Sons of Plague: Tales of Kartha Book One

by Kade Derricks

Olinia ignored him, lips moving silently once more to the words on the page.

  The miles rolled on. The swale of hills grew calm and the land laid flat. They crossed through the Endwood forest and its thick green groves of maple and oak and wild apple. The forest air was deep and clean and thick with moisture. Curled leaves of gold and red lay scattered on the road, barely stirring at their passage. The carriage traveled on, pausing for a midday meal in a lush meadow, and then finally, near sunset, the capital broke into view.

  LaBrogue was a beautiful city, particularly at dusk. The carriage swept through the city’s broad avenues, passing under soaring stone archways and over myriad little bridges that crossed the city’s canal system. Tall towers and fat domes rose high and took on the fading light’s pinks and reds. A wind rose from the east, and Cagle smelled the salty sea.

  Their father’s estate in the lowlands sat on a bluff overlooking a little cove near Monport. A dozen generations of Nialls had dwelled on the old estate, and to Cagle, the smell of salt always reminded him of home.

  The carriage rolled past a pair of torchlighters as they set about their evening’s work. A Praetorian stood with them. His gleaming armor shone gold in the day’s last light.

  Cagle nodded at the men. That armor looks uncomfortably hot. I’ll wager he’s glad to have drawn the evening watch.

  The driver started to slow and the carriage stopped before a large wooden gate. The guard riding out front hopped down and approached it. He pounded on the wood, and a small hatch swung open in response.

  “We’ve arrived,” the guard said simply.

  Cagle couldn’t see through the shadowed hatch, but he heard the click of the gate’s latch. The guard walked in ahead of them as the driver pulled the carriage into the cobblestone courtyard.

  His father’s villa wasn’t small by any means, but most of the other senators had far larger. He’d been to several of their homes. After the Fleure retreated he’d been paraded around the capital like a prized bull, attending “functions.” Everyone wanted to meet him and shake his hand or introduce their daughter or niece. A bitter taste rose in his mouth as he remembered it.

  Father said it was necessary to build those connections, and he was right, like always. If we hope to win full support of the Senate to help us rebuild, we need those people.

  He didn’t have to like it, though; Nuren certainly hadn’t.

  Cagle climbed out from the carriage first and then offered a hand to Olinia. His sister took it, the velvet of her glove smooth and warm, and followed. Packing her usual clothes in a trunk, she’d worn the gloves and a simple sky-blue dress for the long journey’s final day.

  Father likes it when she wears such things.

  The villa’s door swung open and a man in his fifties with long white hair and a green robe stepped out. A wide leather belt clenched the robe at the waist, accented with a silver buckle. Despite his age the man’s face was smooth, his skin a rich olive and his eyes green and quick.

  “Master Cagle. Mistress Olinia,” he said with a low bow.

  “Honestly, Haney, there’s no need for formality,” Olinia said, smiling.

  Cagle moved up and shook the old man’s hand. “How are you, Haney?”

  “Very well, sir,” Haney replied with a bright smile. “Your father is waiting in the anteroom outside the ballroom.”

  “Do we have time to freshen up?” Olinia said.

  “Of course, Mistress. I’ve water and towels just inside, and a few apples and pears, as well.”

  “Thank you.” Olinia disappeared inside.

  “And how is father?” Cagle asked. He studied his old friend’s eyes.

  “Exhausted. He pushes himself too hard. He isn’t thirty anymore, but he doesn’t seem to remember that.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it,” Cagle said.

  “Thank you, sir.” Haney nodded.

  Plucking an apple from a tray just inside the door, Cagle moved off toward the ballroom, while Olinia washed the dirt and sweat from her face. The ballroom’s doors were shut, but his father paced in the hallway outside.

  Cagle embraced Ragnall in a quick hug. “Father.”

  “Son, I trust your trip was uneventful. You made good time, though we’d hoped you might make it this afternoon.”

  “We?” Cagle said.

  Before Ragnall could answer, Olinia joined them. She hugged their father and kissed him on the cheek. “Father,” she said with a warm expression on her face.

  “Nia, I’ve business with your brother tonight. This meeting is for him. We will all talk afterward.”

  “Of course, father.” Olinia curtsied and disappeared into the hallway to the left.

  Cagle frowned. It wasn’t like his father to dismiss Olinia from their conversations. It was always the two of them, brother and sister together. Ragnall turned to face Cagle then, eyes serious.

  “You’ve grown.”

  “I don’t feel any taller,” Cagle said, confused.

  Ragnall smiled. “I’m not talking about taller. You’ve filled out a bit. I was worried you’d always be skinny as a scarecrow.”

  “I worked hard at swords and weapons training, though my other courses suffered for it.”

  “What about Warfare?”

  “High marks. Highest in my class, anyway. Instructor Ravin said I was the best he’d seen.”

  “Good. You may need those skills, and sooner than you think.”

  “Why? Who’s in the ballroom?”

  Ragnall opened the double doors and gestured inside. “Time to find out.”

  The first person Cagle saw was the king. He started to kneel, and Geron Xur laughed. “Please, no need for formality here. I don’t recall you being so formal when last we met.”

  “That was some time ago, Highness,” Cagle said, feeling himself flushing.

  “Twelve years. You asked me if you could borrow my sword. Something about vanquishing a sheep-eating wolf if I recall.” Geron smiled for a moment, then the smile faded and his eyes turned serious. “I’m afraid you’ll soon be facing a different kind of wolf for us, young man.”

  Before Cagle could respond, strong arms seized him around the middle and hoisted him up in a bear hug.

  “Whoa, won’t be a able to do that much longer,” a familiar voice said, as the man set Cagle down and released him.

  “Uncle Marlus!” Cagle turned and shook the offered hand. When Olinia and he were children, Marlus had snuck them sweets during their father’s meetings, and they’d adopted the big bear of man for their uncle.

  “You’ve grown, lad. Filled out and a little up, too,” Marlus said. He ran an appraising eye over Cagle head to toe.

  “So I’ve heard,” Cagle smiled.

  “Probably have to beat the ladies off with a stick. Though that’s not what I’d recommend doing with them.” Marlus gave him a long, exaggerated wink.

  One more man waited in the ballroom, this one sitting in a chair, well away from the others and looking bored. He sat like a king holding court. He stared at Cagle with dull, judging eyes, weighing and measuring. Cagle returned the look. He’d never met the man before, but he knew in an instant who he was. He had Bevin’s hair, though patched in grey. Moreover, he had Bevin’s coal-brown eyes and icy demeanor.

  “Senator Dalrone,” Cagle said, inclining his head.

  “Master Cagle,” Dalrone answered. He dipped his own head an inch in return. “You favor your father.”

  “Your son favors you as well,” Cagle said. Dalrone nodded and grinned. “Bevin has spoken of you and your…efforts at the Academy.”

  Cagle felt his fists clench. His face grew hot. What was going on here? Father hates Tresam Dalrone as much as I hate Bevin. A hate that was entirely mutual and known to all of Kartha.

 
Why is he in our house?

  He gave his father a questioning look.

  Unseen by the others, Ragnall held his right hand at thigh level and waved it, palm down. Be calm, the gesture said. Cagle trusted his father; if the moment required calm then he would give it, but he would watch Tresam like a cat hoping for a mouse to leave its hole all the same. And if the mouse ventured too far from safety, he would be waiting to strike.

  “Friends, perhaps we should all sit down,” Geron said, gesturing to the table. “We’ve much to discuss.”

  Ragnall took up a seat next to Cagle and Marlus. The king and Tresam sat down across from them.

  “How was your journey?” Geron started.

  “Pleasant enough.”

  “You saw the devastation in the north?”

  “I did. Olinia and I witnessed the storm firsthand.”

  “Ahh.” Geron nodded, face grave. “Yes the reports said the Academy took a direct hit. After the storms rolled through there they swept all through the north. Hundreds of fields destroyed. Tens of thousands of acres lost. We needed those fields after what the Fleure did to the lowlands. Them and their damned plague.”

  Geron paused and took a sip of wine.

  “The uplands don’t produce nearly the food the southern peninsula does, never have, but to help fight the plague they changed their crops and sold most of their livestock,” the king continued. “They plowed and planted fields that had been fallow for generations. Their effort was monumental.”

  The king’s hands clenched as he continued.

  “All that effort is lost now, erased with the storm. Hail and wind laid the fields flat. Heavy rain flooded still more. I’m certain that rot will set in before we can salvage much.”

  “Forgive me Your Highness, but what does this have to do with me?” Cagle said. He’d already known all of this. Creator knew it rolled around in his mind every day like a rampaging boulder, smashing all other thoughts to powdery bits.

  “Everything,” his father said. A silence hung in the room for several seconds, and Cagle felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

  “The Senate wants to launch an expedition through the Jandas. We hope to reestablish trade with the Iridin.”

  “I thought all contact with Iridia was lost years ago,” Cagle said.

  “That is true, and that’s why we want you lead the expedition to find them, son,” the king said.

  Cagle knew he wasn’t hiding his shock at the king’s statement well. “What type of expedition? What are we to trade with? And why me?” The kingdom had little money. There had been debts to repay for the wars with the Fleure. They’d bought steel and other supplies from the Esterians, before the traders had withdrawn to fight their own wars.

  The room was silent. Geron, Marlus, and Ragnall exchanged glances, faces solemn. Staring at Cagle, Tresam smirked. He lifted his glass and took a long drink.

  “We’ve a little gold and some precious gems from the treasury,” Marlus said. “But you may have to—”

  “No use dancing around it, Marlus,” Tresam said with a scowl. “You will be taking fifteen Fists of soldiers with you. We don’t believe the Iridin will sell, or they may simply not be in a position to. Either way, your task is to find enough food for the kingdom.”

  “’Find?’ With fifteen thousand men? That’s not an expedition or a trading party. That’s an invasion.”

  “Yes,” Ragnall said. His eyes were tired. For the first time, Cagle noticed the deep bags under them. He couldn’t recall his father ever looking so old or worn down. “Cagle Niall, you are hereby asked to lead an army into Iridia. You are charged with securing enough food to fill the granaries. If you fail, hundreds of thousands of your people will…”

  Ragnall’s voice cracked and failed him. Geron finished.

  “Will you take up this task?” the king asked.

  “There are better men than me to do this,” Cagle said. “What about Kurpan or Iniock? They both have the experience, surely they’d be better choices.”

  They were alone in the ballroom now, he and his father. After he’d accepted the task, Marlus, Tresam, and the king had each departed. There was much to be done before the army set out. Geron had thanked him profusely and Uncle Marlus had slapped him on the back, saying this would be a proud chapter in Kartha’s history. Tresam Dalrone had vanished without comment.

  “Kurpan’s first loyalty is to Tresam and Iniock hasn’t led men in fifteen years,” Ragnall said. “Son, there are more experienced men to send, but there’s no one I trust more than you. But that isn’t what’s really bothering you, is it?”

  “No.” Cagle’s thoughts turned inward. This is wrong, all of it.

  Kartha had never invaded another country. In all their battles with the Fleure, his homeland had never once been the aggressor.

  Four times the Fleure had invaded Kartha. Even to this day, they didn’t know much about the Fleure, only that they always arrived from the far east, beyond the sea, in huge, five-masted warships, and that they destroyed or stole whatever they could. No one, not the Esterians nor any other traders, could speak their language, and no captive had ever been taken from them alive. They appeared as normal men, perhaps a little thicker and shorter, but they fought like devils. No one in living memory had ever seen a woman or child among them. Eventually, they’d always been driven back into their ships to sail off to who knew where, but the devastation they inevitably left in their wake made such victories feel hollow.

  Ragnall gave him a sympathetic look. “I only agreed to this on condition that you lead. After the reputation you earned fighting the Fleure, they couldn’t say no.”

  “Through the Jandas, though? What about by ship? The journey would be quicker by half.” Cagle paced to the window, trying to still himself and failing. LaBrogue lay outside, a dark and sleeping giant.

  One that desperately needed food if it were to survive.

  “You know that we’ve sent ships in the past. Three, in fact, and none have ever returned. We aren’t sure why. Tresam claims the waters outside Iridia are full of pirates and savages. Others say there are poisonous sea serpents and squid so large they can swallow ships whole.”

  Cagle faced his father again. “And you believe him? I don’t trust that snake.”

  “I do not. That’s why I demanded that you be the one to lead this expedition.” Ragnall approached and placed a hand on Cagle’s shoulder. “What you accomplished in the south, stopping the Fleure, bogging them down with a cadre of mere students was incredible, son. You held them at bay while the army could gather. You’ve a gift for strategy and tactics. That’s why after the University was destroyed I sent you north to the Academy. To live up to your potential.”

  “I don’t even know how to begin.”

  “Snake that he is, Tresam knows someone who can guide you. He’s arranging for him to meet you near the entrance. He’ll help you pass through.”

  “I still don’t trust him.”

  “We don’t have a choice. It was this or let the lowlands starve.” Ragnall’s forehead wrinkled in pain at the thought.

  “Would it really have gone so far?” Cagle couldn’t believe it. After so many years, feeding the country and sacrificing its young men to defeat the Fleure, how could the north even conceive of abandoning the lowlands in their time of greatest need? The plague would surely go with the frost. One single winter was all they needed. One winter to get back on their feet. Couldn’t everyone sacrifice a bit for the greater good? Was it too much to ask that the north make sacrifices?

  No, he was lying to himself. He’d seen the devastation firsthand. He and Olinia had just spent days riding through it. Flattened and flooded fields as far as the eye could see. The north would barely have enough to feed themselves this winter, much less LaBrogue and the lowlands.


  “Yes,” Ragnall struggled to speak. “We truly had no choice.”

  “But how will I get the food back? The passes will freeze over long before winter hits here.”

  “I’m sending several crews of sailors with you. Captain Pal Turas will lead them. During the war he too carried himself well, taking on the Fleure at sea, almost as well as you did against their armies. The Iridin will have ships he can use.”

  “And the pirates and sea monsters and whatnot?” Cagle felt silly giving voice to such fairytale fears, but if the threat were in fact real, then it would be best to be prepared for anything.

  “Have to be chanced. There’s no help for it. Load the ships with a few soldiers, and I’m confident they can make it through,” Ragnall said. He smiled and shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have all the answers, son. I’m no longer sure I have any.”

  The doors opened then and Olinia swept in. There were cobwebs tangled in her hair and dust clinging to the blue dress. She brushed her shoulders clear, then moved beside Cagle to take a sip of wine.

  “You heard everything?” Ragnall asked.

  “Yes,” Olinia replied with a nod. Her tone was solemn now, more solemn than Cagle had ever heard.

  “What do you mean? Were you listening at the door the whole time?” he asked.

  “Last summer, I had a secret room built into the wall near the bookcase.” Ragnall swung his eyes toward it. “Your sister was in there, listening and observing.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s going with you, and I don’t want anyone to know that. No one. Just as you are the only one I trust to lead this venture, Olinia will be someone you can trust without question. She will be your spy. She will guard your back or she can use her unique abilities to scout the land ahead of you.”

  “And what about you, father?” Olinia asked. “If Tresam is up to something, as we suspect, you’ll need at least one of us here.”