Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  “Of course we will,” he said. “And if not this time, well, we can always try again.”

  Cirilla sighed, loudly and exaggeratedly. Then she stood as well, pulled Leo tightly into her arms, and embraced him until he was convinced she’d planned never to release him.

  “Go on then,” she whispered at last. “Kill the bastards and hurry back, Leo. You and I have work to do.”

  Chapter Twelve

  There were a million things that vied for Leo’s attention as he made his way out of Ansiri, traveling north along the main commercial road. Most of them came and went as swiftly as the merchants and commoners they passed along the way. The most lingering, however, were the taunts.

  Leo had expected a few vocal passersby. It had been only a few days since he’d imprisoned the nobles and dissolved the Council of Aldermen. And since that time, he’d had no cause to venture out from the Ministry. So it stood to reason that a few of the city’s more opinionated common folk would seize the opportunity to express their opinions. Only, he’d never anticipated the venomous nature with which they would choose to do so.

  He ignored the first few insults, shooting warning glances or steadying words at the guards that surrounded him. Most of the elves were new as ducal guards went, without the long years of service necessary to develop the almost fanatical devotion for which they were known. But evidently, Leo had underestimated the gratitude his freeing them engendered. Several times, he spotted the tell-tale signs—a hand creeping toward the hilt of a sword or a quick, furtive step in the direction of the speaker.

  Eventually, the discontent within his ranks grew so pronounced that he called a halt.

  “Listen to them,” Leo said. He strolled the ranks of the convoy. There were three wagons at its center, surrounded on every side by men and elves, nearly two hundred in all. “Why are they upset?”

  No one answered him. Instead, the taunts and insults from nearby commoners filled the air.

  “Tyrant!” called one. “Murderers!”

  “Duke Pervert!” jeered another, louder.

  “You’d think they’d be grateful,” Leo continued. He glanced about, meeting gaze after gaze as he walked. “Six months ago, half these men were rioting in the streets, decrying anything and everything to do with Ansiri’s noblemen. The levies and taxation, the corrupting influence of noble money on Council elections, and the countless failures of Duke Avans. So why are they here now? Does anyone know?”

  The ranks fidgeted, half their number bristling and the other half squirming. It was a moment before one man, a corporal, answered.

  “They’re ungrateful, Your Excellency,” the man said. “A bunch of lowborn bastards who’d rather complain about a problem than fix it.”

  Leo grinned, nodding appreciatively at the corporal.

  “You’re not wrong,” he said. “But that apathy is a symptom, not the root cause. The ingratitude of Ansiri is born from a lack of vision. Those men you hear? They curse as us, at me, at you, because they feel powerless. And you know what? They’re right. They are powerless. But we’re not.”

  Leo strode onward. At last, he could understand a bit of the madness that had overcome Nicolo during the man’s campaign speeches. It was electrifying, energizing, to be surrounded by so many eager pairs of eyes.

  “Together, we are going to tear down the pillars of this world,” he announced. “Not to save them. Not for their sake. But for ours. We are going to reshape the Isles in our image. And by the time we’re done, there’s not going to be a man in this city that would dare look down on you.”

  As far as speeches went, Leo couldn’t help but feel that his had been rather lackluster. Delivering it was exciting, of course, but it had been fairly empty and full of inspirational nothings. But evidently, that was enough. The men around him practically beamed, grinning eagerly as they matched his wild-eyed stare with ones of their own. And, unless Leo was quite mistaken, there was a purposeful weight to their steps that had not been there before.

  They’d resumed marching for less than a minute when Nyssa found him. She’d slipped away from Karran and Sann, both of whom lay napping atop one of the wagons, and leaned in to murmur as she walked alongside him.

  “Nice speech,” she said. “You believe a word of it?”

  Leo shrugged. “It was a bit much,” he admitted. “But it’s not like it’s untrue. The important thing is whether or not they believe it.”

  Nyssa glanced around, thoughtfully chewing her lip. “I’d wager they do,” she said. “But you’re wrong about one thing. It’s not important if they believe it. What matters is the rest of the army.”

  And to that, Leo had no answer.

  The winding commercial road led them north and grew narrower the further they traveled. By the time they passed the last of the outlying farms, it was no longer possible for Leo’s forces to march as they had been—three abreast on either side of the wagons. Instead, they were forced to trail after them.

  They reached the garrison half an hour after Leo had hoped to arrive. The sun was sinking close to the horizon, casting the sea of uncovered sleeping mats and the occasional tent in a deep, ghoulish red light. Aside from that, however, the rest of the sight that greeted him was far more welcoming. The far edge of the camp lay guarded with a small, clumsily assembled palisade while the other half was patrolled by several squads of well-disciplined, if somewhat amateurish soldiers. Here and there, the smoke from dozens of cooking fires wafted over the garrison.

  Leo, having taken position near the head of the column, was still a hundred yards off when the first alarm was raised. He halted, ordering those following him to do likewise, and waited with folded arms as an officer and several others hurried toward him. The men were armed and armored, but their heads were uncovered. And so, as they drew near, Leo was pleased to note that three of the five approaching figures were elves.

  “Hold there,” growled the officer, a man. He peered past Leo and Nyssa toward the wagons. “What’s your business here?”

  “War,” Leo said, torn between amusement and impatience. He was about to continue when Nyssa stepped forward, hands resting casually on the pommels of her swords.

  “This is His Excellency, Duke Leo VanOrden,” she announced. “He needs to speak with the garrison commander.”

  Under different circumstances, it would have been amusing for Leo to watch the color drain from the man’s face. Instead, he answered his salute with one of his own and made a show of acknowledging the man’s flustered greetings.

  The officer—Lieutenant Holmes as he introduced himself—showed them into the camp. They’d scarcely advanced beyond the perimeter when the makeshift road grew too narrow for the wagons. Leo left them in the charge of one of Holmes’ men and followed him, flanked by Nyssa, Sann, Karran, and a half-dozen ducal guards, to a cluster of large, open-sided tents near the center of the garrison.

  The officers inside were an eclectic bunch. There were a dozen of them, all men save for a pair of elves and a sullen-looking trow who leaned against a tent pole, fiddling with an ax. Each saluted or bowed as Leo approached, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and all the while casting nervous glances at his non-human companions. The trow, in particular, lifted a finger to his temple so casually that he might have been doing nothing but brushing a stray lock of platinum hair from his eyes.

  “Your Excellency,” said a broad-chested man sporting a thick, copper beard. “Welcome! What an unexpected honor. Allow me to introduce….”

  Leo sighed but did not interrupt apart from the muted growling of his stomach. As during his time aboard the Unity, he knew that trying to memorize the rapid-fire list of names, ranks, and responsibilities would be pointless. Familiarity would come in time. So instead, he focused on remembering those he expected to rely upon most frequently.

  The copper bearded man turned out to be one Captain Buchanan, formerly of the City Watch and the closest thing to a human general in Leo’s army.
And although the man’s boisterous persona had initially been off-putting, Leo soon discovered that the man was nearly a genius at managing the garrison’s numerous personnel.

  Aside from Buchanan, the only other man of note was the garrison’s quartermaster. A grizzled, silver-haired man of at least sixty and a veteran of both the fleet and the City Watch, the man’s name was Cochran. But, as Buchanan stated, “Skipper here’s liable to strangle the first man to call ‘im that. So, between us, Your Excellency, I’d stick to Skipper.”

  The other men were more or less superfluous. Low-ranking officers in the Watch, Leo quickly surmised that he’d stumbled into a staff meeting to discuss the training and progression of the various battalions. The only outliers in that duty were, of course, the non-humans.

  Leo recognized one of the elves and, judging by the faint smile on his face, the elf recognized him as well.

  “Buchold,” he said, nodding when the elf’s turn came. “How are things here?”

  “Progressing well, Your Excellency,” the elven primarch replied. He bowed slightly, one hand resting on his chest. “I hope the same is true of the Duchess?”

  Leo struggled to mask his surprise. He’d made a point to avoid sharing the details of Cirilla’s pregnancy with anyone, save for Nyssa and a handful of trusted confidants. But Buchold’s choice of words could hardly have been accidental, even if their significance appeared to be lost on the others.

  “So far as I know,” Leo said carefully. “Cirilla will be ruling Ansiri in my absence. I plan to remain here at the garrison until we march.”

  This announcement sparked more than a few whispers and lifted brows. But, before any of the officers had time to question him further, Leo turned to the elf at Buchold’s side.

  “And you are?” he asked.

  The elf bowed in much the same fashion as Buchold had, though he kept his eyes locked on Leo’s throughout. They had a curious quality about them, dark green around the edges of the iris yet lightening almost to silver near the pupil. It gave the impression of staring down a long tunnel.

  “Iresh, Your Excellency,” the elf said. “First Gwydon to the elves in your service.”

  The men stirred uncomfortably at this announcement, several going so far as to grimace openly. Leo, however, merely frowned in confusion.

  “Gwydon?” he repeated. “What is that?”

  The elf smiled coyly. He looked about to respond when Buchold’s hand settled on his shoulder.

  “It is a private thing among my people, Your Excellency,” he explained. “Meaning no disrespect. Iresh attends to the… spiritual needs of the soldiers here.”

  Leo’s frown didn’t waver. He was about to press the elves for more when his stomach growled audibly. Shrugging, he sighed.

  “Very well,” he said. “I won’t pry. So long as he’s not instilling rebellious sentiments, I hardly see why it should be an issue.”

  “Thank you,” Buchold said. He nudged Iresh with an elbow, but the Gwydon merely bowed a second time.

  At last, Leo turned to the trow. He was still standing in the same corner, having hardly moved throughout the entire array of introductions. And, like before, he continued to distract himself with the slender, double-headed ax in his hands. He traced the simple, crisscrossed filigree with a thumb, following it all the way to the bevel.

  “And you?” Leo prompted.

  The trow did not look up. His ears did not twitch upon being addressed. And yet, somehow, Leo could tell that he had been heard.

  “Sophe,” the trow said. “Trow primarch.”

  “Primarch?” Leo asked, surprised. “I didn’t know trow had one.”

  “They don’t,” Sophe said. Still, he did not look up. “It is not our custom. But the men here insisted that we choose one to speak for the many. And so, here I am.”

  “Well, customary or not, thank you for being here,” Leo said. He glanced at Nyssa and was surprised to find her scowling. “I, uh, hope that I can rely on you to lead your brothers well.”

  Sophe did not reply. Rather, he inclined his head just enough to qualify as a sort of nod and sullenly continued caressing his ax.

  Clearing his throat, Leo turned back to the men.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate each and every person here. Your talents and abilities are going to be necessary if we’re to succeed in the coming weeks. Tomorrow, I’d like to begin inspecting the progress our soldiers have made. But, for tonight, I think it’s more important that I leave you to your work and find some dinner. A starving Duke hardly inspires confidence.”

  The men answered him with polite smiles and bows. One of them, a junior officer whose name Leo had already forgotten, excused himself from the others and led Leo to a collection of larger tents a stone’s throw from the cluster of open-sided ones. A number of the ducal guards were already present, hastily erecting a multitude of new structures and transporting an assortment of locked trunks from the now-distant wagons.

  “We left a spot open, Your Grace,” the man said. “We weren’t certain if you’d be joining us, so I’m afraid it might be a tad crowded by now, but—”

  “It’s fine. Thank you,” Leo said, before the officer could weary him with further apologies. Dismissing the man with a purposeful smile, he waited until they were relatively alone and turned to Nyssa. “What do you think?"

  “It’s crowded but nowhere near as bad as the Unity.”

  “Not that,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “What do you think about the officers?”

  “I’m—Leo, I don’t think that I’m qualified to…”

  “Please,” he said. “I want you to be honest.”

  Nyssa hesitated, then sighed and glanced around as if to confirm there were no men hiding in Karran or Sann’s shadow.

  “They’re amateurs,” she confessed at last. “Most of the men, at least. Buchanan and that other one—Skipper—they seem like they know what they’re doing, but the rest?” She shrugged. “No doubt they’re good at arresting the odd drunk, but training soldiers? I’m beginning to see what Lucius was so frustrated about.

  “That bad, huh?” Leo murmured. He watched the men assemble tents and ignored the continued growling of his stomach. “What about the elves? And Sophe?”

  “I don’t know,” Nyssa admitted, shrugging yet again. “Even if they’re good at looking after the soldiers, that doesn’t mean they’re any good at training them. We’ll have to see how they perform tomorrow.”

  Leo nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

  “Until tomorrow then.”

  ***

  It wasn’t the first time Leo had gone to sleep on a cot, nor was it likely to be the last time. It was, however, the first time that he’d done so with aching legs. The soreness was so acute that it wasn’t until he moved to pull the fur-lined blanket up that he realized he’d forgotten to take off his boots. Muttering a curse, he sat up and pulled one wearily toward him.

  He had just gotten one off and was working on the second when the tent flap flew abruptly open. The sound of it startled him so much he nearly upset the cot before he recognized Sann. The drakonid’s crimson eyes were the only part of her face visible in the darkness, the rest of her backlit by a distant campfire. But even without seeing the rest of her, Leo could tell that she was smiling.

  It was not difficult to guess why.

  “Sann,” he groaned. “Please, not tonight. I’m too—”

  He trailed off as the flap opened a second time to admit Karran. Her eyes did not share the drakonid’s luminescence, but she paused just long enough in the entrance for Leo to recognize that she too wore a shy, familiar grin.

  “Mate,” Sann murmured. For once, her words had lost most of their hissing quality. She crept forward and crouched near the foot of his cot. “The red one and I have ssspok-k-ken. We have agreed. It hasss been a long wait for both of usss. And neither of usss wisssh to delay.”

  Her words should have been both dreadful
and exciting. But instead, Leo’s mind seized on a different detail.

  “You’ve spoken?” he asked. It was dark enough inside the tent that he doubted either female could read the confusion on his face, but he raised his brows anyway. “What do you mean? How?”

  “The dark one—the elf,” Sann explained. “Ssshe readsss the red one’sss handsss and ssspeak-k-ksss for her.”

  Leo rolled his eyes, again knowing that neither was likely to see it.

  “You could use their names, you know,” he sighed. “Karran has to be faster to say than ‘the red one.’”

  “K-k-karran isss diffic-c-cult,” Sann hissed. “And we have not c-c-come to sssay namesss. We have c-c-come for you, mate.”

  Leo squirmed, torn between differing desires. A part of him wanted nothing more than to accept their invitation. He was so used to the unspoken competition between the pair that experiencing all that their cooperation implied was almost worth losing sleep over. But, on the other hand, he didn’t want his first impression with most of the army to be one of a bedraggled nobleman stinking of sex and exertion.

  “It’s late,” he pointed out. “And I’m exhausted. I guarantee I won’t be any good right now. Wouldn’t you rather wait until tomorrow and—”

  He never got the chance to finish. Sann stood, her body little more than a gray and navy smudge against the dark, dimly illuminated wall of the tent. But even without seeing her clearly, Leo had no difficulty discerning her motions. She undressed swiftly, stripping off her simple, linen garments. And although he knew that she wore them more for the comfort of others than her own, that fact was never more obvious than when the last of them landed on the rugs and she sighed contentedly.

  Karran was not far behind, either. Evidently, she’d loosened the straps of her armor before arriving. By the time her rival was nude, she was already shrugging out of the armored skirt and kicking it toward a pile of her own discarded garments.

  “Girls, I really think—” Leo began. But his attempts as dissuading the pair proved no more effective than the earlier ones. He gasped as Sann grabbed hold of his wrists. Rather than climb atop him, however, she lifted him bodily from the cot and deposited him, gently but irresistibly, onto the padded, rug-lined ground.