Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  Brugarn always wondered how the general, a man younger than himself, could be so prematurely white headed. Perhaps it was the price for a mind that never ceased strategizing. That was why Brugarn prized the general, along with his control of the army.

  “The Valients are weakhearted fools,” Brugarn said. “Yet the king already favors Arthan as much as he did Maillard.”

  “Then look at it this way: the king’s dependence on the young Arthan is a blessing,” Chaultion said. “The king once more leans on weak men, which should only hasten his fall. Arthan is inexperienced. We will outmaneuver him like everyone else.”

  Brugarn eyed the general. “This is why I’m the brains, Chaultion. You know nothing of court politics. Did you see how Erech visibly changed when Arthan restored the sword of Rhunegeld to his hands? And the way the courtiers approved of that. Arthan is popular already. His appointment as Marshal of Inquiry only strengthens his hand. And I created that damn post for myself!”

  “Accuse him,” Chaultion said. “Plant the seeds that he was Garion’s mysterious master, sacrificing his own operative to cover himself. Spread rumors that Arthan was behind it all to benefit himself. Sow the seeds of doubt.”

  “I will, Chaultion. But it won’t be enough. Only war can shake Eglamour enough…”

  “You have riots in every major city of the kingdom. The treasury is broken. And the Rugens are probing our southern underbelly. I’ll be the last to delay a good war, but it seems you’ve got plenty to undermine your brother’s claim to the throne.”

  “I want the war too,” Brugarn said. “A broad, all-consuming war. Asteroth and Erath will be compelled to fight it in the south. Erech will fail to lead, and I will supplant him. Then we’ll crush Rugenhav, and I’ll be hailed as Donovan’s savior.”

  The general twisted his mustache again. “How do you want it done?”

  “You’re the general. Has the Rugen ambassador provided any clues about their weaknesses?”

  “Vesamune’s pillow talk is worthless. It’s entertaining to feed her false information, but overall we don’t need her. The Rugens will eventually make the mistake of probing too far into Alpenon. Perhaps they’ll renew their claim on those lands, maybe by force.”

  “Provoke them, make them want to invade. Then you and the twins can invade Rugenhav and lay waste to every city, farm, and hovel between Gardwerp and Heingartmer.”

  “That is what I love to do.”

  “You were born to break Rugenhav, general. I will fight the politics of the court. You give me a war to win.”

  49. ARTHAN

  Clonmel Estate in Eglamour, Toulon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  “I don’t like having all these palace guards here, my lord. I just don’t trust them.”

  Arthan nodded. “It’s all right, Livonier. They are now assigned to us as inquiry office soldiers. Have them fan out over the estate and guard the cellar, which we’ll convert to a jail. Your Racharders will still have the interior of the house.”

  “How do we know one of them is not another assassin, Brother?” Bardil asked. “Or one of Brugarn’s lackeys?”

  “We don’t,” Serdot said. “I’m still evaluating them. Their commander is Waldemar’s son.”

  “This is the best arrangement we have for now,” Arthan said. “The king favors us and wants to know who is behind the killings. We must accept any assistance he gives along with the risks. Where is the prisoner?”

  “Garion is waiting in your study with a few soldiers,” Livonier said.

  “We’ll talk with him privately,” Arthan said. “Everyone come with me.”

  When they entered his large study, they found Garion, hands chained behind him, hunched in a chair in the middle of the room before Arthan’s writing table.

  “Thank you,” Arthan said to the guards, “you may leave him with us.”

  “But, my lord, shouldn’t we stay to protect you?”

  “Are you the lead knight, the son of Waldemar? What is your name?”

  “Debanor, sir. The king and steward instructed me to serve you however I can.”

  “Very well, Sir Debanor. I hope your father is proud that you now serve the Marshal of Inquiry. But you must understand that these most sensitive matters are best left to me and my circle. As knight captain of my inquiry soldiers, you can organize the men into patrols throughout the estate. No one comes in or out of Clonmel without my knowledge. And heed any orders that Livonier, Serdot, or Bardil provide you.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Debanor said. He nodded to his men and they filed out of the room. Debanor turned before leaving. “Almost forgot. We found this on him, my lord.”

  Arthan accepted a key from him. “Thank you.”

  Serdot and Livonier took their places on either side of the glaring Garion, while Bardil positioned a chair behind the prisoner. Arthan paced in front of the assassin.

  “You know those pitiful soldiers won’t stop us once my master learns you are here,” Garion said.

  Arthan kept silent, watching Garion sweat. He wanted him to feel the weight of silence, the uncertainty of his fate, before beginning. “Tell me more about your master.”

  Garion grinned, exercising his own silence.

  “Answer the lord minister,” Livonier said.

  “Who instructed you to kill Duke Brugarn?” Arthan asked.

  “You have my letter,” Garion said.

  “But who is represented by the initial ‘E’?”

  “A servant of my master. We are many.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Even a few members of our Order will overwhelm your soldiers, as Maillard was overwhelmed.”

  “Do not speak his name!” Bardil shouted. He had shot up from his chair. Arthan cut his eyes at his brother until he reseated himself.

  Garion grinned again. “Oh yes, you’ll know soon enough.”

  “Did your master teach you to run walls?”

  “Of course.”

  “And make cloaking powders? Poisonous powders?”

  “He taught me much.”

  “What is his purpose?”

  “The ancient flame is relit. And it grows stronger.”

  Serdot brought out Garion’s mask. “The Naren-Dra were masters of a forgotten alchemy that your ilk has revived. Why?”

  “We embrace the ancient ways that are forsaken by modern men.”

  “It was forsaken for good reason,” Arthan said. “No knight would dishonor himself with such trickery.” He noticed a sideways glance Serdot gave him, as if he wanted to say something but held back.

  “Kings fear it for good reason,” Garion said. “They have only to see Maillard’s swollen throat, smell the vomit in his lungs, and see the wound inflicted to his chest that no armor could have prevented.”

  Bardil lunged up again, but Livonier reached Garion first, cracking the prisoner across his jaw.

  “Who is your master?” Arthan repeated.

  Garion spit blood at Arthan, earning another punch from Livonier. He shook the pain from his head. “You…you will know his name…in time. All shall tremble at the sound…”

  “If you do not tell me, I won’t protect you from Brugarn’s plans for your slow death,” Arthan said. “There is no crueler hand in this kingdom. You’ve seen him in court.”

  “Squabbling, reaching men of greed…” Garion muttered.

  “What about Marlan, where is he now?”

  “All of you will suffer the same fate when Candlestone comes…” Garion said.

  “Is Candlestone the Rugens?” Arthan asked.

  Garion laughed heartily, shaking with the pain throbbing in his wounds.

  “The ancient flame?” Serdot asked.

  “You can ask Maillard, when you see him in hell,” Garion answered.

  Bardil rushed up and struck him in the back of the head, tossing him out of the chair. Arthan came to his brother as Livonier moved to pick up Garion. />
  “Bardil, if you cannot control yourself, then leave,” Arthan whispered. “I want revenge for Father, too, but we must stay—”

  “My lord,” Serdot whispered over his shoulder. “Garion is opening up. We must keep on him.”

  Livonier’s shout turned them around. Garion had struck the knight in his face with his shackles and was limping toward the window. They rushed to Garion but he threw himself at the glass. They reached him just as his body tumbled through. Breathless they watched him plummet to the courtyard, where he fell broken and lifeless.

  “Only a true believer does such things,” Serdot said, breaking Arthan’s shock.

  Arthan reached into his pocket and pulled out the key found by Debanor. “Search everywhere, Serdot. Find where this key fits. It’s all we have now…”

  “I will. My lord, we need to discuss Candlestone.”

  “What is it?”

  “There is a professor here in Eglamour who specializes in ancient heathen histories. I think he will be of help.”

  “How could some scribe possibly help? We’re dealing with assassins, probably hired by the Rugens. Or maybe the Calbrians. You heard how he laughed when I asked about the Rugens.”

  “With respect, my lord, I think this is different. I’ve never known agents of Rugenhav or Calbria to run up walls and wear Naren-Dra masks.”

  “Fine, we’ll talk with him sometime. But for now, focus on that key. Garion is dead, but Marlan and E may be close by.”

  “I’m sorry, Brother,” Bardil said. “I was a distraction…”

  “No, I let him get through me,” Livonier said, nursing a bleeding nose.

  “We must be vigilant.”

  50. MARLAN

  Thorendor Castle, Wallevet Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  “Master, the others are becoming more irritated with Fetzer’s arrogance.”

  “Well, he is arrogant,” Arasemis said. “But you’re not as bothered by it, are you?”

  Marlan paused. He had been thinking quite a bit about this. “Remember when Enildir’s book quoted Rildning as saying he wouldn’t be the last to unite the defenders of the tribal lands?”

  “It was a new prophecy that foretold the coming of another leader like Rildning.”

  “And you’ve never thought you might be this leader?” Marlan asked.

  “Not at all. I’m the reviver, not the uniter.”

  “Since Fetzer’s arrival, I can’t help but wonder if he is the uniter who was prophesied. Fetzer’s personal story is compelling, and he took a risk by volunteering to help with the Leauvenna task. I agree that he is arrogant and sometimes reckless, but he has vigor unlike anyone else. And his skill with a sword is unmatched.”

  “I appreciate your observations, Marlan. But if the other students dislike him, then by definition Fetzer is divisive, not a uniter.”

  “Sometimes leaders are abrasive until they master their own abilities and others get used to their talents. You taught me that. Rildning certainly had his problems unifying the tribes, as did Eniri, Enildir, and the later leaders of Candlestone. Perhaps it takes an aggressive warrior like Fetzer to fulfill Candlestone’s destiny.”

  “You may be right, Marlan, but it’s too soon to tell. Fetzer took part in Gottfried’s killing, but there are still many tests ahead of him, ahead of all of us. Be careful with your theory that Fetzer is Rildning’s prophesied leader.”

  Marlan nodded.

  “Now,” continued Arasemis, “there is something else I wanted to see you about. Come and sit.” Arasemis cleared a stool near his table. Marlan walked around the book stacks and took his seat. “You once told me you are synthic. What forms of this condition do you have?”

  “Words, letters, and numbers have a specific color in my mind’s eye,” Marlan said. “Sounds and music also have color and shape and movement. And the days and months are mapped on a loop.”

  “I think my grandfather Erwold was also a synthic. I’ve come to the end of his journal that you retrieved for me from the academy’s archives. His writings confirmed my suspicion that he was involved in Candlestone despite my father’s efforts to hide it from me and my brothers when we were children. But there must be more written somewhere.”

  “I looked everywhere you told me to at the academy,” Marlan said. “This journal was it.”

  “Not at the academy. I think Erwold hid something here at Thorendor that will tell me more about him and Candlestone. Look at this last page of his journal.”

  THORENDOR IS YYWRGRVWR,

  YWPRG WO OWWP.

  RYGRG BWTB BRGGRR,

  GRV YGGY TGGRR.

  YYY RYWRG RWWP.

  “I’ve run through various treatises on coded language, but this passage does not fit any methods. I’m wondering if it is synthic lettering—since synthics ‘see’ black-inked letters in colors, as you do, this must be a hidden message.”

  Marlan nodded. “Color graphemes. But I can’t read it, because no two synthics see the colors the same way. So Erwold’s writing is like a code within a code.”

  “I must know what he was protecting, Marlan. Walk me through what you mean.”

  “No one knows why, but synthics associate every letter and number with a specific color that never changes in their mind’s eye, regardless of the color of the actual ink. And multiple letters can share the same color, so there are many combinations. Looking at Erwold’s page, it’s clear to me that the letters signify the colors that he associated with each encrypted letter. For example, ‘Y’ just means yellow.”

  “I’m following you, Marlan, but why is he saying Thorendor is yellow yellow white red and so on? It’s just gibberish.”

  “The colors are just a clue to the actual letters.” Marlan pointed to the bottom of the page. “See the first word in the last line, YYY? Obviously no word has three of the same letters like that, Erwold simply associated the three actual letters with the color yellow. So, and this is just an example, if the three-letter word is sky then that means Erwold associated ‘S,’ ‘K,’ and ‘Y’ with the color yellow. I just have to figure out how he really saw them, based on the number of colors he saw. This will take some time.”

  “Then get started.”

  ---

  Well after nightfall Marlan jumped up from his chair. “I’ve got it!”

  Arasemis and the other students who were hunched over books in the library looked up at him with curiosity. Arasemis explained to them what Marlan had been working on, then turned back to Marlan. “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure, because Erwold provided a partial key in the first line. The ‘TH’ in the unencrypted word THORENDOR is the first ‘YY’ in YYWRGRVWR. If ‘Y’ signifies yellow letters, then ‘T’ and ‘H’ must be yellow. That means the ‘O’ in THORENDOR is white, the ‘R’ is red, the ‘E’ is green…”

  “What is he talking about?” Fetzer asked.

  “…Erwold’s ‘N’ is red,” Marlan continued. “Also his ‘G,’ ‘V,’ and ‘D’ are violet. The number seven is yellow, like mine. And his—”

  “Spare us all the odd synthic details,” Bertwil said. “What does the message say?”

  “If I substituted the color graphemes correctly, which the first line key suggests, then it should read…‘Thorendor is Thorendor / House of book. / Where cold creeps, / And heat leaps. / Seventh stone nook.’ Sounds interesting, whatever it means.”

  Juhl rolled her eyes. “So now it’s a riddle within a riddle.”

  “A riddle within a synthic code,” Arasemis said. “House of book could be a library, or maybe a writing table or shelf.”

  “But where does hot and cold coexist?” Bertwil mused.

  “And made of stone?” Fetzer asked.

  Rodel stood and stepped away from his bench. “This is no difficult riddle,” he said, stopping in front of the fireplace nearest Arasemis’s table. He rested his arm on the mantel.

  “My grandfather was a clev
er man,” Arasemis said. “He may have wrapped his clues in several layers.”

  “Look at Rodel’s face,” Juhl said. “He has it…”

  “Tell us, then,” Fetzer said.

  “Yes, go on,” Marlan said.

  “An unlit hearth is a creeping place for cold,” Rodel said, “and a leaping place for flames otherwise. It need not be simultaneous.”

  “Why would it be this hearth?” Fetzer said.

  “Just a guess,” Rodel said. “If this was Erwold’s writing table long ago, perhaps he hid something in the fireplace closest to where he worked.”

  “Brilliant!” Arasemis said.

  “And ‘seventh stone nook’?” Bertwil asked.

  Rodel pointed to the stack of stones above the mantel that formed the chimney, counting seven upward.

  “There must be a movable stone,” Marlan murmured.

  The students crowded around the hearth, counting and tugging every seventh stone above the mantel, around the sides, and from the floor. They found nothing.

  “This has to be it,” Arasemis said.

  Fetzer glared at Rodel. “Not as clever as you thought, Rugen.”

  Rodel and the others ignored him as they rechecked the seventh stones.

  “What about inside the hearth itself?” Juhl asked.

  “Anything hidden behind there would be ashes by now,” Marlan said.

  Rodel hunched inside and counted on all three sides. “The mortar on this one is loose enough. Hand me the poker.”

  Marlan handed it to him, and Rodel pried at the stone. After a few moments Marlan grabbed the tongs and bent inside to help. He took hold of the stone with the tongs as Rodel rocked it back and forth. The stone edged out and kept sliding.

  “Unusual for a hearthstone to be so long,” Arasemis said.

  Marlan and Rodel ushered the arm-length stone out with both hands, and Bertwil grasped its far end to help. Marlan caught a glimpse of a lid as they set the stone on a bench.

  “A compartment,” Fetzer said, reaching for it.

  “Let me do this,” Arasemis said. They watched as he lifted a shale plate cover and gently pulled out a set of tightly rolled papers. Arasemis retreated to his writing table as the students gathered around.