His men grinned like slobbering dogs, eager for the task.
“Now go, and do not disappoint.”
Bowing low, they scuttled from the room.
The Mordant smiled. He’d loosed the hounds of deceit, sent to spread lies in taverns, inns, markets and brothels. Soon the queen’s city would shudder with discontent.
A servant hovered at the doorway. "My lord, the dispatches have arrived."
"Good." The Mordant strode from the throne room, weaving his way to Bishop Borgan's chambers. He found the fat prelate ensconced behind a large cluttered desk. Feathered quills, paring knives, wax sticks, and rows of stoppered ink bottles surrounded him. The tools of his trade, the bishop was an expert at forgery and the art of manipulating wax seals. Carefully rolling a scroll over the heat of a candle flame, he delicately pried the emerald seal from the parchment. “This one is from Prince Stewart.”
“Read it.” The Mordant settled in a chair, fondling the malachite coin as he listened.
The bishop read the dispatch without inflection.
The Mordant listened. For the turn of an hourglass they worked through a satchel of captured dispatches. Sifting through the details, the Mordant decided which to burn, which to alter, and which to allow through. Wielding nothing more than a pen and parchment, he spun a web of deceit around the queen. Lies etched in ink were so easily believed.
The bishop's quill scratched on parchment as he scribed the Mordant’s response.
Weaving webs of deceit, the Mordant smiled, enjoying the game. The woman styled herself the spider queen, such a ridiculous title, yet her webs would soon catch nothing but carefully crafted lies. “Seal it and have Tembo deliver the dispatches. The messenger's tabard will complete the deception. Once you're done with these, I want you to approach the queen and confirm a date for our second game of chess.” The Mordant flashed a cobra’s smile. “The arrogant woman thinks I've come to play chess with her." His smile deepened to a sneer. "As if toy armies moving across a checkered board truly matter. While the queen duels with chessmen, the true game begins."
8
Liandra
Nightmares plagued the queen. Shadowy fiends with daggered claws and glowing red eyes chased her through the labyrinth of her dreams. Three times they nearly caught her, but then a blinding light blazed forth, driving them back. Liandra woke panting, surprised to find herself safe in the royal bed.
Only a nightmare, yet a sheen of sweat dampened her skin.
Rain pattered the window, the droplets bejeweled by the dawn's pale light.
Or perhaps her dreams held a warning of dark tidings. Liandra shook her head against the grim thought. In truth, she'd been unsettled ever since losing the chess match. The loss rankled, she should never have lost that match. The prince of Ur seemed so young, but his eyes held such depths...perturbing depths. And then there was his style of play, a ruthless attack, sacrificing major pieces regardless of convention. She should have won yet somehow the game became a rout, a stunning defeat. You played the game of princes...and lost. Liandra pushed the nagging doubt aside.
Rain drummed against the windowpane, becoming incessant.
No sense loitering abed when there was so much to be done. She rang the hand bell for Lady Sarah and ordered a bath. The water was warm and soothing, but she did not dally. Rising from the rose-scented water, her women rushed to attend her. Wielding brushes, paints and powders, they applied her queenly armor. Her dark hair combed and arranged and studded with diamonds, she chose a plush velvet gown of deep purple with dagged sleeves and a tightly laced kirtle of seed pearls. Feminine yet regal, Liandra approved the image in the mirror.
Returning to her solar, she supped on tea and dried fruits while reviewing her morning dispatches. Sorting the scrolls by their wax seals, her gaze fastened on the crossed quill and lightning bolt, the sigil of her shadowmaster. Robert! Breaking the seal, she rushed to read his words. Rhune is more and less than we expected. This new queen rules with feminine wiles, seeking to beguile all supplicants, yet beneath her comely curves lurks a shrewd mind and a keen ambition. She accepts your offer of truce but says it is too soon to commit to an alliance, yet she startled when I spoke of the Mordant. I sense she fears the coming of the Pentacle as we do. Perhaps an alliance will form when the threat becomes more imminent. I suggest you maintain a correspondence with her. Perhaps queen to queen, a military alliance can be forged. He went on to describe his travels through Lanverness and Rhune, providing factual tidbits mixed with scintillating gossip. Knowing how she craved details, he spoke of the state of the land, the commerce on the roads, the farmers in their fields and the general spirit of her people. Liandra treasured every insight, but she kept returning to his analysis of Rhune. Like a wave breaking on a rocky shore, her gaze struck on comely curves and feminine wiles. So this new queen was a temptress. Jealousy flared, yet she fought to banish the thought. After all, it was her idea to send Robert to Rhune. She trusted him like no other, her shadowmaster, her confidant, her lover. Shaking her head, Liandra swallowed her unworthy suspicions, striving to be the queen instead of a mere woman. From the crown's perspective, this change in Rhune suited Lanverness. Far better to have a vixen queen on her northern border than a rabid religion. But the woman in her wished Robert was home...and in her bed.
Setting Robert's missive aside to be reread at a later hour, she reached for the next scroll. Liandra steadily worked her way through the dispatches. Finally finished, she perused the ledgers for the royal treasury. Numbers spoke to her, a secret language of profits and losses, a tale of coins loaned, silvers spent, and golds earned. Commerce was the lifeblood of her kingdom and the queen gloried in growing her treasury. Like a vigilant gardener, she tended her investments, pruning some while watering others. All of her investments were in Lanverness, and as her investments prospered, so did her kingdom. She discovered a discrepancy in one of the accounts and made a mental note to determine if it was an honest mistake or a brazen theft. Good treasurers were hard to find. She preferred not to lose her latest lord to the dungeons. Finished with the ledger, she penned a note to the stonemason's guild offering a sizeable bonus for the swift completion of Pellanor's outer walls. War was an ugly and costly business, but she'd learned the value of precaution.
Lady Sarah appeared at the outer doorway. "Majesty, the Lord Sheriff awaits your pleasure."
The queen looked up from her scrolls, startled by how much time had passed. Setting quill and parchment aside, she settled back in her chair. "Show him in."
Her Lord Sheriff strode into her solar like a breath of spring air. Doffing a broad-brimmed hat with a feathered plume, he sketched a courtly bow. Ever the dandy, his long red hair was copper bright, his mustache rapier thin, and his face handsomely chiseled. Clad in a fashionable doublet of dark velvet, her Lord Sheriff cut a dapper figure, yet despite his flamboyant style the queen judged him to be both loyal and shrewd. "Majesty, how may I serve you?"
"We wish a report on our constable force. Are you successful with your recruiting?"
He hesitated, still stung by the conscription of half his force to the Rose Army. "The recruiting...goes well. The Queen's Purse has drawn many to our standard. "
"And are they of good quality?"
"A mixed lot. Many fled the countryside seeking safety in the city. Having tasted life in Pellanor, they wish to remain but they haven't a trade or a skill to earn a decent living. A constable's pay exceeds a laborer's wage, so they'll take the queen's badge and patrol the streets."
"See that they know our laws and cull any bullies. Those who wear our badge represent our good name."
"My men are proud to wear the royal sigil."
"We trust you to keep our streets safe. Peace and safety are the heralds of prosperity."
"May Pellanor ever prosper under your reign."
Pleased with his response, she gave him a gracious smile. "Last we spoke, you planned to recruit the city urchins, offering them coin to serve as lookouts and informer
s."
"The Flame War brought an outbreak of orphans to the city. If the youngsters earn coin from the Queen's Purse, they're less likely to turn to thievery. And scruffy urchins oft times make the best spies."
"Spoken like one of our shadowmen...instead of a constable."
He flashed a rogue's grin. "Perhaps I've spent too much time with the Master Archivist."
"Lord Highgate does have a subtle mind." She struggled to a keep a blush from rising to her face. "And have you succeeded with the urchins?"
"I've recruited a dozen. They've proven quite clever at worming their way into unexpected places."
"And are they discreet?"
The Sheriff shrugged. "They're boys, eight and nine years of age, but they soon learn the value of a steady meal."
"We might have a task for some of your clever urchins."
He waited.
"We wish to learn more about the Prince of Ur."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Do you suspect him of some wrongdoing?"
She gave him a sharp look. "We are wary and we are cautious, nothing more. The Prince of Ur is a royal guest, an emissary from a very wealthy trading power. He must be treated with all due respect...yet we would know more."
"Surely this is a task for your diplomats and shadowmen?"
"They have their tasks, but fresh eyes can bring fresh insights. We would see what your urchins can learn."
He nodded assent. "Is there anything in particular they should look for?"
The queen hesitated to voice her concerns. "There is something odd about the prince...as if he is cloaked in riddles. We like it not. We would learn his secrets, and thereby, learn the nature of his riddle. Have your urchins keep watch on his mansion in the city and report anything odd or unusual."
"As you command." He bowed towards her, offering a gracious sweep of his plumed hat.
"And, Lord Sheriff, this task must be discreet. You will speak only to us on this matter."
He flashed a rogue's smile. "I welcome any reason to meet with my queen."
The man was a silver-tongued fox...but the queen enjoyed his company. She offered her ringed hand. "Bring us word as soon as you've learned anything. No matter how small or how odd, we wish to hear of it."
He kissed her ring and then retreated with a flourish of his emerald green cape.
The door closed behind him and she was alone. The queen toyed with a feathered quill. She missed Robert, but her Lord Sheriff was a capable man...and a delightful distraction, but the task she'd set him was a serious one. Ur was a powerful trading partner...but the prince was a riddle she had yet to plumb.
Lady Sarah hovered in the doorway. "Majesty, Princess Jemma is here to join you for the midday meal."
"So soon?" Light from the window had crept across the floor, marking the passage of the hours.
"Yes, majesty."
"A queen's work is never done."
Lady Sarah gave her a knowing smile. "And you would have it no other way."
The queen smiled. "You know us too well. Show the princess to our dining chamber." Liandra washed her hands in a fingerbowl, scrubbing away the ink stains, and then entered her small dining chamber. Servants in emerald green livery snapped to attention. One held a chair as the queen took her customary seat at the round table.
The table was set for two, an intimate meal with her protégé. Sunlight streamed through the diamond-paned windows, sending fractured rainbows dancing across the silver plate. Everything gleamed and sparkled, befitting the image of the Rose Court.
Princess Jemma swept into the chamber, dropping to a deep curtsy. Beauty tempered with restraint, her lustrous black hair was captured in a bun, held in place by a net of pearls, but otherwise she wore no adornment. Clad in a modest gown of black velvet, the princess remained in deep mourning. Death had ravaged the royal house of Navarre with the murder of her kin at the poisoned feast, her sorrow and loss compounded by the shocking death of her mother. Darkness reached for Erdhe and Navarre paid a heavy price.
"Come and join us." Liandra's voice held an unfeigned warmth.
The princess took a seat opposite the queen. "It is always a pleasure, majesty."
Servants surrounded the table, offering a simple but tasty repast. Fresh baked bread with churned butter and a savory broth of onion soup. After pouring the wine, the servants withdrew, providing the two royals with a rare privacy. Liandra sipped the soup, impressed with the flavor despite the clarity of the broth. "What word from Navarre?" The queen savored her time with the princess, a chance to discuss commerce and kingdoms with a friend, an ally, and a protégé. Liandra thought of the young woman as her daughter that might have been.
"Jordan and the army march at a steady pace. They hope to meet up with Prince Stewart and the Rose Army somewhere south of the Snowmelt."
The queen nodded, pleased to confirm the reports from her own shadowmen and military aids. "We've had word from Prince Stewart. Coronth is a shattered kingdom, decimated from within by the Flame religion. The people offer no resistance...but they also offer no succor. The countryside is stripped of food as if infested by a plague of locusts. We plan to double the supplies sent north." The queen tore a crust of bread from the loaf, the soft center still oven-warm, fragrant with the scent of rosemary. "Fortunately, our roadways are flush with wagons bearing goods from the Delta's seaport and from Tubor's granaries...but the trade from Navarre has slowed to a trickle."
The princess's face darkened. "A worry of another sort."
The queen's interest quickened. "How so? We assumed Navarre needs the supplies for its own army?"
"The merchant fleet is still at sea." Her words held a sepulcher tone. "Overdue by more than three moon turns."
"Storms?"
The princess shook her head. "If it was only storms, a few ships would limp home...but my factor writes that the harbor is empty save for fishing skiffs."
Her factor, so the young princess sows her own crop of shadowmen. "And does your factor say why the fleet is so late?"
"No, so I wrote the king."
"And?"
"He sent the fleet north on the advice of Jordan...and the Kiralynn monks."
"The monks?" The queen set her spoon aside. "This war is more convoluted than we thought." She pondered the facts. "But why send the fleet north? The north offers no trade."
"Just so." Worry plagued the princess's face. "The merchant fleet is the lifeblood of Navarre."
The queen's concern deepened. "You must ask the king why he sent the fleet north."
"I have...but I've not yet received a reply."
"Then we are left with another riddle."
"Another riddle?"
The princess was a shrewd player. "Yes, the prince of Ur has come to Pellanor and we find him wrapped in riddles."
"The marketplace was agog with his grand entrance to the city."
"What do our people say?"
"They speak of bells on his stallion, veiled women riding by his side, and a wagon piled high with treasure chests. The people are enthralled by the spectacle. A mysterious prince comes to their city bearing the promise of lavish wealth and exotic differences. What could be more enticing?"
"Indeed." It sounded like a fairy tale, yet Liandra knew so many fairy tales had dark sides. "What else do they say?"
The princess nibbled a slice of bread. "I've heard talk of a grand banquet to be held at his mansion in the city. The merchants are buzzing like bees to the honey."
"A banquet? How odd."
The princess set her bread aside. "Why is it odd?"
"Because we offered to hold a royal reception for him here at the castle, a banquet followed by a dance, but he demurred, preferring a private meeting." Liandra made no mention of the chess game for the loss still stung.
"That is odd." The princess fingered her wine goblet. "Why would a visiting prince decline a royal reception?"
The queen had no answer.
The princess leaned forward, her voice dropping to a co
nspirator's whisper. "Would you like me to wrangle an invitation to the banquet? Perhaps I could help solve this riddle?"
A chill shivered through the queen. The thought alarmed her...though she could not say why. "No...let my shadowmen do their work." Liandra did not want a possible heir to Navarre anywhere near the prince. "My spies will peel back the riddle and then we'll decide."
"As you wish."
The queen guided their conversation towards matters of commerce, but in the back of her mind she worried about the prince...and the missing fleet. The game grew complicated. She sensed the hand of other players. The queen wondered if they were friends or foes. Questions pounded through her mind. The very fate of Erdhe might depend on these riddles yet she had few answers.
9
Bryce
The Mordant slept and the malevolent evil receded like a foul tide, loosening the chains of his prison. A soul trapped within the Mordant, Bryce clung to his sanity, desperate to find a way to make a difference. Somehow his hellish existence had to count for something. Surely the gods would not abandon him, yet his hopes were few and his existence bleak. Horrified by everything he’d witnessed, he railed against his bonds, but it had little effect. Without the sea’s ability to weaken the Mordant, he’d lost the strength to move the smallest finger…yet he had to try.
As an acolyte in the monastery, he'd learned a timeworn saying, When one door shuts another opens. He’d lost the sea, an unexpected ally, but another slender hope had come his way…but with that hope came dire need. The Mordant had endured a harrowing sea crossing to stalk a queen. Crouched within his prison, Bryce kept watch through his spy hole while the two met across a chessboard. He'd felt the Mordant loose his Dark will upon the queen, yet somehow she resisted. During the whole of his long captivity, Bryce had witnessed only two people who resisted the Mordant’s soul-assault, the cat-eyed man in the bloody cavern and now the queen.
The Prince Deceiver (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 6) Page 5
