Broken Rule | Chapter 32
This post is chapter thirty-two of my not-previously-published epic fantasy novel Broken Rule, which I'm serializing here on Steemit.
The story so far:
Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31
Many of the residents of Kubara had fled the city before Gavril arrived. Those that stayed either had too much wealth to move, too little wealth to worry about losing, or too much trust in the king to fear for their safety. News of the Liatians' defeat had arrived ahead of Gavril and had depressed the morale of the men who were still charged with the defense of the city. If the Liatians couldn't stop Gavril, what hope did they have?
Gavril's men arrived at the city like a swarm of locusts. If Radoslav had any sense he would have withdrawn to the small eastern section of the city, across the Redwater and accessible only by a few stone bridges or by the fleet of riverboats that brought the city much of its prosperity. Attacking across those bridges or via boat would have been difficult, and the defenders would have been able to draw things out for months, if not longer. But Radoslav's ego was too great to leave the palace, so he waited there, with nothing but city and more city between him and the advancing troops.
Beating back the defenders was far easier than exterminating goblins had been. The king's troops were completely predictable in their choice of defensive positions, occupying the larger stone buildings. Once Gavril's front lines swept past them through the streets, cutting off their escape, he had his shock troops storm the places, slaughtering anyone they found inside. Even though Gavril's troops were unfamiliar with the city they were still able to control the battlefield, delivering overwhelming numbers against each pocket of resistance.
The defenders tried to block the gates and man the parapets of the inner ring, but the buildings that pushed up against either side of that ancient structure proved to be ready-made siege engines with which Gavril's men easily gained the wall. The fighting was fierce, but the results were predictable. With too few men to properly man the walls to begin with, and faced with Gavril's experienced troops, the defenders were easily routed.
With no meaningful fortifications between the palace and Gavril's forces, the defense was hopeless. Had he wished to press the matter, Gavril could have pushed onward and completely crushed all of Radoslav's men immediately. However, he cared more about the morale of his men than in quick victory. Keeping an army happy was central to its military effectiveness, and he had no intention of letting discontent take hold in his. He allowed his formations to degenerate into gangs of men roving the streets of the outer city, looking for violence to commit or valuables to steal. Gavril had only issued one order, again and again: “No fires.” He didn't want his new city burned down around him.
Radoslav's loyal men and the remnants of the Liatian forces set up their final defense around the palace. Gavril let them wait there two days, wondering when the final attack would come, fear and despair eating away at their will to fight. When his own men finally grew tired of looting and returned to their officers for more orders, Gavril formed them up and charged the defenses. The time spent looting Kubara made his men drunk and sloppy, but the defenders' morale was low, and they were quickly overwhelmed. Radoslav sent word to the defenders to lay down their arms and surrender, but Gavril was slow to tell his own men to wind down the attack.
When Gavril's army approached the city, the nobles that remained at court had congregated in the palace for safety. They were still there now, dressed in their finest and assembled in the throne room, awaiting their fate. Gavril marched in at the head of an armed guard. Natasza came with him, currently in the guise of a voluptuous beauty with thick black hair and a sapphire blue dress. Radoslav sat on the throne, visibly quaking. At his right hand stood Prince Zakhar, doing an admirable job of keeping up a brave face, and Princess Danijela, who watched Gavril with a look of quiet apprehension. Count Evgeny stood at the king's left hand, growing more angry with each step that Gavril took toward him.
“Will you step down, Radoslav, or must I take you from the throne myself?” Gavril asked.
“I am your rightful liege and king. Your actions are the vilest treasons. I strip you of your lands and titles and encourage you to throw yourself on my mercy.”
“I think not,” the duke replied, lunging forward with a quickness that surprised everyone and sliding a dagger across Radoslav's throat. He grabbed the old king by his robes, pulled him from the chair, and threw him down onto the throne room floor in a single fluid motion. He was a frail old man underneath the crown and robes, and in the end provided no more resistance than a sack of wheat. Still, Gavril had to credit the man's will to live. Even with blood flowing freely from his wound he jerked and thrashed, clinging to life. Zakhar rushed to his father's body, soaking his fine clothes in blood. Danijela slowly moved to stand behind her husband, maintaining her dignity. Evgeny marched down next to the old king, as much tension in his body as a coiled spring, and turned his steely gaze on Gavril, who seated himself comfortably on the throne.
“Zakhar, I'm afraid that you've been a naughty boy.”
The prince turned his head slightly, torn between attending his father, who was beyond help, and facing Gavril.
“Fielding an army without the warrant of the Lord Marshal is treason in Tarkannan, Zakhar. I think I would have remembered giving warrant to you and your Liatian lackeys. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“I have nothing to say to you, you murdering swine,” he snarled.
“Very well. The sentence is death by flogging. Men, see that it's done out in the open where the people can see. I want everyone to know that I am very serious about punishing treason.” Two of Gavril's men dragged the prince away. Evgeny started to move to interpose himself, but thought better of it after a moment.
“Danijela. What shall I do with you? Shall I just kill you? With your Lancers dead and your army crushed, conquering Liat would seem to be little but a formality at this point.”
Danijela dropped into a deep curtsy, and said, “Your Majesty, Liat and Tarkannan have long been friends and allies. That friendship has endured through many kings and princes. If it were my choice, that friendship would continue.” Evgeny looked at her with a sneer.
“Now, Evgeny,” Gavril chided, “there's no call for discourtesy here in the royal court. Perhaps if you valued the affairs of state higher then your petty grudges, you wouldn't be so powerless today.” Evgeny seethed silently.
Danijela continued, “As to whether you should attempt to conquer Liat, I would counsel against it. History would tell us tales of many men who pushed too quickly for new lands before they consolidated their hold on what they had, but truthfully most who behave such are quickly forgotten.”
Natasza laughed. “I like her,” said the demon. Danijela curtsied to her as well.
Gavril smiled. This was more like it. “You are a shrewd and courteous woman, Danijela. I forgive you for the crimes of your husband. However, with your Lancers crushed, you seem far less valuable as an ally than you once were.”
“Majesty, you are quite correct. With our own forces reduced we will be forced to lean heavily on our Tarkannan allies for protection, and it would only be proper for us to send you tribute while we do so.”
“Excellent. It is good to have such an agreeable ally, Danijela. I hope that you will be able to grace us with a long visit. You had such an arduous journey to get here, after all.”
“Your Majesty, I am pleased to accept your hospitality.” She curtsied again and withdrew to stand among the other nobles. Gavril smiled and scanned the room, pondering who he would deal with next.
“Ah, Evgeny, what shall we do with you? Are you prepared to swear yourself to my service?”
“Never.”
“Oh, that's a bold statement. I wonder if it's true? I think I'll send you to the dungeon and keep you there, until you change your mind.”
“I'll die before I bend the knee to you, filth.” He drew his sword. “Fight me like a man, usurper.”
“Oh, Evgeny. I could fight you, but I don't think that would be fair to you. With your advanced age, the fight would be entirely to my advantage. No, it would only be right to face you in an arena where you are more comfortable. We must settle our dispute with gold, not steel.”
Evgeny seemed to be at a loss for words, trying to puzzle out what Gavril meant. Silencing him had been no small feat. Still, the joke wouldn't be funny to anyone else until he revealed the punch line. “Twenty gold to the man who disarms him!” Gavril's men sprung into action. One grabbed for the sword, but another delivered a devastating punch to the back of Evgeny's head, and the count fell to his hands and knees in a daze. “You see Evgeny, you do know how to kneel,” Gavril said, “you just needed a little help. I'm sure that I can find someone who will give you exactly the sort of help you need to show the proper respect to me. Men, take him to the dungeon.” Gavril's soldiers seized Evgeny and dragged him away, though he flailed and shouted as he went.
Gavril looked around the throne room with a smile. After a brief delay, two more of Gavril's men came in, dragging Bishop Vasili between them. He was struggling to walk but couldn't keep the pace that the men had set. They deposited him in a heap at the foot of the throne.
“Ah, Bishop. I believe it's customary for you to crown the king. You'll find the crown on Radoslav's head, and I assume you can figure the rest out for yourself.”
Vasili dusted himself off as he stood. “After the crimes you have committed and have been committed in your name? Never. The church will not legitimize your treason or recognize you as king.”
“You're as useless as the old ghost you serve,” Gavril declared. “I don't know why I bothered asking you in the first place. I have no more need of your Most Holy. I have something better.” He looked over to where Natasza stood at the rear of the chamber and waved her forward. As she walked to the throne she shifted her appearance, to the red skin and bat wings that were so foreign to anyone's experience but so familiar to anyone who had read the descriptions in the Blessed Book. She roughly pushed the bishop aside and he tumbled to the ground in surprise. As casually as one might pick up a dropped handkerchief she took the crown from Radoslav's corpse and placed it on Gavril's head.
“Long live the king!” shouted Gavril's men. Some of the assembled nobles joined them, and then more and more as they realized the futility of resisting the tide. The reign of King Gavril had begun.