Sons of Plague: Tales of Kartha Book One

by Kade Derricks

  Olinia took inventory of it all as she traveled.

  There is food enough here. If they will part with it.

  Patrols of armored soldiers marched between the villages. She’d encountered the first two days ago. These men weren’t like those of Crow’s Bay or Washougle, broken and bowed. They marched straight and tall, a proud fire to their steps. She sensed it as they strode past. One or two slanted their eyes her way, casting sly grins. A fight with these men would not prove easy.

  How many of them will have to die, and how many of my people will they kill? she wondered. There has been too much death already.

  After the ceremony for Melios, she’d set out immediately. Agare and her brothers had each thanked her for rescuing them and restoring their home. That was the worst part. The thanks. All she saw was Melios, not still living, not happy or free, but lying dead with one of those wicked crystal daggers in his chest and the swirling black mist gathering in a cloud above him, drinking away his life. Melios had given his life for hers. He’d barely known her. Hadn’t even known her true face. Now he never would.

  And what did I do while he died for me? Nothing. That dagger was meant for me, and I lay still like a rabbit while that damned hunchback murdered him.

  She hated these cruel northern lands. She longed for the lowland marshes and sweet green hillocks of her home. Most of all she hated the Fleure for causing all of this. Them and their plague.

  Would that she could conquer them instead of these people. She’d burn every hut and village until their lands were nothing but bitter ash.

  Once again, she’d resumed the identity of a traveling hunter. Her pack horse bore a heavy load of skins from Reeve’s kills across its back. Olinia walked in front of her own horse, preferring the feel of honest ground beneath her feet. She was in no hurry to reach the city. Inside, she’d have to be careful again, to don her disguise fully and remain hidden while she completed her mission. Out here was different, though. Out here on the road, alone with her demons, she could be anyone. She could be no one.

  She liked the travel—seeing new places and people, but not for the first time she wished she’d stayed home with her father.

  She entered the gate without difficulty. The guards didn’t even bother to search her skins. A group of children, just a little younger than Capo and Thevon, played with sticks and a ball in the busy streets. Traders argued back and forth over prices or who had the best produce or whose father had been a swindler. Their stalls were full of produce—fruits and stacked vegetables and hanging meats, Applewood-smoked sausage links, honey-cured hams, slabs of beef and mutton. These people had no idea what was coming.

  Olinia passed through it all without slowing. She was the forerunner. A raven soaring high on the breath of a great black storm. The message she carried back to her brother would decide these people’s fate.

  She’d given up on buying the food the lowlands needed. They all had—even peace-loving Meagera. Perhaps Cagle still had hope; before leaving she’d learned little of his thoughts. He seemed different now, more emotional. Passionate, even. Her brother would likely have to take what they needed by force, and her task was to tell him who to take it from.

  She hated it. She hated the feeling that she would decide who lived and died. Not acting was its own grave decision, though. One that could damn her people. In order to succeed, in order to save them, she had to damn herself instead. She wondered if Cagle felt any different.

  No, he understands his duty. He’s always been good like that—like father, always responsible, always concerning himself with our people. His conscience is pure.

  Ragnall Niall, esteemed senator of the lowlands, her father, hadn’t raised either of his children not to act in the face of hardship. Some might cower and hide in fear when the wolves of the world came. Not them. Such was not their fate.

  Part of her wanted nothing more than to chase the hunchback and Krona into the wilds. She had a score to settle with both of them. Cagle had asked her to do this, though. He needed her. Her skills were the best suited to it, and more than that, he trusted her completely. Trust was in short supply. They still hadn’t discovered the truth about the Voice of Iridia or the Man of Iron, or what had truly happened to Iridia’s fallen capital. They knew only that it lay near the heart of the country out beyond Bremerton.

  She didn’t care. Not about any of it. All she wanted was to help her brother finish their task, find vengeance for Melios, and return home. After that, she might disappear into the lowlands for a time. Perhaps live among the Yoghens like Cagle once had. Contrary to their fierce appearance, they were a peaceful people. She could dwell in the cliffs and hunt and fish, wearing no face but her own for a time.

  First, though, she had a mission to complete.

  An inn stood on her left, and she entered through the rough-hewn wood doorway. A room for herself, a bath, a hot meal, and then she’d get started. Bremerton would give up its secrets. Then, finally, she could hunt the hunchback for Melios, and after she killed him, they all could go home.

  Ragnall Niall waited by Monport’s bustling docks. The city was doing well with preparing the port and a small army of carts and wagons to receive and distribute the grain. The day was clear and bright and, after weeks of unending torment, the miserable heat had mercifully lifted.

  All in all, a beautiful day. Would that Olinia and Cagle were here to enjoy it with me.

  He’d started his morning in the usual manner, praying for their safety and success, always in that order. They were two months gone now. More than long enough to breach the Jandas, according to those few still living who’d managed the passage, and march on Crow’s Bay.

  Ragnall dared not hope the city would trade with the Karthans. Cagle carried far too little in the way of wealth, and if the Iridin still had any desire for trade, they wouldn’t have stopped allowing caravans over the mountains.

  No, he knew his children would find war at the end of their travels. He hoped their victories were as swift and as bloodless as possible. They’d both seen far too much death for their years.

  A commotion up the street broke through his thoughts. A disheveled man was running up the hill toward him, spilling vendors aside, shouting his name.

  Senator Jales. Does the man know no decorum?

  “Ragnall!” the junior senator gasped after reaching him. He bent over double, lungs heaving and sweat dripping down off his hair to the paving stones below. “I’ve…come…with news from LaBrogue.”

  “Calm down, Jales,” Ragnall said. He really needed to bring the man’s behavior in line. “Slow down and tell me what’s so important. Have they spotted ships returning from Iridia?”

  The northern fishing fleets would see them first. He would have preferred Pal Turas kept his ships out of sight in deeper waters, but with the fishing vessels roaming further and further from shore in search of solid catch, it was almost unavoidable. The capital might have sent word that salvation would soon arrive.

  “The king is dead,” Jales gasped.

  “What?”

  “Geron Xur is dead.”

  “How?” Ragnall’s mind spun. Geron had been a healthy man, and three years younger than himself. His father had lived to see eighty, and Geron was far short of that.

  “Unknown. He didn’t awake at his customary time, and his aides found him spilled out of bed. Not a mark or a drop of blood on him.”

  “Poisoned?”

  “They didn’t think so. His heart, maybe.”

  “When was this?” Ragnall said a silent prayer for his friend. Before there was a reunited Kartha, he and Geron had shed Fleuran blood together during the third invasion. Geron had been an honorable man and a capable one. A good king and an even better friend. He would be sorely missed.

  “A fortnight ago,” Jales said. The man went on, but Ragnall’s
mind raced ahead.

  Though he mourned his friend, he knew that there would be much to do in Geron’s sudden absence. Kartha’s breadbasket was still besieged by this famine. The kingdom could not afford to be leaderless now. The Senate would have to confirm a new ruler and, scattered as the lowland members were, a forum would take weeks to muster. And who would they confirm? There were several good choices among the central senators. None Geron’s equal, but some more prepared than others.

  A wrong choice will prove disastrous.

  “Wait, what did you just say?” Ragnall asked Jales, stopping the man midsentence.

  “The Senate. They’ve already come to order and confirmed a new king.”

  “How? Who?”

  “Tresam Dalrone,” Jales gulped. He wiped at the sweat beading upon his flushed forehead. The man looked as if he needed a stiff drink, and Ragnall was thinking he might need to join him.

  “How? There aren’t enough senators for a forum. They can’t have met and elected someone without us.”

  “I don’t know,” Jales said. He handed Ragnall a scroll bound with a silk wrap. “But they’ve done it. The announcement was all over the city. I brought this as proof.”

  Ragnall tore the wrap from the scroll and unrolled it. He read aloud: “Geron Xur, faithful servant of Kartha, has joined his proud ancestors among our country’s honored fallen. Recognizing that, in the aftermath of the fourth Fleuran invasion, we live among uncertain and unprecedented times, your faithful senators have held an extraordinary meeting to confirm our beloved king’s successor. In a unanimous decision, the senate has elected Senator Tresam Dalrone as the new leader of noble Kartha. Henceforth, he is reborn Tresam Xur. Please join us in honoring our new king. May his reign be bright and long.”

  The scroll fell from Ragnall’s hand.

  How can they have moved so quickly? They didn’t have the votes. Even with every northern senator and those from central Kartha, it takes at least six southern senators to elect a king. They’ve broken the very laws Geron and I fought so hard for.

  Ragnall’s knees weakened. He took Jales by the shoulder for support.

  Unanimous. They would have had to organize the votes ahead of time. But that could only be done if they had some warning of Geron’s demise. Only if they...

  “They murdered the king.” Ragnall swallowed. “Somehow, they’ve murdered Geron.”

  “What are we to do?” Jales said.

  “Send riders to the other lowland senators. Bring the leaders of every city here immediately. We must convene and decide how to proceed.”

  What options did they have? Tresam had been confirmed already. Trying to remove him would provoke civil war. The north wouldn’t stand for it, and the lowlands were at their weakest in three generations. The Fleure had struck Kartha’s southern provinces hardest, and now their finest remaining soldiers were off in Iridia, searching for enough food to keep the country alive. Suddenly, Ragnall was glad Cagle had been gone from the Academy. Tresam would have happily used his son as a hostage if it suited his plans.

  I’ve been a fool. I thought Tresam was currying favors to make a political play, but he was buying enough votes to secure his rule by any means necessary. He had to be planning this for years.

  “We’ll gather the army, as well. All those that remain. I don’t know what Tresam will do next,” Ragnall said.

  “There’s more.” Jales paused, wringing his hands. “One of my merchant friends in LaBrogue said he’s mustering his own army.”

  “An army for what?”

  “My contact said they are gathering to march north through the Jandas. Kurpan himself is leading it. He’s announced they are going to help Cagle save the lowlands.”

  “What? Help Cagle save the lowlands?”

  Tresam hates us. He’d never miss an opportunity to subdue the lowlands. What devilry are we missing?

  Disagree as he might with Tresam, he respected the man’s intelligence. Tresam Dalrone was a capable and clever opponent, and one without a shred of decency. He never let an opportunity go to waste. Once the army was mustered, Tresam might send it anywhere he chose.

  “Jales, go quick to Monport’s barracks. Tell Captain Birken to meet me at the council and to gather his scouts. I’ll get Halcion. He needs to hear this as well before we spread word across the lowlands. We need to prepare for what’s to come.”

  “And what might that be?” Jales hadn’t yet seen it, but the picture had finished forming in Ragnall’s head. It was a grim one.

  “Invasion.”

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