The Lord of Frake's Peak (The Bastard Cadre Book 4) Read online

  A Rigged Game

  Vincent and Sorros crossed the storage room between Valan’s suite and the conference room where Obdurin and the rest of their party were trapped.

  Sorros took an AI from his pocket and looked like he was about to speak, but Vincent asked, “What did he mean?”

  Without looking up from the AI, Sorros said, “Ignore him. He’s a manipulative bastard who likes playing games with people.”

  “That’s a fairly specific game he’s playing with you,” Vincent said.

  “Ignore him.” The immortal wasn’t able to keep the irritation from his voice.

  Vincent thought, There’s some truth to it.

  Like a child investigating strange noises in the night, Vincent pushed the door open a crack. “Who were you?”

  Vincent’s back was up against the wall before he saw Sorros moving. The AI Sorros held pressed painfully into Vincent’s shoulder.

  “I am who I choose to be.” Sorros’s rage shocked Vincent more than being pushed up against the wall. “Nothing that man says is relevant to the choices I make. I am Sorros d’Shan, and that is all you need to know.”

  Vincent’s breath caught. Something behind the immortal’s words held him in place. He held his hands out from his sides. You were, are, somebody else.

  “I’m sorry.” Sorros patted Vincent’s shoulders where he had pushed him. He stepped back, all signs of his rage gone. “Valan is very good at these games. His comments were directed to me, but if you hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have said them. They were intended for an audience because that is how the Wolf works. Divide and conquer. He starts by planting a seed of doubt and gives it time to grow. After today, he’ll plant another seed, perhaps with you, perhaps with somebody else, and he’ll chip away playing his manipulative games until he thinks he can control me. If you hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have said anything because he knows his words have no effect on me.”

  No effect? Vincent thought, but he said nothing and wondered, Who were you?

  Vincent wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.

  “He’s not playing me, Vincent,” Sorros said. “He’s playing you against me. You mustn’t let him.”

  Steering the conversation to safer ground, Vincent asked, “You don’t think he wants to help Obdurin?”

  “He doesn’t want Rarick to succeed. But I don’t think he wants Obdurin to succeed either.” Sorros’s tone was calm again. Whatever had driven that hidden anger was gone now. Sleeping.

  “And yet they’re both working with him,” Vincent said.

  Sorros nodded. “I am sure Lord Obdurin at least, and probably Rarick, believe they can use him to their advantage.”

  “It sounds like playing chess against two opponents at the same time on the same board,” Vincent said.

  “More like a dozen opponents,” Sorros said.

  Vincent swore.

  “Valan will have plans in place for any outcome. If either Obdurin or Rarick control both Rhyne and Damar through Warwick or Walden, they will be able to form an alliance with first Marlan and then other Chosen. From there they will either conquer or align with the rest of the Chosen. Valan will be positioned to take advantage of either eventuality, but I doubt he wants either of them to succeed.”

  “Peace is a bad thing?”

  “Valan wants instability.”

  “Why?” Vincent asked.

  “I don’t know,” Sorros said. “At least, I didn’t.”

  “The skull?” Vincent asked, remembering how the brand over Valan’s heart had shaken Sorros.

  Sorros nodded. “He might have been telling the truth. He might have been branded for committing a crime.”

  “But he might not,” Vincent said.

  Sorros nodded again. “If he has given himself to the Dead God’s cult he’ll betray everybody.”

  “What about you? What do you want?” Vincent kept his voice conversational, wary of disturbing whatever slept inside Sorros.

  “I want to keep Obdurin from distraction.”

  Vincent nodded. He apologized for his temper, but he knows I won’t risk it again.

  Sorros activated the AI he held, and a countdown appeared on the screen.

  “We have to time our jump back precisely. There will be another blackout when the count hits zero. We need to skim through the wall into sight of the cameras a second before that.

  “One second?” Vincent asked.

  “The cameras need to see us so that we’re back in the AI’s database, but we can’t give the AI enough time to sound the alarm.”

  Vincent held Sorros’s arm. “We’ll go on one. Ready?”

  Sorros nodded. The countdown on the AI’s screen reached one and Vincent skimmed, taking them through the wall into the conference room.

  An alarm squawked like an angry goose, but it stopped as the lights blacked out. In the darkness, Sorros disengaged himself from Vincent. Vincent took his queue from the immortal and walked away so they wouldn’t be so close when the lights and cameras came back on. In his mind, Vincent heard Sorros’s voice.

  Don’t rush.

  In the darkness, Vincent removed the flexible plastic strip behind his ear and crushed it in his hand before pushing it into a pocket.

  After only ten seconds the lights returned, but the alarm stayed silent. Nobody in the room so much as glanced at Sorros or Vincent.

  “Ethan. Stay close,” Obdurin said. “If they are trying to get us used to the darkness, I want you with me and ready for the knife when it comes.”

  Ethan stepped forward silently.

  Obdurin settled himself back at the table. His gaze turned inward.

  Vincent caught Walden watching him. The councilor looked like he would demand to know where they had been, but Vincent averted his eyes and went to lean against a wall. Sorros had assumed a similar position on the other side of the wide conference room.

  “Vincent,” Walden said his name loudly. Everybody in the otherwise quiet room looked up.

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to escort Lord Obdurin out of the palace, can you do it?”

  Vincent glanced at Obdurin. The old man watched Walden through narrowed eyes.

  “Yes, of course,” Vincent said. The relief was clear in his tone and surprising to his own ears. He pushed himself away from the wall.

  “Retreat?” Obdurin demanded.

  Vincent stopped, realizing this plan was news to Obdurin.

  “What else is there?” Walden asked.

  “A chance for peace,” Obdurin said as though it were obvious. He looked around the room for support, but nobody said anything.

  Corsari sat in a chair at the end of the long conference table next to Doran who sat on the table. Into the silence, Corsari said, “Peace is an illusion. Life is struggle, without the struggle, we atrophy and die. I think there is a good struggle coming. We should welcome it.”

  Vincent thought she looked odd without her many blades or the belts holding them in place.

  “We’re trapped, unarmed, and outnumbered,” Walden said.

  Corsari’s smile looked sad, but her sleepy expression disappeared, and her eyes were wide and alert. “A good struggle. A chance to dance.”

  Ethan said, “We should fight. Valan has Rarick and Warwick on a string. He needs to be stopped.”

  “There is no chance of peace if you give Rhysin’s heart to Warwick.” Walden couldn’t keep the disgust from his voice when he said Warwick’s name.

  “When has a Chosen ever given a God’s heart away?” Lord Obdurin asked.

  “Fahlim said thirty-one Chosen had,” Walden said.

  “Fahlim?” Obdurin asked the immortal.

  “A fabrication, I’m afraid,” Fahlim said. “I doubt Warwick knows better or is even able to count as high as thirty-one. Not enough toes,” Fahlim added as an afterthought.

  “I should have known that,” Walden said almost to himself.

  “I’m afraid we’re all a little b
it under the influence,” Fahlim said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Walden said. “I haven’t touched a drop.”

  “Not that kind of influence,” Fahlim said.

  Walden ignored the immortal and said, “Tell me you won’t give Rhysin’s heart to Warwick.”

  “I will do no such thing,” Obdurin said.

  Walden thought for a second then asked, “You won’t give it to him, or you won’t tell me that you won’t give it to him.”

  “You’re not Lord of Damar yet, Walden. Your council is always welcome, but I won’t be lectured.”

  Walden rubbed his jaw. “It’s easy to label council as a lecture when you don’t agree with it.”

  “Enough,” Obdurin snapped. “I am the Lord of Rhyne. Rhysin’s Chosen.”

  “But for how much longer?” Walden insisted.

  Ethan stepped forward and said, “Enough, Walden.”

  “No, it’s not,” Walden said. “Ethan, will you really stand aside and let him give Rhysin’s heart to Warwick?”

  “I won’t need to,” Ethan said. “Obdurin isn’t a fool.”

  Obdurin looked sharply at Ethan, then turned away just as quickly. “Let me think. I have much to think about.”

  “No,” Walden said. “There’s no more time. You might be able to fool everybody else, but I have been around you too long. You’re too good at phrasing things so that people hear what they want to hear.”

  “Please. Enough. I can’t think with all this talking.” Obdurin raised a shaking hand to his temple.

  Somebody murmured something, but Vincent wasn’t sure who. Outside in the city, Obdurin had seemed as hale as any of them, but now he looked like a confused old man.

  “Enough games, Obdurin,” Walden’s tone softened but was no less insistent.

  Obdurin brought his other hand to his head and said, “Yes. Enough games.” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second then said, “Let’s talk plainly for once. I plan to reshape Newterra in the image I have imagined for it. I believe that only I can lay the foundations for the civilization that must grow back from the desolation of the Cleansing. I have plans and schemes mapped out inside my head that rival anything the Gods could do, and I am only just beginning. I will bring peace to Newterra, and there is nothing I won’t do to achieve it.”

  “We need you,” Walden said.

  Obdurin lowered his hands to the table. He seemed less frail now as if talking gave him strength and courage. “If my plans are to succeed, I must defeat everybody who opposes them.”

  “You’re not alone,” Walden said.

  “I have been alone for a very long time, Walden.” Obdurin tried to smile, but his eyes contradicted the expression. “Perhaps I am the problem. For all his faults Valan is right. There are Chosen who won’t deal with me. Who can’t trust me. What if I am in the way of peace?”

  “If we’re successful and gain control over Central Newterra the other Chosen will have to deal with us,” Walden said. “You must not even consider this proposal.”

  “Of course he’s considering it,” Pete interrupted. “He’s Obdurin, that’s what he does.”

  “What if all of our plans are unnecessary?” Obdurin asked. “What if my presence is enough to derail any chance we have for peace? What if Rarick and Warwick are better suited to bringing peace?”

  “You jest?” Fahlim asked. “Even if Warwick and Rarick hold the peace there will be other mischief makers causing mayhem. Lasting peace is a dream. The best we can hope for is to minimize the damage.”

  Pete said, “Just because there’s no place for us in a world at peace, that don’t mean we should deny it to everybody else.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Walden told Obdurin. “Warwick and Rarick will still fight.”

  “No. Warwick adores his brother. He will do anything he tells him to. It will be as if Rarick is Lord of Damar and Rhyne.”

  “Whereas you and I will still have to negotiate with each other?” Walden asked.

  Obdurin returned Walden’s stare but said nothing.

  “Our plan has as much chance of success as theirs does,” Walden said.

  “If you’re able to take Maiten’s heart, we have a chance, but we are not brothers, Walden. You have served me for a long time and well, but the minute you put on Maiten’s heart things will change.”

  “You think that Warwick and Rarick will unite Rhysin and Maiten? The Gods have been at war for a long time.”

  “Something people forget, while anybody can take a God’s heart, they cannot do it without the God’s consent. If Warwick can kill me and put on Rhysin’s heart, then Rhysin consents.”

  “But Maiten might reject me?” Walden asked.

  “It’s possible,” Obdurin said. “Particularly if we dash Maiten’s hopes here by stopping Warwick.”

  “So if we refuse Warwick’s demands, our plan will fail?”

  “It might,” Obdurin said. “I think here and now in this room, we have one chance for peace between Rhyne and Damar. I am afraid if we reject it, there won’t be another.”

  “Even if Maiten rejects me, anybody is better than Rarick,” Walden said.

  “It’s rare that the Gods desire peace,” Obdurin said. “We must not squander the opportunity.”

  “How can you know they desire peace?”

  “Because I am bound to one of them, and because we are here trying to establish our version of peace.”

  “That’s you, not Rhysin.”

  “How can you know that?” Obdurin asked.

  “So both Rhysin and Maiten want peace, but they are both still trying to ensure that it’s their version of peace that wins, that their Chosen is the one to pick their opposite number’s successor.” The room was silent for a moment. “Rhysin has conceded?” Walden said and looked around the room to see if this was a surprise to anybody else. He looked pale and drained.

  People avoided his eyes, and the silence was unbroken.

  “Tell him,” Walden growled. “Tell him. It must be us. We must be the ones to rebuild Newterra. We cannot let thugs like Warwick and Rarick lay the foundations for our society.”

  “I cannot,” Obdurin said. “I am too far away. Before the Cleansing, the Gods could see their Chosen wherever they were, but now, we are still connected, and I can feel him, and I know what he wants, but I cannot talk to him, and he cannot talk to me.”

  “Then we’ll do it anyway,” Walden said. “If Warwick and Rarick succeed there will be peace in Central Newterra, but they will fight everybody else.”

  “It will be a bloody rule,” Vincent interjected.

  “Their children will inherit an empire,” Obdurin said. “The other nations will fall before this empire, in a generation or two the people of Newterra will be united as one people, and they will live in peace.”

  “Not true,” Walden insisted.

  “Until then everybody has to live under tyrants?” Vincent asked. “That isn’t something that can be dismissed or forgotten. It damages people.” Vincent clenched his fists. He’d thought Obdurin understood.

  “It’s the wisest course of action,” Obdurin said.

  “Bullshit!” Vincent snapped.

  Walden said, “Peace at the end of a sword is—”

  “Is still peace,” Obdurin said. “There may be a generation or two of bloodshed under Warwick and Rarick, but is that any worse than what I have promised? Peace is all I want. If it can be had without the games I plan to play we must take it.”

  “If you’re considering this proposal at all,” Walden said, “you’re not the man we all followed here. You cannot put the people you care for and the people who care for you under Warwick’s control.”

  In a voice almost a whisper, Obdurin said, “I would lead every last one of you to your deaths if I thought it would lead to lasting peace.”

  “That may be the only way to get lasting peace, by leading everybody to their deaths, but what is the use of peace if we’re all dead?” Fahlim asked.

 
Obdurin turned red and snapped, “Perhaps I should be more like my predecessor. Perhaps if I were more like Lord Benshi, I wouldn’t have to listen to all these objections. Perhaps if I were more like Lord Rarick people would be happier to see me fail. Perhaps I was a mistake. I have given you all hope that we can change the world, but perhaps people need tyrants to rebel against.” In a softer voice, Obdurin said, “I thought I could do it, but I am not the man for this job.”

  The room was silent for a moment.

  Pete said, “You’re right.”

  Everybody looked at him.

  Pete continued, “We do need a tyrant, but not to rebel against, to lead us. The Gods have no right to take this land. Nobody has the right to tell everybody else how to live or what to do. But somebody has to do it. Somebody has to take Newterra and reshape it, and it can’t be men like Warwick or Rarick. It has to be a man with compassion. It has to be a man who will take responsibility for the world and fix it.”

  “I’m not that man,” Obdurin said.

  “Everybody here seems to think you are,” Pete said.

  “It’s not enough that people believe,” Obdurin said.

  “It’s enough,” Pete insisted.

  Across the conference room, Sorros approached the exit.

  Obdurin asked, “Sorros?”

  Sorros looked over his shoulder and said, “I made a mistake. I am sorry.”

  “I understand,” Obdurin said.

  “No you don’t, and that is the mistake that I made. Goodbye.” Sorros turned to leave again.

  Obdurin asked, “What do you mean?”

  Sorros stopped and returned Obdurin’s gaze. Finally, he said, “I thought you understood this game, but now I see you’re as susceptible to it as everybody else. You think you’re stepping outside of the game by playing to a different set of rules and giving Rhysin’s heart away, but you’re still playing.”

  “You’re wrong. This is the only solution for lasting peace,” Obdurin said.

  “No. It’s just another move that ensures the game will continue,” Sorros said.

  “It’s the only way.”

  “There is never only one way. The fact that you believe that here and now when everybody else in this room can see the flaws in the plan proves that you’re nothing more than the latest fool to wear Rhysin’s heart. I was wrong. I am sorry. I thought you were stronger than that.”