Vol 8, Chapter 8

◆ Capital, King Dastan the First POV ◆

"The fourteenth day, you say…" Dastan murmured thoughtfully, admiring his signet ring.

"Yes, Your Majesty. The army of the dead has been ravaging the borderlands for the second week already. As King, you are obliged to take measures," the petitioner declared with strain in his voice.

"Yes, I could." The King carelessly twirled the ring on his finger and smiled. "But as you know, the treasury is empty, and certain… individuals obstruct my monetary reform. I fear that until we resolve this issue, I will not be able to summon the vassals."

A murmur rose in the throne hall. The duty to defend one's vassals was considered self-evident. To see the King extorting money for performing his duty, like some Hardan, was outrageous in its indignity.

"You've simply taken us hostage!" exclaimed one of the barons whose lands had also been ravaged.

"Have I? That is what it seems to you. If you dislike it, you may always swear allegiance to the Fourth Duke. But considering the horde is moving away from his lands, I doubt he will risk grabbing the manticore by the tail for the sake of a dozen border baronies."

"King Robert would have…"

"King Robert left the country in debt and gave too much power to the Dukes, allowing them to profit at the expense of the rest of the Kingdom. If you wish to blame someone for our plight—you should blame him. And, of course, the Second and the Fourth Dukes, who hinder the monetary reform. It is because of them that we cannot march forth and stop this threat," the King proclaimed, raising his voice with pathetic fervor.

The baron looked around, trying to guess the mood of the nobles gathered in the hall. Most dared not oppose the King, silently accepting his every move, but the rest… The rest eagerly supported him. Court fops, young men who had yet to earn a name, and even the craftiest counts—all listened to his words with rapture.

"If to restore the former might of the Kingdom we must sacrifice a few insignificant baronies, then we must make this sacrifice! The Dukes must no longer feast upon gold while the realm faces an enemy! Each of you present must resolutely condemn their shortsighted hoarding!"

Applause swept the hall. Sycophants and lackeys clapped until their hands bled, shaking the air as though there had been any sense in the King's words. Of course, an army required gold—any army did. Yet every vassal equipped, trained, and brought forth his own men under the common banner. Even if the King had no money, that did not mean he could not muster an army. It was obvious to anyone that he simply did not wish to, using gold as his excuse. The baron looked with frustration at the applauding rows. Only a few refused to clap.

The petitioner sank to his knees. Having failed to appeal to duty, the only thing left was to beg.

"Your Majesty, I wholeheartedly support your undoubtedly just reform and…"

The King did not let him finish, waving away his words with irritation, like a bothersome fly.

"You think I need the support of some backwater baron?"

"But I…"

"I hope you will no longer waste my time. After all, defending your lands is your direct obligation. The royal domain is only temporarily granted under stewardship, not gifted in perpetuity. If you believe the dead to be a threat, then you ought to take up your sword and strike them yourself, rather than disgrace your line by fleeing to the capital with your tail between your legs!"

The baron lowered his head to hide his face, flushed with humiliation. His family had always been loyal to the royal house, but today for the first time he wondered if he had pledged himself to the right man. Bowing, he left the hall, not noticing the attentive gaze that followed him from the crowd of nobles.

The King casually snapped his fingers; after so much impassioned speech his throat was dry. A nervous servant offered a goblet from a tray… but instead of the usual red wine, it held a creamy liqueur.

Dastan reached out, then stopped his hand halfway to the goblet.

"Liqueur? I don't recall asking for that."

Sweat broke out on the servant's face. His eyes flicked nervously, and the nearby guards stepped in close. With deliberate slowness, the King snatched the goblet from the servant's whitening hands.

"Well, I wouldn't refuse liqueur either! Mmm, such a lovely vanilla scent… of poison. Would you like to try it first yourself?"

In a single motion, the guards forced the servant to his knees. Metal-clad fingers shattered his lips as they pried open his mouth. No matter how he struggled, he had no chance.

The King tilted the goblet, trickling a meager stream of the drink into the prisoner's pinned mouth.

"A dozen drops will be enough. Don't bother swallowing; white viper venom is lethal even if it just touches the mouth." He gave a signal, and the guards released the servant, who collapsed helplessly onto the marble floor.

The man groaned, tried to spit out the drink, but soon it was not liqueur that sprayed from his lips, but his own blackened blood.

"Quite a rare poison, I might add," Dastan commented, one eye savoring the servant's convulsions while the other roved over the crowd. But no—none among the gathered showed any particular reaction. The hall was mute, the flatterers frozen, waiting for his cue, terrified of provoking his wrath. Well, in that case…

The servant clawed at his throat, raking it with his nails. Within a minute his hands were slick with blood from the futile attempt to tear his own windpipe open.

"They say there is no antidote, that not even the finest healer can save the poisoned, for the venom spreads instantly through every limb of the wretch..."

With one last shudder, the servant went still.

"...and kills him in mere minutes," the King finished the thought.

The hall fell into sepulchral silence. Many scarcely dared to breathe.

Against the tense atmosphere, Dastan's cheerful tone rang with grotesque dissonance.

"But the poison does have its merits. I've heard the taste is exquisite. To your health!" Raising the goblet, he drank a generous swallow.

A woman shrieked somewhere in the hall, clutching her face, but her husband drew her close.

"Indeed, not bad at all. It would be wasteful not to share it with the one who procured such a refined drink for me." After savoring the flavor, he set the half-empty goblet on the floor beside the throne.

"Now then, let us proceed. Are there any more petitioners today?"

"Ahem. None, Your Majesty," the master of ceremonies replied, barely mastering his voice.

"Then I shall turn to my own affairs. This assembly is over."

***

◆ A Few Minutes Later ◆

Ironically, the royal privy differed little from the throne hall. Malicious tongues might add that the likeness owed not only to the marble décor, but also to the, shall we say... substance within.

Rune-etched wards easily dispersed every stench, yet still the air carried a faint trace of vomit and liqueur.

A guardsman, most inopportunely for himself, stepped inside—pinching his nose and muttering:

"Your Majesty? Oh, how awkward! I never imagined you visited a privy like an ordinary man!"

"Looks like I'll need a new guard again," the King muttered, wiping his mouth and rising from his knees. "Or several... Tell me, how many did you kill this time?"

"Your Majesty? What do you mean by such a thing?" the guard asked, eyes wide.

"You're overacting," Dastan spat sharply, and with a wave of his hand tore away the disguise.

The armor dissolved into the air, revealing a light black jacket. The masculine face shrank and shifted into an unnaturally pale but attractive female one. The torn-out heart, hanging on her chest in a golden cage-shaped pendant, contracted one last time and went still.

"I hope you didn't break it?" the girl asked anxiously, touching the still-warm organ with a black nail.

"Just switched it off. Now, what brings you here? I see the gift works, so you're not here for repairs."

"Gift? That was your payment!"

"Doesn't matter. Speak quickly, I'm in foul temper. The venom may have tasted fine, but the antidote I invented... utterly revolting. Ugh."

"I need a potion for memory restoration. The best potion from the best alchemist."

"Oh, forgot where your panties ended up? Try looking in the royal bedchamber, I think I saw them there."

"Very funny. How about the potion?"

Dastan pondered for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

"You know, I have a new job for you! My spies report that while my eyes were turned for just a year, in Reikland an artifact industry has sprung up rivaling the Steel Tower. That concerns me somewhat."

"Are you certain?" the assassin asked with maximum skepticism. "Perhaps they're commissioning them from the Second Duke's workshops, or even the Commonwealth through the Fourth? I've heard their relations with the Count are rather good."

"When I state something, it is because I am certain. An order that large could never pass unnoticed. Every transaction in cores is under my eye—so yes, the workshops are in the Valley at the edge of the Black Forest. My spies say even beyond the ridge, for miles, the smoke of their foundries can be seen... In short, those workshops are a thorn in my side. Infiltrating them won't be easy. The valley is ringed by mountains, the sole ground entrance is guarded. Flying in on a griffon would draw too much notice. So I need someone to deliver the Count  my little package. Come with me."

Exiting the privy, Dastan glanced around, searching for the pair of guards who should have been watching the passage.

"So, two this time?" he asked, but the assassin only shrugged.

"Tell me… what kind of artifacts are they producing there?"

"What a clumsy attempt to change the subject," the King snorted. "I don't care how many you killed, just tell me where the bodies are. If the servants find them, there will be unnecessary fuss."

"They'll never be found."

The King nodded and led the assassin deeper into the palace.

"So, what kind of artifacts?" she reminded him.

"Nothing you'd find useful. Ordinary, primitive weaponry, based on converting magical energy into heat."

"That's all?"

"Rumors speak of a worm-like golem that races across the ground at incredible speed, but most likely that's just a rumor. Primitive trinkets don't concern me; what worries me more is the sheer number of cores required to produce them… Wait. Didn't you say no one would find the bodies?" Dastan exclaimed, pointing to two corpses lying right before the entrance to the royal treasury. One was a guardsman, his chest cavity ripped open; the other wore the uniform of the griffon riders.

"I meant those others, not these," the girl replied indifferently.

"And why did you kill the baronet? I don't have many of them to spare, you know."

"He showed up while I was cutting the heart out. Interfered. There's another corpse inside the treasury too, a servant who just happened to be passing by while I was taking a little tour of your reserves."

"Then next time, be so kind as to kill my people in a way no one sees," the King snapped, lifting the hem of his royal mantle to keep it from being stained with blood as he stepped into the treasury.

"I'll consider it," the girl replied, following him.

The treasury was practically barren. Only a few chests brimmed with coins, and even then, not gold but gilded lead of the new mint. Nearby, from beneath a small mound of silver, protruded the legs of a dead servant.

"I expected to see mountains of gold, and you don't even have enough to bury a body with," she sneered, watching the King's face closely.

"Perhaps," Dastan's voice was utterly indifferent.

"I saw it loaded onto ships, carried off somewhere," she pressed, hoping he might let something slip.

"What business is that of yours? I don't pay you in gold."

"Just curious where tons of gold are vanishing to."

"You think I'd simply tell you?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained." She smiled, masking her disappointment. It seemed the potion and Randall's memory were the only way to uncover what the King was plotting.

Meanwhile, Dastan touched his signet to an ordinary wall. It shifted aside, revealing a narrow passage.

"Oh, a hidden door. Good to know."

"You won't be needing it."

He stepped forward toward the only object within the chamber, something round hidden beneath a cloth. With one tug, he swept the cover away, revealing an unusually large magical core.

"This is what you will deliver to Reikland: a destabilized core."

"Massive. Is this the one Condor brought to the previous king?"

"Indeed. The irony… it returns to where it came from."

"This is worth more than gold, far more." The girl's greedy gaze lingered on the core.

Noticing, Dastan placed his hand upon it. In an instant, a tiny red spark glowed within the crystal's depths.

"Not anymore. The core is destabilized, and you cannot restore it. No one in this world can; don't even try."

"Hm. The Commonwealth mages would still pay for such a thing. The energy inside could raise a shield around an entire castle…"

"…or blow up a city," the King cut her off. "You have three weeks to deliver it where it must go. Fail, and it will detonate wherever it is. And yes, I can sense roughly where it explodes. If I see it go off somewhere in the Commonwealth, you will regret it dearly."

"Ah, I don't much like the idea of traveling with something whose very name begins with 'destabilized.' I'm asking for a trifle, just one potion. Wouldn't you rather know who tried to poison our beloved King?"

"Don't be ridiculous; that would spoil the fun. In the end, the suspects are few."

"Hm, how naïve to think you're so very popular."

"No. I simply have a sober estimate of how much courage they possess. Alas, during my time as heir, I took too much care in cultivating the servility of my supporters. Seems I'll have to do something else to stir them up. Hmm... by the way—was the poison your doing, by chance?"

"If I wanted to poison you, I'd get the potion first."

"Who can tell? You servants of Samael are just as mad as your little god... But that's exactly why I know you'll agree to deliver this little package. Ah, and the Count is already on his way back to Reikland. Even you can't outpace him, so a simple piece of advice: before you try to sneak the core past him, distract him somehow. Stage a massacre in Eagle's Nest, perhaps, or..."

"I don't need your advice. I know perfectly well how to stay unseen."

"Splendid; then my little request should be no trouble at all for you. So? Do we have a deal?" He extended his hand with a smug smile.

The girl slowly nodded.

"A deal. But I have one condition: the potion first."

*******************************************

◆ A Week Later, Reikland Arms Factory ◆

A vial of murky sludge, resembling swamp mud, landed on the table with a dull thud. At least, that's the sound I assumed it made, since the workshop was far too noisy to be sure. Prototype rotary rigs clattered so loud my ears rang, while above that din, a finer chime accompanied the cascade of empty shells pouring straight from the conveyor onto the floor.

"And you think I'll drink this muck of my own free will?" I asked my guest, raising an eyebrow.

"You will. I was in the Royal Treasury... it's stripped bare. No one gathers that much gold for nothing. I have a bad feeling. I'm trying to find out where he's shipping it, but you must remember why he needs so much, and why he'd wreck the country's economy to get it."

"I don't even remember if I ever knew that..."

"If you don't, I'll find another way. Drink."

"This potion was prepared by the King, wasn't it? It could be poison."

"I already tested it on some unfortunate soul."

"And?"

"He remembered the color of the midwife's kerchief. If this doesn't help, nothing will."

I sighed heavily.

"I'm not refusing, but I have more than enough work. The cartridge line is in its final stage, which means a real breakthrough in weapons.  Сartridges will let us discard Nessler bullets, greatly improve accuracy and rate of fire. But for that I need..." I thrust out my hand and began counting off fingers.

"First, retrofit the muskets already in service for breech-loading. With the cartridge's power, I'm not sure a simple trapdoor will suffice; we may need a wedge-lock. Next, design at least two weapon types and simplify them as much as possible for mass production. One of them is several times more complex than anything I've made before..."

"All I understood is that you need motivation, Count von Condor." The assassin instantly switched to an official tone. "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but alas. You see, the King didn't give me the potion for nothing. Along with it, he ordered me to deliver the destabilized core to your city. Right now it's hidden somewhere in Reikland, and if you refuse to cooperate, in less than two weeks there will be an explosion."

"Where is it?" I asked at once, suddenly serious.

"Drink the potion, Count, and not only will I tell you, I'll bring it directly to you."

"Only for it to explode the moment it arrives?"

"It will detonate in twelve days and ten hours. So... your decision?"

"To hell with it all, hand me the damn stuff!"