It took several weeks, but Simon slowly worked his way up the kingdom’s food chain to Duke Brin himself, the King’s own brother. While part of him felt like this trip was a waste, he still learned valuable things about who was who and added notes regularly to his mirror in the evenings.
In that time, he found as many nobles who were filled with valour, or at least goodness, as he did those who were consumed by self-importance and sloth. True evil, though, was a rarity, though. It was even rarer than a truly virtuous soul. Simon found many men with blood on their hands, but no one he felt the need to kill for it. Just like him, that blood was mostly due to war in their younger days.
In that month, Simon only found one man that he needed to kill, and that was a fawning courtier with a sickly gray-brown aura by the name of Royson. He was all smiles, but Simon’s hand felt dirty after he shook it when he glimpsed the things that he did to his serving girls, and that afternoon, under a cloudy sky, he killed someone with magic for the first time in many lives.
It wasn’t with a word of power, though. He wasn’t about to rob himself of his vision. Instead, it was with a surreptitious gesture with his false middle finger. That was all it took. No one saw it, and when his body was found later, it caused only a little panic among the servants.
Simon assured everyone, “I see no signs of witchcraft here,” which was only technically true, but it relieved everyone involved. If they wanted to believe that it was punishment from the gods for some unspecified crime, that was far closer to the truth than the idea that a witch had been involved.
While he spent a couple of days after that worrying that someone might have seen something, that worry had entirely dissipated by the time he finally reached the top of his list, and at last sought out the duke himself.
It turned out that Duke Brin was not happy to be kept waiting, and when Simon arrived, he was made to sit in a parlor for hours before the man gave him an audience. The duke was older than Simon remembered. He was the King’s younger brother, but younger was relative, and he was still a old man who offered Simon no deference. “You’ve been in the city for weeks. You should have come to me first.”
Simon nodded and answered, “You’ll have to forgive me. I was dealing with other urgent matters and meant no slight.”
The duke was a stern man, with a cloudy aura. It wasn’t dark enough to be evil, but it certainly wasn’t bright enough to be good. Simon’s vision was too blurred to dig into the details, but it was clear that he was a hard man who had made some tough choices.
He’d have to be to assassinate his own nephew and take the throne for himself in every world he’s given a chance, Simone reflected as the noble studied him silently.
Finally, the noble said, “I love my brother and our kingdom, but an important moment will be upon all of us soon, and I need to know where your order stands before I do what must be done.” When Simon sat there impassively, the duke sighed and continued. “My brother is ill, and not likely to last the year. His son is a… He’s a wastrel, and while he’s family, he’s not what the kingdom needs. So, I wish to ensure that all of us are on the same page.”
For a moment, Simon wanted to do more than tell the duke to go to hell. He briefly considered setting the man on fire. He’d never do that so blatantly, of course, but this was a moment he’d worked hard to forestall, and to see the aging man reaching for the throne after all he’d done annoyed Simon.
Finally, he managed to answer, “I will do as you ask as soon as I’m able,” but his words were stiff.
“You don’t seem pleased by what I’ve said,” Duke Brin said tightly. “Why would you prefer someone who was unfit as the prince?”
“You misunderstand me, Duke Brin,” Simon responded. “I am not in any position to decide such things. I merely enforce just laws and stamp out evil where I find it. I just… if the king wished for you to be the next ruler, then why would he not make you his heir?”
“The gods know I’ve tried to prevail upon him,” the noble said, gripping the arms of his chair more and more tightly. “But the man only sees how beloved he is by the people, and not how poorly he would fare if we faced a true test. What if there’s war from the south, or worse, the north? I doubt that the prince even has the spine to put down a tax revolt, let alone those damned horse lords.”
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That statement gave Simon some pause. It wasn’t what he’d expected from the duke. While it wasn’t enough to make him think that a civil war was a good thing, the fact that it was probably true put the man sitting across from him in context. The salt and pepper haired noble might be power hungry, but he was practical, first and foremost.
Another case of doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, Simon sighed internally. That seemed to be everyone’s justification, though, from Helades on down, and as much as he understood it, he still rejected it.
The two of them talked little after that, but he didn’t ask Simon about his wooden hand, or the warlock that had taken it. The duke was in no mood to defend his decision more than he already had. He was used to telling people what to do, even the Unspoken apparently.
So, even though Simon had been there for half the day, within less than half an hour after being formally received, he was on his way out. It was then that he saw a face he’d remember until his dying day as he passed one of Duke Brin’s servants in the hall.
The man was dressed well and unremarkable, but even if Simon hadn’t been killed by him in a former life, he would have spotted the dark aura that enveloped him. The nameless man was used to getting his hands dirty.
Just like he did when he choked me to death, Simon recalled. He hadn’t seen the man since that day in Crowvar just before he’d tightened the garrote around Simon’s neck, but as the two passed each other in the hall, the memory of that horrible day passed before his eyes.
That shocked Simon into silence just long enough for the stranger to appear. He tried to wrack his brain for a name, but when he realized he’d probably never gotten one, he pulled the nearest footman who happened to be standing in the hall and asked, “Who was that man?”
“I, uh, Mr. Bryer, sir?” the young man asked, wincing hard enough from Simon’s right grip that he instantly released the servant. “He… he works for the duke? Why has he done something wrong?”
Simon shook his head and apologized for scaring the young man, but he didn’t explain himself. What he wanted to do was track that prick down and demand answers, but that would only draw the wrong kind of attention to himself.
Instead, he returned to the inn and packed his things. He’d stay the night, but only because sleeping in the wilds as little as possible was the right move when he didn’t have proper armor with him.
I can blast goblins or bandits to bits, and even hold a shield if I need to, but that won't save me from a knife through the ribs while I'm sleeping, he reminded himself as he paced back and forth in his room like a caged animal.
Simon had stumbled upon a mystery today, and there was no way for him to escape it. His death in Crowvar, when he’d been on the verge of ruling over his own little fiefdom, wasn’t something he’d thought much about in a long time, but now that he’d been reminded, he was pissed.
It wasn’t just because he’d found the man, either. The fact that he was working for the man who was about to usurp the throne made it all that much worse. It was a connection that he doubted he would have ever made on his own, but now that he had it, he desperately wanted to know what it meant.
“I could find out by skinning him alive and killing everyone who gets in my way,” Simon mused aloud, but he resisted the urge. The duke was an important person, tied into many future events. Handling this incorrectly would unlock events he wanted to keep in place.
So, instead of causing problems now, he vowed to do so with more subtlety after he returned with Duke Brin’s answer. Instead of pacing, he went downstairs and got well and truly drunk for the first time since he’d recovered from the loss of his arm. That delayed his morning departure by a couple of hours, but it was the easiest way to make sure he didn’t do something stupid, and therefore, worth it.
The ride back to the Broken Tower was faster than the ride to Leipzen had been, even though Simon encountered bandits. Fortunately, they were smart enough to see his white cloak and scatter, which was good for all parties involved. For once, he’d rather obsess over the new nest of vipers he’d discovered than hunt down some local ne’er-do-wells.
When he returned, he delivered his report to the Master Harrin, who made a few notes. The old man asked a few questions, but when he got to the meeting with Duke Brin, he didn’t comment on the content of the meeting. He just said, “I’ll have an answer prepared after I’ve spoken with the Grandmaster.”
That didn’t take long at all, as it turned out. While Simon’s requests could sometimes languish for weeks, a sealed scroll bearing a white wax seal was delivered to Simon the following morning. Simon didn’t even bother to divine what was hidden inside.
He knew the message he was bringing; the Unspoken were giving him their blessing to take over the kingdom. That’s what had always happened before, so that’s what was going to happen now. He just didn’t know why.
Now he did, though. It was ambition; he’d always known that, but it was duty too, and the strange web of allegiances went further than he would have ever guessed. Simon considered waiting another day or two to see if Varten happened to come back, but instead decided to go right back.
That wasn’t because last time he’d made the Duke of Brin wait, either. It was because the sooner he returned, the sooner he could confront Mr. Bryer and see exactly what his role in the kingdom was. Simon doubted the man would survive the experience, but that was okay. He’d given up the right to keep breathing a long time ago.
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