Baronet Alan Linhal, 29, art dealer/general importer-exporter. He acts as a sort of facilitator for the nobility, procuring prestigious goods, especially art, and using the connections from doing so to make more contacts to perpetuate the loop.
He partnered with the resistance by smuggling luxury goods and art we took from collaborator nobles and selling them on our behalf then using the coin to smuggle back more practical goods–food, weapons, medicine and magic items.
He made a commission both ways, and made further profit by his caravans not being attacked by the resistance while his competitors were. Of course some were still attacked by cells ignorant of the arrangement, or just as cover, but having some protection while others had none created a major advantage.
During the three years of insurgency, he went from merely well off to rich, possibly enough to buy his way into the next rung of nobility.
Or at least this is what I learned from Tanyth’s letter, but judging by the office I suspect she underestimated just how much money he has gained from us. A large ornate structure with a scenic overlook of the river in the wealthiest section of the city. It must be very expensive to own a building here– I doubt even my five large gold could cover more than a couple of months’ rent.
Inside sits a bored man at a desk, and a guard with almost ceremonial gear. Otherwise, I don’t sense any people besides music echoing down the hall.
“I have a letter for Baronet Linhal.” I say to the desked man, keeping my hood up.
“I bet. All right, hand it over.”
“I need to give it to him directly.”
“… Fine, follow me.” He says, getting up and leading me towards the music.
The hall is lined with artwork, paintings and statues. He opens a spacious luxurious room lit by wide clear glass windows. There are two people: one a semi-nude noble lady reposed on a couch drinking wine and eating grapes suggestively, and a noble man, slightly more dressed, painting her likeness while also imbibing. The man is young, fit and handsome– late twenties with lazily curly hair. The music is coming from behind a curtain where the shadows of the musicians can be seen. Flutes and fiddles. The music is soothing but jaunty– playful.
The desk man leaves me at the door to whisper my presence to the painter. A brief exchange and I am waved over to hand him the letter.
“Alan darling, you’re supposed to be looking at me, not some boring letter!” The reposed woman reproves. “You never give me all the time you promise!”
“Oh, trust me darling, my attention is fully on… you.” His face drains as he begins reading, but quickly recovers. “Take them to my office and offer refreshments, don’t let anyone else enter. I’ll be there shortly.” He says sternly, then turns back to the woman with a smile.
The desk man takes me upstairs to a much smaller but equally decorated office with a window overlooking a park. The man goes to a cupboard and pulls out an expensive looking bottle and glass.
“Want any?” He asks, offering after pouring.
I shake my head. Ale drunk because it’s less toxic than the water is one thing, but whatever this is seems potent.
“You won’t mind if I do then?” He does not wait for my reply to drink the whole glass then pours himself another. “Damn that’s good stuff. The boss really knows how to pick them, booze and women.” He sways a little. “Ha, should have known it kicked more than it tasted… I think I know who you are.”
“… You do?” I let a knife drop invisibly into my hand, ready to ram it into his head.
“Yeah, you’re the one the boss hired to look for that statue or whatever he’s been trying to get a hold of. Been asking about messages for it the last year, only thing I know of to make him go serious like that…So, you find it?”
I smile, subtly returning the knife to the sheath. “I’m really not free to say.”
“Right, right. Contracts. Hey what’s he paying you, running around doing stuff like that? You’re so young, must be fun. Bet you’re a mage or something, right?”
“Yeah. I um, can’t go into any details of any contracts I may or may not have with your boss, you understand.” I say, lowering my voice conspiratorially. “But, um, let’s just say in my last job I ended up making more than a large gold piece a day.” It amuses me to play into his misunderstandings while not technically lying… It also feels oddly good to brag about making money.
“No shit? Wow, I really wish my folks could have afforded to get me those lessons now. Wow.” He drains another glass and nearly falls over as he does. “Well, I hope you’re charging the boss at least that much.”
“Do you not like him?”
“Boss? Nah, he’s fine, treats us right, but…Well it can be a bit annoying with all the parties and drinking and lovers he goes through. I don’t disapprove…I’m no prude, but he could leave some for the rest of us…right? That woman in there is like the fourth he has going on right now, plus a few men.”
“He goes around a lot of backs then?”
“Backs?! Never. They all know, some even share his bed at the same time.”
“I see…Why don’t you finish that bottle?”
Who has Tanyth sent me to?
The desk man quickly pours himself unconscious, leaving me free to examine the room. I find two safes, one in a cabinet and another hidden behind a slightly risqué painting. There are several other paintings and sculptures, with a large stringed instrument and flute in the corner.
About half an hour later the room’s owner finally enters.
“Oh, good.” He says, looking at the unconscious desk man, then waking him up to go back to his desk.
“You’re not mad he drank your booze instead of me?” I ask.
“Hardly. I figured you wouldn’t drink any with how serious you were, so I hoped he might overindulge and forget your details. I’ll threaten to take it out of his pay tomorrow to see what he remembers. I assume the door guard didn’t make your face?”
“No, they were facing away when I came in.”
“Good, now um…” pulls out a glass orb which he twists onto a base. The room wobbles briefly, a sign that our sounds will be blocked from outside. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you. I kinda assumed the last of this business was behind me when I heard about the pacification. Hoped, really.”
“Did you read the letter?”
“Yeah. We’ve been planning this for a couple of months now. So, I guess it makes sense to continue since it doesn’t involve fighting. I mean, it costs you guys nothing to utilize all the preparations I’ve done on my end, so might as well, right? I suppose it might actually help the cause eventually too… The letter said you didn’t know if you’re a noble?”
“Yeah, I’ve had a… complicated childhood.”
“Right, better get that out of the way then.” He pulls out a gemmed disk about two palms wide on a wiry stand– a large central gem with eight more on the edge. “Supinate your wrist beneath the centre. It’ll sting.”
I do as he says, and he taps on the central gem, causing a needle to shoot down into my arm drawing blood. The needle quickly retracts and the central gem glows.
“Alright, congratulations you have noble blood.”
… I don’t know what I was expecting. Which was I hoping for? How much did the cult steal from me? How much different would my life have been? How much better?
It doesn’t matter. I am who I am. Not being kidnapped would have meant ‘I’ wouldn’t exist. Might as well wish to be born as someone else. It’s pointless to dwell on an alternate past whose realisation would have meant my annihilation.
“If I was a commoner, would one of the other gems have lit?” I ask, distracting myself with technical analysis.
“Hmm? Oh, no, nothing would have happened then, and I would have had to repeat the test a few times to make sure. The other gems are, heh, edge cases.”
I don’t understand why he laughed.
“Right, I suppose it’s time you told me the details of my impersonation then.” I say.
He nods and goes to the safe painting, pausing in front of it. “I see you already found my safe. You should be careful to put the painting back at the exact angle next time. I had it slightly crooked on purpose.”
“I thought I had.” I say, but he doesn’t reply as he obscures my sight with his body while entering the combination.
“Right.” He says, handing me a folio as he sits back at the desk. “About half a year ago one of your teams slipped past the border and infiltrated a very isolated barony. They captured the nobles in charge and used mind magic to get as many details as they could needed to impersonate them before killing them and destroying the bodies. Fortunately, it seems they haven’t had any visiting nobles since the initial conquest, and they had a kid your age that reportedly looks a little like you. They were close to the border, so there was some intermarriage in the century that the empire and Caethlon has been neighbours.”
“And where do you fit into all this?”
“The baron was a cousin of mine, or something.”
“I’m sorry for the loss.” That is what you’re supposed to say, right?
“Oh, I never met her. But ancestry wise we’re close enough for it to be plausible for me to host you while you’re in the capital. The details are all in the file”
I glance through. “Isn’t this operation risky? I’m completely dependent on a team I’ve never met half the empire away not getting caught. Likewise, a major asset is depending on me for the same.”
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He shrugs. “So don’t get caught. I wouldn’t worry about the other team though, they’re supposedly very good at this. As for you, I’m sure Tanyth had every faith in your ability to succeed.”
I shake my head. “She hardly knew me. I was just the last option while the noose was closing in around us.”
“…Right …I suppose we should start working on your cover right away.”
“You seem to be taking that revelation rather well. Aren’t you at risk too?”
“Why would I be? I have a correspondence with my ‘cousin’ to back my innocence. I would just say you intercepted the kid on the way here and I had no reason to suspect you were an imposter.”
“You seem to be ignoring the possibility of me getting captured alive and having our relationship ripped from my mind.”
“Mind ripped evidence is not admissible in court against a noble. I may be the lowest rank, but I still have that protection.”
“But evidence that was pointed to by mind ripped information is. Likewise, that assumes they’ll even respect the rights of a low ranked noble. Three years of insurgency has strained imperial jurisprudence, a fact we utilized quite often.”
“Maybe in Caethlon, but not here. Besides, I have powerful friends who’d be sad to see me go. Now, if you’re done arguing for me to kill you, then I suggest we work on your cover. Your clothes… might pass for an isolated rural noble kid who’s just come to the centre, but not for one of my relatives. I’ll have you stay at one of my vacant town properties for a few days until I can buy you a new wardrobe.”
“You’re paying?” I ask sceptically.
“Of course, it’s a matter of prestige, I can’t have you choosing cheap stuff and making me look bad. Why?”
“…It just isn’t the impression I got from Tanyth.”
“That’s because our relationship was business partners, she saw me as someone constantly seeking advantage. You’re my ‘cousin’. Even if you’re a fake I should treat you like you’re real, just for my own sanity if nothing else. It would be a black mark against my honour to let you pay for anything as trivial as clothes while I’m hosting you. Now, onto the second issue. You can obviously fight, but are you trained with a sword?”
“No, why would it matter? I’m a mage.”
“Yes, but your new family has a militant history as a former border territory, it would be odd if you didn’t at least learn the basics before you started on your magic path. Come with me, I’ll show you some stuff.” He says, picking up a pair of swords from the corner.
“You?” I ask, dubious.
“Why not? I may have squandered my talents, but I’m still a knight.”
I stare at him in shock. I had no idea I was sharing a room with someone so dangerous. Tanyth’s letter didn’t say and his demeanour is far more relaxed than any other knight I’ve met– though admittedly those were all in a war. His comment about killing me doesn’t seem nearly as dismissible now.
“Don’t look so surprised… I assumed Tanyth knew, but I guess I never told her.”
“I never heard of a knight merchant before.”
“Knight artist.” He corrects. “I focused my training almost exclusively on perception and coordination to help my art, and better appreciate others’. That helped me to become an authority on trending styles, which I leveraged into a business. But I mostly train to maximize my experience with new art.”
“So, you don’t have any enhanced strength?” I ask, thinking I might stand a chance against him after all.
“Some, but only about what you’d expect from a squire who just graduated from being a page.”
“I didn’t realize they granted the title to people like that.”
He smirks. “They had to when I bested two titled knights in duels. I was quite popular in that scene for a while until I proved my point and left it… Heh, you’ll see.”
We go down from the top floor (bringing the silencing device with us) to the one below it to a room that takes about a quarter of the expansive floor plan. The walls are lined with more art, and the floor is empty with light pouring in from expensive stained windows that fill an entire wall.
“All right, show me what you got.” He says, tossing me the shorter of the two swords.
I set my pack down first then unsheathe the sword, carefully examining it. It’s high quality but not magic. An arming sword, neither short nor long, about perfect for me. I give it an experimental swing and get a feel for the balance. It’s designed for both cut and thrust, with a thin point for slipping into armour, and a sharp edge.
Still in my examination posture I lunge at him without warning with a swift horizontal swing.
He makes a lazy sidestep and blocks with his point, stopping my blade dead.
I try to shift my blade to slide it past, but he calmly shifts his to maintain the bind on the point with a calm smirk. I try to withdraw the blade for another strike, but he steps forward to maintain the bind no matter how I move, forcing my blade into an awkward position. Frustrated, I leap backwards away from his smug face.
He laughs. “All right, I’ll stop showing off and teach you properly. Your feet are all wrong. Wider stance, one foot in front of the other.”
“Did you just annoy those two knights to death?” I ask, but follow his advice.
“Aw, well I insisted we didn’t use armour, since otherwise they would just tackle and pummel me to submission, or death. I stopped duelling because, well, I already had the title, and they started making new rules to put me at a disadvantage which I found distasteful. Now, your swings are too big, and you should hold the sword like this.” He positions his sword to the side so I can see. “That’s your basic grip. There are others for different situations, but that will serve you in most. Now try thrusting and watch my footwork.”
I thrust, and he sidesteps again while parrying my blade to the side with an upward swing which he turns to tap me in the stomach with the flat. I side swing anyways, but he blocks with the pommel without any sign of fluster before stepping behind me as I am once again put off balance. I try to turn but he shoves me forward, causing me to stumble several steps until I recover.
“Your stance is still unstable, make it more like mine.”
I sigh, shifting my feet before attacking again. This repeats for at least an hour before I collapse on the floor from exhaustion. He is by far the most frustrating opponent I’ve ever fought in close range. Though I suppose he is the only knight I’ve fought in melee, so I don’t have much to compare him to, but I doubt the others are like this. It’s like fighting a geometric pattern. His blade and body forming precise angles that show no openings– each little move or breath controlled perfectly with utmost poise.
“Well, that took longer than expected. You’re obviously enhanced, but the amount is strange. It’s too much for a basic boon, but not enough for an intermediate.”
I glare at him from my supine position. “What did the letter say about me?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Just that you’re a valued asset, and that our previous arrangement demanded I take care of you. Why? Do you have some dreadful secret?” He grows giddy. “Do tell, I’d love to hear, and I promise I’ve heard just about everything. People like telling me things. It won’t surprise me.”
I breathe heavily as I consider. I can’t trust him, but impulsiveness takes over in my exhausted state and I decide to tell him just to watch the smile slip from his face. “…I’m a former Anar cultist. My enhancement is from the residual boons I received from sending hundreds of souls to him during the war.”
My confession has the intended effect– his mouth hanging open for half a second before he recomposes himself. “All right, I admit I haven’t heard that one before… wait, you sacrificed hundreds and you’re only that strong?”
I roll my eyes. “They were mostly commoners, and the main benefit of the boons is to my magic’s power.”
“Oh, so you must be a really good mage then?”
I sigh, shaking my head. “I’d say I’m above average for my age, but the gained power was offset by having to move around too much to properly study. It’s impossible to say whether I’m more powerful than I would have been otherwise. Though it does provide a good base for future growth.”
“You said you were a former cultist?”
I nod. “I was abducted and inducted when I was seven, but the cult was destroyed when the empire invaded. As far as I know I’m the only survivor. I stopped performing most of the practices, but continued anything I found convenient on a transactional basis. The war was a very good cover.”
“But wait. You killed hundreds of people yourself?”
I squirm, feeling judged on my displayed combat ability. “Most of them were incapacitated by others for me to finish off.”
He shakes his head. “No, I mean how didn’t the empire run out of soldiers if just your group had killed hundreds.”
“Oh, it wasn’t just soldiers. We also sacrificed civilian collaborators. In fact, I’d say we killed more collaborators than imperials. Maybe 60/40.”
He opens and closes his mouth several times. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s shocked, but that can’t be right. Surely, he knew of the resistance’s activities and tactics if he’s supporting us as much as the letter said he is.
He finally speaks. “You killed your own people?”
I’m taken aback by this claim. “No, they were collaborators. They aided the enemy and so were enemies.”
“…What did they do? What would get someone labelled as one of these ‘enemies’?”
I shrug. “Anything that provided the empire material support or promoted pacification.”
“What, like selling a soldier a loaf of bread?”
“We typically only killed those who provided more support than that, but yes.”
“Even if they would have been arrested by the empire if they had refused?”
“That doesn’t matter, what matters was the effect. Forcing them to choose disrupted imperial logistics, and if they did get arrested then that would create a strain between the oppressors and the oppressed.”
“…What else then? You said promoting pacification, what did you mean by that?”
“Anyone who advocated against the resistance either with word or deed in a public capacity. Whether that was an official making speeches, or a noble marrying imperial peers.”
“Even if it was an arranged marriage?”
“Especially then. Since that is how the empire will achieve long term pacification, by marrying our young nobles to create a legitimacy for ruling us.”
“But why did you care if that was just their long-term strategy? Surely, them failing in the short term meant them failing in the long term too? Why didn’t you just save them for later?”
“Oh, well, we didn’t really believe there would be a later. We weren’t really fighting to win in the short term, just to plant seeds for future generations. What little history I’ve read is clear on one thing, empires go through times of expansion and contraction. Right now, this empire is expanding, and so we didn’t have a chance to win.
“However, by fighting and hurting them we can slow the expansion down, and maybe make it so they’ll lose their hold on us during the next contraction. It could be years from now, or it could be centuries, but we will be free and it will happen because of our current struggle… or prior one, I guess”
“And killing collaborators helped your future struggles? Wouldn’t depopulating Caethlon now make it weaker in future wars?”
“In a way, but inducing suffering will build resentment against the invaders who caused the time of troubles.”
“Wouldn’t they resent you more for making everything worse?”
“I’m sure they did, but we weren’t in reach, only the empire was. If we had succeeded in causing mass uprisings– which we nearly did–then the empire would have been forced to employ tactics that would shift the resentment solely on them for generations. Either that or grant us concessions to avoid that. A win either way.”
He turns to look out the stained window, the coloured light making his face look very pale. “…You should write that perspective in your entrance exam. There’s always an essay option on current events, and novel perspectives always gets points from the judges.”
“I thought that was the standard viewpoint. You at least should be familiar with it given your involvement with us.”
“… I guess I just didn’t realize how bad things were over there.”
I don’t know what he means by that. If there is one other thing the histories are clear about it’s that all war is awful.
He sighs. “…Well, I guess in for a copper in for an aurum.” He uses an old word for gold. “You’re out of the war now, you don’t have a cover for your sacrifices to Anar. So, you won’t be doing that anymore, right?”
“…I’m trying not to.” I say, feeling like I should be honest with him. He’s my contact, the one I hope to be my leader… Do I even need a leader anymore? I’ve come such a long way on my own. The coin I’ve earned does much for my confidence. Maybe I can figure out a balance without submitting to authority…but maybe I should give him a chance. It’ll be easier that way.
“What do you mean trying to? Can’t you just not kill people?”
“Eh… yes, I suppose. But it’s hard.”
“Are you physically dependent on it like a drug? Does not sacrificing people cause you pain? Will you die without doing it?”
“…No, nothing like that. Anar prefers what a merchant once told me is called a ‘soft sell’. You can stop whenever you want, but you never want to… It’s hard to talk about, but I guess I’m just so used to having a steady stream of power that it’s distracting when it’s gone now. My skin itches all the time, wanting more. The only thing stopping me from trying to kill you for it is that we’re allies, and that you’d win in a fight.”
“…Why the hell did they bring a kid into this?” He whispers to himself, clearly intending for me not to hear but failed to account for my enhanced hearing.
“I’m hardly the youngest to fight for Caethlon.” I say, my pride stung at his clear dismissal of my ability. “A common tactic was to find a young child orphaned by the empire and have them swear to the god of vengeance for a major boon. Very effective. We’d have them go into towns or other hard targets and kill whole barracks of troops at a time. I even saw one kill a mage before they were surrounded and killed. You don’t need to worry about my ability, I survived the whole three years of the insurgency.” I finish, mentally cursing Timos’s derision that seems to add weight to his scepticism even now.
He stares at me for at least half a minute, mouth slightly open, with me staring back daring him to challenge my ability again. He shifts his gaze first, and stammers to change the subject. “S-So anyways, I’ll have a servant bring the carriage around and we can go to one of my empty town houses. There are only a few servants who are used to playing host to various guests, and I can give you a mask so they can’t identify you later. You can stay there until I can make you look the part of my nephew and then I’ll bring you to my main residence. Just… don’t do anything to draw attention okay?”
“Of course.”