Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  “They seem to be an ancient order of assassins,” Arthan said. “We believe there are at least five of them.”

  “And a sixth, clad in all black,” Hamelin said.

  Brugarn glared at him. “Keep your silence. Do not interrupt the marshal again.”

  Arthan knew Hamelin was referring to Milisend, but only he and Serdot knew it had been her. After watching her jump from the tower, Arthan and Serdot had agreed to keep her activities and her suicide a secret, to honor her memory, since everyone believed she had perished with her sisters.

  “Perhaps Sir Hamelin is correct,” Arthan said. “They moved so quickly and often in the shadows.”

  “And their unique armor and weapons,” Brugarn said. “What evil magic has visited us from the Depths of Memelos?”

  “We don’t believe them to have wielded magic, my lord. It was alchemy and other shunned arts.”

  “Alchemy…” Brugarn spat the word out like rotten food. “Alchemy was supposed to have been the obsolete puttering of old men who spend more time dabbling in evil and not enough time at the cathedral.”

  “We don’t know how they turned this ancient art into a weapon against the monarchy,” Arthan said.

  “Where did they come from, Heingartmer?” Brugarn asked. “Or one of the southern wards of foul Rugenhav?”

  Arthan braced himself for the answer he knew he had to give. “We don’t think the Rugens were behind this, my lord. We think—”

  “Rubbish! Complete rub—” Brugarn shouted himself into another coughing fit. “I’m…I’m quite sure Ambassador Vesamune would agree with you. Unfortunately for her, she is sweating out there on the headman’s chopping block, alongside Reimvick.”

  Arthan had seen her when he had escorted Reimvick to the palace square from Clonmel, and had been surprised that Brugarn had ordered her arrest.

  “Reimvick admitted that the Rugens were not involved,” Arthan said. “We believe Reimvick’s younger brother, Arasemis, is behind all of this. He resides at the family’s ancestral estate at Thorendor Castle, outside Bredahade.”

  “Then the Reimvicks must be in league with the Rugens!” Brugarn shouted. “What other cause would lord ministers have to turn against the Avaleaus?”

  Arthan shook his head. “Their reasons are still hidden from us.”

  “I’ll tell you what it is: the overthrow of my house and kingdom,” Brugarn said. “As the only royal still alive in Eglamour, I hereby appoint Arthan to be Lord Protector of the Realm. He shall have his duties as marshal, Tronchet’s duties as chief magistrate, and Hamelin’s duties as commander of the Crownblades—what is left of them.” Brugarn bent to cough again.

  “My lord,” Waldemar began, but Brugarn threw his handkerchief at him.

  “For permitting the death of the king and his line,” Brugarn said, glaring at Hamelin, “you are hereby banished from Toulon Ministry. Leave your sword and be gone by sunrise tomorrow.”

  Hamelin clenched his jaw but forced himself to bow.

  “My lord, Sir Hamelin fought bravely at my side,” Arthan said. “Let me keep him under my command.”

  “I have spoken. And as for you, Tronchet, you are hereby stripped of your authorities as a lawkeeper. Henceforth you shall be called law-failing and a villain. Live in what hole you like, but do not show your face to me again lest you want a noose around it.”

  Tronchet did his best to bow. Arthan opened his mouth in the magistrate’s defense but closed it again, knowing there was nothing he could say to convince Brugarn. He watched as soldiers escorted Hamelin and Tronchet out of the chamber, their heads hung in disgrace.

  As Brugarn coughed, Arthan wondered what his role as lord protector would entail. It was clear to him that Brugarn was intent on gaining his protection and probably his wealth. He knew what Serdot would say, that Brugarn would bring Arthan close to him but that the duke would betray Arthan after he won the crown.

  “As for the Wallevet Ministry,” Brugarn continued, “Arthan, you will also rule it until a new lord minister is chosen. My decision is natural, given Wallevet’s proximity to Delavon.” Arthan bowed again, hardly believing his ears. “Your first task as Protector is to use your army against Thorendor. Then I want that hermit’s castle leveled and everyone in it put to the sword. I want every stone of its foundation pulled up from the ground. When Thorendor no longer exists, prepare Wallevet for war with the Rugens.”

  Arthan supposed it was only the beginning of Brugarn’s special requests, or perhaps the end. Brugarn doubled over, coughing up blood. The red seeping through his bandages had grown larger. Chaultion tried to whisper something in the duke’s ear but was waved away.

  “It is time…to witness…” Brugarn said when he had recovered. “The due payment for those…who plot against us…”

  A group of soldiers helped Brugarn from the throne and slowly ushered him toward the royal balcony. Arthan and the others followed. Brugarn took his seat overlooking the large square. He held up a shaky hand to greet the crowd that had gathered, as if he were already king. The reaction from the people was muted but curious.

  Arthan looked out and saw a platform where the executioner and his attendants had prepared the spectacle. Reimvick and Vesamune were standing there, shackled. The executioner looked to Brugarn’s balcony and was given the nod to proceed. He wasted no time in fetching Reimvick first.

  A lower magistrate read from a parchment as Reimvick was made to kneel in front of the block. “And so, for serving as an agent of the enemy during war, and for your role in the conspiracy to kill King Erech and destroy his house, for the killing of five lord ministers, for the killing of His Majesty’s soldiers and personal guards, and the killing of many commoners besides, for all of which he has confessed, Lord Edmond Reimvick of Wallevet is hereby sentenced to death by beheading. Does the guilty wish to speak his last words before the people and God as witnesses?”

  Reimvick cleared his throat. “My only regret is that the House of Avaleau still looks down from the palace, ever hungry to spill more blood. Not only mine, but yours, in time. Revolt! Change is afoot! Take up arms and the guidance of the ancients! Candlestone lives! Candlestone li—”

  The headsman jerked his chains, pulling Reimvick’s neck to the block. Reimvick tried to keep speaking but they handled him roughly. Arthan held his breath, touched by memories of all the times he had seen Maillard confer or laugh with Reimvick. But he shuddered at the cold-blooded duplicity, and how close the assassins had come to killing him. They had robbed him of his father and brother, and Reimvick was steadfastly unrepentant. He knew Maillard would approve of this end for Reimvick after his bitter betrayal, but it was still difficult to stomach.

  The executioner swung the sword. The death tremors shook Reimvick’s body as his head fell into a basket. The attendants were already pulling Vesamune to the second block. Brugarn chuckled softly.

  “And so,” began the magistrate, “for conspiring against our king and kingdom, and for the murders and destruction described, Vesamune Theudamer is sentenced to death by beheading. Does the guilty wish to—”

  “Silence!” Vesamune shouted, her head held high. She looked at the crowd. “On the honor of my emperor, I swear this: we had no role in your pathetic politics. Alas, you have no king, nor men worthy to inherit the crown of the Donovards. My emperor will take your kingdom and avenge my wrongful death. Mark these words well: Donovan will never stand again!”

  Arthan watched as she willingly laid her neck on the block. He knew she represented a dangerous enemy, but Serdot had been right about the Rugens and Candlestone. It was an injustice, one utterly unknown to the crowd and ignored by Brugarn. Arthan’s thoughts were broken by Brugarn jolting up from his chair to lean over the balcony. The executioner paused at the sound of his strangled voice.

  “Damn you and all Rugen filth!” the duke shouted, unable to avoid answering her speech. “The Rugens will never—” The duke coughed violently, his body struck
with tremors. He tried again but only gurgles came out of him. Blood rolled freely from his bandages and his mouth. Arthan watched as the soldiers edged his chair toward him, but his legs fell from under him, and the soldiers laid him on the floor of the balcony. His physician came to him, and Waldemar cradled his head. Chaultion held his hand.

  “Kill…” Brugarn muttered, “kill her, the Rugens…Kill them all…”

  “We shall, my lord,” Chaultion said.

  Arthan crouched before Brugarn. The duke gasped for breath as his eyes fixed on Arthan. He reached out and tried to speak. Arthan could not bring himself to catch his hand. The duke’s eyes drilled into Arthan before rolling back into his head.

  Arthan stood, looking down at Brugarn’s body. Chaultion quickly stood as well.

  “Under these circumstances,” the general said, “without a king in a time of war, tradition holds that—”

  “That you stand aside and take the guidance of the lord ministers,” Arthan said. Chaultion fumed, but Arthan turned toward the crowd that watched silently below. “As Lord Protector, I will preside in the palace and be the custodian of Rhunegeld until a regent is chosen or until Asteroth or Erath come to claim the crown.”

  Chaultion took a step toward Arthan “You cannot ma—”

  Waldemar blocked him and hissed. “Let him speak!”

  “As Lord Protector, I order the postponement of Ambassador Vesamune’s execution,” he continued. “She is the niece of the Rugen Emperor, and therefore a hostage in wartime and under my direct authority. Return her to the prison at once!”

  The soldiers hesitated but obeyed. The crowd began to protest his intervention, and he heard shouts about assassins.

  “We have nothing to gain by her death,” he continued. “Our investigations show a mysterious group of assassins is behind the king’s death. But make no mistake, it is the Rugens who threaten to overrun our kingdom. We will deal with the assassins, but we must not confuse them with vast armies marching to Eglamour. Take heart and prepare for the return of Lords Asteroth and Erath.”

  Arthan turned to Waldemar. “Lord Steward, please recall Sir Hamelin and Sir Tronchet and inform them that they are pardoned. I hereby annul Hamelin’s banishment and restore his position, until the future king decides his fate. As for Tronchet, he shall remain my deputy and Chief Magistrate of Eglamour. Tell him to make sure Vesamune is well protected in a different, more comfortable cell befitting of her rank.”

  “You cannot make yourself king,” Chaultion said. “Who are you but a young, untested whelp from a broken house?”

  Arthan stepped close to Chaultion, close enough to see his white mustache twitch with discomfort, and lowered his voice. “If you are so certain of your statements, then I shall accept the forfeiture of your generalship, if you wish. I’m quite certain we can find another general willing to lead us out of a war you too easily welcomed.”

  Chaultion gave him a dark look but calmed himself. “I look forward to hearing from Lord Asteroth and Lord Erath.”

  “As do I,” Arthan said.

  The confrontation was interrupted by the hurried arrival of Sir Debanor, the knight captain of the Marshal of Inquiry’s knights. “Lord Valient, my apologies, but I have an urgent message.” Debanor glanced at Serdot as well. “The historian is waiting at Clonmel.”

  “Danleri,” Arthan whispered to himself. The man he hoped held the keys to his many questions. “Thank you, Debanor. Tell him I am on my way. And tell Livonier to send a messenger to General Medoff. Have him prepare an army to march on Thorendor. I will meet him in Bredahade as soon as I’m able.”

  Arthan noticed that Chaultion had stomped away as he was speaking with Debanor. Waldemar came up to Arthan.

  “I see Maillard in you now,” the steward said. “Do not rush off to Wallevet too soon, and do not spend too much time at Clonmel. You will be needed here in the palace constantly until Asteroth or Erath arrive. Given that they are fighting to hold the Rugens back, that time may be long in coming.”

  “I must attend to some business at Clonmel. I leave the palace in your hands until I return.”

  “Know that I will consult with the Patriarch at once,” Waldemar continued. “He will want to see you.”

  “Me? The Patriarch?”

  “In the absence of Erech’s brothers, there is no greater voice in the choice of a regent than the Patriarch of the Messengian Church. It is my hope that the Patriarch will choose you as regent.”

  “It is my hope that Asteroth or Erath arrive in Eglamour to claim the crown first,” Arthan said, unsure why. He dreaded one of the violent twins taking the throne, but it was the proper thing to say.

  Waldemar smiled. “True enough, no one hopes for such a heavy burden in these times. But you are Maillard’s son.”

  119. MARLAN

  Borel District of Eglamour, Toulon Ministry

  Midsummer, 3034

  “There must be a good explanation,” Marlan said, pressing a bandage into his wounded brow.

  “There is,” Fetzer said, “but you won’t accept it. Arasemis abandoned us.”

  “He was ill, Fetzer. All that coughing. He must have journeyed back to Thorendor early.”

  “Or perhaps he was captured,” Rodel said as he changed Juhl’s bandages.

  Fetzer shook his head. “There is no sign of a struggle here, and few knew about this safe house, yet the forge armor is gone. Probably because Arasemis took it with him. Everything else is as we left it. If he was so ill, he wouldn’t have traveled on the road. He faked illness, abandoned us, then left us for dead.”

  “But the food and supplies are still here,” Marlan said. “Clearly Arasemis expected us to return.”

  “Then why didn’t he leave a message with the blind well watcher?”

  “If we could find Nidlade we could ask him,” Marlan said.

  Fetzer paced around a bit more. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Arasemis is not coming back. We risk being discovered if we stay here.”

  “We’re not traveling until Juhl is able,” Rodel said.

  “She let that black-leathered woman get her. And she shouldn’t have let her wound fester. We should go.”

  Rodel stood, squaring himself with Fetzer. “She put the task before herself, as you’ve so often said we should…as if you were our master.”

  “I’ve mastered more than you ever will, except for being a shifty Rugen. Tell me, Rodel, why did you not come out to the tower balcony? Were you afraid of heights, or just the Donovards?”

  “I slowed them down enough for you to escape. Then I went back for Juhl.”

  “You let that woman get past you,” Fetzer said. “You saw her, Marlan. How could she have so easily gotten past Rodel and his mechan? She’s probably hunting us now.”

  “Are you afraid of her, Fetzer?” Rodel asked.

  “Fetzer, you know that Rodel’s bow arms jammed,” Marlan said.

  “Convenient timing,” Fetzer said. “Is she a Rugen, Rodel? An old Wosmok friend you let in on our little task?”

  “That’s enough,” Marlan said, wincing and holding his head.

  “The Rugens would want the king dead, too, of course,” Fetzer continued. “Invade from the south. Have us do their killing in the capital for them. Pave the way for their conquest of the kingdom…”

  “The Rugens have nothing to do with Candlestone’s work,” Marlan said. “You know that.”

  “The Donovards don’t agree. You heard the people talking on the street about Vesamune and her agent, Lord Reimvick.”

  “Reimvick was Arasemis’s brother, our supporter in the palace,” Marlan said. “Don’t you see? Arasemis let me read some of their letters. Reimvick set up this safe house and arranged our entry into the palace. He supported Garion. He was no Rugen agent. He was one of us.”

  Fetzer was silent for a moment. “But if Arasemis kept Reimvick from us, what else is he hiding?”

  “You’re impossibl
e,” Rodel said, returning to Juhl’s bandages.

  “Why are you so angry with Arasemis?” Marlan asked. “Why are you always challenging his reasons? If it weren’t for him, the Order of the Candlestone would have died out.”

  “What’s it good for anyway, besides mechans and poison eggs?” Fetzer asked. “We don’t need his rules and dusty books. We can overthrow kings ourselves. Why do we have to listen to Arasemis?”

  “We work together, Fetzer,” Marlan said as Rodel helped him wrap the bandage around his head. “Without unity of action and unity of purpose, we’d be no different than bandits, mercenaries, or political assassins. We are bound by an ancient oath to change the world, one dead king at a time. You used to believe in that.”

  “Did I?”

  “We were not abandoned, Fetzer. They may have abandoned you at Perilune, but Candlestone will not. We swore oaths to each other.”

  “Make this Rugen prove it,” Fetzer said. “Let’s make Emperor Theudamer our next target.”

  “Arasemis will decide our next task,” Marlan said. “We’ll leave here, not because he abandoned us but because it’s no longer safe. We’ll seek the master’s guidance at Thorendor, but I doubt he’ll send us to Heingartmer this soon. The Donovards will be choosing a new king because Asteroth and Erath still live. Arasemis will have a plan.”

  “You go listen to his plans,” Fetzer said. “Take the Rugen and the wounded with you. I’ll stay here and make certain the next crowned heads don’t last.”

  “Arasemis has not given you that task,” Rodel said.

  “I’ll not waste more time with books and lectures,” Fetzer said. “I’ll stay and repair my mechan, then do as I wish. Someone needs to finish off the Avaleaus.”

  “The lamp armor is not your mechan, Fetzer,” Marlan said.

  “No? Who will take it from me? Arasemis? You?”

  Marlan regarded Fetzer carefully. “You’re tired. We all are. We did well, but we need to rest and plan. Your aerina arcana lessons were abbreviated, Fetzer, but self-control is fundamental. You want to stay in these slums? All right. I’ll tell Arasemis you were too dedicated to leave. We’ll overlook your disloyalty to the master, won’t we, Rodel?”