Book 6: Chapter 8 |
AS I STEPPED OVER THE THRESHOLD into the Duke de Clairmont’s office, I found several pairs of curious eyes already fixed on me. I quickly glanced around the room. Besides the office’s owner, who was sitting in a high-backed armchair with his hands on the armrests and watching my every move with rapt attention, I counted six others.
Some of them — Lord Gray, for example — were already personally familiar to me. I had seen some of the others, and thanks to the data Susanna Marino had gathered for me I was already familiar with others from a distance.
Overall, the looks on everyone’s faces made it clear that my arrival wasn’t something they were happy about. Although maybe Lord Gray didn’t mind so much; he greeted me with a quick nod. The look in the eyes of the most powerful avant in the Kingdom was different than it had been before. On our last adventure, we established a relationship that one might almost even call friendly. Sure, a lot of time had passed since that day at the gates of Fjordgrad, and many important events had transpired in the interim. After all that had happened, it seemed to me that Lord Gray probably saw me as something of a rival. Especially after my victory in the Great Trial.
“Ah, there you are, Margrave,” said the Duke de Clairmont in a tone that was notably unwelcoming.
The most famous Marshall of Vestonia, Carl III’s best friend, was downcast and pensive. The wide tabletop in front of him was piled with papers. There were also three candlesticks on the table, whose candles were almost totally melted — it seemed the Marshall wasn’t getting a great deal of sleep. He was working by night as well as by day. Which was to be expected, of course. Controlling such a vast quantity of people... Well, I was surprised that people in his position found time for sleep at all.
Plus, the Duke de Clairmont was probably about the same age as Pascal Legrand. Like Max’s grandfather, however, he seemed to be impervious to the effects of his age. That said, my scanning abilities told me that his health was suffering quite a bit. There were several dark spots on his body — old wounds, by the look of it. The effects of treatment were also visible. Even from where I stood, I could see faint emanations of scarlet mana circulating throughout his body. Some kind of mid-potency healing potion. It was only partially able to cope with its intended task.
Next to the Marshall’s chair, there was a young man about my age, dressed in the latest Vestonian fashion. The young man’s features bore a certain resemblance to those of the Duke. A relative, apparently. I wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was an aide-de-camp to the Marshal or something like that. Like his commander, he was looking back at me with a certain disdain, but also with a huge amount of curiosity. He almost certainly knew exactly who was standing in front of him.
I glanced at the Duke again, as he kept his icy gaze locked on me. It seemed like the visit from the Stone Knights and the Frozen Spears hadn’t done anything to improve his mood. And he obviously didn’t have the highest opinion of me anyway. His expression said it all. On the other hand, I hadn’t forgotten the ball at the de Gondy residence where the Duke had spoken up and confirmed the truth of my words before the Prince and the other assembled nobles. Thanks to his intervention, all questions about my new title evaporated immediately. Had he wanted to, he could simply have stood there in silence and watched events unfold.
And he would have been within his rights to do so. My aunt the Duchess had told me a lot about the de Clairmonts and their relationships with the de Gramonts. The two houses used to be friendly with one another. Their ancestors had once fought shoulder-to-shoulder, and had always supported the current royal dynasty.
Marc, my current butler, had also mentioned (and my aunt had later confirmed) that the Duke’s daughter Christine de Clairmont had died in the castle about twenty years ago. That tragedy eventually resulted in the castle being sold to Ferdinand de Gramont, who in turn registered it under the name of his newborn bastard.
A year or two after that, the de Clairmonts had a son, who later had the honor of becoming one of the King’s personal guards. And then came the uprising, which Max’s father participated in. Some time during those complicated days, some of Ferdinand de Gramont’s co-conspirators killed Duke de Clairmont’s only son and heir. So it’s pretty easy to understand why the Marshall of Vestonia wasn’t favorably disposed toward me: I was a living reminder of those tragic events.
Yeah... The de Gramonts were one hell of a family. A mess, to put it mildly. The elder brother betrayed the King, the younger betrayed his brother. Both of them justified their actions by saying it was for the good of the family.
And their sister was no slouch either. Quite the schemer. Again, that’s putting it mildly.
She had already started working on Valerie. Worming her way into the girl’s trust, even though she had been willing to marry her off to Émile de Marbot not long before.
Heh... She thought I was unaware of her wheelings and dealing with the other mothers of the high houses. She was already busy searching for a suitable match for me. Well, I thought — so be it. Let her think she’s going to get her way.
My aunt the Duchess was completely typical of the high aristocracy in Vestonia. A predator in human form. That was why I needed her on my side in my confrontation with Heinrich de Gramont. I needed her “eating from my hand” before I made any moves. True, I knew I would always need to be on my guard around her. Otherwise she’d bite my hand clean off.
“You didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry,” snorted a broad-shouldered blond man with the sigil of the Amber Guild on his chest. His dark blue eyes carried an expression of superiority, even squeamishness, as he stared back at me.
Hm, I thought... Unless I’m very much mistaken, this is the Marquis Robert de Talleyrand, Grand Master of the Amber Guild. Judging by his energy structure, he’s a powerful medius who specializes in poisons. In addition to all that, the Marquis is a distant cousin of the Duke de Bauffremont — who, by the way, hadn’t tried to reach out to me at all since the now-famous ball at the de Gondy residence. Knowing the Duke, however, I was certain that he would make his presence felt soon enough.
“I sense reproach in your words,” I replied in an icy tone. “Whyever might that be?”
The Marquis maintained his firm stare, looking unflinchingly into my eyes. I stared back at him, totally calm.
In this world (and especially among the high aristocracy), defending one’s status and position in society was a matter of the utmost importance. Had I been his subordinate, I would have been required to listen calmly and patiently to everything he said, no matter what that might be. And I would have had to apologize for what he evidently considered “lateness” on my part. Now, however, I answered to the King alone. So the grand master’s aggression toward me was unjustifiable. If I allowed him to continue speaking to me in this way, it would come back to haunt me.
And the Duke de Clairmont was watching my every move in silence, as were the others in the room.
“And I sense insolence in yours!” The Marquis de Talleyrand’s eyes narrowed. “It seems you don’t understand who you’re talking to!”
Look at him, I thought — he’s so angry he’s turning red. Fair enough if you’re upset that your boss told you off for trying to take control of me, but you should at least have some sense of self-preservation. Strykers tend to be pretty impulsive — you must know that, right?
“Oh, I understand perfectly well, Marquis,” I shrugged. “But maybe you ought to shake yourself out of your torpor and come to grips with reality. I serve, and am accountable to, His Majesty the King of Vestonia, may the Gods prolong his reign. And my sovereign is the only person who has the right to reproach me. I presume that each of you in this room has certain specific tasks assigned to him by His Majesty, as I do — tasks that all of us will either carry out with honor, or die attempting to carry out. For my own part, I will add that I intend to live as long as I can, so as to carry out my sovereign’s will for as long as possible. And I promise you that anyone who interferes with me as I attempt to perform my duties will be destroyed.”
I spoke the last sentence with a stony expression, staring right into the Marquis’ eyes. I don’t know what exactly did it, but my overall approach seemed to work. He backed off immediately.
I glanced back at the Duke de Clairmont, who was still watching things unfold in silence. For a second, I thought I saw something like... No, it wasn’t fear. It was more like a flash of worry. The look one experienced predator might have when they were sizing up another. He seemed to be assessing a future rival, even a future enemy. I had no doubt whatsoever that the Duke de Clairmont considered me — Ferdinand de Gramont’s bastard — to be an enemy. We just had some common interests for the time being, which meant that our hostility would have to take a backseat. Actually, part of what I said to the Marquis was calculated to drop a hint to just that effect.
I was certain that he was deliberately refraining from intervening in our dispute, just to see how I would behave. He had already seen me in action, but apparently he wanted to see a different side of me. He must have known how the “Ambers” felt about me, after all. It seemed almost certain that this Marquis had voiced his opinions about me in the Duke’s presence at least a couple times before. And this was only the beginning, of course. There would be many more such tests in the future...
“So it is, Monsieur,” said a white-haired, broad shouldered man who was sitting to the right of the Marshal. “We’re all here at the will of the King.”
This, I presumed, was Count Guilleme de Leval, friend and comrade of the Duke de Clairmont. His right hand.
In my mind, I had to chuckle at this. I wondered, just then — were the Frozen Spears here at the will of the King too?
“We’ve been informed that you set up camp on the hill,” said a bald man sitting to the Marshal’s left. “Why not in the main camp?”
A deep scar running down his right cheek, a flattened nose like that of a professional boxer — this had to be Frederic de Bozon. Another longtime comrade of the Duke de Clairmont.
“There’s no room,” I replied.
“Is that so?” The Count’s right eyebrow rose, which caused his old scar to twitch.
“I presume, of course, that you wouldn’t suggest that I, the Margrave de Valier, set up my tent between the “Last Chances” and the latrines?”
The Count de Bozon cleared his throat and cocked his head to the side, as if to free his neck from the uncomfortable pressure of his neckerchief. It seemed to be a subconscious gesture indicating awkwardness.
“There will be no exceptions on campaign,” said the Duke de Clairmont drily. “And yes, you will have a place befitting the dignity of your status. By the way — how many people do you have with you?”
“Just under thirty,” I replied; noting the mockery that appeared on the faces of all those present, I calmly continued: “Eleven of them are combat mages. To be exact: two avants, six mediuses, and three experts.”
Silence hung in the air for a moment. The Duke de Clairmont’s eyes widened slightly. Lord Gray, by contrast, looked a little bit tense, and shot a sidelong glance at a red-haired man with the physique of a grizzly bear who had been silent up to then. The big man had been watching things unfold with a smile on his face. He seemed to be enjoying the whole spectacle. This man, by the way, was completely unfamiliar to me.
“How did you manage to hire so many strykers?” The Count de Leval asked with surprise. “As far as I’m aware, the capital’s mercenary guilds are extremely reluctant to hire out their combat mages.”
“I hired these in Roanne.”
“Are there really guilds in Roanne capable of providing that many strykers?” The Count de Bozon asked, equally surprised.
“The unit I hired isn’t part of the Vestonian guild network,” I replied, before adding: “They come from the Foggy Isles. You’ve surely heard of the “Savage Hearts?”“
Silence hung in the air again; this time it was the silence of the grave. A second later, the red-haired giant who had been enjoying the spectacle so much suddenly leapt up out of his chair. His chair flew off to the other side of the room as he burst out of it, as if it had been made of cardboard.
“WHAT?!” He roared in a thick Astlandic accent. “Repeat what you just said! You brought that rabble here?!”
The redhead reached for the hilt of his sword. His bull-like neck was beet red. Blood was pounding in his eyes. Apparently the big gorilla was from the unit of Astlandic mercenaries that came per the arrangements of the Duke de Bauffremont.
I stood there in silence, waiting calmly. I could have killed the idiot a thousand times by that point. He wasn’t even gifted.
“Marquis!” The Duke de Clairmont growled. Despite the unfolding situation, the Marshal was still sitting. “One more order or rash action and I’ll have you arrested! And believe me — in doing so I’ll be saving your life.”
The redheaded Marquis kept glaring at me, but nevertheless he took his hand slowly and reluctantly off the hilt of his sword.
“Marquis!” The Marshal’s voice boomed out at him once again. And when the redhead turned to face the Duke de Clairmont, he continued in an even tone: “You will depart immediately for your camp and see to it that none of your people do anything stupid. Remember! The Margrave de Valier is here at the personal command of His Majesty. If you or any of your people try to interfere with his mission, I will act immediately. Now be gone!”
The red-haired Marquis grumbled some curse to himself under his breath, shot me one more menacing glare, and then rushed off toward the exit. As soon as the door slammed shut behind him, the Duke de Clairmont turned his attention to me.
“It’s time you returned to your camp as well, Monsieur,” he stated in a tone that suggested the matter was not up for discussion. “And try to get back as quickly as you can.”
“Do you imagine I’ll be receiving some uninvited guests later today?” I asked.
“I doubt it,” came the Duke’s confident reply. The Marshal’s comrades seconded their commander with knowing smirks. “This isn’t the first army to contain multiple mercenary units that used to be enemies. I’m confident that Konrad von Dassel will put his unit in good order. But it would nevertheless be wise to play it safe.”
As I walked out of the office, I couldn’t help noticing the Duke’s pensive gaze locked on me as I went. He would no doubt have been aware that I had hired the “Savages” even before we met. And I’m not referring to the lieutenant who came to visit my camp with his patrol unit. De Clairmont had the information in hand even before I arrived at Bresmont. But if that was the case, what was the point of that whole spectacle from the Duke’s point of view? Mind you, I already had several theories about that.
As I left the palace and walked back to my people, who were already waiting for me near the main gate with the horses, Hans Krause spoke up in a pensive tone of voice:
“A few minutes ago, I saw the Marquis von Dassel rush out of the castle, red as a lobster.”
“You’ve met before?” I asked as I jumped up onto my horse.
“You could say that,” nodded Hans as his expression darkened.
He didn’t elaborate. Which was only proper, of course — information like that should only be shared by a unit’s commanding officer. So I didn’t pry any further. I could talk to Kurt later.
We took a different route back than we had taken on the way to the castle. A shorter one. At least that’s what the boy Hans had hired for a few coppers said as he showed us the way out of the city.
From where we sat atop our horses, we could see a big crowd of people engaged in some kind of raucous fun. A moment later, I caught sight of the source. Next to a statue (of some ancient hero or local noble of some kind) there stood a little stage with some actors strolling across it, putting on a show for the crowd.
I should point out that as someone who had come from another world (and who was raised in a circus troupe, no less), the acting ability of these local actors didn’t make an especially favorable impression on me. Even in the capital’s main theater, which Valerie, Verena, Alain, Kevin, and I had visited a couple times, I didn’t see anything that moved me much at all. Mind you, the same could not be said of the people accompanying me.
And the performance of these country actors, who were essentially just jumping around and shouting, was equally uninspiring. But there was something else that attracted my attention. I suddenly realized who they were portraying (or trying to portray).
There was a big lanky kid, jumping around ridiculously in green rags, with a toothy mask on his face and clothespins tied to his fingers. There was a heavily-powdered and brightly-made-up young woman who had fallen into the arms of the assembled crowd in a “faint.” There was a short, slightly chubby man with a feigned expression of seriousness on his face, wearing a pink suit with long coattails that dragged along the ground behind him and terminated in two beat-up, silly-looking hand fans. Finally, there was a beautiful young woman playing a male role. She was wearing a dark suit and jabbing a wooden sword playfully at the “green” man opposite her. And the whole affair was being played out to the tune of the “Ballad of the Bastard Sword.” Basically, it was pretty easy to guess what the play was about.
After watching the strange performance for a minute, I turned to glance at Sigurd and Aelira. I could only roll my eyes and shake my head when I saw the happy smiles on their faces.
An instant later, a woman ducked out of the crowd. Her hooded cloak made it impossible for me to see her face. In her right hand, she was holding a wide tambourine; I could hear coins jingling around inside it, which she had clearly been collecting from charitable members of the audience.
Having pressed herself up to Chickadee’s right side, she shook the tambourine and extended it out toward me. I just shook my head, took a thaler out from behind my belt, and tossed it to the woman. Sure, I didn’t care much for the performance, but it seemed like the people were enjoying it. Let no one say I’m not a supporter of the arts. Especially given my past — in some senses, you might even say the people on stage were colleagues of mine. Maybe there were boys and girls in that crowd who were being inspired, and who would one day become great actors.
I was about to turn and continue on my way, but something made me stop almost immediately. I turned back to look at the woman, who hadn’t moved an inch from where she stood, and this time I did a quick scan in true vision. Of course! Her energy system was mangled! Just as I thought — she wasn’t able to restore it on her own.
“And here I was, thinking you might never recognize me!” She threw back her hood, greeting me with a cunning smile and speaking in witching tongue. “I hope you remember you’ve got a debt to pay?”
I smiled back and spread my arms out to the sides a little bit as I replied:
“Nothing’s coming to mind. Although I do remember a certain witch who thought she was too smart for all of us, and who abandoned me in an inn in a town called Chagny. So what debt are you talking about?”