps were the only sound besides the distant lull of the waves breaking along Triton’s beaches. They were silent for the majority of the trip to the tavern, but just as they reached the door Xander stopped.

  “What is it?” Ana asked nervously.

  “Will you come to the docks to see me off tomorrow? Your beautiful face may just give me the extra boost of confidence that I need,” Xander said with a hand on her smooth cheek.

  “I was already planning on it,” she answered, as her heart swelled with love for the man before her. She joined his hand to hers and led him up the steps to The Saving Grace.

  Donovan

  “Ale,” Donovan told the barkeep. The grizzled young man blew a snort of derision and retrieved the drink. Turning about he saw who he served and nearly dropped the tankard.

  The man before him was tall, around six feet, and wore a well-oiled black leather cuirass. His dark blue eyes were narrowed in study of the barkeep. His face was freshly shaved yet still had the beginnings of shadow on the cheeks. With hair as dark as the armor, the barkeep knew his customer as Donovan, First Captain of Tartarus’ Guard.

  “That would be correct,” Donovan said in answer to the young man’s thoughts. As Ultan’s second-in-command, a position he received the moment he arrived back in Tartarus, Donovan’s level of respect and power had amplified beyond mere thugs in the street. He had replaced Mark, and in so doing his new position was made known quickly either by his own declaration or Mark’s whining about being lowered to Second Captain.

  “That ale’s on the house,” the barkeep informed the captain with a strained smile.

  “Good to know,” Donovan replied. “This just became my favorite tavern.”

  He drained the ale in one draught and walked outside where dusk was settling over Tartarus. Spring had arrived so the breeze felt nice instead of bitter. Yellow-orange light still spread discrete warmth on the city as Donovan exited the tavern. One woman stood at the corner between a clothier’s shop and a public latrine. She beckoned Donovan over to her and he walked casually in the painted beauty’s direction. Her thoughts betrayed fear as he approached but the young Gaian woman did her best to conceal it.

  “For you, sir,” she said and handed him two silvers. “It’s been a good day already.”

  “I told you not to pay me in daylight, whore,” Donovan snapped. He dropped the silvers in his purse. “I am in a respectable position. You would do well to remember that.”

  “Sorry, sir,” she said with her gaze on the ground beneath her toes.

  He walked away without bothering to respond. It would never do for a fool from Tartarus’ streets to see his association with prostitutes and conclude what he will. There was a time when he never would have cared but now Donovan had Gaia by her horns. Donovan thought, Tartarus as least. However, that was all he wanted. Tartarus was his hometown, and as such he had risen from the bottom to become a person of power in that city. Not for the first time, Ultan popped into his head. Donovan had nothing truly against the short admiral, but natural succession would see him leading the two thousand soldiers of Tartarus should anything befall its governor.

  Two guardsmen sprinted by on the street, determined for Ultan’s estate. One of them suddenly realized who they had gone past and left his companion to continue alone to the admiral. He returned to Donovan short of breath with a mind jumbled in paranoia.

  “Come now, fool, speak,” Donovan demanded.

  “A fleet,” the soldier stammered. “A fleet of Thalassans approaches.”

  The guardsman stared in disbelief as he watched the First Captain harvest a wicked grin. He slapped the soldier on the back and ran to his own manor. He strode through the stables and saddled his courser with the eagerness of a boy ready for his first hunt. In moments he was galloping to Tartarus’ eastern watchtower.

  Donovan vaulted off the horse before it came to a complete stop. He never broke stride as he clamored up the stairs to the tower’s top. Seth was already there, waiting for his captain with anxiety twisting his scarred features into a grimace.

  “Forty ships,” Seth said in response to Donovan’s mental query. “A lot of colors. Thalassa believes they unleash hell with this force, I think.”

  “It’s an assault force like we have never seen,” Donovan announced, still grinning. He strained to see the individual men or their cloaks on the vessels rapidly approaching Tartarus’ shore. Already scores of Gaian soldiers were lining up on the muddy banks to meet them. “What colors do you see?”

  Seth narrowed his dark hazel eyes. “Red watchmen on some ships, grey guardsmen—”

  “House Coren of Pontos, that’s obvious,” Donovan interrupted.

  “Coren brings twelve ships then, no wait, thirteen,” Seth said. “The last one’s commander has a red cloak with a gold circle in the center.”

  Donovan shrugged. “The damn fool will make himself a target.”

  The green cloaks on the beach were doubling and doubling again as hundreds of soldiers were roused to the herald’s horn. In the city doors were locking and shutters closing, some of the more craven citizens shrieking in panic.

  “Seven crews of blue and yellow,” Seth continued.

  “House Herre of Varuna,” Donovan said, “women for the most part.”

  The short High Guardsman chuckled. “Six ships with green and white.”

  “Adliger of Tethys.”

  “Six brown and black,” Seth said wolfishly. Those were from House Xiphos on Anapos, and they would be here for revenge. The others were good sport, yes, but all knew that Xiphos’ Lord Thanos had been the sword in the dead king’s hand.

  Donovan could see the colors more clearly then and Seth took note mentally. There were six more that were blue and silver, representing House Lehnsherr of Glaucus. One contained men garbed in purple and white to show the small part of House Lilla on Nereus. The last ship of the force bore only black, House Mestre’s contribution from Proteus.

  “We’d better get down there,” Seth said. “They’re massing the whole force.”

  Donovan peered down at the soldiers gathering under orders of at least a dozen mounted captains on the beach. Ultan was there too, his high-crested helm tall and proud. Donovan chortled and Seth guffawed beside him. “Nothing’s ever enough, is it?”

  “I’d settle for Tartarus,” Donovan answered snidely. “The rest will come in time.”

  “We should probably take that beach first then, eh?”

  “Aye,” Donovan replied. That did not mean that he could not scheme towards Ultan’s death in battle. That would be perfect, he concluded. He glanced down and saw the mass standing in perplexity as the Thalassan fleet branched into two wings to land along the beach. The hundreds of Gaian soldiers were placed in one section of the bank that the Thalassans had veered aside to make two landings instead of one.

  “Damn fools,” Seth grunted. “They’d better move before they’re caught between two armies.”

  “Let’s go,” the captain said and they left the tower, Donovan looking his position in full when he mounted his horse while Seth strung his bow beside his master.

  *

  Ultan, every captain, and their respective lieutenants, were all ahorse on the wet sands on Tartarus. Some of the High Guardsmen who had enough coin to th
eir name also were on horseback, totaling Tartarus’ cavalry at nearly a hundred mounted men. That’s good, Donovan thought as he glanced about at the places where the Thalassan vessels were sliding up and onto the beach. Instantly their soldiers were leaping off the sides, splashing into the shallow water before wading to the drier sands.

  The Thalassans had no horsemen at all, so already the army of Tartarus had an advantage. The cavalry was split into two factions, one to attack the Thalassan army on the northern side of the beach and the other to assault the southern. The Thalassans on the north were led by the brown cloaks of House Xiphos. Donovan tried to stir his courser towards the cavalry taking on this challenge but Ultan headed him off.

  “I need you south if I’m to be north,” Ultan explained. The diminutive man’s mind was closed off and revealed naught but blank space.

  Donovan gritted his teeth. “I want to hit Anapos’ men again.”

  “You’ve already done enough there,” Ultan said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Head the southern half of our forces. We don’t have time to debate.”

  With that the little man spurred towards his men and rallied them. He sent the archers, all two hundred of them in Tartarus’ employ, to the eastern buildings in the city to take position. Seth ran to join the throng of bowmen. Donovan felt a little naked without the wild-eyed High Guardsman at his side but brushed away the concern. The first shots came as the archers were still climbing atop home and shop roofs. Some of the more practiced riflemen of Thalassa’s ranks were crack shots at such a vast distance and so the first blood to spill that day was Gaian.

  Donovan stared at the men massing on the southeastern sands. This portion of the Thalassan army was made up entirely of Pontian soldiers and the blue and yellow garbed men of House Herre. “Form up,” he shouted to the others on horseback. “We hit them, fall back, and then all charge.” He followed up with a quick command to the footmen to form them into a shield wall facing the enemy.

  They were arrayed four ranks deep; with each man behind ready to take the position in front of him should his lead fall. Those in the very back were typically high guards, allowing the regular soldiers to take the brunt of the killing while they commanded from the back. Donovan’s line stretched over two hundred men long. Even with the shields all touching they still covered a distance of a hundred and fifty yards from the waterline to where the sands met the grasses of outer Tartarus. While they were still aligning themselves in their respective rows Donovan signaled for the first cavalry charge.

  Fifty men against a thousand usually is not a great comparison but on horseback everything is different. Donovan kept the destriers in front as they were the stallions bred for war. They were expensive horses, and only four captains in his fifty-man charge owned the thickly muscled beasts. Donovan kept to the right but still close to the front as he shouted for a spearhead formation that aimed the horses directly at the Thalassan Left.

  The Gaian cavalry slammed into the unprepared Thalassans with thousands of pounds of galloping horseflesh and armed men. Donovan was swinging a moment before his target was even in his path, his instincts telling him where to put the short steel. The blade plunged through iron, scalp and bone, and suddenly was off again with blood flying through the air while the steel hungered for another victim. Men in grey cloaks and a few in red fell to weapons but most died simply by not being able to get out of the way in time. Many of these men were trampled by the horses as they dived through terrified soldiers while still some others were trampled by their own companions as they tried to move aside.

  When the horses came through the other side of the Thalassan’s four-deep ranks they only galloped for a few moments before Donovan had them turn to punch through the back. They spurred the horses on and again shots were fired in a distant chorus on Tartarus’ shoreline. The blue cloaks of House Herre followed the Gaians with their eyes and a few in the back leveled their pistols at the oncoming cavalry.

  Shit, Donovan swore inwardly. Didn’t think they’d be ready that quick.

  The pistols fired off but only around thirty had been discharged and at that it was apparent only six of their owners were marksmen. Five men tumbled from the saddles and another clutched a battered shoulder. The Thalassans had no time to reload when the backswing of the charge struck home on the back of the Thalassan Right. This time it was Varunian men who were slaughtered. Donovan lingered as long as his impulses would let him, chopping through necks and exposed arms while his chocolate courser did the legwork. He pivoted to avoid being hamstrung by the enraged Thalassans, bit out at those beside his face, and at times kicked like an ass to knock a grown man to the ground with the force of a war hammer.

  Donovan hardly glanced towards the north side battle as he regrouped with his force. The cavalry were hardly touched only having lost eight men in total, while the footmen still bore neat cloaks and armor as though it was their first day on the job. Arrows were flicking overhead to land amongst the Thalassans so Donovan assumed the riflemen were no true threat.

  On the other side of the spectrum the Thalassans southern army was already trying to recuperate from losses. Donovan estimated they had a thousand men in that force, or near enough to make no difference, and that his two charges had successfully taken seventy or more of those soldiers from the fight… or any fight again for that matter.

  “Shield wall,” Tartarus’ First Captain bellowed to the other horsemen but that was just perfunctory. The captains and their lieutenants were all sending their horses behind the backmost lines and taking position in their respective crews.

  Once again Donovan felt exposed as he touched shields with the foremost men of his crew and took note that neither was Seth. The little man was a lackey, no more than a toady would be to a bully, but his ambition always lay a step behind Donovan’s own. He was content to be the right-hand, and as that he would give his life to see Donovan live another day. Bah, Donovan thought with a sneer. Who am I kidding? He only serves well when his needs are met. Even still, he’d be better to have beside me than these clowns.

  “What the hell, Captain?” the soldier to his left exclaimed. He did not turn to Donovan but stared straight ahead at the Thalassan advance.

  Donovan recognized his voice and knew that he was his lieutenant, chosen to lead the crew on the second ship he gained from Thalassa. “If you don’t want me to think of you as a clown then prove me wrong today,” Donovan snarled. “We already slapped the bastards around a bit and from the sound of it, Ultan’s giving them a trial behind us as well. We kill every last one of them, men, you hear me?”

  “Yes, my Captain!” came the chorus. His lieutenant hefted his single-edged sword and stared forward.

  “Then what the hell are we waiting for?” Donovan yelled. “Let’s go!”

  A stench of sulfur was already permeating the atmosphere as the two armies closed. Another rush came when pistols were drawn and fired from twenty paces. The shields took the brunt but a few soldiers went down clutching a neck or hole where their face used to be. Donovan figured the archers had probably done much more than thinning the ranks, however.

  Daylight was fading and it took more than one shout to garner the Gaians’ courage to surge forward. When the distance between them and the enemy was halved again the Thalassan front shuffled back one step and allowed their second row to fire their flintlocks. Donovan found the noise more tiresome than anything. His shield alone had taken the force of six of the lead balls. With his leather-lined cloak and shimmering steel shortsword dripping gore in the waning dusk, Donovan was a hard man to not take aim upon.

  Along the line some others fell to their wounds but the Gaians stepped over their bodies with nonchalance. The Thalassans had exhausted their pistols and this was their chance. The Gaian shield wall moved forth with all the confidence of men who literally knew what their enemies’ next moves would be.

  The two walls clashed with a sound like thunder. Time seemed to slow for a few heartbeats as four ranks of men on
each side shoved forward in something resembling a pushing match. Donovan and his men pushed hard, and after the initial awkwardness of two bulked masses crushed together the blood began to flow.

  Tartarus’ First Captain threw his shield forward and ducked under a swipe at his unprotected head. He stabbed low, smacking the steel against something hard, and cursed. He tried again but stabbed at an angle this time and the blade halted for an instant before shoving through. He twisted and pulled back.

  Along Thalassa’s line the red, grey, and blue cloaked men were holding well. Donovan knew they would soon falter, especially if there maintained a constant threat from the sky. In that second of reprieve he noticed that the random screams from arrow-struck Thalassans had ceased. Either that or the noise of wood on wood, iron on wood, or iron on iron was becoming a more audible clamor.

  “Forward!” Donovan shouted and his men surged in response but with a general stagnancy. He aimed high against a new foe, ramming the blade at the unprotected face of a Varunian before him. The man stumbled back and when he tried to lance out with his own blade lost his right arm. The captain used his shield to slam his opponent aside but another Thalassan was eager to take his place.

  Donovan’s dark blue gaze flicked along the blue cloaks and rested for a moment on a man wielding a bronze ax. He would hook the ax on a Gaian’s shield rim and use all his strength to pull it down. Taking the Gaian riposte on his own shield of blue and bronze, he opened the avenues for his companion to thrust a spear into the open space created by the reduced shield.

  A blade sliced into Donovan’s thigh and he winced as the iron bit deep into the muscle. The Thalassan facing him wore a savagely furrowed brow that quickly turned to a wince as well when Donovan riposted with a swing that tore out his enemy’s throat.

  Another barrage of gunfire blasted on the beach but it sounded close this time. A soldier behind him fell forward and smacked his head on Donovan’s shield. He stole a glance behind to find men in the back thinned out and turning about to face a new challenge. A horde of brown cloaks were standing less than thirty paces away but he swiveled back to his front to face another blue cloak. They traded blows on their shields while behind him Donovan heard a disgruntled throng of Gaians trying to figure out their next move. Some of them began to flee, or at least attempt so, shoving through ally and enemy alike to get off the bloody beach.