Book 7: Chapter 9 |
“WILL THERE BE ANYTHING ELSE, Your Lordship?” Gunnar asked as I set my knife and fork aside.
After my long day of swimming, fighting, and exploring around the lake, I had decided to eat alone that night.
“Make me some herbal tea,” I said as I stood up from the dining table and walked over to my desk.
There was a small, thin notebook lying on it, with the phrase “Archive Journal” emblazoned in Vestonian on its front page. I had found the journal lying on one of the shelves in the treasury. When I realized exactly what I was holding in my hands, I said a profound mental thank-you to the anonymous writer who had left me such a gift.
I should point out that whoever was in charge of organizing the treasury had obviously been a perfectionist — at least if the orderliness of the treasury and the archive journal were any indication. For example, every item in the cave — be it a chest, a case, or a free-standing artifact — had a tag with an inventory number and a short, almost laconic description. The journal contained a detailed description of each container’s contents, along with all the other items in the cave. And it was all written in neat, tiny handwriting.
Thanks to true vision, I quickly discovered that all the tags, as well as the binding of the journal and all its pages, were made from the skin of shadow beasts. Furthermore, the scribe had used a number of very high-quality magical inks to make his notes. Which, of course, only made me all the happier. After all, we had to get back out of the treasury the same way we had come in: through the shadow alligator’s den. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get the main entrance of the cave to open; most likely, the magical mechanism was blocked, “thanks” to my golden parasite.
Once we had made it back out of the water and gotten dressed, I ordered Leo and our strykers to bring the alligator’s enormous carcass up from the bottom of the lake. But I also told them to do it as discreetly as possible. You should have seen their faces when we told them about the shadow beast that had been living in the seemingly-serene mountain lake.
As for getting the monster’s hide and organs “sorted out” after that... Well, I wasn’t worried about that at all. Strykers were true professionals in that particular area. The first thing combat mages learned in their guilds (other than the basics of using their gifts, of course) was how to butcher shadow beasts and preserve their most important and valuable organs. At a bivouac one night, Hans Krause had told us that Georg von Linz (who had been to the Shadow several times) was especially skilled at this.
Once Gunner brought me the herbal tea and left the tent, I got straight to work. I spent several hours studying the contents of the journal. By the time I finished, I had come to the conclusion that what I had discovered wasn’t just a treasury — it was also a thoroughly-organized, perfectly-preserved laboratory.
Besides a pile of pre-prepared magical weapons, fabrics, elixirs, amulets, and other goods, there were also a bunch of raw materials: metals, herbs, liquids, wood, stone, and the hides and bones of monsters. There was also an impressive collection of monster organs, some preserved by drying and others in jars full of preservative liquid.
In light of the situation I was facing at the time, I was especially happy to see a huge stockpile of bruts, mainly brown, scarlet, amber, and emerald in color. There were some lilac ones as well, although not very many. In the journal, however, I found a note that stated that many of their lilac bruts had been given to a certain “Master R.” There was a date on the note, which coincided closely with the day the mages had abandoned their Citadel through their secret tunnel.
Speaking of that, of course, it was suddenly clear why they seemed not to have taken much at all from the fortress’ basement when they left. There were simply too many goods to haul out of the main treasury. To my great disappointment, for example, the mages had taken their entire library with them. The treasury’s anonymous guardian noted in their tiny, neat handwriting that the library contained treatises on Shadow and True Magic, as well as a large number of books with recipes and blueprints.
Too bad... Although it wasn’t at all surprising, either. The library was much more valuable than any amount of gold.
By the way — there was plenty of gold and silver in the cave as well. Ingots and coins alike. Besides that, there were also several small cases full of both carved and “raw” gemstones.
After studying the long inventory of the treasury’s contents, I turned to examining the journal itself. Specifically, the part dealing with deliveries, names, and prices.
One very curious detail became clear pretty quickly. It turned out that about 30% of the overall supply of bruts, raw materials, and ingredients in the treasury had been delivered through Shadow Pass. My Margraviate, to be more specific. As I read, I learned that the pages of the journal weren’t actually made of vellum at all, as I first thought — they were made from a type of algae that underwent a striking transformation with every ebb and flow of the tide. This algae, too, had been delivered from lands that (formally at least) belonged to me. There were two chests full of the finished product in the cave. I was afraid to even imagine how much this magical “paper” might cost.
After subjecting a blank piece to a trial by water, I tested it to see how fragile it was, and also held it up to a flame. In the end, I was satisfied with its toughness. And that was a blank piece of paper, without any of the gray-brown ink that exponentially increased the paper’s durability.
Judging by the data in the journal, the mages seemed to have been working with three specific delivery men from Shadow Pass. Smugglers, to be blunt. True, it had all ended with the Gray Reaper’s arrival in their lands, as he swept all available resources into his own sphere of control.
Still, though, I made a point of memorizing the names of all the smugglers. Something was telling me that at least one of them was probably still alive, and still engaged in their highly-dangerous business.
The lunari finally tore me away from poring over the journal. She had come to continue our nocturnal meditative regimen.
“Vaira told me you managed to create a web?” She asked me with hope in her eyes.
“Yep!” I smiled. Then, with a sigh, I added: “Now I just have to figure out how exactly it happened...”
“What kind of web was it?”
“Just a simple shield,” I replied; then, with a satisfied grunt, I added: “But it was enough to stop that beast.”
“And you haven’t been able to repeat it since?” She sounded slightly disappointed.
I shook my head, then explained:
“I’ve tried a few times, but nothing has happened. The parasite is blocking all my attempts to interact with my reservoir. So that’s what we’re going to work on tonight...”
* * *
“Look alive, you lazy bastards!” A red-haired sergeant bellowed as he rushed his men forward. “Don’t worry! You’ve got plenty of fat to burn off on the march already!”
All across our camp, other leather-lunged sergeants picked up the chorus and began to shout words to the same effect at their own men. The place looked like an anthill that had recently been upset. Even ranks of marching infantrymen stretched from the Chateau Gardien all the way up to Chateau Gardien.
Three days before, riders had come in from Baron de Bacri with news that the southern clans of mountain men — representing a fighting force of approximately 4,000 — had agreed to move out with us against the Atalians. So we were marching to rendezvous with them.
I left a small garrison at the Citadel, with Hans Krause in command. I also assigned him the task of getting all the contents of the Sapphire Guild’s treasury out of the cave and sending it to Gondreville with a heavy guard of Mertonians. Baron Hilaire Reese had already hand-picked his most tried and tested men for the assignment.
That said, we also took a few items from the treasury with us when we went. A respectable quantity of elixirs, for example, along with a bunch of bruts and a stock of gold and silver large enough to make sure that the locals would get paid well for any provisions they were willing to sell us.
Hans Krause also took charge of the operation to get these goods onto the wagon train without anyone finding out, which he pulled off with complete success by camouflaging the invaluable goods on carts among barrels of potable water from the spring that fed the mountain lake. He planned to bring the rest of the goods out after our army had left the area.
After listening to what Baron de Bacri’s riders had to say, I gathered all my commanders together (including the Marquis de Gondy and his entourage) and gave an impassioned speech about our obligation to help the Vestonian legions who had fallen into the Atalian trap. This, I explained, was why I had decided to move out against the Golden Lion.
The news was met with joyful shouts from all my commanders, as well as all the Vestonian nobles who had gathered for the impromptu council of war. As I looked out at their faces, the representatives of both Dukes looked back at me with knowing expressions on their faces; obviously, each of them attributed the fact that I had been “won over” to his own efforts. I wasn’t planning to disabuse them of that notion. It couldn’t hurt to have them both thinking that they had managed to convince me to make the “right” choice.
I also announced that I would be glad to have the Marquis de Gondy and other high-ranking nobles present at my councils of war, although I warned them all that they would be there only as observers. In other words, I made it clear that they could watch and listen all they wanted, but they couldn’t touch. Again, judging by the satisfied looks on the faces of the Dukes’ representatives, they both seemed to consider my words to be in keeping with what we had “agreed” in our private meetings.
By the way — both Marquis de Gondy and Count de Lorraine behaved with perfect decorum, just as they had promised. I could tell, however, that the Duke de Gondy’s little pipsqueak really wasn’t pleased with what was happening. He wasn’t used to playing second fiddle to anybody. Oh well, I thought — he’ll have a chance to prove himself sooner or later anyway.
Sitting atop Storm in the company of my comrades, I watched the infantrymen march boldly off into the distance. I was wearing normal armor, since the parasite might well be able to damage my magical armor at any moment if I had it on.
But I felt hopeful that this state of affairs would only be temporary. Selina and I had spent the preceding few days making some significant progress in our studies, and it seemed like we had stumbled upon something major.
First of all, we determined that there was a very short window of time during which I could use mana from other bruts without risking the parasite’s aggression. Usually, it was when the parasite was already full and busy transforming the energy it had just consumed. In such conditions, it would barely react to me working with mana from the bruts. True, this window of time was normally quite short.
Second, I managed to re-create a Chaos Shield web, using lilac mana to do it. In the process, I discovered that the web was weaker than the one I had created using golden energy.
Last but not least, the lunari and I discovered why the parasite wasn’t letting me pull energy from my reservoir. Just at the moment when my life was in imminent danger, I had managed to suppress the parasite in my energy system manually, through sheer force of will. I had hacked into its programming, in other words.
I tried to do it several times after that, but every attempt resulted in a wave of unbearable pain coursing across my body. That was when Selina suggested that I stop trying to fight the thing, and try to find a way to befriend it.
For the time being, I didn’t really have any idea how to befriend a... Well, I didn’t even know what it was, really. A beast? A creature? All the same, though, I decided the lunari’s suggestion was probably worth a try.
“Your Lordship.” A rider from André de Châtillon’s unit stopped next to me and gestured toward the Citadel before continuing: “Everything is ready.”
With a silent nod, I spurred Storm toward the gates of the fortress. Several dozen of my own men came trotting along after me.
At the gates, I noticed that some sort of confrontation had broken out. I could hear threatening shouts from the men involved, along with the clang of weapons and the whinnying of frightened horses.
The exit from the gates was blocked by Samuel Kroner’s legionaries, who were standing in formation with their shields together and their spears and halberds thrust forward ready for battle. Opposite them, inside the fortress, a unit of Marquis de Hangest’s men was also in formation. This was where the loudest shouting was coming from: they were threatening Captain Kroner and his men with all sorts of dire punishments.
A little farther on, I noticed that Marquis de Gondy and his entourage were watching everything with rapt interest. They weren’t getting involved. They didn’t make any attempt to assert their authority or threaten Captain Kroner. But they weren’t coming to Marquis de Hangest’s aid either.
Basically, the whole mess occurred because that morning, just before our departure, I had sent the Counts de Broglie and de Lorraine messages to warn them that there might be a “little holdup” around the fortress gates as the army departed. I had asked their pardon in advance for any inconveniences this might cause them or their men. I suggested that they simply wait patiently while the “minor problem” was resolved.
Maybe I didn’t need to warn them at all. But the fact was that Marquis de Hangest, his unit (much reduced in size, thanks to some of my previous actions), and their wagon train intended to move out with Marquis de Gondy. As they moved to leave, however, they found my men blocking their way out of the fortress.
Further, Marquis de Hangest noticed a bunch of his former men (now members of the Fifth Legion) and their captains standing in formation with Kroner and his men; it must have been painfully obvious that they had no intention of supporting their former commander.
The sight of his former subordinates failing to submit to his orders — or even to react to his presence — made the Marquis’ eyes bulge and turned his face as red as a boiled crab. He began to threaten the legionaries who had “betrayed him” with torture, execution, and confiscation of their property.
That was when we arrived on the scene. With one quick, fluid motion, Captain Kroner’s legionaries parted their shields and stepped back to let us through.
Our arrival certainly didn’t go unnoticed. Marquis de Hangest jerked his horse’s reins and started trotting toward me. If looks could kill, I probably would have dropped dead as soon as he spotted me.
“Monsieur!” He roared with a spray of saliva. “How am I to understand this? Why are me and my people being denied exit from this fortress?!”
His horse kept stomping its hooves in apparent annoyance, breathing heavily beneath him.
“Captain Kroner is carrying out my orders,” I said, speaking loudly but maintaining my calm.
“By what right?!” He snarled. “What is the meaning of this?!”
Without turning my head, I raised one hand to the side, prompting Leo to slip a scroll into my hand. I unrolled it, then began to speak into the silence that had settled across the courtyard:
“Per His Majesty’s orders, two cohorts of the Fifth Legion have been transferred to my command,” I announced loudly. “Senior officers from these cohorts have brought to my attention the fact that for seven months, neither the officers nor the legionaries in their cohorts have received the pay promised to them in their contracts. Furthermore, according to these contracts which bear His Majesty’s signature, if a Vestonian legionary dies with outstanding pay still due to him, that sum is to be rendered to his family or his legally-appointed representatives. Transfer of this money is the responsibility of the legion’s commander.”
Without giving the Marquis time to object, I loudly began to read off the names of the officers who had informed me about the situation. By a spooky coincidence, it just so happened that all the officers I named (including one of the captains of the Second Cohort) were noblemen. The fact that they came from impoverished noble houses, and that the Legion was essentially the only home and family they knew, obviously had no effect whatsoever on their basic nobility of character.
“What do you mean by this?!” Marquis de Hangest exclaimed, breathing heavily.
“I mean that the treasury of the Fifth Legion is the responsibility of that Legion’s commander. That, Monsieur, is you. And therefore, you’re obligated to pay your legionaries in a timely manner. It seems to me that right now would be the perfect time to carry out His Majesty’s orders and pay the men of the Fifth Legion what you owe them.”
“But the treasury is empty!” Marquis de Hangest objected indignantly. “What money do you think our quartermasters were using to buy provisions from the locals? No one from the capital was sending us anything!”
I opened my hand to reveal another small scroll. I raised it above my head, and replied loudly:
“I have sworn statements from senior officers attesting to what exactly has been happening in the Citadel for all these months. You claim, Monsieur, that the treasury is empty, but several noblemen among the undersigned assert the opposite. Which is why I’d like to suggest that you voluntarily submit your wagons and carts to an examination.”
The legionaries erupted into a unanimous flurry of noise. The officers I had named proudly stepped forward.
Marquis de Hangest’s face suddenly went pale. At first, I thought he might actually have a heart attack, but within a few seconds he turned red again. His thin lips twisted into a disdainful sneer. Slowly, his eyes became bloodshot.
“What?!” He roared, staring me straight in the eyes. “You want to search me? ME?! The scion of an ancient house?! How dare you even THINK of such a thing? Who do you think you are, bastard? You’re nothing but an upstart! The son of a traitor!”
A deathly silence followed his words. Unlike many of the other noblemen present, Marquis de Hangest had been in Bergonia for almost a year by that point, almost entirely cut off from courtly life. I felt confident that he already knew I was gifted, but he seemed to be unshakeably confident in his own pedigree, his connections, and the weight that his father the Duke de Hangest could throw around as one of the Marshals of Vestonia.
“Marquis,” I said in a tone that almost sounded bored. “You’re not only a thief and a scoundrel, who’s mismanaged half his Legion into an early grave. You’re also a hopeless idiot. As much as I might like to spill your blood myself, however, I understand very well that for me, as a combat mage with the rank of avant, there would be no honor in killing an opponent so much less powerful than myself. Therefore, I hereby entrust this task to a different man.”
I took one of my leather gloves off and handed it to André de Châtillon as he rode forward out of our ranks. He carefully accepted it, then threw it to the ground in front of the Marquis.
“Monsieur,” I said. “At my request, the Viscount de Châtillon will now teach you some manners.”