“Thank you, My King. You honor us with this duty, but not so much as you do with your person. We are all very pleased that you send us off personally.” He smiled, enjoying the exchange. For a commoner, Freilenn was becoming quite adroit with the formalities of etiquette.
Moving closer now, Nico lowered his voice and spoke in the casual manner of friends. “Remember, drive them back as needed, but avoid bloodshed where possible. We want them deterred, not dead.”
“Aye, Third. I understand the circumstances.”
He did not, of course. Or at least not all of them. Freilenn was aware of the three conflicts inflicting the empire—not only this civil war, but the rumors of a demon infestation in the north and a Chekik invasion in the east. Every able soldier was needed for the latter two, which meant every death in the former was doubly tragic. Thus Akenberg’s unfortunate war with her neighbors needed to be resolved as quickly and bloodlessly as possible, then resources shifted to the other fights.
These strategic necessities had been explained to Nico by Third Arturo, just before his death in a duel between the two. The result was that Nico took on the responsibilities and the title of the other, along with an overwhelming sense of guilt.
All this Freilenn knew. But there was more that he did not, that he could not. Nico had made a promise to Princess Letitia of the Asturians that they would never be enemies. Events had already made him an unwilling liar, and he had no desire to become a willing one.
The Fourth Army was marching south, against Asturia. The Loresters, to the north, had already lost one battle and were open to negotiations. That left only Daphina for Nico to confront with the remainder of his forces.
“I trust you above all others, Freilenn. You’re the right man for this.” Nico spoke from the heart, as the other well understood. “But I’ll miss having your counsel.”
The general nodded. “Let’s be sure to speak again soon.” He smiled. “In Cormona, preferably.”
They saluted, then Nico backed away while the man issued orders. Soon two-thousand boots were marching in unison, filling the late morn with precision stomping like the drums of an endless symphony. Freilenn was taking the best of the recent recruits, leaving a mob of misfits for Nico and Lima to whip into shape.
He turned to his long-time, one-armed aide. “Well, we should get to work.”
She nodded. “Aye, Third. General Reikmann is waiting.”
Once the leader of King Hermann’s royal guard, Reikmann had been promoted following General Handersonn’s debacle at the Battle of Neublusten. Nico had hated to cashier that drunken officer, for he genuinely liked the man and believed in second chances. But not third.
Handersonn had tried, and mostly failed, to turn the influx of recruits into an effective fighting force. Now that responsibility was Reikmann’s, for which the man had obvious mixed feelings. An old friend of Nico’s father, he was torn between a genuine desire to please and a regrettable attachment to the old ways. He accepted Nico’s reforms without complaint, but lacked originality of his own.
To help the new general transition, Nico assigned Captain Anika to his staff. She had proven herself capable in relief of Handersonn in the recent fighting, and she would be next in line should any of the current generals fail. Or fall.
That left Cottzer. Once a highly respected officer, he had risen to field command beside Nico’s brother, Markolac. Now he was a broken man, for not only had Markolac’s army been defeated and Cottzer captured, but he had been party to the betrayal of the younger prince. Nico forgave him for the slip, but the general had more difficulty forgiving himself.
“Are you ready for this?” Lima asked as they neared the city walls. Nico looked from her to Pim, who grinned like a proud fool at the king’s discomfort. Mickens was only slightly more successful at concealing his mirth.
Nico lowered his head, then sat up straight in the saddle as the gate opened before them and they rode inside.
“Hail, Nicolas the Great!” the gathering crowd cheered. The familiar refrain followed the entourage through the streets, and would go on all the way to the Rechshtal, the headquarters of the army that had become more of a home than Castle Neublusten itself. “Nicolas the Great! Nicolas the Great! Nicolas the…”
He had mixed feelings about the cheers. On the one hand, love and respect was something he cherished, even though he could never be comfortable with such outward demonstrations. The cheers themselves never failed to lift his spirits, and had literally saved his life in the duel with Arturo. These people had been with him through that, the subsequent battle outside the walls, and his hurried coronation. Their support had stayed with him while he recovered from many difficult wounds.
His physical wounds, that was. There was another that would never heal, the one in his spirit, for he had not defeated Arturo fairly. Long after the duel ended, after the battle won, Nico learned that the Third had been poisoned.
The Swordthanes lived by a particular code of conduct, and Nico had been made an unwitting participant in that code’s violation. Every man must die, and to die by the blade of another thane was the highest honor of all. There would have been less shame in dying to Arturo than there was in defeating him unfairly.
Not only did Nico not deserve to be Third, not only should he be dead, but the act denied a great warrior of the righteous honor that should have been his due. All Nico could do was hope the man had not known the truth before his last breath. It was a guilt that would poison the young king’s heart as long as it continued to beat.
There was one other general that Nico had all but forgotten, until the man presented himself at the Rechshtal that eve.
Lima came into his office looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Third, General Koblenzar wishes a word. Should I send him off?”
Nico leaned back, considering. Koblenzar was the former commander of all Akenberg forces, and the man Nico had summarily dismissed as soon as he took that role for himself. There was little love lost between the two of them, and even less respect, but Nico’s curiosity was piqued. “No. Send him in.” I want to see what he is about.
He was about pleading for a job. Nico never would have guessed the man had a scrap of humility, but here it was on full display. “Should you give me the opportunity to serve Akenberg once more, I shall do so faithfully, to the best of my abilities.”
“Alas, we have no command positions available.”
“There are other ways I might serve, other functions I can provide.”
“Such as?”
“For one, I was the head of the intelligence service. It is a responsibility not many are qualified for, requiring a network of discreet informants built up over time.”
Along with a moral pliancy beneath most, Nico thought. Yet the man had a point, for the gathering of information was a greatly underappreciated duty. Even Lima, who hated the man, would attest to that.
“Suppose I appointed you on the morrow. What would you do, General?”
“I understand that Crown Prince Matheus managed to escape our capture, but there are surely others worth interrogating. I would start there.”
“I hope to make Lorester see the value of peace, not fight them to submission.”
Koblenzar scowled. “It may be wise to press your advantage while they are weak.”
I intend to—at the table, not on the battlefield. “What else?”
“Our other enemies, Daphina and Asturia. I have contacts in both. A steady stream of information, troop deployments, the tendencies of commanders.”
“Very well, General. I see your point. I will take this into consideration. You understand if I think the matter over?”
“Of course, My King.” The man bowed and accepted his dismissal, even going so far as to nod at Lima. Perhaps the recent victory—the changing fortunes of the kingdom—had earned the old officer’s respect.
Nico turned to his aide for advice. “I think I should speak to my father about this. What do you think?”
�
�I think you should trust your own mind,” she replied. Then considered. “On second thought, that’s a terrible idea. You should speak to your father.”
He laughed. “Make an appointment. First, let’s see the Loresters.” He stood up.
She shook her head. “Not so fast. You have another visitor to deal with.”
Nico sat back down and waited impatiently. He was finding a king’s busy schedule to be even worse than a general’s.
Yet this visit was due to neither. A handsome young face peeked into the room, grinning like a jester. The man it belonged to was no courtly fool, however, that much was clear from the moment he sauntered into the room and crossed long arms over a powerful chest. “So this is the man who defeated my esteemed Patron, and to whom I now owe fealty. Do wonders never cease?”
The meaning was clear enough. This was a Swordthane, the first one Nico had met who was beneath him on the hierarchy. The Order of Swordthanes had only one First, whom two Seconds served faithfully; each Second three Thirds, making Nico one of six; and each Third three untitled thanes of their own.
When he defeated Arturo—or rather, when Arturo died during their duel—Nico assumed the other swordsman’s position. That included the three subordinate thanes, though he had never attempted to contact them. Something must have compelled this man to seek him, instead.
I wonder if he intends to challenge me? According to the code of the Order, Nico could rightfully decline until a year passed since his last bout. Nevertheless, he already decided that he would accept any challenge. Win or lose, it would ease the burden of guilt.
Whatever his purpose, the man’s appearance was a welcome distraction from the morbid duties of war and the petty affairs of state. Nico stood, extended an arm, and offered the guest a place at the table. “Please, Thane, sit. You honor me with your presence.”
The eyes crinkled in silent laughter. “Are all kings so courteous to former thralls?”
Nico recognized that he was being teased, but knew not whether it was intended to provoke, or as simple merriment. He shrugged. “If you find courtesy disagreeable, you’ve come to the wrong place.”
The stranger lifted an eyebrow, and his smile lost its touch of ostentation. But he accepted the offered seat. “My Third—”
“What is your name, Thane?”
“I am Fawkes, at your service.”
“I am Nicolas, at yours.” The brow lifted again, but the man listened patiently. “No doubt you know more of me than I of you, Fawkes. But I hope you will rectify that. My responsibilities here, in the midst of conflict, have forced me to neglect my functions in the Order more than I might have wished—but that does not mean I take them lightly. In fact, I hope your arrival here will go far in helping me fulfill my obligations. Am I correct?”
“Aye, My Third. I come from Second Devero, who desires that I answer all your questions. And instruct you as to the Order’s wishes.” As he spoke, lithe fingers danced animatedly—or perhaps nervously—on the pommel of his sheathed sword, as though he possessed too much energy to remain stationary in the manner of courtiers.
“Just so. I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting the Second, so please tell me all about him. Why do you laugh?”
“Her. The Second is the proudest woman I know, and the finest warrior. Though I’ve not met the First of Swords, of course.”
Nico grinned. He had a habit of making silly assumptions that came back to bite. If nothing else, these blunders kept him humble and attentive. “Where is the Second now?”
“In Falkenreach. Fighting demons.”
“Yes, Arturo told me of the infestation. How fares the fight?”
“Too soon to tell. When Arturo failed to return, I was dispatched on this mission before the real fighting began. Naturally, I will return to the battle as soon I leave here.”
“I hope you can stay a few days, at least. I have much to learn.”
“A few days, aye. Longer, impossible.”
Lima opened the door and caught Nico’s attention. “Your pardon, Third. Chancellor Thamos desires a word.”
He nodded, then looked at his peer. Solidly built, squared shoulders, but an easy manner. Confident, and no doubt capable. “As you can see, Thane, I find my time is not my own. But come to my office this hour each day, from now until you leave. We will speak as long as my aide allows. I want to know everything. In the meantime, I hope you’ll enjoy the comforts of the castle.”
“Your pardon, Third, but I prefer the comforts of the tavern.”
Nico smiled. “We have those, too.”
The city had been in no position to house a thousand prisoners so soon after a siege, therefore most of the Lorester solders were paroled and sent back home with orders not to take up arms against Akenberg again. A few, feeling no particular hatred for their neighbors, had willingly joined the Fourth Army’s march to Asturia. Only the officers remained in Neublusten, and only the general staff imprisoned in the Rechshtal’s adjoining gaol.
Nico entered without fanfare, wanting a few minutes to observe the dynamics of the prisoners. One thing he had discovered in recent years was just how much could be learned from watching people when they did not know they were being watched.
He spotted one familiar face right away—Fineo, the envoy of the crown prince, who had once crushed Nico’s soul with the information of his family’s betrayal.
Besides Fineo, there were six others in the communal cell. All of them wore the uniform of Lorester, gray and brown, prominently emblazoned with the proud lion of Chissenhall.
All were men. Two of them, one young and one old, were sharing whispers with the foppish captain. Three others sat together, playing cards and occasionally swapping banter with the first three. The last, a white-bearded old man all but shunned by the others, sat alone in a corner.
Nico wished he had thought to bring Cottzer along, if for no other reason than to get a sense of the personalities and importance of the people here. The insignia on their uniforms indicated that three were captains, three commanders, and only the quiet old man a general.
An odd dynamic was at play here, for it was strange to see an officer—and a general, at that—neglected by peers. No doubt the others held him responsible for the recent, unexpected defeat.
Nico waited for someone to notice him and the talking to diminish. Only then did he motion the guard to open the door and let him in.
“Captain Fineo. How pleasant it is to see you. How pleasant, indeed.”
The once-brash officer looked quickly at the young commander he had been speaking with. Then he smiled sheepishly at the Akenberg king, a man whom he had not treated well when last they spoke, yet who had assumed an air of polite cheer. Caught somewhere between a frown and a smile, Fineo stepped forward.
“Thank you, Prince Nicolas. That is to say, King.”
At the sound of the name, all seven prisoners stopped what they were doing to watch the exchange.
“Are you treated well?” Nico inquired. An answering nod, as was to be expected. “In that case, I have a favor to ask. I require a dependable man to deliver a message to King Maximil.” This is the sort of man who will recommend himself. To abandon other prisoners in order to escape his own imprisonment.
Another glance exchanged, then Fineo smiled broadly, reassuming the false air of good cheer that was so irritating. “Of course, Prince Nicolas. That is to say, King. May I recommend Commander Tomas, who is the finest rider amongst us, and as dependable as any Lorester alive.”
That may not be saying much, Nico thought. He nodded. “You may recommend him, indeed.” He turned to his companions. “Lima, please escort this Tomas to the Rechshtal. And summon Generals Reikmann and Cottzer. I suspect we have our crown prince, after all.” I cannot believe I didn’t do this already. An oversight that might have cost us greatly. Perhaps I need help more than I thought.
“Pim, take the captain to General Koblenzar for interrogation.”
Fineo attempted to protest, grabbing Nico
by the arm. “You err, Prince Nicolas…that is to say—”
He stopped and stared at the array of swords raised all around him, the guards only waiting for a nod from their king.
Nico looked at the hand clutching his arm, then into the other man’s eyes. “I suggest you accept the change in circumstances a little faster, Captain. For your own good.”
Then he faced the old man in the general’s uniform, watching from the corner. “You there. What is your name, Commander?”
“Farrel, King.”
“Just so. Commander Farrel, come with me. I need you to carry a message to Chissenhall.”
To Nico’s surprise, Fawkes brought a flagon of wine to their second meeting, and took intermittent sips during the discussion. Yet his face showed none of the markers of heavy drinking, nor his voice the signs of intoxication. The pleasant jocularity remained, reminding Nico in many ways of Mip, Pim’s twin who had been the delight of the Threeshields until his sad death at Cormona.
Much like Nico’s sessions with Arturo, the two men spent most of their time bent over a large map of the twelve kingdoms.
“Second Devero is here.” Fawkes tapped the southeastern portion of Falkenreach, where forest thinned to plains. “Or was, when last I saw. She intended to move north with Thane Vasturo, to challenge the horde before it swept south.”
“What do you mean, challenge? Surely she does not mean to fight all the demons herself?”
“Nay. I mean, aye.” He took another swig of wine. “They speak of a man who commands the demons, and this man is her target. She seeks to kill the leadership and see the rabble descend into confusion.”
Nico had his doubts that things would be so simple, but he was here to listen and learn, not to offer objections.
“How soon?”
“As soon as she learns his location. Reports are frustratingly wild and contradictory.”
Considering the range of outlandish rumors he had heard—all manner of foul creatures witnessed in the dark woods, rogue beasts turning suddenly hostile, perpetual storm clouds filling the skies—Nico could well imagine how difficult it was for the Second to distinguish fact from fiction. “Your best guess?”
Shield and Crown Page 8