by AC Cobble
Duke Eeron shouted in surprise.
Rew waited, holding the duke tight, keeping his knife firmly against the man’s side, where he knew the duke would feel the point dig deeper as he struggled. It wasn’t long before Duke Eeron stopped struggling, but he didn’t stop screaming.
Soldiers and spellcasters rushed into the room, pushing against each other, the armsmen losing the space they’d need to use their swords, the spellcasters losing the space they’d need to cast a spell without hitting their allies. Rew kept waiting until finally, he pushed harder with his knife and whispered for the duke to shut his mouth.
Blood leaking down his side, the duke complied.
“You and I are going to walk out of here unmolested,” said Rew, his voice low so only the duke could hear. “If you object or your men try to stop me, I’ll slide this blade right into your heart.”
Duke Eeron, regaining his composure, stopped struggling. He waved for his men to pause. Unable to turn and see Rew, he asked, “Who are you?”
“That’s not important,” said Rew, maneuvering the duke to the doorway where he knew they’d be framed by the bright sunlight outside.
“M’lord, it’s the King’s Ranger!” exclaimed one of the arcanists from the stairwell.
Rew glared at the man over the duke’s shoulder.
“Senior Ranger Rew,” murmured Duke Eeron. “I knew I recognized that voice. What are you doing here, Ranger? I thought your kind avoided political entanglements.”
Rew whispered, “The king knows about Baron Fedgley. He knows what you and your patron are attempting.”
“What are you talking about?” replied the duke, sounding honestly confused. “What are you saying? The king’s never given a fig before about how I manage my duchy. Why would he care that I locked up some country baron? Blessed Mother, I doubt the king even knows who Baron Fedgley is!”
“You don’t know,” said Rew, actually surprised, thinking quickly what that meant. “That’s good. I thought—It was only your arcanist then. It’s better this way. It means I don’t have to kill you.”
“Kill me?” barked Duke Eeron. “What is this madness, Ranger? What do I not know? What do you mean it was my arcanist?”
Duke Eeron, facing his assembled soldiers and spellcasters, was gaining confidence, even though a razor-sharp blade was still stuck in his side.
Rew backed up, stepping onto the bridge.
“Ranger,” warned Duke Eeron, his voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room, “my men will kill you rather than allowing you to drag me from the keep like this. Tell me why you are doing this.”
“I’m an agent of the king, Duke Eeron,” replied Rew, his voice still quiet in the duke’s ear. “I’m here on his business. Call off your dogs, or I’ll have to slide this blade home.”
“An agent of the king!” snapped Eeron. “You’re a ranger, not a… What are you doing here? The king did not send you! I know that.”
“I’m the King’s Ranger,” said Rew, “but I wasn’t always. When the king calls me for darker work, I still answer. Just like you, just like everyone who can feel the swirl of the Investiture, I answered the call. It led me here. King Vaisius Morden wanted Baron Fedgley dead, so he is. I was to kill everyone involved in the plot. The only reason you live, Duke Eeron, is because I don’t think you understand why the others wanted the baron.”
Duke Eeron was quiet, and Rew wondered what the man did know. They scooted farther back along the bridge, and Rew hoped the other man believed him. It was the truth, sort of. If the king suspected what was afoot, he’d come crashing down on Spinesend with the full weight of the underworld. It wouldn’t just be the duke who perished if Vaisius Morden understood what was happening here, but Rew couldn’t explain that. He couldn’t tell anyone that, or he’d bring it to pass.
Instead, he hoped that the duke was pondering just how crazy Rew might be. Was he crazy enough to invoke the king’s name and to lie about it? The duke had to be thinking that no one was that crazy.
The sport of the nobles was betrayal, and they lived their lives for the backstabbing and lies that the Investiture brought, but none of them were bold enough to defy the king. For one, they all knew that Vaisius Morden stayed out of the Investiture. By design, the king had nothing to do with it. The entire point was the competition between the princes, and the king wanted them to prove themselves and their bloodlines.
Dragging the king into the plotting and chicanery simply wasn’t done. Plotting against the king at all, in fact, was not done. Vaisius Morden the First’s line had been the most powerful users of high magic Vaeldon had seen two hundred years ago, and the Mordens had been breeding and pruning the heirs ever since. The child was always stronger than the parent. There wasn’t a high magician in Vaeldon who would even think about challenging the king openly, but working behind his back could be even worse. Each successive king had been born and bred to intrigue, and he’d proven his capability by surviving the Investiture. The king was, by definition, both the most powerful and the most cunning man in Vaeldon.
Claiming you were following the king’s orders when you weren’t could lead to far worse consequences than an execution. The man was a necromancer, after all. His displeasure could outlast death.
“That’s right,” hissed Rew, nudging Duke Eeron toward a conclusion. “I killed Baron Fedgley on behalf of the king.”
“If you kill me, Prince… The prince will not rest until he has your head.”
Rew forced a laugh for the duke’s benefit and took another step back onto the bridge.
“Y-You don’t know who you’re—“ spluttered Duke Eeron.
Rew dug the knife deeper. “Yes, I do.”
He moved back again, and one of Duke Eeron’s spellcasters raised his arm.
“Your men can follow us, but if they attack, you’ll die,” warned Rew. “Tell them that.”
Duke Eeron snorted.
“I’m an agent of the king,” whispered Rew, his head next to Eeron’s. He kept his voice purposefully harsh and pressed his cheek against the duke’s, hoping the spellcaster had little faith in his own aim. “You don’t have a caster who can kill me, but I don’t want to be dodging those fools until I get out of the keep. Keep them away, and when we reach your gates, I’ll let you go. The king hasn’t commanded your death, yet.”
Duke Eeron waved his hand to warn his men away.
Rew growled, “Don’t try it.”
He didn’t know what Eeron might be thinking of trying. The man was a talented enchanter. His casting would take time and involve certain preparations that he wasn’t capable of with a knife in his ribs, but Duke Eeron, like almost all of the nobles with talent for high magic, would have some skill at invoking as well. It was rare there was a noble line in the kingdom that did not have the blood of invokers mixed in. Enchantments took weeks or months, invoking could be done in the blink of an eye. Rew hoped if Duke Eeron was not strong in the art, he would be worried his attack would fail, and the duke knew the consequences of that failure.
“You’ll let me go?” asked Duke Eeron as they shuffled onto the bridge, the cool wind whipping Rew’s cloak around them. “Why should I trust you? No one is that stupid, Ranger, to leave an enemy like me at your back.”
“I’ll let you live because you don’t know why you were holding Baron Fedgley,” said Rew, “and because you don’t want to be my enemy, Duke Eeron. The king watches all of his agents. Besides, Vaisius Morden doesn’t want to disrupt the Investiture, and if there is no need to kill you, he’d rather you live in case you still have a role to play in this drama.”
Duke Eeron’s head shifted slightly, and Rew followed where the man was looking.
He asked Duke Eeron, “Why did Arcanist Salwart tell you he was holding Baron Fedgley in your prison?”
Duke Eeron grunted in response.
“He’s the one who arranged it, was he not?” pressed Rew. “He was the one who arranged the cell back in that tower using Arcanist Ralcr
ist’s discovery, didn’t he? He met with the thieves’ guild and their fixer, Fein. He questioned the baron, and he was the one who suggested you use Kallie Fedgley to crack the baron’s will. I know it all, Duke Eeron, except for what they told you—how you allowed a mere arcanist to use you.”
“Salwart has been a part of Spinesend since before we were alive, Ranger,” hissed Duke Eeron in reply. “He’s no mere arcanist.”
Rew considered that, but he wasn’t sure what the duke meant, and it certainly wasn’t time to have a conversation with the man about it, so instead, he asked, “Will you kill him for me, or will I need to come back?”
“I’ll handle him,” muttered the duke, his eyes fixed ahead, looking at Arcanist Salwart as Rew backed the two of them down the bridge.
Rew guessed that Duke Eeron really meant it, though the arcanist likely had a long, painful journey to his final fate. Duke Eeron, now that he believed his men had roped him into a plot that involved the king, was going to do whatever he had to do to learn the details. Rew worried a bit about what Duke Eeron would find, but for now, he needed Eeron and his forces focused on anything other than wondering where the rest of the party had gone.
Boots slipping on the blood and body parts that littered the bridge, Rew kept backing up, his knife on Duke Eeron, his eyes on the soldiers and the spellcasters that followed them.
“Surely there were easier ways to kill Baron Fedgley,” grumbled Duke Eeron as they crossed halfway across the bridge.
Rew chuckled. “I wish there had been, but I’m not a spellcaster.”
The duke was silent for a long moment. Then, he asked, “Who was that on the tower, then? We saw the portal. Everyone in the keep could see high magic was being cast up there.”
“Who do you think it was?”
“I don’t know,” barked Duke Eeron, “but I know Baron Fedgley doesn’t have the talent to open a portal. I’m certain he was the one who called upon the wraiths, though. It had to be him. I saw what appeared to be his body. Is that really Baron Fedgley, Ranger? If it is, then who banished the wraiths? If you came to kill Fedgley, then who were you fighting, and where did they go? Fedgley called the wraiths, but he couldn’t manage half of the rest of what we saw.”
“We don’t have time for so many questions, but I can tell you the body you saw is Baron Fedgley,” assured Rew. “He’s dead, as the king wanted. The conspiracy goes deeper than just your arcanist, Duke Eeron. There are other, powerful figures who wanted Fedgley to live. They tried to stop his murder then fled when they couldn’t. If you want to know more, you’ll have to ask him.”
Both Duke Eeron and Rew glanced at Arcanist Salwart, who’d dropped behind the line of spellcasters as everyone slowly shuffled across the bridge. The man looked nervous, but not nervous enough. Rew frowned. Salwart couldn’t hear his liege promising his death, but the man had been neck deep in Baron Fedgley’s capture and interrogation. Certainly he knew what it meant that the baron had died. To his fellow conspirators, Salwart was now nothing more than a liability.
“He’s going to run the moment he gets into the keep,” warned Rew.
Duke Eeron grunted. Then, he claimed, “You’re lying about what occurred on top of that tower. You’re lying about coming here on behalf of the king.”
“Am I lying?” whispered Rew into the man’s ear. “The king knows what Baron Fedgley was supposed to do, even if you do not. He wanted the man dead, and so I killed him. If you doubt me, open a portal to Mordenhold, and let’s go ask the king. It will save me the walk, and it will save us all from continuing this farce.”
Duke Eeron did not reply. Clearly, he doubted Rew’s story, but he faced incredible risk calling Rew’s bluff. If Rew was telling the truth, calling attention to the duke’s own involvement would be fatal. If Rew was lying, then Duke Eeron had to be wondering whether Vaisius Morden would bother getting to the bottom of what was happening or if he’d simplify matters by killing everyone. The king ruled efficiently, if not kindly.
“If not the king, then maybe one of the princes?” suggested Rew quietly. “Open a portal to your patron, assuming that is, you don’t think they’ll mind Baron Fedgley dying in your care.”
Rew felt Duke Eeron stiffen.
“You see now?” asked Rew after letting the duke remain silent for a moment. “You’ve no choice but to believe me.”
“Let me go,” demanded the duke.
“When we reach the gates of the keep, I’ll let you go.”
“I’ll hunt you and I’ll kill you,” claimed Duke Eeron.
“You can try,” responded Rew, “but I’d wager all the coin I have that your patron is going to find you first. Whatever anger you feel toward me, it’s in your best interest to run. Take care of Salwart before you do, though, so the king can turn his eyes elsewhere. If Salwart is dead, you need only worry about the princes.”
That was the push the duke needed. He’d swam the dangerous currents of the Investiture, and he knew it. He’d gambled on holding Baron Fedgley for whatever benefit his arcanist claimed he’d receive. Duke Eeron had bet everything, and he’d lost. It wasn’t unusual, during the Investiture. There was nothing Duke Eeron could say to one of the princes that would cover for his failure to keep Baron Fedgley alive, even if the king had been behind the man’s death. And if the king found out, the duke would wish he’d died under the princes’ ungentle hands. All Duke Eeron could do now was flee and hope that whenever the Investiture ended, his failure was forgotten.
Duke Eeron was a powerful spellcaster and he had incredible wealth at his disposal. He could portal, and the princes would be busy plotting against each other. It was quite possible Duke Eeron might live to see the crowning of a new king, and then, he might hope that his role would be overlooked. Vengeance could come with the crowning of a new king, but forgiveness as well. With three brothers, most of the nobles didn’t start out supporting the victor, after all. Duke Eeron had a chance to survive, but if he was going to do it, he had to start running soon.
“Let’s hurry, then,” said Duke Eeron with a sigh, evidently coming to the conclusion Rew had hoped he would.
Behind them, all of Duke Eeron’s contingent filed out of the tower. Like children on a mother’s apron string, they came after the duke, shame-faced but unable to do anything. Rew had his blade in the duke’s side, and it’d take a fearless blow to fell the ranger without risking injury to the duke.
As they reached the keep, Rew turned the duke, still keeping their bodies pressed together. The motion twisted the blade in the other man’s side and drew a pained curse. Rew didn’t need to tell the man. Duke Eeron was already calling out to his soldiers lining the walls, “Clear the way. Clear the way to the gates. Run ahead, you fools! I want the corridors cleared immediately!”
The walk through the keep was tense. Soldiers, servants, and others crowded the cross halls, watching as their liege was dragged through with a knife in his side. Every person in the keep seemed to have come to watch, and Rew grinned at the thought.
Behind them, in the tower, Zaine would be leading the others back to the cell they’d entered through. She’d be climbing out and untying both the ropes they’d left beneath the bridge. They couldn’t swing on them, but they could tie the rope to the tower itself and scale down. Zaine could handle the acrobatics beneath the bridge, and they hoped Raif could handle the climb on a healing leg with his sister tied to his back. It’d be dangerous, but it was better than all five of them trying to walk out through the keep. With all eyes on Rew and the duke, the others might be able to climb down unnoticed. Rew’s bold play had given them a chance.
Rew adjusted his grip around Duke Eeron’s neck, using the man as a human shield. It granted him protection, but it wouldn’t have been sufficient for all five of them. The others would have been exposed, and one rash attack from the duke’s soldiers or a spellcaster could have gotten them all killed.
As Rew and the duke entered the grand foyer that led from the throne room to the main en
trance of the keep, Duke Eeron whispered, “I could have killed you, you know? I’m not the strongest invoker, but I’m strong enough.”
“Maybe,” acknowledged Rew.
“If you really are working for the king, remember that,” said Duke Eeron. “I played it straight.”
“Once a knife was in your ribs,” retorted Rew.
Duke Eeron laughed then coughed, evidently regretting the motion while Rew’s knife was still pricking his side. “Betrayal is the cup we all sip from, Ranger. Turning us against each other, letting us tear each other apart, that’s what has kept Mordens on the throne all of these centuries. You know that better than anyone. They sit the throne, and we die. Remember, I could have fought you, but I didn’t.”
“And I could have killed you for taking Baron Fedgley,” said Rew, “but I didn’t.”
“You may as well have,” responded the duke darkly. “The prince will be on my heels by sundown.”
“Which prince?” asked Rew.
The duke snorted. “So you did lie.”
“I didn’t lie about all of it,” insisted Rew. “You’re better off not knowing why the prince and your arcanist were holding Baron Fedgley. That’s the truth. Kill Salwart and flee, and then you might live long enough to bow to the new king. Pray to the Blessed Mother it’s not the prince you’ve been involved with. You’ve got two out of three odds, Duke Eeron. That’s not bad, if you manage to escape today.”
“If you aren’t working for the king, Ranger, I’ll enjoy hearing about your long, pathetic demise,” said the duke.
“We’ll see,” replied Rew.
He backed his way out the open gates of the keep. A dozen guards flanked them on the steps leading into the city and beyond. The citizens of Spinesend carried about their day, still unaware of the chaos that had occurred on the bridge and in the tower. Few of them noticed what was happening in the gate to the keep, and those who did notice only hurried away. Commoners, one and all, knew it was best to stay out of the matters of nobility.
Rew removed the knife from the duke’s side, spun the duke around, and punched the man square in the face. “Good luck, Eeron. Believe it or not, I wish you no ill will.”