Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  Pelinaud raised his bushy silver eyebrows. “I’ve not seen this sword since—well, it has been a long time…”

  “Father showed it to you?”

  “Yes. Before you were born. I’ve not seen Adrithayn since, nor have I seen anything like it again.”

  “What can you tell me about it?”

  Pelinaud took the sword in his grip and wielded it. “Light, well made, and designed to fit well into your Crusader swordcraft.”

  Arthan waited for more, but Pelinaud simply returned the sword to him. “What about…powers?”

  Pelinaud sighed. “Your father asked me the same question. As I told him, a sword’s power is in your own arms and shoulders and back. There is nothing mystical or unusual about it, despite its peculiar decoration and design.”

  “Have you heard of chemina arcana?” Arthan asked.

  “Of course. Folklore is rife with such things.”

  “What if it’s not just a story?”

  Pelinaud silently shook his head.

  “I carry Adrithayn now, and I used it at Hullen,” Arthan said. “When the assassins threw their powder clouds, this sword absorbed it. Then, when I crossed swords with my opponents again, the cloud seeped out and sickened them.”

  “Impossible,” Pelinaud said, still shaking his head.

  “I choked a bit on the cloud myself. Father knew there was something special about this sword. He didn’t understand chemina arcana, but he said—”

  “Adrithayn is a beautiful, ancient sword with reflective properties given to it by exotic metals. But it is not a magical sword.”

  “I didn’t claim it was the magic of folklore,” Arthan said, “nor did Father. It was designed to do whatever it does naturally. Let me show you.”

  Arthan looked around and spotted a brazier. He piled on a few more small logs and ripped a cloth from a nearby table and put it atop the logs. When the cloth began to smolder, Arthan slowly sliced Adrithayn through the smoke. The blade blackened as the smoke vanished. Arthan drew the sword away and looked at Pelinaud, who blinked repeatedly.

  “Pick up a sword,” Arthan said, and the master did. When they crossed swords the smoke swirled about Pelinaud’s face. “Do you believe me now?”

  The old master coughed before clearing his throat. “I, well, there must be some—”

  “Explanation, yes, that is what I seek. Chemina arcana, whatever that means, must be the explanation.”

  Pelinaud rubbed his whiskered chin. “There is an old folktale about the Smithy of Forlorn, or maybe the Forlorn Smithy—something like that. Long ago he crafted a sword and suit of armor that could absorb the color of nearby objects and thus could hide among common things. Magical nonsense, of course, but Adrithayn reminds me of it.

  “Now, when I was a boy,” Pelinaud continued, “there was another man who claimed to have found this smithy’s gauntlets. People didn’t believe him until, they say, he was seen one day without his hands. Then the next day, he had them again. I never saw this myself, mind you, and that crazy man is long since dead. But there was a historian who came all the way from Eglamour not too long ago just to hear the tale and search the man’s derelict house and overgrown patch of land. The historian is probably still in Eglamour and might be able to tell you about this.”

  “What is his name?”

  Pelinaud rubbed his whiskers again and squinted. “Danleri, that was it. Former rector of the Bredahade Academy in Wallevet. His name sounds Ovelian, but I recall his mother was a Donovard. Never mind that. If Danleri is still in Eglamour, you should speak with him.”

  “Thank you, Pelinaud. I will search for him. As for Adrithayn, and our discussion, I trust you’ll keep it to yourself.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  “One more thing, Pelinaud. My brothers and I are grown, and who can say when children will run the halls of Rachard Castle again? We are no longer in need of a trainer of swordcraft, but I do require worthy castellans to govern the new warcastles. I want you to lead at Hullen, under the command of Countess Iserenne of Sobel. If the worst comes, you will be Delavon’s protector in the west. Will you accept?”

  “It would be my honor.”

  “Go there as soon as Meriam says it can be garrisoned.”

  “I shall, my lord. God’s speed and protection over you.”

  “And you.”

  75. FETZER

  Thorendor Castle, Wallevet Ministry

  Bloomfade, 3034

  Fetzer was bored and frustrated. Arasemis and the students were wandering the ancient root tunnels, finding stores of stone-bladed weapons but little else—until finally they came to a great oaken door. Its front was eaten and bored through by worms and termites, the whole of it layered with spiderwebs.

  “No lock,” Marlan said.

  Fetzer pushed the others out of the way. He was determined to find whatever was hidden under Thorendor sooner than later. He was done listening to Arasemis’s analysis of the soil and petrified roots of a dead forest, and his endless stories about the early generations of Candlestone.

  He went up to the door and pushed, then he gripped the worm-eaten holes and pulled. It would not budge. “Are you all just going to stand there?” he asked.

  “Everyone on the door,” Arasemis said.

  They pulled with their combined weight until it edged open. Its long iron hinges sheared off layers of rust and grime with a metallic shriek. When the thick door was opened enough, they could see its inner surface was plated with electrum. Their torches made it shimmer, but it was the glint of what lay inside that made them squint.

  The room was colossal, with many tiers that led down into farther depths. Electrum ingots, bars, plates, and bagged coins were stacked on stone tables and tall overloaded shelving built into the walls. The floor was inlaid with electrum panels of intricate design.

  Fetzer gawked at the sight, certain no one had seen so much precious metal in one place since it was first set down. “Treasury,” he muttered.

  “Not to the ancients who built this place,” Arasemis said. “Electrum was sacred to them. A gift from their god to be reforged into a sword that would defeat the great demon at the End of Days.”

  “That didn’t stop the colonists from minting electrum coins from captured electrum,” Marlan said.

  “Hilsingor and his Frontier Corps stole quite a bit, it’s true,” Arasemis said. “The royal court in Eglamour still has many of the original electrum statues. But the variable content of gold, silver, and copper in the electrum frustrated merchants. That’s why it fell out of use as coinage.”

  Fetzer was sick of the history lessons. “We can buy a kingdom with this wealth. How can we get it out of here?”

  “We’re not going to buy a kingdom,” Arasemis said. “But we are going to remake Donovan. We’ll not touch any of this, however. It was sacred to the Gallerlanders and was surely cursed against hands that would tear it from this vault.”

  Fetzer turned toward the master. “I don’t believe in curses. We could pay several armies with this. Armies that would march on every king in western Pemonia.”

  “That is not the way of our Order,” Arasemis said. “Now is not the proper time for us to have a large army. People will naturally flock to our side when their tyrants are gone. If we try to force an army together now, we’ll be no better than the kings we intend to overthrow.”

  “That is why we work selectively and in secret,” Marlan said, “so that the people will rise up and welcome a new era of elected chieftains, like the days of old.”

  “We respect and use the old ways of the Gallerlanders and the other original peoples of Pemonia,” Arasemis continued. “And we’ll respect their electrum.”

  Fetzer turned to Marlan. “Tell me you want to use this wealth to our immediate advantage?”

  “The master has spoken, Fetzer,” Marlan said.

  Fetzer walked to a pillar where the Candlestone symbol was carved into an electr
um plaque and pointed to it. “It does not say Gallerlandia, it says Candlestone. We represent a new era, not an ancient heathen horde. This wealth was destined to be used for our cause, today.”

  Arasemis and the other students watched him, unmoving.

  “What do you need that I have not provided?” Arasemis asked. “Thorendor feeds and supplies you, and my personal wealth will sustain all our efforts. There can be nothing you need or want that we cannot purchase with my own gold when the time is right. Thus, it is no sacrifice to let the electrum sleep here.”

  Fetzer opened his mouth to protest further, but he knew they would not listen. Arasemis’s antiquated thinking had power over everyone but him. He knew it was ludicrous to let this wealth sit idle when it could hire more mercenaries than Candlestone would ever need—but he knew he could not convince the others.

  “I want to kill kings myself, but this could buy mercenary armies that could overthrow kingdoms faster,” Fetzer said again. “I am tired of waiting.”

  “Candlestone has waited a long time,” Marlan said. “We are on the edge of changing the world, be sure of that. But we mustn’t rush the natural pace of events.”

  “It’s time for us to explore a different tunnel,” Arasemis said, exasperated. “We know this is here, but we still need to find the armory and decision hall that Erwold wrote about. Come along now.”

  ---

  It was not long before one of the unexplored tunnels led them to another great door. It was equally old but less heavy, due to an inner surface of iron rather than electrum.

  “Surely this cannot be the armory,” Fetzer said.

  They looked around the wide octagonal chamber. Each wall had a small platform that held a full suit of armor and multiple weapons. The visors of each helmet were like Naren-Dra masks, and the breastplates were etched with the Candlestone symbol.

  “Eight suits of armor doesn’t make an armory,” Fetzer said.

  He looked at Arasemis, who was in a daze. The students fanned out for a closer view of the equipment.

  “Look, Fetzer,” Marlan said. “There are no common suits. They’re all unique.”

  Fetzer strolled up to one that shimmered like electrum but was darker and coarse. “Looks ancient and obsolete,” he said.

  Then something caught his eye. The armor had tiny channels cut into the metal. They ran along every surface, from the helmet to the gauntlets and greaves. A peculiar smell tickled his nose as he leaned in closer. Rodel suddenly pulled Fetzer’s torch backward.

  “What are you doing?” Fetzer asked.

  “Smells like lamp oil,” Rodel said. “It could be spilled everywhere.”

  “Oh my,” Arasemis said, rushing over. “Erwold wrote of this…” He fumbled with a sheaf of parchments from his robe. “These are flame veins.”

  “Flaming armor?” Fetzer asked. “Well, let’s see it!”

  “No!” Arasemis’s voice echoed off the walls.

  Rodel snatched Fetzer’s torch from him.

  “They could be in need of repair first,” Marlan said. “We mustn’t damage any of them.”

  “Hands off, like the electrum treasury,” Fetzer said. “What good are any of these secret things if we can’t use any of them?”

  “Silence!” Arasemis said, skimming his notes. “I know my grandfather masked his descriptions to protect these secret chambers, but give me a quiet moment to sort it out…”

  Fetzer fixed his eyes on the veined armor. If Marlan got a flaming sword, he was determined to have the flaming armor.

  “My God,” Arasemis mumbled. “Mechans.”

  “What?” Marlan asked.

  “Mechanical suits,” Arasemis said. “They actually built them.”

  “It’s just fancy-looking armor,” Juhl said, tapping on the breastplate of another suit.

  “Yes, well, our closest translation for the Gallerlander term is simply ‘mechanized suit,’ abbreviated as mechan. But it doesn’t mean automaton, like those trifle birds and such that tinkerers make. A better translation might be moving armor.”

  “I’m confused,” Juhl said.

  “As am I,” Rodel said. “All quality armor should move when you’re in it, some more than others…”

  Arasemis shook his head. “My apologies, but we’ve not yet delved into machina arcana. Suffice it to say that these eight armors have special properties that aid the wearer. For example, if these are flame veins in this one, there must be a reservoir that holds the lamp fuel that is made to course through the veins with a pump, probably linked to the legs or arms. Think of it as wearable alchemy controlled by the body’s natural movements.”

  “What about this one?” Juhl asked.

  They walked to the armor she was examining, and Arasemis smiled. “You see these small levers, and these holes? It’s like a miniature crossbow fitted inside both arms. These rods on the thighs and torso must cock the device by harnessing the movements of walking or running.”

  “Machine armor,” Marlan said. “How strange.”

  “They combined the arcanae,” Rodel said.

  “Precisely,” Arasemis said. “But be warned. One who dons such armor must have mastered aerina to move in such complex and undoubtedly heavy armor. And without an expert grasp on chemina, this armor is dangerous to the wearer. And, of course, the mechanical design of the—”

  Fetzer could not stifle a snicker when they noticed him. His hands were held up, showing the veined gauntlets he had put on his hands, and he had touched the torch held by Rodel. Fetzer smiled as a thin streak of red raced down his metal finger, spreading like a web of triangles across the back of his hand and to a series of larger veins on the forearm flanges.

  Fetzer twirled his hand about, marveling at the flames that spurted here and there. He touched his fingers together, sharing the fire with his other hand. “Remarkable that I cannot feel any heat within…”

  “I told you not to,” Arasemis said in a grave voice.

  But Fetzer could see the jealousy in the other students’ eyes. “Be glad that I’ve tested its safety,” he replied.

  “Gauntlets must be easy enough,” Marlan said. “You wouldn’t get out of the plate and mail fast enough if something went wrong.”

  “Just look at it, Marlan,” Fetzer said. He was unable to take his eyes off the gentle lines of flame. “Imagine what this could do…”

  A moment later the veins blinked from fingertips to the flanges. The flames disappeared, leaving a faint smoke rising from the veins. Fetzer looked at Arasemis, bewildered.

  “If you’d been listening, you would have heard me say they must be dependent on a reservoir and pumps. Take them off, now.”

  Fetzer took off the gauntlets and returned them to the suit. Curious, he touched the outer metal. It singed his bare finger, and he smiled.

  “Now, as I was saying,” Arasemis began anew, “according to these writings, the mechan that Juhl has asked about is called—my translation here—arrow armor. Like the other seven mechans, this one was designed by several of the founding Candlestone members and crafted by the Maluram smithy named Niberi. A Gallerlander princess wore this one.”

  “Niberi is the one who made Rildning’s elinderum armor,” Marlan said.

  “Elinderum?” Rodel asked.

  “An alloy of electrum and cinder,” Marlan said.

  “Unfortunately his armor is lost to us,” Arasemis said. “But in this chamber we have armors that have been creatively crafted, repaired, and improved by generations of Candlestone.”

  “What’s this one?” Rodel asked, pointing to a mechan without traditional gauntlets or gloves of any kind.

  “Wheel armor,” Arasemis said. “Look at the equipment. Rahlampian windrazor swords are built into flexible gauntlet-like devices, like a sword arm. And steel wheels extend from the heels and flip down from the toes, so the wearer could be a quick-moving whirlwind of blades. It was first worn by the Rahlampian chieftain named Mrigamad.�
��

  Arasemis lifted the parchment to his eyes. “Let me go through each suit. This one, fury armor, was made for the Bronhildi warrior Kemet, who lost his sight in battle. The visor is solid and the suit stoutly built. A mechanism fed furywine into his mouth to keep his other senses extraordinarily alert, similar to what Fetzer experienced in training.

  “This one is called shroud armor, first worn by a Gallerlander chieftain named Owerdir. It also has exterior veins through which many alchemical liquids can flow, either to be used as a weapon or to change the appearance of the armor. It seems the wearer could even hide in plain sight.”

  “Like the fabled Hidden Eyes clan of the Naren-Dra,” Juhl said.

  “That’s right, very good, Juhl. Over there is ship armor, worn by a Nyden captain named Bothrobim. The suit is watertight and buoyant, allowing the wearer to swim atop the water or use ballast to swim below the waves for a time. On that wall is bear armor, used by an ancient colonial who was a friend of Rildning’s. The fur has probably been replaced several times, but the movable clawed gauntlets are said to draw strength from the leg rods when the wearer charges an opponent.

  “Over here is forge armor, worn by Niberi herself. The cindersteel protects the wearer from all heat, whether acidic or by flame, and the spring-loaded mechanism on the back propels a hammer over the helmet to strike the head of the enemy, like a heavy third gauntlet.

  “And finally, the mechan demonstrated by Fetzer is lamp armor, made to honor Rildning though never worn by him. Erwold noted that elinderum, an alloy of electrum and cinder, protects the wearer from the fire. He wrote that all eight mechans have been modified over hundreds of years, with new alloys mostly, and some he was unable to identify. Fascinating…”

  “When can we wear the full suits?” Fetzer asked. “Let’s see what they can do.”

  “Master, I support using them as well,” Marlan said. “It’s a pity that we’ve lost three of our members before finding this vault. We’d have used all but one of the mechans. But we’ll make good use of what we can.”

  “From the looks of these, we’ll be well protected,” Rodel added.