Decoy
Page 19
Two pairs of glowing Sight Seeker eyes measured Kaltor carefully as he approached the regent’s quarters, the light from their eyes casting an eerie blue hue across the walls and ceiling, as if they stood beneath water. They wore chainmail armor and carried stout maces only a foot in length, similar in design and power to Gereth’s.
Sight Seeker bodyguards, Kaltor thought. So the regent was so at odds with the prince that he even employed the opposite forms of protection. That is quite the rivalry.
Pulling aside the collar of his tunic to reveal his brand, Kaltor said, "Tell the regent I wish to speak with him. Now," The first guard, a stocky, sour-faced man, gritted his teeth when he saw the mark of a Battleborn, then nodded, and slipped into the room.
"You’ll have to forgive him," the second guard said, his eyes returning to their normal color as he leaned against the wall lazily. "It’s been a while since Varadours have been seen walking the corridors on this side of the castle, much less coming to speak with the regent personally."
That’s not a good sign, Kaltor thought. This regent must be dead set against Varadours. Taking orders from Prince Tyran must have infuriated him to no end. Many among the nobility saw the Varadour power as being more primitive and in some ways even barbaric when compared to the more intellectual power of the Sight Seekers.
Before the Crippling, the Sight Seekers had been immensely powerful, capable of combining other ancient powers in the same fashion that Gereth had combined the strength of a small number of Varadours. Their power acted like lenses on a pair of spectacles, switching at will to any of humanity’s abilities, even the extinct ones. But without a living wielder to draw from, they couldn’t use those powers at all.
The door opened and the sour-faced guard returned. "The regent will see you," he reported. "But you will be quick," He returned to his position just outside the door, glaring at the Battleborn in warning.
I’ve never had to deal with this kind of anti-Varadour sentiment. The lower classes are grateful to have protectors with powers such as ours. By the Gods, I wish Honmour were here to help me negotiate! Why couldn’t his parents have just left town?
It seemed that though Master Taneth had succeeded in maintaining good standing with the city’s ruler, a prince and a Varadour, he’d overlooked winning over the majority of the nobility beneath the prince. This will not be easy. Kaltor entered the regent’s quarters and paused.
Prince Tyran had specialized in combat training and had relished the ability to defend his people and hold his enemies at bay. His war room and study demonstrated these interests, covering the walls with maps, weapons, and scrolls on the subject.
Vengral was in every way the opposite of Prince Tyran. The perfect image of a Sight Seeker nobleman. Lavish tapestries, large collections of books and scrolls, and even a self-portrait adorned the walls. His desk was covered in quills, parchment, and tax documents, all weighed down by a bag of gold coins to prevent the breeze drifting through the open window from scattering them in every direction. He even sported a well-fed belly, suggesting his primary contribution to society was simply sampling the food.
This, Kaltor realized, might be even more difficult than I thought.
"I assume you are Battleborn Kaltor?" Vengral said with a vague look of disdain. He stood upon a stool, enabling him to look down upon all in attendance. Two servants measured him from various angles, calling out his numbers to a third servant recording them.
"You will forgive my haste. But your antics at the prison today have created a lot of problems I need to resolve," Despite the grave comment, Vengral’s tone was cheerful.
His greatest rival for control of this city is dead, Kaltor thought bitterly. He’s pleased with his newfound power.
"I do not require your haste," Kaltor countered, walking to the middle of the room to face the regent. "Quite the opposite, in fact. The surviving convict from the prison, Reeth. He has key information we need to defeat Melshek. I need you to delay his execution so we can properly interrogate him," The regent’s left eyebrow arched inquisitively at the request.
"I appreciate your enthusiasm," Vengral said in a tone that suggested quite the opposite. "But I already have the town watch searching for the fugitive, and his supporters were all killed this morning. I see no reason for further discussions."
His servants muttered something about completing their services and gathered their things. He waved them away but did not step down from the stool. I think he enjoys towering over me, Kaltor thought, his temper smoldering.
"He gathered those supporters in a single day using something we awoke at the vault west of here," Kaltor explained, steadying his breathing as his frustration built. "You have already seen Lord Gereth’s letter to the prince, have you not?"
"Of course," Vengral said, finally descending from the stool and walking over to his desk. "Very disconcerting, but according to one of the archers from this morning," he leaned over his desk and withdrew a small, hastily scribbled parchment. "Melshek was shot through the chest while escaping. The town watch will find him lying dead in an alley somewhere by tonight."
"This is no normal Varadour," Kaltor pointed out, walking to the opposite side of the regent’s desk. The Sight Seeker sat in his chair, leaned back, and studied the Battleborn with a mild look of amusement. "He heals incredibly fast. Trust me, he’s alive and well," Kaltor’s gut tightened as he finished. "We’ve already lost one comrade because we under-estimated him," For a moment Jensai’s unfeeling eyes flashed in his memory, but he managed to ignore them. He was doing all he could to close those eyes.
"It’s an interesting story," Vengral said dismissively as he eyed a small map of the city. "But all I see are a coalition of thieves, layman, and assassins gathering outside my walls telling me it’s ‘for our protection,’ and I have even less proof from them as to this threat than I have from you."
Vengral balanced a coin in between his fingertips, as if the Battleborn and the coin were both being measured and deemed of little worth. "You have witnesses?"
"My friend and I buried him just outside the city walls," Kaltor said suspiciously. "Your soldiers can tell you the state of the Perversions we fought and their appetite for human flesh."
Even the prince’s throat was chewed on! he recalled. Just like Jensai’s.
"But aside from one of your own comrades, who could very well be working with you to form a lie," Vengral said pointedly, placing the coin on the table a little too hard, "you have no respectable witness as to Prince Melshek’s supposed ‘powers,’ am I right?"
Kaltor actually scratched his head in thought. How am I supposed to work with this guy? "If you need a more familiar witness, you could ask if one of the prince’s guards saw Melshek heal."
"By the Gods, boy, no!" Vengral said, rolling his eyes and standing up in irritation. "Varadours have lost their standing in this city! From now on, all legal matters will be overseen by the Sight Seekers in charge of the nobility and the town watch. People whose power is less—" he paused for a moment. "Instinctive."
"You can’t be serious," Kaltor said, clenching the edges of the desk ever tighter. "You’re risking this entire city because a Sight Seeker wasn’t present when Melshek was in battle?"
"Until I have RELIABLE testimony of Melshek’s capabilities," Vegral replied, his face reddening slightly as small flecks of spit started to fly from his lips. "I will not join you in your people’s last desperate attempt to reclaim some of Prince Tyran’s lost power!" Vengral used the prince’s name like a curse word. "We will execute the conspirator known as Reeth and the city will see that the Sight Seekers are in control! Guards!"
The Sight Seekers burst into the room, eyes illuminated, maces drawn. "Escort the Battleborn from this wing of the castle," Vengral ordered, throwing his chair back against the wall. "And see to it he and his fellows disturb me no further. Post guards at the hallways and walls to make sure this wing of the castle remains barbarian-free."
For a split instant, Varadour energy bur
st from Kaltor’s heart, surging through his bloodstream in preparation for combat. With a self-disciplined grunt he managed to hold his temper in check as the guards grabbed his arms roughly and pulled him across the floor.
"For hating Varadours so much, it’s odd you’d invite one to your ball," he spat out.
"Only the pretty ones," Vengral replied with a malicious chuckle. "They are known for having a great deal of endurance," He laughed lustfully as he returned to his notes, picking up another golden coin between his fingers and admiring its shine.
The guards half-carried and half-pushed Kaltor to the end of the corridor, leaving him to descend the stairs on his own as ordered, though their eyes never relinquished their power. The stocky, sour-faced one seemed most anxious to attack Kaltor’s mind if the opportunity presented itself.
As he walked, Kaltor tried to sort through his feelings and the situation at hand. Reeth is going to be executed at sundown, he thought. Just before all the nobles who hated Prince Tyran literally have a ball. We need to know by then how Melshek creates his Perversions.
He left the inner keep, crossing the inner courtyard and glancing back toward Vengral’s wing, each guard’s eyes glowing dark blue against the overcast sky. If we can be confident in knowing which Battleborn and which townspeople are resistant to his hold, we can be much more offensive in the coming battles.
"Now I understand why Master Taneth prefers small assassin groups over the military," Kaltor realized with a sigh. "Freedom to act and capability to make a difference," He pretended to head toward his own room on the other side of the keep, but once the guards stopped watching him he turned toward the dungeon.
Along the walls of the castle Sight Seekers now flared their eyes blue as they scouted the courtyard and city for signs of trouble. Many of the Varadour guards kept their armor and weaponry, but simply joined their families in the courtyard. A few dozen gathered in corners with their friends, eyeing their new guards in distrust.
Let’s hope the guards here aren’t as well indoctrinated against Varadours as Vengral’s personal retinue, he muttered to himself, drawing a blade and twirling it between his fingers. Honmour would enjoy it far too much if I had to break into the dungeon and incapacitate the guards just so I could talk to a prisoner. I hate politics.