Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  He was a patriot, Regin told himself. Sacrifices had to be made to secure any sort of future for Tarador, and there was one sacrifice Regin might need to make personally.

  Kyre.

  While he had been touching the throne that soon would be his, Regin reached the sad conclusion that his eldest son and heir would never accept his father on the throne, never accept the hard choices required to save some small part of Tarador from the coming invasion. Through long training and habit, Regin had become skilled at concealing his feelings, but his immediate family knew him too well. Kyre sensed something was wrong, knew his father was up to something. And his heir, despite everything Regin had done to bring the boy up right, was infatuated with the silly princess. Regin knew he would get no help from Kyre, that his own son would instead view his father as a traitor and do everything in his power to thwart Regin’s plans.

  If he had been thinking clearly, Regin might have stopped to wonder whether his cold-hearted calculation was due to influence from an enemy wizard, but the idea that he may be wrong never crossed his supremely arrogant mind.

  It was unfortunate, it was tragic that such potential would be wasted, and Regin someday might shed a tear about it, but Kyre Falco might have to go.

  The next evening, Jonas approached Kyre, who tilted his head quizzically at seeing the expression on the face of the man who was in charge of his personal guard force. “Your Grace,” Jonas nodded his head to make the barest of bows, a gesture that did not bother the Falco heir. Kyre generally wished to dispense with formal greetings except for occasions which called for formality, and he especially did not want his personal guards bowing and scraping to him. That was something Duke Falco would never understand; Kyre trusted the guards with his very life, he needed them to know they were valued beyond the jobs they were paid for.

  “Jonas, what is wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, not least on paper. Your father has just ordered six of my men replaced with men from the Duke’s own guard force.”

  “What? Why?” Kyre exploded.

  “His Grace gave me the order directly. He feels that, considering the attempts on the life of the princess, he needs the most experienced men guarding the life of his heir.”

  “More experienced?”

  “Aye, and I can’t argue with that, Joss Haden himself is joining us, and I can’t knock his experience.” Haden had served the Falcos in a variety of roles for twenty years, and was widely rumored to have done unsavory things for the Duke. The man was well trusted by Regin Falco, extremely competent, and not trusted by almost anyone else. “The Duke assured me I am still in command of the force, but a man like Haden will not be happy about taking orders from the likes of me.”

  “We will see about this,” Kyre buckled on his sword belt and began to pull on a formal tunic for an audience with his father.

  “Er, Your Grace, your father expected you would seek to debate this with him, so he gave me a message for you. He is busy, there will be no debate, and you should be pleased that your father is so concerned about your well-being,” Jonas smiled awkwardly, hating to be caught in a dispute between duke and heir.

  Kyre paused, the tunic poised above his head. Disgusted, he flung it back over a chair. “When my father is in the mood to be stubborn, there is no moving him. I will wait until he is somewhat more willing to discuss the subject. Now, I can speak with Joss Haden, and I will. Where is the man?”

  Kyre’s interview with Joss Haden and the other five men his father had assigned went well on the face of it. Haden and the others were deferential, not insulted to be protecting the heir rather than the duke himself. They said all the right things to Kyre and Jonas, and swore to do their best to guard Kyre’s life and obey the instructions of Jonas, and for a reason Kyre could not name, he did not trust any of them. In the end, he could not go against his father’s wishes, so the six moved into the barracks with Kyre’s other guards and began training with them. His vague feeling of unease was surely wrong, he told himself. His father valued Kyre as his heir, and needed Kyre to marry Ariana, despite the increasing tensions between father and son.

  As long as Regin Falco needed him, Kyre decided with a shrug, he had nothing to fear.

  Jonas made a full bow when ushered into the presence of Kyre’s mother, the duchess Britta Falco. Kyre got annoyed when his personal guards gave formal gestures of respect to him except in special formal occasions, but the duke and duchess always expected deference. “Your Grace,” Jonas bent at the waist and stood back up stiffly, waiting for the duchess to acknowledge him.

  “Leave us,” Britta ordered with a dismissive wave to her own pair of guards. The guards knew it was not proper for the duchess to be alone with a man, they also knew better than to argue with the formidable woman. “Jonas, come in please, sit down,” she patted a chair adjacent to her.

  Jonas sat down warily, almost not putting any of his weight on the chair’s seat. “You wished to see me, Your Grace?”

  “Technically, I ordered you here, but my wishes are the same as orders, so,” she shrugged and Jason was surprised to see a twinkle in her eyes. He had spent little time with the duchess and had never had a private audience. Most of the time he was in her presence, he had merely escorted Kyre to visit his mother, and Jonas remained a discrete distance away. “We may have, no, we do have, a serious problem and I need your help.”

  “Your Grace?” Jonas did not know what to say. The duchess of Burwyck did not ask for help, she demanded her orders to be obeyed.

  “Joss Haden,” she explained simply.

  “Ah,” Jonas understood instantly. “He is a capable-”

  “He is a dangerous snake,” Britta interrupted. “I know this to be a fact, for Haden has performed discrete tasks for me in the past. The man is a deadly, dangerous tool, useful in the right hands. I do not want him anywhere near my son.”

  “Your husband the Duke told me he assigned Haden and the others to increase your son’s security in these dangerous times,” Jonas remarked, his words unconvincing even to himself.

  “Joss Haden is not a shield to protect anyone, he is a dagger you point at an enemy’s heart,” Britta declared. “I do not know why the Duke has done this, but I can be certain it is to further an aim of my husband, and not for the benefit of my firstborn child.”

  Jonas said nothing, for anything he said might be considered treason.

  Britta continued, in a soft voice that betrayed uncharacteristic vulnerability. “These past weeks, I do not know my husband. The Duke has changed and I do not know why. He has become unreadable, even to me. Jonas,” she looked up sharply at the guard. “I fear my husband cares more for his own schemes than for the life of our son. Kyre is my son, my child,” she dabbed at a tear forming in one eye and Jonas was nearly frozen in place to see such a display of emotion from the duchess. “The duke thinks of Kyre as an heir and a tool to grow the power of the Falcos, the fact that Kyre is also a person is an inconvenience to my husband. Tell me, you are sworn to protect my son’s life above all?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Jonas replied, uncomfortable.

  “The duke is of course your liege lord, but you are especially pledged to safeguard the life of my son, even at the cost of your own life?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. My Lady, if I may speak freely?”

  “That is why we are behind a closed door, Jonas.”

  “My men, and myself, need no oath to protect your son. He has demonstrated loyalty to us, we are all loyal to him, beyond the bonds of any oath. You can be certain any of my men would do their utmost for Kyre.”

  “I am pleased to hear that,” Britta smiled, a gesture which quickly faded. “I wish you to keep this in mind, then. Do not trust Joss Haden and his fellows. He may be more a threat to my son than any orc or wizard of Acedor. If the time comes, promise me you will act accordingly.”

  Jonas slipped off the chair and went down on one knee. “My Lady, if I ever believe Haden is a threat to Kyre, I will not hesitate,
nor will I need orders.”

  “Good,” Britta said back slightly in her chair. “My son is fortunate indeed to have such loyal men surrounding him.”

  “If I may continue to speak freely, your son has loyal men because he is worthy of such devotion. He is a true credit to Burwyck,” Jonas added, instantly fearing the duchess would interpret his remark as implying the Duke himself was less of a credit than his own son. Because that is exactly what Jonas thought.

  “I hope,” the duchess reached for her forgotten cup of tea, “Kyre lives long enough to demonstrate what he can do as duke of Burwyck.”

  Kyre had little time to fret about his new and untrusted guards, for the next morning, he accompanied his father and brother along with most of the ducal army of Burwyck, westward through the streets of Linden. Ahead of them with the Royal Army was a carriage where princess Ariana rode with her personal wizard and savior. And, just behind the royal carriage was the newest knight of Tarador, a Sir Cully Runnet, feeling quite foolish and out of place in his fine new clothes and clinging awkwardly to his horse’s back. Cully was going to war, and for the first time in his life, he wished he could go back to a simple life of chopping wood and cleaning. He did not know, because he not been told and was too shy to ask, what the Royal Army would be doing once they met Grand General Magrane on the east bank of the River Fasse. Cully was hoping for a boring couple of months living in a tent, doing whatever newly-minted knights did, until the coming winter forced most of the army back into garrison posts until the snow melted.

  Cully feared he might have already used up his entire lifetime of luck when he pulled two drowning girls out of a moat.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Acting as the forward scout, Lem was well ahead of the party, moving from cover to cover where there was cover to be found. Coming down out of the mountains into the foothills, they were encountering more groves of trees, and the early Autumn shrubs and bushes were at their full height, allowing him to crouch down to move forward. Along the way, he picked scattered late-season berries to provide a sweet treat, a break from the hard travel bread and dried strips of salted meat the party had been relying on for food. Lem hoped to find wild game such as deer or the sure-footed sheep which inhabited the steep mountain slopes, but he had not seen even rabbits. It was as if the entire land knew orcs were approaching and had run to get away.

  Lem heard a sound before he saw anything, and he froze, holding up a hand for the party to halt. Glancing behind him, he saw Captain Raddick acknowledge with a silent hand signal, and Lem dropped to the ground, inching forward through the tall grasses and scratchy shrubs of the meadow he was crossing. He couldn’t see anything, not yet. All that morning, they had seen and even smelled smoke rising from the valley to the south and southwest. Seeing smoke in the southwest was especially troubling, for the border of Acedor lay only seventeen leagues to the west. The previous night, after an afternoon of rain, the party had finally begun to grow confident they had outpaced the invading orc host in the valley below, and could turn south to race across the valley and into the relative safety of Tarador. While the dwarves appeared to have abandoned the southern valley to the orcs, retreating to the security of their mountain strongholds, the duke of Winterthur was sure to have built up the strength of his army on his northern border. If the party could only link up with Winterthur’s army, they could find safety and assistance.

  Seeing smoke in the valley to the southwest had almost dashed the party’s hopes. Had a second army of orcs or foul men invaded across the border from Acedor, to march east and meet the orc host that was burning and pillaging its way westward? If that were true, then the party’s only slim and fading hope was to dash between the two enemy forces, or to be trapped in the dwarf homeland at least until the winter snows melted. By then, Raddick feared, there might no longer be a Tarador for them to go home to.

  “What is it?” Bjorn whispered to Raddick.

  “Lem heard something up ahead,” Raddick explained.

  “I heard something too,” Koren whispered from beside Bjorn.

  “From here?” Raddick looked at Koren sharply, then his expression softened. “Of course. What do you hear?”

  “Voices?” Koren guessed, scrunching up his eyes to concentrate. “Just snatches of sound, when the wind is blowing in the right direction.”

  “Orcs?” Raddick demanded.

  “I don’t, I can’t hear enough.” Koren opened his eyes. “I don’t think so.” Now that he knew the harsh speech of orcs, he could identify it. Although he could not hear individual words and the voices were strained, it was not the throat-straining guttural language of orcs.

  “Go on ahead, then,” Raddick pointed toward where Lem’s head was barely visible. “Get up there with Lem, he knows the hand signals to tell us what you hear.” Raddick looked behind them with dismay. If orcs were coming up the hillside, the Royal Army party would need to retreat quickly. The mountainside above them grew increasingly exposed as trees dwindled and meadows gave way to bare rock. The army captain did not like the idea of relying on mere speed to escape from orcs. Living mostly in mountains like dwarves, orcs were sure-footed in hazardous terrain and their short legs could climb steep slopes faster than any man.

  Without a word, Koren ducked low and followed the faint trail Lem had used, but he was less than halfway to the scout when the man rose to his knees and used both hands to flash a complicated signal to Raddick. Just then, a gust of wind brought clear fragments of voices to Koren’s ears. “Dwarves,” he breathed with relief.

  Raddick came running with the others, and they approached Lem, crawling on hands and knees the final yards. “Dwarves, Captain,” Lem reported, “several dozen at least.”

  Three dwarf soldiers, armed with axes and bows, lead the way, with families trudging along behind. Most of the dwarves were walking and were clearly weary, with no ponies and mules available to carry injured dwarves and supplies. Even the young and the old were weighted down with heavy packs, and some of the adults were carrying infants.

  “Ohhhhh,” Raddick sighed deeply, “this is not good.” More dwarves were coming out of the tree line, pairs of soldiers flanking the column of civilians. From the battered helmets and chipped axe blades of the soldiers, and from their dirty and sometimes bloody clothing, they had already been in a battle, likely more than one. Raddick had no desire, and no time, to be burdened with guarding and caring for refugees. Yet, the dwarves must have news of events in the valley to the south, and he needed that information. “Koren,” he whispered, “stand and call out to them, don’t startle them.” Raddick figured that Koren, being a boy, would be less threatening to the dwarves. He did not wish to alarm an armed group that had to already be on edge.

  “Uh, hello?” Koren called out, gently waving both hands above his head.

  “Halt! Who is that?” A dwarf soldier shaded his eyes with a hand, as the civilians all tensed to run, and the other soldiers unslung their bows.

  “I’m Koren, Koren Bladewell,” he said stupidly, realizing after he spoke that his name would mean nothing to the dwarves. “I’m a boy, from Tarador. We were up in the mountains when the orcs invaded, and we have been trying to get back to Tarador.”

  Arrows were pointed at his chest though Koren was not afraid. From that distance, he knew he could duck down before an arrow reached him, or he could draw his sword and cut an arrow out of the air. Several of the arrows were shaking as the tired arms of the soldiers felt the strain of holding back the heavy bowstring. “We?” The dwarf demanded. “Who is ‘we’? I see only one of you.”

  Slowly, with his hands held up in a peaceful gesture, Raddick stood. “I am Captain Arnse Raddick of the Royal Army of Tarador. As the boy said, we are trying to get back across the border into our own lands. We were caught in the mountains when the orc host swept through the valley. There are eight of us; me, the boy and six of my men. May I approach so we can talk?” Raddick made a show of dropping his bow and quiver on the ground and unbuc
kling his sword belt.

  “You won’t get back to Tarador going the way we came from,” the dwarf said sourly, and spit on the ground. “Stay where you are, I will come to you. Kenwass,” he ordered another dwarf, “get this lot moving again, we’ve no time to stand around.”

  The dwarf slung his bow but kept a hand on the hilt of his battleaxe as he climbed, until he reached Raddick. With an untrusting but not unfriendly eye, he took in the men with Raddick, and stuck out a hand for Raddick to shake. “Renhelm’s my name,” the dwarf said, “I’m a lieutenant, our captain was killed three, no, four days ago?” He shook his head sadly. “The days run together.” The dwarf’s eyes narrowed, looking more closely at Raddick’s men. “What were you doing in our mountains?”

  Raddick noted Renhelm had said ‘our mountains’. He decided the truth, at least part of the truth, would serve him best right then. “Looking for them,” he pointed to Koren and Bjorn. “We heard they were up in your lands, but they found us first, then we were cut off by the orcs.”

  “What were the two of you doing in our land?” He directed the question to Bjorn, being the older of the two.

  “We had been hunting bandits with a dwarf named Barlen,” Bjorn explained, pretending to yawn as if the whole story now bored him. “This young idiot,” he jerked a thumb at Koren, “well, let’s just say there is a girl involved.”