Knight, Heir, Prince by Morgan Rice
Thanos silently apologized for how difficult he was about to make the other man’s day. It was the only way he could think of.
“Where is the Lord Chamberlain?” Thanos demanded in his best “spoiled noble” voice. He’d modeled it on Lucious.
“Forgive me, but his lordship is feeling a little ill this—”
“I didn’t ask how he was,” Thanos snapped. “I asked where he was. I need to discuss details of the estates the king is considering giving to me and my wife, because I want to make sure that it’s suitable for Stephania.”
“Perhaps I could—”
“Are you the Lord Chamberlain?” Thanos asked, then paused. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I want this to be perfect before Stephania hears the details. Would you please fetch him?”
The official hurried off. Thanos hoped he wouldn’t hurry too much as he shut and locked the door behind him, because he needed the time.
As quickly as he could, he found pen, ink, and parchment, trying to remember what he could of the usual forms. His Majesty, King of Delos, ruler of the Empire… Thanos did his best to keep the letters sharp and official looking. How long would he have to write everything he needed?
He found the chamberlain’s copy of the royal seal, and set wax to melt. Thanos could imagine the official running, the Lord Chamberlain dressing in a hurry. Even so, he couldn’t rush the writing more. It had to look just right. The king did not rush commands like this. He sent them with full majesty, knowing that others would wait for him.
Thanos could hear footsteps now, along with arguing voices. He reached for the seal, dripping wax down onto the parchment.
“You couldn’t deal with this yourself?”
“The prince insisted!”
“Even so, you could have found a way! And now the door is shut. The key.”
Thanos pressed the seal down into the soft wax, putting it back into place as quickly as he dared. There was no time to do more. He just had time to hide the parchment he’d worked on before the Lord Chamberlain came blustering in, smiling with the lack of warmth of a man who had just been roused from his bed too soon.
“Prince Thanos, it is an honor. What can I do for you this fine morning?”
The hardest part was spending fifteen long minutes discussing details of estates and stables, farms and river rights, when Thanos knew just how little time he might have before it was too late. Finally, it felt as though he was able to smile and make his exit.
“Thank you for all this,” he said. “Now that you’ve gone through it with me, I see that there was no reason to worry. I will leave you to your work.”
He forced himself to walk as made his way through the castle, heading for the tower where they kept their messenger birds: rock doves and homing pigeons, ravens and occasional larger birds. Every outpost of the Empire regularly sent its birds, well trained to know where their homes were. There was no one minding the entrance yet, but Thanos was still cautious. There might be someone above by now.
He crept up among the birds, moving quietly, with every creak of the boards below his feet making him pause. Thanos hoped that no one was up there feeding the birds, because he wasn’t sure what lie he would be able to tell them. There wasn’t, though, and Thanos made his way over to the cages where the birds for Haylon, large black ravens, were kept. They looked as though they hadn’t flown in a while.
Thanos picked one out and attached a message to its leg. It wasn’t much more than a hurried warning, along with a promise to do what he could. He didn’t dare sign it, but hopefully, Akila and the other rebels would know who it was from and trust it.
Now for the more dangerous part of his plan, and the one where he had to hurry the most. Thanos practically ran in the direction of the stables, saddling his horse and riding toward the docks at a full gallop. Around him, the city was already waking up. Servants and wives were emptying chamber pots into the streets, hawkers were calling out their wares, while carts were making their way through the streets.
Thanos had to dodge them all as he raced down over the cobbles, following the scent of sea air. The docks were busier than the rest of the city put together. Fishermen were landing their catches or heading out. A merchant ship was unloading with the aid of a string of porters.
And what was left of the Empire’s navy sat low in the water, laden down with troops. It was a motley collection of ships compared to the first invasion force, hastily repurposed pleasure craft and cargo ships obvious among the war galleys. Thanos ran his horse down to the water’s edge. This was more public than he wanted, but it couldn’t be helped.
“Where is General Olliant?” he called out to a group of soldiers. When they pointed to a ship still being loaded by the docks, he handed his reins to one of them and ran up the gangplank. Sailors started to move in front of him, but they obviously recognized Thanos, because they quickly stepped back.
Thanos spotted the general by his golden armor and hurried over to him on the top deck. The general saluted.
“Prince Thanos,” the general said. “I wasn’t aware that you were to travel with us.”
“I’m not,” Thanos said. “But it seems you aren’t going anywhere either, General.”
He held out the parchment he’d prepared. He only wished he’d had more time to work on it. Was the ink even dry yet?
“What’s this?” General Olliant asked.
“New orders,” Thanos said. “General Haven is to be given command of this expedition.”
“Haven?” The shock in the general’s voice was obvious. Thanos could understand it. Haven was a long way from the dynamic, ruthless general that would be needed to crush Haylon. That was the point. “This is my expedition!”
“The king requires you elsewhere, General.”
The general tore open the orders Thanos had forged, staring at them. Thanos’s heart beat faster as he did it, tracking every movement of the man’s eyes. Thanos saw him trace the outline of the seal.
“This is still warm,” General Olliant said, “and why is the king sending you with messages, your highness?”
Thanos could hear the suspicion there. At any moment, the man might decide to send a runner to the castle to find out what was happening. Thanos couldn’t let that happen.
“That just shows how urgent it is,” Thanos said. He lowered his voice. “And there’s more to it. Do you trust the men around you?”
The general glanced around, then took a step back from his men before dropping his voice to match Thanos’s. “What is it?” he demanded. “What is this all about?”
“You’re not going to Haylon because the king has a crucial task for you,” Thanos said. “We think we know where the leaders of the rebellion are going to be meeting, but we need a general with the skills to handle the task.”
He saw General Olliant’s eyes shine with interest. “I’ll go back to the castle then, and gather—”
“There’s no time,” Thanos said quickly. “If you have men here you can trust, take them, but unless we act now, we’ll miss them. There’s a force waiting for your orders in the Glass Spur pass, but if you don’t ride hard, you’ll never get there before the leaders move on from their meeting.”
“I’ll go at once,” General Olliant promised, and he was almost faster down the gangplank than Thanos was. Thanos knew it was the desire for glory that had him moving so fast, not the thought of new orders, but it was enough.
Thanos rode back in the direction of the castle. Now he just had to tell General Haven about his new position, but he suspected that wouldn’t be a problem. After all, the man had already hinted that he wanted this. It would simply look as though Thanos had interceded.
As he rode, his mind went to the risks he’d taken this morning. Could he ensure that no one found out? The army was about to take off in the direction of Haylon, and so those who had seen him at the docks wouldn’t be able to talk about what he’d done. Of course, there was the problem of what might happen when General Olliant discovered the
“Thanos? Is that you?”
Thanos cursed silently as he turned in the saddle to see Lucious walking out of one of the side streets near the entrance, along with a small group of hangers-on.
“Lucious,” Thanos said, forcing a smile. “You’re up early.”
“Up early?” Lucious countered, and now Thanos could hear the faint slur to his words. “A real man doesn’t sleep on a festival night! At least, not in his own bed. Talking of beds, have you tired of the lovely Stephania already? Or maybe she’s tired of you? Maybe she’s gone out looking for a real man, and you’re going after her?”
His cronies laughed along with him, of course.
“Just out for a morning ride, Lucious,” Thanos said. “You should try it.”
“As I recall,” Lucious said, “the last time you went out for a morning ride, you ended up betraying the Empire for some peasants. What are you up to this time?”
“Oh, go get some sleep,” Thanos snapped back, but inside, his stomach knotted. “You’re too drunk to be worth talking to.”
“You’re hiding something, and I’ll find out what,” Lucious promised.
Thanos waved it away, but it was probably just as well Lucious was drunk, or he’d see the way Thanos paled.
“I’ll see you at the Killings later, Lucious. For now, I have better things to do.”
Like persuading an incompetent general to take over the Empire’s biggest military operation, telling the rebels about General Olliant, and finding a way to do it all without Lucious finding out more than he should.
CHAPTER NINE
Anka forced herself to stay still and watch while below, in the Stade, men died in honor of the Blood Moon. Two muscled southerners fought, their blades flickering, while the crowd bayed with every spray of red that stained the sands.
There was more red spread throughout the terraces. People wore whatever they had in the Blood Moon’s colors, and some threw red dust and dye into the air, covering even those who’d come in normal clothes. Anka had plenty on her, but she was already wearing an elaborate red costume, complete with long-nosed mask.
It made it easier to hide the weapons.
Below her, the fight continued out on the sands, with the clang and clash of blades lost in the shouts of the people around her. There were only a few nobles up in the royal enclosure today, dressed in ways that made the simple red tunics of most of the crowd look like children copying their parents. They wore silk and rubies, reclined on deep red couches, and drank red wine from crystal goblets. It was a pity there weren’t more. If the king had been there, they could have brought down the Empire.
Anka signaled to other figures costumed in the colors of the Blood Moon, watching them start to slip through the crowd around her. They all had their jobs. Anka had planned every step of this, but there were some things you couldn’t account for, especially in a place like this.
“Hey, watch yourself!” a man said as Anka started to push her way through the crowd. He reached out for her, and Anka felt him pull back as she drew a knife. There wasn’t any time for trouble. She had to keep moving.
“Sorry, excuse me,” Anka said, picking her way through. She could see the others moving and pick out the patterns there. She just hoped that none of the guards in the Stade could.
Ahead, she could see the gates that led down underneath the Stade, into the spaces where the combatlords were kept. There were large guards on the door, there to keep the crowds back. One put a hand up as Anka approached.
“Get back,” he said. “If you want to see the combatlords, you’ll have to wait, the same as anyone else.”
“Get out of my way, and you won’t be harmed,” Anka said.
“Won’t be harmed?” the guard said with a laugh. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
“This,” Anka said, and pulled away her costume, revealing the armor underneath. “For the rebellion!”
“For the rebellion!” voices called around her. “Down with the Empire!”
Other figures rushed forward, casting off their disguises, drawing daggers and clubs. They overwhelmed the guards at the gate in seconds. Berin was there with Sartes, breaking open the locks with forge hammers and rushing inside. Anka went with them, down into the space beneath the Stade, rushing for the next set of gates, the next group of guards.
Those stood just beyond another set of iron doors, armed with the clubs and whips and swords they would need to control unruly combatlords. Anka could see the dank, cruel conditions beyond, and guess at some of the horrors there. It gave her the strength she needed to lift a crossbow and fire through the bars.
Others fired with her, and the guards went down. She saw Oreth working on the lock, and then they were inside. Now they had to fight, because the Empire wasn’t going to leave just a few guards to control so many dangerous slaves. A guard ran at her, sword cutting down, and Anka barely sidestepped in time.
He cut again, and Anka managed to get the body of her crossbow in the way. She stabbed with the knife in her other hand, moving in close as she struck once, then again. She felt the blade go into her attacker, and he fell. She saw Sartes and Berin struggling with another guard, bringing him down with hammer blows.
Around her, guards were dying. The space under the Stade was formidable, the guards strong and powerfully built, but their whole system was designed for controlling threats from the inside, not keeping out attackers from the world beyond. Who would want to attack a space full of combatlords? Who would want to free slaves?
Anka would.
She strode into the space beneath the Stade and looked around at the combatlords there with their weapon carriers and trainers. Some were in their armor, some were in chains, while a few were receiving massages as their trainers sought to prepare them. They were pampered in some ways. Anka was just hoping that they understood that freedom still mattered more.
Berin spoke first. It was what they’d agreed; the only way this might work. “Listen up, lads. You all know me. I made weapons for you long enough. Now, I’m bringing you something better: the chance of freedom. All you have to do is listen.”
He stepped aside, and it was time for Anka to step forward.
“I am Anka, the leader of the rebellion,” Anka said as she stepped into the middle of them. She could see them sizing her up, and a flicker of fear passed through her at the thought of what might happen if these men decided that she was somehow unworthy.
“What are you doing here?” one asked. He was a black-bearded giant of a man, thick with muscle.
“We’re here to free you,” Anka said.
“Free us?” the combatlord countered. “You’re here to free us?”
He laughed, and Anka knew she had to act fast.
“Maybe you don’t want to be free,” she said, raising her voice. “Maybe you like your time here. Maybe you like having everything you want provided for you, with nothing to do but train, and fight…” She paused for a second. “And die, of course.”
She looked around at them. At all of them down there in the cool half-dark. “That’s what it means, being a combatlord. You fight, and you’re told it’s for honor or for glory, but deep down, you know the truth. You fight because you aren’t given a choice. Even the ones of you who are free don’t really have the choice to walk away, because there’s too much riding on every match.”
“And you’re going to give us more?” the bearded combatlord asked.
Anka shook her head. “You’re going to take it for yourselves. The nobles above treat you like playthings. They wager on you and they sell you, they take the applause when you win and cast you aside the moment you lose. They might give you a few luxuries, but let’s not pretend they care about you.”
“So wh
Anka smiled, because she knew she had them. “Rise up. Fight for everyone. It’s what they’ve trained you to do, but they’ve never given you anything worth fighting for. Fight with us, and that’s what you’ll have. You can fight to be free. You can fight for all the people out there. With us, you can fight to bring down the Empire!”
That brought a cheer from the men there, and several were already reaching for the weapons they would have used in the Stade.
“More guards are coming,” Oreth called from near the doors. “It looks as though they know what’s going on.”
“Let them come,” one of the combatlords said, but Anka didn’t want to fight there. This whole space was designed to put those within at a disadvantage.
“Up!” she ordered. “Up to the Stade!”
To her astonishment, even the combatlords did as she said, pouring up toward the sands together. They burst out onto the floor of the Stade, but Anka didn’t waste any time blinking in the sunlight. Instead, she raised her dagger, hoping it caught the sunlight.
“People of Delos! We are the rebellion, and we are here to free you!”
There was no time to say more than that, because guards were already pouring onto the sands of the Stade from the other side. There were so many that Anka could barely count them all; far more than their own small force. It might have been some horribly mismatched contest in the Killings, except this was about more than the entertainment of the crowd. Much more.
There was no time for clever planning, and they couldn’t sit there waiting for the soldiers to attack them in perfect formation, so Anka did the only thing she could do.
“Charge!”
She ran at the head of the group, not knowing if anyone would follow her. She closed in on the guards there, who stood with shields up and spears extended. Anka could imagine herself impaled on those spears all too easily.
Then the combatlords surged past her, and she got to see firsthand that Sartes had been right. They were better than any soldier could have been. Anka had seen them fighting one another before, and the evenness of it had disguised just how dangerous they were. Against anyone normal, they seemed barely human.