“All dead, except for me and Rodel. I saw him survive the river. I expect him in Eglamour any day. Will you look for him while I go to our emperor in Heingartmer?”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Vesamune snapped. “I just sent a letter to Emperor Theudamer congratulating him on your successful assassination of Raymond. Now I must send another courier to tell him that the Wosmoks cannot claim that victory. You failed, Wredegar.”
“We didn’t fail. Someone simply reached Raymond before we could.”
“I must send a correction regardless. I’m sure the emperor and Meliamour will want you to stay here and not waste time traveling to Heingartmer. They’ll undoubtedly have more work for your Wosmoks.”
“As ambassador to Donovan, you’re not in my chain of command,” Wredegar said.
“But I know the emperor’s desires, and I know how Meliamour works. And so do you. You will stay in Eglamour and, when Rodel arrives, both of you will stay hidden within the confines of this residence until we hear from the emperor.”
Wredegar had always disliked Vesamune. She had no idea what it was like to be a widsemer, to live on the road, always running here and there and evading discovery by the Donovards. She lived in palaces and dined with kings, even pig-kings like Erech. But Wredegar knew the influence she had in the emperor’s court, especially with Lady Meliamour, the master of the Wosmoks and her sister.
“I’ll stay,” he said, “just so Rodel doesn’t have to stay here by himself. But if you pin some failure on the Wosmoks, I’ll make sure Meliamour knows of your bedding down with General Chaultion.”
Vesamune laughed. “You think that is a vice? Meliamour receives information from me about the general’s plans. He is quite the pillow talker. The Wosmoks are not the only eyes and ears of Meliamour.”
Wredegar disliked her even more in that moment. “I’ll be awaiting Meliamour’s orders.” Then he dismissed himself and went down to the cellar of the ambassador’s residence. He knew where the good wine was, and he was going to need it. He only hoped Rodel would arrive soon.
20. MAILLARD
Rachard Castle, Delavon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
“The Empire Alliance was doomed to fail from the start, my lord.”
“We had to try, Medoff.” Maillard stood from his writing table as the general folded the parchment and readied the wax. Maillard walked to the tall window and silently took in the view.
“I will have a messenger take your letter to Eglamour straightaway,” Medoff said. “The wax is ready for your seal when you are ready.”
Maillard returned to the table and made a fist with his ring finger pushed out. He pressed his wist ring into the wax, imprinting the Valient coat of arms. “The most difficult letter I’ve sent in a long time…”
“I’m sure the king and his brothers and all their cronies will be delighted.”
“Is there no end to your cynicism, Medoff?”
“Not while this king has his indolent ass on the throne, my lord.”
“Lord minister!” A messenger burst into the room. “Another letter from Count Golbane.”
“Still no word from my son?”
“No, sir.”
“Arthan is probably still on the road,” Medoff said as Maillard unfolded the letter.
Lord Minister Valient,
Our situation is dire. We are trapped and lack provisions. I beg you to come with reinforcements. Only you can calm these people.
Your humble servant,
Count Golbane Valient
Mordmerg
“Again he asks for me…” Maillard said.
“And gives little detail,” Medoff said.
“Perhaps Serdot was right: something is amiss. I shouldn’t have doubted him.”
“You were focused on the alliance negotiations. And it’s probably not as bad as Golbane says. He’s young and probably took too few men with him, and now the Almerians are having fun with him. When Arthan finds him they will—”
“Golbane says his situation is dire, Medoff…” Maillard felt a sudden sense of urgency. “Anytime I ignored the advice of Serdot’s father it was to my own detriment. Serdot has his father’s gifts, not only as a widsemer but as an adviser. Assemble a regiment at once.”
“A whole regiment? For Mordmerg?”
“If nothing else, we’ll demonstrate our authority to the city-state in the wake of the alliance collapse. It’s not a power I intended to wield, but now that the kingdoms have made their choice I will use it. Make it a brigade, Medoff. No less than three thousand men.”
“That will slow our arrival.”
“We’ll ride in an advance party. Go.”
21. ROWAN
Ambardil Free City, Alpenon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
“You can’t do this!”
Lord Asteroth backhanded the Almerian representative to Ambardil. “Never tell your new master what he can or cannot do.”
Rowan wanted to run. He wanted no part of this. But Asteroth turned to him, his giant bulk, deep voice, and hard eyes commanding Rowan to remain still.
“I can see what you’re thinking, boy, and you’re wrong. The other lord ministers will be doing the same thing. Even your father, if he’s as clever as people think.” Asteroth turned back to the quivering alderman. “I don’t usually give second chances, but today you’re lucky. If you don’t produce the key right now, however, I’ll have my men pick the lock with your breastbone.”
Despite his fear, Rowan could see that the trembling Almerian was not going to comply. He stayed on his knees, resigned to his fate.
“Break him,” Asteroth told his men.
“Lord Asteroth,” Rowan blurted, “surely we don’t need it. The city is already yours and its charter void by the collapse of the alliance.”
“The people need to see its end, boy, not merely hear about what happened in Rachard. They need to see their charter burn, along with scum like him. As my ward, you should be learning something here. About fear and its power. And don’t forget how many Donovards have died because of the conspiracies hatched in this city.”
Rowan watched as the Almerian was brutally beaten and stripped of his clothes by Asteroth’s men, every pocket and fold searched. They took their time finding it.
“Here is the key, my lord.”
Asteroth snatched it and turned the lock on the bronze chest. He flicked open the lid and reached his big gauntleted hand inside, searching through the parchments and scrolls. Finally he found a scroll wrapped with the faded purple silk of the former Brintilian Empire. Rowan knew the charters of the free city-states dated back to the colonial days but he’d never seen one before.
“Bring him out with me. Bring your torch, Sir Hamon.”
Rowan and Asteroth’s men followed Asteroth to the balcony of the alderman’s tower, with the naked Almerian in tow. Rowan looked down at the people who had gathered in the square below. They gasped when they saw the Almerian representative, who had long controlled the Almerian garrison and jointly ruled the city with the alderman. The latter’s body was already splattered below.
Asteroth held up the purple scroll so all could see. He did not bother to unfurl it. He effortlessly ripped it in half, swapping one half for Hamon’s torch. He held the torch to the half, then let it go. It flared as it floated down, sprinkling ashes on the weeping, shouting crowd below.
Asteroth then recovered the other half from Hamon, crumpled it, and shoved it into the mouth of the Almerian. As he choked, Asteroth grabbed him by the nape of his neck and tossed him from the balcony to the sound of shrieks below. Rowan turned from the scene as Asteroth waited a moment before addressing them.
“The days of the Almerians meddling in our kingdom through the city-states are over. Join your Donovard brethren and forsake the foreign conspirators! And forsake the rebels in the west!”
The crowd boiled. Rowan watched as they attacked Asteroth’s m
en posted in the square. It was not what Asteroth had expected.
“This is how you repay my liberation of Ambardil?” he shouted. “My mercy and forgiveness?”
The people rushed the entrance to the tower but Asteroth’s knights held their ground.
“My lord…” Hamon began.
“Let’s go down, then. Let them see their new ruler with fresh eyes!”
Asteroth charged down the spiral stairs. As his ward, Rowan was oath-bound to follow him with the others. When they reached the ground, the swelling crowd had become emboldened. Asteroth wasted no time. He drew his sword and hacked at them, armed men and unarmed women alike. His men did as he did.
Rowan kept his distance as much as he could and only defended himself. But the people did not let up. Their poorly made swords shattered as they struck Asteroth’s cindersteel armor. All the lord ministers and their senior knights could afford cindersteel, including Maillard. But Asteroth’s was ominously spiked. He reminded Rowan of the tales of armored animals called rhinoceroses that lived in Ovelia.
Then something changed. Rowan noticed that among the common folk there began to appear better armored men and women with green sashes. The rebels of the west.
“You see, Rowan?” Asteroth shouted over the din. “These conspirators welcome the Rugen-loving rebels. A thorough cleansing of this city is long overdue.”
“My lord,” Hamon said, “they are too many…”
“Nonsense!” Asteroth shrieked as he killed two rebels with one blow of his giant sword. But Rowan could tell that Asteroth knew they were in trouble. The lord minister was fighting toward where his armored carriages had been left waiting.
When they reached the carriages, the guards left to protect them were dwindling, fighting for their lives. The sight of Asteroth’s bulky, bloodstained form charging toward them was enough to scare many of the commoners and rebels. But of the four companies of soldiers Asteroth had brought with him to Ambardil, Rowan was sure less than half would make it out with them.
When they were safely in the carriage and on the road Asteroth laughed wildly. Rowan glared at him. Sir Hamon, Asteroth’s right hand, did not laugh either. He was too busy bandaging his shattered hand.
“If you can’t smile at that, boy, you have less humor than a leper.”
“My lord, what is there to smile about? The leaders of the city are dead and now the people are in league with the Durgensdil rebels.”
Asteroth’s face fell grim. “Don’t ever call it Durgensdil again. Another slip and I’ll send you back to your father in a pine box. This realm is Alpenon Ministry. My realm.” He sat back in his seat and removed his gauntlets. “And you should smile, because now they’ve given me the best reason I could ask for to destroy their city.”
“Did we need a reason?”
“No. But now I must punish them. You see, it was one thing to rid them of Almerian influence. Killing the alderman and the representative was easy and over time the people would have accepted my rule. But now that they’ve clearly invited the Rugen-loving rebels from the west to come here to the east of Alpenon, my task is made easier. What do you think, Hamon?”
“Yes, my lord,” Hamon said, wincing as he tightened the wrapping around his hand.
“What about the Rugens?” Rowan said. “Aren’t you concerned that they could be supporting the rebels’ movements in such large numbers?”
Asteroth shrugged. “It’s happened before. They send their rats even into my Cantrileme. But we always hunt them out. The difference now is that, with the fall of the Empire Alliance, I can do as I wish under the rubric of settling Ambardil and the free port of Orringholm. Are you learning yet, my little ward? Great rulers must seize opportunity in calamity. And people once ruled by your enemy must be made to submit to the new power. As for the rebels, their days are numbered, too.”
Rowan was certain his and Asteroth’s days would be numbered if the lord minister kept underestimating his many enemies. Asteroth was laughing now, but his ignominious departure from the city would later grate on the lord minister. Rowan knew Asteroth’s temperament would not allow him to forget it.
22. ARTHAN
Mordmerg Free City, Delavon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
The jolt shook bits of mortar from the walls. Arthan sat up in his bedroll, noting the sky outside the window was still dark.
“What was that?”
“Time to go,” Serdot said as he scrambled to gather their things.
Arthan rubbed the sleep from his eyes to see Golbane’s knights hurriedly doing the same. One of them came over to them.
“We have horses for you, my lord. They are ready.”
“Did we signal?” Arthan asked.
“Count Golbane sent a man up there now to wave a torch. Come, we mustn’t wait for the rebels to figure it out.”
They followed the knight out onto the torchlit steps of the keep where Golbane was standing to survey the men. The courtyard was cluttered with horses, wagons of the wounded, and men darting about.
“Perhaps they’ve heard of our plan to escape,” Aldon said. “There’s movement on the street below.”
“What was that noise?” Arthan asked.
“We mustn’t linger,” Golbane said. “Mount up. Prepare to open the gate!”
Arthan and Serdot did so and fell into line. Then the second crash came. A large stone projectile smashed into the face of the keep, showering everyone in the courtyard with rubble, injuring several. Golbane sheltered in the arch of the doorway.
“Catapult!” Aldon yelled from his post at the opening gate. Golbane’s men hesitated, bunching up at the gate.
“We must leave!” Serdot shouted. “Arthan!”
He turned to Golbane. “Hurry, Cousin!”
But Golbane was caring for the injured around him. Arthan looked again toward the outer gate. The next boulder rose into the sky like a distant phantom in the moonlight. He watched it fly overhead and crash into the keep’s door where Golbane had been standing.
Arthan jumped from his horse, leaving Serdot’s shouts behind him. He rushed up the debris-strewn steps and past the heavy oaken doors that had burst from their hinges into the interior. Several bodies were silent or squirming in the rubble. Arthan bent down beside Golbane. His cousin’s armor was crushed and oozed bone fragments amid deep crimson. He lifted Golbane’s visor and found his neck bent at an awkward angle.
Serdot put his hand on Arthan’s shoulder. “You must lead our escape.”
Arthan pulled the gauntlet from Golbane’s right hand and removed his wist ring. He stood shakily, pocketed the ring, and breathed deeply. He wiped his eye as they walked through the gaping hole where the doors had been. Arthan set his jaw.
“They’re reloading!” Aldon cried from the gate, now closed again.
“Prepare yourselves!” Arthan mounted his horse. “We’ll not die here under thrown stones. We fight to escape Mordmerg, or we die trying and take them to hell with us!” He lifted his sword and Golbane’s men cheered.
Aldon opened the gate, then took his mount. A troop of cavalry sped out first and down the hill toward the long street before them. The catapult waited at the far end. Arthan and Serdot came after, followed by the wagons of wounded and knights in the rear. Another catapult boulder passed overhead from a different direction, narrowly overshooting the keep.
They swept down the hill and channeled like a river of iron into the street, cutting down the enemy as they flooded out of the shadows and alleys with swords and pikes. The cavalry ahead jumped the barricades ahead of Arthan and rode hard for the first catapult, its crew now panicked at the sight of their charge.
Arthan rode up and joined them in dispatching the crew and their black-hooded leader with their swords. They cut the torsion ropes and hacked at the wooden spokes of the wheels, permanently disabling the machine.
“Push on to the western gate!” Arthan shouted.
The cavalr
y turned and the others followed. As they raced down the street Arthan noticed that the small bands of rebels had grown into organized units fighting as fierce as any Racharder soldier.
“The wagons slow us down, my lord,” Serdot said when he caught up.
“We won’t make the city gate in time,” Aldon added.
Arthan looked the soldiers crowded around him. They were in one of the narrow valleys of the city, between the tall hill of the alderman’s keep and the hill of the council house. “We must try,” he said. “We’ve no choice. Forward!”
The cavalry rallied for a second push as the wagons caught up. But they soon found their path blocked by higher barricades, causing the horses and wagons to back up on each other. Rebels descended on them from all directions.
They turned on a side street, finding it broad and clear. They charged down it with little fighting. But once they neared the bend they met rebel cavalry led by three black-hooded knights. Arthan turned to see a similar number had followed them from behind. He readied himself for what was certain to be their final charge.
As they neared the enemy another cavalry unit burst out from an alley. They carried the azure and violet lion banner of the House of Valient. He recognized Livonier’s call and spurred his horse harder. All the cavalries crashed together on the broad street, breaking lances, splintering shields, and casting knights from their mounts. Wagons crushed the fallen into the cobblestone and overturned themselves as more rebels poured out from an alley.
“Little Lord Valient!” shouted one of the black-hooded knights. “Die now, in the city that bleeds your kin!”
Arthan turned to him, the fire in his blood rushing into his arms. He spurred his horse and came alongside the hooded knight. Their swords met but each stayed upright. With a second pass Arthan unseated him and Livonier hacked down into his helmet when he got up.
“Has Father come?”
“An hour away at most,” Livonier said. “I saw the torch atop the keep and the western gate open, so I didn’t wait for Maillard. But the gate is closed again.”
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