Chapter 23 – Pieces in Position
Two days from the city of Melkis, there was a small town positioned along an intersection of several major rivers, including the Venstroll, sibling of the Angstroll. This town, known as Veb, profited from its location and the subsequent flood of both trade goods and people who passed through on their journeys to the rest of the empire. As such, the town had lodgings for every category of traveler, from the lowliest of farmers visiting to sell his year’s harvest of crops to the very wealthiest of nobles looking to do business with the Empress herself. Tyer Melanc was a man who recognized and appreciate comfort, and as soon as he had arrived in Veb he had rented a room in the most expensive lodge house he could find, simply for the reason that he could; after all, once he had disposed of his targets, his financial concerns would be taken care of for the rest of his life, however long that would be.
Melanc stood in his chamber, balancing lightly on the tips of his toes as he rocked back and forth. The room was narrow, bland, but clean, with a writing table and large four post bed surrounded by light blue curtains, as well as a stone fireplace which blazed cheerily. A large window across from the bed stood open open, and Melanc looked out through it at the city below, seemingly lost in a reverie as he basked in the sounds of the midday bustle. His musings were temporarily interrupted by a brief knocking on the door.
“Enter,” Melanc said without turning around.
The door opened, and through it stepped a short man wearing the robes of a servant. He had a bristly mustache and beard, and enormous, bushy eyebrows, all the same muddy brown color. “Do you have something for me?” Melanc asked.
“Yes, Sir,” the servant said, bowing partially as he spoke. “You said that if any letters arrived for you while you were staying at our lodging house, they should be delivered immediately to you as soon as possible.”
“Ah, yes. Of course,” Melanc said, turning around. His eyes drifted to the sealed letter clutched in the servant’s hand. He smiled anemically, the expression as clinical and detached as everything else about him. “Thank you, my good man.” He took the letter and held it up to the light pouring through the window, studying the seal upon it. The light caught the enormous golden ring he wore on his right hand’s index finger, engraved with a large cursive “M.” When the servant remained standing there, waiting expectantly, Melanc said, “Oh! Of course. How forgetful of me,” before reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a golden crown and tossed it to the servant, who caught it before bowing once more and withdrawing from Melanc’s chambers. Melanc sighed as he stretched, then rolled his shoulders back, staring down at the letter he held lightly in his fingers. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
The seal itself appeared to be made of a dull red wax, and he instantly recognized the sigil pressed into that wax: while to a casual observer it appeared to simply be a highly stylized version of the letters F and M fused into a single monolithic symbol, in truth those letters represented the phrase, “For Melanc.” Every one of Melanc’s many contacts throughout the empire had an identical ring, and so whenever they delivered information to him, for which Melanc always paid handsomely, they would seal it as such so he knew immediately to expect valuable intelligence. Indeed, just a few days previously he had heard from one of his informants living further downstream of the Angstroll river thta the bloated, thoroughly dead body of Zared Choler had been fished up, confirming that he had fallen in battle against the Tyrell twins. The color of the sealed wax would let him know who exactly the information would be from. As such, he knew this letter was sent from his spy sequestered within Argus Vyle’s forces at the present.
He pried the seal off and, opening the letter, read it in a matter of moments, eyes quickly skimming down the page. As soon as he had finished, he walked over to the fireplace in the corner of his room, and with an almost careless gesture tossed the letter into it, watching as it quickly turned to ash in the crackling flames. As he had expected, his special spy was riding amidst Vyle’s men. He had managed to secretly slip the letter off to one of Melanc’s other associates by casually leaving it behind in a tavern beyond the edge of Ar Goll Forest where Vyle and his companions had spent the night on their journey. Then the other of Melanc’s allies could safely pick it up after the rest of Vyle’s band had rode on, none the wiser.
“So, these twins defeated both Choler and Phlegm,” Melanc mused aloud, fiddling with the ring on his right hand as he did so. “I had expected that idiot berserker to fail, but Phlegm had intelligence, talent, and cunning. I will not make the same mistake either of them did; I will not underestimate these children and their guardians, no matter how harmless they may appear.”
Melanc stretched his arms, pacing around his chamber idly as he considered his next move. He had waited deliberately until after the other hired killers had had their chance at the targets for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, it gave him an opportunity to learn, to see what proved successful and what didn’t, and what skills and special tricks the children and their companions might have in store for their confrontation with him. More importantly, however, if the others had succeeded, then Melanc would have known that those children wouldn’t have been of interest to him as a target anyway.
Unlike his former associates, Melanc did not work as a hired killer to acquire money to fuel his other interests, as Phlegm did. Neither did he do so out of unfocused, unspent rage, as in Choler’s case. While the sheer magnitude of the fortune that the Master was offering certainly intrigued Melanc, it was a secondary motivation at best. Melanc had already earned enough to retire several times over, he simply continued to take contracts, content to work until the day he finally died. For Melanc, it was the thrill of the sport, the careful manipulation of circumstances to arrange the perfect killing, that interested him. If the children had been easy enough to kill that Phlegm or even Choler had succeeded, then they weren’t worth Melanc’s time. Now, however, they had proved themselves worthy of that honor, and so Melanc would begin to plan, carefully and exactly, how he would dispose of them.
“First, a map,” Melanc said to himself as he pulled out a chart showing all Waed and spread it out across the writing desk. He studied the map before him, mumbling quickly as he did so, “So…in the amount of time it would have taken for that letter to be delivered, they most likely have already left the forest long behind them and are approaching the empire’s center. I’d say two days, three at most, before they reach this very town.” He smirked at the thought. “Perfect. I can lay my trap for them, right here. The timing will be tight, but manageable.” The faintest of shadows crossed his face, as he realized something else. “No, I’ll need something more…a feint, first. A way to draw them out, to see firsthand what they are capable of. The question is, where?” He studied the map more closely, his expression studiously concentrated. “The simplest solution, as always: I’ll spring my feint, and the trap itself, in Veb. That way, I’ll be able to oversee everything myself, and ensure there are no unexpected surprises.” Satisfied, Melanc rolled the map back up and returned it to the satchel he carried. “Now, for the next step, I’ll need…puppets.”
Stepping next to his room’s door, Melanc grasped a string connected to a small silver bell and rung it three times, stopping then and waiting patiently. A short while later, the door opened, and the servant reentered, smiling broadly as he eagerly sought to fulfill whatever Melanc’s requests might be.
“Yes, Sir?” the servant asked. “What can I do for you?”
“My good man,” Melanc said, clapping the servant on his back as he did so. The man grimaced for an instant before his demeanor returned to its earlier, approachable expression. “What kind of wines do you have in your cellar?”
The servant bobbed his head as he spoke, saying, “Oh, we have quite a wide variety of excellent vintages, Sir. There is an excellent white wine from Visargo, a-”
“You can spare me the details,” Melanc said with a wave of his hand. “Please, just bring me a bottle of whatever your most expensive vintage is.”
“Oh,” the servant said, slightly taken aback. “Of…course, Sir. I will return soon.”
“Sooner than you realize,” Melanc mumbled to himself, but the servant didn’t hear as he ducked back out the door and slid it shut behind him. Once he was alone once more, Melanc looked down at the ring on his hand and, twisting it slightly, popped it open to reveal it was empty inside.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The Master had wondered how Melanc had achieved such a successful career as an assassin while remaining practically a ghost, without any reputation to speak of. The secret lay in how he managed his assassinations: namely, he did not do them himself. The son of a semi-successful hemomancer who had had the good luck to inherit the talent, Melanc had quickly realized that he was far too weak to ever be able to effectively use hemomancy in direct combat as Choler did. Rather, he had focused on improving his range and precision, until he had developed a special technique of his own, which no hemomancer he had met had been able to replicate. All hemomancers had far better control over their own blood than that of others, and Melanc had guessed that, if he could introduce a little sample of his own blood into someone else’s body, he could effectively seize control of it; with a thought, he twisted their muscles as he willed, effectively turning them into living puppets.
It was through pawns such as this that Melanc carried out all his contracts, all the while remaining at a safe, yet observable distance. It did not matter if the pawn was captured afterwards: the target was dead, Melanc could claim his reward, and no one save for whoever hired him even knew he had ever been involved. He had experimented with several methods of delivering that drop of blood over the years, but his current favorite was his specially made ring, large enough inside to store a sample of his blood and with a craftily hidden needle which he could use to inject others, just as he had just done with the servant when he had slapped him on the back.
Testing out his newest victim, Melanc reached out with his hemomantic senses, immediately detecting the servant walking down the hallway. It would take some time for the blood to fully “integrate” itself into his system, allowing Melanc to control him directly, but he could still track him, and knew that the man would be totally under his thrall in a matter of hours, if not less.
Melanc turned away from the door, making a clicking noise with his tongue. “I do believe we’re now in business.”
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General Steroth sighed wearily, looking around at the other men seated at the table before him. “Let me see if I understand fully what you are saying,” General Steroth said, rubbing at his temples as he did so. “In two weeks, with every resource at our disposal, the four of you have managed to uncover absolutely nothing even remotely related to the Master’s identity?”
The General was met by a stony silence from the others sitting around the table. He slouched back in his chair, letting out a slow breath as he did so.
As the Empress had commanded, once they had returned to the capital city of Melkis, nearly all his time had been consumed by tutoring Prince Grevel, as he instructed him in everything that he would to know before ascending to the throne. At the same time, he led 00the search throughout the grimy, twisted underworld of the empire’s largest city for the shadowy mastermind that the Empress wanted found and uprooted. Both tasks had proven frustrating to the general, although for very different reasons.
General Steroth and his four companions sat in a tiny room just above the barracks of Steroth’s personal legion. A large oaken table took up nearly the entire space, leaving just enough room for them to wedge in their chairs at odd angles. The windows and door were both shut for privacy, and a faint haze of smoke hung in the air around them. General Steroth looked at the stub of a cigar he clenched in his left hand, the end of which still burned faintly. He grimaced and put it out, tossing it carelessly over his shoulder, before meeting the gaze of his companions each in turn.
Sitting nearest to him was Captain Erevex, leader of the Empress’ own guard, who wore his signature knowing smirk on his face. With a grimace Steroth looked past him to his two spymasters, Venel and Zabyr, who couldn’t meet Steroth’s own gaze, staring down at the table before them in sheepish defeat. At last, his gaze lingered on Captain Zel, the commander of Melkis’ garrison, who wore the studiously focused expression of a well-disciplined soldier. General Steroth coughed once to clean his lungs of the last lingering smoke, then spoke once more, saying, “I’ve had every agent I can hire scouring the city for anything related to this Master. We know he’s here, in the city. Surely something must have turned up by now.”
Venel, a tall, wiry man with am untamed mop of fiery red hair, shook his head vigorously. “We keep sending out our agents,” Venel said, his voice thin and reedy, “But whenever they get even close to a promising lead, they’re killed, or worse, turned. Whoever this Master is, he knows everything we’re going to do, before we do it. Our whole organization has most likely been thoroughly infiltrated. It’s the most logical explanation.” Venel looked to Zabyr, who nodded once, before continuing, “We have managed to uncover exactly one piece of reliable information; whatever the Master is planning, his scheme hinges around the Empress’ Jubilee. That’s when his plans will go into motion.”
General Steroth ground his teeth together at that. “I had guessed as much more than two weeks ago.” His gaze flicked back to Captain Erevex, whose smirk remained unwaveringly plastered to his face. “Something has to be done,” General Steroth rumbled. “For the moment, further inquiries after the Master would seem to be both useless and a waste of our resources. We need a shift in priorities: Venel, Zabyr, I want you to focus on scouring our own organization first.” He gestured to the spymasters. “I want every leak found and silenced. Every leak. Is that understood?”
“That will take time,” Venel said apologetically.
Zabyr added, “Time we may not have.”
“I am well aware,” General Steroth said through gritted teeth. “But I have given orders, and I expect them to be followed. Is that understood?”
The spymasters nodded in unison.
“Excellent,” General Steroth said, relaxing only slightly. “Next, we must plan for the Jubilee itself.”
“The security of the Empress must be our highest priority,” Captain Erevex said, cutting into the conversation. There were nods and mumbles of agreement from around the table at that.
General Steroth’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Do you have a suggestion, Captain?”
Captain Erevex’s smirk grew wider, if possible. “I do, General. There are two imperial palaces, are there not? A summer palace an hour’s ride from the city’s limits, away from the heat and stench of Melkis, and a winter palace, right here in the very heart of Melkis.”
“So?” Venel asked.
“If we move the Empress and her Jubilee celebrations from the winter palace as planned to the summer palace, she will be that much further from whatever the Master intends,” Erevex said. “Even better, should Crown Prince Blyth and Prince Grevel remain in the Winter Palace, and assuming the Master wishes to depose the royal family, his targets would be divided.”
“But the summer palace has none of the fortifications the winter palace does!” Captain Zel protested.
“We’re dealing with a criminal mastermind, not an invading warlord,” Captain Erevex countered. “My men should be more than enough to protect the Empress on the day of the Jubilee.”
“I agree with Captain Erevex. His proposal seems sound to me,” General Steroth declared, running a hand along his snow-white mustache as he did so. “I will inform the Empress that, for her security, we should move the private celebrations to the summer palace, the parade and festivities for the common folk can proceed as intended. I, of course, will be with the Empress as well during the Jubilee, in case of an attack.”
“Of course,” Captain Erevex mumbled to himself.
“And what do you wish for me to do?” Captain Zel asked then.
General Steroth considered the question, then replied, “Position your men throughout the city. Disperse them from their usual barracks and fortify any major roads or intersections. We will use them as a net. When the Master makes his move, he’ll get caught in that net, and then he will be ours for the taking.”
Captain Erevex snorted with laughter. “An amusing analogy, General.”
Ignoring Erevex, Captain Zel said, “Patrolling a city the size of Melkis for a week is simply too much for my men. They will be exhausted by the day of the Jubilee.”
“We will call in additional men from nearby garrisons to shoulder the burden,” General Steroth said. “But I want the city streets swept clean. If our spies have failed, then we will rely on our soldiers. I don’t want a hunk of bad meat thrown away by a servant that we don’t receive a report about.” General Steroth smiled. “After all, even the Master can’t buy off the entire military. It nearly bankrupts us just to keep them in pay.”
Only Captain Erevex chuckled at General Steroth’s joke, the others watching in a grim silence. After a short, awkward silence, General Steroth coughed into his hand once more and, standing up from the table, said, “Gentleman, our meeting is adjourned. You all know what to do.”
“And you, General?” Captain Erevex asked, arching an eyebrow as he did so.
“I must obey the Empress’ commands and instruct Prince Grevel,” the general responded, clenching his fists at his sides so tightly that his knuckles turned white as he did so. “Now, if you gentleman will excuse me…”
General Steroth opened the narrow door leading out into the barracks and quickly departed into the city streets beyond, returning absentmindedly the salutes of his men as he did so. Once he was outside in air relatively free of smoke and filth, he breathed deeply, feeling the pain in his chest ease somewhat.
“Blasted smoking,” he muttered to himself. “Should never have picked up the habit.” He waited for another fit of coughing to subside, then started to walk through the city streets. The sun was just beginning to set below the horizon, and by the time he reached his destination, it would be fully dark. While many feared to traverse Melkis alone after dark, Steroth had no such concerns; even in his age, he knew his skill with the blade was enough to teach any would-be pickpockets or thugs their lesson.
“General!” he heard a voice from behind him. Stopping, he turned to see Captain Erevex, panting heavily, who had run to catch up with him despite wearing his full suit of armor.
“Erevex? What is it you require?” General Steroth asked bluntly.
“Do you remember the…special project you assigned me to?” Captain Erevex asked, eyes darting around to make sure no one could overhear them speak.
“Naturally.”
Captain Erevex scratched nervously at his chin, as if trying to decide how he wished to proceed. “There have been some complications.”
General Steroth sighed, settling his shoulders back. Prince Grevel could wait for a few additional minutes. “Report.”