The Marian Codex is only one more example of the sin and iniquity which has consumed the Narvonnians. To think that the study of daemons was a worthy subject! Every volume of that damned codex should be gathered and burnt, or at the least locked away where it cannot corrupt any more innocents. The proper course for a virtuous scholar is to study the words of the Angelus, and to live by their teachings.

* The Commentaries of Aram ibn Bashear

☀

5th Day of New Summer’s Moon, 297 AC

Trist, Clarisant and Yaél worked in the library at the Church of Saint Abatur for the rest of that day, only returning to their rooms at the north tower in time to change for the evening meal. For the next two days, Yaél and Trist had their morning exercise in the courtyard, with Dame Chantal joining them for the squire’s fencing lessons. Trist asked her not to speak of the reason for her aid, and when Bors asked, they only responded that Yaél would be fighting larger opponents for some years to come.

After the morning drills, they all took a quick breakfast in Baroness Arnive’s great hall, then brought fresh cream as a gift for the faerie Lurdan. The wrinkled creature enjoyed the cream immensely, chugging it down like a horse at a trough, and even smacking his lips afterward to be certain he got every drop.

They brought food for themselves, as well, so that they could work through the day, eating when they were hungry without having to go back to the castle. A loaf of fresh baked bread, a wheel of cheese, and cold cuts from the evening meal of the night before were enough to keep them going. Trist was certain that all of them felt the press for time, and the pressure of the new King’s expectations upon them.

After three entire days spent in the library, they brought their notes to Baroness Arnive’s solar for a meeting with King Lionel, Baroness Arnive, General Ismet, and Clarisant’s father. This time, the other Exarchs were absent, and even the squires had been chased from the room, leaving only a stack of plates and forks, along with an entire pastry-cake of the local variety, filled with black cherries from the foothills, which the Baroness carved into wedge-shaped pieces and served to everyone. Even Yaél got a bite before taking up her station against the wall.

“So,” the King said, after accepting his plate. “What have you found?”

“The first thing we found,” Trist explained, taking a sip of watered wine, “was a copy of the Marian Codex locked up in the library of the Church. Most of what we have came from that.”

“Cross-referenced,” Clarisant explained, “With other sources: the campaign journals of Aurelius, histories, even those dreadful memoirs of that soldier-”

“Titus Nasicus,” Trist said. “I like him. Exciting stuff. His seven duels on the bridge at Neccaros…”

Clarisant rolled her eyes. “Yes, well. With all of it put together, we think we have a pretty good idea of which daemons were bound where, particularly within Narvonne. I don’t think it would surprise anyone to learn that fully half of them were bound in the ruins of Vellatesia.”

“Aye. There’s a reason no one goes to that accursed place,” her father grumbled, then took a bite of his cake and raised his eyebrows. “This is quite good,” Baron Urien complimented Arnive, after he’d swallowed a mouthful.

“My son’s favorite,” the Baroness admitted. “His father loved it, too.”

“We need to send someone to check the bindings in Vellatesia, then,” Ismet declared, getting to the point.

“Your pardon, General, but I am not certain we do,” Trist said. “Vellatesia is in the Ardenwood. If anything comes out of that city, Auberon will see it as an attack on his territory, and deal with it himself. Or send Cern to do it. In fact, I would be surprised if any daemonic agents have even been able to get there. The Shadow King is very… territorial.”

“It would certainly help to stretch our limited manpower if we could count on the faeries to hold that threat in check,” Lionel admitted. “But it would be unwise to assume they will do so without a stated commitment. We will need to negotiate with Auberon. You said that the old provincial capital accounted for about half of the daemons bound within our borders. Where are the others, and how many are we talking about?”

“We’ve marked them, your Royal Highness,” Clarisant said, shuffling through her stack of notes and pulling out a map, which she placed on the table. Scattered across the map were nine marked locations, each with a list of names next to them. Everyone leaned forward to get a better look.

“Here,” Clarisant indicated with her finger. Trist’s eyes lingered on the carefully polished and shaped nail; he already knew everything she was about to say. “Adramelech, bound in the mountains northwest of Falaise after Aurelius’ last battle.” Her finger moved to the lake on the edge of the Ardenwood. “The Addanc; we only know about that one because Trist fought it. It was bound by the faeries, not the church.” She traced the old Etalan highway north to the former provincial capital at Vellatesia. “There are at least five bound here, and one on the Skandian border, but what is more concerning are the daemons that were bound in the Champs d'Or, after the Battle of the Scorched Fields.”

“Vinea, Zepar, and Bathin,” Ismet read out loud for everyone’s benefit. “Three daemons. I recall studying that battle. Avitus sought to starve Aurelius’ army, I believe?”

“And mostly succeeded,” Lionel admitted. “If they hadn’t finally made an alliance with Marcus to the north, the entire Legion would have died that winter. As it was, it took a generation before the breadbasket of Narvonne had recovered.” The King shook his head. “I do not think we can take it as a coincidence that the Barony which has turned against us is also the place where three daemons were bound.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“You think that they have already been freed, don’t you?” Ismet asked. Trist could not have been the only one who noticed how familiar her tone was with the king.

“We must plan based on that assumption,” the King confirmed. “Which gives them five daemons, as well as at least two Exarchs.”

“How long would it take these three freed daemons to find Exarchs of their own?” Trist wondered aloud.

“They may not find them at all,” Ismet answered. “The scholars at the University of Maʿīn have studied the Accords extensively; only the Angelus regularly take Exarchs. I have never heard of the faeries taking one until you, and daemonic Exarchs are rare. I suppose it says something positive about the world that even most criminals balk at the idea of allowing a daemon to reshape their soul.”

“If the capital and the Barony of Champs d'Or are in enemy hands,” Baron Urien said, “They must come south to finish us. And if the faeries will hold against them in the forest, the only route south is the coast road to Rocher de la Garde.”

“Which means they will pass Camaret-à-Arden,” Trist realized.

“They may not wish to enter even the edge of the Arden,” Clarisant said. “If they fear the faeries.”

Trist shook his head, and it was clear the King agreed with him. “Iebara wood is a strategic resource,” Lionel said. “And Sir Rience’s fortifications were only ever meant to stand up to bandits. It would be a missed opportunity on their part not to take the village as they come south. I do not like to assume my enemies are stupid, or to count on them to make mistakes.”

“Better to evacuate Camaret-à-Arden,” Urien proposed. “Bring the people south, behind my walls. I can have a message to my son Gareth on the wing as soon as we finish here, so that he can prepare the city for a siege. In fact, he should evacuate every town north of the city.”

“The people from Camaret-à-Arden won’t be the only refugees coming south,” Lionel mused. “Everyone who can get away will have fled Lutetia with whatever they can carry. They won’t have a horse, like Sir Guiron did, but I would expect hundreds of people to reach Rocher de la Garde soon. That is going to strain Gareth’s supplies and make it difficult to withstand an extended siege.”

“Only if they can manage to blockade the harbor,” Urien pointed out. “I’ll tell my boy Gareth to have the fishermen working to stockpile everything the sea can give us, in the meanwhile.”

“Very well,” Lionel said, having made a decision. “Baroness, you will hold the south of the Kingdom secure for us here with a portion of our forces. Baron Urien, we will march the rest of the army east along the coast road. You will send messages to both Rocher de la Garde and to Camaret-à-Arden. I will be splitting the remaining men who came here with Valeria between the two forces, to reduce their chance at rebellion or sabotage. Both of you are dismissed. Sir Trist, please stay for a moment, but perhaps the Lady Clarisant would be willing to help her father with the letters.”

The room cleared quickly, with only perfunctory bows from those present, until only three remained: Trist, Ismet, and the King himself.

“Now that we are alone,” Lionel said, “I wondered if I might have a word with Lady Acrasia.”

“Of course.” Trist kneeled, drew his longsword from its scabbard, and offered it hilt first to the King; it would have been a great insult to point the tip at him.

“Thank you.” Lionel Aurelianus placed his right hand on the hilt, and then addressed the faerie within the sword. “Lady Acrasia, might I have a word with you?”

For the space of three heartbeats, there was no response, and Trist had just begun to worry that she would not answer when Acrasia’s form coalesced. She wore a white dress, as was her wont, but this was no simple linen shift: instead, she had conjured layers of skirts and bodices similar to what Clarisant or Baroness Arnive might wear. Her blonde hair still fell freely, in waves descending her back, but her ice-blue eyes were fixed on the King, and did not stray to Trist.

“King Lionel,” she greeted him, voice flat.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Lady Acrasia,” Lionel said. “I trust you have heard the contents of our council.”

“I confess I paid it all little attention,” Acrasia said, with a careless shrug.

“Ah,” Lionel said, frowning. “In that case, I will summarize. I am going to split my forces to engage the daemons who are currently rampaging across Narvonne. I believe we will face at least five who have broken their bonds. Our concern is, first, that none of the daemons bound in the ruins of Vellatesia be freed to join with those who already threaten us.”

“Vellatesia lies within the Ardenwood,” Acrasia said, and sighed. “My King will not permit those chains to be broken, and any daemon who tries to go there will be run down by my brother and the Wild Hunt.”

“It comforts me greatly to hear that,” Lionel said, with a warm smile. “May I, likewise, trust that no army will be marched through the Ardenwood to assault our flank, or to take us in the rear and destroy our supply lines?”

Acrasia’s eyes narrowed. “The Ardenwood is ours, as your ancestors learned to their despair some decades past. No mortal army will be permitted to march through our forest. That includes, mortal King, your army.”

“Peace,” Lionel said. “We are already grateful for your people’s aid here in Falais. It would be a poor thanks indeed if I were to insult the King of Shadows now. I would much prefer that we work together against a common foe.”

“We are not your subjects, either,” Acrasia nearly spat. “But in this one thing, you may trust in our common interest. Do not concern yourself with the Ardenwood. We shall allow no daemon, nor any who serve them, to pass.” With that, her image broke down into burning swirls and loops, which rapidly retracted into the Trist’s blade. The motion reminded him of an old woman winding her ball of yarn.

“Sir Trist,” the King said. “Do I detect a certain unease between yourself and Lady Acrasia? I cannot help but observe she did not once look toward you, whereas before she would have clung to your arm throughout the entire conversation.”

“In truth,” Trist admitted, sheathing his sword, “I have not spoken to her in days, and I have hardly seen her since…” he paused, understanding snapping into place. “Since my lady wife arrived.”

“Ah,” Lionel said, nodding. “I do not envy you that knot to unravel. But you are going to need her help in the war to come. You must find a way to work with her. Rise,” he instructed, and Trist did so. “We both have much to do, and I should let you get started.”

Trist bowed, took three steps backwards, then turned and left the solar.