The Viscount and the Witch
Page 5
“You are insane,” Victor shot back. “Myron went to the abbey when he was barely four years old. Alenda has never even spoken to him. This whole fabrication is an obvious attempt to have me pressure Alenda into marrying you and I know why. You don’t care about her. You want her dowry, the Rilan Valley. That piece of land borders ever so nicely against your own and that’s what you are really after. Well, that and the opportunity to raise your own standing by marrying into a family that’s above yours both socially and politically. You are pathetic.”
“Pathetic, am I?” Archibald set down his glass and produced a key on a silver chain from inside his shirt. He rose and crossed the room to a tapestry depicting a Calian prince on horseback abducting a fair-haired noblewoman. He drew it back, revealing a hidden safe. Inserting the key, he opened the small metal door.
“I have a stack of letters written in your precious daughter’s own hand that proves what I’ve been saying. They tell of her undying love for her disgusting revolutionary peasant.”
“How did you get these letters?”
“I stole them. When I was trying to determine who my rival was, I had her watched. She was sending letters that led a path to the abbey and I arranged to have them intercepted.” From the safe, Archibald brought forth a stack of parchments and dropped them in Victor’s lap. “There!” he declared triumphantly. “Read what your daughter has been up to and decide for yourself whether or not she would be better off marrying me instead.”
Archibald returned to his seat and lifted his brandy glass victoriously. He had won. In order to avoid political ruin, Victor Lanaklin, the great Marquis of Glouston, would order his daughter to marry him. The marquis had no choice. If word of this reached Ethelred, it was even possible Victor could face charges for treason. Imperialist kings demand that their nobles mirror their political attitudes and devotion to the church. While Archibald doubted that Victor was really a Royalist or Nationalist sympathizer, any appearance of impropriety would be enough reason for their king to express his displeasure. At the very least, Victor faced crippling embarrassment from which the House of Lanaklin might never recover. The only sensible course for the marquis was to agree to the marriage.
Finally, Archibald would have the borderland, and perhaps in time, he would control the whole of the marchland. With Chadwick in his right hand and Glouston in his left, he would have power at court that would rival that of the Duke of Rochelle.
Looking down at the old, gray-haired man in his fine traveling clothes, Archibald almost felt sorry for him. Once, long ago, the marquis had enjoyed a reputation for cleverness and fortitude. Such distinction came with his title. The marquis was no mere noble, nor was he a simple sheriff of the land, like an earl or a count. Victor had been responsible for guarding the king’s borders. This was a serious duty, which required a capable leader, an ever-vigilant man tested in battle. However, times had changed, and peaceful neighbors now bordered Warric, such that the great guard had become complacent, and his strength had withered from lack of use.
As Victor opened the letters, Archibald contemplated his future. The marquis was right. He was after the land that came with his daughter. Still, Alenda was attractive, and the thought of forcing her to his bed was more than a little appealing.
“Archibald, is this a joke?” Victor questioned.
Startled from his thoughts, Archibald set down his drink. “What do you mean?”
“These parchments are blank.”
“What? Are you blind? They’re—” Archibald stopped when he saw the empty pages in the marquis’s hand. He grabbed a handful of letters and tore them open, only to find still more blank parchments. “This is impossible!”
“Perhaps they were written in disappearing ink?” Victor smirked.
“No…I don’t understand…These aren’t even the same parchments!” He rechecked the safe but found it empty. His confusion turned to panic and he tore open the door, calling anxiously for Bruce. The master-at-arms rushed in, his sword at the ready. “What happened to the letters I had in this safe?” Archibald shouted at the soldier.
“I—I don’t know, my lord,” Bruce replied. He sheathed his weapon and stood at attention before the earl.
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Have you left your post at all this evening?”
“No, sir, of course not.”
“Did anyone, anyone at all, enter my study during my absence?”
“No, my lord, that’s impossible. You hold the only key.”
“Then where in Maribor’s name are those letters? I put them there myself. I was reading them when the marquis arrived. I was only gone a few minutes. How could they disappear like that?”
Archibald’s mind raced. He had held them in his hands only moments ago. He had locked them in the safe. He was convinced of that fact.
Where had they gone?
Victor drained his glass and stood. “If you don’t mind, Archie, I’ll be leaving now. This has been a tremendous waste of my time.”
“Victor, wait. Don’t go. The letters are real. I assure you I had them!”
“But of course you did, Archie. The next time you plan to blackmail me, I suggest you provide a better bluff.” He crossed the room, passed through the door, and disappeared down the stairs.
“You had better consider what I said, Victor,” Archibald yelled after him. “I’ll find those letters. I will! I’ll bring them to Aquesta! I’ll present them at court!”
“What do you want me to do, my lord?” Bruce asked.
“Just wait, you fool. I have to think.” Archibald ran his trembling fingers through his hair as he began to pace around the room. He reexamined the letters closely. They were indeed a different grade of parchment than the ones he had read so many times before.
Despite his certainty he had placed the letters in the safe, he began pulling out the drawers and riffling through the parchments on his desk. Archibald poured himself another drink and crossed the room. Ripping the screen from the fireplace, he probed the ashes with a poker to search for any telltale signs of parchment remains. In frustration, Archibald threw the blank letters into the fire. He drained his drink in one long swallow and collapsed into one of the chairs.
“They were just here,” Archibald said, puzzled. Slowly, a solution began to form in his mind. “Bruce, the letters must have been stolen. The thief could not have gotten far. I want you to search the entire castle. Seal every exit. Don’t let anyone out. Not the staff or any of the guards—no one leaves. Search everyone!”
“Right away, my lord,” Bruce responded, and then paused. “What about the marquis, my lord? Shall I stop him as well?”
“Of course not, you idiot, he doesn’t have the letters.”
Archibald stared into the fire, listening to Bruce’s footsteps fade away as he ran down the tower stairs. Alone, he had only the sound of the crackling flames and a hundred unanswered questions. He racked his brain but could not determine exactly how the thief had managed it.
“Your Lordship?” The timid voice of the steward roused him from his thoughts. Archibald glared up at the man who poked his head through the open door, causing the steward to take an extra breath before speaking. “My lord, I hate to disturb you, but there seems to be a problem down in the courtyard that requires your attention.”
“What kind of problem?” Archibald snarled.
“Well, my lord, I was not actually informed of the details, but it has something to do with the marquis, sir. I have been sent to request your presence—respectfully request it, that is.”
Archibald descended the stairs, wondering if perhaps the old man had dropped dead on his doorstep, which would not be such a terrible thing. When he reached the courtyard, he found the marquis alive but in a furious temper.
“There you are, Ballentyne! What have you done with my carriage?”
“Your what?”
Bruce approached Archibald and motioned him aside. “Your Lordship,” he whispered in the earl’s ear. “It seem
s the marquis’s carriage and horses are missing, sir.”
Archibald held up a finger in the direction of the marquis. With a raised voice, he replied, “I’ll be with you in a moment, Victor.” Then he returned his attention to Bruce and whispered, “Did you say missing? How is that possible?”
“I don’t know exactly, sir, but you see, the gate warden reports that the marquis and his driver, or rather two people he thought were them, have already passed through the front gate.”
Suddenly feeling quite ill, Archibald turned back to address the red-faced marquis.
I hope you enjoyed this small taste of the world of Elan, and I invite you to explore more of the adventures of Royce and Hadrian. To learn more please visit the author’s website at: www.riyria.com
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After finding a manual typewriter in the basement of a friend’s house, Michael J. Sullivan inserted a blank piece of paper and typed: It was a dark and stormy night, and a shot rang out. He was just eight. Still, the desire to fill the blank page and see where the keys would take him next wouldn’t let go. As an adult, Michael spent ten years developing his craft by reading and studying authors such as Stephen King, Ayn Rand, and John Steinbeck, to name just a few. He wrote ten novels, and after finding no traction in publishing, he quit, vowing never to write creatively again.
Michael discovered forever is a very long time and ended his writing hiatus ten years later. The itch returned when he decided to write books for his then thirteen-year-old daughter, who was struggling in school because of dyslexia. Intrigued by the idea of a series with an overarching story line, yet told through individual, self-contained episodes, he created the Riyria Revelations. He wrote the series with no intention of publishing it. After presenting his book in manuscript form to his daughter, she declared that it had to be a “real book,” in order for her to be able to read it.
So began his second adventure on the road to publication, which included drafting his wife to be his business manager, signing with a small independent press, and creating a publishing company. He sold more than sixty thousand books as a self-published author and leveraged this success to achieve mainstream publication through Orbit (the fantasy imprint of Hachette Book Group) as well as foreign translation rights including French, Spanish, Russian, German, Danish, Polish, and Czech.
Born in Detroit, Michigan, Michael presently lives in Fairfax, Virginia, with his wife and three children. He continues to fill the blank pages with three projects under development: a modern fantasy, which explores the relationship between good and evil; a literary fiction piece, profiling a man’s descent into madness; and a medieval fantasy prequel to his best-selling Riyria Revelations series.
Find out more about the author at www.riyria.com.
OTHER WORKS BY MICHAEL J. SULLIVAN
Theft of Swords (Riyria Revelations Volume #1) — Nov 2011
Rise of Empire (Riyria Revelations Volume #2) — Dec 2011
Heir of Novron (Riyria Revelations Volume #3) — Jan 2012
The Crown Conspiracy (Riyria Revelations Book #1) — Oct 2008
Avempartha (Riyria Revelations Book #2) — Apr 2009
Nyphron Rising (Riyria Revelations Book #3) — Oct 2009
The Emerald Storm (Riyria Revelations Book #4) — Apr 2010
Wintertide (Riyria Revelations Book #5) — Oct 2010
Percepliquis (Riyria Revelations Book #6) — Jan 2012
WORKS IN PROGRESS
Antithesis
A Burden to the Earth
Table of Contents
Author's Note
The Viscount and the Witch
Theft of Swords
About the Autor