The Scion Conspiracy, page 12
“Lady Faye, it would seem that your intentions here are being called into question.” The large man rumbled in a low voice.
She returned his gaze without flinching, speaking in near perfect Herron despite her harsh Oaren accent that was all splinters and broken glass on the ears, “I am an Illuminator, Lord Baron, here at the personal behest of the Emperor. I have no cause to sabotage you, your fortress, nor aid in the escape of your prisoners.”
“Be that as it may, there is little doubt you are one of the few present who could have done so. Have her quarters been searched?” He called over his shoulder. One of the soldiers at his rear stepped forward.
“They have my Lord.” The guard motioned and the doors to the rear of the chamber were opened. Two more Legionnaires entered carrying a large leather bound traveling chest between them. They hefted it onto the table and popped it open, revealing the contents to the chamber. Fine ladies clothing of soft fabrics and vibrant colors sat with a collection of expensive looking jewelry and a good number of shoes. The Baron motioned for the old man and he began to dig through the trunk, pulling out clothes in bundles and laying them out on the wood in wrinkled heaps. Cassius saw the Oaren woman bite her lip, silent rage storming just beneath the surface as she fought to keep her composure.
“If you’re quite satisfied, my Lord,” the phrase had all the reverence of someone cursing a snake, “I assure you, my wardrobe does not contain anything malicious.”
He glanced at her without speaking and then went back to watching his ancient Arcanist. The old man had emptied the last of the trunk's contents and was sticking his head down into it, feeling around the inside of the box, running his hands over the fine leather. He poked and prodded for a few more moments before sighing, looking up and shaking his head. The Baron motioned for the guards and they began repacking the trunk, attempting to be gentle with the delicate garments but mostly failing in their armored, clumsy hands. After a few moments they closed the lid and hauled the luggage back out of the room the way they had come.
“I apologize for the intrusion, Lady Faye, but I am not yet convinced of the innocence of any party, just yet.”
“Had it occurred to you, before raiding the contents of my closet, that perhaps these thieves brought their own sorceress to achieve their ends?” The woman’s voice more than bordered on insulting. She spoke slowly, as though to a child.
“It had,” the Baron ignored the biting tone, “but I must be diligent and search all the avenues by which we might’ve been betrayed. Rats this crafty are not so easily rooted from their holes.”
The sun had well and truly risen now. The chamber was fully lit as the light streamed in through the glass dome ceiling, bringing with it the heat of the day. Cassius could feel the temperature of the room rising as the warmth of the day and the heat from the mass of bodies chased every last hint of night from the chamber. Several people had begun to fan themselves with hats or their hands while others shifted uncomfortably where they sat.
“Lord Baron,” Elon Acosta called out in his clipped Vinatierian drawl, “no disrespect you understand, but it seems you have us fishin’ for shadows in the dark waters here. Maybe if we knew somethin’ about these prisoners, we might better get to the truth of this matter.”
“Yes, father,” Cassius spoke up, eyeing the Baron suspiciously, “it seems these scoundrels were informed, prepared and efficient. What sort of prisoners were you keeping that warranted such an organized raid?”
A few voices of agreement spoke up around the room. The large man cast a dark eye towards Valeria. The woman shrugged and something seemed to pass between them, yet Cassius could not say what. Augustus took a deep breath as he surveyed the room.
“Alright. The prisoners were being held for the use of malicious arcanums. Three young people, two girls and a boy, and a woman, the Witch of the White Wood. They were a cabal, a coven. They had been caught red handed by witch hunters and were being kept here, in secret, awaiting transport to Asaldon. They were to stand trial at Uthersanctorum University and be imprisoned at the Sovereign’s discretion.”
The room immediately exploded into a chorus of loud cries and angry questions. Some voices were on the verge of panic, others fury.
“A witch?!”
“The Woman of the White Wood! You had her here?!”
“How could you let her get away?!”
The voices stopped when the Baron pulled a large, devilish looking blade out his belt and drove it into the table with a resounding thud. Everyone stared at him. Cassius could hear the nervous breathing of those near him as they tried to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.
“My hospitality has been stretched thinner than any time in memory this day. If you presume to berate me within my own halls I would urge you all to reconsider.” His dark eyes roamed the room, daring those around him for a challenge. None came.
With the doors closed, the chamber continued getting hotter. The air grew muggy, thick with hot breath and sweat as people began to dampen their shirts and robes. A few men had loosened their collars and the women were fanning ever more furiously. The musk that hung in the air was a pungent mix of the smells of bodies that were secreting an excess of alcohol from the night's celebration.
Finally, Cassius spoke up, cutting the silence that hung heavy in the thick air, “Father, uh, my Lord…have we no leads at all? Our witnesses can give no descriptions of their assailants? What about other guards? Surely someone can attest to what these scoundrels look like.”
Augustus turned his gaze upon his oldest son, considering the man for a moment. Then he sighed, anger dissipating slightly. When he spoke, it was without the fire he had been breathing across the rest of the room all morning, “Unfortunately, what we have is bare bones. The gate guards and the Northern nobles agree there were three people, two men and a woman. One man was bald, while the woman and the other man had crowns of red hair…”
There was sudden movement amongst the Northerners, whispers and urgent talking. Valeria leaned over and said something in Damien’s ear, giving him a look. The large man got a concerned look on his face as he spoke up, “Lord Baron, did any of the witnesses mention tattoos on the red haired man? Flames, on the right arm?”
“Yes, your people mention them.” The Baron was frowning. He stared hard from his son-in-law to his daughter, “Do you two know this man?”
Damien nodded grimly, a dark look on his face, “He’s an outlaw who has eluded the hangman’s noose for years. His name is Holton Hart and he is notorious in the Highlands as well as the rest of the North. Our people call him the Red Wolf.”
The words hung in the hot air between them. Valeria interjected, “But for all his cleverness, Hart has only ever been a particularly clever highwayman until recently. Reports indicate he was behind the robbery of the Coldwater Magician’s College last season. Now this…he seems to be going far beyond anything he’s dared before.”
“So…” Breyer spoke up, speaking up again, “we can assume he has some sort of help. Someone who, erm, facilitated the bypassing of our defenses, gave them the tools needed to break in and most likely supplied them with the information about the witch and her coven.”
“Then the question is,” Cassius said to Julius in a low voice, “who would have the knowledge and resources to equip a common criminal to pull off a heist on the most heavily fortified fortress in the world?”
Julius was wide eyed, his voice barely more than a whisper, “More importantly, who would risk the wrath of not just the Horn, but the whole of the Federation?”
Chapter seven
Form & Function
By the time the Baron let everyone out of the sweltering hall, Juniper felt like she had sweated out most of the water in her body. Her dress was damp and her skin glistened in the blazing summer sun. Still, she was not sure if the weakness in her legs was due to the loss of water or the nerves that she had barely been able to keep under control. That old relic and the brutish Baron had gotten close, so very close, to the truth. It had been pure luck that the Master Arcanist’s ancient hands had missed the latch in her trunk which would have revealed the hidden compartment. Considering he had deduced exactly how they had bypassed the fortress' security, the discovery of that scroll would have been all he needed to have her locked in irons in the bowels of The Hold. She held her chin up as she kept pace with the thinning crowd that was dispersing down the various hallways moving away from the Great Hall. Eventually, she found herself alone in a long hallway with picture windows looking down onto the lower levels of the fortress. It was lined with simple stone benches which looked anything but inviting, but she collapsed onto the first one like a sack of washing clothes set out to be retrieved by a serving girl.
Her mind was moving so fast she could hardly grasp the thoughts before they were swept away in the cascading current of chaos. Her chest hurt from how fast her heart was beating. Breath caught in her throat. She struggled as the crushing sensation grew steadily worse and worse. The walls around her seemed to be folding in, her vision blurring in the corners. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her hands. In her mind, Juniper desperately sought for the sensation of the familiar, the exercise she had employed for years to center herself. She remembered the feel of her imported silken sheets, a ludicrously indulgent luxury, especially for a child. The cool mountain air blowing over the peaks and roofs of Khanar and through her open windows. The smells of parchment, fresh paints, pungent inks and dusty chalks filled her nose. She breathed in through her nose, held it, and exhaled. The swirling storm in her mind began to slow. She got her breathing under control and her chest seemed to unclench. She felt the crushing sensation begin to fade.
It was then that she felt the presence of someone watching her. She opened her eyes and saw, with a start, that Breyer the Master Arcanist was standing about ten feet from her, his hands clasped firmly behind his back under his gray cloak. The grooves of his craggy face were deepened with a frown that said volumes as he stared at her. When he spoke, his voice seemed far more confident than it had within the chamber, when the imposing figure of the Baron had been bearing down on him.
“I must say, you kept your composure far better than I would have expected back there. Our Lord Baron can be quite…daunting, yes?” The old man’s gaze held something of amusement in it, despite the frown on his face.
Juniper stood up, feeling a bit lightheaded at first. She steadied herself and crossed her arms over her chest, “He’s a brute you mean, like all you Southerners, from what I’ve gathered. Hardly better than savages, the lot of you.”
The arcanist inclined his head, “We might not be quite as, erm, refined as you in the Empire, my Lady. However, you might do well not to be dismissive of those who have thrice routed your ancestors' attempts at invasion.”
Breyer unclasped his hands and brought them around in front of him laid out, palms up, for Juniper to see. There was nothing in them, but for a few calluses and scars. But then he turned his left hand over, closed it, and turned it back again. When he opened it, there was the scroll, bound in the piece of twine, just as she had repacked it in her trunk the night before. Juniper's breath caught in her throat once again as she stared at it. She forced her gaze to meet the old man’s impassive eyes as she croaked, “What do you want?”
He snorted, “Don’t be daft, child. I had you dead to rights back in the hall if that, erm, was what I wanted. I want you to tell Lawrence that sparing his amateur saboteur fetches me a heftier portion of the take.”
The old man tossed the scroll to Juniper who caught in fumbling hands as she was staring at him slack jawed. She quickly stuffed it into her dress and smoothed it out, trying to hide the bulge with little success. The mage looked her up and down, a look that was remarkably close to empathy before it was quickly replaced by his studiously impassive expression.
“Perhaps you should reconsider this line of work, my Lady. You do have quite the gift for showmanship, after all, but this, well…it takes a strong stomach.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode back down the hall, where a mousy young woman with a messy mop of copper curls waited for him. She flinched as he snapped something at her before falling in step behind him. They disappeared around the corner before Juniper could string a reply together. Just like that, she was alone in the long hallway again, steel reeling as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.
The knocking at her door roused her from the uneasy embrace of a fretful slumber. She struggled to untangle herself from the unpleasantly thick sheets, more like something suited to a roadside inn than the bed of a noblewoman, and pushed herself to her feet. The knocking came again as she yanked on a robe and dragged a brush through her dark hair.
“One moment!” She snarled as she looked out the window and determined it was still somewhere in the early afternoon. The events of the morning had left her bewildered and exhausted and she had thought to sleep the rest of the day away. She was not scheduled to leave until the next morning and she had little interest in interacting with these people anymore than she absolutely had to. Once she had a moment to check herself in the mirror, she threw on a robe and strode across the room, yanking open the door without ceremony.
Valeria stood there. She was in a green robe with her hair pulled up in a working woman’s bun, wearing only the pendant from the night before and no other finery. She gave Juniper a friendly smile, her face the picture of benevolence.
“May I come in, I thought you might need something to revitalize after the morning's…events?” She waved a hand behind her. A serving woman was waiting with a small cart which held two glasses and an array of covered platters.
Juniper nodded dumbly and the noblewoman entered, her servant in tow. They sat in the chairs before the fireplace, now cold with only ash piled in the hearth, and the servant laid out a few plates of simple snacks. Fruit, cut up and displayed artfully, dried meats and cheese and more of the flat bread with small jars of some sort of preserves along with two glasses of a nearly clear wine. When the servant had departed, leaving the bottle on a side table, Valeria took a glass and held it up to her, “Oaren Silver, from our special reserves.”
Juniper, wrapped tightly in her robe, sipped the wine and felt the familiar crisp taste fill her mouth. She gave a small sigh and smiled, “A lovely vintage.”
Valeria looked pleased with herself. She took another sip before plucking a small piece of bread and nibbling on the corner. Her voice was somewhat subdued when she spoke, lacking a bit of its usual confidence, “Juniper, I know this morning was…not ideal. My father is often…a difficult man to deal with. I hope you understand, we hold no ill will towards you.”
Juniper blinked. The Lady of the Highlands, Princess of the Horn, was apologizing to her. It was absurd. In the Empire, no one of such a high station would ever dream of demeaning themselves in such a manner. Yet, here she was.
“My Lady, I mean, Valeria…I understand,” Juniper was struggling to find her footing, “this is an unprecedented circumstance.”
Valeria shook her head and fixed Juniper with a firm gaze, “No, no, that does not give us the right to be disrespectful of our guests, especially one as honored as you. For my father to empty out the contents of a ladies wardrobe in the middle of a crowded room…unacceptable. I’m sure they’ve been damaged as well, with those fool guards handling them. I insist, let me pay to replace them.”
“It's alright, really, they’ve been laundered and returned to me already.” In truth, several of her garments had been unrecoverable. The oil stains had already set by the time the clothes had been washed and were returned discolored. But for some reason Juniper found herself wanting to spare the Southern woman of her guilt, “Besides, I can afford more clothes.”
“As I’m sure you can, yet the principle remains. Oh well, if you continue to be obstinate, at least accept my heartfelt apology and please, do not judge the Horn nor its people by this single indiscretion.”
“Of course, you have been an exceedingly gracious host.” Juniper nodded. She paused and chewed on some fruit thoughtfully. Finally, she found she could not help herself as she continued, “In fact, it did occur to me to ask, what has made you be so accommodating to a total stranger?”
“You do not believe we treat all our guests with such kindness?” She let her amusement show plainly on her face.
“Well, I doubt the daughter of the Baron personally spends so much time with every guest.”
Valeria laughed at that, “No, I suppose not. To be honest I need you, Juniper.”
“Me? For what?”
“I need…allies.” For the first time, the easy smile and casual demeanor seemed entirely gone from the gregarious woman. She was leaning forward, cup left to the side. Juniper could not shake the distinct notion that she was suddenly speaking to a very different person than before, “There is…something happening. It’s hard to explain, but something foul is spreading in secret. There’s been strange movement across the North as well as here in the Southlands. Reports from soldiers encountering bands of heavily armed men moving throughout the backcountry with no explanation. Ships have also been spotted which are intentionally avoiding common ports, seeming to disappear into the open ocean when pursued. Not bandits, nor pirates, as few reports of conflict have been made. But mercenaries and freelance arcanists seem to have been hired en masse by an unknown employer. Someone is gathering a lot of power and trying to keep it a secret.
“What’s more concerning, every time I try to look into this I seem to hit an iron wall. I asked a friend of mine in the Capital to look into some leads for me. A few days later she found her cat pinned to her wall with a note. It warned her to stop asking questions about the Burning Blades.”
