The Brat's Final Gambit

Davin twirled his sword and spun in time to meet Joachim’s blade. A resounding clack jarred his senses as the Count twisted the angle of his attack by shifting his hips. His riposte connected with Davin’s helm, driving it into his forehead and knocking him back. “You’re dead, Hapwell!” the count said.

“Fourth time today,” Jolan Kine said in a taunting voice. “I’ve seen children learn to overcome that move in less time.”

Davin blinked the remark away as if it were the buzzing of an annoying gnat. He knew what Kine was up to. After all, they had been driving the three of them mercilessly every day for a month. One man fought with him while another, maybe two, did everything they could to distract him as blows rained down without letup. Kine even went so far as making him strip down into a waist cloth and practice in front of the female staff.

And that had been fine until a quick reversal of the Hammer’s blade sent the cloth slipping down to the floor. Davin flushed as the women giggled while he stood there fully naked, blushing. No sooner had he bent desperately to retrieve the cloth than the flat of Kine’s blade slapped him across his backside.

Davin not only suffered the shame of revealing his naked body to the servants, any one of which he most definitely was not betrothed to, he then cried out like a little girl when the sword blade left a flaming welt running from one cheek to another.

This brought a gale if laughter from his audience. His pretty audience. “At least he’s not throwing horse manure and rotten vegetables at you,” Niam quipped as Davin stormed away.

“You’re next Maldies!” Joachim shouted.

When Davin arrived the next day, there was a wheelbarrow of horse manure and a crate of rotting vegetables waiting for him.

“It’s not so bad when Joachim’s the one doing our practices,” Niam said with a disapproving frown as he rubbed tenderly at his inner calf. “Kine is downright cruel. That man missed his calling. He should be torturing innocent children into false confessions or something.”

Davin couldn’t help but smile at his smaller friend’s discomfort. After all, Niam’s remark had led to him bing covered in refuse and thick splotches of horse dung for the better part of a day. The only up side to the unwholesome experience was that no one wanted to practice hand-to-hand combat with him while he stank.

“Why isn’t he allowing you two to use any of your powers?” Niam asked. “You’d think that’s something Kine and Joachim would approve of.”

“Our big mouths,” Maerillus said sourly. “Joachim found out from our own stupid admissions that sometimes our abilities don’t kick in so well. Especially you and Niam. And since they cannot teach us how to use our powers, they’re doing a crash course in old-fashioned combat.”

“Crash is the main idea,” Niam said sorely.

“Well I for one am grateful,” Maerillus told them both. “Those tralls were able to see me the first time we encountered them.”

“It’s not the training we’re complaining about,” Davin said, feeling too grumpy to look on the brighter side of things. That would be for later when there were no girls, no dung, no objects to dodge, and he could pound Jolan Kine into the sand with impunity. “It’s the methods.”

All three boys jumped when a wolfish voice suddenly spoke out behind them. “I’m glad to know you feel that way, boys! I think what we need is more bonding time together,” Jolan Kine announced in a darkly mirthful tone.

Niam and Davin groaned.

“Maerillus, you’re working with the slatted swords. The lieutenant’s waiting outside. Niam, you’re doing throws and releases with me once I’m done with Hapwell here—and I can’t wait till he sees what I have in store for him.”

Davin just closed his eyes and shook his head

The Wizard’s Hammer laughed and handed him a blindfold. “In about an hour, go to the kitchen, put these on and wait.”

Davin took the cloth and eyed it suspiciously.

“Oh,” Kine added as an afterthought. “If you hear anyone laughing, don’t worry . . . you’ve already met the girls.”

Davin threw the blindfold as hard as he could at Jolan Kine, wishing it was a rock instead of a long piece of cloth.

The next night, Joachim sat in the antechamber outside of his library study with the boys and Gaius Sartor. His physician, Dale Kirse wrapped an oiled cloth containing ice and a stinking concoction that burned and tingled when applied to stiff joints around their heavily bruised limbs. Jolan Kine was away at the pub in Pirim Village talking to the townspeople about their efforts to contain the evils Kreeth had unleashed across the land.

While Gaius and Joachim talked, Niam tried hard to listen to what was being said, but let out a yelp of pain.

“Hey! Careful with that!”

Kirse looked at him unsympathetically. “You’re going to hurt. There’s no way around that.”

Niam gave him back a scolding look of his own. “I’m not sure I like this stuff.”

“Grin and bear it, Maldies,” Joachim said with a laugh. “It only gets worse as you learn more.”

“I think I’m ready to drop out of this school sir,” Niam said humorlessly. His stomach hurt fiercely. His head throbbed. His arms and legs felt like he had been run over repeatedly by a wagon wheel.

“Only way out of this one is death.”

“At least I’d sleep well,” Niam complained.

Maerillus threw a pillow at him.

“Hey! I feel sick,” he fired at his rich friend. “Wait until I’m dead and then throw all you want.”

“How long have you felt like this,” Kirse cut in.

“Since I sat down,” Niam mumbled.

“Over exertion,” The physician said as he finished wrapping the last of his injuries, and then dipped his hand into the icebox, preparing another wrap for Davin. Niam had no idea what was wrong with Kirse. The man’s bedside manner was usually much more empathetic, but with all of the bodies he had examined lately between Pirim Village and Havel’s Dock, he reckoned that Kirse was as jittery as everyone else. A curfew had been in effect for almost two months now, and people were increasingly restless. Especially since the constant patrols only seemed to help slow down the attacks and disappearances.

The physician’s sleeves were stained a deep purple. Apparently Davin noticed it, too, because as Kirse took his arm and began wrapping it in the ice packs and stinking bandages, he said, “I didn’t know there were any poke berries still around this time of year.”

Kirse looked at the back of his sleeve in surprise. “Must have gotten into some old ones in my shed. I haven’t had time to pull the weeds up with everything going on.” Niam scrunched his eyes up when Maerillus looked over at him. Kirse’s voice was abrupt and sharp. Unusually so.

“How many to date?” Gaius asked Joachim somberly.

“Twelve bodies in the basement, six from the racks, two killed last month, the men who disappeared on the clean-up detail, Mayor Braun, five from Pirim Village, six in the vicinity of Old Flood, and five more out past Havel’s Dock, little Corey, Niam’s brother and sister . . . and now one of my secretaries cannot be found, so upwards of thirty-nine missing and murdered because of the scum bag.”

Gaius closed his eyes. “That trall does most of it’s killing at night. The curfew has helped some.”

“Not enough,” Joachim’s voice was full of regret. “And they’re all my responsibility to protect.”

“We’ll finish this. You Know Caledon and Selvika are as serious about their Black Arts laws as we are here,” Gaius said.

“Not soon enough,” Joachim grunted. “And I also know that there’s as much corruption in Caledey and Winstron as there is here, which always plays into a sorcerer’s hands. Corruption to them is like shade to cockroaches.”

“Speaking of which, what have you done regarding the Crown’s involvement in all of this?”

Joachim feigned innocence by raising his hands. “Me? Nothing. The snows have made the passes impractical.”

Gaius made a face. “This is a damnable game board, you know.”

“Oh yes. And I’m forced at the moment to position my pieces well,” Joachim replied.

“That’s only going to fly until Eason gets his talons into all of this.”

“He already has his talons in this,” Joachim flicked his hand dismissively.

Gaius’s face darkened. “Damn it man, were you going to say something about it to me or wait until his boot spurs were an inch into our throats?”

Niam noted Maerillus shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye. He had also noted that they were increasingly privy to more and more private talks between Joachim and Mr. Sartor. But to be honest, he wished he didn’t know some of what he now knew, and he wondered how Maerillus was able to put up with all of this political intrigue.

Joachim’s voice was matter-of-fact, without the least hint of annoyance. “His own troops have moved into Lamir and several other villages just outside of the Valleys.”

“What?” Gaius almost shouted. “That’s in violation of every law put into place following the succession wars three hundred years ago.”

“Yes. But there’s still a lot of snow blocking the passes. He won’t be able to do anything here anytime soon.”

“If you got half as fired up and onerous about this as you did other things, you’d have taken care of this months ago,” Gaius said accusingly.

Niam leaned over and whispered, “They’re cute when they argue.”

Davin elbowed him on one of his worst bruises.

Kirse flashed him an angry look. Niam looked away innocently, but he felt uncomfortable watching the man wrap Davin’s injuries as if he were some pack animal.

Beside him, his friend kept a straight face, but he knew Davin was in pain. Niam winced as the physician wound the bandage so tightly over a swollen lump on Davin’s forearm that the red skin turned white around the edges of the cloth.

“I’m biding my time, Gaius. I’ve deliberately stalled things to give us the time we need to sort this out here. There’s too much going on behind the scenes that I don’t like, and once word get’s to Pallodine an official investigation will have to follow. I want this settled before I invite more enemies into my home,” Joachim explained.

“And if you’re tried for treason?” Gaius asked.

“We’ll have to get this taken care of before anyone can complain to the court,” Joachim said flatly.

“That’s one hell of a gamble,” Gaius rumbled. “And it’s all of our heads you’re laying on that block, because as you go so go I.”

“Ouch!” Maerillus cried out. “That’s my bad ankle.”

Everyone stopped talking as Kirse eased up on winding a bandage around Maerillus’s old ankle injury. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Forgot.”

The men looked back at one another and continued talking. “I’m going to throw up,” Niam whined as a wave of nausea hit him. He got up to steady himself and made the kind of desperate calculations a person makes when subtracting his ability to control the reflex to lose his dinner from the distance to the nearest basin or privy.

“You really ought to ease up on them,” Gaius said as Niam tried to hold back the sickness.

Joachim raised an arched eyebrow, “An enemy won’t.”

Gaius raised his hands in surrender, and then changed topics quickly. “You’re crazy to let Kine run about town. He’s sick too. I heard him coughing again.”

Joachim nodded. “Hits him at night. Was something in that vapor Ravel set loose in the manor.”

“I thought he was immune.”

“He is. But whatever Ravel used was concentrated and natural. Jolan thinks the magic was just a carrier. He said whatever it was must be interacting with the last of the effects of the poisoned arrow. He’ll be fine. If it was going to take him down, it would have done him in by now.”

Gaius just shrugged his shoulders. “He’s working himself ragged training the boys with you and chasing ghosts at Kreeth’s estate at night.”

“And tralls,” Joachim added.

“No luck?”

“The Valleys are a big place to hide.”

Niam felt another wave of nausea coming, and this time it was a big one. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to go!”

Joachim looked at him and waved him by with a sympathetic gesture. “Don’t think this gets you out of practice tomorrow,” he said, but not unkindly.

Niam responded by placing a hand over his mouth and bolting for the door.

Outside, the snow fell in sheets. The lights burning on Joachim’s large estate were beacons of warmth glowing dimly in the frigid curtain the winter storm had drawn across the world. Outside, the temperature had dropped precipitously as wave after wave of thick, dark bottomed clouds rolled over the Korse Mountains and moved in a solid lumbering line on the Valleys.

Niam inhaled the cold night air. The falling snow seemed to have scrubbed it clean. Now that his stomach was empty, he felt loads better. Not for the first time over the past month, he entertained the fantasy of just running away.

He had to admit, however, that he had muscles now. He was never going to be able to wield a sword like Davin or even Maerillus. Yet Niam found under Joachim and Kine’s tutelage that he did have an aptitude for thin bladed swords and the long staff.

Kine even told him that given enough years and training, he might be considered mediocre one day. Which was, of course, Kine’s way of offering support and encouragement. Joachim followed that backhanded compliment with the advice that you’re only able to rise above mediocre if you live past your first sword fight.

Watching Davin fight was like watching mythological warrior. His gift had begun altering his natural fighting abilities even without tapping into his powers. Niam supposed this was similar to his own prophetic dreams and his ability to sense and see spellwork without thinking . . . or Maerillus’s ability to remain hard to see or hear without thinking about it.

As Niam stood there allowing the cold air to push him to his endurance point, he wondered what the three of them might be able to do when they had time to practice and explore their endowments.

Presently, though, Niam’s . . . everything hurt.

Slowly, he closed the door behind himslef and limped back to the sitting room. When he arrived, Kirse was drawing two red cranberry honey cakes from his traveling pack. “These are for you and Jolan,” he said, sitting them down in front of Joachim and Gaius.

Gaius rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “One of my favorites,” he said. “And I thought you were beginning to sour on us.”

Kirse grabbed his bags with a grunt, and looked at Niam and his friends. “Eat something light. Drink water. Take a day off,” was all he said.

Niam’s stomach began quivering again. “No problem there,” he said as the physician left without another word.

As Joachim and Gaius cut up their gift, the Count looked up at them. “Bedtime gentlemen. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“I thought Kirse said we needed a day to rest,” Niam spluttered.

“You rest after you die,” Joachim told him bluntly. “And you make the person who kills you pay for it before you go.”

“Trust me, I will,” Niam said morosely.

Joachim and Gaius laughed hard over that, and the three of them gathered themselves up and warily made their way gingerly to their rooms.

Karin Ledge made her way to her father’s office with snow pouring around her, whiting out the entire world, leaving the night lamps and illuminated windows haloed in the golden glow of firelight. She kept as close as she could to the sidewalk, which had been all but effaced in the deepening drifts. Beyond the meager circles cast by the light from lamps and windows, there was a mesmerizing white, and beyond that, darkness encroached.

Karin hurried as quickly as she could. Patches where the snow had fallen over ice could be treacherous. Slipping and breaking an ankle was an ever-present concern during these snowfalls. Ahead, her father’s office suddenly loomed out of the cascading flakes like the prow of an oncoming ship.

Karin was relieved. Her father was the mayor of Old Flood, and had been for the past twenty-five years. She had grown up with Count Joachim’s sisters, and was proud to be closely allied with such a good man. This was part of the reason she hurried to be at her father’s side.

Ever since her mother’s death two years back, he had lost a vital part of himself. Life had been hard for both of them. Mayor Braun’s disapearance and the deaths wreaked by that monster the sorcerer set loose on the Lake Valleys were taking their toll on him. People around Old Flood were terrified and growing restless with their fear. Her home was beginning to feel like a pot set on a fire and left to boil with a sealed lid. Soon something was going to cause that pot to explode. Part of this came as a foreboding, a sense that the heat was increasing steadily. Unfortunately proof appeared in the form of an officer sent by Count Eason through the snow-choked passes between the Valleys and Kalavere. He along with several other men arrived earlier in the day to speak with her dad. They seemed smoothly polite, but it was the kind of politeness that men only wore for show, like a seller of medicines promising cures that only brought a quicker death.

The officer told her father that Count Joachim had refused aid generously offered by Eason and vigorously ignored his lord’s best advice on how to track down and capture this beast. Then he all but insinuated that perhaps there never had been a creature at all, but that some of Joachim’s own troops were responsible and that a prominent merchant in good standing in Kalavere and Pallodine had been wrongfully maligned and accused of sorcery so Joachim could avoid blame. Her dad had come to her in a state of panic over the conversation. This kind of political trouble was a nightmare.

Karin wanted to bring her dad home for dinner and to soothe his worst concerns until they could talk to Joachim about what had happened today. She finally made it to the steps of her father’s office, and frowned. Inside only a night lamp burned. Could he have left early? He was supposed to be waiting on her to accompany him.

Karin frowned.

Hurriedly she walked up the stairs. The cold of the snow-covered rails bit into her fingers despite the gloves she wore. It was just that cold outside. Beneath the overhang, Karin kicked the ice off of her shoes and unlocked the door. Inside all was cool and still, which meant that the fires had been left to die a few hours earlier.

“Dad?” she called out.

No answer.

“Dad?”

An ember popped in the fireplace, and a charred log collapsed as the air stirred with the opening of the door. From down the hallway leading to her father’s office she heard a soft thump-thump that sounded like a man struggling to pick himself up off the floor. A spark of panic flared inside of her.

“Dad?” she called out in a panicky voice and hurried down the dark hallway, reaching out for the wall in case she stumbled on the carpets laid out over the hardwood floors.

Karin felt her father’s office door and hurried into the room, relieved that a candle was burning dimly behind his desk. Fearfully she scanned the floor through the gloom, looking desperately for the shape of her father’s prostrate form lying on the floor by his desk, made indistinct by the lack of light.

“Dad! I’m here Dad!” she called out.

The sound of a floorboard creaking behind her alerted Karin that someone was approaching quickly and quietly. She spun in time to see the dark, familiar face of Ravel Grimmel leering at her out of the darkness.

Then he hit her.

Hard.

Karin fell to the floor, crying out in pain and fear. “What are you doing to me?” she screamed.

Ravel ignored her, walked quickly up to her and kicked her in her head. His boot connected with her temple setting off flashes of light and pain inside her skull. Darkness drew in around her like a cold blanket, and how long she was out, she had no idea. Slowly the world resolved itself in front of her, spinning sickeningly. The air inside the office was now bitterly cold, and the ffft-ffft-ffft of large snowflakes pregnant with ice striking the window provided a deceptively tranquil backdrop to what was taking place inside the room.

Karin struggled to move, but realized that her hands and legs were bound. “What are you doing?” Her words sounded hollow in the dark room. “Why? Ravel?”

Her father’s desk partially obscured her view. Ravel continued to ignore her. He appeared to be rummaging through the contents of a bag.

“Ravel!” she said, hoping to appeal to his sense of decency. If he had one. “I . . . never believed that you could have done those things that got you sent to the Pit. This isn’t like you . . . Mr. Grimmel . . .”

Of course it was. Of course it was. All too like a man of Ravel Grimmel’s cliber. His response cut across her like a whip. “Shut up.” Karin bit back the black tide of fear rising to overspill the banks of her heart. Her head ached mercilessly and a cold smear of dried blood had crusted across her forehead. She could feel it in her hair where strands sticking to the clots stung, making the area where his boot connected with her scalp throb all the more forcefully. The rope Ravel wound around her wrists was almost tight enough to cut off circulation in her hands.

Karin tried to subtly wriggle enough slack to gain any edge she could. Her heart convulsed when Ravel looked up and gave her a mocking smile. “That won’t work.”

“Please get what you need and leave,” she said breathlessly.

“I promise I’ll be leaving shortly.” The things Ravel left hanging in the air made her want to be sick. Her attacker finally located everything he needed and stood up slowly. In his hands he held some kind of glove—its fingers were tipped with long, wickedly sharp claws. A look of absolute finality wrote itself across his face. It was the look of a man who was determined to do very bad things.

Karin struggled futilely to inch herself away from the man as his footfall thudded heavily against the wooden floor. In cold terror she cried out, “What are you going to do with that?”

Ravel’s face was flat, carrying no emption beyond that iron hard determination to do something unpleasantly messy. “I have to make this look like a trall attack, and that’s what they’ll think at first, until witnesses see men in Joachim’s uniforms running away from another victim.”

“You’re evil!” Karin cried out. “Evil!”

Ravel laughed pitilessly. “That means nothing,” he slowly drawled. “It’s just a word, and you’re just one more step on the way to a goal.”

Karin began to scream, and Ravel smiled. Pain followed. Great pain. And then for the final time, darkness drew around her like a blanket. The figure above her continued on with his work as intent and emotionless at his task as a butcher over a pig’s carcass. Outside, the snow continued to fall heavily across the land until the entire Lake Valleys were covered over in a white funeral pall.