The role of royal jester within the kingdom of Dhanen’Mar was not what it was in most other countries. Typically throughout the world, these men had little purpose but to provide amusement and entertainment; their standing within the courts of King DeSiva and his predecessors, however, tended to carry much more importance.
The current royal jester of Dhanen’Mar shouldered many duties. While providing as well as organizing any event that fell into the realm of entertainment was his official capacity, it was a role with far deeper reaches than most ever suspected—particularly of late. As jester, it was this man’s responsibility to more or less keep the king happy, as well as to provide counsel in regard to any matters that could either heighten or threaten this. A perimeter which left a rather large margin of relevance, to say the least.
The royal council of King Redgar DeSiva currently consisted of seven persons, when one included the king himself, and all were presently convened within the Hall of Council, a large chamber inside the stone fortress that was House DeSiva.
Next to the king sat his sole heir, his son Luken. The prince was nearing his twenty-third birthing-day, shared the same tall physique and dark hair as his father, and, of course, was also born to Justice. His Secondary was Harmony, a choice most agreed predicted a peaceful reign, but one which had caused the king to sneer with derision. The king’s own Choice medallion had never been revealed, although all who sat upon his council, and particularly his jester, carried their suspicions.
Also present was Dusan Galaz, long-time seneschal of the royal House of DeSiva. His medallions boasted Justice and Love, and by this time he’d loyally served the king for decades. Now past fifty years in age, Seneschal Galaz appeared to remain utterly dedicated to his work, and was commonly thought to be the king’s most loyal and trusted friend. The jester knew differently, but that was just one of a thousand dangerous secrets lurking within these stone walls.
Next to the seneschal sat Valerio Catala, Commander of the Legion of Justice. All officers sworn to uphold the king’s law were his agents, thousands of men and women spread all across Dhanen’Mar. Commander Catala wore the medallions of Justice and Commerce, a no-nonsense sort of man but one who genuinely appeared to always have the best interests of the country in the fore-front of his mind. Like most in Aralexia, however, he did harbor one dark secret, a secret the royal jester happened to be aware of; and although he had not put its knowledge to use for any of the years he’d known it, it remained a piece of information he was keeping in reserve should he ever require the assistance of the Commander of Justice.
Cadien Stavrakos, born to Commerce and carrying a Secondary of Justice, was the treasurer of all royal finances. The jester suspected Stavrakos’s choice of Justice had been made simply to allow him the chance of gaining this position, a post he’d now held for thirteen years. The treasurer and the jester rarely saw eye-to-eye, and it had been a race these past few years to see who could successfully do away with the other first. So far, both had failed to deliver this final, fatal result.
Next was Richert Poage, captain of the royal guard. This guard contained a body of five hundred men, with most, like Poage, wearing the Birth medallion of Justice backed by a Secondary of War. While the Justice officers belonging to Commander Catala upheld the law in the streets, it was the responsibility of Captain Poage and his knights to ensure no harm came to the king or his heir. It was also the duty of the royal guard to handle all matters of safety in regard to the castle grounds as well as to protect any royal bodies when away from them. The captain was a serious and formidable man, and one who would, with absolutely no hesitation at all, kill any person his king merely pointed to. The jester tended to circle Captain Poage cautiously, and outright avoid him whenever possible.
The royal jester was presently unfurling the official scroll that had been handed to him just minutes before. Its contents included the names of all the men who’d signed up to participate in the games of the King’s Challenge, an event that would begin the next day. Because the games were more or less considered an act of entertainment, the organizing and running of them was largely left in the jester’s hands, and so it was he who would be doing the majority of the speaking today. He spread the long parchment out onto the table before him, first looking to the numbers before the names.
“It appears we will have a total of sixty-four men participating this year,” Devlin Alvik announced to the others.
“That seems about average,” Commander Valerio Catala commented, nodding.
Devlin ignored him as he quickly did the math in his head. “Yes, this will work nicely. The first round will consist of five or six duels per day, for six days. Then the second round of four duels per day over four days, and so on.” Since he would be the one doing the majority of the scheduling, this remark appeared to create little interest in the others.
The king, from his seat at the head of the table, was now looking to him. An enthusiastic lover of the games, his excitement for their commencement had been visibly growing all summer.
“What of the men?” he demanded. “Any surprises?”
“A moment to peruse the list, my liege, if you would be so kind,” Devlin responded blithely, running his eye to the bottom of the parchment. Generally, those he commissioned to organize this list added footnotes to help give him an easy summation of the information within, and he saw with satisfaction that such addendums had been included again this year. What was not so typical were the scrawled words, much larger in size than any others on the page, which were obviously meant to draw his eye.
Devlin read them, then looked up and toward Prince Luken. The prince was gazing back at him expectantly.
“It would appear our fine prince has decided to include himself in the Challenge this year,” he announced, and then glanced casually about to take in the reactions to this while keeping his own expression neutral.
The captain of the royal guard, Richert Poage, was predictably agitated by this announcement. “Your highness, this is pure foolishness,” he said to the prince. “While it is doubtful any man would be so bold as to do you actual harm, by the Challenge’s own rules we cannot punish any who choose to kill their opponents in these fights. I’m afraid the risk to you would simply be too high.”
“I must concur with Captain Poage,” Commander Catala seconded, but aiming his appeal at the king rather than the prince. “The risk would be foolhardy and unnecessary.”
King DeSiva appeared to be considering their words. He then looked to Devlin. “And what is your opinion?”
He cast only the slightest of glances to Captain Poage and Commander Catala before focusing back upon the king. “I believe Luken’s participation would only dampen the spirit of the games,” he said. “Understandably, most men would be hesitant to face him, and not put forth their true effort for fear of causing him injury.”
Everyone at the table, expect perhaps the king, recognized the reply for what it was—a subtle attempt at manipulation, preying upon the king’s love of the event rather than any concern for his son which he may or may not have been harboring. Essentially, his jester had just given him a very convenient excuse to extricate Luken from a potentially dangerous situation, and one that would not infringe upon either the king’s or the prince’s sense of honor.
“You have all failed to convince me,” Redgar DeSiva announced instead. “Luken will fight.”
Devlin showed no reaction, although even he was surprised by this. Captain Poage and Commander Catala were both frowning, Seneschal Galaz was staring down at the table, and Cadien Stavrakos was grinning faintly as he stared at Devlin.
“Thank you for this, father,” Luken was saying. “I will not disappoint you.”
The king’s reply was a grunt and a nod, a response his son appeared unable to interpret.
“Continue,” King DeSiva ordered.
Devlin again focused on the parchment before him, even as his mind began plotting out ways to keep the prince s
afe. The first few duels would not be difficult, since Devlin himself would actually be the one devising the pairings. He could easily manage to keep Luken away from anyone who might have spine enough to actually injure him.
“I see twelve knights have signed on,” Devlin read, glancing up at Captain Poage before looking back to the footnotes, “and eighteen Justice officers, come from all across the country.” A pause to glance up and see Commander Catala’s nod.
“We have twelve foreigners,” Devlin went on, “and half of them from Jennen. And twenty Dhan’Marian unknowns, most of them probably mercenaries or criminals, although I’m seeing a wide variety of recorded Birth medallions by their names.”
“That is only sixty-three,” the treasurer then spoke up. He truly did have a stunning mind for numbers, a fact he evidenced as often as possible.
“That is because I wasn’t finished,” Devlin replied, spearing Stavrakos with only the briefest of looks. “The last entry is a warlord, I’m afraid. Name of Baiel Maves.”
There came faint grumblings from all about the table. Warlord participation was generally frowned upon due to the simple fact that they always tended to win, and refused to even collect their five hundred gold in winnings. Warlords simply made everyone look bad.
King DeSiva was now frowning. He didn’t like warlords because they never accepted his offer to become a part of his royal guard when they won. They were actually not the only men to decline this position, but they tended to do so rather piously, which did not sit well with the king at all.
“Perhaps this man shouldn’t make it very far into the competition,” Redgar DeSiva stated now. “Cadien?”
“I will take care of it, your majesty,” Cadien Stavrakos replied without pause or so much as a blink. All knew why this task had been given to the treasurer, rather than to Captain Poage. While Poage was effective, discretion was not something found amongst his list of skills.
Devlin withheld a sigh. King’s order or not, he would do his best to ensure that the murder of this warlord did not actually take place—on or off the field. He silently added it to his list of responsibilities for the week.
He was just running his eye down the list of names one final time when his gaze caught on something that stopped him cold.
“Is that all, Devlin?” the king was now asking.
Devlin barely managed to avoid a pause, which would have been a dangerous indication in such company.
“That is all, your majesty,” he replied, rolling the scroll in his hands casually. Internally, however, his mind was now jumping. Taleb Okin. Nathon Wythe. Both those names had been listed under the category of “unknowns”, implying that they were native Dhan’Marians but that no further details about them were presently known. Beside each, their Birth medallions of War had been recorded, although that was a further bit of proof Devlin hadn’t needed. The surprise and potential disaster of this nearly had him reeling.
“Does anyone else have any business to present before we adjourn?” Seneschal Galaz spoke up, looking about the table.
Devlin held his tongue, and hoped the others would do the same.
“Just a small matter, if it would please his majesty,” Cadien Stavrakos said smoothly.
“It wouldn’t,” the king said, getting to his feet and starting for the door.
All six remaining men watched him go, and more than one had a slack jaw of surprise. The prince finally broke the awkward silence, clearing his throat.
“Master Stavrakos, is this a matter I can assist you with?” he asked.
“Perhaps, your highness,” Stavrakos replied, finally shifting his gaze from the doors where the king had made his abrupt departure. “I simply require approval forms to withdraw the prize amount for the winner of the Challenge. Of course, I realize we still have a week before needing to dispense the gold, but I thought it prudent to begin putting matters in motion now.”
“Of course,” Prince Luken nodded, looking back to the treasurer. “I will ensure you have the papers you require within the next couple of days.”
Stavrakos got to his feet and gave a slight bow. “Your highness,” he said.
The prince then officially dismissed them all, an act that should have been seen to by his father. Luken kept to his seat as the others began filing out, his eyes now on Devlin.
Devlin caught the stare, and, while not acknowledging it, he slowed his movements until all others had preceded him through the door. Rather than exiting after them, he instead made sure to again secure himself and the prince within, and then turned back to Luken with a look of inquiry.
“Was there a request you had of me, my prince?” he asked.
Luken still kept to his seat at the table, and he began tapping nervously at its stone top. “You can’t let him kill that warlord, Devlin,” he said. “It simply isn’t right.”
Devlin was pleased as well as unsurprised Luken had come to him with this concern. With the king’s behavior growing more and more bizarre as the days went on, this was not the first conversation of this type the two had shared recently.
Devlin stepped close and leaned his palm onto the table, allowing him to speak quietly in response. “I will thwart this as you ask, but I would request that you withdraw from the Challenge in return. Captain Poage and Commander Catala are correct—it is simply too dangerous.”
Luken frowned, predictably stubborn. “I won’t do that, Devlin. Surely you must realize the opportunity this will afford me.”
Pausing to think, Devlin nodded slowly. Luken was, in essence, a good man, and would likely make a fair king, but his father’s opinion that he was soft was not completely unfounded. For most of his life, the prince had been trying to find ways to prove to his father that he was capable of all the duties his future title entailed, and was obviously hoping that by entering the Challenge, he had finally found a way to accomplish this. The problem was, Devlin didn’t see Luken having any chance of actually winning the games. In fact, he would bet his entire life savings against it. But it looked as though he would simply have to find another way of shouldering the prince through without allowing him to come to any harm.
“I understand,” he finally said.
Luken blew out a breath, nodding. “Ask anything else of me, and it is yours.”
“I require nothing,” he responded. “And I will find a way to halt the murder.”
“You are a good man, Devlin,” the prince smiled. “I thank you.”
You might not hold to that point of view if you had any idea what I was plotting behind your back, Devlin thought, as he returned Luken’s smile.
“Of course, my prince,” he then said. “Now, be sure to get a full night’s rest, lest you be called on to fight tomorrow.”
Luken nodded enthusiastically. “As always, you are right. I fear to think what we in the castle would do without you, Devlin.”
I shudder to even imagine.
“Deep rest, my prince,” he replied. “By your leave, I still have a few matters to see to before my own slumber, and the hour does grow late.”
“Of course. You may go.”
Devlin gave a low bow and then turned, sweeping through the doors and into the corridor beyond.
He had not been lying to his prince by claiming he still had matters to see to this night. One of his spies in the city, a woman of sixty who worked in a bakery, had reported to him just hours ago, telling of Knoxx’s arrival in Aralexia. She had then delivered Devlin’s message, which instructed his brother on where and when they were to meet—a time now less than an hour distant.
Before seeing to that, however, he would need to explore one further task—one more important than ever, now, given the discovered names of Taleb Okin and Nathon Wythe on the list of Challenge combatants. Devlin didn't have any idea how this occurrence may have come about, but it had him near to frantic. He was hoping Knoxx would have some information to help explain the circumstances, but regardless, Devlin r
ealized he now had three people to try and safely see through the Challenge rather than only one. If Knoxx had been lucky and discovered something useful, perhaps only two, but he wasn’t counting on this.
His first aim was to locate one of his assistants—a group consisting of three men and two women—whom he’d hired to man the Challenge’s enlistment station all this past week. It was also one of this group who’d delivered to him the neat and succinct list of participants he’d carried into the council meeting.
Fortune was with him. Stepping outside the castle, he almost immediately spotted the young woman who’d come to deliver the list to him only a short time ago. She appeared to be loitering about in the courtyard, although he wasn’t entirely certain what she was doing there.
“Reagan!” he called to her, quickening his steps in her direction.
Turned away, she actually gave a severe jump at the sound of her name, and then spun rapidly in his direction, her long red hair fanning out around her. “Oh—Master Alvik,” she said, taking him in.
He grinned. “My apologies. It wasn’t my intention to startle you.”
She gave a short laugh and waved her hand dismissively. “My own fault. I was daydreaming, I’m afraid.”
“First time upon royal grounds?” he guessed.
“It is.”
He nodded, presuming she’d simply be trying to draw out the experience for as long as possible. “Well, I am glad you decided to stay and gawk, for I have another assignment for you,” he said.
“Certainly,” she replied, studying him in the deepening shadows. “How may I serve?”
Devlin found her disposition remarkably pleasant for one born to Revenge. He had no idea what Secondary she carried, for it was turned inward, but suspected its influence must have been responsible, perhaps Harmony or Love.
He held up the list she’d presented to him only a short time ago. “I need you to find out everything you can about these men.”
Her eyebrows rose significantly. “All of them?”
“No, you can disregard the knights and Justice officers. And the prince, obviously. Also the warlord. That still leaves thirty-two men, I know, but if you divide the task between the five of you, it will become much more manageable.”
She nodded and raised a hand to take the scroll from him. “How quickly do you need our reports?”
“By dawn,” he replied. “I fear none of you will be getting much sleep this night, but trust that you will all be well compensated for your efforts.”
“Dawn,” she repeated, nodding. Then, “I trust this work is to be done in secret?”
“Well,” Devlin responded, looking at her, “none of this violates any laws, if that’s what you’re asking, but it might be seen as unethical by certain eyes. More so, I’d worry about remaining subtle over the course of your information-gathering. It goes without question that most of these men are extremely dangerous, and may not take kindly to strangers prying into their business.”
“Understood,” she told him.
“Good. Send your reports on here to the castle, as quickly as you can compile them. Do not be troubled by the hour—it is unlikely I’ll be getting any rest tonight either.”
He walked her out to the street, and then they separated, she to locate her co-assistants and divvy up their new assignment, and he to the inn where he was to meet his brother. Devlin knew he was in all likelihood being followed—he and Cadien Stavrakos tended to keep a very close eye on each other’s movements—but it was not a concern. Every year his brother came to Aralexia for the games, and every year Devlin would meet with him several times over the course of the week. There was absolutely nothing suspicious about his current movements—the simple beauty of this planned information-exchange now coming to fruition.
His destination was an inn near to the forum where the games would take place, the very inn his brother planned to be lodged in all week. This proved a good choice for Knoxx and his band of Thieves, as they would be overseeing the gambling also about to commence the following day. Devlin strode in the front door and immediately turned to the stairs, passing through the crowded common room as he did so. The air was filled with excited chatter, and the jester gave the room only a brief glance as he swept through.
He started up to the second floor, just as another man began his way down. They met about mid-way, and Devlin sent a silent nod of acknowledgment to Flynn Fajen, commander of Dhanen’Mar’s Thieves network. The Cejan’s reply was to pull up next to him and place a knife alongside his ribs. Devlin paused gracefully in mid-step.
“Should you ever endanger one of my Thieves with your schemes again, I will not be so generous as to stay my hand a second time,” Fajen told him, his blade pressed tight to his side. “Even if he is your brother.”
Since Devlin’s life was, in essence, under dire threat each and every day, this action surprised but did not startle him. Actually, he was now wondering what may have happened to prompt Knoxx’s commander into taking this sort of action—or how he was even aware Devlin had been its true cause.
“Back off, Cejan,” he now said quietly in reply. “This is bigger than you, or me, or Knoxx. Do not get in my way, or you’ll discover first-hand how I react to threats here in my own city.”
It was a rather bold statement, what with the other man’s knife still lying against his ribs, but Fajen simply grinned, in a decidedly challenging sort of way, before vanishing the blade back into his sleeve. Without another word, he resumed his steps downward.
Devlin continued in the opposite direction. Knoxx must have gotten himself into some serious trouble while trying to gather information on Taleb and Nathon for Fajen to have learned even this much. Evidently he had not stressed to his brother enough, back in Tyrell, the importance of keeping this matter to himself. But how dearly they would pay for Knoxx’s lack of discretion remained to be seen.
Devlin reached the second floor and walked until he came to the desired room. He then knocked once and waited. A moment later, he heard his brother’s muffled voice telling him to enter.
The room was dark, lit only by a few candles, and by their light Devlin’s first observation of his brother was that he did not look altogether well. In addition to the fact that he was lying upon the room’s sole bed, his face was extremely pale, and his eyes tired.
“Are you ill?” he asked with a slight frown, approaching the bed slowly.
“Just tired from the journey. Have a seat, Dev. We have a lot to talk about.”
Chapter 26
Auguries of Dawn Page 26