The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel)
Page 1
Contents
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Series
Chapter 01 - Eadric
Chapter 02 - Raedan
Chapter 03 - Raedan
Chapter 04 - Magnus
Chapter 05 - Hadrian
Chapter 06 - Eadric
Chapter 07 - Magnus
Chapter 08 - Hadrian
Chapter 09 - Raedan
Chapter 10 - Eadric
Chapter 11 - Magnus
Chapter 12 - Eadric
Chapter 13 - Magnus
Chapter 14 - Hadrian
Chapter 15 - Raedan
Chapter 16 - Raedan
Chapter 17 - Raedan
Chapter 18 - Hadrian
Chapter 19 - Eadric
Chapter 20 - Magnus
Chapter 21 - Eadric
Chapter 22 - Magnus
Chapter 23 - Eadric
Chapter 24 - Hadrian
Chapter 29 - Roland
Chapter 30 - Eadric
Chapter 31 - Hadrian
Chapter 32 - Eadric
Chapter 33 - Raedan
THE CERBERUS REBELLION
Joshua Johnson
THE CERBERUS REBELLION
Joshua Johnson
Copyright © 2012
All Rights Reserved.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
The Griffins & Gunpowder Universe
The Ansgari Rebellion
The Cerberus Rebellion
The Hydra Offensive
Collections
The Chesian Wars
Short Stories
The Red Dragon’s Gold
The Sithean Betrayal
The Gathering Storm
Chapter 1 - Eadric
A fist banged on the door.
“Enter,” Eadric Garrard, the King of Ansgar and Duke of Elsdon, called, his voice thick with irritation.
The door swung open and his captain of guards stepped through it.
Eadric could see the handle and pommel of Kendall Shield's greatsword Guardian over his shoulder. The guard was the perfect fit for the gargantuan weapon: he stood more than seven feet tall with massive shoulders. The blade was hereditary, as was the title of Lord of Shields and Protector of the King.
The Shield clan had once been called something else, but whatever that name had been, it had been lost to history twelve hundred years earlier when they had sworn themselves and their descendants to the protection of the King of Ansgar. From the twelve men that had sworn their service, a clan had emerged that now included more than twelve hundred men-at-arms. And chief among them was Kendall Shield. He was called Lord, but he held no lands. Only the right to be the personal guard to the king.
A much smaller man stepped through the door behind Kendall. He was olive skinned and of average height, his brown hair damp with sweat from climbing the winding tower steps. He wore a blue sack suit with the symbol of the nation of Welos sewn over his heart. He kept his green eyes focused at Eadric's feet. A mere messenger.
Eadric stood to greet his visitor.
“Your Highness.” Kendall went to one knee and bowed his head; the man behind him followed.
“Rise,” Eadric instructed.
“Your Majesty, I bring a request from Lord Wyne,” the messenger announced.
“Considering your attire, I wouldn't have expected it to be from anyone else,” Eadric said and snorted.
The messenger frowned. “Your Majesty?”
“Never mind.” The King shook his head. Messengers, after all, were not the smartest. “Well, out with it.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The messenger's eyes returned to the floor. “Lord Wyne and Lord Biton Savakis wish to have a private audience with you.”
Eadric's eyes narrowed. While it was not uncommon for the ambassadors from other lands to request audiences with him, they usually did so while he held court, or through one of his council members.
“It’s still early,” Eadric pointed out with a glance at his pocket watch. “I will see them after I break my fast. I will send someone to get them.”
“Your Majesty, his Lordship—”
“His Lordship,” Eadric interrupted, “is an ambassador. A visitor in my land. I will see them when it is convenient to me. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The messenger bowed and backed out of the study; Kendall stayed.
“Have my steward prepare my parlor for visitors,” Eadric said.
Kendall nodded and withdrew.
The door groaned open once more. Eadric looked up, and his green eyes narrowed. It was his steward, the only person allowed to enter without permission. The man's leather shoes scuffed at the stone floor as he shuffled across the room toward the King's table. The servant was short, stout, and bald. He carried a silver carafe, a cup, a dome covered plate, and a folded newspaper on a tray. He set the tray on the desk and lifted the dome.
Eadric brushed a strand of chestnut hair out of his face. He saw the chunk of steak that had been cut at one end of the thick strip, and a piece of bacon half as long as the others. “It has been tasted?” he asked.
“Yes, My King,” the steward confirmed.
“You may go,” Eadric said curtly. The steward nodded and turned.
Eadric waited for the door to close behind the man, then sighed. He pulled open the small drawer at the top of his desk, reached inside, and retrieved a small round tin.
He twisted the lid off the tin with practiced ease and sniffed at the black and red powder within. Satisfied that it had not been tampered with, Eadric took a heavy pinch and sprinkled the powder across the plate, careful to get every part of the meal but waste none. Another heavy pinch went into the carafe of coffee. The powder was ground from the seeds of the Dragonleaf plant, which only grew in high mountain caves and passes. Each flower only produced enough seed for a pinch of salt and each plant only flowered twice a year.
By itself, the powder had a bitter taste to it, but when it was mixed with anything else it had no taste at all. It had taken years of practice and experience to find the right amount; too much and his stomach burned for days, too little and it would have no effect on the poisons that it was meant to counter.
He didn't know if he'd ever been saved by the salt, but he wasn't about to go without it. Every meal that the King ate was prepared and escorted to him under the watchful eyes of his guards, but even with all of those precautions, poisons could make their way into his meals.
Eadric poured himself a cup of coffee. The cup was made from the talon of a particularly large griffin, another method of warding off poisons. He sipped the coffee then lifted a piece of bacon and took a furtive bite. The Dragonsalt had dissolved enough so that all he tasted was the grease, black pepper seasoning, and pork. It was still floppy, the way that he liked it, but he had lost his appetite.
Eadric drained his cup with a single drink, picked up the newspaper, folded it, and turned for the door. Kendall waited outside with his arms folded. A guard stood on either side of the door. They stiffened when the King stepped through the doorway.
> At the end of the hall, a young squire shot upright and hurried to the King's side. He was small, even for twelve. The boy was the son of one of Eadric’s more important lesser lords, though he always had trouble remembering which.
“I need to prepare for my visitors,” Eadric announced.
“Yes, my lord.” Kendall nodded. Landon and Radnor shouldered their rifled muskets and the five of them started down the passage.
The Old Keep was a tall, round structure with wide stairs along the inside of the thick walls. Kendall led the way down the winding stairwell. Eadric was a handful of steps behind him with his squire on his heels, Landon and Radnor another few steps further still behind. Servants and pages pressed themselves against the wall of the stairwell as the King passed, their heads bowed to their sovereign as he made his way toward the bottom of the tower.
Kendall stopped and held up his hand.
The screeching laughter of a child washed over the party as Crown Prince Tyler barreled up the steps, his sister Kara close on his heels. Behind the girl were the children’s guards. The four men breathed heavily as they worked to keep up with the children.
The boy was near his eighth year and was already the spitting image of his father: the same brown hair, green eyes and square jaw as his sire, and he was nearly as tall as his sister. She was eleven, with their mother’s chestnut hair and blue eyes.
“Your Highness.” Sir Vance Shield led the guards assigned to the Crown Prince.
He was Kendall’s half brother and was nowhere near as tall; he barely surpassed six feet. He had the same cold gray eyes, though. An elven broadsword hung from his left hip in an ornate scabbard. Not as impressive as Guardian but a symbol of his status nonetheless.
Eadric inclined his head in greeting.
“Papa,” Tyler said as he wrapped his arms around his father’s leg.
“What is it, son?” Eadric asked as he mussed his son’s hair.
“Kara said that if I close my eyes at night, a manticore will come in and eat me!” The boy shot his sister an accusing look. She smiled sweetly at her father. “Tell her the manticores are all gone! That’s what Altavius said.”
“Altavius is right,” Eadric confirmed. “All of the manticores have gone from this world.”
“Are there any great creatures left, Father?” Kara asked.
“Griffins still live, far to the west along the sea cliffs. The dragons are all gone, though.”
“See, I told you there were still griffins!” Kara laughed at her brother. “Altavius told us of a noble who rides the griffins. He says that the noble has magics!”
Eadric frowned. “I would take what Altavius says about magic with some caution, child. He is prone to overstate things.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Run along now,” Eadric instructed. “Papa has work to do.”
The children gave him quick hugs, then continued their screaming run up the tower steps. Their guards tried to keep up.
At the base of the Old Keep, outside of the King's Chambers, two men stood guard that Eadric had never seen before. They wore the uniforms of his guard, and even had the look of first branch Shields. They were tall and massive, with dark hair and wide brown eyes, but he didn't know them and didn't know that Kendall had made a change in his protection.
The men inclined their heads as the king strode by them wordlessly into his chambers. His squire and Kendall followed him.
Eadric didn't have to ask if the men were trained. Kendall wouldn't bring anyone into consideration for the King's protection if he wasn't sure of their abilities. Nonetheless, Eadric was hesitant. He disliked change in the group assigned to protect him. The men that served him were a critical part of Eadric's day-to-day existence, a part on which he relied heavily. If he didn't feel comfortable with those who protected him, how would he feel safe?
“Dalton, get me a wool shirt and trousers. It's cool today,” Eadric instructed his squire. The boy nodded and hurried to the King's clothing room. When the squire was out of earshot, Eadric said, “Sir Randall and Sir Vincent have been on my guard since my father passed away. And they were on his guard before that.”
“Sir Randall and Sir Vincent are getting old. I wanted to replace them with younger, more capable men.” Kendall stood at parade rest, his hands clasped in front of him. “They are the twin sons of Sir Leopold.”
At nearly five years younger than Eadric, the King had watched Kendall grow up. Eadric had known that the man would become his Lord Protector from the day he knew what a Lord Protector was. He had treated Kendall with more respect than he treated anyone outside his own family.
“What would you have them reassigned to?”
“They have been assigned to protect your lady sister, Katherine.”
The lesser branches and older of the first branch of the King's Shields were generally assigned to protect those lower in the line of succession to the throne. While Katherine had once been the eldest child of King Charles, she was now further in line of succession, after Eadric’s son and daughter, and his nephews.
“Very well.”
***
Sometime later, Eadric finished the last of another glass of whiskey. A half melted ice cube was left alone in the small glass. Even during the winter, ice was an expensive rarity shipped down from the north in massive chunks, but if anyone in Ansgar could afford the luxury of a cool drink, it was the king.
He nodded to his steward, tucked neatly into a corner away from the King and his guests. The man disappeared through the huge door and closed it behind him. Eadric had taken off his tailcoat, though he still wore his crown on his brown hair.
Eadric had decided to meet with his current guests in his parlor, a small room far from the noise and activity of the throne room or the council chambers, because all of the rooms beneath the castle had been built with the magic of ancient elven wizards. The elves had cast powerful incantations on the thick black stones so that they were always temperate to the touch. Tiny gemstone flecks in the stones sparkled in the lantern light.
Eadric stood at the only real table in the room, pushed against the back wall of the parlor. A grand map of the world was laid across the massive surface, each nation intricately drawn and painted on what Eadric supposed was an old leather hide. A box of markers was tucked beneath the table, used when troop movements and activities were discussed. Those markers were worn down from their once grand carving, the black stone smoothed from more than a thousand years of handling by kings, generals and advisors beyond Eadric's count.
The nation of Ansgar occupied the entire southern half of the continent and stretched more than fourteen thousand miles from Agilard in the east to the West Shore at the other end of the continent. In the west, the territories loyal to him reached from the Griffin Coast on the northern shore, nearly four thousand miles to Sea Watch Castle as it faced the south on the Vast Sea. His nation was the most narrow at the Tirrell Barony, only a few hundred miles from the coast to the nation's border with Franta. Ansgar was home to more than seventy-five million citizens, and Eadric was their king.
The parlor had once been a dark, empty place. When he had been crowned, Eadric had ordered tapestries hung to celebrate his family's many accomplishments in the twelve hundred years that they had ruled Ansgar. One of the massive hangings depicted his great-grandfather's victory over the Last King of Kerberos, the banner of his house raised above the red three-headed hellhound against black of Agilard. Another tapestry was a scene from much further back in the history of Ansgar: the first landing of settlers after the long and perilous journey from Welos.
Kendall stood in a small alcove near the door. His arms were crossed and his eyes watched the king’s guests with a flicker of suspicion. He did not concern himself with matters of foreign relations, but the law stated that when the King received guests, the Lord Protector was to be present.
Four over-sized dark red leather chairs were arranged in a rough circle in the center of the small room to allow for c
onversation. Each had a small, dark wood table beside it to hold drinks or a small plate. The floor was bare stone.
Each of the two guests occupied one of the large chairs. Both held a glass similar to Eadric's, though they remained on their first while Eadric was on his third. They had brought him heavy news and a grand request, but seemed to be at peace with the words that they carried.
Lord Thomas Wyne, ambassador to the nation of Welos, sat nearest the door. He was much smaller than Eadric, with short brown hair well salted with gray and dull brown eyes. He had the look of a career diplomat, one who had spent his life working outside of his own nation. He was a quiet man that chose his words carefully and was more than twice Eadric's age, sixty-five if Eadric's memory served him.
Lord Biton Savakis, ambassador to Istivan, was as close to opposite of Wyne as could be. He was a huge man, one of the largest Istivani that Eadric had ever seen, with arms like trees. His skin was a medium olive, his hair dark, and his green eyes sharp. His massive arms were heavily tattooed. Eadric could see the tattoos that marked him as a husband and father, a warrior that had spilled the blood of an enemy, and one that Eadric thought meant that the man had stood as a judge before the King of Istivan.
He was as loud and boisterous as Thomas was quiet and reserved. Nearing forty, he was only a few years older than Eadric, but he had garnered enough power in his homeland to earn his role as ambassador to Ansgar.
The two ambassadors had insisted that they meet in private, and at their request Eadric had left his closest advisors in the antechamber. Now he wished that his advisors had heard everything the two ambassadors had said. And what they had asked for.
“You realize what you're asking for?” These were Eadric’s first words since his second glass of whiskey.
Thomas spoke first, as was his place as the senior ambassador. “We do realize that it would require a great investment on your part, and on the part of your people.” His baritone voice was thick with the drawl of his homeland.