“Yes,” whispered Mardel. The dark figure lowered the weapon. “There’s a much closer one near the main entrance. Would have saved you a lot of running.” Mardel swallowed but said nothing. Of the entire cohort of the Second Mountain Guard, he was the least experienced, though he had been in military service to the crown almost half his short life. While he had partaken in bloody raids and served in some unsavory situations, he had never been surprised on a raid before, especially by someone who blended into the darkness without detection. “How many?” The man sheathed his blade, dousing the light and returning the inner field to shadow again. “Fifty men,” Mardel lied. The hidden man snorted. “Only fifty?” He rolled his eyes, the blue irises gleaming in the white scleras, and gestured toward the wall with utter contempt. “Open the gate.” A metallic clanking could be heard in the near distance behind the man. “Want assistance?” a curt voice called. The first man shook his head, the light of the keep’s bonfire catching the red-gold of his hair. “Only if you are bored, Uncle. This fellow claims to be opening the gate for fifty men, though it’s actually twenty-seven.”
An even ruder snort issued forth from the near distance.
“Only fifty? Open the gate and let them in. I should be done moving my bowels by then.” The blue eyes sighted on Mardel again. “You are dressed in the colors of my regiment,” the shadowy man said slowly, his tone less bored and more threatening. “You imbeciles have broached my lands, lands that stand under a flag of peace, disguised in my regalia, and come to my home in the night, threatening my family, and you only claim to have brought fifty men? I am insulted.” Sensing the futility of effort and the danger of waiting, Mardel drew his sword. Before he could level it the glowing blue blade had seemed to leap forth from its scabbard and dragged itself in one clean slash across his throat. Mardel fell to the ground, bleeding bis life onto the snowy grass. Ashe sheathed his sword and strode to the gate. He took hold of the ropes of the portcullis and raised it slowly in the dark. “Come,” he whispered in the tongue of Sorbold. “The house is asleep.” The commander heard and nodded assent, signaled to the remains of the cohort, which quietly rode through the gate. The gate was shut quickly behind them. Even before the cohort had had a chance to regroup, the blue glowing sword was slashing the bindings of the two closest saddles, as the shadow wielding it pummeled the falling riders with the hilt. A shriek ripped past them and three more riders fell, pierced by crossbow bolts that came out of the darkness.
“Did you get a chance to examine the Bolg king’s weapon?” Anborn’s voice called over the sounds of the horse chaos as he fired off another round of bolts, felling three more soldiers. “I’ve seen it before,” Ashe replied, crossing blades briefly with one of the cohort before dragging him from his saddle and slashing his throat in a blaze of blue and white rippling light. “Why?”
“Nice recoil,” Anborn commented, firing again. “Do you need any further assistance? I think I may have left my hot toddy in the library, and it’s probably getting cold.”
“No, by all means,” Ashe said as he dodged out of the way of two of the horsemen’s picks. “I’ll join you for one in a moment, once I’ve taken care of this. I saved one to talk to—you can help interrogate later, over brandy, if you’d like.” His last word was punctuated by the thrust of his sword through a Sorbold chest.
Gwydion Navarne, watching in the recesses, just shook his head as his namesake dispatched the rest of the soldiers, then took hold of the unconscious man he had incapacitated early on and dragged him back to the keep in the dark. He turned himself and followed Ashe’s shadow in the flickering light of Haguefort’s lanterns.
21
Good day, Fhremus,” the regent said as the doors closed behind a tall man in the military regalia of the Dark Earth, the dynastic line of the empress who ruled before Talquist. The regent emperor winced involuntarily at the sight of the dead empress’s crest, as he always did, needing to remind himself that he had chosen to keep the military uniforms of Leitha and the dynasty of the Dark Earth until spring, when he would be finally invested as emperor. Nonetheless, like other choices he had made in the name of appearing humble, the image of a golden sun bisected by a sword always caused him to flinch in anger. Especially given the symbol he had chosen for his own.
That same sun, rising rampant between the shorelines of two seas. The soldier, whose bearing was still youthful in spite of his many years in command, bowed respectfully. “M’lord.” Talquist gestured at the heavily carved table of dark wood near the doors of the balcony. “Sit.” The soldier bowed again and complied, but once at the table he stole a glance at the regent as if assessing his health. Talquist noticed, but said nothing, instead making his way casually to a similarly carved sideboard where an impressive array of glassware and decanters of the finest potent libations from around the world was displayed. “Would you care for something to drink, Fhremus?” Talquist asked, pouring himself a splash of Canderian brandy in a low crystal glass. “Thank you, no, m’lord,” the commander answered rotely. “My attention to your safety forbids me to compromise my senses in your presence.” Talquist chuckled darkly. “Nonsense,” he said humorously. “My safety is assured, not only by a retinue of palace guards, but by measures you cannot even imagine. So, go ahead, Fhremus, fortify yourself. I expect you may need it.” The suggestion had become a command. Fhremus rose from the table and came to the sideboard, where he selected a single malt from Argaut, a nation in the southern hemisphere far across the Central Sea, and poured himself a few fingers of it. Then he followed Talquist back to the table again. “Excellent choice,” said the regent, watching Fhremus over the rim of his own glass. “Argaut has many excellent distilleries. I hope you enjoy it.”
“Thank you, m’lord.” Talquist leaned closer. “Yes, Fhremus, I am alive and whole, in spite of any rumors to the contrary.” The commander smiled nervously. “I am glad to see that, m’lord.” The regent settled down more comfortably in his chair. “I have always admired your devotion to the nation and the crown, Fhremus,” he said, inhaling the bouquet of the brandy. “I was greatly impressed at your wisdom during the Colloquium following the empress’s death in insisting that the empire remain united, especially in the face of the lobbying by the counts of the larger provinces to disband both the empire and the army. I will never forget what you said at that meeting, that ‘the might of the Sorbold army comes from two factors— commonality of purpose and love of our native land.’” The soldier nodded and sipped his drink. “That wisdom is about to be proven more than anyone could have envisioned,” said Talquist seriously. “I want you to speak freely to me, Fhremus, without fear of reprisal, not soldier to emperor, but Sorbold to Sorbold. What is most common between you and I is a deep love of our nation. That nation is under dire threat, a threat that must be met with force, swiftly and overwhelmingly. If we delay or do nothing, we will lose any advantage that our terrain and military might would have given us in what will be a battle for our very survival.”