The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (32 page)

“It’s a slim chance, but I will not squander it.”

They talked for a little while longer, making a rough outline of their battle formation for the upcoming engagement. The enemy force was expected to arrive by midday tomorrow and would probably pass within ten miles from their position, if not strike directly for the estate. The terrain did not provide any great advantage for ambushes, but the three of them carefully examined the maps to make sure they didn’t miss anything.

Then, they discussed the actual march, the strength of the different units, the readiness of the troops, the supplies. Not the proudest or most skilled army in the world, to be sure, but they had quite a bit of experience. That should count in their favor.

Alan would remain behind with three or five thousand men, depending on how ardently he argued when they presented him with the plan. The rest would move as a homogenous body toward Pain Mave, hoping to evade the bulk of the
enemy force and nip at their exposed sides. Perhaps she could meet up with her son and his mixed Athesian army. She missed James.

Well, it was a well-planned idea.

Or a well-planned suicide.

“May I invite you for dinner?” Finley said when they concluded the talk of sacrifice and heroism.

Mali pursed her lips. “Why not.” She looked at Alexa. Her friend nodded.

Finley gave her a small smile. “In two hours then.”

Walking through the damp, musty corridors, Mali let her mind unravel. She wondered how Gordon would react when she told him about Bjaras. He had to know; she owed him that much. Or the fact they would be taking their prisoners along. She wondered if she wasn’t being just a silly old whore trying to escape commitment, like she had done most of her life. Or maybe she was just a huge coward.

Well, we all might die tomorrow. Dreams of the future are for the naïve
. But somehow, she did not believe her own conscience. She shouldn’t be feeling any guilt. She shouldn’t fret over what men might think about her actions. Only now that she was doing as she pleased, there was a pang of something else in her belly.

Gordon is a decent man
, she figured.
So why am I doting over some curly enemy carpenter?
Madness. Then again, nothing in the past year made any sense. Enjoying sex was probably the only sane thing she had done in a long while. And now, her mind was going to rob her of even that. The only thing awaiting her was a brutal march followed by a hopeless war.

For a moment, she thought about Adam. That man had chosen the right moment to die, for sure. He had spared
himself all the pain and fretting she was enduring right now. Because of him. All because of him.

She went to the mansion to prepare for dinner, black ideas swirling through her head.

CHAPTER 22

S
ergei reclined in a large, heavy chair, staring at the table in front of him. An ancient monstrosity of oak fireproofed against insects and time, it had a map of Roalas and its vicinity spread over it, the details painstakingly outlined, every little crease and village known to the city’s cartographers.

His obsession.

What interested him most was the budding mold around Keron. An insider enemy, for all he was concerned, accountable to its own truths and reasoning. Well, things were not that awful. Since his visit at that holy farm, Gavril’s men had started cooperating with his tax collectors and soldiers, trying to appease him and reduce his suspicion.

Then, quite recently, they had started marching north.

Even now, if he bothered walking out onto a balcony and glancing over the cascade of rooftops, chimneys, washing lines, and the city’s walls, he could see a long line of men clogging the road, a tail of dust wagging behind them. They walked slowly and in disarray, no two quite the same, with more ash-colored donkeys and thin-ribbed mules than real horses, with more soldiers of the faith barefoot than clad in boots. Still, the pilgrim force was impressive in its own right, and only a fool would
have dismissed the sheer number of spears and swords in that snaky, never-ending column.

They were going north to fight an ancient legend. Incredible.

But it was worrying, nevertheless.

Sergei could ignore an occasional lunatic preaching his own crazed notion of the truth. He could not as easily disregard tens of thousands of people united in their cause, no matter what it was. You had to be a genius to sway so many hearts and minds with just empty, idle talk, and Gavril did not strike him as the brightest politician of the century. Which meant he was lounging in the court room, fireplaces mercifully cold now that his sister was away, and wasting time rather than preparing for this fateful war.

He sipped wine. It was a bit acidic but acceptable overall. The sour taste fit his mood.

“Your Highness, Duke Yuri has arrived,” Giorgi announced, standing near the hall doors.

Sergei shifted his weight and smiled. Finally. After so many months being robbed of his army, ruling the city with goodwill and scant troops, he had finally received his reinforcements, and he would have them for the coming year. The relief he felt was enormous.

It wasn’t just the threat of this imaginary northern foe; it was his disillusion with Sasha and her Red Caps, the lack of victory against Amalia, the fragile peace he had to maintain in the countryside with an ever-dwindling presence of force. Most of his sister’s units were in the north, and he was waiting for the Caytoreans and Eracians and maybe even the nomads to test his resolve. With the arrival of Yuri’s levies, and those of Count Pavel, reported just days away with the Sevorod contingent, he could bring the sorry affair of Adam’s legacy to a conclusion.

Only he would let Amalia choose first. Peace, and he’d let her live.

Sometimes, before sleep, he wondered why he didn’t lust for revenge against that girl so much anymore. It must be Vlad’s death. Or maybe the fact he had destroyed Athesia and through that liberated his own soul. Killing wasn’t as satisfying as he had imagined it to be, and the responsibility he had for these people under his reign now blunted his desire for vengeance even further. In fact, it felt like a burden, bitter, boring, will sapping.

Sergei rose and spread his arms in greeting. Yuri stepped into the hall, still filthy from travel. He was tailed by a handful of knights of his house, and they all trailed road dust after them.

“Your Highness,” the duke said, bowing. The men behind him went down on one knee, tapping their chests in salute.

“Yuri, I am glad to see you. I wish we could have met in Sigurd for the Autumn Festival banquet. Alas, we must remain here in this cursed land.” He knew he did not sound as aloof and regal as he should, but he just couldn’t care anymore.

“My troops are ready for war,” the duke announced. Some of his old-time conviction was back, the memory of his last year’s failure washed away. Sergei hoped all his lords would arrive clothed in fresh morale. They had let him down during the Siege of Roalas, and in turn, he had abandoned them. Now, they all had a chance to redeem themselves.

“Please join me. Now, I’m afraid I have summoned you to help me make peace.” Sergei pointed toward a chair.

The duke waited until Sergei sat down. Then he took his own place. He beat his gloves against the edge of the table, then tossed them onto the map. Matvey came over to pour wine.

“Peace?”

“I am going to offer Empress Amalia peace. If she swears loyalty to me, she will be pardoned, and all her men will be spared. Athesia will integrate into the realm, fully.”

Yuri sloshed the wine in his mouth, buying himself time until he could think it through. “Your Highness, that is a bold decision.” If he were disappointed, furious, or even slightly apprehensive, he tried to hide it behind the patina of brown chalk on his whiskered cheeks.

“If she refuses,” Sergei said, leaning over the table, pushing a painted lead weight that marked Amalia’s presence near Ecol, “then we will be having a war. This time, I will not be merciful.”

Yuri pointed his chin east, past the glazed windows and paintings. “Your Highness, I have noticed quite a bit of traffic on the road ever since we passed Keron. Are those Athesian refugees returning home?”

Can I tell him about the meeting with Gavril? No, I cannot. Not everything
. “The clergy has established a strong presence near the town. They are now marching north. Apparently, the priests believe there will be a conflict with some unknown force coming from outside the realms.” Nonsense. Myth. Then, he could not forget the sight of those bodies returning home, or those pigs, slashed and pierced and butchered, and their wounds never quite so round and clean. He could not forget the look on Vasiliy’s face as he tried to grasp the shame and failure of the royal house.

Yuri nodded. “Faith in this land is a good thing.”

A safe, neutral statement. Sergei ignored the pious chitchat. “What is the news from back home?”

“Intriguing, Your Highness,” the duke said. “There is peace at the borders, but…” He paused. “The Batha’n people have suspended trade with us recently, for an unknown reason.
Likewise, the Badanese convoys will not travel north of Sigurd. From what I’ve heard, there are dozens of their ships moored in the city’s harbor. They say they are waiting for the storm to pass.”

Sergei frowned. Once, he had been a very religious man, and he would have felt a tingle of respectful fear down his spine whenever he heard an ominous snippet of news. Recently, he had grown to dislike rumors and gossip that professed the divine. He believed they were just tools of manipulation, created by the patriarchs and well honed to popular use. Now, as if the world was testing his resolve, he was being taunted by omens everywhere.

Gavril, now my own dukes are telling me bedtime horrors
. “Intriguing,” he agreed.

The duke nodded. “Other than that, the realm is prosperous. The harvests will be bountiful, and the banditry is at an all-time low. Even the Red Desert tribes are quite docile recently. I can hardly remember the last time I had to hang a brigand.”

Sergei looked at his trusted scribe. Genrik was there, inconspicuous, like an ancient decoration, sitting outside of plain view and yet seeing and hearing everything, his hand deftly scratching ink lines over expensive paper, writing history. One day, Sergei knew, he would be measured by those pages. But would they tell just the boring facts, or maybe, would they also present his reasoning, his fears, his doubts, his courage? Probably not. Otherwise, how would future generations make the same mistakes as him, if not through ignorance of the lessons of the past?

I wish I could have sat with Pyotr to hear him think. Or the Eracian hero Vergil. Even Emperor Adam
. He would have loved to have been there, to try to understand how their minds worked and how they had made themselves immortal.

“What is your strength?”

Yuri put the cup down. “Seventeen hundred heavy horse from my own household, plus about two thousand light cavalry, scouts, and some auxiliary units. About eighteen thousand footmen and men-at-arms, as well as three thousand crossbowmen and archers. I have brought basic supplies, food, and tools for approximately two months’ worth of campaigning.”

Reports mentioned almost twenty thousand men walking and riding behind Pavel. Within days, he would triple the strength of his army in Roalas. “I will need you to relinquish about one thousand spearmen for the city regiment, and another thousand for the tax duties and the Gasua garrison. You will take the rest north, toward Ecol, where you will join my sister’s forces.”

Duke Yuri looked down at the map. “Empress Amalia?” he asked.

Sergei tapped the mining city, maybe a little too forcefully. “She is holding Ecol and all the territories north from there. So far, she’s withstood several attacks and avoided getting besieged. However, her troops are exhausted and severely depleted. She is roughly matched with the Red Caps, but you will sway the odds in our favor. Should there be more killing.” Peace. He would offer peace first.

“Your Highness,” Yuri spoke in polite, inevitable agreement.

“Peace or death, those are her only options,” Sergei said, maybe trying to convince himself.

Yuri snapped his fingers, motioning for Matvey to refill his cup. “Do you have any idea what really happened with Adam’s daughter, Your Highness? I heard Empress Amalia remained hidden in her brother’s camp for several months. Then, one day she revealed herself, and he embraced her. Then, she had the bastard murdered.”

Sergei snorted, slightly annoyed. He remembered Sasha’s letter and the incredible story of Amalia posing as a commoner before being discovered and miraculously pardoned. He still did not really believe that.

“Emperor James was killed in battle, most likely. I am not aware how the two siblings made peace among them, and it makes no difference. We embarked on this war with Empress Amalia leading her nation. We will end it facing Amalia. Whether she has the courage to make another bold choice, it’s entirely up to her.”

The duke raised his brows. “As you command, Your Highness.”

Sergei gestured, a generous wave of his hand. “You have had a long travel. Please report to the city’s warehouse sergeant for resupply and repairs. Your troops must be ready to march in three days. You are welcome to lodge at the palace.”