Brave Men Die: Part 1 Read online

  Chase counted the standards on the horizon and marvelled at how quickly the soldiers had marshalled and set forth. Companies were being formed around the standards, the numbers swelling as they moved south and joined by those who no longer lived in the cities of their birth.

  He had convinced Alina to travel light, much like they had in their youth, with the reassurance they would be able to buy a suitable mourning dress in Dagenham. They had only what would fit in their saddlebags but enough coin to travel comfortably, albeit in a timely fashion.

  Accompanied by six of his most trusted men — his daughter had told him to take a full dozen for her mother’s sake — they had made good time and would arrive the day before the funeral. There had been no trouble on the highways, but it was expected that he arrive in the capital with some sort of entourage. The men would have been better spent accompanying the forces to the Gorgon Pass. Still, it was in the hands of the One God now, and he had to trust Dale and Peake to get the job done.

  He nudged his horse closer to Alina's mare and brushed his gloved fingers across her arm with a smile. Her stern look melted immediately. Chase had made the journey as easy as possible for her, doing his best to soothe her melancholy moods with smiles and the briefest of touches.

  There was no denying that Derrick’s death had a profound effect on her. He hoped that the funeral would provide much needed closure and his wife would return to Redisberg with him rather than stay on in the capital in the company of her brother. Alina was too sweet for the bitterness of Dagenham. His wife who smelt like summer, had lips that tasted like berries, and a smile that made him buckle at the knees ever since the first time he laid eyes on her.

  He would never let his sweet Alina be corrupted by Dagenham.

  Dagenham spread before them, expanding along the horizon as they approached in the afternoon heat. All banners were flying at half-mast as per the usual protocol for a death in the royal family. A passing thought occurred … how often would they be flown so in the coming months? Who else would fall once the first blow was struck? With all the Emperor’s remaining children moving south to lead the Empire’s forces and engage with the enemy, would there be any left to continue the next generation?

  They were all young. Derrick had been betrothed but hadn’t yet lain with the eldest daughter of Lord Vatell, and no rumours had reached Redisberg of him fathering any bastards that could continue his legacy. The twins’ unsettled nature had been difficult to match with anyone of rank, and it had been rumoured their maidenheads had been taken by each other on a drunken night. It would be both a brave and foolish scoundrel to offer his hand, or an old man desperate enough to throw a child into the lion’s den. And Pyxis, the calculating tactician, had decided to make a career of the military and had married the blade she carried at her hip.

  No, with the beginning of this war, it could be the end of the Jorgh Empire. Unless the old man found solace in his wife’s bed once more, if the old bastard could even still get it up.

  Chase’s years away had done nothing to change the city itself. The same artificial splendour that he had always hated was still there on the surface, a cleverly crafted façade to hide the corruption that was buried deep within. He shuddered at the thought and clutched at the hilt of his sword, soothed by the reassurance of what would be his ultimate defence. Best to come out alive and bloody than buried in a shallow grave or thrown in the shit-filled sewers.

  There was no fanfare upon their arrival. The streets were sombre and the number of guards at the gate had been tripled. Only two were active, checking paperwork as each traveller produced it at the gatehouse. The others stood bored, leaning against the stonework, waiting for something to happen. At that point, Chase thought, they’d be happy to make trouble if it meant they got to do something.

  Chase handed over his papers. The captain looked them over twice before waving his hand, signalling them through. There was no welcome courtesy, just a small scribble on a ledger as the man’s eyes went looking for the next traveller he had to sign in to the capital.

  Although Alina had wanted to stay in the palace, Chase had won the argument. He wanted to spend the least amount of time there as possible to avoid being included in the current political scheming. The minions and the shadowy rendezvous seemed to appear as from nowhere and would harass him no end to join them in this venture, or help end so-and-so’s stronghold in the whatever market.

  He was expected at the Stony Feather, a little tavern in the eastern district that once had been his wanton lair of ale and debauchery with the young women of Dagenham when he had been forced to be there — it certainly had made the excruciating experiences much more pleasurable. What he liked most about the Stony Feather, more so than the particularly good bourbon that they imported for their privileged clientele, was the fact that they were discreet. Never once had his antics been gossiped about on the street, nor did his reputation spread any further than the tavern’s main bar.

  He knew their arrival and stay would be kept from the webs of the political players and hoped that those spymasters didn’t have the barkeep’s employees on their payroll. Alina would be safe, his six men were more than capable of controlling the access to their rooms, and after the funeral they could slip away without the formal ceremony that the palace accommodation required. It was perfect.

  Chase led them around the market district, less chance of being spotted, and through the alleys of the eastern district. The streets were sparsely populated with the elderly and the very young, the war horn had already called the battle-ready south under the city’s divisional banners. The bustle of the market could be heard over the din, the usual hectic cries subdued.

  The party dismounted in front of the tavern and Chase gave his reins to Abe to take to the stables. Hugh took Alina’s and led all the horses to the small stable at the rear of the property. Two of his men entered first, only steps in front of Chase who had no patience to wait for the all clear. With Alina’s arm through his own, he led her inside the establishment that he retained the fondest of memories from his youth. The remaining two men entered moments after and stopped at the closest table to the door, taking care to position themselves well in case they were needed quickly.

  Chase walked up to the bartender, who had aged considerably since he was last here. His gut had grown bigger if that was at all possible and the handlebars of his moustache reached down his chest, growing better than the non-existent hair on his head.

  ‘You have a reservation for me?’ Chase said.

  ‘Certainly do Chase, me boy,’ the older man said with a grin. ‘It’s been a while, but when your lad came in and mentioned your name, I remembered who you were. Seven years is a long time between visits.’

  ‘I’m only here for a short time Harry, need to take care of some family business then we will be back on our way. Everything set up as per usual?’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about all that business, your boy was turning out to be a good man, nothing like his father. You’ve got your room at the back of the first floor, with the window overlooking the courtyard and the stable out the back. Room beside it has the bunks for your entourage and, as always, my girls will be discreet about your comings and goings.’

  The barkeep’s grin hinted at something more than just keeping silent about his title, but he wouldn’t make a deal about it in front of Alina. Chase slid a purse of coins across the bench, ‘That should cover the first half of the payment. We’ll be in our rooms until the funeral tomorrow. If you could bring meals up for my wife and I that would be appreciated, and my men will come down on rotation for something to eat.’

  Harry had arranged a carriage to take them to the church in the morning for the funeral service. Alina had bought a dress fitting the occasion, made of black silk that made her porcelain skin glow in comparison. She pulled at the bottom of it, lifting it to her knees as she stepped elegantly into the carriage. The driver was replaced with one of his men, two rode beside the carriage, and the others sto
od along the back of it.

  Chase was dressed in his best, as was the Kyzantine tradition for burying a royal family member. He wore what he was told was the latest fashion, something he scoffed at, even when Alina had told him he wore it well: black pants, a white button up shirt, and a matching black jacket, emblazoned with his family crest. He felt uncomfortable in the attire, but was reassured when he stepped out of the carriage in front of the Apachant Cathedral and saw every other male attending the service was dressed similarly.

  Alina’s eyes were already red from grief and she was dabbing at the tears that were threatening to ruin her beautifully mascaraed eyes. Alina gracefully took Chase’s offered hand and he helped her down the carriage’s small, awkward stairs. The crowd turned their attention to them as they strode forward. Security around the cathedral was paramount — the five-foot spiked fence was supported by armed men and women at every panel.

  The Dagenham populace were crowding around the cathedral, mourning their Prince. They were openly weeping for the loss of Derrick and somewhere in the swell of people, the mourning chants were beginning.

  Chase, stoic, led his grieving wife past the line of security and into the cathedral proper. Greeted by one of the archbishop’s offsiders, he spoke the One God’s prayer and handed them an order of service. Chase took one of them to share and ushered Alina into the well-lit cathedral. The stained glass windows depicted scenes from the One Book, pews lined both sides of the central aisle and the archbishop stood motionless at the podium beside the coffin.

  The pews were already three-quarters full as the DeViles made their way closer to the front. Since Derrick was their nephew, they were entitled to sit in the front few rows and when Chase had suggested it in the carriage, Alina had only shaken her head. They slid into a pew on the left, apologising as they squeezed past an elderly couple neither of them recognised.

  The organ on the terrace above started to play and the Emperor and Lady Carolyn walked down the central aisle to the front of the cathedral and took their seats. The room was silent as the organ music faded and the archbishop began the service.

  The old man spoke about Derrick’s life, his achievements and those that he left behind. When asked, no one got up to share their personal memories of Derrick with the congregation and Alina gasped at the disrespect it showed. Chase knew that his parents would never make that kind of emotional display and most of the attendees would be too intimidated to step forward.

  He put his hand on Alina’s knee and stood up. He straightened his suit jacket and strode confidently toward the coffin, ignoring the gawking faces. He paused in front of the coffin, bowed slightly out of respect, and moved to the podium. He gripped it by the sides, then for the first time looked out at the faces of the crowded cathedral.

  He had led more men to battle. He’d lost more men in battle. This group, despite their titles and nobility, could never faze him. There was something about the first sentence you spoke when addressing a crowd. Chase couldn’t help but pause, and prepared to alter his voice to the commanding tone he used on the field of battle.

  Chase’s eyes passed over the Emperor and his wife and could see the slightest hint of gratitude in their eyes.

  ‘Derrick Jorgh, Commander of the Empire, son of the One God’s Chosen, Emperor Sebastion Jorgh and Lady Carolyn, died in the service of the Empire. At twenty-six he had his entire life before him, yet had achieved so much during such a short existence on this earth.

  ‘He was a leader of men. His company was victorious on the island of Kadia against the uprising led by Lord Spitt. They successfully stormed the bastion and quashed the rebellion.’ Chase didn’t mention that Derrick had ordered the capture of Lord Spitt’s family and executed them in front of the defeated army. ‘He would always lead his men from the front, never taking a backseat and ordering a charge. Derrick had proven himself time and time again and deserved the acclaim that he had created for himself.

  ‘His family couldn’t have asked for a better son, a better brother, or better nephew. The Empire buries a son today, a great man that had the potential to do great things. May the One God take him and protect him.’

  Chase stepped from the podium, nodded to Derrick’s coffin, and returned to Alina’s side. She gently touched his leg as he took his seat and her silent gesture was all the thanks he needed.

  The service went quickly after that. The archbishop prayed for the One God to collect his soul, the organist played again and then six soldiers that had been previously selected as pallbearers stepped forward and carried the coffin out of the cathedral. The Emperor and Lady Carolyn followed it first, then the rest of the mourners.

  The coffin was carried to the family mausoleum and the immediate family followed as it was led behind the cathedral. The soldiers carried it down the stairs and underground, walking the torch-lit path to the final resting place of the former heir of the Kyzantine Empire.

  Chase wrapped his arm around Alina’s shoulders as the tears covered her cheeks in the dim light of the crypt. He stood there as they lowered the coffin onto the stone and she put her head on his shoulder, and he said a silent goodbye to the nephew he respected but never cared for.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A lone cavalier rode at the front of the Kyzantine vanguard, long black hair blowing in the wind. Her dark cloak drifted behind her, exposing her petite armoured frame. The stallion cantered along at a steady pace over the gravel and dirt road that wound its way through the base of the mountains.

  Metres back rode her entourage: two standard bearers, the second in command, and her personal mounted bodyguards. The flag of the Empire flew the highest, the insignia of the Kyzantine royal family — the hippogriff on chequered black and red — heralding the invasion of the mighty Empire. The second, flying scant distance below, was hers, a unicorn on black and purple.

  The columns of thousands marched silently through the Fatelli Pass in the dark shadows of the mountains, only the groan of their shifting armour or the jingle of steel daring to speak. The gates of Iron Talon thudded and creaked open before them as the stationed guards stood silently at attention.

  The Kyzantine flag fluttered high from the tower top, the stone walls merging with the sides of the mountains. The fortress was beautiful and daunting. It had stood for over fourteen hundred years, built by the twenty-first Emperor of the Empire. The Church had instructed that they must seal the land from the enemy and they had, keeping the witches and their magic away from the people.

  The Fatelli Pass was broken in two by the Cerebus Valley that lay roughly in the middle. The Murukans had built Black Claw Gate in answer to Iron Talon and each effectively controlled their own ends. It wasn’t until centuries later that the Gorgon and Musea Passes through the Callisto Mountains had been found by the enemy. They both opened into Murukia before Tyrea had claimed the land around the Musea Pass five centuries ago. Yet both fortifications were still manned by Murukans as they had been for centuries before. The Emperor at the time conceded to the enemy, but had outlook stations built beside where they opened into the Empire to ensure they were used only for trade.

  The drawbridge was lowered and Pyxis rode across the sturdy wooden platform, taking a second to glance down either side. The three metre wide trench was at least three metres deep and filled with sharpened spikes. There was no getting over that. The outside of the walls had been scorched before, the remnants of blackened charcoal still seared random patches of stone.

  The clatter of her entourage filled her head as they crossed the bridge behind her, followed by the thousands of willing feet of her infantry. Behind them, the bishop and his escort, followed by the Tarkinholm cavalry. Soon enough, war would start.

  The morning sun crept into the pass and Pyxis raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare. In merely a couple of hundred metres she would enter the valley and with it the sunshine. Warmth ran through her body at the merest thought of the sun but Pyxis stopped herself from giving her mount his head and racing to
the light.

  Barely an hour had passed before the trail opened into the Cerebus Valley and all of the Tarkinholm force had emerged from the mountain pass. They had double-timed it once the blue sky and sunshine came in to view. Pyxis glanced up to the east, finally seeking the sun and its warmth. It had been two weeks hard march with little rest. They had left Tarkinholm the morning after the assassination, preparing everything through the night and setting out as dawn broke. Messengers were sent across the Empire assembling it for war. Orders were given to Redisberg and Skyview to attack the Gorgon and Musea Passes immediately.

  But the true power lay in Dagenham, the capital of Kyzantium where her father’s throne sat. The standing army at Dagenham was five times the size of Tarkinholm’s and the army would march with the blessing of the Church, conscripting citizens that had previously served and were still able to fight during the march south.

  Pyxis herself had ordered Cunx to escort the bishop into the two towns that they passed and recruit any they could spare. From the age of sixteen, every citizen of the Empire served in the military until the age of twenty three. Once dismissed, they were free to live their lives as they chose or could remain and make it a career. However, it was made clear that as a citizen they were required to return to serve if war broke out and the Empire was under threat.

  In her urgency and determination to be the first to attack any of the passes Pyxis had taken the direct path to Iron Talon and thus they had missed a lot of the towns that could have fed her army with troops and supplies. The two hundred extra men and women who had volunteered would be put to good use.

  Guilt weighed heavily on her soul for missing Derrick’s funeral service. It was in his honour that she had ridden out the very next morning to avenge him, to see that justice was done. It would have only been a front, a public display for the nobility to show their loyalty to her father and the Church. None of them cared for her brother, not even her father who would have sacrificed his life ten times over if it secured his control of the Empire.