Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  He glanced over the numbers briefly, immediately taking in how low their own rations ran. Of course, he had burdened the supply train with entire loads of extra food. But those were intended for the citizens of Allstatte, and he was loath to break into them prematurely. Nevertheless, soldiers needed to be fed well if they could be expected to fight well.

  At least he had another day or two to make that decision. More importantly, he noted a reference in her report to a handful of wayfarers that stumbled into the army’s path. A minor incident, but enough to pique his curiosity. Most travelers avoided armed forces as they would the pox, so those who placed themselves in an army’s path were probably after one thing—protection.

  Perhaps there were bandits in the area. Nico’s father had generally kept the kingdom free of such undesirables, but the civil war no doubt brought out the worst in some.

  In any case, Lima had thought it important enough to include on the report, and that alone was worth his consideration. She had long since learned the types of things he wanted to know about personally, and which he preferred she handle on her own.

  He pointed to the line at the bottom of the page.

  Without looking at his finger, knowing what he would ask, Lima responded. “Stragglers from Daphina.”

  “You think they might be spies,” he said.

  She did not nod the way he expected. “I thought so at first, and it’s still possible. But they speak with fear and confusion.”

  “Fear and confusion?” Spies were typically fed easy, plausible stories to explain their appearance. “What did they say?”

  Lima shook her head. “They arrived only this morn, and I had but a minute to listen before coming here.” Her flat expression became a scowl. “I left them with Witlock.”

  Witlock was one of Koblenzar’s agents, and a difficult man to like. Nevertheless, he was skilled at interrogation. Debriefing, as he called it.

  “As soon as we finish, I want you to go straight back to them. Not that I don’t fully trust Witlock.” But I don’t fully trust Witlock.

  She nodded. “And the messengers? Which should I send in first?”

  “Let’s hear Cottzer’s message, then Freilenn’s. They came the farthest, the least we can do is not make them wait.”

  Lima smiled. That meant Koblenzar would be last. He would not approve, which meant she did.

  Clearly, she had also anticipated that response, for Private Mychal of Cottzer’s detachment was inside the tent before Nico had time to anticipate what news the woman might bring.

  “General Cottzer once again extends his appreciation for the king’s trust in this assignment,” she began, fluent in the courtly courtesies Nico wished he could banish forever. “And desires to inform you that his companies arrived promptly in Northgate, one day ahead of schedule.”

  “I am delighted to hear it,” Nico replied with a smile, slipping naturally into the same etiquette. “His devotion to Akenberg is exceeded only by the proficiency with which he executes his orders.”

  The messenger was certain to return to Cottzer and inform him of the good graces with which the report was received. With any luck, that would dispel any further concerns the man might have about Nico’s trust in him.

  “And what of his dispositions?” Nico asked, not yet noticing the hard lines of Mychal’s jaw.

  The strain was immediately apparent in her words, however. “Our arrival was timely, My King. Vilnia is under assault from the east, just as you warned. But the invasion is more advanced than we expected. No sooner did we learn that the garrison at Halfsummit had fallen than General Cottzer rode on to catch up to the main Vilnian army, on their way to recapture the fort.”

  “Halfsummit has already fallen?” Nico said, astonished and distressed. Sky’s Pass itself was the best place for the empire to make its stand. Halfsummit was supposed to be the last line of defense.

  Mychal caught his tone and lowered her own. “Yes, My King. The garrison there was reduced in strength, insufficient to stand against the unexpected numbers of tribesmen. King Volocar hopes it might be retaken, however.”

  At a far greater cost in lives than defending it properly would have required, Nico thought. But he said nothing for a moment, reminding himself that mistakes were inevitable in war. Victory was more often determined by reaction than planning.

  Besides, he had no firsthand knowledge of the situation in Vilnia. Perhaps Volocar had reasons for his ineffectual actions. In any case, the attempt to recapture Halfsummit seemed from afar the prudent strategy, costly though it was sure to be. Better to retake that chokepoint at any expense than to allow the tribesmen to spread out north, west, and south.

  Sky’s Pass was the emergency, then. He hoped other kingdoms were already sending reinforcements to Vilnia, for he could not. Not yet. All he could do was hope that Halfsummit could be retaken. Success or failure, he would not know until the arrival of the next messenger.

  “Private Mychal, I am sure you wish to return as quickly as possible. Please inform General Cottzer—” Nico dared not believe the man might already be dead. “Inform the general that I agree with his decision to provide every assistance to the Vilnians. I wish I could give more.”

  “Yes, My King.”

  “Luck and speed to you and the general, Private. I have no doubt your efforts will meet with victory.” He leaned forward, unable to restrain the excess of nervous energy coursing through his body. “The empire depends on it.”

  At least the message from General Freilenn was less distressing, though no less informative. The Fourth Army had managed, through skillful maneuver, to push the Asturian threat beyond the borders between the kingdoms, forcing the southern neighbors back toward their capital of Cormona and pursuing with cautious determination.

  That much alone was music to Nico’s ears, but he liked even better the response to his first query. Freilenn had accomplished this all without a full engagement. Minor skirmishes only, which meant fewer Akenbergers dead. And fewer Asturians.

  Leti might just forgive him yet.

  Then Koblenzar delivered his own report in person, speaking with a rare excitement that Nico never expected to see in the older man.

  “You have the luck of a devil, My King. We couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity.”

  “I agree it sounds promising, but I think something as important as an attack requires a little more forethought. Don’t you agree, General?”

  “What is there to think about?” the older man asked, raising his voice in defiance. “We came to attack the Dauphi, and we find them in disarray. What other signs do you require?”

  Nico turned to the other person in the tent. “Lima, how soon can we be there?”

  “One day’s quick march, and we can be on them by nightfall.”

  “A day of quick march will wear out the infantry.”

  “Aye, Third.”

  Koblenzar watched the exchange with wide eyes. “The enemy lies vulnerable, and you worry about tiring?”

  Nico sighed patiently. “It’s one factor of many. As is the reason for their disarray. Can you tell me that?”

  “As I mentioned, they appear to be reinforcing their western flank.”

  “Even though General Boisson knows we’ll come from the east and south? Does that not strike you as suspicious?”

  “It strikes me as foolish. Only a greater fool sees a mistake and thinks it a trap.”

  “General, you overstep yourself.”

  “Forgive me, My King.” Koblenzar stopped to compose himself, and the flush of his face began to ebb away. “You are right, I’m sure. We should be prudent. Prudent, but decisive. We could perhaps destroy the Dauphi army entire, with properly decisive action.”

  What the man suggested was true enough, but Nico remained skeptical. The main body of Dauphi was invested south and west of the besieged city, deployed in a way to defend from attacks originating either from the direction of Neublusten or from Allstatte itself. It was possible they did not
yet know how close Nico’s army was, but even so weakening the east in favor of the west bordered on imbecility.

  Judging by reputation, General Boisson was no imbecile.

  Attack might indeed be the best option, but at the very least there were other advantages to the change. Whereas Allstatte had been fully encircled, the eastern sectors were now uncovered. Not only was the enemy exposing their flank, direct access to the city was possible for the first time in months.

  “I must know why they are shifting their lines,” Nico announced. “Lima, prepare a horse.”

  Koblenzar stared at him with open mouth. “You should be ordering the march.”

  “We’re already marching, General. Have you not noticed?”

  “Yes, but we should be marching on the quick. No, the double.”

  “These soldiers cannot double march all day and fight a battle at the end of it.”

  “Bah. Excuses. A good general does not question opportunity, he seizes it.”

  “Not excuses, considerations. Considerations matter, General. As do reasons. Why does our enemy behave so? What more can you tell me? When did the movement begin? Perhaps that would tell us the cause. Have we picked up any prisoners that know anything? Or anyone else? What about these Dauphi travelers I hear about?”

  “Mindless gossip, no more. Times of war always bring out the worst superstitions in ignorant commonfolk. They had nothing practical to tell us. Nothing of General Boisson’s numbers, dispositions, strategies—”

  “What did they speak of, General Koblenzar?”

  “Monsters and demons, My King. Where are you going?”

  Nico was already sticking his head from the tent. He was not surprised to see Lima standing nearby, patiently attending. And probably listening in.

  “Lima, is Lancer ready? Good. Find Captain Mickens. Ready the Kingshields. We’re riding forward.”

  She nodded, and he turned back to Koblenzar. “General, I will consider your advice, but I am not yet ready to order the attack. I must know more of—”

  “You err, My King. Is it timidity? Should I ask Reikmann to hold you by the hand?”

  Nico felt his temper flaring. His father never would have tolerated even the hint of insolence. Yet other matters demanded full attention. He ignored this trespass for now, though he began to look forward to the day he could replace the spymaster with someone less truculent.

  “Petty insults are beneath us, General. I will take your advice into consideration. It may be as you say, and by later today I may order an attack. But remember, the destruction of the Dauphi is not my ultimate goal. It may be we need them in the months ahead.”

  “May I remind you that they killed your brother, and handed Akenberg its greatest defeat in a generation?”

  Nico sighed, trying to restrain the bitter emotions that memory released. “My duty is not just to punish, it’s to protect from all dangers. It may be that the Dauphi are themselves at risk.”

  “You put the people of Daphina ahead of your own?”

  “The needs of the two may well be aligned, General. The desire for vengeance must not outweigh the welfare of the empire.”

  “Your father would not behave so, My King.”

  “That is something we agree on, General.”

  As the spire of Allstatte’s chantry came into sight, so too did increasing numbers of stragglers. They traveled in disorganized groups, most in twos and threes but many as large as several dozens. Altogether, hundreds of people were scattered about the fields just ahead, and Nico did not doubt that many more were coming.

  That they were civilians and not soldiers was immediately clear, for he saw mothers and fathers carrying small children, larger children helping their elders, even barking dogs dancing about excitedly.

  Lima rode up to him following a hurried discussion with one gray-bearded man dragging a weary mule by the neck. “Refugees, Third.”

  He nodded. “Just so.” The only question was what to do about them. “Captain Mickens.”

  “Aye, Third?”

  “Dispatch some of your troopers to organize this mess. Help these people to last night’s bivouac, and get them tents and food. Use some of what we brought for the Allstatians.”

  “Aye, My King.”

  “And get me a reliable messenger. I need to send word to General Boisson. There isn’t going to be any battle today.” His lips curled in thought. “At least not with them.”

  A nearby commotion caught his attention. He saw one middle-aged man deep in discussion with one of the Kingshields, waving animatedly with one hand while the other clung to that of a frightened small girl. His companions, of mixed ages, watched in silence as the trooper shook his head in negation.

  Nico spurred Lancer closer. “Private Kopek, what is amiss?”

  “This one says he wishes to speak to the king, Third.”

  Nico nodded, pleased at the soldier’s discretion. Kopek was giving him the opportunity to reveal or conceal his own identity as he saw fit.

  “And why is that?” he asked, studying the unkempt traveler, revising his first impression. Perhaps not so old as I thought. The beard grew thick and dark, the face was hardened by strain and responsibility, but the whole person emanated the energy of youth.

  “He won’t tell, Third. Says he’ll speak only to the one in command.”

  The stranger looked from trooper to king, and their eyes locked on one another. “I’ll tell you…My Third,” he said at last. “If we can speak privately.” He glanced awkwardly, almost apologetically, at his companions.

  Nico nodded. “Lima, bring this man a spare courser. What is your name, stranger?”

  “Henrikson...the Scholar, My Third.” At his side, the little girl grew disinterested in the conversation of adults. She dropped his hand and reached hers out, tentatively, to touch the quivering nose of Pim’s mare, Arura.

  Pim allowed the powerful animal to pull closer to her admirer. The animal whinnied once, softly, as the girl rubbed. Then Arura remained as still as a statue, letting the child become accustomed to her. The gentle, patient gesture was wonderfully akin to a groom tending to a skittish horse, but in reverse. If only there were more time to appreciate such moments.

  “Henrikson and I will ride on. Tell me what you will while I see how far these refugees stretch.”

  Expecting the stranger to be pleased, Nico was surprised instead to see a look of trepidation.

  In a moment, the reason became apparent. By contrast to the little girl, Henrikson the Scholar shied away from the spotted stallion being offered by Lima. In return, the horse sensed his reluctance and snorted dismissively.

  Impatient to move on, Nico intervened. “On second thought, we’ll have more privacy if you ride with me.” He reached his hand down.

  The scholar stared at it a moment before allowing himself to be scooped into the rear of the saddle. “Hold tight,” Nico commanded—unnecessarily, as it turned out, for the man already clung to his shoulders as if it were a matter of life or death.

  “Lower.” The hands shifted, and Lancer leapt forward.

  Just as expected, the trail of refugees went on and on. Nico ceased attempting to count, knowing that Lima would do so for him as she and Pim followed a respectful distance behind.

  “Well, Henrikson the Scholar. Now that we are away from prying ears, tell me your true name.”

  “My true name, My Third?”

  “To begin, yes. You’re no nobleman, that much is certain. Your etiquette is incorrect, your demeanor too deferential, and you’re shy of horses. Any one is possible, but not the three together.”

  The next words came as no surprise. “Can we both drop pretenses? You are Akenberg’s king, aye?”

  Very good. This one sees things. “Just so, I am King Nicolas. And you?”

  “Jak, My King.”

  Nico nodded. The incorrect address was a common mistake for those unaccustomed to Imperial courts. “And why do you hide your background, Jak?”

  “Becaus
e I need you to believe my story, and the words of a thrall are easily dismissed.”

  Nico nodded again. “True enough. But not here, not now. Circumstances are unusual, would you not agree?”

  “Indeed, My King.”

  “Speak openly, Jak.”

  “Aye…yes, My King.”

  “I’m not your king, Jak. And do not concern yourself about formality. Concern yourself instead with brevity, for we haven’t much time. Why do you need to speak to me?”

  “You know of the Veldt?”

  “The what?”

  “The demons. The reason so many of us flee Falkenreach.”

  The Veldt. A name Nico had not heard before. That fact alone was convincing reason to listen to this man’s account.

  “Woefully little. What do you know of these demons?”

  The hesitation was palpable. “More than I wish. I’m the one who brought them here.”

  “That’s a remarkable story, Jak.”

  The past hour had been informative, to say the least. Nico even slowed down the pace of the ride in order to give the stranger more time to speak.

  Nico wondered how much was truth, and how much fiction. At times it seemed closer to a childhood fable than reality, though Nico did not question the sincerity of the narrator. Whatever aspects were untrue, or incomplete, he was inclined to attribute them to superstition and misconception rather than deliberate deception.

  Not that he doubted the existence of demons, of course, for even Arturo had spoken of them as a credible threat. But somehow, paradoxically, Nico had also believed there would turn out to be a mundane explanation for everything. Now he was not so sure, and the prudent thing to do was see more for himself.

  Assuming even half of this story were true, the account also raised as many new questions as it answered. First and foremost was how large had this Veldt grown, both in numbers and geography? Had all of Falkenreach fallen already? That seemed impossible to believe, for surely the population centers such as Varborg would fight back against the spread.