Blackmark (The Kingsmen Chronicles #1): An Epic Fantasy Adventure

by Jean Lowe Carlson

  Hearing the crunch of footsteps upon the gravel, Theroun glanced up, watching a few retainers of House Meersh pace quickly through the courtyard, no doubt on their way to secure their liege’s passage to the coast. Like most of the other suitors, Prince Kharshen te’Meersh from Thuruman had opted to depart after hearing the Dhenra’s decision, given in private with each suitor this very morning. Of the foreign nobles, only King Arthe den’Tourmalin had opted to stay for the coronation and wedding, a show of allegiance to House den’Ildrian.

  There was no bad blood between House den’Tourmalin and House Alramir, and Arthe was a generous, calm man. The sort of man Theroun respected immensely, like he had Uhlas. A man of silent thoughts and deep structure. Not to mention morals. Theroun knew he should have pushed Elyasin to marry Arthe, rather than encouraging her to marry a man of dubious personality. One who would get her killed even before she had a chance to taste the pleasures of a wedding night.

  That wasn’t entirely fair. King Therel Alramir wasn’t going to kill Elyasin. But his First Sword was. Theroun thought about Devresh Khir, with his white hair and cold, cold eyes. The man had served as First Sword to the throne of Elsthemen for nearly thirty years. He was still sharp, still immeasurably talented, and utterly deadly. Born Khehemni, not conscripted like Theroun had been. And he was willing to die for his beliefs.

  Theroun’s gut twisted, like someone had sunk a knife deep into his belly. His right side spasmed in protest around his old wounds from the Aphellian Way. He knew, though he tried to tell himself otherwise, what was wrong with him. Uhlas’ treasured daughter was going to be stuck like a pig in two days’ time, betrayed by his most trusted General.

  Theroun bent, inhaling the next bloom, trying to rid his nose of the scent of ashes. He was idling near a white-thorn bush when he heard a soft crunch upon the gravel of a lean figure with a light tread, coming up the path behind him this time. He turned with his jaw set in irritation, expecting to see the eel, but instead found himself facing Thaddeus. Thad had a leather folio under one arm, and a basket clearly stuffed with a variety of food.

  “Looked for you at your quarters, sir, but you weren’t there.” Thad smiled apologetically at his intrusion. “Guessed you’d be out here where it’s more pleasant. I thought you might want a spot of lunch, sir. And a quick review of how accepting trade agreements with Elsthemen will change our negotiating positions with the other nations.”

  “Very thoughtful, Thaddeus.” Theroun was, in fact, grateful for Thad’s thoughtfulness, always bringing foodstuffs and drink to make sure Theroun didn’t starve himself working through meals. Theroun turned and motioned before him through the surrounding greenery along the gravel path, towards a stone bench and table they often shared near a three-tier fountain. The fountain masked their conversation, and Theroun sat at his usual place, his view pleasantly long in all directions so he could see anyone who idled near enough to listen. Thad laid the folio atop the table and began to spread out a cloth from the basket, cheese and jams, bread and butter, cured meats. A regular little picnic.

  Theroun opened the folio and pretended to peruse it. But he had other questions on his mind. Other ideas swirling, gripping him, that he needed to flesh out, that he needed some discourse on. And Thaddeus was the perfect agent with which to explore those thoughts, those potential battle-strategies, carefully.

  “Thaddeus,” he began, with a quick glance to make certain no one was within earshot, “let us resume our conversation of the other night, about the Kingsmen.”

  Thaddeus froze like a mouse in an open field. His hands began to work again, doling out portions of meat and slathering herbed butter on the crusty loaf of bread. “Why?”

  “Because you have a keen mind, lad, and I want to see what’s to be done with it.”

  Thad paused again, then set the knife down. He stared at Theroun from behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Eat, lad.” Theroun barked gently enough so no one nearby could hear. “Pretend we are having our usual discussions about nations and trade.”

  Thad blinked, then eyed the folio. Theroun saw him note that though Theroun had opened it, he’d not removed any papers from behind the metal clips. Thad reached out for the buttered bread, and piled it with cheese and meat, taking a bite. But his eyes remained on Theroun. Theroun reached out and took food also, keeping up the ruse for anyone watching.

  “Now,” Theroun spoke with his mouth full. “Ask me questions, lad.”

  Thaddeus blinked. “Is Alrou-Mendera in a situation like Cennetia was once? Where a force behind our throne is manipulating the nation?”

  “Yes.”

  Thad paled, but continued. “Do you know what or whom are behind the thrones of Alrou-Mendera and Valenghia?”

  “Yes.”

  Thad swallowed hard. “Are you one of them?”

  “Marginally. Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I hate Alrashemni. It’s no secret. Though I no longer have reason to.”

  “Who is more central in this endeavor?” Thad was leaning forward now, rapt.

  “I can’t give you names.”

  “Can I guess them?”

  “No. To do so would secure your death. Be smart, Thad. Ask me good questions.”

  Thad swallowed. “Are there others like you in the palace?”

  “Yes.”

  “Close to the Dhenra?”

  “Yes.”

  “Swaying her choices with words?”

  “Careful, Thaddeus.”

  The lad swallowed, but he had courage. “Do you sway her into continuing war with Valenghia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I am ordered to. By my superiors.”

  Thad swallowed. “Can you tell me by whom?”

  Theroun gave him a chiding glower.

  Thad fidgeted. “Forgive me. What do you know of the Kingsmen Summons?”

  Theroun cocked his head. This was an unexpected turn. “Little. I know only that Uhlas did not give it.”

  Thad’s eyes widened. “He didn’t? Who did?”

  Theroun set his jaw. “Someone. I don’t actually know. I was readying armies at the time, Thad, not yet a part of this scheme, just a General in the field. Uhlas was in Valenghia, trying to forestall imminent war with every negotiation skill he had.”

  “One of your people sent a false Summons from the King?”

  “So it seems.”

  “What happened to the Kingsmen after they entered the palace?”

  Theroun shook his head. “I have no information on that account. I know only that the Unterhaft and all the halls were thoroughly searched after they disappeared. They simply vanished. No trace of them was left.”

  Thaddeus narrowed his eyes. “That’s impossible.”

  “Smart lad.” Theroun took a bite of his bread and meat. “Go on, Thaddeus.”

  “Someone knows what happened. All traces of the Alrashemni Kingsmen history have been removed from the library and armor-halls, as if they were trying to cover it up.”

  “Go on.” Theroun knew he was encouraging the lad down his own line of suppositions, but it was imperative that he watch someone else put it together, that he make certain his assumptions were sound through another mind quite possibly as brilliant as his own, though still young. “And who has access to all details of housekeeping inside Roushenn?”

  Thad blinked, then spoke slowly. “Castellan Lhaurent. Castellan Lhaurent knows about the Kingsmen disappearance. He knows exactly what happened. He covered it up, then removed all the evidence.”

  Theroun leaned forward, conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t say that name together with such suppositions if I were you, lad. They might get you killed. Badly.”

  Thaddeus went deathly pale. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Theroun took a drink of the wine Thad had brought. “I cannot confirm any of it, Thad.”

  “And if you could? Don’t you hate Kingsmen? Weren’t you happy to hear they disappeared after the Summons?�
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  “Not at the time. I didn’t have any reason to hate them, then. I supported the Kingsmen before I became the Black Viper of the Aphellian Way. They were a formidable military asset.”

  “And now?”

  Theroun gave Thad a very hard look. “Now I am caught between stone and stone, Thad. I am not in a position to have regrets. I cannot reverse my choices. All I can do, is make more agile choices from here on out.”

  Thad leaned forward. “Is Lhaurent threatening you? Pressing you into doing something?”

  Theroun glowered. “Lhaurent does not know whom he threatens, Thaddeus.”

  “What is he pressing you into? What’s going to happen?” Thaddeus swallowed, and suddenly looked very scared, and very young.

  Theroun set a hand to his slender shoulder. “I will not risk your life so rashly as to tell you. But what I want you to do is dig, Thaddeus. You have a keen mind. Dig, lad, and come back to me with questions. I will answer what I can.”

  Thaddeus swallowed. “Why? Why expose yourself, sir? I could go to the Guard… have you accused of high treason for everything you’ve just admitted to me.”

  Theroun gave him a level look. He almost wished the lad would do it, if it meant exposing Lhaurent. But no, the game had to be subtler than that. Theroun had to figure out a better way to strike the head from the eel, a better way to prevent a war that would cost thousands of lives and probably the security of the entire nation.

  A war that would cost Elyasin her life.

  “We’re done here, Thad. I have documents to prepare.” Rising from his seat at the stone bench, Theroun turned to go. But the lad was pale, and very still, a kind of stillness that let Theroun know he had one more question.

  “You didn’t answer me, sir.” Thad breathed.

  “Yes, I did. Use your wits.” Theroun scolded softly. “Would I be telling anyone this if I was secure in my position?”

  Thad swallowed. “No. You’re afraid of what Lhaurent and the people behind him are about to do. You’re regretting your decision to be one of them. Whatever is coming is not what you joined them for.”

  Theroun nodded. “Smart lad. And if the Black Viper is afraid for our nation, Thaddeus… then you should be afraid. Very, very afraid. And very quiet. For now.”

  “Would you kill me, sir… to keep me quiet?” Frank terror was behind the lad’s green eyes, but also courage. He sat very still. He wasn’t going to run from his death, if it came today. Theroun took a deep breath. Would he kill Thaddeus?

  “If I wanted you dead, you would be cold by now.”

  Thad was parchment-white, but he did not fidget.

  “I have to go. Stay quiet, and think over what we’ve discussed this afternoon. Study the broader implications, Thad. All Generals have to take into account every supply line, every watering hole, the weight of every pack their men heft into battle, the amount a man sweats when fighting in full armor under the scorching summer sun, and how long he can do it without water. Think, Thad. Consider all the options. Dig. We will speak again later.”

  Theroun turned and crunched down the byrunstone gravel path, wondering if he had just made a vast mistake, beginning this discourse with Thaddeus. Or if he’d set a pebble rolling from his own soul that would cause an avalanche.

  * * *

  It was very late when a knock came at his ironbound door. Theroun was sitting before the fireplace in his armchair. Swirling wine in his goblet, he was staring into the flames, watching bodies burn.

  “Come!” He barked, making sure his customary glower was in place.

  But it wasn’t the Castellan who whisked in through his door. It was First-Lieutenant Fenton den’Kharel, lithe and brisk, a man any General would have been proud to have as one of his top commanders. Den’Kharel had an excellent reputation, a stunning record of service, and his demeanor was entirely steady. He stood at ease once the door was closed, but it was a military ease, calm and ready.

  “Lieutenant den’Kharel,” Theroun glowered from his chair. “This is a very late visit.”

  The man nodded briskly. “I know, Chancellor. But I would like to discuss security around the Dhenra and King Therel tomorrow.”

  Theroun didn’t sigh, he didn’t show any irritation. It was natural, for the First-Lieutenant to want extra security at such an important event. And since the Captain-General was still in the cells, the man had no one to consult other than the Dhenra herself on such matters. Theroun rose and faced the man, ignoring the vicious twingeing in his side. “Let’s hear it, den’Kharel. What do you suggest?”

  “I want a retinue of a hundred on the floor of the Throne Hall for the coronation, and another hundred in the balconies. Twenty close to the Dhenra on the dais. Four right next to the throne, tagged to her person the entire time, even for the procession, including myself. I also want fifty of those present at the Writ signing in the Small Hall.”

  This time, Theroun did sigh. It was too late to hide his weariness. A deluge of self-loathing had worn him down all day, and he had needed to take a solitary ride to the Kingswood after his talk with Thaddeus to placate himself. He hadn’t come back until far past nightfall, and since then, had been getting right drunk.

  “That’s a veritable army, Lieutenant,” Theroun growled.

  “Yes, sir.” The man nodded, a shrewd determination in his steady gold-brown eyes. “But I think the numbers prudent and sufficient, sir.”

  “We don’t need that many guards.” Theroun barked. “Therel’s not going to cut Elyasin up and stuff her in a trunk while they’re signing their vows.”

  The First-Lieutenant slid forward a small step. It was a careful movement, and Theroun held himself in check, not raising his eyebrows at the way the man’s presence suddenly intensified for no apparent reason. “Your pardon, Chancellor, but Captain den’Alrahel believes the Dhenra is in danger, and I quite agree.” And then, Fenton den’Kharel did something Theroun did not expect. Reaching into the inner pocket of his blue jerkin, he brought out a folded piece of paper, then handed it over, murmuring, “Read to yourself.”

  Frowning, Theroun skimmed it quickly. His head snapped up. His scowl was a thing of fury, genuinely surprised as he had not been in ages. A shiver of fury laced with terror lanced through his gut, twisting his damaged side with unimaginable pain. “Is this some kind of fucking joke, Lieutenant?!”

  But the First-Lieutenant shook his head, his gaze hard. “No, sir. This is in no way a joke. Hence the tight security around the Dhenra tomorrow. And, I suggest, for the indefinite future.”

  Theroun crumpled the paper into his fist, livid at what was written upon it. The walls of Roushenn, mobile! A palace behind the palace! Secret passages probably full of spies watching from every mirror and listening behind every hall! With a growl of battle-rage, he hurled the wad of paper into the fire, where it caught and blazed. Theroun rounded upon the First-Lieutenant. “Who else knows about this?!”

  The man shook his head. “I’m not sure, sir. Maybe everyone. Maybe no-one. I don’t know how deep the secret goes, or for how long. Generations, maybe. I have an eyewitness, a Kingsman who was present for the Summons. He saw the walls. And he saw the Kingsmen slaughtered that night, all because of it. We’ve been trying to get his testimony before the Dhenra but she won’t make time.”

  A scowl thundered across Theroun's face as rage replaced every emotion within him, making him tremble, making the old wound in his side grip and sear. There were walls behind the walls. Of course. How else could an entire army of people disappear in a single night? Rage seethed through him at the Lothren, who had never trusted him enough to tell him how the disappearance of the Kingsmen had happened. Or that Roushenn had a palace behind the palace.

  Another item Theroun had never needed to know.

  And then Theroun realized something else, suddenly, that a Kingsman in hiding had come to den’Kharel. A Kingsman in hiding had trusted den'Kharel. He narrowed his eyes upon the Guardsman. Fenton den’Kharel was tidy, the row of buckles on
his cobalt jerkin done to the shoulder. He was fit like a keshar, muscle and sinew and nothing else. Those gold-brown eyes were utterly steady. Theroun had thought the man was sinewed and calm because he had been High Brigade, but now he knew better. Fenton den’Kharel was fine-honed Alrashemni Kingsmen steel. The finest fucking blades ever wrought. And a Kingsman had come to him, had trusted him, because they were the same.

  Fenton hadn’t changed his posture, but his persona intensified again, the unmistakable feel of Kingsman protectiveness.

  And Lhaurent. Theroun pictured how lovely Lhaurent’s head would look on a pike, displayed for the crows to pick. He ground his teeth together so hard they ached, certain to the depths of his gut that Lhaurent was somehow behind it all. Behind the entire Kingsmen disappearance. He had too much control of the palace and he knew it. That's why the greasy bastard always looked so smug, so certain of himself. Because he was certain. That slimy eel had a secret way in and around his massive rain barrel in order to keep tabs on everyone else.

  How many times had Theroun been watched in his quarters? How much had Lhaurent studied him, marked him, listened in to his conversations with Thaddeus? Right behind the walls. Every wall. And if he had spies among the servants, servants who knew nothing of those passages, then who did Lhaurent have within the walls? And how many?

  Enough to kill two thousand Kingsmen in a single night, somehow…

  “Halsos in chains…” Theroun breathed. He stood a moment, grinding his jaw, his teeth close to cracking. The game was up. His hands were tied. Refuse the First-Lieutenant his extra Guardsmen, and he would be suspicious of Theroun when the Dhenra’s assassination came. But permit it, and he was risking Lhaurent knowing that Theroun had betrayed the assassination by allowing too many guards in the hall. Now was the moment to decide, just like decisions came upon the battlefield. Attack, defend, change course, regroup.

  Let the pieces fall where they may.

  General Theroun den’Vekir took command. He went to his desk, writing a quick sentence on the paper in a hand small enough to be very hard to read from the vantage point of any wall. Disregard everything I say, he wrote. You have your men. Protect the Dhenra at all costs. I never gave you those orders. Captain-General den’Alrahel did. He folded the note, then stepped forward to Fenton den’Kharel, placing his faith in a Kingsman.