“Foxes can’t fly anyway.”
“Exactly. This was an easy offer for Orkus to accept, and so it is today. On those rare occasions when Orkus comes out of his hole, he does so with the safety that Kron provides.”
A commotion behind the weary flock put an end to the chatter. Everyone turned back to watch a dozen more walkers racing to catch up with Jak’s group, which had already swelled to fifty.
“What is it?” Kluber asked the nearest stranger, whose panic was written on his face.
“Kevik the Corrupt draws near,” came the response. “The devil himself, walking at the head of his army.”
“What nonsense,” Kluber replied. But Jak noticed he would not meet the eyes of his friends.
“Nay, it’s not nonsense.” The man became even more agitated. “I saw him myself. I stopped to…” He paused, glancing at the children. “For a call of nature. And when I was done, there he was. Nine feet tall, with a great stone sword just as large. Surrounded by demons of every size. Some walking, some flying, others crawling and wriggling. I ran to warn the others. We all ran…”
Jak had heard enough. It did not matter how much was true. What mattered is that Calla was crying, and clutching her belly. He took her hand and squeezed it. “Kluber’s right. Rumors and nonsense.”
But she would not stop crying. “I didn’t want this, Jak. I didn’t want to…” She hesitated.
This was as close to explaining what bothered her as she had yet come. He did not want to press her, but he also could not help without knowing more. “Talk to me, Calla.”
“The baby. It’s coming too fast. Far too fast. It’s going to be a monster. I know it is.”
“Nay, Calla. Any child of yours is going to be wonderful. And of Kevik the Kind’s. He was a great man, before the sword got to him.” In his own mind, Jak brushed away the conflict, for a murder had been committed before the sword came to Everdawn. He had long since chosen to believe that crime was an unfortunate accident by a confused boy, not an indication of a descent already well in progress.
She shook her head. “Poor Jak. You don’t understand.”
“What don’t I understand?” Far too much, it seems. Despite himself, Jak felt defensive. For himself—and for his master. “He was your betrothed. You wouldn’t have—”
“I…was marrying him because I thought I should. Not because I loved him.”
“You don’t mean that, Calla. You loved him as much as I did.”
“I loved the old Kevik. Not the one he became. Even before…this madness.”
Jak shook his head. “Love doesn’t work that way. When you love someone, you love the good and the bad. And there is a lot of good in Kevik.”
“I fear there is no longer.”
So do I. But I don’t want to believe it.
She came to him that night, and they shared apologies.
“You were right about love, Jak,” she whispered, not wanting to awaken the others. The group had crossed the border into Daphina, though safety seemed as remote as ever. By consensus—initiated at Jak’s advice—they would sleep for a few hours only, in case there was any truth to the rumor of Kevik’s march. Then there would be an extra-long day of walking ahead, and more after that.
“How so?” He had given up being right about anything.
“I love you—both the good and the bad.”
Here it comes.
“I want you to stop using these powers.”
“I do it only when I need to,” he protested. “Only to protect you and the others.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t worth it. You nearly killed yourself last time.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“Nay, you won’t. I know you, Jak. You don’t know how to stop yourself.”
He could not really deny that. “I’ll try. I will.”
“Nay. You have to stop. I want you to promise me.”
Jak considered, but not for long. “I can’t make that promise, Calla. It’s the only way I can help the empire, and you, and our child to be. When we reach a city—Darleaux, or Chissenhall, or even Neublusten—then you’ll be safe, and I can return to the books—”
“That’s another thing. I want you to stop using the Eye.”
“What?” He noticed his own voice growing in volume, and lowered it again. “Without it, I can’t read.”
“Many times I have offered to teach you.”
It’s not that simple, Calla. How much time will that waste? And what if it turns out I’m incapable?
The Eye of Orkus was Jak’s most valued possession, the only reason he was capable of learning anything at all.
“Think of what that sword did to Kevik. I cannot bear the thought of the same thing happening to you.”
“It won’t—”
“Promise me, Jak.”
“I… I need to think on it, Calla.”
The disappointment on her face was evident enough even in the darkness of night. She only nodded, kissed his cheek, and lay down on her side.
Jak watched her eyes close, and wished that she could find peace in sleep, since there was none to be found anywhere else.
5
Akenberg
Unseasonably blue sky filled the days, the sparse, thin white streaming clouds providing more in the way of picturesque beauty than relief from the building heat.
Early spring in Akenberg was normally a time of fragrant growth and frequent showers, of buzzing industry and the deepening colors of nature. A time that lifted spirits with laughter, enthusiasm, and hope.
The sprawling grasslands west of the capital gave every indication that spring was well underway, that midseason had needed no precursor this year. Not merely were the skies stark and untroubled, but the warmth of afternoon already carried the hint of summer’s fiery edge.
At least the foliage still bloomed with optimistic radiance. Ahead, fields of green adorned by pockets of yellows and reds beckoned, catching one appreciative observer’s eye and bringing his inner sanguinity to the surface.
Nicolas did not often look behind, for there the green and yellow and red became a lifeless dull brown, torn asunder by boot and hoof. The army trampled moist earth, soft grass, and budding flower with equal indifference, leaving a broken morass in its wake.
And all the while, the sun blazed down encouragingly.
At his back marched half the remaining strength of the kingdom, over a thousand soldiers, augmented by scouting cavalry and ox-drawn wagons of the supply train.
Ruination of the landscape aside, he felt nothing but pride and love toward these brave women and men, for he was their undisputed leader. He drew strength from them, just as he liked to believe they drew strength from him. Not every army was led by a king and thane.
From his perch in the saddle, Nico leaned down to pat Lancer’s neck in consolation. The mottled warhorse—one of three mounts he favored, and his favorite since the deliverance of Neublusten—merely snorted back in frustration. Full of boundless vigor, Lancer wanted only to be given his head. This tepid cantor was for lesser creatures, a burden to them both.
Nico maintained their speed, much as he would have liked to move faster. Together they set the rate of march for the entire army, and the poor footsoldiers, new to this aspect of duty, struggled to maintain even this modest pace.
Besides, it was very likely the destrier would be given the opportunity to release some of that energy in the coming days. Perhaps even in battle.
For battle was what Nico expected. And with it, the possibility of losing everything that had been gained in recent tendays.
Those gains were not insubstantial. In a very short time since taking command at the Rechshtal, one major battle was won, the capital relieved, the Loresters all but knocked from the list of enemies. But the real victories ran deeper, for each day brought Nico greater confidence—in the fighting prowess of his troops, and in his own ability to lead them.
He took much satisfaction from knowing that morale was
high. Excellent, even. The martial women and men who followed grumbled and groaned as all soldiers do, but rarely in his presence. They also sang ridiculous songs, played their games, joked and laughed. Nico encouraged such behavior, unlike his more rigid predecessor.
If they were willing to die for their homeland, and for him, the least he could do was allow them to find what enjoyment they could in the process, so long as it did not impact discipline. The gods knew there was little enough genuine pleasure in life already, he saw no reason to limit it further.
As for their performance, he had little to complain about. Many had been through a gauntlet of hurried training and vicious battle and emerged the better, and he expected more of the same in the future. They had proven themselves once, earning the benefit of the doubt.
Nevertheless, Nico could not help wondering whether he should have given them more time to train and recover before forcing this march upon them. But there simply was no time to give them.
Less than two tendays had passed since the departure of Freilenn and the Fourth Army. Now came the turn of those who remained.
Of the three neighbors that threatened Akenberg, the Loresters had been soundly defeated at Neublusten and the Asturians were being forced back by Freilenn. But the Dauphi—the first to invade Akenberg and the ones responsible for Prince Markolac’s death—continued to siege the northwestern city of Allstatte.
Just as he had done to the Loresters, Nico hoped to knock the fight out of the Dauphi in one decisive engagement. Their army sat stationary while investing Allstatte. They could not evade his challenge without relinquishing their prize.
But was the King’s Army up to the task? The lion’s share of Akenberg’s veterans were with the Fourth Army, as Nico had wanted to give the rawest recruits as much additional training as possible.
Though they had one victory under their belts, so too did the Dauphi. Perhaps an even more impressive one than his own. And the Dauphi were led by a successful, experienced commander.
Much as he hated to admit it, Nico was still as raw as the men and women who followed. One victory and a few tendays of firsthand learning did not make him the unbeatable leader everyone expected. He retained that kernel of doubt that he would let his troops down with some disastrous mistake. There were many lessons he had not yet learned, but one that he had was that the chaos of war forced critical decisions without the benefit of full knowledge or time for proper reflection.
And in war, when poor decisions were made, people died. Not only did he loathe the loss of every woman and man, he also had the future to worry about. For the civil war ravaging the empire was not even its greatest threat. He needed to preserve the lives of his soldiers for the next war, and the one after that.
At least their hearts were happy. Unburdened by such strategic considerations. They trusted him to make those decisions for them.
Doubts aside, he believed they had the right of it. Nico had grown to trust himself, for he was good at this. Born to lead. Ultimately, more lives would be lost with someone else making the decisions.
And he was content. Should he fall in the coming days, he could do so with pride and honor.
Content, yes. But not happy. Life was incomplete. For this reason alone, Nico hoped he would not fall in the coming days. What he really needed was to knock Daphina from the war, join Freilenn in Asturia, and negotiate peace with that southern kingdom. And hope Leti would welcome him back.
“What is this place, Marko?”
“Some weird old temple. Come on. Race you to the top!” He took two steps toward the doorway to the tower that was the tallest building in Allstatte.
“I don’t know if I want to.”
“What? Why not?”
“I’m not sure.” But knowing his brother would never be satisfied with that answer, Nico continued. “Have you ever heard the story of the boy who climbed so high he could see the whole world?”
“What’s the problem? That sounds marvelous.”
“It was. So much so that he didn’t want to leave. His friends called out, but they no longer meant anything to him. Instead of rejoining them, he went up farther and farther, until he got lost in the clouds. And never came back down.”
“And you think that will happen to you? You’re being silly.” Marko laughed. Then, seeing his younger brother frown, he softened his tone. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. If you’re scared, Nico, just say so.” He smiled. “I was afraid the first time, too.”
“I’m not scared. That story just bothered me a little, that’s all.” He looked away from his older brother toward the staircase. “I’m ready now. Let’s go.”
But they had gotten no farther than a few more steps before their father’s herald found them, summoning Marko to an audience with the king. And childish Nico had no desire to go up alone.
He was ten years old at the time, and still close to his older brother. It was the only time Nico had ever visited the border city, a place so mixed with cultures that many of its inhabitants spoke with incomprehensible accents.
During its existence, Allstatte had experienced a succession of Lorester, Dauphi, and Akenberg domination. And just like its people, the city’s architecture reflected that history.
The city’s most prominent structure was the chantry in its northern district, not far from the high outer wall that had thus far shielded the interior neighborhoods from Dauphi aggression. Between that wall and the seat of local power grew a duo of prosperous apple orchards, the fruits of which served as the primary export of the city and a source of pride for its denizens.
According to the last message to reach Nico’s ears, those orchards had thus far saved Allstatte from conquest. Not only had the early spring brought a premature deliverance of fruit, the pair of freshwater springs that nourished the trees were also secure from the hostile intent of the besieging invaders. This supplemental source of water sustained the Allstatians once the winter snows melted to nothing.
Even so, their rations surely had run low long ago. Nico had managed to send word that relief was on the way, but knew his force would get only one attempt. Should the Dauphi fight rather than withdraw, and should they win the subsequent battle, Allstatte would surely surrender.
He did not expect much in the way of assistance from them, either. His early visions of catching the Dauphi between his own army and a sallying force from the city were quickly banished by the reality that the defenders were in no condition to fight. In fact, General Koblenzar’s latest reports stated flatly that they could barely protect the walls from attack. Only the cautious plans of the Dauphi, or some misplaced forbearance, allowed the city to survive this long.
As at Neublusten this past winter, decisive action was the obvious strategy. Nico could only laugh at the thought that his reputation as an aggressive commander was about to be further reinforced, when his natural inclinations were quite the opposite. Nevertheless, desirous as he was to do everything but, here he was about to throw a half-trained army into battle for the second time in as many engagements.
Allstatte depended on it, and his people looked to him for their security. He could do nothing else.
The critical moment was only a few days away, now. Perhaps anticipation is what provoked his daydream.
Though the memory was more about his lost kinship with Marko than their location, Nico did remember admiring the high spire rising from the ancient chantry. To his child self, it had seemed to go all the way up into the clouds. Marko had wanted to climb the spiral stairs with his younger brother, so that together they might peer out over the surrounding lands.
One more wasted opportunity. One of many.
Now he knew that spire would be the first sight of his destination, and he looked forward to seeing it again. This time, after liberating the city, he would certainly ascend and take in the view. That he would do so without his brother pained his heart.
He hoped Marko had found time to go up on his own, maybe even in those last days before his death
.
The flap of his tent opened, and Lima’s staid face appeared. “Third, are you ready for this morn’s reports?”
Nico did not try to stifle his sigh. Morns were the worst, when the duties of ruling hit the hardest. He much preferred the tangible progress of the afternoons, despite the physical demands of march. And even more so the eves, walking amidst the troops, hearing their gossip and laughter. Sometimes even partaking of the fun himself. That camaraderie reminded him of a simpler time, when he had been but a second prince on a trivial mission…
But now he was king and commander, and the endless flow of information was as vital as food and air.
“How many today?”
“Four.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So many?” He was used to two or three.
“Aye. Overnight we received messengers from Generals Freilenn and Cottzer.”
“In that case, we’d better get started.”
Lima handed her own report to him, a single-page summary of logistic details along with any additional notes she felt important enough to warrant his attention.
He noted the improvement in her handwriting, recalling how illegible it had been only a few months before. In those early days as his aide, she had been reluctant to let anyone see her letters.
“You cannot be an aide without giving reports,” he had stated flatly.
“Can I not simply speak them to you?” she had countered, showing an uncharacteristic apprehension that never appeared on the battlefield.
“Not always. There will be times that require written communications. Come now, Private, you stood alone all night against an enemy company. Don’t tell me this frightens you.”
That had stiffened her resolve, along with her shoulders. “Nothing frightens me, Commander.”
Since that incident, there had been no more reluctance. She attacked her own literacy much as she had swordplay before that, and with greater success. Though she would certainly never admit to it, he believed she drew tremendous satisfaction from these daily reports. Especially considering that she now chose to deliver them in writing, even when opportunity allowed otherwise.
Empire Asunder BoxSet Page 55