Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  Commander Covle Darkbit

  Covle rotated his neck until it popped and he sighed. He sniffed at the decanter of wine and grimaced, “What I wouldn't give for an Iron Fortress Ninety Three.”

  “You'll have that and more,” a voice hissed. Covle spun and saw Grel standing only a few feet away, a box clasped in his hands.. For a moment, he relaxed... until he saw the baleful green glow in the other man's eyes.

  “Xavien?” Covle whispered.

  “Who else?” Xavien answered with Grel's throat. He took Covle's seat and put his feet up. “Things are going entirely too well at this peace talk. I thought I told you to break it up.”

  “I'm trying,” Covle said. “Flamehair's too good at smoothing things over. Sometimes it's like she and Katarina are old friends. For that matter, Grel hasn't managed to pick a single fight so far.”

  “Well,” Xavien said, “My patience is up.” He reached inside the box he carried and pulled out a pair of daggers. “These will go a long way towards fixing the situation.”

  “What are they?” Covle asked nervously.

  Xavien drew the first one and Covle saw that the dark iron blade had a spiderweb of patterns worked into its surface and it glistened with an odd shade of green, rather similar to Grel's eyes, now that Covle thought to look. “They're a mix of wizardry and sorcery. They'll punch through almost any armor with ease... and they have a very nasty parasite that coats the blade's surface.”

  Covle grinned, “Who do I get to stick?”

  “You,” Xavien said, “will get your chance to take care of Kerrel. I think that her loss will push Hector over the edge, guarantee a war.” He smiled as he passed over the dagger and drew the other one, “I'll put this one in Hector's mother, to seal the deal.”

  ***

  Gerlin

  “Excuse me, I seem to have lost my way; could you help me find my suites?” A woman's aristocratic voice spoke from behind him.

  Gerlin turned and he felt his shoulders hunch as he saw her face. “Miss, I'm sorry, but you're not supposed to be in this part of the fortress.” Damn, he thought, I hoped to avoid seeing her at all.

  “Oh, well, I'm not certain where my guards got off to... perhaps you could show me back to where I'm supposed to be?” She blinked her lashes at him and he didn't bother to restrain a sigh.

  He looked over at where the two scout sergeants waited, tempted to ask one of them to escort her. No use, Gerlin thought sourly, she'll just slip away and confront me some other time. “Yeah, of course, I'll show you back to your suites,” he said and glanced at the scout sergeants again, “We'll pick this up later.”

  He waved for her to accompany him and started down the hallway. She fell in next to him and took his arm, “Oh, I do love these old fortresses, don't you?”

  Gerlin grimaced as they rounded the corner and saw the hallway was empty. Of course, he thought, she picked her ambush point well. “What do you want, Halyna?”

  She gave him a pout, “Now, why would I need to want anything besides your company?”

  Gerlin stopped and pulled his arm free. He glared at her and blue eyes the mirror of his own met his gaze without flinching. “Did Hector send you to win me over?”

  “Your father doesn't admit it, but he misses you,” Halyna said softly.

  Gerlin almost spat at the word. He hadn't thought of Hector as his father in cycles, not since the night where Hector had rejected him and discarded years of loyalty. It was a wound he did not want reopened.

  “I miss you too, Cyryl,” Halyna said.

  “That's not my name anymore,” Gerlin snarled. He stepped back and looked away. “Hector threw all that away.” The memories of that night were still stark to him. He could almost feel the burn on his face where his father had slapped him. The words he had used, the way Hector had looked at him, was worse. He spoke to me as if I were some polluted bit of filth, Gerlin thought bitterly.

  “You're still his blood,” Halyna said. “And you're serving his enemies...”

  “I'm protecting his cousin and I nearly saved her entire family,” Gerlin said. “And if that means that I end up helping to take down Hector... to take down you, then what of it?” He felt the bite as he said the words, though. For so long, all he had wanted was his father's approval. It wasn't even as if he disagreed with Hector's goals, merely with how he went about them.

  “You could return to him as a hero, you know,” Halyna said. “You have access to Katarina...”

  Gerlin glowered at her. “No.”

  She sighed, “It would make things so much simpler. All this talk and discussion... the rebels wouldn't have anyone to lead them. I could have everyone's weapons put away in a week if they didn't have their figurehead.” Her tone was more wistful than anything else, which told him that she hadn't expected to sway him.

  “Why are you really here?” Gerlin asked He kept his voice as level as possible.

  “I'm here to try to resolve all this,” Halyna said. “Your father doesn't trust Darkbit, much less Grel, they're either bunglers or possibly in the pay of some ambitious noble who wants to stir up a civil war.” She frowned, “He still does need you, you know. The Armen and those Vendakar mercenaries he trusted were nearly the death of him. He could use someone he can trust.”

  Gerlin looked away, the plea had a stronger pull than he wanted to admit. Yet Katarina trusted him and needed him. He had spent cycles with her and Bulmor, watching over her, protecting her. He couldn't abandon her. For that matter, he thought, she hasn't said that Hector would even welcome me back. It wouldn't be unlike his father to reject him if he did return and that reminder overwhelmed the tenderness he felt towards Halyna. “No, he needs people who tell him what he wants to hear or lackeys that will do what he tells them without question,” Gerlin shook his head. “Does he even know where I am?”

  Halyna nodded, “He does. It hurts him, which I'm sure is part of why you've stayed with her.”

  “Good,” Gerlin said, his voice harsh. “Tell him that he's made his decisions, as have I.”

  “It doesn't have to be this way,” Halyna said softly.

  “Yes it does,” Gerlin said. “You taught him that the ends justify the means. He tried to beat that into me too... but I've seen where that leads.”

  Halyna rolled her eyes, “Well, you go ahead and keep on fighting the good fight. Let me know how that works out when the Armen burn these lands to the ground.” She shook her head, “Now...”

  She trailed off as a pair of guards came round the far corner. “...thank you so much for showing me the way, I was so lost.” She fluttered her eyelashes at the two men as they approached, “Can you believe how big this place is? I feel just so overwhelmed....”

  Gerlin shut out her words as he frowned at the two guards who approached. While they both wore the new uniforms that Katarina had commissioned, they fit them poorly. Which didn't make sense, because it was the women of Watkowa who had taken individual measurements and sewn each of the uniforms. More, Gerlin didn't recognize either man, which was unusual, since he'd made a point of interviewing everyone who came in for news and intelligence.

  His eyes went wide as he saw their weapons, though. Most of their people had spears, it was easier to train someone to fight in ranks with a spear than almost any other weapon. Both of them, though, wore swords. What worried him the most, though, was how both of them had their eyes on Halyna. They're here for her, he realized.

  He pushed Halyna behind him and drew his own sword, a moment later, both men drew their weapons and charged. “For Lady Katarina!” Gerlin cried out and rushed to meet them.

  ***

  Commander Kerrel Flamehair

  Kerrel stumbled to a halt as she very nearly ran into a large man as she returned from meeting with Baran and Jonal. She had decided to keep her entire company outside the walls. They were cavalrymen, better on horse than in the narrow corridors of the fortress should the worst happen. She didn't trust Grel's men or most of Covle's with her own secu
rity, but Rasev Ironhelm was another matter. His men were better on foot and in the narrow corridors than her own would be and she'd no complaints so far.

  But the long trek out the gates had become more than annoying, it had become a tedious event, especially with a full escort of Rasev's men. She had come to realize that most of Lady Katarina's forces wanted peace just as much as her. Even the hotheads among them didn't have a personal grudge with her, so she had dispensed with the normal escort.

  She paused, though, as she stared up at the big young man who had very nearly bowled her over. She felt a spark of familiarity as she stared at him, especially his single blue eye, the other hidden behind an eyepatch. “I'm sorry,” Kerrel said, “I should have paid more attention to where I was going.”

  He shook his head, “You... you're the one that stopped Grel from sacking the village.”

  “What?” Kerrel asked, taken off guard. Then suddenly, she recognized him and blanched, “Oh, ancestors, you're one of the prisoners I turned over to Covle Darkbit.” She took a step backwards and the missing eye under his patch and the scars she saw on his arms took on a new meaning. “I'm sorry.”

  He looked down and she saw his jaw clench. “Sorry...” he shook his head, “Fifty-three of the men, women and children of my village died in that attack. I'll admit, it would have been more if you hadn't stopped him, but you still wear Hector's colors, so you can't be all that sorry.”

  “Look here...” she paused as she realized she didn't remember his name, “I didn't want it to happen, either the destruction of your village or the joke of a trial you received, but you don't have any idea what you're talking about.”

  “I don't?” he snapped, “People died.”

  “Ah... Aerion, Kerrel, I see you met one another,” A quavering voice said. Kerrel turned to see Arren Smith in the corridor. “Perhaps you could keep introductions to a more moderate tone or at least a less public location?”

  Kerrel bit back a retort as she saw the old man. “Yeah, how about we do that.” Arren waved them ahead of him and then pointed down to an unmanned sentry post. Kerrel led the way into the narrow room and then glowered at Aerion, “Now, I think you owe me an apology.”

  “I owe you an apology...” Aerion trailed off, his face flushed with anger.

  “Hold on, hold on,” a familiar voice said genially. Kerrel looked over to see the man that Katarina had introduced as Arren Smith, but she knew him as Jay, though she knew that wasn't his real name either. “Now, allow me to make introductions. Commander Flamehair, this is Captain Aerion Swordbreaker. Captain Swordbreaker, this is Commander Kerrel Flamehair.”

  “Wait, she's Lord Hector's envoy?” Aerion asked incredulously.

  “He's a captain? He barely looks old enough to shave!” Kerrel said, with a great deal of surprise of her own. She looked at Arren and then back to the boy. “What exactly is going on here?”

  Jay sighed, “You can talk freely, he already knows most of it.”

  Kerrel looked at the boy again. “What?”

  “He knows my goals, he's already heard some of your involvement,” her agent said. “And for that matter, he's in this just as deep as you or I at this point.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” Kerrel said. Still she took a deep breath and looked at Aerion. What she saw, when she looked past his anger and his age, impressed her. He wore scale mail, but she saw it had been improved with runes, in tightly interlocked patterns that shifted as he moved. She wasn't familiar with the style, but she would guess that it was as effective as it was pretty. She saw he had a shield and helmet under his right arm and a sword sheathed on his left hip. Something about the sword bothered her, it almost felt like she couldn't quite focus to see the details of it.

  All in all, Aerion was tall, well muscled, and there was a hardness to him that suggested he had seen his fair share of battles. Up close, she could smell sweat on him, like he had just come from weapons practice. Under other circumstances she would have signed him up to serve in her company just given the way he moved. It was clear that he not only had muscle, but also fine control, something rare in most big men.

  Aerion, for his part looked over at Jay, “Wait, she's part of this conspiracy too? Is she part of the Luciel Order?” His voice was derisive, as if he didn't think much of that.

  “You've told him about that?” Kerrel asked sharply. She felt her stomach twist with worry, if anyone had overheard...

  “It's come up recently,” Jay said, his voice no longer that of Arren. He gave Aerion a level look, “and that's not meant to be discussed lightly, am I understood?” While Kerrel didn't miss the tone of authority he used, she also didn't miss the fact that he addressed Aerion with respect rather than as a subordinate. Who is this boy that he commands respect from Jay, she wondered, the same respect as he might address me?

  Aerion nodded, but his blue eye came back to Kerrel. “I still can't believe you manage to work for Hector.” The way he said Lord Hector's name was like curse.

  Kerrel shrugged, “He's not as bad as you think.” She shook her head, “I don't even know why I'm trying to explain myself to you.” Even so, she realized why a moment later: she did feel that she owed the young man something. She had turned him over to be tortured and executed in a mockery of justice. She'd done so because she swore an oath to Hector, yes, but also because at the time Covle Darkbit had three companies positioned to massacre her own troops if they hadn't gone along with it. When it had come down to it, she'd turned him over and then continued in Hector's service. Worse, she thought, was that I forgot about it, pushed it out of my mind and moved on...

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to meet Aerion's gaze. Her eyes shied away from the empty eye socket, covered by the patch. “I'm sorry,” Kerrel said. “It was wrong to turn you over to Darkbit. It was wrong to allow Grel to live after what he did at Watkowa... but it was all I knew to do.”

  He still looked angry at that, but he gave her a nod.

  “Now,” Jay said softly, “Now that we've got that out of the way... we need to talk.”

  “Oh?” Kerrel asked. “I've been trying to talk with you for the past week, why the sudden change?” She still felt uncomfortable about discussing this in front of one of Katarina's officers. For that matter, how much would Katarina know? While she doubted the noblewoman was a constant companion of the boy, certainly he must attend meetings as a captain? At that thought, she looked at Aerion again and she could hardly believe that he knew how to run a squad, much less a company. He was just a boy only a few months ago, she thought distractedly, how could he have changed so much in so little time? Even as she stared at him again, though, she felt an odd sense of familiarity, something about his face and the shape of his eyes...

  Jay grimaced, “Cederic just confirmed something that we suspected. Grel is in contact with a wizard we fought at the Southwatch, a wizard who is allied with Armen and Norics.”

  Kerrel bit back a curse, “Does he have proof?” Her instinct was to take it to Lord Hector, but she didn't know if he would believe her. For that matter, she wasn't certain that she believed Grel was smart enough to conceal that.

  “Nothing that would convince a court, if that's what you're thinking,” Jay said. “From what he said, there's a frequency to most wizard's communication and whatever just happened with Grel, it had that frequency,” he adjusted the floppy brim to his ridiculous hat. She hated this persona, in part, because it was the one he'd first fooled her with.

  “Fine,” Kerrel said. “I'll deal with it myself.” She'd have to arrange for it with Rasev, have some of his men escort Grel outside the fortress and then he and she could deal with Grel.

  She looked at Aerion again, “I trust you won't be passing this along to Lady Katarina?”

  He flushed at that, “I know how to keep things quiet...” He looked down, “I suppose it's too much to ask that I get a piece of him?”

  She shook her head, “I don't think you're in his league. Grel's a trained k
iller, we'll probably lose several people taking him down.” She frowned then as his sword's hilt caught her eye again. There was something about it that was familiar, like a drawing she'd seen once. Her eyes went wide as she suddenly managed to look at it clearly. No, she thought and looked over at Jay, it can't be...

  Aerion's head jerked around, “Do you smell that?”

  “What?” Kerrel asked, still stunned by the fact that this common born nobody carried the most valuable treasure in the world. She took a sniff, “I don't smell...” She cocked her head, “That's smoke.”

  Jay blanched, “Fire. The wizard must have signaled Grel to start something, they've lit a fire, either as a distraction or an attack.” He looked between them, “We have to move, we have to stop Grel!”

  To her relief, Aerion didn't argue. It seemed he knew how to handle himself in a fight after all. “My company is in the best position, if we can get there we'll have a hundred men, ready to fight.” Lady Katarina put him in charge of her reserve? Kerrel thought. After the realization of what he carried, she didn't know if she should further raise her appreciation of him or lower her appreciation of Lady Katarina.

  In the distance, down the corridors, Kerrel heard the sound of a shout and then a sharp scream, suddenly cut off. Clearly it had already become a fight within the narrow corridors.

  “Let's go,” Jay said and Kerrel followed him out the door.

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  Captain Aerion Swordbreaker

  The Ryftguard, Duchy of Masov

  3rd of Namak, Cycle 1000 Post Sundering

  Aerion followed Commander Flamehair and Aramer through the corridors at a run. He felt certain that his company knew what to do, but even if they didn't, he knew he could get them to move in the right direction.

  “We've got to find out what's going on,” Flamehair snapped, just as a cluster of soldiers boiled out of the corridor ahead of them. They wore a mix of Lady Katarina's red and white and Hector's yellow and black and they hacked at each other with both desperation and hatred.