They seemed surprised when Prince Erold turned to Anders and spoke, in broken Yansian.

  “Send a message to father mine? Pen it, shall I do first, here.”

  It took longer to write out than it did to speak the spell, breaking it down carefully. Going directly to the ear of Master Tolan.

  The words were rather hard and almost brutal, in the first lines.

  We have taken Yanse and they lie broken at our feet. Their King has surrendered in his own person and for his people...

  After that was a simple repeating of what had been offered, as for terms. There was no suggestion that the man hurry in any way, but an hour later, still at the table, Master Tolan’s voice spoke in his ear. He had to write the whole message out, hurriedly, since it was long and rather complex in parts.

  When it was finished, written in Istlan, both the General and the Prince went over it, their faces serious. Then Prince Erold waved at the paper.

  “If you would, Master Brolly?”

  The paper was dry under his fingers, and he’d written it, so already had a translation in his head. Some of the phrases had to be spoken differently, in order to be understood, which had been interesting enough to him that he’d already worked most of them out. A game of sorts, that he often engaged in, when standing around doing little to nothing.

  “This is the word of King Mathias Caldas, of Istlan. King Yarler is requested to swear fealty to both Mathias and Istlan. For a time of ten years, one part in ten of all coin, all grains, all new born animals of the field or barn and any goods or other commodities are to be given over to Istlan, on the last day of harvest.” There was a hiss, from the King, but not his man, who simply stared at Anders so intently he feared they were going to fight, later.

  Erold waved for him to continue.

  “In addition, Yanse is not to have a standing army, for a time of twenty years. Nobles may have forces in their own areas, for common defense. Levies may be trained, but the army must disband, for that time. Watchers will be posted to see to the application of these demands.”

  The King sighed then and shook his head.

  “I have to agree, then, for my people. Is there more?”

  There was, of course.

  “Istlan and her forces will prevent, where possible, the abuse of any of Yanse who do not offer harm to them, in the future.”

  That was the entirety of the thing, except for the ending, which was a hope for peace between their lands and an official acceptance that the war was over.

  Sneering, seeming ready to balk, King Yarler nodded.

  “May we send acceptance then? This will need to be explained to my people. It’s a hard punishment, but better than a war to the death of every poor plow boy and milk maid. Will you do this for us, Warbow?”

  He bowed, then repeated the words to Prince Erold, who smiled. It was forced, but he helped to write the message out, suggesting pleasing phrases. Then they all witnessed the King of Yanse kneeling, and swearing to both Istlan and King Mathias. If the man was disgruntled over the act, embarrassed and humiliated, he still spoke the words and, when Anders touched his mind, seemed to mean them. For the moment.

  That there would be resistance to the new rules was also part of what was going on, inside his mind. The man also didn’t think he could win, at all. Even killing King Mathias wasn’t going to be enough to sway what had already been agreed to.

  Still, holding his kingdom, and his life, as well as that of his sons and daughters, was enough. His last wife had died, trying to have their fourth child, not two years before. For the moment. The councilor standing next to him didn’t bend the knee for Istlan or her King at all. His mind was also seeking holes in the demands made. Oddly, the man felt that the simple wording and gentle terms acted on the side of Istlan, not Yanse.

  A thing that Anders could work out for himself.

  If they were too harsh, the people would fight, even to the death, since that would be what came anyway. Taking one tenth of all wealth each year would make it harder for their prior enemies to raise forces against them, and would make life a bit harder on the common people, and the nobles, but it wouldn’t break them. Ten years was a long time, but not so much so that the end was out of sight. Most people who were alive would see the fine lifted, and their normal lives return.

  Most people would simply bristle under the yoke, knowing their turn under it would be over, in time. Then, of course, the next thing would land on them. That was the way of life, after all.

  Prince Erold stood up then, meaning General Coelder did the same thing. Anders had stayed on his feet, marking him as a guard there, or a servant. The army men had been standing the whole time as well. The shifting was ignored, but all of them were doing that kind of thing. Standing for hours on end was work, after all. Even for fit people used to fighting.

  The Prince turned and bowed to the King of Yanse.

  “We will leave men here, to guard you. Will you be sending missives and giving a public address, to explain things to your people?”

  Once translated, the man, rather stiffly replied.

  “I must humble myself in public as well? That wasn’t what I heard in the agreement.”

  Erold laughed, which didn’t go over very well, the men, both of them, seeming ready to take offense.

  “Not at all. You swore to Istlan and her King. You’re one of us now. That means you won’t be required to grovel or demean yourself for our entertainment. I only meant that it would be best for your people to understand things, quickly. Just to prevent future issues that might arise?”

  The words were polite, but didn’t make the men relax at all. Instead, they simply stood, as Prince Erold and General Coelder left the room. The soldiers in their dark red and gray-black walked out as well. Marching, in a very official fashion. Anders simply stood there, waiting for the rest to leave. Smiling at the two men there, gently. Trying to seem compassionate.

  The King of Yanse stared at him then, seeming afraid, for a moment.

  “You are to be our guard then, Warbow? Our watcher?”

  “Not that I know of. I just wanted to add a few words.” He regarded the men coolly, for a moment. Dispassionately. “This is a low day for you, but the building blocks of a good future were left to you. Hold to your word, and you will rise in power again. It will be tempting to plot and plan, perhaps thinking that murder or dark magics can return you to what you were, faster. That won’t be happening. At the same time, if you simply do the right thing, for your people and yourself, and keep your word, you will be fine. The only cost of this... Mistake, will be in the lives lost in battle.”

  He bowed and backed away then, toward the door.

  “A thing that I fear I will pay for as well. Let’s not have war again? I would rather find the people of Yanse as my friends.”

  Laughing, darkly, the King threw off a lazy bow.

  “Well, we’ll see if that happens? I don’t know if I can do that, with you, Warbow. Too many died at your hands, for friendship. Perhaps with your King, though?”

  That was about the best that Anders could hope for, even if there was a rebuke in it.

  “Understood. I will leave your lands, as soon as I am allowed, given that? Perhaps it would be best if I not be required to return, any time soon?” He was tired and it showed in his voice.

  Yarler sneered at him.

  “Is that a threat, boy?”

  “Yes. I can see that your people will think me a monster, for what I have been forced to do. The problem with that is, of course, that I actually am. I know that war is bad for people, but I don’t have troubled dreams at night. Tens of thousands, perhaps a hundred thousand, of your people have fallen to me, personally. We don’t want it to be more than that. I don’t. We don’t have to be personal friends for you to make this loss into, if not a victory, then at least a lesser thing. Over time.”

  The King growled at him then, actually making a guttural noise, deep in his throat.

  “Leave here, Anders Brolly. If I see you again...”

  He shrugged, since the time for being courteous was, it seemed, over.

  “Then perhaps you’ll be more polite? This was a hard day, for everyone. I won’t hold your feelings against you, given that. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll take my leave?”

  The large man, who was easily a head and a half taller than Anders was, seemed ready to fight, or at least call out in anger at the boy in front of him. His man, Mourn, touched his arm, but didn’t speak at all. It was enough, and the man waved him away.

  “Forgive me. Go then, as you please, Brolly. Perhaps we will speak again, in less heated times?”

  With a nod, he backed from the room, then got ready to fight, when the door closed. No men stood to guard the people inside the room, however. Not until he was all the way outside the castle, some minutes later, did he find anyone with a weapon, who seemed to be watching anything.

  He walked back to where the women had been being kept, but they were all gone. No one knew where the prisoners had gone at all. He had to move into a trance to find out what was going on, which was simple enough, really. Those who had been defeated had been stripped of weapons and armor and sent home. To their families. The ladies were in that group as well.

  Many of the people in the area were frightened, but the city around the castle wasn’t deserted, since there was, suddenly, coin to be made. Soldiers flush with full purses were willing to buy a lot of different things.

  So he walked down the road, toward the feeling of where his people were staging. Some minutes later he caught up with General Coelder and Prince Erold. The twenty guards they had as well. From the talk, they didn’t get to leave, so were sleeping outside, under the sky, that night. At least the poor soldiers were. Anders didn’t even have to make a house, one having been brought into existence for them already. From the way it was laid out, Princess Salina was the culprit on that one.

  When he got in, she frowned at him.

  “So, we have won a war. Why am I not happier about this? I keep thinking of those I killed. They haunt me, when I close my eyes.”

  He simply nodded.

  “That is the price of being a Great One, I fear. One of them. You must carry the weight of those who you must climb upon to become great in the first place. It is never battle that makes you great. It’s what you do after it that shows who you truly are.”

  The others there seemed to think he was being rude, but Depak Sona, sitting on the floor, to the side of the room, simply nodded. His face perfectly blank. It meant a lot, coming from a man who had been called Great One for over sixty years. Nothing more was said about the topic.

  Chapter fourteen

  Anders was called on to act as interpreter for King Yarler and his people, almost constantly over the next few days. The man didn’t try to kill him, but he glared, grumbled and made rude hand gestures when he thought no one was looking. He failed at that part of things, but was ignored. After all, Anders was just standing there, hour after hour, sending messages to Master Tolan and receiving answers, back and forth.

  Endlessly, it seemed.

  It was just as hard on Prince Erold, who had to sit there, trying to seem peaceful and calm, as the angry King became less tractable over time, not more. On the third day, upset that King Mathias wouldn’t lower the ten percent annual payment he’d demanded, the man practically foamed at the mouth.

  “If he will not bend on this, I will have his son raped and flayed alive!” He pounded the table, standing to his full height.

  Right before he flew backward from the large wooden table, the ten soldiers in the room finally getting to do something, pointing their spears at the large man. He slid on the floor, which was smooth enough to not damage him too much. Anders moved around the table, having been standing on the other side, his right hand held out, in a fist. A thing that presaged death to him, but probably just looked odd to the man on the floor.

  “Enough!” He was yelling, sounding angry enough that several of the guards covertly took a few steps away from him. “You will not make threats! You have lost and if you don’t accept it, now and agree to what you already swore to, I will kill you and put someone else on your throne! One word, other than asking for King Mathias to have a fine day, and I will end your days!”

  He actually readied himself to do just that.

  Behind him, in a similar stance, Erold cleared his throat, speaking in Istlan.

  “I missed that. You’re going to kill him?”

  Anders nodded.

  “If he doesn’t give over, here and now, in a very real fashion. He just threatened to have you raped and flayed alive, as a threat to King Mathias. Who do you have in mind to take his place?” He wasn’t being glib or friendly, having had enough of the man, ruler or not.

  The words included a sigh.

  “My brother Alpert, was mentioned for the position? If we do that, we’ll have to kill King Yarler’s entire family line. I was trying to avoid that.”

  “I know. I have been as well.” Then he switched to Yansian, the man on the floor fuming at him.

  “So, what will it be? This is in your hands. Do you actually bend the knee, or are you...”

  The King scrambled up, pulling his belt knife. From the side, backing away, Mourn called out. “No!”

  The councilor was correct in what he likely saw coming. Anders didn’t pause, since the blade made it a real fight, between the two of them. As the large, decently powerful man moved in, rushing faster than Anders would have credited as possible, trying to plunge the hand long blade into his face, his own right hand opened. With the greatest flow of energy that he’d ever put into an explosion, using that particular spell.

  The man was a King, after all, so deserved the best he could manage.

  His upper torso and head were gone, the lower portion of the body standing for a few moments, before crumbling, the black leather boots and cream-colored trousers covered with blood and bits of the King. None of the guards screamed, and Prince Erold made no more than a harsh, somewhat grunting sound. Berit Mourn moved back, in fear, clutching himself.

  “The fool...” His eyes went wide, then the old, rather thin, man, simply nodded. “My family is blameless in my activities. I know that you must slay me, as a threat, but if you could leave them alive? My sons are grown and live far from here, not having chosen the life of power. My wife is... She’s a good woman. Spare them, please.”

  Anders stared at the man, wanting, in part, to simply send the man away. He knew too much to waste, after all. The other portion of himself nearly murdered him, as he stood there. It was the way that things were done, after all.

  Breathing hard, he nodded.

  “You will get a payment in gold, to keep you and your wife. The family of Yarler must...” Kindness wouldn’t work, of course. Even if they promised themselves to King Mathias, in five years, or ten, they’d come back and become a problem. Farad knew that, from the old histories. It didn’t happen every time, but so often that he couldn’t risk allowing it.

  He repeated the words in Istlan, with Prince Erold, who looked pale, agreeing with him. A bit too eagerly, as if he wanted to placate a wild animal.

  “We should clean up in here and then contact Father, to let him know that the plans have changed. I’ll pen a missive to that end?” His tone was slightly nervous, as if that might not be allowed.

  Anders nodded, and started muttering a spell. Everyone stared at him, until they noticed that the blood and viscera of the former King came together, forming a ball, which then floated into the air. That was walked to the front of the castle, past the wall, and deposited to the side of the heavy wooden gate there. On the right.

  He didn’t tell anyone what his point was, in doing that. They didn’t have the man’s head, since that was beyond recognition, being in thousands of pieces, as it was. Then, spinning on his heel, he went back inside, to finish removing the blood and missed chunks of flesh. That didn’t have to be touched, if he did it, instead of forcing some boy with a mop to take care of the mess.

  When he entered the room again, Erold had a rather hasty note for his father. It was, when he read over it, kinder to him than he would have been.

  It spoke of how King Yarler had made vile threats against his personal safety, then attacked Anders with a blade. It was all true, but lacked a bit in the telling. Worse, it wasn’t even being done to protect him, he didn’t think. His friend was simply shortening the tale, so that the spell of communication wouldn’t be too long.

  It took about ten minutes to translate it into the special language of the spell, then, since it involved the death of a King, it was set to play ten times, instead of the normal five. They had to sit, for a very long time, with Berit Mourn becoming more and more uneasy. A thing that made sense, when Anders thought about it for a while.

  After all, it really did make more sense to simply kill Mourn, rather than to pay him some gold to go away. He wasn’t in line for the throne there, but all of the nobles who wanted to resist the yoke of Istlan would seek him out, if he were left alive. A bit of shiny metal probably wouldn’t be enough to stop that from happening. Still, they could make the man vanish, later. If he killed him then and there, everyone would be afraid of him. If he followed the man himself, when he left, and made it seem as if he simply ran off, for his own protection, that would probably work well enough. People would suspect, but they wouldn’t know who to blame.

  He spoke out loud, when Master Tolan’s voice spoke inside his head. It sounded as if the man were right there, next to him.

  “Prince Alpert is to move here, securing Yanse for Istlan as Regent, his heir becoming King of Yanse, when he reaches the age of majority. The family of the former King, to the seventh in line for the throne, are to be put to death, as soon as possible. All others of that line are to be dispossessed, regardless of station. If they are of noble lineage, they must be put to death.”

  Prince Erold made a considering sound, and then smiled, softly.

  “Interesting. Father is making certain that Alpert won’t be seen as benefiting from this directly. That’s a fiction, of course. The powers of a Regent are very similar to that of a King. So, we need to round up what relatives of the former King we can find and log who they are. This is bloody work, and needs to be done in public. Hiding this won’t have the needed impact.”

 

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