Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  “Nay, I don’t.” The stronger boy’s hand twisted, turning Jak’s forearm, lifting it. The sleeve of the robe fell back, exposing the skin. Both boys stared at the scars for a moment. “Calla was right,” Kluber exclaimed. “I don’t understand these, I don’t understand what’s happened to you, and I don’t understand what’s happening to…come on, Jak. Come with me.”

  For a few steps, Jak resisted. But not violently, and Kluber’s momentum propelled them along the corridor. Then he found his own step, matching the long strides while a resolution formed in his mind. The purpose of knowledge was power, and the purpose of power was to control events. Jak had already learned so much, surely he could assuage any misgivings that plagued his friends. I can, for I must.

  Kluber led the way into the small common chamber between their sleeping cells. The two girls sat upon resting chairs in separate corners, each looking up at the boys’ arrival. Jak’s eyes longingly found Calla’s face, hoping to calm his racing thoughts. Despite the recent icier demeanor, gazing upon its peaceful innocence brought a warmth and solace to his heart. But not now, for serenity had been overcome by naked distress.

  “Is-s that Jak?” came a voice, and his gaze turned to Kleo. She stood and came forward eagerly, a smile forming as the light caught her features—once as lovely as Calla’s, now marred by a thin layer of flaky scales stretching from chin to forehead. “Are you going to s-stay with us-s awhile?” she asked hopefully.

  “Of course,” he replied, as calmly as he could manage. “I’m sorry I’ve neglected you all.”

  The waning strength in his legs forced him to sit. Even with all the knowledge he had learned, Jak remained as powerless as ever. I must, but I can’t.

  That eve, Jak cornered Disciple Hobbes just as Kluber had cornered him. “Tell me more of Nagnuaqua. And Tempus.”

  “Unhand me, Child. There, that is better. Now…there is much to tell. Do you desire a full lesson? Or perhaps you have questions.”

  “Why do they fight one another? How do the fires aid Tempus? How can we stop Nagnuaqua’s corruption?”

  Hobbes nodded. “These questions warrant longer answers, but I see you are impatient. Very well. They fight because they are devils, and it is the way of devils to fight—”

  “Wait,” Jak interrupted. “Nagnuaqua is a devil, but Tempus is a god.”

  “Is that so?” The old man raised an eyebrow. A show of curiosity—or amusement. “Have you not learned the meaning of ‘Versatz?’ It is a title we use for those you call gods, a word derived from the older Hrathan tongue to signify falsity.

  “The devil Reglaku is also known as Versatz Tempus, whom you simply call Tempus. And Nagnuaqua as Yagos. So it is for all your deities—Shuberath is mighty Theus by his Hrathan name. Ithicus is Orkus, your god of wisdom. It is his artifact you abuse so.”

  Jak had trouble associating the precious object in his pocket with evil.

  “When the hratha rebelled from the Chekiks, they needed gods of their own. Gods they could believe were good, or at least benign. They needed the power, without the guilt of consorting with evil. Always childish, willing to believe what they desired.

  “Most, anyway. Some few refused to recognize the role of divinity, believing instead that strength was not worth compromise. These fools believed submission and subservience preferable to self-deception. Their descendants have paid the price for that decision ever since. They live inside the empire, but not truly within.

  “They are the exception, however. Most accepted the new deities without question. Then, and now, willfully ignorant of the truth.

  “This temple works in secret so that those above may continue that ignorance. Barely aware of what they call gods, but not quite forgetting them. Continuing the rituals without knowing why. The burning of the dead in your home, for example.”

  Jak felt the panic of his nightmares returning, along with the headaches and anxiety. Once more, the air inside the dead city was too sparse to breathe.

  “The rites you practice…blood to Versatz Kron, Father Earth—of which we do not approve—that is an offering to Bellugug, the scorpion with two tails.”

  Hobbes smiled sadly. “I’m surprised you have not learned this on your own. The pace of your study is remarkable—the fastest I’ve beheld, to speak true—but you ascend too quickly, Disciple Jak, like a climber without rope. Even the boy Riff understood this…” He leaned back, once again studying Jak intently. “Or, perhaps, you do learn, but do not wish to admit.”

  All trace of amusement was gone, his tone grave. “The world is poisonous, as I have already made clear. There are no gods, Child. Only devils. You seek a miracle to save your friend—but there are no miracles. Only sacrifice.

  “It is too late for your friend, the corruption too strong, the peril to others too long unabated. The girl must burn.”

  8

  Neublusten

  “The priests look to the gods, but so far the gods remain silent. Oh, thank you, Lass.” Arturo lifted his cup of tea from the immense silver platter carried by the serving girl, a young, pretty blonde of thirteen or fourteen years. She held its considerable weight from a single point with deceptively strong fingers.

  “What is your name, Lass?” Nico asked.

  “Pris, My Prince.”

  “Pris, will you bring me another cup of water?” He placed his empty cup on the platter where the tea had been. Nico would have far preferred something more biting than water, but had implemented a policy of no drinking amongst the officer ranks until the current crisis was resolved, and did not wish to violate the order himself.

  The girl bowed and walked out, his eyes and thoughts pursuing her. Those tiny hands contained more strength and agility than most of the soldiers training outside. Perhaps he should encourage her to enlist…

  Nico smirked, unable to imagine a young girl like that fighting and killing old veterans. His rapacious appetite for more soldiers was growing ludicrous.

  “Disciple Elyseo—the Grand Cleric of Theus,” Arturo added for Nico’s edification—“assures us that the answers will come, we must simply be patient.” He sighed. “First Eberhart was always dubious of these priestly claims. I tend to agree.” Swallowing half of the tea in one long pull, the Third then leaned back over the map. His finger tapped on the northernmost region of Falkenreach, a forested district named Shady Glen—a place unfamiliar to Nico. “My Patron sent two Seekers to this area. One this past autumn, who never returned. The second more recently, to confirm these demonic reports. The first priority following our…engagement…should be to follow-up on that.”

  Nico nodded in understanding. These meetings had been Arturo’s idea, but both men were equally committed. The possibility—no, the likelihood—that one of them would die in the duel meant that the winner would bear some of the loser’s former responsibilities. Arturo agreed to take an active role in negotiating for peace between Akenberg and her rivals, should Nico fall. The terms would not be favorable, of course, considering the circumstances. But the prestige of a Third carried no little weight, and although his father was certain to resist any terms that included surrender, Nico was confident that the damage to his homeland would not be irreparable.

  On the other hand, if the prince were to emerge the winner, he promised to pick up the heavy burdens carried by the older man.

  There was a certain tranquil anticipation to the challenge. The outcome—the unpleasant notion that one of them would lose his status, his pride, and perhaps his life—was daunting, but the fight itself was expected to be glorious. Both swordsmen were skilled, energetic, in the prime of their years. Each was calm, thoughtful, and as respectful of each other as they were for the tenets of the Order. Contrasted with Zenza, the contemptuous thane in Cormona, Arturo was everything Nico looked for in a warrior.

  Moreover, the two of them genuinely liked one another, and though the words remained unspoken, each knew it would be an honor to fall to the other.

  As for the odds, Nico gave him
self one chance in three. A clever move here, a lucky break there, and he could conceivably come away the victor.

  Arturo continued the narration. “If indeed the demons emerge from the glen, King Tesius will need to be reinforced. In spirit, as well as in numbers. He is not a resolute man, and will waver in the face of such evil. I tell you this because I believe you see others much as I do. Their hearts and minds as well as their titles and purses.”

  “Yes,” Nico agreed. “But fighting demons is quite different from fighting men. I’m not certain I would blame those who cower and hide.”

  His companion nodded regretfully. “The troops will need to know—will need to see—that such monsters can be killed.”

  “Can they?”

  “Who can say? But we get ahead of ourselves. So much is unknown at this time. Let us speak instead of the Chekican invasion. Here, in the east…”

  “Your pardons, Third, but I fear that must wait until the morrow.” Nico was looking at a new arrival to the conference chamber. Lima, looking characteristically impatient.

  “Handersonn?” he asked, and she nodded.

  He turned back to Arturo. The expression on the Third’s face was unreadable. “Of course, Thane. Good luck in your war.”

  Nico hurried with Lima back to the war room of the Rechshtal. Along the way, she explained her difficulty in finding the man amongst the taverns of Neublusten, as heavily patronized as they had become in recent days. And then, upon finding the general—rousing him from his incoherent stupor.

  This is the man to whom I am going to trust the defense of the city?

  But to his utter surprise, Nico found himself liking the amiable old officer. Aware of his own limitations, oftentimes openly ridiculing them, General Handersonn not only thanked Nico for the opportunity to salvage his reputation but praised the prohibition of wine, beer, and spirits. “As you can see by my extreme rotundity and brightness of nose, I have greater difficulty vanquishing temptation than more mortal opponents. But your decisions, My Prince, General, Thane—how many titles does one man need?—grant me the forbearance I so desperately require, and so plainly don’t deserve.”

  “I have to know one thing, General—can you take a field command?”

  Handersonn laughed wholeheartedly. “Why, My Prince, I know I don’t look like much now. But in earlier years, I made quite the dashing commander. The barracks still speak of my glories, my accomplishments, my stunning victories—and if they don’t, the taverns do. Of course, that’s because I told them myself…but nevertheless, they do speak of them.”

  Sighing, trying hard not to smile despite himself, Nico pressed on. “We have nearly five hundred new recruits. Willing, but raw. They can barely swing a sword or lift a shield, yet they stand between the city and ruin. They, Captain Reikmann’s Royal Guard, my Princeshields, and the remnants of General Freilenn’s Second Army are all we have left.” Handersonn frowned distastefully at the mention of General Freilenn, but brightened again quickly as Nico continued. “I need someone to take command of this rabble, to lead them in battle. Can you do it?”

  “Prince, General, Thane—I not only can do it, I can whip them into shape faster than you would believe. Back in earlier years, I was quite the capable instructor. Few remember now, but I could turn a baby-faced boy into a seasoned veteran faster than anyone. Discipline, maneuver, fighting—you name the routine, I could drill it…”

  Nico’s mind wandered while the boasting rambled on. He felt sorry for the new recruits, and not because of this man. They showed willingness now, but when the time came to fight, they were in for a brutal awakening. How many would die, he wondered. Or be cruelly maimed, like Lima? And for what purpose? Did they have a prayer of even slowing down the Loresters? Some of them were as likely to hurt themselves or each other as the enemy.

  He thought of the former page, Kip. Just that morn, the young man’s company drilled with practice swords in a mock battle. In the span of five minutes, the lad had twisted his ankle on a loose stone, tripped one of his comrades, and somehow contrived to break his own sword. He had to be the clumsiest, unluckiest soldier who ever existed. Whatever you do, don’t stand close to that one when the quarrels start flying.

  Handersonn droned on and on, until falling silent at the sudden arrival of another.

  General Freilenn looked weary. At the sight of his rival, he straightened his back and squared his shoulders, but a bit of posturing could not disguise the exhaustion. He and Nico had last met nearly a full day earlier, and that at the culmination of a long march. Clearly the man had not slept since.

  “General, please take a seat.”

  “Nay, thank you. I’m here to report.”

  Did he think sitting was a display of weakness? “I insist. You’ve earned it.”

  Freilenn nodded, and moved to the chair farthest from Handersonn. The relief upon sitting was obvious. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaving Nico to hope he would not fall asleep instantly.

  “What is your report, General? Where do things stand?”

  Reluctantly, the eyes reopened. “I believe we can claim success. The Loresters were not expecting another attack, and pulled back in some disarray at our approach. They drew up defensive lines and waited for us to come to them. I ordered three feints throughout the day, one for each flank and again in the center. They reacted conservatively, reinforcing the lines but declining to pursue.”

  “Sensible,” Nico said.

  “Aye. It’s what I would have done. They have every advantage, there’s no need to take risks.”

  Handersonn scoffed. “An old woman’s approach. I would have hit back with everything.”

  “And if I was leading you into a trap, you would have exposed yourself.”

  “But you weren’t, were you?”

  “Generals!” Nico interrupted. “There’s a time for each, aggressiveness and caution. Let us not concern ourselves with what the Loresters didn’t do, and focus on the present.”

  “Aye, General.”

  Nico glared, waiting for Handersonn to restrain his boisterous tendency. “Yes, General.”

  “Fine.” He turned back to Freilenn. “Where are the Loresters now?”

  “Encamping across the lake. Out of range of our towers, but only just. I expect them to begin the investment, so that no one may enter or leave. I fear the siege has begun.”

  Nico nodded. “That’s all right. You gave us time to stock the city properly. If need be, we can last the winter, thanks to you.”

  Handersonn coughed. “Bah. Neublusten should not have to suffer this deprivation. We should drive them back.”

  “Worried that the taverns will run dry on ale, General?” Freilenn sneered.

  “Enough,” Nico blurted. He faced Handersonn first. “Every extra day of drill helps us. You say you can drill like no other. I expect you to prove it.” He then turned to the other, who looked about ready to fall from his chair. “Well done. You’ve earned a few days of rest, I believe.”

  Freilenn fired a sidelong glance at Handersonn before responding. “Your pardon, no rest is necessary. I’m ready to resume command of my army.”

  This rivalry between the two men was not unexpected, but was a complication needing to be monitored. Still, Nico did not see how pushing themselves to exceed the other could be a bad thing, so long as they obeyed orders.

  “Very well. I’ll speak to you again on the morrow.”

  Assuming I am still alive, that is.

  “It has always been the role of Vilnia and Gothenberg to shield the empire from attack from the east. Had we known the Chekiks were coming, these passes could have been more heavily fortified.” Arturo pointed to three places on the map. Nico leaned in to read: Soul’s Pass, Sky’s Pass, and Sea’s Pass. “But there was no warning, and the kingdoms have allowed the defenses to erode.”

  The appropriate strategy was obvious enough. “The mountains are certainly the place to stop them.”

  “It’s too late for that. They’re already
through. In what numbers, we know not. Passage through the mountains is necessarily slow, and the winter makes it slower. It’s likely that we’re only facing scouts and pillaging warbands at this point. That’s bad enough, but I fear things will get much worse when full armies are across. This is what the combined might of the empire should be focused on—driving them back.” He looked at the prince in earnest. “Here is where Akenberg’s, Lorester’s, and Daphina’s forces should be.”

  Nico deflected the comment. “Of what we’re seeing so far, how are they comprised?”

  “Mostly tribesmen, according to reports. The few Chekiks spotted appear to be leaders, officers, conductors. Some say magi.”

  “Magi?” The notion of Chekiks returning was discomfiting, but Nico had difficulty believing this last.

  “Only a rumor. Still, I think it best that you hear everything.”

  Nico agreed. “So, if we can put the current…unpleasantness…behind us, the central kingdoms should send aid to Vilnia.” His fingers swiped at the map, indicating movement. “And the southern to Gothenberg.” Clicking his tongue inside his cheek, he considered. “The northern have their own problem. Nurosterlend should reinforce Falkenreach. Keep the demons contained until the Chekiks are dealt with. That leaves the western. Their forces should be centralized for now, to function as a reserve to be deployed wherever evolving circumstances dictate.”

  “And Yoshini,” Arturo added.

  “Ah, I often forget them. Do they even have soldiers?”

  “They do, and they are a marvel. Would it surprise you that the Order of Swordthanes originated there?”

  “You astonish me.”

  “Indeed. You’ve done yourself a disservice if you’ve never witnessed a Yoshi fight.”

  “We must do our best to rectify that.”

  Arturo smiled sadly, and Nico was reminded of the obvious. “I don’t imagine we’ll both be alive in two hours’ time, will we?”