by Mark B Frost
“Yes, sir. At this time, sir, Lord Councilor Leprue Messe is here to see you.”
Atheme waved a hand, “Send him on in. But Folitri! Go immediately. I’ll see the Lord Councilor out myself.” The man took his exit, and Leprue entered shortly. Atheme gave a cheerful greeting but his guest offered no response, slowly moving forward and taking a seat across the desk. He creased his brow at the man’s somber expression. “Is something wrong?”
The elder statesman gave a weary sigh, rubbing his forehead. “I spoke with Kinguin about an hour ago.”
Atheme’s eyes went wide, but he held his tone even, working to keep his hands steady. “I just spoke with him earlier myself. I debriefed him on his studies of the Vantrisk situation.”
“Yes, he told me the two of you had talked. After speaking with him, I went to see Cardinal Landes.”
“I trust Aveni is well.”
“He is.”
Leprue fell silent for a moment. It took all of Atheme’s concentration to maintain a calm exterior. He felt certain Kinguin had sold him out, but he did not yet know how much the Lord Councilor knew. It was a delicate moment, and he could not give himself away. There was still a possibility the situation could be salvaged if he could turn the matter on Kinguin in some way. Then a fearful thought crossed his mind. Could there be more going on than he knew? Could the troubles with Vantrisk have been used to set a trap for him? Had Leprue and Kinguin been working together, attempting to flush him out? And what of Aveni? How much information had the Lord Cardinal revealed?
“Both of them feel,” Leprue finally resumed, “that is time for me to retire.” Through sheer willpower Atheme kept himself from releasing an audible sigh, carefully controlling himself as he finally resumed breathing. “Kinguin, in particular, has been impressed with your handling of Vantrisk. I told him that I was still of a mind to wait a little longer and see how it played out. But he pointed out—and rightly so—that you should not be held responsible for the results. After all, as I myself have been unable to solve our problems in Vantrisk, it is unfair of me to set such a high bar for you.
“Cardinal Landes agreed. Indeed, the more I talked with each of them, the more I became aware that I have been selfishly stalling on this matter. I have waited for you to prove your qualifications, even though you have done so time and again. Kinguin believes that I could keep doing this forever and never be satisfied, since it’s merely a ruse. Aveni similarly thinks I need to relinquish the seat of Lord Councilor to you sooner rather than later.
“I have come to an unfortunate realization that I have enjoyed the seat of power. I have loved this city for as long as I have lived, and there has been no greater joy in my life than serving her. But I was always meant to be a placeholder for your rise. Calvin gave me the position so that I could prepare it for you, and you for it. I have failed in that. The unfortunate truth is that you are not yet ready to be Lord Councilor, and I am to blame. You have been kept in the dark on too many matters. I’ve left myself at the beck of Gaspar, and the Dictus, and lost sight of our country’s future.”
“You exaggerate, Leprue,” Atheme interrupted, finally able to speak with a steady voice. “You have been a fine Lord Councilor. I have learned much from you, and there is still much I can learn.”
“And yet,” Leprue responded, “everyone should know where we stand. You are Felthespar’s leader, hand-selected and groomed for the position by her last. It’s time to make the matter official. I have decided to leave the Council. Even I must accept the will of our city.”
“Leave? Now, I cannot stand for that. I have waited long for this opportunity, and I embrace it heartily. You have served the Grand Council for many years, and I understand why you might wish to step down, but I beg that you do not. Take up the Eldram position instead. Serve at my side and teach me to be the ruler our country needs. You are the only family I have left, and I cannot do this on my own. For what is best for myself, and for my city, I need you to stand with me.”
The old man’s smile softened, and tears brimmed in his eyes. Nothing could have made Leprue happier than to know his presence was still wanted in Felthespar’s blessed ruling circle. “If you feel so strongly, then I will continue to serve. I’ll make the preparations. The official announcement will happen sometime after next week. We have to make sure the transition is an orderly one.”
“Naturally,” Atheme answered with a smile as his guest stood to take his leave. “I don’t wish to start my tenure as Lord Councilor on bad terms.”
On his way out a thought occurred to Leprue, and he stopped just short of the doorstep and turned back. “There is one thing. If I am to stay, I’d ask you to appoint Jora to your old position. She retires in a few months, and it would be a disservice to a lifetime of hard work if we force her out. I’d take the Military seat myself, but a retiring Lord Councilor is only permitted to take the Eldram position. Jora is a former Major and sat on the Military’s High Council for some time. She’ll make an adequate Grand Councilor to the Military. It’s just a temporary measure, I’m sure you don’t mind.”
Atheme prepared to offer an objection, but caught himself. He had just taken a significant scare, and it made him aware of how risky a game he had been playing the past year. If he pressed the matter further, there was still a possibility that Leprue would step down to keep everyone happy. Atheme truly did not wish that, and his feelings for his old friend got the better of him.
“Of course,” he said with a soft smile. “I’d be happy to help Lord Jora out.”
“Glad to hear it! Take care, I’ll be in touch.”
With Leprue gone, Atheme crossed his fingers together and sat in thought. He had been planning on using his promotional appointment to elevate Karice Contel, Lord of the House Aithr, to the Grand Council. She was an old friend, having joined the Military High Council shortly after himself nearly a decade ago. She was sympathetic to Atheme’s cause, but beyond that she was ambitious. She was determined to make the Grand Council, and would have eagerly played along with his machinations for the chance.
By electing Jora, Atheme would be giving up his freebie appointment. By the coming of Jora’s official retirement the Council would be back to old politics, and would not work with him easily on choosing the next councilor. Even with Kinguin and Aveni secretly in his camp, odds were still against him. Gaspar would vote against anyone Atheme favored, and both Terledor and Leprue had issues with Karice. She was an excellent soldier, but had little respect for those with strong traditional values, and often accused them of holding the country in the past.
He could still try to get Karice the position, but now he needed a fallback plan. He needed someone who would work with him but could still gain the Council’s approval. Terledor was hard to convince, and uncooperative in general, so he needed to find someone Leprue liked. But Leprue was deeply grounded in tradition, bureaucracy, and many of the things Atheme sought to upend. Could he find someone Leprue would favor, yet who would still support his upcoming agenda?
His thoughts were interrupted by the return of his assistant. “Sir, Mister Folitri to see you.”
He shot to his feet. “Excellent! Don’t send him in, I’m on my way out. We’ll talk on the way.”
* * * * *
Atheme and his guest reached the lowest basement of the old prison. Before they entered the cellblock, Atheme motioned the man aside. From a satchel he pulled forth four scrolls, which he had worked on with Kinguin. He ran one along each side of the doorway and then touched them with his fingertip, activating a series of slim runes. Once the last scroll was tapped the paper caught aflame and burned away, leaving only a vague trace of runes around the entry.
He threw his associate a wink. “Don’t mind that. Just something I’ll need later.”
They continued down the hallway, and Atheme withdrew a covered plate of food from the same satchel. He opened it and slid it beneath the rune structure, followed by a bottle of water.
“Sorry your dinner
’s late. It’s been a busy day. How’s your knee?”
Abaddon took the food and moved to a ledge in the wall. “It has finished healing.”
“I noticed you had stopped wearing the brace I gave you. That blow could have crippled a lesser man.”
He ignored the comment, and instead turned from a piece of chicken to the newcomer. “This is the second time you’ve brought someone else here. Is this going to become a thing?”
Atheme smiled and took his usual seat. “No,” he replied. He motioned for his guest to have a seat as well, but the man declined. “This is Lona Folitri,” he continued. “He is the finest tailor on Itrius. He specializes in civilian clothing, soldier uniforms, and nobleman’s wardrobes. So no matter your taste, he can match it. I’ve asked him to construct you a uniform. He’s very expensive and required payment up front, so I hope you’ll cooperate.”
“For such an important man to your city,” the prisoner responded, “you strangely enjoy wasting time on trivialities.” He looked down at his current clothes. He was still wearing mostly scraps, mismatched pieces stolen from former victims. Most of the outfit had been damaged in his battle with Atheme, and only barely held together. “Yet, it has been some time since I wore clothes that fit.”
“Tailoring is a hands-on art,” Atheme responded. “I’m going to have to lower the rune structure in order for Lona to do his work. I need your word that you won’t attack us.”
The man finished his food and stepped away, washing his hands with water from the bottle. “I have no stock in harming a tailor. I can await another day to resolve our differences.”
“Nonetheless, I need your word. I need you to swear to me that you will not try to leave this cell without my permission while the wall is down.”
“On my honor.”
Atheme hesitated, suddenly remembering his first fight with the Daemon. The man was incredibly fast. As soon as Atheme lowered the wall he could find that steely grip on his throat, his neck could be easily snapped. He could have planned this better. He could have brought armed guards for assistance. He could have activated his own grey magic first, to buy him enough endurance to survive the initial onslaught.
He stared at the man in the cage. Dark blue eyes stared back at him, cold and empty of emotion. Atheme was counting on the Daemon being a man of honor, but he lacked evidence to make that assumption. This could prove to be the biggest mistake of his life. It could prove to be the last.
“Delic inser-ion oloria,” he chanted, tapping a release spell he had matrixed previously.
He fought off the instinct for his hand to fly to the sare. The rune wall shimmered for a moment, and then vanished. Then... nothing. Lona Folitri walked past him and began to take Abaddon’s measurements, chatting idly with the big man about his tastes.
Atheme leaned back in his chair and wiped a cold sweat from his forehead. “Stupid,” he whispered to himself. He checked his resolve, reminding himself why he had chosen this approach. If he had brought guards or used his own magic, he might have forced the Daemon into inaction out of fear or a sense that it was unsafe for him to make his move. Atheme had to appear vulnerable. Abaddon had to elect to stay in the cage solely for the sake of keeping his word. It was the only way he could trust the man for what more had to be done.
As Folitri and Abaddon discussed his uniform, Atheme held his own conversation with the prisoner when he could fit it in.
“You told me you have fought dragons before, correct?”
“More than I cared to.”
“But you never killed one?”
“I have not.”
“Why not? Could you kill one? Did you choose not to? Or were you simply unable?”
“I could kill a dragon, if I had a worthy weapon. Sharp rocks and pointed sticks do not serve for piercing dragon hide. Even steel weapons of the finest craftsmanship cannot rend their scales.”
“Color, Abaddon. The uniform needs some color. Just cooperate with Lona.”
“It would take an enchanted weapon. Something sharp enough to slice through the scales, but more importantly, durable enough to sustain the impact of the blows. I’ve shattered sledgehammers on dragons, only to barely bruise the beast.”
“What about their breath?”
“They have tells. They must work up to their breath attack, and there are signs you can look for, adjustments to their stance, that will let you know how powerful of an attack is coming.”
“Seems like a very dangerous moment, still. So of the smaller dragons, which are the most dangerous?”
“Greens. Blue dragons are relatively weak. Their breath is merely a powerful wind. It’s inconvenient, but not dangerous. They’re physically weaker than reds but on the whole, smarter. Reds are brutes. The dumbest of dragons, but physically powerful for their size and their breath is molten lava—no one forgets the sight of it. But greens are nightmarish. Everything on them is venomous, every vapor they emit is toxic, and their breath acidic. I loathe green dragons.”
“What about the big ones?”
“Metallics? You don’t fight a metallic dragon.”
“That bad, huh?”
“The silvers have genius-level intellects, and freezing breath. The golds are impervious to damage, even by other dragons, and their lightning breath will melt mountainsides. I never knew of anyone to encounter a platinum, but I’ve heard it said that they’re as big as cities. You don’t send a man to fight a metallic dragon, you send an army.”
“Duly noted,” he replied. Lona finished his sketches and notes, so Atheme asked him to wait at the end of the hall. Once the tailor was gone, he turned back to Abaddon. “The truth is, I studied dragons myself before coming down here. I wanted to see if you knew them as well as you claimed.”
“I’ve already determined that. You want me to step in and take care of your problems in the south, don’t you? Vantrisk, was it?”
Atheme smiled sheepishly. “You keep proving sharper than I give you credit for. I must stop making that mistake. Listen, Vantrisk isn’t just about the dragon. I want you to take apart the rune structure surrounding the city, the same way you’ve attacked the rune structure here. We’re not sure if it will work, but it’s our best option. With the rune structure gone, our soldiers could take the city swiftly. If that doesn’t work, killing the dragon will have to serve as our fallback plan. If you can accomplish both, then all the better.”
“And if I accomplish neither?”
“Then you’ll probably be dead, and I’ll have a fresh mess of problems to deal with. Let’s not let it come to that. My plan was to come with you and do my part to help. Unfortunately something was dropped into my lap today, and I’m not going to be able to leave the city at this time. I must place my faith entirely in you.”
“I’ll need soldiers.”
“There’s two thousand knights already in Vantrisk.”
“Fresh soldiers.”
Atheme twisted his mouth in thought. “It’ll take some effort, but I’ll get two thousand soldiers lined up as a troop refresh. You’ll have to send the old two thousand back.”
“That would be a waste of manpower. Some of the remaining troops may still be valuable to me.”
“It’s one of our Military’s laws.”
“Which I assume only applies to enlisted members of that Military.” Atheme gave a smile in response, but did not answer. “I’ll need a weapon,” the man continued.
“I’ve got one picked out. It’s a relic from an old war, called the Dual Blade. I’m not sure if it can cut dragon hide, but it’s durable enough even after three centuries. It has a few release spells that allow it to take various shapes. Either a large sword with a hooked base, two slightly smaller swords, or a large sword and a kama. It’s a versatile weapon. I’ll teach you the control spells, but I’ve got a feeling you might be able to get by without them.”
Abaddon raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll try that out tomorrow.
Anything else?”
“A map.”
“Pardon?”
“I need a map of Vantrisk, to study on the way. If I am to form a strategy, I need at least the vaguest idea of the conditions.”
Atheme’s smile widened. “You might be cut out for this after all, Daemon.” He turned and began walking down the hall, waving back as he left. “I’ll come back for you tomorrow. Don’t go anywhere.” Abaddon stood for a moment, then stepped to the edge of his cell and looked around perplexed.
When Atheme reached Lona Folitri, the old tailor was concerned as well. “Lord Atheme, you have forgotten to restore the seal on his room.”
The Grand Councilor kept walking, exiting the cellblock. The old tailor quickly moved to follow. “I’ve got it under control.”
“Isn’t he a dangerous prisoner? What if he makes an escape?”
“The runes I placed on the door earlier will notify me if he attempts to leave the cellblock. I’ll sleep nearby tonight, and if he makes a move I’ll be at the entrance of the prison before he gets there. How long to make the uniform? I paid for a rush job.”
“Seven days. This is the fastest I can possibly manage for an order of this quality. But it will be a suit fit for a general, I assure you.”
“Seven days, then. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to find two thousand soldiers somewhere.”
Chapter 7.
The Order
Nearly a month had passed since Cildar had joined his forces with the Cainites, and the results had been good. The Vantriskan forces were beginning to whittle down, and the troops that remained were tired—even more tired than his own. Three times now they had breached the city walls, only to be driven back by the surge from within. The final surge had been the weakest yet, weak enough that the Cainites could have been used to regain control. Cildar had still sounded the retreat, pulling his forces and calling the day a victory. He knew what would happen if they pressed further.