A Kingdom Under Siege Read online

  A Kingdom Under Siege

  Wardens of Issalia, Book Four

  Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Fallbrandt Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Journal Entry

  Prologue

  1. A Task

  2. The Abyss

  3. Despair

  4. Dire News

  5. Holiday

  6. The Forge

  7. Harriers

  8. The Gibbet

  9. Traitor

  10. Scout

  11. Just Hide

  12. Truth and Lies

  13. More Than a Dream

  14. Shock

  15. Musketeers

  16. Duel

  17. Subterfuge

  18. Hiding

  19. Stealth

  20. Respect

  21. Traitor

  22. Flight

  23. A Bold Move

  24. Awe Striking

  25. Journey

  26. Madness

  27. Preparations

  28. Doubt

  29. Subtleties

  30. An Ugly Outcome

  31. Positioning

  32. Surprises

  33. Infiltrators

  34. Twisting Winds

  35. Attack

  36. Fight Like a Warden

  37. Unpredictable

  38. Desperate Measures

  39. Mayhem

  40. A Miracle

  41. Aftermath

  42. Return

  Epilogue

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Copyright

  © 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 printing

  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: 978-949382-13-6

  PUBLISHED BY:

  JEFFREY L. KOHANK & FALLBRANDT PRESS

  www.JeffreyLKohanek.com

  Books by Jeffrey L. Kohanek

  Runes of Issalia

  The Buried Symbol: Runes of Issalia 1

  The Emblem Throne: Runes of Issalia 2

  An Empire in Runes: Runes of Issalia 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 1

  The Arcane Ward: Wardens of Issalia 2

  An Imperial Gambit: Wardens of Issalia 3

  A Kingdom Under Siege: Wardens of Issalia 4

  * * *

  Wardens of Issalia Boxed Set

  * * *

  ICON: A Wardens of Issalia Companion Tale

  Journal Entry

  From the records of the Issalian Empire, 2nd Dynasty

  For two centuries, The Hand kept the evil of Chaos buried – hidden and unable to tempt mankind with its power. Then comes a boy, a nobody, masked by a veil of lies, tricking others into believing he was something he was not. He somehow discovered the secret we had locked away where nobody should have found it. This boy, this deceiver, used the power of Chaos to beguile others and to build himself into a king.

  While King Brock sat on his throne, basking in riches and glory, the members of The Hand, including myself, labored in a secret prison, living as if we were animals. Many of us died in those prison tunnels, but enough survived, clinging to the faith that Issal had not abandoned us. Our chance finally presented itself after thirteen nightmarish years of incarceration. We escaped and headed east to begin anew with gold and power and our faith restored.

  I made a promise that day – a promise to right the wrongs I had suffered, to end King Brock’s reign, and to see Chaos banished for good. Now, six years after achieving freedom, I sit at the helm of a new Empire, guiding the most powerful nation in Issalia while the tortured ghost of my enemy moans in his fiery afterlife. With King Brock dead, Issalia belongs to the Empire. Soon will come the time when the kingdoms lay down their swords and accept their destiny.

  When that time arrives, I will see the end of Chaos. Forever.

  The Avatar of Issal,

  Archon Meryl Varius.

  Prologue

  Brock Talenz climbed out of the carriage and squinted into the wind-driven snow. The bite of it was refreshing – a reminder that he was very much alive. Cinching his grey wool cloak into his fist to block the wind, Brock turned toward his longtime friend, Cassius DeSanus, who was seated in the carriage.

  The king of Torinland was a shell of what he had once been. Before his tenure as king, Cassius had carved a legendary career as a captain in the Holy Army. Now nearing sixty, Cassius’ hair had gone gray and the lines on his face had deepened. But, the years were not the cause of the man’s condition.

  A foiled assassination attempt had robbed Cassius of his strength, leaving him barely able to stand. The citadel minister had acted with urgency, using her skill with Order to save the man’s life within seconds of his attack, but blackbane was extremely lethal. A drop of the poison could kill in less than a minute. Although the poison had run through his veins only a short time, his nervous system suffered permanent damage and left him unable to walk without a cane, his hand now rarely able to hold steady. Still, Brock respected the man for his mind and integrity. Not even poison could sap those resources.

  “Issal willing,” Brock said, “I’ll see you in the spring.”

  Cassius, nodded. “Until then, my friend, be well.”

  When the carriage door closed, the driver snapped the reins, and the horses lurched into motion bringing King Cassius back to the Nor Torin citadel.

  Brock turned toward his son, Broland. “Let us board so we can escape this wind.”

  Twenty Torinland soldiers marched behind Brock and his son as they headed toward the nearest pier. Flakes continued to drift down from the grey clouds overhead, leaving a blanket of white over the city of Nor Torin. Despite the winter storm, the docks were busy, filled with dockworkers loading ships.

  Four ships hugged this particular pier, two on either side, each vessel rocking as the water roiled. When he reached the Razor, Brock led Broland up the plank and onto the ship’s deck. Half of the guards followed while the remainder continued to the next vessel.

  A pair of sailors unhooked the mooring lines, ran up the plank, and pulled it on board while others scurried about the ship under the direction of Captain Tenzi Thanes. When Tenzi spotted Brock and his son, she turned toward one of her trusted crewmembers, gave the man instructions, and descended to the main deck, walking purposefully toward Brock and Broland.

  “Welcome aboard Razor, your Majesty,” Tenzi said as she bowed.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Brock said firmly before stepping close and lowering his voice. “I’m sorry we could not depart sooner, Tenzi. I know you are eager to free Parker and Dalwin, but…I must consider the bigger picture. There are far more than two lives at stake.”

  The frustration on Tenzi’s face was apparent. “I just hope they are still...”

  Brock put his hand on her shoulder. “As do I. Both men are my friends, but my crown does
not allow me to place a higher value on their lives than on those of thousands of subjects.”

  She turned away. “I know. I just feel so…helpless.”

  “We will recapture Wayport. And when we do, Chadwick and Illiri will pay for their betrayal.”

  “Oh, they will pay. If I have my way,” she drew a knife and ran her finger along the blade. “It will be a very drawn out payment, one that might take days or weeks to complete.”

  “Tenzi…I cannot condone torture.” Brock’s tone was harder than steel.

  “Fine,” Tenzi sighed. She sheathed her dagger as a gust of wind struck, forcing her to grip the brim of her black hat. “I have a ship to sail. Why don’t you two rest in my cabin? It is warm in there now that I finally got the hole repaired. At least that came out of sitting here for eight days.”

  “Very well,” Brock said.

  Tenzi turned and climbed the stairs to the quarterdeck while Brock and Broland ducked into her cabin.

  Dim light seeped through the window along the outer wall, joined by the pale blue glow of a lamp on a wall sconce – both light sources fighting to keep the shadows at bay. While Broland crossed the room and sat on the bed, Brock grabbed a chair beside the small round table and withdrew a map from his coat. Unfolding the map, he spread it across the tabletop and considered his plan.

  “How long will it take to sail to Wayport?” Broland asked.

  Brock looked up at him, blinking in thought. “Remember, we have stops to make at Port Choya and Sunbleth. Even then, it depends on the weather. All things considered, I expect to land in Wayport ten days from now.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Broland fell silent. Shifting his focus back to the map, Brock withdrew a pen from the inside pocket of his leather coat. Not just any pen, this one was a gift from Pherran Nindlerod – a memento from the day Brock first met the kind old engineering master. Unlike others, this pen contained an internal inkwell. As Brock stared at it, a smile crossed his face – a rarity over the previous five weeks.

  The assassination attempt against him and his family left Brock brooding. A desire for vengeance gnawed at him, something he repeatedly pushed aside. Varius and the Empire had made the war personal with that attack, which made it difficult for him to remain pragmatic when planning his response.

  He closed his eyes and sought his center, sinking into the peace he found within his own source of Order. I must remember the goodness in this world and not allow this war to harden me. Brock thought. Well, not too hard, at least.

  The ship rocked, the motion causing Brock to open his eyes and slip from his meditation.

  “We hit the breakers,” he said to Broland. “This might be an unpleasant journey with the storm over us.”

  Razor was now beyond the relatively smooth harbor waters, and the waves had grown tenfold. Everything tilted as the ship rocked. Clanking and banging of hanging cookware came from the galley next door.

  “I don’t feel well.” Broland’s face had gone pale, his hand pressed against his stomach.

  “Seasickness.” Brock nodded, knowingly. “This is only your second voyage, and the last was quite tame. I suggest you go back outside and watch the shoreline until your stomach settles. It helps.”

  Without another word, Broland stumbled toward the door, opened it to the howling wind, and slammed it shut. Alone, Brock studied the map and considered his plan. An armada of eight ships had just departed Nor Torin, each vessel loaded with ten Torinland warriors and ten civilians in addition to the crew. Those civilians were special – his secret weapon.

  With the help of Cassius, Brock had collected almost every arcanist in Torinland, from Millings to Flynn’s Corner, from Selbin to Nor Torin. Among those civilians were people he had freed from imprisonment a lifetime ago. They had fought a war for him once. He swore he wouldn’t ask them to do it again.

  While it is a wound against my integrity, these people may be the difference between freedom and death. Regardless of their participation, their lives are as much at risk as mine should we lose.

  With stops planned for Port Choya and Sunbleth, Brock hoped to double the size of his force, including troops and magic users, by the time they reached Wayport. He would need them once he retook the city, a thought that brought up another problem.

  Recapturing Wayport would be easier if collateral damage were not a risk. I must find a way to remove Chadwick and those most loyal to him with as little violence as possible. The soldiers and citizens of Wayport were his subjects. He needed to protect them, not kill them. More selfishly, he would need them for the struggle to follow. With that goal, he set his mind to the task. Chaos is assuredly the answer, but how to best leverage it? How large of a force will be required? He closed his eyes and imagined Wayport, considering his options.

  The ship continued to rock from side to side, the motion beginning to affect Brock as nausea set in. He opened his eyes, folded the map, and slipped it into his pocket as he made for the door.

  Stepping outside, he found the sails filled with the gusting wind and the snow changed to a steady drizzle. Two ships ran even with the Razor while the other five in the armada trailed behind. To the port side, Brock then noticed another fleet nestled in a protected bay.

  Brock turned and climbed the quarterdeck as sailors scurried about the distant narrow-bodied longships. “Ri Star? What are they doing down here?”

  The Ri Starian crafts raised anchor, the oars at their sides moving the longships toward deeper water as the Razor and the trailing armada sailed past. Tenzi called for another sailor to take the helm while she dug out a tube with glass on each end. She aimed the tube toward the ships, looking through it as the Ri Starian vessels unfurled their sails.

  With shock, she gasped. “Flash cannons! They plan to attack!”

  Considering what he knew of Ri Star, Brock recalled his previous interactions with Queen Olvaria. In his two decades as King of Kantaria, he had only met Olvaria three times. Despite her polite exterior, Brock had always sensed a hard edge to the woman. She often argued that her queendom was small and lacked resources. If not for their diamond mines, Ri Star had little bargaining power when it came to trade.

  With Ri Star consisting of nothing but Ilsands nestled in dangerous waters, they had naturally developed Issalia’s premier navy. Manned by tough, experienced sailors and a crew of oarsmen below deck, Ri Starian longships were the fastest in the world. Having those vessels armed with flash cannons was a frightening prospect.

  A flash of green fire and a puff of smoke billowed from the lead Ri Starian ship. A boom followed, and a projectile hit the trailing vessel of the Torin armada, sending a blast of splinters into the air.

  “This is bad.” Brock’s tone was grim. “Queen Olvaria has thrown her lot in with the Empire.”

  Another longship fired, also striking the trailing Torin ship, this time near the waterline. The wounded vessel rocked, tilted to one side, and turned toward shore, but it was too late. The ship was sinking while sailors and passengers scrambled for the lifeboat.

  “We have to stop them!” Brock put his hand on Tenzi’s shoulder. “Slow down so the rest of the armada can pass us.”

  She turned back toward the enemy fleet. “Once we are in range, they are going to fire at us.”

  “I know, but I don’t have a choice. Just trust me.”

  “Fine.” With her face in a scowl, Tenzi bellowed out orders, sending sailors up the masts to lower the upper sails.

  Brock leaped down to the main deck where he spotted Stein. The man stood at the rail watching the trailing ships, his attention shifting toward Brock as he drew close.

  “Stein! I need you to run below deck and instruct the other arcanists to begin applying Reduce Gravity augmentations to the deck. I want a large rune drawn near the bow, one in the middle, and one near the quarterdeck. Have them stack augmentations.”

  “Stack them? You know what will happen.” Stein’s expression revealed his doubt.

  “Just do it.”


  As Stein ran to the stairs and disappeared below deck, Brock darted back to Tenzi’s cabin. He burst in and searched the room, his gaze falling on the small, round table bolted to the floor. With his boot heel against it, he gave it a shove but it didn’t move. He then picked up the chair and swung hard. The chair smashed into the table, scattering broken wood pieces onto the bed and across the floor. Brock gripped the tilted tabletop and lifted, tearing it off the base with a loud crack. He then set the tabletop on the floor and began to carve a symbol into the wood with the tip of his dagger. Once finished, he picked up the tabletop and ran back outside.

  The drizzling rain continued, driven by the wind and leaving the deck slick. Razor had fallen behind most of the fleet, and the last remaining vessel was nearly upon them. Stein and the nine other arcanists were on deck with a group at the bow, a group in the center, and a group right beside Brock, near the stern. A man in the nearest group hurriedly traced a symbol with a chunk of coal. The diameter of the rune was half the width of the ship.

  “Be sure to get the symbol exact!” Brock warned. “A misdrawn rune will kill us all!”