Guardians of the Flame: Legacy
by Joel Rosenberg
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
The Heir Apparent © copyright 1987 by Joel Rosenberg; The Warrior Lives © copyright 1988 by Joel Rosenberg.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original Megabook
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 0-7434-8829-6
Cover art by Monty Moore
First Megabook printing, June 2004
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
TK
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH
Printed in the United States of America
Baen Books by Joel Rosenberg
The Guardians of the Flame
Guardians of the Flame: Legacy
Paladins (forthcoming)
The Heir Apparent
Vol. 4 of
The Guardians
of the Flame
I'd like to thank the people who made it possible for me to write this one: Harry Leonard, my favorite quibbler; Kat Martinez, cat-sitter extraordinaire; all the able people at Bulldog Computers; Bob Wallace, for inventing PC-Write; Ron Pastore, who keeps the mill; my agent, Richard Curtis; my new editor, John Silbersack, who has proved himself both remarkably capable and inhumanly patient; and my friend and former editor Sheila Gilbert, who still watches out for me.
As usual, I'm particularly grateful to my cats Bubbles, Squish, and Amy Surplus—who don't understand why—and my wife, Felicia, who does.
This one is for the Student Union Rats:
Marty,
Spring,
Bob,
Frank,
Laurie,
Paul,
Sherry,
Dori,
Harry,
Norm,
John,
Bill . . . and me, for that matter.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Karl Cullinane—Prince of Bieme and Emperor of Holtun-Bieme
Andrea Andropolous Cullinane—wizard, teacher, Princess of Bieme and Empress of Holtun-Bieme, Karl Cullinane's wife
Tennetty—warrior, Karl Cullinane's bodyguard
Ellegon—a young dragon
Garavar—general of the House Guard
Arrifezh, Baron Arondael
Thomen, Baron Furnael—Biemish baron; judge
Beralyn, Dowager Baroness of Furnael—Thomen Furnael's mother
Enrel—Thomen's bailiff
Vilmar, Baron Nerahan—Holtish baron
Kevalun—Biemish general, military governor of barony Nerahan
Ranella—master engineer
Nartham—soldier of the House Guard
Aravam, Bibuz—journeyman engineers
Kethol, Pirojil, Durine—warriors of the House Guard
U'len—chief cook at Biemestren castle
Jimuth and Kozat—U'len's assistants
Jayar—senior journeyman engineer; engineer duty officer at Biemestren Castle
Garthe, Gashier, Danagar—three of Garavar's sons, soldiers
Hivar—Furnael family retainer
Listar, Baron Tyrnael—Biemish baron
Kirling—a minor noble of barony Tyrnael
Yryn—Slavers' Guildmaster
Ahrmin, Lucindyl, Wencius—master slavers
Doria, Elmina—members of the Healing Hand Society
Ahira Bandylegs—dwarf warrior
Walter Slovotsky—part-time farming consultant to King Maherrelen, part-time warrior, full-time smartass
Geveren—dwarf soldier fealty-bound to Maherrelen, assigned to Walter Slovotsky and Ahira
Arthur Simpson Deighton/Arta Myrdhyn—lecturer in philosophy, master wizard
Jason Cullinane—Karl and Andrea Cullinane's son
Louis Riccetti—mayor of Home, the Engineer
Bast—Home resident, journeyman engineer
Petros—Home resident, farmer, deputy mayor
Daherrin—dwarf warrior, Home raiding-team leader
Valeran—semiretired soldier in the service of the Cullinane family; Jason's teacher
Bren, Baron Adahan
Aeia Eriksen Cullinane—Karl and Andrea Cullinane's adopted daughter, part-time teacher
Samalyn, Danerel, Mikyn—warriors on Daherrin's raiding team
Artum, Habel—Wehnest soldiers
Vator—Wehnest hostler
Falikos—rancher
Kyreen, Ceenan—drovers from Wehnest, employed by Falikos
CHAPTER ONE:
His Imperial Majesty
A cardinal virtue—perhaps the cardinal virtue—of hereditary rule is that you may—may—get a reluctant ruler. The trouble with the usurper is that he usually wanted the job. I said usually; I'm an exception.
Wanting to rule—as opposed to being willing to govern—is clear evidence of a diseased mind; the only person who should be allowed to make decisions for anybody else ought to be someone who doesn't want the job.
Note: Pretended reluctance to rule isn't an effectivesubstitute.
Additional note: Not wanting the job isn't a sufficient qualification, just a necessary one.
Short form of the above: Life can be a real bitch.
—Karl Cullinane
Baron, you're an asshole, Karl Cullinane thought as he approached the keep, crawling on his belly through the tall grasses.
If Baron Arondael was going to try to explore the possibility of rebelling against his prince and emperor, at least he could have had the goddam consideration to have his goddam groundskeepers mow the goddam lawn so that the goddam prince and emperor couldn't quietly sneak up on him, thereby forcing said goddam prince and emperor to come up with some plan either more straightforward or more devious than creeping through the goddam grass on his goddam hands and knees.
He paused for a moment and rose to his knees to rub at the stubs that were all that remained of the three outermost fingers of his left hand. After all these years, he had gotten used to managing with thumb and forefinger; he rarely missed them—
*Matter of fact, you can count in base seven better than anyone else I know.*
—but grass made the stumps itch.
Baron, you are going to pay for my itching stumps.
That seemed only fair. The stumps weren't Arondael's fault; the itching was.
*Good, good,* the sarcastic voice echoed in his head. *Worry about what a jerk Baron Arondael is and how you'd rather just walk up to the castle. Much, much better to think about what you'd rather be doing than to concentrate on what you are doing. Why not worry how Jason's lessons at Home are coming along?*
Ellegon—
*Maybe you could concentrate on Jason's incompetence in long division instead of the admittedly more minor issue of whether or not somebody's going to shove a sword through your guts.*
Sarcasm doesn't become you.
*Stupidity doesn't look good on anyone. Do you know the technical term for the children of stupid soldiers?*
Okay, I'll bite: What do you call them?
*Orphans.*
To his right, General Garavar and the six soldiers strung out beyond him pretended that Ellegon hadn't included them in his mental broadcast.
There was one exception. And a carefully pitched snort of derision that couldn't have carried farther than a few mete
rs.
*Tennetty says that I'm right, as usual, by the way.*
"Be quiet, all of you. We've got a job to do."
"Your majesty," Garavar whispered, "I say again: Emperors don't do this sort of thing."
"I said to shut up. I don't want to attract attention." Yet.
Garavar was a soldier of the old school, Bieme style, where loyalty counted more than obedience.
Still, when Karl glared as Garavar opened his mouth again, Garavar shut up.
Karl had to admit that Garavar did have a point. A good one, at that. Not that this was particularly a bad idea, but it shouldn't have been Karl Cullinane leading it.
It shouldn't be me, Karl thought. It should be someone good at a quiet sneak, it should be somebody like Walter Slovotsky trying to creep in close. This was Walter Slovotsky's sort of thing, not Karl's.
*There is nobody like Walter Slovotsky. I take it you miss him.*
Good guess. Slovotsky would already be well inside the castle, have seduced one or more pretty girls, filled his pockets with coins and jewels, set himself up with another bed partner or two for later, stuffed himself on rich food in the castle kitchen, uncorked and imbibed the best bottle of wine available, and had the baron up against the wall, fully frisked and intimidated by now.
Without raising a sweat, probably.
*Hmmm . . . I wonder if he has such an overinflated opinion of your abilities. By the way, you could have done this like a normal kind of person. You have heard of normality?*
The standard way to get a recalcitrant baron out of his castle was for a detachment of his neighboring barons to show up at his door and invite him to accompany them to the capitol.
That was almost completely safe: no baron would want open combat with his neighbors unless he was certain his life was already forfeit; fighting his neighbors was certain to get him killed. Even if he did order his men to attack such a delegation, his soldiers would be likely to mutiny; princes and emperors tended to frown on such attacks and express their disapproval with axe and gibbet.
Relay to Garavar, Karl Cullinane thought. I didn't get where I am today by doing things the standard way. And speaking of which, it's my understanding that generals don't usually go creeping around through the grasses, either.
There wasn't an answer to that.
Although Tennetty quickly provided one anyway. "There are some people," she whispered softly, "who are a bit concerned about your tender hide."
Ellegon provided another. *And since when are you so happy about where you are today?*
Shut up. I've got to think.
*Oh—a new trick!*
Shush!
There was a time when Karl Cullinane would have gone on a raid without worrying about the welfare of the people he was raiding, but that was in the old days, when he was the leader of a Home raiding team, and the victims were slavers in caravan.
Now, it was different: The guards here were his subjects—although he did not like the word—and an emperor didn't just go around killing innocent subjects.
Hmmm . . . it was just as well that the baron clearly didn't expect trouble this quickly; instead of paying attention to what they were doing, the two guards were chatting about what a bastard the new guard sergeant was as they approached. Karl eyed their path and didn't like it. It looked like the guards were going to come too close to his squad.
We don't need a whole lot of alarms being raised. Relay: Ten, what do you think of the idea of taking the one on the left while I take the one on the right?
*From Tennetty: "What do I think? I think that's just about the dumbest idea you've had this year. Aren't they going to get a bit suspicious when the two of us pop out of the grass? We need a diversion, not a brace of panicky soldiers crying for help."*
Ellegon, can you read them well enough for a mindscream?
*Yes, but I'm not close enough to be sure it would really stun them.*
Wonderful. Karl shrugged mentally. Okay, back to basics. Relay: Tennetty, you take that skinny kid—
*"Hoften."*
—Hoften, and work your way around behind them. When I get their attention, jump them, and do your best to silence them, without killing. Understood?
*"Understood. Without killing."*
Karl didn't like it, but he'd have to count on Arondael's military commander being as sloppy about training as he was about peacetime discipline.
As the two closed to within barely five yards of where Karl lay, Karl Cullinane leaped to his feet, a flintlock pistol in one hand, his saber in the other.
"Halt in the name of the emperor," he hissed, as the others rose up beside him, Garavar with a throwing knife balanced, the others with sword or crossbow ready.
That stopped them for a precious second; a second was all that was needed. Arondael wasn't on a war footing; neither guard had time or inclination to make an outcry in the second before Tennetty and Hoften were on them.
"Who . . . ?" the larger of the two started, the word trailing off to a gurgle as Tennetty snaked an arm around his throat, gently setting a knifepoint against his windpipe.
"Please don't scream," she said politely, "or I'll cut the sound in half before it leaves your throat. Now, open your mouth slowly," she said, jamming a gag in it when he did.
Hoften had silenced his quarry by the simple expedient of jamming his own arm into the man's mouth; the boy gritted his teeth against the pain as the guard struggled for the moment it took until Karl was upon him.
Karl Cullinane uncocked and holstered his pistol, then reached out and grabbed the guard by the front of his tunic.
"I said," he whispered, " 'Halt in the name of the emperor,' " setting the point of his sword against the guard's throat.
Wide-eyed, the guard relaxed his bite.
"Better. Would you prefer I said, 'Halt in the name of me'? I don't normally like incidental killings, but if you don't get your damn teeth out of that boy's arm, I'll make an exception. Good.
"Now, I want tonight's passwords."
* * *
Wearing the guards' livery, Karl and Garavar approached the guard station, muttering the night's password under their breath.
As the sleepy-eyed corporal of the guard snicked the bolts aside and opened the door, Garavar took a step inside the gate and brought a cocked pistol up to the corporal's head.
"You know," he said conversationally, while Karl guided the guard into the shadows, "there comes a time in a man's life when he has to make a decision. You've got one to make right now. You can either give out an alarm—in which case the emperor will be most irritated with you—or you can help us get close to the baron."
"Emp—"
"That's me," Karl said, reaching into the cloth bag at his waist and pulling out the silver crown of Bieme. He set it on his head. "The one and only."
Now, I want a broad relay to everyone in the castle.
*Station Kay Ay Ar Ell, the voice of the Emperor of Holtun-Bieme, is now on the air,* Ellegon answered back, as the dragon landed noisily on the ramparts above them.
"My name is Karl Cullinane," he said quietly, knowing that Ellegon would add the proper volume as he relayed the thoughts. "I am Prince of Bieme, conqueror of Holtun, and Emperor of Holtun-Bieme, and I want to see Baron Arondael, now."
He unbolted the door and kicked it open for Tennetty and the rest to follow. "And in case anyone has any foolish idea, I've summoned a sufficient force to tear this castle down to the bare stones. Anyone who gets in my way is dead."
Next step. Karl closed his eyes.
*Here goes.* A dark shadow passed high overhead, only to be relieved by dazzling brightness as Ellegon's flame lit up the night.
Relay: "Into the courtyard, everyone. Now."
In moments, the entire keep had stumbled out, soldiers numbly clawing for their armor and weapons, servants and children in their night tunics.
Including Arrifezh, Baron Arondael.
The rapier-slim man rubbed a gnarled fist against eyes that hadn't yet
noticed they weren't sleepy anymore.
"Good morning, Baron," Karl Cullinane said, raising his voice. "And good morning all. Every man, woman, and child, regardless of rank, who is not in rebellion against their prince and emperor, will now kindly lay down any arms and kneel." He sheathed his sword and folded his hands over his chest. "I said now."
Tennetty brought up her rifle and took careful aim at the middle of the baron's nose. "Starting with you, Baron," she muttered in a low voice. "We start with you, one way or another."
Karl's soldiers following the baron's example, the several hundred people in the courtyard bent like a sea of wheat in the wind.
"That's fine. Up, all of you."
Garavar drew himself up to his full height. "My apologies, your majesty," he said to Karl. "You were right; I was wrong. It worked."
"As usual," Karl said.
"For those born luckier than they've any right to be," the general shot back. And then added: "Sire."
But he was smiling. And that was usual.
Karl returned the smile, then sobered as he raised his voice and turned to Arondael. "Baron, I'll need to speak to you privately at your earliest convenience—as long as your earliest convenience is right now."
* * *
Arondael had recovered most of his composure as he sat in his high-backed chair, a cup of hot tea warming his hands.
Karl wasn't thirsty, he'd said.
Actually, without his wife or a reliable cleric to check for poison, he wasn't about to trust Arondael's food.
Ellegon, from his perch on top of the keep, might be able to probe the baron's mind, but there was no guarantee that some subject of Arondael's might not decide to ingratiate himself with the baron by poisoning the emperor, and Karl wouldn't have wanted Ellegon to subject himself to the odious task of probing hundreds of minds simply so that Karl could have a cup of tea.
"What I don't understand, majesty," Arondael said, sipping nervously at his tea, "is the necessity for all this . . . commotion."
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