Vladimir saw Katrina staring at him helpless. She knew this was a bad idea, just as he did. “Vladimir,” she called with an expression of helplessness.
There was no choice now, he could not stop the advance. Drawing his sword, Vladimir looked at the redheaded warrior. Katrina ran to his side, her own blade naked in her hand.
“We have no choice,” the shapeshifter shouted. Gritting his teeth, Vladimir followed the peasant army into battle.
* * *
A hundred yards ahead, the scout jumped to his feet waving a green pennant. K’xarr drew Crimson Wave from it scabbard. Kago did the same with Malice on the left side of the line and Rufio raised his Dragitan shortsword on the right. The line of horse and men thundered ahead in perfect uniformity. The Trimenian cavalry in wedge formations to the right and left of the Sons kept pace with the fast-moving mercenary company. Within moments, they had topped the rise that hid them from the city and rode out onto the plain. Like a moving wave of death, men clad in steel and wild-eyed horses sped towards the enemy.
K’xarr frowned as his men closed on the battle. The entire field was in chaos. The rebels had joined the fray. Their undisciplined lines blocked what should have been the enemy’s exposed flank. Constantine had not listened to a damned word he had said.
He would deal with the idiot later. Trying to slow his men’s advance, K’xarr moved to swing his cavalry wide of the peasant rabble. The effort was futile, there were just too many horsemen to make the unplanned maneuver. The charge wasn’t as devastating as intended, and K’xarr knew he would lose men over it.
Dimitri’s forces had pushed Serban’s lines close to the city wall, giving them limited options to reposition themselves against his arrival. The small number of Trimenian cavalry the palace had deployed was easily pushed out of the engagement, and nearly half their number was cut down as they rode for the palace their tails between their legs. He could have pursed them to the gates, but he didn’t want to risk dealing with any archers that might be waiting on the palace battlements. Turning his men back, K’xarr crashed into the left side of the enemy’s line. It was clear his officers had done their work.
Endra and Kattan broke the enemy pikemen’s nerve and were deep into their ranks. Rufio and Cromwell had the right side of their foe’s line penned against the city walls. The Slayer had dismounted and made his presence known, showing the Trimenians why his name was feared on the battlefield. Soldiers fell around him like death itself had come among them.
Late in the day, Serban’s men broke. A flood of routed soldiers streamed through the city and around the outside of the walls like a colony of ants. They were headed for the palace. K’xarr and the cavalry pursued them, slaughtering as many as was possible before the fleeing soldiers reached the safety of the palace walls.
The field before the city of Brova was littered with the dead. Both sides had suffered heavily during the afternoon’s battle. Unopposed, the rebellion’s forces rode into the city triumphant. Their reception was tepid at best. The citizens of Brova weren’t sure if they should be pleased or not as the warriors of the rebellion swarmed into their city.
Once inside the walls, it didn’t take long to find out that for some reason, the populace believed the rebels had murdered the King of Trimenia. There was so many different tales being shouted at them, no one could decipher what was really afoot.
K’xarr motioned for Kago. “Get someone that knows what the hell is going on and find out why these idiots think we killed the king, then call everyone together, including whoever is commanding the Trimenians in Dimitri’s place. Have everyone meet me in that tavern over there with the broken hammer on the sign, and, Kago, make sure that bastard Constantine is there, even if you have to drag him to me by the balls.”
“It will be done,” Kago said, putting his fist to his chest.
* * *
The sun had sunk below the horizon, yet the rebels in the city were still celebrating. The king was dead and Brova had been taken back. Peasant soldiers celebrating their victory had been joined by the citizens of the capital. Only one obstacle remained before they were truly free from the years of brutal tyranny and excessive taxation: Baron Serban and the palace. Tomorrow, they would assault the palace and take revenge for the years of oppression they had suffered at the cruel noble’s hand. Tonight, however, was time to bask in the day’s victory.
Not everyone was in the mood for revelry. Tempest considered Pepca as the heartbroken young woman stared into the dark. Tempest wished she had the words to ease the princess’s heart. Pepca had lost her brother in the morning, and then later found that both her father and mother had been killed. The skinny, wild-haired girl she had met months ago was gone. Pepca’s heart had taken too many blows in too short a time. Her carefree spirt had been crushed. Too many losses had stolen Pepca’s zest for life.
They stood on the wall overlooking the field that surrounded the city. The dead still lay where they had fallen. The darkness shrouded the bodies of horses and men, making the dead only dark mounds in the moonless night. Tempest had come up with the rest of the camp followers after the battle with the children in tow. The sun was nearly gone when they had arrived, but she had seen the battlefield. It had been her first look at real war. The scene had been horrific.
There had been little time for her to ponder it. She had found Pepca weeping on the stairs of the burned out cathedral. Through her tears, the princess told her what had happened. Her mother had recently died of some illness, but Pepca’s father’s fate was more mysterious. Rumor had it the king was killed by rebel forces while he was escorting her older sister to Warmark, and that Princess Danika herself was still missing. The odd thing was no member of the rebellion knew anything about such an attack. Tempest thought what hurt the princess the most was the loss of her brother. Even now, Dimitri’s body lay inside one of the houses commandeered by the army of the rebellion. She had offered to take Pepca to see the fallen prince one last time, but the princess had refused.
K’xarr had the word spread through the Trimenian soldiers Dimitri had led in to battle that the prince had laid down his life for the love of his country and he did it without his sight. The mercenary captain had also made it clear that Baron Serban was responsible for all of it. The effect on the soldiers upon hearing about their prince’s heroism was quite evident, and all swore to avenge their heroic prince.
Tempest didn’t see the courage in what Dimitri had done. The prince had been unable to deal with his pain, so he had found a way to escape it. All he had truly done was to leave the kingdom’s mess sitting in his younger sister’s lap.
“Pepca, is there anything I can get you?” Tempest said, laying her hand on her friend’s shoulder.
“No,” Pepca replied.
“How about a cloak? The air is still chilly at night,” she offered.
“I don’t get that cold anymore, Tempest. If you want to help me, tell me why my mother and father are dead, why Dimitri left me, and why the dying act of the man I loved was to curse me.”
Pepca’s eyes were red and swollen, and her lip trembled. Her friend’s despair nearly broke Tempest’s heart. She pulled the young woman into her arms and kissed her softly on the lips. “I don’t know why they all hurt you, but I am here and I love you. We’ll get through it together.”
* * *
“Close that damn door,” K’xarr barked.
Cromwell kicked the tavern’s wooden door closed with his big foot. The smell of stale wine and smoke filled the room. The mercenary captain looked around the bar, taking in those in attendance. His officers were there, as well as Constantine and Vladimir. The commander of the prince’s troops was a captain named Sala. The man’s dark hair was threaded with gray at the temples, and he was broad through the shoulders and seemed fit. Dimitri had named him his second, and though he hadn’t known the prince long, K’xarr respected his choice of successor. Besides, now was not the time to disrupt the renegade soldier’s chain of command.
&n
bsp; Kian was nowhere to be found, but K’xarr didn’t think the swordsman’s presence was needed for the meeting. Kian would do what he always did when they attacked the palace. Besides, it was foolish to try and make plans that included the Slayer.
“We took the city but this is far from over. The palace walls are high and built to repel a siege. Serban will have his men ready for us. He won’t underestimate us again.” K’xarr leaned forward on the inn’s table. Just looking at Constantine was irritating him. “By my count, we destroyed half the baron’s force, but that won’t matter now. What remains of them are trapped behind those walls and Serban will see that they fight to the last.” He waited for arguments, but no one disputed his assessment. “Rufio, how many men did we lose?”
“Two hundred and five from the company. My guess on Captain Sala’s losses are near two thousand men. As far as the civilians go, I don’t know.”
“You’re right, Lieutenant. We lost nearly two thousand troops, but the men are still the prince’s, not mine,” the Trimenian captain said proudly. “We fight in his name.”
“I would like to point out that the army of the rebellion lost over a thousand brave souls and we are not civilians, Lieutenant. We are warriors, at least till justice is done in our country. I also believe it was our attack that routed the baron’s soldiers,” Constantine said smugly.
K’xarr could not contain himself any longer. He had wanted to do this privately, but his temper wouldn’t abide it. “You are a piece of shit and you don’t know the first thing about war. I told you to keep those peasants out of this unless we called. Now a thousand of your countrymen are dead, and I could not guess what your arrogant stunt cost Captain Sala and I.”
Constantine slapped his hand on one of the inn’s tables. “You will not speak to me that way. Let me remind you that you work for me, sellsword.”
“If that’s the case, I quit, and I advise Captain Sala to do the same. You can rout Serban out of the palace on your own.”
“Let’s not be hasty, Captain. I think General Constantine would just like to be shown some respect,” Vladimir said calmly.
“He hasn’t earned our respect,” Kago said, stepping towards Vladimir with his hand on Malice’s hilt. “Till he does, keep your mouth shut while your betters are speaking.”
A throaty growl issued from Vladimir and he squared his shoulders. Kago smiled and drew Malice from its scabbard. “Come on, cur, so I can split you open and see what you had for dinner.”
“Damn it, Kago. Stand down,” K’xarr commanded.
Kago stepped away from the shapeshifter, but he didn’t sheathe his blade.
Constantine moved between the two men. “Is your man insane, Strom? We need Vladimir to defeat Serban.”
“You pompous bastard, I don’t need shit from you. If you think your hound is the only one that can kill the baron, then you’re a bigger dolt than I thought,” K’xarr said hotly.
“I am the leader of this rebellion, Strom, not you,” Constantine shouted.
“You are a buffoon, and you’re only the general of this rabble because you claim it. I don’t work for you anymore, I serve Princess Pepca. Shove that up your rebellious ass, you shit-eating dog.” K’xarr started for the rebel leader, but Cromwell managed to grab the collar of his breastplate before he got to the man.
Rufio stepped in front of his raging captain. “Vladimir, you should get your general out of here now. We will fill you in on what we plan later.”
“You will let us in on this fight? You insolent scum, this is our country, not the princess’s…ours,” Constantine spat.
“Get out. I will let you know when I need my ass wiped, you high-minded pig,” K’xarr said, shaking off the Toran’s hand.
The two rebel leaders stalked through the tavern, slamming the door behind them. K’xarr kicked a table and slammed his fist against the wall. He really would have liked to take Constantine’s head, but this wasn’t Thieves Port or the mountains of Camira. He had others to think of.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Captain Sala said, shaking his head.
“Not really,” Rufio said, handing the Trimenian captain a mug of ale.
When the meeting was done, everyone scattered to their duties or to some much needed rest. Tomorrow would be bloody. K’xarr’s anger had eased. He wished he had a little more patience when dealing with his allies, but he had never been much good with anyone that wasn’t a subordinate.
He had set a double guard around the city walls in case Serban counterattacked in the night. The rest of the city had quieted down, realizing the fight wasn’t finished.
Katrina crossed the street, moving quickly in his direction. He could see by the look on the redhead’s face that she wasn’t happy. “What did you say at the meeting? Constantine is furious. He is telling the people that you and Sala’s men want to seize the palace to put Pepca on the throne, so she can continue the same injustices that her father introduced.”
“Do you believe that?” K’xarr said, looking at the woman’s heaving chest.
“No, I guess not, but Trimenia’s rule must change.”
“It will. You know the princess now, do you think she will continue the same hardships her father and Serban heaped on your people?”
“No, but the rebellion has always thought to install one of our own to rule when we finally won.”
K’xarr touched her hair and Katrina slapped his hand away. “Who, Constantine? I’m sure that worm suggested he would make a fine king.”
“I don’t know, but I would say he would be the logical one to take up the crown,” Katrina said with a shrug.
“If that happened, I think you would have the same trouble you do now, maybe even worse. The man is not fit to rule a pigsty. You would be trading one tyrant for another. You’re a smart woman, Katrina. You think on Trimenia under his rule.”
The redhead sighed heavily. “Maybe you’re right, but Pepca is little more than a girl.”
“That is why she will need advisors from the rebellion to help her heal the country.”
The rebel thought for a moment. “I suppose that could work.”
“Now that the question of leadership is settled, let us take a moonlit stroll.”
Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “Does this walk have anything to do with removing my clothing?”
“It may,” K’xarr said, taking her by the arm.
* * *
The hour was late. Only the sentries around the city still had their eyes open. Endra pulled Kago into an abandoned house, pulling and tugging at the straps on his armor. Their mouths were pressed together in hot passion. Her warrior gently pushed her back, halting her insatiable craving.
“I told K’xarr we would cool things down till this ended.”
Endra frowned. “That’s why I went to the trouble of bringing you here. This place is deserted. It looks like it might have been scorched by the fire Cromwell and I started. I promise we are perfectly alone. K’xarr won’t know a thing.”
Their armor fell to the floor, followed by their undergarments. Endra wrapped her legs around Kago as he pushed inside her. She tried to stifle the moan that rose from her hot mouth, but she couldn’t. Her mind reeked of nothing but desire. Her hunger for Kago was voracious, and her loins quivered as he took her, yet she knew her longing for him would never be sated.
Spinning her around, her lover bent her over a table. She looked over her shoulder as he thrust his manhood inside her. Never had she wanted anything more.
The two descended into a furious session of lovemaking so intense that neither noticed the golden eyes peering through the window.
The night breeze was heavy with the smell of blood. The wind lifted the day’s carnage up to the palace from the plain below. At another time, the intoxicating scent would have tugged at his dark appetite, however now wasn’t the time to indulge in his cravings.
From the palace’s battlements, the baron stared down on the city of Brova, appraising the situation his cowa
rdly army had put him in. The very men who had boasted over the winter of how they would destroy the rebels in the spring now lay dead outside the city or trembled behind the palace walls telling stories of this so-called Slayer. It crossed his mind that he may have sent too many fighting men to invade Warmark, but the thought was fleeting. The men he had kept behind should have been more than sufficient to handle the rebellious peasants and the traitorous soldiers that had deserted during the winter.
It was Strom and his company of devils that had orchestrated the day’s defeat. It didn’t matter, the setback was only temporary. Tomorrow Strom and the rebels would die against the palace walls. They had no choice but to come up the road from Brova. The hill the palace sat on was far too steep; the road was the only way and it would take time for his enemies to organize. His men had reported the rebels had no catapults or siege engines. They would have to storm the walls if they wanted inside, a feat he didn’t believe they could accomplish. When the sun set tomorrow, the rebellion would be over. If any of them survived the assault, their army would disband and the peasants would go back to their crofts or villages in defeat. They had no stomach for a real fight and the soldiers and mercenaries were too few. All he needed to do was defeat Strom and the traitors, and Constantine’s peasants would blow away like leaves on the wind. Then he would make them pay dearly for their insurrection.
A slight sound made him turn his head. Danika came down the parapet towards him. The late queen would have been very displeased with both her daughter’s behavior and her attire. The woman’s long hair was free to flutter in the night’s light wind and she had painted her lips a deep red. The princess’s tight, low-cut gown displayed all her ample wares, while her hips moved with a practiced sway. The time he had spent on the princess over the years had proved worth the effort. Since she was a child, Danika had provided him with countless bits of information that helped lead to his ultimate domination of Trimenia, and the young woman had barely batted an eye when he asked her to slaughter her bridal party.
The Star Of Saree Page 39