Sacrifice Read online

  Sacrifice

  The Cartographer Prequel Novella and Short Stories

  AC Cobble

  SACRIFICE TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2019

  DURBAN TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2019

  THE PROPHET TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2019

  THE ACOLYTE TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2019

  THE GENERAL TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2019

  THE SAILOR TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2020

  THE DRIVER TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2020

  OSTRANDER TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2019

  AC COBBLE ALL RIGHT RESERVED

  COBBLE PUBLISHING LLC

  SUGAR LAND, TX

  Contents

  Keep in Touch and Extra Content

  Sacrifice: A Novella

  1. The Prince I

  2. The Prophet I

  3. The Sergeant

  4. The Prince II

  5. The Sergeant II

  6. The Prophet II

  7. The Prince III

  1. Durban: A Short Story

  2. The Prophet: a Short Story

  3. The Acolyte: a Short Story

  4. The General: a Short Story

  5. The Sailor: a Short Story

  6. The Driver: a Short Story

  7. The Commander: a Short Story

  Thanks for reading!

  Keep in Touch and Extra Content

  Thanks for checking out these stories! You can find larger versions of the maps and custom artwork on my website accobble.com. While there, sign up for the newsletter. One email a month, never spam, unsubscribe anytime.

  I save the best stuff for Patreon (patreon.com/accobble). If you want exclusive updates, pre-publication access to everything I write, and a chance to steer future projects, that is the place to be.

  Happy reading!

  AC

  Sacrifice: A Novella

  1

  The Prince I

  A heavy fist pounded on the door, the thick barrier absorbing the blow with the timeless aplomb of oak and iron. A muffled voice spoke, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  “A moment,” he called.

  He set down his spectacles and placed a slip of scrap paper between the pages of his book and closed it. He tossed another paper, covered in sparse notes, into the fire that crackled merrily behind him. He raised his wine glass and downed the remaining liquid. A quick glance over the desk and the chairs scattered around his study showed there were no other loose papers, no artifacts that he’d left out. Everything was tidy.

  He stood and adjusted his waistcoat. He thought about collecting his wig and overcoat from the stand, but when he emerged alone from his study, he thought the formal attire might make him look strange. Checking his hands to be sure they were free of ink, he finally strode to the door. He slid the steel bolt through the hasp and hauled it open.

  “Prince Edward,” gasped a young soldier, his face flushed, his eyes excited. The man was clad in the royal blue uniform of Enhover’s guard. A short sword hung on one hip, a wood and brass blunderbuss rested on his shoulder. “There’s been a transmission on the glae worm filament from Glanhow. Something terrible has happened, m’lord.”

  “What was it, then?” Edward asked, tilting his head and waiting patiently.

  “Northundon,” exclaimed the soldier. “There’s been an attack. It’s… it’s not good, m’lord. Your father, he’s taken the news badly.”

  “Very well,” he said, stepping out of the portal and forcing the guard back. He closed the door to his study and removed a thick iron key from his coat pocket. He locked the door, slipped the key back into his waistcoat, and then gestured for the guard to escort him to see his father.

  The man hurried off in a near run, but Edward did not complain. Taking long strides to keep up with the eager enlisted man, he breathed deeply and tried to prepare himself for what was coming. There were no alarm bells echoing down the cold marble halls, so there was no perceived threat to the palace in Southundon, but none of Enhover’s major cities had suffered a direct assault in years. It his lifetime, it was unprecedented.

  In the hallways, he could see word of the attack had not yet reached the staff. The liveried maids, guards, and others who occupied the hallways of the palace stared at them curiously as they hurried by. Good. It was best if he and his family could assess the available intelligence before word got out and the rumors began. He knew they would have little time to get ahead of it, but a little time was better than no time.

  The sound of hurried boots drew his attention and he glanced down a cross hall.

  “Hold,” he instructed his guard. They waited until his brother, with his own uniformed escort, caught up to them.

  “Edward, you heard?” asked his younger brother William.

  “I heard of the attack but none of the details.” He raised a questioning eyebrow, but William shook his head. They began to walk again, led by their escorts toward their father’s private quarters.

  “Not the office?” he questioned.

  “The king did not take the news well, m’lord,” explained his guard. “I was told he would be brought to his bedchamber to rest.”

  Edward met William’s questioning gaze and shrugged. Both brothers had been worried about their father’s health, but they would not discuss it in front of the young guards. They followed the men to the father’s quarters and found his chief of staff nervously pacing in the antechamber.

  “Shackles,” said Edward the moment they saw the man.

  Chief of Staff Edgar Shackles glanced at the pair of guards who’d escorted the two brothers.

  Edward, picking up on the man’s unspoken suggestion, waved to dismiss the men. They nodded curtly and murmured that they would wait outside in the hallway. In the king’s palace, a wordless dismissal was not unusual, and a sudden recall to fetch or deliver a message was just as likely. The men left, and Shackles drew a deep breath, his eyes darting between the two brothers.

  “An attack?” asked Edward at the same time his brother blurted, “How is he?”

  “He had a fainting spell and the physicians told me his heart was beating erratically. Perhaps we should go in and see him,” responded the chief of staff. He was twitching nervously and his wig was askew. Edward had no doubt the man had quickly yanked it on when word arrived. “The guards told you of the attack?”

  Both brothers nodded. Edward said, “No details.”

  Shackles led them into the large dark chamber where their father rested, whispering to them, “The king will want to tell you himself.”

  A young woman scurried off when she saw them entering, leaving a steaming pot of tea and a condensation-beaded silver pitcher of water behind. A damp cloth covered King George Wellesley’s forehead and he blinked heavily as his sons moved through the dim room to stand beside his bed.

  “It’s rather dark in here, isn’t it?” he complained. “The spirit-forsaken physicians think it will help me rest, but how am I supposed to rest? You heard what happened?”

  “It’s dark and getting darker,” agreed Edward. He glanced around the dim room. “We were told Northundon was attacked, but little else.”

  “Shall I open a curtain, m’lord?” asked Shackles.

  “Yes,” instructed the king. “I’d like to see my sons.”

  “What happened, Father?” asked William.

  “To me or to Northundon?”

  “The city was attacked directly?” questioned Edward, unconsciously gripping the slender goatee on his chin, tugging on the hairs there as if he was surprised to find them.

  His father coughed into a liver-spotted fist. His chief of staff moved forward, but the king waved him off. “The transmission, Shackles, fetch it, will you?”

  While the chief of staff scampered to a table on the side of the room, the king continued, “A direct assault, Edward. From
the report, we can infer the city has fallen.”

  Edward grimaced, his hands rising again without thought to the hair on his chin.

  “No!” exclaimed William.

  Shackles returned with the transmission, but Edward didn’t move to take it. Instead, the chief of staff handed the slip of paper to William.

  “Fallen?” asked Edward quietly.

  William, the transmission slip clutched in his fist, exclaimed, “Lilibet! Edward, Lilibet was visiting her family in Northundon, was she not?”

  “She was to return next week,” murmured Edward.

  “We don’t know any specifics yet,” interjected Shackles. “It’s possible—”

  “Is it?” wondered Edward, glancing at the chief of staff.

  “This transmission was sent after vessels began arriving in Glanhow,” said William, reading the paper in his hands. “Part of the fishing fleet. They were cut in two by the Coldlands’ longboats. They fled for a safer port when those savages knifed through their center. Edward, it says before they passed over the horizon, they could see a bright glow in the east.”

  “That could only be Northundon,” surmised Edward. “If Northundon was burning, the Coldlands raiders made it to shore. If they brought enough longboats to survive the cannon fusillade and breach the city walls, I’m afraid we have to assume the worst.”

  “We pulled too many men south to deal with Finavia,” worried William. “We’ve left Northundon undefended. I don’t think we had more than three or four companies stationed in the province. Enough to deter a few raiders, but this… In the transmission it says the fishermen estimated one hundred longboats. That could be fifteen hundred, two thousand warriors.”

  Edward grunted.

  “William,” rasped their father. “You will lead the defense.”

  “Of course,” said the nobleman, nodding his head in acknowledgement.

  “No,” declared Edward softly.

  His father and brother both turned to look at him.

  “My wife was there, father,” he reminded. “My son is the Duke of Northundon. It is proper I should lead the response.”

  “Your son is a boy,” replied George. He raised a trembling arm. “Trust your brother in this. If Lilibet lives, if there is something to be salvaged—”

  “No,” interrupted Edward.

  “I am your king, boy,” declared George, putting all that he had into the statement, but it whispered through his lips like wind through winter-bare branches.

  “I am going, father,” stated Edward. He took two quick steps to his father’s bedside and knelt, reaching out to grasp one of the old man’s hands. “Whatever threat this attack poses, I will defend. Whatever wrongs have been committed, I will avenge. Father, I will not stay here, no matter what you command.”

  “You will defy your king?” rasped George, pulling on his hands, unable to free them from his son’s grip. “You’ve always been a willful boy, haven’t you? Think to push the boundaries now? I was merely overcome for a moment, Edward. I will recover. I am still your father and your king.”

  Edward stood and looked to his brother. They’d discussed this moment, what it would be like to defy their father. In the last two years, George Wellesley had aged. He wasn’t the king he used to be. They both knew it had been coming, that all it would take was one moment.

  “I loved Lilibet like a sister,” stated William. “Whatever you decide to do, brother, I will support you.”

  Edgar Shackles shifted nervously.

  “Your son Herbert, he is a friend of my son Philip?” asked Edward, turning to study the chief of staff.

  “He is,” agreed Edgar, clutching his hands together at his waist, looking up to meet Edward’s hard gaze. Edward had not discussed his father’s health with the chief of staff, but Shackles was not a stupid man. He spent time with their father, he could see the old man’s trajectory just as well as the brothers.

  “You hope Herbert follows in your footsteps, I imagine?” asked Edward. “Serving under Philip would be an incredible opportunity for one of his birth, and it will not be long before Philip needs the guidance of a good friend. Can I trust you will watch things here?”

  “I will, m’lord,” mumbled Shackles, cutting a glance at the decadently-curtained bed and the sickly man lying in it.

  “Edward…” hissed the king from his blankets.

  The prince turned back to the bed. “I am sorry, father. This affront will not go unanswered, and I will not sit in the comfort of Southundon while my brother and our men sail to war. I take no pleasure in opposing your will, but this is what I must do.”

  “You’ve been waiting for this,” muttered the old man. “Once upon a path, you were not one to turn from it.”

  “I am glad you understand, then. I think it is best now if you rest, father,” asserted Edward. He gestured to his brother and his father’s chief of staff. He led them back out into the antechamber. He would praise the first man for his loyalty, and he would ensure the second man filled their father’s chambers with those who shared the same trait.

  “We’ll use the airships,” said Edward the moment the door closed behind Edgar Shackles. The chief of staff knew his role and knew what was at stake. He’d ensure their father was cared for and watched closely. Now, it was time to turn to more pressing matters. It was time to conduct a war.

  “The airships? What, some sort of merchant marine?” wondered his brother.

  Edward shook his head. “I’ve had half a dozen of the vessels outfitted for combat. A potential deterrent for Finavia, I thought, but with those ships we can be to Northundon in a day. By father’s rail lines, it will take three or four. By carriage and foot, we could be on the road for weeks.”

  “There is combat, brother, and then there is combat,” remarked William, punching a fist into an open palm. “Armaments designed to thwart buccaneers may not be suitable for a proper campaign. Besides, those airships are in the service of the Company, no?”

  “They were,” replied Edward. “The Crown has purchased several of them. I intended to use them to protect our shipping lanes, harass our enemies, maybe even sail them to Finavia. They’re outfitted for a serious engagement, brother, but it seems we’ll have need closer to home than I anticipated.”

  “Fortunate, that.”

  “The spirits smile on the Wellesleys,” remarked Edward. He wondered, “How many of your men can you assemble by the morrow? I believe the airships will be a potent weapon, but we’ll need boots on the ground to finish this fight.”

  “Half the home battalion is on leave,” murmured William, closing his eyes and scrunching his brow as he thought. “I can cobble together another five hundred to fill out the unit with little effort. Southundon’s contingent, the household guard, we could assemble two, perhaps three battalions and prepare them to travel within a week… How many men can these floating ships of yours transport?”

  “Let’s start with one battalion and go from there,” replied Edward, wincing as he caught himself stroking his facial hair again. He stood, looking down at his seated brother. “Gather your men, William, and I’ll prepare the vessels for flight. At dawn, we go north.”

  “Should we wait?” wondered the younger brother. “Perhaps gather intelligence, see what we’re up against? If the Coldlands came against Northundon, they would have come strong. This will not be a handful of raiders in half a dozen longboats, brother. We will face an army. And you know as well as I, it is not just muscle and steel we need to worry about. The Coldlands—”

  “Lilibet was in Northundon,” said Edward coldly. “Whatever the Coldlands raiders and their sorcerers throw at us, I will not wait.”

  William grimaced and then nodded. “I will muster the soldiers. We’ll be ready at dawn.”

  “Tomorrow, brother, we sail to war.”

  “Oliver,” he said.

  His youngest son looked up from the page of notes he was taking. The older brothers — Philip, Franklin, and John — turned to their fathe
r as well.

  Edward glanced at the tutor who’d been instructing the boys and waved for the man to leave them.

  “What is it, father?” asked Oliver.

  “Northundon was attacked,” he told them frankly.

  Philip sprang to his feet, his hands clenching involuntarily into fists. Franklin and John gasped. Oliver held his gaze, waiting.

  “We’ve outfitted my new airships for war. William is mustering his soldiers,” continued Prince Edward. “You will accompany us on the campaign, Oliver.”

  “I’ll go as well, Father,” declared Philip.

  Edward turned to his oldest and shook his head. “Anything is possible in war, son. The line of succession must be maintained. When I sail to battle, you will remain here with your grandfather. He has fallen ill, Philip. In case the worst happens when we go north, you are the next in line.”

  “Franklin and John will be here, Father,” argued Philip. “If—”

  He simply shook his head.

  “What about us, then?” asked Franklin, gesturing between himself and his younger brother John. “If Oliver can go, and Philip is here, then we can… we can help.”

  “Help Philip here,” instructed Edward. “We don’t know the purpose of this attack. It could be an attempt to draw out the Wellesley line where we are vulnerable. It could be something else. Regardless, in times of war, it is important we spread out so we are not accessible to the enemy. All of you stay here with your grandfather. Watch over him and listen to his man Edgar Shackles. I am confident we will succeed in this campaign, but…”

  He shrugged.

  Philip nodded curtly.