Vol 6, Chapter 14

"We're leaving," the mercenary said after brief deliberation.

His men reluctantly lowered their weapons. One of the guild thugs gave a discreet cough and whispered to the leader:

"Boss, but the Bull family will pay a fortune for that girl…"

A fist sent the unwanted advisor sprawling onto the lawn. The azure scarf slipped from his face, revealing thick lips and an ornate tattoo on his neck.

"I said—we're leaving," the leader ordered, and the squad departed.

It was time for us to move too, but in another direction.

"Til, take Ron, ten men, and search the estate. Aid the servants. If any nobles survived, offer them a chance to surrender. Those who resist—you know what to do. The rest of us—chainmail on, to the castle. We'll soon need its dungeons."

Metal links rustled. With a gambeson, the mail would protect better, but even so—it would stop a servant's knife or a stray arrow.

And I hoped nothing more would be needed.

The hedge fell back under sword strikes; we had to cut through at least ten passages before the final green wall gave way to reveal a hill crowned with a castle. Gods, how much simpler it would have been if the ball had been held there!

The drawbridge was down and not by accident. An armored detachment of fifty men was already hurrying from the castle toward the estate. No surprise. The fireworks had been visible across the district. But wasn't that too many men just to check what had happened?

No matter. All the easier.

Our riflemen spread out, blocking the road. The armored squad slowed, confusion rippling through their ranks for a few seconds until their captain stepped forward. He scanned our group, his gaze lingering briefly on the rifle barrels.

"Who are you?"

"The new masters of the castle. Lay down your arms and we'll spare your lives."

"Bah. Out of the way," the captain snapped and stepped forward.

No wonder he didn't take us seriously. Not only did they outnumber us three to one, but their armor was far superior to simple chainmail. In theory, they could have butchered us without losses had we tried melee.

"Dolan!" I signaled.

A thunderous shot boomed behind me, and the captain's helmet burst from within, spraying blood over those nearby. With a crash of armor, the headless body toppled forward, and I cursed, wiping the blood from my face.

Damn it, why the hell did he always have to aim for the head? With a gun that size, he could've pierced the breastplate as if it were foil.

"Hold!" I barked at the guards, who were about to charge. "The offer still stands. Ten seconds to decide."

They hesitated. Right after the captain's death there had been a moment when they might have rushed forward, but now doubt had consumed them.

"Seven. You don't have to follow your captain. I give my word—I'll spare all of you. Three. Two…"

A halberd shaft clattered to the ground. Then, like a dam breaking, a flood of weapons followed. In a second, most of them had discarded their arms. Left in the minority, even the stubborn ones were forced to surrender. Let the last swords fall after the countdown—so be it.

A nod, and our men pulled ropes from their packs. Though they'd surrendered, there were still more of them than us, and they had to be bound—just in case. Ahead, beyond the armored troops, a chain groaned as the drawbridge began rising.

That, we couldn't allow.

A bullet whistled overhead and struck the chain—clang! The thick link nearly split, bent into a crooked letter C, but still held. The moat's murky, foul-smelling water wasn't much of an obstacle, but I wasn't eager to get soaked.

Then a blast roared, worthy of a small cannon. In fact, it was one. A fist-sized cannonball tore through the second chain and slammed into the stone wall, showering shards. The bridge sagged, its weight straining the damaged chain. For a few seconds it teetered, then, with a pitiful clang, the chain snapped, and the bridge crashed down. Dust rose as it fell, but I was already stepping onto it.

Of course, the portcullis was down. Sparks danced across its bars, a clear sign they were charged with magic. Touching them would be a bad idea. But we might have to.

First, diplomacy. I raised my head to where the garrison held position above.

"The Marquis is dead. Surrender and you will—"

I lifted my palm, halting the bolt loosed from a murder hole above the gate. And another, and another…

Damn, they didn't even let me finish.

Gunfire thundered. Our riflemen suppressed the garrison, bullets whistling so thickly it sounded as if a whole regiment stood at the walls. From time to time, Dorvan's hand-cannon boomed, shattering crenellations along with the defenders behind them.

I stood there, catching every bolt and arrow fired at us. Chainmail or not, our only healer was still back at the ruined estate, and there was no guarantee he'd arrive in time.

Our fire slackened. Having emptied their drums, the soldiers pulled back to reload. A crossbow peeked from a slit, but a bullet punched into it instantly, snapping the weapon in two. For a few more minutes the defenders tried to shoot, until they realized it was useless.

Taking advantage of the brief lull, I grasped the portcullis, trying to sense where its power was flowing from, and whether it would be easier to blast through the wall instead. But no... the current flowed from a small tower, outwardly no different from the others. Lucky: for some reason, the gate was powered not by the main reservoir, which tradition dictated should be in the citadel, but by this auxiliary source.

I probed the channel and suddenly drained its energy. A thunderclap shook the wall, the tower exploding skyward, spitting lightning. The circuit couldn't withstand such a violent surge.

"So much wasted power, you should have siphoned slowly..." the demon's voice grumbled in my head.

"Shut it!" I barked, just as arrows and bolts rained down again, taking advantage of my distraction from shielding the riflemen.

In reply, bullets cracked against the stone battlements. Reinforcements who had just tied up the surrendered guards now joined the firing line. A few volleys later, powder smoke hung thick along the walls. Soon, it would be impossible to see either archers or targets.

The inevitable cost of faster rates of fire. Barely twenty men were shooting, yet the smoke resembled that of a full battalion.

Time to end this.

I gripped the portcullis and carefully bent the bars aside, making a passage. I didn't want to break it entirely, since we'd need it ourselves soon enough.

"Forward, go!" I ordered, diving through the gap first.

The inner wall was lower... perhaps to prevent invaders from turning it against the defenders, perhaps to save on stone. Whatever the reason, the sentries were laid bare before me.

I didn't bother drawing my revolver. Instead, I anchored onto their armor and yanked. Guards jerked as if hooked, flailing helplessly, dropping bows and crossbows as they tumbled down.

Bolts still flew from the tower slits. I deflected them into the dirt, trying not to let a single one through. Nearly failed when a shot came from behind. I caught the short, heavy all-metal dart in my hand... it was heavier and shorter than a regular bolt. A quick glance revealed the shooter, already cranking back the spring of a strange weapon, only a lever-pull away from chambering a new shot. With a flick, I hurled the dart back, boosting it with magic. It sparked off his cuirass and ricocheted away. In a blink, the lever was cocked, and the armored soldier raised the massive bolt-thrower again. I swatted the next dart aside and drew my revolver.

Bang!

The recoil jolted my arm, and the far more penetrative bullet punched through the armor. Good, but there was no time to relax. The garrison kept loosing their volleys with stubborn futility, perhaps clinging to hope, perhaps because nothing else remained.

My men poured through the breach. One knelt, firing into a tower slit, forcing the crossbowman back. Another rushed up the stairs, grenade in hand. The wire ring clattered away, the fuse hissed, counting down. He hurled it inside and ducked.

Boom!

Smoke and dust blasted from the slit. The crossbowmen fell silent.

We advanced from tower to tower around the perimeter, clearing the outer wall before tackling the citadel. Bolts and arrows veered harmlessly aside at a sweep of my hands. Any armored fool who caught my eye met the same fate as the first.

And it was intoxicating: that feeling that the enemy were nothing but puppets in my hands. True, against charging cavalry, with all that mass and momentum, such tricks would likely fail. Even so, it became clear why the high aristocracy were considered the true power on the battlefield. No number of crossbowmen could avail against them.

Bang! A shot like any other... except for the shooter's position. My back chilled, instincts howled, snapping me from that drunken haze of power into razor-sharp focus.

The bullet froze a hair's breadth from my chest, stopped just before piercing my doublet.

I plucked it from the air, tracing the trajectory. But the plume of smoke from a stone outbuilding marked the shooter's spot clearly enough. I even saw his silhouette: shapeless robe, azure scarf over the face. Dorvan raised his cannon beside me, but I shoved it aside.

"No. Take him alive!"

Sighing, he lowered the weapon and charged at the gunman, who was fumbling to reload his musket. With a pulse, I tore the weapon from his hands.

Satisfied the shooter was captured, I turned back to the fight. Minutes later, silence. The surviving garrison had retreated into the citadel. Now, we could talk.

I tossed the bullet in my hand as I approached the kneeling prisoner, his hands bound.

First, I picked up the fallen musket. Undoubtedly our work, but altered: the lock was modified, the flint replaced with a crystal, runes etched into the stock. By the look of it, the lock struck not sparks, but flame.

I set the musket gently against the wall and crouched over the scattered "powder." I rolled some between my fingers, sniffed.

Fire crab, then...

So. A lesson. This was how many aristocrats had perished along my path: by underestimating the enemy and his weapons. Fortunately, this particular mixture was only a few times stronger than a crossbow. Otherwise... hm. My journey might have ended right here.

I turned to the kneeling alchemist.

"Your mixture is weak. If that had been a bullet from my musket, I wouldn't have been able to stop it."

With a flick of my finger, I sent the bullet into his forehead.

He winced, not from pain, but from the contempt shown for his work.

"That was Laslo's doing. I could have made a stronger formula, but it would have been too expensive." His voice was hoarse, raw from either shouting or alchemical fumes.

"Expensive? My powder costs me almost nothing."

"Impossible."

"Want to know how?"

He nodded cautiously.

"I could spare your life and even give you work. But you'd be under constant guard, you wouldn't be free... at least not for the first ten years."

"So nothing would change for me?" he rasped with irony. "I'll accept, but I can't speak for the others."

I turned to the shooter and tore the scarf from his face. I didn't like speaking to someone hiding their expression. Hm. The face was rather feminine, though the shapeless robe and rough voice kept me from being sure... not that it mattered.

"The others... where is your laboratory?"

"Under the citadel, near the dungeons. We used to work here"—the prisoner nodded toward the outbuilding he had emerged from—"but the more successful we became, the deeper the Marquis hid us. He feared we'd run and sell his secrets to the Third Prince."

"Good..." I turned to the gathered soldiers. "Search the place. Don't kill anyone. If they resist, shoot them in the legs."


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◆ Dungeon of the Ancestral Castle of Marquis Short, Kazimir's POV. ◆

Every day was like the one before.

And each one was equally miserable.

Whenever they left him alone, he preferred to sleep. There was nothing else to do in a prison cell. But this time, his half-dream was broken by the jailer's voice.

"...ika? Today's not your shift. Aren't you supposed to be at the ball..."

A sharp crack of bone and the thud of a falling body jolted Kazimir awake. He darted a glance toward the barred door, where the jailer slid lifelessly to the floor. A female figure crouched over the corpse, searching his belt for keys. No, this was definitely not a dream.

Finding the keyring, she shoved the body aside. A short clink of keys, and the oiled hinges swung silently open.

"They don't usually lock you up. Did you cause trouble?"

Kazimir froze, unsure how to respond. But he wasn't given time to think.

"Well, what are you lying there for? Get up, we're leaving." The woman approached the bed.

"You're joking? Is this one of Laslo's tests? Ow!!" Kazimir cried out when she yanked him upright so roughly his arms nearly popped from their sockets.

He swayed and collapsed onto the stone floor. His weakened legs wouldn't hold him.

"Damn it. Fine, have it your way." The warrior woman muttered, hefting the emaciated aristocrat over her shoulders like a sack of grain.

"Put me down! At once!" he shouted weakly, but she carried him out of the cell, narrowly avoiding clipping his body on the bars.

"Yeah, keep dreaming," she grumbled, heading for the dungeon's exit.

Kazimir tried to resist, but even at his best he would have been no match for her. In his current state... hopeless. His nails scraped uselessly against her steel armor.

At last, straining, he managed to reach her neck.

With a curse, the girl threw him off, and the younger Short hit the ground like a sack of filth.

"Are you insane? Want me to knock your teeth out?" she demanded, rubbing at the bite mark on her neck.

"I said leave me. Where are you taking me?"

"Far from here. I'm saving you from death, you ungrateful asshole."

"Oh, you already 'saved' me once, and look where that got me. I'd have been better off rotting in the Condors' dungeon." Short sneered, dragging himself onto all fours.

"Don't expect an apology."

"You should give one. You live in comfort while they've drained me dry. Literally."

"Quit whining. My situation isn't better. Can't you see I'm running too?"

Kazimir blinked in surprise. In all his time watching her from behind the bars, he'd never noticed her looking dissatisfied.

"The lord decided a few minutes of pleasure were worth more than a loyal bodyguard. I managed to switch out the mixtures, but once he finds out, I'm done for... so I'm leaving."

Short didn't fully grasp what mixtures she meant, but he caught the gist quickly enough.

"Then you should've run alone. Why drag me along? Want to sell me again? Am I your slave, or..."

A deafening boom cut off his tirade. The dungeon trembled, dust and small stones raining from the ceiling.

"What was that?" Kazimir asked, but she just shrugged.

"We don't have time to argue. With the castle guard all busy at the estate, we need to get out, understand?"

She offered her hand, but Kazimir, mustering his last strength, shoved it aside. Blood trickled from his nose, though it seemed there shouldn't be any left in his pale body.

"Like hell I'll go until you tell me what you plan to do with me. I ran with you once before, and this is what it got me!"

Monica sighed deeply, tamping down her frustration.

"I'll sell you to the King. Satisfied? If the capital learns you're alive, Laslo's in trouble. That's all I need."

"I don't believe you. You served him, why turn against him now?"

"Tch. You've been rotting down here, never seeing daylight. I've been burying his beheaded playthings almost every day. And no, I don't care... nobles all have their kinks, I've seen worse. As long as the pay's on time, whatever. But not when I'm next in line. That's his fault. He broke his word first, not me. So, what'll it be? Keep whining or get moving?" she finished, extending her hand again.

After a moment's hesitation, Kazimir took it. After all, they had a long way to the capital... plenty of chances to escape.

"There, that's better. Just don't bite again, or you'll reach the capital toothless. Do you know how painful replacements are?"

"I know, believe me..." he muttered bitterly, shifting so her pauldron didn't dig into his chest.

The long climb up the stairs ended in a hall. Once it had been a dining room, but now it stank of smoke and alchemical fumes. In the center stood a rack with a suit of armor, and against the wall snored a shackled prisoner.

The girl peeked cautiously through the doorway and immediately pulled back. A squad of guards clattered down the adjacent corridor at a run, armor rattling. One of them was loading bolts into the magazine of a bolt-thrower as he ran. All through the castle echoed shouts and explosions, their roar drowning out the twang of bowstrings and the whistle of crossbow bolts.

The prisoner stirred, raising his head.

"Oh, I'd know those sounds anywhere. Eh, Short? What are you doing here?" he asked, spotting Kazimir.

"Quiet! Quiet! Don't give us away, alright?"

The girl glanced back at him and stepped toward the prisoner, intent on snapping his neck. Kazimir pounded his fists against her armor.

"Stop, I said stop!"

"Idiot, shut the hell up!" the warrior hissed.

With a sigh, she dumped her burden beside the prisoner chained to the wall, once again bruising Kazimir's tailbone.

"Not a sound from either of you, got it? I'll go see what's happening." She drew her sword.

The door to the corridor shut behind her, muffling the sounds of battle.

The prisoner waited until she had moved further away, then nudged Kazimir lightly with his free leg.

"Hey. You picked a bad time to escape."

"And why's that?"

"There are at least a hundred riflemen outside. Soon they'll bring up cannons and start breaking the gates. You think they'll just shoot a bit and leave? There'll be an assault soon."

"Taking a castle would take weeks, even without the barrier active. You're celebrating too early. And a hundred isn't enough, you'd need three times that."

"Enough. For us, it's enough," the prisoner replied cheerfully.

The shots outside grew louder. The girl did not return.

"Tell me, how do you know there are a hundred out there?"

"I said at least a hundred. A well-trained infantryman can fire at least three shots a minute. Just keep time and count."

They were silent for a few minutes.

"Forty-three," Kazimir finally said, finishing his count.

"They're just firing less. They still need to find targets, aim..."

The door opened. Monica entered, without her sword, but with blood on her armor.

"Well? What's happening?"

"The gates have fallen, fighting's on the walls. Even if we found a rope and tried to climb down into the moat, it's too late now."

"What do we do?" Kazimir asked anxiously.

She shrugged.

"I'll try to sell you to the Condors. What else is left? No offense."

Short sighed. In the end, everything returned to where it had begun.

"You'd better take off that armor, girl. It won't help," the prisoner advised, but it was too late.

Shots rang out in the neighboring corridor, the echoes crashing through the half-empty hall. Short's ears rang, and it took him a moment to realize the doors had opened again.

"Well, well. I didn't expect to find you here. Thought you'd either be dead or living quietly in some village like an ordinary man."

"Viscount," Kazimir greeted the newcomer with a weak shrug. If only. He'd rather live in a sty than in the hands of this sadist.

"Already a Count."

"My lord," the prisoner chained to the wall tried to bow.

Condor approached him and raised his hand.

"Wait... those shackles might be keeping him alive. Better wait for a healer," Kazimir interjected.

The Count lowered his hand.

"Hm. Thanks for the advice. Can you wait?"

"A couple hours won't make a difference, my lord," the prisoner rasped, his eyes gleaming.

"He'll be here sooner, trust me. Now then, what should I do with you two?"

Monica stepped forward.

"I freely and unconditionally hand over your enemy to your house, and I hope for mercy."

The Count stroked his chin.

"Well, first, he's already in my hands. Second, I don't accept bribes in people. And third..."

He touched the warrior's armor, and it flowed over her arms and legs, forming shackles.

"Third, you'll sit like this for a while. Soon the main force will arrive with Tamilla, and she'll judge your sincerity. Now, as for you, Short..."

"I'm ready to swear fealty," Kazimir blurted out.

Silence fell in the hall, broken only by the tramp of boots in the corridor and the occasional gunshot.

The soldier behind the Count, bristling with weapons, remarked quietly:

"The rightful heir here will be a headache in the future. Maybe we should kill him and be done with it?"

"No, Til. I didn't kill him then, and I won't kill a man now who can't even stand. But his oath isn't worth much to me either."

The Count crouched beside Kazimir, who was slumped against the wall.

"You see, right now I control the lands near the Black Forest, the former baronies of Clemen and Battori, and almost all of the former Condor County. That's a vast territory. And here's the thing: the only baron across all those lands is me. I haven't handed out cities, even my few knights own only houses, not villages as is customary. Everything is run through civil administration by commoners. Burgomasters, mayors—some appointed by me, some elected locally, but all answer to me. None of them are nobles, just educated townsfolk, mostly merchants or shopkeepers. But as literacy spreads, it could be anyone, even a peasant. I don't want to deal with noble houses and clans, I don't want to delegate recruitment or supply of the army to others. There is one army. One command. One logistics. Everything centralized. This has already let me gather greater forces than if I'd delegated. So I could accept your oath... but it would be purely ceremonial. You'd formally hold the castle and land, but in reality you'd answer to me. No private retinue. No 'the vassal of my vassal is not my vassal.' No appointments without my approval. Total dependence and no privileges. Either that, or you renounce everything and walk away. I know in both cases you'll be tempted to try reclaiming what was yours, but that's over. You'll never have the power you once had. No one will. But... you can still have a worthy life, if you prove these dungeons have taught you something. So: oath or renunciation?"