Vol 7, Chapter 26, END OF VOLUME SEVEN

The wind tried to slip its cold fingers into my sleeves. My hands were freezing despite the leather gloves. Looking around, I directed my horse toward the lone tent that stood in the middle of the field. There weren't many people around it, barely a dozen knights, but in the sky…

As I rode, I counted at least six griffons circling high above, like gigantic crows. Despite the ostentatiously small guard, the Duke hadn't forgotten about reserves.

"Your Excellency, please, go in." A tall knight deferentially lifted the flap of the small tent where the Duke was waiting.

Frankly, I would have preferred the meeting to be out in the open air; the gusts of cold wind could have been tolerated. At least the fabric wouldn't block the view of griffons descending from the skies.

Unfastening the holster of my newly assembled revolver, I stepped inside.

The soft, blue glow of a magical lamp illuminated the chamber. The fabric walls swayed with the wind, and in the center stood a table with two chairs: absurdly expensive ones.

Who in their right mind would drag gold-inlaid furniture out into a field?
Of course, only its owner: Thorn von Steiger, dressed just as extravagantly. Yet despite his attire, he looked far more worn. A fresh scar on his chin had left his once-imposing beard uneven. Looking closer, I noticed several older scars as well, marks I hadn't seen during our last meeting.

"Greetings, Condor. Sit."

"Duke." I gave him a short nod, taking the only available seat opposite. "I don't see your wife. Is she well?"

"Ariel is still recovering from her wounds. Believe me, it's for the best; without her, our negotiations will go more smoothly. Wine?"

"Let's not waste time, straight to business."

"As you wish." He pushed aside his glass and laced his fingers, flashing several rings at once. Even a brief glance told me the Duke had equipped himself with as many artifacts as he could.

I mirrored his gesture.

"Then I'm listening." I tried to seize the initiative.

He smiled condescendingly.

"Wasn't it you who first requested these talks?" he reminded me.

"I'm afraid circumstances have changed since then…"

"Nevertheless, you are here," he interrupted.

Damn. He was right. Denying it would be foolish.
Fine; this round went to him.

"In that case, I demand only two things: a third of Lothingham as my domain, and free passage for my ships along the river near Renvel."

"And you won't even ask me to leave the Marquise von Klaus's holdings untouched?" he asked pointedly, reaching for his goblet.

"No need. Such matters aren't settled by treaties but by force of arms. I believe you've already seen there is enough of that."

"Hm. Interesting." He took a sip of wine before continuing. "Then perhaps I should simply return to my old borders and abandon the expansion of the Duchy altogether?"

"That would be nice… but unlikely you'd agree."

"True, I would not. You see, there is a word: compromise. As long as the loser can negotiate with the victor, the strength of the country grows, because no one is forced to sacrifice EVERYTHING on the altar of victory. Why should they? Only when there is no other choice do people fight to the end, wasting their own strength and that of others, thus diminishing the country's total power. And although here, in this tent, there is neither loser nor victor, I am willing to compromise…"

He took another small sip.

"…Whereas men like the First Duke despise compromise. In the short term, that gives them an advantage; until the moment they stumble. Their power looks solid, monolithic, unlike that of others who must heed their vassals. But it is only an illusion, and the First Duke has already stumbled."

"The granaries are stricken by blight, the foragers are ruthless, leaving the people without food. The nobility grumbles; they are used to wars enriching them, granting new lands and profits, not losses. Reason dictates he should begin negotiations, but he cannot, he has become a prisoner of his own concept."

"He is raising two new armies at once, larger levies than ever before in the Duchy's history. One will attack head-on, to tie down your forces. The other intends to pass through neutral lords' lands and besiege your rear. He has already secured agreements with many, but not with me. To reach the Royal Domain, he needs Datzig. But if he starts a war for it, his entire logistics collapse. He cannot supply his forces while leaving such a vulnerable point behind."

"The First Duke offers me renunciation of his claims to that city and recognition of its lawful inclusion in the Second Duchy; and that's not even counting contracts for virtually endless supplies of any resources I desire.

And now I ask you… What will you offer me, so that I do not accept his terms?"

"How about a bullet?"

The Duke chuckled softly.

"Reminds me of my wife's negotiation style. Why should we stoop to that? You say, a bullet… I'm truly impressed, but not as much as you think. I don't believe in miracles. Miracles don't exist. Even what priests show their flock is nothing but twisted blood magic. So be reasonable. Power cannot appear from nothing. Such might… by the laws of nature, it is impossible for it not to demand a comparable price. Considering the size of our lands, the number of our people, and our economic strength, it is obvious that your resources will run out first. I came to these negotiations not because I lack confidence. I came because I don't want us to exhaust each other in front of the King… But that does not mean I won't take action if you force me."

"So you think my supplies are small? That the next battle will end differently? Fine. Check for yourself." I lower my voice, and he winces. For the first time, his confidence falters.

"Your position is unconstructive, unfortunately. Even if you are not bluffing and you have enough resources to push me back… what do you intend to do with the First Duke? If we don't reach an agreement, then I will have no reason to refuse him."

"Then don't refuse." I state indifferently.

"Very well, so be it. Then there is no point in voicing my terms."

"Why not? I'd be glad to hear what you offer me in exchange for stopping the new crusade that will march through these lands into the Commonwealth."

"That is just a rumor. The King will not allow it to happen, nor will the Pontiff go that far. Especially now, when unrest has begun in his country."

"By 'unrest,' you mean the necromancer's invasion?"

"Just rumors spread by ignorant refugees. In your place, I wouldn't trust them. If the Theocracy excels at anything, it is fighting necromancers…"

But I don't let him finish.

"And what if they're deliberately not stopping him? What if the Pontiff is fully under the King's control and obeys his every command, even the most insane? What if the King wants the Commonwealth to attack the Kingdom?"

"Too many absolutely insane 'what ifs.'" The Duke waves it off.

"Fine." I rise from my chair. "Shall we meet again in two weeks, when all these 'what ifs' become accomplished facts?"

"Wait." He stops me. "Suppose this isn't the raving of a madman, which I highly doubt. Explain: why should I stop the Pontiff? The Commonwealth's provocation benefits me; their interference will shield me from the King, who is 'somewhat displeased' with my march on the capital."

"If the invasion happens, the Second Duchy will inevitably become its base. Will you be able to keep power when dozens of Archmages of equal strength surround you, backed by a Magister?"

He hesitated.

"I suppose… It may indeed be in my interest to weaken that provocation, so that it happens but does not lead to excessively active actions. If, of course, it really does happen," he added with doubt.

"A third of Lottingham and passage for ships." I remind him.

"I will consider your proposal." He answers diplomatically.

"Think carefully. Otherwise I'll be forced to turn the proposal into reality myself…" I barely finish speaking when the table jolts, toppling the glasses. Wine pours onto the ground in a bloody stream, filling the air with the heavy aroma of a noble drink.

"Ow." A woman's voice comes from under the table.

A few seconds later, to my surprise, Tamilla crawls out, followed by the assassin, who casually brushes dirt from her leather jacket.

"My apologies if we disturbed you," she says to the Duke, who instantly tenses.

That very moment, two knights burst into the tent with drawn swords, but the Duke halts them with a wave of his hand.

"Familiar magic," he says coldly.

"Yeah. Too bad it wasn't more dramatic; under the table was just the most convenient shadow. Did you really have to hang lamps right under the ceiling?" she replies nonchalantly.

"Are you alright?" I ask the disoriented Tamilla, helping her to her feet.

"That will haunt me in nightmares. Where am I? No, stupid question… I need a moment. My head is splitting." With a pained look, she clutches her forehead.

"Sit down." I help her into my chair and see her trembling hands reach for the empty glass.

"Is there more wine?" I ask the Duke, who looked ready to start a fight at any moment.

He does not answer.

"Oh, All-God, the sooner you bring her to her senses, the sooner I'll leave," the assassin waves her hand, provoking a nervous tic in the knight standing beside her.

The Duke gives a short nod to his guards, and one of them leaves, returning a minute later with a bottle.

"And so… how am I supposed to take this?" the Duke asks me while I calmly pour more wine into my glass.

"Indeed!" I cheerfully pick up, addressing the assassin. "This is a pretty rotten move, setting me up like that. Now my counterpart suspects that the attempt on his life was my doing."

"Pfft. That's your problem. I did what I promised."

"Oh, now you're hinting to the Duke that there were promises between us. Maybe stop sabotaging the negotiations?"

"Fine, fine, I'll fix it right now." Rolling her eyes, she digs into her pocket and turns to the Duke.

"Um, sorry I tried to kill you. Here's compensation."

She places a gold coin on the table and flicks it with her nail toward the Duke. He instantly draws his sword, halting it with the blade's tip. But I don't get to see what he'll do next—the assassin immediately sends a gift my way as well. An oval aquamarine pebble drifts lazily toward my chest… and I definitely don't want to touch it. Dodging isn't an option either; it would hit Tamilla.

With nothing better, I caught it right in my wineglass. A short gurgle, a muffled clink of crystal, splashes on my doublet — and the suspicious stone lay quietly at the bottom. No, not quietly! Bubbles streamed up the surface as if the wine had decided to become champagne.

"You did want a thunderstone, right? Consider it a gift. Stole it on the way. Now you've got no complaints against me?"

"This coin is a fake," the Duke declares, showing the piece with its thin gold layer scraped off.

"A fake coin for a fake assassination, fair trade. And what claims can you make against me? It was minted by the royal mint, not me," the shadowy thief retorts.

At the mention of money, Tamilla instantly comes to her senses.

"Your Grace, may I take a look?" she asks, her voice still trembling.

The Duke hesitates a few seconds, then nudges the coin toward us with his blade.

Receiving it in her hands, she examines it for several minutes before finally concluding, her voice now steady:

"Indeed, a forgery. And one unlike anything I've ever seen! The layer of gold is so thin it seems almost nonexistent. I can't imagine what mastery a mage would need to pull this off!"

"None," I snort. "No mage is needed for something like this."

"You… you can repeat it?"

"I could. But why?"

"Ahem. Have you forgotten why you're here, Count?" the Duke reminds me.

"True. I believe we agreed to meet again in a week or so?"

"There's no need anymore."

He opens his palm, and the coin flies out of Tamilla's hand, returning to him.

"If this is true, do you understand what it means?" the Duke asks, showing the leaden profile of Dastan.

I shrug indifferently. Well, as if I'd tell him what I really thought!

Tamilla, however, holds nothing back. The hand that just held the coin clenches into an angry fist. It seemed even parting with the fake coin was unpleasant for her!

"Counterfeiting at the state level! I would call it an extreme measure, one that makes sense only under threat of bankruptcy, with no possibility of loans… but from my data, the treasury has no such money problems. If this is meant as monetary reform, it cannot work without withdrawing old coins from circulation, otherwise the new ones will simply be boycotted. The Crown cannot uphold their value in people's minds; they would be forced to impose unpopular measures to force their use, but even so, the value of the new gold would collapse, triggering a crisis in all areas forced to use it. Considering that every Duchy except the Fourth has its own gold mines and can easily continue minting old coins, withdrawing the old ones is outright impossible. And besides, no king has ever attempted to remove old money from circulation before… I… I'm not sure it's possible at all."

"Thank you. I believe I recognize you, Viscountess von Bull, do I not? Rumor had it you were dead."

"Uhmm…"

"Don't worry, I won't spread the word. You are right: as long as Dukes exist, these coins will never circulate. I assume I don't need to explain what that means? So, Count, if this information proves true, I am ready to accept your proposal."

"Which one?" Tamilla whispers into my ear.

"A third of Lottingham's lands and free passage for ships along the river in exchange for peace," I answer quietly.

"Ask for duty-free passage for trade barges!" she hisses fiercely, with such force that my ear instantly starts to ache.

"Fine, but on the condition that the cargo of the barges may be bought out at contractual value," the Duke agrees easily, having heard her 'whisper' without effort.

"You don't even know what we'll be transporting!" she blurts out, blushing.

"Whatever it may be, I want the right to buy it."

In essence, he reserves for himself the right of blockade, softened by compensation. So be it. The most valuable cargo I had never intended to sell to anyone anyway.

"In that case, shall we sign a treaty?" I suggest.

"If what you said is true," he reminds me. "I'll need time to verify it. Especially the information about the Pontiff…"

But he doesn't get to finish—he is cut off by the assassin, who had until then been calmly examining her nails, waiting for us to conclude.

"Because of the necromancer's invasion, there's a split. The more reasonable inquisitors are refusing to carry out the Pontiff's idiotic order and intend to return to the Theocracy. I don't know how long it will take for them to sort it out, but I doubt very long. Most likely they'll just split into two groups. The Pontiff's loyal inquisitors are already selecting the most fanatical among the refugees, so this delay probably won't give us more than a couple of days."

"Tammy?" I turn to her, wanting to know if what the assassin said was true.

"What? Oh, yes. It's fine."

"What did I tell you?" the girl smirks, snatching the glass with the thunderstone from the table. A noticeable portion of the wine had already evaporated… or more likely, dissipated.

She takes a bold sip and concludes:

"Thick, but not bad. I should try tossing a few of these into a barrel."

I silently stare at the aquamarine stone, faintly crackling with tiny lightning arcs at the bottom of the glass. No, there's no way I'd drink that! And I'd better remember—using a shock weapon on this lady would be useless.

"Maybe you'd like to ask your questions, and then I'll go?" she offers, hinting at the promised verification.

But I already saw no point. The story about the Inquisition had been confirmed, and the fact that she had brought Tamilla hinted that either she spoke the truth… or had the means to deceive her. Either way, verification was meaningless.

"Consider that I trust you. For now."

"Splendid. Until next time."

Finishing her words, she sinks into her own shadow. A moment later, the spot where she had stood is empty.

Her departure was far more dramatic than her arrival.

"Perhaps it's time we parted as well. Forgive me for not inviting you to stay for lunch," the Duke says, finally sliding his sword back into its sheath.

"One question… Will you honor the terms of our agreement?"

"I suppose so. Otherwise, what would be the point of making it?" he smirks.

I glance at Tamilla, but instead of the confirming nod I expected, I see doubt on her face.

"I can't read him. I'm not sure…"

"Empaths are not all that rare," the Duke says, showing that he'd seen through her ability. "There are training methods to hide emotions, not to mention potions available to anyone. Besides, they don't determine 'truth' but only what people believe. And belief… belief is unreliable, I tell you."

"Unlike economic interests," I add.

"Unlike economic and political interests," he corrects, raising his glass.

Our glasses clink together, informally sealing the deal.

The war of succession in the Third Duchy had come to an end.


END OF VOLUME SEVEN