Empire Asunder BoxSet

by Michael Jason Brandt

  “Now get some rest. We may have more questions for you in the morn.”

  Sleep came late that night, and the next. And each time, when sleep did come, it was so restless that it provided no relief. He had a tough time processing the news from Vilnia, along with what it portended. For the war, and for the Swordthanes.

  Feeling a growing urgency, Nico and his entourage had ridden ahead, hurrying to reach Cormona as quickly as possible. General Reikmann had stayed behind to resume his command of the King’s Army, but Koblenzar and his growing network of aides continued to stay with the ruler. So, too, did Captain Mickens and the Kingshields, along with Privates Hirt and Rama from Cottzer’s doomed command.

  They knew they were inside Asturia when the land turned dry as a bone, and almost by magick Nico’s thoughts became more buoyant. These lifeless stretches brought back many fond memories: the first blush of pride at winning his Proving; a similar delight from his first command; the simple joy of playing cards with Pim and his gregarious twin, Mip.

  From there, it was an easy progression to other remembrances. His first battle came in Asturia, an event no soldier forgot. He had been honored by King Anton in a surprising ceremony, an event all the more notable for the personal rivalry inflicting Anton and Hermann, Nico’s father and then-king of Akenberg.

  Following that ceremony, Nico felt at home in Asturia. Perhaps more so than he ever had in Neublusten, at least to that point in his life. He had become a sort of mentor and brother to Prince Tobias, and trained the gangly youngster at swordplay for a time.

  Then he and Princess Letitia had fallen in love, just as circumstances conspired to pull them apart. His decision to leave her was one of the hardest of his life, and his promise to never be her enemy weighed heavily on his conscience ever since.

  Since then he had won an even larger battle, saved his home city from siege and his kingdom from defeat, become Third and then king. Yet Leti was still the best thing to ever happen to him, and every mile farther into Asturia was a mile closer to her.

  “Now that is a welcome sight,” Lima said from beside him.

  “What’s that?” he asked. As was so often the case, he had forgotten she was there, lost as he was in his own thoughts. He squinted, gazing into the distance, but saw nothing other than empty miles of dry earth.

  He looked at her and saw she was looking at him rather than ahead.

  “You, My King.” That was the title she used when teasing him. “You look happy. Asturia suits you, it seems.”

  He laughed. “Of course it does. This is where the Threeshields adopted me. And where I discovered my nosey aide.”

  Lima looked away, hiding the grin on her face. “Do you think the royals will negotiate, rather than fight? They seemed reasonable, until they didn’t.”

  “I think so. I hope so. Why wouldn’t they?”

  Lima shook her head. “People always find reasons to behave against their own best interests. We’re nothing if not fools.”

  That eve, rather than face another restless night, Nico wandered the camp. It reminded him of the old days, when he was just a prince and his command a mere thirty-three troopers. He had tried to know every woman and man by name back then, a practice that became impossible as his station elevated.

  For old times’ sake, he wanted nothing more than to witness the simple camaraderie of his recruits and officers going through the patterns of everyday army life. There was talking, laughing, cheering, yelling. Games, jokes, insults, and secrets. All woven into a background of constant motion, duty and obedience. Soldiers worked hard, they played hard, they lived hard, and died hard.

  The particulars did not matter. Seeing this again reminded Nico that soldiers were eternal, because warfare was eternal. And he was comforted, because it reassured him that this war would not be the last. The Chekiks did not matter. The demons did not matter. He did not matter.

  He could do what he believed right, lead an honorable life, and stop worrying that he held the fate of the empire in his hands.

  Nico returned to his tent, but not to his bedroll. Instead, he sat at the desk, thinking of better times to come. A queen, children, and a happy, peaceful kingdom. He was so lost in thought that he did not see Pim enter the tent, stare at him for a minute, then disappear again. Not even when the former thrall reappeared, Lima at his side, did Nico break free of his reverie.

  Not until they spoke. “Are you all right, Third?”

  It was the sort of question he seldom received anymore. A personal question, not an official one.

  He stared at them. Nico did not recall doing anything to warrant concern. So where did this come from?

  And then the idea struck him. They worried about him because that’s what friends did. Nico was not just a king and a commander to them. They knew the person he was from before, not the one he had become, the one who had to master every moment.

  That was exhausting.

  “Lima, Pim. I know it’s late, but will you stay awhile?”

  Pim fetched two extra chairs from a nearby tent, Lima a bottle of Dauphi wine from the stores. Together they listened to the sounds of the camp going to sleep. There was still activity, but even that became hushed, respectful of those at rest.

  Likewise, the three drinkers were also quiet, beginning in whispers though alcohol soon had its effect and conversation grew free and easy.

  Pim fetched more when the first bottle was empty, and announced on returning that the stars were particularly prominent tonight.

  “How is the new one?” Lima asked.

  “Brightest of all.”

  “I wonder what it means.”

  Nico had a thought. “I believe it’s Garrett. I think the heavens knew he would earn it.”

  They looked at him inquisitively. Not with suspicion, but simple curiosity.

  He went on. “The Order teaches us that the highest honor is to die in glory. Wait, that’s not the right way to put it, it’s more complicated than that.

  “The highest honor is to earn your glory with your life, all the way to your peak—the point at which your future cannot exceed your past. Then, in one heroic effort, to die with dignity, sealing your reputation in perpetuity. Usually, we interpret this to mean in a duel with another thane, but there are other ways. Perhaps even greater ways… Like Eberhart walking away at the height of power. His legacy is clear. Every woman and man in the twelve kingdoms wishes he were back.

  “I believe the Second found one. His death will be remembered always.”

  “You’re happy that he died, then?” Pim asked.

  “No. It terrifies me. He left the Order without a leader. We have no First and no Seconds. Only Thirds.”

  “You’re a Third,” Lima said. “And you defeated a Second.”

  “Don’t remind me. It’s always in the back of my thoughts. What is my duty? Worried as I am about the kingdom, about the empire…I’m equally worried for the Order. It must survive for its values to carry on.”

  “Simple enough,” Pim said. “You will lead it.”

  The wine was making Nico’s head swim. He looked at his eternal companion, his bodyguard, his friend. He felt the sudden desire to cry welling up just in time to stop it. “I can’t take any more, Pim. It’s too fast.”

  Lima put her one hand on his arm. “We’ll help you.”

  But will Leti? Much as he loved these two for everything they did, he needed Leti in order to go on. She was his hope, and the nearer he came to bringing that hope to fruition, the more he feared it was illusory.

  He could not explain these things, however. Not even to them. Once more, he wished he had someone other than ghosts to confide in.

  “I wish Renard were here,” he said. “That gruff old bastard would set me straight.”

  “You want someone to set you straight?” Lima brought her tin cup down heavily onto her knee. She laughed, intoxicated, that particular mix of happy and sad. “You still have it all. Try losing an arm.”

  Pim snorted and m
oved in agitation.

  “What?” she barked at him, accusingly.

  “Try losing a brother.” He glared back at her, but the tears came quickly to them both.

  Nico leaned back, letting the two reconcile. Perhaps they might find love. He hoped so, for there was nothing better. Or was honor? The two ideas were sometimes so very difficult to separate.

  “I lost a brother, too,” he said at last. Then reconsidered. “No. I didn’t so much lose my brother, as he lost me. Father, too. My own family wanted me dead.” He wasn’t upset, just thoughtful. He had reconciled this particular pain a long time ago, after perhaps the thousandth attempt.

  “Nico, you’ve proven them wrong many times over,” Lima said.

  He smiled. “You called me Nico. You never call me that.”

  “Maybe not. But that’s how I think of you.”

  He looked at Pim. “You, too?”

  His friend nodded, and Nico leaned back. “I’m glad.” He lifted the bottle and shook it. “A few sips left. Shall we finish? Or are we all ready to fall into our bedrolls?”

  They held out their cups, and he poured three equal measures.

  “To your arm,” Pim said, looking at Lima.

  “And your brother.”

  The three of them drank, then stood, declaring the session at an end. Nico envied them as they made their departure, for they would find sleep while he would not.

  But he climbed into his bedroll anyway, and closed his eyes, and would have been relieved to discover how wrong he was, had he been able.

  Cormona was not yet in sight when one of Nico’s favorite people paid the king a surprise visit.

  General Freilenn, the man who backed the one-time inexperienced young Third in a council of war, then did as much as anyone to win the subsequent Battle of Akenberg, arrived unannounced in Nico’s tent, smiling broadly and visibly pleased to see his ruler.

  Nico rose to meet him with a handshake. “Good general, I look forward to hearing how you accomplished such an impressive feat.”

  “I look forward to telling it, but I’m afraid the full version will take hours. More time than we have.”

  “And the short version?”

  “The Asturians are shy. They backed away from battle at every provocation.”

  “They weren’t when I was here before. I wonder what has changed.”

  “That, I cannot say. But what I can is that we have an important dignitary set to arrive in the morn, and I thought you might want to arrange their surrender personally.”

  This was an extraordinary gesture by the general, Nico knew. Receiving an enemy surrender was one of the highest honors afforded a commander in war, and Freilenn’s career would be boosted by the event. This suggestion, this going out of his way to defer to his king, was such a palpable show of respect that Nico would have immediately distrusted it from almost any other source. But the general’s naked happiness, and the sincerity behind the gesture, were so readily apparent that no distrust was warranted.

  Nico had half a mind to politely refuse, to instead allow the other man to bask in the glory he deserved. But the bigger picture compelled the king to allow no unnecessary delays. Besides, the eagerness to see Cormona and the royals again was thoroughly irresistible.

  “Who is the dignitary?” he asked. He could easily imagine Leti used in such a role. Please let it be her.

  “I’ve not met the man yet, personally. A Lord Jacinto, adviser to King Anton’s court.”

  Nico frowned, not at all pleased. Though the final events of his time in Cormona were shrouded in unknowns, he believed Jacinto was perhaps more responsible than anyone else for the distrust and accusations that turned a good relationship sour.

  Other than Nico’s own father, of course.

  He could not look forward to the meeting the way he had hoped, but Nico could still look forward to the result. And the reconciliation that followed.

  “Of course, General. I recognize the generosity of this invitation, and the extraordinary effort on your part to deliver it in person. Your service is commendable.” He smiled, the formalities over with. “Share a drink with me, Freilenn.”

  “That would be my pleasure.”

  Nico stared at the obstinate old man on the other side of the table, disbelieving his ears.

  “Your capital is in an untenable position, Lord. We can take it, either by siege or assault.”

  During his last stay, when he believed himself a neutral bystander, Nico had conducted a personal reconnaissance of the city’s defenses. At the time, the task had been as much a means to occupy his troubled mind as anything practical, but even his amateur observation noted Cormona’s dependence on a series of springs that would easily fall within the lines of a siege. It was a tremendous weakness for the defenders, and for the citizens themselves, should an attacker be willing to put them through that deprivation.

  Nico was loath to do so, for more reasons than one. He admired these people, cared for them and their culture, and had no wish to turn them into enemies. Not when he needed allies more than anything.

  And, of course, there was his promise to Leti. Perhaps it was already too late, but he wanted to believe the oath was not yet broken. At least, not in her eyes.

  Jacinto laughed. “Perhaps in time. But not imminently. Not without cost—in time or in soldiers. Either way, you cannot afford that.”

  “That’s for the good of the empire, Lord.”

  “Bah, what does an Akenberger care of the empire?”

  Frustrated, Nico wished he could deal with someone else. Anyone else. But he knew there was no use wishing. Koblenzar’s intelligence network had been hard at work, and Nico’s understanding of the circumstances brought to acceptance.

  King Anton was on his deathbed. There would be no reconciliation with the man Nico had once fought for, saved from certain defeat, and received a wreath of honor from. That dream was over.

  Ostensibly, Prince Tobias ruled in his father’s stead. But Koblenzar was certain the real power in Cormona was Jacinto. His judgment was final. That he hated Nicolas was no surprise. But the magnitude of that hate was.

  “If you give us no choice, then you doom your own people.”

  “Living under the heel of Hermann’s son is its own sort of doom, young king.”

  Nico let the insult pass without comment. He cared as little for etiquette as this poor excuse for a ruler, and saw no reason to insist on empty pleasantries.

  “So be it.” Nico leaned back in the chair, facing each of his officers in turn. Freilenn and Koblenzar nodded, as did Freilenn’s personal aide, Captain Piveto. Only Lima appeared irresolute. She met Nico’s eyes without giving any hint of her own opinion. But he knew she would support his decision wholeheartedly, no matter the cost.

  “So be it,” he repeated. “General Freilenn, begin the investment. Be sure to close off the springs outside the walls. No stores in or out.” He faced Jacinto once more. “You bring starvation on your own people, needlessly.”

  The man sneered. “Months, Young King. We have taken in stores already. This is a matter of months, not days. Where will the Chekik invasion be by then, I wonder? West Vilnia? Gothenberg?”

  He leaned forward. “Halfway through Akenberg? What value will your stolen land have then?”

  General Freilenn was generous enough to share his headquarters, now a semipermanent structure given the extended presence of the Akenberg army. Nico valued his subordinate’s opinion and expertise, and together they discussed a wide range of subjects spanning all three Imperial conflicts.

  Halfway through Koblenzar joined them, upset that he was not included from the beginning. At one time, Nico would have castigated himself for the display of favoritism, though the older general had no direct command of his own and thus no technical jurisdiction in these matters. Lately, however, Nico found that he cared less and less for needless courtesies, particularly with a man who showed few enough of his own.

  As an eve breeze brought the faintest
relief to the unnatural heat of day, Lima showed in the two messengers as Nico requested. For the edification of Freilenn, Privates Hirt and Rama recounted the events of the east, up to and beyond General Cottzer’s death and the literal fall of Halfsummit.

  The passage of time, a repetition of telling, and the boon of a good night’s sleep gave this version a greater sense of order, and Nico discerned details he missed on the first listening. Moreover, coming in with no preconceived notions, General Freilenn prodded for clarifications and interjected useful questions both during and after.

  Voices naturally dropped lower as night fell over the camp, and as the subject matter turned darker and darker.

  “Privates, what more can you tell us of the Chekiks? What more of their tactics, their methods?”

  The messengers looked at one another before Hirt cleared his throat. “As to that, there isn’t much more to say. I spoke already of the guile, the magick, the laying of traps. All else is rumor and speculation.”

  “There is often truth in rumor,” Freilenn pointed out.

  “Bah,” Koblenzar grumbled. “Soldiers are the most superstitious—”

  “Go on, Private,” Nico said.

  “Well, as to that…” Hirt seemed uncertain. He looked again at the other messenger.

  “Talk is they eat their captives, Third.” Rama spoke without the hesitation of the younger private. His voice was strong, confident, and intoxicated. “And they flay off the skin, as trophy. Treat us much as we do animals, you see. They’re hunters, and we’re prey.”

  When he paused, Freilenn said, “Go on.”

  “That’s the hard part, you see. Whether it’s a tactic or just how they are, the buggers know what they’re doing. Wrecks morale, makes it harder to fight back. Tough to charge in when you’re worried about being shit in a latrine a day later, you see, and your lifeless face hanging on somebody’s wall. Only thing that keeps some going is fear that they’ll get to our families back home.”

  Seeing the looks with which his outburst was met, Rama added a quick, “Your pardon, Generals. Third.”