Kingslayer (6 page)

But he took what they’d condescended to give him and retreated to his new desk, sorting them out into a rough sort of timeline. Getting comfortable in the low-backed chair, he picked up the first report and dove in.

There were ten generals on the war council—well, eleven including him. Only four of the ten had made any effort to help him out and one of them was still on the front lines. So roughly half refused to cooperate. Actually, two had responded with scathing letters informing him that he would
never
have their cooperation. He made careful note of them: Feroze and Angra. But to make matters worse, this country had a habit of rotating their generals so that a different one took charge of the front lines every three months. So the information he’d received was hodge-podge, leaving gaps for him to guess about. One of the generals that had sent information had actually last served a year and a half ago, when Darius had faced him, which didn’t help at all.

He read through all reports and scrolls anyway, struggling at moments because of the atrocious handwriting in some of them. Alright, so his language skills could be partially to blame too. But mostly the impossible handwriting.

As he read, he started to piece together the situation. When he’d left Niotan’s warfront, they’d had roughly eight thousand troops. The next report he had was dated four months later, and Niotan had the same amount of troops. This made sense—Darius had been called for without any warning and abruptly yanked away. His predecessor hadn’t yet been chosen or dispatched, so he’d ordered the men to retreat to the mountains and wait in the relative coolness and shade until a new commander came. But Brindisi politics being as they were, it had taken a good two months for another commander to be chosen and then another two weeks or so for supplies to be organized and sent out. Plus the time for them to travel all the way to Niotan…yes, alright, that had actually worked out to be an almost five month delay.

Darius shook his head at this point in exasperation. It would have actually been faster to just leave him where he was and let him win over Niotan and
then
dispatch someone to clean everything up, than to yank him from the front lines. Not that he regretted that now, considering how things had panned out.

Another gap appeared in the timeline, this one three months long, but Darius knew more or less what must have happened. This would have been the time that he’d killed King Farhan and word would have spread like wildfire after that night, eventually filtering its way down to Niotan. When that happened, Brindisi had a firm policy of holding off on engaging any and all enemies until a new king was coronated and had a chance to issue orders. In the past, whole conquests had been cancelled, commanders replaced, or treaties re-negotiated with a new king in power.

Whoever had replaced him didn’t have a chance to fight much before Farhan had died, and then they ordered a retreat back to the foot of the mountains, biding their time for new orders to be issued. Altogether, that meant that Niotan had a reprieve for almost, what, eight months straight? No wonder they’d had time to train more men and gather up more supplies. Brindisi had given them a very lengthy reprieve to do so.

He sat that report aside and picked up the next, working through several more before coming to the latest one. Someone had included a current status report—for which Darius thanked Shaa profusely—that gave him a good picture of things as they stood now. Six thousand Niotanese troops were at the front lines under the command of General Mihr. Darius had crossed paths with him briefly at the very beginning of the campaign. Mihr had a steady hand with tactics and governing men that would wear down an enemy. Darius couldn’t have chosen a better general to be on the front lines at this moment. But he had also been out there for almost three months, and was soon to rotate out and return home. When that happened, the next General in cue would be… Darius flipped through several sheets until he found the list he wanted. That would be, oh ye gods no! Piruz? The man who couldn’t even tie his own sandals correctly? The man thought all tactics boiled down to “Charge!” He’d decimate what little troops Niotan had left.

He’d hoped to give himself at least two months to get the lay of the land and make some improvements in the soldiers’ training before taking the front lines, but he didn’t dare let Piruz be in command. Niotan would fall in weeks.

Swearing to himself darkly, he went back to the report and scanned it for any other useful information. Supplies were alright, especially considering how few troops there were, they were getting a little low on shields and body armor though… Hmm? Someone had thoughtfully scribbled at the bottom who the current Brindisi general was.

For the first time since he’d come here, Darius broke out into a smile. “Jahangir’s commander? Oh blessed days.” He’d met the man on several occasions and (for his sins) had served with him once. Jahangir could be charitably described as Brindisi’s idiot general, just as Piruz was Niotan’s. Ohhh…so that’s why Niotan had been holding out as well as they had. Jahangir couldn’t lead horses to water without getting confused in the process. In that case…hmmm.

Darius leaned back in his chair, putting the report down. He juggled logistics, troops, supplies, and personalities in his head, coming up with a rough battle plan. Yes, he might be able to quickly win the first conflict after all. It would just take a bit of planning.

Satisfied, he left his study and headed straight for his bedroom.

He collapsed in the bed with the fervent hope that Bohme stopped every assassin that night, wriggled into a more comfortable position, and slept like the dead.

At dawn’s first light, he woke up, and re-dressed in yesterday’s clothes. Sego might have a point about clothes shopping after all. A young palace runner delivered a very elaborate breakfast tray. Darius took it outside and coaxed a few of the birds hanging around the balcony to try a few crumbs. None of them died, much to his surprise. No one had managed to bribe the kitchen staff yet? Odd. That would have been the first thing he would have tried.

Assured it was safe to eat, he split the meal with Bohme, which turned out to be a bad idea. The man could eat anyone out of house and home. Of course, being that big, it probably did take a lot to feed him. Darius blessed the heavens that he didn’t actually have to pay for the bodyguard’s food expenses.

“So how many assassination attempts last night?” he asked Bohme casually as he popped a piece of bread in his mouth.

A secretive smile played around Bohme’s mouth. “None.”

Darius froze, hand half to his mouth, and stared at the man incredulously. He didn’t
look
like he was teasing…. “Not one? Not even someone watching my rooms?”

“Oh, they watshed,” Bohme assured him, eyes twinkling now. “And lishtened hard. But no one tried to enter.”

Ah, so they were waiting to see what he would do? Well, alright. Darius could live with that.
If I ever lose a battle, though, I’d better start watching my back.
“Bohme, is it really that peaceful in the court? The queen seemed to think that no one would dare go against her.”

“No one would,” Bohme said matter-of-factly before picking up his cup and tossing the contents in one long gulp. With a satisfied sigh, he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “Queen Treshea ish the worsht kind of enemy. But you knew that.”

Darius couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“They all wonder why you shwitched shidesh sho eashily,” Bohme said cautiously, like a man edging along a path lined with eggshells. He carefully didn’t meet Darius’s eyes, focusing instead on the food. “They wonder why you betray Brindishi.”

For all Darius cared, they (whoever ‘they’ were) could keep wondering. But he needed Bohme to trust him, and to do that, he had to answer that question. “Brindisi has grown too large. They are ripe for self-destruction. But if just one country can repel them, can rebel against them, it will stop their conquering ways. It would save the Sovran.”

Bohme blinked at this reasoning. “Then, Niotan…?”

“I want Niotan to be that country.” He leaned back in his chair, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully, and added wryly, “Well, and I owe Queen Tresea for not killing me outright and giving me a chance to live. Serving her seems like a small price.”

This seemed to satisfy Bohme, as he beamed, revealing crooked teeth. Then he happily went back to consuming Darius’s share of breakfast.

Sego arrived just as they were finishing up, three strange men in tow. They looked a little tired to his eyes, as if they had ridden hard to get here. They hadn’t been in the field when called, had they? Actually, they probably had been.

“A fair morning to you, General,” Sego greeted with a bow.

“Your timing is excellent, Sego,” he responded in kind. “Come in. I assume this is my new staff in your wake?”

“Indeed, sir.” Sego stepped into the room just enough to give the other three a chance to properly enter. Then he turned, a hand extended. “This is Navid of Khoor.”

Oh, so this was the man infamous for doing the unexpected? Darius had always expected him to be a scholarly sort of soldier, considering some of the more brilliant tactics this man had pulled, but he looked like a street thug—messy black hair standing out in a deranged halo, a ring hanging from one ear, skin dark and rough from the sun. The only sign of intelligence came from his eyes—those dark eyes calculated and weighed everything they saw. But, Khoor? He hailed from the capital? Sego had mentioned he rose through the ranks, like Darius had, but if he hailed from the city itself, then…maybe he really did hail from the streets? Regardless of his background, getting to this rank all on his own was impressive. 

He bowed properly to Darius, who responded with just as much respect.

“Kaveh of Javeed.”

This time, Darius’s imagination had gotten closer to the mark. Kaveh could be used as
the
example on how a military man should dress. His dark hair was slicked back, every line of his uniform in place. The one thing different was the nose—if that nose had been broken less than twice, Darius would be very surprised. He too gave an appropriate bow.

“And Ramin of Shakham.”

“General!” Ramin gave a choppy bow, his torso jerking downwards before bouncing back up. He had a boyish voice that fit his fair looks. In fact, if this man had been out of his teens for more than a year, Darius would eat his new sword. Well, maybe it was the hair. For some reason, Ramin had dyed his hair a vivid red that stood out in high contrast to his blue uniform. “We were told by Raj Sego that you chose us yourself, sir.”

Brash, indeed. But Darius didn’t dislike that. “I did. Out of all the commanders I faced from Niotan, you three showed me the most potential. You’re also the most flexible—you didn’t try to adhere to any plan, but changed according to what happened.”

“You didn’t give us much choice on that, General.” Kaveh’s tenor voice had a hint of dryness to it.

Darius flashed him a smile. “Alright, let’s get to work. The queen expects a strategy from me on how to win the war. I have a rough idea, but we need to refine it.”

All three of them froze and looked at him in astonishment. It was Ramin, of course, that dared to ask the question. “Sir…you really think we can win?”

“I don’t fight hopeless causes, Commander.”

Perhaps Queen Tresea’s curiosity proved stronger than her restraint, or perhaps she simply grew impatient, but whatever the case she summoned Darius to her hours before dinner. Fortunately, between Sego and his staff, Darius had all of the information he needed to make rough plans and even refine a few details. He would have liked to have gone over it one more time, just to see if he had missed anything obvious, but it would do for now.

He left his office with orders for his commanders, gathered up aide and bodyguard, and went directly to the queen’s personal study. He half expected at least one or two of the generals from the war council to be in attendance but, upon entry to the room, he only saw the queen and her bodyguard.

The room had nothing in it except three long benches, one of which nestled right next to an open window. With the cream walls and light green cushions strewn about, it felt very…feminine. The floral scents coming from the gardens outside the window reinforced that impression. Darius had thought of it as a study, but now that he had stepped inside, it felt more like a place to retreat and relax. Why meet here, of all places?

The queen must have come from doing something official, as she wore the blue of her country. The gown was sleeveless and flowing, made in a light material that would breathe well in this heat, and there was a delicate crown of gold around her forehead. She didn’t rise, but her hand gestured him to the bench across from her. He silently bowed and took the seat, a little cautiously, because the furniture frankly didn’t look up to bearing his weight.

“General,” she said with frank anticipation, “what plan do you have for me?”

“This plan is still very rough in areas.” He felt it only wise to put a disclaimer out there now, before she started picking holes in it. As he spoke, he turned and pointed Sego to sit next to him. He could see the almost instinctive objection forming on Sego’s face and he made his expression more stern. They were likely going to be here for hours, and he wasn’t about to let the man stand around on a bad leg that long.