“We won’t last an hour in this maze of streets,” Serdot said. “Most will be lost.”
“What happened here?” Livonier asked.
“A trap was set for us,” Arthan said. “No time to explain. Aldon, can you lead us to the council house?”
“Probably well fortified,” the old knight said. “We suspect the rebel leaders are there.”
“Then we have more reason to go there,” Arthan said. “And they probably don’t expect an attack. We’ll fight for that shelter or otherwise make Father’s task of rooting them out a bit easier.”
The group turned toward the hill where the glass-domed building shimmered with the faint glow of first light in the sky. The men standing guard there seemed ill prepared for an assault. A black-hooded knight attempted to rally them but when he fell to Livonier’s sword the guards fled, leaving the courtyard gate wide open.
“Bar it when everyone is inside,” Arthan ordered Aldon. He knew the fewer wagons and many riderless horses meant many of Golbane’s men had not made it. But Livonier’s men were still fresh.
“Aldon, you command the wall,” Arthan continued. “Livonier, post half your company to the walls to give Golbane’s men a rest. Then bring the other half. We’ll go inside to hunt these rebel leaders and make for the roof to signal. Serdot…where is he? Did he come in, Aldon?”
“I presume, my lord. He survived the broad street…”
Arthan spun on his heels, looking for Serdot in vain. The fighting had not been difficult up this hill, but he couldn’t remember Serdot being there when the guards folded. He wondered…
“Shall I send someone out?” Aldon asked.
“No, keep the gate secure. Come, Livonier.”
23. SERDOT
Mordmerg Free City, Delavon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
Creeping through the streets and burned-out houses was slow work but Serdot knew he was racing against the coming dawn and the speed of Maillard’s army. He cursed himself for not doing more at the western gatehouse when they had come through the first time. He had been overly confident the guards would not find the little steel wedge in the gate wench gears. What’s more, they’d be looking for the saboteur.
When he finally came within view of the gatehouse, Serdot peeked around the alley wall to see that all the guards were distracted with something beyond the wall. They were also shoring up inside the main gate. Unless Maillard had taken the time to assemble an army capable of laying siege to Mordmerg, which Serdot thought unlikely, he would arrive without a speedy means to ram open the gate.
Serdot slipped out of the alley and hopped in and out of the closed doorways of the houses on the street. The shouts grew louder as he approached. Serdot thought he heard Medoff’s voice. The guards reacted to the voice by posting archers on the wall and promptly shooting their arrows.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Serdot wheeled around. A man dressed in a Mordmerg guard tunic already had him by the cloak. Serdot reached for his dagger but the bigger man smacked it from his hand, then struck him across the jaw. Serdot fell to the ground and rolled, pulling a vial from his pouch. He threw it at the guard’s face, obscuring his vision with a burst of burning powder.
Serdot retrieved his dagger and brought it down into the man’s neck as he bent to cough. Then he hefted the dying man into the house from which he’d come. Serdot unbuckled the guard’s Mordmerg tunic and slipped it over himself. Turning toward the door, he saw a black hood hanging from a peg. He pulled it on and ran toward the gatehouse.
“The lord minister has arrived, sir,” said one of the guards when he reached the gatehouse steps.
“How many?” Serdot asked in his best Mordmerg accent, peering out one of the arrow loops in the wall.
“A brigade or more, up on that ridge. We scared off their advance contingent. The fool thought he could just order the gate open.”
“Big man, black mustache, haughty?” Serdot asked.
The guard captain nodded. “General Medoff for certain. Fool of fools.”
Serdot pulled away from the loop. “And the gate?”
“Reinforced with timber, sir.”
“Good. Get all the archers to the roof of the tower so they have the best range. And fan all the soldiers along the wall.”
“But the gatehouse, sir…”
“It’s well fortified. If we spread the men out, our numbers will appear stronger to Maillard.”
“But, sir…Navarron’s standing orders are to—”
“Don’t argue with me,” Serdot said. “I have command of the gatehouse. Now move it!”
When the guard departed, Serdot turned his attention to the gate mechanism. His steel wedge was cast aside across the room. The mechanism was in proper working order, the counterweights left carelessly unlocked. He rushed to the door and barred it. The same guard, realizing he’d been duped, returned and began pounding on it.
Serdot rushed to bar the second door across the room. Then he grabbed the hammer and knocked the weights from their platform. The chains jerked tight and wrenched the gate open. A few of the reinforcing timbers were cast off but the remainder held, stopping the gate halfway.
But it was enough. When he ran to the arrow loop again, Serdot could see Maillard’s brigade descending from the ridge. He jerked off the black hood and, with heavy hammer in hand, did the same thing he had done for the weights for the heavy iron portcullis that hung in front of the half-opened gate. By the time Maillard’s cavalry reached it, their path was clear and Serdot was fighting his way down the outside stairs. Most of the guards had fled their posts.
“You’re welcome, General!” he called down.
Medoff and Maillard turned to see him as the rest of the cavalry flooded down the major streets.
“Master widsemer,” the lord minister said with a smile. He motioned for a horse to be brought to Serdot.
“Not a master yet,” Serdot said as he mounted. “Arthan is at the council house. A trap had been set for us, my lord.”
“I realize that now, but we bring a new game for them. Come, lead us, Serdot.”
---
When they arrived at the council house hill, they found another catapult aimed up at the courtyard walls. A boulder had already smashed the gate and rebels were fighting with the Racharders who were making their last stand in the rubble.
The cavalry wasted no time attacking the catapult crew and sweeping up the hillside. The sight of the lord minister and his men sent many rebels running.
“Thank God in heaven!” Aldon said as they rode up.
“Where is my son?” Maillard asked.
“He went in, my lord, then someone barricaded the door from the inside. When we attempted to ram it down, the rebels breached our gate and kept us too busy.”
Maillard turned to Medoff. “Bring it down this instant.”
After a few minutes of withstanding hammering and prying, the council house door finally relented to the charge of a heavy knight named Cuern and his massive horse. Medoff was the first in, followed by Serdot and Maillard. The foyer was a wreck and several bodies lay among strewn papers, books, and weapons.
“Arthan!” Maillard’s shout echoed without response.
They went from room to room and down each corridor but no living soul was found.
“Up the stairs,” Medoff ordered the Racharders.
They mounted the foyer staircase. When they reached the second-floor corridor, smoke was creeping along the walls.
“We must hurry,” Serdot said.
They stepped across the bodies of Rachard soldiers who had been with Arthan, as well as Mordmerg rebels and a few black-hooded ones. Dull light flashed at the hazy end of the corridor. Muffled voices echoed beyond.
They came to a side chamber that was belching out smoke. A large fireplace had its burning wood strewn out onto the rug in the room. Flames chewed on the wall, floor beams, and rebel bodies littered
nearby. A mocking voice farther down the hall grew louder.
Then the attack came. Serdot and the others ran out of the smoke-filled room and into the fray in the hall. Three Blackhoods wielded large axes, felling two Rachard knights in front of Serdot.
“Confounded haze!” Medoff shouted as he took down one of the Blackhoods.
More rebels poured from the doorways farther down the hall. Serdot reloaded his small crossbow and realized his steel-tipped bolts were nearly gone. He stowed it, drew his dagger, and picked up one of the fallen knights’ swords. The smoke thickened as the fight slowed to a confused brawl.
“We must push forward!” Maillard shouted.
The big knight Cuern and another Racharder raised their shields and charged down the corridor shoulder to shoulder. Medoff and the others followed. Finally they reached the far end, crashing through a door into the domed council chamber where the air was clearer. Several councilmembers were slumped over in chairs or lying on the floor. All dead, except one.
“M…m’lord…”
“Where is my son?”
“This was n-not…our plan…”
“What plan? Where is my son?”
“H-hurry…”
His head dropped and they rushed across the chamber into another smoke-filled hallway and stairwell to the third floor. Men shouted, then Blackhoods swarmed out.
24. ARTHAN
Mordmerg Free City, Delavon Ministry
Midspring, 3034
Meriam’s fingers touched Arthan’s face. Her chestnut hair framed her delicate features. Her lips moved, but he could not hear her words. Concern crept across her eyes. He tried to open his mouth but could not. Tears welled in her eyes as she faded from view.
Arthan was startled awake by angry voices and the smell of smoke. He was lying on his side, hands bound in front of him, facing a stone wall. Shadows played across the wall. There was also something near his head. He slowly raised his eyes to see Livonier’s head next to his. The knight’s eyes were closed and bruised, but he was breathing. Arthan kept still as the voices grew more violent.
“I didn’t sign up for this mess! You’ve opened a—”
“You heard my master. Whatever was ‘necessary.’ Everything has gone according to his plan, better, actually. New bait, and two Valients for the price of one.”
“This was not the plan!”
A table overturned and a sword was drawn.
“Put it away, Navarron,” said the man with a master.
“Didn’t you see the size of the Racharder force outside?” Navarron asked. “It’s over, Marlan.”
“It’s only the beginning,” Marlan answered.
“They will burn our city to the ground for this,” Navarron said.
“You think we care what happens to Mordmerg?”
“I want no more of this. We’re not interested in his games.”
“My master allotted you a small part to play and you’ve done it well enough,” Marlan said. “If you won’t finish it, then I will. But don’t expect full payment.”
“Let him finish it, Navarron,” said a third man. “This was not part of the plan. Full payment or not, we shouldn’t be here.”
“Shut up, Lunfrid,” Navarron said. “You’ll save your skin soon enough.”
Shutters were opened and a light breeze swirled through the room.
“Go then,” Marlan said. “The rest will be no problem for me.”
“What about the alderman?” Navarron asked. “He knows all about this now.”
“Mercy…please…”
Arthan guessed the weak, trembling voice to be that of Alderman Hurmant. Another sword unsheathed. The alderman convulsed, then the weight of his body fell to the floor beside Arthan.
“What about the others?” Lunfrid asked.
“They are part of the show,” Marlan said. “Get out.”
“And our payment?” asked a woman.
“My master’s word is golden. You’ll get it.”
Muffled shouting interrupted them. A great struggle arose outside the room. Arthan thought he heard a familiar voice.
“Blackhoods to me!” Navarron shouted.
Arthan heard many more boots than he had guessed were in the room. Then the shutters clacked on the stone as the group departed. The room was quiet, with only the struggle outside.
An ax smashed into the door. Arthan saw a shadow flick across the wall and he felt Livonier’s head bump his. Livonier was awake and tried to whisper, but Arthan could not understand him. Livonier struggled against his bonds but it was no use. Desperation seized Livonier and he lurched his body up.
“Trap, my lord!” he shouted as loud as he could toward the door. “It’s a—”
Marlan kicked Livonier in the head until again the knight fell unconscious. Arthan feigned unconsciousness, sure he would be discovered. But the door burst in and Marlan stepped away. Arthan turned to see that Marlan wore a cape of forest green and moccasins stuffed with grass. He was holding a long sword in one hand and a small crossbow in the other. Racharder knights and smoke poured into the room. Then Arthan noticed the cord strung behind the doorway.
“Arthan!” Maillard shouted behind them.
“It’s a trap, Father!”
The Racharders tripped the cord. A sound like a hundred eggs breaking was followed by clouds of orange and purple dust that mixed with the smoke from the corridor. The green-caped Marlan turned to look at Arthan. On his face was a mask of wood, with only narrow eye slits breaking the smooth surface. Then Marlan spun into the colored smoke, his sword slashing through the Racharders’ armor.
Arthan struggled in vain with the rope on his wrists. He pulled a small knife from Livonier’s belt and gripped it in his teeth, cutting himself loose. Then he stood, looking for an opening to throw the knife at Marlan. He caught a glimpse of the green cape but Marlan was too quick and the Racharders too many.
Arthan’s eyes widened as Marlan sprang from the smoke and ran up the wall as easily as if he were on flat ground, then opened a high window. Arthan bent to vomit as the noxious cloud swept toward him. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket until the breeze swept out the foul air.
There were bodies everywhere. The live ones were still vomiting and rubbing their eyes. Arthan found Serdot first.
“Almost got him,” he said through a scarf he had tied around his face. Serdot held up Marlan’s wooden mask.
“Father!” Arthan shouted as he looked around amid the thinning smoke.
“My lord…” It was Medoff. The general waved him over, his face bleeding and his eyes all but swollen shut. He was crouching beside a body. Arthan came and took Maillard’s hand. There was still breath in him.
“Son…”
“Don’t speak, Father. We must get you out.”
Cuern and the other big knight, both wounded, hefted Maillard up from the floor, leaving a pool of crimson. Arthan returned to Livonier as Serdot cut his bonds. They lifted Livonier to his feet and exited after Maillard.
The hallways were thick with smoke, the fire now spread throughout the building. They stumbled down the corridors and stairs. When they laid Maillard down on the cobblestone outside, he was already dead.
Arthan fell to his knees. Maillard’s hair was singed and his face smeared with soot. Arthan stared at the gaping wound in Maillard’s chest, the fine cindersteel armor cleaved open, until his eyes welled blurry. Arthan felt a sudden cold grip him despite the blaze behind.
His constitution began to shred and sorrow crept in. He buried his face in his hands, his youth consumed in the flames. The Racharders wept with him.
“May God rest him,” Medoff said. Then he raised his hand for the Racharders to join him.
“All hail the new Lord Valient of Delavon!”
25. THEUDAMER
Heingartmer, Ward of Havelbern
Midspring, 3034
“I don’t care if I’m hunting in the mountains at t
he end of the earth, you send someone to me! The collapse of the Empire Alliance is not mere news, but a chance to reshape the continent!”
“A thousand apologies, Your Majesty,” Meliamour said. “We did not want to—”
“How long has it been? Never mind, give me the letter.”
“We have two letters, Your Majesty. Both from Vesamune in Eglamour.”
Theudamer shook his head. “Lady Meliamour, don’t bore me with Vesamune’s excessive details. Just tell me what has happened,” he said as he sat on his onyx throne.
“Ambassador Vesamune attended the Empire Alliance Council hosted by Lord Minister Maillard Valient in Rachard,” Meliamour said. “The alliance collapsed because the Almerians would not soften their demands. Maillard was subsequently killed while fighting rebels in Mordmerg Free City. Lord Minister Raymond Reimvick of Wallevet was also murdered prior to the council.”
“Didn’t we agree to postpone your plan to assassinate King Erech’s lord ministers?” Theudamer asked. “You were merely supposed to use the Wosmoks to undermine them politically until we had a candidate to replace Erech.”
“I did not order the Wosmoks to kill Maillard and Raymond, Your Majesty. The Wosmoks were not involved.”
Theudamer noted the defiance in Meliamour’s sharp eyes. It’s what he liked most about his spymaster. Meliamour, along with her sister Vesamune, was one of his most competent and daring servants. As their uncle, Theudamer repaid their loyalty with powerful positions.
“Your Majesty,” began Graf, “if it wasn’t Meliamour’s Wosmoks, I would urge you to hire whoever killed them.”
“Excellent idea, Graf. What say you, Herzol?” Theudamer looked expectantly at his favorite counselor.
“Your Majesty, you already know my mind on such matters.”
“Nevertheless, as Wardenlord of Rugenhav, I want to hear your official opinion.”
“Well,” began Herzol, stroking his pointy white beard, “if someone is ousting the lord ministers of Donovan, we shouldn’t get involved. Whoever they are, they know what they’re doing. It would be difficult for us to influence them at this point, even with her Wosmoks.”
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