Book 7: Chapter 4 |
BY THE TIME I LEFT THE TOWER, it was already almost time for dinner. After my chat with the Frozen Spears, I was in a pretty horrible mood. Actually, I’ll be honest: I felt like I had been dipped in shit.
I knew a lot of horrible things about the Frozen Spears already, of course, but the soulcatcher opened my eyes to a whole lot more. Even just digesting all the new information would take quite a while, and I knew that some of my plans and upcoming next steps would need to be reconsidered.
Leo was walking along behind me. His hands were clenched around a bag, which contained the carefully recorded testimonies of both northerners. The pile of paper ended up being pretty big.
It seemed like my young squire also felt pretty disgusted. Which was only natural, after hearing about all the horrible things these fanatics had done. Torturing, murders, executions. The Order of the Frozen Spear was operating at full steam. They had already killed thousands of true gifted and first-born.
While the soulcatcher and I sat there, drinking my wine and having our “nice” little chat, I caught Leo looking at the man as though he might jump up and hack him to pieces at any second. But he kept his cool, for which I praised him after the interviews were finished.
When Valdar and I turned to the subject of my fight with Fria, I ordered Leo to leave the room. That information wasn’t for his ears. And I definitely didn’t want it recorded. True, the soulcatcher didn’t end up telling me all that much about the fight. In fact, he hadn’t even known Fria’s true nature until two days before our duel on the cliff.
When it came to shades and his own gifts, however, he told me a lot of very useful things, and he did it with a smile on his face. Toward the end of our interview, smiling especially widely and rubbing his hands together, he confided to me that he had already worked out an escape plan. He seemed to think he was talking to his best friend in the world.
It turned out that he was actively using his gift during the whole time of his captivity in the dungeon. Valdar referred to his ability as a “Summons.” Thanks to this ability, the soulcatcher was able to go out and hunt down shades. I used to assume that these beasts wouldn’t stray far from the frontier. But I didn’t take into account the fact that even despite that, Valdar always had a chance — albeit only a fraction of a chance in many cases — of luring in any lost soul that happened to cross his path.
When I heard about this, and imagined what might have happened if the soulcatcher had been left to his own devices in the dungeon, it sent a shiver down my spine.
As I approached, he bowed, and then looked silently and expectantly into my eyes.
“As I promised. The Frost Knights are all yours,” I said.
The bearded soldier replied with a devilish grin and nodded to three of his warriors who were standing a little bit farther off.
“And also,” I stopped him. “I advise you to hurry...”
Very succinctly, I warned him that the soulcatcher might throw out some kind of fresh horror at more or less any moment. The bearded man thanked me sincerely, then hurried off toward the tower with his friends.
The fact that I had sucked all the soulcatcher’s energy out of him before I left the tower, of course, was something I couldn’t share. Feeding time happened to coincide with our interview, and the parasite in my energy system needed a new sacrifice.
I didn’t feel a single scrap of pity or sympathy as the golden tentacles attached themselves to Valdar’s reservoir and caused him to collapse into spasms of agonizing pain. Especially after the scumbag told me all about his “exploits.”
For the soulcatcher, however, that was only the beginning. Because the bearded man and his comrades were shapeshifters from a clan that also counted some werewolves among its members — werewolves who had been patrolling the southern tract and ended up being “sucked dry” by the shades. But the shades didn’t manage to kill all the shapeshifters in the unit. One of them got away, and told the clan leader everything. He, in turn, passed the word to me, and from there things just fell into place. True, I had to issue a caveat with my promise to the old shapeshifter: namely, that I would give him any surviving Frozen Spears. So I had just kept my promise, and I didn’t feel the least bit of remorse.
Actually, after my conversation with the soulcatcher, I realized just how lucky we were that his shades were so hungry. They were so hungry that he was actually willing to feed them one of his own brothers in the faith. The starving shades threw themselves on the five werewolves with such vicious abandon that they didn’t even notice the sixth werewolf, who was hiding in the trees and whom the elder of the pack had ordered to stay out of the fray.
As I walked away from the tower, I whispered:
“Keep watch and let me know when they’re done...”
I had no doubt at all that Vaira, who was hidden on the roof of the tower, would hear me just fine.
I jumped on my horse, and we all rode together back to the camp. As we entered, one of the Glenns informed me:
“Everyone’s in your tent, Your Lordship.”
I nodded and spurred my horse onward.
Aelira was waiting for me at the tent. I could tell by the look on her face that she wanted to tell me something important.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Lada,” said Aelira. “She left.”
I chuckled. Witches...
“Alone?”
“No,” Aelira shook her head. “With some traders from Gondreville. Want me to bring her back?”
“No,” I answered as I hopped off Storm’s back and handed the reins to one of my soldiers. “She’s a free woman. She can go wherever she wants. It’s her choice.”
By the time I stepped across the threshold of the tent, the table inside (which was set in accordance with all the roles of capital-city etiquette) was already surrounded by all the people I had invited earlier in the day.
I smiled happily and looked around at them all.
Nearest to me was Samuel Kroner, the captain of the legionary cohorts. He had grown noticeably thinner over the preceding few months. He looked more athletic, and generally younger. The only signs of his true age were some deep wrinkles and gray hair around his temples.
The captain looked gloomy and tense. And that wasn’t a huge surprise. The Duke de Gondy’s little boy had probably been haranguing him night and day. Well, him and the Viscount de Leval.
Pierre was sitting next to the captain, who the Viscount’s dear old dad had assigned to him as a sort of protector. The Viscount looked pensive, but he was also obviously upset about something. Or more likely, someone. Apparently, the poor guy had already heard about Lada’s departure.
It’s for your own good, you idiot, I thought to myself... Keep as far away from witches as possible. Especially since there’s no way there’s going to be any future for the two of you. You’re the Count de Leval’s heir. You’ve almost certainly got a dazzling marriage planned for you, which will suit your status and position in society.
And Lada’s a witch. The idea that she might also be an aristocrat is just an assumption on my part. Even if she is, she doesn’t have anyone left in her homeland. Only enemies. And most importantly, you don’t exactly fit in with her way of life...
To the Viscount’s right, with his legs thrown tiredly up onto the table and his arms folded across his chest, was Gaston Laforte, captain of the “Legion of Last Chances.” A fresh scar glistened on the bald spot atop his head. He had earned it during the assault on Chateau Gardien. When he saw me walk in, the smile on his insolent face grew even wider and happier.
Apparently, Gaston already knew the Marquis de Gondy, and he was impatient for events to develop. I would bet my right arm that people were already placing bets on how the Margrave de Valier would put the excitable little nobleman back in his place.
Next to Laforte, with a wine glass in his hand, sat André de Châtillon. His spine was stick-straight, and the affected look of boredom on his face belied the fact that the Viscount was always ready for battle.
I should point out that as far as I could tell, the gamble I took in promoting him had paid off handsomely. In a very short time, the Viscount had managed to put together a powerful cavalry unit, which moreover was composed mostly of the same sort of societal outcasts as himself. And he was just getting started.
To my left were Kurt von Hartha, Georg von Linz, and the leader of the Mertonians, Baron Hilaire Reese. The attention of all three men was riveted on me. Unlike the others, they knew where I had been that day, and they were waiting eagerly to hear my news.
A little farther off sat Samira Clemand. She was the Amber Guild of mages’ official representative, and had never declined my standing invitation to attend our councils of war.
And she wasn’t going to miss this one either. I could have gotten by just fine without her, but I wanted someone from one of the mages’ guilds to witness events as my plans got underway. Besides, we had already been through a lot together. She had given an excellent account of herself in every battle we’d fought. And even though I knew that Samira would probably be on the other side of the barricades in my inevitable confrontation with the Amber Guild, I had a genuine respect for her nonetheless.
We were already getting used to conducting our councils of war without Jean-Claude de Bacri, who had set off traveling south a few days before. He had a lot of meetings planned with the local clans in that area. And I was hoping that our forces would grow bigger as a result of his efforts.
Also missing, despite my invitation, was the Marquis de Hangest. He was the commander of the Vestonian legion that had held out in the Sapphire Citadel. Or more accurately, the commander of those Vestonians who were still alive.
By the way — this Marquis de Hangest was the younger son of the Duke de Hangest, and the brother of Marquis Olivier de Hangest. André de Châtillon’s former friend.
I won’t lie — the Marquis absence wasn’t upsetting to me. His blathering, puffed-up personality gave me a bad feeling the moment I met him. And I don’t think he liked me much either.
As soon as we entered the Citadel, he started trying to throw his weight around. I had to put him firmly in his place. So there was nothing surprising about the fact that he had ignored my invitation.
Everyone stood up and bowed as I walked in.
“We’re happy to see you in good health, Your Lordship,” said Laforte as he plopped back down into his chair. “We heard rumors that you were ill. Although I didn’t believe them, to be honest.”
“You were right not to,” I replied as I sat down in the chair Gunnar had prepared for me. “And just to dispel any remaining doubts, I’ll share something with you all: as one of the gifted, I need to spend long periods in meditation to strengthen and hone my gift. It’s a complex process that requires appropriate concentration. Sometimes it takes hours, sometimes it takes days. The noble mages present with us right now can attest to that.”
I nodded toward Baron Reese and my strykers. They nodded in reply immediately, confirming my words.
“You’re absolutely right, Your Lordship,” said Samira Clemand with a sardonic smile. “As a matter of fact, I envy your determination and self-control.”
This was Samira’s way of letting me know that she didn’t believe a word I was saying.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” I said. “Before we eat, I need to inform you that I have news regarding our commander-in-chief, the Marshal de Clairmont, as well as our other generals.”
Silence. All eyes were on me. Except those of Viscount de Leval, maybe. Pierre’s mind was somewhere far, far away. It seemed like he had been force-fed a bunch of sedative potions.
I proceeded to spend the next few minutes telling them everything the soulcatcher had told me about the attack on the Vestonian army’s command structure. About the betrayal of the Stone and Frost Knights, about the death of Count de Bozon and almost all the Duke de Clairmont’s other vassals, about the Marshal himself being badly wounded, and the fact that the remnants of the Vestonian army were hemmed in among the foothills of the Iron Range.
At the end of my speech, I laid a few pages of Leo von Grimm’s recording of the conversation down on the table. These were redacted copies of my squire’s record, of course. I had ordered him to re-write these sections and omit any mention of shades, and made him swear an oath of silence regarding the matter; as I did so, I made it quite clear that this was his chance — the gateway into my inner circle that he was looking for. The kid took the hint, and it seemed to make quite an impression on him.
“These are the recorded testimonies of two prisoners I interrogated today,” I said. “They’ve been sealed with my signature, as well as that of my squire Leo von Grimm, whom you all know very well. These papers will be delivered to His Majesty in short order.”
I glanced at Viscount de Leval and added:
“Viscount, your father was not among the slain. He managed to survive that terrible day.”
Pierre was still immersed in lover’s melancholy at a certain crafty witch’s departure earlier in the day, so he didn’t react to my words right away.
Unlike all the others in the tent. Everyone started talking at once. My tent positively exploded into a flurry of voices.
“What?” Pierre de Leval snapped out of his stupor and looked around us with a puzzled expression on his face. “What did you say?”
“Your dad’s alive, Viscount!” Captain Kroner shouted into his ear with a big smile on his face. “And I’m so relieved! Thanks be to all the gods!”
Slightly stunned, Pierre turned to stare at Kroner as he digested what he had just heard. It seemed like Lada had worked her witching magic on him to the point that he was utterly brainwashed. She was just playing it safe, though. She obviously didn’t want him to rush off and follow her.
“Where are the prisoners now?” Samira Clemand asked loudly. “I’d like to ask them a few questions myself. And who are they, anyway?”
“They’re the same Frozen Spears who set off on campaign with our army as observers,” I replied.
“So how did they end up here?” Samira sounded surprised.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Gaston Laforte growled loudly. “They came here to kill Margrave de Valier! It just didn’t work out like they planned! Am I right, Your Lordship?”
I just smiled. To which Captain Laforte, who was happy to have guessed correctly, started roaring with laughter.
Ignoring the commander of the “Last Chances” and his loud guffawing, Samira Clemand kept on questioning me.
“Still, though... Where are those prisoners now?”
“What do you need them for, Madame?” Laforte asked. “Although actually, I already know. You’re worried about your friends. After all, some of those Stone Knights used to belong to your Guild, didn’t they?”
This was too much for Clemand. She leapt up from her chair, hand already on the hilt of her sword.
“That’s absurd!” She shouted. “I — “
“Do you mean to accuse me of something, Madame?” I interrupted her.
I was speaking calmly, but the sudden silence in the tent hinted that nobody was fooled by my tone.
And I could see Samira Clemand wither slightly under my gaze.
“No, but...” She began to speak as she quickly overcame her initial hesitation. “These accusations are simply too... Too... It’s just in... I know the grand master of the Order of the Gray Rock personally. I have a hard time believing that His Excellency Frederic de Moati could betray His Majesty. That’s why I wanted to interrogate the prisoners myself.”
“The prisoners are already dead,” I replied. “They didn’t want to talk for quite a while...”
The others present nodded in understanding.
“But those were important prisoners...”
“Everything they said is right here in these papers,” I pointed down at the documents on the table. “There’s my signature and my seal. Is that insufficient for you?”
Samira didn’t answer. She just got up from her chair, and then, with a bow, she said:
“Forgive me, Your Lordship, but I need to leave.”
Then, without waiting for a response, she turned and strode quickly out of the tent.
Well, I thought... That got the ball rolling. It’ll reach the capital soon enough. Susanna said that the jester is already taking aim at the Master of the Stone Knights. Only the King’s will is keeping Kiko from undertaking aggressive actions against those fanatics. And now he has the trump card he needs. And he won’t be as reserved as Samira in his criticism... Not at all. Sure, I left out a few details, but for the most part the testimonies are an honest account of what the soulcatcher told me.
“Gentlemen — I suggest we continue this conversation over dinner,” I said with a smile. Everybody present seconded me with loud exclamations.
Later on, as dinner was almost over, Gunnar stepped into the tent and said in an anxious tone:
“Your Lordship, there’s...”
“What?” I asked.
“There are several dozen riders at the camp entrance. It’s the Marquis de Gondy and his retinue. I wouldn’t let them into the camp without the password. He’s furious, and he’s demanding a meeting with you immediately.”
“Very well,” I nodded. “No need to saddle the horse. I’ll walk.”
We all set off for the camp entrance together. The others followed my lead and set off on foot.
I recognized Marquis Erique de Gondy immediately, even though I had never seen him before. The Duke de Gondy’s son hadn’t been at the ball where I killed Emile de Marbot. But it still wasn’t hard to identify him. He looked very much like his sister. He had black hair, and the same dark complexion as Blanca.
When I learned that Prince Philippe’s delegation would be headed by Marquis de Gondy, though... Well, I was really surprised at the Duke’s boldness. Sending his son and heir on a dangerous journey with a small unit was extremely risky.
Admittedly, the whole idea made a lot of sense if you looked at it from a different perspective. The Duke de Gondy’s son would be at the head of the Vestonian force when it reached its destination and launched into an attack on the Golden Lion and his legions. In the event of victory, Marquis de Gondy would be right up there with Prince Philippe as a national hero. His daddy, the Duke, had already been trying to secure the King’s consent for a marriage between Princess Adèle and his son the Marquis for a long time. A victory over the Atalians could make that dream a reality. And then de Bauffremont would have to step aside.
Knowing Carl, I didn’t think that the Marquis de Gondy really had much of a chance with his beloved granddaughter at all. They would soon have Prince Philippe, and that was enough. The King would never allow the Duke of the South to become even more powerful than he already was. At least as long as the King remained alive...
We were already close to the entrance when I switched to true vision and realized that the Duke had taken some serious precautions after all. Ten strykers. All powerful mediuses. You could travel pretty safely with an entourage like that. Especially if you knew that your route was pretty safe anyway.
And they did. The Viscount de Leval’s friends had informed them of that already. Actually, I could see their little faces at the very back of this group of riders, who were all decked out in various colorful feathers and sumptuous costumes. That meant they must have galloped straight for Vestonia. Or maybe they really had tried to get through to the Marshal?
After stepping outside the gates of the camp, I stopped and addressed the group loudly:
“Marquis, I’ve been informed that you were hoping for a meeting with me?”