Fourth Vector Ch. 15

"It sounds like this enmity goes way back, Kat. Especially if this was the fourth war they fought between them."

She nodded. "It was the fourth and the last. For the time being after that war, Swabian power was broken. Their emperor died during the sack so there were many lords that fought each other for power. Many of them didn't hold onto it for very long, killed by the next ambitious lord who wanted the throne. It was a chaotic time for them, but it was a peaceful time for the rest of the world."

"They all rushed to find a way to protect Naxos," said Jack before he turned to look at her. "Yet, didn't you tell me that Naxos was just conquered by the Swabians? And their people used as slave labor?"

Kat nodded. "It's a . . . different time now than it was then. Much of that reaction to the Swabians was led by the Galician king. Without the king to act as overlord, most of those alliances fell apart. The Apulians completely disarmed after the war. They saw how the threat from Swabia was diminished and abolished their army. Picardy tried to maintain the alliance, but those fortunes waxed or waned depending who the current Galician king or regent was. Petty regents would let alliances slip away, not understanding their importance to keeping the Swabians from their aggressive acts."

Kat took a long sigh. "And that brings us to today. We have an ineffectual Galician regent who cares for nothing outside his own borders. We have squabbling between the Picards and the Carinthians. The Apulians have no army and the no one lifted a finger to help the Nax from being conquered. It is truly a troubled time."

"One of the traders mentioned that the Apulians were looking to rebuild their army after what happened to the Nax," said Jack. "Perhaps there is hope yet?"

"Even still, it takes a long time to train an army to fight properly," said Kat. "Even then, they will be untested until they taste battle, which puts in doubt their effectiveness. I really fear for the world if this Swabian aggression continues to go unchecked."

"Not unchecked," said Jack with a soft smile. "I'd say we've checked them here, don't you think?"

Kat turned to look at him. "We did, Jack, but we've only destroyed a regiment of theirs. Their army is large, and their ships are dominant. Not to mention, there's just too few of us. Even if we managed to string together an alliance between the Sorellans, Andalucians, and Picards, we'd still be too few in number to take on the empire if they decided to strike anywhere with force."

"So what you're saying then is that we need the Galicians? That I need to find a way to convince this regent to fight for us?"

Kat scoffed. "Good luck with Regent Eric Rosdahl. You'd have a better chance at convincing the Swabian emperor to become a pacifist."

"There has to be a way for us," said Jack firmly. "And it's not just those nations that are standing together against the Swabians. You have the might of the Javan Empire on your side as well. We'll find a way to do this, Kat. I can't complete my mission in the Vector if the Swabians keep attacking my new allies."

She nodded slowly. "Sometimes I need to remind myself that we need to take things one step at a time. I have a bad habit of getting too far ahead of myself. I should focus on the road ahead and where it leads us and not get lost in the big picture."

"That doesn't sound like a bad idea. We'll be leaving soon from this country," said Jack. "I need to do one last thing in Septhada before we go and then we go try to convince the Picards to join our alliance. I just hope we have a better time there than we had in the last two countries."

Kat smiled and looked at him. "We can hope!"

*****

Across the sea from Andalucia, on the grand island of Cormfeld in the Empire of Swabia, Lord Regaulfus Avila stood on the upper balcony of his palace watching the training field below. The palace was large, decadent, and had way too much space for him alone to make adequate use of. Even this balcony was attached to a mostly unused wing of the palace, the extra space not needed to maintain him and his servants. He only used the balcony because it gave the most excellent views of the training field below, and on occasion, he enjoyed watching the veterans of his personal regiments train for battle.

Today's training was for target practice. Below him, the field echoed with the roar of rifle fire as about twenty men worked their own individual target while several instructors observed. While normally the instructors would be there to teach, they were mostly unneeded in the veteran formations that made up some of his first regiments. And while he was too far away to observe the targets, their choreographed movements and smooth firing let him know that they were some of the best in the field. Not just anyone could be a member of Lord Avila's regiments.

Their training could be grueling. Weeks upon weeks of poor food, little sleep, barking sergeants, and subtle psychological threats ensured that only the best came out on the other end. Infractions were dealt with swiftly and harshly. Death was a daily occurrence. One estimate of the graduation rate was only about fifteen percent. It was a tough curriculum, and you always walked into it with your life in your hands every single day.

Avila wouldn't have it any other way. Some of the other lords in Swabia were content with quantity over quality but not him. He wanted to know that when his soldiers went into the field, they were going to achieve victory every time, no matter the cost.

It was also why the soldiers in his regiments were forbidden from surrendering. Retreating was also something that was heavily frowned upon, and only could be used if the good justification could be given for it. Yet no matter the situation that the regiments found themselves in, they could expect to hold their ground. The price for those that surrendered was much worse. Avila refused to barter for the lives of those that surrendered. Any of those that were returned to him after the conflict was over were put to death. He had no use for those without the required zeal to be one of his soldiers.

Avila's attention was diverted back to the field as one of the sergeant's blew a whistle, signaling the next group to step up to the shooting platform. This training would go on all day, at great personal cost to him in salaries and bullets. Most of it was paid for by his numerous investments, including the slaves from Naxos and the mines in Andalucia. Yet other funds came from the people of Cormfeld, taxes levied to keep them safe while defending their island.

He was also no stranger to other, more unique investments that had paid off splendidly, letting him afford this gigantic palace and a budget that most other lords salivated over. All of it was necessary though. You didn't rise in Swabian society without having a source of income. And his hopes for his position were always elevating.

His ambition didn't come without consequences. Smaller lords than himself were always looking to bring him down a peg. Any misstep on his part could invite a knife into his back, a fact that was unavoidable in Swabian power politics. He had to keep rising, or else he might stagnant. If he stagnated, he knew his enemies would strike.

Avila became aware of the sounds of footsteps behind him. For a brief moment, he contemplated whether it might be another assassin. He'd already avoided two of them this past month—sloppy affairs that didn't manage to get anywhere close to him. Yet, it still was enough to always have him on his guard constantly, even though the premises were surrounded by his own personal guard and his regiments.

You didn't stay alive without taking extra precautions.

Avila hazarded a side glance behind him, relaxing when he saw one of his servants approaching him. He turned to face the man fully.

"My lord, your cousin Adalbert sends a messenger. Shall I send him up?"

Avila nodded. "Yes, that'll be fine. I need some news about the developments in Andalucia. Send him in."

The servant nodded and retraced his steps before waiting near the open door to the chambers. After a few moments, two men walked in through the door. The first one seemed to be leading the second, and after they got closer, Avila could see that the second one was being led in chains. The man leading him was narrow-faced, with large, beady eyes and an overly sweaty face. The second man was known to him, his dark hair and features having graced this palace before.

As they reached the balcony, both men bowed deeply before resuming their stances before him.

"My Lord Avila, your cousin Adalbert sends his greetings. He hopes to find you well," started the beady-eyed man.

"I hope Adalbert is sending back some good news," said Avila as he eyed the prisoner. "His last message was not very promising. I'd like a better report."

If it was possible, the man got even sweatier. "Unfortunately, Adalbert had to send his regrets. The campaign to unseat the new King of Andalucia has run into some . . . complications."

Avila sighed. "What kind of complications?"

"As you know, our plans there were unsettled when Jack Easterbrook took the throne of the country. Our payments in gold were stopped shortly after, so Adalbert started to invest his time in swaying the clans to rebel against him. We even sent one of your personal regiments against him."

"Ah, yes, the 4th Regiment. Avila's Conquerors. How do they fair?"

The man wiped his face. "Unfortunately my lord, they have been defeated in battle."

Avila slammed his fist against a wooden table near the door. "Defeated! How?"

The man gulped heavily. "They were attacked by Easterbrook's army. Lured in is more accurate, my lord. They were then surrounded on all sides and . . . destroyed."

Avila felt his upper lip trembling in anger. "Destroyed? They are all dead?"

"There were no survivors, my lord."

Avila started to swear. An entire regiment of soldiers, personally trained and equipped at his expense, was now gone. They were supposed to be some of the best trained warriors in the war. Now, they were useless to him, lying dead in the sands of backwards Andalucia.

"That is most unfortunate for Adalbert," said Avila before he turned to look at the prisoner. "And Berimund as well. He was tasked with keeping that country under our control. It's obvious that he's failed not once but twice."

The prisoner finally made eye contact with him. Berimund's legs began to shake. "My l-lord, it can still be saved—"

"Silence!" roared Avila before he reached out to backhand the man across the face. Berimund nearly collapsed to the floor, only resuming his stance with fearful eyes.

Avila struggled to regain his composure. All he could think about was the amount of money lost, the time spent influencing the Andalucian sand-fuckers, the lucrative slave trade that was now obviously over. Yet he was greeted by the sight of another failure.

"I can see now why you're here, Berimund," said Avila with managed composure. "Do you have any final words to explain your failure?"

"Please, my lord, I beg of you. Let me have another chance," said Berimund as he assumed his knees in front of him. The man started to weep as he grabbed at Avila's robes, pleading for forgiveness. "I can do this, my lord. If you send me back, I'll turn the entire country around."

"You've already lost one of my regiments, Berimund," said Avila with a heavy sigh. "You've lost the rest of the country. If Easterbrook has united the country, you'll have lost your only chance. I can recognize when it's time to cut our losses and move onto something else. I believe now is one of those times."

"Let me go to another country, my lord," pleaded Berimund. "Or set me on another task. I can do it. I can prove my worth to you, I promise you that."

"I'm afraid your time is at an end, Berimund." Avila reached into his own robes and wrapped his fingers around the knife that was sheathed at his side. In one smooth motion, he whipped it from his side and flickered his wrist so that the blade cut into the narrow flesh of Berimund's throat. A small, red line opened up immediately in the wake of the blade, and soon a rush of blood erupted from the wound. Berimund's eyes went wide in his final moments, and his body soon crumpled against the ground.

Avila bent down to wipe his knife on Berimund's gray robes, cleaning it of all the blood before he sheathed it again and stepped away. Looking down at his own robes, he noticed a speck of blood against his shin.

"And to think, the man soils my robe with his blood. One final insult," he said while giving a subtle tsk-tsk.

"I will dispose of his body properly, my lord," said the messenger.

"And send someone in to clean up this blood. I don't want it staining my carpet."

"At once, my lord."

"This Jack Easterbrook is becoming a very real threat to our people. I want you to get a new message out to my cousin. I'm giving him a new mission. One that he cannot fail. Remind him that even though he is the son of my mother's little sister, no one under my employ gets second chances. Make sure he understands that."

"I'll deliver the message just as you gave it, my lord," said the messenger with a heavy gulp.

"Good. I'm going to have Adalbert join an existing mission I have going on. One that is turning our enemies against one another." Avila spent the next ten minutes ironing out the new mission that he wanted Adalbert to partake in. After he was finished speaking, the messenger gave a deep bow.

"I understand perfectly, my lord. I will get this to Adalbert at once."

The man left the room shortly after while two cleaning servants came in to remove the blood and body of Berimund. They dropped his body with the bodies of the other recruits who couldn't quite make it through training. A waste, no doubt, but it was worth sending the message to all of those still employed by him. He could only afford to take the best with him to the very top.

It also meant his own plans had to change. The loss of Andalucia was a setback, even as the loss of Sorella was a setback. The same man had taken both of them from him, and it was long past the time that Jack Easterbrook felt his wrath directly. He could have no more setbacks. And that meant he needed to reach out to his allies.

Avila walked across the length of the palace to his own personal office, located on the fourth floor that overlooked the gardens. Upon entry, he immediately sat down at his desk, and began to cycle through some recent correspondence. After he'd flipped through messages from the rulers of Samara, slave reports from Naxos, and lastly a recent proclamation from the Swabian emperor, Avila came across the letter he was looking for. It had been dated for only two weeks prior, and he still hadn't had a chance to respond to it yet. Now was the perfect time.

If he was going to go up against Jack Easterbrook, he needed the help of the one other man who could leverage the same proper force. Someone who would understand the threat of the man who had so disturbed their own plans. With that in mind, he began to write:

ATTN: ERIC ROSDAHL

REGENT OF GALICIA

*****

About a week later, Jack and his army finally arrived back in Septhada. The city seemed to have prepared for his arrival, or they'd at least received notice of what day to expect him. Many of its denizens celebrated the return of their king with great fanfare. Almost half the city came out to greet them as they crossed the threshold of its boundaries, happy faces excited to have their victorious king returning once more. One surprising facet was just how many faces Jack recognized as belonging to former slaves, those that had taken the payment he'd set up before the latest uprising. They seemed to cheer the loudest of anyone.

It was a reminder of a task that had been started but not completed, and it was one of the main items he wanted to finish before he left the country. In doing so, he could leave with his conscience intact, knowing that he did the right thing.

It was for that reason that he spent the first couple days working out the logistics of how it could happen. He'd planned to replicate the same form of initial payment to get them on their feet, but vast sums of gold were required to pay every former slave in the country. Although the fortune that had been going to the Swabians had been seized, it was still inadequate to reach the entire country, which required some interesting fund-seeking on his part. As Jack utilized Bazu for help in finding where they could acquire those funds, he finally got to the place where he could issue his long-awaited proclamation.

On the morning of, Jack had assembled the city leaders of Septhada as well as nearby clan chiefs to the palace fortress in order to read off the carefully prepared statement that he'd spent the entire previous night working on. As they seated themselves in the main receiving hall, Jack formally took the platform in front of them to read off the message.

"As you all know, Andalucia has recently come under a heavy degree of turmoil," he started, looking out to the rest of the room. "I can't deny that I've not had my fair share in the role of that turmoil, but the country is now at peace. The northern uprising has been defeated, and the meddling in this country by the Swabian Empire has ended. However, there remains one piece of Andalucian society that still needs set to rights. An institution that needs to end."

"For that reason, on this day, I have ordered that all forms of slavery in Andalucia are henceforth abolished. No man should be shackled to the whims of another man. In this country, we will have free men and women, capable of choosing the lives that suits them best."

Jack took careful measure of the mood of the audience. Many of the city leaders bowed their heads in acceptance, most likely knowing this motion was coming after the release of Septhada's slaves. The clan chiefs were more reserved in their reaction, something that Jack expected from them. To his credit, none of them showed any public displeasure. His relief for that was palpable, but the uprising had the effect of removing any clans that dared to still show opposition to him. Those that were left had accepted his leadership and had shown a degree of loyalty.

"To that end," continued Jack. "I will be charging each individual clan chief with freeing the slaves in their clans upon their return. To do so, they will receive a small treasury of gold with which to give to each slave to start their new life." Jack then gave a veiled and threatening look to the clan chiefs. "Any chief who does not free their own slaves will find their clan forfeited back to my control."

Several of them wiggled in their seats uncomfortably at that message. Jack knew it was a little over the top, but he wanted it perfectly clear that this gold they were about to receive was for the slaves alone. It was not to enter their own personal treasuries.

"To help enforce this new ruling, I will be sending some of my own personalSciavo with the clan chiefs to ensure my will is done," added Jack, putting the proper insurance in place.

While half the room looked like they wanted to celebrate, the other half had the complete opposite reaction. It was a polarizing issue by any accounts, yet it needed to happen. Backwards Andalucia could no longer tolerate such an affront to all humanity.

"With the passage of the new law, and the release of these slaves, all slave pens and markets are to be destroyed. They will have no use in our new Andalucia," said Jack. "To add to that point, no longer will Methusa be the site of the slave trade in the country. It is to retain its status as a free city, guarded by my ownSciavo to keep it safe."