The Hunter's Gambit

by Nicholas McIntire

“Out of sheer curiosity,” Aleksei said after a tired pause, “where was Rysun the last you saw him?”

  “Aleksei, he hadn’t moved a league. Your messages were never delivered. For whatever reason, Rysun had no knowledge of the coming attack. When I reached him, he was horrified to learn what was happening.”

  Aleksei’s face darkened, “Not one of my messages?”

  Jonas shook his head.

  Aleksei stared blankly into the space behind Jonas. His mind searched furiously for a possible explanation.

  “Come on,” Jonas said, putting his arm around Aleksei’s tense shoulders, “you need rest as much anyone else.”

  Aleksei tried to resist, but soon found himself buried under a mountain of quilts, a warm fire heating his chamber. Jonas lay against him, his eyes fixed on Aleksei’s face until they both finally succumbed to sleep.

  CHAPTER 42

  And All the Powers of Hell

  “NOW THEN,” ALEKSEI said, glancing around the table, “assuming all branches are accounted for in some capacity or another, we’ll begin. Sergeant Ballard, what’s the status of our volunteer corps?”

  A short, muscular man with close-cropped red hair stood and saluted. “Lord Captain, due to the suddenness of the attack, the volunteers were never called to action. They are currently following their standing orders to remain inconspicuous and do as the rebels instruct them.”

  “Well, I suppose we can thank the gods for that much luck.”

  There was a murmur of confusion from some of the other officers and one young man stood, “Lord Captain, how can the impotence of our volunteers be a good thing? Don’t we desperately need their numbers at present?”

  “To accomplish what, exactly, Corporal?”

  The junior corporal looked suddenly nervous, “To fight the enemy, Sir?”

  “Aye, they could be put into motion right now to fight the enemy. And they would be slaughtered. At present, those men and women would stand about as much chance as a straw house in a stiff wind.”

  The corporal blinked at the comparison.

  “Sergeant Ballard,” Aleksei said, turning away from the corporal, “I want you to find some civilian clothes. When this Palace is taken by Krasik’s men, you will stand a far greater chance of survival if you aren’t in uniform.” He glanced at the rest of the assemblage, “That goes for the rest of you, too. They’ll be looking for officers. If you can pass as stable hands and servants, you’ll have a much better chance of living through the attack.”

  “But Sir,” the corporal said, “is there no way to keep the enemy from taking the Palace? You seem to have conceded victory already.”

  “Corporal, I would like nothing better than to tell you that we have a chance of driving the enemy from our city, but such a view is impractical at this point. Better that we find ways to live through what’s coming than to die resisting the inevitable. We’re all worth more alive.

  “We need to get out of the city and regroup, and we’ll have a better chance of that dressed as civilians. Hopefully they won’t kill as many civilians and some of us can reach the safety of the countryside.”

  “Do you wish me to remain in the city, Lord Captain?” Sergeant Ballard asked softly.

  Aleksei nodded, “I need you to be here to keep the men’s spirits up. Occupation will not be kind to the people of Kalinor, and it will be easy to lose heart. I also need you here so that when we do return, our men will be ready.”

  Ballard saluted and returned to his seat.

  “Where will we go once in the countryside?” Colonel Ander asked from across the table.

  “Keldoan. After Kalinor, it’s the most defensible city in Ilyar.”

  “But Sir,” another officer asked, “what of Mornj? The garrison there is highly defensible. Wouldn’t it be invaluable for staging operations in the South?”

  “The garrison in Mornj has been dealt with in a very particular manner, Lieutenant. Prince Belgi and I have made a concerted effort to make it as unserviceable to the enemy as possible. Trust me when I say that we do not want to use it now for anything beyond a very unpleasant trap.”

  After the passage of another hour, Aleksei brought the council to its conclusion. There was little left to say, and they could only accomplish so much given their circumstances.

  “You have your orders, gentlemen. Any further questions should be referred to your commanding officers. You’re dismissed.”

  Aleksei watched the last of his officers trail out of the room. He stifled a yawn and glanced around his office before deciding he had better make an inspection of their fortifications, if nothing else than to keep morale up among the Guard.

  Crystal clear dawn had tumbled into a poor excuse for morning, leaving a shattered sky of pale clouds and white light in its wake. Aleksei sighed, wishing the sky was laden with snow clouds instead. At least then Krasik’s men would have to take shelter.

  As he approached, the men on watch snapped to crisp attention. Aleksei returned their salutes casually.

  “At ease, gentlemen.” he said, glancing over the wall and into the heart of the city. In the pale midmorning light, Kalinor’s streets glistened aubergine beneath a crust of old blood. “Has there been any activity?”

  The nearest Guardsman shook his head, “Not so much as a peep, Sir. They’ve been lying low since the sun come up. A few lads showed up about an hour ago and fired a few arrows at us, but they were either too low or landed somewhere in the garden. No injuries to report or nothin’.”

  Aleksei nodded, “I’ve a feeling we’ll know when they’re ready to make their next move.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Send me a messenger if there’s any more activity. Even if it’s just a few archers.”

  The Guardsman saluted. “Sir.”

  Aleksei patted him on the shoulder, “Keep up the good work, soldier.”

  He spent another half an hour circulating among the men, making idle chatter and doing his best to keep their spirits up. But his own attempt at lightheartedness was punctured by the omnipresent memory of Darielle’s prophecy.

  Try as he may, Aleksei couldn’t escape the sinking feeling that the worst of her predictions was yet to come.

  As he moved among his men, laughing at their jokes, observing them amongst their friends, he couldn’t help but wonder if these were the same faces he would see contorted in agony as Demonic fire consumed everything around him.

  Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He extracted himself from the camaraderie, making his way back towards his office. There were a great number of tasks that required his attention before the day was through. And besides, the gods only knew when the enemy would make their move.

  Aleksei shut the door of his office and sank into his chair with a sigh. The five hours of sleep he had managed were proving fitfully inadequate.

  He drove thoughts of rest from his mind, pulling a stack of documents from his desk and fanning them out before him. They were divided into neat stacks, some white, others gold. Among them were orders for troop movements, statistics for all the major urban centers of Ilyar, allocations of resources, and endless requisitions from outposts and strongholds throughout the realm.

  And each one was completely and utterly fabricated.

  Aleksei had spent the hours since waking adding numbers together and then changing them bit by bit until the information was beyond useless. It was like casting hayseeds in a wheat field.

  He affixed his seal to each document in gold wax, signing them in emerald ink for good measure.

  He held no illusions that the Palace would fall, it was merely a matter of time. On some level he had known as much since his encounter with Darielle. But there was nothing in those visions that said he couldn’t even the game a little before they were routed.

  As soon as the wax was dry, Aleksei pulled the papers back into a neat stack and slid them into the only drawer in his desk equipped with a lock. There, let some enterprising
young rebel break in and find a cache of information beyond his wildest dreams. Aleksei knew the false figures almost as well as the real ones.

  It would be entertaining to see how much credence Krasik gave his little hayseeds.

  Jonas cried out, sitting up and patting himself down. No burns. Nothing. He relaxed against the pillows behind him and tried to fall back asleep, but it soon proved impossible.

  The prince pulled himself out of bed and dressed in the dark. It was well into dusk, and he knew the enemy had regrouped by now. For all the Palace walls enclosed them, Aleksei felt leagues away, his mind a thunderhead of frustration. Jonas pushed the other man’s tumult aside.

  He had his own storms to ride.

  Jonas stepped out of his room and walked towards the east wing. As he passed Andariana’s chambers he stopped. The door languished open.

  Jonas poked his head inside and found the Queen in an odd state. Bottles were strewn about the room. His aunt was draped inelegantly over an armchair near the fire.

  On the floor beside her lay a small piece of parchment.

  Jonas stepped into the room and knelt, lifting the paper gently. His eyes scanned the faded words. The page fell from his hand.

  “Jonas?” Andariana slurred. “I…Is that you?”

  Jonas scooped up the parchment. “It is.” he said, standing.

  She looked at him, squinting, “What do you have there?”

  “Your letter.” he said simply.

  A pall fell across her face.

  “This is why he hates you so much, isn’t it?” he whispered.

  Andariana nodded slowly.

  Jonas looked down at the letter in his hand. At the name on the page.

  Seryn.

  The youngest of Emelian Krasik’s sons. The boy Krasik had murdered with his bare hands.

  Jonas sighed, “Does Tamara know?”

  Andariana shook her head, “She still thinks her father was the High Duke of Jaenar.”

  Jonas nodded. The House of Jaenar. A convincing enough lie. Andariana had been betrothed to the High Duke before the civil war broke out, though only on paper. The House had been eradicated early in the war, and the High Duke along with it, but the betrothal lent legitimacy to Tamara’s claim.

  Given the circumstances of the time, it would be impossible to dispute Tamara’s parentage, and he doubted anyone had thought twice about it. The secrecy of the marriage was a little suspicious, but under the circumstances, forgivable.

  “What happened, Jonas?” Andariana mumbled, “How could we…I thought it was all planned.…”

  “We were missing a few pieces of vital information.” Jonas responded tiredly. “As a result, it was impossible for us to effectively hold the city.”

  “What?”

  “I trusted Sammul far too long, for one,” Jonas allowed, perhaps more for his edification than hers, “and his betrayal alone might have sealed our fate.”

  “What does Sammul have to do with this?” she demanded, staring at him with glassy eyes.

  “Sammul tried to kill me in Dalita.” Jonas snapped. “He’s working with the enemy, Andariana. He has been playing us all for fools. The gods only know where he is, or if he’s even still alive, but he’s as much a threat to us as any enemy Magus.”

  “He’s defending the Apsis.” she whispered, her luminous green eyes suddenly frightened.

  “What? What do you mean? Have you seen him?”

  She nodded thickly, “Sammul came to me earlier. He told me that the enemy would be seeking the Apsis, and that he would guard it with his life. At the time I hadn’t heard of any betrayal.”

  “The Apsis.” Jonas groaned, the agony of realization pulsing through him.

  The Apsis. The one point where the Great Sphere of the Archanium touched their world. The Voralla had been built around it, to serve it, to protect it, an enchanted fortress designed to guard the most precious treasure in all of Ilyar.

  And after the angels had defeated the Demon Cassian, the Magi had sealed the Apsis away behind shields of staggering strength. No one had touched the Apsis in a thousand years. In truth, no one had ever dared try.

  Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. “Jonas, what can be done? Can he be stopped?”

  But when she looked up for her nephew he was gone.

  Several hundred paces distant, Jonas powered himself across the Lawn on tiny, rapid wing bursts. But even as swiftly as he was moving it took him far too long to reach the Voralla.

  “Jonas!” Ilyana shouted as he headed for entrance. “What are you—”

  “Where is he?” Jonas roared, tumbling into the ragged shape of a man on the Voralla steps.

  “Who?”

  “Sammul.”

  “You know where he is, Jonas.” she said softly, guiding him to his feet. “He’s guarding the Apsis. Before I could ask him what was happening, he marched into Vault.Jonas, he’s triggered the breach protocol.”

  Jonas cursed violently.

  The ancient white marble steps of the Voralla splintered in a wave around him, echoing his anger.

  “Which means he’s sealed in.” he growled finally, sinking. Defeated before the battle had even been fought.

  The breach protocol, the ultimate fail-safe left behind to ensnare anyone who attempted to break the shields protecting the Apsis.

  Once the first spell of the protocol was ignited, the rest followed in a cascade, neutralizing any possible threat. And Sammul had apparently been confident enough, or at least stupid enough, to trigger the chain. Jonas wondered if the High Magus was even still alive.

  “He didn’t even warn us, Jonas.” Ilyana continued. Jonas would have forgotten she was even there but for the racket she was making. “He just did it. No one even knew he’d returned. If Aleksei hadn’t ordered the Voralla evacuated when he did—”

  Jonas froze, “Aleksei ordered what?”

  Ilyana frowned, apparently surprised that Jonas was finally responding to her, “Haven’t you heard a single thing I’ve said? Aleksei sent orders to have every Magus and Knight keep out of the Voralla itself, to keep our senses trained on the enemy Magi. Not to engage them, but to report any strange use of the Archanium directly to him, or you if we found you first.

  “Of course, Sammul’s acolytes ignored the Lord Captain’s orders, so a few of us decided to keep an eye on them.”

  “Good thinking.” Jonas barked automatically, keeping his anger in check with the greatest effort. How could he have been so stupid? Everything made such pristine sense, and yet he’d been blind to it the entire time.

  And now it was too late.

  “Aleksei knew this was coming.” he whispered to himself. “He knew Sammul would seize control. He was trying to keep you safe.”

  Even as Ilyana opened her mouth to beg a question, Jonas was staring her down intently, “Round up fifty Magi and send them over to the west wing. The Queen must be protected. Get the everyone else back into the Voralla and defend it with your lives. The enemy will be here soon, and when they arrive you have to be ready.”

  “He’s coming for the Apsis, isn’t he? The Demon?”

  Jonas nodded, “Aleksei was trying to protect you, but what he doesn’t understand is that you’re the last line of defense. The Demonic Presence is free, Ilyana. The Apsis is the point where the Presence first entered our world, and I think Bael’s coming for it. Why else would the Demon care about something so trivial as Krasik’s war?”

  “Great gods,” she whispered, “and he might even be able to break through the shields. Can you imagine such a creature having access to that much raw power?”

  “I don’t even want to contemplate it. Which is why you have to defend the Voralla. They might be stronger, but you, all of you, you’re smarter. Your Magi know the halls better than anyone else; you’ll have to use that to your advantage if we’re to have any hope.”

  Her blue eyes shimmered with determination. “We won’t fail y
ou.”

  He pulled her into a quick embrace, “If you do, I doubt any of us will live long enough to know.”

  She pressed a quick kiss against his cheek, breathing, “Have a little faith.”

  And then she was gone, shouting before she was even a pace away.

  Jonas turned and shifted into a falcon. He was atop the wall in seconds, searching wildly for his Knight before his feet had fully formed beneath him.

  “Highness!”

  He turned to find Colonel Ander rushing towards him. “Where is he?”

  “His office, last I knew.”

  “Gods!” Jonas cursed. “Colonel, round up as many Guardsmen as you can and get into the Palace. There is about to be an invasion and you must be ready to defend the Palace. Do you understand?”

  Ander was off before Jonas had a chance to dismiss him.

  The prince hazarded a glance over the wall, to where the enemy had regrouped behind a barricade of crates and wagons. Somewhere in that sea of bodies Jonas could sense Bael’s Magi. They had remained mostly dormant since the invasion began, but now they were preparing for something. He could feel it.

  Impossibly, he could feel the Demon, like a malignant tumor somewhere amid the cacophony of dark energies. The aberrant nature of such power was almost enough to make him retch.

  Jonas found himself staring down into the camp, wishing there was a way to be ready for the thrust when it came. As it was he felt tied for the sacrifice.

  The clock tower chimed the last hour of dusk.

  Night was coming.

  The air stinks of Hunter. Of Wood.

  Bael sat in his meager tent, his eyes pressed closed as a physician threaded his dead flesh back together with cat gut.

  We are closer. We can taste it.

  Bael bit back his immediate response. The thrum of angry hornets now filled his mind night and day without respite. While the Presence had been a welcome intrusion into his solitude at first, it now grated on his every nerve, leaving him on the constant edge of sanity as the chasm of madness yawned wider by the day, a serpent unhinging its jaw to swallow the fattest sow on offer.