“She’s unable to control herself, my lord. If His Majesty would simply—”
“That will be all, Tronchet,” Erech said with a wave of his hand.
Arthan watched impatiently as Tronchet stumbled through his excuses. “What is this the chief magistrate is always pestering the king about?” Arthan whispered to Serdot.
“From what I gather, Tronchet believes the king’s middle daughter, Milisend, is repeatedly involved in jewel thefts.”
“The princess is a thief?” Bardil asked.
“Quiet,” Arthan whispered.
“Get out!” Brugarn shouted, raising his hand to strike Tronchet.
The magistrate kept his composure and rejoined the crowd of courtiers. Arthan watched impatiently as the king looked toward Waldemar the steward for the next petitioner.
“Your Majesty, next is the Lord Minister of Delavon,” Waldemar announced. “He wishes to address you and the court on an important matter of security.”
Erech’s expression was dull, but he nodded his acceptance.
“Security?” Brugarn’s face wrinkled. “Whose security?”
“Yours,” Arthan said, taking the floor. He turned, looking at all the courtiers to catch any reaction among them. Then he settled his gaze on the king. “Your Majesty, I have reason to believe an assassin hides among us.”
The court collectively gasped and murmured. Erech squinted, his interest finally piqued. Brugarn also listened intently, as did Sir Hamelin. Arthan noticed that the Crownblades commander stood close to one of his guardsmen, presumably the one Serdot had arranged to be present. Arthan was careful not to meet this guard’s eyes, for fear of spooking Garion too quickly, if it was him.
“Speak what you know,” Erech said.
“Your Majesty, as one who has suffered firsthand the pain inflicted by the recent assassinations, I’ve been most attentive to any information that might hint at the identities of the assassins—including within this court. It is my honor and duty to reveal this…”
Arthan pulled Garion’s mask from his cloak and held it up high to more gasps and whispering. “This, lords and ladies, was found here in the palace. This wicked tool of concealment is identical to one taken from the face of my father’s killer before he escaped.
“And this,” he continued, holding up the small parchment, “is a letter ordering a named Crownblade knight to assassinate Duke Brugarn before the turn of Flowertide.” Arthan paused for effect, glancing at Hamelin, who was in shock. Then Arthan focused on the guard at Hamelin’s side. The man’s eyes were wide as eggs, shifting left and right, his mouth agape.
“This letter and the mask were found in the Crownblades’ barracks among the belongings of a guard named Garion…” Arthan stepped toward the guard, who had now fixed on him burning eyes. “This letter was addressed to him, the assassin among us. Tasked by his mysterious master to kill the king’s brother. Arrest him!”
Sir Hamelin snatched Garion’s arm. “Crownblades, to me!” he said. “Protect the king!”
The court erupted as Garion punched Hamelin and wrenched away. Brugarn repeated the order to arrest Garion. But Hamelin needed no orders. The Crownblade captain drew his sword and rushed after him.
“No! He must tell what he knows!” Arthan yelled. He stayed near the throne, clutching the mask and letter.
As Hamelin and the others closed in on Garion, he pulled something from his tunic and glared at Arthan. The sound of breaking glass preceded a sparkling gray cloud that billowed around the struggling knot of Crownblades. Nearby courtiers screamed as the cloud swelled and they pushed at each other to escape the alchemical smoke.
Garion rose above the fray by running up the wall, then paused with one hand grasping a ledge. With the other he threw a tiny glinting object at Arthan. Arthan turned away and crouched to the floor. Pain seared up the side of his face. He felt blood pulse between his fingers as he held his jaw but stood to draw his sword even so.
Garion was running to the high windows. Arthan was astonished at the feat despite having seen Marlan do the same in the Mordmerg Council House. Other courtiers were frozen or clamored to escape the hall. The king and Brugarn, now protected by Crownblades and lord ministers, also watched Garion skitter like an insect.
Arthan was certain he was going to escape. But Hamelin’s crossbowmen worked quicker than Garion’s attempt to break through the leadlight window. He lost his balance when crossbow bolts shot into his leg and grazed his neck. He fell onto the guards below him, and they dragged him shouting and kicking before the king and his brother.
“Who sent you?” Brugarn said.
“The ancient flame,” Garion said, proud defiance bright in his eyes. The Crownblades twisted his arms.
“Your death can be quick or slow,” Brugarn said, drawing his sword.
“I would have made yours slow,” Garion said, “but you wouldn’t have lasted.”
Brugarn stepped forward and raised his sword high.
“Stop!” Erech shouted. He stood from the throne and peered down at Garion, waving Brugarn aside. “You were a Crownblade, Garion. Why have you done this?”
Hamelin cringed at the king’s words. Garion licked his bloodied lips and glared through winces. “Because the reign of tyrants is over.”
“We’ll get everything out of him,” Hamelin told the king. “I assure you. I’ll personally—”
“No you won’t,” Brugarn said. “You have more to answer for. Garion will answer to me alone.”
Hamelin blinked through his shame and silent rage, his whole body quivering. Erech stepped in. “Neither of you will question him.” The king turned to Arthan. “You will.”
“Your Majesty?” Arthan felt the blood seep between his fingers as he spoke.
“You discovered him,” the king said. “As my new Marshal of Inquiry, you’ll get the rest of it out of him.”
Brugarn steamed. “Erech, you cannot name him marshal.”
“Silence, Brugarn!”
The duke hushed up, stunned, like everyone else, at the king’s sudden return to command. Erech’s eyes were bright again, as when Arthan had returned the sword Rhunegeld to him the day prior.
“As my new chief lawkeeper, you are responsible for unraveling this conspiracy,” Erech said. “No more lord ministers shall be lost, and no more corrupted Crownblades. Find them out, Lord Valient. By my order, every person and resource of my kingdom is at your disposal.”
Arthan bowed low. “Humbly, Your Majesty. I will find them.”
---
“Not too deep, despite the blood…” Arthan held still as the king’s physician finished the stiches in his cheek. “There, all done. You’ll want to talk a bit less over the next few days, I’ll wager.”
“I have my duties, Doctor,” Arthan replied with a wince.
“And you’ll have a handsome scar when it’s done,” Serdot said. He walked into the physician’s chamber and handed Arthan a small object.
“A stone…tooth?” Arthan asked, inspecting the object in his palm.
“Look at the edge. A tiny throwing blade made of flint. I found it on the court floor. If you hadn’t turned, Garion would have buried it in your throat.”
“How did he throw such a tiny thing with such force from the wall?”
“And how did he run up it, like Marlan in Mordmerg?” Serdot asked.
“Quite impossible,” the physician said. “You’ve all had too much wine at court.”
Arthan looked at Serdot as the physician affixed a bandage over his stitches. Then Arthan thanked him and joined Serdot in walking down the corridor.
“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for Garion to be chained up in the cellar at Clonmel, my lord.”
“Why at my residence?” Arthan asked, wincing as he touched the bandage.
“To keep Brugarn from meddling and to keep Garion secure, in case he’s not alone here. Additionally, Waldemar told me the king has assigned twent
y soldiers to Clonmel, and more are available for the Office of the Marshal of Inquiry, should you need them. Clonmel is no longer merely your residence.”
“This is all happening so quickly, Serdot. I’m a new lord minister and far from knowing how to be the king’s chief lawkeeper.”
“Tronchet will still handle most things as chief magistrate of the capital,” Serdot said. “And as a lord minister you are already the top lawkeeper in Delavon. Now your lawkeeping powers are expanded over the whole kingdom in terms of hunting down the assassins.”
“I’ll have to consider that responsibility in detail…”
“That’s why you have me, my lord. And we have Garion.”
“Has Brugarn finally accepted this?”
“He’s still steaming, trying to change Erech’s mind at every opportunity. But Waldemar assured me it’s final. The steward said the king has not appeared so resolute in years.”
“That is a change,” Arthan said. He pulled out the Naren-Dra mask again and turned it in his hands. “Who are these people, Serdot? What ‘ancient flame’ drives them?”
“Let us ask Garion.”
47. RODEL
Thorendor Castle, Wallevet Ministry
Flowertide, 3034
Rodel peered through the narrow slits in his Naren-Dra mask, watching the other students ready themselves. He tried to breathe normally, remembering what Arasemis had taught them about the small fronds of gill ferns that lined the inside of the mask to convert the “fixed air” that he exhaled into fresh “common air.” It was also difficult to see with the mask on at first, but Arasemis’s techniques of anticipating an opponent and outmatching his speed and economy of motion made seeing everything less important.
Arasemis and Marlan stood at the far end of the training hall, the floor of which was raised. From there, the floor gradually stepped downward so that the whole room was a stepped slope. The master and veteran occupied the top, while Rodel and Juhl were paired up at the bottom. Fetzer and Bertwil formed a second team beside them.
“The first student to reach the top of the slope wins,” Arasemis said. “Use any means to prevent the opposing team from reaching the top. And if Marlan’s shroud eggs hit you twice you are done. Do not fear the eggs, however, as they are merely filled with powdered dyes, no alchemical ingredients.”
Rodel gripped his quarterstaff and adjusted his leather padding. They had not been told about the eggs until now, which made him nervous. Like Fetzer and his temporary blindness, all the pupils had been made to sample many different mixtures and solutions over the past few days so they could better understand the effects. Despite Arasemis’s assurance that Marlan’s eggs were inert, Rodel did not completely trust him. He did not look forward to more vomiting, brief blindness, or temporary paralysis.
“Begin!” Arasemis shouted.
Bertwil charged up the stepped slope with Fetzer close behind him. Rodel and Juhl sprinted up together. Bertwil reached out with his long arm and whacked the back of Rodel’s legs with his quarterstaff, sending Rodel down. Juhl came to his defense, parrying Bertwil’s next blow as Rodel regained his feet. Fetzer sprinted ahead of everyone.
“Run, Juhl!” Rodel cried.
She gave Bertwil a last jab and followed Fetzer up. Rodel saw a puff of yellow burst on his own chest. He instinctively pressed his eyes shut and held his breath until he remembered the mask that protected him. He cursed himself for being too concerned about Fetzer’s run up the slope and not watching Marlan.
Juhl paused to pull Rodel by the arm, dodging an egg as she jerked him forward. Rodel made good progress again until he felt a blow to his back. Bertwil had thrown his quarterstaff. When Rodel recovered and focused again, Fetzer was far ahead. He picked up Bertwil’s quarterstaff.
“The wall!” Rodel shouted to Juhl through the mask. Together they bounded between the slope and the wall. Juhl gained speed quickly.
A green cloud burst on Juhl just ahead of him. She moved faster, and he tried to do the same. When he stole a glance toward the top he saw a red cloud burst on Fetzer as he was looking back at them. Fetzer lost his balance and fell backward. Rodel aimed Bertwil’s quarterstaff at him when he stood, sending him rolling down the slope a second time.
By now Juhl had reached Fetzer and engaged him until Rodel caught up. The three fought and bounded up the slope while watching for Marlan’s black eggs. Then Marlan changed tactics, bursting the eggs on the slope ahead of them to obscure their paths.
Bertwil shouted behind them. The big man was forced out of the race when the back half of the slope fell away and flattened on the main floor. Rodel narrowly dodged an egg. He rushed to catch up with Juhl and Fetzer, who were still fighting and making slow progress.
Rodel engaged Fetzer and shoved Juhl forward. Fetzer grabbed Rodel’s arm and slung him toward the wall. Rodel kicked his feet up and backflipped, knocking Fetzer off balance. In the same instant an egg burst on Juhl, her second, and a row of tiles fell away from the back end of the slope. The raised floor was now rhythmically falling away behind them.
Disoriented from the smoke and surprised by Fetzer’s fresh attack, Juhl teetered at the edge of the slope. Rodel threw his quarterstaff at Fetzer with little effect, and then ran to Juhl. He caught her by the hand as the tiles she stood on dropped away from her feet.
Bertwil positioned himself below to catch her. She would probably be fine, Rodel told himself, but they were a team. He pulled frantically, knowing his tiles would soon fall away, too. As he hefted her up an egg burst on the back of his head, enveloping him in a purple cloud. They rode the column down to the floor, where Bertwil waited.
Rodel stood with Juhl as Fetzer cheered from above. The entire remaining slope lowered with him and Arasemis and Marlan riding it down. The master approached the vanquished students.
“Don’t remove your masks yet,” he said. He walked to the wall cabinet and pulled on a steel ring, opening the windows in the dome high above. The dustiness of the eggs that hung in the air started to clear. Arasemis ushered them into the adjacent armory, where they took off their equipment.
“Once again,” Fetzer said with a smirk, “victory for me. Master, you need more students to give me more of a challenge.”
Everyone ignored him, having become accustomed to his constant boasting.
“What did you do wrong, Rodel?” Arasemis asked.
Rodel frowned. “I wasn’t quick enough?”
“You are quick enough. But you were distracted by Juhl’s problems.”
“She would have fallen.”
“It is better to complete the task than to save others at the expense of the task,” Arasemis said.
“But if I hadn’t helped her, our team wouldn’t have made it to the top.”
“I said the first student to make the top of the slope would win, not the first team. You were a team for defensive purposes only. But only one of you had to complete the task. This is the way it works for real tasks.”
Rodel considered the lesson. It contradicted what he had learned as a Wosmok and what he had read in the library. “But the books about Rildning…he had been rescued, even while his friends were besieged and on the verge of falling to the enemy. If they hadn’t saved Rildning, there would be no Candlestone.”
“Rildning was extraordinary,” Arasemis said. “The rest of us must be willing to sacrifice anything to complete our task. Certainly our lives, if necessary, but also the lives of others—including allies and innocents.”
Rodel nodded obediently, but he disagreed. No Wosmok was ever left behind, dead or alive, if at all possible.
Arasemis turned to the other students. “It’s a lesson for all of you. The task is everything. That is all the training for today. Return to your studies.”
“Thank you,” Juhl said when the master departed.
Rodel simply nodded again.
“I would have caught her,” Bertwil said.
“Makes no difference,�
� Fetzer said. “I would have won even if Rodel had let her drop.”
“So sure of yourself,” Juhl said.
“You should be sure of me, too,” Fetzer said. “This Rugen belongs in a prison somewhere, not here with you and me and the rest.”
“You were a nobleman’s son, weren’t you?” Rodel asked. “Your arrogance gives away your ignorance.”
“My blood will not prevent me from spilling more of the same when we are assigned tasks again,” Fetzer said. “And I won’t need anyone to save me.”
Marlan stepped forward. “None of us doubt your skill, Fetzer. But all of us are in this together. Born for it. Rodel is as much a part of Candlestone as any of us. Helping each other is important and only put aside if completion of a task is in jeopardy. Otherwise we are united to the end.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Fetzer said as he strolled to the door. “United in purpose, even if unbalanced in ability…But I got it right in Leauvenna without this training. It was me who took the fire-starting vial from Morroy’s pocket while you waited for him to die in the woods. I’ll be in the library.”
“I remember…” Juhl said as Fetzer disappeared.
“He wasn’t like this when we were in Leauvenna,” Bertwil said.
“Perhaps he is sour stomached when not on a task,” Marlan said. “Garion is the same way.”
“Yes, but Fetzer hasn’t proven himself,” Juhl said.
“The master considers Leauvenna sufficient proof,” Marlan said. “But enough of this. To our studies.”
48. BRUGARN
Eglamour Palace, Toulon Ministry
Flowertide, 3034
“Insolent bastard,” Brugarn mumbled. “Curses on his house…”
“We could have Arthan and his army sent to buttress Alpenon,” General Chaultion said. “Asteroth could put him at the front, ensuring Arthan is one of the first to die when the Rugens invade.”
Brugarn stopped his pacing. “I like that idea, but Erech will never agree to it now that he’s made Arthan his new marshal.”
“Perhaps death at the enemy’s hands is too honorable anyway,” Chaultion said, twisting his white mustache.
Lords of Deception Page 23
