BECMI Chapter 258 – The Ties that do not Bind
The shock on the face of the Aetlans was priceless, especially that of King Brucall. General Gostorn even surged to his feet, his hand upon his sword, and his face reddening. “You, you dare accuse us of treachery?” the armored Delphan warrior shouted, plainly ready to come to blows at such an accusation.
All three outsiders were unmoved, and completely unimpressed. Sama just looked at him, and then the air grew incredibly, oppressively heavy. The outraged soldier quivered as his knees actually shook under the weight of her single gleaming blue eye, which seemed to be growing brighter, and brighter...
“If you draw that sword, you die,” the elfin maga whispered softly. “Sit down, soldier, and quit twisting her words. It only displays your true loyalties more.”
The general’s mouth worked, and much to his dismay, found himself reclaiming his seat.
King Brucall was not amused at that statement. “On what do you base your words, Grandmaster Rantha?” he asked in his best steely voice, being careful to keep his respect. He had never seen General Gostorn waver in the slightest, but even considering facing the weight of that stare had made his legs shiver.
It would be thrilling for a moment, and then he would be dead.
Dead kings did not build kingdoms!
Her severely unimpressed eyes looked over his advisors, and they could only try to bristle, their wills faltering as they were unable to endure the weight of her stare.
“As should be obvious, the Druid’s loyalty is to her Circle and her faith, as is proper. She is here to manipulate you into minimally invasive or destructive policies, which meant she no doubt argued vociferously against your idea, as it will unleash rampaging adventurers all over the map who will no doubt make a great mess of everything, and the introduction of so many civilized priests will erode the foundation of believers and followers of her own faith.”
Tarna Elmbright could say nothing to that, as it was all quite true.
Her gaze shifted to the other major spellcaster. “Your Magister is a student of the previous Emperor, your grandfather, and reports to both him and your mother regularly. He came here to assist you at their command, and to monitor in case you have any ideas about independence and other silly willfulness. He is not here to dissuade you of anything, but to report and let his master and mistress act. Really, I’m sure he thinks of this whole scheme of yours as the kind of foolishness to be expected of a non-Caster, and why warriors shouldn’t be in positions of nobility.”
Brucall’s face twisted as he looked at Markoll the Farseer, who could only avert his gaze, his face red. Sama’s gaze just moved to the flushing General Gostorn, who actually went pale under her knowing gaze.
“This man reports to your father, and accompanied you here at his command. His ultimate loyalty is to General Bronswer, not to you, Your Majesty. If Bronswer were to command it, he would evict you from the throne and put another in your place without batting an eye. He doubtless doesn’t care about your expansion policy, except knowing that it will lead to war and strife, and warriors do their best work in times of war and strife.
“If you were to test the loyalties of your Royal Guard, you would find at least half of them are loyal to Delpha and General Bronswer first, and to you second. Were you, for example, to declare independence and freedom from Delpha, your own men might turn on you.”
The look on Brucall’s face of shattering belief was too real. His gaze finally turned on his spymaster, who shook as he stared at Sama.
“This man also reports to your grandfather, and has been engaged in… discussions with one of his Siricilan counterparts, in the event war comes and you are in a losing position. He has not accepted anything, but the offers are indeed out there, with retirement far to the south under an alternate identity a mandatory part of them. He is a supporter of the Call because it will create a great working environment for him to showcase his skill and brilliance, and he is arrogant enough to think he can outwit Siricilans who live on treachery.
“He has no loyalty to you or your ambitions, only his own, which currently align with yours.”
Uncaring of the spymaster’s ashen expression, her gaze moved on to that of the silent Castellan Humbron. “Are you going to tell him, or am I?” she asked the man calmly, as all the blood drained out of his face. The corner of her lips drew up in a half-smile of great cruelty and schadenfreude.
“You, you know nothing, you can only lie-!” the man actually squeaked under the eyes of everyone.
Then he lunged for Brucall’s throat, a dagger that flared to black life suddenly in his hand.
A lash of golden hair whipped out, wrapped around his wrist in mid-lunge, and pulled with a flick of Sama’s wrist. In mid-thrust, the Castellan was heaved off of his feet as if weightless, leaving his feet as he was dragged across the table, and his dagger was punched into the middle of Sama’s other hand as his reddened eyes stared into her single impassive blue one.
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The black of the knife seemed to twist and dim, and then her hand twisted sideways calmly.
The tink of the steel breaking was inordinately loud in the Council chamber as the dagger snapped off. Then her other hand dragged him forward by the braid of her golden hair about his wrist, and her backfist smacked into the side of his temple, the recoil leaving her hand free of the blade, which was now embedded in the side of his head.
Castellan Humbron shuddered and tried to scream as his skin blackened with supernatural speed. His body began to twitch and shiver as it shriveled, writhing in pain as his skin peeled back, bones blackened, and obsidian teeth gaped wide in pain and horror-
There was a flash of white, and the body of the man was blasted off the table, hit the stone wall of the Council chamber, and blew into white dust instantly, his decaying ornate uniform falling to the ground and beginning to mist and molder at the same time.
The shocked Aetlans stared at the corpse, or the lack of it, barely having moved during the sudden and all-too-smooth course of events. It was like it had been choreographed for their entertainment, and everything was taken care of, there was no need to respond at all.
Sama flicked her braid back over her shoulder, now back to its normal waist-length strands. Her hands steepled, and morbid eyes watched the slit in her palm, barely even red, heal over and vanish within seconds.
“I repeat, Your Majesty, that the only person in this room loyal to your goals and dreams is you.”
His face ashen, King Brucall looked around at his counselors, who valiantly tried to meet his eyes, and could only do so with the most awkward difficulty.
“I see. My family is truly loving in their care for me,” he murmured in a low voice. “You all may leave me now.”
His counselors hesitated, looking across at the three intruders. “Your Majesty,” General Gostorn began stiffly, “I am still in charge of your safety…”
“I am not in danger here. Get out, Gostorn. And the rest of you.”
Blue eyes raked them, and completely red-faced, the counselors to the King of Aetla stood up and slowly made their shameful ways out of the room.
His three guests didn’t deign to watch them go, but there was one comment. “Drop those listening spells or you are going to have a head-splitting experience in a moment, Magister,” the elfin wizardess whispered as Markoll went by. The archmage stiffened, but only nodded his head and made a gesture as he hurried out of the room.
The door clicked closed behind the four, and Brucall closed his eyes, his expression one of haunting betrayal by those close to him.
“If it is any consolation to you, they did their jobs properly and well up to the present, exactly as they were supposed to, Your Majesty,” Sama said with uncaring and ruthless calm. “Their dreams and ambitions are simply not your own, and it should be anything but surprising to you that the Empire of Delpha is watching you closely.”
King Brucall took a deep breath, clearly gathering himself with great effort. “Yes, my mother loves me so deeply,” he managed to get out through clenched teeth.
“Well, she’s already chosen your bride for you, so clearly she does care,” Sama went on without remorse, another juicy tidbit that had come out of Edge’s ex-Sim in the Imperial Council. “A nice lovely and proper young wizardess to give some Delphan legitimacy to your throne.” She didn’t bother to hide her scorn, and Brucall did a combination of rolling his eyes and shrinking down in both disbelief and utterly disappointed expectations.
“She would. Her name, Grandmaster?” he asked, both in hollow expectation and curiosity.
“Tari Shelmivista. I understand you were childhood playmates.”
He could only roll his eyes again. “I have not seen her since I was six!” he blurted out. “She’s lesser nobility, her mother is an old friend of my mother’s. There was some… difficulty with my older brother, the Crown Prince, and she was taken from the Imperial Palace.”
“Your spoiled and mentally unstable older brother, clearly a superior choice to sit on the throne. We all know that magic stabilizes a deranged mind and guides it back towards sanity and balance,” Lady Edge said with a perfectly straight face.
The lie from the elfin’s lips was so bad Brucall actually had to wince at it. Her expression was so flat it was hard to tell anything, but he had to admit it felt… funny?
“Indeed. Wizards are among the most sane and balanced people I’ve met in my life!” he managed to ‘agree’ in return.
The elfin turned to Sama and said in a perfectly deadpan voice, “See? I told you the king would agree with me.”
Sama rolled her visible eye. “You are preying upon a deluded non-Caster warrior with a surfeit of proper mental disciplines at his moment of vulnerability. It would not stand in a court of law.”
“I don’t recall the agreement being conditional.”
Sama just shook her golden locks. “Next thing is, you’ll be telling me you’re sane and balanced.”
There was a quite significant moment of hesitation. “By whose standards?” was the final response, which Brucall found even funnier for some reason.
“Why, a court of wizards, of course!” Sama lobbed back.
“Oh. I would indeed be frighteningly sane and balanced in the estimation of such an august and esteemed body, of course,” was the prompt response.
The ‘august and esteemed’ was definitely not serious, but her assessment of such was. Brucall was rather astonished to see how easily he could read her. “Is… this some kind of farce?” he had to ask, looking between the two women, and the long-suffering expression of his fellow monarch.
“The farce was that thing that we just punctured and threw down the midden,” King Antius said wryly. “It was made up of hopes and delusions that did not reflect the reality that you and we are living in, King Brucall.”
Brucall found that he could not argue with that. “I must admit you have completely exceeded all my estimations of your capabilities,” he conceded graciously. “You deprived me of my counselors, you have completely undercut my aspirations, and thrown all my plans into turmoil with naught but words… and one dead traitor.” He glanced sideways at the white smear on the warmly brown wooden siding of the walls. “What was his story?”