“What else is Arasemis looking for?”
Danleri’s tone grew dour. “Alchemical swords, shroud eggs, mechans…these are only the beginning. Arasemis will not be satisfied, indeed, he’ll need other Candlestone relics to keep ahead of his enemies. He will strike to unearth more powerful relics, always reaching for new advantages over the traditional methods of war.”
“What relics? What methods?” Debanor asked.
Danleri arched his eyebrows. “Unimaginable things…”
“Magic?” Livonier asked.
“Magic is a fairy tale for children,” Danleri said. “More powerful and dangerous is the mind of man, twisting and cajoling the nature of the world. Breaking the natural boundaries in which we are meant to be set…”
“Wall running?” Arthan asked.
“Similar. That breaks the bounds on us that keep our feet on the earth. But think bigger. Imagine ships of the air. Stones that move themselves. Metals that transform the air into a flash of searching starlight.”
“Do such things exist?” Serdot asked.
“I do not know, but old texts speak of them…These are things that people will readily say are impossible or magical, because the truth behind these methods is meant to be hidden to them. Arasemis will try to find these relics and use them to overthrow kingdoms. This war with the Rugens will buy him the time and opportunity that he needs.”
“I will stop him,” Arthan said.
Danleri could not stifle a small chuckle. “I once thought as you do, that I would be Arasemis’s foil, the other side of his coin. But he has surpassed me, by far. He went from books to action. I remain in my books…”
“Not anymore,” Arthan said. “You are now conscripted into the Office of the Marshal of Inquiry. Serdot will help you arrange for any and all books at the royal academy and other archives to be brought here to Clonmel. You will build a library, laboratory, and anything else you require. Hire whomever you need. All my resources are at your disposal.”
Danleri blinked. “I am but one man, my lord, an old man.”
“We will revive the arcanae for an army of Donovards. Arasemis will not be ahead for long. In fact, we should hunt for the relics ourselves.”
“Arasemis has decades of research behind him and the best books,” Danleri said. “And our modern society will reject your efforts as bowing to an ancient evil. It may be too late…”
“Then we shall do our best. Alchemy and the rest of it will no longer be shunned. As Lord Protector, I will convince Asteroth and Erath of this necessity, for the survival of our kingdom.”
Danleri stood from his chair, his tone most serious. “You do not realize the danger you would release upon the world, and neither does Arasemis. He would use the arcanae to set up new dominions modeled on the ancient Pemonian natives he idolizes. He blinded himself to the reasons many of these methods were buried in the first place.
“Furthermore, you would soon adopt his methods to stop him. But regardless of who wins, the rapid evolution of the arcanae will be uncontainable. Your new army will make the arcanae widespread and accepted. Ever more novel ways of inflicting death and suffering on more people than ever before will follow.”
Arthan leaned back in his chair. He understood Danleri’s concern despite not understanding everything the old man was saying. “Then we will proceed with utmost caution. What else can be done otherwise?”
Danleri was clearly embarrassed and returned to his chair. “My apologies, my lord. You summoned me for assistance and answers, not a speech about how impossible this all is. The truth is that I don’t know what the alternative should be. If I could travel back in time to those early years, I know exactly what I would do. But that opportunity has passed…”
“So Arasemis has opened a door that cannot be shut,” Serdot said.
“I believe what you’re telling me,” Arthan told Danleri, “but I cannot hope to understand it all the way you do. Which is reason enough for you to join us. Perhaps there is still time to stop Arasemis and close the door.”
“Unlikely.”
“What can we do?”
“The arcanae should remain shunned,” Danleri said. “Alchemical swords must not be put into the hands of every knight. All of your agents must not be taught to run walls. Any relics we find—if we find them—must remain secret. We should find them only to deny them to Arasemis, not to use them ourselves. In fact we should destroy them.”
Arthan nodded. “We will use only what is necessary and destroy the rest, and nothing will be shared outside this circle of officers without my consent.” Arthan looked in turn at Serdot, Livonier, and Debanor. “Understood?”
All nodded in agreement.
“Well, ex-rector,” Arthan said, “will you help us hunt down Candlestone and destroy them once and for all?”
Danleri sat silent for a moment. “Atonement for what I should have done long ago. What choice do I have?”
“What choice do any of us have?” Arthan said. “Destiny has put this burden on us, and we must rise to meet it.”
A soldier burst into the room. “Apologies, my lord. Urgent message from Rowan. The messenger reports that Asteroth’s armies are overrun by the Rugens.”
Arthan jumped from his chair and snapped open the letter, wishing he had taken time to read the earlier note from Rowan waiting on his table.
Brother,
Our fallback position at Ambardil is lost. Asteroth intends for us to break out of the siege. We are sending our last messenger. I will do my duty.
Rowan
Arthan rushed to his table and reached for the earlier letter, cursing himself. “Rowan says they’re being pushed from Ambardil, which means they lost Asteroth’s capital,” he said as he ripped open the earlier letter. He read it aloud.
Brother,
The city of Cantrileme fell quickly to the Rugens. Lord Asteroth’s soldiers say the Rugen emperor is leading his army. We evacuated to Ambardil Free City, where we are working to prepare the defenses. But the people here hate Asteroth for what he did this past spring.
Asteroth is angry that Duke Brugarn has not sent more reinforcements. The troops that did arrive in Alpenon from Toulon were ambushed by the Durgensdil rebels, their supplies stolen. Please convey our urgent need to Brugarn.
Asteroth is determined not to flee to Gadolin or Toulon but to make his stand for Alpenon. Lord Erath’s army is already preoccupied with the Rugens in Gadolin. Asteroth also says he will not retreat north because he’s confident Brugarn will lead an army south, guided by General Chaultion.
If you know of such plans, please hasten them and send word. Asteroth hasn’t received a letter from Brugarn or Chaultion for some time. Perhaps the rebels are gradually picking away at our messengers’ routes.
As I finish writing, the Rugen army has been spotted on the horizon. If the worst should come, I will give my life in defense of the kingdom, as Father would have expected and as Asteroth demands. Do not grieve for me, but know my efforts served a greater purpose. If I die, I know you will serve well as the last of our line.
Please forgive me for resenting your accomplishments and disobeying your letter for me to return to Rachard.
Rowan Valient
Ambardil
“My God, if Lord Asteroth falls, the underbelly of Toulon is open for attack,” Livonier said. “Eglamour will be next.”
“Go and inform Chaultion at once,” Arthan said. “And send word to Medoff: our plans to attack Thorendor will have to wait.”
“Must we delay Thorendor?” Danleri asked. “Arasemis is counting on us being distracted.”
“We have no choice,” Arthan said. “Arasemis can kill us one by one, but the Rugens will take our kingdom sooner than he will overturn it. Go, Livonier!”
“Asteroth cannot defeat Emperor Theudamer,” Serdot said. “Even if Erath could come to his aid from Gadolin, they are both outmatched.”
“Asteroth and Erath were
supposed to be the militarily competent ones,” Arthan said, exasperated.
“They’ve long spent their gold on feasts and festivals,” Serdot said. “They can’t blame the state of their army on Brugarn alone.”
“Will Chaultion turn the tide?” Arthan asked.
“He must,” Serdot said.
“Arcanae could turn them back,” Debanor said.
Arthan glanced at Danleri before answering. “We’ve just agreed not to revive the arcanae on a grand scale to defeat Candlestone. Neither will we revive it to defeat the Rugens. They use traditional methods, as we do. We simply must outwit and outfight them.”
Another soldier rushed into the room. “My lord, you are summoned to the palace by Steward Waldemar. The Patriarch awaits.”
Arthan turned to Serdot. “Is this the life of a Lord Protector, to be pulled in so many directions at once?”
“Yes, my lord. But you were born for it.”
122. ROWAN
Ambardil Free City, Alpenon Ministry
Midsummer, 3034
Rowan looked up from the hoof-beaten grass at the Rugen soldiers standing above him. Behind them were the crumbling outer walls of the once beautiful Ambardil. The strong, regal stone walls and battlements were smoldering and broken. The central castle that had long been Lord Asteroth’s home now had a Rugen flag raised above it. It had been Rowan’s home as well.
He sighed with a heavy heart. Death was all around, poised to strike him at any moment. Lord Asteroth’s body was not far away, and his best knights littered the ground. The final charge had broken through the Rugen siegeworks that ringed the city, but the Donovards were simply too few. Rowan glanced at the other survivors, lowborn knights and a few of Asteroth’s nobles. Rowan could see the shame of defeat and the guilt of survival in their eyes—and the dishonor of losing their lord.
Rowan felt it too. But with Asteroth suddenly gone, he no longer felt any attachment to Alpenon. It was a land long torn by rebellion in the western mountains and coasts, and the rest of it was now conquered by the Rugens. He yearned for Delavon, and part of him wished he’d left sooner. The excitement and adventure of Alpenon had faded, and the brutal reality of war had set in.
“Our fates are sealed now,” came a scraggly voice nearby. Rowan turned to see Mierbiot, one of Asteroth’s barons. “If the lord minister had lived, they might have ransomed us,” he continued, “but not now.”
“What are they waiting for, then?” Rowan whispered. Mierbiot simply shook his head. Rowan liked the baron. He had been one of Asteroth’s few decent men.
A group of riders approached. As soon as Rowan caught a glimpse of them he knew Emperor Theudamer was among them. It had been said that the emperor was a giant, and Rowan could see that he towered above everyone else. The grotesque skystone crown he wore on his head was unmistakable. It was said to be ancient, fashioned by the Raffen heathen ancestors of the Rugens. It was also said to make him a demigod of war.
Theudamer and his party rode up near the prisoners. At the emperor’s side was Warden Graf, whom Rowan had seen kill Asteroth during the final charge. Two women were also with Theudamer. He was surprised to recognize one of them, Etzel, whom he had spent many hours talking with.
Etzel whispered with Graf. She looked haggard, worse than when he’d seen her last. Her hair was burned away and her scalp red. Her eyes were dark and sunken, her hastily bandaged arms hiding some cruelty. He realized that Asteroth’s jailors had tried everything to get her to talk. He was glad to see her alive and free, but uncertain of what it would mean for him.
The emperor and his party eyed Rowan and the others and spoke among themselves in Rugen. Graf said something to Etzel, and her eyes searched the prisoners’ muddied, bloodied faces. Rowan tried to hide his face from her. When he peeked to see if her searching eyes had passed, he found her staring at him. Then she pointed.
Theudamer and the others watched as Graf ordered the soldiers to pull Rowan up from the grass. Fear gripped him but he tried to keep calm. He glanced at Mierbiot and the other survivors, who watched as if he were walking to his execution.
“You are of the House of Valient?” Graf asked in accented Donovar.
Rowan nodded. His pride in his family improved his courage. He glanced warily at Etzel, but her stare was empty.
Graf looked down from his horse. “Your brother is the right hand of King Erech?” Rowan nodded again. “Then you will come with us. Pick someone to come with you.”
Rowan hesitated, then slowly turned to the survivors. A frail hope lit in their eyes as they stared at Rowan. He suddenly felt sick in his gut, much worse than when he was sitting in the grass with them. He avoided their eyes.
“Quickly!” Etzel shouted.
Rowan looked at Mierbiot, who raised his eyebrows. Rowan nodded and Mierbiot slowly came to his feet. Rowan forced himself to look at the others, hoping they could forgive him.
“We’re either the lucky ones or the first to die,” the baron whispered as he stood beside Rowan.
Rugen soldiers escorted the pair behind the emperor and his party. Rowan was able to steal another look at the other woman. She looked similar to Vesamune, but younger. He looked at Etzel again, searching for any hint of their fate, but her eyes did not meet his. Rowan and Mierbiot were marched to a small collection of tents near the emperor’s pavilion. Only Etzel dismounted to join the two prisoners into the tent, with guards posted outside.
Rowan entered first. He saw a quill, inkpot, and stack of parchment on a little table. “I’m sorry for what they did to you,” he said as he took a chair.
Etzel’s dark eyes flared. “Not sorry enough to prevent them from wrenching information from me…”
“You did not provide anything to Asteroth that gave him victory,” Rowan said. “And I am sorry that I couldn’t help you. You heard me ask Asteroth to let me talk with you more, instead of his jailors.”
“What difference did it make?”
“None, I suppose. Despite being Asteroth’s ward, I’m still a Valient. We respect our enemies.”
Etzel nodded. “Then perhaps your brother will respect our demands, especially as they’ll be written by your own hand.” She gestured to the blank parchment on the table.
Rowan and Mierbiot glanced at each other.
“You will inform Lord Valient that you are our hostage,” Etzel continued. “Along with the others. Your brother must convince the king to surrender the kingdom, or forfeit your lives. Additionally, we’ll not spare him when we take Eglamour. Mierbiot will carry your letter with a contingent of our fastest scouts, to witness your situation to your brother.”
“And if I refuse?”
Etzel touched a shiny new dagger in her belt. “Mierbiot will die slow in this tent. Then you, if you’re still unconvinced. And, as I said, your brother will not be spared when we do march on Eglamour.”
Rowan looked at Mierbiot.
“Don’t let them scare you, Rowan,” the baron said. “I’ll give this dungeon rat a fair fight, and so will you. Keep your honor and spare your brother the decision he will have to make.”
Etzel drew her dagger and pointed it at Mierbiot. “This is my preference as well,” she whispered.
Rowan held up his hands to stay the rage in her eyes. “Etzel…I will write the letter to save the lives of my companions. But Arthan will not give in to your demands.”
Graf entered the tent as Mierbiot began to protest. The warden looked at Etzel and her extended dagger, then spoke in Donovar. “I thought this would be finished by now. Does he need additional convincing?”
“I’ll write to my brother,” Rowan repeated. “But neither he nor the king will yield to your unreasonable demands. You’ve all but taken the whole of Alpenon. But attempting Toulon will be the end of your adventure.”
Graf swiftly pulled out the sword strapped across his back and in one great motion crushed the table with a single blow. Rowan and the others shielded their eye
s from the wood shards and splashing ink.
“Next will be your companion’s head,” Graf said. “Pick up the quill.”
Rowan reached a shaky hand, pinching the quill from the middle of the wreck. He grabbed a parchment and knelt beside his chair, placing the parchment on it. “What…what shall I write?”
“You already know what should be written,” Graf said. The warden turned to Etzel. “When it’s finished, bring Mierbiot. Then you can have rest before beginning your new assignment with Wredegar.”
Graf left the tent. Etzel stared at Rowan. He glanced at Mierbiot.
“You don’t have to,” the baron said.
Rowan looked into Etzel’s dark eyes before turning to the parchment. “I must.”
Brother,
I am compelled under Rugen swords to relay their demands to you. Ambardil has fallen, and Alpenon with it. Lord Asteroth is dead. A few of his vassals survived. The Rugen emperor demands Donovan’s surrender. If King Erech cannot be persuaded, I and the others will perish, and the Rugens will march on Eglamour. They say they’ll not spare you either.
I hope that better fortune has befallen you in the capital. Know that I fought well and, until this letter, kept my honor and
Etzel snatched the parchment from Rowan. The quill scraped a black slash across the page.
“Shall I sign it?” Rowan asked.
“Give your wist ring to Mierbiot.”
He took off his ring and handed it to him.
“I am sorry to be the one to do this, my boy,” Mierbiot said. “I will tell Lord Valient of your courage.”
Etzel prodded Mierbiot toward the tent exit.
“Ride hard…” Rowan said.
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