Vol 6, Chapter 10

 ◆ Capital, Count Karl von Condor's POV. ◆
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​Less than a week remained until the prince's arrival… and everything was going perfectly.

Karl had little experience in conspiracies, preferring to solve things directly, yet he discovered it was even easier than he'd thought. Of course, the Guild had greatly aided their success: in the shortest time they had arranged meetings with those willing to listen about the threat of the Commonwealth. And for those unwilling, they found other arguments: threats, outright bribery, compromising evidence, or blackmail.

Such measures repulsed the Count, but for the sake of the Kingdom he was willing to endure it. Almost every day Vitor's men brought lists of those ready to listen, and not only aristocrats. There were also captains of the guard who would be on duty at the right moment, and even shopkeepers who agreed, if need be, to help with their goods, whether weapons or simple food. Everything was taking a turn the Count Condor had not even dared to hope for. If at first he had thought only of breaking the portal and warning the palace guard, now… Now perhaps they could completely ruin the enemy's plans.

The Count even began to feel slightly uneasy about the Guild's effectiveness. A mere band of merchants shouldn't wield such power, he thought, but calmed himself with the notion that their actions only seemed so effective because no one was being asked to betray anything. On the contrary, the Count demanded only vigilance and loyalty to the king, and would it not be strange for anyone in the capital, or any captain of the Guard, to refuse such a thing?

Still, in the future it would be worth whispering to the king that the guilds had too much freedom and too many resources.

The preparations for defense were proceeding so quickly that Karl was almost ready to forgive his grandson's shortsightedness. Especially since, for once, Randall had actually done something: he had sent a letter warning of danger from the Second Duke.

That man, incidentally, had clearly tried to mollify the Count, even returning the advance payment for the goblin-cleansing. Such sudden generosity only strengthened Karl's suspicions. Thank the One that the road to Renvel passed over a river. Count Klaus's loyal men guarded the bridge day and night. If the Second truly decided to march on the Capital, destroying the bridge would shatter all his plans.

Only one thing troubled Karl: the new envoy of the Commonwealth.

A muscular brute who seemed to vanish into shadows; even the Azure Guild's spies threw up their hands. Tracking him was nearly impossible. He could be anywhere. Even here, in the palace…

The Count glanced around just in case. No one.

Ah, his nerves were strung as though a goblin had been jumping on them. The closer the fateful day came, the more anxious he became. Especially since that very morning Vitor had come personally, claiming he had arranged a meeting not with just anyone, but with one of the king's bodyguards. The man was even willing to persuade the king to take the secret passage, but he wanted to meet Condor in person first. Needless to say, the Count clutched at such an opportunity like a hungry manticore at a piece of meat.

The palace corridors were unusually empty. On his way to the meeting place he hadn't encountered a single servant.

Then, after one more turn, a small greenhouse appeared.

The gazebo where the bodyguard was supposed to wait was empty. No one.

The Count sighed and sat on a carved bench. For a bodyguard to leave was no simple matter; perhaps some unexpected problem had arisen.

He would wait.

Through the glass roof the sun shone down upon the flowers. The very idea of such secluded corners within the palace had belonged to his wife. The late king had not only approved but had even demolished several utterly dull offices for their sake…

Approaching footsteps tore him from his memories. A guardsman?

No.

Approaching was one of his maids, who should have been at the estate.

Perhaps Klaus had sent her? A grim foreboding clutched his heart.

"Has something happened?" he asked anxiously.

"Something has. You are accused of treason, Count. I advise you to come with us voluntarily," the maid replied, with no trace of respect.

Karl blinked in astonishment, not even knowing what to answer. He had slept little lately; maybe he had misheard? His own maid accusing him of treason?

"What nonsense is this?!" he cried in sincere outrage.

"Pity. Then we'll have to use force."

Something struck the back of his head, and the world went dark.

Waking was far more pleasant than the usual moments when he fell asleep at his desk. A comfortable bed, a pillow stuffed with feathers. If not for the pain at the back of his head, he might have thought it all a dream. And the stone bars instead of a wall were a clear hint that this was, though comfortable, a prison cell.

"The Abyss… Hey, someone! Inform the king that I am here!"

"There is no need to shout, Karl. I am here."

Rising from the bed, the Count saw the King standing at the headboard. Slightly behind him stood his maid, respectfully silent.

"Your Majesty, there has been a terrible mistake…"

"A mistake has indeed occurred. For more than two weeks I have listened, every single day, to well-wishers telling me how Condor was trying to sway them to treason. Every day. I watched you running around the city like a man scalded, and I could not believe it… could it truly be so blatant?"

"I…"

"Wait, I am not finished. I had to verify it three times before I was convinced. Alas, the rumors spread too far, and I can no longer pretend I noticed nothing. I am forced to respond. Tell me, why did you decide to do this now?"

"This is a misunderstanding, I merely…"

"Silence! I know what you intend to say. About the dreadful threat of the Commonwealth, yes? Thanks to her…" The King gestured toward the maid. "…I know every detail of your conversations."

"To rely on traitors' denunciations, how base!" The Count shuddered. More than anything he despised servants' betrayal of their oaths to their liege.

"No, my former friend, the traitor here is only you. Ada has served me since childhood. Surely I could not leave your house and my bastard without oversight?"

"Secret Chancellery," the girl confirmed.

The Count shook his head reproachfully. Even so… betraying one's lord was wrong.

"I see, so that is why she crept into my grandson's bed…"

The King raised his brows in surprise and turned to the girl. She lowered her eyes in embarrassment.

"That was an accident, I beg forgiveness."

"I trust there were no consequences?"

"No, my lord."

"Good. We need no 'accidents' of that kind. We are still negotiating with the daughter of the Fourth Duke about marriage, and she would hardly welcome news of children born out of wedlock."

"Marriage with her…" The Count faltered at the news, recalling the  'vastness' of the Fourth Duke's daughter.

"Yes. And let him not complain now; he should have agreed to Countess Klaus when I offered." The King gloated, then added, "But these matters no longer concern you, Karl. Tell me the truth—what did you intend? To provoke, in order to frame the Commonwealth?"

"I only wished to protect the Kingdom."

The King slapped his knees in irritation. "That is not what I want to hear. I want the truth."

"But that is the truth."

"Nonsense. If that were so, you would have come to me, would you not?" the King said slyly. "But you did not, and I can draw only one conclusion. You wished to take revenge on the Queen."

"I would never put personal motives above the good of the Kingdom," Condor declared with utmost seriousness.

"Now you never shall, former Count." The King sighed, dismissing his words. "The Third Prince pressed for execution of all involved, but… that is not my method. I will expel from the capital all who stained themselves with this foolish parody of a conspiracy. We cannot let guests believe we see them as a threat. Fortunately, due to your blatant recruiting, many believe you acted on my orders… We will feed those rumors and add another—that due to Source-healing procedures Count Condor has lost his wits. Let them argue over what is true. But one thing I say plainly: either you now renounce your title in favor of your grandson, or you remain here until you come to your senses."

"And that is all?" Condor frowned.

The King looked at him questioningly.

"You think I plotted rebellion, and yet my punishment is merely removal from headship of my own house? Not even exile?"

"You are dissatisfied, Karl?"

"I am dissatisfied, Robert. Demon take you, open your eyes! Kill me if you wish, but do not, do not disarm the capital. You say you will expel them all? Then you leave the Guard without command? This cannot be…" The Count burst out.

"Enough. That is enough." The King cut him off. His crown gleamed, and the pressure enveloped Karl, choking him, preventing him from uttering another word.

Once he was sure his former friend was silent, the King continued.

"If you care so much for the Kingdom, then do your duty. See to it that the new count does nothing reckless. My heart tells me forcing him to sign a peace will be troublesome... And find for him one of the holy fathers to act as his spiritual advisor; next summer I plan to send him to the Theocracy. This year it is impossible, the death of the Pontiff forced the First Prince to go in person… So, what do you choose? To serve the Kingdom or to remain here?"

The tone of the King made it clear there was no choice at all.

And indeed there was none. Sit in confinement and wait for who knows what, or attempt at least to do something? Though it meant hiding… Even mild Robert would not release him if he were caught a second time for the same thing.

So…

"I renounce the title in favor of my grandson."

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◆ Portal Island, Magister Igni's POV. ◆
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Noon. Bright sunlight blazed upon the cuirasses of the honor guard, polished to a blinding sheen. The roar of surf and the cries of ever-present seagulls that had claimed the island's cliffs echoed all around.

Violet mist swirled beneath their sabatons, coiling around their legs. The mist thickened until the stone archway became a dark abyss.

The portal opened.

The first thing to emerge from the portal was a staff adorned with gemstones. Then its owner followed. He wasted not a second, waiting for no one's questions.

The Magister's staff struck the stony ground with force. Clang! Chips of rock flew, along with… sparks.

It was always easier to enhance something with magic than to create it from nothing. The cascade of sparks multiplied with every inch, glowing brighter and hotter until they fused into a single wave of all-consuming flame.

It took only an instant, a single flash. A pity that the beauty of birth from a tiny spark could be seen only by a fire mage.

But everyone would see the consequences.

However well the armor of the guards was forged—it melted into liquid metal the moment the roaring flame touched it.

The captain's knightly armor lasted only a little longer. It glowed red-hot, protective artifacts against heat bursting with deafening cracks, only prolonging his agony. The Magister fixed his gaze on him, and soon nothing remained of the warrior but a pool of molten metal mixed with ash.

That was all.

The rock smoked, rivulets of melted steel seeped into its cracks. The wind carried away the black smoke, sealing the squad's instant burial. The Magister stepped forward and froze.

A sharp ringing came from behind. The stone arch trembled, stones crashing down. The Magister turned slowly.

Beyond the portal stood a young man with a hammer in his hands. His eyes shone with triumph—he was certain he had succeeded.

The stream of mist grew stronger, its violet edges writhing like tentacles and flinging drops in every direction. But the portal did not close.

Instead, it spewed forth more and more mages.

Seeing this, the triumphant expression on the young man's face turned to despair.

"We shall spend more energy on the passage than planned, nothing more. Tell me, who put you up to breaking—" The Magister addressed the youth kindly, but the hammer-bearer's eyes glazed over.

A web of frost spread across his face, icy vapor rising from his body. He froze forever, hammer still clutched in hand. Though he had seemed alive, inside he was shattered by billions of tiny crystals of ice.

"Do not waste time on trifles, we have a ritual to conduct." A woman's voice reached him.

The Magister studied the ice statue for several seconds, noting the black-and-white armband. It was not hard to recognize. He was no expert in the heraldry of minor houses, but the colors of House Condor had been seared into his memory.

"Yes, my dear, how could I resist your wishes?" the Magister replied as charmingly as he could, but the lady only frowned.

Alas, even before her daughter's death she had little desire to repeat such experiments. Now, after… she was cool.

Smirking at his own pun, the Magister joined the other lodge members preparing for the ritual. He had managed to bring in four others for this venture, which for the eternally quarrelsome Lodge was quite an achievement.

Two senior Archmages of fire. One of wind. One of water.

The last had required the most effort. Caira was the key element in the ritual, and only the secret of her daughter's death had brought her in. Not so much her thirst for revenge, but the fact that refusing would have looked improper.

She could not stand to look improper. Even now, with a displeased face, she brushed the guards' ashes from her shoe.

Several mages with golden scrolls in hand patiently waited until she was done.

At last she stepped aside.

Upon the scorched ground they rolled out a golden web. Concentric circles filled with materials: gemstones, skulls, bundles of herbs, and crystals. Normally adepts would handle such work, but now the senior mages themselves prepared it.

The Magister cast a disapproving glance at his former lover and took his place in the circle. Alas, despite all his hints that their previous result had been impressive, she remained so cold…

The ritual began. Currents of energy swirled in an unseen vortex, fusing at the center. Upon her.

Four Archmages and a Magister. With such power they could hunt legendary beasts, or ravage an entire continent. If the circle had given its all, they might have struck to destroy the Capital itself in a single blow, with decent chances of success.

But who would be foolish enough to give everything when surrounded by rivals? The Magister gave a third of his strength and cut off his flow. The others did the same.

Far away, dozens of kilometers off, in the port, similar rituals were being conducted. Numerous but weaker. Their power streamed here in thin threads.

For a month the Capital had filled with agents of the Commonwealth, arriving from every corner of the Kingdom. All in preparation for this moment.

The churning energy struck downward.

Millions upon millions of cubic meters of seawater froze into a colossal iceberg. An ice bridge of cyclopean proportions leading straight to the Capital's ports.

No point storming walls when one could simply bypass them.

Waves crashed against the frozen span, making it slick.

Another impulse!

Magic rippled across the bridge again, freezing everything in its path. Jagged wave crests solidified in midair, forming bizarre rails along the sides, keeping fresh waves from engulfing it. Mist swirled under the bright sun. Ordinary frost mist, making the bridge seem unreal. Spectral.

The path to the Capital was open.

The Magister gave a sign and from the portal surged a stream of beasts of every sort. To muster them, the menageries of the Academy had been emptied.

Demonic wolves, a handful of manticores, relatively harmless serpent-tailed boars, and a whole horde of diverse chimeras, no two alike. Howling, screeching, grinding in horror, the living mass charged across the bridge. Stumbling, sliding, falling, biting everything in its way. A living wave that left behind a trail of multicolored blood, slime, and a mess of shattered icicles.

Last from the portal rode a mental mage in a faceless mask. He sat astride a golem, for any living beast would have thrown him off in terror at the aura of horror he exuded. Ignoring those assembled, the mage galloped after the living avalanche, driving it onward, preventing it from wasting time squabbling.

That was it. The beast horde would sow chaos in the Capital, together with bribed agents. They would weaken it, wreck its defenses from within, break its will to resist.

The Commonwealth had no intention of risking its battle stars. Why should they? There was someone else to shift all the burden onto.

The mages quickly gathered the remaining ritual materials and hastened back into the portal.

Now everything depended on the Second Duke.

And on the hired assassin known as "Autumn."