The Hunter's Gambit

by Nicholas McIntire

They were announced at the door and shown into a small study. The room was mostly full when the two men entered and Declan had to fight to keep his face impassive.

  There were indeed a great many Heads of House in the room. But some were conspicuous in their absence. The more faces Declan studied, the more he realized that the men and women in the room had one thing strikingly in common.

  Their lands occupied the southern regions of the realm. In most cases, hundreds of leagues south of Kalinor. It was unusual enough that Declan knew there was no accident in it.

  Perron stood before the hearth, a glass of brandy swirling in his palm. He looked at once smug and uncertain. It made for an odd mixture on the man’s face.

  “Gentlemen,” Perron began once Declan and Bazin had taken their seats. It pained Declan to know that they were the last to arrive. “I presume many of you are curious to know why I’ve asked you here tonight.”

  There were murmurs from some of the gathered nobility, Bazin included. Declan maintained his silence.

  “As you are well aware,” Perron continued, “these last few years have been an interesting test of our mettle. The Queen has continually pushed against us and, by and large, we have allowed it. We issue edicts in the interest of the realm and she regards them as mere suggestions. To call this humiliating would hardly scratch the surface.

  “We must decide how we are to move forward. If we do nothing, we will eventually cease to exist altogether. I fear we have but one final opportunity to take a stand before Andariana Belgi attempts to have us abolished completely.”

  Declan could hardly credit his hearing. Was the man absolutely mad?

  But from the sounds of the other men in the room, Declan realized that he was much in the minority.

  “Lord Perron,” he said, standing slowly, “forgive an old man his misunderstanding. What exactly are you proposing here? I agree that Andariana has become more involved with everyday matters in the last year or two, but that is a far cry from saying that Parliament has a foot in the grave.

  “Andariana knows very well why Parliament was established. She would never dispense with the legitimacy we give her throne.”

  Perron smiled, “Well said, Simon. However, being relegated to an advising council is hardly different than having the whole bloody business dissolved. We would certainly have the same authority either way.”

  “Aye.” came a new voice.

  Declan turned his head to see a large man with a ruddy face struggle to his feet.

  Hugo Malak, Lord of Relvyn, boyhood friend of Bertrand Perron.

  Declan rolled his eyes.

  “And besides,” Malak continued, “if we have no authority, how can we guarantee our safety?”

  Declan’s eyebrows drew down. “Malak, what are you on about? We’re in the heart of Kalinor itself. The Voralla is less than a league from this very house. What danger could you possibly fear?”

  The moment the words had passed his lips, Declan wanted them back.

  Malak laughed, “The Voralla, Simon? You trust Andariana’s witches with your safety?”

  “I hardly think the Magi follow the Queen’s orders above those of the High Magus, Hugo.” Declan snapped back. “The Magi have always been free of Ilyari judicial restrictions. They have their own courts, their own system of governance. I fail to see what Andariana has to do with them.”

  “I, too, once held much the same opinion.”

  Everyone’s mouth dropped open as a figure stepped out of the shadows beside Perron.

  “Sammul?” Bazin whispered to Declan’s left.

  “High Magus,” Declan said quickly, “what light would you shed on all this?”

  Sammul smiled and Declan’s heart sank. Until the man had spoken, Declan held out hope that Perron and Malak were merely trying to bully the rest of the Southern nobility. It would not be a unique occurrence.

  But Sammul’s presence changed everything.

  “I’m afraid that Lord Malak’s intimations are true. If the Magi in the Voralla received instructions from Andariana, they would follow them. Even against my orders.”

  The room erupted into shouts of alarm and panic.

  “Quiet.” Sammul said calmly.

  The room quieted instantly.

  Declan jumped, realizing that the man had just used the Archanium. As much as he admired the Magi for their dedication and their abilities, he was unnerved to know that everyone in the room, himself included, had just been touched by Sammul’s power.

  “You must understand, gentlemen, that Andariana is now in a very unusual position among monarchs. She has gained the Voralla’s trust. Until now we have kept a friendly truce with the Ilyari people. One based on mutual respect and assistance. But ever since it was revealed that the Prince is one of us…well you can imagine the eagerness of some Magi to strengthen that truce. To trust that Andariana has their interest at heart.”

  Declan searched the faces in the room. They were all fixated on Sammul, their eyes wide and fearful. He felt the same fear, but it was grounded by a strong sense of reason. He had never seen a Magus use the Archanium for anything but the good of others.

  And he had a logical caution regarding the Archanium Knights, certainly. But those men served only to protect the lives of their Magi. They held no military rank outside of the Voralla.

  “Sammul,” Perron’s voice pulled Declan back into the moment, “how can we restore things to the way they should be? Surely you’re no happier about this situation than we are.”

  “Indeed I’m not, Chancellor. But as long as Andariana holds the throne, the Magi are unlikely to be swayed.”

  A thread of ice ran through Declan’s heart.

  “But if she didn’t,” Malak barked eagerly, faithfully picking up the bone at his feet, “then the Magi would return to your flock?”

  Sammul shrugged, “I believe that to be the case, Lord Malak. They admire Andariana and her apparent devotion to them. But such allegiance wouldn’t necessarily transfer to another monarch. Providing, of course, that it wasn’t Jonas or Tamara.”

  Another eruption in the room, far more vitriolic than before.

  “Wait just a moment!” Declan shouted.

  The room reluctantly calmed.

  “Gentlemen, while I have a hard time following much of your logic, one thing remains to be explained.” His eyes swept across the room as the other nobles glared at him. “If, as you say, the Magi are under the thrall of the Queen, then won’t they resist any attempt to remove her from the throne? Their interests are being met better now than with another monarch on the throne.”

  Sammul smiled. “Very well put, Lord Declan. I’ve had much the same thought myself. And it is for that very reason that I’ve brought someone else here this evening.”

  Murmurs of confusion became shouts of surprise when another man twisted into view in front of the hearth.

  He was short and cloaked in black. His face was calm, but his eyes carried an understood threat.

  “Good evening, my Lords and Ladies.” he said gently. “I apologize for my abrupt entrance, but Sammul was concerned you would be put off by an outsider amongst you.”

  “And who are you, sir?” Declan demanded.

  The man bowed swiftly, “I am Bael. I have come here tonight at the special invitation of Chancellor Perron to offer you my services.”

  “Your…services?” Declan managed.

  Bael smiled. Declan wanted to run for the door. “Indeed, Lord Declan. I understand that the Lords of Parliament find themselves in an untenable position. Sammul has asked me to assist you, should you need help leveling the game board.”

  “You are powerful enough to stand up to the entirety of the Voralla?” Malak asked in awe.

  Bael laughed and Declan cringed. “Hardly, Lord Malak. But between myself and my congregation, I believe we can provide you the weight needed to bargain. No Magus wants to harm another. Our presence would simply ensure that everything
is handled as peacefully as possible.”

  Despite his objections, Declan found himself being swayed by the man’s words. He didn’t know how trustworthy either Magus was at the moment, but at least the rest of the men in the room were hearing the same message.

  “And once we work out our differences,” Declan pressed, “what will you and your followers do then?”

  Bael bowed his head, “We will ask to be allowed to study at the Voralla, Lord Declan. My father left the Voralla, as so many do, as a young man because he disagreed with their methods. As his successor, it is my hope to bring our flock back into the fold. When Sammul approached me, I thought this might be the best way to bring that about.”

  “What of the Queen?” Malak asked, leaning forward. “Have we resolved a position on what is to be done with her?”

  Declan straightened, “Hugo, we have already allowed that having Andariana abdicate in favor of either Tamara or Jonas is unacceptable. Who else would you suggest? Every Head of House in Ilyar would be jockeying for the crown. It would throw the realm into a civil war far worse than the last. I hardly think anyone in this room is ready to go to those lengths merely because they feel uneasy.”

  “There is one man with a strong claim.” Perron allowed.

  Declan arched an eyebrow. “Who then, Bertrand?”

  “Emelian Krasik.”

  This time the room fell silent. Nobles looked at one another, at a loss for words.

  “The man has been dead for twenty years.” Declan stammered.

  “I thought much the same, Simon.” Perron responded, his smirk condescending, “Until Magus Bael alerted me to the fact that the man is very much alive. Mad, but nevertheless alive.”

  Declan fought to keep his knees from buckling.

  Emelian Krasik.

  The man had plunged Ilyar into a bloody civil war. It had resulted in the disappearance of Queen Marra and Krasik’s own madness. That inexplicable boon had brought the war to a sudden halt. Without Krasik as a figurehead to marshal around, his army collapsed.

  The man had been spotted here and there months after the war, roaming the countryside and picking at the dead. Yet no one had ever been able to track him down. By the time reports reached a Legion camp, the man had vanished once again.

  He was hardly more than a phantom now, lingering only in children’s stories as the Old Crow who would get you if you misbehaved.

  Hardly a candidate for the crown.

  “That would plunge the realm into a war bloodier than the first.” Declan sputtered at last. “Our lands would be decimated. To even suggest it is madness.”

  Perron nodded amicably, “No one is suggesting we rush into war, Simon. But I, for one, feel better knowing that we have means to bargain with. Granted, hardly an optimal situation. But something to think about.”

  Declan shook his head. His mind was quickly filling with a great too many specters and all of them made him want to hide in bed for a month.

  “I’m afraid I must leave you all to this.” he stammered, turning and walking to the door. “I’ve been up far too long today as it is. I must find my bed now. Good evening.”

  He walked swiftly into the hallway and headed for the door.

  Bootstrikes sounded behind him, but he didn’t bother to turn. He had to get out of that house as quickly as his elderly legs would carry him.

  He hurried down the stone steps and climbed into his carriage. He shut the door firmly, only to have it spring open a heartbeat later as Lord Bazin climbed in across from him.

  The carriage lurched forward and for a long moment the two men only stared at one another. Declan fought the urge to burst into tears of frustration. Bazin’s face was florid. The man looked as though he were about to burst.

  “Never….” Bazin puffed, “in all my days did I imagine I would hear such talk. It was all I could do to hold my tongue in that room.”

  “I’m glad you did.” Declan cut in. “Arred, a very dangerous hour just passed. And what we heard, what we witnessed, would have been for naught if you’d angered either of those Magi.”

  Bazin nodded curtly. “I know that, Simon. But the moment we arrive at the Palace, I’m going to Lord Captain Lenox. He must be made aware of this meeting immediately.”

  Declan’s gray brows drew down. “You cannot do that! Don’t prepare a feast for Volos so casually.”

  Bazin’s eyes flashed. “There is nothing ‘casual’ in this, Simon. This is of grave importance. But such things can’t be combated if the Legion is kept in the dark. The Lord Captain must know whom to watch. The sooner spies can be set on them the better.”

  “Please, Arred, sleep on what you’ve heard. Your blood is high right now. Let a few hours pass before you make your judgments.”

  Bazin shook his head violently. “I will not allow this insanity to continue unpunished, Simon! I’m going to the Lord Captain. He will know what to do.”

  Bazin slapped the roof of the carriage as they passed the Palace gate. The carriage drew to a stop and the lord was out hurrying towards the Palace before Declan could utter another word.

  Simon sighed heavily.

  The specters in his mind roared to the forefront. He knew he would hardly sleep a wink that night.

  Perron sat alone in his study. The sun was warming the sky but still out of sight. His eyes were bleary from lack of sleep, but he dared not rest until Bael returned.

  The very thought of the man made his heart quake.

  The gods had forsaken him. Forsaken him and left him in the thrall of a man touched by an affliction unlike anything Perron had ever seen.

  The air in front of the fire twisted and Perron felt a stammer in his chest.

  “Not as much trouble as I expected.” Bael said crisply as he pulled back his hood.

  A tiny spark of hope flashed through the Chancellor. “Really? Well, that’s encouraging news, isn’t it?”

  Bael raised a golden eyebrow, thrusting out his right arm and pulling the cloak away.

  Two bodies landed heavily on Perron’s floor.

  The first frozen face was hardly a surprise. Arred Bazin had been a risky choice, but the man had been very passionate in life. His leanings could have gone either way.

  The second was not expected.

  Perron stared into the glassy eyes of Lord Captain Lenox. That last spark of hope was extinguished.

  “What’s wrong, Chancellor? You seem displeased.”

  Perron restrained himself. “Magus Bael, I must admit surprise at the second casualty. Is it not a bit arrogant to murder the Lord Captain of the Legion?”

  Bael snorted, “The man hardly put up a fight. He went down much easier than Lord Bazin. And whoever she puts in his place will die just as fast if he gets any fool ideas of glory.”

  Bael stepped away from the bodies and turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Perron barked, his dread growing. “Where are you going? What about the bodies?”

  Bael sighed, “I have been much too generous with my time, Perron. I cannot hang around Kalinor while you worry yourself into an early grave. I am far too close to unlocking the Presence of the Dark God. And when I do, more than Ilyar will tremble before us.

  “I assume you are clever enough to clean this up. It will look like an accident. Lord Bazin tripped. The good Lord Captain had too rich a dinner. See, now I’ve even done you one last favor.

  “Good evening, Chancellor Perron.”

  And then the Magus was gone, leaving Perron to stare down at the empty faces of two men he’d once called friends.

  Aleksei sat stiffly in his military dress uniform, his eyes fixed on the priest walking in circles around the body of Lord Captain Lenox. Every third rotation, the priest would call out the same incantation.

  A group of acolytes surrounding him repeated it back and the process would begin again.

  It was the strangest funeral Aleksei had ever witnessed.

  They sat in the cave
rnous Cathedral of Volos. Black marble columns striped in midnight blue rose ominously towards the vaulted ceiling. Deep blue flames burned in hanging iron braziers lining the pews to either side.

  Their muted glow provided the only light, as befitted a structure dedicated to the God of Death and the Aftershadow. The extreme wealth on display, from the gilded longhorn skulls mounted around the central altar to the intricate bone inlays that comprised the floor surrounding the ceremonial spaces left little doubt that Volos was also the God of Cattle and Coin.

  Aleksei wanted to run out of there as swiftly as possible.

  On the Southern Plain, funerals were a simple affair. The body was returned to the soil in a short service dedicating the dead to the care of Mokosh. Mother Margareta would say a few words for the family, light a candle, and that was that.

  But in Kalinor the dead were passed from the world of the living to the Aftershadow and into the care of Volos, immolated as part of the service, their sins burned away, leaving only their spirits to transcend to the next world untethered by earthly fetters.

  It made Aleksei’s skin crawl.

  He glanced at Jonas and was surprised to find the Prince’s face transfixed by the body of the Lord Captain. Aleksei watched him for a few moments, but Jonas' eyes never wavered.

  Aleksei frowned. What are you looking at?

  There’s something wrong with this. Jonas' voice rumbled through his mind.

  Where do you want to begin? This is macabre at best. I’ve never seen people act this way.

  Jonas grunted. Don’t be obtuse. I mean there’s something wrong with Lord Captain Lenox.

  Aleksei gritted his teeth. The man’s dead, Jonas. I don’t think he has much to worry about.

  Never mind. Jonas snapped. I’ll explain after the service.

  After another hour of droning in a dead language Aleksei couldn’t understand, the priest raised his hands to the people in the pews. Everyone except Aleksei raised their hands in response and uttered a word he’d never heard before.

  And then it was over.

  Aleksei looked around, bewildered. Fortunately, the rest of the congregation had already come to their feet and were heading for the great double doors, back into the daylight.