In the distance Nedwin heard stern voices demanding surrender. Otherwise it was quiet, so he dashed down the hall to the suite where Nollin and Kerick were staying. The outer door had been forced. Inside he found their three guards dead alongside four other corpses.
“Nollin?” Nedwin called in a loud whisper. “Kerick?”
An inner door opened. Kerick looked out, a crossbow in hand. One side of his face was swelling and darkening. “Nedwin?”
Nedwin hurried to Kerick. “They came for me as well. We have to clear out.”
“You just missed the action,” Kerick said, letting him through the door. The room beyond was in disarray. Four more attackers lay dead on the floor. Nollin leaned against the wall. He was injured, his side slashed, one forearm badly broken.
“Can you move?” Nedwin asked. “We must not linger.”
“I don’t know,” Nollin replied, wincing as he stepped away from the wall.
“Try,” Nedwin said. “If you can’t keep up, we should take your seed. Come with me. I know this castle well.”
“Lead on,” Nollin said.
Kerick helped support Nollin. Nedwin found a loaded crossbow near one of the corpses in the outer room. Stepping back into the hall, he heard commotion off to the left, so he headed right.
After a few turns Nedwin led the seedmen into a conservatory full of musical instruments. “Some of the rooms and halls connect in surprising ways,” Nedwin explained. “The castle also hides many subtler passages. Galloran knew many of them. Nobody knows them all. I doubt anyone alive knows more of them than me.”
Moving aside a huge harp, Nedwin pulled back a heavy drapery to reveal a spiral stairway leading upward. “It would be generous to label this a secret passage, but none use it, and few know about it.”
They walked up the winding stair to a narrow hall. Nedwin passed two doors, then entered the third, revealing a storeroom crammed with art: sculptures, small fountains, urns, rolled tapestries, fine carpets, gaudy candelabras, enameled shields, a child-sized suit of plate armor, and endless painted portraits—some of them covered, more exposed—piled in tall stacks or otherwise wedged wherever they would fit.
As Nedwin started weaving his way across the room, he heard the seedmen behind him bumping into obstacles. He had always possessed excellent eyesight, but after the dungeons and the nervesong, his night vision was nothing short of incredible. He was only unable to see in the complete absence of light.
Pausing, Nedwin removed a strand of seaweed from his satchel, squeezing it to life. The length of kelp began to shed a soft blue radiance. This was his favorite variety of luminous seaweed, because it traveled well. Treated properly, it would still give off light a year after harvest. Whenever possible he tried to keep a few on hand.
On the far side of the crowded storeroom, behind a bell taller than most men, Nedwin opened a camouflaged panel in the wall, and they ducked into a dark, webby passageway. “We should be safe now,” Nedwin said. “At worst we might run into Copernum himself or one of his most trusted conspirators. The secrets of these private corridors are closely guarded.”
“You believe Copernum is behind this?” Nollin asked, his voice strained. The sleeve of the arm pressed to his side was darkly stained.
“I have no proof yet,” Nedwin said. “We will know for certain soon enough. Trensicourt is being claimed for the emperor. Many were involved, but I expect to find Copernum at the root of it.”
Walking along the corridor, Nedwin shielded the seaweed with his hands, letting a feeble glow seep between his fingers. As they rounded corners and descended cramped stairways, Nedwin paused at some of his favorite listening spots. The noise of skirmishes was failing. The guardsmen were not putting up much resistance. Many of them could have been involved.
Nollin mostly made his discomfort known with his labored breathing, along with the occasional sharp intake of breath as some jolt of agony surprised him.
“Where are we going?” Kerick whispered.
“I know five ways that will take us beyond the castle walls,” Nedwin said. “I believe I am the only man alive familiar with two of them. Tonight we will use my favorite. The corridor originates at the same level as the deepest reaches of the dungeon. There is a labyrinth of hidden tunnels down there. I have found the bones of some who lost their way. I will leave the two of you safe in a vault beneath a mausoleum, where the passage lets out. Then I will go to Nicholas.”
“He will be under attack as well,” Kerick said. “He made no secret of his allegiance to us and to Galloran.”
“But he will get away,” Nedwin said. “He was more ready for tonight than any of us. He will have others with him. We need allies.”
“You mean to keep fighting?” Kerick asked.
“I mean to win,” Nedwin replied.
* * *
After checking a pair of other hideouts, Nedwin found Nicholas in his hideaway behind a cheap theater where actors performed mediocre comedies day and night. The theater had been there since Nedwin was a boy. His noble family had not approved of the establishment, but Nedwin had snuck out several times in lowborn attire to drop a copper drooma in the tin and sit through stale jokes, predictable melodrama, and bumbling pratfalls. The actors tended to overplay their roles, and sometimes flubbed their lines, but among the botched romances, foiled swindlers, and peasants disguised as royalty there were always laughs to be had and taunts to be shouted.
Tonight the theater, like the rest of Trensicourt, was silent. When the bulk of your military was away and giants roamed your streets, you extinguished your lights, shuttered your windows, locked your doors, and prayed to be ignored.
The bells had never cried out the emergency. The attack had started and finished in the deepest hours of night. Nedwin figured some people must have slept through the commotion and would awaken to find a new regime in place.
When Nedwin had given the secret knock at the grubby door behind the theater, Minna had answered, a sturdy young woman with shoulders like an oarsman. She was both niece and apprentice to Nicholas, and she seldom left his side. After Nedwin assured her that he was alone and had not been followed, Minna had checked up and down the alley and called to a lookout for approval before granting him admittance.
Dressed in wooly nightclothes, Nicholas lay in a hammock in the corner of a small room. Minna left Nedwin alone with her uncle.
“Forgive me if I do not rise,” Nicholas said. “I seem to have misplaced my legs.”
At home Nicholas moved around in an ingenious harness he had designed that dangled from suspended tracks. At court he was pushed about in a wheeled chair. “You must have left in great haste,” Nedwin said.
“After Galloran reinstated me as a lord, I should have known that within a fortnight my home would be ransacked and I would be left impoverished.”
“What do you know concerning the events of this night?” Nedwin asked.
“Fragments,” Nicholas replied. “I know the giants attacked from within the city, at least forty of them. The brutes opened the gates for a modest host of imperial troops. The giants were not allowed inside the castle. Neither were imperial troops. Paranoid as ever, Copernum is carefully controlling access. I sent some men in search of information. Only Minna and my two most trusted bodyguards remain with me here. The rest of my household is at another hideout known only to me and mine.”
“How many men do you know are loyal?” Nedwin asked.
“Besides you? There are sixteen in my household. Beyond them I have fewer than twenty reliable allies. I would trust none of the remaining nobility. Did any of your guards get away?”
“None,” Nedwin said. “I would only have trusted those who died defending my room. I had no opportunity to aid them.”
“Nollin?”
“The seedmen fought off the first wave of traitors sent to take them,” Nedwin said. “I helped Nollin and Kerick flee through secret corridors. Nollin is grievously injured.”
“I have a man who can
attend him,” Nicholas said.
“Any aid would be appreciated,” Nedwin said. “What can we do to retaliate?”
Nicholas laughed heartily. “If we’re lucky, we get out of Trensicourt until Galloran returns. If Galloran fails, we never come back.”
“I won’t abandon Trensicourt,” Nedwin said.
“Why not?” Nicholas asked. “Galloran did. His goal was to march on Felrook. He is accomplishing it. He took hasty and insufficient measures to protect the kingdom. He knew he was leaving a vacuum behind. He knew that opportunists like Copernum would rush in to fill the void. He did not wish it to happen, but it was a risk he gladly accepted in order to mount his offensive.”
“He left Trensicourt in my care,” Nedwin asserted. “In our care.”
“A seedman, a scout, and a cripple,” Nicholas chuckled. “Two of us knew little about the current politics within the city, and the third knew enough to keep his distance. I didn’t know how, or when, but tonight was inevitable. The takeover was perfectly planned, flawlessly executed. We did not stand a chance of opposing it. Galloran left with our fighters. Too many plotters held back too many of their men in a city with too few committed guardians.”
“I will not go quietly,” Nedwin said. “I am the regent. I am expected to protect Trensicourt. I mean to oppose these usurpers.”
“You did nothing wrong,” Nicholas said. “You committed no mistakes. You were made captain of a sinking ship, Nedwin. You need not go down with it.”
“I have my duty. It is too late to rejoin Galloran. I will not have him return to find an enemy on his throne.”
“This is no longer your duty,” Nicholas advised. “You are no longer regent. You have been ousted. Escape with me into exile. If Galloran returns, we can work with him to reclaim the city.”
“And if his armies need to retreat here after being bested at Felrook?”
“I have already dispatched an eagle to warn him,” Nicholas said. “He will know not to seek refuge here.”
“You are free to go,” Nedwin said. “You should bring Nollin—heal him or plant him. You should bring your bodyguards and your family. But leave me what fighting men you can and whatever trusted contacts remain.”
“I will lend what meager aid remains mine to share,” Nicholas sighed. “Do not proceed with your eyes closed. This is not a fight we can win. It would be a shame for you to throw your life away.”
“My life belongs to Galloran,” Nedwin said. “He left me here, and here I will stay.”
CHAPTER 21
TREACHERY
Nedwin had to fight his way awake. His senses knew that something was amiss, but he was in the middle of agony such as he could only suffer while asleep. After he’d lost the ability to feel physical pain, the sensation had begun to find new life in his dreams. The trauma had started innocently—a bone broken in combat, the dull ache of a bad tooth, a tumble into a campfire. Over time the dreamed pain had come to feel increasingly authentic, and nightmares of torture and the attending anguish had grown more common. After the worst dreams he would wake up shivering and drenched in sweat.
Nedwin had always been a light sleeper. The condition had spared his life more than once. But as the excruciating nightmares grew more immersive, he found himself snapping awake at minor disturbances less often.
Tonight he was once again imprisoned in the dungeons of Felrook. Some nights he suffered at the hands of Copernum, other nights Damak, and other nights Maldor himself did the honors. Currently he was under the power of a tormentor called Grim. It was the only name Nedwin had ever heard him called. He was a small man, with dexterous hands. Nedwin suspected that if Grim had learned the violin, he would have become a virtuoso. Instead, Grim had studied torture.
On occasion, while he was in the midst of dire torment, the pain and despair would be interrupted as Nedwin realized he was dreaming. In the past he had found ways to use that recognition to claw his way to consciousness. Over time, as the nightmares became more intense, it was getting harder for Nedwin to deliberately rouse himself from the agony. But the task was always easier when aided by outside stimulation.
Nedwin wrenched himself onto his side and opened his eyes, gasping, feeling like a drowning man who had finally found land. He did not sleep in his decadent bed. The softness felt foreign and made it harder to wake. Instead, Nedwin slept on the floor beside the bed, wrapped in some of the covers.
His hearing had been sharpened by years of receiving nervesong, a pain enhancer responsible for many of his most mind-rending agonies. Even after losing one ear, Nedwin still heard much better than he had as a child. Occasionally he would experience auditory hallucinations, but they tended to be inexplicable angry voices, and he had learned to separate them from actual sensory input.
Right now he heard faint noises rising from the city below—weapons clashing, glass shattering, assorted screams and shouts. The bells were not yet ringing, but they would probably start soon. A riot? An attack?
He detected disturbing clues from within the castle—the splintering crack of a forced door, dogs avidly barking in the kennel, the jingle of armor, a shout that cut off abruptly. Then he heard a sudden scuffle down the stairs from his room.
So the violence was inside the city, inside the castle, and already inside his quarters. Nedwin resisted a jolt of panic. He felt no fear for his life, but ample concern that his opportunity to fail Galloran had arrived. He had known in his gut, in his bones, that his position governing Trensicourt would come to this. He was too new to the politics involved, and too many schemers had stayed behind with feigned sicknesses.
The bells should be ringing. Had they been compromised? How had his opponents orchestrated this so quietly? Nollin had been working his growing network of contacts, and Nedwin had spent most of his time snooping privately, but neither had caught wind of this coup. Nedwin had expected treachery eventually, but smaller in scale and not so soon. He needed to start moving. He needed to learn the extent of the trouble and to see if there was any action he could take.
The two guards stationed outside his room were reliable men. He should warn them. They could leave with him. If they stayed to fight, they would die.
Nedwin rushed to the door on light feet, but paused as he heard the clamor of swordplay. Too late. Eli and Tomlin had already engaged the attackers. “Nedwin,” a voice shouted, “treachery!”
Belting on his favored short sword and placing a pair of orantium globes in a satchel, Nedwin dashed to the balcony. He never stayed anywhere without scouting multiple escape routes. If he got away, there would be time to return and face his enemies on his own terms. Best to disappear while they had the advantage.
The night was cool, the moon bright. Nedwin took a moment to stare from his balcony. Outside the castle wall Nedwin glimpsed a trio of giants rampaging through a cluster of soldiers. The overmatched humans stood no chance. Elsewhere a pair of riderless horses galloped wildly along a side street. Down in a courtyard Nedwin observed a large group of men driving back a smaller group.
For a moment he could not move. The event he had expected and feared had arrived—a massive coup on his watch. The city had fallen, the castle was falling, and he was the last to know. It had taken murderers at the door of his bedchamber to rouse him.
Even without hard evidence leading up to this night, he had no right to be shocked. How had he missed the giants? He had been vigilant! Clearly, he had not been looking in the right places. The giants must have been smuggled into the city as dwarfs. But when? How? He had watched for dwarfs! He had watched for conspirators! He had intercepted messages! He had eavesdropped on conversations! He had not been complacent.
Never badger a badger. Never squirrel with a squirrel. Never swallow a swallow. When enduring torture, Nedwin used to play word games in his mind, finding interesting combinations. In times of strife, strange word patterns would surface. If you can’t bear the bare bear, bore through the boring boar.
This was no time to get fluste
red. This was no time to analyze his mistakes. There would be plenty of time later to rationally sort through what had gone wrong. He did not need to comprehend any of it yet. He had to act first and think later, or he would end up dead and no use to anyone.
A rope dangled beside the balcony. Nedwin had left it there deliberately. He quickly used it to climb to the top of the tower. The steeply sloped roof was not built for walking, but Nedwin was in no danger of falling. He loosed the rope and tied it again elsewhere, then climbed down to a lower roof that could take him places.
Nedwin could have claimed the king’s quarters, but he had opted for the third tallest tower instead. Among other features it afforded better rooftop access to the entire castle.
Above him he could hear men trying to force the door to his room. It would take some time. The stout door was thick, and Nedwin had added three interior locks. Nedwin tugged on the rope. He wished he could take it with him to make his disappearance more mysterious, but he knew he had tied it well.
Where to now?
What allies might need him? Despite his high position, Nicholas had refused to relocate to the castle. A savvy decision, considering the present circumstances. Nedwin decided that he would go directly to Nicholas after escaping the castle. The forces behind this coup would not leave Nicholas untouched, no matter where he chose to live.
Nedwin started running along the rooftop, using a smooth, sliding pace and deliberately choosing where to place each step to minimize sound. He had to sacrifice a little bit of stealth for speed, but with all the commotion in and around the castle, he doubted anyone would notice his subtle creaks.
He should try to reach Nollin and Kerick in time to help them escape. Their quarters were reasonably accessible. They had shunned the towers in favor of proximity to the garden courtyard.
Nedwin worked his way along a narrow ledge, ducking to avoid a couple of windows, his toes hanging over the brink. He leaped, grabbed a jutting beam, and swung onto a new rooftop. If he fell, he would die. Same if he were caught. But ever since the dungeons, most danger had lost its edge.