The Humbled (The Lost Words: Volume 4) (63 page)

Three soldiers with old-looking yet very sharp halberds stood in front of the barricade, seemingly bored. A fourth sat on top of one of the wagons, his legs covered in a checkered blanket, a crossbow resting in his lap. Behind him, the city flag fluttered on a pole.

That square of canvas was probably the chief reason why their convoy had not tried to break through past the obstacle. This affair was sponsored by the High Council.

Two men were coming up the road, approaching the barricade. They were on foot and did not look armed. Eyes watering from the sun’s glare, it took Stephan a few moments to realize who the left figure was.

“Adrian?” he called, but the wind just washed his words back north.

His bodyguard turned, then looked back at the road.

Stephan waited, buttoning up his coat.

His friend was still somewhat fat, but he walked with a sure gait. It wasn’t like him not to be drunk at midday. “Stephan, you swordfish. You’re back.”

“Adrian,” Stephan offered more cautiously. What was his friend doing outside the cozy brothels and wine cellars?

The other councillor looked past him, at the convoy of animals and wheels and soldiers stretching north. “The patrols reported a large body of people coming our way, but I didn’t expect this huge tail behind you.”

Stephan embraced his friend and found his clean scent alarming. “And what are
you
doing here?”

Adrian shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. “Well, you must have heard the rumors. Our nation is under attack. There’s an army coming from the north, and we must prote—”

“Come on, friend.” Stephan cut him off, maybe a little impatiently.

“The council has mobilized troops. They say it’s a national emergency. Men, boys, everyone’s been conscripted. We have to be ready to defend Eybalen. And that means no civilians, I’m afraid. Your refugees will have to go to Shurbalen or Monard. We’ll take any lad of fighting age, though.”

“Who decided this?” Stephan fumed.

“No one really decided anything. We all agreed.”

Stephan looked left. Small groups of four to five men were leaving their prints in the snow, walking around his convoy, spears pointed at the cerulean sky. Not just picket sentries. Too many of them. Still more of them on the right side, too. He frowned. The High Council had rarely agreed on anything, especially when he wasn’t around. Now this. Too organized, too logical.

“Why aren’t you in the city, Adrian?”

His friend looked surprised. “Oh, well, I’ve been appointed to supervise the military preparations. I’m the new lord of tax and provisions.” The other man at his side, a thin, nondescript fellow, preened, which probably made him a top clerk, and one who counted every silver coin twice.

“Interesting development,” Stephan admitted, trying to keep rancor from his voice. That would be childish.

The delay was making everyone fidgety. The soldiers were becoming impatient, but no one was going to be a hero when staring at two huge camps full of armed men. Boots crunched behind him, and soon, Sebastian stepped to his side, looking concerned.

“Councillor Adrian,” he whispered cautiously.

“Master Sebastian,” Stephan’s nondrunk friend commented, tone and eyes warm. “I haven’t seen you in a while now. But
I guess the northern threat has forced everyone home, even the more reluctant among us.”

The guild master pressed his lips thin, but said nothing.

Stephan wondered how the council would take the man’s allegiance with Emperor James. Some had definitely endorsed it, others had openly sponsored it, but now that the Athesian man was dead, and the Parusites had spoiled everything, they might want to blame it all on someone, and no one was a better candidate than Sebastian.

“Stephan, did you accomplish what you wanted?”

He had not expected that question. Not like that, not right now. But Rheanna was not a threat anymore. It should be safe to mention her name. “In a manner.”

Should be safe.

Almost as if summoned, Lady Rheanna stepped out of her own coach. Unlike the two of them, she had a pair of armed men in tow. Her head was covered in a silk veil, which made her look innocent and fragile, but also, more sensibly, protected her ears from the icy wind. Stephan wished he had some sort of headgear.

“Councillor, why are we delayed?” she asked, coming closer, her body still dangerously voluptuous even when hidden by layers of scarves and fur.

Nudd was there, too, eying the other clerk with animosity. Stephan rubbed his temples. The wind, the sun, the cold, too much chatter, things were really slipping out of control now. He was not prepared for this. “Should we not continue on our way? Adrian, can you instruct those men to let us pass?”

“Most certainly. But first, my colleague will detail your convoy. I’m afraid we will have to appropriate ten percent, or equivalent, in war taxes, and all your men will have to report to the recruiter’s office within a week, save for the personal
guards.” Adrian’s eyes briefly touched James’s widow, but if he had anything else to say, he kept it private.

“Do it,” Stephan snapped.

It took them a while to get going. Some of the carriages were too long and wide, and they could not slip past the barricade, so they had to harness a pair of horses and pull them apart. By the time they cleared the barrier and were rolling toward Eybalen, the sun was beating against their backs. A thousand lights came to life in the camps, and they lost some of their ugly, chaotic feel. Stephan only gazed at the sprawl of tents, low barracks and sheds, improvised stables, and field workshops, trying to assess the numbers, the strength, and more importantly, the loyalty of all those men.

He was pleasantly surprised to learn that things were not as sinister as he expected. There was no great conspiracy, and the High Council was just as divided as ever. The next morning, he left his villa and headed to a meeting to find a bunch of rich people frozen in time, trying to outsmart one another. The war was just another layer to their intrigue.

After probing the hearts and minds of his colleagues, he decided to bring Lady Rheanna back into Caytorean society. The lack of any great sentiment toward her almost shocked him. It seemed that everyone had done their share of thinking of the future, and with the beautiful banker and widow cast down from her power, and irrelevant in the greater scheme of things, they all chose to be benevolent and forgiving.

Her enemies merely demanded more money, that was all.

Stephan almost laughed at how absurd it was.

Rheanna did her best to be charming and vulnerable, and she immediately won all the men over. With the ladies, she tried a different approach, trying to portray a picture of grief
and suffering. Even Stephan wasn’t quite sure what game she played, but it suited him well as long as she helped Sebastian and him gain more influence with the city’s traders, merchants, and guild members.

The flood of refugees actually helped. Prices soared. Desperate shop owners and homeless nobles and councillors turned to the banks and greedy investors for help. Almost exclusively, they found themselves approaching Lord Malcolm or his daughter, beautiful, desirable, and very much a widow. Stephan did his best to vouch for his friends, and Master Sebastian gently coerced the guilds to help everyone make the right decision.

Within less than two weeks, Stephan was the shadow owner of many new businesses, even the ones he had once avoided in the past. He also claimed a whole stretch of land in the north, pastures, vineyards, orchards, farmsteads. They were just sketches and scribbles on paper, but if they somehow won against this northern foe, he would have won a quarter of the realm through smiles and handshakes.

He knew this was exactly what Rheanna had been doing while married to James. Sebastian had told him of the young emperor’s plans and how he had managed to sway and fool so many councillors, until it was too late. Ironically, no one seemed to make the connection.

The third week, he had a rather unpleasant visit from one Lady Laura and her daughter Daria. It took him a while to figure out that James had gotten rid of her husband and taken over his steel industry. Otis’s widow demanded reparations for the wrongs done to her.

In the end, he arranged for a very public reconciliation between the two widows. Lady Rheanna relinquished parts of the industry back to Laura in return for a small percentage of
profits. Stephan promised to find Daria a husband even more promising than Lord Bram. He felt immensely pleased by his achievements. He was the architect of the new Caytor. Without any violence, without tension or strife, he was molding the future of his realm.

Wet snows and hail came in angry, biting showers from the sea, tearing shutters and roof tiles off buildings. The price of bread soared. The rumor of the northern threat persisted. Army patrols roamed the streets, recruiting any boy stupid enough not to flee. Homeless people hid in the sewers to avoid getting conscripted.

All the while Stephan counted his new coin and luck and waited for the turn of the year, each day fatter on hope that the storm from the north would pass them by.

Just two days before the year’s turn, he went to bed, thinking about the great ball planned at Councillor Helmut’s estate. Stephan wondered if he might convince Lady Rheanna to sleep with him.

A vague, half-muted scream snapped his eyes open.

He rose in a flutter of linen and wool, kicking the sheets off him. Barefoot, he padded over to the door of his chamber and cracked it open. The lone guard was frowning, staring down the corridor, fingers hovering above the leather hilt of his short sword.

“What’s happening, Taylor?” Stephen muttered.

The guard grunted. “Lock yourself inside, sir. Don’t come out until we tell you it’s safe.”

There was a thud from somewhere down the dark passageway. Glass shattering.

Where is Bader?
Stephan wondered. He nodded at Taylor, but the man was busy staring. Stephan edged back and latched the door closed. Heart thudding with excitement and a solid
dose of fear, he tiptoed back to his bed. He had a small assassin-like crossbow hidden in his nightstand, and there was a dagger under the mattress. Not that he was any great fighter, but he was no coward either.

He knelt on the carpet and slithered his hand under the mat. His fingers probed, the heavy pad making his motions awkward. He swiped left and right, dug until his shoulder was pressed against the side of the bed, but he could not feel the knife.

Panic rising in his throat, he flicked the nightstand open. The chamber was dark, lit only by the stars and a slice of moon, making everything distorted. But there was still enough illumination for him not to see the killer’s weapon he expected to find there.

Stolen, taken away. Gone.

Treachery.

He swallowed a lump and looked around the room for a weapon. Anything. Maybe the fireplace poker. Not there. How had he missed that?

Outside, he heard steps, snarls, curses, the unmistakable hiss of steel, the whisper of blades, the chewing-like sound of meat and bone being torn open, a weak, breathless wail of someone dying. Moments later, the door crashed open, splinters flying, the latch dangling.

A man he had never seen before stepped in. Short, receding gray hair, ashen clothes, a sword in his hands. The yellow cast of lamps washed him in a golden halo, making him look like some monster.

“Help,” Stephan croaked.

“Pointless, Councillor,” the gray-haired killer said, his voice sad and deep.

“Bader!” Stephan tried to shout.
No, wait. Maybe Bader is behind this treachery
, his mind gibbered. Maybe Lady Rheanna had organized all this. Or her father. For an instant, the list of his enemies became endless.

Sebastian? Lady Laura trying to avenge her husband? Was Rheanna already dead? Did they kill Sebastian? His friend Adrian? Who? All of them.

The killer moved forward, lithe, efficient, confident. Stephan knew he could not fight him. “Gold! You’ll get gold! Anything you want.” He hated the sound of his reedy, frightened voice.

“Pointless, Councillor,” the man countered. Closer.

“Who betrayed me?” Stephan pleaded.

“What does it matter, Councillor? Really.” The man lunged.

Stephan tried to avoid it, but the man was an expert. There was a flicker of sharp black pain somewhere in his chest, and then, the night turned completely dark.

CHAPTER 45

N
igella stepped out of her cabin, eyes full of tears.

If she had kept count correctly, the year had turned its page last night as she had been busy turning pages of
The Book of Lost Words
, trying to figure out her future. The Sirtai might argue about the calendar, and how the years were numbered, but it didn’t matter.

She now knew what Calemore wanted.

Until that morning, she had been terrified to let Sheldon step out on his own. No longer. He would not be harmed. Not according to the book and its message.

Her boy was not far, busy trying to roll the biggest snowball ever made. It was taller than him, and he was grunting and panting, red like a beet, but the huge thing just wouldn’t budge anymore. His hands would slip, slapping chunks of snow off the ball, and his small face would sink into the powder. Not one to give up, Shel would merely dust his cheeks, huff off the pain, and keep fighting the ball.