But Arthan had no time to puzzle over this. The assassin reappeared behind him, intercepted by Cuern as Arthan turned. The knight caught a moccasined foot in the face as the assassin jumped. His brother Erboln came next. The assassin jumped from Cuern to Erboln, stabbing deep between the knight’s neck and shoulder armor. The assassin jumped from Erboln’s falling body to the top of the wall and disappeared.
“There were two!” Livonier cried as they looked around and above.
“They came from nowhere,” Cuern said, rising to his feet.
“Who were they?” Iserenne asked, sheathing her short sword.
“They are the ones…” Arthan mumbled as his guards clustered around him.
They watched the walls as the injured Racharders groaned on the ground. Arthan marveled at the speed and silence of this enemy, and their persistence in following him on his travels. As the threat faded, his eyes fell to Adrithayn, still glowing sickly orange. Meriam peered out from her place in the bushes, her eyes welling at the sight of Bellumet’s torn body.
“Come, my lord,” Livonier said, glancing at Adrithayn. “We must get you back to your protective carriage.”
A hail of hand arrows cut off Arthan’s reply. Four of the Racharders fell to the ground and the two assassins jumped down from opposite walls with swords in hand. Both masks were fixed on him. One of them, a woman, split her sword into two halves and reached Arthan first. She maneuvered past Livonier and crossed swords with Arthan.
Adrithayn’s orange hue soon faded. The cloud jumped from its blade toward the female assassin’s swords with each strike. Arthan could hear the woman cough from behind the mask. He too was forced to back away as the cloud swirled about them. He felt a burning in his eyes and mouth. His opponent had clearly inhaled more of it.
She was shaken and distracted. It was enough for Livonier to strike a blow across her back. The second assassin broke from his engagement with Cuern and the Racharders who were protecting Arthan’s flank. Cuern, now enraged by the death of Erboln, did not let him go easily. He struck toward him with his great sword, forcing him to run toward the wall.
The woman turned toward another wall and lifted her mask to breathe, then ran up the wall and disappeared, leaving one of her swords behind. The second assassin followed after her.
Arthan held out his hand for Meriam, and she rushed to him. Livonier and Cuern ushered them and Iserenne back to the carriage. Arthan looked back, realizing most of his guard force had been slain.
“They will not stop until they have you,” Livonier said as they trotted. “I cannot protect you without a larger force, my lord.”
“They always know where I am…” Arthan suddenly bent at the waist. Something throttled low in the middle of his chest. When he caught his breath Meriam was staring at him.
“What was that?” Serdot asked.
“Nothing…” Arthan said.
“You’ve been hiding this long enough,” Meriam said before turning to Serdot. “It’s his heart. He won’t see a physician.”
“I have seen physicians,” Arthan. “They all prescribe different things that waste my time. It’s nothing. Let’s get moving.”
“The less you’re seen publicly, the better,” Iserenne said, her eyes still wide from her first encounter.
“The countess is right,” Livonier said. “Your location and planned movements should be privileged information. I’m sure Serdot will agree.”
“You should go to Eglamour,” Meriam said. Arthan glanced at her with surprise and saw fear in her eyes. “I would rather have you alive there than dead here,” she said.
“Not before I’m sure you’ll be safe,” he said. “And not before I talk to Master Pelinaud about this sword.”
70. GRAF
Borderlands, Ward of Havelbern
Bloomfade, 3034
“There they are, warden,” said a solider.
Graf squinted toward the patchy mist floating up from the river separating Alpenon Ministry from the Ward of Havelbern. He could make out the Donovards’ Torgsbad Castle on the hilltop in the distance and the small force of cavalry riding down the road from its gate. They were headed toward the stone bridge that spanned the two kingdoms.
“Looks like Lord Asteroth himself is among them,” said one of Graf’s commanders.
Graf could plainly see Asteroth’s huge form on the most massive warhorse. “Can you see Geras Vilarwef?” he asked.
“There,” said a soldier, “a covered wagon is following behind Asteroth.”
“Let us meet them on the bridge as agreed,” Graf said.
He spurred his horse as the Donovards drew near. The Rugen force followed Graf down from the ridge toward the river. Graf had not seen Geras for some time and looked forward to it. Graf liked the people of the Durgens and the leverage they provided Rugenhav over the Donovards. In time, Emperor Theudamer would better appreciate what the Durgensdil rebels could do for the Rugens.
Graf held up his hand to stop his men as they reached the bridge. Asteroth did the same on the far side. Graf motioned for his two commanders and the soldier with the small coin chests buckled to his saddle to follow him at a slow trot toward the apex of the bridge. Asteroth got there first with only one attendant by his side.
“It is an honor, Lord Asteroth,” Graf said in spotty Donovar. “We have the ransom. Where is Geras?”
“In the wagon, you damn Raffenbeak,” Asteroth said, using the slur for a person of Raffen ancestry.
Graf bristled. He wanted to cut down the big oaf and bring his head to the emperor, but he reminded himself of the importance of his task. “Bring the wagon over the bridge.”
“The gold first,” Asteroth said.
“Half now, half after,” Graf said.
Asteroth nodded to his attendant, who promptly accepted two small chests from Graf’s attendant. Graf was surprised to see Asteroth turn his horse and depart the bridge with his attendant. He was further surprised to see the driver of the wagon jump from his bench and smack the horse on the rump.
The wagon came across the bridge. Graf’s commanders halted the horse and jerked the canvas open, exposing Geras’s headless, tortured body. Graf’s horse struggled to move backward at the smell. He cursed and shouted at Asteroth, who was already on his way back to his border castle. A Donovard soldier tossed Geras’s head down the hill and into the river as they rode away.
Graf ventured alone over the bridge onto Donovard soil, shouting as loud as he could and taunting Asteroth. But the big man never turned to look. Graf turned around to look at his cavalry. His force was larger, but he knew he did not have enough men mustered to lay siege to Torgsbad Castle.
It was all he could do to restrain himself. When it was clear Asteroth would not face him, Graf jerked his horse around and rode furiously back into Rugenhav to prepare.
71. MARLAN
Thorendor Castle, Wallevet Ministry
Bloomfade, 3034
“He had a sword that absorbed it.”
“Impossible,” Arasemis said. “Is this your excuse for yet another failure?”
“I’m telling you his sword absorbed the cloud,” Marlan continued. “Juhl became sick when it came back to her.”
“Didn’t you have your mask on?” Arasemis asked.
“The gill fern fronds needed replacing,” Juhl said. “It was my mistake, Master.”
“You see?” Arasemis said, his voice heavy with frustration. “This is why I teach finishing the task above all else. Because one operative’s mistake should not hinder the others from completing the task.”
“She would have been killed,” Marlan said. “She vomited in her mask twice. Her pupils were already small by the time I escaped with her and pulled her mask off again. Thankfully, I brought an antidote for the poison cloud. With rest she’ll be all right.”
Arasemis shook his head. “This is your third failure to kill Arthan Valient.”
“Only his father was th
e target at Mordmerg,” Marlan said. “Otherwise he would have been an easy kill.”
“Even so, your past two attempts caught Arthan out in the open,” Arasemis said. “Not holed up in a castle. Not protected by an army.” Arasemis put his face in his hands. “So be it…”
Marlan looked at the parchment-strewn floor of the library. He was ashamed to argue with the master, but at least the newer trainees were not around to hear it. “If Arthan travels back to Eglamour then we’ll have another chance on the road.”
“No, we’ll let him go for now. His days are still numbered, but there are other things we need to focus on here at Thorendor. Then we’ll go to Eglamour.”
“I thought we needed to remove the lord minsters before overthrowing the king?” Marlan asked.
“I finished translating my grandfather’s work. Remember that I said there was something under Thorendor? I’m certain of it now. Thorendor was built to hide and protect an ancient Candlestone shrine.”
“A shrine? What did Erwold write?”
“He wrote that Enildir, son of Rildning, always intended to move Candlestone back to the Ashlands, where the greatest Gallerlander forest once stood, but that he never had the opportunity. It was only generations later that they went back.”
Marlan squinted, not following what the master was saying. But Arasemis, growing excited, did not slow down.
“Erwold wrote that he thought the tombs of Rildning and Enildir and others were moved to Thorendor, along with mysterious ‘relics.’ Treasures are evidently hidden below the foundations of the castle. We must gather Rodel and Fet—”
They were both surprised to see Fetzer step out from one of the thick curtains.
“What are you doing?” Arasemis asked.
“I was practicing what you’ve trained us to do.”
“This was a private discussion,” Marlan said. “The master did not train you to spy on him.”
“There are no secrets between members of the Order of the Candlestone,” Fetzer said with a grin.
“I am the master of this Order and this castle,” Arasemis said. “You will not sneak around here unannounced again, is that clear?”
“Do you wish to hide something from me, your best student?”
“Best student!” Arasemis glared at him.
Marlan help up his hands. “There is no reason for this. Fetzer, you’re offending the master. He is naturally secretive, given the events of his life. So make your amends and make yourself known in the future, because, you’re right, we don’t hide anything from each other.”
“If I had been permitted to go, Arthan would be dead,” Fetzer said.
“Perhaps,” Marlan said. “But your training is important. If you want to be the best, you need to—”
“Fair enough,” Fetzer said. “What is hidden beneath Thorendor? It won’t delay our mission in Eglamour, will it?”
“I decide the timing of tasks,” Arasemis said. “Fetch Rodel and Juhl, then everyone can—”
“Am I a servant?” Fetzer asked.
Arasemis stood from his table and reached inside his belt pouch.
Marlan held up his hands again. “Go, Fetzer. Before you’re on your hands and knees struggling to breathe.”
Fetzer glared at them, then slowly turned, taking a long time to exit the room.
“Still think he’s the answer to a prophecy, do you?” Arasemis asked as he reseated himself.
Marlan sighed heavily but remained silent. After a few minutes Fetzer returned with Rodel and Juhl. She still looked sickly.
“As you all know,” Arasemis began, “I’ve been neglecting my duties to teach because I’ve been working on my grandfather’s secret papers. It seems there is much more to Thorendor beyond being the ancient capital of Candlestone.”
Arasemis stood from his table and plucked up a leaf of parchment, which he began to read from.
Descend into the deep roots,
Where crafted stone meets cloven earth,
Where the oldest blood spilled,
And Nalembalen tunnels lie preserved.
The sacred shrine of Candlestone
Is not a stale chair or chapel
But armory, treasury, and decision hall
For the waking of the chieftains.
Beware the last gasp of the tyrant kings.
Desperate, they will come a-hunting.
Delve farther into the vast waters,
Where Nalembalen’s roots once drank.
“What does it mean?” Juhl asked.
“It means there’s a whole world beneath Thorendor that we’ve never seen,” Arasemis answered.
“The first part, about stones meeting the earth, must be the cellars,” Marlan said.
“Very good, Marlan,” Arasemis said. He snatched up a dry torch. “Let’s go take a look.”
Marlan and the others were familiar with the cellars. Those dimly lit chambers flanked the laboratory and small forge beneath the castle’s ground level. The students often trained in the maze of vaults stuffed with dried staples, wine, and other supplies. Arasemis once told Marlan it was enough for Thorendor to survive a long siege.
“Erwold’s clues make perfect sense to me now,” Arasemis said as they entered the largest cellar chamber. “Thanks to Rildning’s rough map and the detailed colonial charts, I’ve always known the ancient Gallerlander tree city of Nalembalen was located somewhere in Wallevet Ministry.”
“It was destroyed and renamed the Ashlands,” Marlan said.
“But,” Arasemis said, pointing his finger upward, “the forest returned strong many years later. Colonists never settled there because they feared the ghosts of the heathen.”
“So Candlestone returned here, when the new kingdoms arose during the time of King Thorendor of Aberynbane?” Juhl asked.
“Yes, you remembered,” Arasemis said. “Now, recall the passage about the stones meeting the earth.” He moved the torch close to the wall.
“There, at the bottom,” Marlan said.
“The stone is different,” Fetzer said.
“Cut stone above…” Arasemis said.
“Cloven earth below,” Marlan said. “Where Nalembalen tunnels lie preserved.”
“You can see here, these sections are earthen walls dug with stone implements,” Arasemis said. “See the chipped markings here? The Gallerlanders would not have used metal tools. Now, if memory serves, there used to be a passage…”
Fetzer had been poking around and was now shoving kegs and crates aside. Marlan could see the decaying little door over his shoulder.
“Well done, Fetzer,” Arasemis said.
When Fetzer had cleared the way he tugged on the door. The rusty iron handle pulled right out, so Fetzer took out a gold-clad knife and began prying at the rotten wood.
“Where did you get that?” Marlan asked.
“I stole it from the ship captain Candlestone hired for the Gottfried task,” he answered, pulling open the door.
Arasemis brought the torch over, revealing a downward ramp. An old torch was sconced inside. Fetzer pulled it down and touched it to Arasemis’s torch, then proceeded down the ramp.
“Look at the mixed composition of earths here,” Arasemis said as they walked. “Layers of ash at the top, then ancient streambeds, and this—petrified wood.”
“The tree root tunnels of Nalembalen?” Marlan asked.
“I believe it is,” Arasemis said. “Look how this passage is curved and the stones are few.”
They walked single file down through the tunnel until they came to a large room. Huge wine barrels lined the walls, some of them burst open and rotted long ago. The stone floor was brown with old spillage.
“I never bothered to explore down here because I simply thought Thorendor’s foundations ended at these cellars,” Arasemis said.
“Where is the Candlestone shrine?” Fetzer asked.
“Patience,” Arasemis said. “You found t
he first door. Find another.”
“Perhaps,” Rodel said, scuffing his moccasin in the brown residue, “perhaps this is what Erwold meant when he wrote where the oldest blood spilled.”
“I interpreted the oldest blood to be the earliest generations of Candlestone,” Marlan said.
“But recall Rildning’s account of the Gallerlanders’ last stand as being in the tree root tunnels,” Arasemis said.
“Regardless of whose blood it was,” Rodel said, “Erwold may have hidden his meaning to be this room.”
“I don’t see an armory or treasury,” Fetzer said, tapping his foot on an intact barrel. “Is this wine any good?”
“Just a crust of vinegar by now,” Arasemis said. “Walk the walls with the torches. Look for anything: a door, loose rubble, an etching. Anything at all.”
They searched back and forth.
“What is this black stone?” Rodel asked, pointing to the keystone in an arch on the far wall.
“Wood that was charred before it was petrified,” Arasemis said. “Definitely not original to the tunnel.”
“There is something glittering in it,” Rodel said.
Arasemis held his torch up. “Looks like electrum.”
“Didn’t the Gallerlanders hoard electrum at High Chief Gratgofa’s tree, where the Graparins protected it?” Marlan asked.
“Yes,” Arasemis said, “but they had underground electrum vaults hidden throughout their lands.”
“None of the arches in this room have that black petrified wood,” Rodel said.
“A clue to a false wall?” Juhl asked.
“We are currently at the lowest depth under Thorendor I’ve ever visited,” Arasemis said. “I don’t want to remove walls under the castle, but, if Erwold’s writing sent us to this room, there must be a route through it to depths beyond.”
“I have a vial of void varnish,” Marlan said, holding it aloft.
“How many times have I told you to leave your belts in the laboratory?” Arasemis said, snatching the vial from Marlan. “Between you and Fetzer, you’ll burn the castle down on all of us one day…This one vial won’t be enough for this wall. We need some copper.”
Lords of Deception Page 32
