Lords of Deception

by Christopher C Fuchs

  “I’m sorry that all of our Order is not here to welcome you both,” Arasemis said, taking his seat. “Nidlade has already met Fetzer and knows of his stubbornness.”

  Nidlade smirked.

  “I wish I could have convinced him to return with us to Thorendor,” Marlan said.

  “Fetzer did well at the palace,” Juhl said.

  “Don’t waste your breath complimenting him,” Rodel said. “He wouldn’t appreciate it even if he were here.”

  “Fetzer is like a wild horse,” Marlan said, “with great potential but requiring great care and training.”

  “He’s uncontrollable,” Arasemis said. “I have long given him too much room, hoping, like you, that he would mature into his role.”

  “I still believe he is prophetic,” Marlan said. “Harnessing his energies will take time.”

  “He is a growing fissure within our Order,” Arasemis said.

  “Then we must adjust,” Marlan said. “The king and most of the royals are dead. Should we evacuate Thorendor and move elsewhere, to ready ourselves for the next task?”

  “We will stay at Thorendor,” Arasemis said.

  “They probably know from Edmond that Thorendor is linked to the assassinations,” Rodel said. “They will come for us.”

  “Who will come?” Arasemis asked. “The Rugens are on the doorstep of Toulon, and Lord Valient is too busy in the capital to march the Army of Delavon into Wallevet. We will stay and continue our studies and training, especially now that Nidlade and Anureen require it.”

  “What about our next tasks?” Juhl asked.

  Marlan nodded appreciatively. “Strike while the iron is hot.”

  “Our next task is study and training,” Arasemis repeated. “The Donovard nobles will soon be at each other’s throats, driven by the Rugen march and their lack of a king.”

  “They still have a king in Lord Erath,” Rodel said.

  “For how long?” Arasemis countered. “He will inherit a smoldering palace and a crumbling kingdom. We will wait in Thorendor, safe behind our forests and the eyes we pay to watch the roads. If an army comes, we’ll flee into the woods and mountains. But rest assured, we have nothing to fear yet. Donovan is on its knees, which means we are running walls.”

  “Then shall we attack the Rugen or Calbrian monarchs?” Juhl asked.

  “Or the Austveede king?” Anureen asked.

  “At the right time, yes. But first let us watch how the war progresses, how it weakens both sides. Then we’ll strike when a winner arises, weak from battle and drunk with victory. In the meantime we have much to do to prepare.”

  Marlan rubbed his face, half-wishing he was still in Eglamour. “I’m weary of books, Master…”

  “Not books this time. Maps. We will study the locations of the Candlestone relics. We could use them for our next tasks. Mechans are only the beginning…”

  Marlan nodded. Then he remembered his friend. “Will we go back to Eglamour to fetch Fetzer?”

  “We’ll let him stew there for a while,” Arasemis said. “He can’t spoil our plans there now, and we’ll not bore him with our ancient texts and maps. Besides, he knows where we are when he’s ready to come back.”

  126. ARTHAN

  Near Eldinbane Moors, Toulon Ministry

  Luminebb, 3034

  “As king, this will be my policy!” Erath shouted.

  Arthan cringed at the bellowing voice that filled the carriage. Erath had been belligerent since Arthan escorted him from Rethsrond.

  “My lord, replacing the Proclamation of Expediency with a harsher edict will not win your people over, nor would it help much against the Rugens who already have a foothold in the kingdom.”

  “Don’t mistake me,” Erath said, “I’m grateful that you came to Rethsrond. But I do not need the advice of your house. I will show you how a king should lead. The House of Avaleau will be more feared than ever!”

  Arthan glanced out the window into the dusky light. Beyond Serdot, mounted on his horse beside the carriage, dark rain clouds threatened to burst with the fading of the sun. Part of him wished he had let Chaultion retrieve Erath. Arthan had heard nothing but rage and rants since turning back for Eglamour. Given his own losses, he could understand Erath’s anger, but he could also see Erath making matters worse.

  “I still find it difficult to swallow that Brugarn named you Lord Protector,” Erath continued. “A man of your youth. You’d gain experience if I sent you back to Gadolin to defend my ministry from General Valk and his veteran Rugens.”

  “Your brother appointed me despite our political rivalry. I will serve until I am discharged as you see fit.”

  “And what need do I have of a marshal of inquiry?” Erath asked. “You did not prevent the slaughter of my brothers by those shadowy folk. Have you nothing to contribute except carriage rides and unsolicited advice?”

  “We’ve learned much about the assassins, my lord. They call themselves the Order of the Candlestone. We believe they are based at Thorendor Castle in Wallevet Ministry. They are skilled at—”

  “Then why haven’t you toppled every stone of that cursed place?”

  “I came for you, my lord, as soon as we heard about Asteroth. Chaultion is preparing to defend Toulon against the Rugens but will spare a force for Thorendor when we’re able.”

  “This is why my new policies are needed,” Erath said. “Those assassins, the Rugens, our own people—all of them only respond to the sword. Everyone and everything must be mobilized against our enemies. Donovan will not fall as long as an Avaleau is at the helm. When that crown is on my head, your Lord Ministers’ Council will cease to—are you listening to me, Arthan?”

  Arthan was looking out the window again as the last rays of light were blocked by passing woods. With his carriage near a bend in the road, he could see that the convoy was stopped just inside the woods.

  “Why are we stopping!” Erath shouted.

  “Looks like a tree is down,” Arthan said, trying to see through the limbs.

  Erath opened the carriage door.

  “My lord,” Arthan said, “I urge you to stay inside. It’s safer—my lord!”

  Erath hopped down to the ground. “Nonsense! That’s the difference between you cautious Valients and the bold Avaleaus. Kingdoms are ruled by the bold, young Arthan.”

  For a moment Arthan struggled between his desire to be bold or cautious, remembering his inspiration at Maillard’s tomb and also Candlestone’s unpredictable methods. Against his better judgment, he hopped out after Erath, who was strutting toward the fallen tree.

  “My lord, please,” Arthan said to Erath, waving Serdot away. “Having survived a few Candlestone assassination attempts myself, this is a time for vigilance.”

  “Enough! We are far from their playground at Eglamour and their nest at Thorendor.”

  They approached the soldiers trying to move the tree.

  “Stop wasting my time!” Erath shouted at them. “Rope it to the horses and pull it out of my way. Make haste!”

  Hamelin and Livonier rode up to them.

  “My lord,” Hamelin said, “I beg you, return to your carriage.”

  “And you, my lord,” Livonier told Arthan.

  “The armored carriage is the safest place,” Serdot said.

  “Your Crownblades and my men agree with me,” Arthan said. “Let us—”

  “I said enough of all your whining!” Erath thundered. “I’ll not be cowed by our enemies and certainly not a fallen tree. Move it at once, or I’ll have all your necks on the block!”

  Arthan watched as the soldiers lashed the trunk of the tree to a pair of horses, glancing warily at the woods around them. As the tree began to move, Arthan noticed that the severed trunk was fairly flat, not a jumble of broken shards, as a naturally fallen tree would be.

  “Do you see that?” he said to Serdot.

  “Odd discoloration,” Serdot said. “And chewed, or mayb
e dissolved. Like an acid.”

  Arthan turned to Erath, but before he could speak a soldier picked up a second rope from the grass. As he lifted it they saw one end was tethered to a branch above them, and the other was tied to a branch in the fallen tree. The soldier moved to jerk it down.

  “Don’t!” Arthan shouted.

  “Stop the horses!” Serdot yelled.

  But it was too late; the trap had engaged. Hewn branches swept down from the trees above, swinging from either end with bound ivy. Dozens of eggs were fastened along these beams, and they shattered into the sides of a wagon full of Crownblades and other mounted soldiers. Clouds of orange, green, and purple burst into the damp air.

  Arthan reached into his robes and pulled out the two Candlestone masks. He fitted one to his face and tried to pick his way through the fast-growing clouds to give the other to Erath. But he became disoriented amid the screaming soldiers, unable to see beyond his reach. He called out for Erath and Serdot but could not hear them. Then an orange light appeared, faint at first. The light grew brighter and darted about. Arthan knew what it was.

  The burning man swept through the clouds, mercilessly chopping through the panicked soldiers who were vomiting, scratching, and struggling to breathe. Arthan drew Adrithayn and carefully paced toward the light. The burning man was here, then there and gone again, sprinting between the soldiers, wagons, and horses.

  Arthan expected to hear Erath’s bellowing voice, but he could not find him or any of his own men in the chaos. He resolved to withdraw from the confusion and ran hard out of the clouds. He found Serdot crouched and coughing on the edge of the woods.

  “Are you all right?”

  “My mask was bumped off for a moment,” Serdot said, holding his mask up to show he still had it.

  “Put it back on. We must find Erath. When we do, escort him away. My blade will take the fire from the assassin’s armor.”

  Serdot nodded as he refitted his mask. Then they charged back into the fray. The clouds had turned brown and faded with the onset of rain. Bodies tripped them at every step. Erath’s voice boomed out from across the road. As they came closer they saw the burning man crossing swords with Erath and Hamelin, both of them weakened from the poison.

  The burning man seemed startled to see two Candlestone masks coming toward him. It was enough hesitation for them to surround him, but he quickly refocused and seemed to relish the challenge. He twirled like a storm of flame, engaging all four of them effortlessly with his single sword. Arthan tried to be defensive while keeping the assassin contained, wary of flinging Adrithayn’s absorbed poison and flame onto the others.

  The burning man’s flames dampened with the rain. His golden glow slowly faded, and steam swirled around his quick movements. He scored a strike on Serdot’s helmet, sending him to the ground. Erath, his head unprotected, leaned in to take a swipe with his broad blade. The assassin punched him with his hot gauntlet, then angled his sword down on him.

  Hamelin parried the strike as Livonier joined the fight. The assassin plucked an egg from his pouch and aimed it at Hamelin’s visor. Hamelin ducked, but the assassin struck him down. When Hamelin fell wounded, Erath swiped again at the burning man, who abruptly turned and ran. Erath and Arthan gave chase. With his armor now putting out more steam than fire, the assassin bounded up the side of a tree, then somersaulted out above his pursuers. The assassin cut down at them as he flipped, opening the top of Erath’s head and striking Arthan’s helmet.

  Erath’s blood sprayed onto Arthan, coating the lenses of his mask. He wrenched the mask off as the assassin’s fiery armor completely snuffed out. Arthan looked down at Erath’s writhing body. He stooped, hoping to save him. But Erath was gone.

  Arthan stood in time to parry the assassin’s next attack. Livonier and Serdot came to his defense, and the assassin ran into the woods. They chased him, following the steam and scent of scalded metal. But he was quick. Arthan jerked on Livonier’s arm as the dark forest in front of them became awash in fresh poison clouds.

  Arthan came to a stop, since he was without a mask. Serdot stopped as well.

  “Let me chase him!” Livonier shouted.

  Arthan shook his head, his jaw clenched. He wiped Erath’s blood from his face as it trickled down with the rain from his hair. Then he placed his hand over his chest as he felt his heart lurch and skip. He knelt and took a moment to calm his breathing.

  Livonier cursed as they watched the poison clouds swirl silently among the trees and bushes ahead of them, the sound of the assassin’s running long since faded.

  “We must escort him back to Eglamour,” Serdot said.

  Livonier finally nodded and took Arthan’s hand, pulling him to his feet.

  Arthan’s heart settled and he sighed, staring into the dark forest ahead. “I am regent…”

  EPILOGUE

  Eglamour, Toulon Ministry

  Midsummer, 3034

  The choking burn of the black smoke seeped into her lungs. The heat of the charred palace stones swept over her. Voices called to her amid the crackle and popping of the roof beams. Something screamed inside her head as the earth rose up to meet her tumbling body. Visions of Regaume, aflame and pulling at stubborn bars of iron, played over and over in her mind.

  The darkness slowly faded into an orange light. It was distant at first but drew closer. She saw a man aflame, but it was not Regaume. He was armored, his face masked. There was evil in his wake, like a long cape. As she looked upon him she drew strength from somewhere, perhaps from the flaming man himself. She heard a voice that said his death was inevitable. She believed it, but, strangely, did not want him to die yet. She craved the dark strength that she was somehow siphoning from him.

  The man came closer. So close now. She felt the evil heat, smelled his footsteps in the seared earth. She could see inside the mask, through the tiny eye slits. His face hid a skull that quivered with hate, fear, and bloodlust. The light around him grew bright, forcing her eyes closed. But still the light pierced, beckoning.

  She gave her eyes to the light, opening them slowly. The sun beamed in through passing clouds and remnants of smoke. Her eyes shifted right to see the looming hulk of a burned tower. She remembered. That was where Milisend died. Where she jumped. The pain and sorrow and hopelessness had pushed her. Milisend had been weak, not yet tasting the dark strength of the burning man.

  She sat up with the sound of crunching roof tiles. A growl rolled in her stomach. The leathers on her legs and arms were burned away here and there but could be mended. She touched her face and found the familiar leather mask that Milisend had worn. She reached around to her aching back, feeling the spinal plates so deftly sewn into the suit still intact. Regaume had commissioned the very best for Mili.

  She remembered that Mili had not been fond of what he called her. Thimblegloves. It had not sounded like a real name until now. Thimblegloves now had a dark strength that Mili lacked. Thimblegloves had danced with the burning man, jumped into the abyss, and wandered in the mist-shrouded puzzle forest of a dying mind.

  Thimblegloves felt a hunger in her mouth and stomach. A grievous hunger rooted in her mind, perhaps her very soul. A strange hunger that could not be sated with any nourishment. Her parched lips quivered with the thought of it. Revenge.

  APPENDIX

  HOUSE OF VALIENT

  MAILLARD VALIENT: Lord Minister of Delavon Ministry, Count of Bram. Resided in Rachard.

  His Children

  ARTHAN VALIENT: Eldest living son.

  ROWAN VALIENT: Ward to Lord Minister Asteroth Avaleau of Alpenon.

  BARDIL VALIENT: Youngest son.

  His Household

  MEDOFF CORMIER: General of the armies of Delavon.

  LIVONIER: Knight commander and Medoff’s deputy.

  SERDOT TREMEY: Master Widsemer.

  ALFREM: Alderman of Rachard, political counselor.

  PELINAUD: Crusader swordcraft master, instructor.

>   BELLUMET: Chief engineer.

  MERIAM: Engineer’s assistant.

  His Vassals

  ISERENNE: Countess of Sobel County. Resided in Wilsmar.

  DARDANON: Count of Imvorlon County. Resided in Oradrond.

  GOLBANE VALIENT: Count of Caval County. Resided in Brambard.

  Others

  NESTORATH: Bishop of Rachard.

  HURMANT: Alderman of Mordmerg.

  CUERN: Knight.

  ERBOLN: Knight.

  ALDON: Knight.

  DANLERI: Former rector of Bredahade Academy. Resided in Eglamour.

  THE ORDER OF THE CANDLESTONE

  ARASEMIS: Ruler of Thorendor, arcanae expert. Resided in Thorendor Castle.

  His Students

  MARLAN: Former Bredahade Academy cadet.

  GARION: Former Bredahade Academy cadet.

  BERTWIL: Almerian swordsman, former sailor.

  MORROY: Calbrian swordsman, former drifter.

  JUHL: Lambic princess in exile.

  FETZER: Former Perilune Academy cadet.

  ANUREEN: Austveede of noble birth.

  His Supporters

  YORAND: Mute servant.

  ADALANE: Deaf servant.

  NIDLADE: Blind safe house keeper.

  Associates

  RILRANEF: Chief of a smuggler ring based in Eddengard, Donovan.

  RENAUD: Smuggler captain of the Meurden.

  GREFFID: Ship’s cook aboard the Meurden.

  HOUSE OF WACHOT

  SIGBERT WACHOT: Lord Minister of Barres Ministry. Resided in Gradhild.

  His Vassals

  ATILON: Count of Perilune. Resided at Perilune.

  -- RENZ: Administrator under Atilon.

  Perilune Academy