Indomitus Sum (The Fovean Chronicles Book 4) by Brady Robert

Author:Brady, Robert [Brady, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-12-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

The Road to Conquest

Tartan Stowe left the Battle of the Vice, as it was being called, with 2,500 mounted warriors, give or take a few dozen. Because the Emperor had taught them to use alcohol and witch hazel and ‘conventional healers,’ the only Knights who died after the battle suffered of their wounds in the two week march south to Angador, his duchy in the south, the bastion against Toor and producer of some of the finest horses on Fovea.

For two weeks he wondered what had become of the expert tracker, Jean who, as the battle roared, melted into the chaos and did not return. He’d hoped to make that woman part of his personal army.

For two weeks, he listened to his wife Yeral complain they had suffered more than any other, that they had turned the battle, and been less rewarded, not so much as thanked, for their efforts.

Now the noble walls of Angador, pennons snapping from her eight towers, took all of that away.

“Your glorious city, my Lord,” J’lek informed him, as if he needed to be reminded.

“Once we’re inside, we must contact Central Communications in Galnesh Eldador, and we should

demand—” Yeral began.

Tartan nodded and just tuned her out. He’d done that a lot these past weeks. She’d become more irascible since the Confluni had been sighted on Eldadorian soil. When he’d returned from the battle, bloody and victorious and feeling like a true son of the Emperor, her callous complaining had all but ruined it for him.

This wasn’t characteristic of Yeral, and left him at a loss to deal with her.

“I want a week of liberty for these warriors,” Tartan informed J’lek, interrupting his wife, then added, “in-city,” when the Uman raised an eyebrow. “Send scouts out on three days ride. If anyone is seen coming—”

He interrupted himself when two squads of mounted warriors thundered out of his city’s open gates. They flew his personal pennons, meaning they were either under his command or en route to him, the latter being more likely.

Tartan’s eyes swept his towers. Sure enough, over the gate, a new pennon not his own.

“Ceberro,” he said aloud.

“Your Grace?” J’lek asked him.

Tartan pointed. Behind him he heard thunder rumble. Late spring storms—bad ones. Interspersed with that, his warriors were passing the news about the liberty.

“Over the gate,” he said, “where I’ll see it, first thing, the fist on the anvil—Ceberro’s personal pennon.

“Ceberro has returned to Angador.”

* * *

“Your Highness,” the Uman serving girl interrupted her.

Lee looked up from her writing desk in her new, personal rooms outside of the nursery, in the royal tower. She’d chosen the ones vacated by Alekennen, Glennen Stowe’s daughter.

As a grown man now, Vulpe wouldn’t sleep in the nursery. As his sister, she’d chosen him a room one floor lower than hers, once belonging to Tartan Stowe.

One floor lower, presumably to allow him to protect her from attack. She’d be damned if she’d stay in the nursery when her younger brother had left it. She doubted very much her mother would even raise an eyebrow.

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