Interlude 2


    Edmund


    Arch-Duke Edmund Dal’Regan sat on the Eagle Throne.


    The Eagle Throne had been the highest seat of power in Rubane for over a hundred years. There had been many Arch-Dukes in the past that had sat upon it, even in Edmund’s time. He had been elected as Arch-Duke by the Dukesmoot three times in succession. His eyes moved to the Artic Bear emblazoned on grey banners that decorated the hall. He remembered his inauguration when those banners had been unfurled. How proud he’d felt to see them decorating these halls once again. For almost thirty years he had dedicated his life to serving all the peoples Rubane as their leader; from the wealthiest merchant to the poorest beggar, he cared for each individual Rubanian as if they were his own blood.


    So it galled him—boiled his blood. To know that they were betraying him. His own people. The people he worked so diligently to protect, were committing treason against him. He glanced about at the gathered attendants in the throne room. This Assembly consisted of six of the seven Dukes from across the country, along with dozens of their Barons, and a score of representatives from the major guilds and trade houses in Rubastre. Edmund pondered how many in this very room were conspiring against him. He resisted the urge to grind his teeth. To scream at them for their treachery.


    “The Reldoni Army contract is our most lucrative arrangement,” Guildmaster Arken of the Ironworks argued, “you cannot be proposing that we break it.”


    “The very steel you supply those devils with will be used to cut out your heart,” Knight-Marshall Karvel bellowed. A staunch patriot… But perhaps that was a well-played front, could this deception have roots in our army? Of course, the Ironworks would hope to retain their contract, it would be suspicious if they did not. But then again, the Guildmasters were clever enough to know that too. His head spun and he found he had no desire to let this farce continue as it was.


    “My Lords, Guildmasters and honoured guests,” Edmund announced, “as it stands. The threat of a Reldoni invasion is still all rumour and hear-say”—although the spies that Edmund had in the Reldoni palace had confirmed that the threats were very much real—“we have sent an envoy to Epilas in the hopes of putting this matter to rest.”


    “Your Grace,” Duke Boern spoke up from his position at the front of the Assembly, “King Abhran is known for his aggression. His son was killed here in your palace, do you truly believe that he will not seek retribution for this?”


    “We have discussed this at length, Duke Boern,” in both the Duke’s Assembly and in smaller councils, meaning that Boern’s insistence at re-surging the topic is a political move. “King Abhran will not take bold action against us, not when it was Prince Daegan’s own guard that were the assassins. Once Ferath Vitares is found, this can be settled.” He searched Boern’s face for any hint of acknowledgement at the lie.


    Boern was one at the top of Edmund’s list of potential conspirators. A young man—for a Duke—not yet in his forties and prone to bold and impulsive action. Edmund’s own spies had confirmed that Boern had planned to contest him at the next Dukesmoot. He thinks he can oust me from this throne… he can pry my dead body from it. But so far, Boern had not given any indication that he was aware Daegan Tredain was still alive. Frustratingly, none of the people in this room seemed to have implied knowledge of this. He needed someone to slip on the dangerously thin ice that they’d strayed onto.


    “How has the City Watch not found this man yet?” Duke Harfallow directed his disapproval towards Lord Essing, Knight-Captain of the Watch.


    “I have a hundred men combing the city for any trace of the man, my Lord Duke, he has fled,” Essing replied in his usual whining tone, he then turned to Edmund’s throne. “There have been sightings of powerful Reldoni runewielders in Urundock, your Grace. Perhaps it may be best to focus efforts on the northern regions?”


    “Urundock?!” Harfallow cut across. “Lies! Nothing happens up in that backwater town. Even this morning, runners from Urundock came claiming Rakmen had taken outposts along the Nortara.” It was true, Edmund himself received the runners as they relayed the claims. He’d sent scouts to the outposts to confirm before issuing orders for a contingent to be sent to the north. He didn’t want any portion of his army caught up in the north by some blizzard when this conspiracy was finally uncovered—or if the Reldoni really did decide to invade.


    “Should this not be our top concern?!” Lord Fetters spoke up, the slimy representative for Duke of Nordock—who had inauspiciously not been able to make the trip to Rubane on Edmund’s request. “Rakmen taking outposts should not be ignored, many here were in the Balfold not twenty years ago when they’d last come south.” Of course, he would be fearful of that… or was there something more?


    “The scouts will confirm the legitimacy of these attacks. At this moment, the Eagle Throne will reserve any hasty actions. Our priority remains. Lord Essing, you have my approval to dispatch a score from the City Watch to Urundock to investigate, they are not to indulge any response to claims of rakmen, I do not want this rumour to be given any merit until proven. Their purpose is to search for Ferath Vitares.”


    Edmund was beyond exasperated with this Assembly. He loathed open room discussions between Dukes and Guildmasters, it always descended into petty bickering. His objective in this Assembly had been to weedle out who might be responsible for this whole fiasco. He could envisage more than half the men in the room scheming for Edmund’s downfall. He’d climbed to his position by breaking some of them down and stepping on their backs, or the backs of their fathers. It was always the same as it neared the Dukesmoot every eleven years. Months of ensuring the loyalty of his most trusted with political favours and gifts, and subtle sabotage for any would-be rivals.


    The assassination of a foreign Prince under his protection was precisely the kind of short-thought manouvre that one of these half-wits would attempt. War was an excellent mechanism for jumping to power. Edmund himself had leveraged war—or threats of it—in the past to his political benefit. He had no doubt that there were conspirators within the Reldoni royal Palace in Epilas, those who would stirring the broth of war on the other side. He needed to see who would be most in favour of war with the Reldoni. Those he would watch like an eagle-hawk.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    “This matter of the Reldoni is not settled,” Karvel spoke up again, “to continue feeding them weapons and armour is stupidity beyond comprehension.”


    “All shipments have been halted since Edmund’s order a week past,” Arken sneered at Karvel, “my request is that we begin fulfilling this once again. The taxes on the contract is what sustains your men’s salaries, Knight-Marshall.”


    “Who are you to demand anything?! You’re nothing but a commoner,” the Karvel huffed as having delivered the most offensive remark he could. Arken, to his credit, inclined his head, “Indeed, I am not of noble blood such as the majority of men in this room. I understand that my place here is by the grace and generosity, the nobility have provided the Ironworks amongst all other Guilds. But I must insist that I demand nothing… What I request is for the Assembly to consider the Ironwork’s quite considerable ongoing contract with the Reldoni.”


    “Consider?” Duke Boern barked, “filling the Ironworks coffers is very low on my considerations.” Many of the other Dukes professed similar vehement statements and Arken despite his large size seemed to shrink beneath them. The man fussed with his optics and cast his eyes to the ground like a chastised child.


    “We should give the Reldoni steel,” Boern spoke up above the rising voices, “we should let them taste the icy sting of Rubanian steel! Right in the heart!” His booming voice reverberated against the walls and many in the room cheered to the patriotic valiance of the statement.


    A smile tugged at Edmund’s lips, the curls of his moustache brushed his cheeks. So… It was you after all Boern. He should have known. His spies in Boern’s household staff had been telling him of Boern’s comments of Edmund’s ‘gutless’ and ‘ineffective’ leadership. Edmund watched with outwardly-apparent reservation as Boern stirred the attended nobility’s chauvinistic Rubanian pride. The Dukes of Undanskill, Easkey and Edas, along with a host of Barons attested to the strength of their men. Many of the Guildmasters and representatives of workers unions joined in the fanaticism, leaping at the opportunity to join the nobility in a unified ideal.


    “The strength of Rubane will prevail, as it has for over a hundred years,” Edmund announced over the growing clamour of patriotism. His own voice gravelled as it rose. A lifetime of whitewhiskey, cigars and shouting had left him with a larynx that felt like he was gurgling rocks.


    “The Reldoni rely on their women to fight for them!” The young Baron of Heronsbridge quipped. Some of the others laughed, but many of the older Dukes and Barons’ faces knotted into snarls. These were true Rubanians. They were respectful of women and the thought of giving one a blade was so offensive it didn’t warrant thought nor comment.


    “I suggest, Arch-Duke,” Boern began, now with the raucous approval of the Assembly, “that we spit in the face of the Reldoni accusations! They claim that their Prince’s death was our responsibility and disgrace our honour! Let us show them that Rubane is not Altarea, their runewielders will fall upon our blades, our bolts and our bullets.” All eyes now turned to the Arch-Duke. He felt the weight of their expectation. Many in the room were swept up in the din of sanguine ardour, but equally as many knew the cost of war. A price in both gold and blood.


    “The Assembly has given me much to deliberate upon. I will reflect on what has been discussed here,” he saw some faces drop with disappointment. A few without the decency to cover their anger, but there was also a relief. Boern had a smirk. Edmund’s reservation played right into his advantage. It portrayed Boern as the true exemplification of Rubane, strong and proud.


    Edmund dismissed the Assembly and took the door to the rear of the throne. Boern would use the aftermath of the Assembly to gather more to his cause but that didn’t matter. Boern was not nearly as clever as he thought he was.


    He could see it all now, Boern’s master plan unfolded in Edmund’s mind. He strode purposefully along the corridor towards his office, flanked by four of his loyal Dukesguard. With the cripple prince murdered, Boern simply had to wait for the rumours of a Reldoni invasion to propagate. Then capitalise on the strong sense of Rubanian patriotism to bat the flames of war, all with Boern regarded as the spearhead.


    The Reldoni would strike at Rubastre first, their thirst for vengeance as fresh and sharp as the first ice on the Jakuss River. Boern would flee to his own fortress and hold out for the initial waves of the invasion. And hoping that my walls were breached and the Reldoni would take care of me. After a few weeks of siege, Boern and his army would come to the salvation of the poor capital. ‘The Saviour of Rubastre’ the bards would call the bastard. Edmund could hear the ballads now. A strong warrior of a leader, who else would be more suited to lead this mighty nation through times of war?


    But there is a fatal flaw in Boern’s plan. Edmund’s smirk deepened. Daegan Tredain was still alive. And the irony was that Boern’s own blood would return him to Edmund and prevent this war from ever starting. A careless man would think that Tanlor would be loyal to his cousin but Edmund had many spies in his own household and amongst his guards. He knew his own people better than they knew themselves.


    He entered his office and made his way to his desk.


    Tanlor’s hatred for Boern was no act. Tanlor had but one secret: Danielle Harfallow. He took out a ring of small brass keys and slotted one into the lock of his desk drawer. Edmund would, of course, indulge Tanlor upon his return. What kind of Arch-Duke would he be if he did not fulfil his promises? Duke Harfallow was a good and loyal friend, and Edmund’s spies in the man’s keep attested to that. Harfallow would agree upon Edmund’s request, he had no doubts. He opened the drawer and took out a stone with the appearance of smooth green jade. Tanlor would have his prize at the end of all of this. And his cousin Boern will receive exactly what he deserves.


    Edmund had always admired the appearance of a signal stone before being activated. It was the murky green of a summer sea, frozen and preserved. He ran his hand over it’s smoothed surface. Traced his finger along delicate runes that linked this stone to its pair. Over a hundred miles from here.


    It really was a marvellous thing. To be able to send a message over any threshold of distance. He reached out with his edir and felt the signal stone vibrate in response. It was always a strange experience, drawing on the power of a signal stone. All runestones filled you with the power of control. But the energy of the signal stone simply dissipated once drawn upon, vanishing to nothing.


    The change was almost instantaneous. A tiny pinprick of red, bleeding out from the heart of the signal stone, soaking up the green like blood seeping from a wound. The sea-like appearance of the stone was now painted with the colours of a sunset. Up past the Nortara sheet, the paired stone in Tanlor’s possession would be undergoing the same transition.


    Now that Edmund was certain it was Boern who had concocted this fiasco, it was time for Tanlor to return with Daegan Tredain.