Chapter 42: Death

One of the sweetest sounds that Jack had ever heard was the sound of exploding naval ordnance over the city of Dagobern.

It was only early afternoon but already the Galician Navy had spent nearly half an hour pounding the Swabian capital from the sea. The city had the fleet’s undivided attention, as there was no Swabian naval force anywhere nearby.

The results of having their full attention spoke for themselves.

Jack watched as a fireball explosion occurred right in the middle of the city, destroying an archaic statue dedicated to Swabian military prowess. It was a statue that Jack was familiar with, having seen it for the first time when he was a prisoner in the city under Avila’s watch.

Now, all that remained of the statue was dust—pulverized under the weight of Galician weaponry.

It was ironic in a way that the statue met such an end, and it was oddly symbolic of the fate that awaited the Swabian nation. Jack was determined that this next assault would be the last one, and he hoped that within twenty-four hours’ time, he would see the total surrender of the Swabian Empire.

To that end, he had to get to work. Jack was busy that afternoon coordinating the attack alongside his leading generals. Like the original assault, there were going to be two separate attacks—one from the east and one from the west. At the current time, Jack hadn’t allotted a general to either thrust, and it was for that reason that he was stopping by to see Art in his command tent.

Jack expected to find Art in a state of frenzied occupation but what he found instead shocked him.

Art was sitting in front of a map of the city, cool as could be, and without seemingly any worry on his mind.

“Well, this isn’t something I see every day,” joked Jack as he moved to sit down in front of Art. “I’d almost expected to find you in here trying to do ten things at once. You’re much calmer than I expected.”

Art didn’t offer much in the way of an explanation. Instead, he merely shrugged. “There’s not that much to do now, is there? We’ve been planning this for some time. All that remains is to wait out the naval bombardment and then strike while the iron is hot.”

Jack started to smile. “Are you feeling all right, Art? You just seem a lot calmer than I remember you being in prior battles.”

Art fiddled with one of the frayed edges of the map but he kept his eyes trained on Jack. “What will be, will be. We’re as prepared as we can possibly be for this attack. I have all the faith that it will go according to plan. Even if I’m not the one giving the orders for it.”

“But you will be,” replied Jack, confused on where he was going with this. “You’re going to be in charge of one of the main attacks.”

“Nominally, of course,” answered Art. “But it’s the lower officers who are going to dictate much of how the action unfolds. I’m just there for praise when the attack goes well or for the blame when it doesn’t. The real victors are the lower level officers. Us at the higher end of the chain just get the reward for a job well done.”

“Okay, Art, you’re starting to scare me a bit,” said Jack. “What’s gotten into you lately?”

Art shook his head. “Nothing, I suppose. It’s just ... I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

“About what? What in particular?”

“Life,” answered the old general. “And death. Both equally. I know we’ve talked about this before.”

“Indeed we have,” interrupted Jack. “You believe that somehow your time is near. You believe you won’t be able to live much longer.”

Jack said the words with a tone of amusement under them but he immediately regretted it. It wasn’t so far-fetched that Art worried about death being around the corner. After all, Jack was doing the same thing. According to his prophecy, this could very well be the final battle and Jack’s fate was far from settled.

“You think I’m an old man just spinning my wheels, don’t you?” asked Art with a twinkle in his eye.

Jack shook his head. “That came out wrong, Art. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know what it’s like to have the specter of death over you. I just don’t want you to get to the part where you’ve given up because everything else feels pointless.”

“I will never give up, Jack,” said Art firmly. “And if this to you seems like I have, then I suppose I need to fix my behavior. I just feel eerily calm. I feel like I’m moving along a path of events that has been long planned for me. And one that I can’t change no matter what I do.”

“You really believe this is the fight then?” asked Jack. “The final fight?”

Art nodded. “I feel it in here,” he said, touching his chest. “The conditions are right. Our army is strong. Theirs is weak. The war is almost over. I want to give my last full muster and go out on a high note.”

Jack understood the sentiment. Even though he thought Art might be taking it a little too far, he knew that Art had a good reason for wanting this portion of his existence to be over with.

“You miss them terribly, don’t you?” asked Jack quietly. He didn’t need to specify who the ‘them’ was in this case. Art already knew it was in reference to his family.

Art nodded his head. “More than you know. I’ve spent so many decades now without them. I just want to see them again. I want to see my wife smile once more. I want to hold my baby son in my arms. That’s what I believe will be waiting for me after my death. Do you believe in an afterlife, Jack?”

Jack shrugged. “I think every man thinks of what awaits us after death a little differently. I’m familiar with most countries and their ideas about death but I can’t say I’ve adopted one for my own.”

“Most Galicians believe in an afterlife,” said Art with a fond smile on his face. “The kind that after we die, we go to see the loved ones that have already walked that path before us. If that’s truly the case, I’m at peace with dying, Jack. I get to see my family again. Who wouldn’t be excited for that kind of outcome?”

Jack nodded his head but remained silent. It made sense to him why Art didn’t fear death like most men. When you had so much to look forward to, moving to the next stage of existence could be a welcomed experience.

Part of him also questioned whether Art’s sixth sense about his impending end was the same that he’d been feeling since they’d landed in Swabia.

Was that same voice in the back of his head the one telling Art too?

“I’ll support you in any way I can,” said Jack finally. “But just promise me that you won’t walk into a hailstorm of bullets. I need you around as long as I can manage. You’re too good for me to let you die, Art.”

The older general actually snorted. “Aye, Jack, I promise you that. Whatever happens, I won’t take it into my own hands.”

That answer was good enough for Jack, and the two men spent the next fifteen minutes talking about last minute preparations while the bombardment continued on. Once they were set in their plans, Jack had to excuse himself away, needing to attend to other things. He briefly wondered if he should say anything else to Art but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it arrived.

Art would do his duty. Of that, he had no doubt.

Not long after leaving Art’s tent, Jack made his way to see the newest member of his unofficial advising team, and the one that was the most controversial.

By that, of course, he meant General Ferberg.

The Swabian general still caused a considerable amount of tension amongst Jack’s other generals and that wasn’t without good reason. Out of anyone, Ferberg had come the closest in destroying everything that Jack fought for.

However, just because they were one-time adversaries didn’t mean that there wasn’t value that Ferberg could bring to the war effort. What was even more remarkable was that Ferberg was amenable to a role in Jack’s campaign, providing advice and words of wisdom based upon his many long years of experience.

It was an unorthodox partnership, one that would cause considerable tension if more broadly broadcasted but Jack was content to keep the details quiet for the time being. He didn’t need any further anxiety added to his plate when the war commanded just about all his attention.

Jack found Ferberg sitting outside his tent. The man was watching the naval bombardment of the city while clutching a tall glass of ice cold water, his beverage of choice. It gave Jack an odd feeling to know that Ferberg was essentially watching the final battle of his native country but then again, Jack had to remind himself that Ferberg was only half Swabian to begin with.

“You look like someone who’s waiting for the main act to begin,” noted Jack as he closed the distance between the two men.

Ferberg pursed his lips and then gestured to Dagobern. “Quite the barrage you have going on there. I can only imagine how much firepower is available to you from your fleet. This is a bombardment the likes of which Dagobern has never seen.”

“That’s the idea,” replied Jack. “The hope is that we can break the city now after they’re softened up with the naval strike. Hopefully they’ll be hungry and shell-shocked enough that they won’t last long when we do make that final assault.”

“And when will that final assault be?” asked Ferberg. “What’s your plan?”

“Tonight,” answered Jack firmly. “The men will assault the city tonight. I’m content to let the fleet keep firing on the city but sooner rather than later, I’m going to give the word for them to stop and have the men surge forward. I think they’ll be perfectly willing to do so. They’ve been here for over a month now, and they’re chomping at the bit to end this war.”

Ferberg nodded. “Yes, it certainly seems like you’ll meet with success if you follow that plan. You have a lot going for you. The city won’t stand if that ends up being the case.”

Jack managed to look shocked. “No complaints on the plan? I’m surprised. I thought you’d have some reason to tell me why my plan was flawed.”

Ferberg snorted. “I would if I had one. As much as I like talking to you, Jack, I still can’t resist the urge to piss off a Galician when the opportunity presents itself. But alas, there is no opportunity today. The plan is a good one. I’d think you’ll be in the city by tomorrow morning.”

“Let’s hope,” muttered Jack. “We’ve been fighting long enough. If this isn’t the final culmination of this fight, then what will be?”

“Well, the army in front of you won’t be able to resist you much longer,” noted Ferberg. “Not with starving bellies and heavy ordnance exploding around them. It almost makes me think that I’d like to see the look on Avila’s face right now. I have to wonder what that old bastard is thinking at this very moment.”

Jack cracked a smile. “Something tells me he won’t be too happy.”

“Oh, definitely not,” replied Ferberg quickly. “And I’m sure he’s still trying to think of a way out of this. It’s probably something entirely fantastical and not the least bit practical but that’s how Avila is. He always needed grounding in his affairs.”

“Part of me is surprised to hear that,” said Jack. “I’d always assumed he was more rational than that. Don’t get me wrong, I think his plans for the war were reprehensible in all ways, but it takes someone with intelligence and political savvy to get to the top of the Swabian world.”

“He certainly had political savvy,” replied Ferberg. “After all, he was immersed in it from the moment he was born. His father was Lord of Cormfeld at the time and he ensured that Avila received a top-notch education in all things Swabian. But Avila’s problem is that he’s all big picture. He has no time for the minutiae of making the big picture happen. Those smaller details he left to his underlings, like myself, to figure out. And if it wasn’t for me, he never would have conquered Dagobern to begin with, nor depose the old emperor, Aurelius.”

“So what do you think Avila is doing now, truly?” asked Jack. “Do you really believe he thinks he can still hold out for victory?”

Ferberg thought about that question for a moment before he answered. “I think that as he finds his situation becoming more and more untenable, he’s going to slip into the realm of delusion. There is no one else in the world who believes in Avila more than himself. That unshakable belief in the power of his person will prevent him from seeing his situation crumbling around him, much to the disparagement of those that are still close to him. So in all honesty, I expect he’s not going to hold firm on his grasp of reality.”

“Interesting,” replied Jack. “And not altogether unexpected either. I always knew he was a madman. Perhaps we might see just how far gone he’s become in the next twenty-four hours.”

“I’m sure we will,” agreed Ferberg before changing the topic to something more morbid. “On another note, I’d like to ask what you’re going to do with Avila once the city falls? You will kill him, won’t you? I know the reason behind your clemency for me but Avila is too dangerous to be left alive.”

Jack shook his head. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with him but he will be punished in such a way that is representative of the destruction he’s caused. I’ve been favoring a long imprisonment more than anything.”

“You of all people know that prisoners can escape,” said Ferberg warily. “And Avila is wily enough to do so. He cannot be left alive after the city falls. He will find a way to escape.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” said Jack. “I’m not against an execution but that would be the easy way out for him. I want him to have a long time to think about what he did. One thing is for certain though—he won’t be an emperor any longer. His time ruling Swabia is certainly over.”

The answer didn’t seem to particularly satisfy Ferberg but he let the subject drop a moment later. Jack found it oddly curious why Ferberg would protest so hard for Avila’s death. What was it about the emperor that Ferberg thought wasn’t worthy of life? It surely wasn’t a change of heart in the seriousness of Avila’s crimes but Jack had to wonder if Ferberg was trying to cover up the past, and only Avila’s death would put some subjects truly to bed that were best forgotten.

Jack didn’t have long to dwell on the thought before Ferberg started talking again. “In any event, you don’t need to waste your time talking with me any longer. I know you have an assault to begin. If I could give one more piece of advice though?”

“Certainly, go ahead,” said Jack.

Ferberg pointed to the eastern part of the city. “Put your main attack along the eastern routes into the city. If you have to attack along the west, just make it a weak feint attack. Your strength should be concentrated in the east.”

Jack let out a wry smile. “Why is that?”

Ferberg shrugged. “It’s what I would do. The eastern parts of the city aren’t as old as the west. The streets are wider and easier to navigate for soldiers. It’s the opposite in the western neighborhoods. Your men will get bogged down in ancient streets that are small and windy. They’ll take more casualties from the west.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me,” said Jack, the smile never leaving his face. “But that was entirely my plan as well. It looks like we’re on the same page with our thoughts.”

Ferberg started to chuckle. “And they say that Galicians and Swabians are too different to ever get along.”

“Well, maybe Galicians and half-Swabians can,” replied Jack. “Our cultures have been warring against each other for quite some time. Maybe it’s time we had some cooperation instead?”

Ferberg gave him a measured look. “You may hate the reference but we’ve already blazed a trail of cooperation between our two countries. Avila and Eric Rosdahl have done it already. I won’t ask you how it turned out though.”

“No, that’s a fair point,” said Jack. “But this war will be over soon. Maybe we can show the world that our two countries don’t always have to be at each other’s throats?”

“Maybe, Jack. Just maybe. It would be a change that the rest of the West wouldn’t see coming.”

Jack grinned. “I think that’s why it would be the most meaningful.”

“Ready? Set? Begin!”

Otto watched for what felt like the twentieth time as Emperor Avila glided across the floor with his great sword raised overhead, moving to strike against whatever low-level servant could be found to spar against him.

As Avila moved, it became obvious that he was somewhat skilled with a sword, and he certainly seemed to thrust more than he parried, especially considering the servant was so nervous to actually defend himself against his emperor that he was quite ineffectual.

The servant had another reason to be scared. Avila gave no quarter when he had the upper hand. In fact, Otto had seen all the bodies of those servants that couldn’t block a killing thrust, and he’d made arrangements to dump them in the back courtyard of the palace. In normal situations, the bodies might have been buried or burned but there was a distinctive malaise that ran through every person still left in Dagobern.

It was a malaise predicated in their eventual defeat. The Allied Army kept tightening the noose around the city, and even now, explosions could be heard all over as their navy bombarded what was left of Dagobern.

The city was going to fall. The Swabian Empire was going to capitulate. There was no one that was willing to deny this fact anymore.

Well, no one but Avila.

“Come on, you fight like a woman!” barked Avila as he used the flat side of his sword as a blunt instrument to push back on the servant. “Fight me! Show me what you’re made of! I command you to!”

The servant looked like he was ready to piss himself. Otto wouldn’t be surprised if he did. There had already been three of them that lost control of their bowels when forced to fight their emperor so he would hardly be the first.

The man’s biggest problem was that he couldn’t stop his shaking. He was too nervous to do anything other than shudder at the thought of orchestrating a defense, and therefore, Otto wasn’t surprised when he heard the telltale sound of steel sliding into flesh. The servant let out a piercing wail as the metal slipped between his ribs.

The fight was already over.

“Is there no one that can beat me here in Dagobern?” boasted Avila as he let go of his sword and stalked around his fallen opponent. “No one here with the courage to take on the Emperor of Swabia?”

Of course, no one dared to answer that question lest they become the next victim. While Avila was busy boasting, Otto snapped his fingers at another pair of servants, and they dragged the deceased man’s body across the floor, leaving a trail of blood in the process.

He would soon join the others out in the courtyard. Otto had no doubt that he wouldn’t be the last.

“Just wait until I get my hands on Jack Kincardine,” continued Avila as he cleaned his sword. “I’ll gut him. I’ll lop off every limb he has, saving his neck for last. I’ll watch his eyes cower in horror right before I remove his head from his shoulders.”

Avila punctuated the boast by slicing through the air with his blade. The metal made a small hissing sound in the process. Meanwhile, the palace around them began to shake—no doubt the result of another salvo from the enemy navy striking the palace walls. Otto met the eyes of several of the servants left in the room.

All of them were thinking the same thing.

Just let me survive the next twenty-four hours. And then I can start over again.

It was a decidedly pessimistic outlook for those that served the man who would have been the conqueror of the entire West. A year ago, Emperor Avila stood as the most powerful man in the hemisphere—a man with the command of the largest army and a powerful navy.

Now, that army was entirely broken. It was made up of those too old or too fragile for real battle. The navy wasn’t any better. Despite them being relatively intact, they refused to follow orders. They would not come to Dagobern’s rescue.

The rapidly rising star of Regaulfus Avila had finally plateaued just before going into free fall.

It was a cruel reminder of just how fickle nature could be, and as long as Otto lived, he would not forget the lesson of those that rose too quickly.

“Otto, fetch me another servant,” snapped Avila, bringing Otto back to reality. “And make sure this one can fight. I’m tired of fighting these kitchen boys who have clearly never held a sword in their lives. Find me someone good!”

“At once, Your Imperial Majesty,” replied Otto as he turned toward the door. Otto never got the chance to leave though. The door opened suddenly, and General Vukhoz soon entered the room, begging an audience with the Emperor.

Otto actually felt bad for Vukhoz. In ordinary times, Vukhoz would never be the type of general in charge of any actual fighting. He was a desk general at best—the kind that should never have seen any actual fighting but instead coordinated events from afar. Compared to General Ferberg, Vukhoz wasn’t even capable of riding the more famous general’s coattails.

And yet, Vukhoz now found himself in command of what was left of the Swabian Army. It was a task that was clearly above him, but the man did the best he could. Otto suspected he might have been more capable at his job if Avila would just see sense about their damning position.

“Ah, my good general,” said Avila as he laid his sword down and strode over to Vukhoz’s position. “What’s the good news? Have we defeated the Galicians yet?”

Otto resisted the urge to roll his eyes. There would be no defeat of the Galicians now but Avila seemed to be losing his grasp on reality by the day.

Thankfully, Vukhoz didn’t show his annoyance on his face either.

“No, Your Imperial Majesty,” replied the general. “The city is barely holding on. My units are hunkered down in order to withstand the bombardment but my fear is that when the bombardment finally stops, they’ll be in no condition to hold back the invaders. I’m not sure how much time we have left.”

Vukhoz’s words were blunt but honest. It was a truthful appraisal of their fortunes as silently acknowledged by just about everyone in the room.

Almost everyone.

“Bah, your talk of defeat irritates me, General,” said Avila dismissively. “But it’s no matter now. The final victory in this fight is not going to be won by the soldiers but by their emperor. So tell me, has there been any word back from that Galician dog Jack Kincardine? Will he accept my challenge to fight one-on-one for the fate of our empires?”

Vukhoz gulped visibly and then shook his head. “No word yet, Your Imperial Majesty.”

There was no surprise there. No man in his right mind would risk so much on so little. Otto thought it was a fool’s request to even ask in the first place. It could only have been made from a man losing his grasp on reality, and yet Avila still clung to the idea like it would save them from total calamity.

“I want to know as soon as word arrives back,” said Avila. “Unless he’s not man enough to fight me. That wouldn’t surprise me. The only true warriors left in the world are Swabian! How could he hope to stand against a great swordsman like myself?”

Avila didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed the pommel of his sword and brought it over his head only to send it crushing down a moment later.

The demonstration would have been more impressive if it wasn’t born out of delusion.

“What about the city though, Sire?” pressed Vukhoz. “What are we to do when the fighting begins?”

“We will fight back with everything we have, of course,” replied Avila nonchalantly. “And we will win. I have no doubt about this. If, for some reason Kincardine won’t fight me, then my city will throw out the invaders and kill them all.”

By this point, Vukhoz had reached the end of his patience. His eyes settled on Otto, and despite not saying a word, it was clear he needed help.

They all needed a little help at this point.

“Sire, but what about—”

“Enough of this,” snapped Avila. “I must train! I need to be ready for when the fight comes! Otto, I’m still waiting on the next servant by the way!”

“Coming at once, Sire,” replied Otto as he gestured to Vukhoz to follow him. They left Avila still practicing his thrusts as the door shut firmly behind them. Vukhoz trained his eyes on Otto and folded his arms across his chest.

“He slides further and further into delusion,” said Vukhoz quietly. “Doesn’t he know this fight he’s training for will never come?”

“No, he really doesn’t know that,” said Otto honestly. “And nor will he ever acknowledge that you have the best chance at defending the city, not him.”

“But I need his authorization for all my defensive plans,” whined Vukhoz. “If he’s stuck in there playing swordsmen, we’ll crumble the moment the enemy starts their attack.”

“Then do what you think is necessary now to protect the city,” replied Otto offhandedly.

Vukhoz snorted. “Is that right? On whose authority?”

Otto shrugged. “On mine as the voice of Emperor Regaulfus Avila. We can clearly see the Emperor is not in the right state of mind right now, correct?”

“To say the least,” mumbled Vukhoz.

“In that case, we need to be honest about our prospects,” continued Otto. “You have the best chance at defending the city and keeping the Galicians at bay. All I’m asking of you is that you take it. Do what’s necessary. Avila wouldn’t hinder you.”

“That’s an easy thing for you to say,” grumbled Vukhoz. “Your neck isn’t on the line if word gets back to him of what I’m doing.”

“My neck is just as much on the line if I become the next one to use as target practice,” said Otto, yanking his finger back toward the room. “We are all living on borrowed time right now. Do what you think is necessary. Defend the city. I will take care of Avila.”

Vukhoz appraised him for several moments before he dared offer a response. “You have a lot of pluck for someone that’s only a servant. Not many would take such a risk in their own hands.”

Otto let out a crushing sigh. “What other hope do we have? In twenty-four hours, we could all be dead. I’d rather go out knowing I did all that I could to defend my city instead of rolling over and dying with the Emperor.”

Vukhoz actually smiled. “I think we might actually understand each other then.”

Otto’s response was muffled by another explosion, which made it necessary to repeat it.

“Go now, quickly! Defend what’s left of Dagobern!”

Jade was late again for her shift.

Michael watched the clock on the wall tick fifteen minutes past her starting time. Any other time, he would have been worried, since she was usually very punctual.

Now though? This was the third time this week she was late.

Michael knew the real reason why. It hadn’t yet been a full week since the event that he hated to even think about. Frankly, time seemed to have slowed down ever since, rendering each day into a slow ordeal that was composed of anxiety, anger, and bits of regret.

Mostly, Michael just wanted to comfort Jade. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and let her know that everything was going to be okay.

He also wanted to stab Bancroft with any blunt instrument he could find, ending that old bastard’s life for the way he attempted to steal Jade’s innocence.

And yet, he could do neither of the two.

Jade was completely closed off to him. Not just him but everyone it seemed, but it was especially hurtful that she didn’t even want to be comforted by him. Jade had even told him that she loved him, so why couldn’t he comfort her in her time of maximum need?

Something inside Jade died that evening after the rape. The spark inside her, the brilliance that underlined her entire personality, fizzled and seemed to be extinguished for all time. It left a hollow shell of a person in return.

Michael’s initial thoughts that time would help to heal the wound soon seemed to be a little naive. Something inside Jade was broken and he didn’t even know where to begin to attempt to put the pieces back together.

In fact, he had little hope that tonight’s attempt would work either.

That was put to the test when Jade arrived at the palace twenty minutes late for her shift. Michael stood near the door of the servant’s quarters clutching a plate of two pieces of strawberry pie—the same they’d once enjoyed at the beginning of their relationship. Michael knew that food was one of the ways to her heart and hopefully it could kick-start the beginning of a recovery for Jade.

It did no such thing.

“Jade, you’re here,” said Michael with his best smile. “I missed you. Care for a bite before you start your shift? Just got this pie from Artemis and it’s definitely fresh.”