Defiance (Rise of the Iliri Book 3) (13 page)

He nodded, but she saw his shoulders sag a bit more.  That's when Sal realized that the man before her had no desire to rule.  He took the task seriously, aware of the responsibilities weighing on him, and she decided she liked him.  He deserved to live.

Regally, he rose from his throne to look over the crowd.  "It has been generations since anyone has dared to brave the gauntlet," the King said, speaking loudly enough for all to hear.  "Our laws say that any who is able to make it to the King's feet – and who is willing to disarm themselves and swear fealty to him, shall be granted the position of Sergeant at Arms, commander of the Anglian military."

The crowd murmured.  He let them die down before he continued.  "You have all witnessed this one," and he gestured to Sal, still knelt at his feet.  "The first in over seventy years to complete this challenge.  By the laws set forth in the Constitution of Anglia, I am proud to present my Sergeant at Arms.  Please rise, my friend."

In her head, she heard Jase whisper to Roo,
Tell Arctic she's in.

Sal rose slowly and unbuckled her helm, but before she could remove it, a noble yelled, "What's your name, boy?"

In one graceful motion, she slid the resin off her head.  Her white hair fell behind her in a loose braid, and her strange ears peeked through it.  In the light of the window, her alabaster skin shined, making the crowd gasp.

"I am Lieutenant Salryc Luxx."

The crowd's murmur grew louder. 

Reeking of his anger, the noble stormed toward her.  "Dominik, you can not let a
woman
lead the military, are you insane?"

"The law is the law, Lord Aulis," the King replied.

"That's 'Your Highness,'" Sal said softly to Lord Aulis, causing him to look at her.

"What
is
that?" he squealed, backing away from her.  "Highness, she's not human!"

She'd known this was going to happen.  Raising her voice, she addressed him so the crowd could hear.  "No, I am not human.  I am iliri.  I am faster and stronger than any of your men.  I have earned the title of Sergeant at Arms, Lord Aulis, whether you like it – and me – or not.  Now step away from the King!"

The new king tried to hide a smile.  "The law doesn't state human nor male.  It merely states that anyone good enough to pass..." he looked behind her at the guards.  "How many men are on duty today, sir?"

"One hundred and seventy-five, Your Highness." 

"Anyone good enough to get past one hundred and seventy-five of the best Anglian soldiers is good enough to guard me – and to teach our men a few things, I think.  Lieutenant Luxx, was it?"

"Yes, sire," Sal said, lowering her head politely.

"Please.  Let us retire to my office.  I believe we have much to talk about."  He cast a glance behind him.  "And yes, Otso, you can tell the council to meet us there."

Chapter 14

When the King stepped from the dais, the crowd knelt.  He bent over and grabbed her weapons from the ground, then handed them to her, hilt first.  Sal took each gently, sheathing the swords while the King looked closely at her knife.  When he finally returned that, she slipped that blade into the sheath along her belt and nodded, falling behind him as he made his way from the Throne Room.  Their feet sounded loud in the silence.

Together, they entered the King's private offices.  He gestured for her to take a seat before moving to a shelf behind his desk.

"I can not, sire," Sal said quietly.  "I can not sit in your presence unless you do."

He turned to her and sighed.  "Ok, first things first then.  In these rooms and my personal chambers, I am not 'sire' or 'Your Highness'.  I am Dominik Jens, the son of a bastard of a king.  My great claim to fame was the right to collect taxes in a country province with maybe twenty tenants.  That's all.  The only thing the place had going for it was an impressive title.  My only training in how to act noble was listening to the cook chastise the kitchen help.  You may call me Dominik, or Dom, but I can't do all the damned 'kinging' constantly.  I'm just a commoner whose father was born on the wrong side of the sheets."

Yes, he was definitely the right man for this job.  "Fair 'nough."  She slipped into the chair he'd offered her, unbuckling the bezor from around her neck.

"Brandy?  Whiskey?  Mead?" he offered.

"Mead please."

He poured her a glass and turned to hand it to her, but his eyes widened.  "Lieutenant?  You've been injured!"

Sal smiled.  Her maast was in control but still pulsed in her mind.  "I know.  You have one good archer up there in that bunch, Dom. 
One. 
We have a lot of work to get your army in shape.  You don't happen to have a handkerchief do you?"

He pulled one from a drawer in his desk, passing it across to her.  Sal held it against the slice in her throat, the pressure causing her desires to flare.  Slowly, she exhaled and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the chair.  She had to make it a little longer.

"Do you need a physician?" he asked, true concern in his voice. 

Sal chuckled.  "No.  That would probably be a very bad idea.  Trust me, it doesn't hurt like you'd think.  It's just a nick, but I should warn you, I will need to be excused within an hour."

"Ok?  Are you going to turn into a frog or something?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Something like that.  I'm not human, sire."  She opened her eyes slowly and looked into his, noticing the green flecks.  "It's called the maast, and I think you should know about it."

"The what?"

"The maast," she repeated, enunciating the strange word for him.  "Have you ever heard of berserkers?"

He nodded.  "Yeah, Anglian myths talk about them, why?"

"That's the maast.  If I cause harm or experience certain pain myself, it hits me.  Think of it like an addiction.  I can hold off my need for a fix, but only for so long."

"Then what do you need, Lieutenant?"

"Sal, please.  And you probably don't want to know."

He chuckled.  "Ok, now I have to."

She looked at him, reminding herself that humans were not her prey this time.  As the thought crossed her mind, she felt the passions surge, and it came out in her voice.  "I have to kill again, or I need to fuck."

He stepped back unconsciously.  "And you're in this, 'mast' thing now?"

"Trust me, Dom, you're not my type.  This really is just a nick, but I was hyped up before I entered the Palace.  I know your council will have a few things to say, but when I'm done, I mean it.  Ok?"

"Ok," he agreed, sounding nervous.  "I think it would be best if the nobles don't know about this.  Those pricks can't seem to wrap their mind around anything except how to impress their peers with pompous bullshit."  He offered a weak smile, trying to lighten the mood.  "Who woulda thought it, huh?  An iliri and a bastard's kid in charge of the biggest country on this continent."

Sal leaned forward, grabbed the glass of mead and took a long drink, then nodded.  Before she could answer, the door flung open behind her.  Four sets of feet entered the room.

"You can not allow this!" a man demanded in a nasally voice.

"I already have, Bjan," Dominik said.  "So you might as well introduce yourself to the new Sergeant."

Sal stood to face the nobles behind her.  The scent of their contempt filled the air.

"Sal, this is Bjan Arvo, Cillian Tor, Otso Aulis, and Marcu Piet," the King introduced, gesturing at each one in turn.  "And this is Sergeant Salryc Luxx, the commander of my military."

"Can you do more than run, girl?" Marcu asked her snidely.  "We all saw your agility in there, but what combat experience do you have?  Damn it, Dom, that was supposed to be my position.  I've already made promises of promotions to certain officers.  What am I going to tell their parents now?"

"Tell them," Sal nearly growled, "that I don't play politics.  Lord Piet, I don't know what you think the military is exactly, but it's not a popularity contest.  Regardless of who these soldiers are related to, their job is to protect this country.  If I have to restructure the entire thing, I will, and Anglia will be better for it."

"Yeah?" Marcu snapped at her, "And what makes you think you're qualified?"

Sal smiled at him too sweetly.  "How many men have you killed this year, Lord Piet?  In your life?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I've participated in fifteen elite operations.  I led three of those personally, and I've commanded multiple smaller skirmishes in the war against Terric.  This year alone, I put over seventy men in their graves.  I only know of one man with more tactical genius and skill in combat than myself, and before now, I reported directly to him.  What qualifications do
you
have to lead the military exactly?  Besides who you're related to or how much money you spent in bribes."

She knew she'd read him right, and her words proved it.  Irate at being talked to that way by a woman, Marcu stormed at her, intending to slap her hard.  Sal grabbed his forearm, holding it against his struggles, making him look like a fool.

"Shall we duel over it, Lord Piet?" she taunted.  "I'll even give you the choice of weapons.  We can make it a public affair, and you can invite all your friends.  That sounds like something Anglians would do, doesn't it?"

"Fucking bitch.  You have no right to talk to me like that!"  He yanked his arm back.

"Actually, I do.  According to your constitution, I outrank you on all things military."  She pinned her ears at him, lifting her lips enough to show her sharp teeth.  "Now sit the fuck down, and get over it,
my lord
."

Behind her, Dominik laughed.  "I like her.  Anyone else?  Otso?"

"I'd just like to know, well..." Cillian Tor spoke up hesitantly.  "No offense, Sergeant, but what are you?"

Sal relaxed, flicking her ears back forward.  "I am iliri, my lord."

"Iliri don't exist... do they?" he asked.

"There's a few of us left.  I've only met one other, but your country is filled with my ancestors."

"Oh?"  Now Dominik was curious.

"The grauori.  Over two thousand years ago, we split from them, but we still have many of the same customs and traditions."

"Wolves?" Cillian asked.

"Not exactly, my lord.  You can all see how different I am from you, well the grauori are that different from me, but they're easily as intelligent as either of us."  She dabbed again at the wound on her neck.

Sal,
Jase's thought broke into her mind. 
I brought Arden up for ya.  She's at the entrance ta the Palace, and they know she's fer ya.  How are ya holding up?

I'm good, so far.  I don't know how much longer I'll be here, but meet me back at the camp.  I think we'll be moving, so tell the mutts they might want to start packing.  Jase, I'm going to need you.

I know, kitten.  Ya did great in there, and LT said he's proud of ya.  I'm here when ya can get away.

The nobles hadn't even noticed her internal conversation as they mulled over what she'd told them.

"So why are you here?" Cillian asked.

"Mainly because of the grauori, and because Terric is headed here next.  If Anglia falls, the Conglomerate has no hope.  My people will die, my lords.  Thousands of iliri and iliri mongrels will be exterminated.  Never mind what will happen to the rest of the CFC.  Holding Anglia is our best chance of survival."  She paused, looking at each of them.  "What this means for you is that I may actually be a bitch, but I'm honestly interested in keeping your country safe.  My life and my entire species depend upon it, which is a lot more than any of you can say, I think.  I'm here officially, though.  My mission is to secure Anglia and prepare her to defend herself."

Cillian nodded in understanding, but the other three nobles glowered at her.  It made Sal reached for her glass again.  Marcu Piet's nervous twitches made her want to see the man bleed, which meant she was near her limit.

"And why does the Conglomerate care?" Otso asked, his skepticism obvious.

"Fair question, my lord."  She meant it, too.  "The Conglomerate is more than willing to loan Anglia a small group of soldiers – there's only two of us – to assist you in training your army and increasing your combat efficacy.  If my partner and I die while helping to secure your nation, the Conglomerate loses little.  If we're able to succeed, and Anglia resists an imperial invasion, it's our hope that our nations will become close allies.  Someone has to give first, and Parliament feels that we're sufficient for the task but not so vital that our loss would jeopardize the country."

Otso nodded.  "So this is an offer of alliance from the Conglomerate then?  Having you take over our military?"

"Not exactly."  Sal smiled politely at the man.  "My mission was to meet with your previous king and offer my services.  His untimely demise meant I had to improvise.  I did not have sufficient time to request an update in orders, so I decided your tradition of the gauntlet would serve my purposes."

Cillian laughed, and Otso nodded.  Lord Piet continued to glare at her.  "So are you taking your orders from the Conglomerate then?  How do we know that you won't simply march the army into Terric regardless of what's best for Anglia?"

The man made her instincts scream, but Lord Piet had no idea how his aggravated movements were affecting her.  Everything he did screamed in her head that he was prey and that she should devour him.  She blotted at her neck again, blinking slowly, and reminded herself to breathe.

"Your Constitution prevents that.  Without a formal declaration of war, your military officers are not required to follow an order of war from me.  I am iliri.  I am also a woman, and I'm pretty sure that both of those make me foreign enough for the officers to question my judgment."

"So," Cillian said, "does this mean you're basically on loan to us?  The Conglomerate has always maintained the strongest and most advanced military on the continent, easily a match for Anglia even with our superior numbers.  Why is the Conglomerate willing to risk making Anglia stronger than them?"

"They aren't, my lord.  I am.  My unit is iliri.  My commanding officer is iliri.  My orders to protect my own species do not come from the Conglomerate.  Only my orders to broker an alliance in any way that I deem feasible."  She looked at the King.  "Judging by your character, sire, it's my opinion that this is the most viable method and will be of mutual benefit to both of our nations."

Dominik nodded, thinking over that.  "I think I can agree.  I have no intentions of a war with the Conglomerate, and if possible I would like to prevent war with Terric.  Who knows.  Maybe we can even learn a few things from our liberal friends from the south.  I am agreeable to your offer, Sergeant."

"It's Lieutenant, actually, sire."

"Traditionally," Otso informed her, "the Sergeant at Arms is referred to as 'Sergeant.'" 

"I think that nothing about my position is traditional, Lord Otso.  If His Highness will allow it, I would prefer the title of Kaisae."  Sal dabbed again at her neck.  The pain was so sweet, making her body hypersensitive under the armor.