Highlords of Phaer (Empire of Masks Book 1)

by Brock Deskins

  He slipped off his shoes and lay on the bed, running a hand over the indent on the right side of the mattress. The last person to get any sleep in this bed had been a pregnant young woman. Two lives saved, but how many would die in the coming months to satisfy his vengeance? He tried to convince himself that his motives were far beyond a personal vendetta, but he knew it to be a lie—most of it.

  Had the highlord spared his wife and son, he would still be the dutiful Jareen, faithfully serving Sah Auberon just as he had for his entire life and until the day he died. Even now, he could not mention or even think his master’s name without the honorific. If his audacious rebellion succeeded, people would name him a hero. Should it fail, some would call him a martyr, others a traitor, but regardless of the outcome, he knew what he truly was. A fraud.

  ***

  Jareen strode down the palace hall, eager yet dreading returning to Auberon’s side. His treasonous rebellion was now at its most vulnerable stage. It was like a toddler just learning to walk, its steps clumsy with just enough strength to steer it into great danger. One of the greatest threats was Sah Auberon. Should the highborn even suspect him of treachery, the sorcerer would kill him and his rebellion in its infancy.

  He steeled his nerves as he neared Auberon’s rooms. Jareen’s stomach fluttered when the sound of his master’s angry voice echoed down the hall.

  “Be gone!” Auberon shouted to someone in his room, his outburst broken up by a fit of coughing. “If you cannot cure me, then at least do not burden me with your useless existence! Where is Jareen? Someone find me Jareen!”

  Jareen quickened his pace, crossed the large living room, and headed for the bedroom, nearly colliding with one of the palace physicians on his way in. “I am here, sah.”

  Auberon looked up from where he lay in bed, his face pale and haggard. “Jareen? Thank the twin gods you have returned. I am besieged by this damnable illness and surrounded by incompetents.”

  Jareen rushed to his master’s side. “Where is your restorative, sah?”

  Auberon shook his head, dislodging several beads of sweat to trickle down his face. “I ran out three days ago.”

  “Forgive me, sah, I thought I had prepared enough to last while I was away.”

  “It is not your fault. I was frivolous in its consumption. Please, just make me more, as quickly as you can.”

  “Of course, sah. I will return within the hour, I swear.”

  Auberon patted Jareen’s hand and smiled. “Faithful Jareen.”

  Jareen ran down the palace corridors and through the gardens to reach the laboratory. Auberon’s illness had progressed faster than Jareen had expected, likely due to being without the restorative for several days. For Auberon to place the blame upon himself, he must be truly ill.

  Brewing the elixir was not a complicated process as long as one had the proper ingredients, but he was not about to share his secret with Auberon’s physicians or anyone else if he could possibly avoid it. Having Auberon dependent upon him gave him a measure of control over his master, control he needed to come and go as he pleased.

  Concern crept into his mind as he waited for the concoction to brew. If he made himself too indispensable, Auberon might not allow him out of his sight again, and that would not do. He still needed to get to Thuum and Glisteran in order to establish rebel cells and contacts in those two cities as well.

  He already had an idea in place to leave with the Voulge in a matter of days, but Auberon could easily prevent him from going if he feared having his servant away from his side. Jareen would have to share his recipe with Auberon if he insisted that he stay and sent someone else in his stead to Glisteran.

  It was not a matter of the restorative being a secret but one of the ingredients, one that the medicine he made for his son did not contain. Jareen retrieved the jar containing the poisonous herb that was killing Auberon, slowly destroying his organs while the restorative properties of the elixir gave him the illusion of good health.

  He wrote the name of a powdered root that had the properties of a simple fever reducer on a label and affixed it to the jar. Jareen almost chuckled at the irony of Auberon creating and administering the very poison that would eventually kill him.

  ***

  “Sah, are you sure you wish to be out of bed so soon after your illness?” Jareen asked as he followed Auberon from the palace.

  “Yes. I have been away from the production plant too long already. Thanks to you, I feel almost my usual self. We are at too critical a juncture for me to neglect my duties more than I already have.”

  “I could oversee production for you, sah. Surely you know I am capable of such management.”

  “Of course I do, and you will, but you know nothing of what I have created in your absence and I cannot allow that ignorance to slow the process down in any way. Glisteran’s recalcitrance is already threatening to cause me to fall short of the quota I promised Overlord Caelen.”

  Jareen expected Glisteran to resist Sah Auberon’s acquisition of the precious worm dung and hoped to use it as an excuse to travel to the city, stopping by Thuum on the way there. “You commandeered the last delivery of their fertilizer.”

  The two men climbed into a waiting carriage.

  “With the emperor’s approval, of course, but Overlord Leena and Highlord Huet feel their influence over the empire slipping with my discovery and are seeking to stifle it. Since the blasting powder is of little use to Glisteran, they have no qualms in limiting its production and the elevation of my status that it will bring.”

  “Let me use the Voulge to deliver the next shipment of powder to Vulcrad. I can then fill her hold with daggerwing guano and deliver it to Glisteran myself. I will speak with Overlord Leena on your behalf and convince her that increasing mining production in Vulcrad benefits her as much as it does the rest of the empire. The guano is not as rich as the worm dung, but it is sufficient for Glisteran’s needs and will blunt much of her argument.”

  Auberon nodded and looked thoughtful for a moment. “It is a sound idea, a plan similar to one I had already considered, but I cannot permit you to go. Not only do I need you to oversee production of the powder, I must have you near should my illness resurge.”

  Jareen was glad he had had the foresight to prepare for this argument. He was locked in a game of chess with one of the empire’s true masters of the game. His only chance of winning was to anticipate his opponent’s moves before he made them, always keeping at least two steps ahead of him.

  “I have written the restorative’s recipe down and have enough ingredients on hand to last several months. This will allow you to create more should you run out before I return. I am proud to feel indispensable to you, but we must divide and conquer if you are to succeed. This is the best way to see you take your rightful place amongst the highlords.”

  Auberon sighed. “You are right, of course, but Overlord Leena is not going to debate a slave.”

  “I am no mere slave. I am the servant of soon-to-be Highlord Auberon, and I speak with his voice. I have already secured Nibbenar and Vulcrad’s support. I will convince Overlord Leena as well. You know I can do it.”

  Auberon glanced at the carriage’s roof and groaned. “Meanwhile, I am relegated to the position of millworker.”

  “You are a general, not a mere soldier. You command from on high and conquer all before you.”

  Auberon smiled, savoring the image. “Speaking of soldiering, I have been considering the potential military aspect of my powder. Nothing specific, but I am sure it is there. When you return from Glisteran, we must sit and discuss the possibilities. I would very much like to humiliate Driscoll on the battlefield.”

  “I am sure an application exists to do precisely that.”

  The carriage creaked to a stop before a large mill complex on the far outskirts of the city. It was obviously a preexisting structure, but Jareen noted several new pieces of machinery inside.

  “The three primary ingredients are crafted in separ
ate sections of the mill,” Auberon explained. “Secrecy of the powder’s recipe is crucial, so I have strictly segregated the teams, none knowing what the others do. The charcoal we get from Nibbenar, made from all of the scrap wood left behind in their shipbuilding. Since even the dimmest peasant knows what charcoal is, there is no keeping it secret. However, the potassium nitrate and sulfur are kept in confidence. Even those extracting and refining it do not know what it is or what it is used for. All three are then transported to the mixing plant. The crew there knows how to mix it despite being ignorant as to what they are combining. No person other than you and I have knowledge of the complete process.”

  “Still, should someone manage to get people from each stage to talk, they could decipher the puzzle,” Jareen said.

  “I pay the workers here a skilled craftsman’s wage and a large reward for reporting anyone trying to delve into or divulge any secrets. I know it goes against custom, but I think paying people enough and making a job too valuable to lose in order to keep a secret is more secure than any threat of harm I could levy.”

  “Very wise, sah.”

  Auberon led his servant to a squat, square building with thick walls of shaped, mortared stone, and flanked by the largest number of hired soldiers he had yet seen in the well-guarded complex. Inside, stairs led down to a large chamber twenty feet below the ground. Like the milling room, it was lit by magical glow lamps, an expensive but crucially flameless manner of illumination.

  “This was once used as a cool room for keeping perishable food stores,” Auberon explained. “It is perfect for storing the powder since the subterranean room will direct any accidental explosion upward and not level half the district.”

  Jareen grunted and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Just a quarter of it.”

  “That is yet another reason for choosing a location in the lowborn sector,” Auberon stated without a trace of humor. “You will supervise the loading of the next shipment going to Vulcrad. I received a message from Overlord Caelen just two days ago stating that he was already nearly out of blasting powder and needed more if we were both going to meet our requirements.”

  “Yes, sah, I will begin preparations immediately.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Quinlan sat drumming his fingers on the desk’s surface as he pondered his next move. Jareen Velarius had returned to Velaroth and departed again just a week later with a shipload of what he could only assume was more of his master’s blasting powder, some five thousand pounds of it by his informant’s estimate.

  Word was that he was traveling to Glisteran by way of Vulcrad, and Quinlan was damned if he was going to chase him all across Eidolan in hopes of catching him in the act of subversion. Jareen was too wary and too smart for that to happen. How someone as intelligent as Auberon Victore could be blind as to what his slave attendant was doing under his very nose was astounding.

  But he did not have Quinlan fooled. He might not know precisely what Jareen’s plans were or the method of his treason, but there was no doubt in his mind he was up to something. Something that would spell disaster for someone, possibly even the whole of the empire, if he succeeded.

  “Talbot!” Quinlan shouted.

  Lieutenant Talbot Millard hastened through Quinlan’s door a moment later. “Sah?”

  “What is the status on our rabble-rousers?”

  “Still quiet, sah,” the lieutenant replied. “Not a peep from them in over a month beyond a few isolated brawls and acts of vandalism, but nothing coordinated.”

  Quinlan’s fingernails clicked rhythmically on the metal desk. “Let’s stir them up a bit and see what floats to the top. Have your gendarmes start paying visits to local businesses known to associate with agitators.”

  Talbot nodded. “And do what, sah?”

  Quinlan’s fingers stilled and he locked his eyes onto those of the lieutenant. “Enforce the law…strictly.”

  Talbot saluted sharply. “Yes, sah!”

  ***

  The powder delivery to Vulcrad had gone smoothly, as Jareen had expected. Such was the benefit of doing quasi-legal business. On the surface, delivering the explosives was perfectly legitimate and happened in plain view of Overlord Caelen’s people. It was the many machinations happening below that could usher them to their deaths.

  No one paid enough attention to know that Atin’s people unloaded just two thirds of the powder packed into the Voulge’s hold, hiding the remainder behind crates containing some three hundred newly crafted muskets and a dozen disassembled field cannons, which were further obfuscated by boxes of iron and steel ingots.

  The ingots gave Jareen an excuse to visit Thuum and establish a resistance cell in the city. That was likely to be the most challenging part of his mission, significantly more so than convincing Overlord Leena to exchange the worm dung for daggerwing guano.

  The Thuum were a contentious lot, even the relatively civil city dwellers. Their nomadic brethren were downright hostile and were known for their brutal attitudes toward the few foolish enough to cross their paths. The city of Thuum had been established as a place where all the nomadic tribes could gather and trade in peace, even with the civilized cities, but the highlords laid claim to the city and those within it when they seized power hundreds of years ago.

  Even so, Thuum was the most dangerous city in the empire for those not of the people, particularly the minority of highborn who chose to live there. The only thing more brutal than the gangs that roamed at night was the gendarmes’ reaction in quelling any unrest that arose.

  Jareen stood on the aftcastle next to his pilot, Irna. Her face was set in stern concentration as she guided the Voulge through the increasing winds, seemingly oblivious to the stench emanating from the several tons of daggerwing guano filling the majority of the hold. Even the scented oil Jareen daubed on the inside of his mask was not enough to completely eliminate the pungent fetor.

  A quick glance around showed every man and woman crewing the Voulge standing or sleeping on deck, none able to reside below. Even the cook had set up a preparation station on the forecastle and served meals from the deck.

  Daggerwing guano or not, this was going to be Jareen’s last cargo delivery. It was as impractical as it was dangerous for him to sail all across Eidolan. He needed to establish supply ships loyal to the cause, and that was going to start in Glisteran. Once he convinced Overlord Leena to cede control of the worm dung, he would spend a few days in Glisteran rallying people to the cause, this time, to include acquiring supply vessels under his people’s control as well. Food ships already brought provisions to Vulcrad, the mines, and every other city in the empire. Crewing one airship with loyal people should not be too difficult.

  Leena would raise a fuss more for formality’s sake than anything. Most worm dung was harvested within Velaroth’s borders by Velaroth workers and transported by Velaroth airships to Glisteran in exchange for the food they grew. Getting her to concede without increasing tension was desirable in that it needed to be done as civilly as possible so that the highlords and possibly the emperor himself did not get involved. Jareen did not need that kind of scrutiny when he was so very close to realizing his dream.

  “Irna, you have been at the wheel for some time,” Jareen said. “Shouldn’t someone have relieved you by now?”

  Irna grimaced and shook her head. “There’s a storm brewing, I can smell it.”

  “How can you possibly smell anything over this stench?”

  “When you have two score lives in your hands and are carrying some of the most valuable cargo ever to fill a hold, you learn to prioritize your senses.”

  Jareen gazed out over the rail, but dusk limited his eyesight. “How long until Thuum?”

  “If our wind holds and we keep flying, about a day and a half.”

  Jareen studied the darkened horizon. It was dangerous to fly at night. Not that there was much concern for running into a mountain. Although possible, airship pilots knew the land and studied very precise maps so as
not to come within miles of the taller peaks. The greatest threat was getting hit by an unexpected storm like the one Irna sensed was looming.

  “Should we set down for the night?” Jareen asked.

  The pilot chewed her lip. “Normally, I would say yes, but we are in an area known for nomadic Thuum and worse.”

  “What’s worse than dropping in the middle of nomads?”

  “Horned devils.”

  Jareen shivered at the thought. Horned devils were the scourge of the wastes. They were hulking, bipedal monsters with thick, scaly hides, powerful arms with flesh-rending claws, and heads capped by a pair of horns that looked as though they had been ripped off a rammox and worn like a hat. Very few ever saw one in person and lived to tell the tale. Even the Thuum nomads gave them a wide berth, often sacrificing some of their rammox herd in order to give the tribe time to move far away from them.

  “What are our options?” Jareen asked.

  “It’s pretty much a choice between bad and terrible,” Irna replied. “I’m going to drop altitude in case I have to set her down in a hurry. All we can do from there is pray that whatever storm is churning brushes past us.”

  That hope vanished within the hour as the wind increased and tossed the airship about. The crew worked feverishly to bring down most of the sails. Forward progress was far less important now than maintaining an even keel. Howling winds struck the Voulge’s starboard side, rocking the deck and sending men and women tumbling against the rail. Riggers clung to masts and lines, a few unfortunates not tightly enough, their screams swallowed by the roaring wind.

  Irna concentrated on the energy supplied by the innervators who kept the airship aloft. She shifted much of the downward force to the port side and righted the vessel. The pilot glanced out over the starboard rail and blanched at the black wall rushing toward them.