by Brandon Mull
“Aye,” Tark confirmed, and slipped away into the darkness.
Rachel knew that Nedwin, Ferrin, Brin, and Nollin were scouting the area. Tark and Io were stationed in a neighboring outbuilding with horses ready for a getaway. They had worked hard to defend against a potential ambush. The visitors thought the meeting was taking place up the slope at the manor. At the last moment one of Bartley’s sentries would divert them to the lower stable, where Kerick awaited to greet them.
After riding hard from the jungle’s edge to the outer boundaries of Trensicourt, Rachel had spent two days living in a remote barn while Nedwin arranged the particulars for this meeting. Yesterday morning, before sunrise, she and her friends had arrived at the Wershon estate to temporarily take up residence in a large mill at one corner of the property. If this meeting went well, she might sleep in comfort before much longer.
“You’re sure you want me at the meeting?” Rachel asked.
“Certain,” Galloran replied. “These are men accustomed to solving problems through negotiation, but they will not be eager to surrender the kingdom. We must appear strong. A talented Edomic adept is a unique and intimidating weapon. Remember, if the opportunity arises, show your power by exerting control over them. Petrify them, put them on the ground—anything to make them feel vulnerable. The talent to command men is extremely rare and bespeaks a deep reservoir of power.”
“All right,” Rachel said, trying to sound like somebody he could rely on. Did Galloran suspect how terrified it made her to think that the outcome of this meeting might depend on how intimidating she seemed? Was he hearing her insecurities as she thought them? Maybe his attention was elsewhere. Or maybe he was kind enough to pretend he couldn’t sense her anxiety.
Rachel noticed Bartley warily eyeing her acolyte robe through the gap in her cloak. At least they seemed to have an effect on him. He turned his attention back out the door and softly cleared his throat. “A lone rider approaches.”
“We invited three guests,” Galloran said. “Have they only sent a messenger?”
Rachel watched the hooded rider pull up to the stable, dismount, and lead his steed below the overhanging eaves. Not far from one of the dangling lanterns, Kerick approached the man and engaged him in conversation. After words were exchanged, Kerick took the reins and gestured for the man to enter the stable. He then faced away from the storage shed where Rachel hid and waved his arm twice over his head.
“There’s the signal,” Bartley whispered. “I suppose this means at least one of them came.”
“How could they resist?” Galloran asked. “Trensicourt is currently run by strategists and compromisers, not men of action. Strategists need information. Compromisers require meetings. They had to send someone.”
“Strategists also like traps,” Bartley added. “These compromisers have an untrustworthy reputation.”
Galloran gave a nod. “We’ll remain on guard. Rachel, at the first sign of trouble, don’t be afraid to use force.”
Rachel told herself that she had trained for this. She had used Edomic in dicey situations before. But she had only commanded a person under pressure the night Kalia had attacked. Those commands had been urgent and reflexive. This would be a different sort of challenge: commanding a powerful enemy to prove a point. Would she be able to get it right?
Rachel raised the hood of her heavy cloak and took Galloran by the hand. She led him out into the downpour, with Bartley close behind and Io joining them. Rachel kept her eyes on the stable, but there was little to see. Kerick and the visitor had disappeared inside. Rain drummed against her hood. She tried to help Galloran avoid the worst puddles. By the time they reached the overhanging roof of the stable, their boots were caked with mud.
As Rachel led Galloran through the entryway, she got her first clear look at the visitor. An open area before the stalls had been swept, and a large table had been brought in. Food awaited, and drink. The smell of fresh rolls mingled with the inevitable odors of pent-up horses.
The visitor stood near the table. Tall and thin with stooped shoulders, he had a prominent, bony nose and wore a stern expression. A dagger hung from his belt, but no other weapon was apparent. He had hung his cloak on a peg and had replaced his hood with a large tricornered hat.
“Who has come?” Galloran whispered.
“Chancellor Copernum,” Bartley and Rachel murmured in unison.
Kerick had led Copernum’s large steed into a stall and was now rubbing it down. Copernum regarded the four newcomers in silence, his body still, his alert eyes in constant motion.
His gaze made Rachel uncomfortable. He was renowned for his clever mind. He had tried to have Jason killed.
“Welcome, Chancellor,” Galloran said, doing his best to sound upbeat with his raspy voice, ruined by the same caustic powder that had blinded him. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“How could I ignore an opportunity to meet the renowned heir to Trensicourt?” Copernum replied dryly. “Bartley, good of you to host the evening, although the accommodations leave something to be desired.”
“Lay the blame on me,” Galloran insisted as Rachel led him to the table. “The viscount offered his home. Considering the purpose of our discussion, I opted for discretion over comfort.”
“An option to which you have undoubtedly grown accustomed,” Copernum replied.
Io took Galloran’s wet cloak. Galloran sat down, and Copernum mirrored him on the far side of the table. “I have endured some trying years,” Galloran agreed amiably, as if missing the condescension behind the remark.
“I’m afraid I don’t know your companions,” Copernum said.
Io collected Rachel’s cloak.
“This is Rachel, a Beyonder and a skilled Edomic adept,” Galloran said.
Copernum turned his shrewd eyes to her with sudden interest. “She wears the robe of the oracles.”
Galloran had suggested she wear the fine robe because it might make her appear more impressive. She hoped she wouldn’t come across as an imposter instead.
“Rachel has trained with multiple masters,” Galloran said. “The man hanging our cloaks is Io, future chief of the wild clan of drinlings. And you met Kerick, of the Amar Kabal, who is tending to your horse.”
“You travel with quite a menagerie,” Copernum said.
“You came alone,” Galloran replied.
Copernum nodded, picking up a dark roll and cracking it open. “The invitation did not allow for bodyguards. The Grand Duke of Edgemont sends his regards, as does the regent.” He took a bite.
“Was the weather too much for them?” Galloran asked.
“They have empowered me to speak on their behalf,” Copernum answered. “You have a reputation of impeccable honor, but years in Felrook have been known to alter a man. The duke and the regent did not feel it was prudent for the three of us to meet unguarded in a place of your choosing.”
“Regrettable, but I understand,” Galloran said.
Copernum poured himself a drink and took a sip. “Tell me: Why, after all these years, has the Blind King decided to come out of hiding?” The comment was clearly meant to imply that Copernum had known all along that Galloran was concealed in plain sight as the Blind King. Rachel supposed it was possible, since Maldor had known, and Copernum reportedly had strong connections with Felrook.
Galloran touched his blindfold. “I did not wish to emerge from exile until I felt whole and ready for the responsibilities ahead of me.”
“Are you whole, then?” Copernum asked.
“As close as I can ever expect to be,” Galloran replied. He half turned in his chair. “Rachel, Bartley, Io, please relax and be seated.”
Rachel realized that she still stood near Galloran’s chair, riveted into stillness by the tension underlying the conversation. She sat down to one side of Galloran; Bartley sat on the other. Io claimed the seat at the end of the table near Rachel.
Across the table Copernum set aside his roll. He leaned forward, narro
w shoulders hunched, eyes intent. “What do you propose?”
“I am here to claim my birthright,” Galloran said. “For years you and Dolan have managed Trensicourt in my absence. You have my gratitude for keeping Trensicourt independent. Now, for the good of the kingdom, I hope you will help make this a smooth transition.”
Copernum folded his hands. “Do you believe that your ascension to the throne will benefit Trensicourt?”
“Who else could properly fill the role?” Galloran asked. “No other sons of Dromidus remain. I am the undisputed heir.”
“If you are the rightful king, I don’t see why you need my permission.”
“Don’t play the fool with me, Copernum,” Galloran said. “We never knew each other well. As I recall, the former Marquess of Jansington was a distant cousin of yours. Lacking heirs, he bequeathed his title to you over his nephews. You and I only met briefly during the latter years of my father’s reign. Yet I have observed you from afar. You combine a scholarly background with a knack for deft political maneuvering. You and Dolan have nearly rid the nobility of all who openly speak against Felrook. Nobles who hope to appease the emperor will be reluctant to install me as their new monarch.”
“Would they be right to worry?” Copernum asked.
“I don’t intend to court the emperor,” Galloran said flatly. “I will not pay him tribute. I will not let him dictate policy. I will not ignore his aggressive expansion. I will not enter into lopsided compromises. Those kingdoms who have tried to appease Felrook have all fallen. A gentle approach toward the rising empire will inevitably bring an end to our sovereignty.”
“Have you considered that perhaps you are a decade too late?” Copernum asked. “Have you recognized that the only remaining option besides aligning ourselves with the emperor is obliteration?”
“I will never submit to Maldor,” Galloran stated.
“Interesting. I have been led to believe that you no longer require that blindfold.”
“I accepted eyes from Maldor,” Galloran admitted assertively. “He offered them years ago. I finally claimed them. But I made no pledge of fealty.”
“And yet some of his top spies now share your eyes,” Copernum chuckled. “How do you intend to resist an enemy who can watch your every move?”
“With a blindfold in place.”
“Then why accept the eyes?”
“For those moments when I need to see in order to kill.”
“Very dramatic,” Copernum approved glibly. “Tell me, why are you wearing the blindfold now?”
“Partly as a courtesy,” Galloran said. “I was unsure whether you would want the emperor to know we had conversed.”
“You told me not to play the fool,” Copernum said. “Let me be direct. The emperor is not my foe. I have kept Trensicourt intact by maintaining positive relations with Felrook. I have nothing to hide from Maldor. If the emperor cares to know, I would happily divulge all we discuss this night. I would not do so out of disloyalty toward Trensicourt. I would do it to protect Trensicourt. I would do it so that men who care about Trensicourt might be permitted to run this kingdom rather than callous imperial governors.”
Galloran began untying his blindfold. “By your description, are you not becoming an imperial governor yourself?” Galloran removed the blindfold, revealing one brown eye, the other blue. His gaze was hard.
Rachel did not appreciate the reminder that agents of Maldor were observing all that Galloran saw. She loved and trusted Galloran, but the thought made those mismatched eyes seem sinister. At least they weren’t focused on her.
Copernum looked mildly disconcerted by the stare. “Dolan does not take orders from Felrook. Neither do I. We make certain allowances to preserve the peace.”
“I know plenty about the allowances you have made,” Galloran said. “More than enough to label you a traitor and have you hanged.”
Copernum bristled, but he held his tongue for a moment. He took a bite from a fat wedge of cheese and chewed thoughtfully before responding. “I wondered how long it would take before this discussion turned unpleasant. You have not yet been crowned, sir. In fact, you have left your alleged right to the throne unclaimed for years. Currently, Dolan is custodian of this kingdom and holds the highest legal authority.”
“Are you insinuating I will have to take Trensicourt by force?” Galloran asked.
Copernum shrugged casually. “Do I think you could? Possibly. Martyrs tend to win the best reputations. As far as this kingdom is concerned, you have been dead for more than ten years. Your repute has grown accordingly. You have been aggrandized into a folk hero, more legend than man. Your agents have whispered rumors foretelling your return for months, and the rumors have taken hold. The city is waiting for you, watching for you, many not believing, but most hoping. I expect you could rally many to your cause.”
“Not enough?” Galloran asked.
“That depends. As of yet I have refrained from planting rumors of my own. Rumors that Galloran sold his eyes and his loyalty to the emperor to buy his freedom. Rumors that Galloran has been living in imperial luxury while the people of Trensicourt have toiled in doubt and fear. Rumors that Galloran lost his mind at Felrook, leaving him driven to fight Maldor at all cost, even if it means destroying the kingdom in a hopeless war. These and many other stories could be circulated. In Trensicourt nothing moves faster than rumors.”
“Why have you refrained?”
“I was not yet sure whether you were my adversary. We do not have to be enemies. It is likely that you could lead Trensicourt far more effectively than Dolan. Of course, if we become enemies, I will have to remind you that many of the best fighting men of Trensicourt are unswervingly loyal to their liege lords, the nobles. And the nobles are loyal to Dolan. And to me. Naturally, if we needed imperial aid to maintain control of Trensicourt, Felrook would gladly intervene.”
Galloran finally began to lose his temper. “If you bring imperial troops into Trensicourt, they will never leave.”
“We have never allowed an imperial host into the city for that precise reason,” Copernum hurriedly agreed. “We would only consider such rash action if our government were threatened.” He grinned like a shark.
Galloran gave a nod. One nostril twitched. His whole body looked tense, ready to snap. He almost managed to keep his tone conversational. “You have spoken plainly. Let me be equally clear. I have already been in communication with many of the lesser lords, as well as some key members of the upper aristocracy. You might be surprised how many of the blue bloods remain loyal to the crown. If you force my hand, tomorrow I will offer an ultimatum to the nobles of Trensicourt—side with their king or perish as traitors. I have no intention of waging open war to reclaim my kingdom. My foes will be eliminated, and we will see where their leaderless minions stand afterward. There are insufficient imperial troops to reach this region in time to hinder me. If you were foolish enough to try to summon them, even your most stalwart supporters would abandon you. A revolution won’t take months or weeks. It will require three days.”
“Well spoken,” Copernum conceded. “A skeptic might wonder how you propose to collectively assassinate the most powerful men in the kingdom.”
Galloran glanced at Rachel. With a jolt of panic she realized he was asking for a demonstration. Something to intimidate Copernum. The tension in the room was palpable, both sides trying to seem calm and in control, each side wondering how much the other was bluffing. The negotiation could go either way. A lot was riding on how she performed.
Rachel told herself that she had practiced these techniques for months. But what if she pushed too hard and the suggestion failed? What if she didn’t push hard enough? Copernum was a cunning man. What if he had studied how to resist Edomic suggestions? What if he was immune?
The moment was passing. Doing nothing would be the same as failure. Mustering her will and relying on her training, Rachel spoke a pointed Edomic suggestion. Copernum flopped to the floor, striking his cheek on the
edge of the table on his way down. Relieved that the directive had worked so well, she spoke again, and his body went rigid. Io crouched beside him and ran a forefinger across his throat.
Rachel briefly met eyes with Galloran. His glowing approval reflected her quiet elation, reinforcing the feeling of triumph. Then she thought about displacers watching her little display through those same eyes, and the emotion was tainted.
Copernum remained immobile for longer than normal. A full ten seconds elapsed before he arose, looking pale and shaken, a bruise starting to form on his cheek. “A compelling exhibition,” he sniffed, letting his worried gaze dance between Rachel and Galloran. He reclaimed his seat, brushed off his sleeves, and tried to regain his composure.
“I invite skeptics to doubt my capabilities,” Galloran said, his voice iron. “But any skeptic would have a poor knowledge of Trensicourt if he hoped to stand against the tide of humanity that will rise up to welcome their king home.”
“What do you expect from me?” Copernum demanded.
“I don’t want my kingdom in an uproar,” Galloran said. “I want my kingdom united. I am willing to concede that, however misguided your dealings with Felrook have been, you may have had the best interest of Trensicourt at heart. My kingdom remains independent, at least in name, and for this I am grateful. If you, Dolan, and the nobles you influence welcome the return of your king and support a quick, smooth transition, you will retain your titles and holdings. You will enjoy a full pardon for any past misdeeds, and need only look to your future behavior with any fear of reprisal.”
“That is your offer?” Copernum asked.
“In essence.”
“Am I to believe that I will remain chancellor?”
“Another presently has claim to that office,” Galloran said.
“Lord Jason abandoned his post,” Copernum reminded gently.
“Lord Jason never resigned,” Galloran corrected. “He has been on errands with me. You will continue to serve as chancellor until Lord Jason returns. Once Jason rejoins us, you would be welcome to challenge him for the position. Your other titles and holdings will remain as they stand.”