Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  “It’s written in ancient Gali,” he said of the first scroll, “but the parchment is not from the colonial era. It’s a more recent document…” He looked up at Marlan. “Well done, synthic. Perhaps you excel at more than chemina arcana. Perhaps I should have you encode my correspondence with our supporters as well.”

  Marlan smiled. “But who would decode it? We’ll have to begin recruiting synthics.”

  “Not a bad idea…And excellent thinking by riddle-master Rodel as well,” Arasemis said. “Now, it will take me some time to translate all of this. Everyone is excused.”

  Marlan corralled the others toward the door.

  “Marlan,” Arasemis called, “have them clean the laboratory before bed, and practice jumps in the training hall tomorrow. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Of course, Master.”

  51. MILISEND

  Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  Milisend’s feet and calves were quivering with fatigue. She had practiced with her black leather slippers, but now, clutching the ledge outside Lord Reimvick’s window with her fingers and toes, her muscles were cramping.

  She had not planned on waiting this long. She had crept out of her window at dusk with her mask and outfit, lightly skipping across the rooftops and ledges of the palace. She had been all over the high exterior of the complex many times with Regaume and knew the best path to the apartments reserved for the lord ministers. And she knew which one was Lord Reimvick’s after observing him in the palace over several days.

  But Reimvick’s pattern had changed. His timing was erratic, and his movements were hurried. Milisend had heard about Garion’s treachery, so she presumed Reimvick and the others were taking steps to protect themselves. But now Reimvick was leaving his chambers well after nightfall.

  It had taken him longer to leave tonight. When he finally departed, Milisend climbed to the window sill and opened one of her belt pouches. She wedged a tiny blade into the gap between the shutter windows, just below the lock. The blade was a handy tool Regaume had given her. A twist of the first knob on the tool’s handle unhinged a little arm. A twist of the second turned the arm until it caught the hook on the inside of the window. A final twist pushed the hook off its rest.

  She slowly pulled opened the window and crawled inside, closing and locking it behind her. The warm light of a single candle greeted her. She reasoned that Reimvick had either forgotten to snuff it out or that he would be back soon. She hurried around the room, pulling open drawers and opening pouches. She found gold coins in plenty but left them lest their bulk and noise burden her. She wanted jewels. Silky chains of gold and silver. Soundless gem-studded rings and brooches. And silent scarves of gold thread and pearl.

  As Milisend neared the candle and opened table drawers, she noticed the candle’s flame turn red. She let out a half breath, then froze, and her eyes grew wide as the flame reddened further. “Oh, no…” she whispered as its hue deepened. A presence candle.

  Regaume had warned her about these before, but she had not expected a lord minister to use alchemical candles. Had the Garion incident caused Reimvick to take such precaution? She considered blowing it out, but that might be just as alerting. She let it burn and controlled her breathing in the hopes that the red would fade away after she left.

  Milisend skipped across the room to the side door, finding it unlocked. Inside was Reimvick’s wardrobe, travel and ceremonial armors, and other personal effects. She diligently and quickly searched everything, but still found no jewels worth taking. She had to leave with something.

  She gave up on the wardrobe and approached a small door that had been left ajar. She guessed it to be the privy, given the washbasin resting by the door. She was surprised to find makeshift shelving throughout the small room. A multitude of glass jars, vials, and flasks filled every shelf, some with strange liquids and powders. Candlewax drippings and various herb fronds littered the floor. A sheathed sword leaned in a corner beside an iron apparatus that seemed designed for holding a fire beneath a stone bowl.

  Milisend had never seen an alchemist’s laboratory but had imagined that this is what one would look and smell like. As she stepped inside to look around, she heard the turn of the lock of Reimvick’s main chamber door. She quickly pulled the little door back ajar, then dove in the gap between one of the wardrobe cabinets and the wall. She held her breath but knew the presence candle flame would still be red.

  Hurried footsteps raced from the main chamber through the wardrobe and into the privy. She dared not poke her head out to see whether it was Reimvick or a servant. Whoever it was did not bother to check the candle or anything else. Next she heard the distant breaking of glass, as in a tunnel. Milisend realized the secret laboratory was being destroyed, the bottles and vials thrown down the privy chute.

  When this was finished the person closed the privy door and locked it. Then they left the apartment as quickly as they had come. Afraid, Milisend waited.

  It was a mistake to come here, she thought. She could not guess why Reimvick had a secret laboratory, and she did not care. She had come for jewels and was frustrated to find that the wealthy lord minister kept few among his things. She was unsure when it would be safe to escape. Should she go now and chance another sudden entry? Should she wait until he was fast asleep in his bed? Or worse, wait until the next day?

  Her mind wandered as she considered her options. Given the alchemical tactics Garion had used, she wondered now if Reimvick and Garion were connected. But Reimvick was a respected lord minister who, like other high nobles, scorned ancient mischief like alchemy. His house had long served the Avaleaus honorably.

  Milisend thought it best to leave at once so she could warn Hamelin about what she’d seen. She carefully extracted herself from the wardrobe and stepped toward the main chamber. Then footsteps returned and the lock of the door turned again. She retreated back to her hiding place, now angry for hesitating earlier.

  It was certainly Reimvick. He locked the door behind him, and the sounds he made suggested he was relaxing and retiring for the night. Then there was a pause in his activity. Milisend envisioned him inspecting the presence candle.

  “Must have been me…” he muttered.

  Footsteps came past the wardrobe and the privy was unlocked. Something was thrown down the chute, possibly the candle, before the door was relocked. Reimvick passed through the wardrobe and locked that door, too, then prepared for sleep.

  Reluctantly, Milisend accepted her error. Regaume had taught her to move quickly and often, never to hesitate while on a heist. She vowed to never make this mistake again as she tried to get comfortable.

  52. ARTHAN

  Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry

  Flowertide, 3034

  “Out the window?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Arthan said.

  “How peculiar. Did he say anything?”

  “Garion said little of use. He mentioned something about a candle stone, which Serdot is investigating. Garion also had a key on him. Steward Waldemar confirmed it was made in the style of the palace locks, but we haven’t found the correct one yet.”

  “Candles and keys, death and pain…” Erech mumbled, gazing off.

  Arthan waited. “My lord…?”

  “What? Oh, yes…Well, keep at it, marshal.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Arthan spotted Brugarn moving in the shadows of the great hall columns, despite Arthan’s request for a private audience with the king.

  “Thank you again, Your Majesty, for the trust you’ve placed in me,” Arthan said. “I will not rest until these assassins and their master are found.”

  Erech blinked several times, as if clearing a fog in his head. “Very good, young Valient. Your father would be as proud as I am. Since Garion is no more, return to Delavon to get your affairs in order, then hasten back to me. I want your regular counsel in the months ahead as the Rugens do more than thr
eaten our borderlands. They’ll undoubtedly be sending more assassins like Garion to Eglamour, and you must smoke them out.”

  “Counsel from me?”

  “I can see you have Maillard’s mind. Your thinking will be useful in this regard. And, on a separate matter, please consider wedding my middle daughter, Milisend.”

  Arthan, taken aback, glanced at Brugarn. The duke was also surprised. “My king, that is a most gracious and humbling offer, but…”

  “Don’t answer now,” Erech said. “Just think on it. The queen favors you, Milisend needs direction, and I would see the ties between our houses strengthened for the times ahead. We’ll talk more when you return.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  “The king is overdue for his rest hour, Lord Valient,” Brugarn said, stepping into the light.

  “I will return as soon as possible,” Arthan said with a bow to the king.

  “Please do,” Brugarn said as he turned to walk Arthan from the hall. He lowered his voice further. “For I cannot bear to think who will protect us while you’re gone.”

  “I know you’ll manage,” Arthan said.

  “You mustn’t keep your audiences with the king overly long,” Brugarn said as they exited the throne room. “You’ve seen how his mind can wander.”

  “Yes.” Arthan recalled Erech’s mumbling and empty gazes. “Still, sometimes his speech is clear and thoughtful, even decisive.”

  Brugarn waved his hand dismissively. “His mind grows weary from the toil of a crowned head. And just when I saw renewed brightness in his eyes…Perhaps offering the hand of Princess Milisend is merely one of his whimsical passing thoughts.”

  Brugarn halted and brought his ugly face close to Arthan’s. “One day his mind will die, whether or not his body endures. He’ll no longer be king, and I’ll no longer have use for a marshal of inquiry. Perhaps not even a lord minister of Delavon.”

  “Until that time, Duke, I shall serve the king and protect you from the menace in the shadows. Garion did not work alone.”

  Brugarn gave a cruel smile. “Safe journey.”

  ---

  As Arthan and Livonier approached the doors of Clonmel, they were greeted by Sir Debanor.

  “My lord, your brother Bardil told me to inform you that he is waiting inside with the Rugen ambassador. She insisted on meeting with you.”

  “Thank you, Debanor. Is anyone accompanying her?”

  “She came alone, my lord.”

  Arthan and Livonier made for the great room, where they found Bardil and the ambassador seated silently. Bardil was clearly uncomfortable, and Vesamune was confidently quiet. She stood when Arthan entered and introduced herself. Arthan sat down with them. He wished Serdot was present, but he knew the widsemer was busy trying Garion’s key in every palace door.

  “May we talk privately?” Vesamune asked, glancing at Livonier and Bardil.

  “Your kingdom is widely believed to be behind the assassinations,” Arthan said. “What you came here to say can be said in front of my brother and Livonier, my protector. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s prudent in these uncertain times.”

  “Not yet a diplomat of your father’s quality, are you?” she said. Her Donovar speech was impeccable, to the point that Arthan wondered if she were wholly Rugen. “Even so, please accept my apologies for the abrupt meeting, and thank you for granting it.”

  Arthan shifted in his chair, irritated that she had taken the higher ground. “Certainly. Why are you here?”

  “I came to tell you that we, the Rugen Empire, had no part in Garion’s plot, nor the death of your father and the others. We are not part of this conspiracy, nor did we have foreknowledge of it.”

  “And yet, as I said, many believe you are behind it, including me.”

  “We wouldn’t have shed a tear for Brugarn,” Vesamune said, allowing herself a small grin. “And I’m certain many of the king’s lords would be glad to see the duke gone as well. But we did not have anything to do with any of this.”

  “Your folk are continuously harassing our southern border, risking a wider war,” Arthan said. “You send your widsemer agents across our lands, such as the ones Lord Asteroth recently caught coming from Austveeden. And your emperors have funded the rebellion in the mountains of Durgensdil for generations. How are we to believe—”

  “My lord!”

  Arthan turned toward Serdot’s shout from the corridor. He soon burst through the door.

  “Serdot, this is the Rugen ambassador,” Arthan said hastily.

  Serdot bowed. “My apologies, my lord and ambassador. I’ve had a breakthrough on the investigation.”

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Arthan said. He slipped out into the corridor with Serdot. “What is it?”

  “Why is she here?”

  “She wanted to tell us the killings were not their doing. I think she is a convincing liar, but not convincing enough. My guess is she wanted to open communication with the new lord minister of Delavon.”

  “And the new Marshal of Inquiry,” Serdot said. “As always, I advise you to keep your enemies close. Have open dialogue with them if they’re offering it, but keep it secret so no one in the king’s court can use it against you. If the talking is exposed, you can claim it as part of your official duties as marshal.”

  “I shall. Now, what was so important?”

  “The key,” Serdot said as he pulled it from his pocket. “The master smithy of the palace told me Garion’s key was part of a new set made for the apartments used by visiting dignitaries. Currently, the lord ministers who do not have residences in the capital, like Clonmel, could be the next target. Alternatively, one of them could be linked to Garion.”

  “So the key is for lord ministers’ chambers…which ones are staying in the palace?”

  “Eperude of Lundwynland, Reimvick of Wallevet, and Sigbert of Barres. Ferin of Hanovel’s room is unoccupied, since he was unexpectedly absent. I wanted you to know before I start sneaking around the quarters of your fellow lord ministers.”

  “Begin with Ferin’s vacant chambers. Then Sigbert’s, as he is due to leave the capital today. Then the others.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And Serdot, much as I would like your counsel, you should remain here to work while I return to Delavon briefly.”

  “You could delegate your affairs to Bardil and send him back.”

  “I considered that, but I want to ensure Delavon is prepared for anything. And I plan to leave Bardil in charge of Rachard.”

  “And I presume there is a certain young woman you’ll want to see…”

  Arthan was a bit surprised that he knew. “Meriam is my personal business, Serdot.” He paused a moment. “I’m sorry. You are privy to all of my affairs, personal or otherwise. Meriam is always in the back of my mind. And she should stay there, given everything that demands my attention.”

  “I understand.”

  “Serdot, I’m a bit torn over all this coming and going. You previously told me to focus on Mordmerg, the near threat, rather than the court politics of Eglamour.”

  “Yes, but that was before we realized Mordmerg was merely a symptom of a broader sickness. Before the collapse of the Empire Alliance unleashed all this trouble.”

  “So I must focus on Eglamour, at the expense of my own lands?”

  “You’ll manage both with able help, as Maillard did. Go to Delavon and get things in order. I’ll strive to have answers upon your return.”

  “Thank you, my friend. Search carefully.”

  Arthan reentered the room to find Vesamune locked in an unpleasant stare with Livonier and Bardil. Despite Serdot’s advice to talk with her, Arthan did not sit down. He had a lot on his mind and wanted to be done with her.

  “My apologies, Ambassador. As I was saying, how are we to believe the Rugens have nothing to do with the present crisis?”

  “I can tell you as much,” she said. “We can list equ
ally provocative actions from Donovan, most recently your king’s Proclamation of Expediency.”

  “I’m sure you’ve had this conversation many times with the king’s envoys, but it’s not something I’m in a position to discuss. In fact, I have others matters to attend to.”

  Vesamune bolted up from her chair and rushed toward him, her eyes intense. Arthan noticed Livonier reach for his sword but Arthan raised a hand to stay him.

  “We may always be enemies,” Vesamune said, “but these killings were not our doing. You must believe me.” Her voice was laden with concern.

  “Why should I, Ambassador?”

  “Because you are Maillard’s son. The lords of Donovan respect the House of Valient, and no one else will consider my appeal.”

  “What does your emperor want?”

  “Emperor Theudamer wants a treaty to decisively settle Durgensdil—I beg your pardon—Alpenon Ministry. A treaty that recognizes Rugenhav’s historical and cultural claim to the region and allows our trade and travel without undue suspicion.”

  “You’ve already taken that much, and more,” Arthan said.

  “The wealth of those mountains could be shared while remaining part of your kingdom.”

  “I’m a lord minister of the east and, again, in no position to negotiate lands ruled by the king’s own brother.”

  “Of course. I came to give my condolences for your father and absolve us from all these killings, and I’ve done that. I will leave you with this final thought. If we wanted to destroy the high nobles of Donovan, as someone else is doing, why would we choose the distant Gottfried, diplomatic Maillard, and the small-landed Raymond? Wouldn’t Asteroth, Erath, and Brugarn be our primary targets?”

  “Brugarn was targeted.”

  “True, but the rest do not fit. We did not do this.”

  “Thank you for your visit, Ambassador.”