Return, Part 5

It did not take long for an end to the battle once the horsemen were committed. Once again, fortune had smiled on Ardeo, allowed him to commit his troopers at just the moment when the enemy’s morale was at its lowest. With Marcus’s own horsemen plunging in from the opposite end, the enemy collapsed, attempted to flee. The piercing cohort took its cue from the fleeing enemy, chasing after it. In a conspicuous display of military skill and courage, they managed to enter Taren’s city gate, and seize possession of it. Ardeo and Marcus had moved as quickly as they could to follow the cohort in, and very soon, the rest of the army was pouring into the tightly contested gate. Before the Tarens could stop them, two legions had already broken into the city, with a third on its way.

Aware they had lost, every last surviving fighting man had fled from the field, shedding their armor and weapons on the spot. With great difficulty, Ardeo and Marcus managed to restrain their pillage-hungry soldiers, threatening immediate execution to anyone who disobeyed. By sunset, there was no more resistance, and Odacer himself entered the city, escorted by Karadord and his Guardsmen. Ardeo and Marcus met him at the entrance to Flaccus’s palace.

“What took you?” Ardeo called out lightheartedly.

Odacer leveled an amused look at his kinsman. “Mopping up is not an elegant operation, Ardeo. You, Marcus, and the commander of the cohort certainly distinguished yourselves today, but there is more to battle than the thrill of the charge.”

Ardeo smiled, still covered in sweat and dirt, his cloak and armor in not much better state. “That’s why we’re waiting here. We wanted you to enter first, do the whole formal acceptance of surrender thing.”

Tilting his head back, Karadord frowned. “Flaccus is surrendering?”

“Yes,” Marcus answered. “I sent my cavalry to secure the docks. No ships have sailed. And all the gates have been sealed. No one has left the city.”

“That is…not in character,” Odacer finally said. “Andrej Palev, I hope you won’t mind lending me your Guardsmen while we go inside.”

Karadord shook his head. “No, I do not mind at all.”

Warily entering Flaccus’s palace, the heavily armed troop moved carefully, watchful for the slightest sign of betrayal, the noblemen in their center no less wary. The obvious displays of wealth and splendor were lost on all present, as Ardeo and his kin were indifferent to such things, while the Imperials were inured to it, already accustomed to the far greater displays in the Emperor’s capital.

When they finally entered Flaccus’s audience chamber, the noblemen stopped, in shock. Flaccus, unmistakable with his fair features and fine clothes, was chained to his throne. Heavy iron links kept him bound, unable to move, while a gag had been stuffed into his mouth. Standing beside him was a woman wearing a dress of Imperial scarlet, a tall, elegant lady with hair the color of fire, skin as fine as alabaster, and eyes that contained more than a hint of the ocean’s sea blue. Her physical beauty combined with the fierce intelligence in her eyes made for an intoxicating combination.

“My name is Valena Orguja Theron, Princess of the Imperial House,” she said in the precise accent of the Imperial city, facing her…guests? It was impossible to imagine this woman as anyone’s prisoner.

She studied each man in turn, her sangfroid easily surpassing that of her brother’s. Her eyes dismissed Marcus and Ardeo, settling on Odacer with complete assurance. “I take it that this was my brother’s doing?”

The older man inclined his head gracefully. “It is indeed, Princess Valena. However, I do believe that Andrej Palev is in a better position to explain everything.”

With smoothly polished grace, Karadord explained everything to Valena from the very beginning, starting with Ardeo’s victory over the Fianna on Firesoul’s Plain. From the moment Karadord had indicated Ardeo’s person, Valena had focused her attention on him, and her gaze made Ardeo uncomfortable, to say the least. He had once heard his father mutter that when a woman looked at you like that, she was weighing every last thing about your person, and it was quite possible she was able to divine everything from his exact weight to the last time he had had his underclothing washed.

“Enough,” Valena said when Karadord began to elaborate on the discussions that had gone on in the Imperial court as to why Flaccus had rebelled.

She moved gracefully down the dais where Flaccus still sat in chains, impotent. “Would you like to know why this man rebelled?”

“I daresay it is of great interest, Princess Valena,” Karadord responded smoothly.

“Yes, you would certainly think so, Karadord,” Valena replied. “This…man, and I use the term loosely, was never the slightest bit interested in loyalty to the Empire. What he wanted was to bring back his precious Respublia in his own image. My divorce was just a pretext he needed to give his cause some legitimacy.”

Her bitter half-smile caused chills up Ardeo’s back. “After all, how can you genuinely rebel against your rightful overlord when your wife is still a virgin?”

Odacer, at least, was startled. “You remain a virgin? But why…?”

Valena’s half-smile faded away, and her tone of voice left no doubt as to how direly unhappy her life had been for the last few years. “That thing in his throne has no interest in women. His preference is for little boys.”

Ardeo saw Odacer, Marcus, and Karadord each reflect the horror and disgust that he himself felt. His hand itched to remove his sword and behead Flaccus on the spot. But he did not get the chance to beg Karadord and Odacer for the task, as Valena marched toward him, stopping right in front of him.

“And now I find I am to marry someone else,” she said, her voice detached, cold, disinterested. “Once again, I am being used by a male of my family as a tool for some sordid task. Why in the world should I look forward to exile in cold Iyaza? Why in the world should I marry you? I’m officially divorced from that…pervert. I’m free. Why should I give up my freedom?”

Valena looked away from Ardeo to glare at Odacer and Karadord before they could so much as open their mouths. “And don’t give me that duty rubbish. I’ve had a bellyful of duty. Duty sent me away from my beautiful home to this far-off place, and put me into the hands of a disgusting creature. Duty forced me to remain silent, since Father could do nothing to save me without risk of rebellion. Duty forced me to ignore things that even now make me want to vomit. Not one word of duty!”

As this fierce woman swung her eyes away from the older, ostensibly wiser statesmen to him, Ardeo felt himself at a loss of words. He had originally dreaded this encounter, had been as enthusiastic about his coming marriage as he would have been about a dragon eating his horse. But now that he had actually met her, he was confused, uncertain. She was unlike any woman, especially any noblewoman, he had ever met before.

She was certainly beautiful, easily one of the greatest beauties of the Empire. She was intelligent, tough, and resourceful; witness her survival in the court of a husband who had no use for her, and her capture of an enemy of Imperial Sandora. Her bloodline was the best in the world, and her dowry was more than most nobles made in a decade. She was eligible in every sense of the world. She was as tough as a Fianna, as beautiful as a goddess, and as brave as a dragon. Ardeo was smitten.

But there was more to it than that. Ardeo could sense it. She was not an empty-headed noblewoman; the prime occupations of her life were not clothes, jewels, and gossip. She was an intelligent woman who had been damned by her father into an unhappy marriage, and who had probably suffered as much from being stifled as she had from being neglected. She wanted to be free. That was impossible, of course. No one was ever free. Freedom was an unattainable lie that people kept reaching for. But he could at least offer her the lightest of shackles.

Ardeo got down on one knee before her. “I swear to you, Princess Valena, that if you marry me, I will not treat you as chattel. I will not neglect you, nor will I shove you into some corner to do nothing more than produce babies. I will treat you as your intelligence demands it. I will treat you as my equal, and share my power and authority over Iyaza with you. P’iedro’s Oath on it.”

Silence reigned throughout the audience chamber. P’iedro’s Oath was the most ironclad oath anyone could swear. Even the Emperor himself was bound by such an oath, and should he dare break it, the War of the Sin would seem like a mere inconvenience compared to the consequences, both in this world and the next. Not only had he sworn the oath, he had done so on his knee, something that he would only have to do before the Emperor himself. For long moments, Valena studied him, her expression inscrutable.

Finally, when even Ardeo was forced to conclude that she was going to reject him, she extended her hand toward him. Ardeo felt hope soar within him as he grasped her clean, dainty hand in his dirty steel gauntlet. She smiled at him, the first time her expression lacked hostility. “I think I like you, Ardeo Vellus. I think I may grow to love you. So I will marry you, if you are willing.”

Ardeo smiled triumphantly. Besides all the benefits this marriage would bring politically, he did like her, and he thought she was right. There were seeds here for friendship, and perhaps, even love. “I would be happy to.”


This work by Ronald Mina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Return, Part 4

Halfway through the night, Ardeo was awakened by an excited commotion outside his tent. Grumbling, he tried to curl under his blankets. It was night, he was tired, and his hastily assembled bodyguard should be more than capable of keeping any unwanted visitors away from his tent. However, the noise became more insistent, and his sleeping momentum was lost. With a growl, Ardeo shucked off his blankets, and stalked out of his tent.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

The man who had been attempting to get in looked at Ardeo, and from his facial features and skin, it was obvious he was an Aimani. “Duke Nyzdar. Archduke Mircea summons you to a war council.”

“A war council? In the middle of the night?”

“The city gates have opened. Thousands of fighters are pouring out and taking up positions in the no man’s land.”

“Shit!”

With that bit of unexpected news, Ardeo roared for the soldiers to be roused and for his servants. Drums drummed, horns blared, lower-ranked soldiers rushed to officer tents to awaken their superiors, and soon, joined the cacophony of noise with curses that would awaken the dead.

His servants appeared as soon as he reentered his tent. Moving quickly, they helped him into his armor, making sure everything was securely fastened, from cuirass to greaves. Grabbing his red cloak, he rushed toward Odacer’s tent, securely in the middle of the siege camp. His bodyguard hustled after him even as the noise of six legions in frenzied activity clamored through the night.

When Ardeo finally arrived at Odacer’s tent, he found he was not the only man there. All the senior officers of the army were gathered around Odacer, as were the young noblemen like Marcus who would take on some sort of role in the upcoming fight.
“It’s still too dark to see how they’ve drawn themselves up or to see their numbers,” Odacer growled as soon as Ardeo arrived.

Karadord was speaking with Odacer and shrugged. “You’re the legendary Dragon, so I daresay it will go well, even if we can’t see them just yet.”

“We’ll have to wait for the first crack of dawn to actually make feasible plans,” Odacer continued. “In the meantime, hustle out the legions, standard formation. When I can see the enemy, I’ll make a better plan.”

“But how did they know that today would be the day of the attack?” Ardeo asked. “I know their chances are better in pitched battle, but how did they know today was the day?”

Odacer looked at Ardeo and said one word. “Kuso.”

Of course. Where else could the assassin have gone, if not to Taren? “They don’t make Fianna like they used to,” was all Ardeo replied.

When dawn finally arrived two hours later, Odacer’s army was out on the field, past the deadly row of stakes he had elected to remove. He had no intention of losing the battle, nor did he intend to retreat, but if his army was pushed back, he wanted to avoid impaled soldiers. It would be a fight to the death. The siege camp’s walls cut off retreat. When Odacer finally climbed down from his sentry tower, his face was expectant.

“From what’s been counted, they’ve got about forty to fifty thousand out there,” Odacer said to his gathered command chain. “The army’s already out on the field, so I can’t address them. Everything is now dependent on you men, and your obedience and adaptability. We’ve got about eighteen thousand soldiers out there, with fourteen hundred of them cavalry. We don’t have nearly enough cavalry to focus on the wings, so they’ll act as the mobile reserve. The Guardsmen will be on the left, my cohort of horse in the center, and Duke Nyzdar’s on the right. Andrej Palev will command the left, Duke Nyzdar the right, and I will command the center.”

Having settled the top jobs, Odacer moved on to his strategy. “The city gate is in the center of our field of operations. I want you all to use it as the orientation point. I want the army drawn up in a sickle shape. The legions on the tips will be forward of the center, acting as wings. I am placing a cohort in the center of the sickle as a piercing point. I want the wings even with the spike. The goal is simple. I want to split their army in two, and enclose each half within the half-sickles that will form. Once they’ve been split, we’ll punish them severely.”

The various officers murmured their understanding of the plan. Karadord spoke up. “Workable. I’ll go form up my men.”

Odacer nodded. “Remember, they only have fifteen thousand real fighters out there. The rest is little boys and old men. Spread the word to your legions. They’ll discount the civilians and realize that for all intents and purposes, the odds are slightly in our favor.”

No time was wasted. The moment the army had been put into formation, Odacer sounded the advance. Odacer himself would not be able to participate. As general, he had to keep a good vantage point so he could react appropriately to any changes in the line of battle. Marcus was in command of the six hundred cavalry who would be moved to any weakened points. Ardeo and Karadord would be with their own cavalry, keeping an eye on their parts of the army from their own vantage points, and reacting appropriately.

Later on, as the battle progressed, Ardeo stood on his horse, frowning at what he could see of the scene. He turned toward a nearby sentry tower. “Ho, the tower! Is the spike cut off from the rest of the army?”

The sentry peered into the roiling mass of battle, and then shouted down, “Aye, sir. The spike is cut off. But Lord Marcus’ reserve is moving in to reinforce them.”

Ardeo bit his lip. Six hundred horsemen would have trouble penetrating the milling masses of enemy that were focusing all their rage on the cut-off spike. There was a very real danger that Marcus’s cavalry thrust would be dragged down and massacred if it lost cohesion, a very real possibility in that quagmire. Surveying the scene once again, Ardeo watched the gap form between his two legions and the center legions and their penetrating point. There.

Slowly crouching down and then positioning himself to ride his horse, Ardeo fluttered his cloak out behind him. It would serve as a rallying point while they charged and fought, even though it made it obvious he was a high-ranking target. “Advance at a trot! Wedge formation!”

Moving at a light pace unlikely to tire the horses before they got close enough to unleash a devastating charge, Ardeo’s eyes had more than enough time to regard the scene. The battle had been going on for quite some time, and by all indications, the enemy knew it was doomed. Odacer’s basic strategy had worked, and the last rebel army would break before long. Because of that, it seemed they were concentrating their efforts on the penetrating point, to at least destroy that obstinate Imperial cohort before defeat consumed them.

Hefting his shield as his cavalry drew closer and closer to committing to the fray, Ardeo allowed a smile to cross his lips. Irregular infantry without any sort of cohesion simply had little hope against cavalry. One thousand pounds of horseflesh at the hands of a skilled rider was a vicious weapon on the battlefield, especially going at full speed. Any man unlucky enough to be caught in a horse’s path would end with his back broken, at the very least. Should the number of bodies in the way of the horse grow to the point where it could no longer gallop from sheer mass, war horses had plenty of additional tricks available, from biting into shoulders to kicking heads off necks.

His men were Aimani dragoons, skilled on horse and on foot, as were Marcus’s. Looking across the battlefield, he raised his lance, then lowered it, digging his heels into his horse as he galloped at full speed into the fray, six hundred deadly warriors behind him.



This work by Ronald Mina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Return, Part 3

“How did he get away?” Ardeo demanded a few days later, still fuming. “How did he do it?”

Odacer looked up from his paperwork, an exasperated expression on his face. The two men were sitting in Odacer’s far larger command pavilion, theoretically doing paperwork. Not many people realized just how much paperwork had to be gotten through to keep a military campaign operational. Paper reports made by literate officers, tallies on casualties, wounded, and fit for service, interviews from scouts on terrain and preparations, estimates from engineers and prefects on the status of this piece of artillery or that piece of equipment, and dozens of other things, and each one had to be vetted by the general in charge or a delegated officer.

Even worse was the accounting. Few people realized how much money went into keeping an army of professionals in the field, armed, fit, and deadly. Nor did many people realize just how intricate the accounts for an army was. Every expenditure had to be tabulated, every piece of booty acquired had to be recorded, estimates on rate of consumption for everything from salt, grain, and meat, to wear and tear on equipment and wages. And all of the gods help you if it was not done in quintuplicate!

“Ardeo, you’re my dearest kinsman, but if you don’t shut up about our escaped assassin and help me get through this paperwork, I swear by all the gods that I am going to make you the centerpiece of the experiment to find out how he escaped!”

Ardeo scowled, and said nothing. When Nerva had handed Kuso over to them for justice, Odacer had issued orders that the man be dangled from the camp ramparts. A slow, torturous death, it was also a visible reminder to the Fianna to behave themselves. Not two days later, he was gone, missing. A thorough search of the entire camp revealed that he had gotten clean away.

Grousing under his breath, Ardeo did as he was told, reviewing the accounts for his Iyazan legion. It was just as well that the Rigsraadet was financing the entire expedition! He certainly would not have shelled out the sort of money required just to marry the sister of the Emperor, even for Imperial Kinsman status. It had been an uncharacteristically canny move on the part of the Emperor to insist that the Rigsraadet pay the costs for the divorce, and to phrase it in such a way that even a war was covered as a cost of divorce! He expressed this sentiment to his cousin after he had calmed down.

“The Emperor does have a few intelligent advisors, in spite of how poor his retinue of hangers-on are. Thasa was one, which makes his death all the more pitiable. Karadord and Bakun are also canny men, for all their flaws.”

Before this discussion of the Imperial court could continue, Marcus entered, a perturbed expression on his face. He had been given duty as officer of the day, parked outside his father’s headquarters to screen those who came to see the general, as well as routing inquiries to the proper place. It was boring desk duty that ill-suited the young man, but even Ardeo appreciated the grim humor behind it. If Odacer had to suffer behind a desk with mountains of papers in front of him, so did his kin!

“What is it, Marcus?”

The youth hesitated, then blurted, “Imperial Guardsmen, Father! A full mounted troop of them!”

That brought Ardeo to his feet, even though Odacer remained at his desk. Imperial Guardsmen were Fianna rotated into duty at the Blackstar Castle, the Emperor’s residence. They wore distinctive scarlet-lacquered armor and clothing, and traveled with the Emperor or his chosen representatives directly from the capital.

“Only a troop means a high-ranking delegate of the Emperor,” Odacer said musingly. “If it were the Emperor himself, he’d have brought the entire legion, and then some. Send in the Emperor’s representative, Marcus.”

Even as Marcus turned on his heels, Ardeo quietly moved to stand beside Odacer. While he might be the Duke of Iyaza, he lacked the standing to remain seated before an Imperial representative. Only Archdukes had quite that much clout, and he would not become one until he was safely married to the Emperor’s sister.

The two men who walked in were different from each other in every way. Neither of them was known to Ardeo, but Odacer recognized them. “Andrej Palev Karadord,” Odacer said calmly, his gaze on the shorter of the two.

Ardeo studied the shorter man intensely. Karadord was dark of hair and eye, broad in the shoulder and chest, and walked with so much inherent confidence that he seemed much taller than he was. He was just beginning middle age, with a light sprinkling of gray at his temples that did not harm his good looks. He wore armor, and the amulet with the Imperial sigil around his neck made it obvious he was the Emperor’s representative. Much was said about Karadord, not all of it complimentary. He had once been a Sonoman lord, who had made the attempt to take control of that nation’s throne by force. The fractious Sonoman nobles had united to stop him from displacing their puppet-ruler, forcing him to abandon his attempt and flee. He had found sanctuary with Zeno, and risen high in his favor ever since.

Karadord smiled, revealing small, even teeth. “I thank you for the courtesy of my full name, Archduke Odacer Militiades Mircea. Not many Sandoran nobles do me such honor.”

“I am a fair man, Andrej Palev. Just because you lost your title in Sonoma does not make you less of a nobleman. Besides, you’re not a bad soldier, so you deserve that much. To what do I owe this honor?”

“Business, I fear, strictly business.” The stout man sat in Ardeo’s chair easily. “The Emperor has sent me as his representative to oversee the final settlement of the various domains of the rebels.”

“I see…” Odacer leaned back in his chair. “I take it the Emperor does not trust my judgment?”

It was a dangerous question, and Karadord proved himself to be as discrete as he was brave. “It is not quite a lack of trust in your judgment, Archduke Mircea, but a matter of arranging matters correctly. The Emperor is of the opinion that any settlement of the region should be seen to have his stamp on it in a more direct and personable manner than Fiannan legions marching and burning.”

“I see,” Odacer said noncommittally. “And does your companion happen to be a part of the Emperor’s settlement?”

“Indeed he is. May I introduce you to Varro Bius Flaccus, the younger brother of our rebellious mastermind?”

Cast in the shade by his colleague’s entrance, the younger man was taller, fair of hair and eye, but lacked charisma and self-confidence. A weaker persona in all aspects, nor an impressive one, he was dressed in fine velvets, indicating he had some money at his disposal. When Karadord introduced him, Varro bowed in Odacer’s direction before launching into a short speech.

“G-greetings, Archduke Odacer Militiades Mircea of Aiman,” he began nervously, “I do assure you. I was with the Grand Prince Sanc Tolos Caepio since winter, trying to wring out some favorable trade concessions on behalf of my brother, and I had no idea about his revolt, I do assure you.”

“Interesting,” Odacer replied. “And why, precisely, should you be allowed to succeed in your brother’s place?”

Still squinting, Varro replied, “Because I lack any sort of ambition toward reviving Respublia. It was a failed system, and I’d much rather trust to a firm hand than the sort of infighting I grew up under. I’ve already promised to give up every part of Flaccus’ holdings besides the city of Taren and enough of the hinterland to feed the city. In a practical as well as ideological way, it’d be impossible for me to try what my brother is trying.”

Ardeo finally spoke up, startled. “Why in the world would you give up so much? You’d be able to keep a pittance, if that.”

Varro blinked, then squinted at Ardeo. “You are the Duke of Iyaza, are you not? You should know. I’d rather inherit at least a part of what belongs to my family, than nothing at all.”

Considering this, Ardeo finally nodded. “You make a valid point.”

Odacer stepped in. “My thanks, Varro Bius Flaccus. My son Marcus is outside. Ask him to take you to some sort of adequate accommodation. We lack anything permanent, but I’m sure we can arrange something relatively comfortable for you.”

Varro bowed once again, and walked out. Waiting until Varro’s figure was out of earshot, Odacer spoke to Karadord. “I take it he’s near-sighted, Andrej Palev.”

“Very perceptive. Yes, he is, so he’ll never be a soldier, more the pity.”

“Not all of us are meant to be soldiers,” Odacer noted calmly.

“Quite.” Karadord placidly spoke on. “He’s something of a nobleman scholar, exceptionally well educated. He and his brother don’t get on at all. Their father favored the bookish Varro over the militant Iudaces, indulged him with books and scrolls. He owns something like a quarter-million pieces of literature.”

Ardeo blinked. “That’s the largest collection I’ve ever even heard of.”

“The Emperor himself said the same thing at the audience Varro managed to get through no small amount of pleading and bribing,” the ex-Sonoman lord replied. “One of Varro’s biggest reasons for giving up so much was to preserve his library. He realized that if you sacked Taren, a lifetime of collecting knowledge would go up in flames, and he broke down in tears at the thought that so much that his father had given him would be no more than ashes.”

“Interesting. I’ve never met someone so dedicated to books,” Odacer said.

“What’s more interesting is what he intends to do with his collection,” Karadord continued. “Once Taren falls, he plans on opening his library and his city to all seekers of knowledge, turn it into something he calls a ‘university’. His goal is to foster learning and learned thought, so I rather doubt he’ll be doing any fighting while you finish this campaign.”

“What of you, Andrej Palev? What will you be doing while I finish this campaign?”
Karadord adopted a thoughtful expression. “Well, I don’t honestly know, Archduke Mircea. The Emperor’s commission was to arrange a settlement throughout the region, so I fear I won’t be able to do very much until you do finish.”

Odacer looked as thoughtful as Karadord did. “Would you be willing to lend me a hand? I’ve only got fourteen hundred cavalry, and your two hundred would be of great assistance. And I do believe you have Imperial authority right now, so the Fianna won’t be too averse to taking orders from you.”

Karadord smiled carefully at Odacer. “I’d be more than happy to put my two hundred Guardsmen to work for you, Odacer Militiades.”

“Oh, no, you mistake my meaning. I want you to command the left wing of this army, which happens to be Fianna.”

Shock flitted across Karadord’s face before his expression was enthused with genuine gratitude. “It would be my pleasure.”

Standing up, Karadord bowed gracefully before leaving the pavilion. Ardeo looked down at his near kin, puzzled. “Why did you go and do that?”

Odacer laughed soundlessly. “Karadord is a soldier, much like I am. He wanted to fight, but he’s too proud to ask. So I had to ask. He did quite well in Sonoma, you know, would have been its Prince if he had had just a bit more time to consolidate and been a bit less outnumbered. Besides, I can’t be at both the center and the left wing. The Fianna are not dependable. They’re too orthodox, probably since they have the capacity to think pounded out of them too harshly.”

Odacer paused, then added seriously, “Besides, I really do need his two hundred troopers. I really don’t have enough cavalry, and playing nice earned me his gratitude and his horsemen.”



This work by Ronald Mina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.

Return, Part 2

It was a sound that awoke Ardeo. Not a particularly loud sound, just one out of place in a camp that had hunkered down for a good night’s sleep, excluding the sentries. Ardeo ran it through his mind quickly, his body moving silently from being on its side to being on its stomach, his arms braced under his body while the rest of him remained unmoving under the blankets, free to dodge without encumbrance. The typical sounds of a night camp. Snores, soft wheezes, coughs, light laughter and soft chatter from soldiers who should have known better and been asleep. The light jingle of chain mail, of sentries calling out the watch, the sound of noncombatants going about their chores, all of these were normal sounds, things that should not and did not impede on his consciousness. So why had he awaken?

The soft rasp of steel sliding out of a leather sheath told him he was not alone. Eyes roaming along the walls of his tent, Ardeo finally located the shadowy shape he was looking for, flush against the back tent wall, nearest his own bed. A shadow that had not attempted to go in through the tent flap that served as a door, but that had lurked along and snuck in through the back. Assassin.

He had no light inside his tent, so he could not see when the assassin silently used his knife to pierce the tent. However, he had to strain his ears to catch the soft tearing sound of steel against cloth. Under other circumstances, Ardeo might have applauded the assassin’s ability, were he not the target.

He considered his options. Fight or flight. Both held their own risks and benefits, but Mircean blood flowed through his veins. Flight held no appeal. So he would fight.

As quickly as that, he made his choice, pride dictating his response more than a cautious evaluation of the situation. His assassin entered his tent silently, knife in hand. Which hand? He wasn’t sure. He would have to move as soon as the assassin came too close. He could not confront him on equal terms until he knew which hand.

“Now you die,” his assassin hissed softly.

Sensing the assassin begin to move downward to strike, Ardeo launched himself to the side, slamming himself into his desk but avoiding the assassin’s strike. Scrambling to his feet, Ardeo realized from the assassin’s hurried standing that the knife was in the left hand. Then he had no more room for thought as his assassin came for him again.

He just managed to catch the assassin’s knife hand before his assassin tried to punch him. He just managed to catch that attack too, but he was now in an unenviable position, legs pinned by his desk and his assassin, his dominant hand stalemated with his assassin’s dominant hand. He had to get out of this trap before a false move resulted in his premature death.

“Help!” Ardeo roared. “There is an assassin in my tent! Help!”

His shout for help startled his assassin. A slight slackening of his grip, a miniscule hesitation in his attack, an opening so slight most people would not have realized it. But Ardeo was as much soldier as general. He exploited the opening to knee his assailant in the groin.

His opponent groaned. The knife slipped from his grip as he instinctively tried to clutch his injured genitals. Falling backward onto his desk, Ardeo used his momentum and his legs to chuck his assailant over his head and out the tent flap. Breathing heavily, he stooped down, picked up the knife by its hilt, and walked outside.

His eyes alighted on a scene of chaos. A half-dozen of his men were struggling with his would-be assassin. Another dozen or so lingered around the edges of brawl, uncertain what to do. More men seemed to be arriving by the minute. Ardeo quickly snapped off orders. “Don’t just stand there! Cut off the area. I don’t want him getting out of here.”

Ardeo pointed out a half-dozen burlier soldiers. “You lot, go help your fellows put my assassin down.” Ardeo paused as he considered. “Keep him alive, and leave his face unmarked. Break whatever bones you have to, though.”

Looking around as his men complied with his orders, Ardeo recognized an Aimani officer. Walking over to him, he put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go bring the Archduke of Aiman here. Fill him in on the way, and make it clear he’s needed with the highest priority.”

Nodding once, the officer turned and ran off, heading in the direction of Odacer’s tent. Moving closer to the large fire that was in the middle of this section of camp, Ardeo studied the knife. There was no distinct discoloration on the blade that hinted it had been poisoned, but a few precautions would not be amiss in this situation. He removed a kerchief from around the neck of one of his uninvolved soldiers, and wrapped the blade with it.

Sighing, Ardeo pulled back from the fire, and watched the brawl continue. The assassin was giving a good account of himself, biting, clawing, punching, and kicking, but the addition of the half-dozen strongmen finally put a stop to his antics. The fact it had taken a dozen men to put him down gave a good indication of what he was.

Time seemed to drag interminably while he waited for his cousin to show up. He kept his eyes on his men, quick to rebuke the moment he noticed any slackening in their grip. When they started to react a trifle slowly to his censure, he promised dire punishment if the assassin escaped.

When Odacer finally arrived, Ardeo breathed a small sigh of relief. It had probably not been too long a time, but his nerves were frazzled, and he did not feel all that charitable at the moment. “What took you?”

“Yes, it’s a pleasure seeing you too, Ardeo,” the older man replied dryly. He gestured behind him. “I didn’t like the idea of being waylaid on my way, you see, so I asked my men if any wanted to accompany me. They rather wholeheartedly agreed to being my protection.”

Ardeo blinked in surprise when he followed his cousin’s movement. From what he could see from his vantage point, Odacer had brought a full troop of two hundred men as a bodyguard. To round off the fully armed and armored men, Odacer had also brought his Viantha along with him. Ardeo turned his back on his cousin and hid a rueful smile. It was as obvious an unspoken rebuke as it was ostentatious.

“Drag him here, into the light,” Ardeo ordered. “I want the Archduke of Aiman to see our uninvited guest clearly.”

The would-be assassin was dragged unwillingly into the light that the fire pit still gave off. The man was dressed in black, from tunic to boot. The ritual sash of Imperial scarlet was missing from his belt, but the haughty, aristocratic features could only belong on the face of a member of the Emperor’s Fianna.

“This man is an assassin,” Ardeo declared clearly. He handed Odacer the knife that had been used in the attempt on his life. “This is the weapon he attempted to use to kill me. I can also testify it took a dozen men to put him down and prevent his escape. It is my considered opinion that he is a Fiannan. I do not know if he attempted the deed on his own, or was sent under orders.”

Odacer turned the knife in his hands around, studying it in the light, taking care to prevent the blade from touching his flesh. It was a normal steel dagger, by all appearances, except for one telltale giveaway: the Imperial signet on the blade, near the hilt. “I suppose we shall find out soon enough,” Odacer replied quietly. “I sent for the cesar of the Fianna with us. He should be here momentarily. Get your men to move our friend here out of sight. I want to see the cesar’s reactions without having them tainted with the presence of this assassin.”

The wait was interminable. Ardeo paced back and forth while Odacer gazed grimly at the Fiannan assassin. Odacer’s Viantha seemed as unruffled by the whole scene as Ardeo’s Iyazans were disturbed. And Odacer’s “friends” had taken charge, roused up a full cohort of Iyazans to put the camp on lockdown. When the Fiannan cesar finally arrived, Ardeo was ready to burst from impatience.

Not that he got the chance to fly at the man. Odacer addressed him efficiently from the start.

“Do you know who I am, cesar?” he asked, politely.

The cesar, a tall middle-aged man with frosty hair, nodded, calm unimpaired. His stance the rigid languidness of a warrior-born. From his facial expression, being summoned in the middle of the night to face a casual inquiry was nothing out of the ordinary. “Yes, sir. You are the Prince of Swords.”

“And what does that mean, precisely, cesar?”

The man’s stance retained that same ease of violence. “In the absence of the Emperor or the Heir, any orders you issue that do not threaten the continued safety and well-being of the Emperor are to be treated as though issued by the Emperor himself.”

“Did I not issue orders to the Fianna that the Duke of Iyaza was not to be harmed in any way?” Odacer asked, the politeness gone from his tone.

The cesar tilted his head, clearly puzzled. “You did, sir. I issued that order to every man in the legions.”

“Then please explain why there was an assassination attempt on the Duke of Iyaza.”

The Fianna blinked, completely startled. For a rigidly self-controlled old soldier like the cesar to reveal so much spoke volumes. Fianna were not known to be skillful dissemblers, so the assassin was not carrying out orders from a highly ranked superior. Or at the very least, not from this superior.

“What assassination attempt?” the man asked dumbly.

Ardeo gestured brusquely to his men, who quickly brought out their captive Fianna assassin. “The assassination attempt made by this man,” he growled.

The Fianna cesar clearly recognized the assassin. His face scowled, then recovered its rigid mask. His voice, however, was anything but calm.

“That,” he said, his voice dripping contempt, “is a miserable vermin known as Kuso. He has always been dissatisfactory as a Fianna. When you issued your order that the Duke of Iyaza was not to be harmed, he had the audacity to attempt to convince me to disregard your order and try against the life of the Duke. I issued him a personal order to leave the matter alone, and not harm the Duke. Clearly, he did not deem my order worth obeying.”

Marching over to Kuso, the older Fianna struck him, hard. “I hereby expulse you from the ranks of the Fianna, and turn you over to the justice of the Duke of Iyaza and the Prince of Swords.”

Bowing to Ardeo and Odacer, he added, “I will make no protest in whatever you decide to do with him. His fate is in your hands. Kill him, punish him, do whatever you so wish.”

With that, the Fiannan officer stalked off into the night.



This work by Ronald Mina is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.