Book 7: Chapter 6 |
THAT NIGHT PASSED in much the same way as the previous one. I dedicated the first half of it to deep meditation, the second to taking stock.
As always, the lunari was immensely helpful. Selina was with me the entire time, helping me quickly delve into memories from my life as a werefox and fish out whatever information I needed from them. She didn’t ask any unnecessary questions, but sometimes I caught her looking at me thoughtfully. When I did, I would simply pretend I hadn’t noticed anything, but I knew that sooner or later we would have to talk about everything.
I took notes in the language of the werefoxes, which had come back to me along with the memories. It was much easier to record the magic of their people in their own language. Besides, if my summaries ever ended up falling into the wrong hands, nobody would be able to decipher them. The writing system was far too complicated.
I finished working as the morning was dawning. I sent the lunari off to get some sleep; as for myself, I fed the parasite another batch of bruts, then got to work on my stretches.
This time, I added one scarlet and one emerald brut into the “hopper” along with the usual brown ones. The last time I did that, I noticed that the little change in “menu” made me feel more energized and refreshed. It took any feeling of tiredness away immediately. I didn’t feel sleepy at all.
Hm, I thought... I’m gradually adapting to this. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything especially complicated about my relationship with the parasite. The main thing was just to be careful and stick to the program. Having to spend so many invaluable resources, however, was starting to drive me crazy. If I could have conducted my energy system’s modification on my own terms, it would have been a lot less expensive in terms of crystals.
I felt even better after stretching, so I asked Gunnar to serve breakfast. As he set the table, he informed me that our head quartermaster, Hans Krause, wanted to talk to me.
Hm, I thought... He works fast. Knowing him, if he wants to talk, that means he must have found something already. Besides his standard duties, this energetic and enterprising man was carrying out some other assignments for me as well. He was my eyes and ears in the army.
Hans was an excellent psychologist, who could find the key to practically any person out there. He was the kind of person you could meet for the first time, and within an hour you would already feel like he was an old friend — someone you’d be willing to share all your problems with.
“Good morning, Your Lordship,” he greeted me as he stepped into the tent.
“Hello, Hans,” I replied; pointing to another chair, I continued: “Have a seat. Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Then let’s have breakfast.”
Gunnar understood everything without any new orders, and he was already setting a place for Hans.
“Thank you, Your Lordship,” said Hans as he sat down on the chair. He turned to address Gunnar with a playful wink:
“You can take the knife. I’ve got my own.”
With that, Krause took a short, thin knife out from behind his belt and slipped it between the fingers of the prosthetic on his right arm with a soft click.
Watching my eyes dart down to it, Hans asked with a smile:
“I hope my hand’s appearance doesn’t put you off?”
“Not at all,” I shook my head, and continued with a question of my own: “How often do you get phantom pains?”
“What kind of pains?” He sounded surprised.
“Phantom pains,” I replied. “Pains that seem to be coming from a lost extremity. I believe it’s quite a common phenomenon. Alas, its causes aren’t fully understood. And by the way — people who have lost a limb sometimes also feel itching, burning, or the sensation of touching in addition to pain. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” Hans nodded. For just a moment, his expression darkened. “I know what you’re referring to. I used to feel them constantly. But with time, they faded. It’s been many years since the day I lost that hand.”
Krause suddenly let out a loud laugh before adding:
“As for the itching and burning... That’s a little more complex, Your Lordship. Especially when I catch sight of the ass on that redhead Martha — you know, that swindler Pierre Girot’s cook!”
Gunnar was still laying out plates of food, and as he did so he delivered a little kick to the leg of Hans’ chair. Suddenly embarrassed, Hans cleared his throat and stopped talking.
Trying to hide my smile, I pretended not to have noticed anything, and asked:
“I suspect you’ve got some information for me?”
On the second day after we took the Citadel, I conducted an inspection of the entire fortress, and afterward there were a few things that bothered me.
First and foremost was the Sapphire Guild’s treasure... The fact is that when I was preparing to storm the place, I was still in the process of gathering information about Chateau Gardien and the Citadel, and no matter who I talked to, I got the same story: that the Sapphire Citadel was not only the fortress of one of the more powerful and wealthy guilds in the country, but also a storehouse for all their treasures.
Put differently, it was the place where the mages of the Sapphire Guild had been bringing all their valuables for several decades on end.
As far as I was aware, there were six mages in the Citadel during the siege, not counting the Guild’s stryker-bodyguards. Adding a couple dozen rank-and-file soldiers and servants, there were probably about eighty people. At least that’s what I gathered when I was told that that’s how many people fled the Citadel through the secret exit.
We were also told that the mages and their people took a large share of the provisions and all the treasures from the Citadel’s treasury.
I had seen that treasury for myself, of course. And yes, it was empty when we got there.
But several things immediately struck me as strange.
The treasury seemed strangely small to me. The little basement room somehow didn’t look big enough for the treasury of the richest guild in the country, which would have been filling it up for decades, or even centuries, by that point.
But even if it had been totally full, it would have been categorically impossible for eighty people to have cleaned it out entirely. Especially considering that they also took a bunch of provisions with them. And they would have had to do it without attracting the attention of the Vestonians and Bergonians, too.
Long story short, I felt hopeful that the “treasury” in the fortress was actually just a decoy. Sure, there must have been something valuable there at some point, but the Sapphire Guild’s true wealth was almost certainly concealed somewhere else.
And if so, there was a good chance that it was hidden wherever those mages and their servants had fled to. If that were the case, then alas — we were far too late. But if the main treasury was located near the fortress or actually inside it, we would definitely find it sooner or later.
I didn’t have any luck getting Marquis de Hangest to talk to me about it. He wasn’t very talkative or friendly with me at all. First, as I mentioned, he tried to throw his weight around. For some reason, he decided that he had the right to command our forces. I had to disappoint him there, and I quickly forced his people out of the key positions in the fortress. Neither the Marquis nor any of his people managed to utter a word in protest before the Citadel was firmly under my control.
And so I gave Hans Krause a new assignment: collecting all available information on the subject, to see if my guess was correct.
“Yes, I have news,” Hans livened up immediately. “I have to say, Your Lordship — you were absolutely right!”
I just smiled silently, as a sign to Hans that he should continue.
“With your orders in hand, me and my boys started shaking down the Marquis de Hangest’s men. As expected, it wasn’t too hard to get the rank and file to talk. The poor bastards have been through so much. Free food and wine tend to loosen the tongue, of course. By the way, I should warn you that two of their cohorts are already prepared to join Your Lordship’s forces. Their captains told me so. Putting it mildly, their experience with the Marquis de Hangest was not a pleasant one. And I’ll say this, as well: if it weren’t for the fact that the kid’s daddy is one of the Marshals of Vestonia, he and his cronies would have suffered some sort of “unfortunate incident” a long time ago. Although the scumbag himself thinks that he was saved by the two stryker bodyguards the Duke de Hangest hired to protect him.”
“As far as I’m aware, Samuel Kroner is already in negotiations with their captains,” I pointed out.
“Yes, you’re right,” said Hans. His tone of voice, however, made it clear that he was only agreeing with me out of a sense of politeness.
“Something’s not going well?” I asked him.
“Kroner is a respected commander,” Hans started to explain. “The men of the Third Legion respect him, as do the other commanders. I know, Your Lordship, that you value him as well...”
“I do indeed,” I nodded. “Samuel Kroner has proved his usefulness.”
“Very true,” Hans replied sincerely, before continuing: “But when all’s said and done, he’s just a captain. In other words, they’re equals. Besides, Kroner is from the Third Legion. And these captains are from the Fifth...”
Hans didn’t elaborate any further; he knew I understood the significance of that already.
I had learned a lot about Carl III’s army. For example, the fact that there was a very serious rivalry between the legions for recognition and preference from the high command and the King himself.
It manifested itself in various ways. Mainly, the legionaries just tried to prove their valor on the field of battle and achieve the best results possible in military campaigns. That was how they fought for the best assignments and locations for stationing.
This rivalry wasn’t just a result of the legion commanders’ personal ambitions, either — it was a consequence of the prevailing system of values in Vestonian society. Military success and glory played a key role in securing elevated social status, as well as in any successful political career. That was clear enough from my own example.
I should point out, however, that despite this internal rivalry, the legions were perfectly capable of cooperating and pulling off coordinated movements on campaign and during battles. Once in the field, they operated like a single organism.
“I assume they want a meeting with me?” I asked. “And they want you there as a go-between?”
“Indeed, Your Lordship,” Hans said with a wry smile. “In exchange, they told me quite a few interesting things about the Marquis de Hangest and his cronies. For example, they said that after the mages fled the Citadel, they saw the Marquis’ people hauling some heavy chests and barrels out of the western tower under cover of night. As you know, the western tower is right above the basement where the Sapphire Guild kept its treasury.
“Ah,” I rubbed my chin as I digested this new information. “And you already know what was in those chests and barrels?”
“Gold and silver coins, as well as precious metal plate and gemstones,” said Hans Krause, once again showing off just how well-informed he was.
“So where is it now?”
“It’s been loaded into His Lordship the Marquis de Hangest’s wagons,” Hans said with a wicked grin; he already knew what I was planning.
“Excellent,” I said. “Please tell the captains I’ll meet with them.”
“Of course, Your Lordship,” Krause bowed his head slightly.
“Now I want to hear your conclusions.”
“I’ve had time to think and look around,” he said. “I think you were right, Your Lordship. The Sapphire Guild’s real treasury must be somewhere else. I now understand why you asked me to find out where the mages were spending their time prior to leaving the fortress. Do you remember that lake up in the cliffs — the one with the little waterfall? There’s an aqueduct leading from there to the fortress.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I learned that the mages used to meditate on the banks of that lake quite frequently. And the strykers would guard them while they did it. That said, we’ve already examined the place, but we didn’t find anything.”
“Very well, Hans,” I said once Krause finished speaking. “I’m very pleased with you. Keep gathering information.”
Having said that, I gestured to Gunnar, who walked over with a small wooden box in his hands. This was where I kept my slush fund — a bunch of silver for any incidental payments or incentives that might be required.
I took out two little leather bags full of silver crowns and laid them on the table, whereupon Gunnar passed them to Hans.
“One of these is for you personally — for all your work,” I nodded. “The second is a reward for any of your people who’ve distinguished themselves. How to distribute that is up to you.”
“I thank you, Your Lordship.” A satisfied smile spread across Hans’ face.
“Further,” I continued. “Find yourself a competent second-in-command as quartermaster, and pay special attention to any particularly bright and quick-thinking people on your team. As I told you before, you’re going to have a lot of work to do soon. As you already know, you need not have any worries about compensation at all.”
Hans stood up from his chair and bowed. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but the mischievous sparks in his eyes made it clear that he was pleased with what was happening.
Once he left, and Gunnar followed him to see him out, I leaned back on my chair and quietly asked:
“You hear that?”
“Yes,” Ignia and Vaira answered almost in unison from behind my back.
“Check that lake and the cliffs around it,” I said. “Let me know about anything weird — anything at all.”
An instant later, I could sense that I was alone. But that didn’t last long. Gunnar soon popped his head back into the tent.
“Your Lordship, the sentry just informed me that there are three horsemen waiting at the entrance to the camp. It’s the Count de Broglie and his bodyguards. His Lordship is asking to meet with you.”
Hm, I thought... This must be the negotiating team. As I expected. If memory serves, this de Broglie is a vassal of the Duke de Bauffremont.
“Let them in,” I nodded. “And bring us some fruit, some glasses, and a Valhesian.”
* * *
“Marvelous!” The Count de Broglie exclaimed rapturously after draining almost his entire glass in one sip. “What could be more refreshing in the morning than a sip of an excellent Valhesian! You know, Monsieur, there are already legends regarding your wine collection making the rounds in the capital.”
A wide smile, loaded with meaning, spread across his face as he spoke that last sentence. It seemed that the story of my kicking Francois out of the Fox Den had become a matter of public domain.
I just shrugged as I kept analyzing my boisterous new companion. Count Étienne de Broglie was a short man of about thirty, with long, curly blond hair and a big birthmark on his left temple.
I didn’t detect any magical gift in him, or in the bodyguards he had left outside.
All this deliberate loudness and friendly joviality was just a mask, though — it might have fooled someone like Marquis de Gondy, but it didn’t fool me. Every time I looked at the Count, I could see sharpness and attentiveness in his expression. Also, he somehow smelled very familiar... I actually took several deep breaths in through my nose (trying to do so without being noticed) just to make sure.
As required in high society, we spent some time making small talk, but gradually we made our way to the matter at hand.
“Monsieur, I’m sure you understand already that His Grace the Duke de Bauffremont never for a moment gave any credence to the story that idiot d’Ardant has been spreading? When the Count de Brisse reported his conversation with the Viscount de Saladens to His Grace — a conversation in which the Count learned who was really at the head of the army when it won such a glorious victory — His Grace exclaimed: “I knew that this was all thanks the Margrave de Valier!”“
I had a hard time holding back a frown.
“And that was just the beginning!” The Count continued. “On the way here, we learned about the liberation of Gondreville and the death of the Gray Reaper. Then came the conquest of Chateau Gardien and the Sapphire Citadel. Your deeds will be known in the capital before long. The ballads those minstrels sing about you are true. You are a true hero, Monsieur! To you, Margrave!”
He raised his glass, which Gunnar had prudently refilled as the Count spoke. The Count’s sappy, fake flattery was a little bit nauseating to me, but I raised my glass and took a sip as though nothing was amiss.
After a little sip, I set my glass back down on the table and asked:
“And yet I expect, Count, that you didn’t ask for a meeting with me simply to discuss my heroic victories?”
“Indeed, Monsieur,” the Count nodded. His expression changed. It became more focused. “I continue to be amazed by His Grace’s wisdom and foresightedness. After all, he foresaw practically everything that happened. And that’s why he’s made me his representative in this delegation, and asked me to communicate his... Ahem... Recommendation to you.”
He pronounced the word “recommendation” a little bit icily, but it clearly threw him off just a little bit. I think that using the word “recommendation” was the Count’s choice. Knowing the Duke de Bauffremont, this was clearly simply an order. But de Broglie had enough time on the way to the Citadel to realize what kind of man his master had sent him to negotiate with.
“Recommendation?” I repeated, smiling inside. “And what does His Grace recommend?”
“His Grace would like you and your forces to move out and face the Golden Lion as quickly as possible. You would be moving out in the name of the Duke de Bauffremont and His Highness Prince Philippe. In doing so, you should do everything possible to prevent the Marquis de Gondy from participating in command.”
Well, I thought... The Duke de Bauffremont is in rare form, as always. I’m not even surprised, actually.
“So in other words, His Grace recommends that I disobey a direct order from His Majesty?” I raised an eyebrow with surprise.
The Count de Broglie looked firmly into my eyes, then glanced back at Gunnar.
After I signaled my young steward to leave, the Count replied in a firm, confident tone:
“The King is at death’s door. You know that already. According to everything we’ve heard, his health has only been declining ever since we left the capital. The latest news from Herouxville has it that the healers are now powerless to do anything, and the King’s disease is completely out of control. No one believes he will recover. The chances are that by the time we return to the capital, the throne will be vacant. But not for long! Prince Philippe will occupy it in short order! I presume I don’t need to remind you of the relationship between His Highness and His Grace the Duke de Bauffremont?”
So, I thought... At least we’re speaking frankly. That was bound to happen sooner or later. Bauffremont understood that the Prince needed a victory. He would have to ascend to the throne as the man who defeated the Golden Lion and saved the royal army. That would shut up all his opponents and give any wavering nobles a fresh shot of confidence. And the common people loved stories like that, too.
Bauffremont wasn’t neglecting his own interests either. He wanted to claim all the glory for my forces’ victory to himself and the Prince. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the capital was already of the opinion that I was operating on behalf — or indeed, at the orders — of none other than His Grace the Duke de Bauffremont.
A short silence set over the tent as the count finished speaking. I pretended to be thinking about his words; the confident expression on his face made it obvious that he considered himself master of the situation.
“Well,” I said quietly. “Your words have given me food for thought... Perhaps His Grace has sent a letter in which all his recommendations are clearly outlined?”
“No,” the Count shook his head. “There’s no such letter.”
Heh... Playing it safe. A shame, really... I wouldn’t mind having all this in writing.
“But he sends you this as confirmation of my words,” the Count de Broglie added as he took a little scroll out from under his cloak.
I took a little breath in through my nose, trying to catch the scent. I was right about the smell...
Once he unrolled the scroll, the Count took a fluffy, red-orange fox tail out of it, with a little black spot at the tip.
“As he handed me this scroll,” the Count continued with a smile. “His Grace ordered me to tell you that those who are faithful to him can always rely on his favor, and on a very rich reward!”