by Eric Ugland
“Born to a mother that didn’t want me and a father that couldn’t care about me.”
“Where?”
“A city.”
“Which city.”
“One very distant.”
“Tell me a name.”
“Edmund Fitzgerald.”
“Who is that?”
“Mountain Climber.”
“What does that have to do with where you’re from?”
“Not that much.”
He sighed.
“I suppose it is a bit much to hope that you don’t see the glaring holes with basic truth magics, eh?”
“It’s pretty obvious, you know, once I know it’s working.”
“You would be surprised how many either don’t know it’s working nor how to avoid it.”
I leaned back in the chair, tipping it up on two legs, and sighed. “So what’s on the docket here?” I asked, gesturing at the desk. “Still figuring out siege estimates? Private armies?”
“Unfortunately, I’m focusing on standing armies. How big a force we will ultimately be facing at Bergamo. Which, thanks to you, is probably not quite as bad as it could have been, so, kudos to you on that.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The city is under siege, but at least we caught a few of their attempted landings.”
“Sounds less than great.”
“It is under control. Just not an opportune time. Mahrduhm continues to push us at Rumib Pass, and I have heard disturbing reports from elsewhere. It is as if the entire world was waiting for our weaknesses to appear, and now that they are...”
“I saw a parade today. Someone coming in for the throne.”
“Yes, that fun is beginning as well. I am certainly interested to see who thinks they have the right stuff to sit on that throne. It will be, well, interesting.”
“You’re not interested?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I’m tempted to ask why.”
“Ask. Though it is not a topic I’m willing to speak further on. I don’t want it. I saw what it did to my brother.”
“What if you’re elected anyway?”
“I don’t know how to answer a question like that. I can’t see how that would be the case — I am reviled throughout the lands as the man who betrayed his brother.”
“You don’t have to live like that, though. You can come out and tell the truth about things.”
“And who would believe me? My brother needed me to be a villain, and I complied, because that is how family works.”
“What if there was a way around that?”
“Around being a villain? No. There is none.”
“But just what if?”
“Thief, there are enough topics requiring my attention at the moment where I do not need to dwell upon impossible hypotheticals.”
“Anything I might be able to help with?”
“A helpful thief? That would be novel.”
“You asked for my help the last time I visited.”
“Ah yes. Nadya.”
“Felt like I was pretty effective that regard.”
“Hardly.”
“What do you mean?”
“It has gotten to the point where her mother has had a chat with me about things. The girl is still in love with the lowborn rapscallion.”
“Sounds a bit elitist.”
“I am the brother of the Emperor — I can trace my line back to the founding of this Empire. Do I not have some claim on being elite?”
“Sure, but what’s wrong with the dude being lowborn?”
“The dude? If it were anyone but Nadya, it would be no issue whatsoever, and I would welcome adding someone actually interesting to the family.”
“Why does it matter being Nadya?”
“That is, once again, not a topic for you to explore. It is not germane to you or to me or the Empire. Switch topics or leave.”
“Who do you think will become Emperor? Or Empress?”
“I don’t rightly know as of yet. The contenders are still gathering votes. Seeing who might support them and the cost of that support. As the noble families arrive in Glaton for winter, things will become clearer.”
“Do you mind if I ask a history question?”
“I would prefer that.”
“Why an elective monarchy?”
“It is a sort of cantankerous style, isn’t it?”
“I think so. I just don’t understand why it’s better than just, you know—“
“Primogeniture? I admit, that was how things were settled for quite some time. The benefit of more than a thousand years of history is being able to see some of what works, and what doesn’t, and where the weaknesses might lie. There have been 87 over the course of the Empire. Some were great rulers — Elissa, the founder of the Empire for example. Some have been bad, like perhaps Laegartha the Bloody, who attempted to drown the country in the blood of her enemies. Mostly imaginary, by the way. She was overthrown by Joan the Hero, of house Lodbrook. After a few rather bad rulers, there was someone who was so vile most children hear about her as a tale to keep them in check. Do your chores, or you might be summoned to the court of Petronilla. She was the last to purely inherit the throne. Other members of the great families banded together and built the Charter. They established an elective system designed to prevent the heinous and useless from taking the throne.”
“Has that worked out?”
“In six hundred years, and there’s only had to be one violent overthrow. Elizabeth V. The Demon of Glaton.”
“She sounds like a kitten.”
“She was a little too interested in gaining the help of those cursed to the lower realms, and she paid the price for meddling with devils and demons. In a sense, we all did. It is often called The Darkest Year.”
“She only ruled for a year?”
He nodded. “A single year was enough. My great-great-great-great grandmother slew the demon in single combat, and was voted in.”
“What about Elizabeth? What happened to her?”
“She had been consumed by the demon.”
“It ate her?”
“In a manner of speaking. It possessed her. Wholly. Since then, my family has held the throne. But who knows to which family it will pass...”
“How many families are there?”
“In the Empire? Countless.”
“I mean, who can become Emperor.”
“In a technical sense, it can be anyone. Anyone who is a member of the Empire can, in theory, attempt to become Emperor. Helps to have royal blood, but it hasn’t always been the case. The Ironsides were not nobility when they assumed the throne. Tormund III. Tormund the Good, he was called. A valiant guardsman who stood up to the evil Empress Petronilla. He and his kin held the line against Petronilla’s pets, thralls, and everything else she could muster. And after the election was decided, it was Tormund who had the most votes. Excellent leader. But, realistically, there are a few major families, those who hold the Archdukedoms. The Oldenbergs, the Glatons, the Edgemonds, the Lodbrooks. That and the Ironsides, those are all the families who have held the throne. Now, who knows? I’ve heard some rumblings, but—“
“How does the voting work?”
“Poorly, if I remember my lessons. There are votes meted out based on how many provinces there are and the level of province. The Emperor receives as many votes as the nobles hold. And then, the First Citizen of Glaton holds a single vote. The tiebreaker.”
“Wait, all the nobles and this citizen have to vote the same to overrule the Emperor?”
“Yes. In everything the Emperor decrees, not just the election to the throne.”
“It doesn’t seem like the Emperor is challenged often.”
“Not often, but it happens. When the Emperor dies, he or she writes down who his votes go to, so--“
“So it’s only slightly elective.”
“It is more than you think. Several times in the past, the first vote is a simple overrule
of the Emperor’s votes. The Emperor is no longer around at that point, so it’s not very hard to vote against the candidate. And when there is no will, nor does anyone know the wishes of the Emperor, it is treated as if the Emperor did not cast any votes. Such as now, which is an open election.”
“Although only the nobles get to vote.”
“How else would it be? I feel this will be a particularly interesting election, given the recent events with my brother. He has made a singular dukedom in the new territory, an Imperial Duke who eschews the normal hierarchies. This new duke has all the votes of the new territory, and he holds the single largest voting block. And no one knows a damn thing about him.”
“Where did this guy come from?”
“A rather complicated question, and one I am still in the midst of figuring out. Perhaps at our next visit, I might have an answer. Now, unless there’s anything else I you’d like to discuss—“
“Can I help you at all?”
“Well, let’s see. I have a war in the south and a war in the north. You have anything to stop either of those?”
“Not yet. But I can tell you that Mahrduhm thinks there’s a way in through a northwest passage.”
“There isn’t.”
“The queen seems to think there is.”
Valamir sighed, got to his feet, and went to a bookshelf. He pulled out a tube, looked at the label. Then another. And another. He nodded, and unrolled a map across the desk.
“This is the northwest of the Empire,” he said, pointing at the corner of the map. “All of this is new territory , and while I’ll admit we aren’t so sure about what’s within our borders at the moment, I do know the northern borders are mountains. Impassable mountains. There is no point anywhere along here,” he used his finger to point out basically the entire northern range of mountains, “where you can cross to the north. Not in any reasonable way. Rumib Pass,” he jabbed his finger at a point to the northeast corner, “is the only realistic means of travel between the north and us.”
“I’m just passing on what I overheard,” I said. “The queen thinks she can—“
“Well, she can’t. I appreciate the intelligence, misplaced though it might be. Any chance you know what she’s doing east of us?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s where things are more likely to go sideways. The Dark Queen is busy gobbling up all the land she can get her hands on over there, and because of my brother’s untimely... Regardless. We are not in a position to stop her.”
“Yeah, I don’t even know what countries are over there.”
“Might as well put a pause on learning any of that. By the time you have it memorized, it’ll all be Mahrduhm.”
“I don’t know, I’m a quick learner.”
Valamir shook his head, but smiled a little. Then he rolled the map up, and tossed it back on the bookshelf.
“As long as we’re playing the game of being friends,” he said, “is there something I might help you with?”
“Hmm. Any chance you know how to deal with people that can’t be killed?” I asked.
“What are you on about?” he asked. He went over to his drink cabinet and poured two glasses of amber liquid.
“There are these people here in your city, our city, and they, I mean, it’s a little difficult to explain, but they don’t, I mean, when you kill them, they just come back.”
“Undead?” he asked, setting a glass in front of me.
“No, basically like nothing really happened. They just lose experience points.”
“Huh,” Valamir said, sitting down in his chair and taking a deep sip. “Interesting predicament.”
“Why are you so-- do you know about this?”
“There’s a distinct possibility I’ve heard of some individuals who have powers along those lines.”
“Like the immortal in the dungeons?”
“Sadly, I can’t speak to that.”
“State secret?”
“I’m not sure what you are referring to.”
“Okay, I get it.”
“Perhaps, and I will not commit to anything, but perhaps if you were to give me a little something I would be able to part with some information for you.”
I leaned back in the chair, holding the drink in my hand, not even thinking about drinking it. I didn’t have time get drunk. What could I offer the prince?
“I could try and get more info on the Dark Queen.”
“Not very pressing,” he said. “What else do you have?”
“Carchedon?”
“What do you have from them?”
“Uh, I could talk to someone about them for you--“
He waved his hand. “Useless.”
I thought for a second. “I can get you something Tollendahl probably desperately wants. That might help you get him off your back.”
He finally looked somewhat intrigued.
“Oh?” he asked. “Tell me more.”
“Do you remember an orb going missing?” I replied.
Valamir smiled. “I seem to recall you having something to do with that.”
“I might know where it is.”
“Are you offering to tell me the location of the orb?”
“I mean, that’d certainly be easier for me.”
“And, therefore, more difficult for me. No, I fear I would need you to give me the orb so that I might gift it to Tollendahl. Or, rather, sell it to him.”
“Quite valuable.”
“It is. I would agree to that. You bring me the orb, and I will tell you what I know about these ‘immortals’ of yours.”
You have been offered a quest by Valamir Glaton:
An Orb Reward
Acquire the orb for Valamir and return to him.
Reward for success: Information on the ‘Immortals’
Penalty for failure (or refusal): unknown
Yes/No
I accepted the quest.
“Any chance I could bring the orb to you without having to sneak in here?” I asked.
He chuckled. “You grow tired of sneaking around?”
“Just don’t think it would be wise for me to be climbing walls and the like when I could slip and break the orb into a million pieces.”
“Yes, I suppose that might be unfortunate.”
He pulled open a drawer and grabbed a small piece of paper about the size of a business card. He scribbled something on it with his pen, and then pushed his ring into the card. He flipped it my way.
“Grants you singular passage to me. Try and use it only when you’ve got the orb. And losing it would be annoying, as I don’t know your name, so I can’t exactly attach it to you.”
I picked it up and slid it into my pouch.
“Talk to you soon,” I said, heading to the door. “Are the guards going to stop me now?”
“They will if they see you.”
“Noted.”
I opened the door, cast Shadow Step, then sprinted out of the house.
Chapter Forty-Five
Normally I would have gone straight to the next job, heading to Rowland’s manor house and assessing how difficult it’d be to sneak into the dead man’s house. But I had no idea where he lived, and I was actually feeling a little tired. It had been a rough night. Meeting with The Fayden had been stressful, what with almost being cooked alive and all. And almost drowning. And almost being buried in sand. Even with all that, I had to admit, I was pretty excited about learning more magic. Getting new spells, getting a better handle on the magic I had. That was definitely going to make all the trouble of dealing with The Fayden worth it. Right?
I decided the best thing for me was to go home, get some sleep, and plan on making the snatch the next day. I didn’t have any other missions planned, so it seemed like I had an opening.
Feeling lazy, I took a carriage back to Old Town, but had the driver drop me off a decent distance away. I still wanted to do what I could to keep anyone from tying me to, uh, myself.
I got out of the c
arriage, and noticed a figure on horseback, riding along the street as if they had nothing better to do in the wee hours of the morning. There was something off about the figure, mainly that I hadn’t seen many people riding late at night. For one thing, it made a decent amount of noise.
The figure had a fine heavy cloak that rested on the back of the beautiful black horse they rode. A tricorn hat pulled low over completed the ensemble, and made me think this was an interloper to Old Town. Perhaps someone Valamir sent after me in order to ascertain my true identity.
I walked calmly down the street, away from the spot the carriage had dropped me off, paying little outward attention to the rider. I did, however, cast a very small illusory mirror, and had it float along just a little in front and to the right. The rider had dismounted, tying their horse up to a ring next to a building. I was being followed. Discrete-ish. I turned a corner, and had a few seconds to do something to throw off my pursuer.
My first impulse was to sprint ahead and slip down an alley. But there was only one possible alley for me to slip down, so it wouldn’t exactly be difficult for the dude to follow me. However, if there’s one thing I learned from being a city-dweller: people do not look up. I took a few running steps before jumping up and grabbing onto the molding on the building. Quickly, and a bit like a monkey, I climbed until I came to an overhang. Then I wedged myself into the vague shadow.
My pursuer came around the corner a little faster than I’d expected, but I was mostly in place.
They came to a quick stop, looked and listened, and then ran to the alley, darting down into it.
I dropped down to the street and walked back the way I’d come. Quickly, yes, but doing my best to look like I didn’t have any reason to be walking so fast. I imagined myself enjoying the midnight air, perhaps looking for a street lamp to do a little Gene Kelly twirl. When I saw the horse, I thought about hopping into the saddle and riding away, but, let’s be real, I have no idea how to ride a horse. Bicycle, sure. I could weave a fixie through midtown, midday traffic like nobody’s business.
I looked at how the saddle was attached. Seemed simple enough. So I undid the belt running under the horse’s stomach, and lifted the saddle off. Then I just walked away, carrying the saddle like it was mine. Which, in a technical five-finger-discount sort of a way, I suppose it was.
