“An order house you’ll visit, but not the Fortress?” Dech asked as they walked their horses toward their destination.
“I seek admittance into the palace and feel confident you can get me in. I haven’t been there since….”
“Since I was knight-commander. You can say it, Mayhaps. I won’t break.”
“I might. I’ll risk the order house. A quick wash and a change of clothes and I’ll be set.”
“I’ll probably be called before the council.”
“Stupendous. I’ll accompany you.”
Dech laughed. “If you can talk your way in, feel free. I’ll go see the order-captain. He’ll likely have no issue if you use the facilities.”
Dech learned news of his arrival preceded him and a message from the king’s office directed he attend the king’s council as soon as possible. Also awaiting him was a sealed message from Leophric and Ives. It read,
A cursory note regarding Sir Jeffress Sinfor and his abode.
A secretive man by nature, but rather puffed up given his landed status. Knighted for unknown merits in Aten Duchy with vigil and ceremony in the city of Merriworth. While not knighted for battlefield feats, several sources make it clear he is a more than passable fighter with tourney and combat honors to show for it. Rather proud of his current position, he conducts himself as if he was bestowed a barony. A point worth noting should riling him be necessary.
Locals have long held Ganesome Castle rests on cursed ground. Originally a simple walled enclosure for a border station and then improved slightly with higher walls, Ganesome came into existence many decades ago as a means of kenneling a newly-minted baron of martial renown and social inadequacies far from others. Not truly a castle, a tower house was constructed within the existing stone walls as were two small guard towers at the front gate. In the years since, little else has changed due to a lack of coin or reluctance to spend, leaving the outer wall as simply that, a wall with a few small gates. The tower house is defensible, graced with amenities such as arrowslits and little else, prompting a spy from Nevar to once report in part, “…those and the grace of the Creator is all that might prevent a force of any size from taking the place.” We presume an assault is not part of your approach, but if so, have fun storming the tower house.
Signed, L&I
Dech stowed the note. Knowing he would be representing the order before the king, a certain level of dress was required.
After bathing and shaving, he donned a polished hauberk, new surcoat of white with a large shield emblem and rank badge centered on the front and trimmed in gold piping. While he prepared, his boots had been polished and buffed to a shine by one of the junior order brothers. Once ready, he found Mayhaps was also.
“Now that’s the look you should maintain,” Mayhaps said. “Dull greens, browns, and greys are so dreary.”
“They are serviceable. Patrols often need to be stealthy.”
“That’s a stiff price to pay. Style and fashion sense should factor into it.”
“And create stylish corpses? There’s no such thing. In case you didn’t know, my current garb is the uniform we in the order wear for war.”
“Well, at least you fight in style then. Let’s go say hello to the king.”
Dech growled at the bard’s irreverence and the trouble it might bring before the two departed.
Arriving at the palace, they were led to the council chambers where they waited outside. Soon, a clerk stepped from the room.
“They have cleared the docket and the session shall be closed to all but council members and authorized support staff. Are you ready, Warder?”
“I am,” Dech replied.
Looking at Mayhaps and then back to Dech he said, “This man is your aide?”
“I am,” Bard quickly said. “He’d be lost without me.”
Sparing Mayhaps a brief look, the clerk returned his attention to Dech. “He is privy to the information you have been investigating?”
“Much of it. He has been with my expedition for quite some time,” Dech replied.
“Bound by the usual limits of divulging crown business, he may accompany you.”
The clerk led the pair into the council chambers and announced Dech as Mayhaps took a seat nearby. The room seemed unchanged from the last time Dech had been there more than a decade before. The polished wood paneling, high white ceiling, and lengthy table where the counselors sat were all as he remembered it. Walking to the end of the long table opposite of where King Harold sat, the warder placed his leather satchel on the tabletop. Most of those seated were somewhat familiar to him, but only Lords Arundel, Havers, Lady Viviane, and a few others had he conversed with before.
“Warder Dech,” King Harold began. “What information do you bring?”
“I bring evidence of treason, conspiracy, and plots against Arataine, Sire.”
A murmur came from the seated council members.
“Present this evidence if you will,” Lord Arundel said from his seat to Harold’s right.
“I will,” the warder replied. Opening his satchel, he extracted the information he’d gathered on his journey and placed it on the table. “To begin—” he started.
Over an hour later, he finished with, “I leave the documentation for your perusal.” After a recess to allow everyone a break, the council resumed to examine the evidence and discuss the situations the warder brought to light. After a long discussion, Dech was asked to stand before them once again.
“Much of what you have presented confirms or reinforces other sources of information,” Lord Arundel said. “Your brothers in the order have provided us with estimations concerning Malig’s growing force now forming in Nevar. The information concerning Duke Philip is revelatory and most concerning.”
“It is,” Lady Viviane Henning, Countess of Carrick said. “Given the importance of this, why did you delay in Shadow, Sir Dech?”
“Delay, milady?” the warder replied.
“The issue with the mage. You found the siphon mage situation held greater importance than Philip’s machinations?”
“Held greater importance?” Dech asked calmly. “That was not my finding. The information concerning Duke Philip indicated nothing requiring imperative action. The siphon situation was fluid and imminently threatened the lives of numerous people, people of Arataine at that. My departure from Shadow was not delayed by aiding in the elimination of that threat.”
King Harold nodded. “The accounts of Order-Captain Vernon and Mage Aril Osler of Shadow support your position, Warder. I would concur with them. Moving on, I understand the Abbess Dealan is now with the Mage Council?”
“She is, Sire,” a clerk replied.
“We will discuss the derkunblod issue when the mages are ready.” Harold scanned his notes before looking to Dech once again. “Philip’s nudging Malig to invade from Byrmont has come to naught and his duchy will face my brother’s fury first. That knowledge should dampen Philip’s treachery should it come to light, but it remains to be seen if informing him is necessary. We must consider his removal prior to Malig’s attack. With that in mind, I direct you, Warder, to proceed to Ganesome and look into Sir Jeffress Sinfor’s actions. Find evidence of his collusion in Philip’s treachery. Uncover what transpires at the ruined Castle of the Dark Forest. And lastly, should you find evidence of Sinfor’s predations, make sure he does not see another day.”
“The loss of Sinfor harms Philip, yes?” Lady Viviane said.
“It must,” Lord Havers replied. “There have been rumors surrounding Sinfor for quite some time, but nothing that might point to such vile behavior as we have now. If he acts against Philip, what does he seek to gain?”
“And who does he serve?” another council member asked.
“Perhaps the warder might discover this,” Lord Arundel said. “Arataine will be the better without him in any case. Use your good judgment in dealing with Sinfor, Sir Dech. Return with haste.”
Dech took his leave and joined Mayhaps
in exiting the chambers.
“So we pay this Sinfor fellow a visit?” Mayhaps asked as they exited the keep.
“We do.”
“When do we depart?”
“Early tomorrow. I must visit the mage council now.”
“Then I will inform Dissy and Josip of our mission.”
. . .
Dech went back to the order house and recovered the information he had gathered during his trip along with the book from Beor Monastery before he went to the Hieronymus Institute. As a magic training and research center, the institute was without peer in the Southerlies. Among the myriad functions the Hieronymus Institute performed was hosting the King’s Mage Council, a logical choice as most of the council members taught or did research at the institute.
Once Dech arrived, a mage took him to a room where he found Otis McGrew, Conway Wace, Adelbert Granum, and the Abbess Dealan engaged in a lively discussion.
“Sir Dech,” McGrew called as the warder approached the group. “I heard of your encounter with the siphon in Shadow. Aril and I were primary academy students together years ago. He wrote me of your efforts. Strange times we live in. Siphons, dark and blood magic, but we make progress,” he said with a gesture at Granum and Dealan. “Adelbert has been a true font of knowledge and he tells me the abbess is a force. So far, he has been proven correct. There may be hope for us yet.”
Dech smiled at Granum. “So you have stayed.”
The man laughed. “You were right about these two,” he said waggling his finger between Wace and McGrew. “No guff, no looking down noses at an addled old man. Cut from the same stock as Andre Fillister and extraordinary magickers both. Cannot say the same for most around here though. Now… now we have the Abbess Dealan. As keen as she was when we last crossed so long ago. I understand why you concealed knowledge of her.”
Dech gave her a look, one she understood. She smiled and said, “No worries, Dech. No issues thus far.”
“Her former identity is known. There are even some that recall Granum’s visit here,” McGrew said with a smile. “We face a crisis and there is no time for petty mages’ squabbles just now. There is work to be done. Given her current position, everyone knows how to address her. I foresee no disrespect shown to either of our guests.”
Dech gestured at Wace. “And how are you?”
“He’s very well,” Granum said. “Doesn’t speak much, but when he does it’s valuable and well thought.”
Looking back and forth at McGrew and Granum with a smile, Dech said, “I see why he speaks sparingly. He has little choice.”
Wace smiled and shook his head before pointing at the stack of items Dech carried. “Is that for us?”
“It is. As you likely know, there was—and perhaps still is—a systematic suppression of derkunblod knowledge.”
“Yes. We have made some progress as Otis mentioned, but it appears there is a great deal more we need to cover.”
“I suppose so,” Dech replied as he passed the items to Wace. Turning to look at Dealan, he said, “I must see to a matter for the king. I take it you will be occupied here for some time?”
She nodded. “I still intend to accompany you once I am finished here.”
“Then I will see you all when I return.”
. . .
Dech, Mayhaps, Dissy, and Josip made a full day’s travel southeast before stopping early enough to tend to their horses and make camp prior to darkness falling.
After eating, Erie steeped an herbal infusion and poured cups of it as the four spoke at the campfire.
Looking at Mayhaps, Dech asked, “Why did you want to see the King’s Council yesterday?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You didn’t seem to enjoy yourself much.”
“I can’t say that I did. I wanted to see if they had changed any since I was last there. I had hopes they might.”
“What’s the verdict?” Erie asked.
“Same whoresons that were there when they threw Dech aside,” he said in a hard tone. “Same sort that sent his wife and daughter to Limodan. There might be many different faces at the table compared to last, but nothing has changed.”
Erie’s face tightened as he nodded. “I never had the chance to say I’m sorry about what happened at Limodan, Dech. I do not have the words.”
“You do,” Dech replied. “You just said them and I thank you. You know, I’ve never been there. Not before and certainly not after.”
Mayhaps tossed the dregs of his cup into the fire, the liquid sizzling into steam. “I’ve been there several times, but not since the last visit a decade ago. I went there when I heard about the plague thinking I might get Ceresia and Carol away from the sickness, but I was too late. The walls were sealed and the columns of dead fires clouded the skies. I waited near the isolation cordons until they released those declared free of illness a week or so later. There were so few… it made it easy to query them all,” he said bitterly. “I asked of Ceresia and child. A handful knew of her. They said she warned them to leave when the sickness first started. She knew what was coming and knew she was already doomed.” Mayhaps looked away, his eyes clouded and distant, then said, “I bought overpriced flowers from a holy man of some sort and placed them at the remembrance tree they’d already planted before I left. A sad little thing, but one I knelt next to and cried. I cried for them because I wasn’t sure you would. I’ve never been back.”
Dech nodded. “I thank you for the gesture, but why didn’t you mention it when we crossed paths over the years?”
“I wish I could say you were welcome, but it still gnaws at me. I never said anything because I didn’t think you were the Dech I once knew anymore. I thought one day you might cast off the order and make your own way far from Arataine and its machinations that throw loyal subjects aside as they did you. When you didn’t, I estimated it to be stupidity or duty. Two sides, same coin as far as I’m concerned. After awhile I softened on that position and thought you must be empty… heartbroken.”
Dech nodded again. “You’re partly right. It was duty that kept me there. Still does. I took an oath and all I had left after Ceresia and Carol died was duty. So I performed my duty.”
“You had friends, Dech.”
“I also had trouble that would have found those friends if I dragged them down with me.”
“Fair enough, but didn’t you even consider walking away? It wouldn’t have been desertion, old friend. You did nothing wrong, yet you were punished. They took your post as knight-commander from you. They took your home and your family. Others have left the order, why not you?”
Dech drew in a deep breath before answering. “Most of those who leave the order do so because the pull to return to their previous life is strong. Many who join the order cast aside all they were and throw themselves into making a new life. Others simply cannot. For me it was easy to stay. With my family dead and being one who honors his word, I still had the job to occupy me, a job I had practiced since childhood.”
“So it’s still just duty? Aren’t you bitter about what happened?”
“It’s not just duty anymore, though it was for longer than I like to admit. The task is the same, with less complications from those at court. I do what is within my power to stop those that might harm those who do not deserve it. As for bitterness, yes, it resides in me, but what good would it do me to let it run free? None. I am a knight. That’s enough.”
“A knight, yes, you are that. You are also still one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever known, but I’m glad to see part of the old you is still there. I’d venture you’re almost human.”
“On that point we share some common ground,” Dissy said.
. . .
Malig stood vigorously enough to topple the chair he sat in. The clamor outside his tent told him something had caused an alarm. Pulling the flap open, he saw the source of the disturbance: Olk Mirkness walked through the camp headed directly at Malig’s position with most giving him a wide berth as the
y stood from their places near cook fires. Others followed at a distance, hands on sword hilts.
“Sire, Mirkness returns,” a knight called.
“So I see,” he said. He turned and dropped the flap. Righting his chair, he stood leaning on it and awaited the Grandmage’s arrival.
“King Malig, may I enter?” Olk’s hollow voice said.
“Do so. You bring tidings?”
“I do,” Mirkness said as he passed under the flap.
“I’ll have the guards create a cordon so we are not eavesdropped upon.”
“No need,” Mirkness replied raising a hand covered in old scars. “No one but us shall hear our conversation.” He lowered the hand and folded it into the sleeve on the opposite arm.
“What transpires?”
“We stand on the precipice, King Malig. All we await is your readiness.”
“The Cataclysm… you still foresee it as a wise course?”
“Wise, King Malig?” Olk said raising his gaze so his glowing eyes shown from the hood. “I foresee it the only course for success.”
“That being the case,” Malig said with a sneer, “detail this path we set upon. Arataine’s rightful king demands it.”
“Despite all the forces your cause may draw and gifted gold can buy, they are not enough to defeat the usurper Harold. The opening of another Dark Crusade is the way to dilute his might.”
“A Dark Crusade? What of the Catacl—”
“The term used in the Underealm for that called the Cataclysm here on this plane. The Great Rift shall open far from where you launch your campaign, but near enough that Arataine shall be compelled to send forces. Such will be the case for every nation in the Southerlies.”
Malig nodded in understanding. “Weakening them all. Go on.”
“As you ravage the forces of Arataine, so will I ravage the Font of Glaes. When it is no more, few mages might stand in your way. When Harold dies, the way to your rightful throne is open.”
“And what of the Lord of the Vile? How is this creature to be stopped?”
The Warder Page 31
