Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  Well? How was that? Not as lusty as a novel, surely, but I do think I captured the essence of the love-struck, pining maiden.

  I’m writing to explain my little gift. No, I don’t expect you to have much use for them. But one of the aldermen—Dabney, I think his name was—tried to use them to smuggle missives out of the city. So I figured I would send them in the opposite direction, just for the hell of it.

  Stay safe,

  Cirilla VanOrden

  Duchess of Ansiri, Lady of (Some) Isles, and Best Wife in (All of) Them

  Leo couldn’t hide his grin as he folded the letter and tucked it safely into a pocket. Not that he tried very hard. There were plenty of things he wanted to keep secret but his love for Cirilla was not one of them. Yet for all that love, he still couldn’t read his wife’s mind.

  “What’s she talking about?” he asked, glancing up at the waiting men and trow. “What did she send?”

  “I’ll show you,” Nyssa said, before any of the others could respond. Taking him lightly by the arm, she led him from the tent and down a cramped row toward the southern edge of the garrison.

  Leo wanted to question her along the way but held his tongue. There was no rush. And, occasionally, it was nice to be surprised.

  And what a surprise it was. Leo caught sight of the hulking creatures while they were still a hundred yards off, but even at a distance, there could be no mistaking them.

  “Are those—?” he began.

  “Golems,” Nyssa confirmed. “An even dozen of them. Gods alone know if they can be trained to fight or not, but…”

  “Sure they can,” Leo said. He chuckled, shaking his head in amazement. “We can use them to shield the rest from archers. Or, hell, just get them running and they’ll break Grey’s lines all on their own.”

  “Or they’ll get confused and break ours instead,” she muttered.

  “Don’t be so glum,” he teased. Grinning and wincing simultaneously, he hurried forward to inspect the creatures.

  The golems Cirilla had sent were easily the largest Leo had ever seen. Even hunched onto all fours, the smallest of the leathery giants stood a full head taller than Leo himself. Standing upright, they’d have towered over any two men in the entire garrison. But despite their impossible bulk, the ropes that had been draped across the creatures’ backs showed that none had so much as tried to stand. It wasn’t surprising; golems were among the most simple-minded non-humans in the Isles and good for little more than lifting construction materials or hauling stones from the mines. Provided a bit of food and absent any significant pain, the lumbering creatures were generally content to sit about and observe their surrounding with benign curiosity.

  That curiosity, in particular, appeared to unnerve the men and elves tasked with unloading the wagons. They shied away from the behemoths, one yelping and drawing laughter from his comrades when a golem prodded him unexpectedly with a thick, craggy finger. Leo laughed as well, though he hurried forward to intervene before the man could do anything unwise.

  A nearby sergeant, alerted to Leo’s presence by his laughter, approached and saluted.

  “Your Excellency,” the man said. “I hope you have some idea what to do with these things because I sure as hell don’t.”

  “Just leave them be,” Leo instructed. “We’ll keep them in the wagons for now. Just have a man bring them whatever scraps they find at the mess. They say golems will eat just about anything, but I’d rather they not develop a taste for, ah, palisade.”

  “Probably a good decision,” the sergeant agreed. He saluted again. “I’ll see it done.”

  Leo was about to thank the man but he was already wandering off. Instead, he turned to Nyssa and offered an encouraging smile.

  “You see?” he said. “Everything will be fine. Honestly, it might be a good idea to ask Cirilla to send the rest of Ansiri’s golems. Who knows? They might come in handy.”

  Nyssa nodded distractedly then hesitated as she seemed to realize what she’d done. She appeared to wrestle with some thought for a moment.

  “What is it?” he prompted.

  “They might also be useful there,” she suggested. “We didn’t exactly leave many forces to protect the Ministry. And knowing your wife…”

  “She’ll have already requisitioned anything she needs,” Leo concluded. “That’s true. But it doesn’t hurt to ask. Draft a letter for me, will you?”

  “You… want me to handle it?” Nyssa asked.

  “Of course, why not?” Leo said. He paused as an idea occurred to him, then froze at the sudden realization that he’d never considered it before. “Nyssa, you can read, correct? And write?”

  “I can,” she said rather quickly. “Just, perhaps not well enough to… be convincing.”

  “You’ll do fine,” he assured her. “I can read it over for you, if you’d like. I’m just a little busy at the moment.”

  “Busy?” Nyssa asked. “With what?”

  Her ears darkened almost immediately and Leo laughed, both at her sudden embarrassment and ruefully at the fate that awaited him once he returned to his tent.

  “Nothing sinister,” he said. “Just a promise I have to keep.”

  ***

  Leo’s cot had been designed with only a single sleeper in mind. And so, when the tent flap opened abruptly the next morning, the surprise of it was enough to not only rouse him but Karran as well. One of her horns bashed him in the back of the head as she sat up, knocking off the edge and onto Sann’s wing. His landing woke the drakonid in turn. Hissing and yowling like a trod-on cat, she yanked free of his weight and nearly collided with Nyssa, who stood chuckling at the entrance.

  Leo glared at her, cursing and massaging the back of his throbbing head.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  The trow’s amused grin vanished at once. In its place, a look of grim seriousness materialized.

  “Get dressed, Leo,” she said.

  “Can’t it wait?” He groaned, buried his face against his knees, and continued to rub his head. “At least let me eat something first.”

  “This isn’t about training,” Nyssa snapped. Stepping inside, she pushed past the still-hissing Sann to retrieve his cuirass from where it lay atop a trunk. “It’s Iresh, that Gwydon. He’s getting the elves all worked up about something.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Leo growled, rising. “I swear I’ll feed him to the golems. It’s too early for this bullshit.”

  “Actually, dawn was hours ago,” Nyssa informed him as she tugged the armor over his head. “I wanted to let you rest, but—”

  “I get it.” Leo began to work the straps securing one side of his breastplate while Nyssa worked the opposite half. “Just show me where to find the bastard. I’ll handle it.”

  They found Iresh at the center of a mustering field, the same field where the fight had taken place the morning before, in fact. The Gwydon paced in a small circle, gesturing wildly at the elves around him with his carved femur. His audience was tightly packed around him, so dense that Leo had ample opportunity to listen to the elf’s words before he reached the center.

  “Atk’linain! Those who watch know the truth of it!” Iresh said. “For centuries, our kind have observed the signs, hunted favorable portents, and awaited this very opportunity. Even the dark ones, with their traitorous gods, know the truth of this. And yet, you would be seduced by the urgings of faithless kabalie who think only of power? Woe to such a wicked generation! Atk’linain! Do not give in to their bitterness and dark murmurings! Keep yourselves blameless that the sleepers may—”

  “Enough!” Leo barked as he forced his way into the center. “Hold your tongue, Iresh, or I’ll have it cut out!”

  The Gwydon spun, eyes wide. For a moment he opened his mouth as if to reply, then remained silent and cradled his wooden bone to his chest.

  Leo glanced around, suddenly aware of the hundreds of eyes watching him. Most did not appear angry, which was encouragin
g, as was the presence of Sann and Karran beside him. The only scowls he observed were not aimed at him at all, but rather at Nyssa. She stood so close she was practically touching him, fingers hovering over the hilt of Mihal’s sword.

  “Your Excellency,” Iresh murmured. He bowed low, seeming aware of both Leo’s temper and the glares aimed at Nyssa. “Be welcome here. Only—”

  “Only nothing,” Leo growled, fixing the elf with his most menacing stare. “I’ll not have you spreading discontent, Gwydon.”

  “Discontent?” Iresh straightened, looking perplexed. “Far from it, Your Excellency. Did you not hear?”

  “I heard enough.”

  “Then you heard but did not comprehend,” the elf said. “You’ve nothing to fear from the blessed brethren here. They know you now for who you are!”

  The enthusiasm behind the elf’s words made Leo want to reach for his sword. They were outnumbered—and badly—but the elves nearest them were unarmed. Between Karran, Sann, and Nyssa he was confident they could carve a path to safety before the rest of the elves could reach them. Additionally, he could just make out the shape of several of the human junior officers lingering near the edge of the field. If they saw that their Duke was in danger, doubtless they would come to his defense.

  And yet, some unseen force held him fast. It was more than mere curiosity.

  “And?” he asked, tensing. “Who am I?”

  Iresh beamed at him. It was obvious that the Gwydon had been hoping for just such a question.

  “Sha’rath,” he said.

  Evidently, Iresh had been exaggerating with his earlier declaration that the elves knew him for who he was. A ripple of astonishment traveled through the crowd at the elf’s word. Dozens of the conscripts began exchanging glances. Many whispered amongst themselves. More than a few grew still, their faces hardening into evaluative stares. And, at last, a handful of elves dropped respectfully to their knees.

  “Sha’rath,” the kneelers echoed in reverent whispers.

  Leo’s anger and anxiousness fled, wholly replaced by bewilderment. Brow furrowing, he gazed at the kneelers for a moment before turning to Iresh. The elf wore his satisfaction so openly it was nearly smugness. And then, as Leo’s gaze fell upon him, he too slowly dropped to one knee.

  “Sha’rath,” he repeated.

  Leo had a thousand questions and almost voiced them then and there. Before he got the chance, however, Nyssa’s fingers found his sleeve. She tugged it just hard enough to draw his attention and gave a small shake of her head.

  “Gwydon,” Leo said, keeping his voice flat and emotionless. “Finish what you’re doing. I’ll speak with you after. Alone.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time Iresh joined him at the command tent some ten minutes later, Leo’s racing pulse had finally slowed. True to his word, the tent was empty, save Nyssa who stood in the corner, a respectful distance from the place where Leo sat. The Gwydon was smiling, though its smugness had been replaced by the more typical dreamy quality.

  Without being prompted, Iresh took the chair opposite Leo’s. He didn’t speak.

  “So,” Leo said. “What the hell is a Sha’rath?”

  Iresh cocked his head, idly caressing the wooden bone he held.

  “You’re a Sha’roath, technically,” he said. “Sha’rath is typically an inclusive plural but—”

  “I’m not in the mood for word games.”

  “No?” Iresh dropped his gaze and clicked his tongue once before continuing. “The Sha’rath are a pantheon of heroes revered by my people. Great heroes, sages, liberators… the sort that unite fractious cities or change the course of history. Admittedly, it’s rather unorthodox to declare someone Sha’rath during their lifetime, and I doubt my ancestors would take kindly to my granting the title to a human. But, well, such are the times.”

  “It’s a good thing then?” Leo asked, frowning.

  “Good?” Iresh laughed. “Would a father call the birth of his firstborn a ‘somewhat memorable’ day? In bygone eras, the announcement of a new Sha’roath heralded a week of feasting and celebration.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t spare a week,” Leo said, chuckling softly. “Perhaps there’ll be time after the war. But, tell me. Why make such a decision now?”

  The elf’s amused smile grew stern so suddenly that Leo was momentarily taken aback. Before he could react, however, Iresh leaned forward in his chair and set his bone onto the table between them.

  “Because a Gwydon’s purpose is to listen and advise,” he said, steepling his fingers. “And that is what I’ve done. I’ve listened to the rumors spreading through camp—the good and the bad. And though many have found reasons for despair, I found that your actions provide the opposite.”

  “Such as?” Leo asked.

  “The title you granted to your chosen champion,” Iresh said, shrugging. “Any man can promise freedom to the slaves he forces to fight. But you chose to make Lucius a baron for no other reason than to keep your word. There was no benefit in it for you. And, I imagine, quite a bit of trouble. That you did it anyway suggests you’re likelier than most to keep your word about emancipation.”

  The inevitable question burned Leo’s tongue as he tried to hold it in. There was little benefit in voicing it and more than a little risk. But, somehow, he couldn’t quite seem to resist the temptation.

  “And if it was all a trick?” he asked. “Perhaps that was all a part of my plan from the beginning.”

  Iresh’s grin returned and Leo knew at once that the elf had seen through his words.

  “Perhaps,” the elf said knowingly. “But perhaps the same could be said for my declaration. Word will spread quickly now. Soon, all the camp will know that I have named you Sha’rath. This will buy you a great deal of loyalty from my people. But that loyalty has been purchased with their expectations. Should you betray those expectations…”

  “We’re in the same boat,” Leo said, nodding slowly. “Victory, failure, or betrayal. Your fate will be the same as mine.”

  “Just so.”

  “I have two final questions,” Leo said, drumming his fingers on the table. “That speech of yours. Who were you denouncing? And what was that bit about traitorous gods?”

  “Have you not guessed already?” Iresh said, quirking a slender brow. “I was speaking against the disloyal kabalie who instigated the brawls.”

  “And the gods?”

  “Ah.” The elf fidgeted, looking uncomfortable for the first time since arriving. He turned in his chair, subtly but unmistakably glancing in Nyssa’s direction. “It’s hardly worth mentioning. Perhaps it would be best to let your servant explain.”

  Leo was torn. On the one hand, a part of him badly wanted to force the elf to elaborate. But, on the other, Nyssa looked nearly as disquieted as Iresh, and the last thing he wanted was to create conflict where none existed.

  He stood and, as Iresh did likewise, offered the elf his hand.

  “Very well,” he said. “Then, for the moment, I won’t press. And I plan on keeping my word. Make certain your people train hard so I can live long enough to follow through.”

  Iresh smiled gratefully, taking Leo’s offered hand and bowing deeply over it.

  “Thank you, Your Excellency,” the elf said formally. “Atk’linain.”

  Leo waited until the elf had gone before allowing his smile to fade. He turned to Nyssa then and waved her forward.

  “He said that phrase earlier,” he noted. “What does it mean?”

  Nyssa’s grim expression did not soften. “It’s difficult to explain,” she said. “It’s a very old saying. Either a blessing or a curse, depending on who you ask.

  “Do your best.”

  “It’s sort of like…” She fidgeted, staring after the departed elf. “May Death greet the disloyal one.”

  Leo sighed.

  ***

  “No, no. Not there,” Leo explained as patiently as he could.
“You need to put it here.”

  Nyssa groaned, hands balling into fists as she braced herself against the table. They’d been at it for nearly half an hour but she seemed to grow more frustrated with each passing minute.

  “I don’t understand,” she grumbled. “It’s just a bunch of titles! Who cares if it’s written on a separate line or not?”

  “Nobles, that’s who,” he explained, fighting the urge to tease her. “I know it seems foolish, but think of it like swordplay. You wouldn’t try and—”

  “Don’t,” Nyssa snapped, turning to glare at him. She looked as though she might say more, then muttered a curse and grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment from the stack and carefully began to copy the words from the previous page. This time, she did it correctly.

  Leo watched her work, masking his smile until she was done. Then he nodded approvingly and allowed his grin to show.

  “Well done,” he said. “I’ll have Sann deliver it in the morning.”

  “In the morning?” Nyssa asked, frowning. “If you’re going to wait, why not just send a runner? They’d be back by then.”

  “Sann’s getting restless,” he explained. “It’ll do her good to have a chance to spread her wings. I’d send her tonight but—”

  “Ah,” Nyssa said. She rolled her eyes and abandoned the writing desk in favor of a more comfortable chair nearby. “Right.”

  “So are you going to answer my question now?” Leo asked. He continued to lean against the table, studying the trow with an unblinking gaze.

  Nyssa squirmed beneath it for a moment then shrugged with a sigh.

  “I told you, it’s not a big deal,” she said.

  “Iresh seemed to think it was.”

  “Iresh is a Gwydon. They think everything’s a big deal.” She snorted, shaking her head. “I don’t even remember all the details. It’s been years since I last heard the story. Mihal—I mean, Mihal was always more interested in that sort of thing.”