Soldiers of Tyranny Read online

  “I’ll be sure to avoid mentioning your colourful view of the situation,” Aiden said, hiding his amusement at Jeffrey’s dry sense of humour. “Inform them I’ll be out there as soon as I’ve finished my breakfast.” The castellan bowed and took his leave, allowing Aiden to drop his veneer of nobility once more. His smile vanished as his head fell into his hands, and he wondered if he would ever be free of his memories of that terrible fight.

  When he was done eating, the valet arrived to help him dress in the finery he was expected to wear. Aiden pulled on the black glove he wore on his maimed right hand to conceal his missing finger, and tried to ignore the hollow eyes staring back at him from the mirror. Even though his reflection now looked the part, it felt like a thin veneer of civility draped over a man whose soul had been tarnished by the brutality of war.

  Chapter One

  The comfortable warmth of the fort’s small library belied the tension in the air as Aiden idly contemplated the two men sitting opposite. Both were past middle age, grey of hair and sporting beards that would make their fathers proud.

  Each had come to Aiden, Baron of Highmarch to voice their grievances and seek his supposed wisdom in resolving their problem. As part of his duties, it was not uncommon for Aiden to settle disputes between individuals throughout the region — tedious though it was. Neither man would acknowledge the other’s legitimacy, which again, was not uncommon.

  Even with two years of experience under his belt, Aiden was still learning the intricacies of governance. Two years since the battle that had demolished half of the fort… he could scarcely believe it. Time had passed quickly, as is usually the case when one’s life is busy.

  It had taken nearly a year to repair the damage and restore Highmarch to some semblance of normality. Although difficult and costly, it had been well worth the effort to repair all of the aged walls and fortifications at the same time. Difficulties with supplies and money to pay for such an extensive rebuild had caused many delays, and more than a few harsh words between Aiden and his suppliers.

  When he hadn’t been overseeing the rebuild, Aiden was kept busy learning how to manage the fort and its surrounding lands. Usually a keen study, the young baron’s difficulty sleeping had slowed his progress, and caused more than a little frustration from the elderly Sir Leonard Gustav, a long-serving knight of the realm who was charged with educating Aiden before finally retiring. Aiden had been tutored in how to talk, move and even think while in the presence of Aielund’s elite.

  It was all part of an effort to increase his standing in the eyes of the nobility, for the king had shown reservations about a commoner marrying his beloved daughter. Princess Criosa Roebec had been destined to marry a foreign prince, a common practice amongst royalty, but that arrangement had all fallen through when that very prince — Osric Davignon of Tulsone — had become the new King of Tulsone and taken up arms against them.

  Aiden had overheard King Seamus furiously declare on more than one occasion, that Osric would marry his daughter over his cold dead body. But that fact alone hadn’t guaranteed Aiden’s betrothal to Criosa.

  Combined with the arduous task of rebuilding the ancient fort, the young baron’s schedule was so full he rarely had a chance to visit his paramour in the capital. In two years, he had seen Criosa on six occasions, and then only for a day or two at a time. Communication between them was sporadic at best, and she had confided her suspicions that Aiden’s distracting workload was of her father’s design. Still, their desire for each other had not diminished over time, in spite of continuing hardships on the country.

  “Lord Aiden, have I not made myself perfectly clear?” Mister Turner inquired with an arched eyebrow. Aiden snapped his attention back to the two men before him, noticing that they looked at him in anticipation. He felt a flash of guilt for drifting away in the middle of the meeting, but quickly dismissed it. He had already heard their arguments before, which they were more than happy to repeat at a moment’s notice.

  “You’ve been very clear, Mister Turner,” Aiden replied politely, not an easy accomplishment when dealing with the consistently unpleasant man. “But Mister Banks has been a valuable contributor to the war effort, providing much needed grain for our soldiers, and I won’t interfere with the flow of supplies to the fort. I would also add that I have seen enough of the both of you to last a lifetime, so I consider this matter closed.”

  Banks’ smile was tempered by this last statement, but Aiden no longer cared. The trivialities of this matter wore upon him greatly, and he felt his anger rising unbidden. Turner abruptly stood and straightened his jacket, glaring at Aiden with glistening eyes.

  “I am not done with this matter, sir,” he bristled indignantly as his face turned a deep shade of red. “By failing to uphold my hereditary claim, you have forced me to bring this matter to one of your betters. Your callous disregard for tradition and law is unbecoming of a Lord of Aielund, and I will be taking this to the king himself.”

  “Considering even I haven’t been able to arrange an audience with His Majesty in six months, I don’t think highly of your prospects,” Aiden answered gruffly. “But by all means, go and bother someone else.” Without waiting for further response from either man, he turned and left the room.

  “Shall I see them out, My Lord?” Jeffrey mumbled unsteadily as Aiden stormed past him down the hallway.

  “Yes, and tell the guards to refuse them entry for the next month,” he instructed, heading for his offices in a foul mood. Only when he shut the door behind him did he take a deep breath to calm himself down. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he found himself quick to anger these days, and had to take steps to actively dismiss his building fury.

  The surrounds of the sitting room were not as comforting as they should have been, for while the place was filled with plush furniture and appointments left over from the previous baron, Aiden still felt a chill the blazing fireplace couldn’t dispel. This is where Alaric Roebec had perished, after the long battle to bring him and his otherworldly armour down.

  “Are you alright?” Sir Leonard inquired with genuine concern. Aiden hadn’t noticed him in the room and almost jumped at his softly spoken words.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” he blurted, regaining his composure.

  “I wasn’t expecting you back from the meeting so soon. But we can go over the reports now, if you wish.”

  “The reports. Yes, that’s why I’m here,” Aiden muttered, drawing another concerned look from the elderly knight. Leonard had lost weight in recent months, seeming paler than when they had first met. His hair was thin and white, and his brown eyes had lost some of their spark. He no longer wore his armour unless absolutely necessary, and went about his duties in thick winter clothing. “I think it’s time for you to retire,” Aiden mentioned to the old knight. “I can handle things now, and you’ve served long enough I think.”

  “Trying to put me out to pasture are you now?” Leonard chided, chuckling to himself as he led Aiden to a large table covered in papers and maps.

  “Don’t play coy with me, sir knight” Aiden pressed with a half-smile on his face. “You’ve been dropping subtle hints for months now.”

  “I admit I’ll enjoy my remaining years in a comfortable chair, half-asleep next to the fireplace, but not until my work is done. By the time summer rolls around, I think you’ll be ready to stand on your own two feet. Until then, you’ll have to put up with my tedious and painstaking instruction.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be the better for it,” Aiden assured him, dropping the subject. “Now, what news from the front line?” Sir Leonard handed him some missives, which he reluctantly opened. They were from one of the lords he had loaned a company of his soldiers to, under orders from the king. After quickly scanning the neatly scrawled handwriting, Aiden sighed in despair. It was as he suspected — more casualties with little to show for it.

  “How many?” Leonard asked in a hushed voice, having read Aiden’s tired expression accurately.

>   “Thirty-five dead, fifty-three wounded,” he intoned without emotion. “None of them were past nineteen years of age, Leo, and a few of them were as young as sixteen. God, Tom Ballard’s sons were in amongst the casualties, how am I ever going to explain this to him?”

  “Who?” Leonard asked.

  “The innkeeper at the Bracksfordshire Arms,” Aiden explained. “Sort of an old acquaintance of mine. Three of his sons volunteered for the war, and none of them made it through. Lord Carbrey didn’t even have the decency to claim the objective, so it was all for nothing.”

  “The Tulsonites are using wizards again,” Leonard remarked grimly. “This report says whole squads of Carbrey’s his men simply fell asleep in the middle of the fight.”

  “He’s is requesting a wizard or a priest to help counter them,” Aiden added. “I think it’s safe to assume all of the lords will be clamouring for arcane or divine aid if this starts to spread.”

  “Replacing them when they’re killed isn’t really possible, as it takes years to train up new magicians. Both sides are going to run out rapidly if this escalates.”

  “You think it’s easy to replace good men who fall on the front line?” Aiden growled. “We’re going to lose an entire generation if this stupid war keeps going. The bloody awful waste of it sickens me.”

  “I’m sorry, m’lord,” Sir Leonard replied stiffly. Aiden took another deep breath and released his misdirected anger. After the defeat of the Ironlord, the hoped-for peace with the Kingdom of Tulsone had evaporated. Despite both nations dealing with a crippled military and shortage of supplies, the war had gone on. After a lull of a few weeks, raids into Aielish lands began to grow in frequency, quickly followed by reciprocating attacks by individual Aielish lords attempting to protect their holdings.

  With the demise of King Évariste Davignon, his eldest son Osric had taken the throne and sworn vengeance upon King Seamus Roebec, who had led the fateful expedition into Tulsonite lands. Though both sides of the conflict had encountered the Ironlord and lost many lives to its single-minded rampage across the land, the bitter dispute between the two countries had only escalated after the deranged old man had finally been stopped at this very fort.

  “Far be it for me to question the wisdom of His Majesty, but I do often wonder what on earth he’s thinking lately,” Sir Leonard remarked cautiously. “Given the lack of experience of most of our remaining forces, I find it highly unlikely Aielund will be able to win this war by force of arms alone, let alone continuing to prosecute it.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell him for six months, but I have no idea if the king has even received my messages,” Aiden muttered, moving over to the fireplace to warm his hands. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

  “What is it?” Aiden called, and the door opened enough for Jeffrey to poke his head through.

  “Pardon the intrusion m’lord,” the castellan said, “but there is a young woman here to see you.”

  “I’m in no mood for any more meetings, especially unscheduled ones,” Aiden advised absently.

  “As you wish m’lord.”

  “I’d agree that something odd is going on in Fairloch,” Aiden continued after the castellan had withdrawn, “but you’ve already heard my theories on the subject.”

  “You still think they’re hiding that grotesque armour someplace, don’t you,” Sir Leonard stated. “There have been no sightings of it for two years, so even if it were still intact, and the king was using it enough to wither his sanity, why would it not have shown up in the fighting? Why risk so much and leave the war hanging in the balance like this?” Aiden was about to answer when Jeffrey made his presence known once more.

  “I do apologise m’lord, but she is being quite insistent,” came the muted remark.

  “Is she a messenger from the front lines?” Aiden inquired with a concerned frown.

  “No, she said—”

  “Then I’m not interested,” the young baron interrupted. Once the door had clicked shut, he turned his mind back to the discussion at hand. “It’s not the king I’m truly worried about, Leo,” he continued. “He’s not a fool. It’s his pet wizard Terinus — he’s operating behind the scenes, pulling everyone’s strings like a puppet master.”

  “And you have proof of his machinations?” the old knight inquired bluntly.

  “You know I don’t,” Aiden almost snapped at him. “But I never saw the remains of that armour, and my gut tells me the bastard has it stashed away someplace. Until I see its dismantled pieces on the ground before me, I refuse to believe otherwise.”

  “Considering it was his efforts that ultimately saved us all, I find your position on his conduct... myopic, at best,” Sir Leonard remarked in a carefully worded response.

  “His life was in danger, just as ours was, and after it was all over, he couldn’t take his eyes off that armour,” Aiden pointed out just as yet another knock on the door interrupted him. “Yes, what is it?” he snarled in frustration, only to see that it wasn’t Jeffrey standing in the doorway, but a woman roughly the same age as Aiden, with long dark hair and a familiar bearing. She was dressed in a longcoat and other warm travelling gear, and her unkempt appearance gave the impression she had ridden long and hard over many days to arrive here.

  “What does a girl have to do to get an audience around here?” she said with dry humour.

  “Kara, this is a surprise,” Aiden greeted her cautiously. “Are you work for the king’s spymaster.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Kara replied. “Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I need to speak with you in private, m’lord.”

  Aiden gave her a considered glance, and then nodded to Sir Leonard, who bowed slightly and exited the room. After the door was closed, the spy moved to the fireplace and warmed her hands for a moment before speaking.

  “Bloody cold trip up here in the mountains,” she remarked. “It’s getting close to summer everywhere but here.”

  “Now you know why I’m so very fond of the place,” Aiden drawled. “So, what is it you wish to speak with me about?”

  “I bear greetings from Her Highness, Princess Criosa Roebec,” Kara formaly announced. “She has entrusted me with a message for your ears only, and asked that I memorise it so there would be no physical proof.” She suddenly had Aiden’s undivided attention, for he had been trying to contact Criosa for months without success.

  “Of course I trust you — is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  “I’m a professional spy, mate,” Kara reminded him with a glance from her dark eyes. “We’re untrustworthy by nature. I guess I’m just a little less untrustworthy than the rest, which means I should probably start looking for another job.”

  “What’s the message?” Aiden asked impatiently. Kara closed her eyes, reciting the words from memory.

  “‘Aiden, I haven’t received any messages from you in months, and suspect you haven’t heard from me either. Someone doesn’t want us talking, and I believe I know who it is. My father is not the man he once was, for he has become obsessed with defeating Tulsone at any cost, and those who speak against him are threatened with bankruptcy and exile from the kingdom.

  “I won’t risk Kara forgetting something important, so I’ll simply ask you to drop whatever you’re doing and come to Fairloch immediately. I know you have the means. Love, Criosa.’” Kara cleared her throat and seemed to be a little embarrassed. “She’s a lovely person, if a little disrespectful of my faculties.”

  Aiden was hardly listening, for his mind was whirling with the possibilities her message only hinted at. A change in behaviour from their once-beloved monarch was all-too similar to the deranged King Alaric, who had degenerated into a hate-filled monster after wearing the Ironlord armour. Aiden’s worst fears may well be coming true, and the isolation from the capital he had experienced over the past months was clearly part of some larger design.

  “Thank you for your service,” Aiden absently mumbled to Kara. “If you f
eel it’s too dangerous to return to Fairloch, Sir Leonard will see to your needs during your brief stay here.”

  “I am a loyal servant of Aielund, m’lord,” Kara replied proudly. “If someone is working against the country’s best interests, it’s my duty to seek them out.”

  “You’re with me, then,” Aiden instructed while he leaned over and pulled a blue rope hanging from the ceiling. A bell rang briefly, and within moments, the castellan appeared through the doorway. “Jeffrey, I’ll be departing for Fairloch immediately. You and Sir Leonard are to see to the fort’s needs during my absence. Kara, give me a hand with this armour if you could.”

  “Very well m’lord,” the castellan replied. “May I ask when you are expected to return?”

  “I have no idea,” Aiden informed him as he began attaching his belts and equipment, including his breastplate, with Kara’s help. “I have some urgent business to conduct and there’s no telling how long it will take. You’ll have to get by without me until things settle down again.”

  “As you wish,” Jeffrey replied without comment, although his face hinted at a hundred questions begging to be answered. “I shall have your horses prepared immediately.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Aiden said as he donned his heavy longcoat and pulled on a pair of leather gloves. “I’ll be using the alternate method today.”

  “Alternate method?” Kara inquired suspiciously.

  “You’re not afraid of magic, are you?” Aiden asked.

  “Only if it’s aimed at me.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll probably be fine,” Aiden said as he clapped Jeffrey on the shoulder on his way out the door. “I’ve become quite adept with this particular incantation, and there’s almost no chance we’ll end up somewhere we shouldn’t.” Aiden led her through the upper level of the keep until they arrived at a small library.