Arc 5: Chapter 21: The Path Forward

Arc 5: Chapter 21: The Path Forward

How does one properly respond to learning they are talking to a man who’d taught the greatest villain of the age everything he knows?

I didn’t know. So I kept quiet, letting the knowledge settle itself into my mind, coming to terms with it before I did or said anything foolish. Shocking perhaps, but I can occasionally have some tact.

Hendry did not have my self control. He shot to his feet, his hand reaching for the sword belted at his hip.

“Stop!” I barked. Hendry froze, his shaken expression turning to me in surprise.

“But…” The young knight glanced fearfully at the vampire. “He just said—”

“I know what he just said." I kept my eyes fixed on the Count, even as I addressed Hendry. “Sit down.”

Emma had remained calm, at least. She looked more interested than shocked. Catrin was looking around at everyone in confusion. Her knowledge extended to a lower class of villain, not nightmares who tore down kingdoms.

Reynard was the evil wizard who killed off half the elves, I thought. A gross oversimplification, but I had no time for more expositing.

Catrin’s eyes widened in understanding. “Ahh,” she said aloud.

Karog’s gaze was fixed on Laertes. I couldn’t tell what he thought, or if he’d already known any of this.

The Count had watched Hendry reach for his weapon, though he seemed more amused than anything and hadn’t budged from his seat so much as an inch.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to circle back around to more immediate concerns. “So, you’re saying that Hasur Vyke intends to reignite the war, and win it this time? And it has something to do with all this mess in the city?”

Laertes just watched me. I knew this game. He wanted me to draw my own conclusions, not have them fed to me. The fact he’d revealed so much let me know he had a purpose in mind for us.

What did he want? That was the real question, the one at the root of this present encounter.

“You said you’re trying to check another old power,” I said. “I’m guessing that means you consider yourself one?”

“I have no delusions of godhood,” Laertes said dryly. “Or even demigodhood. The Magi were intended to be custodians of knowledge, not brutes who rattle cosmic truths like swords in the scabbard.”

“So you’re at odds with your old apprentice?” Emma asked.

“I do not know my wayward disciple’s whereabouts,” Laertes admitted. “Nor do I believe he is involved in this. Hasur Vyke has his own ambitions, and will conduct his crusade with or without the involvement of the Magi. More than likely, the Condor has simply stolen one of Reynard’s slaves for his own purposes.”

“So in short,” I said, “you know that the Recusants have some grand plot, and you’re trying to check it. Does that make you an ally to the Accord?”

“I am an ally to order.” Laertes spoke with grave seriousness. “Our world is badly abused, and has been so repeatedly for a long time. The Elf King’s death was a maiming blow to what stability remained, and now carrion feeders like the Condor of Talsyn seek to take advantage. I would not go so far as to say I am your ally, Knight of Seydis, but I am enemy of your enemy.”

“Then Talsyn is behind these attacks?” I asked. “King Hasur is Yith’s master?”

Laertes nodded. “That is my belief.”

A fierce emotion swelled up in me, and not an entirely pleasant one. Triumph mixed with dread. My suspicions confirmed, and my worst fears realized.

“Do you have proof?” I asked, somewhat breathless.

“I have a plan,” Laertes corrected.

He placed his clawed fingers down on the table and pushed, standing from his chair to his full, intimidating height. His gray hair fell to form a shroud around his desiccated features. It struck me that he looked very much like the animate carcass of some great, ancient king.

Perhaps he was. The old wizards were often monarchs.

“You are aware that King Hasur’s son intends to compete in the Emperor’s tournament?” Laertes asked me.

“I had heard that,” I confirmed. “Something about showing camaraderie along with the cessation of hostilities.”

“A cover for a more sinister aim,” Laertes said darkly. “Are you also aware of the prize offered to the champion?”

I blinked. Usually in such competitions, the winner got a number of boons. Honors bestowed on them by whatever lord or monarch hosted the festival, glory, bragging rights. Sometimes, lands and titles were offered, or even marriages. I hadn’t paid much attention to the tournament beyond its inconvenience as a deadline, and the traffic it had brought to the capital.

“Usually,” I said uncertainly, “the winner claims the Right of Tribute.”

Catrin frowned. “What’s that? I don’t know much about all this knight stuff.”

Hendry spoke up for the first time since he’d almost drawn on the Count, seated again and in control of himself. “It is an old custom, my lady.”

Catrin snorted out a laugh. “I’m no lady. You met me in a brothel, kid.”

Hendry blushed. “Right. Sorry, uh, ma’am. Anyway, when a knight is defeated in a tourney, or even in a personal duel, the winner claims all their arms and armor as the prize. They usually take their chimeric mount too, and sometimes other trinkets.”

“My grandmother used to tell me that the winner might even claim a night with the loser’s spouse sometimes.” Emma said this like it was some fun, obscure fact. “That’s actually how she met my grandfather. Good thing too, because her first husband was apparently a useless wastrel.”

Catrin made a small hm at that and popped a berry into her mouth, while Hendry grimaced. Knowing a bit of the sordid history of Emma’s ancestors, it came as little surprise to me that Anastasia Carreon had cuckolded her husband with the man who’d beaten him in war play.

Urn had not always had particularly fair or gentle customs. It is

a land of warriors, and war is rarely just.

“The tradition usually ends with the tournament champion giving everything he claimed back,” I added to keep the conversation on track. “As a show of magnanimity, and to cool hot tempers.”

“No doubt this custom will be invoked,” Laertes agreed. “Normally, it would mean enough wealth for a lesser knight to enhance his prospects, perhaps even gain a lordship, or for a lord to gain prestige among his fellows. But this is the greatest gathering of arms for such a ritual since the earliest days of Urn’s settling. More than a thousand warriors will clash within the Grand Coloss. Many will have awakened souls, and those who do not may ignite as they struggle, triumph, and lament in failure.”

I nodded slowly, familiar with this. When I once again caught Catrin’s confused expression, I explained for her benefit. “It’s fairly common for fighters to awaken their aura when they fight hard enough. The heightened emotions, the need to survive and win, the fear… it can trigger the change. It usually happens in war, but I’ve heard of it happening in tournaments and duels on occasion.”

“Is that how it happened for you?” She asked me with genuine curiosity.

I shook my head. “No. I came close a few times, but it wasn’t until I swore my oaths to the Table that I gained the ability to wield aura.”

“I’ve been able to do it since I was a child,” Emma stated smugly.

“Blood Art is cheating,” I told her. “It doesn’t count.”

My squire turned her nose up haughtily. “And using some magic piece of furniture isn’t cheating?”

She had me there.

“There is more than just the competitors in play,” Laertes continued, our banter rolling off his dour shoulders. “Thousands will observe the festival. Their joy, their distress, their will shall pour into the results of these battles. Tens of thousands in the city or across the realms shall weigh their futures upon the result of this great struggle. This is the fulcrum of the future, a chance for old rivalries to be resolved, for new ones to be born, for champions of old to indulge in their final glories while those of a new age are born within the tournament’s crucible.”

I felt suddenly cold. “Then the Right of Tribute… it’s not going to be about treasures, is it?”

The undead Magi spread out his arms in a grandiose motion, his rich garments unfolding like black wings. “Make no mistake, my guests. This festival is no trifling distraction, but the pendulum upon which Urn’s future swings. The Coloss shall become as a vortex of souls, raising the battles within to great heights.”

He revealed his wolf’s teeth in a savage grin. “It will make history.”

“You’re making my head hurt,” Catrin whined, rubbing at her temples. “What in the name of the God-Queen’s shining tits does all that mean?”

“It means,” I said in a dark voice, “that the abilities of those who compete in the tournament will be enhanced. It’s how aura works — it’s the same reason I can use mine to command someone to drop their sword, or why a king has the charisma to speak over an entire battlefield. Peoples wills, their beliefs, have real power. That power affects the world around them, sometimes without them even meaning for it too. You don’t need your aura to be awakened for that to be true, though it makes the effects more extreme if it is.”

Emma, an adept herself, nodded. “Everyone’s got aura, Catrin. It’s just that being aware of it lets you be more deliberate with how it’s used.”

Catrin seemed to get it. “So… since there are going to be so many people involved in this big hoorah, and they’re all going to be so into it…”

“It will make each clash more dramatic,” I said. “Art will become more powerful as the natural abilities of the competitors increase in response to the city’s rising fervor. It can even affect the weather. It will probably get more extreme the further into the fighting we get.”

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I inwardly cursed. How had I missed it? I’d known about this phenomenon. There were plenty of stories of great battles between figures of legend which resulted in storms and earthquakes. Even outside of violence, it was the same reason why great lords seemed larger than life — the wills of those who followed and believed in such figures, the stories about them, pressed on reality.

Most Art was fashioned from those stories, each phantasm a manifestation of the images great events had burned into existence.

The grand prize of Garihelm’s tournament was the Soul Art that would be born from it.

Even ignoring that end, many of the fighters who didn’t have powers would gain them, as their aura burned hotter and soaked in the spiritual energies running rampant all around them. Like leaves catching fire in a spreading inferno, adding to the conflagration. It could turn into a violent domino effect.

“It was common for such festivals to be used for exactly this purpose in ancient days,” Laertes added in an almost casual voice. “To forge armies out of the uninitiated. Every warrior who can wield aura is a powerful weapon in a nation’s arsenal, and often enough a High Art would be born at the end of such a clash of wills and destinies.”

“The Emperor definitely hasn’t overlooked that,” I said quietly.

I had underestimated Markham again. I had considered the grand tourney to be frivolous and wasteful. I had not considered just how important that show of unity, of strength, really was. Or its potential use in preparing the realm for whatever dark days lay ahead of us.

This is why the Vykes sent those two here, I thought. The only reason Hasur is reaching out from his mountain palace now is to take advantage of this opportunity.

I looked to the Count. “How can Hasur use this?”

Art is just a tool. What mattered would be how our enemy wielded it.

“In a great variety of ways,” Laertes told me. “The tournament will act as the locus of a vortex of energies, a point of concentration upon which the will of the land will be fixed. Just as you might sharpen your own spirit into the edge of a blade, so too can this be done here. The principle is the same as the wielding of your own Battle Art, only done on a much larger scale.”

Emma leaned forward. “So the Vykes want to use the tournament for the casting of some enormous spell?”

“It is a ritual,” Laertes clarified. “It could not be used by any mere bystander. It would require the caster to be strongly connected to the act itself, and to stand at its very center when the collected power has reached an apex.”

My hand clenched into a fist as I realized what this meant. “Calerus. The prince. That’s why he’s participating. He’s the one who’s going to wield this Art.”

“Wouldn’t that require him to win the tournament?” Emma asked.

Laertes nodded. “That is the most direct course.”

“And what are they planning to do with this ritual thing?” Catrin asked, still looking like she was trying to keep up.

“Assassinate the Emperor?” Hendry suggested.

“This is a pretty elaborate scheme for that,” I said with skepticism. “There are too many things that could go wrong, and easier ways to assassinate a monarch. No, they have something bigger in mind. If Calerus loses, then this whole plot goes to waste…”

I stood suddenly. “That’s it.”

Catrin blinked at me in confusion. “What’s it?”

“The Vykes were behind the Culling,” I explained. I almost laughed. Something very much like a laugh, breathy and hoarse, escaped my lips. “I can’t believe it. Markham’s councilors were right. They were trying to remove competition. They want to increase their champion’s prospects at winning.”

“Still doesn’t tell us what they’re actually trying to accomplish,” Emma said.

“That,” Laertes rumbled, “I cannot answer. I am not privy to the councils or mind of Hasur Vyke. This knowledge I give you is largely conjecture. Educated guessing, though I am confident in my theories. I have been monitoring the situation for some time.”

“That’s why you’re putting Karog forward.” I turned to look at the quiet ogre. “He’s your counter play to prevent Calerus from winning.”

“There’s going to be a lot of potent names in this,” Emma warned. “Karog might not even end up fighting Calerus. What if someone else beats him first, or both of them?”

“If the prince fails,” Laertes said, “then we have won this round.”

“And if he reaches the finals, but Karog doesn’t?” Emma pressed with an insistent tone.

“I will not fail.”

We all looked at Karog again, who maintained his perpetual dour glare. It was hard to argue with the statement, looking at his enormous frame, crafted by western alchemists as a perfect instrument of violence.

I studied him a moment, another realization coming to me. “This isn’t just about achieving knighthood and helping Parn’s folk. This is about revenge, isn’t it? For the Vykes betraying you?”

Karog turned his beady eyes to me. He remained quiet a minute, then lowered his head. “I can achieve both aims.”

It had frustrated me, when Karog had refused to help me investigate the Carmine Killer. I hadn’t understood why he’d been so ready to abandon his crusade against our mutual enemy. Had he understood, even then, that Yith was only a minion of a greater power? Had Laertes already approached him and offered this?

If so, he’d been keeping it from me. I could have known my true enemy well before things had reached this point.

Karog maintained eye contact with me, his heavy jaw set. I would get no contrition from him.

“I am confident in my champion’s strength.” Laertes redirected our attention back to him. “But I am aware that little can be predicted in an event of this scale. We cannot know who will emerge victorious, but King Hasur must be very confident in his son. He is a shrewd man, and would not leave things to chance.”

“Which means the Culling probably isn’t going to be the only instance of the Vykes cheating,” I said. I drummed my fingers against the table as I considered.

“Then we must hedge our own bets,” Laertes suggested. “Rather than leaving it all on Karog’s shoulders, we must increase our chances of frustrating Prince Calerus.”

He unfolded his fingers to gesture at me with an upturned palm. “Will you not join this festival of war, Knight of Seydis?”

Catrin, Hendry, and Emma all turned their heads to stare at me with wide, questioning eyes.

I squared my shoulders, just as if I were bracing for a charge. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” Emma stood. “Alken, with both you and Karog involved there is a good chance one of you could get a shot at knocking this princeling out of the lists. Why not double our odds of stopping this?”

I could see her eagerness, and knew she wasn’t pushing just because of practicality.

“I am not a tourney knight,” I said. “I’m not representing a House or in a position to eat up glory. I’ve taken a post as a justiciar, Emma. It’s the same reason I couldn’t help Laessa or her champions. If I join, it will draw fire on the royal court. It’s one thing for the Storm Knights to have a fighter represent them, but if I do it people will accuse Markham of rigging his own game.”

I shook my head. “Especially after I killed the Grand Prior. It would be a horrible scandal. Markham is no fool, and he would order me to withdraw if I tried joining the lists.”

“Not if you explain all this to him!” Emma set her jaw stubbornly. “Surely he would understand the necessity.”

Hendry piped in. “Why not just tell the Emperor about the plot, and have him order the Vykes to withdraw from the tourney?”

“Calerus is representing a sovereign country,” I said. “It would be a grave insult, one Talsyn could use to gain support and destabilize the realms. It would be nearly as bad as just killing the little bastard.”

Emma pressed her argument, speaking in a reasonable tone. “This is the best of all worlds, Alken. You can’t kill the prince, or block him from competing, but if you beat him then this scheme is stopped and they’ll probably bugger off. For a while, at least, giving us time to take further action.”

I caught Catrin nodding in agreement. When she saw my angry look, she shrugged. “Sorry, big man, but it’s not a bad idea. What’s a little scandal next to everything his countship just told us?”

“It wouldn’t be a little scandal,” I said stubbornly. “Besides, it’s a moot point. The Emperor won’t let me compete.”

I felt sure of that. Markham needed to look neutral, a dispassionate judge standing above the rest. With him as my direct superior, and with my role as a servant to the Divine Choir, everyone involved in the competition would cry foul if I joined.

My days of fighting for glory and honor were long done.

“There are other ways to deal with this,” I said. “I can work behind the scenes, make sure the Vykes don’t cheat.” Maybe even do some cheating myself, I thought.

When Emma opened her mouth for a furious retort, I spoke over her. “Besides, it’s not just Calerus we have to deal with. There’s his sister, Hyperia.”

She had given me an unsettling feeling, and had been the more talkative of the two. I also hadn’t forgotten my original purpose in coming here.

“Then there’s Yith. I know he’s going to be involved in all this somehow, and I’d rather chance on taking him out of play.”

I turned my attention back to Laertes. “The Keeper believed you could help me track the bug down. Can you?”

The vampire folded his fingers together, clawed digits locking in front of his waist. “The demon is of concern. It is possible it even has a role in whatever power our enemy seeks to invoke.”

He considered a moment, then lifted his gray head to look at me. “Calling a demon bound to another master is next to impossible, or I would simply suggest performing our own summoning. Likewise, tracking a creature of darkness into the shadows where it dwells is often a fool’s game. Yith is old and cunning, and can sink into deeper depths than even a wielder of the Alder’s fire may safely follow.”

“Shadows?”

I froze, then looked to the one who’d spoken. Catrin stared at Laertes, her lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Catrin.” I drew her attention to me. “No.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”

She stood, fulling joining the circle the Count, Emma, and I had formed. Placing a hand to her chest, Catrin spoke in a calm, collected voice. “I can move through shadows. I know that realm, or whatever you want to call it. If Yith is hiding in my territory, then let me try to sniff him out.”

“He’ll end up sniffing you out,” I argued. “Remember what you said about being the little monster, Cat? Yith is a big one. If he catches on to you, and you’re not where I can protect you…”

I trailed off, instead pushing my worries forward in thought. I can’t let you do this. It’s too dangerous.

Catrin clenched one hand into a fist on the table, her jaw stubbornly set. I couldn’t read her thoughts back, a fact that struck me hard just then.

“I have a say in this too,” she said calmly. “I lost someone I cared about back in Caelfall to these bastards. I saw what they did to give that thing its body. If there’s a way for me to help, then I’m doing it.”

Before I could answer, she turned to the Count. “Could I do it?”

To my dismay, Laertes looked thoughtful. “It is possible. Yith is known as Corpsefather, a master of crawling vermin. Your own aspect is not far off, graveflower, and could form a link to whatever paths he traverses. Demons often move through paths of abstraction just as the more ancient elves do.”

“And what if she gets stuck in there with him?” I demanded.

“Then you must be the guiding light which draws her back from those depths,” Laertes told me.

Had this been why the Keeper had sent Catrin with us? Had he known? Or was this some gross coincidence orchestrated by this old, malignant mastermind in front of me?

Catrin must have felt my fear, because she gave me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, big man, but I can’t just stand by and let my friends take on all the risk.”

Emma didn’t look much more excited about the idea than me. “Catrin, are you sure? This is incredibly dangerous.”

Catrin patted my squire’s hand. “It’s alright, droplet. Much as I enjoy giving our boy pep talks and riding the stress out of him, it’ll be good to play hero for once.”

Emma snorted. Hendry adopted a scandalized expression. I let out a heavy sigh. Perhaps I should have been embarrassed, but I just felt too glad to see her back to her usual self, and too afraid for what might happen to her.

Catrin looked at me. “Will you guide me back? Be my torch?”

I wanted to push against it. I was supposed to be the vanguard, the one who got torn up by the monsters so no one else had to be.

“Is there another way?” I asked the Count in desperation.

Laertes nodded. “Of course. Wait for the demon to reveal itself and kill it before whatever goal it has in mind is done. You may have a small window.”

“That’s a damned stupid risk if there’s a way to remove the bastard early,” Catrin stated flatly. “I’m doing it.”

She refused to meet my eye, instead keeping her attention on the elder vampire. “Can you show me how to track him down?”

Laertes inclined his head. “I can provide some wisdom that may aid you, graveflower. Know that there will be risks, and not just from the demon’s claws.”

“What does that mean?” I asked in alarm.

“I shall explain them to her,” Laertes said with a gesture to Catrin. “They are for her ears, and for her to choose to share should she wish. There are secrets I will not give to one of Tuvon’s warriors by my own lips. She is of the dead, just as I am, and has a right to this knowledge.”

His voice hardened. “You do not.”

I glowered at him, frustrated, but saw no give in that corpse face. Catrin didn’t jump in to help either, instead remaining quiet and thoughtful. If she heard the panic in my thoughts, she didn’t comment on it.

“What now?” Hendry asked me. “Should we report back to the palace, ser?”

It was a good question. How much of this did I reveal to the Emperor? How much would he believe when it came to diabolical plots and dark rituals? I doubted I’d be able to get him to stop the tournament, not with the grievous loss of face it would cause.

There would be some time to figure it out.

No there won’t, I mocked myself. The tournament starts the day after tomorrow.

Two days. The realization felt like an anvil pressing down on my shoulders.

“We’ll get back to the city for now,” I said aloud to the group. “We’ll figure it out then.”

“You may leave the way you came,” Laertes said. “You shall not be obstructed. I wish you all luck, for all our sakes.”