Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  “Meanwhile, the Asturians will have finished their preparations and come up from the south. Neublusten may face three enemies simultaneously. No amount of additional training gets us ready for that.

  “Sure, we can win a minor victory today. The city will be happy, for a time. And come spring, we’ll face even bleaker prospects than we do now. We will have traded a winter of safety for impossible odds, and a war we cannot win.”

  “Your pardons, Third, but you assume the worst,” Reikmann replied. “The enemy may not work so effectively together. The siege of Allstatte may linger longer…”

  “He is right. These things you speak of are not quite so inevitable as you believe,” Handersonn added. “A wise commander takes victories where he can find them, then alters his strategy as circumstances require. On the other hand, many a new commander mistakes recklessness for boldness. I speak from experience. Some never get a chance to learn from their mistake, as I did. We are here to save you from that, Third.”

  It was strange indeed to be called “Third” by the people of his own city. There was no formal necessity that they do so, and he was not without temptation to tell them he preferred a different title. But he stopped himself because he understood why they did. It was a sign of respect. He could not only hear it in their words, he could see it in their faces. Even though they disagreed with him now, they did so deferentially. He knew the ultimate decision was his alone, and so did they.

  Respect was a precious commodity, far greater than power or wealth. He believed it more important than anything save love. And Nico had struggled to attain it through so much of his life that he could not easily reject it now. Instead, he welcomed their respect, and tried to appreciate it while it lasted. For if they lost their battle or their city, that admiration would irrevocably disappear.

  “General Freilenn, you have been quiet. Please tell us your thoughts.”

  Handersonn scowled as his rival leaned forward in his chair. Whatever temporary truce had developed between the two was clearly over.

  “I am in agreement.”

  Nico was disappointed, but not surprised. “You, as well. None of you see—”

  “Nay, Third. I am in agreement with you. I believe our best option is to deal with these Loresters now, while they are at their most vulnerable. We are badly outnumbered in this war. Better that we fight our foes separately, when they foolishly give us that chance.”

  Nico nodded. “Well said.” It was nice to receive some support at last. But is he saying so just to disagree with Handersonn?

  The others resumed their protests, now directing them toward Freilenn. Nico sat back and tuned them out. A wave of dizziness passed over him—an altogether too frequent occurrence since the duel. Both legs burned continuously, but currently the throbbing in his shoulder bothered him most.

  A serving girl brought in four cups of water. He thanked her as he took his own. A pretty girl, but not quite so much as the last.

  “Please bring two more,” he requested, motioning to the soldiers standing silently in the corner of the room. Lima and Pim. Quiet, but always there. Dependable.

  The serving girl smiled and turned, then stopped as Nico grabbed her sleeve. “Wait. Where is Pris?”

  Humorously, he thought perhaps she had enlisted, after all. So many servants throughout the city and surrounding countryside had done so. Far more than the army had been prepared for. The current roster of drill instructors had been insufficient to handle them all, so Reikmann had proposed supplementing them with retired veterans willing to return to service for this sole duty. Remembering the pride Renard had taken in training the prince, Nico had readily agreed. Then Lima had suggested boosting the ranks even more with those who had suffered wounds severe enough to force them away from the battlefield, but who remained capable enough to help in other ways.

  It was pleasing to see the whole city pulling together in a time of adversity. If nothing else, Nico had accomplished this much.

  “She’s back at the castle again, My Prince,” the girl replied, bringing him back to the present.

  “The castle? She isn’t part of the Rechshtal staff?”

  “No, My Prince. She usually works the king’s table.”

  Nico was further distracted when a messenger arrived. The serving girl bowed and hurried away as he watched the newcomer whisper into Lima’s ear. She nodded and approached the Third, in turn whispering into his.

  “An envoy from the Loresters is here, wishing to speak to you.”

  That was interesting, indeed. But there was more. “He has an Akenberg prisoner with him—General Cottzer, who was with Prince Markolac when he was killed.”

  Even without ever having met the man, Nico knew by his name that Cottzer was a capable officer. No mere nobleman who had received his commission through wealth or influence, he was a commoner who had been promoted through meritorious service. A lifetime of success tended to breed self-confidence.

  Therefore, the Third was surprised when the middle-aged general could not look him in the eyes. Cottzer sat meekly at the table in the ancillary conference chamber with the envoy, barely lifting his head when Nico and Lima walked in, and not at all when introductions were made.

  Nico felt a flash of anger and resentment toward the effervescent Captain Fineo, aide to the Lorester crown prince who commanded the besieging army. All prisoners were to be treated humanely, but a captured officer particularly so. If Cottzer’s spirit had been savagely broken…

  Best not to rush to judgment, Nico told himself. Based on Fineo’s display of confidence, there was more here than met the eye.

  The formalities lasted several frustrating minutes. Nico’s fluency with court etiquette was deeply ingrained, but that did not make the activity enjoyable. Now that he felt a continuous rush of responsibilities, each second involved in useless pleasantries was particularly bothersome. He desired this emissary get to the point as soon as possible, and said as much at his first opportunity.

  “Very well, Third—congratulations on your victory, your pardons, we were overjoyed at your success when the rumors reached our ears—”

  “Your purpose, Captain?” Nico reminded.

  “Yes, indeed. I’m here to negotiate terms of surrender for your kingdom.”

  “Then you have wasted your time and mine. Perhaps that was your intent?”

  “No, indeed. It was not, Prince Nicolas. I am granted the freedom to offer very generous terms, generous indeed, terms that are most favorable to you and your kingdom, in light of your circumstances. Terms that we feel you should at least listen to, and upon the listening will see the fairness of. Especially after you hear what our guest General Cottzer has to say. I could tell you myself, but I think you should hear it from your own, indeed I do.”

  “Is that so, General Cottzer?” Nico asked. “You have something important to tell me?” He attempted to get the man’s attention, but the head continued to stare down.

  “He is understandably reluctant,” Fineo said. “Reluctant, indeed. I cannot blame him, for your anger is likely to be considerable.”

  “My anger is likely to be worse if we keep talking around the point without getting to it.” And Theus help this man if I hear the word ‘indeed’ once more.

  “Very well. General, please tell the prince your version of events. Please tell him how his own father and brother, his own kingdom, betrayed him.”

  Lima put her one hand on his left shoulder. She said nothing.

  Nico glanced at Pim. He looked more upset, more outraged, than Nico felt himself.

  “You overplayed your hand,” Nico had told the envoy after Cottzer’s story. “My feelings are irrelevant; my duty is to Akenberg and its people. And they desire me to destroy our enemy.”

  Fineo’s smile had not faded, but his eyes flashed irritation. “So it is death and defeat you prefer, young prince?”

  “It is. Indeed.”

  Nico had Pim escort the captain and Cottzer out, while he himself remained seate
d, thinking. He had not moved at all by the time the twin returned. Now the three of them were alone in the silent chamber.

  I don’t see how this changes anything, he told himself. I can deal with it after this battle is concluded. And if we lose, I won’t have to worry about it.

  By the gods, my body hurts.

  As he issued dispositions for the coming battle, Nico said nothing to the other officers of what he had learned—that their enemy was intended to be their ally, the second prince was expected to be dead by now, and the king they served sought to deceive his way to the top of the empire.

  As much as possible, he focused on the battle. One that could not come soon enough for him, but could easily spell the end of his royal family. And good riddance to that.

  He decided that General Handersonn would command the center of the combined army, General Freilenn the right wing, and Captain Reikmann the left. The Third would retain overall command from the gate towers, where he could survey the entire field of battle from walls to lake.

  None of them seemed particularly happy with the deployment, and even Nico himself knew there were serious weaknesses in the plan that were likely to be exposed, but it was Freilenn who sought the prince out in the corridor after the briefing.

  At the sight of him, Nico immediately knew what the complaint would be. The center of each army was typically commanded by the general with the most seniority, for that was the position of greatest prestige. The right wing came second, the left third. Now Freilenn had been placed in a position of inferiority to his rival, a consideration that Nico would have given more thought to if he had not been so distracted by his family’s betrayal.

  “I supported you at the conference, and this is the thanks I receive?” The general’s temper remained under control, but only just. “Your pardon, Third, I deserve greater honor… My troops deserve greater honor.”

  Nico’s instincts were to allow the man to vent his frustrations, but now the familiar rise of anger cut that idea short. He did not have the time or patience to deal with silly jealousy. “General Freilenn, control yourself.”

  Freilenn stopped the flow and grimaced, but the fierce stare continued.

  The wounded shoulder chose that moment to start throbbing again, and Nico subconsciously used his left hand to knead away the tightness. “I need you to tell me, unequivocally and without hesitation, that you trust me to command this battle the way I see fit. I will replace you if I have the slightest doubt you will obey orders.”

  The reply was not without hesitation, and the general nearly choked on the words, but it did come. “I do, Third. And I will. Your pardon, I allowed my feelings—”

  “Now that that’s settled,” Nico continued, still rubbing, “let me pose this to you. In our center, we have twelve raw companies that have never seen action. Our left wing comprises all of one detached infantry company plus the Royal Guard and Princeshields, two understrength cavalry companies. Besides them, all of our veterans are in your Second Army on the right. Now I ask you…what do you believe I see as the strength of our force?”

  “The…right wing, Third. My wing.”

  “And you’ll oppose the Lorester left. The weakest part of their army. All I will say is that I hold you in the highest regard, and I need more from you than the others. I don’t expect you to merely hold our flank, I expect you to overwhelm the enemy. No—I not only expect you to overwhelm them, I expect you to win the day for us all. If you do that, there will be glory enough for you and your troops.” His shoulder felt better, and now he grinned fiercely at Freilenn, trying to throw the general’s own fire back at him. He reached out to thump his hands on Freilenn’s chest three times, hard enough to stagger the man, and raised his voice. “Does that satisfy your honor?”

  “Aye, Third.”

  “Do I ask too much?”

  “Nay, Third.”

  Nico gripped the man’s shoulders firmly, staring him in the eye. “Tell me true, General. Can you do it?”

  “I will. Or I’ll die trying.”

  I will, or I’ll die trying. Words that resonated with Nico as he left the Rechshtal, unsure where to go next. He knew he should speak to the king at least once before the upcoming battle, but the thought of seeing his father now was far too painful. So he found himself in a snow-covered street, torn between destinations, belonging nowhere.

  Never had he been so alone. It seemed as though every fear he had felt while growing up suddenly became reality. And yet that truthfully did not affect the immediate situation. Rejected by his own family, celebrated then cast aside by the Asturians, there was still a place where he could find comfort.

  Nico glanced up at the sky. Still another hour of light before the sun disappeared for the eve. Supper would be served soon. The parade out of the city would begin shortly after that.

  He turned around, momentarily worried that Lima and Pim had left him, too. But of course they were there, as always. “Let’s see the troops one last time,” he told them.

  “Where’s Kip?” Benson’s deep voice called out.

  The former page hurried toward the sound. “Here, Captain.”

  “Private, I’m putting you in charge of supper detail.” The mustached face frowned. “Try not to spill any this time.”

  The eve’s meal was a watery, meatless stew smelling of weak onions. Once, back when he tasted scraps directly off the king’s table, Kip would have found this dish repugnant. A tenday in the army, however, had taught him to savor food of any sort. He hurried to distribute a bowl to each of his comrades, for the aroma made his stomach growl, and he was not allowed to serve himself until the task was complete.

  Soon one of his companions came to his aid. “Let me help you, K-k-kip.”

  The worst cases in a company of bunglers, it was only natural that he and Trip became fast friends. Both received more than their fair share of the company’s thankless duties, and it had become habit for them to work together. On this occasion, the food service went even faster, for they were joined by a third.

  By contrast to them, Henk was one of the best fighters in the unit. Bowlegged and broad-shouldered, he had earned the respect of the other soldiers and officers, and sometimes took it upon himself to shield the weaklings in the group from an excess of ridicule. Kip did not know why the big man did so, but was always thankful for the benevolence.

  When the task was complete, Kip sat down with Trip on the snowy ground of the courtyard where the company currently bivouacked. That was soon to change, for this would be their last meal before marching out of the city. Before the battle on the morrow.

  “Henk, join us?” he asked.

  “Aye, Henk. J-j-join us?” Trip echoed.

  “Why not.”

  The three of them sat in silence while they spooned the flavorless broth to their mouths. The nourishment was welcome, but just barely. The winter air was not quite as freezing as it had been, but the distribution of the stew had taken so long that their bowlfuls were merely lukewarm. A good hot meal could warm the body and spirit, but they found no such comfort here.

  A skinny, undernourished youth who attacked food of any kind with reckless zeal, Trip was the first to finish and set his bowl aside. “I s-s-spoke to Sils today.”

  Kip’s ears perked up. He always liked talking of the former housethrall’s lively sister. As did the rest of the men, and he saw a familiar smile come to Henk’s lips. Good luck, Kip thought. The girl worked in the Rechshtal, serving the generals and nobles—meaning she now had a hopeless infatuation with the prince.

  “Aye, I did. Brought me these g-g-gloves.” He proudly displayed the poorly-knit mittens for their admiration. “She s-s-spoke to the Th-th-third. Says he is s-s-sad about something.”

  “Sad? What can he be sad about?” Henk asked aloud, his smile becoming a scowl. “He has everything a man could want. And what do we have? Cold, disgusting stew.” But Kip noticed that the other soldier emptied the bowl before setting it down.

  The three of them
spoke for a time of the poor food, the bitter weather, and the unfair treatment of their superiors. Everything but the coming battle. Which was odd, because that was the one subject that dominated their thoughts. The thing that bound them all together, for they were all terrified.

  Twilight settled over them by the time they heard the commotion. It started on the other side of the courtyard, and slowly moved their way, preceded by a surge of whispered excitement. The Third! The Third is here.

  Along with all the others, Kip stood and pressed forward to catch a glimpse. Sure enough, there was their leader, their prince, their commander, along with the one-armed woman and quiet man who always accompanied him.

  As the trio came close, the soldiers all cheered. Kip found himself doing the same without even thinking about it, noticing that Trip and Henk did likewise despite the earlier commentary. That was just soldier talk; this was the real thing.

  Much to his surprise, Kip watched as the Third stopped directly in front of him. That young face stared back for a moment, then erupted into a smile. The unwounded arm reached out, a hand clasping the former page’s shoulder in a gesture of friendship. “Kip, it’s good to see you. How goes the training?”

  He could hardly believe it, and became nearly as tongue-tied as Trip. “E-excellent, Third.”

  The smile grew larger. “Who are your companions?”

  “Trip…and Henk, Third.” As he introduced them, the Third patted each once on the shoulder.

  “Trip. Henk. Are you all prepared for the fight?”

  “Aye, Third,” they answered in unison. Caught up in the moment, they probably even meant it.