by wildbow
“My lord.”
The Duke extended a long finger.
“There should be enemies or traps in the mountains to the north of the city. They plan to attack or hit us before the fire reaches too far into the city. It may be a pincer attack, using the people we can see down there and the group in the mountains.”
“Yes, my lord. Shall I spread the word?”
“Do. Have Aversbad figure out the resources we have available in terms of setting our own traps. Then get one legion of stitched and one legion of soldiers and prepare to assail the mountains. Tell the first legion commander that you see that they’re to lead. They stagger out the approach, send in the stitched first, to trigger any traps ahead of you before you send in the living. Report back to me.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The man didn’t hesitate in departing.
The twins raised their fingers again. They had to have a system to ensure they didn’t talk simultaneously. When and if that happened, well, hearing one’s own voice with the wrong timing or cadence could disrupt one’s own speech.
“Problem solved?” one asked.
“Crisis averted?”
Richmond turned his head toward the Duke. He smiled. “No.”
“No,” the Duke agreed. “How did you know, my friend?”
“You have that look in your eyes that I’ve only seen when you’re in a fight.”
“This is a fight,” the Duke said. “Parry, thrust, move, counter-move.”
“Fair point. But I meant that you have that look about you that I’ve only seen on two occasions, when you stood in the midst of a sea of corpses.”
Did he? The Duke wondered, studying his own expression with a calculated measure of where and how his facial muscles were arranged.
Even I can learn something new from someone lesser like Richmond, he mused. He wouldn’t have expected it, for the battlefield as an abstract to serve the same sort of role that hand to hand combat did for him. To inflict pain, to experience it, it was as close to humanity as he got, now. As close to living.
He quickly calculated the number of homes in Lugh, and estimated the population at one hundred and ten thousand. A full third of that number was scattered, still, too far on the fringes to really feed into the center mass that was organizing so readily. Men and women who worked in quarries and on farms at the outskirts. Some were already being put to gunpoint by the Crown’s forces, or their homes were being torched.
Was it that more than eighty thousand people might die in the next twenty four hours, the vast majority on the enemy’s side, that woke up his blood and breathing so readily? Death, blood and pain, if not directly by his hand?
Or was it the primordials that had allegedly been created, and the prospect of dealing with them, even personally?
☙
The mood was somber as he walked down the length of the hallway. The floor was treated wood, harder than stone, and roughly the same color, though the details were rich and it glowed silver under the light. The walls and ceiling of the hallway were formed of a complex tangle of wood, grown and woven into braids and complex figures, smaller stones worked in between them. Here and there, there were irregularly shaped glass panes, looking out on rocky cliffs with grass growing atop them.
A temple without a god, on an island that few could reach.
His body was new, he’d been looked after for the last time, and at ten years old, he stood taller than the average man. Even with a cane, it was hard to move his new arms and legs without stumbling now and again.
The first three nights of agony had added to him, or taken away weaknesses. Mind, body, and power. The fourth had made him noble, physically better and more beautiful. His genetics had been better than some, and he’d been presentable even before the last series of operations. Some weren’t so lucky, and were cooped up away from the public eye for a full decade.
He walked in the company of his mother, aunt, and two of his cousins, Richmond and Geraldine. He wasn’t sure what was going on, and instincts bred by ten years in the court told him he shouldn’t ask. More and more, these days, what he was expected to know wasn’t told to him, but shown.
Nothing about that was new. Every day, he was thrust into situations and others expected him to keep up. A small failure could weaken his standing in the eyes of his extended family, and open him up to a lifetime of sabotage or small abuses. A larger failure could ruin his chance of achieving anything at all before he died.
But, for the very first time since he was three years old, he was without the quartet of professors that looked after him, the tools they had implanted within him, and the adjustments they had made to his body and mind.
He hadn’t seen a single non-noble since he had stepped off the boat and onto this island crag.
Looking at Richmond or Geraldine could have been construed as an attempt to seek reassurance in an unsure situation. He kept his eyes forward.
His aunt stepped forward and pushed open two double doors. They passed into another hallway, darker than the last.
In the distance, someone screamed, unhinged, and he immediately knew where he was.
He relaxed, in one moment, and tensed in the next.
Should a noble need to be placed somewhere out of the public eye, they would come here.
He, so recently operated on, was a candidate for that placement. Was there something wrong that he didn’t know about?
When he was three years old, his mind had been altered, to allow him to better control how fast he thought, and how he perceived the passage of time. He had only mastered it a few years ago, and controlling it took effort that often left him exhausted at the day’s end. Still, he kept up the practice, and his control improved.
In this moment, he let his awareness speed up, to better survey things from all of the angles. A part of his thoughts were dedicated to making sure he maintained the same speed and pace. Slowing his pace by a fraction would signal to others that something was wrong.
He contemplated how he might go about this, if this prison was indeed intended for him, if he needed to run, or else face imprisonment for the rest of his days, bereft of the doctors who were supposed to tend him, slowly going to pieces over decades.
In the end, he decided that he couldn’t beat his mother and aunt in a fight. At least, not like this, with his body so new and untested.
He was scared.
His aunt pushed open the next set of double doors. The next hallway was darker still, windowless, with water behind glass with bioluminescent creatures swimming on the other side, each of them casting out a lazy red glow that only barely lit the hallway.
The final set of double doors revealed a crowd. Nine more members of the family, frozen like a tableau.
Further, beyond a thick pane of glass, was a man that the young Duke recognized as his uncle.
As beautiful as the man had been once, he was now broken, twisted, and gnarled. Growths like tumors riddled him, but the tumors had a particular sort of aesthetic to them, sharp-edged, more growth than growth gone wrong.
The Archduke howled in pain, rage, and madness, before striking at the thick pane of glass. Not a single person in the room flinched.
The young Duke, the nephew, joined his aunt, mother, and cousins in joining the frozen tableau, watching the man flail, cavort, and rage, changing his pattern of action from moment to moment.
“It’s taking his brain,” one of the nobles said.
It was a strange statement, in timing, and because it was so obvious. The young Duke allowed himself to peer over the room, looking at each of the people within. They were sculpted, every one of them altered, set one half-step away from ordinary people. But where the trained eye could see the difference in quality of work, like the vast chasm between the Duke and his cousin Richmond, it was clear that the room was filled with lower quality nobles.
He was starting to understand where things stood.
His mother spoke. “Spores from the growths infected no l
ess than thirty people. We’re working to find a way to clear them of the spores and the growths that sprout from them, but it appears grim. Life finds a way to breed. Life of this sort… all the more so. It has to be stamped out before it finds its way. Take this as a lesson.”
The only lesson he was taking was that this was something done with intent.
“The people infected, they were from Warrick castle?”
“Yes,” his mother said, glancing at him.
He could read things in that glance. A warning, a touch of danger.
If he considered every noble residing in Warrick castle a casualty, then every single person in this room had just advanced no less than twelve steps closer to the Crown. He himself had ascended from thirty-five steps away from the Crown to a mere twenty. A massive power grab for everyone present.
That they were all here, gathered, only fed the conspiracy.
“Such things are not to be tampered with,” said another member of the conspiracy. “Not to be toyed with.”
The Duke heard the words, and he believed them. He knew the image of his uncle would be burned into his mind forever.
Five years ago, the Archduke had visited him while he was being given his second set of operations. That night five years ago, and several times since, the man had showed an almost human kindness. Tempered with a very inhuman cruelty, yes, the Duke remembered the point the man had made about pain, but the kindness was what lingered in the Duke’s recollection and left the deepest impression.
This meeting and this display was meant to communicate something, he knew, but he took it for something else. A chance to say goodbye to one of the only people who felt something like family.
☙
The Duke sensed someone approach the tent, and turned. The Baron and Baronet twins looked over, as well.
“Lord Duke,” a man spoke from outside.
“Come in.”
An officer stepped into the tent. “My lord.”
He was so very tired of the formality at this point, even if he understood the necessity of it. “Speak.”
“My lord, you asked us to stop any couriers from leaving the city. Forces approaching from neighboring regions stopped a mail courier traveling from Lugh, and we searched all correspondence…”
He handed over a letter.
The Duke took the letter, and then read it.
A complication, an advantage? More the former than the latter.
He voiced his thoughts aloud. “The Lambs are in the city, on another errand. Interesting that they think their mission important enough to ask for help from another team on another job, but they didn’t think to tell their superiors. Or the Crown.”
“Did they know about the primordials?” Richmond asked.
“I imagine they did. We’ll have to give the order for the fire and plague to stop for the time being. Let it spread on its own, that will be devastating enough. But we want to move carefully here.”
“My lord?” the officer made it a question.
“Just for the time being. Baron Richmond, Baronets. You have your wish. I have an errand for you.”
The Duke took a pen, and drew out a rough sketch, with notes beside it.
The Baron Richmond and the twins drew closer, looking.
“This is one of the Lambs. We have a vested interest in them. Find them, and remove them from the city. If you can’t, we’ll have to consider this a tragic loss.”
The Baron picked up the paper. He read it, then showed it to the twins, before folding it up and putting it in a pocket.
“Anyone else,” the Duke instructed, “Anyone that gets in your way, kill them.”
“And the other Lambs?”
“Like I said,” the Duke spoke, “Anyone else that gets in your way.”
The trio nodded, and stepped from the tent.
The Lambs, and an enemy named in the letter that one group of Lambs had sent another, Mauer, who had some talent at battlefield strategy. He’d dealt with Mauer’s forces before, and it never failed to be interesting.
But the primordial was what lingered in his mind. An enemy that gun and sword couldn’t necessarily kill. One that had killed his uncle. He’d taken away a lesson from that day, as intended. He couldn’t hold back or underestimate it in the slightest. He had soldiers supposedly prepared for the task, but that might not be enough.
He turned to his doctor. “Professor Berger, Adams, Cameron. A checkup, if you please. I want to make sure my weapons and body are prepared, if it comes down to it.”
The loyal professors wasted no time in attending to the task.
Previous Next
Counting Sheep—9.1
A towel was draped over my head, another over my bare shoulders. I didn’t move as I hunched over in front of the stove, eyes moving from the fire glowing within to the window. We’d placed a log within, and the door was closed, with the slots in the door left open. It was a weak, unenthusiastic glow. The only other light inside the building was from outside, as people moved down the street, carrying lights.
Not our home, not our fire, not our towels.
I was so cold and tired that I felt nauseous. I imagined it as my body feeling almost insulted at the heat and light it had been offered, to the point it was rebuking me. Not enough heat and human comfort, I need more. Nourish me, get answers and find the others so I can stop tying your guts in knots, my body told me.
I watched the fire, and I envisioned the city continuing to burn. I tried to imagine the way things might play out, all of the possible moves the Crown and Mauer might make, and how it affected the bigger picture.
I kept coming up with ideas that involved the others. Gordon was better when it came to the big battlefield stuff. Lillian would know ways to fake illness or lightly poison me. I already looked like hell, and with a bit of dramatic vomiting or other symptoms, I could lead a section of Mauer’s army to think that there were plagues in the air, and give them second thoughts.
With some elbow room, I could make other things happen. Maybe.
But I didn’t have Lillian. I didn’t have Gordon.
I most definitely didn’t have Helen or Mary, or even Ashton, who could be so very useful in these circumstances.
I couldn’t shake up this situation because it was already as shaken as things could get, and both sides had chosen their courses.
The logs in the fire shifted, cracking and spitting out sparks that danced within the stove’s confines.
Words? Written or spoken? Could I negotiate with the Academy?
The goal here was to get out alive, to minimize the loss of life on the Academy’s part, and take away Mauer’s power. I doubted there was anything I could say that would deter the Academy or give Mauer second thoughts about what he was doing.
“You were right,” Jamie said, behind me. “They have someone about our age in the house.”
I turned to look his way. He had clothes bundled in his arms. He draped them across the kitchen table.
“Had to dig for a bit to find something in your size.”
He held up shirts, both a little threadworn, and I pointed at one. He held up a black sweater, and I nodded. He tossed the clothing my way. A fresh pair of pants, too, and socks.
“Thank you,” I said.
Jamie smiled. He started pulling on a fresh sweater as well.
With anyone but him, this would be so much easier.
The shirt he’d given me hung a little weirdly on my narrow shoulders. The sweater prickled, even through the cloth of the shirt. I endured it.
“Thinking about Gordon and Lillian?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Me too. I know I’m not as close to them as you are, but I haven’t known anyone for all that long.”
I touched my leg, judging how damp my pants legs were, and found them still a little wet.
“The pants might be a little large,” Jamie said. “Want to try?”
I nodded. He threw the pants my way, and I caught them. I stayed
sitting as I wiggled out of the damp pair and pulled the new pair on, briefly lifting my rear end up off the floor. I stood, one hand on the waistband, gauging how likely they were to fall down on me.
“Suspenders?”
“You’re thorough,” I said.
“They’ll need adjusting. They’re fit for an adult. We took some food, firewood, and left a bit of a mess, so I left some money and a short note behind. I don’t know if this place will even be standing, but it felt right.”
I nodded.
Jamie was changing clothes too, now that I was set up. I looked away as he pulled his shirt off.
He wasn’t quite as abashed about it as old Jamie had been, though he turned partially away.
“Both sides are completely confident they’ll destroy the other,” I said, as much to myself as to Jamie. “I’m pretty sure they’re both right. I think the fight is going to be ugly, and it’s going to be too costly, with collateral damage above and beyond what both sides expect.”
“That’s a fair summary,” he said. He turned my way, now pulling on a sweater that was a bit too big for him. His first attempt to find his glasses nearly knocked them from the table, making my heart jump. The last thing we damn well needed was for Jamie to be blind.
“You good?” I asked, once he’d fixed his glasses.
He ran fingers through his damp hair, getting it out of his face. He gave me a nod.
I could hear gunshots in the distance. The battle was opening.
“The only way forward that I can see just yet is to upset the balance. Taking the wind out of Mauer’s sails creates a risk, because it means the primordials might get loose, by accident or by deliberation.”
Jamie’s body language changed in a very subtle way. He stared across the room at me.
