Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

And what of these corruptions? Of people and animals physically changed by some supernatural curse? How widespread was this evil taint, and who was susceptible? To hear it described, anyone might be corrupted, and often able to hide it until too late. The implication of that alone was terrifying to conceive. What if Lima or Pim were to be cruelly affected?

  Or what if he were? Would he simply make an announcement, knowing the reaction meant death? Or would he try to hide it and hope for the best?

  One of the few certainties, based simply on the existence of so many refugees, was that the empire was in more peril than he thought.

  “You believe me then, My King?”

  “I believe your sincerity, Jak. More than that, I’ll need to consider. But you’re right about one thing. We can’t have everyone disbelieving you, just because of your station. I suggest you remain Henrikson, for now. I’ll see if I can’t think of a better solution. Perhaps a title…”

  Nico trailed off to allow his thoughts to race ahead of his speech.

  “A title, My King?”

  “Yes, Henrikson. Scholar, as you used. That will do until we think of something else.”

  “A title?”

  Nico chuckled. His companion’s worried tone brought back the image of his face upon seeing the horse. Such petty things to be worried about, yet so frighteningly inconceivable to a thrall.

  “Yes. Like it or not, you are a valuable asset now, Jak. Your role in these events is not over… What’s this, then?”

  Two riders approached, one each in the livery of Akenberg and Daphina. Nico recognized the trooper Captain Mickens had dispatched, though he castigated himself for forgetting her name. Recent fighting had inflicted no small number of casualties on the company that had evolved into the King’s personal guard, but there was also no shortage of volunteers to serve as replacements. This woman was one of many that he should come to know, as soon as time allowed.

  “General Boisson accepts your offer for parley,” she said proudly. “In fact, he begs you to come immediately.”

  Nico looked at the rider in Dauphi uniform. Rather than protest the characterization, he nodded affirmation.

  “Well, Scholar Henrikson. You will be joining me for a negotiation, it seems.” He nodded to the messengers. “Lead the way.”

  “You are in no position to demand anything,” he told the Dauphi commander.

  Nico was of a mind to be lenient toward the enemy, but did not wish to make that apparent just yet. He hoped starting with a firm position would lead to the best results.

  Boisson was an aging veteran with a thoroughly bald pate but a handsome, finely-trimmed gray beard. He stared back for quite some time, taking the measure of the much younger man seated across the table. Then he sighed. “King Nicolas, surely you see the need for a temporary cessation of hostilities. The refugee crisis alone warrants our collective action. No, our cooperative action. To say nothing of this horde bearing down from the north and west.”

  “General, I will remind you that your kingdom, not mine, initiated the hostilities you are suddenly so eager to quiesce. That you gambled all on seizing the city before relief came, a gamble that failed. That the bulk of the refugees are your burden, not mine, and that this horde—if indeed a horde exists—is an imminent threat to Daphina, not Akenberg.”

  Nico cast a sideways glance at Jak, hoping the other would remain silent through this exchange. The young man had convinced the king that the threat was real enough, though its exact size and capabilities remained undetermined. But this was a negotiation in a war for the very existence of his kingdom, and every concession needed to come with calculated reluctance.

  Boisson stared at him coldly. “You place these people at risk for the sake of your selfish aspirations,” he said at last. “Just as your father would do.”

  The words stung Nico more than he might have expected. Yet he dared not let that show. “You opportunistically wage war on my citizens, you murder my brother, and you dare tell me about selfishness?”

  He felt a touch on his shoulder, and was surprised to see that Lima had stepped into the discussion, away from her usual position in the shadowy background. He felt a squeeze from her hand, just once, and realized that she had come to understand him far better than he knew.

  The rising heat dissipated as quickly as it had come. Nico lowered his voice to one more suited to a king. “Fine. I can offer you the ceasefire of which you ask, General. I can also offer the assistance of my army for dealing with the refugees, along with supplies from our stores—once the needs of Allstatte have been met, naturally.

  “Moreover, I am prepared to release some of my troops, in conjunction with yours, to face the threat from the northwest. On one condition—you and your soldiers hereby agree to lay down arms against the kingdom of Akenberg for one year’s time. I will not ask for your surrender and we do not have time for a formal parole, so I ask only your consent, in plain view of those who witness.” He cast an arm about, indicating the dozen or so aides and observers.

  Boisson frowned. “This is irregular, King Nicolas.” He began to chew on his lower lip thoughtfully.

  It was irregular, Nico agreed. But so, too, were the circumstances. He knew that this man could not speak for his queen, could not negotiate peace for the kingdom entire. And agreeing to have his army—the bulk of Dauphi’s current fighting forces—turn their weapons away from Akenberg amounted to much the same thing.

  Yet the general was in an impossible situation, as they both well knew, and the offer provided a solution to the immediate problem. And did so with terms more generous than he had any right to expect.

  Boisson could not fight—or, at least, could not do so with any hope of winning. Nico could certainly demand a more formal surrender, which would cause a loss of prestige and possibly command. He could demand the taking of hostages—standard collateral for such negotiations—up to and including the general himself. Surely, the people of Akenberg would revel in the trial and imprisonment of the man who once defeated Prince Markolac.

  Or Nico could just attack. The result would, in all likelihood, include the former conditions along with a great loss of life.

  The only other possibility was that Boisson might withdraw entire, leaving the field and the refugees to the Akenbergers. A coward’s move, and one that would reflect badly on the man who made the decision.

  Nico did not think Boisson was a coward.

  The terms were unorthodox, but fair. Were their roles reversed, Nico knew he would accept.

  Nevertheless, the silence grew more pronounced as the man considered.

  Perhaps it all boiled down to one simple equation. How great did Boisson perceive the demonic threat—the Veldt, as Jak had called it—to be?

  Perhaps Nico had miscalculated, after all. He took the threat seriously, and assumed the general did likewise. But this hesitation might mean the man considered the war with Akenberg the preeminent conflict.

  If a battle between the kingdoms ensued, then the Veldt would fall upon a divided, damaged enemy, its work already done. Disaster for the empire.

  How much did the general fear the demons? What rumors had reached his ears? What reports? What terrors?

  “Very well, King Nicolas, I accept your terms. And I apologize for my reluctance, for I see the generosity in what you offer.” He coughed once. “I am used to dealing with your predecessor, King Hermann, for which every concession concealed a darker motive. I am choosing to believe you act in good faith.”

  No sooner was Nico released from one strain than he was immediately afflicted by another. Agreement here meant a prelude to the two kingdoms working again as allies. Surely, there would be voices, loud voices, opposed to such a thing.

  That was a problem for the future. “I understand. The King’s Army will arrive on the field by nightfall. I suggest you maintain your deployment to the west of the city, for now. We will bivouac to the east. By the morrow, we should present a unified line.”

  His mind alread
y began turning over tactical considerations. “I’d like to hear what your scouts can tell us of the enemy.”

  “There we may have a problem.”

  “Come now, General. If there is to be trust between us—”

  Boisson shook his head. “It isn’t that. Our last scouting patrol departed yesterday morn. One full company of light cavalry.” He swallowed pronouncedly. “They have not returned.”

  “Not a one?”

  The old face frowned, and Nico saw new lines of strain appear. “Not woman or man. Though one courser did, riderless and…disturbed. We found it best to kill it, for its own good.”

  Nico looked at Lima, Pim, and Jak. The latter was the only one to not show surprise.

  “Captain Mickens.”

  “Aye, My King?”

  “You’ve heard all that’s transpired here. Take word back to General Reikmann. Double march, if necessary, we must be in place this eve.”

  The need for information was a leader’s eternal quest. I must know more. If the Dauphi could not provide it, he would get it first-hand.

  He faced his companions. “Now, until the others arrive, let’s do a little scouting ourselves.”

  The gradual shift from afternoon to eve was well underway as the three horses and four riders neared the halfway point of a circuit north of the city.

  The stream of refugees eastward had thinned out considerably, though many more could be seen moving south, into and beyond the Dauphi lines. Nico believed Boisson would handle the exodus efficiently, now freed from the worry of attack from the flank.

  The scouting party avoided the road, which was overburdened already. Instead they crossed open fields, jumped a narrow brook, and followed an imprecise arc just within sight of the city’s highest spire.

  The terrain ahead changed from smooth grassland to rolling ridges bedecked by thickening tree lines. Nothing so substantial as a forest, but enough to obscure visibility past half a mile.

  From these woods emerged an unusual sight—a single rider on horseback, torn pale cloak flapping inelegantly in the growing breeze.

  Nico pointed Lancer toward the newcomer, then spurred into a gallop as soon as he recognized the man. The conversation with Jak all but forgotten, Nico’s emotions became a blur of excitement and concern.

  “Swordthane Fawkes, what are you… Fawkes, what is amiss?”

  Lima and Pim closed the distance to their leader at this first sign of disturbance. The aide reached out to stop Jak from falling out of the saddle as Nico leapt to the ground and rushed to steady the panicked horse bearing his fellow thane.

  From up close, the man looked less familiar. The Fawkes he knew had the amiable informality born of confidence. Now all the sanguinity was gone, replaced by wretched disquietude. The young face had aged at least a tenyear.

  Troubled eyes focused on their Patron until recognition set in. “Third. We are lost. Lost.” The voice cracked on the repetition.

  Nico assumed the authoritative tone of a king. “Swordthane Fawkes, calm yourself. Now tell me why you are here. You were to go to Falkenreach.”

  Fawkes nodded, the hysteria fractionally diminished. “Falkenreach is gone, Third.”

  “Gone?” Nico thought of what little he knew of the man’s plans. “Did you find Second Devero?”

  The man nodded, his body stiffened.

  “Where is she?”

  “Fallen, Third.”

  Nico winced. Devero was his own Patron, and a woman he had looked forward to knowing. According to the code of the Order, she was to guide and command him as he did his own subjects. He realized now how strongly he had anticipated their meeting. To be the recipient of orders again, rather than the one who issued them.

  Fallen. Could that be possible?

  That they had never met was a helpless feeling. That she had never communicated any instructions to him at all, even more so. Just as had happened after the death of his brother, Nico felt the firm foundation of hierarchy collapsing beneath him.

  A related thought occurred to him at once. The Order of Swordthanes had lost a Second, of which there were only two. At a time when the First was missing, and as their scant numbers most needed direction.

  Nico was one of only six Thirds in the empire entire. He desperately needed to get word to Second Garrett, who had suddenly become the undisputed leader of the Order, until such time as a replacement Second could be determined.

  Those were concerns for the future, however. For now, the present required his focus.

  A crack of thunder disrupted the interlude, all the more foreboding in what had hitherto been a cloudless sky. Now that sky was darkening quickly, while thin wisps of white turned heavy and gray. A premature eve in the premature spring.

  An unexpected chill crept into the air, as well. The sudden drop in temperature could only partly be explained by the diminishing sunlight. Nico attributed the rest to his unsettled mind, discomfited by the sight of a friend so clearly distressed.

  He looked back into Fawkes’ frightened eyes. Perhaps talking would ease the man’s burdens. “What happened? From this morn to now.”

  The man did not speak right away, needing a moment to settle his thoughts. At last, he nodded.

  “We followed the rumors from Varborg. Rode north and east into Falkenreach. Deeper into the forest. We saw the people fleeing, listened to their warnings, continued ever deeper.

  “They said the animals have all gone.” Fawkes shook his head. “Not so, not all. They’re there, but changed. They said all the people flee. Not so, not all.

  “They said the demons are led by a man. A giant with a black sword.” He nodded. “Just so.”

  “Kevik,” said Jak, still seated on Lancer but listening intently.

  “Aye. Surrounded by his flock, clawing and biting at one another to be closest to him. He commands without speaking, yet they understand him well enough, as we learned.

  “The Second desired to confront him. She believed that cutting off the head would kill the body. Perhaps she…” He stared up at the blackened sky. “It rains, Third. They followed me. They must be close.”

  A mist was beginning to settle over the landscape, heightening the chill. Or perhaps not settling, but bubbling forth from the ground, or pouring out from the nearest woods.

  Nico watched the pale wool of Fawkes’ torn cloak soak in the moisture. The garment was an identical match to the one on Nico’s back. Though on his, the radiant sword design was not torn in two, nor streaked with dried blood.

  Fawkes followed his gaze, then smiled oddly. “Befitting that it’s ruined. The Order meant everything.” Then he chuckled. “Weak. Useless. Hopeless, we are.”

  Nico saw no sign of wounds on the man, yet knew he had been injured. His friend needed a good night’s rest; that was apparent. But first, Nico needed information. “The Second, Thane.”

  “We found him eventually. Kevik, that is. Sitting on a fallen trunk, staring into those green jewels on his blade. Unhurried, unaware of us.

  “She called out to him, challenging him to combat. He nodded and stood. He wears a horned helm that hides his eyes, but I do believe they glow green as those gemstones.

  “His beasts blocked her passage, but one wave of a gauntlet and they parted. Where he walked, the ground recoiled, as though anguished by his touch. The very roots of the earth moved out of his path, then blocked hers. Always seeking to trip her footing they did, though she never let them. The Second’s footwork is a marvel to behold, Third. She fights like an eagle, more of the air than the land. No shield, she simply isn’t in place long enough to hit.

  “He took her blows on his own shield, on his armor, on his helm…all without notice. At last, tiring, she gave her mightiest swing of all. Her last effort to damage, if not destroy, her opponent. He blocked it with that sword of his, and hers shattered.

  “He killed her, then,” Nico said. The fatal end to a valiant duel, not unlike the contests between thanes.

  Fawkes shook his head. “Wo
uld that he had, Third.” He stared into the mist, back in the direction he had come.

  “Nay, he waved to the beasts again, and they set upon the Second. They turned their biting and scratching from one another onto her—and onto us. Thane Vasturo, and your soldiers, and me. We were beset on all sides by foul creatures of every kind. Some appeared normal, though overpowered by unnatural rage. Others…I saw so many things that don’t make sense that I question my own wits, Third.” He giggled once, then his face twisted in sadness.

  “I tried to reach her, but she called for me to flee instead. I was loath to obey—for the first time in my service, I wished to ignore the oath of the Order and die beside her.

  “Would that I had, Third. Perhaps I could have struck the final blow myself, rather than…”

  Nico waited for the thought to finish, but the face was lost in the seeping heavens again. The onset of darkness, the thickening mist, and heavier rain made it difficult to see the tears.

  “How far from here? Can you lead us there? Perhaps we can recover her body, give it a proper—”

  “I said fallen, Third. Not dead. She fought on with broken blade and bare fist, until they bore her down. Then he stood over her, reached down with that sword of his, touching her shoulder as gently as a mother might a babe. And she screamed.

  “I looked back only once, but that was enough. She stands with him now, and so he turns our greatest strength against us. Better for the Order to destroy themselves now, than to fight for a devil.”

  “Better yet for us to fight against them, Thane. The Second is a terrible loss, but the war is not over from a single defeat.”

  Nico held the other man’s gaze with his own, hoping to reassure rather than accuse. He watched Fawkes stare back, studying, his mind in turmoil.

  “Third, can we go on?” The voice cracked again, but the opening was there.

  “We will, and you will, too. There is no place for despair in the Order, Thane. You must remember that.”

  “I believed that, too,” came a voice.

  Nico looked up at the source, a solitary figure walking out of the concealing mist.