The Counterfeit Count: The Warders, #2

Prologue

Three years ago in the depths of

the Mages’ Keep in Creuse...

NEMUS STIRRED THE boiling brew. it was nearly time to slip in the final ingredient, but he couldn’t risk being seen. He needed to be alone. Marrad? he commanded.

Yes, First Apprentice?

"Would you please bring me three fresh Tamaril leaves? You won’t find them in the pantry. You’ll have to run up to the keep’s rooftop garden and clip them directly from the plant."

We’re in the cellar. The rooftop is ten floors above us, Marrad said.

I’m well aware of the dimensions of the keep, Nemus replied.

It’ll take me some time to climb the stairs, harvest the leaves and return here. Won’t dry Tamaril leaves do just as well? There’s a whole jar of them in the cellar storeroom. Why don’t I just get those?

Yes, I suppose if you can’t be troubled to walk up a few stairs, we could use the dried leaves. What’s the harm? It’s the same thing as fresh, isn’t it? Without waiting for Marrad to respond, he continued, But of course it isn’t. The sickness in Veltin’s veins is powerful. To counteract it we need the strength of fresh Tamaril, or would you rather see our Master die? Nemus asked with as much scorn as he could muster.

No, of course not, First Apprentice, I’ll get the fresh Tamaril. With a deferential bow, Marrad turned and left the room.

Iron drains the plant’s potency, so be sure to use the silver snips. And close the door when you leave. I don’t want to risk any contamination of the healing potion. Nemus heard the cellar door creak open, then slam shut. Silently, he counted to ten. Satisfied the junior apprentice was on his way, Nemus reached into his sleeve and pulled out a small glass vial. He removed the stopper and poured the clear liquid into the frothing yellow potion. A light green vapor rose from the altered concoction and swirled above its surface.

Nemus stepped back and carefully avoided the green mist. Its touch would singe his hair and scald his skin, and the faintest whiff would kill him. He hadn’t much time. The next step was beyond his skill. He needed the help of his Mistress to complete the conversion of the healing potion into a deadly poison before the fool Marrad returned.

He twisted the small jet-black stone of his summoning ring; ghostly energies emerged to form the shimmering image of a tall woman with long jet-black hair in a single braid. Even her imperfect ethereal form couldn’t hide her malevolent beauty. Her eyes were most striking of all. They were inhumanly yellow with a vertical pupil. More like those of a stalking panther than a human’s.

Have you completed your work? she asked as she pulled the braid over her shoulder and idly stroked it.

Yes, I have added the Nappias to the elixir as you instructed, Nemus replied. The potion is ready for you to finish.

With a sigh, the shimmering sorceress turned toward the boiling brew. She muttered something inaudible and a red thread of energy emerged from her image and wound itself around the small caldron. The thread pulsed with magical power and the green vapor hanging over the pot spiraled down into the potion. When the vapor was gone, the red tendril of energy unwound itself and withdrew into the sorceress’s shimmering form. Where are the fresh Tamaril leaves? she demanded.

I’ve sent Marrad, my master’s junior apprentice, to retrieve them.

Be sure to crush them thoroughly before adding them to the potion so that they completely mask my work.

Both Nemus and the ethereal form of his mistress turned at the unmistakable sound of approaching footsteps.

You have done well, Nemus. By this time tomorrow, your Master will be dead and you will be Chief Mage of Creuse. The Chaotic Order is pleased.

Thank you, Mistress Skade, Nemus replied with a bow.

The latch on the door clicked just as the last vestiges of his Mistress’s essence vanished into the ether.

Here are your fresh Tamaril leaves, said an out of breath Marrad.

Chapter One

G IRONE, WHAT DO you think of the proposed trade agreement with Eridan? Without waiting for his Viceroy to respond, Count Leoric continued excitedly, Now tell me, did you ever expect we’d negotiate such favorable terms?

Pausing before he answered, the Viceroy looked the young count in the eye and shook his head from side to side. No, my Lord... it is a most beneficial arrangement.

Then why so glum, Girone? We should be toasting our success over some of that vintage Eridani wine their trade minister gave us! The count rubbed his belly in a most un-royal way.

It’s not the trade agreement that’s got me worried, my Lord, Girone replied, glancing around the coach’s cabin.

The count sensed his reticence. Girone, we’re the only ones in the coach. I had Nemus and his mages verify there were no spells on it just yesterday. With all of the road noise, as long as you don’t yell at the top of your lungs, neither the driver nor the guard will hear you. Not that it matters; both men have been serving my family for years and would never betray me. Tilting his head to one side, he added, Look, you’ve known me all of my life. You’re like a second father to me. You can speak freely here. Now, tell me what’s bothering you, and don’t force me to make that an order. He added a big smile and clasped the older man’s shoulder.

Of course, my Lord. At a frown from his young companion, Girone quickly amended himself. I mean Leoric, which earned him a big grin. It’s not the trade treaty that has me concerned.

The count stared into the face of his mentor and arched an eyebrow. Yes, yes, you’ve already said that. Let me guess... you don’t like the special security protocols?

It is highly unusual for a Lector of the Confederacy to engage in such overt foreign diplomacy without consulting the other members of the ruling council.

Come now, Girone, Leoric said with a shake of his head. I may have slept through some of your math lessons. Girone furrowed his brow and the young count quickly said, "All right, most of your math lessons, but I didn’t miss a word of your political lectures. Guedoc, Brenlot, and several of the smaller holdings within Opequon have all established separate relations with their southern neighbors. As I recall, Brenlot’s negotiated exclusive trading rights for Ramiah’s spices within the Confederacy, and Damarval even has a mutual defense pact with one of the barbarian tribes. So it’s not like our agreement is unprecedented. If we’re going to raise Creuse from a backwater to a power within the Confederacy, we’ve got to take bold steps."

I’m glad to hear that you were paying attention to something. Girone paused and smiled at the young count. Everything you say is correct. Since the fall of the last High King, the members of the Confederacy have consistently stabbed each other in the back over trade or for some slight political advantage.

The younger man nodded his head as if he’d won his point. Ah, but none of the others has been so brash as to challenge the very fabric of the Confederacy.

You think I went too far concerning the coastal corsairs, don’t you? Without waiting for his mentor’s response, he continued, The Eridani delegation was quite clear that there would be no deal without our agreeing to crack down on the corsairs. Who could blame them? The corsairs are nothing more than common pirates preying on the weak and unwary.

Again, everything you say is true, my Lord. But the truth, like good Eridani wine, is better in small sips than large gulps.

Leoric smiled at the ever-present teacher in the Viceroy. Sensing he had more to say, he added a small nod.

Allowing the warships from Nalton to patrol our coast is a rather radical solution.

I’m supposed to be the people’s protector, aren’t I?

Girone nodded.

Well, I don’t see how curtailing the brigands’ activity along our coast falls outside that duty. Honestly, I don’t know why my father let those vermin establish themselves along our shores.  You’re right... it’s going to ruffle a few feathers, but it’s only a temporary measure until we can field our own fleet. Once the people see the benefit of safer seas, not to mention the money spent by the visiting Naltonese sailors, they’ll come around.

Perhaps, replied Girone. The pirates are the bane of honest merchants. You are right to crack down on their activities. But the slave trade is legal within the Confederacy. It’s also quite profitable and its leading houses are based outside of County Creuse.

You’re referring to the slavers’ syndicate of Bas-Rhin?

It is unwise to oppose such powerful forces without allies inside the ruling council. After a slight pause, he added, Especially so early in your reign.

Leoric pushed back the window’s curtain and looked into the dusk. He imagined the estates and smallholdings in the passing countryside. He knew a few would be well kept, but most were little more than cold damp hovels that scarcely kept the wind and rain at bay. Many of the residents struggled to survive the winter, and some failed. Girone, I love Creuse, but it is a weak and poor land. Father did his best, but... He shook his head without finishing. The problem with Opequon is that each of the counties, baronies, and provinces is too focused on itself, too willing to sell out their fellow Opeqs to score a short-term victory.

With the potentates of Knome pulling the strings, added Girone.

True enough, but this trade agreement with Eridan and Nalton gives us a chance to break that cycle. Once we’ve built a woolen trade, the countryside will prosper, and when the countryside prospers, so will the towns and their merchants.

You hope to use that prosperity to save Creuse?

No, the young count replied to a surprised Girone. Not just Creuse, but all of Opequon. We’ll break the cycle of petty bickering and use our wealth to re-forge the kingdom.

A very impressive plan. Your father would be surprised at how ambitious you’ve become.

Leoric smiled at his mentor and nodded. Something was different. It took him a moment to make the connection. The background rocking and rolling of the carriage moving down the road was missing. He looked to Girone and raised an eyebrow.

We’ve stopped, Girone said.

Leoric looked out the window. We’re in the midst of a forest.

You must be mistaken, my Lord. There’s no forest on the way to the manor house from the city.

Leoric motioned toward the window. See for yourself, Girone.

The older man looked out the window, his eyes widening with recognition. What’s the meaning of this?

I suspect you may have been correct, Leoric replied.

Correct about what, my lord?

About my plans creating powerful enemies. The carriage swayed and bounced. Leoric added, I believe we’re about to meet a few of them.

A moment later the door swung open and a voice Leoric recognized as that of Glarus, his driver, said in a wooden monotone, My Lord, would you and the Viceroy please step out of the carriage.

Girone looked questioningly at Leoric. Leoric nodded to his mentor and followed him out of the carriage door. He reflexively reached his hand to his waist and ran his fingers along his belt, searching for the hilt of his sword. Grasping nothing, he remembered he’d come directly from the negotiations and was unarmed.

Standing before them were Glarus and Leoric’s personal bodyguard Stans, both with swords drawn and pointed menacingly at Leoric and Girone.

Looking directly at his personal guard, Leoric said, Stans, does your oath of fealty and service mean so little to you? Turning to Glarus, he added, What’s going to happen to Majen and young Arlinn? As the wife and daughter of a traitor, they’ll be seized and sold at the slavers’ market in Knome. You know how the slavers will maximize their profits.

He paused to let the impact of his words sink in, but nothing changed. Puzzled he elaborated, They’ll be sold into the brothels, even young Arlinn. It may be too late to save yourself, but it’s not too late to save them. If breaking your oath to my family means nothing to you, at least think of what it means for Majen and Arlinn.

Both men maintained blank expressions and remained silent. Leoric studied them more closely and noticed neither man blinking his eyes. Stans? Glarus? Can either of you hear me?

Oh, they can hear you, they just can’t listen, said another man, also brandishing a sword, who entered Leoric’s vision from the other side of the carriage. "But not to worry... they will listen to me..." his voice trailed off with a wicked snicker.

Belarok, I should’ve known one of you cutthroats would be behind this. You’ll never get away with killing me! The people won’t follow you and your kind!

Tut-tut, didn’t you teach your young noble manners, Girone? The large man shook his head from side to side, but carefully kept his sword trained on Leoric. "Manners or no, I’m afraid you’re quite right, my young count. The people love your family and they love you even more. Belarok stroked his neatly trimmed goatee. Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I suppose, and you’re right... they’d never follow someone like me. To be honest, I don’t want your job. All that pomp and ceremony. He shook his head again. It’s just a waste of time to an action-oriented fellow like me. I was quite happy with the old arrangement. Your father minded his own business and I minded mine."

By business, you mean your pillaging of our trade and extorting money from the people!

One man’s pillage is another man’s livelihood. That’s something your dear father understood far better than you, chided Belarok. Looking to Girone, he added, "Tsk-tsk, you really should’ve done a better job teaching this one, my good Viceroy. No manners and a poor grasp of politics make for a rough life, even for a count. If he’d had the sense to leave things as they were, we wouldn’t be in this unpleasant situation. Turning back to Leoric, he said, I don’t suppose you’d be a good little count and reconsider your ill-conceived treaty with Nalton and Eridan. Would you?"

Leoric narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

No, I didn’t think you would. You’re a little too attached to your principles. Another few years of seasoning under your father would’ve done you some good. After a short pause, the brigand continued, It’s easier to sail into a gale than to convince a man of principles to change, eh, my good Viceroy? Girone remained silent. Belarok shrugged his shoulders. No one’s very friendly tonight, are they? No matter. As you’ve so clearly pointed out, I can’t rule the kingdom directly and you’re unwilling to accept my seasoned guidance. What’s a businessman like me to do?

Maybe you should learn an honest trade, Leoric suggested. You’re used to dealing with filth. Why not give gong farming a chance?

Belarok dropped his smile and raised his hand to strike Leoric, but stopped himself. Are you trying to test me, boy? Don’t forget who’s at whose mercy here. His venomous voice was devoid of any of its previous sweetness.

I’m not forgetting anything. You’ve already admitted that you can’t rule directly. Belarok nodded. And I’ve confirmed that I won’t forego the treaty. Again, Belarok nodded. So I don’t see what you hope to gain from this little stunt of yours. Leoric lifted his eyebrow for emphasis.

Switching his gaze to Girone, Belarok said, Didn’t you teach the boy anything about sorcery? Terror crossed Girone’s face, but he said nothing. He turned back to Leoric. Don’t you wonder how I’m controlling two of your most loyal subjects?

You’ve obviously got them under some kind of charm spell, but that won’t work with me. Even if you could fool the people with some enchanted version of me, Nemus would surely detect and counteract your spell.

Belarok’s smile broadened. He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

I fail to see what you find so funny about the prospect of having your head separated from your neck, Leoric said with more confidence than he felt.

I beg your pardon for my rudeness. You’re still lacking a few key pieces of information, without which you can’t possibly understand the humor in your predicament.

By all means, please enlighten me.

As you wish. Belarok clapped his hands together and two figures emerged from the far side of the carriage.

Leoric’s eyes widened with anger and disbelief.

I think our young count finally understands my little joke. Wouldn’t you agree, Nemus? Belarok said with another head-tilting cackle.

THE ROAD CUT THROUGH a small copse. The carriage dutifully followed the track and disappeared from view. They sprinted the final hundred yards to the edge of the forest without fear of detection. Geren flashed the signal to halt. Adara leaned against a large beech tree on the fringe of the grove. Her chest heaved up and down. They’d been stealthily following the carriage for more than an hour. While the road distance was scarcely three miles, she and Geren had run nearly double that distance darting from one bit of cover to the next. Despite her weeks of rigorous physical training, the last dash had taken a