Chapter 64

“I hear whispers of rebellion,” Edrian Wolls said in his snake-like voice. “I hear that men are gathering and they are learning to fight and that you haven’t done anything to stop them,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Aris.

“And you’d be a fool to believe those rumors. You know where my loyalties lie. You know that I love Vealand more than my own life. I gladly gave up years of my life in its service and I will be a servant of the Empire until the day I die,” Aris said with conviction in his voice, and what he was saying was true. He loved Vealand and he would do anything to save its capital Fiell.

No he wasn’t lying at all when he replied to Edrian Wolls. He truly did love his nation and would do anything he could to protect it, even if that meant killing the Emperor, a man who had shown himself to be a monster intent on the destruction of the nation he ruled.

Aris would do anything to protect Fiell and he needed to curry political favor to do so. He had to find a trustworthy man to take control of Vealand when Emperor Evrain died, so he tread carefully and had constantly been making alliances over the last few weeks.

He traded every political favor he owed and played every game he knew how to play. Practically half the cabinet knew of Aris’ unrest, but all held silent. They hated Edrian more than they were jealous of Aris. And if Aris’ game was played to completion, one of them could very easily end up in the vacant throne that none said there would be, but all knew was a very real possibility if Aris’ plans came true.

“You say you’re dedicated to Vealand, but just how dedicated are you? The rebels who tried to attack and kill our beloved emperor…” Edrian Wolls gestured to the sovereign to punctuate his oncoming accusation. “…Also believed that they were were dedicated to Vealand. They wanted nothing more than protect their country.”

Edrian’s words quietly shook the room. The Minister of Defense’s words were true. The Rebels, led by the now dead Dren, had also been dedicated to Vealand. They had said that they were trying to restore the nation to its former greatness. Greatness that had been stolen from them by Emperor Evrain. For all they knew, Aris could become the next Dren, and more than a few thought he might follow in his brother Van’s footsteps.

Aris had lived under and subsequently driven himself out of his elder brother’s shadow, but blood ran deep. Something could have changed in Aris. He could be taking after his rebel of a brother.

But if he did rebel and succeed in that rebellion, currying his favor could bring great political power. It was a treacherous game to play, but they were all politicians. They made their livings by playing Kingsman with the populace as their pieces and stabbing backs.

The biggest surprise was that it had taken Aris so long to join in on the games.

“Right now I’m busy trying to restore the town from the fires that your arsons started,” Aris said nonchalantly, subtly casting blame on the hawkish Minister of Defense, letting everyone in the cabinet know that he thought the fires were due to a dereliction of duty from the Minister. “I’m trying to bring our city back together. I’m trying to save it from blowing up, which is more than you’re doing. I’ve seen your troops. They don’t know how to keep the peace in the city. They think murdering our citizens is a valid way of quelling unrest. They’re only rekindling the ashes of the fires that burned down most of the riverfront district and displaced so many of our brothers and sisters.”

Aris had a distaste for political intrigue, but not because he wasn’t good at it. He had move as deftly as any of the lifelong nobles and his words seared at the Minister of Defense.

Edrian glared at him. Aris was closer to the truth than he ever knew and it terrified him. He needed to deal with the man. He needed Aris dead. He needed him gone before he could raise that army that he had heard reports of but had yet to find.

Aris was the hinge of the door that could shut out every opportunity or destroy his chances for his ultimate elevation. He had to do something about the General, and it needed to be done soon.

*****

“That went poorly.” Aris thought as he walked the streets back to his estate. He wished he could be spending more time there, but to do so would be to put his family in the line of danger. They had already been dragged further into this mess than he’d ever wished, but only a fool would pull the drawstring further back when his family was in the sights of the archer.

He would take a brief rest at home before traveling to the estates of the other nobles. He was cashing in every political chip and was alternately playing on the pride or straight out blackmailing those who stood in opposition to his quest to reform their government, which he sold his rebellion as.

“How can I curry their favor? How do I succeed where my brother failed? I know that I can’t just discard the nobility nor ignore them. For better or worse, they are the currents of power in our nation and to destroy them would destroy the hierarchy of Vealand. We need them for this transition. But I can’t just throw the whole world of Memory Magic at them, even if I’m sure more than half of them have their own Mages at their disposal.” Aris thought.

“I…” His thoughts were interrupted by a wave of pain that drove him to his knees.

Memories of torture washed over him. He was having his fingernails torn off one by one. He was forced to stand for two days straight, forced into a cell barely bigger than himself whose edges were jagged and tore into him whenever his strength lagged.

“Inquisitors. He sent Inquisitors after me,” Aris scanned his surroundings as he fortified his mental walls as best he could against the painful onslaught.

There in a small alleyway with building half burned by the fires he spotted them. Edrian had sent five of them after him.

That pig was thorough.

He wanted to assure Aris’ death.

Aris focused his mind and ignored the pain. His years of seeing the worst the world had to offer worked as a shield. They couldn’t give him worse than he had already experienced. He was stronger than them. He was strong enough to fight despite the pain. Strong enough to compartmentalize it and use it as fuel to fight.

Aris drew his metalvine and ran.

He surprised the group by driving straight into them. He swung his metalvine with animal ferocity at the head of the largest of the group of Inquisitors. The Inquisitor brought his forearm up to block the blow but it was too low, Aris’ blow drove through his guard and rebounded off the man’s head with a resounding crack, a splintering of bone, and spray of blood.

He fell to the ground.

Dead most likely.

Aris used his rushing momentum and drove his shoulder into one of the smaller Inquisitors who had been positioned behind the larger man. He saw her memories even as his momentum slammed her into the wall behind her. She slammed into the ground. He pitied her as he saw the horrific abuse she’d been subjected to, but mercy meant death here.

He drove his foot into her temple. Her neck twisted sickeningly. He slammed his foot against her exposed carotid artery with furious strength. The snap let him know she wouldn’t be getting up again.

Ever.

Two down.

A metalvine slammed into the small of his back. His whole body erupted in pain and the blow drove him to his knees. Another blow came down on his shoulder numbing his arm.

Aris ignored the pain and pulled his knife out of its sheath and performed a kneeling Falis kata that spun him to face his opponent and drive the knife into the inside of his attacker’s thigh. He plunged the dagger two more times as the man rained another blow down on him, causing his vision to swim and head to ache.

That had hit the man’s femoral artery. Another Inquisitor down.

Only two left.

Another wave of visions washed over Aris. This time hooked needles were being shoved under his fingernails then pulled upwards, tearing at the fingernails from the inside. He stifled an urge to vomit, the mental pain searing his brain.

“This is what he does. These men are victims of Evrain. He takes what’s good and corrupts it. He takes everything good and destroys it. I will kill him.” Aris thought as he dodged a blow from kukri dagger.

The man reversed the blade quicker than Aris thought possible and in a second it was making an arc towards his neck. Aris instinctually raised his metalvine to his neck and the inwardly curved blade stopped just short of taking his jugular. The man twisted its trajectory. The tip of the blade dug into the side of Aris’ neck, drawing blood. Aris reached up with his free hand and snatched at the Inquisitor’s knife hand. He trapped it just long enough for him to create enough space to send a harsh push kick to the man’s mid-section, knocking him backwards and creating enough space for Aris to slip through.

Aris ran. The warrior part of him told him to stand and fight. To take down those monsters that had been sent to kill him, but the rational side of him told him it was better to live and fight another day than to die as a brave man when there was no need for it.

He’d barely gotten ten strides away when a dagger tore into the meat in the back of his thigh.

“Okay, stay and fight it is.” He thought. “But I will make them fight on my terms.”

He tore the blade from his thigh and squared up. There were two more attackers. These two were more skilled than the others and had quickly picked up on Aris’ strategy after he’d killed the first two of their companions. They pulled up short. They weren’t going to rush him and meet their deaths like their comrades had. They would bleed him to death through a million paper-cuts if that’s what it took to kill him.

More visions of torture hit Aris like a lance. He’d trained for this. He’d seen firsthand the world had to offer, but every second that passed made their magic more effective. Every moment was a step closer to breaking his psyche and bringing him into a world of pain that would destroy his mind and allow them to kill his body.

He wouldn’t allow that. He couldn’t.

Aris dropped his metalvine.

The Inquisitor’s eyes turned towards each-other, why would the General drop his best defense?

Aris drove straight towards the two, mirroring his first strategy with a furious onrush of wild blade swipes that the duo stumbled and ultimately escaped from.

Good, he’d driven them further back into the alleyway. Now he was nearing a small alcove. He threw his knife at them, opening a small space between the two. He danced between the duo and dashed for the alcove. A knife slashed across his arm tearing his shirt and causing a line of blood to erupt from his bicep, but he made it. The space was tiny, but here he could fight on his terms and the two would have to fight staggered. He’d forced the duo to engage him one on one, severely limiting their numbers advantage.

The first man drew another knife from his cloak. He swiped at Aris with his scarred hand. Aris leaned back at the last second, dodging the blow by a hair’s width. Another swipe came. He dodged again.

The Inquisitor hesitated.

Aris leaned forwards.

He invited another blow from the Inquisitor who was growing more and more frustrated at his inability to hit the already injured man.

There. The swing came at him. He sidestepped and caught the knife wielding hand. He drove it forward into the wall where the blade stuck.

A flood of memories oozed into Aris as his hand grasped the wrist of the Inquisitor. Memories of tortures painted his memory red. But that wasn’t what he was looking for. He found it in a split second though.

There. The man had never fully recovered from one particular torture done on his legs.

Aris let go, slipped to the side and whipped out a vicious kick that slapped into the man’s achilles tendon. He collapsed forwards. Aris grabbed his face and drove a knee into it, smashing the man’s nose. He followed up with another knee but the Inquisitor blocked it and drove the memories into Aris.

Aris though, was no stranger to pain and he ignored the memories as he sprawled over the man who used his kneeling position to try to drive into Aris and knock him down.

Aris slammed his elbow into the back of the Inquisitor’s neck as he fell into the sprawl. He fell to the ground and his face slammed into the hard dirt.

That blow to the neck was almost certainly lethal, but Aris drove his heel into the man’s temple as hard as he could. Twice.

The last Inquisitor’s face twitched in fury.

Good.

Angry fighters meant foolish fighters.

Aris stomped again. He heard the cracking of the already dead Inquisitor’s skull. His last stomp crushed the dead man’s skull. The last Inquisitor raged as Aris defiled his companion’s body.

The Inquisitor rushed.

He drove towards Aris with a rush of memories and pure, animalistic violence. Aris had just killed four of his comrades and had trampled over their bodies. He would do the same to Emperor Evrain, the man who had saved them from their lives of torture and had given them a home. Given them companionship. Given them purpose.

Aris easily avoided the telegraphed blows and with a ducking weave, he drove under the attacks and switched places with the infuriated assassin. Now he was opened to the alleyway and able to escape while the enraged man was trapped in the corner.

He could escape.

But to escape meant to let this last man live. It meant he would return to Edrian and the Minister would send a larger group after him to kill him.

No. He needed to kill the man.

And he did.