“Very well.” Fenric stood behind a chair, hands resting on its back, and gazed across the table at Alexander. “Hafflston sends his apologies, Huntsman. He seems to respect you a great deal, and I think he honestly regrets your part in this game."
“Very kind of him,” said Alexander. “Does he regret betraying his people?"
“You refer to the prince as ‘Your Highness,’ boy,” said Stamovan, starting across the room with his mace raised. Fenric stopped the dwarf with an upraised hand.
“The Huntsman has only a few minutes left in this world, Stam. Let's not belabor him with protocol.” Stamovan snarled but returned to his post as Fenric continued. “Count Hafflston serves the greater good of his people by joining with us, Huntsman. You see, the count recognizes the innate weakness of the Western Realm's current state. Like the rest of us, he knows that should the elves return or the Sandlanders band against us the petty squabbling of barons and emperors will be our downfall. He knows that our internal competition has made us vulnerable to trade practices by Parna and the other ocean nations. By helping us unite the realm under one banner, Hafflston preserves the people of Addamantia for the long term."
“Perhaps Eduard should leave those decisions to the baron,” said Alexander.
Fenric shrugged. “Perhaps so, if Alfrid were prepared to make such decisions. The cities of the realm need strong leaders to protect us from the rest of the world."
“I'm sure the people of Hurst will be pleased to bow before a man who'd murder his own father."
Fenric's eyes darkened for a moment but he refused to be baited. Still working at the tight ropes, Alexander felt a loop slip slightly on his wrists. His skin burned from the exertion but the added sweat seemed to be helping dislodge his bindings.
“Your Highness,” said Draston, “there's still time to remove, well, you know.” He jerked his head toward the unconscious Darien.
“No,” said Fenric. “He stays. With both of us present tonight no one will dare contradict our version of events. His presence is vital."
“Will he remember that correct, ah, version?” Draston asked.
“He won't remember anything,” said Fenric. He strode around the table and shook his brother's shoulder, but Darien only muttered a slurred protest and continued snoring. “Tomorrow morning I'll tell him what happened, and he'll swear publicly it's the truth."
The main door opened again to admit Emperor Theodoric. The man's eyes settled immediately on Alexander then flickered to the other faces in the War Chamber. Alexander caught a glimpse of confusion in the Emperor's expression, as if he struggled over some inner conflict. Fenric appeared surprised at his father's appearance for a moment, and Alexander followed his gaze to the sword hanging from the Emperor's belt.
“Odd council you've assembled, Fenric,” said Theodoric. He walked around the table and sat at the head.
“The wizard, Pellorin, is still overseeing the search for Nikkolynda, though we think it now a futile task,” said Fenric. “Counselor Supac felt too ill to join us, and Counselor Macherin can't be found. Macherin enjoys the company of the archers, however. I suspect he's out walking the walls somewhere."
“And the Huntsman? I suppose there's a reason why you've brought the subject of an enemy barony to our private war council? Bound, no less."
“I'm here to expose your deviant,” said Alexander. “I've discovered your murderer."
“Be silent,” said Fenric, “or I'll have you gagged."
“Fenric?” said Theodoric. “An explanation."
“The Huntsman arranged the death of the Prime Wizard,” said Fenric, “and planned to assassinate you. The council must decide what to do with this proof of Addamantia's aggression."
“Alexander seems to be a capable young man,” said Theodoric, “but I doubt that he could overcome Nikkolynda."
“He had help,” said Fenric, “from Alfrid's warlock, and this.”
Reaching into his satchel, Fenric withdrew a heavy book. He tossed it to the table, where it landed with a heavy thud and scattered troop units. The bright crimson characters scrawled across the nearly black cover left little doubt as to the nature of the tome. The silver clasps kept the grimoire closed tight but Alexander shuddered involuntarily at the pulse of energy that emanated from the book like a low rumble of thunder. Draston must have felt it, too; Alexander saw the general recoil as the grimoire slid a few inches down the map table. Darien, however, simply groaned in his stupor and turned to drool from the other side of his mouth.
“Where did you get that?” Theodoric asked. Even Stamovan stared at the grimoire. Alexander began working again at his wrists, wincing slightly as the rough rope abraded his skin further.
“From the Huntsman's inn,” said Fenric. “Stamovan's men recovered it this afternoon. An enchanted shroud prevented Nikkolynda from locating it magically."
“I see,” said Theodoric. “So, where is the warlock?"
“Hidden once again,” said Draston. “The guards at the western gate report that Nikkolynda left the city in the early afternoon, accompanied by the Huntsman. The local villagers claim that a fire broke out in that area of the forest and mysteriously extinguished itself. Also, they found a ring of dead trees and animals where Nikkolynda's stand must have taken place."
“Dead trees?” said Alexander. “Dead squirrels? You've—"
“Quiet,” said Theodoric. “You've no voice here. You shouldn't even have a presence here, but I believe we'll remedy that soon as well. Fenric, what do you propose we do?"
“We strike now, Your Righteousness,” said Draston. “Before the Addamantians know that our Prime Wizard is dead, we—” The general's voice faltered as the Emperor turned a furious glare in his direction.
“As Draston said, Father, we should seize the initiative while we still can. Our main force already marches for the southern plain—we can catch them in two days and lead the attack on Addamantia. Once word of Nikkolynda's death reaches Alfrid he'll lose his last compunction about invading Hurst. We should claim the advantageous position now while our cavalry already holds the South Nivom."
“You agree with this strategy, General?” asked Theodoric. “In the absence of my senior counselors I suppose you're the authority on the subject."
“I agree completely, Your Righteousness,” said Draston. “It's an excellent plan."
“I see.” The Emperor turned back to Fenric. “And what does Burrel Tarlsman think?"
* * * * *
Sirgar cursed the lock, cursed the thief who'd prompted this trip to the lower levels of the keep, cursed the Addamantians for not taking to the battlefield and fighting like men. Though he carried keys to every door in the keep, even the Emperor's private quarters, he tried for nearly fifteen minutes to open the dungeon door with no success. A copy of the correct key hung in the keep's front guard station, of course, but His Righteousness had wanted the thief to remain a secret. Sirgar considered leaving her at the entrance to the dungeon but abandoned the idea immediately; with just his belt for bindings he was certain she could slip free before he was two steps away. He finally decided to just bring Kandys along to the guard station.
“If we see anyone, stay silent,” Sirgar told her. “Give me any trouble and I swear you'll wish you hadn't."
“I don't know what my sister sees in you,” said Kandys.
“And enough of that crap,” said Sirgar. Kandys had repeated to Sirgar the story she'd told the Emperor, and he didn't believe for a moment that she and Adriana were related. He'd known the counselor far too long to be unaware of a brother or sister.
He caught the look exchanged by the soldiers at the guard station as he appeared with Kandys in tow and asked for the key to a little-used portion of the keep. The men were smart enough to not smirk openly as their imaginations went to work but Sirgar's mood soured even more. He grabbed Kandys by the arm and propelled her back to the dungeon.
“The Emperor could be dying already,” said Kandys as they cut through the servan
t galley. She spoke in hardly more than a whisper, but her words still echoed through the great empty hall.
“Shut up,” said Sirgar. He increased the pace until he was almost dragging the thief along.
“If I'm right, at least come back and kill me yourself. I don't want to die of starvation."
“Enough,” said Sirgar. Another turn brought them to a door beyond which, thankfully, were the stairs to the dungeon.
“At least try to find Adriana."
“I intend to."
At the bottom of the stairs the dungeon door opened easily. Kandys hesitated at the entrance so Sirgar shoved her through. Oddly, the torches inside the dungeon were already lit. He plucked a ring of keys from a peg on the inside of the door and heard a surprised exclamation from the thief. Sirgar followed her around the corner to the cells and stopped short at the familiar face staring out from between the bars.
“Kandys? Sirgar?"
“Adriana!” said Kandys. She ran forward and grabbed her sister's hand.
“Sirgar,” said Adriana, “you've got to—"
The key ring rattled to the floor as Sirgar bolted from the dungeon.
* * * * *
“Burrel Tarlsman?” asked Fenric, but Alexander knew immediately the prince had hesitated an instant too long. The other two were equally surprised—Stamovan's mouth hung open, and Draston turned pale. Alexander twisted and worked his wrists harder, feeling one side of the knotted rope slip a bit further. Now that the Emperor had forced the issue, he was certain Fenric would bring the charade to a fast close. He looked at the mixed expression of sorrow and anger on Theodoric's face and realized the old man had simply been fishing, not quite certain whether his son was really involved in a traitorous conspiracy but unable to dismiss the possibility without proof.
How the Emperor had known remained a mystery to Alexander. He hoped Adriana had found a way out of the dungeon and alerted Theodoric herself. If that's the case, he thought, I hope she's bringing reinforcements sometime soon. One bound Huntsman and an aging Emperor weren't likely to be a match for three armed men.
“Never mind, Fenric. Your reaction tells me all that I need to know."
“Really, Father—"
“Prince Fenric!” said Theodoric. “Act like a man in my presence, even if you're nothing more than a traitorous warmonger. You've orchestrated us to this point, so drop the pretense and lay out the rest of your plans. I haven't the heart or the energy to play any more of your games.” The Emperor sat rigidly still in his chair, and Alexander felt a warm admiration for the old man. As Fenric nodded and pursed his lips, Alexander's right hand pulled completely free of its bonds. He froze instantly, not wanting to give away his freedom by shifting an arm or a shoulder a bit too far. Stamovan's glare bored into him but he looked the other way, feigning concentration on Theodoric's words.
“All right,” said Fenric. “Though I'm curious how you found us out. Have you had your own spies on me, Father?"
“Spies? On my own son? No, Fenric, you didn't learn your treachery from me. On the other hand, next time you hire a thief I suggest you kill her immediately after the job's done."
“Damn you, Stamovan,” said Draston.
The dwarf returned the curse in his own language but fell silent when Fenric raised his hand. The prince walked slowly around the table, speaking to the Emperor as he approached.
“Tonight was a fork in the road, Father. I'd hoped to give you one last opportunity to hear your people as they clamor for war against Addamantia."
“People who were tricked by you."
“People who've been crying out for war for years! You can hear it every time an Addamantian metalworker charges our people three times the value of his work, every time a Forthaven middleman pays our farmers half the worth of their crops. You hear it whenever the elves or the scrymgers raid our outlying villages and no aid comes from the Forthaven garrisons. The Western Realm has deteriorated steadily since the dissolution of the Empire, Father. It's time for us to reunite the baronies and become one nation of strength, able to stand against the elves, Parna, Tigra, the Burning Men."
Theodoric's face showed plain disbelief as he regarded his son. “When have we been threatened by Tigra, or the Sandlanders? If anything we should be opening more trade lines with these people, not banding together against nonexistent threats."
Fenric stopped behind Draston's chair, his back to Alexander as he and the Emperor spoke. Like Stamovan and Draston, Alexander watched father and son argue with rapt fascination. He'd never witnessed such high-ranking personages in such an informal state, and for a moment it was possible to forget his own life hung in a precarious position. The brief glimpse of emperor and prince as common men was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
“Our far garrisons tell us that the tigri move closer and closer to a unified government for their various tribes, Father, and the Sandlanders apparently feel quite free to march an army to our doorstep."
“Of course they do, Fenric. You stole their sacred relic!"
“Beside the point! What if they should decide to invade the Western Realm? Should Hurst be solely responsible for guarding the mountain paths against such a threat?"
Theodoric shook his head. “Fenric, when did you become so completely mad?"
“I'm not mad, Father. Very few see as clearly as I. Count Hafflston does, and General Draston, as well as Stamovan and Tarlsman."
And the warlock, Alexander almost added.
Theodoric actually leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other knee, one arm resting on the tabletop. “You forget, Fenric, that I control the armies of Hurst. You and Draston can scream orders through the night and not a man will raise his weapon until my will is clear."
“Which is why I'm forced to do this, Father. If you're incapable of understanding the needs of our people, I've no choice but to provide them with a stronger leader.” Fenric leaned past Draston and lifted Alexander's belt from the table. He drew the dagger and tossed the rest back amongst the Imperial infantry. Theodoric watched impassively as Fenric admired the white-gold emblem and green gems in the dagger's hilt.
“The assassination of their beloved Emperor will be the final straw to even our most timid citizens,” said Fenric. “The irony of the killer using a weapon you gave him will infuriate them all the more. I wager we'll be through Addamantia's walls in less than two weeks.” Fenric wrapped his fingers firmly around the dagger's grip and looked at Theodoric. “I regret losing you, Father."
Theodoric stared impassively at Fenric. “Strike surely, boy."
Alexander ripped at the last knots but Fenric's attack was too fast. The prince drove the point of the dagger straight for his father's heart, stepping forward and reaching for the old man's shoulder with his opposite hand. Alexander screamed, but incredibly, a broad smile covered Theodoric's face. Instead of a fountain of blood from torn cloth and skin, Alexander saw flecks of steel speckle the Emperor's undamaged shirt. Stamovan's mace dropped to the floor as he clapped his hands over his ears and Draston slammed painfully into Alexander's knees as he scrambled away from the Emperor; but Fenric stood rooted in place, staring numbly at the hilt clutched in his right hand. The shattered blade ended in a jagged stump less than an inch past the lion's head. Blood dripped freely from Fenric's torn thumb as he opened his fingers and let the useless weapon fall to the floor.
“Nikkolynda makes a few of those for me each year to give as gifts,” said Theodoric. “The daggers are charmed to destruct should the bearer try to strike the man who wears this.” Theodoric raised his right fist to show Fenric the signet ring of Hurst.
Fenric recovered quickly and reached for his sword. “Bar the door!” he shouted, then crumpled half-atop his father as Alexander swung his chair around in a vicious arc to break over the prince's back. The last strands of rope gave way with a painful wrench at Alexander's wrist, and he wrapped his arms around Draston's neck as the general shoved himself away from the map table. The pair tumbled to
the floor and rolled with Alexander trying to squeeze the other man's breath out of him.
Over the course of the night's conversations he had come to think of the general as little more than a weak pawn of Fenric's, but now that they were locked in physical combat Draston's fighting instincts surfaced. He ignored Alexander's chokehold and hammered backward with his elbows. Alexander winced at the sudden assault on his ribs. His head struck the floor, not with any great force, but enough to reawaken the wounds Stamovan had inflicted earlier. He felt Draston pulling away so he released the general entirely, landing one foot solidly in his midsection as he scrambled to his feet.
Stamovan was at the door, a long iron bar held in both hands. In a few seconds he'd drop it in the bracings, and Alexander knew he and the Emperor would be on their own. Theodoric and Fenric struggled against one another, hands locked around the other's wrists as each tried to draw his sword, but Draston was already climbing to his feet. Alexander looked about for a weapon and found none, then remembered the chain given to him by Pellorin. He tore his collar as he dug frantically, then his fingers closed around the slender links. He jerked his hand forward and felt the sharp bite in the back of his neck, but the chain snapped.
Alexander cried out in an incoherent mixture of surprise and pain as his stomach twisted violently. The air before him shimmered as he clutched at his abdomen, then the phenomenon raced outward, sending a barely visible ripple crashing past the other occupants of the War Chamber. Draston stumbled and crashed heavily over his chair, and Theodoric and Fenric froze in place. Darien's head snapped up so hard his teeth clicked audibly; through the strange disturbance Alexander thought that Darien's blue eyes blazed momentarily with an unnatural light. Stamovan yelped and the iron bar clattered to the floor, then the arcane wave passed through the far wall and was gone.
A tremendous thud shook the door and all six heads in the room turned. The heavy portal slammed open with such force that one hinge pulled partly from the stone wall. Stamovan raised his arms to protect his head but the door dashed him to the floor, where he rolled out of sight beneath the table.
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