Vol 7, Chapter 15

Warm hands smoothed over my uniform. Streams of heat flowed around me, carefully drying the fabric. Truth be told, the mage girl's hands were a bit too active, especially considering we weren't alone.

"Thank you, Asha, I missed you too." I smiled and patted her head. Yet she wasn't in any hurry to move her hands away, even though I was already dry.

"Ahem, so the same person who killed the Second Duke and the Third Duke is also the one who finished off the Second Prince? The number of deaths among the high nobility keeps growing." I summed up half-questioningly, trying to distract those gathered, since Erin's gaze burned no less than live coals.

"Not certain." The Marquise replied coolly, unlike her daughter showing not a trace of emotion. "It's all about that servant… What sense was there in announcing such an important piece of news publicly? Had he served any of the marquises, the news would've quietly reached only one of us. Meaning he served someone else… From there, I started unraveling this knot. You claim the killer of the Third Duke served the King, but then, did this servant not also serve him? The only thing I cannot grasp is the motive. Absolutely cannot. However, there is one possibility that explains everything. What if the Second is alive and this servant had been recruited by him?"

"Impossible!" Marquis Etienne von Klaus interrupted his sister indignantly. "Because then it turns out that he…"

"…decided to sacrifice you, correct. Henri saw an excellent opportunity dangling right in front of him. Capture two leaders of strife within the house and thereby prevent a civil war. If the Second Duke is dead, then in the near future his forces will be paralyzed; the Duchess would need time to organize them and suppress dissent among the vassals, since many would hardly be thrilled that at the head of such a wealthy Duchy stood one who had not even reached the rank of Lesser Archmage. Henri acted on precisely this calculation, thinking that by the time the Duchess could act, he would have fully consolidated all branches of the family. And now let's consider: if the Second Duke lives, what happens next, and what does he gain?"

Asha yawned loudly, and I flicked her on the nose. Yes, the Marquise also reminded me of a strict schoolteacher, determined to give us all a lesson in inter-feudal relations.

"Go on."

"Ahem. Where was I? Ah, yes. The main problem for the Second Duke is that Marquis Henri enjoys the support of the Crown. A direct attack from the Second Duke would've been suicide. He needed a casus belli. The capture of Etienne's brother was quite suitable to begin a war under the banners of his liberation…"

"Pfft!" The Marquis couldn't hold back a snort.

"…And the King could've done little about it. Dukes possess rather broad autonomy, and to interfere directly in their quarrels would be to undermine his own authority. Of course, he would aid Henri, but he would do so discreetly."

"No. Something's off here."  I snorted.  "You're forgetting that the King isn't a passive figure, but a player."

"A player?"

"Yes. I noticed you're not accounting for what he is trying to achieve. After all, the killer works for him. The killer who, I remind you, slew the Third Duke. There's clearly some plan at work here." I drove the point home.

Yes, I bent the truth a little and oversimplified it, since the shadow assassin wasn't loyal to the King, merely cooperating with him. But… I didn't think she'd have gone after dukes on her own whim. That was clearly Dastan's order, which meant in this case—she wasn't a player, but merely his pawn.

"I think it's actually quite simple. The King wanted revenge on the Second Duke for the attempted rebellion, and as for the Third… Maybe Dastan wanted to hasten the change of power in the house and more quickly elevate his ally Henri into a Duke?" she finished, less confidently this time. It seemed she herself didn't quite believe that last part.

"Count Condor, could you remove that girl from your lap?" Erin asked with pointed formality, her stare having drilled into me for several minutes already. I didn't have time to reply.

"No way!" Asha shouted. "I haven't seen him for a couple of months! And besides, we absolutely have to have a drink together—are you going to forbid that too?"

"Count Condor, I must insist," she pressed on, ignoring the girl.

"Is she really in the way? We truly haven't seen each other in a long time." I protested awkwardly.

"She's in the way of my thinking!" Erin finally snapped.

"A-hem." The Marchioness cut her off with a cough. "Darling, don't disgrace yourself. Let us continue. Only one question remains—what will Henri do? How quickly will he realize he's walked into the Second Duke's trap? In his place, I'd see three options. First—immediately send troops into Etienne's western lands before they're occupied by the Second Duchy's soldiers. I think even if I'm wrong and the Second truly is dead, the Duchess has enough loyal men to seize a foothold and entrench herself. Those lands are the key to conquering the Third Duchy…"

"I must return to my lands at once!" Etienne exclaimed, realizing the danger. "Count Condor, may I borrow your griffon?"

Hmm. Considering I'd already shaken off our pursuers, it wasn't all that dangerous. And besides, I had my own interest in this…

"Asha, be so kind as to signal Falcon to descend."

"No problem," the girl replied and waved her hand.

Above the ship, large letters flared into existence, formed of pure flame. The air above them shimmered with heat, but from below the word Descend! was perfectly visible. Only, the girl clearly hadn't thought that Falcon would be viewing it from above, meaning for him it would just look like upside-down gibberish. I pointed this out, and she flushed, her face turning the same color as her hair.

"Oh, Abyss. We definitely need a drink…" she muttered awkwardly, then simply launched a fireball skyward. Signal delivered.

"Ahem. Where was I? Right. Second… I would send men to block the river. Of course, the threat from Renvel isn't that strong, but Henri would be forced to take it into account. I think he's clever enough to understand this. Third—I would send pursuit after us, but judging by the circumstances, that has already failed. We're sailing too fast for them to catch us. And griffons…" Here she cast a cautious, wary glance in my direction before continuing as if nothing had happened. "The only option left to Henri is to strike at my lands immediately after seizing Etienne's. I estimate we have a few weeks, a month at most, to prepare."

"Good, the situation is clear," I said over the roar of Laura's descending wings. "Now listen to my plan. Marquis Etienne, when you return to your castle, deliver a message from me to the Duke… or Duchess, if he truly is dead. I want to meet them for negotiations."

"A favor for a favor. I won't just deliver it, I'll do everything in my power to ensure the meeting takes—"

"That's not up to you, brother," the Marchioness snorted, cutting him off. But her eyes were fixed squarely on me. A very displeased look.

The deck groaned under the griffon as it landed. Behind me, the ship's captain ground his teeth. I understood. What else could be expected from scorched planks that barely held people, let alone a beast?

The Marquis bowed silently and approached the griffon. For several minutes Laura struggled to find footing to launch, her talons breaking through again and again. Finally, smeared with soot and having wrecked most of the deck, she soared into the sky.

"Now that my brother is gone… would you be so kind as to explain, Count, what nonsense you're spouting about negotiations with our enemies⁉" For the first time, emotion raged in the Marchioness's voice.

"Let's be frank. I am not your vassal. We are allies…"

"Allies don't conduct negotiations behind each other's backs with blood enemies of the house! Erin, why are you silent? Can't you see he intends to sell us out?"

"Mother… We haven't even let him say what he wants to negotiate about."

"Pfft. As if one needs to be a genius to see it! The Condors are about to lose their title, he needs allies to fight the King. Who better than someone who already tried to seize the throne? In exchange, he'll sell us out to the Second Duchy! Am I wrong?"

"No." I cut her off sharply.

"What?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"It's simpler than that. I have no intention of losing my men just to make you the Third Duchess. I will only help preserve your house for our mutual benefit. A compromise with the Second Duke will be reached—whether you want it or not."

"I don't understand… Karl, has your grandson gone mad?"

"W-well…" the former Count drawled uncertainly.

"I've already sent three thousand men as reinforcements, and let me warn you in advance… they won't be fighting to secure you the title of Third Duchess. Don't even hope for it."

"Wait, three thousand? But hasn't the First Duke…"

"He'll need time to raise a new army to replace the one he lost."

"Lost? But still, only three thousand… how many of them are knights?"

"Not a single one," I cut her off, not bothering to explain that I'd granted knighthood to men without Gifts. That would take too long to explain.

"Then how could you… Oh, I don't understand anything. Karl, please explain something to me!" the Marchioness pleaded.

"It's a long story," the old man wheezed, glancing at me as if to ask whether he could speak.

I shook my head firmly.

"Let's return to this after Henri makes his move against us. Your questions will vanish once you see them in action. For now, Asha, will you show me Ashley's engine?"

"Hey, that's my engine, I built it!" the Ashir girl protested.

"You only gave the idea!" came a loud voice from the stern.

"Oh you! Without me…"

Listening to their bickering, I finally relaxed. Even my body, battered against the water, no longer ached as much.

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◆ Lands of Marquise Etienne, Second Duke's POV. ◆
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"What is it?" The Duchess pointed a gauntleted hand at the report in her husband's grip. He frowned, let the small scroll slip from his fingers, and the wind carried it away.

Not far. A wave of his hand sent razor-thin needles slicing through it, shredding it into scraps.

"Our agent writes: the Marquis took the bait. Things are going even better than I expected."

"Then why the gloomy face?" his wife rumbled. The closed helm made her voice echo dully.

"It's going too well; I don't like it. Orders have been given, the Marquis's troops will be here in a week and a half. He really believes I'm dead. That's strange, his shadow assassin should've reported the failure!"

"The killer just lied to him to buy time and save his own skin, that's all," she shrugged, her heavy pauldrons screeching. "Henri's brother is probably strutting about like a puffed-up turkey right now."

"You think such luck is possible? I don't believe in luck. Something is off…"

"What luck? We've already uncovered several dozen vassals who show little desire to submit to me, despite our earlier certainty. Seeing such discord within our borders, even spies would believe you dead."

The Duke didn't argue with his wife but adjusted the hood of his cloak. Yes, outsiders might believe their performance, but the assassin had escaped, which meant whoever gave him the contract surely knew he was alive. Thorn did not believe that a killer would lie to his employer. For something like assassinating a Duke, you only send the most loyal, or you don't send anyone at all. Which meant someone close was weaving their own web…

He glanced toward the hilltop, where fresh mages were dismounting from griffons. Marquis Etienne's lands had fallen under their control in just a few hours without a single casualty. Not because Thorn was merciful, but because it was far more effective to appear as savior and ally than as conqueror.

At the summit, hired mages continued building a runic circle.

Tactical-grade sorcery would allow them to crush Henri with minimal losses, though it would cost dearly. The Duke didn't spare coin; his armies were always small, but their quality was unmatched. And quality was expensive.

"Looks like Detlaf has arrived. Let's go," Thorn said, spotting a red-haired mage dismounting from a griffon.

For when it came to quality mercenary mages, who could surpass the Ashir?

On the hilltop, activity swarmed. The earth mages had already finished, shaping the hill's crest into a perfectly level stone platform, while the ritualists were only just beginning their work.

Lines of pure gold stretched across the rock. Inlaid at precise points were cores, crystals, and even herbs encased in crystal spheres. Everything that could amplify the spell's power—price be damned.

"A triple circle, my friend? Aiming for strategic-scale sorcery?" Detlaf greeted his aristocratic colleague, licking his lips parched from the flight.

The Archmage of Fire could not conceal his anticipation. To conjure a sea of flames for the Ashirians was reward enough in itself. Though, of course, Detlaf had demanded entire tons of gold from the Duke for his hire. It could not be otherwise: a member of the Fire Council simply could not allow himself to work for free, even for someone he called a friend.

A friend… Curious, really, but the red-haired Ashirian was perhaps the closest thing to friendship the Duke had ever known. They were equals in power and, in a sense, in standing, yet with nothing to compete over. An ideal basis for genuine mutual respect.

Beside the Archmage stood his apprentices, red-haired as their master. They formed the core of the circle, those who would channel the currents of energy and focus them for him. Six of them: four young men and two women, each already a full-fledged mage. Hm, but last time there had been seven. Where was the other?

"What? Ahhh. He burned alive during training in a volcano. Too weak, an accident. It happens, don't worry… But I see you've gathered too few mages. Barely twenty of us, and you're building a circle as though for a hundred. Not afraid of wasting resources?" the Ashirian teased.

"I am not. The circle is being built with reserves, in case the royal armies intervene. Speaking of which, I have prepared thirty-seven senior apprentices. Most likely they won't be needed, but should some unpleasant surprise arise on the battlefield…"

"No. No blood magic," Detlaf cut in sharply, his tone turning serious in an instant.

"You wouldn't have to kill them, our people would. You'd only need to handle the increased energy flow," the Duchess rumbled. Her massive pauldrons scraped as she shrugged.

"It is merely insurance, a last resort," Thorn tried to persuade his friend.

But the red-haired Archmage only shook his head.

"I will not do it. If an ordinary fire mage resorted to such things, he would simply be branded a heretic. But if an Ashirian stooped so low, how long before people began calling us blood-haired butchers? Folk delight in such tales; it is all too easy to slander an entire people, to paint all with one brush when we are already set apart. The Hardans once made that mistake, and look where they are now. Their reputation is lower even than the djinn's, although every one of those is a vile necromancer. I bear responsibility to my people. The matter is closed." His voice was slow, steady, resolute.

"We could…" Arielle began, but Thorn laid a hand on her armor, urging his wife to hold her tongue.

"We understand. Forgive the suggestion; I will find another safeguard."

Detlaf's smile returned. "Come now, with materials like these, we'll wipe out anything that dares come at us... Unless, of course, a couple dozen Inquisitors appear. But have I ever let you down?"

"I will still search for more mages while we have time to spare."

"Preferably Ashirians, my friend. A pity you no longer work with Red Hood. If you truly want to unleash the potential of such a circle, you cannot turn your nose up even at lesser mages."

"Yes, a pity…" the Duke answered indifferently.

It had been Detlaf, after all, who once suggested he use his close ties with the Ashirians to shield a certain short Ashirian girl from persecution. Thus he gained a mage wholly dependent on him, who had faithfully carried out many assignments. Until one incident… Afterwards, he merely informed the Fire Council he had no further need of her services. Had the Council caught up with her? He had heard rumors she was seen with the Condors. Not that the Duke feared vengeance from a junior mage; he had far too many enemies to spare thought for an ungrateful brat.

"She's been seen in the Commonwealth, if you're curious. Fled far away. No doubt she's secured a place at the Academy. The Magister always welcomes a pedigree from a family of the Fire Council into his service. Who knows, perhaps in a few decades the half-bloods will come demanding my seat on the Council, eh? Hahaha." The Ashirian chuckled.

"Amusing, yes," the Duke replied neutrally.

In the end, they were alike. Everywhere the same problems: power, family, gold, strength.

"Detlaf, tell me. Would you destroy the Fire Council if your son proved too weak to claim your seat after your death?" the Duke asked thoughtfully, and immediately received a jab from a steel-clad finger in his side. Ah, Arielle was right, he had grown too relaxed. Such questions were best left within the family, never spoken beyond. Not even to friends.

The Archmage of Fire was silent for a long time, then spoke with unusual gravity.

"I would cast out such a son, for the good of the entire people. But in my heart, I would hope that in exile he grew strong enough to return. Even if he returned only to kill me."

A gust of wind rolled one of the unsecured crystal spheres across the ground. It shattered at his feet with a chime, releasing a spicy fragrance into the air. Detlaf did not even notice.

He was thinking of his daughter.