Secret of the Sunstones, Part 1: The Wanton Kingdom

Chapter LVII : Oath

Latemorn of Quartus, Twelfth Day of Autumnmoon

Konrad gripped the edge of Géorg’s sandskipper as it raced across the Kitezhian countryside. The one-armed man pushed hard on the throttle, moving as fast as he dared without risking stability. The rectangular platform glided along the contours of hills and depressions, occasionally catching air as it crested over smaller knolls. Konrad held on tightly, shifting his weight to keep the craft balanced, as needed. Meanwhile, Géorg handled steering with the skill of a master pilot. Despite one arm, he made turns that most men would have never attempted.

Konrad’s gut cramped with worry. He had to reach the capital before Hans Unruh secured the vote for surrogate king. If Lady Azul was correct, he would use his newly granted powers to order an attack against the Angkorian occupation. It was too big a risk for the Primary Minister to bear, since the consequences of failure were catastrophic.

Hans might have been a skilled strategist, but he had the daunting task of removing a well-entrenched force. Anything short of complete success would expose the Network and lead to the slaughter of all remaining Kitezhians. The upside wasn’t all that great, either. Even if Hans succeeded, Angkor could return with reinforcements. Their army was vast, and if Bram and Rosa were correct, the power of the sunstone would amplify their chances.

Konrad had to work fast to regain leadership. He had to keep the city safe until Józef returned. If he should fail at his first task ….

“Will approach capital soon,” Géorg announced. “Need to know. Where is entrance to Network?”

Konrad hadn’t thought that far ahead. It might have been the last thing on his mind, but it certainly wasn‘t the least important. “There are many entrances, but we can’t afford to have Angkor find a single one. We’ll need to find a weak spot in their defenses.”

He shifted his gaze upward. “I still don’t see airships, which is strange. Angkor shouldn’t have withdrawn their forces so fast. It leaves themselves vulnerable. Unless … they went back to rearm.”

Géorg looked grim. “Let us hope not.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. If the enemy was desperate enough, they’d bomb the city until an entrance to the Network was exposed. And if they were willing to go that far, it meant they had given up on any tactical advantage of keeping the city intact. They could very well wipe it off the face of Gaia.

The thought was too chilling. Konrad had to hold onto hope that they spared the city for a reason.

Géorg cut the throttle. The engines quieted, and the sandskipper’s momentum carried it downhill. The city would be visible as soon as they crested the next hilltop, but they needed to be careful not to give away their position to any nearby patrols.

As they approached, Konrad caught a faint din, carried on the wind. He held up his hand.

“Listen! Can you hear it?”

Géorg fully stopped the craft.

In the distance, just barely audible, Konrad heard clashing and screaming. “Great Gaia, help us. The battle … it has begun. We must help them!”

The one-armed man glared back. “With what? Have no weapons!”

Konrad wiped away beads of sweat from his brow. His stomach churned. He needed to think clearly.

Géorg looked at him, pleadingly. Konrad had no answers, but there was no one else to provide leadership. He rubbed his eyes.

“Think, think!”

He repeated the words silently, but nothing came. He was desperate.

“Let’s move in closer. If Angkor is engaged in battle, no one will be manning the gates. They won’t see us approach. We’ll get an assessment from a distance, then determine our next move.”

Géorg nodded. “Fair enough.”

He restarted the engine. Konrad tensed, dreading what he might find atop the hill. When the city finally came into view, he was bewildered. He expected to see battles raging throughout the city, explosions from Angkorian wizards, stacks of bodies piling in the streets. Instead, the distant specks of persons inside the walls were idling. A few buildings smoldered, and some structures had toppled, but there was no engagement. No clash. No fighting.

Géorg’s expression shifted from shock to one of hesitant pleasure. A smile crept across his lips. “Battle is over. The sounds we hear is of celebration. Konrad … Kitezh is victorious!”

The Primary Minister was astonished. It was a joyous miracle! But … he also felt hesitant to join in jubilation. Not because he doubted his own eyes, but because a victory for Kitezh meant only one thing.

Géorg must have noticed his apprehension. “Are you not happy?”

“Of course.” Konrad’s response was terse, reflecting the torrid thoughts racing through his head. “Rungholt’s victory is very good news. I’m only worried because of what it means politically. Captain Unruh exceeded my highest expectations. However, for him to have made it this far means he already gained the surrogate vote. Not only that, but this victory works quite generously in his favor.”

Géorg still looked confused. “What you are saying?”

Konrad sighed. “Rungholt’s true king is on his way to Loulan, risking his life on a dangerous journey to find an ally. He expects to return with reinforcements, but instead … he may find a usurper on his throne.”

He watched the euphoria drain from Géorg’s face. “You think Hans will not relinquish when the heir returns? What about his supporters? Must still be loyal, no?”

“Indeed, many are still loyal.” Konrad’s mind already worked on gaming out various scenarios. “Do not yet lose hope, but … do not underestimate the power of effective results.”

The two men descended the hill in plain sight. As they drew near, Konrad saw the essence of Hans’ strategy. He must have started a diversion from the inside to lure the guards away from the southern gate. With no one left to man the fortifications, a battalion from outside forced their way in, leaving the enemy surrounded. There must have been countless other tactics aimed at leaving Angkor confused and vulnerable. It seemed Captain Unruh deserved some credit. Beyond minor damage to the walls and main streets, Konrad saw very little collateral damage. He also felt a certain gratification that Kitezhians were once again in charge of entry.

One of the soldiers saluted from the front gate. “Minister Rommel, welcome back! Your timing could not have been better. Last skirmish ended an hour ago.”

Konrad asked the first question that came to mind. “What about casualties?”

The soldier lowered his head. “We lost about twenty or thirty men from our battalion, but I don’t know about the others. From my vantage, it was a well-coordinated attack, and the enemy’s losses were almost tenfold. Given the circumstances, we could not have done better.”

Indeed, Konrad was amazed. “Well done, Lieutenant. I suppose Captain Unruh deserves our praise.”

The lieutenant raised an eyebrow. “That’ll be King Unruh, now. Let me show you inside.”

Konrad cringed, but quickly shifted his demeanor to something more upbeat. He might have had concerns over internal politics, but his role as Primary Minister wasn’t limited to being Józef’s warden. He was also responsible for being the public figurehead for the nation. That meant setting the right tone and keeping morale high. No matter what he thought on the inside, he needed to exude high spirits.

“Yes, please do.”

When the man’s back was turned, Konrad exchanged a private glance with Géorg. It was clear from the look on his face that he shared Konrad’s discomfort.

The lieutenant led them to the city’s center, where an upscale inn called The Golden Goose became the city’s newest base of operations. With the castle in ruins, it made sense for Hans to choose a locale that was less gloomy and more accessible than the Network. The inn was a good choice. It had all the accommodations that royalty demanded, as well as plenty of conference rooms and bedchambers to quarter the king’s primary governing bodies.

Inside, it was bustling. Ministers and military personnel traversed the halls, each looking eager to be back to work and rein in control of the city. Konrad saw many familiar faces. Some seemed cheerful, others relieved; but occasionally he noticed anxiety and discomfort. He wagered that many had mixed feelings over the new leadership, despite the momentary peace that came with it.

At last, Konrad set his eyes on King Hans Unruh. He appeared to be giving instructions to a balding administrator with an armful of scrolls. Upon seeing the return of his Primary Minister, he cut his conversation short. The bald man excused himself, trying to exit without dropping his documents—though not very successfully. As the administrator stumbled out of the way with his papers, Hans beckoned Konrad to join him. He gestured toward one of the conference room, but when his nearby entourage tried to enter ahead of him, he stopped them at the door.

“I would like to speak with my Primary Minister in private.”

They quickly dispersed. Konrad allowed the surrogate king to enter first, then followed him inside. He opened with an overly exuberant bow.

“Your Majesty.”

He looked up and noticed that Hans’ gaze landed on Géorg, who had followed Konrad inside.

“Who’s this?” Hans demanded. “We have important matters to discuss.”

Konrad made a formal introduction. “My Lord, allow me to introduce Mister Géorg Töller of Saladina residence, formerly of Kitezhian origin. Mister Töller, this is Kitezh’s surrogate king, Hans Unruh: ruler of the kingdom, executor of the legislation, protector of the sunstone, uh—”

He stumbled on the last part. He had said it so many times, it became a force of habit. It was, after all, the official title for Kitezh’s king. Yet, given the sunstone’s theft, he wished he had skipped that part.

Hans rolled his eyes impatiently. “Minister Rommel, please dispense with the formalities. The only thing that interests me right now is the whereabouts of my ward. Where is the prince?”

The question caught Konrad off guard. He hadn’t expected Józef to be Hans’ highest priority. “Kin—uh, Master Brandt is currently enroute to Koba, Your Majesty. We left him at the base of Mount Abakai yesterday morning.”

The surrogate king was unreadable. Konrad couldn’t tell if he was displeased by the news, or indifferent. Hans’ job was to protect Józef until he came of age, but as of that morning, only Konrad had served that role. And he expected to retain it moving forward, so Hans could focus on ruling.

Hans’ response was tainted with disdain. “So … the boy is intent on his voyage, after all. After seeing you here, I hoped he had reconsidered. I expected he would have realized the foolishness of his ridiculous expedition.”

Konrad didn’t appreciate the insults. Despite Hans’ elevated title, he should know that even surrogate kings were intended as servants to the Brandt family.

Nevertheless, he kept his tone respectful. “Master Brandt is serious about reaching Loulan. We still need allies, and there’s no reason to believe he won’t reach Emperor Zhao Peng and convince him to join us. After all, I handpicked his attendants and vouched for his guide—”

“You mean the Gnostic?” Hans spoke the word with more than a hint of acrimony.

The pejoratives were out of line. Konrad didn’t expect Hans to trust in all his decisions, but for the sake of unity, he expected less derision. Regardless, he kept his anger in check.

“Yes, Sire. Although, Sir Morrison’s intentions are no longer in question. In fact, he has provided some critical intelligence about Angkor’s newfound powers. I recommend a full debrief.”

Hans dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “All in good time. Prince Brandt can ally with whomever he chooses. But as far as my policies go, I’ll not put our future in the hands of one of Cromwell’s hounds.”

Konrad clenched his teeth. “Those of us who have travelled with Sir Morrison believe in him, My Lord. He has proven himself. If you’d only listen—”

Hans scoffed. “Then you’ve lost your good sense! Did you ever consider the timing of Sir Morrison’s appearance? That he happened to arrive just as Angkor attacked? He could be a spy, only pretending to have defected. All the intelligence we naively share with him could be reported back to Richard. Józef doesn’t understand these things, and neither do you, apparently. That’s why I am king and he is traipsing around the Koban wilderness with a Gnostic thug who might have already slit his throat—”

“How dare you!” Konrad could no longer hold back his ire. He lashed out without thinking, and it was too late to bite his tongue. “By all rights, Józef should have the throne, and you should be obliged to trust his judgment! But you went behind his back and undermined the very institution you profess to protect!”

Hans’ demeanor hardened, causing Konrad to shrink under his gaze. “Watch yourself, Minister. I did what I had to do to save us. It was a matter of days—not weeks—before Angkor would have leveled the city to find our Network. What would you have me do? Wait on the false hope that the heir returns with reinforcements? I took command, that’s what I did. Because our lives depended on it. And I triumphed! Perhaps you should start trusting in my judgment.”

He drove his forefinger into Konrad’s chest, glaring. “As for you, it’s time you made a choice. Your loyalties belong to Kitezh, not to Henrich’s brat. If you intend to challenge my decisions, I’ll be forced to hold you in contempt as a traitor. You’ll sit in prison alongside the Angkorians we captured, since you seem so fond of them these days. On the other hand, I could use your experience to rebuild the city. I want you to swear fealty to me, and I’ll accept nothing less than a strong oath. Do so, and I’ll allow you to retain your rank and position.”

Konrad’s jaw went slack. He knew what it meant for an oath to be strong by Kitezhian standards, and his chest tightened. “You can’t expect me to renounce my loyalty to Master Brandt!”

Hans’ eyes narrowed. “I can and I shall, Minister! Don’t test my patience, nor my fortitude.”

Konrad shrank back. He never expected to be threatened with imprisonment. He lived to serve Kitezh and the Brandt family. But he would be powerless to do anything behind bars. Even so, the very idea of swearing fealty to Hans filled him with revulsion. He searched for another way, but found nothing. He couldn’t stall, either. Time was running out. Hans demanded an answer.

His body shook as he sank to one knee. He recited an oath from memory, the most powerful one he knew. He had to force out every word.

“I … Konrad Rommel … do formally swear my allegiance to the new king of Kitezh … Hans Unruh. I swear to protect his reign … above all others. I do this willingly, on the souls of my ancestors … and on my own … for as long as he shall rule.”

He felt sick and hoped Hans wouldn’t take umbrage with the grimace on his face.

“And you?” Hans lifted his chin at Géorg.

The one-armed man seemed surprised to have been noticed at all. But he read the room well enough to follow suit. He sank to one knee and repeated Konrad’s oath.

Hans looked pleased. “Rise, my servants. I know it must be difficult to set aside your duties to the prince, even for a moment. Just know that we have men here who need your help more. Each one of us is threatened until our enemy is defeated. We must therefore attack while we still have the advantage.”

Konrad wondered if he had misheard. “You don’t intend to attack Angkor directly, do you?” He saw the seriousness in Hans’ face, and his eyes widened. “You intend for a direct assault? On their capital?”

The surrogate king met his gaze levelly. “Does the Primary Minister wish to reconsider his oath already?”

Konrad nearly choked. “No, of course not. Your Majesty.”

He bowed again, this time feeling penitent. The oaths in Kitezh were powerful because they went straight to the heart of a man’s dignity and honor. No one would forsake a strong oath. Not unless they wished to withdraw from their brethren forever in shame. It was impossible to hide. Once an oath was broken, word would spread. Not even a mother would stand by an oathbreaker.

As if that weren’t bad enough, Hans’ first order proposed attacking the ogre in its den! To Konrad, it was the same as suicide. He couldn’t imagine how Hans would hope to ride to victory, based solely on the success of a single battle. Yet he stifled his objections, hoping he was wrong and that Hans had a plan.

The sternness in Hans’ face softened. His hand outstretched and rested gently upon Konrad’s shoulder. “Do not despair, Minister Rommel. We were more successful than you think in taking back the city. Our experienced interrogators are questioning a few high ranking Angkorians as we speak. We also gained three of their airships, in addition to the ones we have hidden.”

Konrad knew about the secret armaments that Kitezh maintained after the War. It was a risky venture. Had this knowledge fallen into Angkorian hands, it would have been an egregious violation of the peace treaties, punishable by the harshest of sanctions. But it seemed now to have been a fortuitous decision.

“Our engineers are already inspecting them,” Hans added.

Konrad felt a faint spark of hope. “That should give us eight or nine in total.” His mind raced, calculating how that might hold up in a direct assault. “Still quite small compared to Angkor’s fleet, however.”

Hans seemed more confident. “There’s more. We learned from some of the prisoners that Angkor’s armies are in disarray. Cromwell has scattered his forces to the four corners, searching for some kind of artifact.”

The surrogate king laughed out loud. “Whatever hubris has befallen Cromwell and his generals, their errors are our fortunes. If we strike while their defenses are down and disable a few key targets, we’ll send them into a tailspin.”

He looked out, as if imagining something wonderful in his mind’s eye. “They’ve never known pain, Konrad … at least, not on their home turf. The shock of it, both to Cromwell’s government as well as his citizens, will be immense. They’ll turn on each other, issuing blame for the security flaws they caused. And while they’re distracted, we’ll form our alliances. I’ve already reopened the ports and sent ships to Koba, Vineta, and Malden. If Master Brandt makes it to Loulan, we’ll send for him, too.”

Konrad felt warmth return to his body. He knew Hans liked to play chess several moves ahead, but he was already planning his checkmate. The man was ambitious, but he couldn’t do it alone. He needed help. Konrad was willing to give it, too, as long as Józef was safe.

Speaking of which, the boy had already proven his ability to survive outside of the country, and this time he traveled with very capable chaperones. His emissary actually fit well within Hans’ strategy. Konrad believed he could both help Hans to succeed in maintaining Kitezh’s security, and make sure Józef had a throne to come back to.

Still, it wasn’t going to be easy. Even with a handful of airships, wounding Angkor’s so-called impenetrable fortress would take a lot more.

“Might I offer something, Lord?” Géorg proposed.

Hans faced the one-armed man, looking skeptical. “I don’t know, Mister Töller. What could you possibly offer?”

Géorg smirked, looking like a poker player about to play a straight flush. “As Konrad say, I come from Saladin. I lived there many years, made some very powerful allies. Including some Clan Lords.”

Hans’ eyes widened like a child opening gifts at Solstice. Konrad had never considered such unlikely allies, but if Géorg had connections, the possibilities were endless.

Before The War, these men were nothing more than revolutionaries, outlaws that despised the old Kitezhian government. However, that was before the liberation. Angkor’s treaties made Saladin an independent state and granted clemency to its residents. Many of the same freedom fighters turned to investing in Saladin, turning it into the commercial hub it is today. Meanwhile, they reaped the benefits. They set up organizations called Clans, and proclaimed themselves independent Lords. Saladin’s success granted them vast amounts of wealth, not as outlaws, but as prominent business moguls.

Ironically, their wealth initially came at the expense of Kitezhian and Angkorian forces that fell in the battles of war. Géorg explained that he, along with many other Saladinans, collected weapons, armor, and magical artifacts left behind in the desert. He would sell these to interested parties, including the Clan Lords that controlled the Saladina marketplace. Through these dealings, he forged his relationships with these men. The only wrinkle was how to convince them to ally with a country that for many decades had been their adversary. Fortunately, Géorg was quick to provide an answer.

“Clan Lords do not hold any more ill will toward Kitezh. Now, only care for business. We provide, eh … compensation … they give us what we need in return. Perhaps even, uh … scrap to build more airships.”

Hans seemed quite pleased. He even gave Géorg a pat on the back. “Yes, that would work nicely. You have my permission to speak with them, Mister Töller. Seek out Lady Azul. Her skills at scrying will help you to make contact.”

Géorg nodded. “Yes, Lord.”

Hans dismissed his new subject with a wave of his hand. “You may go now, Mister Töller. I must discuss a few things in private with Minister Rommel. I’ll of course request my staff to allow you free access throughout the inn.”

The one-armed man bowed and left the conference room. A guard entered, and Hans whispered a few words. When the man departed, Konrad was alone with his new king.

“Sit, Minister Rommel.” Hans motioned to a nearby chair. “Let me tell you more about my strategy ….”