“No,”
Isabelle told them, “Ruther was at the inn when the Emperor tried to take me.
He made a mistake, but I’m not leaving him.”
“No
skin offa his back!” Brandol said in a rare display of anger. “You ain’t heard
‘em at the tavern! And remember, it ain’t Ruther being sought, it’s—it’s the
journeyman! They thinks it was me what helped you at the inn. Ruther’s a free
man!”
Isabelle
remained adamant, and eventually they tossed Ruther unceremoniously into the
carriage seat across from her. No one spoke much that night. Maggie seemed
determined to hit every bump on the path. James led the group even though his
head felt ready to topple off his shoulders. He chided himself for making such
a stupid choice. It had not been his first time around Ruther in such a state;
he should have anticipated the storyteller would misbehave.
“I
could have—should have—prevented it,” Henry said. “I put everyone’s life in
danger.”
James
and Henry’s eyes met as they realized they both blamed themselves.
“I’m
not a leader.” Henry pointed to the heavens. It took James a moment to see
where Henry meant him to look. Then he spotted the North Star casting its first
light into the evening sky. It was the only star he could see. “I made poor
choices before we left Richterton and ever since. I haven’t even started
learning swordplay!”
“You’ve
spent time with Isabelle. I don’t think that’s time wasted.”
“I
look at that star and I think of a constant light—no matter the conditions,
always constant. It guides sailors, wanderers, and criminals alike. The path
ahead of us—the uncertainty of it scares me because I know I’m not prepared. I
can’t lead if I’m not prepared. I can’t be that constant guide.”
“Some
good has happened,” James reminded him. His eyes left the heavens and searched
the landscape around them, always looking for signs of followers and better
paths to travel. “The writ of passage. Isabelle’s recovery. We’ve traveled a
quarter of our journey in safety. Our pace hasn’t been great, but that’s not
your fault. We also have all that gold.”
“Those
are good points.”
“In
the meantime, I can teach you swordplay during our meals if that’s what you
want.”
“I
also worry about keeping everyone’s spirits up,” Henry said, “Brandol’s in
particular.”
“Maggie
is going to tear into Ruther tomorrow.”
“She
nurses a stronger dislike for him than you realize, and has for years.” Henry
shook his head angrily. “Look at us! We’re a band of people who weren’t meant
to travel together.”
“Yet
here we are.”
“Here
we are,” Henry repeated. “It’s going to get colder soon, James. I worry that
the miserable weather will lead to more bickering, don’t you?”
James
pondered on the question. As the company veered toward a forest ten miles east
of the Drewberry River, a white fog settled down over the countryside. The
evening turned into night, and the fog stayed, blocking out the firmament and
chilling James’ skin.
Twenty-Seven
-
The Cost of Attikus
The
Emperor of Neverak
had a splendid training room. It was large and
well-stocked with scores of weapons and armor. He used it at least once a day,
but the timing varied. If his morning was busy, he trained in the evenings.
Otherwise, he preferred to start his day with a vigorous routine. On occasions
when morning meetings became so unbearable that his stress was tangible, the
Emperor ordered the room to be readied in the afternoon, during his lunch.
Today
was of the “after-lunch” type.
A
second meeting with Sir Grellek, that ridiculous nobleman planning the
northeastern city, had occupied his whole morning. The Emperor knew he could
have cut it short and rescheduled another, but the thought of a third helping
of Grellek’s stubborn demeanor made him want to commit murder. As the meeting
had worn on, his collections of bows hanging on the west wall between the
windows called to him—begged him—to put an arrow between Grellek’s shoulder
blades, to watch him run down the hall screaming for help, only to be silenced
by that sudden sting.
Fortunately
for Grellek, the Emperor possessed a healthy measure of sanity and knew he
could not simply kill everyone he wanted, especially the nobles. Those types of
leaders found themselves quickly deposed, like his sixth-great grandfather, the
man responsible for losing Neverak for two generations to the King of
Blithmore.
Several
of the Emperor’s servants were well-trained in swordplay, a sport the Emperor
had learned at a very young age and had cultivated into a passion throughout
his life. He loved it enough that his mind, when bored, slipped into thinking
about technique, body balance, and footwork. Nothing possessed more subtlety,
passion, and intricacy than the Dance of Death, as his teacher had called
swordplay.
Five
of his servants stood in the room now. Two of them stood off to the side: one
held towels, the other waited to wipe spots of sweat off the floor. Swordplay
could be both invigorating and messy. The other three servants wielded weapons.
Emperor Krallick fought with them, savoring the movements, the sounds of steel
on steel, the rushing of blood from his heart to his arms and legs. He rarely
took time for rest. Experience had taught him that in order to make the most of
these afternoon sessions, he had to push himself relentlessly.
“How
long has it been since you have been truly challenged in swordplay, my Emperor?”
a voice at the door asked.
The
words belonged to a man standing imperiously with his hands clasped behind his
back wearing a fully complimented uniform of the Neverakan military. Every
medal and honor Neverak gave its soldiers could be found somewhere on the man’s
clothing. His smooth shaven face and cropped gray hair embellished his
unblemished tan skin. His most distinguishing feature, however, was the depth
of his light brown eyes. Emperor Krallick, in all his life, had never looked
into a pair more intelligent.
The
Emperor raised a hand and his servants lowered their weapons. The servant
carrying towels stepped forward to pass them around. The other servant began
scrubbing the floor with a pail of hot water.
“Of
course, I should have expected you early,” Emperor Krallick replied.
The
man at the door frowned as he inspected the Emperor’s state. “Only proof of how
long it’s been.”
“It’s
a pleasure to have you here, Attikus.”
Attikus
bent his head in a bow. “I am at the service of the Emperor. Let me venture a
guess. You did not summon me here to improve your swordplay.”
Emperor
Krallick’s smile was genuine. Attikus’ eyes averted at the gesture. “We have
not crossed swords for many years, but I’m certain you would still easily beat
me.”
“Perhaps
not so easily as you think, Emperor, but the statement still brings a question
to my mind.”
“Please
ask.”
“If
you truly wish to improve your skill, as I have always known you do, why don’t
you find more skilled competitors?”
“I
think you know the answer.”
“I
do, Emperor. You fear for your safety. That’s common sense, but so is the
solution.”
The
Emperor of Neverak did not miss how easily a belittlement fell from the lips of
his former trainer and teacher. He would have been gravely insulted had it come
from any other man, but he knew from experience how great minds often
overlooked the failings of lesser minds. Though, he did not consider his own
mind much the lesser.
“What
is your solution, Attikus?”
“Dip
into your treasury, your Majesty. Hire men to fight you, and only—” he paused
with a finger in the air, so quickly assuming the familiar role as teacher,
“—only pay them when they strike you.”
Emperor
Krallick laughed handed over the hilt of his sword to his servant for cleaning.
“Shall I execute the man who mortally wounds me?”
“That
depends, Emperor, on your motive. Do you train for personal merit or for fear
of an impending attack?”
“Both
are appropriate reasons.”
“But
one is a much stronger motivator.”
“And
wear armor, of course?”
“Not
every accident can be prevented, my Lord, but luck favors the man who protects
his own skin.”
“I
was never blessed with the genius you possess for the sport, Teacher,” the
Emperor remarked.
“Yes,
you were,” Attikus responded with alarming intensity, “but you never pushed
yourself to it. My skills were honed in battle, which you, thankfully, have
never had to enter. Mark my words, Ivan. One day your life will be threatened,
and you will see your own genius, naked and bare, and you will remember this
conversation.”
The
Emperor held back a laugh, knowing how unlikely such a situation would be.
Attikus seemed able to discern the Emperor’s thoughts, and disappointment
etched itself into the smooth lines on his face. His eyes roamed the weapon
room. “You’ve made many changes since our old training days.”
“It
is always a joy to revisit the past,” the Emperor commented as he led Attikus
out of the weapon room. “I’ve missed you, old man, and I’ve certainly never
forgotten your lessons.”
They
came to the Emperor’s bath. Servants entered with hot water and poured it into
the large porcelain tub with exotic soaps.
“Revisiting
the past isn’t always a joy, my Emperor.”
“I
refuse to be philosophical today.” The servants placed a screen in front of the
bath, and Emperor Krallick stepped behind it to undress. Once he was submerged
into the cloudy water, the screen was removed. “We have other things to
discuss, General.”
The
use of that title had a strong effect on Attikus, and he looked gravely upon
the Emperor. “Please . . . call me by something other than that name.”
“Leave
me,” the Emperor told the servant who washed his arms. Then to Attikus he
asked, “Why do you despise the title?”
“I
do not despise it. I’ve put it aside.”
“Of
course, I remember the occasion perfectly.”
“As
you should, my Emperor. It was one of your finest days.”
“Perhaps.
Are you willing to wear the title again?”
Attikus’
gaze became fixed on the wooden floor. To Emperor Krallick, the depths of
Attikus’ eyes had never seemed so bottomless. He slid deeper into his bath and
enjoyed the rich smells emanating from the swirling water, the cleanliness that
flowed about every inch of him. During moments like this, he had no concerns at
all.
“I
enjoy my retirement. I believe my years of unimpeachable service to the
previous Emperor earned me this.”
“My
father trusted you more than almost anyone—more than me or my mother,” Emperor
Krallick added with a boyish smile that softened his normally sharp features.
He couldn’t help the nostalgia that overcame him around Attikus.
“That’s
because your father saw more of himself in you than he liked.”
“My
father was a better man than I.”
Attikus’
gaze returned to the Emperor’s with that same unabashed brilliance. “Your
father had his secrets,” he paused, measuring the Emperor, then added, “and his
black patches.”
“Yet
you won’t tell me what they were, will you Attikus?
Or where they are
?”
“I
know what you are referring to, my Emperor.” Attikus almost smiled, but the
Emperor knew in the end it would turn into a frown. It always did. In all his
years of learning swordplay and military tactics from Attikus, he had never
once seen the man smile. Even at a young age, he’d known his teacher was
incapable of it. “You don’t even know if such a thing exists.”
“Secrets
always have that uncanny way of being found, don’t they?”
“If
you are right, time will prove it.”
“What
about your secrets?” The Emperor pushed Attikus with more of that boyishness he
had already displayed. “Will I someday learn yours?”
“My
secrets?”
“You
know to what I refer.”
“There’s
a difference between secrets and fables passed around by bored soldiers.”
The
Emperor knew he had Attikus. No matter how great Attikus’ reluctance was to
take up the old mantle, loyalty triumphed over comfort. Or perhaps discomfort.
Could there also be restlessness in that old warrior? The Emperor didn’t know.
“Of
course, you taught me that every rumor, every fable, has some grain of truth.
Did you not, Teacher?”
“Correct.
I did teach you that.” He remained as straight-backed and militaristic as ever.
The Emperor then realized that Attikus’ decision had nothing to do with their
old teacher/pupil relationship. It was the old Emperor, Emperor Ivan’s father,
to whom the old General felt duty-bound. That fealty carried over to the son
and the throne.
The
Emperor drew himself up in the water, though he knew he could not intimidate
Attikus. “Will you reenter my service, General?” He marveled at the way his
direct question had no visible effect on the older man. It reminded him of what
his father told him once after a long council meeting:
The General is made
from the earth’s oldest mountains.
“My
Emperor, you require of me the one thing I am reluctant to give.”
“You
knew this was what I would ask you when you received my summons.”
“What
threat to the crown can there possibly be that only I can solve?” Attikus
asked. “I hear no rumors of war.”
“Yet
you’ve heard, of course, of my personal insult and injury in Blithmore?”
“Nothing
unpreventable, especially by a man of your prowess, my Emperor. Has your title
become a blinder for personal attacks?”
“I
will not have a lesson. King Germaine denied my request of allowing my soldiers
or my Elite Guard to enter Blithmore. I only wished to assist the King and his
forces in their search for the criminals who attacked me.”
“No
doubt you would have done the same had the situation been reversed.”
“Nonetheless,”
Emperor Krallick now signaled for his servant to return and wash him before the
water became too cool, “I want my Elite Guard in Blithmore.”
“It
would require a most unusual agreement.”
“I
imagine so. It is also unusual for an Emperor to be attacked on foreign soil
during a holiday designed to celebrate the friendship of kingdoms. The King’s
search does not go well. It has been a month now. His forces are spread out too
thin and they do not take my affront seriously. What motivation do they have to
find the would-be assassin of someone else’s royalty?”
“What
is your proposal, Emperor?”
“The
proposal will be yours, Attikus, not mine. You will deliver it to King Germaine
in my name. Two hundred Elite Guard under your control and two hundred under
General Derkop. They will assist in the search for the criminals.”
“Am
I to be relieved of duty when the criminals are found?”
The
Emperor was uncertain of whether Attikus would be able to see through a lie
after so many years. So he answered, “That remains to be seen.”
Attikus’
face remained as unreadable as ever. “May I make one request of the Emperor?”
A
satisfied smile grew on the Emperor’s lips. “You may.”
“If
I am to lead your men, grant me control over all your forces in Blithmore. That
way I can more efficiently accomplish the task.”
The
answer came at once. “Approved.” He pointed to a servant waiting by the door
who nodded and left the room. Another took his place. “I’ll have General Derkop
relocated to the northern armies at once. I don’t want any struggle for power.
He’ll be pleased with the decision. Is that your only request?”
“I
also ask that you remember my desires to return to retirement when this
campaign has ended.”