The Forgotten (The Lost Words: Volume 3) (28 page)

James lifted the looking glass. The enemy camp was stirring, but it was panic more than order. They did not seem to know what to do. Some of them formed into a weak line in front of the village houses. Others slithered among them, hiding. Much of the rest threw their weapons down and ran, but the flanking force had them surrounded.

The battle was brief, disappointing. It was only minutes before the Athesians raised their gray flags.

“After you, sir,” Hector said.

James mounted his courser and led it into the valley. His imperial guard spread around him. By the time he had reached the village, Xavier’s troops were busy looting, poking everywhere. There was a knot of men walking through the tallgrass, bent low, jute bags slung over their shoulders. Each had something in his hands, making sharp clicking noises.

“What’s that?” James asked.

Xavier walked over to him. He had taken his helmet off and loosened the straps on his breastplate. Despite the light rain earlier, it was too hot. “Them? I call them smilers.”

James was not amused. “And what do they do?”

There was that nervous blink on the man’s face. “Teeth. Good white ones for rich people, yellow for the common men, soft brown ones for the poor. We keep the gold.”

One of the smilers had reached the corpse of an Athesian defender, one of the fools who had stood in the first wave against the cavalry charge. The body had half a lance broken inside it, and an arrow in its thigh. The smiler snapped the arrow off, then used the lance shaft to turn the corpse over. His tongs clicking, he set about pulling the teeth out.

Another one found a corpse, knelt, and reached for the gaping mouth. “I do not like it.”

Xavier forced a weak, polite smirk on his lips. “It’s decent pay. Helps men get their teeth back.”

James rapped his left tasset in annoyance. “This is not pirates we’re talking about. This is Athesia. You cannot desecrate bodies of the people of the realm. I come here as their savior, not to mutilate their flesh. Sort this out, now.”

Xavier was enraged, but he tried to keep it off his face. Only that blink betrayed him. “Yes, sir.”

Colonel Gilles approached and saluted; he had a red line from his helmet etched in his forehead. “The village is under our control. We have patrols out there, and a company watching the road. We bring the rest of the force over, sir?”

James looked back toward Caytor. “Yes. Start the move. Make sure it’s completed before dark.”

Master Hector bent down and picked up a discarded sword. “Cheap, dull blade. Not properly tended. Not the most prized catch we got ourselves, I guess.”

“Our first victory,” James said. “Bloodless. Quick. Hopefully, they will all be like that. A piece of Athesia is in our hands. And now, I must be the emperor.” He walked into the village.

Soon, he was disappointed some more. There were no locals to greet him. The houses were empty of any people, except the defeated force. The stench of sweat and rotten food was strong; he couldn’t enter any building without gagging. The smithy was empty, even the ashes in the forge long blown away by the wind. The small stable had tack, but no donkeys or mules, let alone horses. The well was clean, though.

“What’s the tally?” he asked.

One of Xavier’s captains held a wooden board with papers clipped to it. “Only eight dead on our side. We killed about fifty or so before they surrendered. Got them all. Six hundred and four prisoners altogether, about a hundred wounded.”

“Do they have a commander?” James wondered, feeling less exulted than he should.

They brought before him a wild, evil-looking man, with deep, sunken cheeks and an insolent grin. They had pushed a broken spear behind his back and bent his elbows over it, then tied his arms in the front. He was caked in mud and blood.

“Introduce yourself,” a soldier escorting the captive intoned, then switched the prisoner across the back of his legs with the flat of his sword. Groaning with pain, the Athesian defender fell to his knees.

James grimaced. “No torture.” He would have to talk to Xavier some more about his methods.

Commander Nicholas and three majors from the Fourth had joined the group. They looked annoyed, their pride hurt.

“Do you know this man?” James asked.

Nicholas stared at the captive for a long while. “No. Never seen him.”

“Are you a soldier of the realm?” James inquired.

“Sir, if you let me.” Xavier stepped forward. “Who are you?” When the captive didn’t answer fast enough, the warlord kicked him casually in the stomach, doubling him over.

James pushed the man away. “I said no fucking torture!”

Xavier blinked twice. “That’s not torture, sir. We need information.”

“From this sorry lot?” James took a deep breath. He was an emperor. He must not let himself get entangled in petty matters. He had to delegate, empower, nourish trust, and earn loyalty. It was a mistake for him to be here, he felt. He should wait for a written report. But the side of him that imagined his father riding in the front ranks of his army would not let go. The memory of thrill and fear of the engagements with the Oth Danesh was sweet and intoxicating. He wanted to be here, on the first inch of Athesian soil that he ruled, even if he felt empty and indifferent toward his realm.

I’m an Eracian, married to a Caytorean woman. But then, so was my father. Where do I get the inspiration?
Was it necessity? Was it greed? Was it desperation? Or some higher vision? He had to cling to the notion of greatness. Back at Pain Daye,
it all sounded splendid. But in this little village, the conquest seemed long and bloody and pointless.

“What’s your name?” James asked again once the man had gained enough breath back.

“They call me Mite.”

“Speak,” Xavier warned.

“I ain’t no fuckin’ soldier of the realm. I used to be in the jail in Roalas, awaitin’ hanging, but then that whore empress offered us pardon if we’d go out and fight, so I said why not, better off free than rotting there, so we fought, and we broke through the lines. And we got here, and I got my li’l army going, till you fuck faces shows up.”

“Why were you in prison?” James took a small step back. The man reeked.

“Your golden little mind wanna know? Why you give a shit?”

“Sir, we cannot tolerate that kind of language!” Xavier protested.

James smirked. “True. Does anyone have a copy of one of Blackwood’s works? He might like them.”

“I know Blackwood,” the captive said, licking his lips. “Where Handsome and me got to kill them women.”

Perhaps his warlord did have a point. “Take him away. I want to talk to someone sensible.”

Dusk was creeping in on the world when the little interrogation was finished. James was not pleased with the answers he got. Mite’s renegade force consisted of former criminals, survivors of a surprise night attack against the Parusite siege lines, and mostly defectors from the two turncoat legions. They were all dejected, hopeless men with no prospect in life other than looting, drinking, and living to see the next sunrise. No one bothered to wash or shave, and they had lice in their hair.
They spent their time escaping capture by the Red Caps or the loyalists, still fighting for Amalia. That last bit cheered James a little. But he did not like the fact the land was almost deserted. Sensible people had fled south, into the embrace of the Parusite king and his sister, who offered shelter and food.

Taking over northern Athesia would mean ruling a land without people. But maybe, it would have to do for now. A rough start.
My father won his first battle much like this. Only with a hundred men at his side
.

Rob arrived with the rear force. He was still wearing city clothes, although he was coated in muck up to his thighs. His friend was smoking a cigarette, at ease in this weird little place.

“I want you to find those loyalists,” James told Colonel Perry. “Get in contact with them. Make sure they understand who I am and what I want. There’s no reason to spill friendly blood.” James turned toward Master Hector. “We will stay here for a day, get some rest, then move on. I want a hundred refugees to volunteer to stay here. And they’ll get protection, too.”

Rob stretched when he dismounted. “Did I miss any good fun?”

James waved his impromptu war council away. “A small battle. A small victory.”

Rob pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That’s all you need. A string of them.”

“Not what I expected,” Adam’s son confessed.

“Oh, you wanted a crowd cheering you home? Like at Pain Daye?”

James shrugged.

“That took the better part of a year and some serious negotiations by most of the High Council. This land has never seen you, never heard of you. They don’t know who you are. And King Sergei is a damn good ruler, too.”

“So what do I do?” James kicked at the grass impotently.

“You’re your father’s son. You will figure it out. For now, stick to the plan.”

James liked Rob a lot. He always knew what to say and how to cheer him up. Yes, he would stick to the plan. Once he secured this empty stretch of land, he would get all the refugees settled. It would not be much, but it would have to do. Then, he would send a reassuring message to Eracia, while working on winning the hearts of the loaned private armies under his command. Their performance in Caytor had been good, but this was different now. They were fighting a new war, outside their home.

What if the Athesians did not want him? What would he do then? Go back to Caytor, claim Pain Daye for his own? Perhaps all those councillors were not entirely wrong when they had urged him to leave the mansion. They had wanted proof of his good intentions.

He wanted Rheanna at his side to reassure him. He wanted Nigella’s magical advice. He wanted to be sure, but every day, problems only mounted, and his doubts grew. His earlier cockiness was wearing off. This was no longer a romantic story of a forgotten child rising to glory, of a charismatic man winning the hearts of his followers. No more swordplay, no more hunts with his friends, no more excitement over battle and honor. Things were turning brutal. He was confused, disillusioned, mistrustful. The only person he could really trust was his mother, and she was far away, in another realm torn by war. Rob, Rheanna, Timothy, they were all companions, but a year ago, he hadn’t known about their existence.

He shook his head, hard, until his ears rang.

Enough.

I’m a bloody emperor. I’m Adam’s son!
his soul shrieked. He could not indulge in weakness and petty wishing. He could not waste time second-guessing his friends, his officers, anyone. Things were as they were. He was the emperor, and they must do as he demanded. He just had to make sure that he did it with style and grace so they loved him. Statesmanship.

“Are you okay?” Rob asked him, worried.

James realized he had daydreamed for a while. “I’m fine. Just dizzy from this grassy smell.”

Rob puffed on his cigarette. “Tell me about it.”

He would figure it out.

For now, he had a bunch of criminals to hang. He called one of the soldiers. “Get me Warlord Xavier.”

“Sir?” the butcher asked when he returned. He seemed to have been eating, crumbs of food sticking to his cheeks.

“I want all of them hanged. Make sure you do it far from the camp. I’m not in the mood for pleading and screaming.”

Xavier nodded, pleased. “Plenty of trees to go about.”

“Congratulations, Emperor,” Rob said after the warlord went away.

“This is the first battle,” James spoke aloud, reassuring himself. “There will be more.”

Rob flicked the cigarette butt into the dusk, and it trailed a bright orange line. “Just like your father.”

CHAPTER 21

S
ergei’s head was beginning to hurt, and it was only midmorning.

A king had to allow people to petition him every now and then. Clerks could handle ordinary citizens, merchants, even some of the rich folk. His sister could adjudicate other, more complicated matters pertaining to her princedom. But the king had to see to Duke Vincent of Eracia himself.

“I must demand protection, Your Highness.” The duke was almost shouting.

Sergei stared at him, wavering between worry and ridicule. The old man was probably the most senior aristocrat in the Eracian society. With the monarch’s line eradicated, he stood highest to being elected the new leader of the torn nation. Provided everyone could agree on his nomination. Provided the Eracians gained back control of their country. So far, they had failed on both accounts.

Having someone like Duke Vincent as a rival had many advantages. The man was utterly predictable, so easy to please or insult. Hardly a politician. A relic of a time long gone. Even the Parusite lords had a better notion of diplomacy and negotiations than him.

Even so, Sergei did not dare disparage him publicly, or ignore him too much. There was always a risk the man might
take an unforgiving grudge, and if somehow the Eracians prevailed against the nomads, Sergei would have earned himself a new enemy. He could not afford to have Eracia as a foe.

Which was why he could not let Sasha see the duke, although Vincent might be more lenient toward a woman. Old, honor-bound fools like him usually were.