Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  “Dear Princess,” Brugarn said, clutching her arm. “Do not burden the king’s mind with womanly worries.”

  Milisend tried to jerk away from him but he tightened his grip. She turned and slapped him. “Release me, foul-speaker!”

  Brugarn recoiled a little; she knew he felt the sting. His eyes flared as he took a step backward. She looked at Erech and his eyes brightened. “What has happened to you, Father?

  His absent gaze returned. Milisend took his hand, confused about how he could so quickly shift from bouts of rage to quiet surrender to emptiness.

  “You mustn’t allow these troubled times to depress you so,” she continued, squeezing his limp hand. She glanced over her shoulder as she sensed some movement. Brugarn was drawing close again. “Tell him to leave, Father.” She turned to her uncle. “Leave!”

  “Leave…” Erech repeated softly.

  She watched as Brugarn retreated to the dim sides of the great hall. He paced and watched.

  “Father,” she said, kneeling with his hand in hers. “You must climb out of the ditch he has dug for you. Were it up to me, he would be in a cell, along with Chaultion and the others who crave your crown. Don’t you see how they are using you? Do not listen to their poisonous talk and dire ways. Our people need the strength you still possess. Your people, Father.”

  Erech looked at her and spoke as if explaining a simple game to a child. “Mili, there is nothing that can be done for Donovan. The bright days of the House of Avaleau are waning. Our enemies are too numerous, too strong…Who can hold back the tide?”

  “Any sail can be turned to catch the changing winds, Father. Do not lose hope. The Avaleaus built this kingdom. You can strengthen it.”

  “My child, you know nothing of politics and war. There is no end to the greed and hate of men. No end to the lengths men will go to…I’ve grown weary of the burden of keeping the balance…”

  “If the king will not protect his kingdom, who will, Father? It must fall to you.”

  “Go, Mili. Keep a free heart while you may…”

  “Yes. Go, Mili,” Brugarn said.

  She had not noticed his return. Her uncle’s eyes were devious. She looked back at Erech but dark clouds had already fogged his mind again. Brugarn latched on to her arm, tugging her away. She stood and slapped him again, harder.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said.

  Brugarn recovered himself with stubborn dignity. Then he escorted her toward the door and whispered, “There will come a time, Princess, when I hope you will appreciate my service to your father. As Lord Minister of Toulon, I have many things to occupy my time and talents. Yet I’m so often here, in his castle, helping the king however I may.”

  “I appreciate exactly what you’re doing. May there come a day, sooner than later, when my father wakes up to who you really are.”

  “I am but the king’s loyal brother,” Brugarn said, his voice darkening. “And you’d do well to remember that, since you have no brothers or sons to inherit his crown. One day that most unfortunate time will arrive.”

  She stopped to regard him and set her jaw. “May Donovan fall before you have any chance of ruling it.”

  “May you enjoy your days robbing others of their petty possessions, Princess. For those days may be shorter than you’ve ever thought possible.”

  She slapped him again but was too distraught to speak. Brugarn laughed as she exited the great hall. She walked at first, then ran to escape the echo of his laughter. She thought of going to her mother, but knew the queen would already be in a stupor from drinking popaver. Milisend considered Hamelin, but what could the captain of the Crownblades do to the king’s own brother? And Regaume was traveling. There was no one.

  Milisend wept in her chambers. Helpless, she pushed up from her bed and stepped to the window. The warmth of summer was coming, the golden sun its crown. She often wondered how the sun and moon and all the heavens plied their ancient paths without concern for all the turmoil below them. Perhaps it was the normal working of things.

  She looked toward the west and thought of Regaume and his desire for her to escape with him. What adventures had he found today? What carefree life was she forgoing? What was keeping her here, if her father had already given up?

  28. ARTHAN

  Rachard Castle, Delavon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  Six days of mourning had passed since the bodies of Maillard and Golbane had been brought to Rachard and buried in the cathedral. Then Arthan wasted no time in gathering his closest advisers at his father’s table. Count Dardanon and Countess Iserenne came from the ministry’s far reaches, joining Bardil, Serdot, Livonier, General Medoff, and Alderman Alfrem.

  When everyone was seated, Arthan nodded to Serdot. “Show them.”

  Serdot held up the mask he had snatched from Marlan. “Maillard’s killer wore this in Mordmerg. It’s a significant clue for who is behind all this.”

  “We already know it was those damn Blackhood rebels of Mordmerg,” Medoff said.

  “Yes,” Alfrem said, “weren’t they displeased with the fall of the Empire Alliance, and feared we’d seize the free cities?”

  “We should have,” Bardil said.

  “We still can,” Count Dardanon said. “Or burn it to the ground. Worthy punishment for the death of Maillard.”

  Arthan watched Serdot lay the mask on the table as they bantered. It was tempting to punish Mordmerg.

  “Burning Mordmerg won’t bring Maillard back,” Alfrem said. “And if you do punish them, my lord, all the city-states—who already fear being seized—will see it as confirmation of their worst fears. They’ll appeal to the Almerian Confederation for protection, provoking war. As an alternative, you can show yourself to be merciful, especially since the Blackhoods are already defeated.”

  “I’m not concerned about the Almerians,” Medoff said. “Their power has faded. And don’t presume the Blackhoods are defeated. They just scampered back into their holes for a while.”

  “It’s the Rugens we should worry about,” Countess Iserenne said. “They are the ones who were probably behind the Mordmerg rebels. The Rugens would have seen the free cities’ fear as a weapon against us. Maillard’s death is proof of that.”

  “The Blackhoods are certainly still our enemy, and my ears are open to the opinions of my advisers,” Arthan said. “But I see nothing to suggest the Rugens encouraged or supported them. The man who wore this mask spoke Donovar. He gave orders to the Blackhoods on behalf of his unnamed master.”

  “His master could still be a Rugen,” Iserenne said. “This is how their agents work, through others.”

  Arthan shook his head. “It could have been someone else. Serdot, tell them about Marlan’s mask.”

  “It’s an ancient design worn by the Naren-Dra natives who lived in the highest reaches of the Narendra Mountains straddling Delavon and Calbria. The complete covering of the face, except for the narrow eye slits, protects from the frigid winds of that place. And it’s made of aglanrit wood. Those twisted, stunted trees only grow on those mountains. Finally, it was lined with gray gill ferns, which produce fresh air for the wearer, and the eye slits are windowed with shulmel crystal panes. Those ferns and crystals are known to grow in the Narendra cave systems. It’s definitely made by the Naren-Dra tribe.”

  “So this Marlan collects ancient masks?” Medoff asked. “That’s hardly relevant for—”

  “He used alchemy against us, too,” Arthan said.

  “Poison clouds, stun powder, irritants,” Serdot said. “He used advanced alchemical mixtures and knew sophisticated deployment techniques.”

  “How would you know what is advanced in such a dishonorable art?” Dardanon asked.

  “A good widsemer knows a thing or two about mixtures,” Serdot said with a smile.

  “Eggshells?” Alfrem asked.

  “I heard the eggshells break when the Racharders burst into the room, tripping the trap
Marlan had set,” Arthan said. He nodded at Serdot to continue.

  “Marlan’s use of hollow eggs to dispense the powders is an expert technique called shroud alchemy, developed by the Naren-Dra,” Serdot said. “What’s more, he wielded a blade that was able to cut through Maillard’s cindersteel armor, which should have resisted any steels available in Mordmerg, or most anywhere else.”

  “And I heard about wall running?” asked Alfrem.

  “Yes,” Medoff said. “With queer shoes…”

  “Grass-stuffed moccasins,” Arthan clarified. “They completely muffled his steps.”

  “They were long used by the Gallerlander tribes,” Serdot said. “They’re the ones who developed wall running and other acrobatics.”

  “How do you know so much about ancient heathens’ fighting habits?” Dardanon asked.

  “The Widsemer School of Rangerhood teaches about the wars between the colonists and the natives,” Serdot said. “And I’ve since developed a personal interest in the details.”

  “Raymond’s killer claimed to be ‘an ancient flame’ when the survivor asked his name,” Medoff said. “How do you explain that?”

  “I cannot,” Serdot said, glancing briefly at Alfrem. “Not yet.”

  “The point is that Marlan is a sophisticated killer,” Arthan said. “Lord Raymond of Wallevet was also killed with alchemy and a small crossbow bolt, which Marlan also had. Someone planned these attacks very well.”

  “The timing of Raymond’s death with the fall of the Empire Alliance,” Serdot said. “The forged letters sent to us from Mordmerg with Golbane’s name on them that lured Maillard. And using Blackhoods muscle and the discontent of the free city people…”

  Medoff leaned back in his chair. “Marlan could still be an agent of the Rugens. They’ve had agents among our people before, as we have theirs.”

  “I still think the Rugens killed Raymond and the rebels killed Maillard,” Iserenne said.

  “Did you listen to anything my brother and the widsemer said?” Bardil asked. “This master of Marlan, whoever he is, has killed two lord ministers in the span of a month. I may be the youngest of the Valients, but it’s clear to me someone is aiming to break the kingdom.”

  Iserenne glared at him but held her tongue.

  “Medoff, Dardanon, and Iserenne, tell all our guards and garrisons to be on the lookout for a mask like this,” Arthan said.

  “Assuming he’s got another one,” Bellumet said.

  “And his distinct green cape,” Serdot said.

  “Any sighting, any rumor, I want to hear about it,” Arthan said. “That goes for the Blackhoods’ leader, Navarron, and his lieutenants as well. I’m determined to find Marlan before he kills again.”

  “They’ve probably already left Delavon if they intend to kill another lord minister,” Livonier said.

  “Arthan,” Alfrem began, “I advise you not to wait here to find Marlan. And I don’t think you should wait for King Erech to summon you to Eglamour. Our messenger has probably not arrived there with news of your father’s death, and it could be another two weeks for the king’s summons to arrive here.”

  “I agree,” Dardanon said. “The sooner you go to Eglamour and have your lord ministership confirmed, the better.”

  “But there is much for me to do in Rachard,” Arthan said. “Must I leave at this critical time for a mere formality?”

  “It’s not just a formality,” Alfrem said. “It’s a longstanding custom that should be respected by you, as it was by your father. And with Duke Brugarn increasingly speaking for the king, you should seek your confirmation before his influence becomes an obstacle for you.”

  “Very well. I will leave in the morning. Medoff, I want Sir Cuern and his brother Erboln to be assigned to my personal guard. They performed admirably in the council house at Mordmerg.”

  “As you wish.”

  “And I hereby promote Sir Livonier as your deputy and commander of my personal guard,” Arthan said. “Livonier and Serdot will join me in Eglamour while you and Alfrem oversee things here.”

  The advisers nodded their agreement. Livonier stood from the table and bowed his head.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “May I also recommend Bardil stay in Rachard as well and cancel his planned wardship under the king of Austveeden,” Dardanon said. “The Austveedes may see that move as rude and ungrateful, but given the circumstances…”

  Medoff nodded. “We may be at peace with Austveedes now, but who can say with certainty what will happen? If war does come, the Austveedes are likely to provide mercenaries to anyone and everyone, given their history. Not a place for Bardil to be.”

  “I can stay in Rachard, Brother,” Bardil said. “I didn’t want to go there anyway.”

  Arthan nodded. “Alfrem, send the Austveedes our regrets for cancelling the wardship. But Bardil will be coming with me to Eglamour.”

  “It would give the people of Delavon some confidence if one of you remains in Rachard,” Dardanon said.

  “I understand. But I want my brother there when I give the king my oath, to solidify our position. And it will be important for both of us to experience Eglamour, to see its problems with our own eyes. Now, about Rowan. Should I recall our brother from his wardship under Lord Asteroth of Alpenon? If war comes, he’s in the thick of it on the border with Rugenhav.”

  “We sent word to him about your father,” Alfrem said. “But Alpenon is far. We’ll not receive word from him for some time.”

  “If Rowan is not in Rethsrond he’s probably riding with the lord minister out patrolling the borderlands,” Medoff said. “Asteroth fears the Alpenon rebels receiving arms from the Rugens.”

  “If Rowan stays in or near Rethsrond, he’s at least an eight days’ march north of the border,” Serdot said. “That’s plenty of time to evacuate if the Rugens cross over. Until then, Rowan could send us useful information about the borderlands.”

  “Are we now reducing a son of Maillard to be a mere scout?” Alfrem asked.

  “It’s an uncertain time,” Serdot said. “We can’t expect Eglamour to keep us informed, and Asteroth answers to no one.”

  “It would be useful to know what they’re doing at the border,” Iserenne said.

  “Then I will write to Rowan,” Arthan said. “He can stay in Alpenon Ministry for now, but I want him to be aware of everything we know. Also, he’ll be upset he couldn’t be here for Father’s burial.”

  “We can have his messengers routed to you in Eglamour,” Alfrem said.

  “Fine. Now, regarding my travel to the capital, how much tribute shall I bring to the king?”

  Alfrem shifted through a stack of parchments. “Before we discuss tribute, let me read your father’s will because it describes the possessions you’ve inherited. Then you’ll understand what I will advise regarding the tribute.”

  “Go on,” Arthan said.

  “Firstly, as the eldest living son, you are his heir. He leaves everything to you, pending the king’s consent, and makes a large gift to the Messengian Church. He places the welfare of your two brothers in your hands.

  “Secondly, I am to read this list of possessions bequeathed to you, so that you are aware of your holdings. You inherit a treasury wealthier than any of the lord ministers, as your father did. You control the main trade routes between Donovan and the kingdoms of Calbria and Austveeden, from which you extract taxes on behalf of the king, keeping half for yourself.

  “You have the mines of the western Narendra Mountains, rich in iron, cinder, electrum, wist, and silver. You have lesser mines rich in gold, corbalt, and copper. Your rivers are well bridged and stocked with good fish. The Garnault riverbed is most plentiful of tuning stones, for which you have skilled divers to harvest. Your fields are full of wheat, rye, and all manner of vegetables, orchards, and vineyards.

  “You have several seaports, notably Count Dardanon’s seat of Oradrond, from which you access the
Calbrian Sea. Your naval fleet numbers thirty ships. Small, but their crews are well trained and trade with nearly every kingdom on the continent.

  “Upon the land you have under your command the Army of Delavon, numbering ten thousand knights, soldiers, archers, and others, all garrisoned in castles and fortified towns across the ministry. Your lands are divided into four regions: Bram in the north, overseen by you from Rachard. Imvorlon, ruled by Count Dardanon, in the east. Sobel, ruled by Countess Iserenne, in the west. And Caval in the south, ruled by your late cousin Count Golbane…”

  Arthan tapped his fingers on the table. He already knew much of what Alfrem was reading, but he kept silent as the alderman continued the custom. Maillard would have expected as much.

  “You have a population that is primarily Messengian in faith, with Congregants making up the bulk of Sobel County. Your people are, on the whole, contented, and of course proud to be ruled and protected by the famed House of Valient. The former Royal House of Valient still lives in the memory of your subjects despite the time that has passed, and they have great expectations that you will follow in your father’s footsteps as a wise, benevolent, and influential lord minister.

  “That concludes the will and inheritance. I’m instructed to keep possession of the signet of Maillard’s wist ring until the king confirms your lord ministership. Thereupon you may dismiss me from my duties as Alderman of Rachard, should you wish to do so.”

  “Thank you, Alfrem,” Arthan said. “You will continue as keeper of my capital, and Medoff as head of the army. As for the vacant Count of Caval, I will keep that title for myself for now.”

  “Regarding your question of tribute,” Alfrem said, “I advise you to cement your loyalty in the eyes of the king by giving him a handsome gift. The Valients have never wasted nor been stingy with their fortune.”

  “Erech is weak and firmly in the hands of others,” Medoff said. “Giving him more gold will not help him, nor the kingdom, and any tribute you give will probably end up in Brugarn’s pockets—maybe even provoke Brugarn and the other brothers to ask for more.”