Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  It wasn’t as though anyone would have blamed him. From the hostile glares and rough movements of the two elves escorting the man, it was obvious that both recognized him. More than that, they clearly blamed the man for the toll of hundreds of dead and wounded that the last, pointless battle had exacted. Either elf would have gladly cut the man down in a heartbeat. And the eager, pointed looks that accompanied them made it clear that many onlookers hoped Leo would permit just that very thing.

  And yet, something stayed his hand. It wasn’t mercy, but the effect was much the same.

  “What’s your name?” Leo asked.

  A ripple of surprise passed through the nearby elves, followed soon after by growing disappointment. The man, too, straightened ever so slightly.

  “Bauccan,” he said. Then, grudgingly, added a belated, “Your Excellency.”

  “Bauccan,” Leo echoed. The man’s voice struck him as wholly unaccented, but he’d been wrong about such things before. “You’re from Ansiri, aren’t you?”

  Bauccan lifted his chin proudly, his eyes flinty. “Aye. Born and raised,” he said.

  “And how did you come to be in Count Grey’s service?”

  “Always have been.” A note of confusion crept into Bauccan’s voice, as though he couldn’t quite fathom the reason for Leo’s question. “My family served the Greys for three generations now. My father was his cook. I started as assistant to one of his scribes. Joined his personal guard when I came of age.”

  “I see,” Leo said, folding his arms. He fought the urge to pace and stared Bauccan down, instead. “Now, tell me, why did you lead the charge after the count was killed? Why risk your life for a lord who was already dead?”

  “It could have been a trick.”

  Leo didn’t bother responding to that. He continued to study the man.

  “But, even though it wasn’t, I don’t regret what I did,” Bauccan growled hotly. “The count was a good lord to serve. I gave him my word that I’d fight and kill his enemies. Elf trickery didn’t change that.”

  The verbal jab drew scowls and mouthed curses from every direction but Leo’s. He continued to watch Bauccan’s face with its myriad expressions and waited until the man calmed before speaking.

  “What about now?” he asked. “Do you still feel you’re under that same obligation?”

  Finally, Bauccan hesitated. He glanced around, shoulders tensing as he counted the near-endless number of potential foes.

  “No,” he said, at last. “I suppose I don’t.”

  “Good. How would you like to serve as one of my guards, instead?”

  His words sent a tidal wave of alarm through the elves. Leo fought the urge to sigh at the communal reaction. Clearly, none of the elves present were familiar with the policy of converting enemies to allies that he’d utilized so effectively on Lucius. He wondered briefly if the baron would appreciate the technique or if his natural hatred of the man’s deeds would outweigh his cunning.

  “Why?” Bauccan asked, interrupting Leo’s thoughts. The man’s eyes were narrow and his expression unreadable. “I fought against you.”

  “It’s not who you fought for that interests me,” Leo explained. He kept his voice flat but hoped that the scandalized elves would listen anyway. “It’s why and how. I appreciate the fact that you kept your vow. And I like the idea that if something were to happen to me, those who serve under me would continue the fight—but wisely, not stupidly. That’s a nuance I can respect.”

  Bauccan stared at Leo for long enough that it would have been grossly impolite under any other circumstance. Eventually, however, the man snorted and his suspicious expression softened somewhat.

  “I doubt Grey’s heirs will be seeing much of their uncle’s wealth,” he said. “So they probably couldn’t afford me.”

  “More’s the pity,” Leo said. He turned to where Nyssa stood observing him from the top of the stairs and summoned her with a twitch of his fingers. Once she’d descended them, he met her gaze and jerked his head in Bauccan’s direction. “Find a place in the guards for this one. Non-escort duties for now. Oh, and keep him away from Atarah and Fanette. Knowing those two, they’d kill him before he started his first shift.”

  Bauccan chuckled, but he was the only one who so much as smiled. Nyssa nodded curtly, sizing the man up with an evaluative glance and indicating for him to follow. Hesitating, he turned from Leo to the crowd of nearby elves and then to Nyssa. Then, with a delicate cough and a hasty bow, he hurried up the stairs after her.

  Leo watched the man go for a few seconds then turned to the highest-ranking elf in obvious earshot. He didn’t know the sergeant’s name, but he didn’t need to. The advice, and having it overheard, was far more important than the specific advisee.

  “You know, a year ago I’d have simply strung up a man like that and been done with it,” he said. The elf, surprised at being addressed directly, stiffened and accepted Leo’s words without the slightest reaction. “It was actually Baron Lucius who convinced me otherwise. He was a damned pain in the ass when I first met him. Starting fights, bullying my trow, and so on. And yet, the moment I gave him duties and responsibilities—my trust, in a word—he rose to the occasion. And I’ve had my life saved on several instances because of it.”

  “That man hardly seems the baron’s equal, Your Excellency,” the elven sergeant replied, a hint of indignation barely audible in his voice.

  “True,” Leo admitted. “But then, you never can tell. Only time will do that.”

  It wasn’t entirely true. His decision was less about hoping Bauccan would prove a second Lucius and more a matter of calculated risk. But, even so, he needed to be different from previous Dukes if he hoped to accomplish what he’d planned.

  Time and Ansiri waited for no man.

  ***

  It was several hours past midday when the first of Ansiri’s nobles reluctantly ventured into the Ministry’s plaza. The lowest rungs of the nobility arrived first, naturally, barons and baronets along with a few first-term aldermen who had received Leo’s summons with a shade more excitement than indignation. Three-quarters of the prisoners had been processed by that time, the remainder relocated to the fringes of the square so that their presence was neither distracting nor easily overlooked by the new arrivals.

  Leo waited on the broad stairs outside Grey’s former county wing of the Ministry, a few steps from the top. He’d changed into his most formal suit and cloak, the fabric draped impractically over one shoulder, opposite his sword. He wore his crown as well, though it was only at Cirilla’s insistence that he’d relented there. He’d planned on wearing a gold-inlaid helm as a reminder of his military might, and had even set one aside for that very purpose, but the longer he considered the issue, the more he reluctantly admitted that his wife had the right of it. Better to appear as a victorious Duke than as a conqueror who only chanced at nobility.

  Arranged before him on the steps, dressed in formalwear or intensely polished armor, stood the diverse cast that comprised his inner circle. Buchanan, Buchold, Iresh, and Sophe were positioned front and center, as if to form a bulwark between Leo and the gathering crowd. Lucius stood nearby, though the elf wore a combination of armor and noble suiting that should have clashed and yet blended together so marvelously Leo half-suspected he’d obtained them from the same tailor responsible for Davin’s hybrid garments. The baron wasn’t wearing his sword, but from the attentive way he scanned the rising sea of faces, Leo suspected he was armed all the same.

  Further aside and only a step or two lower than Leo himself, stood Captain Summers and several high-ranking members of the City Watch. A part of him resented the men’s audacity. Aside from Macnair—and the ever-loyal Summers—most of the Watch’s officers had waited until the outcome of the battle for Ansiri was decided before emerging from their hiding spots to offer their congratulations and repledge their allegiance. Still, given the circumstances, he couldn’t afford to be overly judgmental of t
he men’s strategic decision. They were his now, and he needed their experience to help keep the peace.

  At least, for the moment.

  As if to counterbalance the Watch and Navy, Davin lounged idly on the bottom steps some thirty paces aside. She was surrounded by an assortment of dozens of burly, squinting men who yawned, gambled, and jested without any sense of decorum or self-awareness. And yet, despite the roguish air put out by Davin’s brutish flock, Leo was glad to see her. Her presence at such a formal event was highly unusual but cheered him all the same.

  Last, but certainly not least, were those precious to him. Nyssa and Karran shadowed him at a moderate distance. They were close enough to be seen by those on the plaza below, but not so close that their presence would be distracting for the more unnerved members of the crowd. Atarah and Fanette were there as well, tucked motionlessly into the shadows cast by the Ministry’s looming façade.

  And then, of course, there was Cirilla. Leo’s wife stood beside him, her arm slipped around his in a comforting, dignified manner. She wore an unfamiliar gown, the silk brocade rich and sensual without being scandalous. Or, at least, the shape and cut of the garment would not give rise to any rumors. The slight yet unmistakable swell of her midsection, on the other hand, would lead to all sorts of speculation—some of it even accurate.

  Leo stiffened as Cirilla’s arm tightened perceptibly around his. Scanning the growing crowd, he soon found the reason. Toward the rear of the tightly packed assembly, several familiar faces were passing through the outer shell of curious commoners who’d arrived to witness the proceedings. Baron Ferris was the first one he saw, on account of the sluggish pace, the wide berth afforded him by the crowd, and the graceful figure of his young wife supporting him. The man didn’t look up to meet Leo’s gaze, presumably on account of his weariness.

  Nicolo, however, did almost immediately. The alderman froze as his eyes met Leo’s, a wealth of emotions playing out across his features in the blink of an eye. Then, donning a nervous, optimistic smile, he resumed walking and soon joined the other aldermen in a slightly off-center group near the foot of the stairs.

  That the other aldermen avoided Nicolo like a leper probably should not have pleased Leo nearly as much as it did. But, in his defense, he managed to hide his satisfaction with a haughty sigh.

  It took quite a while for the majority of the nobles to filter into the plaza and make their way forward. Thanks to the increasing number of uninvited commoners who gathered as well, it was impossible for Leo to judge just how many were present. Every time he thought to begin, a new wave of elegantly dressed men and women emerged from the connecting roads, and he was forced to delay another minute or two. Soon, even large groups of elves, no longer needed to guard and process the remaining soldiers of Grey’s army, began wandering toward the gathering.

  “It’s time,” Cirilla murmured. She angled her head, meeting his eyes only slightly. “If you wait any longer, they’ll think you’re afraid.”

  “Well, they’re not wrong,” he muttered back. The sheer size of the crowd was beginning to make his palms sweat, and he tucked them behind his back to wipe them dry with dignity. Storming the aldermen’s council chambers had been easy when his blood was boiling. Addressing thousands of onlookers when he was neither drunk nor furious was quite a different matter.

  “You can do it,” Cirilla said. “Remember, this city is yours. Now and always.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Taking his wife’s hand, he gently pressed his lips to her knuckles. “But I guess we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Conversations died as Leo stepped forward, descending a single stair and resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. It took a moment for realization to permeate the entire crowd. Once it had, thousands of eyes stared at him in unnerving silence.

  Leo swallowed hard and took a deep breath, forcing his voice to emerge steady and bold.

  “You all know who I am,” he declared. “And you know why I’m here. Grey and his fellow traitors have been brought to heel. Their rebellion is finished. And now, the time has come to punish the disloyal wretches who turned their backs on Ansiri’s rightful leader.”

  The upturned faces watching him made for a brilliantly diverse array of emotions. Here and there, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed in anger or indignation. Elsewhere, smirks arose in bold presumption as their owners peered about in anticipation of seeing their rivals laid low. But mostly, the crowd of nobles stared at Leo with a sort of anxious alertness, like a herd of spooked wildlife ready to flee.

  “Many of my captains and councilors have advised me to be merciless,” Leo continued. He began to pace slightly, idling a few steps along the narrow stair before reversing direction. “They have recommended that I seize the wealth, estates, and holdings of all who opposed me outright. They further suggest that I implement a special tithe, to be paid immediately and levied against any noble house who did not lend coin, men, or arms to our cause.”

  Gasps of astonishment and outrage spread throughout the crowd in a heartbeat. Soon, even the noblemen who’d grinned a moment earlier glared furiously over bared teeth. The sole exceptions to the crowd’s scornful reaction came from precisely those Leo had expected. Baron Ferris smiled a bit, though the elderly man’s brow remained lined with concern. Nicolo, too, fidgeted as he observed the rankled noblemen to his left.

  “However! I have concluded that such a decision is not in the best interest of Ansiri or the Isles. When a man is sick with the pox, what surgeon hopes to cure him by simply lancing a boil? Therefore, rest easy my noble lords and ladies, I leave your wealth intact. Loyal subject and vile traitor alike will leave here as rich as they came.

  “But, as every virginal surgeon’s apprentice knows, you cannot leave a pox untreated. And the disease afflicting Ansiri runs very deep, indeed.”

  Leo paused, allowing his words to hover menacingly over his audience for a time. Turning slightly, he sought and found Cirilla’s gaze. Though she kept her face blank, he could read her amused approval in the curvature of her eyes and the minuscule twitch of her lips.

  He turned back to the crowd.

  “I hereby abolish forever all titles of peerage and nobility throughout the Isles, along with all their associated privileges and duties.”

  The resultant roar of outrage was every bit as sudden and vociferous as Leo had expected. Though some of the former nobleman—baronets and obscure barons, mostly—looked on in surprise and disinterested curiosity, their higher-ranked peers charged forward. A few even made it to the foot of the stairs before Buchanan and Buchold leaped into action. The two officers barked orders in unison, and despite the subtle differences between their commands, the soldiers within earshot reacted accordingly. Dozens of elves, their swords drawn and readied, arranged themselves between the surging crowd and the officers.

  Leo balled his hands into fists, preparing himself for the bloodshed.

  It never came.

  Faces red and shoulders heaving with fury, the foremost nobles halted before they reached the elven lines. A few hurled curses or obscene gestures in Leo’s direction. But, when neither he nor the soldiers reacted, even they trailed off into silence.

  “Centuries ago, in the days of Elias, our ancestors declared that the Isles would never be ruled by a King,” Leo said. “They believed that the title itself would lead to corruption and tyranny. That where men feared and surrendered to the abuses of a King, they would resist such efforts from a mere Duke. And perhaps in ages past, this argument was a sound one. But any man with one eye and half his wits can easily see that Ansiri has been ruled by Kings in all but name for decades—or perhaps longer.

  “Besides, however much we pretend otherwise, the Isles are no longer whole. Sutherpoint is the dominion of King Lionel. And if Ansiri is to remain the dominant power in the Isles, it must be ruled by a respected man with the same authority.

  “Therefore, from this day forwar
d, the title of Duke will be set aside. And, in its place, you will serve Leo VanOrden, King of Ansiri and Lord of the Isles.”

  Almost without thinking of it, Leo’s hand inched toward the sword on his hip. His words were blasphemy against everything Ansiri had supposedly stood for over the last hundreds of years. He could hardly have blamed the disenfranchised noblemen for charging his way in a fresh attempt to depose him.

  And yet, no one moved a muscle.

  He blinked in confusion, resisting the urge to glance at Cirilla for guidance. The crowd of former barons continued glaring at him but appeared no more perturbed than they’d been previously. In fact, unless he was sorely mistaken, a few even looked to be discussing his words in quiet voices.

  “Er, furthermore,” he continued, taken aback. “For too long, the aldermen of this city have been nothing but servants and pawns of the wealthy and powerful. That ends today. In order to ensure their independence, the judicial responsibilities once held by Ansiri’s counts will be transferred to representatives chosen from among the city’s aldermen. Their authority will be absolute, subject only to my assent or declination as King.”

  This time, there was no mistaking the murmurs that erupted. The aldermen had been among the staunchest glares ever since their arrival. And yet now, most of the men gathered openly discussed or even nodded in approval at this most recent revelation. Personal affront and a few weeks of house arrest were evidently a small price to pay for expanded political power and influence.

  Leo met Nicolo’s gaze then. The man was smiling despite the skeptical angle of his brows. And upon noticing Leo’s attention, he lifted his hands and offered a few half-hearted, inaudible claps.