The Arcanist

by Greg Curtis

  Simon looked up to see Vesar standing in front of him, when only seconds before he hadn't been there. He hadn't even been in the throne room. And Simon hadn't heard him enter either. He wished the man would stop doing that.

  “Yes. Tell me about these armies.”

  Over and over he'd asked Vesar about them, knowing that his future depended on them. Simon was paying for the mercenaries out of his own coffers and the royal treasury, but that was gold that could not last forever. Especially when so many of those mercenaries along with the remains of the city guard were now blockading the homes of the three powers and his brother's fort as well. He needed Vesar's promised armies to propel his campaign. Taking the throne of Therion had never been the extent of his dreams. He wanted an empire. And now that things were falling apart he needed it.

  Conquest was the one thing that would save him. People didn't depose conquering kings. And conquering kingdoms never ran short of coin or resources. They took what they needed from those they conquered. But he couldn't conquer a barn without an army. He couldn't even defend the city without walls and cannon. And the walls were broken and he doubted there was a single working cannon left. The sprigs had destroyed them all. Maybe that had been a mistake.

  “Everything is coming along perfectly Your Majesty. In another month or so we'll be ready to build your army for you.”

  He was lying. Simon could hear it in his voice. No matter how well the damned priest thought he could hide his lies behind his veil, he couldn't. And that just left him with the question of why. Why was he lying?

  He wasn't scared of failing him. Simon knew that. His threats did little more than annoy the man, and then only briefly. He didn't think Simon could carry them out. Or maybe he simply thought he wouldn't, given that if he did he would be left with nothing.

  It wasn't because he disliked war either. The priest was happy to kill. To wade through rivers of blood. And there was no limit to the suffering he was prepared to inflict upon others. But never was anything he did about malice or power or even enjoyment. It was always about achieving his goal. And his goal was to build his damned temple.

  That Simon realised was the answer. And once he understood it the bottom abruptly fell out of his world. Vesar had done all he intended to do. All that he had ever intended to do! His temple was being built; nothing else mattered. He didn't care if Simon became an emperor or if he fell. He didn’t care if the city collapsed into ruin or the realm revolted. Nothing mattered to him save that his temple be built. Now that construction was under way he gave not a wit for Simon's dreams.

  “Months!” Simon knew it was time to stamp his authority on the man once more. And this time by using the only leverage he had. How had it come to this? How could he have been so blind to the man's intentions? But the how didn't matter. Only that he had been, and that he would be no longer. “No. I need armies. I need walls and buildings repaired. I need the cannon repaired. I need food flowing into the city once more. And I don't need it in months. I need it now!”

  “Your Majesty –.”

  “Don't! Not another word! I don't want to hear any more excuses. Not today. You will provide me with what I need and until you do all work on your temple stops.”

  Simon laid out his demands and for several long heartbeats there was absolute silence in the throne room. Vesar was shocked, as he should be. Then the protests started.

  “Your Majesty! We have a deal!”

  Finally Simon heard something he wanted to hear in the man. Genuine emotion. Panic. And he knew he had him. For the moment. But he also knew he was playing a dangerous game. Vesar was not the sort of man to allow such a demand to stand. There would be consequences.

  “Don't “Your Majesty” me anymore. You want your temple built and it will be built. I am not backing out of our agreement. But unless I get what I need your temple will never be finished. You need me as I need you. You need a king because without me, no one will work on your temple. I am paying after all. And I need my armies and my walls and my food because without them I won't remain king much longer. And if that happens your temple building ends.”

  “So tomorrow I start taking back the workers to work on the city walls and buildings. And tomorrow you commit yourself to building my army. Is that clear?”

  It was, and he watched as Vesar bowed slightly to him and mumbled the words of acceptance reluctantly. He had been cowed again. But Simon knew it wouldn't last. Vesar had only one purpose in life – building his damned temple – and he would not be kept away from it.

  Their arrangement had just founded on rocks. At first it had been a simple mutually beneficial arrangement. They worked together and each got what they wanted. But now that would change he knew. They would still work together and the ship would float along for a while yet. But it was sinking. From now on Simon knew, and Vesar surely knew too, each would be busy undercutting the other where it suited them. Looking to score an advantage at each other's expense.

  And sooner or later it would end. Each of them knew that. In time one of them would decide that the other was no longer necessary. And when that happened it would be bloody. Now that the gauntlet had been thrown down Vesar would begin to question Simon's value to him. And he would start making his own plans.

  Maybe he'd already started making them. Simon realised that as he watched his advisor walk away, after politely promising to do everything he demanded. But as he did so Simon noticed the royal guards' eyes following the black priest. And he knew they were looking to the miserable worm for instructions.

  It was then that Simon felt a sudden chill as he suddenly realised they weren't really royal guards after all. They were Vesar's guards! Loyal to the black priest and only on loan to the king.

  Treachery! Simon started grinding his teeth in fury. The treasonous little worm! Vesar had been playing the traitor's game from the start. Preparing for the day when Simon no longer did what he wanted. And he wanted his temple. So under the guise of protecting him from his enemies Vesar had been providing Simon with guards who were actually his own. And sooner or later Simon guessed they would act, deposing him and taking their orders directly from the new king, Vesar. Now it looked like being sooner.

  That was going to be a problem. In fact it already was one. Simon understood that as he watched his advisor leaving the room through the doors the guards' held for him. The royal guards were probably the largest surviving military force in the city. In the realm. And he suddenly realised that he didn't know how many of them were Vesar's and how many were his. But judging from the veils he guessed most of them belonged to the black priest. That was a serious threat to his rule. Especially when most of the city guards he could have called on were out blockading the various lands of the powers.

  Simon realised he was going to have to bring some of them home. Actually a lot of them. Five hundred at least. And quickly, before Vesar acted. After all, the powers were no threat to him. They cared nothing for mortal matters. It was Vesar who demanded the blockades. Blockades that would have been completely useless had any of those powers decided to cross them. But he would send some of Vesar's royal guards out to replace them. All of them in time. After all, as Vesar was the one who wanted the blockades it seemed only fair that it should be his men posted at them. Simon knew he was going to have to start immediately. Before Vesar decided to take matters into his own hands. Before he decided he had the numbers to hold the city by himself.

  Maybe he already did have the numbers.

  “Send me the scribe!” Simon bellowed it at the royal guards standing watch at the door, knowing that for the moment they would still do as he commanded. And knowing also that they had no idea of the orders he was about to have drafted and dispatched.

  Simon knew that he was going to have to be discrete about it. He would have to hide the truth of his actions from his advisor. So today he'd only order one patrol home from each blockade. Four patrols, maybe a hundred and twenty men. But they would be here within a day and little by lit
tle they'd begin replacing Vesar's traitorous royal guards who he would be sending to replace them on the blockades. Then tomorrow another four patrols, and so forth. In a week he'd be far more secure in his rule.

  Vesar would guess what he was doing of course. But not for a few days at least, and by then it would be too late to do anything about it. And in any case it was still too soon for Vesar to move on him. He would have to endure it.

  And in time he decided, there would be another price to be paid by Vesar for his treachery. A price that would cost him dearly. The loss of his temple. That huge building site right beside his castle was going to go. But not in a way that the priest would know was due to him. It had to be something that Vesar would assume was done by his enemies. He had plenty of those.

  But maybe he would tell him what he'd done before the end Simon thought – just before he pulled the lever that let the foul worm drop to his death at the end of a noose.

  Chapter Thirty One

  “All right, I want you to run through the first dance please.”

  Kyriel sighed quietly as she asked her pupil to show her what she'd learned over the previous days. Though she knew the young woman would have improved, she also knew that that was only because she'd had absolutely no skill before. It was actually impossible for her to get any worse.

  At least it was warm and sunny, a perfect day for training Kyriel thought as she put April Severin through her paces with the sword. But she suspected there would be a lot of rain to come before the girl showed any true skill. She'd obviously never picked up a blade before in her life. The same though was true of most of the women in the temple.

  Tyrel did not welcome them to her for their skills in battle. Her goals in welcoming them were much more complex. She didn't need an army. She needed a people. And she would use all of their skills, political strength, economic power, intelligence, connections, education and knowledge to wield them in her war. A war that despite the obvious concerns of her pupil's brothers, did not involve spilling blood.

  The hamadryad wanted to bring about a new world. One where men and women were treated equally. Where there were no rich and poor. Where everybody ate, everybody slept under a shelter and in a warm bed, and there was no unfairness.

  Make that the hamadryads. They all had the same goal. And it did seem a worthy goal to Kyriel, if a little unrealistic. In fact it seemed to her to be a day dream. People simply weren't like that. They didn't believe in equality. Those who had power or wealth always sought more. And that was before you considered the impact of emotions like anger, fear and hatred.

  “Left … spin and dodge … thrust.” April started reciting the movements as she made them just as Kyriel had asked her to.

  But while she knew what each step in the dance of blades should be, it didn't seem to help a lot. She was off balance a lot of the time, over extending in places and she didn't seem to have any true understanding of where the tip of the short sword was. There was a lot of work to do Kyriel thought.

  “How was that?” April smiled at Kyriel when the first dance was done, no doubt thinking she had done well.

  “A little improved but with still a great deal to do. You were off balance during the spin. You twisted your back too far for the side swing, forcing you out of position. Your lunge was too high. This is a dance but not a court dance. You aren't trying to impress people. You're trying to stick the tip of that blade through the heart of your opponent.”

  “Now let’s try it again please, and concentrate on keeping your balance.”

  “This would be easier if my other arm wasn't strapped to my side!”

  “Of course it would be!” Kyriel groaned a little. She'd heard that very complaint so many times over the years and she was utterly sick of it. “But life isn't meant to be easy. This is about learning the short sword. It's about the feet and your balance. About moving easily, dancing in and out of the circle of battle. It's about the eyes and always knowing where your blade is. Now again please. Five times.”

  April went through her dance again, reciting the steps out loud each time and little by little Kyriel thought, she was improving. But whether she would ever be good enough to call herself a swords-woman she didn't know. There would be many years of effort required before then. And though she didn't yet know it, a lot of those years would be spent with her strong arm tied to her side as she learned the shield. That would upset her. People adapted more quickly to having their weak arm tied than their strong one.

  It didn't help that she was old to be training. In her home land Kyriel had been learning these steps and moves when she was eight. April was in her mid twenties. Everyone knew you picked things up faster when you were younger. Especially physical skills.

  On the other hand she thought, there was something comforting about a land where children weren't taught to fight. Something that screamed peace at her. She liked that even if she doubted this land would survive long against an army of her people.

  “That has to be better.”

  April smiled nervously when she'd finished her five dances, no doubt thinking she was doing well. Perhaps she was even hoping that she was done for the morning.

  “A little. Now the second dance please. Half a dozen times.”

  Kyriel watched as April went through the second dance, studying her form, and was less pleased. There was no doubt that April had improved. But that improvement had only served to reveal the weakness in her legs. She didn't bend and stretch enough. Her movement was limited. And whenever she went too low in a crouch she found herself trapped. April was going to need to do some physical training as well, and somehow Kyriel suspected, she was going to complain a lot when she found out how tough it would be. Still, it had to be done and it was best she found out sooner rather than later and so she told her the unfortunate news.

  “I could do better with pistols.”

  “Pistols are one shot. What do you do after you've fired it? Ask your opponent to wait while you reload?”

  “Not Edouard's pistols.” April wasn't giving up. She was starting to realise just how much work lay ahead of her in terms of learning to wield a blade.

  “Your brother's weapons are impressive pieces. But you're barely strong enough to lift one let alone fire it. Now the third dance please. Six repeats.”

  Kyriel was firm with her. She was firm with all her students. She had to be. And though April was reluctant she did as she was instructed. By the end though she was starting to breathe a little heavily.

  “Did your mother make you do this?”

  “Yes.” Kyriel answered her, not that bothered by the question. It had been a long time ago and she scarcely remembered her mother any more. “When I was eight she put me through all my paces in the dances. Before she was killed.”

  “She was killed? In battle?” April's eyes grew wide.

  “No. She was executed by my father.” It was strange how she could say that so easily Kyriel thought. As if it was nothing. But it had been a long time ago and it was the truth. “Now I want you to show me your forward lunges please. Fifty at least, left and right. Step and lunge and remember not to extend too far with the blade.”

  “Your father killed your mother?” April sounded horrified. Most of the people in this land were when they heard. But still she did her lunges as asked.

  “She was a war bride, given to my father's house as a hostage. Ten years later when her house broke the truce and attacked, she was put to the sword. It had to be done.”

  But privately she suspected her father had always wanted to. He had been ashamed of her mother. And it had been necessary for the house. She had only given him daughters. He could not run the house forever with only daughters. He'd needed a son. His next wife had given him one.

  “That's monstrous!” April sounded outraged. But then this was a soft land and people wouldn't do such things here.

  “It is the way of my people.” Kyriel shrugged. It was nearly twenty years in the past. Well past the time when she shoul
d be thinking of such things. “Now I want you to put all three dances together, one after the other. Six repeats please.”

  April was silent after that as she went through her drills and Kyriel was glad. The woman needed to concentrate. But she was learning. Slowly. She was paying more attention to her feet and her balance. But it was too much to ask that the silence continue indefinitely.

  “You fled your home rather than be given as a hostage?”

  “Yes.” Kyriel wasn't surprised that she knew that. It was common knowledge in the village. “It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake?”

  “I fled because I was to be given to House Permian and I knew my father had plans to attack them within the year. As soon as their combined strength defeated House Argos. I was a coward and I did not want to die. Another fifty lunges please.”

  “That doesn't seem like a mistake to me.”

  “When I fled my younger sister Staria was given instead. She's dead now in my place.”