by Kal Spriggs
There was a sharp rap on the office door and a moment later, Midshipman Patris opened it, “Gentlemen, we've received a summons from the Council, they wish all senior officers to assemble at the Citadel.” The young boy's voice was high pitched with excitement.
Both men rose to their feet quickly and Christoffer didn't miss the slight nod from his friend. Clearly, whatever this was, it was somewhat expected. “Very well, Midshipman Patris, we'll head that way presently. Please inform my escort and notify Admiral Tarken's as well.”
The Midshipman hurried out and Christoffer cocked an eyebrow at his friend, “Big events afoot?”
The smile that Albert gave him was a mix of nervous and excited. “Oh, events which I think will answer many of our questions that we've been waiting on. But I think you should go ahead, I've some preparations to make and I think we need a presence there for the Navy established right away.”
Christoffer nodded at that. If, as he suspected, this was the announcement of the new Grand Duke, then the Navy should show their support. As the second-highest officer in the Navy, his presence would establish that the Navy would support the Council's decision. “I'll see you there.”
“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Admiral Albert Gerhard said.
Christoffer walked quickly out of the offices and then straight to the front entrance of the Admiralty. Waiting, as always, he found Jenkins and Brussels, as well as Siara. Nikolas, as had become usual, had remained at the Citadel to take care of the suite. Christoffer suspected some part of that was his steward's relief at his Admiral's recovery from depression. Christoffer also suspected that his steward had some surprise planned, either in relation to the news of his daughter's survival or perhaps in connection with Captain Elias Wachter's upcoming promotion. Well, so long as this new Duke approves it, he reminded himself.
He waited a moment while Jenkins went outside. “What is happening, my Lord?” Siara asked.
Christoffer shrugged, “We've been summoned to the Citadel. Some kind of announcement, I imagine.” He didn't want to say more in such a public place, but even with what he did say, he saw heads turn from the others who waited here.
Jenkins returned and they went out to his carriage. The ride through town seemed to take longer than usual and outside the carriage's curtains he saw the streets were more crowded than usual. Clearly word of the summons had spread... and more people expected an announcement of the new Grand Duke.
The carriage dropped them off at the Garden Gate and Christoffer was met by one of Lord Erich's aides. “My Lord, the Council and assembled notables will be at Vortrag Square overlook. There will be seating for yourself as well as a guest and your escorts.”
Christoffer felt his eyebrows lift at that. He managed a nod and glanced at Siara. He didn't think of her as his guest, but clearly Lord Erich, at least, realized that he respected her advice. The acknowledgment of her presence wasn't, quite, a statement of approval, but it would be a sign that her presence would be accepted. He had seen none of the expected racism towards her since he had spoken up at the docks. Christoffer could only assume that the word had gone out that he would not tolerate such bigotry.
Christoffer followed the aide through the corridors until they reached the entrance to the overlook. He found Nikolas there and his steward tiched with disapproval at the state of his uniform. Christoffer waited patiently as the wizened little man adjusted his coat and brushed at specks of dust before finally giving a slight nod, “It will have to do, my Lord.”
Christoffer snorted at that, but he didn't respond. He knew that, even without his relative fame, his height and appearance would make him stand out amongst the various notables. Vortag Square was the largest open area courtyard attached to the Citadel. It had been designed during the rule of the High Kings, with a view towards acoustics and admitting a large audience. Votrag Square had seating for up to five thousand and standing room for up to four times that. He didn't truly mind Nikolas ensuring his uniform looked impeccable under these circumstances.
As he stepped out onto the overlook, he felt himself hesitate a bit as he took in the crowds below. The overlook had served as stage for everything from the occasional play or performance put on for the masses, to the brutal mass executions under Emperor Dalton, to political announcements and commendations given by the Duke. This was also, Christoffer knew, where a new Grand Duke was normally announced. It was some thirty feet above the lowest tier of the Square and today the broad platform held a number of chairs as well as a speaker's podium.
He looked around then and he wasn't surprised to see that not only were most of the loyal nobility present, but also many of the wealthy merchant families and even representatives from the Iron Wizards. His eyes locked on where Hans Bacher and Luthor Stachter both sat near the podium. The aide guided him to his seat, uncomfortably near the front of the assembled notables, but thankfully far down from the podium. Siara took the empty seat behind him without word, though he didn't miss how her dark eyes searched the crowd and notables with inquisitive attention.
As he took his seat, General Schoelhorn grunted at him, “As if we weren't busy enough already, we've got this dog and pony show.” As always, his harsh voice sounded disgruntled.
Christoffer ignored the snort of approval behind him from Siara and raised an eyebrow at him, “You don't think this is important?”
The Army General gave him a bit of a sneer, “This? This is just a show. They've already made their selection and either they want to force him to take the job or they want the crowds to back him. We're just here to make whoever it is look good.”
Christoffer nodded a bit, despite himself. He could see the point of the venue and the secrecy. If they had decided to force Hans Bacher to take the position, announcing it in front of the crowd would be ideal. Any protest on his part would be disastrous, a fact that even the scholar couldn't miss. Anyone protesting they didn't want to be the Grand Duke in front of the crowds would be a hammer blow to the morale of the people, a sign that surely they must be in dire straits. On the other hand, to get support for a potentially unpopular choice, such as Luthor Stachter, the general support of Boir's nobility and notables might be just the thing to turn popular support for the Mageborn.
“Have you heard anything about their final decision, yet?” Christoffer asked.
“No,” Schoelhorn grunted, “Though they pulled Colonel Stachter away from my planning session early this morning. And I know him well enough to see past that mask-like expression of his, he is both frustrated and uncomfortable up there, so I can only assume he's not happy with whatever they've told him.” The General seemed to take some perverse pride in that, almost as if he expected the noblemen to screw over the military somehow. Clearly he expects them to go with Hans Bacher, then, Christoffer thought.
Christoffer sat in silence as he watched more of the crowds surge into the square. The seated sections had long since filled and the people coming in now were mostly common people, though Christoffer recognized Navy and Army uniforms scattered amongst the crowds.
A few minutes later, as the square seemed filled to capacity, the last of the Council arrived, clearly from a meeting. Christoffer didn't miss the deep-set frown on Lady Diana or the calm, satisfied expressions from Lord Erich and Lord Schilt. So this decision is not unanimous and probably was very hard fought, he thought.
Admiral Albert Gerhard came over, leaning on his cane and took his seat next to Christoffer. “Good turn out, eh, old friend?”
Christoffer nodded at that. He could see the crowds extended outside the square and probably ran down the streets for some distance. Whatever the events planned, the news would quickly spread throughout the city thanks to tens of thousands of witnesses. With the various nobles present, Christoffer knew that the official witnesses alone would make it hard for anyone to gainsay what occurred.
At that thought, Lord Erich, Baron Rothlim stepped up to the podium, his face stern. “People of Boir,” he said, and whether it wa
s the acoustics of Vortag Square and his oratory skills or some aide by the Iron Wizards, his voice easily reached the far corners of the square. “It has been seven months since the death of Grand Duke Becket and his family. In that time, you have suffered much: we have seen an invasion the likes of which has not been seen in generations, a military disaster unrivaled in recent history, and losses among both military and civilians that have robbed many of their loved ones.”
The crowd's murmurs died away into a somber silence. “Yet we have also seen victories. The Armen raiders pushed back, some of our ships recovered, and some of our loved ones rescued from captivity or even from presumed loss. We have seen the successes of our Navy and the perseverance of the Army... and we have even seen the ranks of the Order of King Gordon stand at our forefront in our defense.”
There were rumbles at that from the crowds, even a few cheers here and there. Christoffer found himself nodding. Clearly Lord Erich was a skilled orator, but how much lead up did he feel he needed? Christoffer caught a look from the man, then, as he gazed at the men and women on the platform with him. Clearly then, he spoke to them as much as he did the crowds. Perhaps, Christoffer thought, his choice will be ill-received by the notables, then?
“What you have not seen, until today, is an announcement of a new Grand Duke,” Lord Erich said. The stocky man sighed, “And in many ways, we of the Council have failed you. The rumors of Lord Hennings' treason, the catastrophic losses of Grand Duke Becket and his entire family in the terrible attack here on the Citadel, and other shocks have not made this an easy decision.” He hung his head a bit, “I will admit, that without my friend, the man who appointed me as his senior adviser, I felt lost. Yet, even so, when we examined the decision, we returned to one selection who stood out above the other potentials.”
Christoffer leaned forward a bit in his seat. At last, it seemed, the Council would announce their decision. He felt a wave of relief, then, as he realized that his plans for attacking the Armen would not be in vain. I must convince the new Grand Duke of the importance of the mission, he thought, soon it may be too late to act.
“In this time of threats, we need a leader with a military background and the strength of character to lead our nation. More than that, we need someone who has a right to that power, who no one can argue deserves the position,” Lord Erich said. Christoffer nodded a bit at that, it seemed they had settled upon Luthor Stachter then. He will serve well, Christoffer thought, which is good, it will overcome some of the Mageborn distrust.
“One man has defended Boir with both tenacity and dedication. One man has fought the odds, to gain the fierce loyalty of his men and the proper respect from nobles and commoners alike.” Christoffer felt a hollowness open in his stomach as he began to put together the implications. “And only one man bears both the blood of Grand Duke Andros and the old bloodline, that ties him to Grand Duke Gustav in an unbroken line.”
Christoffer gasped a bit in shock and behind him he heard Siara mutter under her breath, “As I expected.” In other circumstances, the pleasure in her voice might have made him smile, but just now he wanted to turn and glare at her.
“Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken,” Lord Erich said and turned to gaze over at him, “has become a hero. He is the grandson of Grand Duke Andros through his mother... and the direct descendant of Grand Duke Gustav. More than that, as some of you have no doubt heard, he has recovered the Ducal Blade of Boir... and turned it over to the Council instead of attempting to use it to influence our decision.”
Lord Erich gave Christoffer a slight smile, “Lord Tarken, please come before the Council.”
Christoffer rose on legs that suddenly felt weak. He didn't want this, but he didn't see any way to stop it. The very arguments he'd seen to potentially force Hans Bacher into the position worked just as well against him. How would the people see it if he rejected this honor? They would be devastated if a military man turned it down and assume the worst.
A glance at Admiral Albert Gerhard showed the old man had a satisfied smile on his face, matched by the one on Siara. General Schoelhorn looked surprised and possibly even a bit disappointed. He expected Bacher, then, Christoffer thought, so that he could complain about a scholar who knew nothing of war.
Christoffer's back felt painfully straight as he moved to the podium. “Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken,” Lord Eric said, his voice taking on a formal tone, “Before these witnesses, the Council recognizes your blood, your right, and your duty to take the position of Grand Duke.” He turned to where Sir Harald stood. The knight offered up the Ducal Blade, and Lord Erich took it. “You have been selected by both the Council and our ancestors to serve us in this time of need.”
“Kneel, please,” Lord Erich said and Christoffer sank to his knees, suddenly grateful that the trembling in his legs could be stilled by the stone platform of the overlook. Lord Erich offered up the Ducal Blade, hilt first, “Lord Tarken, do you accept this position, will you be Boir's defender, champion, and ruler? Will you take up the blade of your ancestors and lead your people to victory once more?”
As if with a will of its own, Christoffer's arm moved forward to rest upon the hilt. Christoffer spoke and he projected it as he would aboard the deck of a ship in battle. “I, Lord Admiral Christoffer Tarken, take upon me these duties and swear so upon the spirits and blood of my ancestors.”
“Rise then, Lord Christoffer Tarken, Grand Duke of Boir.”
Christoffer rose and as he did so, Lord Erich stepped back, holding onto the sheath. Christoffer lifted up the blade. The crowd below him began to cheer, their voices rising into a roar that almost buffeted him from his feet. As they did so, the blade in his hand flashed into light, a powerful blue glow that washed over the crowd and seemed to fill every inch of Vortag Square.
***
Chapter Seven
Lady Katarina Emberhill
Watkowa Village, Duchy of Masov
15th of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering
Katarina sat on her horse and considered the ruins of Watkowa Village as her army swept past. Well, she thought, perhaps army is too strong a word for three companies.
It was a sizable force, far more than she had expected to lead on her return to the Duchy of Masov. Indeed, she could admit to herself now that she had never expected to lead any force. She had come home, expecting to appeal to her cousin to allow her to live in exile, perhaps to agree to some arranged marriage with one of his generals to legitimize his rule and prevent further assassination attempts. At most, I expected him to make me his heir, she thought.
Yet here was where all that had changed. A freak snow-storm in late spring had delayed her in the pass, nearly killed her, in fact. Yet because of that delay, when Hector's Hound, Grel, had come to the village, he had found her decoy, sent ahead by her armsman to trigger any such traps.
Grel had killed her small escort of mercenaries and put the village to the torch. Only the intervention of another of Lord Hector's mercenaries had allowed any villagers to escape. On her arrival to the scorched remains, the first kindling of her fiery resolve had taken light. Lord Hector's mercenaries had destroyed an entire village... out of convenience. The survivors they had captured had been tried and given the Traitor's Death for the attack, which they still claimed had resulted in her death.
If Hector and his men would exterminate a village to eliminate me, she thought, then he must be held accountable for his actions. Some part of her had already been willing to fight him for the murder of her little brother, mother, and father. The callus destruction she saw here had brought that to the forefront of her mind.
“And now,” she said lightly, “We are come full circle.” Now she had three companies of soldiers, many of whom had lost family in this attack. Now she had the power to begin making Hector pay for his crimes. At that thought, she had a sudden mental image of Aerion, the young man who had come from this very village. Aerion was the only survivor of those given to the Traitor's Death, she and Gerlin a
nd Bulmor had rescued him from that punishment, in a state near death. He had become one of her first recruits, then he had become her friend... and when they came to Southwatch, he had become something more than that.
She knew that Aerion was almost certainly dead, for he had led a distraction that had allowed her and her other followers to escape the trap at Southwatch, laid by a mysterious wizard and a host of Armen and Norics. His death was at their hands, she knew, but he would never have been in danger if not for Hector. And there were some mercenaries in his colors in the initial assault, she reminded herself.
“Deep thoughts, my Lady?” Arren Smith asked, his old voice strong but with a quiver of age.
Katarina gave the bearded man a sad smile, “Thinking about how this all started.”
“A complicated thought,” Arren said, his voice cautious. He adjusted his floppy-brimmed hat and looked down at the ruins himself. “Easy enough to blame Hector for this... but that does him a little bit of disservice, I fear.”
“What?” Katarina said harshly. “It was his men who did this... at his orders, no less.”
“Yes,” Arren nodded. “And yet, do you think he expected them to kill a village to do it? It was Grel who did the deed, a man known for his particular... interests.”
Despite herself, Katarina nodded in reply. Grel, often called Hector's Dog, had a reputation for savagery. Though he had started out as a sergeant under Lord Hector, he had since become a captain of a band of miscreants whose deeds were long in the grudges of those who opposed Hector. “Still, he knows the qualities of the men he sent.”
“Of course, but I think he didn't have much choice,” Arren said softly. “Who else could he trust to murder you... and to keep it secret? Did he expect Grel to kill an entire village to do it? I doubt it, but he knew there would be some consequences. I think he most likely thought it was worth the risk, though I can't venture why.”