The Burning Kingdoms

by Sally Green

  “So, I’m your adviser?”

  “Indeed.”

  “On anything in particular?”

  Catherine sighed and rolled her shoulders. Where to begin? “War . . . money . . . marriage . . . love.”

  “The little things.”

  Catherine laughed and kissed Tanya on the cheek. “Yes. But first it must be war. Come. I’m due at the war council.”

  Catherine had been absent from the daily meetings the last few mornings as she’d been at Tzsayn’s bedside, but she was determined not to miss another.

  Ffyn, Davyon, and Hanov, the most senior of Tzsayn’s generals, led the war council. As Catherine arrived, General Ffyn, newly promoted to replace Lord Farrow as leader of the Pitorian army, beamed at her across the map table.

  “Good news, Your Majesty. A delegation from Calidor arrived this morning. They will be joining us shortly.”

  “At last!”

  It had been a month since Edyon had set sail for Calidor with Catherine’s warning about the threat posed by the boy army and her request for an alliance against her father, and the silence since had been so deafening she had begun to fear that the message had got lost.

  “Perhaps you can update me on the general situation while we wait for them to arrive?”

  “There’s no change, Your Majesty. The Brigantines are holding their positions around Rossarb and on the Northern Plateau.”

  He pointed at the locations on the map, almost as if he didn’t expect Catherine to know where they were.

  “But under there is where most of the action is,” Tanya said, gesturing to the Northern Plateau. “In the demon world, I mean.”

  Ffyn looked at Tanya and then to Catherine with raised eyebrows. Tanya was not officially on the war council.

  As matter-of-factly as she could, Catherine said, “I’ve promoted Tanya to position of dresser. I welcome her views on all matters.”

  The general cleared his throat. “Of course. Whatever you think best, Your Majesty.”

  “And Tanya’s right,” said Catherine. “My father is con-solidating his position on the plateau and busily farming the demon smoke. He has exactly what he wants—a secure supply of smoke and time to train his boy army. When that’s ready, we won’t stand a chance.”

  “I like to believe we’d put up a little more resistance than you seem to expect, Your Majesty,” General Ffyn replied stiffly.

  “You’ve seen how the smoke works, General. We all know an army fueled by demon smoke is unbeatable, even if it’s an army of boys. There’s no shame in admitting it. The shame would be in not having a plan to deal with it.”

  Ffyn shook his head. “Our numbers may be down due to this damned fever, but we are over that now. We have a good position on high ground. I believe we can hold this line if the regular Brigantine army attacks.”

  “However, one of my men returned from Brigant last night,” General Hanov, who controlled the spy network, interjected. “He reports sightings of boys’ brigades—”

  “The boy army?”

  “Not exactly, Your Majesty. The brigades are small units—there’s at least ten of them, with a hundred boys in each. These boys are brutal, strong, and fast . . . and improv-ing their fighting skills all the time.”

  “And where are these brigades?”

  “At least three are with Aloysius near Rossarb.”

  “And the rest?”

  “We think they’re near the border with Calidor.”

  Catherine looked up from the map. “Calidor? Do you think they’re preparing to invade?”

  Hanov shook his head. “That’s just a few hundred boys. All of Aloysius’s best troops are still at Rossarb. There are no signs of them moving south.”

  “Even if the boy army were to go in first, Aloysius can’t take Calidor without support from his regular army, Your Majesty,” Ffyn explained. “He needs boots on the ground to occupy the country once the fighting is over. I still see nothing to indicate an imminent attack against either ourselves or Calidor.”

  “I agree with you, Ffyn,” Davyon said. “Except there’s the matter of the Pitorian Sea.”

  “The sea?” asked Catherine.

  “The Brigantines may not be confronting us or the Cali-dorians on land, but they are attacking our ships,” he said. “We’ve had to bring most of our fleet into port. The Brigan-tine ships are bigger and faster than ours and now have almost total control of the waters between us and Calidor.”

  Catherine inwardly cursed the meetings she’d missed. She’d been busy with Tzsayn and the finances, but her father was never still. What was his grand plan? She looked at the map again. “If the Brigantines are free to move anywhere around the Pitorian Sea, they could invade at any point along our coast! We must regain control.”

  Ffyn looked irritated. “Yes, but how? We can’t take control of the sea if we don’t have the ships.”

  “So we must get ships—better, faster ships,” Catherine said, but even as she spoke her heart sank. It was all very well shouting at her generals about it, but where could they get them from? How long would it take to build them? How much would they cost to build?

  “The Calidorians have a strong fleet,” Hanov said thoughtfully. “They’ve built it up since the last war to defend themselves against Aloysius.”

  “Then we must ask the Calidorian delegation to loan us some ships to protect our coast and patrol the Pitorian Sea. It’s a solution that will benefit us both.” Could it really be that simple?

  “You’re right, Your Majesty,” Davyon said. “And we must protect our coast as you say. But smoke is the key to this war. That is what Aloysius needs for his ultimate victory. It’s why his forces are concentrated in the north, which is his greatest strength but also his greatest weakness.”

  Catherine smiled. “A weakness! You’re giving me hope, Davyon. Explain.”

  “It’s a question of logistics, Your Majesty. Aloysius’s army is a long way from home. Some of his supplies can come along the northern coast road between Brigant and Pitoria, but the army is too big to be supplied exclusively by land, so most comes by sea. That’s fine in the summer, but it’ll be different when the winter storms begin.”

  “But winter is months away,” objected Ffyn. “And mean-while the Brigantines have superiority on the water and are strengthening the land route all the time.”

  Catherine nodded. “But with naval support from Calidor we’d have a chance to disrupt their shipping and maybe even attack the northern coast road, cutting their overland supply lines.”

  “Leaving Aloysius trapped in Rossarb and starving,” Davyon finished.

  Catherine smiled. “Draw up plans.”

  Davyon bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  “In the meantime,” Catherine continued, “how can we stop the farming of the smoke? You’re right, Davyon, that the smoke is the key to everything. I feel that we have some knowl-edge of the demon world and we’re not making use of it.”

  “I do have one suggestion, Your Majesty,” said Davyon slowly. “We could send a special unit behind enemy lines to disrupt things. A small group of select men who can travel fast and strike hard. It would be a dangerous mission, but it would cause the Brigantines some headaches.”

  Catherine nodded, her thoughts already going to Ambrose. He’d be the perfect leader for such a mission, and sending him away would have the added advantage of quashing rumors that still swirled around the camp about the nature of the relationship between the queen and her bodyguard. But, because of those rumors, Catherine didn’t even dare suggest his name to Tzsayn’s closest aide.

  “Find a way of doing it, Davyon. Without smoke, the boy army is just a bunch of boys.”

  An aide stepped into the tent with a formal bow.

  “Your Majesty, may I present the Calidorian delega-tion?”

  Catherine came o
ut from behind the map table and smoothed her skirts. This was a historic moment: the start of an alliance between Pitoria and Calidor. She had to look like a queen.

  “Lord Darby and Master Albert Aves.”

  The aide stood aside, and two old men entered and bowed. Catherine nodded graciously, waiting for the aide to announce the rest of the delegation.

  The silence stretched.

  Finally, after what seemed like an age, Catherine realized that this was it: Lord Darby, an old, frail man with a cloud of snow-white hair, and his assistant, who wasn’t much younger. It was hardly a delegation meant to impress.

  “Lord Darby,” she said hastily. “Welcome to Pitoria.”

  “We are honored to meet you, Your Majesty.” Lord Darby bowed again stiffly. “But I was expecting to have an audience with King Tzsayn.”

  Catherine’s jaw tightened. Of course he was. “Alas, the king is indisposed today, but whatever message you have for my husband you may tell me and have confidence that I will share it with him.”

  Lord Darby looked a little uncertain. “Perhaps the king will be available tomorrow?”

  “I fear not. But I am available now, Lord Darby. I am queen and have equal status to my husband.”

  Lord Darby’s assistant muttered in his master’s ear. Darby nodded and pulled a smile across his face.

  “My apologies. I was instructed to present my message to the king, but of course if that’s not possible . . .” He took a scroll from an inner pocket and held it out to Catherine. “A message for Your Majesties from Prince Thelonius of Calidor.”

  Catherine accepted the heavy scroll with a smile. She carefully broke the seal of green wax, conscious that all eyes were on her. This scroll would contain Thelonius’s offer to join forces with Pitoria against Brigant and turn the tide of the war. It was a significant moment, and she read aloud so all those present could hear:

  “His Royal Highness Prince Thelonius of Calidor sends his greetings and thanks to King Tzsayn and Queen Cathe-rine of Pitoria for their gracious assistance to his son, Prince Edyon, Prince of Abask. Prince Edyon is to be formally invested in Calia as heir to the throne of Calidor, and King Tzsayn and Queen Catherine are invited to attend the cere-mony and the celebrations that will follow as special guests of honor.”

  We’ve asked for a military alliance and they’re inviting us to a party? Catherine took a breath. Surely there will be more about the war. Thelonius is merely beginning with his thanks.

  “Prince Edyon has demonstrated to us the power of the purple demon smoke and we thank our Pitorian friends for providing us with an example of this strange substance.”

  Good. More thanks, but good.

  “We also thank you for your warning about the immi-nent threat from the forces of King Aloysius of Brigant. In Calidor we are constantly aware of our northern neighbor and the threat he poses to our freedom and security. We have prepared our defenses well and will continue to hold firm against him should he attack our borders. Lord Darby has many years of experience fighting the Brigantines, and we are sending him to you as our special emissary to provide advice on how you might deal with our common enemy. I again send you my most grateful thanks, Prince Thelonius of Calidor.”

  Special emissary? Advice? And more thanks than I can shake a stick at! Is that all he’s offering?

  Catherine let the scroll roll up as she turned her attention back to the men in front of her.

  “How many men have you brought with you, Lord Darby?”

  Darby looked confused. “Just Albert here. He sees to all my needs, and Prince Thelonius felt we would travel faster without a full military escort.”

  Catherine swallowed a sudden burst of anger. This was the Calidorian effort—two old men and a letter of hollow thanks, when she needed men and ships and an offer of alli-ance. What was Thelonius playing at? Edyon had demon-strated the power of the smoke—the letter said as much. How could Thelonius not see the threat? This response was either madness or an insult.

  “Well, if you have been sent to provide advice, perhaps you could advise us on the question of ships. We have urgent need of naval support and—”

  Lord Darby cleared his throat softly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but it has been a very long journey, and I am not as young as your dashing generals. Might we discuss this tomorrow?”

  “The war will not wait until tomorrow, Lord Darby.”

  “No, of course not, Your Majesty. But perhaps I’ll be more able to assist then.”

  Catherine was in serious danger of saying something undiplomatic. With a supreme effort, she forced herself to smile again.

  “Of course. Someone will show you to your quarters.”

  Darby bowed as he left the tent, leaving Catherine to wonder whether any assistance would be coming at all.

  AMBROSE

  ARMY CAMP, NORTHERN PITORIA

  “IT LOOKS good,” Geratan said, ruffling Ambrose’s hair, which had been dyed brilliant white and cut short at the back but left long at the top—the same as Geratan’s. Only Ambrose’s wasn’t quite long enough to stay tucked behind his ears, so it kept flopping into his face.

  “It would’ve been easier to get a hat.”

  “But this shows your loyalty.” Geratan twirled his wooden practice sword and then pointed it at Ambrose. “Very important if you’ve got Brigantine blood in you.” Geratan continued swishing his sword around. “There are more white-hairs each day. More blue too. Everyone’s keen to show their loyalty to Tzsayn and Catherine. There’s a lot of enthusiasm for them as a couple.”

  “This week, yes, but it ebbs and flows.”

  Ambrose couldn’t forget how Catherine had arrived in Pitoria on a wave of enthusiasm, only to have to flee the capital in fear of her life after Aloysius’s invasion.

  “For Tzsayn it’s constant. In fact, since his father died, it’s grown even more.”

  Ambrose knew that was true. And he only ever heard good things about Tzsayn. The new king had led his troops bravely in defense of Rossarb, choosing capture rather than fleeing and leaving his men behind. “Yes, everyone loves Tzsayn.”

  Geratan peered at Ambrose. “Everyone?”

  Ambrose ignored the question. “As much as I’d love to continue this conversation, we’re here to practice.” With that, he swung his wooden sword at Geratan, who knocked it forcefully back.

  “So you’re not going to be gentle with me?” Ambrose asked. “I’m only just out of my sickbed. My shoulder’s stiff and I can hardly walk.”

  “You can limp well enough.” Geratan darted forward, aiming a cut at Ambrose’s thigh, but Ambrose parried automatically. Geratan nodded. “And it seems your instincts aren’t too bad.”

  “This toy sword is useless, nothing like the real thing. A stick would be better.” Ambrose swung the wooden sword left and right, feeling the balance of it—and his own rusti-ness.

  “Stop whinging and put a bit of effort in.”

  Geratan thrust forward at Ambrose’s other leg, but again was countered by Ambrose, who replied, “Careful what you wish for, Geratan,” as he slipped under his opponent’s guard and slapped him hard on the left thigh. “Or you’ll find yourself beaten by a cripple.”

  “Or talked to death,” Geratan replied, attacking again.

  Ambrose defended himself with ease. “But I want to talk. You’ve still not told me what you discovered up north.”

  Geratan had returned that morning from a scouting ex-pedition on the Northern Plateau to assess the Brigantine positions.

  “Any sign of Tash?” asked Ambrose, though he knew if there had been, Geratan would have said. There had been no word from her since she had chosen to go back into the de-mon world to discover more about that strange, underground realm. Perhaps there never would be.

  “No. Just a few Brigantines and a lot of midges.”

  As he spoke, Ger
atan left himself open and Ambrose counterattacked, driving Geratan quickly back and knock-ing his sword out of his hand on the third strike. Ambrose struggled to hide his glee, but forced a frown as he rotated his shoulder, muttering louder, “Yes, I’m still very rusty.”

  Geratan growled, “Again. I won’t be so easy on you this time.”

  Ambrose grinned. “Ah, you let your guard down on pur-pose. I see that now. It was a kindness to an injured man.”

  “You don’t seem to have lost your technique, Sir Am-brose,” Davyon called as he approached them. “How’s the leg?”

  “I’m limping faster every day.”

  “You’re planning on rejoining the war? Or is this sword-play merely for fun?”

  “I’m a soldier, Davyon. As soon as I’m well, I’ll return to my position as Catherine’s personal guard.”

  If she ever wants to see me again, that is.

  Davyon nodded. “A vital role, of course, but we have other plans for you. If you’re fit and able.”

  “Other plans. Far from Catherine, I’ll wager. That would suit you and Tzsayn just perfectly, wouldn’t it, Davyon?”

  Davyon smiled but his gaze was cool. “Actually, this plan comes from the queen, Sir Ambrose. Come with me and I’ll explain.”

  Davyon led Ambrose into a large marquee. Inside were two tables covered with maps. On one, the positions of vari-ous troops were marked by stone figures like tiny chess pieces, with flags to denote their nationality. On the other table were more detailed maps of the Northern Plateau and the area around Rossarb. Ambrose quickly took in the posi-tions of the Pitorians and Brigantines. “I don’t see any Cali-dorian forces anywhere. I would have expected them to have started arriving by now.”

  Davyon gave a strained smile. “Actually, a delegation from Calidor arrived yesterday.”

  “And?”

  “They are standing side by side with us in heart and in spirit.”

  Ambrose couldn’t help but give a short laugh. “In heart and spirit but not in body, you mean.”