Vol 6, Chapter 5

I cast a suspicious glance at my grandfather.

A man who always worried over the king suddenly wanted to hide something from him? Had he been replaced?

He leaned toward me and hissed furiously.
"Thank the One you didn't think to write directly to the King. For once in your life you had the sense to notify me first!"

I scratched my head and admitted:
"Actually, I thought you'd tell him anyway, and I didn't have time to write two letters."

Grandfather rolled his eyes but quickly pulled himself together.
"Remember the most important thing: the second prince is alive. Don't try to convince the king otherwise."

"Why the hell not? What happened?"

Grandfather immediately hushed me.
"Quiet, damn you! Do you really want to discuss this right under the king's nose? Just do as I say, period."

Yeah, right. Fat chance.

Lowering my voice, I addressed him.
"I need to know what I'm getting into. Since when has my loyal-to-the-king grandfather started suggesting we lie to him?"

The Count Condor's eye began twitching. Nervous tic, apparently.
"The king spoke with the prince through magical communication."

My eyebrows shot up.
"The prince is dead. I personally…"

Grandfather waved his hands.
"Doesn't matter. He won't believe you. So don't try to convince him, or you'll only make our position worse."

My relatively good mood evaporated instantly. The Commonwealth wasn't acting as I had predicted. For what purpose? Still unclear.

"And you just believed my letter like that?" I asked suspiciously and listened closely. Was there the telltale double heartbeat?

Count Condor hesitated.
"I admit, one letter wouldn't have been enough… But it completely confirmed Count Klaus's conclusions. I trust him."

"But not so much me, I see… How is he, by the way?"

"For everyone, he's dead," grandfather cut me off, and then added, just in case: "For the king too."

"I understand… or rather, I don't understand a damn thing."

"I'll explain everything after you finish the audi—" Grandfather broke off mid-word. I turned and saw the door open.

"The king summons you, Viscount von Condor. Kindly follow me," the chamberlain ordered dryly.

Grandfather coughed deliberately.
"Yes, heir, it's time to go. Let's hope the Commonwealth's mages won't again make the mistake of a faulty portal that threw you so far from the Capital!"

I rose from the chair, replaying those words in my head.
A faulty portal? What the hell was grandfather talking about?

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"Yes, Your Majesty, a very unstable portal… I would like to note that our partners treat their guests' safety with great irresponsibility," I finished lying with inspired conviction.

"Very well, very well… I'm glad you weren't harmed, despite the horrors of which… Never mind. Since all is well, I think it fitting to summon the ambassador so that he may apologize." The king rang a little bell and lounged back in his chair.

A servant opened the door, admitting the ambassador, who had apparently been waiting there for some time. And I disliked him instantly. A long robe with absurdly long sleeves clung tight to a muscular frame, and the gray beard looked so unnatural I nearly reached out to tug it. Still, to hell with the beard. The numerous scars, which even the beard couldn't hide, made it clear this mage was clearly a veteran of many battles.

I glanced at the king—he too was eyeing the ambassador with some surprise.
"Er, monsieur Sador?" the King ventured.

"Autumn, Your Majesty."

"Yes, relatively soon…" Robert answered at random and coughed. "Ahem. I summoned you so that you could deliver an official apology for your blunder."

"Of course." He bowed to the king and turned to me. "On behalf of the Commonwealth…"

His rehearsed speech passed me by. My intuition still gnawed at me. Though I had never met this man, he seemed vaguely familiar. And that look… I had definitely felt his gaze on me before.

A long robe, long sleeves, so long they hid his hands. But judging by the ambassador's build, one thing was certain—his right arm was nowhere near as muscular as his left. A prosthetic?

"I would like him to shake my hand as a token of apology," I interrupted his tedious, overly formal speech.

The ambassador immediately shook his head.
"That's plebeian…" he began, but cut himself off at the king's shout.

"Ambassador! Do as you are told, or I will see no sincerity in your apology!" the King barked, rising from his chair.

The ambassador winced but reluctantly extended his left hand.

In response I silently extended my right.

For several seconds he stood motionless, but as though sensing the king's increasingly hostile gaze, he switched to his right hand.

"Roll up your sleeve, my friend. Otherwise, it's the same as a handshake in gloves. A sign of disrespect," I smiled.

Beneath the long sleeve was not a prosthetic, as I had suspected, but a real, living arm.

With soft pink skin. I really ought to remember that here, growing a new arm is easier than making a prosthetic.

"A burn. An accident. I had to grow new skin," the ambassador explained, and the King's gaze softened. He no longer saw insolence in the ambassador's earlier actions.

But my gaze… hardened. Oh yes, a burn, as if I believed that. What an incredible coincidence! A burn that melts the muscles off an arm, ha!

I watched his eyes intently.
"Yes, he definitely burned it. Stuck his hands where he shouldn't have, right, Mr. Ambassador?"

His pupils narrowed.
"I'm so sorry you ended up in an unstable portal, Lord Viscount. Scholars say that those who pass through such things lose their minds. They simply don't understand what they're saying or what they've gotten involved with." His voice dripped with venom, yet it was utterly sincere—unlike his earlier false speech.

I replied in kind.
"Yes, Mr. Ambassador… Technical malfunctions in something as complex and dangerous as portals. Should an accident occur, all the staff might simply be smeared across the walls. Hundreds, hundreds of victims… And it could have been worse still, an entire city might have blown sky high. Luckily, everything turned out fine. I returned to my homeland, and your city remained intact. Isn't that a miracle?"

"You are right. Without doubt, you are right. It is indeed a miracle you survived. We will certainly find the man who caused these malfunctions with the portals. I assure you, he will not escape a harsh punishment. Extremely harsh. The Magister himself will carry it out, over many long days." Despite his outward calm, his face had reddened, and even the whites of his eyes were veined with blood.

It seemed that reminding him of how I passed through the control room had rattled him. Which meant there was a chance he might slip.

"Yes, I wish you luck with that. You'll need it, since this man is surely already far away and beyond your reach," I said mockingly.

"This… man must remember—everything can change very quickly. A refuge that was safe yesterday may turn into a trap, from which a new master will drag him in chains straight to the Magister. I would advise this man to crawl into some dark corner and in fear await the day when retribution finds him."

"A new master…" I began, but the King interrupted me.

"Gentlemen, enough. I brought you together so you could reconcile, not to exchange sinister and cryptic threats. Shake hands already!"

I cursed inwardly. I was certain I could have dragged more out of the ambassador, much more! But thanks to the King's interference, he was already cooling down and regaining his composure. A professional.

Our hands met; I pressed with relish, using all my strength—he did the same.

The ambassador suddenly lurched against me and, taking advantage of his closeness, whispered:
"I advise you to look over your shoulder more often, cur. For I will deal with you personally once I finish my business."

"One hand is already too much for someone who doesn't know whom it must not be raised against." I snorted."

He bowed, hiding the rage in his eyes.

"Forgive me, the burn leaves me very weak—I can hardly stand."

"Of course, of course. You may go," the King waved his hand. "You as well."

The ambassador bowed and left, followed by the servant. The door closed.

The King gestured for me to sit across from him, and took out several glasses and a bottle of wine from the cabinet.

"And now that this small but annoying incident is resolved, let us discuss truly important matters." He poured a glass and set it before me. "Overall, I am satisfied with your family's actions. Despite certain deviations, so far everything is going well. However…"

He paused for a long moment, poured wine into his own glass, took it in his hands, and inhaled its aroma with pleasure.

"However?" I prompted.

"However, it is time to stop. With each passing day, as sad as it is for me to say, the Third Duke nears his end, and that means the struggle for the title of Third Duke approaches as well. I suppose your family, now allied with the Klauses, will also join this struggle… but one cannot fight on two fronts." The King spoke slowly, choosing his words.

Two fronts, then? Though the room was filled with the delightful scent of wine, the smell of those words was foul to me.

"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"Marquis Short is dead, and thank the One, the specialist established that you had nothing to do with it. Which means there is no sense in continuing the conflict with Marquis Laslo. It must end; that will be better for everyone."

"In retreat, he burned many villages that belonged to our county," I frowned.

"Nonsense, that only shows he does not lay claim to those lands. That is a good sign. And new peasants can always be brought in," the King brightened.

"He armed the goblins to create problems for us."

The King's smile vanished.
"That… is a serious accusation. And it creates… a negative background for negotiations. We will mention it privately, but I strictly forbid you to spread it further. Not even rumors must circulate in the palace, is that clear?" he demanded.

"Clear…"

"Good. Well, even if it proves true… That again shows that territorially we can come to an understanding. It will be a bit harder to persuade the First Duke, but formally he is not part of the conflict, therefore he will not lose face from its resolution." Brightening again, he sipped the wine.

"There will be no rumors, but I will not make peace with one who conspires with goblins. With goblins!"

The King frowned and set his glass on the table.

"It may be unpleasant, but I order you to begin work on a peace agreement. Meet, send an expensive gift. As far as I know, Laslo has already absorbed all the barons who refused to swear fealty to him again after Marquis Short's death. He has achieved his goals, expanded his lands, strengthened his power, and will not be opposed to ending this conflict. It benefits everyone. If you set out to avenge his… actions, there is a huge risk that the First Duke will intervene. Admit it, it is easier to fight goblins than the army of the First Duke."

"It's all the same," I replied.

The King laughed, but then immediately spoke firmly.
"Empty bravado. Sometimes one must make peace with enemies. If you cannot understand that—then go to Karl. Grandfather will explain how things stand. This conversation is over. I will arrange with Marquis Laslo for an invitation to the ball and forward it to your estate before the end of this month. I do not advise you to test what will happen if you do not attend, or if these negotiations do not yield constructive results. You may go. Oh, and one more thing. I hope your family will not be fueling rumors that teleportation can be unstable…"

With a short bow, I withdrew, never having touched the wine.

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"How did it go?" my grandfather finally asked once we were far enough from the Royal Wing of the palace.

"He demanded peace with Laslo."

"No, I asked whether he suspected anything."

"So the fact that we must make peace with him does not bother you?"

Grandfather shrugged indifferently.
"It is about time. Especially since, in fact, there have been no hostilities after the Marquis's death, it only remains to formalize it."

"Wonderful. Did you forget he armed the goblins?"

Count Condor winced.
"That may undermine his reputation, but nothing more. Besides, I fear among the young his authority will only grow. They are less scrupulous about traditions… But all that is not important now, there are far more serious matters. For example, did the king believe you?"

​I sighed.
"He mostly spoke himself and complained that the ungrateful prince is ruining his plans by being delayed only a month, rather than questioning me. So everything went fine, apart from this nonsense with the truce… Now will you tell me what all the fuss is about?"

"Later. When we return to the estate," grandfather replied, waving for a carriage.

A cloudy, leaden sky. Puddles on the streets. Rain threatening at any moment. A carriage would indeed not be amiss.

"Grandfather, I heard you negotiated with the Second Duke about conducting a purge…"

"Grandfather?" Count interrupted in surprise. "I thought you only ever called me an old geezer to yourself."

"Don't nitpick my words, I was trying to be polite."

"Since when has my good-for-nothing heir taken interest in the affairs of the house? Or have the goblins pestered you so much you remembered which family you belong to?"

"The horde is already destroyed," I shrugged, and grandfather smiled condescendingly.

"Even if you somehow forced them into battle and won, that does not mean they are destroyed. That plague cannot be wiped out so easily."

"Believe it or not—I don't care. But don't dodge the question."

The rain began to drizzle, the coachman pulled up the carriage, nearly splashing our legs with water from the puddles. We set off.

"Yes… I really did negotiate with him. At first he twisted my arm, demanded that in exchange for help I renounce support for my dearest wife. Frankly, our conversation reached a dead end. I had already begun negotiations with the Fourth, when about a week ago the Second himself came to the estate, and this time the terms were… much better. But with one stipulation—that he would only be able to help in a month. I agreed."

"Why only after a month?" I asked suspiciously.

Grandfather shrugged and turned to the window.
"Perhaps he needs that long to gather his troops. Not all that slow, I might add."

"In any case, you can cancel everything. I dealt with the goblins."

"I cannot," grandfather answered slyly.

"Why not?"

"Think."

"I don't know… You already paid everything?"

"That too, but not only that. I asked the von Steigers that their troops carefully comb through every bush of our lands. And that will take a lot of time…"

"You want to use them as cover from the First Duke?"

Grandfather nodded with satisfaction and concluded:
"Not hopeless. This will be our cover for the time being, until we settle our disagreements with the First Duchy."

"Pf-f, if Laslo, or his father, decides to attack us—they will sorely regret it."

"Hopeless…" Count Condor sighed again and turned back to the window, to watch the rain pouring down ever heavier.

"Very well, and what is the Third Prince up to?"

"The usual—receptions, meetings, sword practice. Nothing unusual, at first glance."

I shook my head.
"No, there must be something more. He didn't order his brother's death for nothing. He must have a plan. A plan to become King. It wasn't for nothing the ambassador mentioned a new master…"

"Quiet. We'll discuss this when we reach the estate."

I turned to the window.

The rain had turned into a downpour. Townsfolk hid in their houses, most streets were empty… but not the wide avenue leading to the temple.

The carriage slowed, and we found ourselves in a stream of hundreds upon hundreds of people in gray, tattered rags. Water poured off them in rivulets, yet they walked on, praising the One and periodically striking themselves with scourges and whips. The rain immediately washed away the blood. Its drumming drowned out both the hymns and the harsh lashings on flesh.

"Some kind of religious festival?" I asked my grandfather.

"On the contrary, it is mourning—the Holy Throne is empty. The Pontiff has ended his earthly path and gone to the One. Now the bishops will elect a new one. Our High Priest is also participating, but I do not think he has any chances. They have been marching like this for more than a week. It is fortunate it rains today... after the procession, all the streets are covered in blood…"

By some miracle our carriage crossed the crowd without running anyone over. The noisy procession was left behind.

Incidentally, I hadn't noticed at first, but this was the first time a carriage ride hadn't made me want to curse; the jolting had been… tolerable.

I opened the window and leaned out, exposing my head to the rain.

The icy shower instantly drenched my hair, but I saw what I needed.

Interesting. I had expected the carriage to have my trademark wheels, but no. They had simply nailed a thick rubber strip onto the wood. Cheap and simple. But even such a solution had turned an unbearable ride into a merely unpleasant one.

"Did your head overheat from all that thinking? Feeling refreshed?" grandfather sneered.

"Yeah," I answered without malice.

The cold water really did help, washing away the fatigue of the hard journey to the Capital. Yes, now I could see what the Commonwealth was betting on. Instead of accepting the prince's death and writing off their losses—they had decided to go all in. They were counting on the Pontiff's death to paralyze the Theocracy and untie their hands?

"Could it be that the Commonwealth is preparing a military intervention?" I said, making grandfather curse.

"Couldn't you wait a few hundred more meters, damn you?" he hissed furiously.

I shrugged.
"It's pouring outside; the coachman is unlikely to hear anything but the splash of water in his ears."

Grandfather didn't answer. He remained silent the rest of the way.

The carriage pulled up to the gates. Along the wet mosaic path servants hurried toward us with large umbrellas in hand. In one of them I was surprised to recognize Ada.

"It seems you ought to be in the castle," I remarked, ducking under an umbrella and taking it from her hands.

"Master lacked loyal servants, so he brought some from the castle here," she replied amicably.

"Well, well… loyal, sure," I muttered, taking the umbrella from her hands. Primitive, ungainly. Yet the leather stretched over steel ribs protected from the downpour no worse than nylon.

I turned to the coachman, who was so soaked he might have been wrung out. No cloak could protect from such a deluge…

"Wait here," I ordered him, and after his humble bow I turned back to Ada. "Bring him an umbrella and something hot."

Her assent vanished in the crash of thunder. A storm was moving in over the Capital.