Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  As they reached the edge of the Ministry’s cobblestone plaza, he was afforded his first glimpse of Grey’s soldiers in something other than a charge or retreat. Unlike the men he’d encountered previously, the host arranged before the Ministry building’s imposing spokes showed their deadly professionalism in every way. There were perhaps five hundred of them, nestled defensively between two of the palace’s protruding wings. And from what Leo could make out of the forward ranks, the majority looked to have been pulled from Ansiri’s professional soldiery. Rather than the drab gray of Grey’s conscripts, these men wore the heraldry and uniforms of the city’s noble household guards. Their weapons, too, reflected the training and long service their careers provided. Rows of gleaming silver pikes and halberds, lit by ample torch and iron-grated bonfire light, wagged threateningly in his direction.

  Count Grey stood at the rear of the assembly, clad in both armor and a thick, white-speckled, fur robe that lay draped over one shoulder. The man had donned a crown as well, a high-peaked, golden band far more ostentatious than Leo’s. And, just in case there was any doubt as to his purpose here, he had also fastened a sword to his hip. Judging from the ruby-inlaid scabbard, the weapon was both longer and thicker than the blade at Leo’s side.

  “Perfect,” Leo murmured, glancing at Nyssa and Karran from the corners of his eyes. “It looks like we won’t have to scour the city after all.”

  “Do my eyes deceive me?” Grey called loudly. “Leo VanOrden, is that you?”

  “Don’t let him distract you,” Leo continued, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “Who knows where the rest of his army is? He might be trying to surround us. It’s okay to order a withdrawal if necessary.”

  “Understood.”

  “Nothing to say? Really?” Grey continued. The man’s voice grew mockingly wistful. “After all we’ve been through together?”

  Sighing, Leo trotted forward. The human and elven officers were furiously directing their subordinates into formation, but they seemed reluctant to advance too far into the plaza itself for fear of inviting an attack. As such, it took barely twenty steps before Leo eclipsed them.

  “And what have we been through together, Your Grace?” Leo called back. “If I recall correctly, we’ve not seen each other since I replaced you as First Count.”

  “Since you murdered Duke Wyden and stole the throne, you mean.”

  The hostility in the man’s voice was so unexpected and outrageous that Leo couldn’t help but laugh. And since Grey was far enough away that he doubted the man could see his expression, Leo gestured widely with his arms instead.

  “Grey, why in the seven hells are you here if not to do the same?” he demanded.

  “Some might say that I’m here to free Ansiri from the grip of a childish tyrant,” Grey countered. The man’s voice had regained its smoothness. “But I’ll leave such determinations to the historians. For now, I simply await your surrender, VanOrden.”

  “Surrender?” Leo echoed, taken aback. He laughed again. “And why should I do that? My army is taking the city as we speak.”

  “Is it now?” Grey said. He descended the stairs and made his way through the ranks of his men in silence. He didn’t stop there, however, but continued until he’d crossed nearly a third of the plaza.

  Leo swallowed hard and peered about, searching for any sign of a trap. Finding none, he sighed and stepped forward to parley. He had no idea of how talented a swordsman Grey might be, but he was confident that he could at least defend himself until reinforcements arrived if the count planned on betraying his trust.

  Grey had evidently had the same idea. The man stopped short some ten paces from Leo, one hand resting casually but readily on the pommel of his sword. No sooner had he touched it than Leo halted as well.

  “Come now, Leo,” Grey said. “You and I both know that this battle will not be decided by which of us has more conscripts or more talented officers. We’re both far too clever for such a simplistic outcome. An ordinary war would see Ansiri razed to the ground by the time a victor was determined.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Leo growled.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Grey said, sounding disappointed. “Or you’d have done it already. And it’s a good thing you haven’t. Otherwise, I’d have never gotten to use my leverage.”

  It was as much the count’s tone as the words themselves that prompted Leo’s chest to tighten. He squeezed the pommel of his sword until his palm ached, relying on the mild pain to center him.

  “What leverage?” he asked. The words tasted sour, but he knew there was no point in delaying.

  Grey smirked and the sight of it filled Leo’s gut with icy dread.

  “You shouldn’t have taken so much of the City Watch with you,” the count said. “You had to know that one of us would move to take Ansiri. And leaving the city unguarded made it only too easy. Would you believe that it took less than five minutes to seize the entire Ministry? And, oh, what delightful prizes I found there.”

  Leo’s sword was in his hand before he was even conscious of the urge to use it. He’d taken only a single step, however, before Grey laughed and drew his own blade.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the count taunted. “My men are quite well trained. And they’re under strict orders that if anything happens to me…”

  “How do I know you haven’t killed them already?” Leo growled. Unable to continue stalking toward the man but equally incapable of standing still, he began pacing side-to-side. His sword, clutched in a white-knuckled grip, trembled as waking visions of driving it through Grey’s chest danced before his narrowed eyes.

  “Because I’m not a fool, VanOrden,” Grey answered coldly. He turned toward his men slightly, not taking his eyes off Leo. “Bring out those elves,” he called.

  Leo gnashed his teeth and continued to pace as the command was passed along. It wasn’t a long wait. Not even thirty seconds later, the sturdy, wooden doors at the end of the Ministry’s southernmost wing slammed open and a uniformed soldier emerged, holding an iron chain. He jerked it, hard, and a pair of figures stumbled out into the night air a second later. They were a fair distance from the nearest campfire, but Leo recognized them even before they staggered into view.

  Captivity, however brief, had not been kind to Atarah and Fanette. The sisters’ legs trembled as they limped weakly after their jailor. They wore identical cotton shifts but the fabric was so worn and sullied that it was nearly impossible to differentiate from their skin. Their hair was cut haphazardly short, scarcely long enough to cover their eyes. And yet, somehow, that was not the worst of it. Each of the trow wore a heavy, iron collar, joined together by an inflexible bar the length of Leo’s forearm. Their hands were bound as well, the shackles wound through their collars in such a way that neither sister could maneuver their wrists more than a few inches from their faces.

  The sight was shocking, but Leo’s astonishment lasted for only an instant. He stopped pacing. And in some ways, the rage that overtook him was a relief compared to the guilt that Grey’s taunts had inspired.

  “I’m going to kill you for this,” he promised.

  “Such devotion!” Grey teased. Resting his sword against his shoulder, he gestured for the jailor to hurry. “All that anger for a pair of trow? Although, I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise. I heard about what you did when the men I hired killed your servants. Really, Leo? A man in your position won’t rule for long if he can’t learn to control his temper.”

  “Shut up!” Leo snarled, fighting the urge to throw himself at Grey. He wished he’d thought to bring Nyssa or Karran with him. Either one had the speed and the talent to fell the man before anyone could stop her. He, on the other hand, would never reach him in time.

  “It does make me wonder,” Grey continued. He smirked, trying repeatedly to meet Leo’s eyes. “If you get this angry over trow, what would you have done for the others? Baron Ferris, for instance? You spared hi
m the indignity of being locked up with the other nobles. Or that pet alderman of yours? Nicolo, was it? You know, for a slaver, he doesn’t endure captivity very well.”

  There had to be a way out of this. Something he could do. Leo’s mind raced as he fought to ignore Grey’s words and the implicit threat they implied. There would be a solution here, somewhere. There always was. There would be one thread that would unravel the count’s entire scheme when plucked.

  Cirilla would have found it by now. She’d always been better than him at that sort of thing.

  “And then, of course, there’s your lovely wife.”

  He lunged for the man, teeth bared and sword at the ready. Grey did not flinch. The count made no attempt to defend himself. Instead, he turned and leveled his larger blade at Atarah’s throat.

  Leo slowed then stopped.

  “Better,” Grey said. He shooed the trow’s jailor with a flick of his fingers, and the man reluctantly obeyed. Strolling leisurely behind the trow, Grey trailed his palm along the iron bar connecting their collars. Grasping it, he shoved the pair to their knees, and then he lifted his sword once more, this time to Fanette’s neck.

  “They are lovely little things, aren’t they?” the count said. “It would be a shame if anything were to happen to them.”

  “Coward,” Leo spat.

  Grey sighed, his shoulders slackening in exasperation. “You of all people should know better, VanOrden. Cowardice is nothing but a jealous insult flung by those too dull-minded to seize an opportunity. Do I look afraid to you? Am I waiting for a chance to flee?”

  “Then why not let them go?” Leo growled. He hefted his sword and pointed it in Grey’s direction. “Let’s settle this. Just the two of us.”

  Grey sighed again, then chuckled softly and shook his head. “Why?” he asked. “What have I to prove?”

  “Kill me and Ansiri is yours.”

  “Ansiri is already mine! Haven’t you been listening?” Grey roared. The man’s blade slipped against Fanette’s neck, drawing a pained gasp and a thin trickle of crimson, but the count took no notice. “You have nothing with which to threaten me, VanOrden! Even if you had ten times as many soldiers, it would hardly matter! Move against me and everyone you care about is as good as dead! You’re not cold enough to make that sort of bargain.”

  “Master,” Atarah rasped. She had to pry her shackled hands away from her neck just to speak and the effort forced the cuffs deep into her already chafed wrists. “Cirilla escaped.”

  For the briefest instant, the four of them stood in shocked silence. Then Atarah grinned victoriously and her sister gave a hoarse, strangled laugh of delight.

  “Worthless bitch!” Grey bellowed. He planted his boot on the pair’s connected collar and slammed their faces to the ground with a brutal crunch. Enraged, he raised his sword.

  Leo was already moving. And this time, he did not stop. But as close as his earlier fit of temper had carried him, there was still no way to intercept the man in time. And so, Leo did something he’d promised Nyssa never to do again.

  He threw his sword.

  Grey flinched in the face of Leo’s unorthodox assault. Unfortunately, he didn’t freeze. The count swung his blade in a clumsy parry, deflecting what might have otherwise been a lethal blow and knocking the lighter weapon aside. He staggered once as the hilt clipped him lightly in the hip, then straightened and pointed his sword at Leo’s chest.

  “Pity,” hissed the count. He stalked toward Leo, smirking victoriously. “Of all the ways to waste your chance, you—”

  Grey’s words died on his lips. The count’s hesitation was so brief it would hardly have been noticeable under different circumstances. But as Fanette hurled herself at Leo’s fallen sword, her face literally pressed to the cobblestones, Grey glanced down and frowned in confusion for the span of a fleeting heartbeat. And by the time he recovered his wits, Fanette had scooped up Leo’s weapon.

  Wordlessly, Fanette leaped upright and drove her awkwardly clutched sword into the undefended stretch of gray-whiskered skin between the count’s throat and chin. The man croaked wetly, dropped his sword, and started to reach toward the wound. Then, without dignity or preamble, he collapsed in a heap.

  Leo had mere seconds and knew it. He charged, grabbing Atarah by the arm and roughly hauling her to her feet. The gesture choked her but he had no time to spare on sympathy.

  “Run!” he barked.

  Fanette, perhaps spurred by her earlier action, moved a second before her sister. She started to run, shuffling as best as her restrictive collar and shackles allowed and practically dragging her sister along in the process.

  Leo pulled his soiled blade from Grey’s twitching corpse. The count’s eyes were unnervingly wide and rolling. Leo ignored them. Dead or dying, the man’s gaze no longer threatened him. The man’s army, however, was quite another story.

  “Count Grey is dead!” Leo roared, flicking the blood from his sword with dramatic flair. “Surrender peacefully and I promise you your lives!”

  For a moment, the plaza’s silence made him believe that Grey’s men might accept. The nearest of the count’s men stared at him and their slain liege in disbelief. Then, the jailor who’d brought Atarah and Fanette halted. The man had not quite reached the ranks of his fellows. But, evidently, he was not the sort whose courage required numerical superiority. Wordlessly, he drew his sword.

  Abandoning their improvised defenses, Grey’s men charged.

  Leo stared at them in disbelief. It was absurd. Their liege was dead—what possible threat or promise could compel such men to risk their lives?

  He didn’t wait around to settle on an answer. Instead, Leo VanOrden, Duke of Ansiri and the uncontested Lord of the Isles, turned on his heel and fled.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  In hindsight, Leo’s decision to leave Nyssa behind during Grey’s parley proved a fortunate one. While the human and elven officers that commanded the force he’d accumulated might have hesitated at the sight of a formidable host charging their way, his reliable trow bodyguard was not one to do the same. Leo heard Nyssa’s high, clear voice shouting orders as he raced for the relative safety of his soldiers.

  He nearly passed Atarah and Fanette along the way. Their bonds slowed them, and so he slowed as well, turning back to guard them. Thankfully, there was no need. Grey’s men trotted forward at a smooth, dangerous pace, but not a headlong sprint. There was ample time to flee, though the sturdiness of the enemy formation made him wonder if there would be a point to such efforts.

  The men Grey had gathered were the best his army had to offer. Household guards might not be accustomed to working together in large numbers, but they were certainly accustomed to violence. Many had trained with sword or spear for decades. Against such skill, what chance did conscripts have?

  Some, it turned out.

  Heart pounding, Leo ushered the trow sisters throw the parting rows of his soldiers and under Karran’s watchful gaze. Scarcely had the ranks reformed behind him when the elves that comprised them gave such a ferocious shout that he nearly dropped his sword. Whirling, he watched in amazement as his men charged to meet the enemy.

  “Stay back where it’s safe,” he ordered quickly, before the battle could begin and drown out his words. “We’ll get you out of those chains soon. Karran will protect you in the meantime.”

  Karran scowled, her tail lashing irritably. Clearly, she much preferred fighting at Leo’s side to guarding trow. Something in his voice must have been convincing, however, since she did not protest. Hands still, she reluctantly nodded.

  The pair nodded as well, grimacing as they squirmed to adjust the bite of their collars. Leo winced in sympathy at the sight and turned to join Nyssa and the soldiers. Then, as a thought occurred to him, he paused and faced the trow once more. Grinning, he bowed deeply.

  “Thank you,” he said, with as much earnestness as he could. “Truly.”

  Both trow smiled to v
arying degrees, but Leo didn’t wait around to see if they had words for him. He dashed back toward the battlefield and arrived at Nyssa’s heels just as the opposing sides collided with a cacophony of screams and steel.

  Nyssa spotted him instantly, her eyes flitting past him to the spot where her subordinates and Karran were safely stowed then hardening into a look of grim determination. Drawing both her swords, she stepped forward and jerked her head to indicate he should follow.

  Leo obeyed without hesitation. He’d come so far and survived far too much to risk his life more than absolutely necessary. With Nyssa protecting him on the battlefield, there was even a chance he might last long enough to reclaim his throne.

  Together, they made their way to the front. As expected, the battle was not going well. Leo’s elves fought bravely, but there was a limit to what courage alone could achieve. Dozens had fallen by the time he drew near enough to glimpse the faces of the men come to kill him. And although his soldiers had succeeded in felling nearly the same number of foes, it was Leo’s lines that buckled beneath the ferocity of the battle, not the leaderless rebels’.

  “We need to do something!” Leo shouted. He wished he could have whispered the notion in Nyssa’s ear, but the deafening sounds of violence ahead made such subtlety impossible. “We’re going to lose at this rate!”

  Nyssa was still and silent for a moment. Then, with an inaudible growl, she began pushing her way forward through the tertiary ranks. She veered toward the right flank, where the ranks had begun to cave toward the edge of the Ministry’s plaza. Leo, unsure what else to do, followed.

  There was a moment of hesitation when Nyssa shoved her way into the narrow gap between the warring sides. Leo’s soldiers hesitated, taken aback by the sudden intruder. Grey’s men responded similarly. Their surprise might even have been the greater given their outward shock at Nyssa’s gender.