Kingshelm (Renegade Druid Cycle Book 1) (21 page)

The column rode four days to Rufus’ lands, with stops each afternoon to buy provisions and secure lodging in villages or friendly castles.
 

A damned cold ride it has been. Good to see the drafty old pile of rock
, Marek thought as the column approached Hearthstone, the stronghold of his cousin Rufus.
It will be a shame if the Sheriff does manage to crack it.
 

Marek led his riders through the village below Hearthstone in silence. No festivities greeted the men-at-arms lest the Sheriff’s men catch wind that something was brewing across the plains from them in Relfast.
 

Rufus welcomed Marek to his castle and offered his men hot meals and warm billets. After the cousins shared a meal in the great hall of the castle, they retired to a small room to talk strategy over warm, spiced wine.
 

“Are you sure you do not need me to ride with you?” Rufus asked nervously. “It seems cowardly of me to send my men on a wintertime raid if I am not willing to lead them myself.”
 

Marek took a pull of his drink.
The moron would get us all killed. You’re too valuable huddling in your rickety castle, you little prig
. “We shouldn’t be long, cousin. It will be a joyride, I suspect. Besides, your holding this castle is more important, ultimately, than any commotion I can stir up in the Sheriff’s lands. And I will happily face whatever risk is involved to see this injustice against you set aright.”
 

“Thank you, Marek, for riding into the heart of danger to right the wrong that was done me. However, it isn’t necessary…”
 

“But it is necessary,” Marek said. “These are dangerous times, and we cannot appear to be weak. A frontier warden must not be robbed of provisions in the dead of winter and not give swift retribution.”
 

“You are right, cousin. But I nonetheless fear for your safety.”
 

Marek shrugged. “We all must die some time. But I’m not worried. It’s a raid, not an invasion. If we run into any real resistance, we’ll turn tail and make for our side of the plain.”
 

“But what if they follow you? They’ll come straight for Hearthstone!”
 

If you keep whining, I’ll stab you in your fat belly and do Brynn’s work for them.
“Do you really think they would be stupid enough to attempt a siege in the middle of winter? The Sheriff would be no more eager to try and crack your castle than I am his. It’s too fucking cold for such silliness.”
 

Maybe Sheriff Cotrian will capture you and take you as a prize to Governor Drucilla
, Marek thought. He smiled reassuringly at Rufus and drained his wine.
Then you can annoy her to death, and we’ll be have the coming war half won.
 

A small village squatted in the plains before the 150 men-at-arms under Sir Marek’s command. Smoke rose from the chimneys of the dour, gray little huts. The occupants had risen early and were starting their morning chores, no doubt.
 

“This will do,” Marek told his standard bearer. “Signal the attack.”
 

The knights galloped across the frosty plain in the predawn light. Marek had told Rufus’ men very explicitly that he wanted a thorough job done of the village. His own men understood what he meant when he said “thorough,” but he hoped he had explained himself clearly enough to the knights on loan from Rufus.
 

It was a relatively simple operation. The knights encircled the village, set fire to the thatched roofs and cut down whoever came running out.
 

Marek slowed his charger when he was among the burning chaos of the village and carefully walked the vicious beast from house to house to contribute his sword arm to the grim work of provoking a war.
 

“Oh, you cheeky bastard,” he said, swinging his sword and breaking the head off of a pruning hook a half-naked man thrust at him. He then cut deeply into the man’s shoulder, grimaced at the sloppy blow he had delivered, then rode gingerly over the dying man to get at the woman and children struggling out of the burning house nearby. He felled the woman with a better-placed strike of his sword, but the children were too small and quick for his blade work.
 

Mahurin’s balls.
“Get those little bastards!” he yelled at everyone within earshot.
 

One of Rufus’ men heard him and rode the children down. Their screams ended abruptly under the charger’s iron-shod hoofs.
Good. They understood when I said, ‘thorough job.’
 

Half the village was a smoldering wreck before the morning sun was very high in the cold, cerulean sky.

“Burn everything,” Marek told his lieutenants. They were still mounted—there was no reason to unhorse. “We won’t plunder this one. There’s nothing here that’s worth the time we’ll waste pinching it. We need to hit one or two more to really get the Sheriff’s attention. You sick, violent bastards didn’t let anyone escape to tell of our awful deeds!”
 

“You did say, ‘thorough’ m’lord,” his squire said.
 

Marek clapped the squire on his armored forearm. “Aye, that I did. If you boys keep this up, we’ll be crossing the Mother River before the last frost.”
 

He looked at the burning houses and the dead men, women and children littering the frozen mud paths, then smiled with the satisfaction of a laborer who has put in a good day’s work.
Cousin Rufus, we have avenged you your stolen chickens!

Mithrandrates slid Garon a stack of papers and parchments across the table in the Emperor’s Library. “You wield my authority again today, Black Rod. See that these matters receive due attention.”
 

“I am honored to, my Emperor,” Garon said, taking the stack.
 

“And these,” Mithrandrates said, handing Garon a leather cylinder, “are the latest troop movements in Relfast and Brynn. Study them, and give me your detailed analysis.”
 

“I will do my best,” Garon said. “However, you have the better head for strategy and tactics. I question the utility my uninformed opinions will provide to you.”

“Garon, every graduate of the Imperial Academy knows the secret to mastering strategy. Simply put your men where the enemy’s men are not, then burn everything in front of you until the other side sues for peace.” Mithrandrates smirked. “We are sworn to secrecy lest everyone know how simple military strategy actually is. Any idiot can successfully conduct a war, if he but grasps this single concept.”
 

Garon took the scroll case. “That is strategy, my Emperor. And tactics? Are they as simple?”
 

“No,” the Emperor replied, smiling enigmatically. “Tactics are the bugbear of young commanders until they learn to let bad weather and poor roads do most of their work for them. But I have perhaps revealed too much already.”
 

“I will draw the information contained in this case on your map table, and leave it at that,” Garon said.
 

“Thank you. That is all I really need.” Mithrandrates drummed his fingers slowly and rhythmically on the table. “With all of the work I am pawning off on you lately, you are gaining all of the practical experience you need to be Emperor, instead of me. You are cunning enough to be good at it.”

Mithrandrates stared at Garon, keeping his face neutral but taking in every detail of the Black Rod’s body language and facial expression. Garon returned the stare.
 

“I would not be Emperor of Mergova even if you threw in half of Supernia and opened up the sea lanes between the two,” Garon said. “I much prefer your sword at my throat to the thousand hidden knives pointed at the Emperor’s back.”
 

“Your wisdom makes you doubly qualified to be Emperor, Garon,” Mithrandrates said. He stopped drumming his fingers. “Tell me truthfully, what do you think I have been doing lately when I beg off my duties and ask you to manage my empire?”
 

“Whatever it is, Emperor Mithrandrates, requires a clear mind, total concentration—and absolute obedience to Lady Madeline,” Garon said, cracking a faint smile. “It is not my place to pry or otherwise interfere.”
 

Mithrandrates nodded, then handed Garon one more piece of paper that was folded and sealed with wax.

“Here is a coded message that was hand delivered to me earlier this morning. You will find today’s cipher in my strongbox,” the Emperor said. “Take any action you see fit, and report to me tomorrow—verbally. Commit nothing to writing.”
 

“Very well, my Emperor.”
 

Lady Madeline was waiting for the Emperor when he entered his study, a room in the Imperial Citadel that even dukes would be honored to have for a library.

“Has your task been accomplished?” she asked in a tone appropriate for a teacher to her student, not a subject to her sovereign.
 

“Yes, Lady Madeline,” he replied, sitting in a chair across from her. “My other courtesans have been dismissed.”
 

“Good,” she said. “Have you masturbated this morning?”
 

“Yes.” The question did not embarrass or surprise him in the least.

“Good. It will be the last time for quite a while. This stage of your initiation will require total abstinence from carnal pleasures for a year and a day. If your willpower lapses at any time, you will need to start over from the first day.”
 

“‘Will is the power of
vir
, and the key to the power of all,’” Mithrandrates recited.
 

“Yes,” Lady Madeline said. “As you abstain from the pleasures of the flesh, and scrupulously follow your assigned exercises and meditations, you will begin to internalize this maxim. It will become inscribed in your physical being, much the way your skill with the sword the saddle are.”
 

“And the First Maxim? ‘All suppositions are true in some since,’ and so on? I struggle yet to truly understand it.”
 

Lady Madeline smiled kindly. “You will do so with the First Maxim for years to come. In fact, when you think you understand the it, be especially wary. In this field of study, a little understanding is more of a hinderance than none at all.”
 

“It is frustrating,” Mithrandrates said. “When I think I have grasped this wisdom, I am merely fooling myself into believing I understand. My hubris will lead me to believe I know what is actually unknowable—to my grief and undoing, I’m afraid.”
 

“From what I have read in your magical journal, that will not be a problem for you,” Lady Madeline said. “Your diligent study of the Knowledge Lectures and your experience as a battlefield commander will guard you from that fallacy. You are, however, more susceptible to an even more dangerous fallacy—grasping part of a truth while thinking you have the whole. Remember the rabbit’s last words: ‘Aha! How clever I am,’ he said as the eagle sank her claws into him. ‘I knew that fucking bird was around here somewhere!’”

Lady Madeline straightened in her chair and fixed the Emperor with an intense stare. “Enough with parables of animals. Recite the Wheel of the Sephiroth, and give me the corresponding emanations and aspects.”
 

Mithrandrates began without hesitation. “The First Sephira is Mahurin, the Sun. This is the sephira from which clerics draw their
vir
, and is the sephira of transcendent will.”
 

“Next.”
 

“Then come the three Druidic Sephiroth. Udric, the Pole Star, is the power of the Air Element and represents the will to evolve. Next is Kyn, the White Moon which governs the power of Water. It is the sphere of self mastery. Taer, the Red Moon, is the power of Fire and the will to strive in conflict.”
 

“Good,” Lady Madeline said. “The Esoteric Sephiroth?”
 

“These are the sephiroth from which hermetic mages draw their power,” Mithrandrates said. “First is Discordia, the secret name of the Chaos Moon. Its power manifests in the randomness inherent in existence. It is the Will to Bliss. Absurdia is the planet Barshsazza; it is pure, untamed
vir
that manifests the impossible. Absurdia represents the sexual will. Finally, there is Disciplina, ruler of the planet Taza.
 
Whereas the
vir
of Discordia is unbridled energy, the
vir
of Disciplina is pure form. The mental aspect of this sephira is the will to understand, to organize information into knowledge.”
 

“And the last two sephiroth?”
 

“Fentress, the sephira of the material plane. Its mental aspect is the will to possess, and its power is the magic of alchemy. Finally, there is the Null Sephira, the negative and unseen. It is the void of no will and the infinite well from which natural sorcerers draw their power.”
 

Lady Madeline smiled and leaned back slightly. “Very good. Now,” she smiled impishly, “do you believe all of that?”

“Why, Lady Madeline, all suppositions are true in some sense, false in some…”
 

“Bullshit. Give me a real answer.”
 

“You understand that I learned to ape this mystical claptrap expressly so I can rise in the ranks of the secret society that has infiltrated, as far as I know, every sphere of power and influence in my empire.”
 

“Yes. I know.
We
know.”
 

Mithrandrates sighed and rubbed his eyes. “But on a lark, I began looking at the intricacies of governance using the lens of the Sephiroth, and I soon began finding more and more connections between the strange occurrences that I used to call coincidences—and not the ‘coincidences’ that have human fingerprints on them.”
 

“Certainly,” Lady Madeline said. “Any fool can deduce what happened to a lost grain shipment or a strategically delayed message, if the fool but knows who stands to benefit.”