Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) (50 page)

Brutus could make out Talan Leatherby amidst the group of onlookers crowded on the balcony, and he went over to squeeze in next to him. 

“I knew the people of Samaria were outraged at the Queen, but I didn’t expect to see a protest so soon,” Talan said to him.  “Who do you think is behind this?”

“I don’t know,” Brutus admitted.  “But I think we should find out.  This isn’t going to go away.”

“Do you think the Queen is going to do anything about it?”

“No.  Not tonight.  It’s her wedding, and all they are doing is rallying.  Those people down there don’t pose a threat to her.  They’re just miners and city folk marching through the street.”

Brutus suddenly jumped when he felt a large hand clamp down on his shoulder.  He turned around and was staring up into the tanned face of Alvard.

“I suggest you arm up, Captain Bludworth,” Alvard said.  “We have an uprising that needs to be quelled.”  Brutus and Talan exchanged uneasy glances. 

“They aren’t uprising,” Brutus argued defensively.  “They are protesting, which they have every right to do.”

“Not according to the King,” Alvard replied impatiently.  “Now arm up!”  Brutus didn’t back down, but continued to push back.

“What do you plan on doing to them?  They aren’t being violent!  Just let them protest till morning, then it’ll all fizzle out.”  It was then that Alvard catapulted his arm out, grabbed Brutus by his tunic, and swung him around to look at him.

“I don’t care what you have to say about the matter,” Alvard breathed down his neck.  “King’s orders are King’s orders.  I’ll burn this entire wretched city to the ground to prove that no one protests against Olger Guttensen.” 

He let go of Brutus’s tunic and pushed him backwards.  “I’m not telling you again.  Gather Mizra’s Castle Guard and meet my company of soldiers inside the gate.  You have twenty minutes.”

Brutus could only nod and solute.  When the Noman commander was out of earshot, Talan asked, “What was that all about?  Why are you following
his
orders?”

“King Olger had me demoted.  With the Queen’s consent, of course,” Brutus explained.  “He’s infiltrating everything, Talan.  Soon every piece of Samarian wealth will be robbed from us and taken back to Nomanestan.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.  But we better think of something soon, or there will be no Samaria left to defend.”

“What possessed the Queen to do all of this?” Talan added, thinking back to the promises he’d made Zora before she left from Montanisto.  “Winnser women don’t just sit quietly on the sidelines.  They are far too intelligent for that.  Somehow I think Evangeline is still the one behind everything that’s happened lately.  Maybe Olger is just a diversion.”  The two men were silent for a moment, both deep in thought.

“I got to go,” Brutus spoke up.  “I may no longer be in charge of Samaria’s army, but I’ll do what I can to keep innocent people from getting hurt.”

“I want to know what happens,” Talan insisted. 

“Once the resistance has quieted down, come to Mizra’s gardens.  I’ll meet you there and tell you everything I’ve found out.”  As Brutus turned to exit the Great Hall and gather the Castle Guard, Talan spoke up behind him.

“Be careful, Brutus!”  But the Captain had already been swallowed by the crowed of waiting Samarian Guards.

Chapter 29

Twenty minutes later, Brutus Bludworth stood with a company of Samarian Castle Guards inside of Mizra’s locked iron gate.  He’d had to stop by one of the fortress’s armories in order to equip himself with plate amour and weapons as General Alvard had instructed.  It was nighttime now, and the same thick lines of clouds from earlier in the day still occupied the sky.  The wind howled as it rolled down the mountains and right into the city, whipping violent gusts around the waiting soldiers.  Behind Mizra’s gate lay the Queen’s blooming gardens.  The limbs of the surrounding trees shuddered and groaned as the wind raked through them, discarding their clusters of leaves hastily on the ground.  There was a chilly edge in the air, which was unusual for summertime, and Brutus shivered accordingly.

“General Bludworth,” one of the Guards addressed him.  “What’s going on?  What are we waiting for?”  Brutus recognized the soldier; he was a sergeant who’d served in the Castle Guard for almost ten years, yet never wanted to take a promotion or change assignment.  His plate armor was dull and corroded with emerging rust, not polished and gleaming like the Samarian armor Brutus would’ve expected; just another sign that Samaria was falling further and further away from its former glory. 

“We are waiting for General Alvard of the Noman army.  He and some of his troops are meeting us here.”  The sergeant shuffled his feet, clearly unnerved at the mention of the Noman General’s presence.

“For what, Sir?” 

“Apparently, King Olger is offended by the Samarian citizens protesting his coronation.  We’ve been assigned to stop it.”  That was the simplest way Brutus could put it.

“But Samarians have always had the right to a peaceful protest,” one of the other soldiers jumped in.  “It’s one of the many great things about our country.  The Winnser monarchs have always been fair and willing to listen to their people when they voiced their opinion.”  The sergeant, who was now digging a hole in the dirt with his boot, looked up.

“I’m afraid it is no longer the Winnser bloodline that rules our country,” he said sadly.  “This situation is far more severe than the plight our ancestors found themselves in.  During the Sea-Dweller Wars, those barbarians attacked Samaria from the outside and then forced themselves into our land.  But now, Queen Evangeline is welcoming the enemy inside with open arms.  This time, they will take us down from the inside out.” 

A squall of wind suddenly flew at the stationary men, bringing stinging particles of dirt with it.  When the mistral had settled, Brutus decided to tell this small platoon what had occurred between King Olger and himself in the Great Hall.

“Men,” he began sadly, “I have been demoted from my position as General of Arms and no longer am I an advisor to the Queen.  It has not been formally announced, but I figured you all had a right to know, as does the rest of the Guard when the time comes.” 

Questions and cries of outrage rippled through the platoon of Castle Guards as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Why would the Queen do such a thing?”

“Who is replacing you?”

“Where will you be reassigned?” 

Brutus eventually silenced the group.

“Queen Evangeline and King Olger have given my responsibilities to Alvard.  While I assure you I will still be thoroughly involved in how the Samarian army is run, I no longer have the authority I once did.” 

“Not that monster!” one of the newer Guards yelled.  “I refuse to follow him!  I saw what he did to our prisoners of war.  He had all of them tortured till the brink of death.  He has no mercy, just like the King, and I won’t do it!” 

Brutus put both his hands out to silence them.  “For now, ALL of you will do as you are instructed, whether by me or another one of your commanding officers.”  He looked at the group again and expanded his voice.  “The time for Samarian resistance will come, but for tonight you will follow General Alvard’s orders.  The Noman occupation in Alumhy largely outnumbers our own troops, and if we go hastily crusading through the city streets, all of our heads will be on spikes.  What good will that do for the citizens?  Do I make myself clear?”

The Guard’s heads bobbed up and down.  “Sir, yes sir!” They repeated with a strong salute.  Brutus turned back around and faced the city that lay just beyond the iron gate.  He was relieved that this small platoon of Samarian Guards felt so strongly against supporting King Olger and the Noman occupation.  They felt the injustice of Samaria’s predicament and seemed eager to squash it.  But Brutus knew that being impulsive would only get them killed.  If Brutus and the Samarian Guard were going to resist, they would have to do it smartly and with patience.

The sound of approaching footsteps and horses caused the small platoon of Samarian Guards to turn around.  Alvard had appeared at the mouth of the drawbridge with a hundred Noman soldiers trailing on horseback behind him.  They looked as they did the day Brutus fought them at the slot canyon: fully armed with swords, spears, and clubs.  Each warrior held their shield in their left hand, while their other hand gripped the reigns on their horse.  Alvard looked like a leather bound black bear riding a mount, and he wore the same winged helm that Olger had the day Brutus fought him.

The newly demoted Captain looked from the drawbridge out to the peaceful city before him.  Tall building rose out of the darkness, tossing warped shadows on the cobblestone streets.  The sound of voices flew in with the roaring wind, and Brutus could make out the Samarian national anthem as the protesting citizens sang while they marched.  The subtle glow of lanterns and flickers of torches began to emerge over the hilly streets as the mass grew closer and closer to Mizra.  Still they sang, peaceful and together.  Brutus couldn’t help but hum the words he knew so well under his breath.

He looked above him as the willow trees rattled in the wind, and his eyes followed the moving branches till they met the walls of the great fortress behind him.  He slid his gaze over her numerous towers and balconies, till he paused at the portico that jutted out the furthest from the others.  Occupying the lonesome floor was a woman in white.  Her fair skin and gossamer dress stood out against the darkness of the blue castle.  If Brutus didn’t know any better, he could have mistaken his Queen for a whimsical fairy standing guard against the forces of evil.  Almost.  Instead, she looked upon her country and her people as a useless bystander, cold and indifferent.

“Captain Bludworth?  Is this all you could gather?” 

Alvard had ridden up next to him.  His horse breathed heavily in his face and smelled of manure.

“Aye, General.  I didn’t have enough time to call for others.  Twenty-five is all that’s immediately available.” 

“I guess my men will just have to pick up the slack,” Alvard replied.  “Which isn’t a bad thing.”  He surveyed the platoon of Samarian Guard standing at attention before him.  “Tonight, I want you all to stand by and watch how we handle a disturbance like this,” Alvard explained.  “Let the Noman troops deal with the crowds.  If they see a familiar Samarian face right away, they may get the wrong idea.”  He looked directly at Brutus.  “Can I trust that you will have your men under control?”

“Aye, General.  There will be no problems with the Guard.” 

Alvard bent down from atop the horse.  “For all your sakes, I should hope not,” he threatened so only Brutus could hear.  He straightened back up and spoke again.  “We have horses for you and your men, Captain Bludworth.  Remember, tonight is a learning experience in how the Noman regime operates.”

A few seconds later, the large iron gate was opened by the gatekeepers.  Its two separate sections rotated inward with a loud screeching of rusted pivots moving against one another.  Brutus watched as the company of Noman soldiers marched forth.  They cantered past with spears extended horizontally, facing the crowd, and shields held close to their bodies.  A full moon had finally emerged from the blanket of thick clouds, and it lit up the city with a dim luminescence.

“They look like they are going into battle,” a soldier whispered to Brutus.

“Battle?  Those people in the streets aren’t soldiers,” Brutus argued back passionately.  “They won’t stand a chance if Alvard attacks them.” 

The end of the Noman cavalry finally appeared, and the last few soldiers led horses for Brutus’s men.  They mounted quickly, keeping their swords sheathed, unlike the armed Nomans that rode before them.

Brutus had never seen Alumhy look so sad.  The stone building loomed over the streets, failing to block out the wind that gushed like the current of a river through the alleyways.  Nothing stirred in the streets except for the blowing of their capes and the movement of the horses’ hooves.  Shop windows and doors with newly erected prison bars stared back at them with jeering, toothy grins.  The convoy was coming up on Center Market now, and Brutus could see the mob of Samarian citizens quickly marching up Main Street, which led directly to the common. 

Alvard had the company of Noman soldiers lined up abreast along the diameter of Center Market.  Their spears stood at a forty-five degree angle, ready to impale with a quick downward stroke if commanded.  The General rode out ahead of the stationary group and turned to face them.

“By the King’s orders we are to stop this insurgency,” Alvard growled underneath his helm.  “This mob is violent and a danger to our King and Queen.  Anyone who consorts with them will be apprehended and sentenced to death!”

As soon as Alvard said this, the crowd of Samarians crested the last hill before entering Center Market.  It looked like a rising sun was permeating the darkness, because every single protester carried a flaming lantern, candle, or torch.  Brutus had to shield his eyes before they adjusted to the newly arrived light.  None of the townsfolk carried weapons, only expressions of outrage.  He had the group of Samarian Castle Guards move off to the side, away from the formation of Nomans, but where they would still be able to observe what was happening. 

The Samarian crowd sang in a melancholy sort of way, as if they were mourning the loss of a dear friend.  When the hymn ended, the mass of people stood silent and defiant against the rows of armed Noman soldiers.  Alvard advanced towards them, moving his horse up and down the line of people.

“My name is Alvard,” he said to them.  “The recently appointed General of Arms for the new Samarian army.  I was selected by Queen Evangeline and King Olger to repress this uprising, so I suggest all of you return to your homes and cease to instigate any quarrels through your meager protests.  Because I assure you, it will not end well for any of you.”

“We demanded to see Queen Evangeline,” someone said.  “She must hear what we have to say.  She is our Queen and her duty is to listen to her subjects!”

  “Your opinions have no place among the Samarian nobility,” Alvard replied.  “Now leave!” 

“The Samarian law states that citizens may speak against their monarchs in order for their voice to be heard,” another argued back.  “It is our given right as a Samarian, so move out of the way!”

“To protest against the actions of your King is to commit treason against your country,” Alvard proclaimed as he trotted his horse up closer to the mob.  “And treason is punishable by death.” 

“Under whose authority are these laws made?” someone asked, followed by several yells and curses.  “That is not the way Samaria is governed.”

“It’s the authority of the new Samaria!” Alvard yelled.  “Changes are coming in how this country is ruled, and all of you will be required to abide by these new decrees.”

“That’s a load of rubbish!  We demand to be heard by the Queen, the true ruler,” someone interjected.  “And no one else.” 

Alvard just laughed, a deep rumble in his chest that escaped through his beard.  “The true Samarian ruler
is
Olger Guttensen.  I suggest you all get that fact through your thick sculls.”  He surveyed the crowd disdainfully, as if they were dirt underneath his boots. 

A hushed wave of voices arose from the mass as they talked among themselves.  Some of the people looked angered almost to a frenzy, while others looked like terrified children ready to bolt any moment.  Brutus could see that they were conflicted.  They knew that Samaria was doomed if allowed to be ruled by Olger Guttensen, but they had no idea how to combat his influence over the Queen.  She had allowed him to take control over her army, which Olger had instantly combined with his own.  Now the count of soldiers numbered thousands upon thousands, something that this group of protesters couldn’t compete with.

“The Overlord of Nomanestan is not our King!” another voice spoke up.  “We will not bend our knee to him!”  A humongous cry of support erupted at that defiant avowal.

This declaration angered Alvard, because he jawline hardened and his eyes became cold.  Brutus tried to pin point who had spoken out against the Noman General.  He surveyed the crowd in the dark and immediately recognized the dissident as one of Alumhy’s noteworthy carpenters, but he couldn’t recall his name.  He was an older man whose body had seen its share of labor.  His knees were knobby, and his hands were riddled with gout.  A woolen mantle covered his bony shoulders, and his arms remained tucked in underneath.

Alvard halted his horse with a harsh retract of the reins.  The beast neighed in protest as the bit cut painfully into its mouth.  He dismounted with a heavy thud to the ground and then tramped towards the outspoken man with a heavy step.