Soulbreaker (19 page)

As Borosen relayed the story, bits of it seemed all too familiar to Ainslen, reminding him of Far’an Senjin, but his mind kept returning to the merchant’s first words. “You said these Dracodar assassins had grey scales rather than gold or silver, and they could disrupt melds?” Ainslen waited for Borosen’s nod, emotions rising to a slow boil. When the affirmation came, the king gazed at the Farlanders, expression full of murder. Sweat beaded Tethuma’s forehead. Marosim had the look of a man who’d accepted his possible fate. “The men that attacked me here, were they Soulbreakers?”

“Yes,” Marosim answered.

“Did Seligula send them?”

“That I cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?” Ainslen asked.

“When he learned of the Soulbreaker attack, the Warmaster was most upset,” Tethuma said. “All were ordered to keep them secret.”

“So he knew?” Ainslen hissed. “And did not approach me with his knowledge” He was seething inside.

Marosim and Tethuma began a conversation in Farlander, at times voicing what sounded like differences of opinion. Ainslen made to yell at them when Borosen touched his arm. The king bit down on his rage. The argument continued for a bit before the two men realized everyone was watching them. They stopped, gazes flitting between the king and the spy.

“What did they say?” Ainslen asked quietly, eyes hard as he watched the two Farlanders.

“Neither believes Warmaster Seligula was responsible,” Borosen said. “They think the attempt was the actions of one of his rivals, one of the other Warmasters, or perhaps even Balbas himself, who has been in seclusion for over a century. Seligula is slated to be the next leader of the warrior castes, the next Warmonger. If this campaign is successful he will be raised upon his return.”

More power than their emperor, then.
Ainslen tapped his chin with his forefinger. “So, I might have been the target of a plot to undermine Seligula.”
It’s past time I paid the man a visit.
Something nagged at the king. He thought back to all he’d heard so far. “Tethuma, you seemed to think little of these siege engines. Why?”

“That method of war is outdated. They do not stand a chance against our firebreathers.”

“Firebreathers?”

“The weapons we used against your precious cities to the east,” Tethuma bragged. “They are a larger form of our firesticks, made completely of metal. They have a range of five thousand feet and can shoot a metal ball this big.” He made a space between his hands almost a foot in length. “They can fire even farther when a group of melders link together to add soul to the shot. The effects must be seen to be believed. It tears through the strongest walls, and what it does to a body …” the Jophite shook his head, admiration clear in his eyes.

Speechless, Ainslen allowed his mind to work, considering how easily Ernassa had fallen. As his initial shock wore off, he sorted possibilities, drew up strategies. Despite his successes over the past months, the world had felt as if it were closing in on him. For all that had gone right with his ascension, so much more had gone terribly wrong. And yet, here he was, standing with his back to a wall as enemies approached from all sides, and the wall had become a door. Smiling inwardly, he thought of High Priest Jarod’s words.
You might be right after all. The Dominion is shining on my rule.

Hours later, after he’d made preparations to meet Seligula near the Dreadwood, Ainslen headed down to the dungeons. On this trip he brought Curate Selentus, whose precisely trimmed beard and oiled hair seemed out of place with his red and blue robes, the black sash of his station running from right shoulder to left waist. He disliked his reliance on the wiseman, but in this he had no choice. Delisar’s soul had proven too strong to steal with the inner cycle,
entope
, either directly or by the use of his mosquitoes.

With his retinue of Blades a
few steps behind, Ainslen strode along the walkway that spanned from one side of the dungeon to the next, inky blackness yawning at him from below. Cells stood over that gaping maw, atop grey metal spires that defied reality, too thin, too pointed to support them. But nonetheless they stood. A Blade guarded the door to each cell. Moans and cries echoed within the chamber, and the smell of blood, death, and sickness permeated the air.

At Delisar’s prison there were a total of twelve guards on the outside, four before the door, one for each corner, and one for each side. The four at the corners held arms-width chains that passed through holes in the wall and were connected to Delisar’s ankles and wrists. The man had almost escaped twice, displaying a near unrivaled ability in unarmed combat, even against melders. Ainslen thanked the Dominion that soul no longer seeped from inside.

The king signaled to two of the guards, and they proceeded to open the door, first using soul to deactivate their wards, and then sliding back the massive bolts. He gestured for his men to wait, nodded to Selentus, and the two of them entered.

The room stank. For all his time imprisoned, Delisar appeared to be no worse for wear. His skin had long since healed, hiding his golden scales A mass of hair covered his face and matched the black mane that fell past his shoulders. He sat cross-legged in the center of the flagstoned floor, the black manacles that once held him replaced by grey ones Seligula provided. Eight Blades helped to keep him imprisoned, applying pressure to his vital points to inhibit his ability to touch his soul. Ainslen doubted the need for that last precaution, but it made him feel safer.

“I see you’ve come to steal once more.” Delisar’s amber eyes, so much like a snake’s, tracked Ainslen, and reminded him of the Soulbreakers. “You will never amount to much, no matter how high you rise, for the skills you steal will never truly be yours. It’s like taking the face of a handsome man and putting it on an ugly one. He wouldn’t know exactly what to do with his newfound beauty. You can try to hide what you are, but those like me will know.” The Consortium leader’s lips curved into a slow smile that never reached his eyes. He extended his left arm, palm up, and then folded his hand into a tight fist.

Selentus stepped forward and removed a leather cord, a small knife, a length of extremely slim metal tubing, and a glass container the size of a cup used for ale or mesqa. He kneeled next to Delisar, used the leather cord as a tourniquet, made a small incision near the joint between elbow and arm, inserted the tube, and then held the container beneath it. Blood began to drop, splattering against the glass. The drops grew to a steady trickle. Delisar continued to stare at Ainslen.

Although transfusions were at their most potent when done directly between bodies the king did not wish to risk being in Delisar’s vicinity any longer than necessary. And not with any items the man could use as a weapon. Ainslen waited for Selentus to complete the task and step outside before he spoke to the Consortium leader. “This is the last of your blood that I will take.”

“Oh? Why is that? Don’t you need to continually augment your stolen power?” Delisar chuckled.

“You will be executed soon, and then I will take all of you for myself, flesh, blood, and scales.” Ainslen expected the Dracodar to struggle against his bonds, but instead Delisar smiled, a cruel thing that looked more vicious with his eyes. The expression sent a chill through the king. He wanted to wipe that smile clean. “Your sons will die shortly afterward also. I know where they are in the Treskelin. They, I might feed to one of the counts or to the Soul Throne.”

This time, Delisar did struggle, kicking out at Ainslen, straining against the manacles. Soul pushed at his vital points, but it was paltry compared to his past efforts. The eight Blades made certain the points remained closed, a task made easier by the new restraints. After a few minutes, Delisar calmed, but his glare was pure hate.

“All of this, the persecution of my family, the destruction of the guilds, all because of the death of your wife and child,” Delisar said, fists clenched. “But if I must die, I can at least leave you with something to ponder. The order to attack your loved ones came from someone of status within the city, someone you know well.”

Truth emanated from the man. Delisar
believed
in what he said.

“Lies,” Ainslen blurted.
Who else could it have been but the guilds?
Jemare had been busy pursuing and fighting Elysse at the time. And the old king had wanted Kenslen for himself. He would have been careful as to what transpired with Marjorie. The Consortium had to be responsible.

“Are they lies?” Delisar was smiling again.

“Regardless,” Ainslen said, turning away so Delisar couldn’t see his uncertainty, “that is now behind me. I am king, and I have a wedding for which to prepare, and an empire to rule.”

“A wedding? Who are you marrying?”

“Terestere.”

Delisar chuckled, and then broke into a laugh. The cackles chased Ainslen from the dungeon.

2
2

F
ertile

F
rom behind the large windowpane Queen Terestere took in the villa’s grounds. Like the other counts’ homes, Hazline Hill was a sprawling affair that overlooked much of the city. The other Hills were visible to her left and right, spread in a circle with the Grey Fist at the center, the old castle’s limestone and grey granite standing out amid the newer structures. Once the main barracks for the King’s Blades, the Fist was poised to reclaim that position. People had begun to visit the examiners stationed there, presenting themselves or their young for testing and training.

“Terestere, what a pleasant surprise,” Leroi said as he entered the sitting room. The queen turned to face him. He was dressed in fitted trousers and a jacket, silk spilling from its sleeves. His eyes did not reflect his smile. They were wary and cold.

“Is it really a surprise?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Of course it is.” He indicated a cushioned chair. “Have a seat.”

She lifted her dress and obliged the request. Leroi flopped into the chair across from her. A large rug adorned the floor between them, a maned derin prominent at its center. The room smelled of flowers and freshness.

“I’ve been visiting the other Hills, first to acquaint myself with the new counts and countesses, and then to renew relations with the old,” she said. “A man with your vast connections must have heard.”

“I did, but since we have a long history, I did not expect you. If I had known you were coming then Countess Amalia would have been here.”

She smiled. “I’m here to speak to you, not your wife.”

“Fair enough. How can I be of service?”

“What did you think of the king’s announcements?” Making no pretense of her intentions would work best with Leroi.

“They were … interesting.” His tight eyes gave away much more.

“I gather you aren’t pleased?”

“For his raising of a Marish savage and a dreg? No. His marriage to you …” Leroi shrugged. “That was a smart move. The Empire is in disarray.”

“Some might refer to you as a savage also when it comes to heritage,” Terestere said. “It is well known that your family line includes a Marishman, and yet, here you are.”

“I’m as much Marishman as you’re Kheridisian.” She stiffened at his remark. He waved her off. “That is to say that if you trace the lineages of all Kasinian noble houses, there is mixed blood, but none of us are outright of a different race like this Shaz.” He almost spat that last word.

“Fair enough, I suppose. Tell me, how do you feel about his abolition of the Day of Accolades? You do know what it means for the nobility.”

Another shrug. “Unlike most, I did not rely on it for my melders. The inferior production was known to me, and a few others, even if they chose to ignore it. I have found more willing practitioners in other kingdoms.”

More like you raided other towns and villages.
Terestere leaned back, regarding the count with unwavering eyes. Leroi did not flinch, nor did she expect him to. He’d always been a man who faced any challenge head on. When she spoke next, she kept her voice low. “And what is your opinion of my late husband’s transgressions?”

Leroi’s face darkened, and he trembled visibly. His hand clenched the armchair. The count leaned forward, his eyes like ice. “I hoped you would not broach the subject.” He took a breath. “I did not have the slightest suspicion. If I did, it would have been I who took that bastard’s head.”

She recognized the pain of loss in Leroi’s face. If things had been different she might have been sympathetic. “If you had nothing against him, why did you withdraw your support?”

“Jemare had grown weak. We followed him in his endeavor to replace King Tolquan because he promised to achieve what Tolquan had not.”

“Did he not deliver?” Terestere asked, scowling. “Did he not reclaim Marissinia, Thelusia, and Darshan? Did he not have the Farish Isles ready to bend knee, the Heleganese paying tribute? Did he not decimate the Kheridisians during the Red Swamps?” She stared him down as she spoke, each question laced with obvious anger.

“Yes, and then he grew soft. He should have subjugated them all, made them a part of us, but he allowed the Islanders some freedom, allowed the Heleganese to roam, and had no control whatsoever over the Kheridisians. Did he think outlawing trade from them would be good enough? Or banning Kheridisian males from Kasinia while allowing in their whores?” Leroi’s face mottled with rage. “Your late husband became a fool. Far’an Senjin shows no mercy to the foolish.”

“True,” the queen conceded. “That explains his journals, then, for he claimed the same of your sons and daughters, of all the counts who were unaware of the way he used the Trial of Bravery.”

Leroi snarled. “Are you here to goad me, woman?”

“On the contrary, no. I spoke as I did because I’m trying to see where you stand, where Hagarath and Fiorenta stand.”

He shrugged. “You should ask them.”

She was almost convinced. Almost. “I’m asking you. I know feigned dislike when I see it, as well as feigned love. I saw enough of both while sitting beside Jemare.” The count’s expression became guarded. “If I wished you harm I would have reported my observations to Ainslen. But then, he killed my husband, so why should I?”

Studying her face, Leroi remained silent for what felt like an eternity. At last, he said, “Should things be as you say, what would be your involvement?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Convince me as to why I should take your side in this, or why I should say nothing, which is almost as bad. Why is it that you now plot against the king after supporting his rise? When I watch you it doesn’t feel like Far’an Senjin. It feels … personal.”

The fire in his eyes diminished. “It is because of Jaelen.”

“Your grandson?”

“Ainslen’s also,” he said bitterly. “Although he has made no such announcement.”

“Has the king denied the boy?”

“No, but without Winslow to lay claim to Jaelen’s heritage, I have to hear all the rumors.”

“Rumors?” She feigned her ignorance. Her servants couldn’t help their daily gossip.

“I’ll let you see for yourself.” He climbed wearily to his feet.

Lips pursed, she watched him leave the room. Over the past months, Leroi and the king had several exchanges, the rift between the men obvious. Leroi seldom appeared happy in the king’s presence. She could tell the animosity surpassed mere affairs of the Empire, partially confirmed by Ainslen’s refusal to simply toss Leroi out on his bottom as he was wont to do with those who infuriated him.

Also, despite the reasons Leroi had just given, she knew that more than dissatisfaction with Jemare had led to the count’s first change of allegiance. The announcement of a marriage between Elaina and Winslow had confirmed her suspicions, and the pregnancy had most likely forced it. Leroi was an honorable man and would not allow his daughter to be sullied. He would do anything for her. The king had used that weakness to his advantage.

Count Shenen returned with a baby in his arms. Terestere rose and went to meet them. When she looked into the baby’s face, she understood the rumors, and worked hard to appear indifferent. The child’s olive complexion could be Kasinian. But those eyes. No pure Kasinian’s eyes had that acute slant.

“Did you question your daughter about your concerns?” she asked after a moment.

“Yes. She swears she was with only one man. Winslow Cardiff. Even more troubling was that I had been slipping one of Selentus’ tinctures into her tea to prevent this exact thing.” Leroi sighed.

“How is she handling the rumors?”

“To be honest, I suspect she’s not doing well. On more than one night the servants have reported her waking from terrible nightmares.”

“Your daughter and this child were your main reasons for supporting Ainslen against my husband, weren’t they?”

He didn’t need to answer. The pain etched in his face told her all she needed to know. Leroi thought a great deal of his own prowess. He would have formed his own group to take the throne, not join another count’s endeavor.

Mind whirling, the queen left Jarina Hill.
Could I be mistaken? Shenen is of Marish descent. No. That child does not have two Kasinian parents.

Her goal had been to help Ainslen salvage the Empire as ordered by Corgansetti, save its people, while at the same time sowing her own seeds among the nobility for future use. This, however, changed things. Whether for better or worse she was uncertain, but an opportunity existed here that would solidify her future plans.

******

At Cortens’ Shrine, she called on Curate Selentus. A Cleric took her to the wiseman in apartments that smelled of medicine. Dressed in the robes and sash of his station, Selentus sat with a relaxed posture as he regarded her. His dark eyes matched his neatly trimmed hair and impeccably-lined beard and mustache.

“You husband-to-be told me to expect you,” Selentus said, voice carrying the deference common to wisemen.

“Yes. We wish to have a child.”

“Out of curiosity, is that the same reason you were said to be in Elder Hamada’s care?”

“Among other things, yes.” She narrowed her eyes.

A slight smile graced the wiseman’s lips. He stood and proceeded to the shelves behind him. Lamplight played off bottles containing various mixtures, herbs, and perhaps a score of vials from which soul emanated. One by one he touched them, a collector playing with prized assets.

“I must admit that although Hamada is renowned for his skill, I believe I’ve surpassed him. Whatever ails you, I
know
I can find the cure. Conception is my specialty.”

He turned to find her a step behind him. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me everything you know.”

His eyes glazed over. “Yes, my queen.”

When she had taken every dreg of knowledge, she left Selentus with a series of instructions to be followed when he received word.