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  LORDS OF DECEPTION

  AN EARTHPILLAR NOVEL

  Christopher C. Fuchs

  VIRGINIA

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2019 by Christopher C. Fuchs

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to: [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cartography by Christopher C. Fuchs.

  Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, please write to: [email protected].

  Lords of Deception / Christopher C. Fuchs – 1st edition (Version 1.0.0)

  eBook ISBN 978-1-946883-01-8

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-946883-00-1

  Hardback ISBN 978-1-946883-11-7

  www.loremarkpublishing.com

  PROLOGUE

  Bredahade Castle, Wallevet Ministry

  Midspring, 3034

  “Are you all right, Lord Raymond?” The young man stared at the gray-haired lord minister until he looked up, blinking. “You look pale, sir. Perhaps you’re not well enough to travel?”

  “I’m fine, Gerold. Besides, no one else can broker the peace.”

  Gerold shook his head. “If only the Almerians would be more flexible in their demands. They’ve held territory in Pemonia for far too long.”

  “Many wars have failed to dislodge them,” Lord Raymond answered. “But we have a chance to keep the Empire Alliance alive to stave off another war. If the king is still prepared to follow through, that is.”

  “He is, my lord, I assure you. King Erech doesn’t want to see the Empire Alliance fall. Now that you have his letter in hand, you can travel back to Eglamour confident that he will support your plan to—”

  “Surely you don’t mean for me to travel back at this moment?” Raymond squinted at him.

  Gerold knew the old man thought him too inexperienced to be a royal courier. “Yes, lord minister,” he said. “If we leave tonight we’ll be in Eglamour in two days. The Almerian ambassador is already th—”

  “You brought no guards, Gerold!”

  “My lord, I have two soldiers, and the armored carriage is—”

  “Do you realize how many crowned heads would like to see my effort fail, Gerold? To say nothing of the surge in banditry. Yet you presume to take me at night without a guard force?”

  “But we—”

  “Silence! If the king didn’t bother to send a proper escort to bring me to the capital then his heart is not in this. Just like all his other ill-conceived policies. Summons or no summons, I’ll not expose myself on the road. I’ll not risk my life to save an alliance no one wants.”

  “Many want it, my lord,” Gerold said, his words straining for truth. “I’ve stood in King Erech’s court and heard many nobles voice support for the Empire Alliance.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard…”

  “If only you’d come, lord minister. Then you’d see.”

  “I had little faith left in this king, Gerold. And the last of it was just washed away by his light regard for my safety. He’s the weakest king to sit on the throne of Donovan since Armagnon the Pocked. You are dismissed.”

  “Lord Raymond…”

  “You may tell the king that, like the other lord ministers, I will fall in line behind whatever policy he chooses regarding the alliance. If he wants a war, so be it. But I’ll not be killed for…”

  Gerold noticed Raymond glance toward the door. As Gerold turned to look himself, he heard a faint swish. The candle between the two men flickered, and a shadow moved across the doorway.

  Gerold was startled by what he heard next. Raymond was gurgling as blood surged out of his mouth. The lord minister clutched his neck, dark red oozing around his fingers. Gerold tumbled off his chair and drew his sword, but there was no one else in the room. For a moment he caught an indistinct movement of something coming toward Raymond, like an insect or blown leaf.

  Gerold turned back to Raymond, whose face was now veiled by black mist. The courier smelled soot and putridity. He stepped toward Raymond as the lord minister fell from his chair, his body limp.

  The courier swiped wildly at the shadows in the room, deafened by the throb in his ears. He ran for the door and felt a soft touch on the back of his head. He caught another whiff of the rancid soot but kept moving. He vomited when he turned into the hallway, grasping for the walls as he staggered toward the exit.

  “Help me!”

  But no guards or servants came. Gerold felt another touch at the base of his head, this time a little sting that blacked out his left eye. He glanced behind him, but the hallway was dark and empty. He struggled for the door, then pushed out into the courtyard.

  “Help me!” he shouted toward his waiting carriage.

  The two guards came down from the driver’s bench. One fell into the dirt, unmoving, as if struck by an invisible hand. The other cried out and bent to cradle his leg. Gerold found himself on the ground, too, his right eye suddenly blind as well.

  “Who…Who are you?” he demanded as the remaining guard screamed.

  “You have a message to deliver,” a calm, muffled voice said.

  Gerold heard a short whipping sound, like a crossbow, and the screaming guard was silenced. He tried to control his shaking. “Y-yes…What m-message?”

  “Tell them what happened,” said the muffled voice. “Your horses will lead you back.”

  “You are a Donovard…

  “I am an ancient flaming stone. Now go.”

  PART I: THE ROADS TO RUIN

  1. ARTHAN

  Rachard Castle, Delavon Ministry

  Midspring, 3034

  Arthan Valient ducked under the sword swipe. His counterstab was parried by his opponent, so he spun away, catching his second opponent wrong-footed. Arthan lifted his shield overhead, deflecting the first man’s attack, then prepared for the second man’s charge. But he missed what came next and landed on his back with his ears ringing inside his helm.

  “We’ve been at this for a week now, Brother,” came a young voice through the piercing ring.

  Arthan unclasped his helmet and let it fall onto the matted grass. “Don’t complain to me, Bardil,” he said. “I’ve seen more real battles than you. How many times have you been surrounded?”

  “Bardil is right,” Pelinaud said. “This maneuver is critical to crusader swordcraft, and it matters not what he has experienced. This is your training, my lord. You can either learn it or learn to run.”

  “We Valients don’t run,” Bardil said as he pulled Arthan to his feet. The strength of his younger brother embarrassed Arthan despite it being just the three of them in the field.

  “Why must we learn the ancient technique, Pelinaud?” Arthan asked. “Surely a master like yourself prefers the modern techniques. My prior fights did not use—”

  “It’s one thing to wield a sword—any peasant can do that,” said the old master. “But learning the old ways gives you a unique advantage over those of lower or foreign birth. If I had my way, your father would not have brought you into those battles until you had learned the crusader way. The
fire in the blood of the Valients was born in the Second Crusade in wild Pemonia, but your skill must be honed.”

  “My brother prefers books about strategy, politics, and all the rest.” Bardil smiled. “Maybe he’d prefer to learn Ovelian dagger dancing.”

  “I thought that was your desire, Bardil,” Arthan said, raising his sword toward his brother. “How else would you attract a respectable ten Ovelian wives? Not with your looks.”

  “More honor in that than the builder’s assistant you’ve had your eye on,” Bardil answered with a grin. “Besides, no lord minister can juggle his duties to the king and ten womenfolk. You see, when you die for lack of crusader swordcraft, I’ll be next in line to replace Father.”

  “You’re forgetting Rowan,” Arthan said. “You are the baby boy.”

  “The Rugens will get Rowan too…”

  “Enough foolery,” Pelinaud said. “I wish the two of you and Rowan had known your mother. You’d be the better for it. Now, let us begin again.”

  “Must I play the charging Hral again?” Bardil asked.

  “At least I’m not making you run up into the trees,” Pelinaud said. “Not that you could, but that’s what our crusader ancestors faced back in colonial times, and much more…”

  “Our enemies don’t fight like the heathens of ancient Pemonia,” Arthan said.

  “Correct,” Pelinaud said, “but crusader swordcraft remains relevant, for reasons you’ll learn. On guard!”

  Pelinaud nimbly lunged between the brothers, swiping at Bardil’s and Arthan’s breastplates and prompting them to restore their helmets to their heads. Bardil raised his sword at Arthan.

  “Watch it!” Arthan pointed his sword behind Bardil.

  His brother took the bait, glancing to his left for Pelinaud and lowering his sword. Arthan swiftly spun past the blade, pommeling Bardil’s visor before disarming him. Arthan laughed as Bardil lost his balance and teetered backward into the grass.

  “Trickery will only get you so far,” Pelinaud said, moving to engage Arthan.

  “Courtiers use trickery with every other breath,” Arthan said.

  “But your father and other lord ministers are above the rabble,” Pelinaud said.

  Before he could respond, Arthan found his vision blocked by a handkerchief thrown across his visor. He felt the crash of Pelinaud’s sword on either side of his helmet, then in his backplate. When he regained his vision, he found himself facedown on the ground. Bardil struggled to rise nearby.

  “Crusaders fight best as a pair or in a group,” Pelinaud continued as he strolled between them. “Now that you’ve taken your falls, unite against me. Show me what you have learned…or have yet to learn.”

  Arthan felt a flutter in the left of his chest, a familiar tickle that had come and gone since he was a boy. He ignored it and stood first, offering his hand to Bardil, who lay like an ironclad turtle.

  “Trick me, eh?” Bardil whispered, grinning through bloodied teeth.

  Arthan shouted as Bardil snagged his hand in the crook of his armored elbow and rolled, pulling Arthan down. The two grappled as Pelinaud protested.

  “This is not a befitting way to fight,” the master said. “Get up, both of you.”

  Arthan struggled to free himself from Bardil’s grip. Only when quick thuds echoed in the ground did Bardil release him. They came to their feet as three riders approached from the adjacent field, their father’s magnificent city rising beyond. The brothers removed their helmets as they approached.

  “Lord Arthan, you must come quickly,” the lead rider said. “Your father sends for you.”

  “General Medoff, what has happened?”

  “Please, my lord. It’s urgent.”

  “We will continue this later,” said Pelinaud. “Both of you are dismissed.”

  “His days of training may be at an end,” Medoff said to Pelinaud, the general’s dour face grayer than usual.

  Arthan sheathed his sword and jogged to his grazing horse. His mind raced as he considered what could be so pressing. In sensing danger he could not help but think of Meriam, of her safety. Damn Bardil for trashing her tranquil beauty with “builder’s assistant.” Meriam was more than that even if Arthan could never say it. He mounted his horse, feeling the flutter in his chest again. Twice in one day was unusual, but he remained focused.

  Medoff escorted Arthan across the fields and up to the gates of Rachard, with Bardil and Pelinaud following. Arthan watched his father’s castle on the hill in the city center. The sun was pleasantly warm on his face. But inside he felt unwelcome change afoot.

  ---

  “Sit down, both of you,” Maillard said.

  Arthan watched his father as he and his brother quietly sat at the table, joining General Medoff and Alfrem, the Alderman of Rachard. Maillard gathered his thoughts for a moment.

  “Raymond Reimvick has been killed,” Maillard said. “Murdered in his home.”

  “The Lord Minister of Wallevet?” Bardil asked.

  “Most disturbing,” Alfrem said with a nod.

  “Raymond was found with a stone dart in his neck and poisonous dust on his face,” Medoff said. “He had been meeting with a royal courier, Gerold, who barely escaped with his life.”

  “The killers?” Arthan asked.

  “The survivors didn’t see anyone,” Maillard said. “But Gerold, blinded in the attack, said a man spoke to him. He called himself an ‘ancient flaming stone.’”

  “How odd,” Alfrem said. “I hadn’t heard that part…”

  “What does it mean?” Bardil asked.

  “It may—may—be a reference to an ancient tale, but we won’t discuss that right now,” Maillard said, waving his hand dismissively at Alfrem. “What’s important right now is why. Where to begin…” Maillard massaged his temples and gave a long sigh.

  Arthan could not remember ever seeing his father so visibly shaken. He glanced at Bardil. His younger brother was excited but unaware of anything deeper. Arthan turned back to Maillard, silently urging him to continue.

  “Raymond was a dear friend,” his father said. “But his mysterious murder is more than personal for me, for all of us. His death could well mean the unraveling of the Empire Alliance, which has prevented a major war for a century and a half.”

  “My lord, the Almerians never let the alliance stand in the way of their robbing the Pemonian kingdoms,” Medoff said.

  “This is greater than that,” Maillard continued. “Unfortunately, Raymond was the only one willing to risk his life to save the talks. He believed that the alliance, despite its faults, put an end to the broad conflicts that used to rage across this continent and the Middlesea. And he was right. Now that he’s gone…My sons, you need to understand how the winds are changing. Many crowned heads will see this as an opportunity.”

  Alfrem jabbed his finger on the table. “And with a king as weak as Erech on the throne of Donovan, the buzzards are likely already circling Eglamour.”

  “Precisely,” Maillard agreed.

  “Father, why would such an important alliance rest on one man?” Arthan asked.

  “Excellent question. Despite being mostly successful at preserving peace, the Empire Alliance has become unpopular because of how it froze the claims of the kingdoms. The Calbrians want their islands back, for example, as do we. The Rugens, with their burgeoning navy, have grown weary of an old clause in the treaty that limits where they can sail. The Austveedes grow tired of shipping half their electrum ores to the Almerians as protection payment. The list goes on…

  “For his part, Raymond wanted to rewrite the founding treaty of the alliance to make it more favorable to the Pemonian kingdoms, given the failing power of faraway Almeria. Raymond ostensibly had King Erech’s support and certainly mine. But he wrote to me of his fears, given the visceral attitude of many in various courts—especially Rugenhav—that it would be the end of him. In short, Raymond was the only one willing to lay his pride as a Do
novard aside—to say nothing of the danger to his person—to negotiate with the Almerians. Many simply didn’t want to negotiate with the weakening Almerians, especially if it meant extending the Empire Alliance.”

  “Your father was Raymond’s staunchest supporter,” Alfrem added, looking to Arthan and Bardil. “Unless the king ordered Raymond’s death, he is likely to ask Maillard to continue Raymond’s work, if only to save face with the Almerians—including that runt of a man, their ambassador in Eglamour.”

  “The king did not kill Raymond,” Maillard said. “If Erech wanted to end the alliance, he would have ignored it and let it flounder, as he has other responsibilities.”

  “Forgive me, Father,” Bardil said, “but if the king doesn’t want the alliance, why should we bother?”

  “He just told you the reason: war will come,” Arthan said.

  “Perhaps that is what the king wants,” Medoff said.

  “No one can know Erech’s mind,” Maillard said, “except perhaps those worms who have burrowed deep inside his head. The king is pushed and pulled by so many powers behind the throne, it is impossible to know his genuine desires.

  “Alas, I must go to Eglamour to join the other lord ministers in advising the king on Raymond’s replacement, likely to be his brother. While I’m in the capital I will try to help negotiate the Empire Alliance’s fate. Arthan, you will remain here and watch over Delavon. Bardil, do as your brother asks. As for Rowan, he should stay in Gadolin for now.”

  “But Father, I wish to accompany you to the king’s court, so I might learn.”

  “You have a lifetime of court politics and intrigue ahead of you, Arthan. Stay and consult with Medoff and Alfrem on what is best for our ministry while I’m away. As the bastion of the kingdom’s eastern borders, Delavon must be kept in steady hands in the weeks and months ahead.”

  “Training is over,” Medoff said, his face dour.