Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  “What if that's the case, though?” Katarina asked quietly.

  Eleanor gave her a sunny smile as she put the last arrow in her quiver and stood, “If that's the case, then we die, killing as many of them as we can.”

  ***

  Sergeant Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion grunted as a spearman's thrust slipped under his shield and then bounced off his scale mail. The armor blunted it, but the force of the attack still pushed him back several feet. He saw the others around him withdraw as well. One of the guards ahead of him stumbled back as a thrown dagger caught him in the throat. For just a moment, a gap opened in the spear wall that blocked the corridor.

  Aerion let out a bellow then and charged the gap. A man to his side tried to stab him, but he was inside the spearman's reach and Aerion's blade punched through his armor into his stomach. Another guard dropped his spear and went for his dagger, but Walker was there beside him and a thrust through the guard's eye caused him to drop.

  A moment later, the other men from his squad surged around him and swept the last of the enemy away. Aerion rushed forward, for he could see the light of day through the arrow slits of this corridor. He could only hope he wasn't too late.

  Ahead of him, he saw one guard slip through a doorway. Behind him, Aerion saw what had to be the controls for the gate itself. The guard looked over his shoulder, a look of panic on his face, and he slammed the door. Aerion could hear the sound of bars and bolts being shot home. Behind him, he heard groans and shouts as his squad realized how close they'd come, only to be foiled by a last door.

  Behind them came more of Hector's men, enough to overwhelm them if they had no better place to fight than the corridor. He didn't slow, didn't pause, but he continued his run at the door. “Follow me!” he shouted as he ran at the door.

  Just before he struck the door, he tucked his shoulder behind his shield and activated a rune. It was one of Jasper's 'improvements' and the Wold armorsmith had explained that the shield stored up kinetic energy from impacts. Throughout the fight, each strike against his shield had added a bit more energy, along with what he had gained in training and practice bouts since his return to Lady Katarina's forces. Jasper had told him that he could trigger that energy in increments, depending on what rune he activated. Aerion wasn't certain how thick the door was or how strong it's defenses might be, so he activated the full measure of that force as he struck the door.

  The door exploded as he struck it. The backlash of energy threw Aerion backwards, even as it turned the heavy wood beams of the door into splinters and flung the twisted metal locking bars as further projectiles into the gatehouse room.

  Aerion's head spun and his ears rung. He shook his head and stumbled to his feet as his squad charged around him and through the doorway. Walker clapped him on the back and shouted something to him that he couldn't understand through the ringing in his ears. He followed the others through and saw no sign of any defenders... until he noticed a bloody mess against the far wall.

  Walker left his side and Aerion saw him activate the gate mechanism. A moment later, he felt the stone floor tremble beneath his feet. Most of his men seemed to slump at that, many pushed to the point of utter exhaustion. Aerion moved to a nearby arrow slit, just in time to see the first elements of Second Company begin to run up the last bit of road before the gate.

  “We have to hold this room!” Aerion shouted and moved to block the doorway. A glance over his shoulder showed that the tired, battered survivors began to drag themselves to their feet. Down the corridor, some of the Usurper's men had already begun to come forward. Where before Aerion had seen confidence on their faces, now he saw desperation. They must have seen Samen's company. They knew that they had only a few seconds to close the gates. More of them gathered, ready to rush the gatehouse and Aerion saw their numbers continue to increase. Five became ten, ten became fifteen. If they charged, Aerion knew that they could overwhelm his tired men in a single rush. Aerion's arms trembled with exhaustion and he saw that even Walker looked pale with exhaustion.

  Yet the enemy hesitated and Aerion saw an opportunity.

  “We've got them defeated!” he shouted. “Attack!”

  The men followed him, though they stumbled with exhaustion. That exhaustion seemed to lift though as the enemy shifted back at the sudden onslaught. Before Aerion had closed half the distance, he saw the men at the back drop their weapons and turn to run. A moment later, the entire group of guards had done the same and they went running away.

  Aerion stumbled to a halt and let them run. He pulled off his helmet and wiped at the blood and sweat that covered his face. His arms felt leaden and his legs shook as exhaustion and stress finally took their toll. He leaned against the wall, suddenly too tired to care if the others thought him weak. He closed his one good eye, but he couldn't shut out the memories of violence and blood in the tight corridors... or the flashes of death that had passed him by, sometimes by mere inches.

  When he opened his eye, he saw some of Samen's people, his people, had started down the corridor. “We're to secure the gatehouse,” Harela said. The woman's face was somewhat green, Aerion realized, and he saw that the others had to pick their way over the bodies that littered the corridor.

  Aerion nodded and pointed down the corridor. “It's open.” He shoved himself to his feet and felt alarm as he swayed a bit and almost fell.

  Harela put out a hand to halt him. “You've done enough. We'll handle it from here.”

  Aerion just gave the woman a nod. He didn't have the energy for anything else.

  ***

  Chapter Nine

  Lord Hector the Usurper Duke

  The Lonely Isle, Duchy of Masov

  22nd of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  “Sir,” one of his guards said, “We've a messenger.”

  Hector looked up from his maps. “Send him in.” They had defeated most of the sizable Armen forces that remained on the island, but each of the raid camps was a small fortification to itself. The Armen women who came south would defend their camps, he well knew, along with whatever men remained. Worse, the raiders who had plundered Boir were beginning to trickle north and their numbers bolstered those of the raid camps which made any strategy to wipe them out problematic without allies, more mercenaries, or both.

  “Her,” a cultured voice said as the tent flap went open. The woman who came in was short, with curly dark hair and mismatched eyes, one of violet and the other yellow.

  Hector recognized Lady Moratha from her description and he gave a quick look to the hilt of his sword. He saw no indication that she was using her abilities and returned his attention to her. He waited as she curtsied, “My Lord.”

  He gave her a return nod, “Lady Moratha.” While he distrusted her, for by nature she was both a mercenary and a witch, courtesy cost him nothing. Besides that, he thought, she's known to carry a grudge. “What message do you carry?”

  Her eyes narrowed a bit and the oddness of her mismatched eyes caught him off-guard again. The rumors he had heard about her made those eyes all the more disturbing. “Well, my Lord, as you know, I worked for you in the southern part of Masov for almost three cycles. During that time, I developed a chain of informants, among spirits, men, and women there to support my efforts.”

  He nodded at that and waved a hand at her to continue. He wasn't certain why she was reminding him of this, except possibly, to either impress him or to convince him of the accuracy of whatever she had to report. She can't lie, Hector thought, it's a fundamental part of being a witch; she can deceive, she can misdirect, but if she says something outright it means it is the truth as far as she knows it.

  “I regret to inform you,” Moratha said, “that one of my informants notified me that the Ryftguard has fallen to the forces of Lady Katarina.”

  It took Hector a long moment to make sense of her statement. “You can't be serious?” The very idea was absurd. The Ryftguard had held out against all manner of attacks. He'd walk
ed those halls, he knew the fortifications well enough. That was why he had allowed Covle Darkbit to draw down from a battalion to just two companies.

  “I'm afraid so,” Moratha nodded, her voice calm but Hector didn't didn't miss the slight twinkle of amusement in her mismatched eyes. It amused her that she was the one telling him this, not Covle Darkbit, not Grel, and not his Commander of the Ryftguard. That in itself told him that she was certain of the information, whatever its source.

  “One moment,” Hector said and turned away. He didn't bother to hide what he was doing as he activated the signal mirror and sent the call to Captan Renhard at the Ryftguard. Long moments passed without answer before he shut it off. He shot a glance at Moratha, who waited patiently. There could be some other excuse, he knew. Someone or something could deceive the witch and also prevent his signal from reaching the mirror at Ryftguard. He didn't see why someone would do that, but it didn't mean that it hadn't happened. He opened a channel to Covle Darkbit and waited for it to connect.

  Covle's face appeared after a long enough pause that Hector could guess the other man had taken his time. Darkbit's neatly trimmed blonde mustache and goatee, in the style of Boir's nobility, showed that whatever strains he was under, he had plenty of time for hygiene. “My Lord, to what do I owe the pleasure...”

  “Send a party to Ryftguard, tell them to be wary, the fortress may have fallen,” Hector said sharply. He studied the other man's face and it seemed to him that Darkbit took a little too long to show surprise.

  “My Lord, surely whatever has happened it is merely a miscommunication, I'll try to reach Captain–”

  “I've already tried that you idiot,” Hector snapped, his patience at an end. “And understand me, Darkbit, if Ryftguard has indeed fallen, it is you I hold responsible. You are the Commander of the South, you are the man who is supposed to be keeping this rebellion in check, at least until Commander Flamehair arrives to try some diplomacy.”

  “I don't need her here, my Lord,” Covle said, his voice laden with venom.

  “If Ryftguard has fallen, you've just proven you need more than her there, you'll need my entire army and more. Send a detachment, find out the truth and let me know what has happened. Do it quickly, keep it quiet, and by Andoral's Black Balls, do not fuck this up or I will relieve you and put someone who can get the job done in your place, am I understood?” Hector said the last in a cold, emotionless voice and he saw Covle Darkbit's face go pasty white.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Darkbit said quickly.

  “Good,” Hector said. “We will talk more later, find out what you can and inform me immediately.” He cut the connection and stared at his own reflection for a long moment in thought. He mentally chastised himself a bit for how he had allowed the man to get under his skin. Even so, it almost seemed as if Darkbit had wanted to provoke him. Hector trusted the bastard only as far as he must, but if Darkbit's martial skills had not made him invaluable, his knowledge of the Duchy of Masov's nobility and their dark secrets did so with plenty of room to spare. The fact that Hector could throw him to those same nobles as a means to salve their ego was a bonus which Hector didn't discount, either.

  Moratha cleared her throat and Hector started a bit. He turned, “Well, it seems that something, at least, is afoot in the south. So... what price does this information bring with it, Lady Moratha?” He kept his voice as neutral as he could manage, but he knew he would have an expression of distaste. Lady Moratha was known for having unpleasant tastes, both in favors called upon and in her forms of toying with those who ended up in need of her help.

  “Free of charge,” Moratha said, her voice pleasant. “I owed the... people who attacked you a debt for their meddling. I always see my debts paid.” Her violet eye seemed pleasant enough, but to Hector's gaze, her yellow eye seemed to be molten metal, burning with rage at whatever had occurred to draw her ire.

  “Well,” Hector said. “I appreciate the information. Now that you have joined up with my army, I hope you'll have a chance to put some of your other skills to good use. I understand you've something of a distaste for those who abuse women?”

  She shrugged, “If you seek to incite my anger against the Armen, my Lord, you needn’t bother. I've little love for the barbarians, less for their Noric allies, and hatred aplenty for the Vendakar who betrayed you for their own reasons.” Her slight smile showed that she saw his surprise at her knowledge.

  “Did you know about the Vendakar betrayal before it happened?” Hector asked quickly.

  “That, my Lord, is information you would need to pay for... though I can be very reasonable with such requests, information for information, you know,” she smiled. “And before you argue that I am already in your employ... well, you originally hired me to fight those who oppose your rule, which I will allow might include the Vendakar and Armen... so any information I pass along about them, in a strategic or tactical level would be fair game... but information about me is another thing entirely... as I prefer you to remain in power so that I can get paid.”

  Hector glowered at her, but he didn't press the issue. He hadn't missed how she danced around the issue either... and it would be just like a witch for her to accept a trade for the information that she was in the dark the whole time. “Very well, thank you for the information, Lady Moratha. With Veruna Nasrat on her mission to Boir, you are our most powerful witch. If you have the time, please prepare yourself for conflict with the Armen.”

  She gave him a nod and left. He didn't miss her as he pulled out a map of the entire Duchy and stared down at it. It was hard enough to run a campaign here in the north against the Armen when I had the presumption that the south was secure, Hector thought darkly. His gaze bored into the marks for the Ryftguard. The fortress controlled the only land passage across the Ryft and could also cut off sea passage along the it. The tolls from merchant traffic in both directions had been one of the highest incomes from the south. It's importance strategically cannot be overstated, he knew, if I have lost it, it goes well beyond a blow to the morale of my troops, it becomes a choke-hold which my enemies can use to strangle trade.

  Later he would think about how his enemies might have successfully attacked. Now he had to think about what actions he could take to soften the blow, if that was even possible. If the Ryftguard had fallen, then at least he knew for certain he was right to have sent Kerrel to the south. She, at least, would understand the importance of making peace, of preventing a general uprising. If she could prevent that, then he might be able to savage the Armen enough that they wouldn't descend in limitless numbers in the coming year.

  If things went badly though, he wouldn't hesitate to keep his promise to bring his army south and crush any rebellion. He had no choice, faced between invasion from the north and uprising in the south, he had to eliminate one threat first. Ancestors forgive me for what I'll have to do if that is the case, he thought darkly.

  ***

  Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken

  The Citadel, Boirton, Duchy of Boir

  25th of Martaan, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Grand Duke Christoffer Tarken scowled down at the map as the Duke's Council bickered around him. They had already discussed a variety of actions, both in response to the renegade Lord Hennings as well as to the Armen raiders. His patience had steadily eroded away under the constant vying for attention that many of the council made, as if to court his favor. What do I care about their status and such bickering, Christoffer thought darkly, as if I would respect them for their fawning attention or the way they undercut one another to look important.

  Lady Peele said, “I think, despite the careful deliberation of Lord Schilt, we all still have questions about this course of action.”

  “Such as what?” Christoffer all but snapped. He realized then, that it had been to provoke just that question as Lord VanEggar stood up.

  “Lord Tarken,” Lord VanEggar said quickly, a slight smile on his narrow face, “I don't see why you hate the Armen so. I mean, ye
s, they have attacked us here, but you yourself have spoken up in regards to individuals among them. You've even,” he coughed politely, “taken one of their women as your aide.” The aim of his statement was clear and it was well-enough known that as Chamberlain, he spent much of his time seeing to his own creature comforts here at the Citadel, rather than to his other duties.

  Christoffer felt his face harden. “I dislike the implication, Lord VanEggar.” He paused to let his displeasure be known as the silence drew out. “I do not hate them, but I acknowledge that they are a threat to us, given their culture, society, and their limited resources. They have to raid in order to survive in their current numbers. They have to raid in order to advance within their own society. This, then, is why we need to hurt them, and badly, else they'll see us as a prime target.”

  Lord VanEggar's smile turned a bit wooden, “I cannot help but wonder if this might be some sort of retaliation over the death of your older son?”

  Christoffer glared at the other man. The weasel-faced nobleman's nervous smile showed that he realized that he had overstepped the bounds of polite disagreement. “My son died in military service. It was not the death that I would want.” I'd not want him dead at all, Christoffer thought with pain at the sudden reminder. “He died doing his duty, defending Boir and doing everything he could to preserve his honor. Yes, he was killed by the Armen... but all of us have lost family or friends in this fight. Had he died fighting pirates, killed by the renegade Lord Hennings, by Norics, or even if he still lived, my resolve to conduct this attack plan against the Armen would remain unchanged.”

  “My Lord,” Lord VanEggar continued doggedly, “I feel I would be remiss if I did not speak up in regards to this plan of action...”

  “Did I miss something?” Christoffer snapped. He saw a look of surprise go across the other man's face and for just a moment, that was more than a little gratifying. “I did not ask for this position. Far from it, I was selected in such a way that I could not refuse, not without doing a severe blow to the morale of our people. That said, you've saddled me with this responsibility... but that goes both ways. You've made me the Grand Duke... I'm not a figurehead, I'm not going to sit back and allow your little plots and political maneuvers leave our Duchy open to attack. I will do what I must to defend our lands and our people. What that should mean to you, Lord VanEggar, is that if you disagree with what I have to say, you may, by all means, speak up. Once I have given my orders, however, you are presented two options: shut up and do what I say or attempt to remove me through whatever means you have the courage and willingness to accept. Am I understood?”