Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  “The Order thrived for centuries and killed many kings and other powerful people, until it was aggressively hunted down. The Order nearly died out, but the flame was kept alive in secret for revival. We call it the War of All Kingdoms, the overthrow of all tyrants and continent kings, and the return to elected chieftains. That revival has begun.”

  “How can so few overthrow so many?” Fetzer asked.

  “Rodel may be able to explain it…” Arasemis said.

  Rodel turned his eyes to his plate and quickly filled his mouth. He wished to keep his history with the Wosmoks to himself. Yet Arasemis appeared to know it.

  “Perhaps it’s best if I explain,” Arasemis continued. “It may seem far-fetched, young Fetzer, but our methods are well developed, precise, and effective. You will start learning the methods of Candlestone tomorrow. But you must understand and accept the Order’s reason for being before you can be part of the revival.”

  “Candlestone killed the lord ministers of Wallevet, Delavon, and Leauvenna?” Rodel asked.

  Arasemis nodded. “They are only the beginning.”

  “Why must we waste time on the nobles?” Fetzer asked. “Why not focus on the king?”

  “Patience,” Arasemis said. “Everything is as I’ve planned it. Marlan?”

  “King Erech is the weakest of the Avaleau men. If we killed him first, then one of his three violence-prone brothers would fill his place. So we benefit by keeping Erech on the throne. Aside from his brothers, several of the nobles would also have claim to the crown, such as the House of Valient. So by starting in the middle and working our way up, there will be no one left to legitimately claim the throne of Donovan.”

  “The chaos created by the lower nobles squabbling among themselves will give Candlestone opportunity to grow,” Arasemis said. “By the time foreign rulers try to step in to take a part of Donovan for themselves, we’ll already have Candlestone branches in their kingdoms, ready to strike when they are distracted with the ruins of Donovan.”

  “Magnificent…” Fetzer said.

  Rodel was also impressed. “Where did all of this come from? Rildning’s history, the deeds of the Order, these plans, all of it?”

  “The heart of Thorendor Castle is my beloved library,” Arasemis said. “You will spend many hours reading and learning for yourself. But these plans have been shaped by generations of Order members. We have Rildning’s journal and books written by his companions and his son. Texts written by the natives. And many other things. Then, when you’re ready, perhaps one day you’ll take the light of Candlestone into Rugenhav.”

  Rodel contemplated the gravity of what he’d been told. To be a Wosmok, turned against the Rugen emperor. He did not lament this path, but the notion of a continental war was unsettling.

  Bertwil slapped the table. “This chicken is delicious.”

  Arasemis chuckled, turning to Rodel. “Bertwil is the son of an Almerian merchant and has probably seen more conflict in the Old World than any of you. Juhl is an erstwhile princess of the iceberg-hearted Lambics. Fetzer you’ve met. Marlan and Garion were among my students at Bredahade Academy. You were not able to meet Morroy, but he was a brave Calbrian who would have willingly taken the torch of Candlestone into Tiberon. So you see, Rodel? You are in familiar company.”

  Rodel changed the subject quickly. “What happened at the academy?”

  “I once taught ancient history and native martial arts. When the academy had no further use for—or perhaps patience with—my skills, they forced me out. I retired to my family’s estate here at Thorendor to focus on my studies. Marlan and Garion soon followed, abandoning the academy.”

  Fetzer cocked his head. “How did you come to possess the histories of Candlestone?”

  “You could say I inherited them,” Arasemis said. “But that is a story for another day. I believe you’ve heard enough. It is time to take the oath. Rise, both of you.”

  Rodel and Fetzer pushed up from the bench. Arasemis stood with them.

  “Repeat after me. Like the long memories of the trees, we will never forget the prophecy and sacrifice. Like the electrum of the earth, we will be unseen until our time has come. Like the flame, we will keep the ancient truths alive. And like the stone, we will find strength in ourselves and each other. We will carry the truths and defend the original lands…Until the End of Days.”

  ---

  Juhl caught up with Rodel as he was on his way back to his quarters that night.

  “It’s good to see a Rugen here,” she said in his language. “I don’t care what past you’re hiding, but the others will pester you until you tell them.”

  “What led you here, Juhl? Are you really a princess?”

  “I was at a crossroads, as Arasemis likes to say. Betrothed to a young prince that I loathed. Forced by a father who saw me as a political pawn, not a daughter. And faded from the memory of a mother driven mad by the sickness of the southern winds.”

  Rodel did not expect this softer side of her. She had a severe look and cold eyes. Every pale-skinned Lambic he had ever met was the same way.

  “I’m sorry, Juhl…Do you believe Candlestone can remake the world?”

  “Yes. You see this symbol?” She pointed to the repeating jagged ridge and flame design in the corridor rugs that Rodel had noticed earlier. “That stone and flame is the symbol of Candlestone,” she said. “You’ll see it everywhere in Thorendor. It is a reminder that we are already walking a path toward a remade world. Do you not believe it can be remade?”

  “I’ve never cared enough about the world to consider how to change it,” Rodel said. “My life has always been about death…”

  “You were a Wosmok, weren’t you?”

  Rodel stopped walking and turned to her. “How could you know that?”

  “Master Arasemis told us about your fall into the river from the prison carriage, and he said you’d be back. Didn’t sound like a common thief to me. Listen, everyone here has a difficult past. And none of the Donovard members of the Order are going to judge you for what the Wosmoks have done in Donovan. None of us hold allegiance to any king.”

  “I’m not ashamed for what the Wosmoks have done,” Rodel said. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

  “I’ll keep it to myself.” Juhl eyed him curiously. “Why did you join us?”

  “I wanted to leave the Wosmoks. All of it…We were just pawns…”

  “Of a foul emperor,” Juhl finished. Rodel nodded. “There are no pawns in Candlestone,” Juhl continued. “We will rid the world of families like the Theudamers and Avaleaus. We are the king breakers. Pursuers of rebellion. Agents of death.”

  “Like the Wosmoks…” Rodel muttered.

  “No, like nothing else. We seek to change this whole continent for the better. To the way it used to be.”

  “And a handful of misfits will accomplish all that?”

  “Tomorrow, you’ll see…” Juhl stepped closer to him, her gray eyes brightening like crystal in the torchlight. “I look forward to learning more about you, Rodel Once a Wosmok.”

  “What about your Lambic title?” he asked, feeling his back press against the wall.

  “Juhl Empty Hearted Stone.”

  “Not sure I believe it…”

  “No?” She winked before striding to her quarters. She paused in the doorway. “If you’re awakened in the night, don’t fear the rolling noises from the chamber above. The master sleeps little and often toys with a contraption at the top of Thorendor.”

  Rodel nodded and watched her close her door before entering his own cell. For the first time in a long time he slept soundly.

  36. ROWAN

  Near the Rugenhav Border, Alpenon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  “What’s happened? Give me that letter, boy.”

  Lord Asteroth snatched the message from Rowan’s hands, snapping Rowan out of his daze. Why did Arthan not send for him to attend Father’s funeral? He w
ould have gladly left Asteroth’s side and made the journey back to Rachard.

  Asteroth returned the parchment. “I’m sorry to hear this, Rowan. Maillard was a…good man.” He cleared his throat and straightened up in his saddle. “When men lose their fathers it is a time to stand tall and take up the burden.”

  “My brother will be lord minister of Delavon,” Rowan said. “What is left for me?”

  “Don’t give me that nonsense,” Asteroth said. “My older brother is the king and my younger brother is his right hand. It’s fallen to me and Erath to protect his kingdom for him. We protect the southern border because we’re the strong ones. Your burden is to help your brother when the time comes. But as my ward, you still have much to learn.”

  Rowan looked up at the massive Asteroth, clad in fine-gilded cindersteel armor. The sword belted to his back was as wide as a man. Only the largest war chargers could carry Asteroth’s weight. There was little sympathy in his hard face. It was not the first time Rowan regretted Maillard’s decision to ward him under Asteroth.

  “My lord,” said a nearby knight captain, “more Rugen scouts have been spotted near Merl.”

  “That far in? God, they are getting bold. Turn around, we’ll squash them.”

  Rowan sighed to himself. Asteroth cherished patrolling the border towns himself. He was not a lord who sat idle in his castle at Cantrileme. As his ward, Rowan went everywhere with him. He had become intimately familiar with the Rugen and Austveede border regions and had seen much of Alpenon Ministry. But Asteroth never let Rowan cross into Rugenhav.

  Within a few hours they arrived on the outskirts of Merl. Rowan knew the town’s watchmen would cringe at the sight of Asteroth’s brigade approaching, heavy-handed as he was about rooting out the frequent scouts that Rugenhav was sending into Donovan these days. But this time the soldier had already captured the scouts, three of them, and waited in a field within view of the town.

  Asteroth and Rowan dismounted and walked to the soldiers and their prisoners, who sat in the grass with hands bound. One was a woman.

  “Lord Minister Asteroth,” began one of the soldiers, “we caught them coming up the road from the southeast. Only this one claims to speak Donovar.” He gestured to the woman. “She was also carrying this.” The soldier dumped the contents of small coin pouch into his hand. “Austveede bloone. Twenty or so coins.”

  “Stand them up,” Asteroth said. “Let’s have a look at them.”

  The soldiers jerked them to their feet. Their garments and possessions clearly marked them as Rugen scouts. But Rowan thought it odd that they would be coming from Austveeden. He wondered if Asteroth would let them sit in the Merl magistrate’s jail for a few days, or take them back to the capital for questioning.

  “Why are you here?” Asteroth said to them. They answered with silent stares. “Your names then?” he asked. Nothing.

  For a large man, Asteroth moved quickly. He pulled his massive sword off his back and crashed it down on one of the scouts. When the woman lashed out, he backhanded her into the grass, then prepared to strike the third scout.

  “Wait!” she shrieked from the grass.

  “You wish to speak now?” Asteroth said, halting his blade over the man’s head.

  “My name is Etzel,” she said. “We are merely travelers, returning to Rugenhav.”

  “If that were true, you would have exited Austveeden directly into Toninbern, not through my lands,” Asteroth said, still holding his sword above the scout. “Surely you don’t deny coming from Austveeden. Who else carries square bloone?”

  Etzel glanced at her companion, the shadow of Asteroth’s wide sword darkening his face. She nodded weakly.

  “Why?” Asteroth shouted.

  Etzel looked at her companion again, and the fear melted from his face. Her companion pulled a hidden dagger from his tunic and stabbed toward Asteroth’s unprotected neck. Asteroth dodged the stab and brought his sword down, severing the scout’s arm. Then his head.

  Etzel got up to run.

  “Let her go!” Asteroth shouted. He sheathed his great sword and mounted, following after her through the long grass. Rowan and a few others came after them. Rowan knew Asteroth enjoyed a good chase. The lord minister quickly caught up with Etzel, fast as she was, and planted his big boot between her shoulder blades. Rowan halted his horse above her still body, facedown in the grass.

  Asteroth came alongside him. “A mere scout, young Rowan?”

  “No, my lord. Something more…”

  “The scouts who probe our border always come direct from Rugenhav, never through Erath’s lands from Austveeden.”

  “What should we do with her?”

  “Crush her skull, like the others,” Asteroth said with a smile. “After she tells us what they were up to.” Asteroth turned to Sir Hamon, his top commander. “They would have come through Fanedor. Send a troop of knights to that city to ask about them. As for this one, bring her with us back to Cantrileme in the morning. We’ll overnight in Merl.”

  That night Rowan thought about his father and his struggles. It was strange to hear of the important and tragic events happening across the other ministries. The assassinations of the lord ministers, the riots led by soldiers discharged by a broken treasury, and the growing number of hungry in Toulon. Then there was the disquiet here in Alpenon, Asteroth’s brutal seizure of Ambardil Free City and several Almerian ships and properties on the coast.

  Rowan simply wanted to go home and touch his father’s tomb. He would never forgive Arthan for keeping him in Alpenon with this tyrant. Asteroth’s advice about supporting older brothers echoed in his mind, but he did not need the tyrant’s wisdom. He had his father’s.

  So be it, he thought. He would serve his brother, if unhappily, and provide the information about the borderlands that Arthan requested. But Rowan would expect something from his brother in return. He was not sure what.

  37. ARTHAN

  Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  “None of you have any answers.” Duke Brugarn scowled at the courtiers. “None of you care that you might be the next to feel an assassin’s dagger in your throat.” His glare settled on Arthan.

  Arthan was not worried. It was Brugarn’s second rant today about the deaths of the lord ministers. Arthan disliked being in the duke’s presence but reminded himself that he was no longer simply a lord minister’s son. He looked at the other lord ministers now present at court, including the newly arrived Sigbert of Barres, Halevane of Merbredel, and Voufon of Laume.

  “Shall we move on to the matter of the treasury, given the lack of information on the killings?” Waldemar said. “I’m sure that with time we’ll learn—”

  “Silence, steward,” Brugarn said. “The treasury is none of your concern. But we’ll let the matter of the killings rest for now. Now, give me the scroll.” The duke snatched it from Waldemar. “I’ll read it myself,” Brugarn said as he faced the court. A cruel grin spread across his ugly face as General Chaultion stepped up beside Brugarn.

  “The king hereby issues a new proclamation,” Brugarn said. “It will be effective at once…”

  “Interesting that he rushed to do this before your Lord Ministers’ Council meeting,” Bardil whispered to Arthan.

  Serdot nodded. “Official proclamations are traditionally put through the council first, when possible.”

  Arthan shushed them as Brugarn finished his prefatory remarks.

  “And now,” the duke continued, “the first ruling of this Proclamation of Expediency is the revival of the treasury. All monies collected as taxes by the vassal lords will be doubled, with the vassal’s portion reduced to one-tenth.”

  “How are we to keep the peace and feed ourselves?” Sigbert asked. Others complained similarly.

  Brugarn ignored them and continued. “Additionally, all noble prisoners and hostages, Donovard and foreigner, will be sold their freedom. First among them wi
ll be Geras Vilarwef, who shall be sold to Austveeden for three hundred guldirs. Lord Asteroth has already agreed to this, given the criminal killed an Austveede prince. Ambassador Vesamune, if your emperor wants Geras he’ll have to pay a double ransom.”

  Arthan turned to see Vesamune’s reaction, but she was already walking swiftly toward the door.

  “The Rugens will probably pay it,” Serdot whispered to him. “Geras is the leader of the Alpenon rebellion. The Rugens have given him much more money and support over the years.”

  “Treasury monies will also be saved by reducing the wages of all soldiers of the Army of Donovan, the city guards of Eglamour, and the king’s Crownblades,” Brugarn continued. “Every garrison will be reduced in number. Surplus soldiers will be sent to the Rugen border in Alpenon and Gadolin. And finally, Donovan will demand that monies paid into the defunct Empire Alliance for the maintenance of Austveeden’s erstwhile neutrality be paid back by the Austveedes before Midsummer has passed.”

  “Does he want a kingdom-wide riot?” Reimvick whispered to Arthan. The other courtiers also grumbled.

  “The second ruling of the proclamation addresses the hostility from our enemies on every front,” Brugarn said. “We demand the Almerian Confederation vacate the occupied islands or suffer our attack. Similarly, Calbria must recognize our right to certain islands, especially in the Calbrian Sea, or face our attack.

  “As for Rugenhav, which for untold generations has plotted against us, has supported the Alpenon rebels, has daily harassed our southern border, and may have had a hand in the recent assassinations…Rugenhav will be made to cower. If Emperor Theudamer does not give up his games, Donovan will march on Heingartmer!”

  Arthan noticed that the one member of Vesamune’s retinue who had remained behind suddenly departed. The rest of the courtiers complained loudly now, with big Sigbert protesting the loudest. But Brugarn showed no cracks in his resolve.