Azurite (Daughter of the Mountain Book 1) (51 page)

“What’s your name?” he sneered when he was right in his face.  The old man remained where he stood, trying to appear courageous against Alvard’s menacing stature.

“Briggs,” he replied hoarsely as his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously along his throat.

“Well
Briggs,
” Alvard mocked, “you’re lucky that King Olger is a gracious King.  Repent of your transgressions towards his Highness, and he shall forgive you and let you go on with your pathetic little life!”  Spit flew from Alvard’s mouth and onto the old man’s face.  Alvard took a few steps back away from Briggs and addressed the whole group.

“In fact, I’m going to give all of you the chance to repent of your betrayal, a pardon on behalf of your King.  If anyone desires to leave this group of insurgents, come forth without fear of retaliation.  You will be treated with the utmost respect and given favor in the King’s eye.”  Even though Alvard said this, no one in the crowd budged.

Behind him, Brutus could hear the arrival of another formation of soldiers as they came clambering down the road leading from Mizra.  The horses’ shoes clip-clopping on the cobblestone street preceded them, and the obnoxious tone of a bugle announced the arrival of royalty.  Its brassy ring echoed off of Alumhy’s stone buildings before making an appearance in Center Market.  Brutus’s initial hope was that it was Evangeline come out to calm the worries of her people and deal with their concerns so they wouldn’t get hurt.  But Brutus knew that thought involved giving his Queen far more than the benefit of the doubt.

  This new formation of soldiers was all Noman, and they rode in a box around Olger Guttensen.  The King was wearing his lamellar armor, no helm, and his eyes were painted darker than the night. His face was merciless as he observed the common folk he so desired to rule.

“Hail, King Olger!  King of Samaria” Alvard cried when he saw the King.  Those on foot genuflected while those on horseback saluted their leader.  All of them repeated the cry but their acclamation was quickly sucked up by the thrusting winds swirling through the empty backstreets.  Olger road up slowly, his posture held high despite the saddle that moved underneath him.  He held up his hand signaling his guards to halt next to the formation of Alvard’s stationary soldiers.  Olger then dismounted and continued on foot till he was next standing next to the General in front of the angry crowd.

The crowd seemed to shrink in on itself under Olger’s oppressive glare.  They had heard rumors of the Overlord’s torture techniques on those who opposed him.  Tonight his very presence induced fear in all those who stood before him. They remained silent, failing to verbally acknowledge Olger as their monarch, but their defiance of him remained unhidden.  Standing next to Alvard, the King was not nearly as large, but his mien spoke volumes and was much more terrifying. 

“I know why you all are here,” Olger began coldly.  “And I must admit…I was expecting a much warmer welcome to Samaria than the one I have received so far.”  He began pacing back and forth across from the Samarians, tracing the swirling patterns etched into the grip of his sword. 

“And why shouldn’t I expect such a thing?  When my people and I are only here to peacefully reclaim what is rightfully ours and unite the northern lands in the way they should be.”  The crowd began to move restlessly about, clearly angered by Olger’s distorted views about their country. 

“Have you all forgotten the chronicles of your beginning?” he demanded rhetorically.  “Because Samaria was nothing but a frozen, rock-hard tundra inhabited by primitive Neanderthals before my people came along. We lived together for hundreds of years, and our blood slowly became one.  And now Nomanestan and Samaria are officially united into the one supreme country it always should have been!  And you all stand here defying me.  Defying the truth!”

He surveyed the silent mob, confident that his speech made the citizens rethink their reasons for trying to resist his coronation.  Silence hung in the air for so long that nothing could be heard except the howl of the wind and the breathing of the horses.  Finally, someone spoke, vocalizing what all those in the crowd were thinking.

“Take your lies and drown them in the seas you sailed over!” a voice erupted.

“We don’t want you here!”

“Tyrant!  Tyrant!” someone yelled boldly.

Olger just glared harshly at them, neither surprised nor disappointed by their reactions.  His hand had stopped toying with his sword and was now tightly clenched around it.

“You dare to call me a tyrant!” Olger roared back at them angrily. “When I’m the one who’s been putting food in your mouths for the last three years!  You all are so quick to forget about that, aren’t you?  During times of devastation Samaria was never without.  You never suffered. You spoiled, ungrateful people!”  He was pacing again, his heavy boots knocking the floor as he did so.  “Fools!  If not for the hard work and good hearts of me and my people, you’d all be starved to death by now!”

“So next time you buy a sack of wheat or barely from the Samarian reserves, know that it is Noman grain that you are consuming,” Olger yelled.  “Not goods from some faraway country, part of the Sovereign Alliance, pretending to care for your plight.  No!  It was brought to you by the graciousness of your new King.”

The carpenter Briggs, who’d been stricken silent by the arrival of Olger, finally stepped up to speak forwardly to his King.  If he was scared, it was impossible to tell.

“I think I speak for all of us when I say you and your lies are not welcome here,” Briggs addressed the King in a quivering voice.  “Take your blasted food and depart from these lands.  We don’t want anything of the Nomans!  The Queen may fall into your deceptions, but will not!  We fought against you once, and we will do it again.”  He took one step closer till his nose almost touched Olger’s.  “And we will win.”

Sensing a threat to his King’s life, Alvard immediately bolted in to intercept Briggs.  He grabbed a fist full of the old man’s mantel, spun him away from Olger, and pushed him roughly to the ground, kicking him harshly in the spine several times with his riding boot to ensure the old man would stay down.  Briggs coughed and heaved as the blows kept coming, while protests erupted from the weaponless Samarians behind him.  When he was satisfied, Alvard beckoned to another Noman to rush over and help him. 

“Grab em’ on that side,” Alvard instructed as the two of them lifted Briggs off of the ground.  They forced him to stand in front of Olger with his skinny arms grasped in their tight grips.  Briggs groaned in pain as Alvard pulled his arms backwards, forcing his injured spine to straighten.

“I am not going anywhere,” Olger bellowed heatedly.  “What you’re so pettily protesting is already done.”

Olger then refocused his gaze on Briggs and looked him over without pity.  “You WILL recognize me as King of Samaria.  And you will kneel before me out of respect.  Acknowledge me as the rightful ruler of your country, and I will let you live.”

Briggs gave Olger an unyielding stare of determination, and the King was silent and unmoving for a couple of seconds.

“I take your muteness as a no,” Olger told him.  His lips curled into that same heinous sneer that Brutus had seen on the battlefield, and his body went instantly tight with fear.  Olger turned back around and marched over to the formation of Noman soldiers that stood by armed and prepared to fight.

“Men!” he yelled.  “For every time that this man refuses to kneel before me, grab another simpleton from the lot there.  Then we’ll do to them what we do to all traitors!”

Dozens of Noman soldiers quickly advanced on the crowd, their finely sharpened blades unsheathed and their round shields held closely to them.  Women screamed in fright and covered their faces while the men stood undaunted and ready for a brawl.  The cowardly retreated to the back of the mob, slipping into the shadows before disappearing altogether before the bloody quarrel ensued. 

The Noman soldiers attacked the mass of protesting Samarians, shoving their way into the crowd, slashing at them with the metal edges of their shields, but the crowd pushed back ferociously.  While the others kept the frenzied mob at bay, additional Noman warriors rushed in and kidnapped an innocent spectator.  They hulled her out of the protection of her people while she screamed in horror the whole time. 

With a sense of dread, Brutus realized it was the same woman he’d seen earlier that day, carrying the jug of milk home to her family.  Her eyes were wide in fear as they darted nervously between her two captures.  The two soldiers flung the woman to the ground then forced her onto her hands and knees. 

One of the Nomans grabbed her mass of hair in his hand and jerked her head up so she was looking directly at Olger and Briggs only a few yards away from her.  The crowd was screaming now, thrusting their torches high into the air, but the Nomans had their shields out, pushed against the crowd so they could not pass.  Olger scanned the infuriated Samarian faces with a cold expression, and he looked back to Briggs hanging in front of him.

“What do you say, knave?” Olger asked him.  “Will you kneel before your King?  Or be responsible for the death of that wench over there because you’re too proud to do so?”  Despite his weekend state, Briggs’ sunken eyes were unwavering against the King. Olger just sneered at him again.

“Alright,” Olger replied, sucking his teeth noisily.  He addressed the crowed behind Briggs.  “This old man is too proud to consent to my requests.  All I’m asking is that he acknowledges me as King.  It’s really quite simple!  But no, he’s trying to prove he’s brave at the expense of a life barely lived.  Is that what you all call valor?  Is that how the brave act?  Through selfishness?” 

The whimpers of the hostage maiden were louder than even Olger’s booming voice.  Trails of tears streaked her face, but she didn’t speak, lest she dare vilify those citizens who were trying stand up for what they believed in.  Olger just snickered under his breath. 

“Grab another one!” he roared.  

The brutal Noman soldiers forced there way into the crowed once more, attacking the defenseless Samarians ruthlessly.  Screams of fear broke through the howling winds that whipped at their faces and snagged their clothing.  Half of the rioting mass turned around and ran in the other direction, away from the King and his violence, shouting and yelling in terror.  They tripped and fell over each other as they clambered up the uneven streets, trampling on those too weak to run alongside them.  The Samarians who remained behind attempted to fight back, swinging their fists against the Noman armor without success.  The soldiers reacted gruesomely, beating the rebelling citizens to a bloody pulp.  They knocked them aside with swords and spears until blood flowed freely, and the protesting citizens lay sprawled unconscious and bleeding on the ground.

Another woman was being dragged out of the crowd, despite the turmoil happening around them.  Brutus’s heart sank when he saw who it was.  Every person in Alumhy knew who she was.  It was Loral, the iconic gem piece maker with her long silver hair and soft, motherly face.  She was being pulled by the wrist and drug on the ground by a soldier who then deposited her next to the other woman still in the control of Olger’s executioner.  Olger swung around to look at Briggs.

“This is the last time, old man.  I won’t give you another chance.” 

Before Briggs could even respond, another voice broke through the atmosphere of fear.  It was Loral.

“We will never bow down to you, savage,” she proclaimed with vehemence.  “Nor will we bow down to anyone who willingly consorts with you.  Zora is the rightful heir to this country, and to her and her alone our allegiance will be pledged.”

Loral’s declaration seemed to throw Olger off momentarily.  His painted eyes widened slightly and worry seemed to creep into his normally confident facial features. 

Zora.  Olger didn’t know anything about this illegitimate daughter of the Queen, other than she was no longer in Samaria.  He’d assumed she was of no concern, but how had a child been able to build up such support in a country where the Queen’s rule was so sound?  If the Samarian citizens still supported her, then that made her a direct threat to him. 

Suddenly, the crowd began slowly reassembling.  Those who had beaten down or injured were lifted up from the ground while those who’d been hiding in the shadows of the buildings stepped forward.  They were chanting something deeply under their breath, and amidst Olger’s zooming thoughts he tried to discern what it was.  It became louder and louder, more confident with each breath.

Zora!  Zora!

They were chanting the exiled princess’s name with such loyalty and fervor that it seemed as though she may appear before them like an angelic being just by the grace of their words.  Even Briggs was repeating Zora’s name with struggling breaths.

The King growled in agitation and unsheathed his sword with a clear and melodic ring into the night.  “You WILL bow to me!” he cried out to the crowd.  “And no one else!” 

He kicked Briggs as hard as he could in the kneecap till he felt the joint dislocated underneath the heel of his boot.  The man fell to the ground screaming in pain, and Olger motioned for two of his soldiers to come and bind the man’s hands behind his back.  Briggs’ body lay limp and in agony as the soldiers tied him up.  Olger stood next to him and stared callously at the Samarians chanting behind him.

“Is this what you want?” he demanded, pointing the tip of his sword at Briggs and the two woman detained behind him.  “Because this is what you’ll get!”