Chapter 78

Liala was certain that she had never been this cold before. She wasn’t positive that anyone had been this cold before.

According to the list of days that she had kept since their departure from Azkoval, the season should be late spring or early summer.

The temperature had not risen above the point where a person would stop seeing his breath in front of his face. There was a constant wind howling from the north that cut through to her skin regardless of the weight of the furs she wore.

The trip aboard a ship – and waiting for warmer weather to debark further northward – had been tedious but she didn’t think she has somehow doubled up on days 90 times.

The horses they had brought along certainly didn’t care for the bitter temperatures.

The ground was nothing but hard packed snow. Riding the animals had been impossible. There were times when the fine beasts could barely navigate the treacherous trek without a rider.

So for the past few weeks – since a few days after their ship had made dock – the horses had walked along behind the walking humans.

She knew the entire party was miserable but she had heard few complaints. She was thankful that Joseph had insisted that they bring enough victuals for an extended stay.

The soldiers were taking turns hauling the wagons to generate some heat on their bodies – although they had soon learned that the sweat didn’t leave their bodies in this climate. It froze against it and could be deadly if not watched carefully.

A good many of the group had taken ill as soon as they had arrived in the harsh north. The preserved asparagus actually came in handy – and the brine that protected it from rot did nothing to harm the taste.

The soldiers seemed to become immune from illness the farther into the wilderness they went. They weren’t happy but they were doing their duties as well as could be expected. That’s all Liala could ask.

And to think that Octavia had told her that the temperatures were actually mild this year compared to some that she recalled from her childhood.

As Joseph had done in Wellington, Liala was taking Octavia down the roads most heavily traveled (if the term could be used for any of the roads in the north of Marindar). A second force had split off after a few days and were making their way through the woods. They were separated by only a short distance but they were unseen by the few inhabitants of the area.

The countryside was also strange to the Troyvettan duchess. She was not well traveled. She had seen only her home country and Azkoval for any length of time.

Those countries had many similarities in how their populations were dispersed. In Troyvet, the coastal areas had the highest concentrations of people – and the same was true in Azkoval. The rest of the country was had a small density but there were population centers within a day or so of each other.

The ports of Marindar had a decent amount of people, Liala decided. There wasn’t the bustle of merchants that she’d seen in her home country or in Azkoval. But she understood that this was likely because King Joseph had done his best to choke off any sort of trade since he’d learned of Junius’ deceit.

Indeed, Octavia had mentioned that the port city seemed smaller than when she’d departed only a few years earlier.

The difference between Marindar and the countries Liala knew had come in the interior.

After a few outlying towns close to the port, it had been a week before the groups had seen anything even remotely resembling a village.

The town had fewer than 50 people in the stone huts – and none of those people had ever the sort of animals present or a female carrying a weapon.

The first male of the village to lodge a protest found himself seated on his rear with an ache in his head and stomach after Bianca had taken him off his feet with a swift shot to the belly and an elbow to the jaw.

Octavia was the lone member of the group to speak the language fluently and, although nobody in the village knew her face, it was left to the princess to explain that the soldiers were not interested in harming the citizens but that the rule of Junius could not be permitted to continue.

The village had seen its share of hard times under the new king. Trade had come to a halt and anything edible within walking distance had been appropriated for the capital. After a brief discussion, most of the village joined the soldiers on the march, helpfully pointing out the next closest towns.

For the next 10 days, Liala and her band wended its way through the countryside, going from village to village and increasing the size of the army. Some of the people came along not out of any great patriotic fervor but because the soldiers had plenty of rations that they carried behind them on wagons.

The situation was identical on all points of the compass. The southern lands fell without a battle. The western edge was taken with limited bloodshed.

In the capital, Junius was trying in vain to ignore the horrible news that had arrived almost daily for a month. His country, a land that had never ceded territory, was being torn asunder by the very population that was supposed to revere him.

Liala’s messengers had kept in frequent contact with the other invaders so it was no real surprise that the groups arrived at the capital within a day of each other.

A few of the commanders were unhappy that a female was in overall command but, since Liala had the most and best trained troops, they wisely kept their own counsel.

“Are you prepared for this?” Liala asked Octavia as they neared the heart of the country.

The roads had improved in quality and it had been possible to ride the horses – if somewhat gingerly.

The princess nodded grimly and urged her snow white horse forward. At the same time, she pushed the furs off of her head so that her face was visible.

The few people remaining in the capital recognized the woman beneath the heavy robes.

“I am Octavia, daughter of Augustus, past princess of Marindar,” Octavia yelled. “I have returned to the land of my birth to ensure the treacherous murder of my father does not go unanswered. Junius, I call for you to surrender or come out to battle. Do not hide like a mouse under your furs. Come out to face me, you coward!”

Junius looked through one of the slats in the wooden coverings around the windows. He saw his slatternly sister, sitting tall astride an enormous animal and surrounded by several other females.

“Sire, the castle is surrounded,” an aide told the king.

“By more females?” Junius sneered.

“By the armies of perhaps a dozen nations,” the aide related. “I saw the flags of Alicand and Grunveld and many more that I do not know.”

Junius stared at the man and then raced to a different window. He saw hundreds, if not a thousand, people around the castle. Most had swords or bows but some had farming implements. He could tell from their manner of dress that these were his citizens and he could not figure out why they were not coming to his defense.

“I know you can hear me, Junius,” Octavia yelled. “Show yourself and accept your death. I will not kill you while your back is turned as you slew our father. I will fight you face to face so I can see your eyes when I deliver the killing stroke.”

Junius scoffed at the thought of his sister besting him in combat. She was a woman. She could never be his equal in anything, let along in a physical contest.

“Take a message to my sister,” Junius ordered the aide. “Tell her that I will permit her to enter the castle for our battle so long as the armies withdraw upon her defeat.”

The aide looked at the man in front of him.

“The armies will not withdraw,” he said plainly. “They have conquered our land. Many of the people out there are our people.”

Junius’ hand shot out and the dagger it held embedded itself in the aide’s throat. The man gurgled and struggled for breath while the king held him up. With a push of his foot, Junius sent the man sprawling to the floor where he set upon him fiercely, stabbing the man a dozen more times in the neck, chest and face.

He stood and wiped the blood from away from his mouth and eyes before pointing to another man.

“Take the message to my sister,” he instructed.

The aide nodded his head and raced from the room. He knew he probably would not survive his visit to the invaders but it was better than dying at the hand of a madman.

He made certain he walked out of the castle with his hands clearly free of weapons. He did not wish to die with an arrow in his chest either.

“His Majesty, King Junius, invites his sister into the castle,” he said in a voice that wavered. “He will agree to individual combat so long as the armies remove themselves from his lands.”

“You’re a fool, Junius,” Octavia yelled. “You have no more lands. Marindar has been secured and divided. The only thing you rule right now is that dusty and drafty castle. If I have to come in there and get you, we will kill every man that stands by your side. Now come out, you detestable coward. Do the honorable thing for once in your miserable life. Spare those that have served you faithfully. Know that I will keep you alive long enough to witness their deaths. You have until midday to decide if you will die as a man.”

“Give him some encouragement,” Liala told the archers.

The men and women with bows in their hands lit their arrows ablaze before launching them at the wooden portals on the side of the structures. Every piece of flammable material on or near the castle was alight before the fourth volley was fired.

Several people raced out of the castle but were quickly detained. They were searched for weapons, bound hand and foot, and led before Octavia to ensure that the king wasn’t among the refugees.

“Fire through the openings,” Liala instructed.

The next volley of arrows went into the castle and set fire to the furnishings and the draperies. More people left as the smoke became untenable for habitation.

The last was an enraged King Junius. He was already covered in blood where he had slain any that he could reach. He had a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He spotted his sister through his tear-soaked eyes and headed in her direction as quickly as he could.

He made it two steps before the archers sent a line of arrows into his path.

“You honestly believed I would give you a fair trial?” Octavia asked him as she approached. “You’re not very smart.”

Junius looked around for anywhere to run and found no avenue of escape.

“I will kill you!” he roared.

“No,” Octavia said, shaking her head. She shook off her heavy furs and advanced wearing only her tight tunic and trousers. She twirled her weapon in front of her. Junius tried to make an advance but Octavia deftly swatted his sword away. She relieved him of his dagger with her backstroke.

“You are no match for the power of inclusiveness,” she said. “That is what I’ve learned in Azkoval. The power of many will always over come the might of a few.”

Junius was shocked to find himself unarmed – and more surprised when he felt the cold steel of Octavia’s weapon slice a deep gouge in his leg right above his knee. He stumbled and fell forward onto his hands. Octavia brought the heavy metal edge down and shattered Junius’ elbow, sending him face down on the cold ground.

The man groaned but made no effort to arise.

“I am Liala of Troyvet, commander in the Azkoval Army of King Joseph,” Liala yelled. “Your king has declared war on my country. He has attempted to send men to our shores. He has killed your rightful king and tried to rule in his stead. In the name of King Joseph, I declare Junius a usurper and a murderer. His sentence is death.”

Octavia looked down at her brother. He had rolled to his back and was using his only good hand to try to calm the bleeding in his leg.

“Death is too good for you,” Octavia declared. “But my king has ordered it. So be it done.”

She grabbed Junius by the hair and lifted his chin. He struggled but Octavia’s grip was too strong. The dagger cut him from ear to ear and blood poured down his neck and torso. Octavia released her grip and the man fell dead.

Octavia took a deep breath to quell her nerves. She felt as though she was going to vomit. She felt an arm around her shoulder as Bianca covered her with furs and led her back to her lines.

“In the name of King Joseph, I declare Octavia as First Queen of Marindar!” Liala yelled.

The soldiers in Joseph’s army began to cheer loudly – and since they were the most powerful group in attendance, everybody else took their cue from them.

“My first act as queen is to declare Junius, son of Augustus, heretic,” Octavia yelled. Her voice wasn’t as firm as it had been when she was calling out her brother but she was still able to be heard. “He will not be consecrated in Muhalla’s holy rite. May the likes of him never rise again.”

The crowd, many of whom practiced one form of Ihntalin or another, was stunned into silence. It was the worst fate a devoted follower of Muhalla could find. There would be no afterlife without consecration.

“My final act as queen is to cede the territory to the conquering armies in accordance with King Joseph’s decree,” Octavia said. “Marindar has now ceased to exist.”

On the opposite side of the planet, a small group of friends looked at a small rise on the geography. For three of the four, it was merely a small hill.

For one, it was an imposing mountain.

Morane knew the answers to his trek awaited at the top. The priory of Serrat – the church from where his journey had begun so long ago – was situated at the apex of the hill.

The sun was starting to dwindle and the warm air had started to cool.

It was still humid as the rain from earlier evaporated but it wasn’t as oppressive as it had been a short time earlier.