Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3)

by Craig Alanson

  “Ah,” Paedris nodded, understanding. Cecil had found a single blackened, shriveled body in the center of the crater, with a twisted blade buried in the chest of the corpse. “That was Bjorn, then? He was a brave man, Koren. Now, rest, that is an order. You are yet weak and need to build your strength. It will be a very long walk home,” he added with a frown, wondering how they would accomplish such a daunting task. They would need to find food and horses in a landscape scoured clean of any life. No matter, he thought as he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to take him. The demon was dead. He could rest, truly rest, for the first time in over a century.

  Paedris shivered the next morning, cold inside from having so much of his power drained away in the process of healing Koren. “Lord Salva, please stop trying to carry me!” The boy implored. “I am able to walk.”

  “Koren,” Cecil warned, “you are still weak, there is a sickness inside you.”

  “Yes, but much of that sickness will go away if I get a good meal in my belly and,” Koren swept an arm to encompass the lifeless mountains of rock all around them. “We won’t get that here.”

  Cecil shrugged. “He is right about that, Paedris.” The two wizards only had enough food remaining in their packs for three days, and that was for two people. With a third mouth to feed, a very hungry mouth, they would run out of food the next day. They dared not eat anything from the poisoned landscape around them, lest the sickness that infected the land strike them down also.

  “I am well enough, aren’t I?” Koren asked anxiously. “I feel, fine, but-”

  “But what?” Paedris asked, dropping to one knee with concern and pressing a hand to the boy’s forehead.

  “I can’t feel anything, inside me,” Koren tried to explain something he didn’t understand. “Even when I couldn’t use power, I could feel the connection there. Now, I can’t feel anything.”

  “Ah,” Paedris looked to Cecil, sighed and helped the boy stand up. “Listen, Koren. I fear that while your body will heal itself, you may have use too much power. It has, sort of, burned out your power from within. You can’t feel a connection because it isn’t there. I thought at first that I could find it, coax it back to life, but it is gone. Completely.”

  “I’m, I’m not a wizard anymore?”

  “Koren, I don’t know, I-”

  “Paedris, we owe the boy the truth,” Cecil chided his friend.

  “The truth?” Koren looked to the tall, thin wizard with more fear than hope.

  “The truth,” Cecil said as Paedris looked away, unable to give such terrible news to someone who had saved them all. “The truth is, your ability to use magic, your connection to the spirit world, is gone. It is not something you did, and it is not a mere matter of skill or training. You see, Koren, the spirits have done this to protect themselves. They will not allow you to use magic, for they know you can harm even them. You killed a demon, and the spirits fear you.”

  “I’m not a wizard?” Koren staggered, reaching out for Cecil to steady himself. “My Lords, I had just gotten used to the idea of being a wizard.”

  “Koren, you need never call any of us ‘Lord’ again,” Paedris declared. “I am truly sorry, there is nothing to be done.”

  “But, what am I to do? I thought-”

  Cecil interrupted. “Right now, what you need to do is walk with us, if we are to leave this poisoned land behind. Paedris, this evening, you must try to contact Wing so she can arrange for soldiers on horseback to meet us. We cannot walk all the way out of Acedor, even if the army here is no longer a threat to us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  Kyre Falco was utterly exhausted when he presented himself at the royal tent for an audience with the Regent in midmorning, having been up all night after already being weary from the previous day’s battle. While Magrane’s Royal Army troops pursued or warily monitored scattered remnants of the enemy army, Kyre had volunteered to deal with those Burwyck soldiers who had followed the orders of his father. He was a Falco and it was his responsibility, he had argued successfully to Magrane, then had to lead people loyal to him on the distasteful task of rounding up those who wore the colors and emblem of Burwyck. Most groups of Burwyck soldiers he found had surrendered peacefully and without comment, other than to say they were heartily sorry for following the now-disgraced Regin Falco.

  Kyre had approached those last holdouts of Burwyck personally, holding out his arms to show he had no weapons other than the sword strapped to his waist. “Talen!” He called out to his younger brother. “Father is dead, he disgraced our family. Do not join his dishonor, come forward and join us in victory.”

  His brother stepped forward warily, holding a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, glaring hatred at his older brother. “You killed father! You are a traitor to our family!”

  “No, Talen,” Kyre’s head almost nodded from great weariness, most of which was emotional. “Father died by his own hand, when he saw his schemes had come to nothing. He faced hanging for treason, and took his own life as a coward, rather than pay for his crimes. Our family is disgraced, we have nothing. I am nothing, I am heir to nothing, the Falco line is dead. Burwyck is lost to us, we must-”

  “No! You lie!” Talen screamed in outrage, fitting arrow to bowstring and swing the bow up to aim at his brother. The bowstring twanged weakly and the arrow flew off harmlessly into the air as one of Talen’s own guards thumped the boy’s helmet with the pommel of his sword and Talen fell to the ground. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace,” the guard gave the apology to Kyre rather than the boy he had struck. “It would be a shame for your brother to do something stupid.”

  “Thank you,” Kyre shuddered slightly with relief, as the men around his brother had been the last holdouts of the Burwyck soldiers who had followed the former duke. “I’m not ‘Your Grace’ any more, I’m not anything. I have no claim on your loyalty,” he looked around him at soldiers who had followed him or his father. “No claim on any of you.”

  The guard went down on one knee. “I followed your father into treason out of habit and stupidity, Your Grace, and I am ashamed. I follow you now because you have the honor I lacked. Ask, and it shall be done.”

  “Oh,” Kyre’s tired brain did not know how to react. “See to Talen, please. And, uh,” he waved a hand vaguely, “do whatever the Royal Army orders. I must go surrender my sword to the Regent, where I intend to beg for mercy. Not for myself, but for all those who followed my father.”

  “Highness,” Kyre knelt in the royal tent, then unstrapped his sword belt and let it fall to the carpets. “I surrender my sword as a sign of my family’s deep shame at the actions of the former duke. He is dead by his own hand,” he pulled the heavy gold ducal signet ring from a pocket and tossed it at the feet of the princess. “His treachery and cowardice extended even to the manner of his death, I am ashamed to say.”

  Ariana held her tongue on the subject of Regin Falco, not trusting herself to hold back from saying something she might later regret. At the moment, she regretted holding back, for how could anyone dispute her thoughts about the vile treachery of Regin Falco? Yet, she knew Chancellor Kallron always cautioned her to measure her words in public. “And what of your brother Talen?”

  Kyre stiffened, his troublesome brother being a sore subject for him. “Talen did not see the wisdom of renouncing his featly to our late father, and resisted being disarmed.”

  “Resisted?”

  Kyre nodded, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. “He was about to shoot an arrow at me, when one of Talen’s own guards knocked him over the head. My brother is now under guard, with the other people of Burwyck who did not see fit to repent their actions during the battle. Most of,” he coughed into a hand, “those who resisted will not be a problem, because they are no longer with us, Highness.”

  “I see.” Ariana looked at the signet ring of the Falcos, looking down not because she had any interest in the ring, but because she needed time to think. “You father did commit treason mos
t foul, and as his son and heir, you-” She paused. “This is awkward, as you and I are betrothed,”

  “Forgive me, Your Highness, but that is not true.”

  “Uh, what?” Ariana was completely taken aback by Kyre’s comment.

  “The arrangement of betrothal specified you are to marry the heir to the Falco line, whether that is myself or my younger brother Talen,” Kyre began to explain.

  “I am not going to marry your brother, that, that, horrible, traitorous little boy!” Ariana rose halfway out of her seat before Chancellor Kallron’s gentle hand on her shoulder caused her to sit down.

  “I would not suggest you or anyone else marry my brother, Highness, for he is a selfish bully, a coward and a fool to follow my father into treason,” Kyre glanced up at the princess for the first time. “You do not need to marry any of my father’s sons, for his treason has ended the Falco’s claim to legitimate rule of Burwyck province. There is no Falco dynasty, therefore there is no heir to hold you to a betrothal contract.”

  “He speaks the truth, Highness,” Chancellor Kallron announced. “Duke Falco’s treason renders the betrothal contract null, for there is no Falco dynasty.”

  “Oh,” Ariana felt deflated, for she had been prepared to argue in righteous anger against having to marry Kyre. “That is, good, I suppose.”

  “Did you really want to marry me, Highness?” Kyre ventured a bold question.

  “No! No.” Ariana answered honestly without stopping to think which response would be most proper and politically useful to her. “I must admit that, as I have come to see your true nature, and your worth as a person both to Tarador and to myself personally, I have found you less,” she found herself actually smiling, “completely repulsive and odious than I expected a Falco to be.”

  “I am,” Kyre could not help a brief chuckle, “pleased that my presence is somewhat more welcome than a skunk at a picnic.”

  “Oh, I never said that, Mister Falco,” Ariana hid her laughter behind a gloved hand. “We have all been marching for many days, then in battle, and now up for a full night. A skunk may understandably complain of the way you smell this day. Perhaps after a bath, you might be less unwelcome.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” Kyre smiled.

  Ariana leaned to the side and sniffed herself. “My own royal person is not immune to the effects of not bathing, either. Tell me, Kyre, did you want to marry me?”

  “No,” Kyre answered without hesitation, speaking without calculation or guile. “I mean no insult, Highness, and recently I have come to greatly admire you despite my having been raised to hate Trehaymes as my mortal enemy. But,” he blushed, embarrassed. That, too, was a new sensation for a Falco, especially in public. “We would not be a good match. I have watched the unhappiness of my parents, and I have come to believe a good marriage must be based on more than,” he moved his mouth distastefully, “political or financial advantages. I hope Your Highness will not think less of me for speaking my mind.”

  “On the contrary, it makes me think more of you.”

  “Highness, if I have served you well, perhaps you could see fit to give me a recommendation, when you have time? I have no prospects,” he admitted ruefully, “and I am hoping some mercenary company might wish to hire a person with experience in battle.”

  “Hmm,” Ariana made an exaggerated show of putting a finger to her cheek as if deep in thought. “You need something to do? It just happens that, as Regent of Tarador, I find myself in need of someone to administer the duchy of Burwyck until the future queen can appoint a new royal family to assume the dukedom there. But, however could I find someone who is familiar with the province, and has proven to be loyal and trustworthy?”

  “Highness?” Kyre’s knees wobbled.

  “Perhaps,” Chancellor Kallron played along with the princess, a sign that he heartily approved of her idea. “You might consider Kyre Falco, Your Highness. He does, after all, know the land and people of Burwyck.”

  “Why, that is a capital idea!” Ariana clapped her hands in mock delight. “Kyre, would you be willing to act as my royal factor, to administer Burwyck until a suitable person can be found to assume the dukedom there?”

  “Y-yes, Highness,” Kyre went down on one knee again, partly out of gratitude and partly because he was so stunned by the turnaround in his fortunes that his legs were about to give out and pitch him forward onto the carpets. “I pledge my best efforts as your royal agent.”

  “I am sure you will. You pledged yourself to protect me, and you have proven honorable, at great cost to yourself and your family. Honorable, and loyal to Tarador.” As she spoke, she reached a decision, and spoke before Kallron could intervene. “After I am crowned queen of Tarador, it will be within my power to grant the duchy of Burwyck to a deserving person of royal birth,” as she spoke, her mind raced through the complicated rules of ducal succession and the restrictions on how the crown could intervene in such succession. “A person of royal birth,” she nodded toward Kyre, “who has demonstrated bravery and unflinching loyalty to Tarador, even at the cost of breaking fealty to his father and liege lord, might be a good choice to assume the dukedom of Burwyck, don’t you think?”

  “Highness?” Kyre and the Chancellor both asked at the same time, then Kallron smiled at the wisdom of the young princess. “I cannot think of a better candidate, Highness. Appointing Kyre Falco the duke of Burwyck would certainly make a bold statement to the realm that you reward loyalty to Tarador.” Kallron was pleasantly astonished at the cleverness of the princess. Making Kyre duke of Burwyck would ensure the life-long gratitude of the boy, and perhaps end the useless and expensive feud between the Falcos and the Trehaymes.

  Ariana, Kallron thought not for the first time, would be a formidable queen.

  “And,” Ariana added, “doing so will make it clear that people should be judged on their own merits, and not only on family connections.”

  “Highness,” Kyre looked up with tears streaming freely down his cheeks, “I do not know how to thank you, other than to say Burwyck will be as loyal as my father was treasonous.” The princess may believe in him, but he knew many, even most, people in Tarador and the greater world would need to be convinced that Kyre Falco was not fully his father’s son. That would take time and tremendous effort, and Kyre was burning with eagerness to get started.

  Kyre’s bodyguard Jonas waited outside the royal tent, feeling awkward and conspicuous wearing the disgraced and treasonous colors of the Falcos, and wondering when the royal guard force would demand he surrender his bow and sword. Jonas had gone so far as to partly unbuckle his sword belt, so it would drop to the ground quickly, and avoid any excuses for miscommunication that might result in his death that morning. So, he was astonished when Kyre emerged from the tent, head held high, beaming with joy. “Sire?” Jonas pointed to the boy’s sword, then gaped at Kyre’s tunic. Jonas had expected Kyre to depart the royal tent most likely under arrest, but certainly without his sword, and with the silver falcon crest of his family cut out of his dirty and blood-stained tunic. Yet, Kyre was not in chains, his sword was proudly swinging from his waist, and the Falco crest was blazing prominently on the front of his tunic.

  “Her Highness has given me a great gift, Jonas, a gift I must prove I am worthy of.”

  “Your freedom, Sire?” Jonas asked hopefully.

  “Better, Jonas. A chance to redeem my family name, and perhaps restore this,” he tapped the silver falcon crest, “to a place of honor in Burwyck, and the world.”

  “I, I do not know what to say, Sire,” Jonas stammered. “What does this mean?”

  “It means, Jonas,” Kyre looked to the bright blue morning sky and inhaled deeply, “that we have much work to do, and we had best get started immediately.” His stomach growled, as one scent he had inhaled was from the Royal Army’s kitchen fires. “After a hearty breakfast, of course.”

  Koren sat taller in the saddle, squinting to see who was riding toward him so quickly, and so awkwardly
. Whoever was the lone person who raced ahead of the royal party, he or she was not a skilled rider, bouncing up and down far too much. Yet the person wore fine clothing, with a shiny tunic flowing behind that Koren guessed must have been made of silk, a fabric considered expensive even by royalty. As the person got closer, he waved then grabbed the horse’s mane and nearly had to hug the beast’s neck to avoid falling off. It was a man, no, a boy and – “Cully?” Koren gasped. What was the servant boy Cully Runnet doing with the royal party, so far from Linden, riding a horse and dressed in fine clothes?

  “Ho, Koren!” The boy called out, reining in his horse gingerly. Koren reached out to steady his old friend as Cully turned the horse to trot alongside. “It is Sir Cully Runnet now, if you please.”

  “Sir?” Koren assumed the boy was joking until he saw the crest Cully wore on the front of his tunic, and the silver badge that fastened around his neck. “You are a knight now? When, how, when did this happen? How?”

  “I taught the princess and a wizard how to swim, is the short version,” Cully smiled with embarrassmenbt and Koren knew the full story had to be much more interesting than swimming lessons. “What about you? You’re a wizard?”

  “No,” it was Koren’s turn to be embarrassed. Ahead, he could see the crown princess urging her horse to a trot as they closed the distance between them. “Not anymore,” he flexed his right hand open, remembering when a river of fire had poured forth to obliterate an orc army. Now he had no more magical power than Cully. “I was never really a wizard, didn’t know what I was doing. “

  “But, you killed a demon?”

  “I sort of let it kill itself, is all I did.”