The Wheelwright's Apprentice (30 page)

47

“What do you mean he’s doing nothing? He can’t be doing nothing!” The veins on Emperor Draman’s temples were standing out. Everything breakable had long since been removed from the vicinity - or been broken.

Duke Nordin tried to be conciliatory, which was hard for him, as it was his city that the Count had captured. “We mean nothing of a military nature. The Count’s army is still camped outside my
c
ity, well past the time needed to secure it.” He thought, but didn’t dare add, “Especially as there was never any opposition, and they virtually welcomed him with open arms.”

“So he’s just sitting there? What’s he waiting for?”

“The assumption your generals have made is that he is waiting for you to come to him. The first thing he did was to turn the Temple dedicated to your father into a Temple of healing. There are three Willed healers working there now.”

“That bastard is thumbing his nose at me!” The chandelier, twenty feet above him, started swinging about violently. Nobody had thought to have it removed.

“I expect he’ll continue to do so until you go to him.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I won’t be a Duke anymore, as Threehills City will be part of Galland. The Count is playing the part of the good conqueror. It’s not only healing he’s doing. He has repaved the streets, repaired two bridges, and demolished and rebuilt several old or dilapidated buildings including the Truthreader’s Court, Taxation House and my palace - as a museum and library. The people seem to love  him.”

The chandelier tore itself away from the ceiling and landed in a corner between two guards. Their stoic expressions and lack of reaction showed how commonplace such events had become.

“How do you know all of this? I didn’t think we had an adept left there.”

“We don’t. The Count is allowing normal trade, and anyone can come and go, except the garrison, who’ve been sequestered. The news is spreading all over with every carter, merchant and traveler who leaves for somewhere else. Because of the time it takes to get here, that news is already at least two days old. Who knows what else he’s doing?”

The chandelier picked itself up and slammed into the far wall in a cascade of crystal shards.

Draman completely ignored the noise, and pierced Duke Nordin with his gaze. “It’s your Duchy and city. Ask the bastard what he wants yourself. Go as my envoy under a flag of truce. He’s the type who will honour it.” Nordin was secretly very pleased. Although it was his holding that had been taken, and visiting it would be depressing, anything that got him away from Draman and his foul temper tantrums was to be heartily welcomed.

* * *

Two days later Nordin wasn’t so sure. It had been an age since he had spent so long riding, and he was getting annoyed. He hadn’t been able to flit over, as all his arrival points had all been in buildings that had been demolished. In any case, he had had to bring an honour guard of twenty. He wasn’t keen to meet the Count, although he knew him to be an honourable man who would respect his appointment as Ambassador. It was because he didn’t want to hear the words he would have to take back to Emperor Draman, as they would be almost guaranteed to drive him into an incandescent fury.

One of the forward scouts rode up, and reined in beside him. “We can see the Count’s standard now, your grace, the fox is unmistakable. Another two miles and we’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” Nordin turned to the officer in charge of his escort, Major Arman. “Ask the standard bearer to break out my big standard, and pass the word that I want everybody to ride neatly in formation. Let’s look good. I want to do this properly.”

They rode slowly into a camp that was well set out and organized. They were met by Beech, who was attended by the same number of riders as Nordin. Beech was short and to the point, “Welcome, your Grace, my name is Beech and my master is expecting you.”

Beech led them to a large tent, where they were extremely well-received. Grooms waited to take, curry, feed and stable their horses. Two well appointed tents stood nearby, for their use. In one, an inviting array of food and drink had been set out. The other was a bathhouse, with two cauldrons of hot water simmering. It was as if they had been received at a grand castle. Major Arman couldn’t help observing, “It’s almost as if they are being too nice, your Grace. I expect something to go hideously wrong, and soon.”

“If they had dancing girls to wash our backs, Major, I’d agree with you. For the moment let’s be good guests and accept these kind welcoming gifts. I could use a decent bath.”

Two hours later, once they had all rested, bathed and fed, everyone felt a lot better and relaxed. Beech chose that moment to come back, and politely inform Duke Nordin, “My master hopes you have recovered from your journey, and asks that you accompany me. He guarantees yourarantees safety.”

Nordin called over Major Arman. “Major, I will go on my own. I think it’s best to let everyone rest, we may have to return at any time.” In response to the Major’s raised eyebrows, he added, “If he wanted to harm us, we would have no defense. There must be at least a dozen adepts here in the camp today. I’m sure Master Beech will be good enough to escort me back when we’re finished.”

Nordin had not met the Count before. He was led to a small tent, and introduced, after which Beech left them alone. To Nordin this spoke volumes. The Count was not afraid, and believed himself to be significantly stronger than him. The first words came from the Count. “What does Draman want?”

“He sent me to find out what you want.”

The Count replied, keeping a straight face, “I want to kill him.”

Nordin had not expected such a candid answer. “I can hardly go back and tell him that.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not going back.” This made Nordin start. “Ask yourself this: Do you actually want to go back, to be bullied and kicked around by that sadistic animal?”

Nordin was quiet for a long time. Eventually he said, “What can you offer that would keep me from going back?”

“I can offer you your holdings here, returned in much better shape than they were before. I can’t offer you the title of Duke, but being a Baron of Galland won’t be bad.”

“Why?” This was totally unanticipated.

“You’re smart and competent, face it, you’d have to be to have survived a century and a half as his chief advisor. When you actually ran your holdings, they were much more prosperous than they are now. It’s not your fault your idiot heir is an incompetent wastrel, who has been running your holdings into the ground while you were forced to dance attendance on Draman. If you had the time to care for Threehills City, I’m sure the region would become prosperous again. More importantly, I see adepts such as yourself to be the most irreplaceable resource we have. I only kill them if I have to. Those that can’t be made to help. Like Draman.”

“You speak as if you could have destroyed Draman any time you liked. Why wait until now?”

“The idiot started a war and people were getting killed.”

“That was it? Because he started a war?”

“That was some of it, but mostly because it didn’t suit my purpose before now.”

Nordin was eager to know about that purpose, but wasn’t going to ask, as he knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer. What sort of plan could it be that stretched over decades, or longer? The Count was playing a long game. He caught himself and laughed. For people who lived hundreds of years, long games were what they played.

“You want to be Baron of Threehills, or do you want to cast your lot with Draman and be Duke of nothing?” It was time for his big decision.

Nordin hesitated, but not for as long as he had earlier. He stretched out his hand. “What can I call you?”

The Count grasped it. “My official title is ‘The Count of Red City’.” There is only one person alive who knows my given name, and I promised her a very long time ago that it would be our secret. Everybody refers to me as ‘Count’, and I have become used to it.knewd to it. He dropped the handshake, went to the tent flap, and told an aide who had been waiting, “Let’s get the show rolling.” He returned to Nordin, and said, “I have arranged a little entertainment for you. Come with me, and make yourself invisible. Please don’t interfere with what you see, it’s important.”

The Count showed him to a spot where he could see all the tents that his escorts were using, and which also had a clear view towards the Count’s tent. After a minute or so there was an incredibly loud bang followed by several brilliant flashes of light. When another smaller bang followed, his escort came tumbling out of their tents to see what was happening. He then saw himself, no not himself, an image of himself, running towards his escort. From what he could see the image was perfect. It turned, and a man who had obviously been chasing him was thrown fifty feet into the air, only to land on the roof of one of the tents. Another attacker followed, and the Nordin image crouched down, waved its hand, and the second attacker disintegrated into hundreds of pieces.

The Count came into view, walking deliberately. He stopped at a distance, and challenged, “It’s over you treacherous flea. Die like a man!” The image stood up and waved his arm towards the Count. Nothing happened to the Count, but the Nordin image burst into a searing flame so hot that Major Arman and the rest of the escort had to retreat quite a distance. The image burned until there was nothing left. As the embers were cooling, the Count approached a frightened Major Arman and his terrified soldiers. “Get out of here. You have ten minutes to be gone. Make sure you tell your foolish pretend Emperor how I treated his lackey.” Nordin had never seen such a fearsome expression before.

They were gone well before their time was up.

Aft
er his escort had left, Nordin asked the Count, “What was that meant to achieve?”

“It’ll bring Draman here faster than anything else. He will want revenge for you, and he should realize that he has to face me eventually anyway. He may even think he can win.” The Count’s voice dropped. “He hasn’t a chance, I’m much too strong.” He changed tack. “What did you think of the show? We were practicing it on and off for three days.”

“You mean you knew I would come here before I did.” Nordin was shocked. What would have happened if he had sent someone else? Things would have been a lot different.

“There is no way he could have sent anyone else. I know how his mind works. I’ve been observing him for a few hundred years. There is no way you wouldn’t have come either. I’ve been observing you for almost as long.”

“One more thing, Draman told me that you were an honourable man who would respect the fact that I was his envoy, and wouldn’t harm me. If he believes that, he may guess that something isn’t quite right.”

“If we were talking about most people, I would agree with you, but he is going to be so blinded by his anger and impotence that he won’t be able to think straight.”

That got a knowing laugh from Nordin. “I guess you do know all about him!”

48

After a quarter of an hour, during which she continuously badgered Art, Iria at last got the message that she was being a bit difficult. For a while she shut up and watched the scenery drift past as the cart rumbled alfong under Davi’s careful guidance. It was actually the first time she had traveled in a cart, and thanks to the chair she had conjured for herself, it was more comfortable than riding in a carriage. Of course, there was the slight indignity of sitting next to a pile of breastplates that clanked whenever the cart hit a bump, but all in all it was a pleasant experience. Now Iria’s nature was such that keeping quiet for a goodly period of time was something she found almost impossible. When she broke her silence, she felt it better to speak to Davi, and she chose what she thought would be a nice safe subject. “Do you have a girl?”

Davi didn’t reply. Art, though, let out a big guffaw, after which he said,”Sorry, Davi, that’s for you to answer.”

He looked at Art with a somewhat strained expression.”I think she would understand things better if you explained.”

Art exhaled, turned to Iria, and said, “Davi here doesn’t want a girlfriend as he’s looking for a boyfriend.” Iria went red. There was an awkward silence.

Davi decided to cover the gap in the conversation. “I really wanted Art. Unfortunately he was already spoken for.” This attempt to give Iria a small breathing space backfired as she went redder still. At least, from Art’s point of view, it reemphasized that he was not available.

“It appears that you have led a more sheltered life than I had imagined, Milady. Don’t worry, your father has entrusted you to my care, not only for your safety, but also for your enlightenment.” Art quickly changed the subject. “Tell me what you have learned to do with your Will?”

For someone who was probably older than Art, the list was severely limited. Iria had never been taught how to flit. She had only basic medical training and had never learned anything remotely connected to fighting. On the other hand she had acquired an interesting combination of womanly skills. She made clothes, could clean almost anything, and she used the Will for cooking, something Art had never even considered. Art agreed to teach her some of the basics of Willed fighting, and she offered to teach him cooking in return. Since they were not equipped for cooking lessons, Art took the first turn as teacher.

It turned out to be a surprisingly hard task. Iria had a lot of problems focusing her Will. After about the fifth attempt to cut a limb off a passing tree, Art asked, “Is there someone you really dislike?” Imagining the face of a bad person, the worse the better, on something, allowed the Will to focus and strike at it.

The discouraging answer, from Art’s perspective, was no. Art kept probing, and it turned out that Iria’s upbringing really had been charmed. Everyone had been nice to her. She enjoyed all the things she did. Her parents were loving, her brothers doting, and the servants all caring and helpful. She had been brought up without a care in the world. There was hardly anything in her past to make her angry, afraid, sad, hurt or even embarrassed. Thinking this all through, it came to him that her experiences were all totally useless in developing her Will.

“DAMNATION!” This was the first time Davi had heard Art swear. It might even have been the first time Iria had heard anyone swear. “Forgive me, Milady, I just realized something very important, something my father must have hoped I wouldn’t pick up on.”

Iria was intrigued. “And what might that be?”

Art rolled his head back as far as it would go, slowly straightened up, and said, “The way we bring our Will to bear effectively, isfectivel to really want something to happen. Emotions, especially the strong ones, work best.” He shook his head. “Pain works too.” He fidgeted slightly, preparing his words. “Most of the time we use the memory of these strong emotions to trigger our Will. You are the first Will adept I have met who has been deprived of these useful, if unpleasant, experiences. By contrast, I have had almost the opposite training. My father, the Count, has managed my life to fill it with the maximum amount of horrible events possible. Looking back over the last couple of years, it is now clear to me that he has been trying to make my Will as strong as possible. It must have worked too, as I have killed four adepts, and quite easily at that.”

Davi, who had been listening quietly, asked the question that Art didn’t want to face. “Why?”

“The only thing I can think of is that he is training me up to be a killer, a very strong killer, in fact one strong enough to kill other Will adepts. I can’t think why, or perhaps more importantly, who. If that’s the case, there is still one big problem.”

“Which is?”

“I really don’t like killing.”

Iria, who had been given a reasonable political education, suggested, “If your father, who is rumored to be the most astute adept around, hasn’t taken any action either to remove this unwanted characteristic, or to prevent you acquiring it in the first place...”

“Then,” Art broke in, “it doesn’t matter.”

“The only type of people who will kill, but only reluctantly, are those that are defending themselves or their loved ones.” Davi was proud of his contribution.

“That means,” Art said with a sense of finality, “that he expects one or more adepts to come after me.”

* * *

“Well, that was a surprise! At least it tells us why Emperor Draman withdrew all his troops.” Baron Edgurd was perplexed. So were most of the others in the room.

Earl Damon asked the question most of them were thinking. “Is that good or bad?”

The King of Waygand decided to take charge. “Any time one country invades another it isn’t good. When the invading country is by far the strongest in the region, we all have to be worried.” He turned to the messenger who had delivered the news. “Colonel, tell us again the source of this news.”

The Colonel peeled himself away from the wall by the door. He had been hoping to be dismissed but was now back in the spotlight. “It was one of our agents in the Jeerean capital, your Majesty. The information is two days old, as that is how long it took her to get here.”

“We’ll need to speak to her. Where is she now?”

“She’s having a bath, I believe, sir.”

“Give her time to dry off, Colonel, but bring her as quickly as you can.”

Minutes later the Colonel ushered an absolutely stunning woman into the room. Although she was wearing only a robe and no makeup, every man in the room could not help but focus his attention on her. She attempted a curtsy which allowed a tantalising view of her cleavage.

The King was informal. “Thank you for being so fast my lady. Please go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” She sat on an easy chair, and crossed her legs. Everyone watched.yone wat “May we know your name?”

“I am Aretia, your Majesty.”

“May we know how you obtained this information?”

She stood so that she could be more easily heard. It was a bold stance. “I work as a courtesan. I hear a lot of things.” Over a few whispers, she added, “I was entertaining General Milord Forenz. He came to me as events had been a shock to him, and he wished for my company to steady himself.” She waited until the whispers stopped. “He felt a need to unburden and share his news. I did my best to make him feel better.”

“Can you tell us, as closely as you can remember, exactly what he said?”

Aretia took a deep breath. “I saw him around midnight, now two and a half days ago. The first thing he said when we were alone was that Galland had invaded Summerland. Later he mentioned that it was an army under the fox standard of the Count.”

“Did he say when the Count invaded?”

“It was at least three days before he saw me.”

“What else did he say?”

“He said that Draman had no idea what to do as he had no idea as to what the Count wanted. You see, the Count took the City of Threehills without any opposition. He immediately had a large company of adepts undertake a slew of good works.”

“What did he mean by ‘good works’?”

“He had the Orchard Bridge rebuilt, started to repave all the roads, made the Temple to Draman’s father into a healer’s Temple, and rebuilt some really old structures.”

Earl Damon let out a barking laugh. “He’s playing with Draman.”

The King didn’t appreciate the interruption. “Damon, let the lady finish. We’ll listen to your comments afterwards.” To Aretia, “My lady, please continue.”

“He told me that the Count had set up a sort of permanent camp outside the City. He hadn’t billeted his troops inside. That was what was worrying the general and his colleagues the most. None of them had a clue as to his intentions.”

When it appeared that she had finished, the King said, “Thank you, Miss Aretia. My friends may have some questions. Alright, Damon, spit it out.”

“Your Majesty, I believe that the Count has one goal at the moment, and that is to kill Draman. He is waiting for him.”

Before anyone else could speak, Baron Edgurd added, “Remember how old the Count is? If he kills Draman, it could trigger his power madness. What will he do after that? Even he can’t know.” The temperature in the room turned icy. Nobody spoke for a time that stretched and felt considerably longer than it was.

Earl Damon suddenly sucked in a huge breath and all eyes turned his way. “What is it?” the king asked.

“It’s just an idea and it’s so outrageous that it might be right. It’s exactly the sort of thing he would do. We are reasonable friends, and I have known him almost all my life. Before I talk about it I’ll need to speak to Art.”

“Who is Art?”

“Art is the Count’s son, and he is currently in my employ.”

Baron Edgurd’s eldest son asked, “Is that the same one who killed High Priestess Aravia?”
ia?”

“Yes, it is,” Earl Damon replied. “He’s also the one that did for three of our enemy’s adepts in the last week.” This brought another, shorter, silence.

“How come he
’s working for you?” The King was expressing everyone’s interest.

“He was sent to be a part of Captain Hanna’s mercenary band. I pay them a retainer to have first refusal on their services each year. Obviously I exercised my option. Finding him amongst them was a lucky bonus.”

“Who sent him?”

“His father, the Count.”

“Let me get this straight.” It was a new voice from beside the king, Earl Yerka, one of his advisors. “The Count sent his son, who is not simply an adept, but one who is obviously dangerous enough to have killed four Will adepts by himself, into a situation where he would be part of our alliance. Meanwhile he goes ahead and invades Summerland, who attacked us, and has occupied the Duchy of Threehills.”

“That’s about all I know too.” Earl Damon spread his hands.

The King asked, “Where is this Art, now?”

“He is in Furl, protecting my daughter.” It was Baron Edgurd, smiling sheepishly. “Last I heard she was in a cart with him going to Furl.”

That got the first smile of the day from most of the participants.

The King stood, which forced everyone else to stand as well. “Damon, get this son of the Count here as soon as you can. We need to find out what he knows.”