Authors: Brock E. Deskins
Adam noticed Garran pushing his belt bearing his reaping blades beneath the bed with his foot. “You aren’t taking them with you?”
“They won’t let me go armed before the King anyway. Besides, if I actually need them, we’ll be in the heart of the castle surrounded by soldiers where they won’t do me much good anyway.”
“But you’re transcended.”
“Yeah,” Garran answered slowly, “I try not to rely on that as much as possible. It can be pretty finicky at times.”
“Great, not only do I get the most disgusting transcended in the kingdom, it turns out he’s retarded too.”
“Hey! Neither my skill nor I is retarded. We’re just a bit complicated is all.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m just getting nervous. I am not used to any of this.”
“I don’t know anyone who is. Do you think this is a typical weekend for me?”
“No, but at least you are familiar with intrigue and people wanting to hurt you. How do you manage it?”
“Easy; I drink, and when that doesn’t do the trick, I enjoy something more powerful.”
“That’s the reason?”
Garran shrugged. “It’s on the list. You know, being an agent isn’t what most people think. There is a lot of just sitting around talking to people. It’s not like everyone is out to get me all the time.”
“I knew you for less than an hour and I wanted to hurt you.”
“I think you are suppressing some real anger issues, and they have nothing to do with me.”
“I am pretty sure they do.”
“Not all of them. Maybe the ones on the surface, but you have been angry long before you met me. We need to find a way to get that out of you before you explode. Holding things in like that clouds your thinking. It’s how you make mistakes.”
“I am fine with my issues. If there is something wrong, then I will seek out a physic, not a drunken, lecherous, deviant.”
“That’s called deflecting.”
“Let’s go.”
Unlike the palace in Leva, Castle Brolla was a true castle harkening back hundreds of years. It was a truly fortified bastion housing Arnao’s royal family and much of the nation’s government. It had undergone many renovations over the decades to make it appear more modern, but its plastered and painted walls could not hide the fortress it was.
Anton’s seneschal, who Garran had met earlier in the day, led them to a stately but private dining room. Anton stood when they entered the room and smiled welcomingly.
“Your Majesty, may I present Prince Adam Altena and Agent Garran Holt,” the seneschal declared.
“Thank you, Brennan,” Anton replied and gestured toward two chairs sitting at his right at the head of the table. “You must be exhausted as well as famished.”
“Thank you, Highness,” Adam said and sat to the King’s immediate right.
“Please, call me Anton.”
“Is it just us for supper, Anton?”
“I am afraid so. My wife, as usual, took the children to our summer chateau the moment the passes cleared enough for her baggage train to cross. Of course, it will be twice the size upon her return as she does her best to bankrupt me when she visits Leva. You are lucky to have caught me as this is one of the times I chose not to accompany her. The mosquitoes are particularly awful at the lake this time of year. First hatching or some such thing. At least we have a fabulous new road through the Highland Range, thanks to your father.”
“I am glad we were able to meet,” Adam said. “The road is what we came her to talk to you about, that and my father’s throne.”
King Anton frowned and his face grew solemn. “Yes, I only recently heard of the tragedy before the passes closed for the winter. You have my deepest condolences. Your father and I were not what most would consider friends, but I respected him a great deal. Let us talk of business after we eat. It is something of a custom here in Arnao. Serious talk often spoils the taste of an otherwise delectable dinner.”
A steward entered bearing a crystal decanter of red wine and began filling their glasses.
“This is a local vintage brewed from the elden berry. It is the only fruit we have in our northern climes that makes a proper wine. It is not as sweet as the more famous Southlean vintages, but it is quite good if your palate appreciates a dry wine.”
“My palate is about as discerning as the plague,” Garran quipped before he downed the glass and stripped the carafe from the steward’s hand when he tried to pull away.
Adam tucked his chin and glared. “Perhaps you should slow down.”
Anton smiled politely. “Come now, Adam, let the man enjoy himself. You are all in safe company now.”
“I trust in your hospitality, Anton, but Garran got an early start on the day already, and I would hate for him act like himself and embarrass us both.”
“Ah, not a good habit for a bodyguard, Agent Holt. When did you start?”
Garran emptied his glass again and refilled it. “About twelve years ago, but I didn’t really catch my stride until about nine years back when my mother sold me into slavery.”
“Such an unfortunate event would test any man, to be sure. I find it interesting that you now protect the son of the man who is ultimately responsible for your indenture.”
Garran shrugged. “I took some stupid oath. I figured that I had mastered the art of self-abuse, so why not try something truly challenging.”
“Adam, do you not care for the wine?” Anton asked, noticing that the Anatolian prince had only taken a token sip.
“I have taken vows to only imbibe alcohol during religious services.”
“Interesting. I heard that you had taken up a monastic life, but I did not know if it was purely for academic purposes or if you had actually joined the priesthood.”
“I have become a monk, sort of a mixing of the two.”
“How does that weigh on your succession?”
“I cannot wear the crown or hold political office.” Adam fought back a wave of grief. “With Marcus gone, my sister would sit as regent until she married or her firstborn son comes of age.”
Anton bowed his head and nodded sympathetically. “Well, I for one am grateful for your father’s road, Adam. It has created an uninterrupted trade route between us and Leva, and from there, most of the realm.”
“It will be even greater when it functions as my father desired,” Adam said.
“Perhaps, but I am getting dangerously close to breaking my own rules about mixing business before dinner.”
Anton waved, and a stream of servants entered the dining room bearing trays with metal domes covering plates of food. There was no more discussion about the road or The Guild as they ate. Adam fought his impatience through six courses. By the time the servants began clearing away the dessert plates, he was near to bursting, both from the pressure in his stomach as well as his eagerness to get to the purpose of their meeting.
“Highness,” Adam said as the servants cleared away the last of the dishes, “I appreciate your gracious hospitality, but I would really like to talk to you about why I came here.”
Anton motioned for the servants to leave the room. “Of course. You have been very patient, and I appreciate you indulging me for so long. What is it you need from me?”
“I need your help to remove Gordon from the throne and bring down The Guild.”
“As much as I appreciate your courage, and even envy it, I fail to see what I could do. We are a small nation, and by the standards of Anatolia and the other kingdoms, rather poor. Siding with you against The Guild, who has only grown stronger since your father’s demise, would be suicidal.”
“I am not asking for military support, and whatever financial support you can offer would be confidential, just as your contributions to the trade road were. You said yourself that you have profited from it. Imagine the rewards when The Guild is not syphoning nearly half of those profits away through tolls, taxes, and Guild fees. Your non-Guild merchants could trade across borders as well, bringing in even more revenue.”
Anton nodded thoughtfully. “What you say is true. A truly free trade road would be vastly superior to the exclusivity of The Guild’s control, but my investment in its construction was also supposed to be confidential, yet here you are with knowledge of my involvement. One thing I have learned as King is that there are few if any secrets in this world. The Guild can outspend me ten times over. Without a powerful military force, I fail to see how my further investment in your family would be of any help.”
“We have a strong army willing to fight, but wars need money. We are not without a plan to wrest control of the throne. You trusted in my father enough to support his dream despite knowing the very same risks that make you apprehensive now.”
Garran tried to kick Adam from under the table but only managed to slide out of his chair and fall to the floor where he remained, unmoving. Adam glared at the tabletop and shook his head in disgust.
“His dream turned into a nightmare for him and many others,” Anton countered with nothing more than a glance toward Garran’s unconscious body. “You will need far more than a few patriotic rabble-rousers to contend not just with Anatolia’s military, but the thousands of mercenaries at The Guild’s beck and call.”
“We have that!” Adam insisted. “And we will get more in time, but I need the support of others, others like you who have already shown that they do not want a world ruled by The Guild.”
Anton stroked his chin and nodded. “I need reassurance beyond your promises. I do not doubt your sincerity, but if I knew more of who is likely to support you, this army you claim to have, and how you plan to gather more soldiers to your cause, perhaps it will be sufficient to make me reevaluate the risks to my kingdom.”
Adam ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. Eating so much food had made him sleepy, and he fought to clear the fog from his head. He needed Garran’s help to convince Anton just as he had done with the Hillmen. He felt Garran’s body beneath the table and kicked him, but he did not stir.
Damn him!
Adam silently cursed. “Do you think The Guild will leave you alone, that your mountainous borders will protect you once they turn their greedy eyes toward your kingdom? They are going to swallow us all one bite, one kingdom, at a time. The only way we can stop this from happening is to join together until we are too big to swallow and make them choke if they try.”
“Again, you make a convincing argument, but as I said before, my country is small. We are but an appetizer. Tell me more about who else is or will be supporting you.”
Adam was loath to say anything more than he had to, but he needed this man’s help. “Anton, I can’t…”
He studied the King’s face, noticing that the affable smile was gone, replaced by a stern, calculating visage. Adam kicked Garran again, harder this time.
“Garran, get up!”
Anton sighed and made a beckoning motion in the air. A dozen soldiers entered the room and converged around the table. “I am afraid that Agent Holt will be incapacitated for several more hours.”
The King motioned toward Garran. Two of the soldiers sheathed their weapons and carried him between them. The others closed in around Adam and shoved him toward the door.
“You are making a mistake, Anton!” Adam shouted. “You are not just giving us over to The Guild; you are surrendering your entire kingdom!”
“I am doing what I must to retain control, even if only nominally. There are certain inevitabilities in life, and The Guild is one of them. We are all guilty of feeding the monster until it grew too big to contain, and now we have become its servants.”
“We can change that!”
“I wish it were true, Adam. I truly do, but that is a fantasy. It was a fantasy when Remiel concocted the plan, and it is even more so now.”
“Then why did you support him?”
Anton shrugged. “I was hedging my bets. Either way, I got my road, and my people prospered from it. Some of them anyway.”
“You will regret this, Anton,” Adam promised. “When my sister gains control and we destroy The Guild, I will remember those who had the courage to aid us, and I will especially recall those who opposed us.”
“I am not a gambling man, but I know that only a fool plays the long odds and prays for a miracle.”
The soldiers ushered Adam and carried Garran through several corridors and down into the bowels of the castle where a few cells were built to imprison special prisoners. Garran’s eyes opened and his head rolled loosely on his shoulders. He grabbed at the bars of one of the empty cells. He moaned a complaint when his handlers pulled his away and dropped him into the adjacent cell along with Adam.
Anton glanced at Garran who was moaning and struggling to sit up. “He certainly has an amazing tolerance. He consumed enough of the drug to put a horse into a coma for a week. It is of no consequence. Neither of you will be here for long.”
The gaoler closed and locked the door. Adam lunged at the cell door and gripped the bars.
“Anton, it is not too late to do the right thing!”
Anton looked over his shoulder. “Perhaps, but I have committed to doing the smart thing. Goodbye, Adam.”
Adam shouted incoherently at the departing king and his soldiers. He heard Garran moan, turned, and helped him sit up.
Garran pressed a hand to his head. “What happened?”
“Anton drugged you.”
“Really? That prick! You got any more?”
“No,” Adam replied in exasperation.
“That prick!” With Adam’s help, he struggled to his feet, stumbled toward the door, and shouted between the bars. “Hey, fatso with the key, come here! I know you can hear me.”
A nearby door opened with a groan, and the jailer’s face appeared on the other side of the bars. “Do I know you?”
“I have a familiar face.”
“If that’s true, I’m glad I’m just fat. If I had your face, I’d kill myself. What do you want?”
“I want in the other cell, the one next to this one.”
“Why do you care what cell you’re in?”
“The other one has a window. This man is royalty, and he deserves to be locked in the best cell.”
“You ain’t staying long, and I ain’t opening this door for any reason until the King tells me to.”
“You are violating the treaty governing royal prisoners, signed by Anton and the rest of the ruling monarchs. I demand you move us to the other cell this instant!”
“I don’t know what your game is, but you and your prince are staying put. The damn thing is too narrow for you to crawl through anyway, so just sit still and be quiet, and don’t call me fatso!”
“Wait!” Garran said as the man turned to leave.
He turned back with a sigh. “What?”
“You’re something of a man of the law; at least you’re familiar with criminals.”
“What of it?”
“Let’s say a man and a woman are both really drunk, and maybe under the influence of some pretty powerful drugs, and someone passes out during sex. Now, when they both wake up, neither really knows who passed out first.”
“It’s rape.”
“Hold on, I don’t think you understand the particulars of the situation.”