Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 37
The bodyguards closed the distance with unexpected confidence in their newfound abilities. Did they believe drinking a potion made them equal to Grant’s small group of skilled mercenaries?
The bodies strewn across the courtyard wore the blood-stained tabards of the Order of the Star or the queen’s colors should have been a warning. The Arcane Mercenaries could do this without access to their abilities, and Grant’s team was ready for this fight, no matter what surprise came next.
Magic changed a person. It altered their lives. Being StarTouched had nothing to do with invincibility.
Grant deflected the first blow aimed at his neck and slid backward as the bodyguard tried to trip him with a foot sweep combined with a gravity slam. Grant canceled the gravity push and readied his weapon for the next attack.
His opponent tried a combination of blows, a skilled sequence of attacks that would have cut down someone with skills limited to the training ground. It was a common routine used by many masters to force their pupils to keep their feet moving and anticipate the next attack.
Grant allowed his opponent to gain confidence that the blows surprised Grant and made him desperate. He let the blade master’s sword slide against his length of steel and moved his feet to the side. When students became desperate to avoid the blinding blade, they made mistakes.
But Grant wasn’t a student in a training yard, and this wasn’t a tournament for a prize.
He slid his dagger out of his sheath between the broad, arcing blows and slammed the length into his opponent’s thigh beneath the chain armor and between the plates guarding his legs. The training routine was meant for opponents wielding swords, not an unconventional fighter with decades of combat experience.
The wound healed as soon as Grant withdrew the blade. StarTouched power poured into the gaping flesh, sealing the slash before the man bled out. The soldier limped as energy coursed through his veins.
Grant pressed the attack on the man’s strong side, the one with the wounded leg. The bodyguard hobbled and tried to get his shield between them. Gravity spiked as Grant advanced, but he waved it off with another thought.
The seasoned mercenary captain kept his armor and weapons light to preserve his strength for a long fight. He despised fighting the StarTouched, but this man had no experience with his abilities. Grant sensed his opponent fumble with his magic as he channeled the energy to heal.
Grant used the distraction to launch another series of attacks and landed a blow across the bodyguard’s sword arm. Armor parted, and rings popped. More energy flowed as the bodyguard healed immediately after the slashing strike.
The smirk of confidence was gone as Grant lined up another sequence of attacks. Only the grim determination to survive remained. The man did his duty and kept his body between Grant and the fallen queen, but he was running out of room to maneuver against Grant’s skilled attacks.
“It’s fading,” Jakar said as he traded blows with his opponent.
Tytus Gornick’s experiments solved nothing. Grant wanted to be angry. The one person who could resolve the curse of StarFall couldn’t find a cure. All that research and the man developed weapons instead of healing.
As Grant narrowly dodged a skilled thrust that would have carved out his intestines, he was thankful the scientist hadn’t duplicated the full effects of being StarTouched. These bodyguards were skilled opponents and would have been a welcome addition to the Arcane Mercenaries.
They weren’t StarTouched. Tytus Gornick couldn’t duplicate their powers, and the truth appeared in the bodyguard’s eyes. Their power faded.
“Wound them,” Grant ordered. “Make them use up their energy.”
The Arcane Mercenaries shifted their tactics and delivered crippling rather than lethal blows. They carved through flesh, tendons, and muscles, forcing the bodyguards to pour more energy into healing.
Their energy faded, and they bled.
“Use it now,” Tytus Gornick shrieked, poking his head from behind the cover and yelling toward the inn’s upper floors.
Ez was done with the man’s revelations and blasted her pistol into Tytus Gornick’s head. The shot ended the maniacal laugh with thunder and flame. The body slammed backward against the stable wall and slumped to the side.
She spun toward the upper floor and tried to raise her second pistol in her left hand.
A crossbow fired, but Grant didn’t sense it would impact any of his companions. He was growing tired from the healing and the fighting and let it impact yards away from the brawling mercenaries.
He wished he hadn’t.
The air filled with a silver hue as a shockwave of invisible magic blasted through the courtyard. The explosion ripped the steel shaft into tiny shards, but there wasn’t enough energy to turn those pieces into deadly projectiles.
The surviving warriors stopped and checked themselves for injuries. When they found none, they continued their struggle.
Grant felt the effects first. His blade became heavy in his hand, and his armor weighed across his shoulders and upper back. Wounds seeped and ached, and he couldn’t ignore the cumulative injuries from fighting so many skilled soldiers.
Another anti-magic round sapped them of their strength, but the only ones who felt it were the Arcane Mercenaries.
It was Tytus Gornick’s last play. A bolt that could deliver a blow to their StarTouched abilities needed perfect timing. It leveled the odds against the Arcane Mercenaries and flushed the residual effects from the queen and her bodyguard.
Queen Fraunces tried to blink her eyes and recover from her exhaustion, and her bodyguards found energy in their restored hope. With extended use, StarTouched ability created fatigue and exhaustion, but Gornick’s final weapon removed that side effect from the vial users.
The only people who were in danger now were Grant and his companions. Ez had fired her last shot and drew her blade.
The Arcane Mercenaries flowed back into a defensive line. They fought with blades and shields as a unit, carving anyone who came too close.
The queen’s bodyguard withdrew to a perimeter around the recovering queen, allowing the soldiers around the Rusty Tankard to storm the mercenaries. It was a good strategy, a variation of the one Grant had just employed against the bodyguards. Force the mercenaries to use their abilities to heal and protect themselves while wearing down their reserves.
The three hundred soldiers protecting the queen would eventually get lucky.
Grant relied on the fact the soldiers weren’t willing to die by the dozens because the queen commanded it. Their morale wavered as the StarTouched soldiers fought with lethal intensity and skill none could match.
They used the lull to shift forward and attack the protective ring of bodyguards. The soldiers parted as the mercenaries picked up momentum and pressed the attack toward the queen. Their objective was in sight, and the guards made a half-hearted effort to stop them.
The bodyguards were the last line of defense, and they knew the odds. The mercenaries couldn’t access their powers, but that wouldn’t matter in a few moments. With or without magic, the Arcane Mercenaries would gain their objective.
Grant felt the first trickle of energy seep into his veins. His wounds closed, and his energy returned. His friends fought with renewed vigor and must have felt their power return. Gornick’s last weapon had the same flaw as the others.
It was a terrifying tool when combined with an all-out attack against a confused or disoriented StarTouched soldier. But its short time frame meant the effects couldn’t be used unsupported by another attack. With restored powers, the bodyguards had no chance.
The first two fell before the queen got back to her feet. She picked up her gilded sword from the ground and looked ready to fight. Her grip was good, and Grant bet she had plenty of hours of training at her disposal.
They couldn’t kill the queen. History would remember the Arcane Mercenaries as assassins, and Grant didn’t need another nickname like Queenslayer.
“I’m ready to discuss the terms of surrender,” Queen Fraunces said. She might be the Icy Queen, but she was also a survivalist.
The soldiers and bodyguards didn’t make another attack after the proclamation.
He heard her correctly.
Queen Fraunces of the House of Treningham came forward. Her eyes didn’t glow with golden orbs, and Grant didn’t sense the faintest touch of magic in her anymore. She reversed her blade and offered the hilt to General Grant Gwydian.
It was the formal sign of her surrender.
68
QUEEN
Grant accepted the sword and raised it over his head for all combatants to see. His team celebrated with raw throats and weary bodies. The flux of Gornick’s energy-denying weapons sapped their strength far more than the battlefield use of their abilities. But nothing restored energy like claiming victory.
The queen’s soldiers lowered their shields and dropped their blades. The clang and clatter of weapons felt as good as holding the queen’s sword. Only one of Jakar's soldiers had survived, and Rienne was tending to multiple injuries. It soured the taste of victory, but they would be remembered as the group that stood against hundreds and captured the queen.
Grant committed the faces of his fallen comrades to memory and would get the names from Jakar. Ez never had to remind him to write letters home to the families of record. Some had no relatives or connections to return personal items to, and Grant hoped none of these soldiers were in that situation.
Dozens of bodies littered the courtyard. The queen's guard had taken a heavy blow from the Arcane Mercenaries, but Grant would not write to their families. They had fought bravely, given the odds, and he hoped the queen took her responsibilities as a commander as seriously as he did.
Grant slipped the queen’s blade into his belt and sheathed his sword. Fatigue washed over him, but he didn’t have time to be tired.
“Terms of surrender?” Rienne prompted Grant, snapping him out of his mental fog.
“I’m sorry, your majesty,” Grant said, straightening his back. “What are your terms?”
“An opportunity to bury our dead and care for the wounded.” Queen Fraunces stood tall, with her hands pressed against her abdomen as if posing for an artist to capture in oil paint.
Grant didn’t tell her no one would record the moment of her surrender.
“Done,” he said. “What else?”
“I would like to set the price of my ransom,” Queen Fraunces said.
Grant was momentarily speechless as he struggled for breath. Should he mock the Queen of Ismore or highlight the bodies strewn throughout the courtyard? Ransom?
“I’m sorry, my lady, did I hear you correctly? Ransom?” Grant asked.
Rienne shot him a warning glance. Dominick needed a political victory to secure his place on the throne. Grant had a small window to guarantee peace.
He was the wrong officer for the job.
“It’s customary to offer ransom to the knights and officers of an army,” Queen Fraunces said, talking down to him like a servant.
Grant detested that smug expression. Aristocracy perfected the art of condescension and wielded it like a fine blade. He wasn’t a peasant toiling in the muck. Anger boiled, replacing the excitement of the victory.
“I’ll order your hands tied and have you thrown in the wine cellar,” Grant said.
“I’ll not be treated like… like….” Queen Fraunces stumbled for the words as she looked at the soldiers near the inn.
“Finish that sentence, your highness,” Grant said. “Like what? A common soldier?”
She wisely shut her mouth.
“Queen Fraunces,” Rienne stepped between Grant and the queen, “we can guarantee your safety, but we should defer the question of ransom.”
“Is General Grant in command of this operation?” The queen was back to her full self. The exhaustion of her magical potion was gone.
“He is,” Rienne said.
“Then he will be the one to set the ransom, and I wish to negotiate those terms.”
“No,” Grant said. “I’m not discussing ransom and locking you in a gilded cage with servants to tend to your needs. You are a battlefield prisoner, and I will treat you well. But it will be battlefield conditions.”
“General, think about what you are giving up. You could have the wealth of a nation at your fingertips. Ismore will pay my ransom. Whatever you ask.”
Grant was unmoved by the proposition. His bank accounts across various nations were already overflowing from his successful tenure as a mercenary leader in the Mage Wars. The fortune she offered was a chore for accountants, not a lure for a battle-scarred officer.
Money couldn’t buy him what he wanted.
“Ismore might not pay at all,” Rienne said. “Duke Ardwick is a close confidant of Prince Dominick. He informed us about your vacation away from the capital.”
The queen was a practiced politician and gave no outward burst of emotion with the revelation. The only hint was a subtle tensing around her eyes. The Icy Queen would bide her time and exact her vengeance on Henry Ardwick when the moment was ripe.
“Others rally to Dominick’s banner,” Grant said. “Ardwick brings many to his side, but others follow because they believe in the man. I won’t set ransom until Dominick’s coronation.”
"The church won't permit it," the queen countered. She resumed her regal posture and peered down at the mercenaries. "There will be no coronation given the agreements I've forged with the church."
“It seems like we have an important point to discuss, my lady,” Rienne said. “Those agreements would be nullified if Dominick orders a public execution. The church might reconsider its stance with your removal.”
An execution would put a permanent end to the queen’s influence over a future rebellion or a renewed civil war, Grant thought. He didn’t relish the brutal political battles in Dominick’s future.
A shade of color drained from the queen's face as she considered her fate.
"The church is a formidable adversary, and the prince's alliance with the StarTouched will incite public outrage. A smattering of commoners, some minor nobility, and a few StarTouched won't withstand in this kingdom," she voiced. Her regal demeanor seemed to waver. She might be attempting to persuade herself.
“We’ve dealt with the church in Alenann,” Ez said.
“So I’ve heard,” the queen said. “And I recall dispatching a delegation to congratulate Empress Antonia, not Empress Sina. Cardinal Wallner was quite a spectacle during the ceremony.”
Ez bit her lip.
“We need to reach an agreement,” Grant said, tired of this discussion. The battle weighed on him. “I’m tempted to treat you as a prisoner of war and wait until Dominick arrives.”
He turned his back on the queen and motioned to his friends.
“What’s the agreement?” She pretended not to be interested in his offer, but Grant knew otherwise.
His mind raced. What did Dominick need to start his kingdom? What would he expect from the queen? He turned back to Queen Fraunces.
“Issue the order to your admiralty to end the blockades and return all ships to their home ports.”
The queen bit her lip but nodded.
Grant found confidence.
“Your armies will return to their garrison, and your vassals will return to their homes with their armies.”
“Keep their weapons?” Rienne prompted.
Grant considered ordering the queen’s vast armies to lay down their arms and surrender their horses and heavy equipment. That could spark significant resentment toward Dominick, but leaving the weapons in their hands could arm a new revolution or spark a renewed civil war. Neither was a good choice.
“They keep their weapons, but they must pledge not to take up arms against Dominick and his heirs,” Grant said.
Dominick would want it that way. He’d been a generous ruler to this point and needed the support of the queen’s closest cohort. Keeping their arms and armor might be a show of a fresh start, but it would be a bitter pill for the queen.
“I want amnesty for my followers and vassals,” the queen said.
“Agreed,” Grant said. “Any who pick up arms against the king will surrender their amnesty.”
“Anything else?” the queen asked. She certainly had more on her mind.
“Release of prisoners and care for the wounded,” Grant said. “Regardless of which side the soldiers fought on, they will be treated with honor and dignity.”
“Agreed,” the queen said.
“You must be wondering about your fate,” Rienne said without making it a question.
The queen didn’t miss a beat as she faced the bard. “I’m waiting for the terms of parole or ransom.”
Grant hadn’t been authorized to offer either of those. He had planned to capture the queen and return her to Dominick’s camp. He didn’t want to deal with her pompous behavior.
All eyes fell on Grant again as he clutched the queen’s sword thrust through his belt.
“I offer you safe passage through the lines to Dominick’s camp. He did not delegate the authority to determine your fate. I suggest you and your nobles live up to your end of the bargain,” Grant said.
“Who will escort me through the lines if my nobles take up the terms of your amnesty?”
“The Arcane Mercenaries, your majesty,” Jafran said. “You’ve never been safer.”
69
STARFALL
The queen summoned the royal scribes to attend her in the Rusty Tankard. They crafted a hundred copies of the surrender documents and arrayed their handiwork in front of the queen and Grant for their signatures.
Restoring order to the queen’s entourage took hours. Soldiers refused to lay down their arms until they saw the queen’s seal ordering their capitulation. Aristocrats and courtiers gravitated towards the Tankard to validate the authenticity of the declaration, and they exited bewildered, having witnessed the queen in complete command of her faculties and surrounded by the Arcane Mercenaries.
