The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (49 page)

What did that leave her? Just a bit of personal spite.

At least she could exterminate Xavier.

Amalia saw Jarman walking toward her, with Captain Speinbate in tow. She frowned. That was a surprise.

For a moment, she thought something was wrong. She glanced around. Her new home, the restored manor house, was a small fortress, bristling with soldiers. A hundred craftsmen were going about making daily checks of the fortifications, trying to reassure everyone, including themselves, that sharp lumps of wood, rope, metal, and stone would stand up to the northern tide and the all-too-vivid rumor of a magical weapon that could punch through rock and steel with ease.

The Athesian contingent, mixed with Gavril’s people, would hold the city, the nearby mines, the several small forts. Princess Sasha wanted space for her own troops, so they would deploy on the flanks, where they enjoyed better discipline and hygiene. The Borei also required room to use their olifaunts, and Amalia was glad those monsters would be elsewhere when panic and fear stabbed through the ranks.

Everyone was busy, or seemed busy, but it was mostly a desperate need to keep themselves occupied so they did not have to ponder too much about the impending defeat. The wait was agonizing. No one knew what the White Witch really intended, or why he still held back, but his surprise assault a few days back meant they could not relax.

Gavril and Jarman were fairly certain the witch would attack them head on, because he wanted to utterly destroy the people of the realms, and he would not miss an opportunity to kill off such large prey. Surely not after Ewan had decimated one of his armies with the bloodstaff. She had no doubt the previous week’s attack was revenge, and the fact Ewan still lived was nothing short of a miracle.

“Amalia,” the Sirtai wizard called, his red robes stained with mud and water. The mercenary was looking around playfully, as if he were inspecting the work around the manor house.

“What is it?” she said, maybe too harshly. Xavier was standing a stone’s throw away, talking to several officers, pointing left. Just behind him, Master Hector was eating something, probably an egg. Amalia had not forgotten the talk with the old, leathery sergeant. He would favor Caytorean interests first.

“I believe Captain Speinbate may have a solution to your problem.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What problem?”

Jarman inclined his head ever so slightly. “
Your
problem.”

Amalia tried to wipe emotion from her face. “Oh, my problem.”

The gold-toothed man stepped closer. “For a small fee, if you do not mind. True, the Parusite king has retained our services, but they only cover all-out war efforts.”

Amalia felt suspicious. Was this some kind of a trick? Or was Jarman trying to keep his hands clean and still keep up his promise? “Well, what did you have in mind?”

“Something discreet, quiet,” Speinbate whispered.

She sniffed. “I have heard of Pum’be assassins.” Her voice almost faltered; a ghost of a pain skittered up her skull. “But I have never heard of Borei assassins.” All around, life went on as usual, strained and full of military activity. No one was paying them much attention.

“My lady, you do know we are experts in breaking sieges?” He waited until she nodded. “Good. Now, you do realize sieges are extremely costly affairs? All that waiting, bad food, disease, not to mention the storming of the walls themselves. Sieges are not very profitable when played by the rules. But if you can get the key participants convinced to end their war game a little earlier, you save a lot of time and money and countless lives. Well, we have developed our own methods of making sieges end faster.”

Amalia liked his theatrical ways, but she was still unconvinced. “Go on.”

The captain smiled, flashing her with gold. “Besides, you do know how the Pum’be nation was created, right? A Borei warrior shagged a goat, and they had a child.” He did not wait for her to acknowledge the joke. He guffawed loudly.

“They can help,” Jarman insisted.

“What will be the price?” she asked.

The Borei shrugged. “I am already the governor of the princedom,” he said, not without cold emphasis. “So something else perhaps?” The gleam in his eyes matched his teeth.

“Master Jarman will pay you,” she suggested, trying to sound mildly disinterested. She had already paid the wizard with her surrender. The nations of the realms were coming
united, just as he wanted, and he had promised his help in return. Let him make true on his word.

Jarman pursed his lips. After a while, he nodded. “Yes, indeed.”

Captain Speinbate smiled. “In that case, I will be glad to offer my services.”

“Good day,” Amalia stuttered. Suddenly, she was feeling uncomfortable. Wearing a waxy smile of her own, she retreated, taking a random path around builders and engineers and soldiers. Eyes followed her, some friendly, some openly hostile, others full of sorrow or disdain. She wondered what her Athesians thought of her now. After all, she had destroyed her father’s creation, robbed them of their independence. They were now subjects of King Sergei, and that meant prayer at dawn and dusk, something that hadn’t been seen in Athesia in two decades.

“Your Excellence,” someone called, a female voice. She halted. One of the Red Caps, a burly woman with short hair that matched her bleached leathers. “Commander Sasha wishes to speak to you. Please follow me.”

Her old imperial instincts kicked in. She wanted to feel annoyed at being summoned by an ordinary soldier. She wanted to glance past her shoulder, but she knew there was no one behind her right now. She was just a high-ranking clerk, serving Parusite interests.

The Red Cap woman led east, just past the congregation of Gavril’s followers. The holy man was talking to Ewan. The boy had a sick, pale expression on his face, but his grip was firm on the bloodstaff. Oh, if only she could grasp it for a few moments, she could wipe away all her mistakes and regrets.

Almost all of them. The bloodstaff would not bring the dead back. She swallowed a lump.

The religious army did not inspire in their military abilities. They were dressed and armed poorly, and their camp looked filthy and disorganized. They had more livestock and dogs than horses worth riding into battle. But they counted for something. Their zeal would see them through the worst of autumn and winter and the imminent carnage.

By contrast, the Parusite garrison was spotless. Neat rows of barracks and tents, well marked, with wide paths to allow soldiers to assemble and move through. Rows of trenches cut through the camp, the shallow ones made to carry away sewage, the deep ones studded with stakes designed to stop enemy attacks and hobble horses, not that the Naum army had any. For now.

Only several months back, the Parusite and Athesian forces had fought here. Her brother had died near the mining camp. Now, this same ground hosted King Sergei’s troops, as if the old carnage had never happened. She could see old pieces of rusty metal embedded deep in the loam, a testimony to the bitter fighting. Things not worth stealing, she figured.

Princess Sasha did not believe in fanfare. Her own shack was identical to so many others shared by her subordinates. Then again, it also made her that much more difficult to track and kill for enemy spies and assassins. Clever. The only nod at protocol was the beefed-up security around her shed.

“Do you carry any weapons, Your Excellence?” her Red Cap escort asked.

I wish I did. It would mean I knew how to use them
, she thought, bitterness gripping her chest. “No.”

The soldier looked her down and up. “Please enter, then.”

Amalia took a deep breath and pushed the plank door inward. It creaked on fat iron hinges.

Most maps Amalia had seen in her life had either lain on tabletops or been hung from walls as tapestry. She had never seen one strung like a cowhide left to dry. But the layout of the nearby terrain, etched in colored charcoal on a stretch of brown skin, bisected the small cabin. On the far side, she could see several silhouettes, moving, talking in hushed tones. It looked like an insect, with too many arms and legs, coming to life behind a thin cocoon.

“Around,” the escort suggested.

Amalia edged past the map. The king’s sister was talking to three other women in uniform. There were no servants, no guards around. The only other person was a priestess wearing ocher-colored robes, sitting at a small desk, writing.

“Your Excellence,” Sasha greeted, not really looking at her.

Amalia curtsied. “Your Highness.”

The princess nodded. “I want to commend you on your behavior in the past weeks. I had not believed you would be able to see past your petty misfortune. But apparently, I was mistaken. The conduct of the Athesian soldiers is reasonable, and there have been very few incidents. You are not happy with your predicament.” She paused, and now her royal eyes bore into Amalia, weighing her. “But you have proved your worth. Ecol is as ready for war as it will ever be.”

By ready, you mean a town crammed with refugees and beggars, with people forced to share their houses, the streets stalked by prostitutes, thieves, and opportunists, and the countryside whispering with robbery and panic? In that case, I have done superbly. Athesia is the prime example of a failed little empire, reduced to a shameful mockery of its proud past. And it only took me less than a year to ruin everything
.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” she muttered.

“Now I must ask you to leave the battle lines,” the princess said.

Amalia felt her gut clench. “I do not understand, Your Highness.”

Sasha looked at her. “I think you’ve done what you could. I will need you in Roalas. Your presence will help restore order in the provincial capital. That will allow my brother to march north under full strength. The king has no business governing a city. He needs to lead his nation.”

Amalia swallowed. No. No. She was useless, she knew, but not this. “Please, Your Highness. I must remain here. There are still too many problems that I must oversee. The loyalty of the Caytorean troops. The claim of my brother’s widow.” She would not let her voice tremble. No. “Besides, I have intimate knowledge with the artifacts of magic, and I have met the White Witch before. My experience should be valuable in the coming weeks. With all due respect, I must ask you to reconsider, Your Highness.”

Amalia realized the cabin had gone quiet. All the officers were silent, watching her. Princess Sasha was holding a small, sharpened piece of red charcoal, hand poised over the Weeping Boughs. That ought to be a good location to keep a small reserve of light troops, or maybe launch ambushes.

Amalia held her breath. She wanted to mention Jarman, but that would make her sound silly and desperate. The Parusites had no obligation toward the Sirtai. They did not care for magic. Sasha had probably left things as they were to maintain order among her various ranks, but she might dismiss Jarman and Lucas from her camp, too. What would they do then? What would that man Gavril do? Or Ewan?

The priestess in the back of the cabin looked up and nodded at the princess. Amalia tried to decipher that look. What
was that? Not just advice from a trusted aide. There was something else there.

Sasha put the crude pencil down, dusted her fingers. “So you would challenge my decision?”

Amalia bowed her head in deference. “Your Highness, I have willingly surrendered Athesia to King Sergei, and I will abide by that agreement. However, like you, my duty is to the people of this land first. If I were to tuck my tail and flee south, it would be construed as a defeat. I am certain that the legions would fall apart. The Caytoreans will defect. The Athesians might rebel.”

The princess stepped closer. The woman was lithe, formidable. Not a lady. A fighter. “Your duty, as the king’s vassal, is to obey your ruler. I represent the king, and I believe that you will best serve the Parusite interests away from Ecol. You have done your share.”

Amalia realized she had been dismissed. Her body turned around and led her out of the cabin. Outside, nothing had changed, but the world looked gray and dreary. A pointless place to be in. After all she had done, all the fighting, all the scheming, all her begging, she had finally rendered herself surplus. No one needed an inexperienced girl who had lost all her battles. She didn’t inspire anyone, she held no sway over anyone, she was indebted to killers and wizards, and she had even misspent her father’s wisdom. She was a total failure.

I will not cry
, she promised, gritting her teeth until the joints of her jaw hurt.
I will not cry
.

As she stepped past the last line of stakes, she saw that man Adelbert going about his business. He glanced at her once. He, too, owned a piece of her soul. But she had nothing left anymore. So what did it matter if she pledged some more? Nothing stayed nothing.

In that moment, a strange, raw sensation engulfed her.

Fuck everything
, she thought.
They want me gone? Well, I will fight to the death. I will show them
. It was an empty promise, she knew, but it didn’t matter anymore. She was Adam’s daughter, and she would die fighting.

Suddenly, she laughed, tears pouring down her cheeks. She barked at the sky, mad, ignoring the strange looks from the soldiers and pilgrims around her. She did not care anymore. The ball of emptiness in her stomach melted away, replaced by giddy elation. Amalia was almost too glad for having asked the Borei to murder Warlord Xavier. It was almost funny.

Jarman, Lucas, Hector, Adelbert, all of them, may they all burn. She was tired of their scheming, their selfish plans, their stupid ambitions. Who were they? How dare they? She would show them. She was Adam’s daughter. She would show them. They thought they could extort her? They thought they could use her?

She would let them. She would give them everything they wanted. Because you couldn’t defeat nothing; you couldn’t halve it or deplete it. She would set the bastards against one another and let them drown in their greed.
Fuck war. Fuck peace. Fuck everyone
.

When you have nothing to lose, everything is a gain
, she figured.