The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (88 page)

The guild master nodded.

“Besides, I will leave some troops here, just in case.”
Quite a few of them
, he thought.

Rob waved his hand in dismissal. “I will be coming with you. I wouldn’t want to miss the action.”
Son of Adam
, he mouthed quickly and smiled.

James ignored the jibe. “Very well.” He liked the idea. Rob was not a fighter, but he had endured the training and hunts quite well. For that matter, so had Sebastian, but he could not imagine the other man driving a lance through someone’s chest. Rob, on the hand hand, looked made for the part.

“War it is then,” Xavier concluded.

The week passed in a flurry of preparations. The mansion was in a frenzy. The fields around it turned to brown pulp as more troops arrived to strengthen his standing garrison, an already fat and swollen beast. Hector and Xavier did their best to instill some discipline into the ranks. They feared the lack of uniformity as much as the lack of actual combat experience.

The High Council of Trade seemed pleased by James’s decision. It sounded rather selfless, for an Athesian emperor to go about saving their own realm. But at the same time, it was only fitting, given they had raised him better than his own parents, they reasoned.

Sure, there were questions and doubts. Most of them wondered what he would do once he defeated the pirates. They didn’t want an open war with Parus, which is why they had avoided declaring one for so long. But when James showed up, leading Caytorean troops, King Sergei might not bother to make the distinction between those who fought for an exile emperor and those who defended their realm.

Snow and winds and freezing temperatures made everything slow, more ungainly. Scouts did their best, but sometimes news arrived days late. Even now, fragments of long-past events trickled by on horse and foot, arriving at the mansion mixed with reports about the enemy movement and strength.

James stood outside the mansion and watched the horse van form. He had roughly twenty-three thousand men, formed from a hundred units. About half had ridden in mock battles and played elaborate war games, but few of them had seen real combat. Adam’s legacy had left Caytor and Eracia with expensive troops that were best at marching during parades.

Another ten thousand would stay to protect Pain Daye. And a handful more would protect the road and choke points and supply garrisons all over central and south Caytor.

Now, it was his time to make history, just like his father had. Take an odd bunch of soldiers and miscreants and forge them into a lethal, unstoppable war machine. Rob had told him a great deal about his father that wasn’t written in books. He liked the personal account. It was less grand, grittier, far more violent.

Rheanna stood at his side, a worried look on her face. She wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup now. “You will take care of yourself,” she said, almost like a warning.

James tried to smile, but his mind was preoccupied with the endless stream of information, the count of horses and wagons and archers, the list of notable figures and officers, the experience level, the names of the units, the colors of the banners.

She reached and slipped her fingers through his. Her hand was cold. “You will,” she insisted.

James turned around to face her. “And you will take care of yourself.”

Rheanna laughed softly. “Be careful,” she said, her voice strained. “Do not kiss any pretty woman you might meet in a village somewhere. And watch your back.” Her eyes flicked toward Warlord Xavier.

Hardly listening, the emperor leaned in and kissed her, savoring her smell. He would miss her. “Make sure the Caytoreans don’t turn their backs on me while I’m gone. Do whatever you must.” He was leaving her with a sizable detachment of troops and killers. He hoped that would be enough.

There wasn’t much else to say. He waved almost timidly and then marched bravely into the embrace of his officers, waiting for him with grim, determined looks. He imagined his father doing the same thing.

When he approached them, the mien on his face was hard and empty of emotions.

CHAPTER 56

M
onarch Leopold waved his hand. Chief Steward Kai nodded slightly and turned toward the entrance to the throne hall. Two guards pulled on the gilded rope handles of the double doors and pushed them open.

The governor of the castle opened his mouth and announced in his impressive voice, “General Pacmad, the chieftain of the Kataji, the Father of the Bear and undefeated warrior of his clan.”

Leopold remained seated, as befitting his status. Behind him, Vergil stared down at the nomad whose ancestors he had destroyed.

In measured steps, the mercenary general walked down the length of the hall, flanked by his lackeys. Leopold watched with some annoyance at his deliberate, practiced stride. The man was just a primitive tribesman, a mongrel, yet he seemed to have quickly learned the nuances of Eracian protocol, encouraged by so much gold.

The splendid chamber was truly not a place for a bastard like this nomad sell-sword, but Leopold really did not have any choice. He desperately needed to restore Eracia’s good image. And since he didn’t have any great captains and heroes like Vergil, or even one of his lieutenants, the paid troops would have to do.

General Pacmad looked pleased.
Well, why shouldn’t he be
, Leopold thought sourly, squirming impatiently on his plush velvet throne seat. Nomad raiders had not been allowed on Eracian soil in three centuries, the records said, ever since Vergil the Brave had burned across their lands and raped every one of their women.

And now, they rode the streets of Somar freely, mingling with his people.

“His Royal Majesty, Monarch Leopold, the supreme ruler of Eracia,” Kai spoke when the general reached the designated ceremonial marker. Instructed in court etiquette, the chieftain bowed his head and knelt down on one knee. The full court emulated the gesture.

“Greetings, Your Majesty Leopold,” the nomad said in passable Continental. “I thank you for your hospitality.” He snapped his fingers. One of the followers handed a quiver-like bag made of colorful hide to the general. The bag had bear paws knotted down its length.

Leopold didn’t like the ceremony. Like most tribal societies, the nomads were a collection of mixed and even conflicting cultures, stealing bits of lore and language and law code from every nation they traded with. The monarch had considered forgoing the entire event, and for a change, most of his weakling court had agreed. But the tribesmen had insisted. They believed the military pact had to be sealed with a large public affair. A token of honor and trust, they said.
Strange, coming from people who bed their sisters and sheep, in that order
, Leopold thought.

So, Leopold had gathered all of his nobles—those not being kept hostage, that was—and crammed them into the throne hall to witness the alliance between Eracia and the nomads, a first one ever, it seemed. A useless farce, but one they had to endure. For all practical purposes, the deal had been in effect for some time now. Somar was bursting with foreigners, ugly people who leered at everyone and everything and always wanted to sell you something. But they were highly trained in war and would fight for whoever paid them.

The three realms were surrounded by half nations that had not yet mastered central government, taxes, or education, it seemed. The entire north and west were one huge patchwork of tribes, stretching from Vergil’s Conquest to wherever the dusty roads led into the sunset. And then to the south, the Parusites had their own clans and races. Well, those religious fools had been like the nomads not that long ago. But just like the Eracians, they’d had their special hero who took a bunch of segregated, feuding villages and turned them into a big, proud nation.

Leopold waited patiently with a very slim, polite grin as the general stepped forward and presented his gift. Kai accepted it. Carefully, the man opened the bag. Inside, there was a large whip, worked in exquisite detail, tipped with a shiny metal, most likely silver. It looked ridiculous.

“For your strong hand, when your wife displeases you or your horse does not obey,” Pacmad said.

Leopold briefly looked at his queen. Diana sat at his side, aloof, distant, her face passive. She was bearing this charade much more stoically than he.

Leopold felt someone watching him. Across the hall’s width, demurely confident in her political victory, Countess Sonya stood, staring like a predator. She had positioned herself so that anytime he looked at his wife, he would have to see her. That was how women worked, he thought, annoyed. He made his eyes face forward, at the general’s wrinkled face.

The walls to the left and right were lined with statue-like guards, swords unsheathed, tips down, on the cold marble, gauntleted hands folded over the pommels. In theory, they were supposed to protect him from harm, although he doubted how quickly they could react with such a large crowd of nobles cramming the approach to the throne. Fools, all of them.

Flanking his throne were those few he labeled his most trusted advisers, but they were hardly any better than the rest of the audience. Like cowards, they tried to insinuate their truths, hinting, suggesting, terrified of confronting him. Only Philip had some guts, but even he was always fretting and worrying. The chief spy was concerned that bringing in the nomads would precipitate an all-out war with the other realms rather than bring the deterrence that Leopold sought.

Well, it was not a meaningless assumption, but it underlined all that was rotten in the soul of his nation. Eracia had become a shadow of its former glory and might. Not through an overnight revolution, but a slow decay, a corruption that had taken three generations to bloom to its full filthy might. Adam’s work had finally destroyed the monarchy, robbed it of its army and dignity.

This new war was more than just a petty squabble over territorial gains or family honor. It would decide the future of the realms. Whoever held Athesia would control the economical might of the lands. The dead emperor had proven that. Now, Eracia could only stand by and watch helplessly as the Parusites carved reality in lands and blood. Leopold needed some kind of leverage, fast.

But his Privy Council just did not understand. They all feared the foreign intervention. Philip had argued that the nation’s deterrence would be destroyed if they let the nomad tribes march across the border. Internal discord and the heavily fortified border castles were what kept the realm safe from the clans. But this war would unite the tribes, and once past the Eracian defenses, they could easily turn on their allies. Only this time, they would attack from within the country, using its cities as bases, and well-paved roads to travel quickly.

Leopold was willing to accept the risk. If he wasn’t, he should not rule. The High Council of Trade had embraced Adam’s son and championed him, knowing all too well the hazard of breeding an emperor inside their own realm. The Parusites had once again ridden forth in all their strength, leaving their lands unprotected. Even that stupid girl Amalia was ready to risk everything to secure the future of Athesia. Meanwhile, Eracia hunkered like a beaten dog, licking its wounds, waiting for scraps.

That would not do.

The governor coughed. Leopold banished his thoughts and looked at Kai. Ah, yes. The gift in return. Smiling, he gestured for the steward to reciprocate. Moving with all the pomp of his station, Kai reached toward a silk-clothed table behind him, lifted a large sword, and handed it to the mercenary general.

“May your hand be true,” Leopold said. His aristocrats nodded sagely in approval.

Frowning with concentration, the Kataji chieftain drew the sword and inspected the metalwork. He pursed his lips once or twice, glanced down the length of the blade, turned it over, hefted it to check the balance, and finally, made a slow cutting stroke.

Then, he unbuckled his own sword and threw it on the ground. He put on the new gift around his hips. “A most worthy gift, Your Majesty!”

The price for letting the tribesmen enter Eracia had been high. Fifty chests of gold, which he did not have, and had to borrow from his nobles in return for vague promises. One thousand virgin girls would be given over to chieftains and their best warriors as prize women. They would also gain ten years of free trade with all major cities in Eracia, countless boxes of goods and spices that would be sent to the clans.