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Lords of Deception

Page 38

by Christopher C Fuchs


  “Meet you in the grove outside the gate,” Marlan said. He threw open the canvas. Blue-gray smoke was already seeping from the veins into the air around him. The guard did not have time to blink. Marlan’s sword opened his mail and half-plate armor, sending sparks in all directions as his sword flamed brightly.

  Rodel struggled to close the clasps of the second mechanism on his forearm. The fit was perfect but the fingers of his gauntlets were still crusted with a stubborn rust. The fighting outside intensified as he stood up in the wagon and attached the final cocking rods from his thighs to his torso, then up to his shoulders.

  Rodel’s arms stiffened as the whole mechanism engaged. He lifted his legs repeatedly, hearing the clicks as each miniature crossbow was loaded with bolts. When it would click no more he flexed his arms and neck, then reached up and tore down the canvas.

  Marlan was a whirl of flame dimmed by the blue-gray smoke. The soldiers that flooded toward them hesitated when they saw him. Rodel aimed his hands, then pulled the thumb loops. The thwack of the crossbow cords vibrated up into his helmet as the bolts shot into the soldiers. Rodel jumped down from the wagon and ran toward the gate, shooting every soldier who approached him. Rodel knew from the metal-searing sound of Marlan’s sword that he was close behind.

  The gatekeepers responded quickly. The last crack of light between the doors darkened. Rodel turned and loosed another round of bolts into the pursuing soldiers. The blue smoke trail behind Marlan was thickening, and the soldiers who passed through it coughed violently.

  Marlan plowed past Rodel toward the gate. Rodel watched but kept moving to reload his armbows. Marlan hacked at each set of hinges on the great doors, then the middle lock. The entry area was filled with flying sparks amid the smoke. The ground shook when one of the doors crashed down.

  A moment later Marlan tore into the portcullis outside. His sword became white-hot as molten iron piled up like slag on the ground. Rodel could feel the radiating heat, even inside his mechan. Few soldiers braved the smoke, fearing what they had seen. They offered no help to their screaming brethren in the gatehouse. Rodel watched as the flames of the door crept up into their floor. Water dripped down into the gateway as they struggled to put it out, adding steam to the smoky, sparking mix swirling around Marlan.

  At last Marlan vanished. Rodel followed, stepping through the hole in the portcullis. He ran into the clear air outside, following the blue smoke trail into the grove.

  “Magnificent!” Rodel shouted through his helmet. “I’ve never seen such a thing!” Then Rodel became worried.

  Marlan had thrown his sword down. It was lying in scorched grass, still white-hot, and Marlan was stripping off his gauntlets as quickly as he could. His bare hands were red with blisters. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “I brought a salve. We must get to the river port. They’ll be after us.”

  “Quench your veins,” Rodel said.

  “I already added water. It needs time to clear out.”

  As they caught their breath Rodel watched as the blue residue in the veins of the shroud armor drained and the smoke faded.

  “Your arrow armor still works well enough,” Marlan said.

  Rodel kicked a leg to reload an armbow. “I like this.”

  Marlan put salve on his hands, wrapped them in linen, then put his gauntlets back on. He gingerly sheathed his sword, which still glowed red. “Ready?”

  They darted from the grove. Soldiers were trickling out of the destroyed gate, but a few shots from Rodel sent them diving to the ground. The soldiers on the wall simply watched them go.

  Rodel had presumed the river port was close by, but they had to run across a lumpy field. He wanted to rip off the mask and the mechan and its stilted rods and squeaky, greasy wheels and pulleys. Rodel wondered whether Marlan’s suit was more flexible or if his agility was due to his mastery of aerina arcana. Rodel now understood why Arasemis had been hesitant to teach them machina so soon.

  By the time Rodel caught up, Marlan had already taken command of a small boat on the docks. He had forced off the crew and was prodding the captain toward the helm with his red sword. Rodel frightened away the gawking crew and passersby, then lifted the boat lines from the dock.

  Rodel hopped aboard and they were underway, two big sails billowing freely above them.

  85. FETZER

  Borel District of Eglamour, Toulon Ministry

  Midsummer, 3034

  “Could your scribbles betray us if they were found by the enemy?” Juhl asked.

  “Arasemis’s behavior on the road was riskier than anything I could write to myself.” Fetzer glared at her as he dipped the quill. “Besides, my writings shouldn’t concern a Lambic princess. Do they teach princesses to read in your country?”

  Juhl studied his face for a moment. “I think you are a risk to all of us. Arasemis always seems to know what he’s doing, but I don’t know why he hasn’t put you in your proper place.”

  “Pick up a sword when you’re ready,” Fetzer said, turning to his journal. “Then you’ll know,” he mumbled to himself as she walked away.

  We arrived at Eglamour with little further trouble. My dreams have been awash in Arthan’s blood since seeing him on the road. So close, so close…

  Our safe house in the Borel District is comfortable enough. Arasemis knew precisely where to go, saying close friends had set it up for us. I’m uncomfortable not knowing who these supporters are, but Arasemis is guarded about it. The house is fully stocked with food and supplies and a small laboratory. Juhl asked if our housekeepers are members of the Order. Arasemis simply said “they should be.”

  Marlan and Rodel should have been here by now. I hope Rodel hasn’t done something foolish, or turned on us. I’ve distrusted him from the start. Marlan is too accepting of Rodel, Juhl is infatuated with him, and Arasemis…well, I cannot make any excuse for him.

  Arasemis says if they are delayed another day we will proceed with our task without them. We’ve already spent too long pacing this house. Tonight we will prepare and scout our route to the palace.

  My only concern is Arasemis’s coughing. He became ill on the road. It may ruin our efforts to be silent…

  86. ARTHAN

  Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry

  Midsummer, 3034

  “None of you, nor the lord ministers cowering in their capitals, have done enough to support my brothers in the south,” Brugarn said to the court. “Does the war fall on the shoulders of the Avaleaus alone, or does Donovan still have high nobles who have courage, grit, and honor?”

  Arthan listened and watched Brugarn sitting confidently on the king’s throne. Then he turned to whisper to Serdot. “The Duke speaks well enough but doesn’t go to the borderlands to fight. Is this not what he wanted?”

  Serdot nodded. “And General Chaultion still stands at his right hand instead of leading in the south. The duke is content to let others do the dying. He has regularly harangued the nobles like this since you left for Rachard.”

  “Where are the lord ministers of Hanovel and Barres?” Brugarn shouted as he searched the court with his eyes. “Are they still pretending to have problems with Calbrians and Almerians? With islands they should never have ceded to the enemy in the first place?” Brugarn pointed to Arthan. “As for you, I would think the king’s Marshal of Inquiry would be here protecting the king, not spending so much time in Delavon.”

  “I traveled at the king’s urging,” Arthan said, “to prepare my lands for my extended work here in the capital. Yet I do not find the king on his throne upon my return.”

  “Selfishness is a base evil, especially in times of war when unity is critical for the kingdom,” Brugarn said, turning back to the court. “This man spends lavishly on rebuilding ancient warcastles so that he may defend his own realm at the expense of our kingdom.”

  Arthan felt anger rise within him.

  “Yet this so-called marshal cannot protect himself, despite his selfish effo
rts,” Brugarn continued. “Death lurks at his heels, as evidenced by the bodies of the House of Valient that are piling up. How can Lord Valient protect the king if he cannot protect himself? How can he serve the king’s needs if he withholds his gold for his own use while our people in the borderlands are slaughtered by the Rugens?”

  “This is your war,” Arthan said, ignoring Serdot’s hand on his arm. “You wanted it, you provoked the Rugens, and now you sit on a throne that is not yours.”

  “I am the Duke of Toulon and the king’s right hand! I serve him while he is ill. This man is the Lord Minister of Delavon, accuser of falsities. Spreading lies is easier than answering for the truth, it seems. Are you not fortifying Delavon at the expense of the king’s treasury?”

  “Rebuilding derelict defenses is no crime. Defending my lands is my right. As for the treasury, I have sent more coin than any—”

  “So you admit to working to save your own skin, despite the great distance between Delavon and the borderlands. War is far from you, yet always too close, Lord Valient? Securing your post as marshal guarantees your presence in Eglamour, not on the war front, just as you’ve planned it. Yet there is nothing to show for it. I shall inform Asteroth and Erath that they cannot depend on the nobles of this court, especially this one. Reinforcements and supplies will be delayed until Delavon strengthens—”

  “Their blood is on your hands!” Arthan shouted. “Where is the king? Let him come and see what you’ve made. Let him pass judgment on you, me, and anyone else.”

  “Sir Hamelin, bring your Crownblades closer,” Brugarn said. “Lord Valient has become vicious, jealous of his luxuries, and resentful of my wisdom. Now all can see that he only cares for himself.”

  Arthan took in a breath to shout again but finally relented to Serdot’s squeeze on his arm.

  “He’ll goad you into doing something foolish,” Serdot whispered. “He’s done it to everyone else.”

  Arthan looked around. The nobles and other courtiers were watching him as Brugarn continued his rant. Their eyes were glaring—not hateful, but disappointed. Arthan was embarrassed. He felt reckless, not bold. He looked at Hamelin, who stepped near to the throne and rested his hand on his sword hilt.

  “Why are the Crownblades here and not with the king?” Arthan asked Hamelin, unable to resist. Hamelin remained silent, but the look on his face told Arthan he had shamed the knight. Arthan turned to leave the court.

  “Witness but a taste of how the Valients retreat when they are called to serve,” Brugarn called after him. “Maillard failed the king, and so have his sons.”

  Arthan turned to look at Brugarn. He bit his tongue and departed.

  ---

  Back at Clonmel, Arthan and Serdot sat together. Arthan lifted his face from his hands. “I let him provoke me.”

  “You spoke the truth and defended yourself,” Serdot said. “The nobles know those truths but are ashamed of them. Everyone is ashamed that they have watched idly as Brugarn slowly took power. Your impassioned defense reminded them of that.”

  “This has happened so quickly…Should I have stood there and listened to the duke’s rubbish like everyone else?”

  “The court expected Maillard’s cool, calm demeanor. They expect viciousness from Brugarn, but they expect the firm mildness of your father.”

  “Father would not have allowed Brugarn to manipulate him, or the king, for that matter.”

  Serdot shook his head. “Your father did not face what you do. Erech was still a functioning king. There was no upheaval in the cities. No war. Only the shadow of it.”

  Arthan rubbed his face. “What hope is there if the Rugens plow through the borderlands and we have no true king to lead us?”

  “You have a channel to the Rugen emperor via Vesamune,” Serdot said. “Send a letter.”

  “I originally agreed to talk with them when it was still possible to avert or limit the war. But now both sides are committed and both want me dead.”

  “Brugarn may wish you into the grave, my lord, but I’m still uncertain the Rugens are behind the assassinations.”

  “Have you learned anything new?”

  “Unfortunately not. Lord Reimvick has not traveled to Borel District, nor is he preparing to return to Wallevet. He spends his time as he always does: in jovial banter and entertainment. It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

  “Perhaps the Rugens’ march into Eglamour.”

  “Use your channel with Vesamune,” Serdot said. “They are looking for puppets in Eglamour. If you can’t convince them to pull back their armies, then let them believe you can be a worthy partner, come what may. If the Rugens are behind the assassinations, perhaps it will buy you time. If they’re not involved, as Wredegar claimed, then perhaps you’ll be in a more advantageous position than the other nobles.”

  “A more advantageous position for what, Serdot?”

  “The crown, my lord.”

  “I will not owe my crown to the Rugens.”

  “Of course not, but they are invading our kingdom at its weakest. You saw the look on the nobles’ faces. We are without a king and have usurpers aplenty. Someone must lead, and they are looking to you as they looked to Maillard. Even Reimvick told you that.”

  “But what can I do while Brugarn and Chaultion control the armies of Donovan?”

  “Keep Delavon fortified. Use your powers as marshal to uncover the assassins, thereby increasing your standing in the court. And use your channel to the Rugens to manipulate them for your own benefit and the kingdom’s benefit, namely the crown.”

  “I have nothing to make the Rugens pull back their armies. And the south may already be lost if Brugarn is failing to support Asteroth and Erath as Rowan described.”

  Serdot nodded. “Brugarn may lose his war before it goes too far. He has been trying to scrape together enough gold and soldiers and supplies, but the effects of his Proclamation of Expedience have frustrated his efforts.”

  “I think you’re right, Serdot. Even with Chaultion making his strategic decisions, they can’t win the war they’ve started.”

  “If you don’t secretly work with the Rugens, and if they defeat Brugarn and his brothers, they will have no incentive to work with you. They’ll install a new puppet king. If you try to work with them, you could achieve the crown—especially if you prove your worth as marshal.”

  “There must be another way, Serdot. I grow less and less comfortable with the idea of talking with the Rugens as this war unfolds, regardless of my chances for the crown. And as long as Erech is alive, detached as he is, I become like Brugarn if I turn against him.”

  “The nobles are looking to you to do something. Maillard would have understood.”

  “There must be a third way…”

  Serdot leaned back in his chair. “I don’t see one, my lord. And time is running out to decide.”

  87. BRUGARN

  Eddal Estate in Eglamour, Toulon Ministry

  Midsummer, 3034

  “More importantly, I demand your unflinching loyalty,” Brugarn said.

  “But Erech is my father-in-law,” Henrey said. “I did not make the journey all the way from Elmbrel Ministry to be strong-armed into such an arrangement.”

  “Silence! If you think you’ll rule Donovan instead of me because you wed Princess Avalane, I’ll send you to the Alpenon front to die. A glorious death for the lord minister of Elmbrel, of course. Support me or leave southward tomorrow. I’ll tell Avalane you volunteered to help Asteroth.”

  Henrey looked away, shaking his head. “Erech is not fit to be king, I agree with you. But this should be done the proper way. I guarantee you that most lord ministers—myself included—would support dethroning him if we follow the old customs. And the Patriarch of Donovan will need to be involved. The Church has long had a right to—”

  “Then I shall inform General Chaultion that you’ll be leading the next convoy down to Alpenon. Asteroth will be glad to
have you.”

  “I don’t want to be part of your war, Brugarn.”

  “You’ll address me as Duke or Lord Minister, you coward. Or, live long enough, and I’ll let you bow to me as king. You can be part of my war and die in glory, or you can serve me here with greater glory. This is your last chance, Henrey. I’ll not offer you my hand again.”

  Brugarn watched the young man carefully. He knew what was going through his mind. Thoughts of his young wife, Avalane, and their little son. His lands in Elmbrel. Brugarn smiled to himself as Henrey fidgeted.

  Brugarn stood abruptly from the courtyard bench. “Well, that’s settled, then. Enjoy this last view of your peaceful gardens. I will let Avalane continue to live here awhile after you’re dead before confiscating this estate for the treasury. Or perhaps I’ll keep it for myself. I like that it’s close to the palace yet feels removed. A beautiful respite.”

  Henrey did not respond, so Brugarn strutted toward the portico. He touched one of the columns as Henrey spoke behind him.

  “You have my loyalty, Lord Brugarn.”

  “Good,” he said, turning with a smile. “On my way out I will tell one of your servants to bring…” Brugarn looked past where Henrey was seated in the garden. A figure was running across the far gardens, and it appeared to have long blades in place of hands. He tried to call out, but his voice failed him.

  Gray smoke, similar to what he had seen Garion throw, suddenly burst all around Henrey and billowed toward the portico. Another figure dropped down into the courtyard from the roof. Brugarn snapped back around, pressing his body against the back side of the column. He gritted his teeth as Henrey screamed out. He closed his eyes as the smell of sooty smoke enveloped him.

  A few guards ran out into the gardens. A whirl of blades and more screams followed. Brugarn peeked an eye, but it was dark smoke all around. He pressed his back into the column, holding his breath for dear life.

 

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