Bad to the throne, p.1
Bad to the Throne, page 1
part #15 of The Good Guys Series
BAD TO THE THRONE
THE GOOD GUYS
BOOK 15
ERIC UGLAND
Air Quotes Publishing, Inc.
V 1.3
Copyright © 2024 Eric Ugland
Cover by Sarah Anderson/No Synonym
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of Fiction. Nay, of Fantasy. All of the characters in this novel and series are fictional and any resemblance to people living, dead, undead, or otherwise is purely coincidental and all of them are better looking. Mentions of places are incidental, accidental, and mostly inconsequential. The magic and spells have been researched in absolutely no way whatsoever, and any ill-effects after you attempt to cast them are completely on you. Kobolds are tiny dragons, not dog-like things. My math is terrible and my numbers imaginary.
Eric Ugland asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work, and also to get an extra Diet Coke on alternate Wednesdays.
Kent - suck it.
Grover Cleveland,
King of the Upper West Side.
My first writing assistant, you have made so much of my life possible. Thank you. Always.
1
There’s something to the start of any journey, something about the first step and all that. I’ve always relished in the moments when you gather everything together before heading out, especially as a group.
Unfortunately, all the fun, all the joy, all the intrinsic hootenanny that you’d expect with an upcoming voyage completely and utterly disappears when you’re working with the Legion. Or any sort of bureaucratic monster associated with the Empire of Glaton, really.
Even me, ostensibly a duke and one of the most powerful men in the Empire, was met at every possible turning point with mountains of red tape. Partially, I think it was the attempt of the powers within Arenberg to keep me around in case some other emergency arose.
The kobold army swept Mahrduhm from the tunnel that Mahrduhm and her allies had spent so much time and effort building, pushing them all the way back to where the tunnel began, on the eastern side of the mountains. There, they established an impressive defensive set-up in a matter of days, turning what had been a staging ground for the Mahrduhmese into a nightmare of fortifications, traps, and murder-holes. It all gave me a new appreciation for kobolds. Now I saw them as disciplined miniature dragons instead of flighty lizard weirdos. Minor difference there.
Of course, I didn’t see the fortifications on the Mahrduhmese side, just the ones built on the Glaton side. The kobolds had claimed the tunnel as their own — not the sovereign land of the Empire, nor of Mahrduhm, but belonging instead to the kobolds’ Mountain Kingdom.
They built it out quickly and impressively with no regard for the obvious discomfort the fortifications brought to the Arenberg Assholes who rode out with the Count to take a tour of the tunnel they believed was now theirs. I wished I’d gone with them to see the looks on their faces when they faced a wall bristling with spears and other pointy things, prepped to pepper the assholes should the assholes not bother to obey the gate-kobold, who was, apparently, a new type of monstrous kobold larger than any ogre. It was probably just a kohemoth, but maybe it was something even bigger than a kohemoth.
They kept me in the city, just in case. Not so much in case I needed to go out and attack, but more so I didn’t wallop the stupid Count.
Vengai, the kobold ambassador, was a blur of activity. While I cleaned myself up, got on some new gear, and tried to leave, Vengai made the rounds, talking to the count, to the count’s ‘people,’ and to the Legion and its officer corps. He learned a remarkable amount whilst giving nothing back himself. I was impressed, and grateful I wasn’t really going to deal with the big snake guy.
At one point, Vengai was pulled in to the negotiations over the tunnel, and he maintained the kobolds owned the land under the mountains, including the tunnel. He made it abundantly clear that the kobolds would fight to keep that space, reminding the count that they had been the ones to fight the Robed Ones and push them out.
Apparently, the count brought up my contributions, stating that without me, the kobolds wouldn’t have been able to attack successfully. So therefore, the Empire deserved some measure of the tunnel.
Whereupon, Vengai agreed that I would be given as much of the tunnel as I had taken, and then turned to offer to buy that portion of the tunnel from me.
At which point, I was summoned, because somehow I’d been pulled into the whole mess.
“You want to what now?” I asked as I walked up to the count and the ambassador glaring at each other.
“A measure of our tunnel has been granted to you,” Vengai said, giving me a bow, “based upon your fighting and that we used your distraction as a means of making a successful attack upon Mahrduhm and their allies. His highness, my king, offers you as much of the tunnel as you were able to take before our arrival.”
“Okay, sure. That’s fine.”
I turned to leave.
“However, my king is most eager to purchase your portion of the tunnel, if you would be amenable to such an offer.”
“Dude, I live on the other side of the country. I don’t care. I—”
“It is not his land,” the count barked. “It should be given to me.”
“It was not earned by you,” Vengai countered, his voice cold. “Thus, it belongs to Montana of Coggeshall. Unless, of course, if he wishes to sell it or dispose of it in some way.”
I sighed. “I don’t know — I can’t tell you how much it’s worth. I have no idea about that sort of shit. I mean, sorry, language. I don’t know about land value. Especially a tunnel.”
“My king is known to be generous to those who are generous with him.”
“How about he can just have it?”
“That would hardly be a fair trade.”
“How am I not getting this land?” The count asked.
“Oh shut up,” I snapped. “You don’t get it because you were sitting in the city behind a bunch of walls, ready to give up. And if you shut up now, I won’t keep going about what exactly you were doing.”
The count went a bit white, and glared at me some more. But he was smart enough to keep quiet. And I knew the best thing I could do in this case was get nothing for the tunnel so it didn’t seem like I was winning.
“How about the king owes me a favor,” I said. “Is that more fair?”
Vengai nodded, and pulled a coin from the air, holding it out to me.
“A fair deal,” he said as I took the kobold king’s favor coin.
Albrecht rested. At least, that’s what he claimed he was doing, but he spent little time in his bed. He was mostly sneaking around the city doing ‘things.’ I have no idea what things exactly, because I tried to follow him once, and but my Arenberg hero status made it impossible. Everywhere I went, people came up to thank me for saving the city from the horrors of Mahrduhm and her Dark Queen. I would smile and nod and accept the thanks. And the gifts. And I’d hold babies until they cried and then quickly give them back to their parents. Which I didn’t really understand — why did parents want me to hold their children? It’s not like they could take a photo or something. Was there some superstition about me being able to influence their stats or their character sheet in some capacity?
You have been offered a quest:
Baby Sheets
How do babies deal with character sheets? How are they seen by the system? Are there birds and/or bees involved?
Reward for success: Well, when two quests really love each other…
Penalty for failure (or refusal): none.
Yes/No
In public, I couldn’t shake my fist at the sky or my head at myself, so I just smiled and nodded and accepted the quest with the hopes I could find someone to explain things to me. Not like that.
I spent a lot of time with my horses, finally achieving my dream of becoming a horse girl. The animals were amazing and cool, all the things I thought horses weren’t. Well, mostly. The ones who weren’t steelhorses were skittish, taking a long time to get used to me. But the steelhorses accepted me right away, and we became something of a family. Me and all ten of them.
I had to figure out how to get the horses all the way over to Coggeshall, which was a real challenge because I didn’t like the idea of sending them on a long trip around Glaton only to have some Mahrduhmese commando kill them while I was stuck playing Senator SchmancyPants in the capital.
Although, as I tried to get a plan in mind, the count tried to claim the horses as his.
I mean, naturally he did.
He was a man used to owning everything he looked at, and seemed to fail at the basics of the whole feudal system where a duke outranks a count.
“You do realize a duke outranks a count, right?” I asked.
“You are on my land–”
“Your father’s land.”
“This is my county, duke,” he snapped. “My land. Not my father’s.”
“It’s amazing that you can’t even think to thank me for saving you.”
“You did very little, as far as I’m concerned.”
“I know it must have been hard to see much of anything while you were cowering in your little house, away from the action. Or maybe that was while you were plotting to—”
He gave me a look, a mix of panic and threat, where he realized that if I said what I was going to say out loud, he’d be somewhere in the neighborhood of fucked. It irritated me that I even had to remind him of the fact that he’d technically committed treason. The only thing keeping him alive was my desire to keep his father from becoming an enemy.
“Never mind. The horses are mine,” I finished.
“Spoils of war,” a voice said, and I saw the Legion commander strolling along the paddock, looking longingly at the steelhorses, who were busy eating. “Those horses, both steel and otherwise, are the spoils of war, clearly stated within Imperial law.”
“And am I not to be rewarded for the fighting?” the count asked. “Did this not occur on my lands? Are my lands not damaged as a result of this man’s fighting and the Legion losing the pass? A pass that no longer exists!”
“If you would care to invoke an accurate accounting,” the commander began slowly and carefully, clearly, to me at least, indicating that it was a bad idea to invoke such a thing, “then you would be given all spoils from this conflict. However—”
“I would like—” the count started, but the commander continued on as if he hadn’t noticed the count talking.
“—An accurate accounting is a rather onerous undertaking and would require the Legion to document the total damage that occurred to this county, duchy, and country and decide which entity is due recompense thereof. In addition, being that there were multiple parties involved in the fighting, each enemy death would need to be established and attributed, and a value placed upon each death. That would then go into the calculation to determine the value-add of each party into the overall victory. At which point, you would be required to pay the Legion a Victory Price, comprising the cost of each soldier’s salary, the cost of each soldier’s death, and the cost of any additional parties. The payment is taken, initially from the spoils before coming from the individual lord or lady responsible, which is in place to offset the true cost. And I can assure you, whatever value there is–”
“And what is the value on the steelhorses?” the count asked with an evil smile. “Because I can assure you it is incalculable, being that no one has one outside of Mahrduhm. And now I have–”
I was about to jump in, but the commander shot me a look that told me to wait.
“The steelhorses are different, your lordship, as those were gained by Montana of Coggeshall directly through his own efforts fighting. He gained those by Right of Knight, unhorsing and defeating two champions of the Dark Queen, as well as by liberating them from the Mahrduhmese army. There is no circumstance by which you might claim them as your own. And knowing what I know of steelhorses, I am tempted to watch you try just so I might have something amusing to oversee for the rest of the time I am stationed here. So, if you would still like a full accounting, it can be arranged, but I suspect, if you examine the history of the Empire, you will be hard-pressed to find a time when a full accounting actually worked in favor of the landholder. Do you wish a full accounting?”
“No,” the count said, his face full of hatred, once gain, somehow magically forgetting that I held his life in my hands.
Not quite as literally as before, but that could be changed in a few quick steps.
I held myself back.
One of the steelhorses had slowly made his way around the paddock, eating grass along the way, until he was very close to the count. The enormous horse turned toward me, still face-down amongst the sweet green. Then he lifted his tail up and unleashed one of the most impressive farts I’d ever heard.
The count stood there and just sort of took it, closing his eyes to the stinging gas attack. Then he turned on his heel and marched away.
“Impressive horses, your grace,” the commander said.
“They are indeed.”
“However–”
“Why did I not realize that was coming?”
“Because I spoke the truth. The steelhorses are yours — there is no question to that. The other spoils of the battle require a more thorough accounting, as well as distribution.”
“Care to spell that out for me?”
“I can, unless you have a chancellor who would be willing to negotiate for you.”
“I have one, but he’s over in Coggeshall.”
“We are right around the deadline, so I fear it must be you.”
“Lovely.”
“I admit, I have not been in this particular position before, going through the spoils with a lord.”
“Goodie?”
2
One of the commander’s underlings brought out a little table and a chair. The sort of campaign furniture I expected out in the field, not within a city like Arenberg. But I guess we were sort of in a field, just one within a city. The caravaner’s guild had let me borrow a paddock. Or, rather, they let the Legion borrow a paddock. I hadn’t wanted to get into that can of worms lest they remember I was supposedly blacklisted over ruining their city on the other side of the world.
I felt a tugging at my belt and looked down to see two goblins fighting to get a chair out of the unfillable knapsack.
“Let me help,” I said.
The goblins gnashed their teeth at my hand.
“It’s going to take you two for-fucking-ever — let me do it!”
I smacked them away, and their little green and blue bodies flew into the grass. Then I pulled out a chair and set it across from the commander, Rhonium Scipius.
“Do you require a full accounting?” the commander asked, holding a pen above what looked like a form.
“No,” I said.
He checked a box on his form.
“Given your rank and your estimated contributions, you are awarded twenty-five points’ worth of spoils.”
You have been given Twenty-Five (25) points worth of spoils.
“Out of how many?”
“One hundred.”
“I did a quarter of the work?” I asked, thinking that could be both high or low, considering I’d only been there for the last bit. But the last bit had been rather important in the victory.
“Fifty points go to the Empire and the Legion by default, so you effectively earned half the remaining spoils, based on the after-action reports filed by the various commanders you served with and under.”
“Oh. That’s generous, I think.”
“I think you likely are responsible for more, but this is something of a soft limit. The Legion, technically, ranks above all but the Emperor when it comes to picking spoils. Hence, we would go first.”
“Do we go in turns? Or do you pick everything you want, and then I pick what I want, and then the rest?”
“That is up to the discretion of the two of us. If you wish to press the issue, we can go back and forth. In the past, it is usually a bit of a negotiation in that we decide what you would like and what the Legion would like and something is agreed upon. Then the Legionnaires who were involved and given rights of spoil take what is left.”
“Ah. Can I donate my spoil points to someone?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And the steelhorses are outside that?”
“Yes.”
“What’s up for the taking?”
“The other horses, for one. The arms and armor taken from the battlefield are another, as well as any coins and riches taken from the bodies.”
“Which includes magic rings and the like?”
“Exactly.”
“And the value of everything is calculated and put out in a points table or something?”
He took a piece of paper out from under the form and passed it to me. On it, in immaculate handwriting, was an account of everything that had been looted from the opposing army in a clever little table. Swords, spears, shields, all sorts of stuff that had been left on the battlefield and snatched up before that weird girl Fiona could get to it. Also, the horses. There were more than I thought, and while I could grab most of the horses with my twenty-five points, I wasn’t sure it was necessary. It’s not like I needed horses, and I was going to have enough trouble getting the damn steelhorses across the country as it was.
“Just give me some gold,” I said. “I don’t really need anything. And maybe only ten points’ worth, because I think the poor bastards left up there all the way to the end deserve a little more love.”
