An Imperial Gambit (Wardens of Issalia Book 3) Read online

  An Imperial Gambit

  Wardens of Issalia, Book Three

  Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Fallbrandt Press

  © 2018 by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-949382-03-7

  PUBLISHED BY JEFFREY L. KOHANEK and FALLBRANDT PRESS

  www.JeffreyLKohanek.com

  Contents

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Journal Entry

  Prologue

  1. Unnecessary Risk

  2. Potential

  3. Danger

  4. The First Tile

  5. Knife of Despair

  6. A New Order

  7. Within the Void

  8. Awakenings

  9. Rangers

  10. All for a Map

  11. Reclamation

  12. Tension

  13. Dire Straits

  14. Spuretti

  15. Deathtrap

  16. Ghost Town

  17. Madness

  18. The Return

  19. Confrontation

  20. Internal Conflict

  21. Imperial Gambit

  22. Servant

  23. New Objective

  24. Misdirection

  25. Thief of Hearts

  26. Missive

  27. Survival

  28. Surrender

  29. A Flash

  30. Colossus

  31. The Jolted Jackaroo

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Runes of Issalia

  The Buried Symbol: Runes of Issalia Book 1

  The Emblem Throne: Runes of Issalia Book 2

  An Empire in Runes: Runes of Issalia Book 3

  Runes of Issalia Boxed Set

  * * *

  Heroes of Issalia: Runes Series+Rogue Legacy

  * * *

  Rogue Legacy: Runes of Issalia Prequel

  Wardens of Issalia

  A Warden’s Purpose: Wardens of Issalia Book 1

  The Arcane Ward: Wardens of Issalia Book 2

  An Imperial Gambit: Wardens of Issalia Book 3

  More coming in 2019…

  Journal Entry

  The game is afoot – a game like no other. The world is my Ratio Bellicus board. The game pieces are real people with hopes and dreams and lives they believe they control. I know the truth of it – a truth my peers don’t even acknowledge.

  While my enemy hides their pieces from me, I know the hand that moves them. In that knowledge, I have an advantage. My opponent’s motivation remains clear and they all believe in that clarity. They see Chaos as evil. I see it as a tool, not so different from a knife. A knife can carve beauty from wood, slice an apple, or stab someone through the heart. How the tool is used defines its purpose. Magic is no different.

  To my opponent, my hand remains hidden – my game pieces and their abilities unknown to them. Within this subterfuge, I study and consider, and I scheme. I shift a game piece here and move another there. The game pieces used are as important as the schemes guiding them.

  My prodigy and her counterpart now dwell inside enemy headquarters, feeding from a well of misguided trust as they prepare for an act of betrayal. Sometimes, piercing your opponent’s heart actually becomes the knife’s purpose.

  There may soon come a time where I become an active participant rather than simply the hand that directs others. When the time comes, my enemy best beware that I am well versed in knives and betrayal. Beware the hidden assassin, for a successful Imperial Gambit hinges on the placement of such a game piece.

  From the journals of Master Espion, Delvin Garber

  Prologue

  Six Years Ago

  With a meaty fist gripping the back of his shirt, Ikonis stumbled to one knee and splashed down in the narrow ditch. He pinched his nose at the revolting smell and began to gag. The guard lifted Iko to his feet and chuckled. The men surrounding the nearby fire laughed with him.

  “You’d think growing up in this dump would’ve taught you to step over the runoff from the jakes,” the man said aloud, stirring another round of laughter.

  “Good one, Scully,” one of the guards sitting beside the fire remarked.

  Jerking the back of Iko’s tunic, Scully hurried him past the fire. Iko grimaced, knowing that his leg would now stink until he could clean it. Scant chance of that happening tonight, he thought.

  As the firelight faded behind them, the darkness rushed in. Clouds above masked the stars and left the canyon darker than normal – so dark that Iko found himself imagining things in the darkness. Evil things. Things that could kill as quick as thought. Yet, he thanked Issal for the darkness. It improved his chances of surviving the night. More than any other night, this one would determine the path of his life – if a path even remained come morning.

  With a hand pressed against his back, Scully guided Iko so fast that he had to rush his steps to avoid falling face first. In the darkness, he focused on the ground a stride ahead to avoid any other missteps.

  A building materialized, the pale walls flickering dimly from the distant fire. When Iko reached the door, Scully pulled him aside. The guard’s keys jingled as he fumbled for the right one. A moment later, the key slid into the lock and it clicked. With a bang, the guard shoved the door open, and pale blue light bled from the interior. He spun Iko around and used a key to unlock the shackles about the boy’s wrists. Iko felt warm breath on his neck when Scully leaned close.

  “Remember exactly what I told you,” Scully whispered before shoving Iko in.

  Stumbling forward, Iko caught himself by the foot of a bed, narrowly avoiding falling. He stood and turned toward the open door.

  The guard bellowed. “In the future, don’t drink so much water. I don’t enjoy these late night latrine runs. Next time, I might make you wait until morning.” Scully’s gaze swept across the prisoners in the bunkhouse, forty-eight in total, and he bellowed. “Get to bed, you scum! We have a long day in the mines tomorrow.” He laughed as he pulled the door closed and locked it.

  Iko turned to find his mother in the middle of the room, standing beside Kardan. The others began to gather around the pair as they always had. Iko strode down the aisle, the waiting crowd splitting to create a path for him. At the center, surrounded by adults ranging from thirty summers to beyond sixty, thirteen-year-old Iko found all eyes on him.

  “What did Sculdin say?” His mother asked.

  “Tonight’s the night. After the fire has died down and the guards are asleep.” Iko dug into the waistline of his tattered trousers, lifting his prize high for everyone to see. “I have a copy of the bunkhouse key. Once all is quiet, I am to climb out the east window. Scully said that the bars have been pried loose. We should be able to knock them free so I can squeeze through. Once outside, I am to unlock the doors, but everyone is to remain in the bunkhouse until the signal.”

  “Very good, Ikonis,” she crooned while rubbing his dark, unkempt h
air. “What exactly is the signal?”

  Iko shrugged. “I’m not sure, mother. He said we would know when it came. Once we hear it, we must take the guards down quickly.”

  His mother gave him a tight smile and a nod before she turned toward the people clustered around them. “You heard Ikonis. I suggest you get some rest, but be ready for the call. When it comes, we will have a small window to act. Everything hinges on tonight.”

  The bunkhouse was dark, lit only by a waning glowlamp in the corner. Iko stood on his bed, peering out the window. Conversation among the guards had ended hours earlier, along with the glow of the fire, which had faded to orange embers. Shadows slipped past, eclipsing the light as a pair of guards walked toward the wall.

  “It is time, Iko,” his mother whispered.

  He turned toward her and climbed off the bed to stare into her dark eyes, now at the same height as his own. Given another year, he would be taller than his mother and perhaps as tall as his father one day. He hoped to live that long. Tonight, his future balanced on a blade, threatening to fall in either direction – death or freedom. Odd, he thought. Both choices are a form of freedom. Either way, he would never work in the mines again.

  Iko gripped the key in his fist. “I’m ready, Mother.”

  “I believe in you, Ikonis. May Issal watch over you.”

  With a deep breath, he crossed the room to the window where Kardan waited.

  “Give me a moment.” Kardan turned and gripped one of the thick iron rods that barred the window. “The bars are loose, as the man said.”

  Kardan’s biceps bulged as he began applying pressure. Despite an age approaching fifty summers, the former master paladin retained his strength, hardened by more than a decade of laboring in the mines. The first bar snapped off and Kardan dropped it on the empty bed beside him. After pulling two more bars free, Kardan strained against the third, but it would not budge.

  “I think I can fit,” Iko said.

  The man appraised Iko with narrowed eyes before nodding. “Come here. I’ll lift you.”

  Iko moved closer and Kardan lifted him, flipping him around so his calloused feet fit through the bars first.

  “You stink, boy,” Kardan whispered.

  “Sorry,” Iko said as the man fed him through the window. “I slipped in the latrine ditch.”

  When his hips were through, Iko lowered his legs toward the ground while Kardan supported him. Iko then lifted his arms over his head to make himself narrow. Even then, Kardan had to push against Iko’s head to squeeze him through. Suddenly freed, Iko fell to his feet and landed on his rear in the sand, his fist still clenching their key to freedom.

  He stood and snuck along the building before peeking around the front. Although Iko knew that guards patrolled the top of the wall, he couldn’t see them in the darkness – the same darkness that would mask his own movement.

  Hugging the wall, Iko crept to the door and slid the key into the lock. With a turn and some pressure, it clicked. He immediately snuck back around the corner and – remaining on his toes for stealthy footsteps – ran to the next building.

  With the second door unlocked, he moved to the third. Far from the fire, the darkness held firm, his surroundings nothing but shadows and gloom. Anyone, or anything, could be right beside him and Iko wouldn’t know it. Thoughts of monsters or demons or something even worse began to creep into his head and sent his pulse pounding. He stopped with his back against the wall of the third bunkhouse and waited for his nerves to calm. When he was about to move to the fourth building, a rustling sound arose from ahead. Terror seized him, clenched a firm grip around his throat, and held his breath captive.

  Footsteps came from behind the fourth building, and shadows shifted in the darkness. Two guards strolled across the yard, their silhouettes barely visible. The guards walked right past Iko, close enough for him to catch a whiff of their unwashed bodies.

  “What’s that smell?” one man asked. “Did you soil yourself?”

  Iko almost gasped when he realized that they smelled the soiled leg of his trousers.

  The other man snorted. “Not me. I thought it was you.”

  They were past him now.

  “You should try standing downwind from yourself. You’re no flower, you know.”

  “How am I supposed to stand downwind from myself?”

  “I dunno.”

  “Yeah. Next time, think before you say something so stupid.”

  Their voices faded in the distance. Iko released his breath and found himself panting, his heart racing. If I had not stopped, I would have run right into them.

  He shook his head to clear it. Focus, he told himself as he padded toward the last building. When he reached it, he put his back to the wall and peered around the corner. Darkness…until light abruptly flared from behind him.

  Iko spun around as an explosion of green flame blasted the prison wall apart. Despite the wall standing hundreds of feet away, the force of the blast washed over him – a deep thump followed by a wave of heat that made him cover his face. He lowered his arm to find a cloud of smoke and dust, swirling to reveal a massive gap in the wall – a gap filled with orange flames. Scattered burning debris lay throughout the compound.

  The door to the first bunkhouse opened, and prisoners poured from the building. Kardan and his mother ran to the nearest bunkhouse and opened the door as Iko realized he had yet to unlock the fourth building. He scrambled to the door, inserted the key, twisted, and threw the door open.

  “We are taking the prison!” Iko screamed. “Come out and fight for your freedom!”

  The people inside sat up from their beds and stared toward Iko with wide eyes and gaping mouths. In seconds, those expressions morphed into something Iko had never before seen on those faces, not in the entire thirteen years he had spent with them: hope. They scrambled out of bed and barreled toward the door.

  Iko turned and ran ahead of the mob, joining the others as they poured from the bunkhouses. All of a sudden, a man in front of Iko lurched, spun about, and fell with an arrow in his chest. The woman to his right stumbled to her knees, choking on the arrow in her throat. Iko’s gaze went to the wall, and he found guards upon it, loosing arrows toward the crowd.

  The door to the guard barracks opened and armed men emerged. The mob hit them in a flash. Prisoners died, but they greatly outnumbered the guards. Swords from the dead guards appeared in prisoners’ hands. Arrows struck more prisoners – in the arm, in the shoulder, in the head. Iko then spotted another guard atop the wall. The new guard raised a bow and fired, taking out the nearest bowman. It was Sculdin.

  Sculdin ran along the wall and shot again, taking out another bowman. Before he could kill the third, the man noticed Sculdin, turned, and fired, the arrow striking Sculdin in the shoulder. Sculdin’s bow fell from the wall and a knife appeared in his other hand. He threw it, the blade spinning until it struck the last bowman in the forehead. Iko turned away as the guard fell from the ramparts.

  Eight more guards rushed out the door at the far end of the guard barracks. Among them was the one Iko feared the most: the arcanist.

  The arcanist’s eyes glowed bright red – a sign of his dark magic coming to bear. A rune drawn on the hand of a guard beside the arcanist flared with a crimson hue, glowing, pulsing…fading.

  The guard stumbled and then righted himself. A grin appeared on his face. Twisted. Evil. Although the guard stood a hundred feet away, Iko found himself backing up. The guard leaped, and Iko’s jaw dropped. When the man landed in front of Iko, he swept his sword in a wide arc – the blade’s motion seeming as if it had cut through nothing but air. The four prisoners standing before the guard fell, their bodies cleaved in two.

  Iko blinked and wiped the blood splatter from his face. He backed away, panting as the man advanced, the guard’s face darkened by shadow as the fires burned behind him. The man’s blade lifted high, and Iko knew he would die. A shove drove him sideways as the blade fell, the sword taking the arm off
the man who had pushed Iko aside.

  The Chaos-charged guard lifted his face toward the sky and released a mighty, frightening roar. He then leaped impossibly high, landed among another cluster of prisoners, and tore through them as if they were paper. A burst forward and the ensorcelled guard’s shield struck a prisoner hard enough that he flew into another cluster of prisoners, taking ten down with him, their bodies broken. Another lunge and a sweep of the sword sent body parts spinning through the air. The man was a demon possessed – a killing machine.

  Iko saw a sword at his feet. Gritting his teeth, he picked up the heavy blade, and he ran. He would stop this man powered by evil magic. He would see the end of Chaos.

  With all his might, Iko lifted the sword before him as he charged the magic-enhanced guard from behind. When it struck, the tip bit into the man’s back, and Iko stumbled to his knees. The man staggered forward and then swept a deadly backstroke, the sword sailing over Iko’s head. The guard looked down, their eyes meeting, the man’s rage sliding away. He lowered his sword, and the rage in his eyes cooled. Iko had not recognized him in the dark, but the Chaos-charged man was Burns – a guard he knew well, a guard he had hated for years.

  “I’m sorry about your father, Ikonis,” Burns said. “Tell him for me, for you are about to join him.”