Lykourgos IX: A Choir's Reprise
The Twenty-Seventh Day of the Eighth Moon, 873 AD.
Stagspring, Central Owkrestos, Klironomea.
Today had started much the same as most days had this last week, and as many were likely to in the coming moons.
Paperwork. Lots and lots of paperwork.
Some of the matters he needed to deal with were rather important and sweeping, such as the matter of internal trade monopolies and the relationship between the patriarchs of the church here in Owkrestos and back home. Patriarch Olyver held nominal control over them, seeing as he was the head of the Conclave of Patriarchs, but that didn't mean his peers across the rest of Klironomea had to just ignore their distaste for his firebrand speeches and unwillingness to compromise. Well, his unwillingness to compromise unless there was some 'leverage' you held over him. That had worked pretty well.
Other matters were so miniscule in importance that it was almost laughable. Really, why was he the one expected to sort out whether or not a pair of runaways married by an Owkrestan captain who'd performed a sham wedding ceremony aboard his ship in Teleytaian waters were actually bound by their vows? Surely that was something for the clergy or the clerks to debate over? Hell, he'd be quite happy with literally anyone waltzing in here and telling him that they'd take care of this sort of thing.
At least when all the matters were looked through he'd have cemented his control of Owkrestos. Whilst the major settlements and the regions around captured holdfasts were certainly within his purview there was likely to be a long-running and continuously elusive rebellious movement against his rule in the more rural and wild places of Owkrestos. Still, he'd expected such a thing. The rural types would be won over in time when it became clear to them that he had no intention of treating them any differently than his Teleytaian subjects, and as for those die-hard rebels who refused all sense and continued their fight from within the deep woods?
Well, the Umbra were always hungry, and they were always lurking in the dark places of this world. They'd sort the problem out for him in time.
If the day had continued on with mundane activities and thoughts such as that then perhaps he would have been rather bored by the time he went to sleep, but as it happened today was not going to be the same as all the rest. Today there was a fire.
The sounds of pounding footsteps echoed outside the room he'd taken as his office, and so immediately he leapt to his feet and made for the door. When he opened the door he was greeted with perhaps a dozen or so servants running with buckets and pails, their expressions ranging from grimly determined to anxious and fearful.
"What is it? What's going on?"
A passing servant hurriedly stopped themselves, the usual nerves displayed by his Owkrestan servants seemingly overruled by panic at something else.
"There's a fire in the eastern kitchens, your Grace! It's all hands on deck in the palace!"
Lykourgos stilled at once, hand coming to his mouth. He hadn't the time to think on what to do, so instead he did the first thing that came to mind. He turned to the young man guarding his door and began giving him orders.
"Eros, take a score of my men and help set up a bucket chain from the kitchen to the wells!"
"But your Grace, I-"
"Now, Eros!"
Eros' protests fell on deaf ears, for Lykourgos was set on making sure this fire was contained. He didn't know exactly how bad it was, but if it meant that all of the servants were being roused and summoned then it had to be either expansive or at least was at risk of expanding greatly. Neither of those particularly filled Lykourgos with confidence; the Huntsfort was far from the greatest royal residence even when it had been at its height, and it was far from being at its best point at the moment. Twice in the last half-decade had it fallen to an invading army, the first of which resulted in a sack, and the neglect it had suffered from its previous royal occupants wasn't exactly helpful in keeping it well-maintained. The last thing this small palace needed was a fire gutting it from within.
Besides, Lykourgos really needed to make sure the documents contained within these walls were kept safe and secure. They were crucial to his efforts when it came to understanding just how much he now possessed in these lands, as the resulting information would effect his plans greatly when it came to determining everything from sustainable army sizes to the amount of development he could afford to ensure both here and in Teleytaios. There were plenty of estates to be made here, yes, but the renovations in Anaria weren't exactly going to be cheap. Any wealth he could gain here was to be useful for one thing or another in the future, and he didn't want to miss out on any of it because of some fucking cook-fire.
"Understood, your Grace! Leaving at once!"
Eros, spurred on by the urgency of the situation, bolted down the corridor and towards the guard's quarters. Lykourgos smiled a little as he watched yet more servants run down the hall. Yeah, he had the feeling everything would be fine. There were a series of wells not too far from the cookhouses, not to mention the stream that ran next to the Huntsfort. It wasn't like they were in a desert at any rate. No, where the fire was concerned everything would be fine. He moved to sit back at his desk, and continued reading his papers. Duty stopped for no emergency after all.
Perhaps less than two minutes later the door burst open, and almost immediately the prince was on his feet. Perhaps by instinct he readied himself for bad news, for news that the fires were spreading or that a cookhouse had collapsed with his guards inside it, but that news wasn't what he received. He didn't receive any news, actually.
"Explain this intrusion immediately!"
His words went unheeded as three men stalked into the room, eyes glassy and faces plain. More important than any of that were the daggers in their hands. Fear jolted through him, and for a moment he was back on the walls of Anaria with the traitorous Lieutenant Isen, but he snapped back straight away. This was too dangerous a situation for him to think on the past.
Luckily for him, ever since that day on the walls he'd never been without a dagger at his belt. He pulled it out and readied himself to fight, making sure to move in such a way that the three men weren't able to surround him. He wasn't totally successful, but at the very least he kept them from coming from three directions at once.
"Guards! Guards! Intruders!"
Of course, there weren't likely to be any guards outside at the moment. Eros had taken those nearby and ran to help with the fire. Hm, that must have been coordinated. It's likely they predicted how I would act, how I would send my bodyguard away to deal with this issue. Concerning. Of course, this whole series of events was concerning, not just the fire. He should probably be focusing on the three vagabonds, not on how they were able to light the fire or their motives. He had yet another assassination attempt to make it through before he tried to play detective.
The dagger in his hand was lightweight and well-made, but those in the hands of the intruders appeared equally so. That was strange, given that they looked no better dressed than a peasant on the street, their clothes not fit for a servant in the palace. The three men should by all means have stuck out like sore thumbs amongst the halls of the Huntsfort, and yet it seemed no-one had thought their presence worth noting. Then again, he supposed, if they looked like servants then they'd have been summoned to deal with the fire alongside the rest. That was one reason and, if he was being honest, his armsmen weren't renowned for their fashion when out of armour. These three men seemed the right build, if a little reedy, so it was also possible that the servants had just assumed they were soldiers of his. Angels, why do I never learn to keep a guard with me at all times?
Two of the men sprung towards him at the same time, but he was able to counter them by moving to meet one of the two men shoulder-first, moving past the man's dagger and ramming into him with as much force as he could muster. Without stopping to think he threw his head backwards and then forwards into the face of the somewhat stunned man he'd ended up next to, the top of the prince's forehead colliding with the space between the vagabond's nose and eyes. The impact left him seeing stars, but at the very least he'd been prepared and the other had not. Not only that, but he'd struck the man with the hardest part of his head against the man's weakest, so if he was seeing stars then the vagabond must have been feeling a hell of a lot worse.
As much as he'd have liked to take a second to plunge his dagger into one of the two reeling men he knew he hadn't the time, for the third was rapidly approaching and one wasted second would have meant death. He wheeled around and just about moved out of the way of the glinting steel that was sailing towards him, using the man's momentum against him by tripping him, grabbing the back of his head, and slamming it into a stone wall in one swift motion. The prince's dagger sank deep into the stunned man's back, and he wrenched it out with a satisfying twist.
He quickly moved back again, aware that the other two men were now back on their feet. He'd gained the advantage over them, for they had lost the element of surprise and had lost one of their number. He just needed to repeat what he'd already done and he'd be safe.
With a few sidesteps and dodging motions, and more than one flick of a blade that connected with thin air where a person had been but a moment before, he found himself in the very centre of the room behind his desk again. The two men were in front of him, though at the rear of the room, and Lykourgos realised that if he could make it to the door then he could-
He turned and looked at the door, then heard the thunk of the crossbow bolt as it struck his shoulder. He hissed through his teeth as he was jerked backwards, the dagger falling from his hand and sailing through the air as a result of the motion as his arms flailed.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Ah, he thought as he felt the force of the blow hammer him backwards, there was another man outside. Time seemed to slow for a crawl as he worked out just what to do from here. He'd taken out one of his assailants an injured, albeit lightly, two others. The injured two had daggers, and the man at the door had a crossbow. The crossbow would take a little while to reload, but now that he was disarmed Lykourgos didn't really have a way to get past the man short of ramming into him shoulder-first as he had the first assailant and hoping for the best. At least if he could get out of this room then he'd be able to go and get help instead of just trying to take them all head-on.
"Guards!" He shouted again, his voice loud and booming and above all controlled. Panicking in a situation as precarious as this was tantamount to inviting disaster. "Murderers!"
He hoped his shouting might, if nothing else, buy him another half-second as the three remaining vagabonds moved back a step on impulse thanks to the volume of his voice. His first priority was to pick his dagger back up, and the next was to get rid of the crossbowman at the door before he could reload. Angels, but he hated days like this. Why couldn't people trying to kill him be good and decent about it by meeting him in battle?
He dove for his fallen dagger as one of his assailants swiped at him once more, immediately regretting it as he felt the bolt shift against his muscles causing his side to explode in pain. He gritted his teeth and scrambled up from the floor, dagger in his hand once more and mind focused on the three assailants around him.
"You'll need more than that to kill me."
The crossbowmen smirked an ugly and mocking smirk before raising the crossbow once more. Lykourgos readied himself to dive out the way, as though he were fast enough to somehow get out of the way of a speeding crossbow bolt, but at that moment there was an almighty tearing noise as the blade of a billhook erupted through the space where the crossbowman's nose used to be. There was a sickening crack as the billhook was wrenched to the right and the man's head split almost in two as he fell, connected only by a thin hinge of scalp and skin.
Before Lykourgos and the two remaining vagabonds was an absolutely fuming Dreamwulf with a feral snarl on his lips. One of the vagabonds let slip a noise that might have been a disgruntled or surprised exclamation, and it was that noise that seemed to seal his fate. The blind man wrenched his billhook free and, as though he knew exactly where they were with only his hearing, without so much pausing he turned to the further of the two men and hurled his billhook like a javelin. The bladed implement sank deep into the vagabond's ribcage as Dreamwulf threw back his neck and roared like some manner of ancient beast, enraged and dangerous. If Lykourgos hadn't known better he'd have said that there must have been some sort of magic or mysticism granting the blind man such awesome combat prowess, especially in the face of his disability, but there was no divine spirit at the back of his friend. No; Dreamwulf was just that good.
The last man brandished his dagger at Dreamwulf and made to advance on the now weaponless man. Lykourgos had little doubt in his mind that Dreamwulf would be able to overcome his foe even without a weapon, but he still wasn't willing to let his friend take on the last attacker by himself. A small glint caught his eye from near the door as he looked for a way to help his friend, and when he recognised what it was he immediately knew what he had to do.
Lykourgos scrambled across the floor and grabbed the discarded crossbow from where it had fallen when Dreamwulf had first made his entrance into the conflict and, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, hefted it to fire. The bolt caught the last remaining assailant in the leg and sent him down on one knee before he collapsed to the floor.
"Here," Lykourgos cried, tossing his own dagger along the floor and towards Dreamwulf, "there's a dagger by your feet."
The blind man felt around a little before his hand found the handle of the blade, and he nodded his thanks to Lykourgos. A few moments later and the last vagabond lay dead, the prince's dagger lodged in his throat.
Angels, he was only supposed to do a bit of paperwork today.
"Right, that the last of 'em?"
Lykourgos panted a little, adrenaline beginning to wear off, as he responded to his bodyguard.
"Yeah, that was the last of them. Thank you, Dreamwulf. That could have gone poorly."
The bolt in his shoulder stung, but not so badly as to signal a dangerous wound. He slowly pulled himself back together and made to stand on his feet, supporting himself against the doorframe by leaning on it with his uninjured shoulder, and tried to force his legs to stop shaking quite so much.
"Angels, that was exhilarating. At least it broke up the boredom of paperwork a little."
Dreamwulf snorted, walking across the room and feeling around a little before pulling his billhook from the chest of the vagabond it had impaled.
"That's one way to look at it I 'spose. You seemed to be doing alright afore I got 'ere."
There was a certain measure of sarcasm in the man's voice, and Lykourgos couldn't help but feel a little chastised by the man's tone. It wasn't unkind at all, just worried and exasperated.
"Yes, I know, I know. I need to stop sending my bodyguards away whenever there's an emergency."
Dreamwulf nodded at him to continue.
"'Cause?"
"Because," he sighed, "every time I do someone tries to kill me."
"Well, at least you can admit it."
Despite the state he was in Lykourgos couldn't help but smile. Dreamwulf's dry yet gentle teasing tone was working wonders at steadily bringing down his adrenaline.
"I should probably send for someone to clean up this room. I think the dead fuckers are starting to void their bowels."
"Trust me your Grace, they haven't voided quite yet. Believe me, I'll know when they do."
Lykourgos chuckled dryly. Yeah, that was a fair point. Out of the two of them it would be Dreamwulf who smelt it first, what with how his other senses had strengthened to compensate for the loss of his eyes.
"Still, I'd rather they were cleared out of the way. Say, why were you coming down here anyway? As far as you knew Eros was with me, and you weren't scheduled to take over from him for a few hours yet."
Dreamwulf just shrugged.
"Eros passed me on the way, told me what you sent him off to do. I figured someone should be guarding your door while he was gone. Glad I showed up, are ye?"
Lykourgos snorted and laughed despite the pain in his shoulder. His breathing was shaky, but that was more from exhilaration than any real damage.
"Yeah, not by a fucking small amount either. That could have gone ugly real fast. I- hss-"
The prince hissed as his shoulder moved a touch, disturbing the bolt.
"That's wedged in there hard. Fuck, that hurts."
Dreamwulf turned to face him, his amusement giving way to concern as he wiped some of the vagabond's blood from his face.
"Wait, you're hit? How badly?"
"It was the uh- one of them had a crossbow. He got lucky with a shot at my shoulder. The quarrel's still in there. Angels, it fucking stings. Nothing too bad, I assure you, but it stings nonetheless."
"Yeah," Dreamwulf replied with more than a little incredulity, "I know it does. I've been hit by one of those things more than once, yer Grace. Here, you wait here and try not to move, I'll get Nasos. He's got some fancy tool for this sort of thing I think, something from Polaeros. That should sort you right out, and no mistake."
Lykourgos nodded, then verbalised his assent for such a course of action, bidding Dreamwulf to "please be fast this is fucking painful" before the man left, a pair of guards taking point at the door having been drawn to his chambers by the commotion. This would now be the... what, the forth assassination attempt on him? There was that time at Seastream with the zealots, that time outside the walls of Ousdaal, and of course the most successful was Isen on the walls of Anaria, and now he could add one more failed attempt on his life to the list.
How delightful.
----------------------------------------
Dreamwulf returned in short order with Nasos, the smaller man bustling around and quickly establishing a small workstation for himself and his tools. Lykourgos took a long swig of the proffered strong wine as Nasos set to work, first taking out the shaft of the bolt before filling the wound with honey.
"The honey will help prevent infection whilst I work. This will be used to extract the bolthead in your shoulder."
The presbyter-come-healer brandished a strange metal implement that looked like a pair of threaded tongs with a central threaded shaft. When inserted into the wound, which fucking stung more than the bastard crossbow bolt did, Angels fucking help him, the device was used to pull the bolthead back out of his body. Afterwards Nasos cleaned out the resulting open wound with some of the same strong wine that Lykourgos had just drank and wrapped it firmly in a bandage that he procured from... from somewhere, Lykourgos had been too busy squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth to notice any of the specifics.
"A marvellous tool, this arrow extractor. Invented by the Polaerans a few decades ago for the purpose of, well, extracting arrows. Crossbow bolts are a little tricky but it's pretty much the exact same process, so luckily for you I know what I'm doing here."
The man continued on with his work for a little while, broken only by the occasional phrase muttered under his breath, and before Lykourgos knew it the bolt was out of his shoulder.
"And that should be it, your Grace. Try not to put too much pressure on that shoulder when sparring, since it might be rather painful. Apart from that though you're likely to make a full recovery in a very short amount of time."
"At least this time I won't be asleep for two moons, because that might drive me mad."
The preacher chuckled before wrinkling his nose a little, then looked around the room and gagged. Guess he was so singularly-focused on his work that he never really took in the dead people, even though he had to step over one to get in the room.
Lykourgos smiled at the preacher a little, then rolled his eyes as the man turned to look at him with a pleading expression on his face.
"Yes, yes, I'll send for people to clean the area up, don't worry. Four more cultists dead and... well, not buried yet but you get the point, surely aren't that distressing to come into contact with?"
"No, no," Nasos agreed, seemingly recomposing himself, "I just wasn't expecting it when I came back to. I was too focused on you, your Grace."
"Me? Well, I'm flattered."
"Here," Dreamwulf cut in with a slightly confused expression, "I figured you'd wanna try and keep one of them alive, for questioning and all that. Any reason you wanted me to kill the last 'un or was it just reactions?"
Lykourgos huffed out a humourless laugh.
"I caught their eyes after the fight. They were glassy, and filled me with unease. I started to get a small headache when I looked at them too long. It's them again. It's the Choir."
Dreamwulf's lip curled up almost on instinct.
"I see. You aren't allowed to send Eros away if I'm not here anymore, yer Grace. It ain't safe for you."
The prince just nodded, too tired by the events of the last hour for even his legendary stubbornness to protest this erosion of autonomy.
"That sounds reasonable. Fuck, I could go for a mulled ale right about now. In fact I could go for literally anything if it could settle me at the moment."
Nasos, seemingly ignoring what Dreamwulf and Lykourgos himself were saying, pawed about in the pocket of the crossbowman who'd been at the door. Lykourgos watched as the presbyter read for a moment, then raised an eyebrow as the man began speaking.
"There's a note here, your Grace." Nasos' voice was low, somewhere between fearful and resigned. It was not a pleasant tone for so kindly a man to have to wear. "I think it's for you."
He held out his hand so that Nasos might hand him the note. The top was soaked with blood, but the message itself was still intact.
'You'll survive today,' the note read, 'but then we weren't sent here to kill you. Just to remind you we're still out here. You can't forget us, Prince of Violets. You know some people we desperately want to meet. Yours truly, The Choirmasters.'
He sighed a little and closed his eyes, exasperated. How could it be that just as he was beginning to give up his interest in the occult, the occult was taking an interest in him? That hardly seemed fair.
"Dreamwulf, make sure the guards are on the alert, and ensure Ilias gets this note to Elikoidi. I don't care which rat's nest he has to drop it off at so long as he knows it'll get back to Anaria. We need to be ready."
There was quiet for a moment as Nasos tried to make himself as small as possible, seemingly having worked out that Lykourgos wouldn't take well to the message.
"Why? What does it say?"
Dreamwulf's voice cut through the silence of the room, and Lykourgos turned to look at the blood-stained and imposing man with a grim smile, no matter that the man couldn't actually see it.
"It says we're still at war. It says they aren't done with us yet. Most of all, it says that Elikoidi has a lot more work ahead of him. They don't want me to forget them? Fine. They've tried to kill me twice now, and they've tormented an Angel. I already wished to build a prosperous and strong kingdom, but now that kingdom will be dedicated to the eradication of these fucking parasites. I'll remember them, but I'll make sure all who come after us won't have to."
"Now that," Dreamwulf smiled, "is one hell of a fucking plan."