Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  Yet that was nothing to the intensity of those stares, the weight of expectations, the impact of realizing that he was an imposter.

  Kevik was the hero. Nicolas. Eberhart. Not me.

  “Are you feeling better, Jak?”

  He was alone with the king as eve settled into night. With no unfriendly faces to contend with, no disapproving glares unleashed upon his fragile mind, Jak found he could speak and think clearly again.

  “Aye, thank you, Nico.”

  The guard outside—not Leny, but someone who seemed to recognize him anyway—had let him enter without confrontation.

  “You have something to tell me?”

  “I do. Though it is not what you wish to hear.”

  Jak had spent the morn in the Archives, alone, doing just what the king commanded. But there was so much knowledge contained in that sanctum that he had given up. He might spend a tenday or more before he would find any genuinely helpful lore about the velbats, who were but one of a thousand species of monster.

  The devils, however—they were everywhere in those volumes. Without even trying, Jak found more information that would aid the goal he had set for himself. One item, in particular. A place to start looking.

  The afternoon had been spent with his companions, seeking their advice. Gaining their consent. And failing to mend Calla’s broken spirits. Jak had a good idea what was wrong with her, but he had no notion of how to help.

  “I’ll be leaving, on the morrow.”

  “With your friends?”

  “Aye. My task is urgent, Nico.”

  “I understand, Jak. I am saddened, but I understand.” For a moment, the king looked as though he might stand up from the chair. Instead he leaned back, closing his eyes.

  For the first time, in this fragment of quiet in the midst of so much turmoil, Jak saw the man before him for who he was. Barely more than a youth, a second son, a forgotten prince whose life had turned from a carefree insignificance to the gravest of import as swiftly as a hawk’s attack.

  Jak himself had learned firsthand how difficult it was to lead just a few. His own self-confidence had wilted beneath the slightest of pressures. By contrast, Nicolas now ruled a kingdom, commanded an army, and waged three wars at the same time. How he did not collapse into tears every night was a mystery.

  He would be a fine emperor, Jak decided. If circumstances reached that position, and if he wanted it. Something about the man suggested he did not.

  A minute passed, then two. Believing the king to be asleep, Jak quietly made his way toward the entrance.

  “See me again in the morn, Jak,” Nico said, without opening his eyes. “There might still be a way to help each other.”

  When he saw the king’s gift, Jak’s heart sank.

  The white horse was held by Lima, the brown by Pim. Both soldiers were smiling in amusement, for they knew how uncomfortable Jak became around the huge animals.

  He saw no sign of the king himself. No surprise, considering the number of crises the man was juggling at the moment. Nevertheless, Jak would have liked to express his appreciation one last time.

  The mounts would be a tremendous help, there was no question about that. As the white was the larger, Jak supposed he and Calla could share. Not that he felt any better knowing he would be responsible for her safety as well as his own.

  He turned to her. “Shall I help you up?”

  Jak had become inured to seeing doubt and worry appear in her eyes, but what he saw now was something entirely different. For some reason, she did not meet his gaze. She was looking past him.

  “You found one,” Lima called out. “Good.”

  Jak turned around in time to see Private Leny leading a mottled black and grey pony. It was small compared to the other two horses, but plenty large enough to carry the rider for whom it was intended.

  Leny handed Calla the reins. “She’s a beaut. But sturdy. She’ll get you wherever you’re going.”

  The raw pleasure on Calla’s face alone made Jak want to hug every one of the soldiers. He resisted the temptation, however.

  “Well now, Jak,” came a cheerful voice, and they all turned to see Nicolas approach, appearing refreshed since the previous eve. Something looked different about him, and it took a moment for Jak to realize the king had eschewed his armor in favor of a light tunic, not much different from those the civilians wore.

  “Or should I say Henrikson? What should we call you, hmm?”

  “Just Jak, I think.” He regretted having ever attempted the deception, though he could not complain about where it had led.

  “I think not,” the king said. “You still have a role to play in this conflict, and we cannot have your wisdom discredited from ignorant condescension. I think we’ll need to give you a proper Akenberg title, a sign of respect.” He smiled. “That means you can call me ‘My King’ again, if you prefer.”

  “A title?” Jak had forgotten all about this suggestion, and found his mind running behind again. “What title?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it? I admit I’m not sure. You’re unlanded, so I cannot very well name you a Lord. I thought about making Scholar an official position in my court, but that doesn’t seem to carry the weight we need to convey. So what, then?”

  “Earththane,” Private Leny said. She was furtively feeding a carrot to the pony, and now she met their gazes with a hint of embarrassment for having spoken aloud. Jak knew how she felt, though she did not wilt the way he had.

  “That’s what the troops call him already,” she explained with a shrug. “And the refugees. They say he can reshape the world.”

  Jak’s jaw dropped, but Nicolas laughed. “A thane, is it? I think that’ll work,” he said. “No one will ignore you, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m not—”

  “That’s exactly what he is,” Kluber stated. “The first earththane, who can move mountains. I’ve seen it.”

  Jak needed to protest. “My King, I am in no way capable of living up to this.”

  “You need to be, Jak. I don’t know exactly when, but your wisdom and powers are going to be vital to the empire, and your status should reflect that.

  “Listen, we are all being called to do more than expected. You’re not alone in this. You do what you need to do, then return to me and show us a better path forward.”

  “But I don’t know what’s right.”

  “Perhaps not, but you know what’s wrong, and that’s a start.

  “Now, I’ll hear no more complaining. Someone needs to teach you not to argue with a king. We all have work to do, and little time in which to do it.”

  Pim helped Jak awkwardly climb onto his mount. He experienced a moment of panic, but the animal seemed as unconcerned with him as he was terrified of it.

  “Luck and speed, you three,” Nicolas said, echoing the words of a stranger from the distant past. He turned away.

  “Wait,” Jak called. “You said we should return to you. Here?”

  The king paused a long moment, considering. Then he shook his head. “Cormona, I think.”

  Cormona. That was an odd coincidence, for Jak’s destination was in the same general direction, though he knew not precisely where. An ancient shrine, tucked away in the Asturian desert. Perhaps his destiny and the king’s were more tightly interwoven than he realized.

  Though the two kingdoms were technically at war with each other, the borderland between Akenberg and Asturia showed no signs of the conflict. In fact, in this remote corner, it showed few signs of life at all.

  On some maps Jak had seen, the official border cut through the forest the three travelers were skirting around. More recently, for reasons unknown to him, the line of demarcation had moved southward, gifting Akenberg with extra land at their southern neighbor’s expense.

  The forest itself was known as Krankensheim in Akenberg and the Crooked Wood in Asturia. Jak had read legends of twisted trees and unusual wildlife within, but had neither time nor inclination to investigate those
tales for himself. The three riders gave it a wide berth.

  With the forest left behind, the land quickly turned drier and more barren. The farmsteads were few and far between, and soon the signs of habitation became as sparse as sources of water—rare, but not entirely absent.

  When they did see other people, however, Jak made it a point to speak to everyone.

  That the locals remained untouched by the war—wars, he corrected—was a fact reinforced by the free and easy manner in which they treated the young strangers. Friendly, open with their food and sometimes their homes—but not one had ever heard of Bloodspire, or the Pillar of Blood. Both names he had seen written in ancient texts, though he knew not what it was called now.

  He had not had time to pinpoint its location on a map. All he had to go on was legend and guesswork. There was nothing to do but press on, farther into the barren kingdom, longer and longer beneath the cloudless sky and blistering sun.

  The horses were a tremendous boon, for the heat was so overpowering that even riding pushed the companions to the brink of collapse. Walking would have been impossible, even without the sickness that overtook Calla.

  She was now vomiting for the third straight morn. Jak tried not to let that bother him, and did his best to remind her how normal this was for an expecting mother. He repeated the mantra even though he knew the sickness usually came in the earlier stages of pregnancy, not when the woman was showing as much as Calla now did.

  More distressing, however, was hearing her sob into her sleeping roll each night. At first, he had attempted to comfort her. Then, only to encourage her to talk. Now, all he could do was hope that she would soon get past whatever mental demons inflicted her thoughts, and wish he had something or someone to whom to pray.

  Maybe it was merely the incessant throbbing in his hand turning his mind down unwanted paths, but the whole thing seemed wrong—and he knew the others felt that way, too.

  “The Pillar of Blood? You must mean the Devil’s Prick. Never ‘eard that other name before. Et’s an old pilgrim site, though no’un goes there nowadays, so far as I know.”

  The nearly toothless old man said this after his third long swig of the fiery liquid he called wine. He had offered the bottle to share, but other than Jak’s single sip, the man himself had been the only one doing any drinking.

  Jak looked at Kluber, who shrugged.

  “What lives there?”

  “What lives there?” The man scratched his head. “Et’s a canyon, in the middle of a desert. Rocks live there.”

  “No people, no…animals?”

  “Well now, there is an old cave near as a day, if I recall. Camp for those pilgrims what worshipped there. But I don’t see as likely there’ll be anyone there now.”

  Jak considered showing the man his map, hoping to get more accurate directions than this confusing garble. But he doubted the man could read a map, and a vague pointing was probably good enough for now.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I wish we had something to offer for your help.”

  “Well now, as to that, ‘ow about you just give me the rest of your portions of this ‘ere wine, and we say we’re even?”

  Now that they were nearing their destination, Jak was overwhelmed by second-guessing. The stress had been building for a long time, and all three of them had become alternately snappish or morose.

  That was all the more reason he was so glad to hear Calla suggest they find a quiet place to watch the sunset together. They did so with few words, taking a short hike up a rocky ridge line that looked out on the span of canyons where, somewhere within, lay their destination.

  They sat and stared at the brilliant hues of yellows and reds, blending on the horizon with the orange and brown of the terrain. Jak put his arm around her shoulder, and she rested her head against his.

  “I never thanked you for honoring Da,” she said.

  “The name, you mean?” Henrik had been the one who first introduced Jak to books and lore. The choice had only seemed appropriate. “I always admired him.”

  “I know. He liked you, too.”

  The colors on the horizon reached their apogee, then started to slowly diminish. The two of them watched in silence, and he foolishly allowed himself to hope that her worries were abating like the sunset.

  “I’ve come to a decision,” she said quietly, as the bloom of the vista faded to nothing. “I owe it to you to tell you.”

  Jak’s shoulders tensed. He had a feeling what was coming, and did his best to control his emotions.

  “The baby?”

  But Calla shook her head. “Nay, Jak. Me. I could never kill a baby and live with myself.”

  Jak closed his eyes, trying not to cry. He could not stop his body from shaking, however.

  “You understand, then?”

  “Nay, I do not. I know it’s been difficult—”

  “It’s going to be a monster, Jak. You’ve turned your whole life into fighting these devils. How can you want me to bring another into this world?”

  “You don’t know that, Calla. The strain has been too much for us all, and the worst has been on you. But things will be better.”

  “When? How?” She had somehow gotten this far in a perfectly calm tone, but now the emotion began to show. “You make empty promises, Jak. You’re protecting yourself.”

  “I am,” he admitted. “I cannot go on without you.” The tears came then, and he did not try to hide them.

  She wiped his cheek with one hand. “I know how you feel. I couldn’t go on without Da.” She wiped again. “We figure out a way to, anyway.”

  He made one more attempt. “I would do anything for you, Calla.”

  She smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t even stop using that cursed stone. You’re in too far, Jak. I see that, and I don’t resent it. But I have my own path to follow, and it ends tonight.”

  He could not deny the truth of what she said, nor his own sense that the guilt he had carried for so long was finally naming its price. But he was not yet ready to let go.

  “Just…hold my hand awhile, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Jak wanted to believe there were solutions to every problem. That he could, in time, fix every wrong. But never had he felt so defeated. The unbelievable knowledge he had learned, the oft-frightening power he had gained, had only come with sacrifice. And he had always been willing to accede.

  Until now.

  8

  Akenberg

  Nico took Pim’s attack on the shield, then countered with a high thrust that drove the other man back a step. Nearly too slow, Pim barely brought his shield up in time to stop the point of Nico’s practice sword from tagging his shoulder.

  But the shoulder was not Nico’s target, for he suddenly swept the weapon down at a sharp angle, connecting solidly with the leather leg guard strapped to Pim’s shin. The contact was loud enough to make a gratifying smacking sound, and the quiet soldier hopped backward with an uncharacteristic grunt.

  In ten minutes of sparring, Nico had learned two important lessons: first, that he was not as rusty as he had feared; second, that the unusually hot summer—for it felt like midsummer, though the timing ought to have been no further than late spring—was a more substantial threat than any opponent.

  As to the former, Nico’s inner confidence was growing by the minute. He had feared, during and after his confrontation with Second Devero, that the duty of ruling—and neglect of his training—had dulled his skills. Instead, he found the opposite to be true. His movements were as crisp and precise as ever, his mind processing the instinctive give-and-take of swordfighting at a speed he had never experienced before.

  Part of that was natural maturation, for a warrior generally ascended to his or her peak in their early twenties, which Nico was slowly creeping toward.

  But the greater reason, he believed, was his battle with Arturo. That duel had been magnificent in many ways, and not just for the spectators. Nico still recalled the wide spectrum of emotions he ha
d felt—determination, desperation, fear, and acceptance—as his mind struggled to keep up with the chaotic flow of combat. Advantages and disadvantages, angles and momentum, inertia and resistance.

  He had learned things in that one epic duel that he never could in all the years of drilling and instruction from Renard. Life and death moments had a way of doing that.

  Pim was a gifted fighter, yet no match for Nico, and the sparring turned into a one-sided affair after only a few passes.

  The practice would not have lasted even this long, if the two of them had not mutually agreed to cast aside their chain mail. The difference was as that between night and day. The hauberks they normally wore weighed over twenty pounds apiece, and though light and flexible by the standards of heavy armor, even a minimal restriction of movement necessarily slowed down a swordfighter. Weight, effort, and the relentless sun had a cumulative effect on fatigue, and fatigue was the mortal enemy of a warrior.

  “Are you ready to stop?” Nico asked.

  “Praise Theus,” Pim replied, dropping his wooden sword on the grass. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Lima took the opportunity to approach her king and commander. She had known better than to interrupt the sparring, but the agitated look on her face suggested she was anxious to pull him back to his duties.

  “What report?” he asked.

  “Word from General Boisson, Third. First contact with the enemy. No fighting to speak of, yet. Just sightings, he says. Shadows in the forest, glimpses of movement. Growling of animals, and maybe other things.”

  “Where are our friends?” This was still the term he used for the bat-like creatures that had circled Allstatte for several days, then disappeared. He did not remember the name Jak ascribed to them, nor did he like using the word demon. In fact, he still had difficulty reconciling his mind to the fact that that was what he faced. An army of demons. Gods help us.

  Or not. Jak would not approve of the prayer, innate though it was.