Shield and Crown

by Michael Jason Brandt

  “This is why the invasion came through Sky’s Pass,” Jena remarked. “It would take too long to get an army around that.” She nodded toward the water.

  “Why are we here?” Summer asked, glancing up at the eve sky above the lake surface. The lights from earlier were far more discernible now, and she saw that the flashing effect had been an illusion. The air shimmered and shifted through a spectrum of colors, some pale and dull, others bright and magnificent. Only the latter had been visible from long range.

  What it all meant, she knew not. But she also had the feeling they would find out sooner than they wished.

  A short hike into the valley brought their destination into view. A large opening in the rock face, the entrance to a cave of indeterminable size, awaited them some few hundred yards farther. The trail continued beyond, on and on to the eastern entrance of the valley, but Summer did not doubt for a moment they would be stopping here.

  She cast a long, disheartening glance at the lake. Many times, she had been caught in snow or Widowwind, but she never came as close to freezing as now. All the cold of the world seemed to emanate from this location.

  This was a side effect of Chekican sorcery, surely. But she did not understand why. She knew only that the freezing temperature was now every bit as painful as her knee.

  What if it isn’t a side effect? What if this is the purpose?

  Summer stopped walking, staring at the water. Or not water.

  Suddenly, the plan of the Archons became clear. She needed to tell someone, if only for affirmation.

  Jena walked past, eyes downcast, uninterested in the world around.

  Summer stopped her with a touch to the shoulder. “It’s all ice,” she said, pointing. But instead of replying, the princess stumbled down to a knee.

  Summer jumped forward to help, but the woman shook her away. “I’m fine.”

  The lie in her words was clear, for her skin had turned a ghostly shade of white, making the reddened bandage on her head stand out all the more. But she regained her feet as Summer watched in a mix of amazement and sorrow, then followed close behind, ready to catch the other woman should she collapse again.

  Ten more minutes and they could see smaller holes in the rocks above, either more caves or more exits from one sprawling network. But no signs of activity anywhere.

  Just outside the mouth, the Archon stopped and faced those who followed. He stepped toward Gregory, the nearest of the three, and tapped the staff in his right hand on the ground. The magistrate looked at it, unmoving and unsure.

  The Archon’s left moved quickly, dagger in hand, slicing across the man’s forehead with one vicious slash. Gregory cried out and dropped to his knees, clutching his cut with frozen fingers.

  The Chekik stared down. “Offer.”

  The magistrate lifted his hands from the wound, his head still bowed, palms covered in blood. The staff was raised, and the carved snakes came forward to feed. One at a time, punctuated by faint hissing sounds, they licked the blood from his hands and returned to their original positions.

  The staff emitted a pale red light, and the Archon stepped into the entrance. One by one, the three prisoners followed.

  The cave was high and wide, roughly circular, with any number of smaller portals to other rooms spaced around the perimeter. Some looked to be little more than cells, others storerooms filled with sacks and crates. Some were too far away to see clearly, obscured by darkness and a rising mist that came from nowhere to pool around their ankles and thighs like skeletal hands.

  The chill was even stronger inside, as it seemed to seep through clothing and skin straight into the bones. Cold was the least of Summer’s concerns, however, for a great black object toward the back of the chamber drew her attention.

  It was a wide, flat stone, raised less than a yard off the floor, made of basalt and carved with unreadable inscriptions—an altar, and on it two desiccated bodies. Not quite skeletons, but almost as thin. To Summer, it looked as if someone had opened the bodies to drain out everything between skin and bone, then abandoned the leftovers.

  As they got closer, she could see grooves cut into the basalt. The near side was adorned with the head of a vulture, carved from the same dark rock.

  The Archon stepped onto the dais, placed the butt of his staff in a small circular hole cut for the purpose, then lifted one corpse in each hand. He flung them aside, where they disappeared in the thickening mist.

  The evil here is getting excited, Summer thought.

  The Archon faced the three once more. “For the cause.” He lifted the dagger with his left hand, then held the right in invitation. “Princess, come forward.”

  Summer looked at Jena. If ever there was a time to fight back, this was surely it. But the once-beautiful face was sallow, the eyes downcast and languid. The walk had taken its toll, even had the bindings not been present.

  “No.”

  Summer stared at the magistrate, surprised by the sudden vocalization. So did the Archon. But his croaking voice showed no annoyance, or pleasure, or any emotion at all.

  “Very well.”

  Gregory stepped closer to the tall figure, who reached out to clasp the man’s filthy, once-ornate shirt. That hand held the man up as the dagger sliced down in two savage arcs. Gregory cried pitifully as his wrists spilled open and blood streamed down both arms, then continued to cry long after his body was released to the stone.

  The blood did not pool around his form, however. Instead, it flowed with unnatural swiftness down to the waiting mouth of the carrion bird, whose eyes and plumage began to glow the same shade as the staff. At the same time, a visible aura appeared around the fallen man, shimmering blue, orange, red, yellow—all the colors of the sky outside.

  Against her own nature, Summer wished he would die soon, both to ease his own suffering and to end the torment his shrieks caused her ears.

  When she was able to pry her gaze from the magistrate, she turned to watch Jena, who stared at the dying man as indifferently as she might a herd animal slaughtered for its meat.

  The Chekik was nowhere in sight. Summer hugged her friend close, then managed to drag her away to the shadows of the nearest wall.

  The crying stopped in time, as did any movement. Yet Summer sensed that Gregory was still alive. The Archon had never said as much, but she believed he would return when this first victim stopped feeding his life to the magick outside.

  Summer had already decided she would volunteer herself next. Jena was the only one who could resist, but she needed time to recover, first.

  The hardest part was accepting that the rescue was not coming. The pursuit had accomplished more than anyone could have expected, but had been hopeless from the start.

  “They tried,” she said aloud, though the princess was sleeping in her lap. “How I hope they turned back.”

  She looked down, thoughtful. Jena was not shivering the way Summer did, but her features had lost that look of strength and determination. She would need those, if she had any chance at a last confrontation.

  Summer looked around. There were stores in the side rooms, that much had been visible in the red glow of the staff when they first entered. The staff was now gone, and the glow of the vulture head had faded as the flow of blood slowed.

  She decided to look around before the light dissipated entirely. Laying Jena’s body gently to the hard floor, Summer began to crawl slowly and quietly toward the faint outline of the nearest side room.

  As if angered by the disturbance, the mist rose higher and higher. It reached over her head and all around it, disorienting her sense of direction, concealing all. She even lost sight of Jena’s form, only a few yards away.

  Summer attempted to press on, but the tendrils of cloud became so heavy that she stopped and closed her eyes in fright. Upon reopening them, she saw gaps in the mist opening once more, pacified at her cessation.

  She started crawling again, faster, back to where she had started, hoping to outrun a second censur
e. The mist rose up again, but she spotted a gap and moved through, saw Jena’s outline and headed toward it before she was enveloped once more.

  At last she reached her friend, pulling the sleeping form into a much-needed hug.

  It was not Jena. The mists chose that moment to clear once more, leaving her staring into the silent scream of a depleted corpse with white hair that should never have been mistaken for blonde. Summer dropped the body and tumbled backward, pain stabbing through her wounded knee.

  Seeking to stop herself from falling over completely, her bound hands sought the floor but found another body. She fell onto her shoulder, let go, and twisted away from the second discovery.

  The mists were clearing back to former level, and she saw more and more bodies. Too many to count, had she the slightest desire to.

  Summer shut her eyes, blocking everything else out but the mental image of moon and stars. She steadied her breathing to calm her frayed nerves. Daybreak was only a few hours off. She would find Jena and wait for it.

  When morn came, the opening of the cave revealed a picturesque view—snow in an endless torrent, a world of whiteness and peace. So much the opposite of the horrors from the night that Summer could convince herself she had dreamed those.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jena said, sitting up. A trail of blood ran from her temple, and Summer eased her back down, holding her head so she could stare outside.

  “Aye. Very.”

  “This reminds me of when I met Yohan. We were in these same mountains, far to the north.”

  I know.

  “Tell me of your betrothed, Summer. He must be very special.”

  “It is painful to think of him just now. I’d prefer to speak of something else.”

  “Tell me of your homeland.”

  Summer watched Jena’s eyes close. Good. Rest, My Princess. Perhaps the story would be soothing.

  “My people do not truly have a homeland, your pardon. Most of us are born on the road. In the grasslands and woodlands of the empire.

  “Not I, if truth be told. It was my fate to be born in a house in Darleaux. Though I do not consider Daphina home. My home is all the twelve kingdoms, and none of them.”

  She looked down, hoping to see Jena asleep. But closed eyes notwithstanding, she was very much awake.

  “You harpa are a strange lot. Appealing, but strange. I must admit I like you. I think Yohan would like you, too. If we could ever get him to talk.” She laughed.

  Her thoughts were wandering where they would, and Summer tried to refocus them. “Tell me of your home, My Princess.”

  “I am from Northgate. Did you know that? My father is king, our house was the palace, our backyard the gardens and hunting grounds. It’s nice there, every luxury a princess could want. Everything except fulfillment.”

  Jena paused in remembrance. Summer thought of the house of her own childhood, of her family and friends. Perhaps not so very different from the other’s.

  Then she realized the princess was speaking again. “But that isn’t really my home…” The voice trailed away wistfully.

  “My home is the top of the world, where the highest peaks push back the sky. It’s cold and bleak and lovely and serene, all at once. I lived there one winter, my husband and I. I hope you meet him some day, harpa. He’s a good sort, once you get to know him. We hunted wolves there. Or was it trolls? It must have been trolls, for I remember…I remember killing a man. I stabbed through his belly. And another, I sliced off his hand. And another, I cut into his neck...” A first tear was followed by a second. “There were so many, and they were killing my soldiers, and for every one I killed, two more appeared. I couldn’t stop them, Father. My first command, and I lost my entire squad. You were right; the army was no place for me.”

  Summer wiped the moisture from Jena’s pale face, then held the fragile shoulders as they shook. “Hush, Commander. You did as well as anyone could.”

  The shaking slowed, and when it stopped Jena was asleep.

  The snows decreased enough to see the faintest glow outside. Summer chose to believe it was the sunset, for she did not think she would see another.

  “Summer, my head is hurting. How does it look?”

  Summer gave the hand in hers a little squeeze. “It looks good. Much better. Do you see the sunset, Princess?”

  Though her eyes did not open, Jena said, “Yes. It’s lovely.”

  “Sleep now. Save your strength.”

  “You’re right. Quite a fight coming.”

  “Aye.”

  “I can’t wait to see Father again. And the gardens. And Yohan, of course.”

  As the last traces of light outside gave way to night, neither spoke. Summer assumed her friend was asleep. But in that moment of blindness while her eyes adjusted, she heard a sob. Then the weak, waning glimmer of the vulture spread its eerie light on Jena’s pained face.

  “I need to see him again,” she said in a choking voice, so very uncharacteristic of the proud swordmaiden. “I need to hear him say he loves me… If he loves me. How could he? I don’t think I ever said a kind word to him. Not one.”

  “His love for you shines like the stars, Jena. He told me so.”

  One, two, three more sobs. Then they stopped. “Thank you, Summer.” The princess smiled.

  In the pale red glow, Summer watched the taut cheeks loosen as a perpetual strain lifted. The face, beautiful once more, relaxed. So, too, did the fingers held tightly in Summer’s own.

  She laid her dead friend’s hand gently on the harsh stone floor. Moon and stars, take her.

  Summer fought back the tears, for she heard footsteps approaching. That could mean only one thing—the Archon returned. There was no time to mourn, for now her end had come, as well.

  10

  Cormona

  Renard had always told his last pupil that he had the gift of knowing the right thing, and the strength to act upon it. Those words were often a source of pride to Nico, who allowed himself to believe that he had lived up to them more often than not.

  Now he spent hours pondering Renard’s observations and their implications to this current, critical impasse. For once, the right thing utterly escaped him.

  The others were no help, for no one but he saw the needs of the empire entire in quite the same terms. Akenberg would win this confrontation, eventually, and that was victory enough. If Asturians suffered in the process, that was simply their own fault.

  Nico tried to see it that way, too. This was war, after all, and war always brought suffering. One way or another, he could bring the Asturians to heel. A siege might be lengthy, but the heaviest costs would fall on the enemy, army and civilian. An assault would be much faster, at the price of lives on both sides. Either option would lead to Akenberg’s hard-fought victory in this battle between the kingdoms.

  But victory alone would not do. Following what he had witnessed for himself at Allstatte, and heard through the messenger about Vilnia, every capable soldier needed to be deployed east or west against demon or Chekik. As Arturo once told him, there was no room for petty squabbles, no capacity for wasted lives.

  The Asturians could not simply be brought to heel. Nico not only needed a surrender; he needed an ally. Asturian blades must be turned against other foes, not sheathed, and not buried with their owners. He needed both kingdoms to see this struggle not as neighbor versus neighbor, but as empire against annihilation.

  Later, while discussing this point with Generals Koblenzar and Freilenn, Nico received vastly different responses. Freilenn was sympathetic, open to further discussion, though unconvinced the plan in place was insufficient.

  Koblenzar, by contrast, became increasingly agitated in behavior and speech with every suggestion. “We have an unbreakable position. Certain victory lies ahead, and you wish to change that?” Nico practically expected to hear “foolish boy” added to the end.

  He did not argue with the more experienced general, however, for he knew the man had a point. Freilenn articul
ated the idea clearly. “Third, a perfect resolution is rarely attainable in warfare, and a good commander must know when good is good enough.”

  The guard, Leny, appeared at the entrance. She whispered something to Lima, who ducked out for a moment before reappearing. “Lord Jacinto returns, with a new offer.”

  Koblenzar grinned. “I told you so.”

  Nico and Freilenn exchanged a look. It was certainly possible the leader of the Asturians had at last recognized the irresponsibility of his stance and had come to reason. But the naked hostility and callous indifference of the dignitary had been so remarkable, they dared not get hopeful.

  Still, there was no harm in listening. After his previous intractability, any movement at all would be an improvement.

  “Preposterous,” Koblenzar said.

  “I concur,” Freilenn agreed. “This is foolish.”

  And there it was, just as Renard always said.

  “I’m of a mind to consider this,” Nico said, choosing his words carefully. “But I must be sure of the terms.”

  “Let us be quick, then, Young King. I dislike the stench of your camp.” Jacinto wiggled his nose for emphasis.

  Nico ignored the theatrics. The offer was the only thing that mattered.

  The first words from the man’s mouth had made Nico’s heart race. I speak to you not as King of Akenberg, but as Third of the Order of Swordthanes…

  As you are aware, Cormona is proud to have our own thane.

  Let us allow honor and skill determine the fate of this conflict.

  “I will get your vote on the Council?” Nico asked, repeating the terms the man himself had offered.

  “The loser will vote with the winner,” Jacinto clarified. “The duel is not yet fought.”

  “And our forces integrated beneath one command? Asturia will fight beside Akenberg?”

  “For the duration of this conflict, yes. Nothing is forever.”

  “Hmm.” Is that the trick? Was this where Jacinto hoped to fox his way out of obligation?