The Cerberus Rebellion (A Griffins & Gunpowder Novel) (2 page)

“What would you have them reassigned to?”

“They have been assigned to protect your lady sister, Katherine.”

The lesser branches and older of the first branch of the King's Shields were generally assigned to protect those lower in the line of succession to the throne. While Katherine had once been the eldest child of King Charles, she was now further in line of succession, after Eadric’s son and daughter, and his nephews.

“Very well.”

***

Sometime later, Eadric finished the last of another glass of whiskey. A half melted ice cube was left alone in the small glass. Even during the winter, ice was an expensive rarity shipped down from the north in massive chunks, but if anyone in Ansgar could afford the luxury of a cool drink, it was the king.

He nodded to his steward, tucked neatly into a corner away from the King and his guests. The man disappeared through the huge door and closed it behind him. Eadric had taken off his tailcoat, though he still wore his crown on his brown hair.

Eadric had decided to meet with his current guests in his parlor, a small room far from the noise and activity of the throne room or the council chambers, because all of the rooms beneath the castle had been built with the magic of ancient elven wizards. The elves had cast powerful incantations on the thick black stones so that they were always temperate to the touch. Tiny gemstone flecks in the stones sparkled in the lantern light.

Eadric stood at the only real table in the room, pushed against the back wall of the parlor. A grand map of the world was laid across the massive surface, each nation intricately drawn and painted on what Eadric supposed was an old leather hide. A box of markers was tucked beneath the table, used when troop movements and activities were discussed. Those markers were worn down from their once grand carving, the black stone smoothed from more than a thousand years of handling by kings, generals and advisors beyond Eadric's count.

The nation of Ansgar occupied the entire southern half of the continent and stretched more than fourteen thousand miles from Agilard in the east to the West Shore at the other end of the continent. In the west, the territories loyal to him reached from the Griffin Coast on the northern shore, nearly four thousand miles to Sea Watch Castle as it faced the south on the Vast Sea. His nation was the most narrow at the Tirrell Barony, only a few hundred miles from the coast to the nation's border with Franta. Ansgar was home to more than seventy-five million citizens, and Eadric was their king.

The parlor had once been a dark, empty place. When he had been crowned, Eadric had ordered tapestries hung to celebrate his family's many accomplishments in the twelve hundred years that they had ruled Ansgar. One of the massive hangings depicted his great-grandfather's victory over the Last King of Kerberos, the banner of his house raised above the red three-headed hellhound against black of Agilard. Another tapestry was a scene from much further back in the history of Ansgar: the first landing of settlers after the long and perilous journey from Welos.

Kendall stood in a small alcove near the door. His arms were crossed and his eyes watched the king’s guests with a flicker of suspicion. He did not concern himself with matters of foreign relations, but the law stated that when the King received guests, the Lord Protector was to be present.

Four over-sized dark red leather chairs were arranged in a rough circle in the center of the small room to allow for conversation. Each had a small, dark wood table beside it to hold drinks or a small plate. The floor was bare stone.

Each of the two guests occupied one of the large chairs. Both held a glass similar to Eadric's, though they remained on their first while Eadric was on his third. They had brought him heavy news and a grand request, but seemed to be at peace with the words that they carried.

Lord Thomas Wyne, ambassador to the nation of Welos, sat nearest the door. He was much smaller than Eadric, with short brown hair well salted with gray and dull brown eyes. He had the look of a career diplomat, one who had spent his life working outside of his own nation. He was a quiet man that chose his words carefully and was more than twice Eadric's age, sixty-five if Eadric's memory served him.

Lord Biton Savakis, ambassador to Istivan, was as close to opposite of Wyne as could be. He was a huge man, one of the largest Istivani that Eadric had ever seen, with arms like trees. His skin was a medium olive, his hair dark, and his green eyes sharp. His massive arms were heavily tattooed. Eadric could see the tattoos that marked him as a husband and father, a warrior that had spilled the blood of an enemy, and one that Eadric thought meant that the man had stood as a judge before the King of Istivan.

He was as loud and boisterous as Thomas was quiet and reserved. Nearing forty, he was only a few years older than Eadric, but he had garnered enough power in his homeland to earn his role as ambassador to Ansgar.

The two ambassadors had insisted that they meet in private, and at their request Eadric had left his closest advisors in the antechamber. Now he wished that his advisors had heard everything the two ambassadors had said. And what they had asked for.

“You realize what you're asking for?” These were Eadric’s first words since his second glass of whiskey.

Thomas spoke first, as was his place as the senior ambassador. “We do realize that it would require a great investment on your part, and on the part of your people.” His baritone voice was thick with the drawl of his homeland.

“We would not have come to you if we did not need your help, Your Majesty.” Biton was uncharacteristically soft. His accent was stronger, the sounds bunched closely together. “But the situation is dire.”

“Indeed it is,” Eadric said as he slipped his left hand into his pocket. He found the smooth stone there and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. The stone had been in his family for centuries. It was a rare gem from across the Vast Sea that had been given to one of his predecessors as a good luck charm. “If what you say is true, and I have no reason to doubt it, then I'm astounded that King Mercer has been so short sighted that he has refused to join with you.”

“King Mercer is supremely confident in the strength of his army and the walls of his fortresses. We have offered him our help, before this storm descends upon him. He has been warned that once he is embroiled in conflict, we will not lend our aid to him. Maybe once the famed Citadel falls, he will consider his mistakes.”

“Why let him fall? If he is invaded and you add your armies to his, there is no way the Citadel will fall.”

“To teach him a lesson about pride.” Biton shrugged. “And once he falls, his lands are subject to whoever is strong enough to take them.”

“And the Citadel is a massive fortress. If Mercer can hold The Pinch with just his forces, all the better for us to not have to throw our armies into the fray. And if he falls, he will take enough of his enemy with him that we'll have much less trouble cleaning up the mess. If you join with us,” Thomas added.

“I'd like to bring my council in on this before I decide.” Eadric paused when his steward opened the door a crack and slid back into the parlor with a bottle of whiskey and a glass of ice on a tray. He took Eadric's empty glass and slid back out into the hall. Eadric quietly sprinkled a pinch of Dragonsalt into the bottle and poured some over the ice.

“Of course, Your Highness. It is a massive undertaking that we've asked of you.” Thomas stood and Biton followed his lead. “How long do you think that you would need to join us, should you decide that you wish to take that course?”

“It will take some time to get my nobles and their levies assembled, and I'll have to find the vessels to carry them across the Straits of Steimor.” Eadric took a long drink from his glass. “I would say a year is a safe estimate, though it will likely be longer than that.”

“Very good. We will await your word.”

The two ambassadors bowed and Eadric nodded a dismissal.

Eadric set his glass down on the star that marked Aetheston's location on Zaria's northern continent. More than thirteen thousand miles separated Ansgar from the Istivani capital of Kirton, if one sailed through the Strait of Steimor and marched overland. Another eight thousand overland laid between Kirton and the Ehtroyan fortress known as The Citadel. Even by rail it would take his armies nearly a month to reach the Istivani capital.

The option of sailing his armies to Ehtroy was an alternative, although that too would take almost a month of sailing, and finding the ships to carry almost two hundred thousand soldiers would be nearly impossible.

“Milord.” Eadric's steward had entered, as silent as a whisper. “Would you like me to summon your council?”

“Yes, please do, Charles.”

Studying the lands he ruled, Eadric took note of the various sigils that marked the holdings of his many lords; the shields that marked the holdings of his dukes were the largest. The sigil of House Jarmann at Agilard, the only duchy east of Aetheston; the black Pegasus against white of House Chalmer in the West Valley, the castle nestled into the Spine Mountains against the border with Beldane; the blue hydra against orange of House Seward at Sea Watch, on the southwestern coast of Ansgar; the red centaur on a blue field of House Ridley in White Ridge, nestled between the Vast Sea on its south side and the three peaks of the White Ridge on its north; and the sparsely populated Arndell Duchy, represented by the golden hammer on gray of House Croutcher in the far western corner of the nation.

Smaller shields marked the eleven earls of Ansgar, two east of Aetheston and nine to the west. Shields smaller still marked the forty-two baronies that further divided the rest of the nation. He was not as familiar with the baronies as he was with the earldoms and duchies, but then he rarely had the occasion to deal with many of them.

He had, of course, met every one of his sworn nobles at his coronation, or their ascension, but the lesser nobles had smaller estates to care for and could scarcely afford frequent journeys to the capital to pay homage to their king.

Eadric was still focused on the map when the door groaned open and his council entered.

“Your Majesty.” Lord Alden Hanley, Earl of Hamilton, was a tall, slender man who leaned heavily on an ebony cane as he walked. Gray colored his brown hair and full beard, but his brown eyes were still sharp and careful.

Before Eadric's ascension to the throne of Ansgar, Alden had betrothed his oldest daughter to the Crown Prince. The move had established the earl as a close advisor to the new king when Eadric had come to power and the King gave extra weight to his opinion.

“Lord Hanley.” Eadric clasped the man's hands and inclined his head to his father by law.

“Your Highness, you are looking well today,” Lord William Richards said as he bowed.

Baron Saxon had long been one of Eadric's closest advisors. He had been brought to court at the age of five by his father to learn the ways of the capital. William and Eadric had been tutored by the same teachers, taught of swords by the same master at arms, and had ascended to their titles at nearly the same time. Eadric had raised him to Lord Councilor as one of his first acts.

He stood nearly the same height as Eadric, with a similarly athletic build. He was shaved bald, his thin mustache and well-kept red beard the only hint of his hair color.

“Thank you, William.” Eadric presented his signet ring for his friend to kiss.

“My King, I see that the sums you have been spending on Dragonsalt have not been in vain,” Lord Peter Wellstone said with a smile. As the Chancellor of Ansgar it was his responsibility to keep the kingdom's books and accounts.

He was the youngest man in the room, only just into his twenty-fifth year. He had been apprenticed to the last Chancellor, his childless uncle the previous Earl Colby, and had taken to his studies with fervor. He carried a stack of ledgers with him, books filled with figures on the kingdom's incomes, expenses, and coffers. He was a small man and his blue eyes glanced back and forth every so often as if of their own volition.

“A pinch before bed helps me sleep,” Eadric lied.

“Your Majesty,” said a lilting, sweet voice.

Altavius Dohr's accent was less pronounced than it had once been, or so Eadric was told, but it still marked him as one not native to Ansgar’s common tongue.

The elf was the oldest member of Eadric's council. He was, in fact, the oldest person on this side of the world, at least as far as anyone knew. He had traveled across the Vast Sea twelve hundred years earlier with the first colonists to leave Welos and had served as advisor to every king since Liam the First.

Altavius' eyes had once been a deep sapphire; they were now a pale blue. His once brilliant red hair was now silver and white and was tucked behind his long, tapered ears. He was hunched with age and leaned heavily on his staff. The apple sized emerald held in the heavy iron setting pulsed gently. Half a dozen heavy amulets hung on golden chains and jeweled rings sat on each finger.

Eadric's four advisors sat in the leather chairs. Each took a moment to adjust to the thick cushions in their own fashion. Lord Wellstone rested his stack of ledgers on the small table beside him. Altavius leaned his staff against the chair's arm. Lord Hanley hooked his cane on the back of the chair. Lord Richards pushed back into his chair and stretched his legs out before him.

“Would you care for refreshments, my lords?” Eadric's steward asked with a low bow.