Road of the Patriarch ts-3

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  They were building a gallows, with a long trap door and no less than seven noose-arms.

  Athrogate had been told his crime against King Gareth, and he knew well the penalty for treason. And though he was cooperating, and had surrendered several of Knellict's spies placed in Heliogabalus—men he had never really liked anyway—none of Gareth's representatives had given him any hint that his sentence might be put aside or even reduced.

  But he had ale and mead and plenty of food. He figured he might as well be fat if the door dropped out beneath him so that his neck would get a clean break and he wouldn't be flailing about and peeing himself in front of all the spectators. He had seen that a few times, and decided it would not be a fitting end for one of so many accomplishments as he.

  Perhaps he could even bargain to have his name kept on the plaque at the Vaasan Gate….

  He had that very thought in mind late one afternoon when his cell door swung open and a familiar figure strode into the room.

  "Ah, Athrogate, it will take more than a Bloodstone winter to make you lean for the spring," said Celedon Kierney.

  "Lean's for elfs," the dwarf grunted at the charming rogue who had more than a bit of elf blood in him. "For them who're needin' to twist and turn to get out o' the hammer's way."

  "You don't think that wise?"

  "Bah!" Athrogate blustered and puffed out his chest, smacking his balled fist against it.

  "And what if that hammer was instead a fine elven sword?"

  "I'd grab it and snap it, then take yer hand and pull ye close for a fine Athrogate hug."

  Celedon grinned widely.

  "Ye're not for believin' me, then? Well go and get yer fine elven blade. And bring a bow, and not the shooting kind, when ye do. I'll bend yer sword over and play ye a tune that'll put ye in a dancing mood afore I give ye the big hug."

  "I do not doubt that you could do just that, Athrogate," Celedon replied, and the dwarf looked at him with complete puzzlement. "Your exploits in Vaasa have been sung across all the Bloodstone Lands. A pity it is, as I'm sure King Gareth will agree when he arrives this very night, that one so accomplished as Athrogate chose to collude with the likes of Timoshenko."

  "The Grandpappy? Bah, never met him."

  "Knellict then, and voice no denials."

  "Bah!" Athrogate snorted again. "Ye got no course to hang me."

  "Hang you?" Celedon Kierney replied with exaggerated incredulity—the animated rogue was good at that particular ploy, Athrogate recognized. "Why, good dwarf, we would never deign to do such a thing. Nay, we intend to celebrate you, in public, to honor you for your aid in capturing so many criminals of the dreaded Citadel of Assassins."

  Athrogate stared hatefully at the man, at the threat that made hanging seem quite pleasant by comparison. The mere thought of an angry Knellict in that moment sent a shiver coursing up the dwarf's sturdy spine.

  "There may even be a knighthood in it for Athrogate, hero of Vaasa, and now hero of the crown in Heliogabalus."

  The dwarf spat on the floor. "Ye're a wretched one, ain't ye."

  Celedon laughed at him, and walked out of the small cell. He paused at the door and turned back to the dwarf. "I will have a ladder brought with your breakfast," he said, glancing at the window. "Better than a leaning cot. We have prepared a ceremony for King Gareth, of course, as is right and just."

  "Pleasure for ye, elf?"

  "Practicality, good dwarf, and grim resolve. We've not enough cells, nor are they really called for on this occasion." He gave a wink and half-turned, before adding, "They attacked a knight of the order—an apprentice knight, to be honest. The case is clear enough, is it not?"

  "Ye know it's more muddled than that," said Athrogate. "Ye know what happened at that castle, and what allegiances yer own king's niece struck on her own."

  "I know of no such thing," Celedon replied. "I know only that order must be maintained, and that the Citadel of Assassins has brought this fate upon itself."

  "And yer Lady Ellery's still dead."

  "And Gareth is still the king."

  On that definitive note, Celedon Kierney exited the room, banging the door closed behind him.

  True to his word, Celedon had a ladder delivered to Athrogate that morning, along with his voluminous breakfast. The dwarf munched his food loudly, trying to drown out the ceremony playing outside his window, trying to ignore the reading of charges and the demands for confession, many of which were offered in pathetic, whining tones.

  "Bah, just go with yer dignity, ye dolts," Athrogate muttered more than once, and he chomped down all the harder on his crusty cake.

  Like a moth to the flame, though, the dwarf could not deny his curiosity, and he managed to set and climb the ladder just in time to see seven of the Citadel's men drop from the platform and sway at the end of a rope. Most died right away, Jureemo Pascadadle among them, and two, including a halfling Athrogate knew as Kiniquips the Short—Master Kiniquips—struggled and kicked for some time before finally going still.

  Master Kiniquips, Athrogate thought as he climbed back down to his remaining portions.

  Master of the Citadel.

  Athrogate winced as he considered Celedon's threats.

  Suddenly, and for perhaps the first time in his life, the dwarf didn't feel the desire to eat.

  CHAPTER 12

  CAT AND MOUSE

  What do I do?" the nervous woman asked the great mage.

  Knellict eyed her sternly and she shrank away from him. It was not her place to ask such questions. Her duties at the Vaasan Gate were simple enough, and hadn't changed in five years, after all.

  The woman chewed on her lower lip as she summoned the courage to press on—and she knew that if she did not, the danger to her would be greater than that of invoking the anger of the mage. "Pardon, sir," she said, working her way around the damaging words. "But people are hanging by their necks, o' course. Spysong's all about… here, too. They're finding our like and turning them on others, and them that don't turn're getting the hemp collar in the south, so it's said."

  Knellict's returned stare was utterly cold, devoid of emotion. The woman, despite her fears, couldn't hold firm under that gaze and she lowered her eyes and assumed a submissive and contrite posture, and managed to whisper, "Beggin' yer pardon, sir."

  "Consider that it is good that you know of no one here against whom you might turn," Knellict said to her. He reached over and cupped her chin in his hand and gently tilted her head up.

  The woman's knees wobbled when she looked into the archmage's cruel face.

  "Because of course nothing that Spysong might do to you would approach the exquisite agony you would suffer at my vengeful hands. Do not ever forget that. And if you find the noose about your slender neck, will yourself to sleep, to relax completely when the trap door falls out beneath you. The clean break is better, I am told."

  "B-but sir…" The poor woman stammered. She trembled so badly that had it not been for Knellict's hand against her chin, she would have wobbled across the room.

  Knellict stopped her by placing the index finger of his free hand over her lips. "You have served me well again today," he said, and no words ever sounded more like a condemnation to the fitful and terrified tavern girl. "As you have since you chose to enter my employ those years ago," he added, emphasizing her complicity.

  "A little extra this time," the mage went on, smiling now—and that seemed even more cruel. He let the woman go and reached to his belt, producing a small pouch that rattled with coins. "All of it gold."

  For a brief moment, the woman's eyes flashed eagerly. Then she swallowed hard, though, considering how she might explain such a treasure if Spysong came calling.

  Still, she took the pouch.

  * * * * *

  A cloud of smoke and the sound of coughing told King Gareth and his friends that Emelyn the Gray had at last arrived in Heliogabalus. Surprisingly, the old wizard had chosen to teleport to the king's audience hall in the city's Crow
n Palace, rather than in the safer—for teleportation purposes—wizard's guild on the other side of the city. And even more surprisingly, Emelyn was not alone.

  All eyes—Gareth, Celedon, Kane, Friar Dugald, and Baron Dimian Ree—turned to the pair, the old wizard and a pretty young woman with a round, flat face and fiery red hair.

  "Well met, troublesome one," Celedon remarked dryly. "As always, your timing nears the point of perfection."

  "I did not ask for your advice, and that alone would make any of my actions less than perfect in your self-centered thinking," Emelyn countered. "If all the world obeyed only Master Kierney, then all the world would be… perfect."

  "He's learning, now isn't he?" Celedon asked the others, turning back to Gareth.

  Emelyn grumbled and waved his hands at the rogue, and coughed again.

  "In truth, I find your timing quite favorable," Gareth said. He looked from Emelyn to his guest, the Baron of Heliogabalus, who had long been a quiet adversary. For Dimian Ree, who led Damara's most populous and important barony, was rumored to be in league with the Citadel of Assassins to some extent, and so it didn't surprise Gareth and his friends to find the agitated man banging on their door that morning to complain vociferously about the multiple hangings that Gareth's men were carrying out in his fair city.

  "Baron Ree," Emelyn said, rather coldly, and he did not dip a bow.

  "Gray one," Ree responded.

  "Our friend the baron has come to protest the justice we have brought to his city," Friar Dugald explained.

  "I only just arrived," Emelyn prompted.

  "Spysong has encountered many agents of the Citadel of Assassins," King Gareth explained. "They brazenly attacked an apprentice knight of the order."

  "That Entreri creature?"

  "Precisely him," said Gareth. "But our enemies overplayed their hand this time. They did not know that Master Kane and Celedon were about, along with many allies."

  "And you're hanging them? Well, good! And what of this matter might Baron Ree find objectionable, I must ask? Are any of his former lovers swinging by their necks?"

  "You would do well to weigh carefully your words before uttering them, gray one," Dimian Ree said, drawing a dismissive scoff from the archmage.

  "And you would do better to remember that the only reason I did not utterly destroy you with the fall of Zhengyi was because of the mercy of that man sitting on the throne before you," Emelyn countered, beside him the woman shuffled and glanced about, nervous.

  "Enough, Emelyn," commanded King Gareth. "And the rest of you." He looked at them all alternately and sternly, letting his gaze fall at last over the angry baron. "Baron Ree, Heliogabalus is your city, to be sure. But your city lies within my kingdom. I do not ask for your permission to enter."

  "And you would always be welcomed as my guest, my king."

  "I am not your guest when I come to Heliogabalus," Gareth answered. "That is your basic misunderstanding here. When your king comes to Heliogabalus, you are his guest."

  That brought a widening of eyes all around the room, and Dimian Ree began stepping nervously from foot to foot, like a fox caught against a stone wall with dogs fast approaching.

  "And when I offer my resources, as with Spysong, to aid you in keeping your fair city safe, you would do well to express your appreciation."

  Dimian Ree swallowed hard and didn't blink.

  But Gareth didn't blink, either. "Pray do so and be gone," he said.

  Ree glanced about, mostly at Kane then Emelyn, the two members of Gareth's band most antagonistic toward him—openly at least.

  "The king is waiting for you, fool," came a booming voice from the back of the hall, and all turned to see the bearlike figure of Olwen Forest-friend and the lithe Riordan Parnell, the missing two of Gareth's band of seven, standing by the door.

  "Go on, then," Olwen commanded, coming forward with great, long strides, and seeming even more ominous because he carried his mighty axe Treefeller in one of his large hands. "Tell your king how grateful you be, and how all your city will dance the streets tonight knowing they are more safe because of his arrival."

  Dimian Ree turned on Gareth. "Of course, my king. I only wish I had been invited to the hangings, or that my city guards had been informed of the many battles before they were waged about our streets."

  "And they'd be flipping gold pieces to see what side to join," Emelyn muttered to the woman at his side, but loud enough for the others to hear, drawing muted chuckles from all—except for Gareth, and Dimian Ree, of course, who glared at him.

  "And it would have been even more interesting to see how many of the doomed prisoners looked to their baron for clemency," Emelyn said, taking up the dare of that look.

  "Enough," Gareth demanded. "Good Baron Ree, I pray you be on your way, and I thank you for your… advice. Your complaints are duly noted."

  "And discarded," said Emelyn, and Gareth glared at him.

  "And how long might Heliogabalus be honored by your presence, my king?" Dimian Ree asked too sweetly.

  Gareth looked to Kane, who nodded. "Our time here is nearly ended, I expect," Gareth answered.

  "Indeed," Emelyn added, turning Gareth his way yet again. The mage tilted his head to indicate the woman at his side, and Gareth got the message. "Baron," he said, and he stood and motioned toward the door.

  Dimian Ree paused for just a moment, then bowed, turned, and walked from the hall. Before he had even departed, all of the friends descended on Olwen, patting him on the back and offering their condolences over the loss of Mariabronne the Rover, the ranger who had been as a son to him.

  "I will know Mariabronne's final tale, in full," Olwen promised.

  "And I have brought with me one who might tell you some of that tale," said Emelyn, and he led the others to look at the woman, who still stood off to the side. "I give you Lady Arrayan of Palishchuk."

  "That's a half-orc?" Olwen blurted, and he cleared his throat and coughed repeatedly to cover his rather blunt observation.

  "Arrayan?" said Gareth. "Ah, good lady, please approach. You are most welcome here. I had hoped to be in Palishchuk by now to present you with your well-deserved honors, but the situation here intervened, I fear."

  Arrayan skittishly moved toward the imposing group, though she relaxed visibly when Riordan offered her a confident wink.

  "We had been told that you would not be journeying south to the gates," Gareth said.

  "And so I was not, good king," Arrayan replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She bowed, then curtsied, halfway at least, before turning it into another uncomfortable bow.

  "Pray be at rest, fair lady," said Gareth. "We are honored by your presence." He turned to Dugald and Kane and added, "Surprised, but honored nonetheless."

  Arrayan's glance at Emelyn, one full of nervousness, clued in Gareth and the others that she wasn't there merely as a courtesy.

  "I did as you bade and traveled to the gates to see if our friends Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri were there," Emelyn explained. "I found them."

  "At the gate?" Gareth asked.

  "Nay, they had already passed through, within hours of the skirmish here in Heliogabalus, so it seems."

  "There is more magic about that pair than we know," Friar Dugald remarked, and no one disagreed.

  "North?" Gareth and Celedon asked together.

  "To Palishchuk?" Gareth added.

  "Beyond," said Emelyn, and he looked to Arrayan.

  When she hesitated, the old mage put his arm around her shoulders and practically shoved her forward to stand directly before the throne. Arrayan took a long moment to collect her wits then produced a parchment from a loop under a fold of her robes.

  "I was bid travel here and read this to you, my king," she said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "But I do not wish to speak the words." As she finished, she reached out with the parchment.

  Gareth took it from her and unrolled it, arching his thick eyebrows curiously and looking briefly to his friend
s. He silently read the proclamation of the Kingdom of D'aerthe and the rule of King Artemis the First, and his face grew dark.

  "Well, what is it?" Olwen demanded of Emelyn.

  The old wizard looked to King Gareth, who seemed to feel his gaze and at last lifted his eyes from the parchment. He regarded all of his six friends alternately and said, "Rouse the Army of Bloodstone, all major divisions. Within a fortnight, we march."

  "March?" said a confused Olwen, perfectly echoing the thoughts of the others, other than Emelyn, who had seen the proclamation, and Kane, who, principal among them, was beginning to understand the complexity of the web.

  Gareth handed the parchment to Dugald. "Read it to them. I go to pray."

  * * * * *

  "There is nowhere to run, I assure you," Knellict said to Calihye, after simply appearing before her in her private quarters. "And I would advise against going for the sword," he added when the woman's eyes betrayed her and glanced at her weapon, which lay against the far wall. "Or for the dagger you keep at the back of your belt. In fact, Lady Calihye, if you make any movement against me at all, I can promise you the most exquisite of deaths. You know me, of course?"

  Calihye had to force the words past the lump in her throat. "Yes, archmage," she said deferentially, and she only then remembered to avert her gaze to the floor.

  "You wanted to kill Entreri for what he did to your friend," Knellict said matter-of-factly. "I share your feelings."

  Calihye dared to look up.

  "But of course, you buried that honest desire for vengeance, silly girl." The archmage gave a great and exaggerated sigh. "The flesh is too, too weak," he said, and he reached out to stroke the trembling woman's cheek.

  Calihye instinctively recoiled—or tried to, but Knellict waggled his fingers and a wind came up behind her, pushing her back to his waiting hand. She didn't dare resist any more overtly.

  "You have taken one of my mortal enemies for your lover," Knellict said, shaking his head, and he added a few mocking "tsks."