Fourth Vector Ch. 23

Between the two of them, they both had something that only Avila could provide. Protection.

Other lords snapped at the heels of both men, ready to take advantage of their lands unless they found allies. It was out of sheer practicality that they were forced to look to Avila for that protection, and he was glad to give it. With the aid of Godric's army and Clovis' riches, he could forge a power base to catapult him to the throne.

Despite all of them being lords, the two newcomers still had the good sense to know which side their bread was buttered on.

"My Lord Avila, I'm delighted to see you," said Clovis, bowing deeply in front of him. The younger man's voice squeaked once with his greeting, a sure sign of his inexperience.

"Clovis, welcome to Cormfeld," said Avila with a paternal smile. "How was the trip in?"

"Uneventful, my lord. Always the kind I prefer," answered the younger man.

"Excellent," said Avila before turning and repeating the same process with the other man. "Godric, I feel terrible for making you bow in your old age."

"I still have plenty of pluck in me, my lord," said the much older Godric. "I can take what any man can give me even in battle. I still do training with my soldiers every morning back in Selz."

"And I'm sure they're all the better for it," said Avila.

"You bet they are. Finest soldiers in Swabia," said Godric proudly. "Just don't tell that prick Aurelius I said that."

Avila smiled. One other thing that made the two men excellent prospective allies was their opposition to Aurelius. The emperor had neglected their two lands, preferring other lords to sprinkle his patronage on, and it showed in their demeanor back to him. Both lords were used to getting nothing from the imperial throne, and they were more than willing to see a new occupant who might be a little more generous in his support.

"I'm so glad you both were able to come. Would you like some wine?" asked Avila as he gestured for his servants to come forward.

"As long as it's the Apulian variety," said Godric. "My old heart has no time for the cheap stuff anymore."

"Only the finest in Cormfeld, Godric, I assure you," answered Avila. He watched as fresh cups were brought forward and filled to the brim.

"Cheers," said Avila, as the three men raised their glasses together.

"You'll forgive me, my lord, if I get to business right away," started Godric after he'd drank a heavy portion of the wine. "But at my age, I try not to waste away what precious time I have left. I need to make sure all of us here are on the same page." He cast a wary eye over at Clovis, no doubt wondering at the man's level of complicity in their overall scheme.

Avila picked up on it right away. "I can assure you that Clovis shares the same sympathies as you and I. The fact of the matter is that the three of us have much in common. All of us are outcasts from our peers, for one reason or another. Before now, there was reason to fear being an outcast, especially in such a country as Swabia. Moving forward, the other lords will fear us and what our combined resources can do together."

"I can drink to that," said Godric as Clovis nodded his support as well.

"Excellent," said Avila. "Then let us not mince words, gentlemen. Individually, we stand out and we're weak. Together, we're strong, and we can provide a bulwark against excesses from other lords and the emperor as well. It's a smart move for us to start working together more closely."

"I'll never be emperor," said Godric rather surprisingly, forcing Avila to raise his eyebrow. "I'm too damn old and I have no sons. But with that being said, I'll be damned if I let the other lords look at my land like vultures to carrion. Especially with the current emperor's consent. For that reason, you have my support, my lord." Godric knelt in front of Avila and kissed his boot, a typical Swabian custom reserved only for those recognized as emperor.

"You will have my support and the resources from all of Selz behind you," said Godric as he rose onto his feet once more. "With my dying breath, I'd like to see you take the throne one day and become emperor for those of us now without patronage."

Avila let out a satisfactory nod before turning his attention to Clovis. "And you, Clovis? Do you share the same sentiment?"

"I do, my lord," said the much younger man. "Lindau may be the youngest lordship in all of Swabia but we have the second highest revenues. My economic base would match well with Godric's army, as well as the resources you already have at your disposal. If you would but offer me your protection from the other lords, I will do everything in my power to see you elevated to the throne."

"It is a heavy task you ask of me," said Avila with false modesty. "The throne isn't for the weak of heart. To play at that level requires only the highest level of tenacity. I wouldn't have gathered the both of you here if I didn't expect our alliance to bear fruit. To that degree, I accept the task you so humbly request of me. I consent to being your champion and look forward to the day when we might elevate Swabia far beyond her peers."

Both men raised their glasses once more, joining Avila in another celebratory toast. He could scarcely contain his excitement at the matter. The resources of the three of them would give them a considerable edge over any competition, even those lords who also had their eyes on the throne.

For Avila, it also meant those other lords' days were numbered.

"In light of our arrangement, what should we be doing next?" asked Clovis as he looked back at Avila for guidance.

Avila pursed his lips in thought. "I don't like to call it our arrangement for one. It sounds too dirty, and it doesn't inspire the nobility of our purpose. Henceforth, we will be known as the Triumvirate. The three of us united together as one. Equals in all say."

Avila held his smile after the words escaped his lips. The equals part was a clever falsehood in reality, but he knew that to keep his new partners happy, he would need to keep some semblance of balance to this new Triumvirate. For that, he was happy to be equals with them. As long as he was first among equals.

"Triumvirate sounds pretty fancy," said Godric. "I like it though."

"As do I, my lord," said Clovis.

"It's settled then," said Avila. "And in regards to your earlier question, Clovis, I'll need your support. The war in Picardy continues to escalate despite Aurelius wishing it not to. I fear at some point, this will be the flash point for conflict on our own islands."

"If that day is bound to come, then how can we ensure that we'll come out on top?" asked Godric.

Avila smiled. "Come with me. Let me show you my latest weaponry. In the hands of our armies, we'll be unstoppable."

Both men came willingly to Avila's armory, and their mouths soon gaped at the assembled potential of Avila's men. It was only too satisfying to the Lord of Cormfeld.

Today, the Triumvirate took shape to plan for a fight for power in all of Swabia.

Tomorrow, they would be one step closer to realizing that dream.

*****

"I already told you, pal, I don't know him."

Adalbert pursed his lips and decided to try another angle with the drunken patron of Burwick's largest tavern.

"You sure about that? You'd easily recognize him if you saw him. Blond hair, just like the Galicians. Any of those been around?"

"Piss off, will you?" retorted the patron, obviously a soldier from his light-blue army attire.

Adalbert snarled and jumped off his seat, heading for the back of the establishment. Under his breath, a series of curses erupted from his mouth, the result of not finding a single decent lead since he arrived in the city two days ago. He thought he'd stumble into a windfall, especially since the main Picard army hadn't yet left. With the Javan component of the army, that meant Jack Easterbrook had to be nearby, and he was determined to locate the foreign interloper and make good on his task for his cousin.

The problem was finding someone who was willing to flap their jaws. Soldiers were an extremely poor target, even though they had the best chance of pointing him to Easterbrook. Many of them had a sixth sense when someone was trying to get them to talk about sensitive matters, and they would either get hostile in the case of the last Picard or excuse themselves away.

City folk weren't much of a help either, many of them scarcely even knowing that there were foreigners in the Picard army, let alone know what a Javan was. It made Adalbert's task exceedingly difficult, especially as he felt so close to a breakthrough.

He was just about to find another tavern when his eyes spotted a promising target. He recognized the attire instantly, the typical marine fatigues of the Javan force and the dark features of the country shared by the majority of his countrymen. He also noticed the man having a hard time keeping his head up, a sure sign that the drink was winning his fight against sobriety.

"Say, friend, is this place always so busy?" asked Adalbert as he invited himself to the drunken marine's table. "I can't even get a good pint and the bartender refuses to look at me."

"Perhabs if yu took your cloak off," slurred the marine, looking up with bloodshot eyes. His wits seemed to still be about him despite his condition, and Adalbert deemed it a good enough chance to keep prying.

"That's true in any event, but I don't want to be scaring anyone with all my scars. Nasty workplace injury, you know?" he chatted nonchalantly. "You look like one of those Javan fellows, right? The ones that just freed the city?"

"Sure am!" said the marine proudly. "Sayed from those Swahbian dicks. You're welcome by the way!"

Adalbert grinned. "Yes, thank you indeed. I'm so glad to see them leave. You guys must be commanded by some great men in order to do it so quickly."

"The 57th Marine Regiment 'as always been great," said the marine with a hiccup. "Our leader is fearless. A damned good marine!"

"Is that the same guy as this Jack fellow I keep hearing about?" asked Adalbert. "Jack Westerbrook or something like that?"

The marine shook his head violently. "No, no, no, no. Our leader is my colonel. Greg Vaughn! Great man! Easterbrook went home months ago."

Adalbert did a double take. "What do you mean months ago?"

"Recalled back to Java," said the marine with another hiccup. He took a long swig of his drink and then his face fell steadily lower to the table. "Gotta kill some Occitanians now! It could've been me too but they needed me over here!"

Adalbert couldn't care less about what the hell an Occitanian was but he tried to refocus the marine on Easterbrook. "So this Vaughn guy is in charge now? Not Easterbrook."

"Right yu are, friend."

"For how long? When does Easterbrook come back?"

The marine shrugged. "Who knows? When the war is over? They don't tell me these things. Just where to point and shoot." The marine made a gun with his finger and fired a shot directly at Adalbert.

For a time, he was lost for words. If what this man said was true and Easterbrook was out of the country, his chance of finding him went to zero. What was even worse, if he went home across the ocean, there was no way to get to him now.

It all but tightened the noose around his neck, and a very real feeling of fear ran up his spine.

Part of him wondered if he might be better off switching his target to this Vaughn character, but then he shook his head. His cousin had specified Easterbrook, and showing up with the wrong man, even one that was in charge, would do him no good.

He was effectively screwed.

At least the drunk marine didn't seem to notice his predicament. When Adalbert next focused his attention on the man, his face was firmly glued to the table, eyes closed, and dead to the world. He would feel this one tomorrow, Adalbert was sure, but it didn't mean that he wouldn't seek to take advantage of him. Adalbert stuck a hand into the marine's coat pocket, finding only a couple valuables including a watch and a few pieces of silver. He pocketed all but one of them, leaving it as the man's reward for providing the information.

Adalbert then stood up and made his way out of the tavern, exiting onto the busy street and heading in the direction of his cheap quarters. His heart was heavy as he walked and his footsteps were the same. He had no chance of surviving without having Easterbrook around and it made his current task lose all importance. Part of him questioned whether he could find the nearest ship and take off for parts unknown, escaping from his cousin for as long as possible for the chance at living out the rest of his days.

That prospect hardly brightened his spirit.

He knew that no matter where he went, his cousin's men would still find him.

It was Easterbrook or death, and right now, it looked like death was going to win.

I should've died in Daban, he thought reluctantly as he stepped inside his quarters.

*****

Lord William Calland stared across the table at the unrelenting form of the Galician Regent. He was just about exasperated from their current conversation, one where things hadn't gone right from the start.

"All I'm saying, Your Highness, is that the current state of our navy is dreadful," said Calland in a much more measured tone than before. "We have the funds available to revitalize these ships, many of which are barely seaworthy."

"Funds that could very well be used elsewhere," answered Eric Rosdahl as he stared down the errant lord. "You know as well as I do that the economy isn't in great shape right now. The navy is not on my priority list."

"Should it not be?" countered Calland. "It's our first line of defense against any enemy. Things in the wider world are not as calm as they once were. We know about what's happening Picardy."

"What'sallegedly happening in Picardy," corrected Eric.

Calland let out a long sigh. "I have no reason to doubt our own intelligence on the matter. All reports show that half the country is overrun with Swabians."

"Reports can be falsified," said Eric with a shrug. "And in any event, Picardy is a long way off from Galicia. Why should we care what's going on a thousand miles away?"

"Because at any moment, the Swabians could decide to attack in our direction as well," said Calland, feeling his temper starting to rise again. "If they do, they'd be able to take over easily. They still sit on rightful Galician territory that they were able to seize without firing a shot. I'm told it even has a proper Swabian name now—Lindau."

"Ancient history," said Eric with a dismissive wave. "Besides, my accommodations with the Swabians would prevent that from happening."

"Accommodations can change," warned Calland. "It's right for us to be prepared. Those ships out there need repairs. Otherwise, they can't even be counted on to stay afloat let alone offer a proper defense."

"I will take your request into consideration, but don't expect any changes at the current time," said Eric with a stiff upper lip. "I have to consider other priorities first."

"What can be more prioritized than our defense?" asked Calland, immediately regretting the decision as soon as Eric's nostrils started to flare.

"How dare you question me?" roared the regent with a mighty voice. "It is I that is Regent of Galicia, not you. You will not question my decisions again!"

Calland wanted to fight back. He wanted to continue to debate this topic until he'd beaten him down with the weight of his own logic. Yet Eric Rosdahl was not a man to be trifled with. Lesser lords had seen everything striped from them for the slightest disobedience.

It was wiser to work within the system than it was to lose everything in defiance.

"My apologies, Your Highness," said Calland with gritted teeth. "My passions got the better of me."

"You're dismissed, Calland," shot back Eric coldly. "Remember your place the next time you appear before me."

After a long sigh, Calland reluctantly got up from the table and left the palace. His footsteps were heavy as he trudged across the capital city of Kalmar to his own residence. Now that he was out from the watchful eyes of the palace, he could afford to let loose his temper.

"Stupid fool," he muttered under his breath. "He'll lead us all into misery."

As pissed as Calland was, his sense of guilt was even greater. That guilt had manifested itself because it was his initial support of Eric that had even placed him into his position as regent. He could still remember that day nearly four years ago when Katherine Rosdahl had been placed in chains, deposed by all those around her who could have been the ones to protect her in the first place.

Her only crime was that she was young and inexperienced. And that she was possibly born into the wrong family. At the time, she showed enough promise to be the one to change the general malaise that Galicia had fallen into, but that scared many of the members of the nobility, long used to the way things had been. It was those nobles that threw their support to Eric, promising better days under his leadership.

Calland scoffed.Some leadership that's been, he thought.We might have been better off under Katherine.

That last thought weighed on his mind more and more as the years went by. What was worse was that it was his support that finally swayed the rest of the nobility, taking the fence-sitters and putting them firmly into Eric's camp. Calland's change of heart consigned the former regent to a death sentence.

Yet somewhere out there, Katherine still lived. The frequent reminders and postings for her whereabouts were sure enough proof that she was still alive, and as long as she was alive, she was a threat to Eric.

As he came to his estate on the outskirts of Kalmar, Calland entered and discarded his shoes. By the smell in the air, his wife was already cooking something for dinner. Unlike the rest of the nobility, Lisa Calland enjoyed the art of cooking, and she could frequently be found in the kitchen alongside the servants cooking for the estate. Calland didn't mind one way or the other—Lisa was a phenomenal cook.

True to form, he found her in the kitchen.

"There you are, Bill," said Lisa with a smile as she cut a few peppers before putting her knife down. Her smile disappeared as she remembered where he came from. "How was the meeting?"

"It went entirely how I expected," said Calland with a heavy scoff. "Our proudest ships are damn near sunk in their berths and he cares not for it in the slightest. If war comes calling for us, we'll be woefully unprepared for it."

Without words, Lisa slipped into his arms and held him tight. To her credit, she didn't offer any form of excuse or rationale. She'd been on the receiving end of such conversation many times, and her best support was the caring touch of her embrace.

"I'm not getting any younger, Lisa," said Calland, chancing a look at her. "But I promised myself that I would leave this world by making Galicia stronger than how I entered her. I can't look in the mirror and even pretend that statement is true. Galicia is weak. And Eric made her weaker."

"What else can we do? You're but one man, Bill. You can't change an entire country on your whim alone."

Calland started to laugh ironically. "But there you're wrong. It was my voice that deposed the rightful regent because I was too shortsighted to see the possible repercussions. At the time, Eric was strong and bold, and I thought he would devote the necessary time to our defense. If anything, the opposite has held true."

He hazarded a look at his wife. "We should have left Katherine on the throne. I regret that more everyday."

"What's done is done though," said Lisa. "She's gone and I hardly doubt she's ever coming back. That is, if she's still alive."