by Kal Spriggs
Time to think about that later, she thought, and I'll have to talk to my agent here and find out his opinions on the matter.
“I can vouch for her as well,” Halyna Kail said softly, “I recognize her from when she was a girl, though she's grown, she's the same fire I saw in her then as now.”
“Very well,” Kerrel said. “In that case, the areas we are willing to discuss: Compensation for those who lost their families, homes, or livelihoods. Amnesty for those who lay down their weapons and return to their homes. Some adjustment of taxes...”
“We need more than an adjustment,” Lord Jack said, “We're barely getting enough food in to survive the winter, and I know it's worse elsewhere in the south.”
Kerrel nodded at the flamboyant redhead, even as she wondered how much his father told him. Is he a member of the Luciel Order, she wondered, and if he's that good an actor, could I trust him?
“Well,” Kerrel said, “I'll have to talk with Lord Hector about anything else and to confirm that it is Lady Katarina we're dealing with.”
“Of course,” Lady Katarina said, “We've taken the liberty of moving Captain Renhard's mirror to your quarters.”
“I have a question. What about your prisoners, the defenders of the Ryftguard?” Darkbit asked quickly. “I'd like to speak with Captain Renhard especially.” There was an edge to his tone, Kerrel noted, almost as if he expected a certain answer.
“I'm afraid that Captain Renhard was killed in the fighting,” Lady Katarina said. “His second in command, Captain Ovar, was wounded, but is our prisoner. While we are willing to discuss turning them over, possibly even with agreements that they'll go to fight in the north, we're not willing to allow you free access to them, beyond checking to see that they are taken care of. We don't want them passing along information, you understand.”
Kerrel saw Darkbit's eyes go narrow, as if he were trying to find something to accuse them of, but he seemed unable to do so. Kerrel decided to head off any further confrontations, “Very well, I think we're done here for the moment,” she said. “Thank you for your time.”
***
Captain Aerion Swordbreaker
“You bastard,” Samen snarled as he stalked toward Grel in the narrow corridor, “You murdering bastard!”
Aerion blanched at the anger in the hunter's voice, yet he felt his own hand clench around his sword hilt as he saw the smirk on Grel's face as he came forward. “Careful there, you might provoke more than you can take,” Grel said with a sneer. Aerion didn't miss how the man's hand was on his sword, though.
“You killed my wife and our unborn child,” Samen snapped. “I'll take your damned head is what I'll do!” Samen's hand darted for the hilt of his short sword, but before he could draw it, Aerion's mother stepped forward.
She caught his hand and her voice was sharp, “Don't you dare, Samen. If he doesn't kill you, I will.” Aerion's mother stood lower than Samen's shoulder, but she had muscle aplenty to keep him from drawing his sword. “He wants us to fight him, to draw blood. We'd be in the wrong if we did it, no matter how he provoked us.”
“Let me go, Eleanor,” Samen growled. But Aerion stepped forward and put his arm on the other man's shoulder, his own anger conquered at the reminder of the truce.
“Smart,” Grel said with a smirk. “Smart.” He relaxed and turned away. As he sauntered away, he called out over his shoulder, “Stay smart like that and you'll live longer.”
Aerion caught Samen before he could step forward. Samen grunted in anguish as he saw Grel step around the corner. “I'll kill that bastard.”
“He'd take you apart like a butcher cutting up meat,” Aerion's mother said harshly. “You're an okay swordsman and a damned fine archer, but he's a killer.”
“He killed Aedel,” Samen said, tears in his eyes. “I've got to make him pay.”
“He will,” Aerion said confidently, “But if we go after him here, even if we kill him, there's no chance we can work this out without more people dying.”
“Fine,” Samen said. He shook Aerion's arm off. “That's a nice sentiment, but I don't expect this to work out. Even if it does, do you really think the Usurper will turn his dog over to us?” He turned away before Aerion could answer. For that matter, Aerion wasn't certain the man was wrong.
“Let him go,” his mother said. Aerion watched Samen walk away. “He's not the only one we'll have to keep an eye on, and he's not the first one I've stopped today.”
Aerion looked at her sharply, “You think Grel's trying to provoke us?”
She gave him a sour look, “I know it.” She nodded to where Arren, who had come up behind them. “I think we need to have a talk.”
“I agree, Eleanor” Arren said. “Might as well bring the boy. Cederic's found an appropriate spot already. I've just came to get you.”
“Why am I not surprised,” Aerion's mother said. She gestured at him to lead the way. Aerion followed them both, down the corridors to an empty guard room. This one still had blood spatters and Aerion briefly had an impression of a bearded face, lips drawn back in a snarl, before he shook it off. He paused though, and his fingers traced a chip in the stone of the doorway. His sword broke here, he thought absently, else I'd be dead now. It was a sobering reminder of just how hard the fight for Ryftguard had been.
“So,” his mother said, “why didn't you tell everyone that Kerrel Flamehair is Hector's lover?”
Aerion looked up in surprise at that. He still hadn't seen the other envoys, but when he thought about the Usurper, it was more as a distant, menacing figure. The fact that he might have a lover or even friends was something that shocked him.
Aramer drew off his floppy brimmed hat and then his wig and beard. He scratched at his face, “How do you figure?”
“It's as obvious to a woman as it can be,” Aerion's mother said. She gestured over her shoulder, “Even Lady Katarina picked up on it, somewhat.”
“Well,” Aramer said, “I'm not really certain I see how that's pertinent...”
“You're involved with the girl up to your false eyebrows as well,” she interrupted. “And don't deny it. Tell me, is Kerrel one of your 'candidates' for the sword? A nice combination if she became Hector's bride as well as having her mother's blood. A strong alliance forged between Asador and Masov, right?”
He sighed, “You've met her mother, Eleanor. You know, as well as I do, what kind of woman she is. You have to admit her daughter would be a good candidate.”
“Wait,” Aerion said, “She's working for Hector... why would I give her the Starblade? Why would I trust anyone who worked for Hector with this?”
“It's complicated,” Aramer said. He looked over at Cederic who hadn't yet spoken, “You're not weighing in on this?”
“Oh, I'm more interested to hear your reasoning... but I'll admit I'm inclined to favor young Swordbreaker's point of view. There's more than one issue with selecting a High King, or Queen, if you will, who has served under Lord Hector,” Cederic's voice was light, but there was also a weight to his words.
“How is that?” Aramer asked. “She's an excellent candidate. Strong willed, fierce, she earns the respect of both friends and enemies. She has the ties of the old blood through her mother's line... if she carried the Starblade, she could easily win over many to her cause, and with you to fix it, well then, we'd have a real chance at success!”
“But there's more to it than that,” Cederic answered. “The Starblade is broken and you say 'fix' as if that were a simple thing.”
“Isn't it though?” Aerion asked. “I mean, it was crafted by Noth, surely even if you can't fix it, then he can, right?” It seemed simple enough, yet even as he thought about it he realized it might be more complicated than that. He had worked a forge long enough to know that working with metal might require reforging and even mending simple things could become far more difficult than starting anew.
“I'm afraid that not even Noth could 'fix' the Starblade,” Cederic said softly. “When Moral plunged
it into his father's heart, he shattered more than the blade. He sundered the very real bonds of trust and loyalty from throughout the Five Duchies. That is part of why things fell apart so quickly, after the Sundering.”
Aramer nodded slowly, “Still, if it's a matter of trust and leadership...”
“It is not,” Cederic said, his voice hard. “It is a matter of spirit as well... and the energy of ideas and emotion, even that of the human soul. When Moral rebelled, he weakened the bonds of belief, the strength of trust and loyalty that men held for the High Kings. He undermined those ideals... and when he wrenched the Starblade out of his fathers hands and killed him with it, he used the very central icon of that belief to destroy it. The Starblade is far more than an item of runic power, it is an artifact of faith... and it is only a shadow of what it once was, even now.”
Aerion drew the blade and set it on the table. The weight of history on it seemed to pull at him, even as his eyes studied it. “So how do we fix it?”
His mother gave him a sharp look, “I'm not so certain 'we' should still be involved. More and more it sounds like a fool's errand.” Despite her words, Aerion heard a tone of resignation in her voice.
“Oh, it gets worse,” Cederic said. “But you'll have a hard time giving up protection of the blade, young Swordbreaker.” He smiled grimly, “If you haven't noticed... people don't really see the blade, do they? Your friends have almost forgotten about it, even Lady Katarina knows you have a runic blade, but she hasn't asked about it, hasn't inspected it, has she?”
Aerion shook his head slowly, “I thought it was just that, I don't know, everyone was so busy.” He thought back now, though, and remembered how she'd inspected his shield and his new armor. He remembered too, how Quinn also had inspected his shield and armor, fascinated and wanting to know all he could learn, yet he hadn't so much as looked at Aerion's sword.
“It has protections, even now, and something of a will of it's own,” Cederic said. “Southwatch gave it to you to protect and you've earned it's trust. We are aware of it, so it tolerates us, but to those it considers unworthy... it hides itself.”
“Lady Katarina is not unworthy!” Aerion started.
Cederic held up a hand, “I didn't say that she was. But the sword doesn't yet trust her, in part, I think, because she has not yet shown her measure to it.” He looked at Aramer, “Commander Flamehair may be the same. For that matter, if you were to try to force Aerion to give the sword to her, it may well resist.”
Aramer sighed, “Okay.” He stared down at the Starblade in contemplation. “I can understand that, I suppose. So, then, how do we go about healing it?”
Cederic frowned, “The Starblade we have here is but one of seven pieces, shattered by the betrayal of Moral. Of the others... Moral had six of the shards forged into a crown, which he wore during his, thankfully, brief reign. In that way, unfortunately, he further weakened the symbol, for he used it for his own unjust rule.” He looked over at Aerion's mother, “And the last piece was the one used by his nephew, Tanis. He crafted it into the tip of an arrow and used it to kill Moral and avenge both Tanis's murdered father and grandfather.”
“So we need the pieces,” Aramer said. “The crown, as I remember, was used by Emperor Dalton...” He frowned, “I think I remember it going to the Duke of Taral after Dalton was defeated.”
“The arrow,” Aerion's mother said, “was last seen in Marovingia, where the God Mathien used it to slay one of the Vendakar godlings in battle.” She blinked as everyone turned to stare at her. “What? It is a famous shot by an archer, of course I'd know about it.”
“So one piece in the fallen Duchy and another last seen in Marovingia, where their gods take an open role in politics,” Aramer said after a moment. “Neither place is ideal to search and we'll find little support.” His voice was musing, almost as if he were already looking to solve those problems, despite the host of problems before them already.
“The Luciel Order doesn't have a chapter in Marovingia?” Aerion's mother asked.
“Well, of course they do...” Aramer trailed off. “I suppose it's too late to say I don't know what you're talking about?” His lips twisted in a grimace. Clearly he didn't like her getting the better of him.
“The who?” Aerion asked.
Cederic leaned back, “Yes... tell us about them.”
Aerion's mother smirked at Aramer, “They're an organization dedicated to restoring the High Kings, protecting civilization, that sort of thing. They're also, if you ask me, a bunch of arrogant bastards who think they know better than everyone else.”
“They're doing the best they can,” Aramer said. “And while they're not totally free of ambition, they at least are focused on saving and preserving things.” He shrugged, “They're better than those they oppose.” His voice held a note of irritation, almost as if he hated to have to defend them.
“Which isn't saying much,” she responded. She turned her gaze to Cederic, “What else is needed? Even assuming that we can retrieve the other parts of the Starblade, I'm assuming that's not all.” She snorted, “It never is.”
“True enough,” Cederic smiled, “As far as I know, it would also require restoring the oaths of the Five Duchies. They would have to give their loyalty, each of them, to restore that bond.”
“Wait,” Aerion said quickly, “Taral is fallen, overrun by Norics, and even I know their last Duke died when Kalamanath destroyed their capital. Asador has been in a civil war for centuries and has no Duke. How can we get oaths from people who don't exist?”
Aramer grimaced, “That is part of why I like Lady Kerrel Ingail. If she could unify Asador...”
“As no one has done in centuries,” Aerion's mother said dryly.
“...then she could bring Asador's oath. And it isn't well known, but Lady Katarina can trace her bloodline back, through her mother, to the Duke of Marovingia and the last Duke of Taral.”
Aerion felt surprise at that. He remembered her mentioning that her grandfather was some kind of noble in Marovingia, but if what Aramer said was true, then she had ties to three of the Duchies. And I kissed her, Aerion thought somewhat guiltily.
“Which would leave Boir... and we've already heard that Lord Tarken is their new Grand Duke,” Aerion's mother said. She frowned at that, “It does seem that things are coming together, somewhat.”
“Only if we can cement some kind of peace here,” Aramer said. “Better, if we can make Kerrel and Katarina friends or even allies, we put forward a good chance of cementing together the alliances we'll need to fix all this.” His voice was intent, but Aerion frowned, he almost heard a note of desperation in the other man's voice.
“There are easier ways to accomplish this,” Cederic said. “But most would take cycles, at best. I agree, if we can forge some kind of alliance, then it would be best.” He shook his head, “Though I have the feeling that our opponents have their own agents present.”
“Grel?” Aramer asked sharply.
Cederic nodded, “I felt it in him earlier today and again in the meeting. There's a stink of something dark about him.”
“I wouldn't be surprised if Darkbit's made some other alliances,” Aramer said, “He's an ambitious bastard, no offense Aerion.”
Aerion snorted, “None taken.” His own pain over his uncertain parentage seemed rather less important in the grand scheme of things. The more he had learned about this conspiracy, the more thankful he was that he'd grown up in a tiny village away from the schemes and plots of the nobility. Thank the ancestors I'm not part of that world, he thought. He had briefly entertained some suspicions about that, but the way his mother constantly derided the nobility in general, he rather doubted it.
“Well, we'll have to do our best to keep a lid on things and to work towards an arrangement as best as we can,” Aramer said. He looked at Aerion's mother, “Eleanor, can you keep your villagers from drawing steel?”
She grimaced, “I can, but if Grel or his men try something, all bets are o
ff.”
“Understood,” Aramer said. He looked at Aerion, “Boy, best, I think, if you stay close to either your mother or I. If the opposition thinks they can't spoil things here, they might try to seize the blade.”
Aerion nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”
“I'll do my best to make certain no one from outside pulls off an attack,” Cederic said. “I'll ward both the conference chamber as well as the guest rooms.”
Aramer gave him a nod, “Very well, that settles things.” He picked up his beard and wig and adjusted them and then donned his floppy brimmed hat. In mere moments, once again he was the old man, Arren Smith, complete with quavering voice, “Now, then, let's get to work.”
***
Lady Katarina Emberhill
“This is absurd,” Grel snarled. “Some peasants died, who cares, they would die anyway when the crops were too small or a pestilence or plague came through. They should thank me for ending their pathetic lives.”
Katarina scowled at him, “You murdered innocent women and children in a failed attempt to kill me. Tell me, besides bungled assassinations, murder and rape, what does Lord Hector keep you around for?” She had despised the man before she met him, now it was everything she could do to keep from killing him every time he opened his mouth.
“Oh, please,” Covle Darkbit said, his tone condescending. “Do tell us how you deeply sympathize with the plight of your pawns. This is all about bargaining points. We express false apologies for those who died and you and your noble friends here,” he gestured at Lord Jack and Jarek, “get a bit more coin for yourselves.” He waved a hand, “We all know that this is just another form of extortion.”
Katarina felt her face flush with anger, “As for you–”
Commander Flamehair spoke up, “Lord Hector does regret the destruction of the village, as do I. He's prepared to compensate the villagers for their losses. We'll table that discussion for when tempers are a bit more civil.” Katarina didn't miss how the woman's green eyes lingered on Grel, almost as if she wanted to throw him out as a peace offering. Maybe she's not so bad, Katarina thought, for a mercenary.
