Chapter Ten
Kelso
Kelso stepped onto the main floor of the ballroom a few steps behind Vincen and Ona.
“Your father is over there, my Lord,” he said, pointing toward the King’s dais. Duke Borden was still by the door, looking the crowd over while his attendants were speaking to the footmen. Kelso imagined that since his presence had not been planned for, accommodations were hurriedly being prepared. The large man seemed rather amused by the delay, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth as he observed the other guests' discomfort.
“Thanks,” Vincen said quietly, then began working his way through the crowd toward his parents. Ona sighed and hung back, but when Kelso glanced at her she shook her head and nodded him on. He frowned, then turned and followed after Vincen. Whatever it was Vincen and Ona had been discussing on the balcony – and Kelso was fairly certain he knew what it had been about – it wasn’t his place to worry. Still, there was no arguing life had been much simpler at the Academy, where they had been allowed to be themselves. Here, in the real world, nothing could be as it seemed, and they were all beginning to feel the pressure. Even Ona.
“Good,” Prince Andreu said as Vincen came up beside him, “you have finally arrived.” Kelso silently took up his position behind Vincen, avoiding the disapproving glare of Alexander, who was standing behind the Prince looking as refined as ever. Even in his white and red livery, the same that Kelso wore, it was easy to see that he was a nobleman himself, with his perfectly combed black hair, peppered with bits of gray and his confident bearing borne from decades in the service of a prince. Kelso knew Alexander would have a lecture regarding punctuality ready for him in the morning. Prince Andreu sighed and looked at Vincen with an expression Kelso couldn't quite place. “Now observe closely,” he said. “Whatever happens next will almost certainly have an impact on your future.”
“You mean Duke Borden?” asked Vincen.
“You know his circumstances, then?”
“I’m not wholly ignorant, Father,” Vincen replied.
Kelso grimaced, then immediately scolded himself for the uncomely reaction, hoping that no one had noticed. He was certain that Prince Andreu was doing all he could to ensure Vincen would be ready for his future role as Duke, though he couldn’t help feeling that the Prince was being too hard on his friend. No, not his friend, not anymore, not out here in the real world. Vincen was his lord now. Forgetting that could prove dangerous, not just for Kelso but for his entire country. He suppressed a sigh, and not for the first time since graduating found himself longing for the simpler days of the Academy.
Vincen frowned and then gestured toward the Duke. “Still, why is he here? I doubt he came all this way just for the fun of it.”
“Whence the shade travels…” Prince Andreu muttered, and Kelso cocked an eyebrow. The saying came from the Master’s Book, a religious text Kelso had not expected the Prince to be familiar with. Albaron had no official religion, unless patriotism counted. Most of Albaron’s nobles, including the King, followed a sort of casual atheism: whenever talk would turn toward the religious they would usually steer the conversation toward the ‘Glories of the Empire’ or some other innocuous topic. Any power that could potentially demand greater loyalty than the Empire – even if it was the Master Himself – was greatly frowned upon. The Prince sighed and shook his head. “You would be shocked at what some of the older noble families do ‘just for the fun of it’. Still, you are correct in that it’s imperative we learn his true intentions,” Prince Andreu said, folding his arms behind his back and watching as Duke Borden’s retainers cleared a path through the crowd. Alexander gave Kelso a look that suggested he should be on guard, and subtly tapped the sleeve of his jacket, just above his left wrist. Kelso nodded and checked his own knife, cleverly concealed in his sleeve. It was a concession to their position as retainers of the Prince’s family that they alone among the guests were allowed to carry weapons in the presence of the King. A heavy sigh came from his left and Kelso turned to see Marquess Lequette shaking his head.
“Damn him,” the Marquess muttered. “Why is he coming this way?” Kelso glanced over and noted that the Duke was indeed heading directly towards them, a lithe, gangly young man leading the way. The Duke’s attendant approached and stood directly in front of Prince Andreu, an amused yet humorless smile on his face. Kelso studied the man and realized that he was sizing them up. He did not have the look of an attendant. His eyes were sharp and his muscles taught beneath his livery. He was wound tight, like a wildcat ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. Kelso got the impression that the man was more of a bodyguard than anything else, and maybe he was, though Duke Borden hardly looked as if he needed the protection. Their eyes met and the attendant stared right back at Kelso, almost daring him to try something. Alexander tensed, stepping forward, and the man broke off the staring match with a small scoff.
Duke Borden walked up behind the man, placing a massive hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Adrick,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. The young man turned and bowed, his movements fluid yet curt. He was definitely a bodyguard, and Kelso remembered his name, entrusting it to his mereology. The Duke turned his attention to Prince Andreu and bowed with a flourish that did not reach his eyes, which never left the Prince. “Andreu, it’s a pleasure to see you again after so long. It’s been, what, sixteen years since last we met?”
“Borden,” the Prince replied coldly, gesturing for Alexander to stand down, which he did gracefully. Kelso took note of how smoothly he settled back into position while never letting his guard down, and he realized just how much work he still had to do before he could call himself a proper valet.
Duke Borden smiled as he recovered from his mock bow and his gaze passed over Vincen and Lady Caterina, who had both raised their eyebrows at the Duke’s overly familiar tone.
“Lady Caterina,” he said, turning toward her and accepting her hand. “I have heard of your beauty and am pleased to find the accounts lacking.” He kissed the back of her hand and Lady Caterina nodded at him, her eyes dark while her lips smiled. Duke Borden released her hand and stepped back. “I am glad that Andreu was able to find solace after losing Sofia. A most unfortunate tragedy, that was.”
“My condolences on the passing of your father,” Prince Andreu said, stepping forward and taking Lady Caterina’s arm, his voice icy enough to freeze water.
“His final years were spent in peace, we have that consolation, at least,” Duke Borden said, turning his attention back to Prince Andreu. “In the end, it was a fitting retirement your brother orchestrated for us. Villamont is nothing if not relaxing.”
“What do you want, Borden?” asked Prince Andreu. “Why are you here, tonight of all nights?”
Duke Borden raised his eyebrows, looking somewhat offended. “Where else would I be? Should I neglect my duty? It’s a rare thing to have a highborn mage,” he said, nodding at Vincen, “much less two at the same time, and such a fitting match, I understand. An auspicious occasion such as this, well… I do hope my impertinence will be forgiven.”
Prince Andreu frowned and shook his head. “Yes, well… greeting us prior to the King has certainly done little to ingratiate you further in his esteem. Now go; leave us in peace and beg his pardon.”
Duke Borden bowed lower than was necessary, a cold smile in his eyes. “As you command.” He stood and his gaze flickered to where Marquess Lequette was standing with his wife and attendants. Alba appeared from the crowd at that moment, quietly slipping in and taking her mother’s arm while Marie followed, taking her place behind her lady. Kelso met Alba’s eyes and she raised a questioning eyebrow, nodding ever so slightly toward the Duke. Kelso shook his head, a very small motion, though he knew Alba would notice it.
“Anton,” the Duke said, turning toward the Marquess, still smiling.
“Duke Borden, welcome,” Marquess Lequette said, inclining his head the bare minimum that propriety demanded. “I see that your punctuality is matched only by your courtesy.”
“Indeed, and in that last regard I am pleased to consider myself your equal. Now, if you will excuse me, I must extend my ‘courtesy’ to the King.”
He turned away briskly and approached the King’s dais, his retainers trailing behind him. The bodyguard, the one Duke Borden had called Adrick, glared at Kelso and Alexander for a second, then smirked and turned away, following after the Duke. They stopped the required distance from the dais, the Duke bowing deeply and with a flourish before taking a knee, his retainers following suite. The motions were smooth and practiced - performed with textbook precision - yet Kelso couldn’t help but feel a mocking intent behind every move the Duke made. It was strange, and he found himself tense and on edge as he watched the proceedings.
King Oriol regarded Duke Borden for a moment, his eyes narrowed to slits. Borden held his gaze with a barely contained smile. Kelso frowned and Vincen shifted uncomfortably next to him. Then the King nodded, as if to himself, his lips curling into something between a frown and a smirk.
“And so Borden, you have come,” the King said, his voice heavy with resignation. “Though I must say, we did not expect to see you this evening, what with Villamont being so far removed.”
The Duke stood, folding his hands behind his back. “Indeed, the lack of rail service to our humble lands continues to be an inconvenience, though we find ways to manage. I apologize for my tardiness. This is an auspicious evening and I do not wish to detract from the main event.”
“Yes, well you are here now, rather late, I might add, and I think we would all agree that is certainly detraction enough. I am certain that the rest of my invited guests wish to resume their dancing. I myself was quite enjoying listening to the pavane.”
“Indeed. Forgive me, my time in the north has dulled my etiquette, it seems. With so few opportunities to entertain I find myself quite out of practice. If you would, allow me to express my gratitude, on behalf of Villamont and all northerners, for your continued consideration of our meager contributions to the realm.”
The King narrowed his eyes again, and Kelso felt the tension in the room pressing down on him again. He had never attended court before, either in Albaron or Marselle, but his education as an attendant had been heavy on etiquette and tradition. Almost none of what he had learned was on display as the King and Borden continued to glare at each other. There was obviously a history between the two men that Kelso could only guess at. Beside him, Alexander shifted, stepping forward slightly as if to insert himself between the Prince and Duke Borden. Kelso took the hint and moved closer to Vincen.
The King gave Borden a nod and waved a hand at the Duke, who bowed his head slightly but did not lower his gaze. Borden then turned to address the assembled nobles.
“Friends and family,” he said, his deep voice easily filling the large ballroom. “As nobles, as Albarians, it is our duty to serve, and in so serving we find purpose.”
Kelso furrowed his brow. Was Borden giving a speech? So much for not wishing to detract from the main event. Prince Andreu drew himself up, his scowl deepening, and even Vincen seemed to tense.
“Purpose gives us life, gives us motivation and reason to continue on, to better ourselves and by extension those around us. Purpose draws us closer to our people, to our land, and to the Master. We serve Him by serving each other, and by serving each other, we serve ourselves. Tonight, each of us gathered here is, in their own manner, fulfilling a purpose. As the empire continues to grow, let us not lose sight of our Glorious Purpose, of our collective destiny. Let us each continue to do our duty, let us each continue to serve, just as our young Lord Canto and Lady Lequette are so aptly demonstrating. May we follow their fine example, that we may all thrive, for the good of the Empire.”
“For the good of the Empire.” The words resonated through the hall as everyone, Kelso included, repeated the benediction. Borden smiled and nodded at the crowd, then turned and bowed to the King, again with the well-practiced flourish expected of nobles when in the presence of royalty. Kelso sighed in relief. The Duke’s speech had been short and surprisingly relevant, despite the religious overtones, and as the King nodded his acknowledgment Kelso felt some of the tension in the room ease. Borden had still not taken his eyes off the King, however, and as he stood from his bow he suddenly, and without a sound, vanished.
Kelso blinked in surprise and a collective gasp rose from the crowd. Prince Andreu took a step forward, his hand going to his sword. Alexander grabbed his lord by the shoulder, his dagger suddenly in his hand. Kelso blinked, doubting his own eyes for a moment. Borden was not a mage, as far as Kelso understood, yet the Duke was, without question, gone.
“NO!” Vincen shouted, and Kelso spun around to see him lunging toward the King’s dais. He stared for a moment, trying to process all that was happening. Vincen pushed his way past Marquess Lequette, drawing his sword as he unceremoniously shoved his future father-in-law aside, and Kelso had a moment of panic as he realized his lord was about to stain his honor yet again, and this time there would be no forgiveness possible. Then he looked past Vincen to the dais and was surprised to see Duke Borden there, standing over the King with a sword in his outstretched hand. As Vincen leapt onto the dais Kelso finally realized what was truly happening. His body went cold as the King’s head dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, cleanly separated from his shoulders by Duke Borden’s sword.
Screams erupted all around them as the ballroom panicked. Alexander firmly yet swiftly pulled Prince Andreu to the ground, shielding the Prince with his own body as halberdiers and other attendants throughout the room began doing the same with their charges. Kelso stood there for a moment, rooted in place as his mind raced.
“Go!” a voice shouted at him and he blinked. Alexander was crouched over Prince Andreu, his knife in one hand and the other on Lady Caterina as her own attendant shielded her from the other side. He glared up at Kelso, then gestured toward the dais, and Kelso gasped. He sprinted forward, suddenly desperate to catch up to Vincen before anything terrible happened. He ducked past the Marquess, who was shielding his wife and Alba, their retainers taking up positions surrounding the family, and he caught a glimpse of Marie’s panicked face as she crouched next to Alba before he leapt onto the dais. His head was buzzing, his arms and legs tingling with adrenaline. He drew his knife and tried to blink away his tunnel vision. ‘Live unto honor, serve unto death,’ he thought, repeating the familiar words over and over in his mind, trying to focus on the moment, trying to regain his mereology.
A bright flash erupted from the center of the dais as a wall of flame rushed toward them, seeming to originate from the Duke. Kelso threw himself to the floor just as the flames parted directly in front of Vincen, who had stretched out a hand in front of him and seemed to be concentrating with his Skill. The flames rushed past, hot on his back, and he pushed himself to his knees, realizing he had dropped his knife. He looked around, frantic. Without his knife, he was defenseless. Without his knife, he couldn’t protect Vincen. Without his knife, he would fail not only his friend but his family as well. Not his new family, the Cantos - who were in truth treating him very well - but his true family in Marselle. They needed him, they were relying on him, and so he needed to protect Vincen. He needed to find his knife.
A cry of rage caused him to look up and Kelso saw Vincen swinging his sword at one of Borden’s attendants, who blocked the blow with his forearm, a shower of multi-colored sparks erupting from the impact.
Mages, Kelso realized, his mereology finally taking over, soothing his nerves and snapping him back into the moment. They’re all mages…
His dagger was laying on the ground a bit to the right and he reached for it, only for it to get kicked away as the bodyguard attendant from earlier stepped in front of him. Kelso didn’t think, he simply reacted, his mind finally clear from the initial shock. He knew this man was dangerous and most likely a mage, and he didn’t want to give him any opportunity to strike. It was always dangerous facing an unknown mage in combat, as it was almost impossible to know what their Skill was, much less their capabilities and power. He lunged for his knife, which was still skittering across the floor, and was not surprised to glimpse Adrick leaping toward him, a long, cruel dagger in his hand. All of his sparring sessions at the Academy came back to him in an instant, and as soon as he felt the familiar, smoothly polished wooden handle of his knife his fingers tightened around it and he rolled to the side, ready to face his opponent.
Adrick was on top of him, and it was only his mereology that allowed Kelso to bring his knife up in time, missing his opponent’s blade but slicing the side of Adrick’s wrist instead and deflecting the incoming blow away from his chest. Adrick’s dagger cut through the sleeve of his jacket and into his bicep, but he was already rolling away, trying to get his feet under him. He kicked back as he gained a bit of traction, catching Adrick in the side and knocking him over.
He scrambled to his feet and gasped in horror as he saw a halberdier throw himself in front of the Queen, only to fall to a powerful blow from Borden. The Queen had leapt to her feet, an ornate dagger in her hand, and she lunged at Borden. He easily sidestepped the knife and caught the Queen’s wrist, which he twisted cruelly and she cried out, dropping the dagger. Kelso pushed himself forward, noticing that Vincen was still engaged with the other mage, though he seemed to be holding his own. A halberdier had stepped in and engaged Adrick, trying to attack while the younger man was down, but Kelso could already tell the halberdier was outmatched. He felt a moment’s regret for the man before his mereology reminded him that his primary concern was for Vincen and the royal family. Borden bent low and whispered something in the Queen’s ear, and she twisted around and spat in his face. The duke smiled, then calmly ran his sword through her heart.
“Bastard!” came a cry, and Kelso wasn’t sure if it was his own voice or Prince Domenic’s, who was racing toward them, his sword drawn, with two mages right behind him, lightning crackling from one of them. More halberdiers and mages were pouring in from every direction, forcing their way through the panicked and fleeing crowd, engaging with Borden’s men whenever they came across them. There were so many of them now – far more than the five who had initially arrived with the Duke. Where had they all come from? Kelso gripped his knife tight with both hands as he reached Borden, aiming for his kidney, which he had left open as he let the Queen’s lifeless body slide from his arms. Kelso yelled again as he lunged at Borden, the large man turning just in time for Kelso’s knife to plunge into his side. He was a bit surprised at how easily the knife pierced the duke’s flesh – he barely felt any resistance at all. He had always expected – in fact, had been taught to expect – that stabbing another person actually took a good amount of effort, which was why he had been trained to aim for the softer parts of the body. This, however, felt as though his knife had done nothing at all, and in the next instant he felt his upper arm shatter as the duke twisted away, striking Kelso and flinging him aside as if he were made of straw.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
He skidded across the polished wood floor, his knife still gripped tight - he was not going to lose hold of it again. He grunted as he crashed against the chairs that were lined up against the wall, the wooden legs cracking and splintering across his back. He forced his eyes to remain open, struggling not to wince against the pain, adrenaline and his mereology helping considerably. Vincen had managed to land a disabling blow against his opponent, who was now laying on the ground, clutching his side and bleeding, and was racing toward Borden, who had turned to face the oncoming charge from Prince Domenic. Kelso watched in disbelief as Domenic swung his sword at Borden’s head, just for the blade to pass right through as if the duke were nothing more than a shade. The Prince was thrown completely off-balance from the lack of any substantial impact from his strike and stumbled forward. Borden brought his sword down hard on Domenic’s back, a sickening crack sounding out against the chaos of the rest of the battle.
Domenic’s guards rushed in, mere steps behind their prince, crying out in rage. The senior mage - the one who was crackling with electricity - brought his hands up and purple lightning exploded from his palms, arcing toward Borden. The duke braced himself as the lightning struck him, and in that same instant he disappeared again. Kelso blinked, his eyes still refusing to believe what they were seeing. The lightning mage suddenly cried out, the point of a sword erupting from his stomach. Borden was behind him now, his sword hilt-deep in the mage’s back. With his other hand he reached out and grasped the other soldier’s face with his massive palm, and white-hot fire engulfed the man’s head. He was dead before he could even scream.
Vincen yelled and hurled his sword at Borden, guiding it with his Skill and pushing it forward at a speed strength alone could not have achieved. Borden turned toward him just as the sword should have struck but, as Kelso suspected would happen, the sword passed through the duke and buried itself in the wall. Borden squared his stance and swung at Vincen, who ducked and rolled under the blade, sliding past Borden and reaching out with his Skill for his sword. It ripped itself from the wall and whirled back toward the duke, who knocked it away with his own sword. Kelso realized that he was standing again, and, cradling his broken arm, started running toward Vincen, who was glaring at the duke as he pushed himself to a crouch.
“I like your tricks, boy,” Borden said, taking a step toward Vincen, his lips curling into a smirk. “With the right training, you might have become as strong as your sister.”
An explosion of sound slammed into them and Borden was flung back across the room. Kelso skidded to a stop and saw Alba standing in the same spot Borden had been only a moment earlier, her colorful dress hanging in shreds.
Vincen stood, his sword flying back into his hand from across the dais, staring at her. “Alba,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Why…”
“Look out!” she cried, disappearing with a crack, and another one of Borden’s soldiers went flying.
Kelso stumbled over to Vincen and went to place a hand on his shoulder before he remembered he was still clutching his knife. That wasn’t right. He couldn’t raise a blade against his master. Especially not this blade… He blinked, the pain of his shattered arm overwhelming his mereology. He grimaced, his vision flashing white for a moment. Vincen stepped forward and wrapped an arm around him.
“Hey,” Vincen said, adjusting his grip on Kelso, which made him realize that he was leaning heavily against his friend. This was also wrong. Shouldn’t he be the one supporting his lord? “You all right?”
“We have to get you away from here, my Lord,” Kelso replied, trying to stand up straight and look around the room while blinking away the white spots that danced in front of his eyes. Chaos was everywhere, though Kelso noted that most of the guests had been ushered to the sides of the ballroom while the halberdiers were engaging Borden’s mages, managing to keep them away from the nobles. A cry arose from near the doorway as half a dozen riflemen pushed their way into the room through the fleeing nobility. Something about the skirmishes felt odd, but before he could figure out why a blur of motion to the side caught his eye. He whipped his head around, the pain in his arm momentarily forgotten, and he just barely managed to bring his knife up to block a strike from Adrick that was aimed right at Vincen. The impact knocked him off balance and he stumbled into Vincen, who somehow managed to stabilize both of them while bringing his sword around Kelso’s body to stab at Adrick. The lithe young man nimbly leapt away from Vincen’s clumsy strike, which had nevertheless bought them a little bit of distance. Vincen let go of Kelso and used his Skill to grab a nearby halberd, which he flung toward Adrick while keeping his sword out, trying to maintain the distance between them. Kelso stumbled as he fell away from Vincen, his mind racing to come up with some way to distract Adrick enough that Vincen could get to safety. But he knew his friend better than that. Vincen would not stop fighting until the battle was decided. So he tried to think of how he could best attack Adrick, even though he only had the one good arm. Despite his mereology and countless hours sparring in the gym at the Academy, nothing came to mind, particularly since he had yet to deduce what Skills Adrick might have.
Adrick easily dodged the halberd, but instead of pressing his advantage he held back, grinning. Vincen took the bait and rushed forward, then immediately stumbled even as he lunged toward Adrick, his sword gripped tight in both hands. Kelso recognized the look of a mage concentrating on a Skill, and - despite the horror of the moment - grinned. There it was: some sort of metaphysical or psychic attack. Adrick’s Skill was most likely a method of distracting or immobilizing his opponent, most likely by disrupting or otherwise influencing their essence. Adrick seemed to be concentrating hard, his entire focus on Vincen, and he had clearly lost awareness of the surrounding battle. Unregistered mages lacked the discipline that the rigorous training of the Academy instilled in its students, and Kelso was going to take full advantage of Adrick’s lack of experience. Vincen fell to his knees, dropping his sword and grasping his head, his face contorted in pain as whatever Skill Adrick was using took hold. Keslo chose that moment to drop back and to the side, trying to slip into Adrick’s blind spot. He readied his knife, flipping it around to a reverse grip. He didn’t have much time – metaphysical Skills of the sort that Adrick was using could be nasty – but neither did he want to draw attention to himself, and there were other mages around that he still needed to worry about. Another crack resounded as Alba kept up her attacks. Kelso took that moment and leapt toward Adrick, who was still focusing all of his attention on Vincen.
A flash of light in the corner of his eye triggered his mereology and he pulled himself up short, dropping to the ground just as a lance of flame shot over his back, burning through his jacket and scorching his shoulders and neck. He stumbled, his momentum carrying him forward, and he ignored the pain, bringing his knife to bear on Adrick. But Adrick was quick, breaking his concentration and whirling around to deflect Kelso’s blade with his own dagger. Time seemed to slow as Kelso focused his Mereology on the situation. Concentrating this hard always tired him out quickly - much like a marathon runner who was suddenly asked to do sprints - but he knew he could maintain this level of concentration for several minutes when needed. He had practiced with Alba many times while at the Academy and had honed his focus to the point where he could just about make her out as she darted from one side of the practice grounds to the other. He glimpsed her now, on the far side of the dais, having just shoved another of Borden’s mages off of an injured halberdier, and their eyes met as Kelso fell to the ground, landing on his broken arm. The pain was excruciating, and he lost his focus, the world around him returning to its normal speed. Adrick grinned.
“You Imperials are all the same,” he said, his voice a bit deeper than Kelso was expecting. “So cocky, so sure of yourselves. So weak.” He tensed, subtly adjusting the grip on his knife, ready to strike. Kelso tried to push himself up or roll away or somehow move out of the way, but the fresh damage to his already shattered arm wouldn’t let him. Adrick moved, and Kelso resigned himself to the Master. He had done all he could to help his lord and his people. His parents could be proud, and Kelso would face no shame in the verdant lands. With that reassurance he took solace. His name would be remembered.
Adrick suddenly stopped short and looked to his right, panicked concentration on his face, and in the next instant Alba appeared in front of him, the crack of air that always followed her as she dropped out of her speed-state slamming into Kelso, triggering his mereology despite his exhaustion. She stumbled and fell, looking shocked and pained. She crashed into Adrick, carrying the two of them forward in a tangle of limbs. They tumbled over each other, Adrick’s head cracking against the floor while Alba tumbled over him, a look of pain on her face that was terribly similar to how Vincen had looked when Adrick had struck him with his Skill. He blinked and watched in shock as Alba rolled a couple of times - her limbs flailing - and crashed into the wall, the highly polished cedar wall boards splintering apart with a cracking noise that could not have been only wood.
Kelso groaned and managed to force himself to his knees, the pain from his arm flooding to the rest of his body and making him feel sick. He heard Ona cry out from above, dashing down to where Alba lay crumpled against the wall. To his left, Vincen had also pushed himself up, sweat glistening on his face and a horrified look in his eyes. The world around him slowed again, though this time Kelso suspected it had more to do with blood loss and the overwhelming shock of the situation than his mereology – not a comforting thought. The battle around him raged, though he could tell the halberdiers and riflemen were gaining the upper hand: there were more people in blue livery than red or white lying bleeding on the ground. Prince Aarmond was nowhere to be seen and he hoped that at least one member of the royal family had escaped the massacre. The Empire would survive. Greatly lessened, certainly, but it would survive.
“Alba…” Vincen gasped, reaching toward her, snapping Kelso back to the moment. And then Vincen cried out as Borden appeared next to him, grabing him by the neck and yanking him to his feet with one arm. Despite himself, Kelso was fascinated at Borden’s display of power. He had heard of Mages who could teleport before, though the Skill was exceptionally rare and he had never seen it in action. Aside from that, Borden had exhibited several other Skills as well: far more than a typical mage was capable of. It wasn’t that uncommon for a mage to have two Skills, and there were some that even had three, though they were quite rare and often triplets or greater. But four Skills, perhaps even five? Just how powerful was this man? Alba’s shove earlier should have shattered his bones. Borden pulled Vincen to his feet, his fingers biting into Vincen’s neck, and Kelso shook his head clear, fighting against the onset of shock. His friend was in danger – this was not the time to lose himself to academics.
“Albaron’s nobility is a scourge, a cancer upon this land.” Borden practically hissed as he spoke, his face contorted in rage. He tightened his grip and Vincen screamed, dropping his sword and grasping futilely at the duke’s massive hand. “I have no illusions that killing your family will cure this disease,” he said, lifting Vincen higher so that their eyes met. “But even the most complicated surgery begins with a single cut.”
A rifle blast erupted shockingly close to Kelso’s ear and he instinctively leapt away, a cloud of smoke and gunpowder billowing outward only a couple of feet from where he had been crouched. Borden cried out and dropped Vincen, clutching the bicep of his sword arm, his weapon clattering to the ground. Kelso shook his head, his ears ringing, and pushed himself back to his knees. He looked up at the rifleman and blinked in surprise. Prince Andreu tossed the spent rifle away and drew his sword, raising it toward the duke. Alexander and several halberdiers rushed forward and took up their positions, surrounding the Prince, their halberds and rifles at the ready. Another halberdier dropped to his knees next to Kelso and helped steady him, pulling a bandage from his pocket as he began to inspect Kelso’s wounds. Ona flew past, slowing slightly and shooting a furtive glance at Kelso before hurrying off to fetch a medic for Alba. The sounds of battle had lessened, and Kelso sighed, praising the Master that the worst of it seemed to be over.
“Duke Gabriel Borden, Warden of the North,” the Prince said, his voice strong, fire in his eyes. “For the sins of high treason and murder, your life is now and forever forfeit. Stand down, step away from my son, and your men may yet live.”
Borden scoffed, letting go of his wound and dropping his hand to his side. He shook his injured arm as if the bullet wound was nothing more than a bee sting, a growing blood stain darkening the sleeve of his jacket. Vincen gasped and rolled to his side, massaging his throat and reaching for his sword.
“Sin? For there to be sin there must first be righteousness,” Borden said, his voice calm and dangerous. “Tell me, Andreu – truthfully, if you are capable – is it a sin to reclaim that which was stolen? Is it a sin to strike at your enemy when he is at peace? What you call sin I call strategy.”
The pounding of boots against wood sounded all around them as more halberdiers and mages took to the dais, fully surrounding Borden and the Prince. Shields snapped into place, causing the air to crackle with a buzz and the smell of ozone.
Andreu’s face hardened. “He was your King, Gabriel. He may not have liked you or your father, but he was never your enemy.”
“He was always my enemy, since before we were born. Since the time of our father’s fathers, you were all our enemies. I stand here now as your reckoning.”
Vincen pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily against his sword as he did so. “Reckon with this, you murdering bastard,” he croaked, lifting his sword as if to strike the duke.
“Vincen!” Prince Andreu cried, and at that same moment Borden twisted, striking out with his injured arm, his hand in a fist. Before Kelso or Vincen or any of the gathered mages or halberdiers could react his fist slammed into Vincen’s forehead, throwing him back like a rag doll. Several rifles cracked to life, smoke and powder billowing forth as Vincen collapsed to the ground, and Kelso was certain his friend had just been murdered in front of his eyes.
“HOLD!” Prince Andreu shouted, grabbing the barrel of the nearest rifleman’s gun and pulling it down as a halberdier on the opposite side of the dais fell to the ground, clutching his side and crying out in pain. Borden grabbed his sword from the ground and spun, glaring at Prince Andreu, fire in his eyes and not a single new wound on him, despite several rifles having been fired at point-blank range.
“The House of Canto WILL fall,” he growled, pointing his sword at Prince Andreu, “and with it, all of Albaron. Prepare your soul to meet the very Master that you deny,” he cried out and lunged forward, a solid wall of flames erupting outward from him in all directions as he raised his sword. Prince Andreu crouched, not even flinching as the flames rushed forward, washing over the shields the palace mages had erected, then launched himself forward. The shield directly in front of him shattered apart as he broke through it, prepared to meet Borden’s sword with his own. Their blades crashed together, steel grinding against steel, though Borden’s strength and power advantage were instantly apparent as the Prince’s blade was quickly pushed aside. Prince Andreu spun away as he was shoved back, taking advantage of his momentum and swiftly bringing his blade around, slashing at Borden’s arm. His sword passed right through the Duke’s arm, though the Prince seemed to expect this as he did not stumble but instead shoved his shoulder into Borden’s side, crashing into the larger man with all his weight and momentum.
This knocked the Duke off balance and he stumbled as he brought his sword back around, preparing for another strike. Prince Andreu rolled away, taking a knee as he spun back to face Borden, his sword raised to block the attack that was sure to come. Borden scowled and reset his footing, then grunted as if he’d been punched in the gut, his sword dropping as he blinked against… something. It was almost the same effect as when Adrick had used his Skill against Vincen. But no, that wasn’t right, and then Kelso gasped. He’d seen this reaction once before, two and half years ago, the day Ona had…
A shade appeared before them. She was young - far younger than Borden, though she had appeared right next to him - and wearing a long traveling cloak and pants, like the common farmers or woodsmen Kelso had seen when traveling between towns. She seemed confused - as most shades were when it first happened - and all became quiet as every mage in the room turned to look at her, standing as she was, in between Borden and Vincen. There had been plenty of shades made during the battle, but somehow, this was different. Her sudden appearance and the Duke’s reaction meant something. Something profound that nearly everyone could feel. She turned slowly, meeting each person's eyes one by one, including Kelso’s. He blinked and looked closer… those eyes, her nose, even her cheekbones… they were all so familiar. He glanced at where Vincen lay, sprawled on the ground, and sighed in relief as he saw his friend’s chest rising and falling as he breathed shallow, ragged breaths of air. But that face… he looked back at the shade, who was now looking down at herself, holding her hands out in front of her and turning them over, tentatively looking at them from different angles. She stared at them for a moment longer, then slowly lowered them to her side and raised her head. Her eyes fell on Borden, who was leaning forward, hands on his knees as though he was going to be sick.
“Father?” she said, her voice soft, cautious. Borden looked up and his eyes went wide, almost fearful. Even the single-borns had stopped and were watching with nervous uncertainty. Even though they could not see the shade they knew something was happening. Prince Andreu slowly rose, keeping his eyes on Borden, and cautiously stepped over to where Vincen lay. He crouched next to his son and quickly checked his breathing, gesturing at a couple of nearby soldiers, who quickly took up position near the young lord, one of them dropping to a knee and pulling bandages from his field kit.
Kelso groaned and stood, the guard who had been dressing his wounds helping him to his feet. He turned his attention back to the shade, who was now glaring at Borden, her face having grown hard. “You…” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. She took a step toward Borden, her fists clenched tight. Then she jerked to a stop as though someone had yanked on a rope and Kelso knew then that she was not bound to Borden. Not that there had been much doubt to begin with, but the limits of the Bond could not lie, especially when the shade was new and the Bond had not yet grown secure. Kelso again looked at Vincen, and his mind reeled with the implications. Then his mind reeled from the blood loss and he stumbled, grateful for the quick reflexes of the guard who was still standing next to him. ‘...Serve unto death,’ he thought, leaning against the guard. But not today, thank the Master. Not today.
Borden grunted and stood, shaking his head as if trying to clear a headache, his eyes fixed on the shade, who was struggling against the Bond as though she wanted nothing more than to pound the Duke into the ground. “Rayna,” he said, his voice heavy and laden. “Oh, my dear child…” He sighed and stood straight, regaining his posture and bearing from earlier as guards began to cautiously move in around him, mages dropping their shields and replacing them with newer ones closer in, preparing a cage around Borden. He glanced around briefly, his eyes sad and defeated, then looked back at the shade, and his shoulders slumped.
“I… am sorry, child,” he said, gesturing half-heartedly at the carnage scattered around the dais and ballroom floor. She stopped struggling against the Bond and glared at him.
“I am not your child,” she said, her teeth clenched. “I never was and was never going to be.”
“I am sorry that you had to see this,” Borden said, as if she hadn’t spoken at all. “I am sorry you will not be able to enjoy the world I endeavor to create. I am sorry I have failed you.” He sighed and shook his head sadly, sheathing his sword. “I will not fail the others.” Flames erupted from around him once again, stronger than before, and Kelso dropped to the ground, pulling the guard down with him. The flames rushed around them in a whirlwind, a nearby shield protecting Kelso and the guard from the worst of the inferno, though the heat was still intense, and just as quick as it had begun it was over. Kelso gasped, opening his eyes and looking around. Guards all around him were picking themselves up off the floor, while many others were grabbing cloaks or jackets and patting out flames on their comrade’s clothing. Prince Andreu and the guards had thrown themselves over Vincen, and it seemed that enough shields were in place that very little of the inferno had reached them. Kelso looked out to the ballroom floor and was glad to see that it had mostly been spared from the flames, though the few guests who had not yet managed to escape were crouched, terrified, against the far walls.
When he looked back to the dais, exhausted and in pain, he was not surprised to see the shade was still there, standing next to Vincen and staring at the spot where Borden had once stood, her fists clenched in rage.
End of Chapter Ten
- postscript -
One cannot know peace without first knowing war,
as one cannot understand life without first understanding death.
For what is peace but a time to prepare for war?
And what is life but a time to prepare for death?
- the Master’s Book, Contemplations
ch. one: v. one
-End of Part One -